Title : Wrecking Ball Boys
Fandom : Hetalia
Rating : M, for language. Possible naughtiness to come.
Author's Notes : Rediscovered my love for the 'Josie and the Pussycats' soundtrack, and this little bundle of joy came out. This is a recreational deal, so don't expect constant updates, or a sensible plot line.
The Jones-Williams Effect
And then he falls asleep on the living room couch,
with his sunglasses on and his tongue hanging out.
At seventeen years old, the Jones-Williams brothers were probably too old for their bunk beds. Their parents had done their best to break it to them, but preemptive retribution had come swiftly, dressed in drag.
Nothing about their boys was what anyone would call 'normal', but after two chapters of Doctor Drew's latest parenting book, Liberty Jones felt like punching the man in the face. If asked for a formal statement, she would insist that her boys were 'perfectly fucking fine', and then she would offer you a cookie.
All things considered, that might have been where the boys had gotten it from, whatever 'It' was. As a whole, the Jones-Williams effect was difficult to describe.
Matthew had a strange and sometimes disturbing addiction to trashy teeny-bopper quiz magazines. Nathan had nearly started foaming at the mouth when he saw the 'Which Jo Bro is Right for You?' page open with messy circles surrounding those dread A B C D's. The doodled horns and other cartoonish additions were the only reason he hadn't tripped right into cardiac arrest. He was fine with 'gay'. He was fairly certain he could parent for 'gay', but he was lost on 'straight in the wrong body'.
Fortunately, that was about as effeminate as Matt got, outside of stealing their mother's nail polish to screw around with Alfred's nails when they were bored.
Seventeen years old, and their language-raping, 'well-adjusted' Al sported a manicure reading 'Fuck Babies'. Nathan had sighed, and made that meaningful look until his wife rolled her eyes and just fucking asked.
The answer, of course, was a listless shrug of Matt's shoulders and a soft, "It fit."
A gentle soul, he was, until hockey season. Around hockey season, Nathan and Matthew took the living room, and Alfred and Liberty made a point of staying away, usually experimenting in the kitchen—fuck yes, Green Eggs and Cake—or constructing water balloon catapults.
Hockey season was bonding season in their house.
That didn't mean there weren't other sports.
Alfred, under any other circumstances, would probably have been your run-of-the-mill charismatic sports star. He was still charismatic, but he had, in addition to his mother's mouth, a habit for making up words that probably shouldn't have existed.
And dancing and singing in public.
Really, the sight of a red-blooded American jock, head-bobbing and hip-swishing, would have been something worthy of some teasing. Adding a full-volume, appropriately-catty rendition of 'Closet Bitch' would have gotten him killed, if he were anyone else.
But Alfred was Alfred, the same way Mattie was Mattie.
For some reason, it worked.
And nobody bled.
Thus, the Jones-Williams effect.
A/N: I'd like to try 'answering questions' about their daily lives, to an extent. For example, 'How the hell do these people work out shared bathrooms?' Feel free to inquire. I'll see what pops out. 'Til next time. ONWARD!
PS: If you're reading this in italics, it's not my fault. Eu juro. D: