*(-.-)* Hello all! I haven't written anything in forever... and I've basically given up on my other story lol... one-shots are more fun anyway. WARNING: What you are about to read is the most ADHD nonsense you'll ever read. This story moves way too fast and involves mythical creatures as main characters. Also contains fluffy yaoi and mild language. And if the amount of fluff makes you sick and you throw up, I AM NOT LIABLE. This was created out of pure boredom for your entertainment. And of course, I own nothing. Except the fairies. They're mine. So without further ado, please enjoy!~ xD
Sprinkles of Pixie Dust
~Fairies are immortal.~
If you've been living forever... Wouldn't you get bored too?
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Arthur awoke that morning with a splitting headache. Why did God have to make hangovers be so damned painful? Hmph. Stumbling out of bed and down the stairs to his kitchen, he couldn't even remember how in bloody hell he'd even managed to get home. Faint images of the pub stained his memory, and then that obnoxious American twat showed up for a drink and... ugh! The thought of that man...
...Sent a throbbing pain throughout the older man's chest that nearly caused him to trip on the staircase and tumble to his untimely doom. Well, maybe doom was a bit over-exaggerating. But there definitely would have been a whole lot of pain and despair involved.
Not that there wasn't enough despair already. No one could truly understand how England felt. He honestly couldn't name one friend. Loads of allies, but no friends. Alone. Abandoned. But, of course, if asked, he'd say that he doesn't need a friend. "Blast, a gentleman like myself would rather be alone in peace and quiet than be disturbed by those other loud, ruthless, annoying little nitwits anyway," he'd say. And that's probably the attitude that causes all the others to try to avoid him. Why, he was never as cynical and grumpy as he is now before Ameri-...
No. It's the forbidden topic. England had vowed to himself to never again spiral into that pit of depression Alfred had thoughtfully dug for England himself so many years ago. It's too painful. Arthur had never been closer to anyone as he was to Alfred. And that's not only personal opinion, either. Any other country could serve as a witness. When he was with America was the only time they could catch a glimpse of England's smile. And that rainy night when Alfred... seceded... was the only time they had ever seen his tears. Alfred is the only one who can make Arthur cry. Because... he was the only one Arthur ever truly loved.
But that git probably doesn't even think about any of this anymore. He probably doesn't care. He didn't back then. But England does. England still has nightmares about it sometimes. He'd be running towards America in a Northern port or in the never-ending grasses of the Great Plains or pushing through a crowd on a busy New York street, only to find that America would disappear into a cloud of dust the instant he caught up and wrapped him in an embrace. Unreachable.
Arthur gulped, shaking his aching head, and continued to make his way towards the kitchen.
Columbine and Gretchen, the only two fairies that still cared to visit England anymore, were already waiting at the table.
Mischievous little creatures... they'd been up all night.
They'd been working through the night for the past few weeks, in fact.
All because...
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"Columbine! Sister!" Gretchen batted her little wings to exhaustion as she scrambled across the dewy field to meet her accomplice. "I have a most glorious idea!~"
Columbine sighed, pulling back her long black hair into a ponytail and rubbing her eyes. "What on earth could be so interesting that you must come to me at this hour?"
Gretchen grinned, swatting a firefly from her bright red, curly hair, and looked up to the lightening sky, speckled with the last stars of the morning. "Mr. Kirkland has been quite boring lately. He's been so grumpy that he rarely even speaks to us anymore..."
"Yeah, so?" Columbine yawned. "Lately he's been so uptight that I'd rather not speak to him either. We're forgotten to him. Just like all the others..."(England had never been the only nation who could see mythical creatures. Ages ago, most of his European neighbors could see them too... Greece, Norway, Lithuania.. And even those across the world could see, like Japan and Russia. But as time passed, they began to ignore the creatures. Their original pagan and mythical beliefs faded and were left behind as technology and reason spread, and eventually, England was the last nation who still claimed to see, as he had the strongest belief and skill in magic and the paranormal of them all, of course.)
Gretchen blinked and turned to Columbine, crossing her little arms with a smug smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "He's boring me. Let's fix him!"
Columbine coughed and rolled her eyes. "Fix him you say? And how do you suppose we do that?"
"Hmmmmn!~" Gretchen hummed, and Columbine swears she saw little hearts and sparkles fall from Gretchen's eyelid as she winked. "You shouldn't sound so uninterested, little sister! All Arthur needs is a little love and attention!~"
"Sure. Love and attention I'm certainly not willing to put forth the effort to-"
Gretchen released a trilling, girly giggle and poked the center of Columbine's forehead, interrupting her thoughts and earning a growl from the darker, younger fairy. "Oh, sister, you can be so daft sometimes!" Another chain of giggles. "WE most certainly aren't going to be the ones giving him the love and attention he needs!"
"Then who on earth would even think twice about giving that boring, cynical little man a speck of admiration?"
That smug grin had never left Gretchen's face, but now it only heightened to the point of shear creepiness at Columbine's query. "Well, he has quite a history with that Alfred lad.."
At that, Columbine returned a scandalous smirk. "Sounds like a plan, big sister."
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...Every night thereafter, the two sisters busied themselves to their scheme. Each night, they'd write a letter. A letter addressed to none other than the infamous Alfred F. Jones. They'd revise it, seal it, enchant it, and the following morning, they'd send it. But sadly, Alfred has never replied back. Yet...
All they needed was to get his attention. Everything else afterward would just fall into place...
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The alarm clock blared, loudly playing the tune of the National Anthem, and Alfred, groaning, suffered several failed attempts of flailing an arm, and knocking everything off the nightstand BUT the alarm clock, until he finally found the off-switch.
8:00 in the damn morning. Why the fuck did he set the alarm on a Saturday morning? Whatever. Nah, it ain't his fault. The day probably just decided to wake him up because it wanted more of the hero anyway. Yep. Not HIS fault at all...
Stretching, he climbed out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen, where Tony was already cooking pancakes, and the morning mail was thrown on the table.
"Mornin' Tony!"
Only a quick nod in response.
Alfred moved to the table and picked up the mail, flipping through each one with a sigh. "From Mr. President, From Mr. President, From Matthew, From... oh..." He dropped the other mail back on the table and held this letter in particular.
"From Arthur Kirkland..."
America never did understand why England had suddenly decided to start sending letters. Not that he read much of them, anyway. And he didn't read them, not because he didn't care or whatever, but... see, the letters were often three or four pages too long and smelled like flowers or some shit and the handwriting was hardly legible. Too scroll-y and slanted-y and cursive-y. It almost looked like the medieval handwriting in those old spell books the old man had. Not that America has ever looked...
So every day he at least TRIED to read the letter. It's the thought that counts right? ..Right?
Not that Arthur cares about the thought anyway. Arthur really doesn't get ANYTHING, does he? Losing contact with England was the last thing on America's mind when he rebelled. He didn't leave because he was angry at Arthur, or because he didn't care or was being selfish or-... Well, okay it was a tad selfish. But how can you tell someone you want to be closer than friends when they consider themselves your big brother figure?
And why the fuck can't Arthur wrap his prissy little brain around that?
Sighing, Alfred ripped the envelope and opened the letter inside. Which was surprisingly short. Very short. In fact, so short that Alfred opted to read the entire thing.
America,
I've written to you for several days now, but you never tend to write back. I request to see you as soon as possible. Because we absolutely need to talk. Dress up a bit. It makes you look much more presentable than when you wear those scraggy things you call clothes.
-The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
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"G'morning you two," England greeted the sisters monotonously.
"Good morning Mr. Kirkland!"
England shuffled past them and to the refrigerator to select his breakfast but...
...He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
England groaned at the loud thuds and lazily glanced down at his wristwatch. 1:04 in the afternoon. Sighing, Arthur shrugged his heavy robe off his shoulders and slung it across the dining room chair, leaving him in a thin white tank top and pajama shorts. "Blimey it's probably just the bloody paper boy.. or... something." He drug himself to the front door and swung it halfway open, looking down and rubbing his baggy eyes. "Yes, what do you want?"
