He leaned on the door to support his weight as he laughs the hardest he has ever laughed in his entire life. Imaginary friend? Mr. Wiggles? Those thoughts alone were making America cackle.
"We are serious. Mr. Wiggles," Mrs. Dorji shivered at the mention of that name, "has been absolutely terrorizing Tandin for the last few weeks, and we would absolutely like you to get rid of him. Alas, we have tried to get rid of Mr. Wiggles, but..." She trailed off, trembling from remembering the event. She looked back up, tears now streaming across her face. Mr. Dorji wrapped an arm around his wife as a desperate attempt to comfort her. America finally gained enough composure to choke out a "A-alright, alright, I'll get rid of whatever Mr. Wiggles is, and you two and Tandin can rest assured that Mr. Wiggles won't terrorize anybody, anymore!"
With that, he snatched his Super - Duper - Totally - Effective - Imaginary - Friend - Destroyer - 3000 and let the Dorji's lead him to what he assumed was Tandin's room. As Mr. Dorji opened the door, Â America thought to himself.
Come on, Meri, the guy's name is Mr. Wiggles!
Mrs Dorji was probably exaggerating anyway. Who even cries over an imaginary friend?
NATO turned to America with a decisive look. "I've decided that I cannot call you 'United States of America' anymore, since you are my father. I've compiled a list of possible 'nicknames', in which you will choose one for me to address you as."
America squinted, unsure of why his son was being so stuffy and formal. This was a party after-woah. NATO had pulled out a super long list, so long that it brushed against the floor whenever he moved. "Let us begin with the first name. Father?" he quizzed.
"No," America answered. "Too formal for me."
NATO let out an 'ah', then continued.
"No. I keep on forgetting what that means, anyway."
"Come on, I'm not that old." America chuckled.
NATO tried many different variations, many different spellings, and many different nicknames. At this point, America just wanted to get into his car and drive home. After thirty minutes of NATO shouting out names, he decided to do just that. As soon as America unlocked the door to his house, he bolted to his bed and flopped on it, embracing its soft covers. The enchanting aroma of his pillow and the layers of warm quilts combined felt quite nice actually.
So nice, actually, that he fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
He woke up to a person delicately shaking him, as if he was a wilting flower. He couldn't see the figure very clearly, but he made out enough of the figures' features to identify it as NATO. NATO himself kneeled down to softly whisper in his father's ear:
according to wattpad people love this shitpost the most
"China!" America saw him and ran towards him, his arms outstretched for a rare hug.
"America!" China also ran towards him, cradling something behind his back.
"China!" America cocked a rifle that he had behind his back.
"America!" China pulled out a shoulder-fired-missile weapon.
America turned his camera to the sign. The "T" flickered in and out, while the other letters stayed bright as if there were nothing wrong with its companion. For America, that was perfect vine material. No matter if he had to get out of his car and stand in the freezing rain. He wasn't going to throw away his shot.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, putting on his announcer voice, "welcome to, T-T-T-T-TARGET!"
this is just one big dad joke
America, looked at Austria with a perplexed expression on his face. "What do you mean 'don't eat that'? It's just an apple. You can do my check-up as soon as I eat it." He held the apple closer to his mouth, its red skin glistening in the dim lights of the therapy room.
Austria snatched the apple and walked over to the nearest garbage can, opening the lid.
"That's the point," he seethed, throwing away the apple. "Haven't you ever heard of the rhyme? They say it all the time in your clay."
"What rhyme are you talking about?" America said, wondering if there was something he missed while not paying attention at school. Was it a nursery rhyme like 'Ring Around the Rosie,' or-
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, you dummkopf!" he yelled.
"I'm allergic to apples, so if you eat an apple, I can't do scheiĂe to you during our session. Were you not listening when I told everybody this?" Austria questioned.
"Good. Now never eat an apple again."
"Are you drunk?" Russia asked, looking down at America who was laying face flat on the pool table.
America flipped over so he was facing Russia. "No, I'm not," he replied, but the shit-eating grin on his face told him otherwise. "You're drrrunk."
Russia shook his head. This was the third time America had gotten drunk this week. What was happening with his life that he needed to drink every time he had his back turned? "Come on, we're going home."
America's face morphed into one of exaggerated displeasure."Noooooooo!"
"Stop complaining. We're going home, and you're going to bed."
two bros walking each other home. i deleted some fluff because it was bad.
Russia tipped America's head up, revealing his awful eye bags. Examining them closely, he said, "Do you feel okay? Because you don't look okay."
America slowly pulled away to take a sip of his sixth cup of coffee since one in the morning. He gave a shaky thumbs up. "Never been better."
His eyelids fluttered open.
The first thing that America noticed was that he wasn't home, or anywhere, actually. Surveying his surroundings, he guessed he was in some sort of basement. A gust of wind blew against the mahogany curtain that decorated the only window in the room, fluttering them open and sending a single ray of light his way. America squinted at the sudden light, his sight still hazy. He tried to stretch out, but something kept him still. As soon as his vision cleared he looked down to see what was keeping him in place.
The second thing America noticed was that he was bound to a chair. By rope. Great. Now he got kidnapped. Wow. Astronomical. Phenomical.
He tried to remember what got him in this situation. He could admit, he had terrible memory - and the memories came flooding back, almost as if a wall broke down. Getting invited out for dinner, drinking some spicy juice or something at a bar, feeling weird, but not in a drunken weird. Getting dragged out to an alley by an adult child. His head hurting for a split second and then everything going black-oh. He was drugged and knocked out; he should have thought of this earlier. It seemed pretty cliche to be stuck in this situation, but everything that's happened lately might as well have been one of John Mulaney's stories.
