Here again, with another chapter. I lied in summary, this story doesn't have anybody barge in! It does have slightly OC-ish characters, though.

My name is not Hidekaz Himaruya, so I do not own Hetalia.

This was so fun to write!

America

It was another World Meeting, and America was getting bored. Arthur and Francis were fighting again, and the Asians had to yet show up.

Normally, by this point, Alfred would have been watching football on his phone. However, the President had taken his away today. Eating burgers and drinking soda could only satisfy one for so long. So, what was he going to do?

He rummaged around in his hold-everything jacket. All that he could feel was food, more food, even more food- and a book! Flipping it over so that he could see the title, he saw that it read "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"- his favorite book, by far. Flipping it over, he started to read it, becoming extremely submerged into the story.

In the story, Huckleberry Finn and his friend Tom Sawyer are young, mischievous children, reminding Alfred of his time with Canada as a little kid. Widow Douglas and her sister, whom take care of Huckleberry Finn, reminded him of his mother, Native America, and his sister, Navajo. Placing a mental reminder to place a few flowers on their graves, he flipped the page.

The room, lacking America's yelling, had been easily quieted by Germany. The blonde haired man shouted, "All nations, pay attention to me! We will each have eight- Alfred! Pay attention…. What are you reading?" By the end of the sentence, Ludwig's shouting had dissolved into curiosity.

America, far into his book, did not hear the Germany, continuing to flip pages. By now all of the nations' eyes were watching Alfred. Whispering erupted, until Germany clapped his hands for attention. "America!" he yelled. No response. "America-san?" Asked Japan. Still no response. Finally, England, sitting next to America, shoved his shoulder roughly.

"England! Why'd you shove me?" Alfred asked, a whine creeping up his voice. He looked up from his book. "Why are you all looking at me? Did something happen? What happened? Did the Colts win? Or the Panthers? Wait- that was yesterday, wasn't it?" Alfred's babbling was interrupted by France. "Is that a book that you are reading? Not a comic book?" Confused, America nodded. "Yeah, so what?" He asked, with one eyebrow quirked up. They all shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond. "So… what book is it?" England asked.

America grinned proudly, "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn! It's written by the awesome AMERICAN author Mark Twain!" Spain dense as ever, asked the American, "You actually have authors in America!? I didn't know that!" This was greeted with a slap from Romano. "You idiot!" Hissed the Italian.

Instantly, Alfred's mood soured. He started to emit a slightly dark aura- nothing like Russia's, though. "Of course I have authors! And I'm betting that mine are better than yours! Have you ever heard of Mark Twain? Stephen King? The Adventures of Tom Sawyer? Maybe the Catcher in the Rye! The Shining! Every book wants to be "The Next Great AMERICAN Author!"I've read all of them, and I have to say, Edgar Allen Poe, Ernest Hemingway, and Emily Dickinson could easily beat Miguel de Cervantes! Take that, you pollino!"

Spain drew back, surprised at hearing America cuss at him, in his own language! He watched America continue to rant.

"My books could even be considered better than England's literature!" "Not true! My books are-" "So true, England! Have you ever even read any of my books? Now, I will agree that some of my books aren't so great, but those can hardly be considered great books. And don't even mention Twilight or Fifty Shades of Gray. Think about it! Every book wants to be "The Next Great AMERICAN Author!" Germany, I've seen you reading The Scarlet Letter. Who wrote that? France, you even asked me about To Kill a Mockingbird! Who wrote that! Even my modern books are great! Hunger Games, The Fault in Our Stars, The Da Vinci Code, The Perks of Being a Wallflower… Who wrote those, huh? American writers did! Not British, not Spanish, not Mexican, not Chinese, not Russians! Americans! They may be immigrants, but in their hearts, they are American through and through. "

The nations were stunned into silence by America's rant, when suddenly North Italy looked at the clock. "Ve~, Germany!" He tugged the German, pulling them slowly towards the door. "It's already lunchtime! It's 12:33! Come on! I wann~a past~a!"

Surprised, the nations turned towards the door. Quickly, they hurried out of the door, leaving the still steaming America alone in there.

"Idiots! The hero's writers are ALWAYS the best!" America said, stomping out of the room.

Why is America always the last one out? I don't know.

This story is about American literature, since I feel like that is a very under-estimated part of America, especially in it's' history. While other countries' books are really famous (Pride and Prejudice, heard of it?), compared with how long the US has been around, it's quite an achievement. Lots of American books are famous around the world.

Pollino in Spanish should mean 'Donkey', according to Google Translate. Miguel de Cervantes is a Spanish writer, known for writing Don Quixote.

But seriously, American writers are everywhere. The majority of books, whether famous or not, seem to be American, although that's my own opinion, and it might be biased, since I live in the US.

America does have VERY good authors. While lots of modern books are now written by authors from around the world, lots of classical stories are American.