LittleMissOddball

Hello my lovelies! Here's another USUK for all the USUK shippers. <3
Help me grow in my art by giving me comments and suggestions as to how I can improve my technique.
Criticism is the best teacher after all.
Love lots! <3
-Remi

July 4th

Dear Diary, (is that how the youngsters say it?):

So I got myself a little something. It’s been a while since I ever got myself anything for my own use except for when I really needed it. Aside from all the magic books and spells I have, this is basically a luxury I don’t always have. Well, as you can see, it is the fourth of July. I’m pretty sure that fat arseed wanker is drinking himself to no end as of the moment. I always remind him not to drink to much. But who am I to say anything when I basically drink and get as wild as much myself. But I worry about the idiot. I happened to only be the person that raised him to what he is now. Speaking of drinking, I should go visit him two days from now to give my greetings. As well as check up on him as I’m sure his home is a mess from all the parties. Will I ever tire from taking care of him? Will we ever be more than just personifications of landmasses with history?

No matter how much we try to deny it.

Funny, how I got this on his birthday. OR maybe I wanted to give it to him on his birthday, but again I was to cowardly to give it to him because of what we’ve become.

What we’ve become huh?

It’s quite strange when I think about it. Back in the old days when he was still holding on to me, I could remember every single day as being fun and always filled with many things to talk about. He would make me tea and he would eat the food I made him, no matter how much he resented my cooking. Of course he resented my cooking back then. He was a little child. He hadn’t developed his taste buds yet. He still hasn’t, the little twat.

Ahem

Back then, when technology was as old as I am, and I would be out to war, he would write to me every second of every day. How he was able to send so many letters all at once was beyond me. But not once did I complain, for I loved him as much as he loved me and I loved rereading those letters every time I would feel lonely. Sometimes I didn’t even have to reread them because I would be too busy reading his new letters, or I would be too busy replying to each one while simultaneously working on battle strategies. And the talking would never end on simply asking me how I was. When I would come home, we would spend the night sleeping together (not in the that way, idiot). He would ask me the same questions he did in the letters and I would ask him how his days were without me. No matter how big he grew, that never changed.

Until now I would ask myself, “what went wrong?”
1777?

To me, it was a silly idea to think everything ended because of that. I still worry about him and he would “worry” about me whenever Francis calls him up to take care of me while I’m drunk (or at least pretending to be). More often than not we would fight during world meetings but that’s because the fatherly figure I had and have will never fade for he will always be my little America, my star spangled son. My best friend. My love.

It pained me to see him grow, yet proud that he is becoming what we had always dreamed he would be. He has quickly surpassed me which saddened me as I realized he no longer needed me. He was walking down the road I couldn’t go, making friends and going places; seeing the world as he see fit and ruling it with an iron fist (and with burgers and fries).

I remained the same, old, Great Empire of Britain that didn’t want to face those facts. I remained bitter when he left me to be independent. Why did he do that? Did he grow tired of me? Was he sulking because I didn’t reply to his letters?

I wanted to believe it was simply the trivial things and that someday he would come back to me. But I knew somewhere, at the back of my mind, I knew why: I was no longer the center of his world. I felt betrayed, yes. I felt like all the effort of raising him, showering him with affection and loving him despite the idea that he would be much happier, safer and more comfortable in the care of France; all of that, gone in a flash, thrown aside and forgotten. Like it never happened. I can still recall the sleepless nights even after many years of separation. Strong torrents of run are a constant reminder of that fateful noon. And as always, my bed felt and still feels like it was too big.

But again, it was in his growing up that reassured me that he was fine. I can’t properly face him as the pain is still there. But I hope that day will come soon. And I mean SOON. This diary thing should be able to record all my progress until that time comes.

And then I’d like to look back on this after that happens.
Hopefully, with him smiling beside me.



Arthur Kirkland
Great British Empire



{~Present Day~}

Arthur leaned back on their bed, his cheeks a thousand shades of red. His eyes remained focused on somewhere else as Alfred flipped to more pages of the brown and wrinkly pages of the Brit’s diary, his smile unfazed and his eyes wide as platters.

“I...don’t know what to say about this, Artie.”
“Then don’t say anything, wanker. “
“But I have to say something. This is your heart speaking through words on paper.You’re never EVER gonna say this to me. Even during sex!”
“SH-SHUT UP, YOU TWIT! Oh, just hand it over!” The British jerked upwards to grab the bounded papers but Alfred yanks it backwards and throws it to the ground. He then pushes Arthur back down on the bed, a grin spreads through his face as he watches the naked blond man squirm underneath him.