The third thing America noticed was that he was bored. Like, super bored. Being shoved in a basement didn't prove frightening to him, just boring. Besides, he didn't get to experience the supposed scary part of it, so what's the point anyway? He was more accustomed to being swift with everything, living the, excuse his language, fast life. Tapping his foot, America satisfied himself with the blowing curtain, watching it flap in neverending waves, never settling. Damn, he really wanted some music to go with this. Even if it was Britain's despised classical music, he just wanted something other than this silence, this nothing.
America stared in horror as the figure stepped closer into the light. Colombia gripped his arm tightly, and he was sure that would leave a bruise later. Now he could see that the figure had their arms up in surrender and that they looked confused, as if they didn't know what was going on. Their flag looked like a carbon copy of Colombia's, but only with a coat of arms in the middle.
"Colombia?" the country asked, their eyes lighting up. Colombia? That complete stranger knew his name?
He gasped. "Educador! Compadre, compadre, Âżcomo estas? ÂżQuieres agua o algo para relajarte?"
America walked up to her, giggling at his phone. "Hey, come look at this video I made of you! Bet you'll like it~", he teased, trying to get Slovakia's attention.
Slovakia turned around, obviously annoyed. "Fine, but it better not be embarrassing, and you better not have shown it to Czech." America snickered at her mention of Czech, knowing that Slovakia was still basically lovesick for him. He handed her the phone, and clicked play.
Czech walked up to Slovakia's door, Hungary following close behind and eventually settling on the chair that was placed next to her door. He let out a sigh, checking his watch. He finally said in a small voice, "Slovensko, are you ok? We haven't heard from you all day. Hungary's practically begging to leave the house," she glared daggers at Czech , but he continued. "but Poland says he's not leaving without you."
"Slovensko? Are you asleep? It's okay if you're sleeping, and in fact Hungary and I will leave you alone to-"
"Open up, fucknugget." This time Hungary was speaking, and in a low voice that definitely sounded agitated.
"Hun!" Czech scolded. "Meri is  right there ," he said, gesturing to the camera, "you can't curse in front of him!"
Hungary ignored her coworker and continued to yell at the door.
"We've been waiting for you for the entire day and if you don't get your ass out here  right now , I'll go in there and haul it out myself."
This time, the door slowly opened, revealing Slovakia, wrapped up in a large blanket.
To say she looked terrible was an understatement. Her hair was sticking out every which way, there were bags under her eyes, dried drool lined her cheeks, and mascara and eyeliner was smeared all over her face.
"Why are you here so early? Did UN schedule an meeting for 7 AM aga-"
"Why are you looking like absolute shit? It's one in the afternoon," Hungary spat, grabbing Czech's hand to look at his watch. "Get your shit together and let's go."
America erupted in giggles, shaking the camera so hard that the phone fell over, and then-
The recording suddenly ends.
"Meri," Slovakia looked up from the phone. "What the fuck."
Nothing in life made him happy. It was not a choice for him, but a necessity. If nothing amused him, entertained him, made him so that he enjoyed it, then he wouldn't get attached. He would be prepared for the end, and embrace it with open arms. He would-
The alarm clock blared with an ugly noise, echoing throughout the entire room and interrupting America's monologue. He stayed up all night again, because of course he did. This English paper wasn't going to finish itself, and he definitely needed some time to brood over his past decisions. In fact, he moped more than he actually wrote, and now he got only three paragraphs done - oh no. Now, bullshitting through it was his only option. He frantically opened his document filled with his past notes. America stole a glance at the pages written the day before, and he saw that there was only one. Oh God he was fucked. He stared at the document, trying to decipher the broken English that he typed during the long, boring lecture.
Romeo + Juliet good, at least he got that going.
Paris bad, okay, as in France's understudy in that one play that everybody's buzzing about. He could remember that.
They both die in the end: Romeo finds Juliet sleeping but thinks she's dead and so he kills himself, but Juliet wakes up and dies too by the same blade. Damn, were these even notes? This was a crappy summary of the end of the story, but he could build off of this. Okay, so he could bullshit a few more pages, proofread them to make sure it actually looks presentable, and then turn it in ten minutes before the clock.
America set to typing, typing as fast as he possibly could. Being in a coffee filled rage certainly did help him though, since he practically wrote two pages in like, an hour. Not good for a college sophomore like him, but there were only seven pages left to write. For once in his lazy, unmotivational life, America was not going to slack off and wait. This paper was the deciding grade for the semester, and- ooooh, was that a new update from Russia's Instagram- NO, he had to stay focused. The time whizzed by as he wrote like his life depended on it, because it did. If he didn't turn this dumb paper in, then he couldn't graduate, and then he would never get a job, and then he would be living on the streets- ugh, snap out of it already! He had already become too distracted throughout the night and he had work to finish. He could at least pass with an A, and then he could get an actual job and he would make UK proud, and he would make Canada not embarrassed to go out with him in public anymore, and-
Three hours later, and he had - very slowly - written his paper, skimmed it through, and turned it in, except this time it was nine minutes before the due date. He would probably get a D or something; you never knew with Mr. Williams. He would give you an A for a completely crappy paper, and in the same breath slap a old, hard, F on a paper that you had poured your soul into. Trust him, America knew from experience.
Five weeks later, he received his grade for the semester. Opening it, his first analysis of the paper was that his grades, were, at best, not so shabby. As his eyes drifted down from each class, they finally landed on his English grade.
A B+, with a comment that says 'Good work!' Â Not so bad for a procrastinating country like him, huh?
challenge: take a shot every time i write "bullshit."