"I'm sorry, Iggy... is this a bad time?"
England froze, and that all-too-familiar voice caused his face to flush red.
"A-Alfred?"
He looked up to see a.. very.. formally-dressed America, decked out in a dark suit and tie, beaming with that perfect, flashing smile that can brighten anyone's depressing day, those sapphire pools behind the rectangle frames that sort of make Arthur's heart ache like-...
Just then, America... quite rudely... pushed past England and into the living room. "You wanted to see me about something?"
"...Alfred! What in bloody hell makes you think you can just barge in here anytime you want, you arrogant git!" England slammed the door and joined Alfred in the living room, pointing like a lecturing parent, his face scrunched up in his infamous scowl.
"You told me I could come around any time I wanted... and you sort of invited me over, if you've forgotten, old man." The left corner of his mouth curved up into a smirk.
"I've done no such thing!" Arthur failed to notice the faint giggling drifting from the kitchen.
"Oh, but you did!" Alfred chuckled and clapped a large hand on Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur scoffed as he pushed Alfred's hand away. "There's no reason in hell why'd I'd ever invite a dimwit such as you over, unless it was for business or..."
"...Or you just couldn't wait to see me?"
America had leaned in, his face dangerously close to England's, a bit too close for comfort. England cleared his throat and took a step back away from America. "Well, to be honest, I wouldn't want to see you even if..."
America's complexion went cold in a fraction of a second. His sudden change in attitude caused England to trail off, his words not worth speaking, and shivers traveled up and down the older nation's spine.
"Fuck, man, I come over to spend a little time with you, and you STILL treat me like shit." He stepped closer. "I'm being nice, and you keep acting like a dick. C'mon, I even dressed up just like you asked!"
England quickly regained his composure. "Oh, so NOW you decide to spend time with me."
"What the FUCK is that supposed to mean, Arthur?"
"Interpret it as you wish."
"Look, if you really hate me that much-.."
"Who ever said I hated you?"
The coldness in America's voice and face transformed into something just short of anger. "You never SAID it, but damn you're always pushing me away every time I try to speak to you!"
"I'M the one pushing you away? Have you really already forgotten how you pushed me away all those years ago?" England's hand instinctively flew up to cover his mouth.
There was a long silence between the two.
"Holy SHIT, dude, you're STILL upset about that?"
England raised his hand from his mouth to his forehead and looked down at the floor. "...Get out."
"What?"
"You heard me. Just go."
"Arthur, no..."
England snapped his head back up to glare at America, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. Alfred froze, guilt rising from his stomach to his throat. Arthur hadn't looked this upset since that terrible stormy night when he had-
England broke. The tears poured in streams down his cheeks, and with a exaggerated sob, he fell foreword into America's arms.
"Why is it..." Trembling, England dropped his gaze back down towards the tiles of the floor over America's shoulder before squeezing his eyes completely shut. "...that whenever I tell you to stay, you leave me, but when I tell you to leave, you only stand by my side?"
A sad smile spread across America's lips as he held England tighter. "'Cause. I never really left."
England responded with a few short sobs.
"Arthur..." America loosened his grip and pulled away from England, cupping his chin and lifting his face so that they looked directly into each other's eyes. A few tears still trickled down England's cheek until America sweetly dried them with his tie. "...you know, I only broke away... to be closer to you."
"That's... the m-most preposterous thing that's slipped out of your bloody m-mouth all day.." Arthur sniffled and pushed his messy hair out of his eyes. "It... doesn't even make any sense."
"It makes perfect sense." America leaned in once again, placing quick, soft kisses on England's forehead and nose before a longer, gentle one on his lips. "Is it really that difficult to realize how much I've fallen in love with you?"
It took a few stupefied moments for the heated blush to finally catch up to England's cheeks, and he stuttered, trying to formulate the correct words, but found none. Arthur opted to once again close the distance between Alfred and himself with another, more heated and passionate, kiss.
"I've always loved you too..."
Yes, fairies get bored just like any of us would.
But who knew their silly pranks could create such a miracle?