“Unhand me this instant, Alfred!”
“No!”
“How dare you defy the Great British Empire!”
“You said the same thing to me after 1777!”
“And I’m saying it again: UNHAND. ME.. “
"Do you really want that?” Alfred’s eyes darkened his gaze growing steely and his grip tightening around Arthur’s wrists. “Do you really want me to let you go, Artie?” he growled in the smaller man’s ear. Arthur tried his best to stifle back a moan but is powerless against the pleasure and pain of being underneath the blond American. He manages a few words but the rest were all a mumbo-jumbo as he reduced into a puddle.

“S-Stop it...I can’t...Al...” he squirmed at the feel of Alfred’s hands tweaking his nipples and sucking on his neck.
“Can’t what?” he pushed inside deeper making Arthur scream. “Oh is this it?” He hit the same spot and Arthur screams even louder and his body shudder violently. “Remember this, Arthur...:” he thrusts again, this time harder at the same spot “I let you go once. I am NOT letting you go again. Understand?”

“Ah! I’m...ah..please...”Arthur pleads as he reaches for Alfred’s back and digs his nails into his the latter’s flesh. Alfred winces at the pain but continues thrusting into him,slowing at times to mash their lips together sending their tongues in a violent clash for domination, their moans getting louder and louder as they feel the release coming closer and closer.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND, ARTHUR!?” Arthur stops his thrusting and Alfred groans at the cease of action. His body was hot and he was aching from the inside and the bloody twat had to stop now He let loose all his pride and closed his eyes.
“I UNDERSTAND! Now please...ah! Let me come. With you, Alfred. Please!”

Alfred smirks. “Good. Hang onto me tight, babe.”

He grips the Brit by the hips and thrusts hard a few couple times and releases it all inside him as Arthur spreads his white all over their stomach. They remain lying on the bed together panting after that third round, their hands still intertwined. Alfred cups his lover’s cheeks with one hand and turns Arthur’s face towards him to give him a kiss. Not the adult kind of a kiss. The gentle kiss full of love and affection. They released after a while for air then snuggled under the blanket. Arthur sighed.

“Bloody hell, I just wanted you to let go of my wrists because it was getting painful.” The blond Brit scrunches his brows together in a V-shape. “You take things too literally.”

Alfred just laughs. “I just wanted you to understand a few things.”
“As if I didn’t understand anything, you little shit.”
“What?’
“Nothing!” Arthur turned his back on the American and slumped himself in one of the pillows just to hide the even redder than before red across his cheeks. “Just saying goodnight to my friends.”

“It’s actually good morning, Artie. “
“Whatever. Shut up already.”

Heh. He’s so bad at acting cool. Arthur thought. He leaned over the British, whose eyes were sealed shut after feeling the bed sink to the weight of the American. “Good morning Artie.” he says lovingly as he plants a kiss on Arthur’s forehead and goes to sleep as well. Once he felt like the American had finally dozed off, Arthur rouses from his position and stares at Alfred’s sleeping face. He can’t help but smile and hover over him giving him a small peck on the lips.

“My heart is yours, my star spangled love. Back then, now and forever.”





Alfred simply smiles.

The melody of rain 　 The music of tears dropping 　 The hazy sky is peeking through

Stop time 　 Deep in a sleeping forest where you hid your memories 　 Search for the light.



When many colors overlap, blurring like a dream (Baby)

If possible, abandon yourself to the lingering wind, along with this voice that can't reach you.



1777: War of Independence



"I'm no longer your little brother, nor am I your colony."

A platoon of soldiers at his opponent's beck and call, guns at the ready, and a single man clad in red Victorian Clothing , and glaring at the figure across him who was pointing his gun at point blank was a sight to behold under the heavy torrent of the summer rain,



"England, give me my freedom!"



No reply.



"England!"

"Shoot you goddamn, ungrateful twat! Shoot!" England shouted, his voice quivering from the tears he so tried to keep back. "Finish this!"

The blond holding the musket quivered at the words thrown at him. Oh how much he wanted so much to pull the trigger. And there in front of him stood the man that could very much give him the freedom he wanted. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

He held it up, his guards following suit, pointing to the now unarmed man.

"Shoot! America!"

The name resounded throughout the battlefield and in the ears of the blond in blue. For a second, he forgot what he had been there for. All he remembered now was the gentle smile of the young bachelor, his kind words and actions. Flashes of laughs and giggles and days under the sun seemed to come one after the other in fast paces. And from out of nowhere, the horrid smell of "cooking" filled the air. Peaceful nights ensued.

For a second he forgot this wasn't just the man that bore the name of the British Empire. He wasn't the man that trampled on millions just to expand his fame and glory. And he certainly wasn't the man that held the destiny of the one called, America and was now standing unarmed, drenched in the rain with eyes glaring at the other and alone on the battlefield.

He was just the man that took him in and cared for him and loved him with all that he had.

He was England. Just England.

His head bowed along with his rifle, sending a ripple to the guards at the back. "Enough of this. Just give me my freedom. Please."





The light that touched the palm of your extended hand passes through

Water the flowers that forgot to wake up

It's as if that is a landscape I'd seen some time. I can go back

I continued to draw alone Into this quiet night





July 1, 20XX: Three days until 4th of July



England sits at the far end of the countries' meeting table. sipping on his afternoon tea and feeling the soft gush of wind coming from the small gap through the window. "America! Enough with these stupid 'hero' business! Take this meeting seriously!"

"Why do you always go against my suggestions, huh England? I don't hear YOU coming up with any ideas." America's palms hit the table hard, the sound bouncing off the walls. "All you do is sit there and sip your tasteless tea."

England cringes at the sound of 'tasteless tea' and stands, striding to the direction of the American. "How dare you insult my teatime, you ungrateful twat!"

"What'd you call me?!"

"UNGRATEFUL. TWAT." England takes his index finger and flicks the blonde’s forehead, which gives him a yelp. America strokes the flicked area, tears in his eyes.

Sparks of lightning ignites between the two as they begin another everyday route that leads the world meetings to nowhere. From the other side of the table, France and the other countries snicker at each other from the everyday sight.

"Aren't you gonna do anything today, France?" Spain scoots over to the bearded long haired blond friend and whispers to him. "It's rare for you and Germany not to butt in today."

France just sighs and looks to Spain with knowing eyes. "Let's leave them be, mon ami. Not today." He then looks back to the two still arguing, even from being held back by the other concerned countries. And probably not for the rest of the week.



The day ended with yet nothing being done and everyone was getting ready to be done when someone speaks the dreaded words.

"Ve~ America's birthday is in three days, right?"

All hands stop fumbling with their briefcases or stop in their tracks and looks to the ground, others to the direction of both America and England. Germany heads to Italy's side and takes him by the shoulders.



"Let's go, Italy." he says, shoving the unknowing Italian hurriedly out the door. The intervention may have gotten all the other countries' focus back and were now scurrying out the meeting room. France steps to England's side and taps him before leaving the door.

The room is silent with only America and England alone, the tension rising between both males, until England decides to be the reasonable gentleman.



"What are you doing this year?"

"The usual, I guess. Fireworks, and drinks and all that." he replies, his eyes glued to his meeting materials.

"I see."

America's hands stop fumbling and he tilts his head upwards just a little bit. "Hey England---" he begins but is cut off by England's voice echoing from the other side of the room.



"America."



America looks to the direction of the other, now looking out the window. "I never told you." England then faces him and America is struck by the expression England had on his face.

It was the same face he used to give him when he was little and would be expectantly waiting his beloved England's return. Except now, it was clouded with that of sadness and traces of that reminiscent summer rain.

"The view from this window looks exactly like the place where I found you."

America felt something inside him snap. He makes an angry sound and scrambles to get his stuff and himself out of the meeting room, leaving England behind, not wanting to see the face he had on right now.

Once out of earshot and alone in the hallway, America drops to his knees holding his body, trying to stifle the sounds that were beginning to be obvious.

"A hero shouldn't be like this." he muttered to himself as he remained on the ground, a sobbing mess.



Close your eyes Where did the flowing tears go? On this long sleepless night, I search for the stars



July 4, 20XX



The sound of boiling hot water and the smell of burning scones were all you could notice in England's otherwise silent House. No one seemed to be at home, but if you were to strain your ears enough, you would hear the grumbling sounds of 'twat' or 'asshat' in between the sniffing sounds and the flurry of blankets being thrown to the ground.

It was the 4th of July. America's birthday. It was the day he got his freedom. The day he left England. And like every year, there would be a huge party gathering at America's home and everyone would be invited. Even England.

But like every year, England would stay at home.

Rainy nights in London are an everyday sight. It gave Londoners a reason to sip hot tea and chat with steaming hot scones adorning every plate

But tonight's rain was a little too nostalgic. As if the date was enough to give him nightmares, the rain would only make it worse. It was like the clouds were pouring the tears that his eyes would refuse to let fall. Every year, he would try to watch the celebration from his television box, to scare away the pain and to finally be rid of that sadness, only to end up even more scared of the thunders and the loneliness he would start to feel. He would curl himself up in a blanket, and wouldn't leave his room until the week ended.



My fingertips trace the colors lightly, if only by the fading shapes (Baby)

The grief that melted away from my trembling heart flowed endlessly.



England sat in his dark bedroom alone with only the moon's shine to shed light on the desolate room. The sound of thunder clapping makes him jump from fright and he quickly moves his ears to block out the sounds. How he wished the night would end soon.

The thunders’ sounds die out yet the rain remains. England looks out to his window to see the million stars light up the sky. His eyes glow and forget the sadness he feels and goes back to the times when he and America would be out late at night, gazing up at the stars in green fields and talking the night away. A tear trickles down his cheek and England too finds himself in uncontrollable sobbing.



The fleeting dreams that I was chasing disappeared, shaking my heart. I was told goodbye and didn't say anything back

Someone's voice calling out to me still echoes now

Tired of standing on my own and staring into the distance.



The stars mesmerized him. He could no longer hear the sound of the thunder and he sat there just gazing upwards tracing every single constellation he could. Each time recalling a memory he and America had.

He continued to look to the heavens until the rain stopped. From his soliloquy he comes to a decision: He had to let go of the past.

America was no longer who he once was. He was now the United States of America. He had to face the facts. He was now stronger than anyone, even stronger than England. He's no longer that boy that called out to him so lovingly, and clung to him like he was his mother.

"England!"

Ah, his voice had always been the most beautiful. Hearing it now, brings a new set of tears in his eyes. This was right.

"England!" A sudden burst through his door revealed the American blonde panting and soaked from the rain. But England kept his eyes glued to the outside window.

"You've grown so much, America." The Englishman takes his eyes away from the view and points it to the direction of the figure at his door with tears in his eyes. "I am so proud of you. I'm sorry."



The moon reflects you White and shining

The rain, without ever stopping, engulfs me.



America had planned to hold a party just like every year, but the sudden downpour put all his plans on hold. In the end, he resorted to holding his own party, alone.



Besides, it's not as if England's coming.



Thinking of England now, he must have been stupid.

This is his fault. He had to say that during the meeting.

To put his mind off things he bounces to the kitchen to make himself a homemade burger when the sudden thunderclap makes him jump and drop his burger to the floor. He looks out the window and sees the heavy rain had become a storm.

Once, in his old days, he had always been scared of the storm and would always seek England's company. Sure England would fall asleep first, but it was just enough to make him feel like he was loved and not alone.



He truly loved England and leaving him was probably the biggest decision he had to make. It hurt him, but he had to.

Another thunderclap and he finds himself scouring for his coat and car keys and headed for the Englishman's house.

Once he got there, he noticed the stillness of the British home. He tried calling for him but no one replies. America starts to worry and goes through every corner of the room until he notices upstairs where a faint light was showing through a small gap. He hurriedly climbed the stairs, calling out England's name and barges in on the room where England sat alone staring out the window, clad in his blanket, the moon's light shining on him.

"England."

"I'm so proud of you. America, I'm sorry."

America strides to the other's bed and engulfs him in a warm embrace. England leans on his chest, crying while America strokes his back.

This continued throughout the night, until the morning when they woke up together in nothing but a blanket to cover them both.

Smiles of glee greeted each other and eyes full of love stared at one another. "Happy birthday, America."

America strokes his head and kisses his forehead, and pulls him closer. "I love you too, England."



The light that touched the palm of your extended hand passes through

Water the flowers that forgot to wake up

It's as if that is a landscape I'd seen some time. I can go back

I continued to draw alone Into this quiet night



The fleeting dreams that I was chasing disappeared, shaking my heart. I was told goodbye and didn't say anything back

Someone's voice calling out to me still echoes now

Tired of standing on my own and staring into the distance.