I started this over the summer when chapter 23 of American Dreams an an English Village was released. I’m super slow with everything I do, so I kinda feel dumb for being so late with this, haha;; I thought this part was really cute \o/
‘Da summer dat I turned eleven n’ gotz mah first tea set, a unruly lil pimp named Alfred moved up in next door. Up until then, tha hood dat I lived up in wit mah muthafathas had been a peaceful hood. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sometimes too peaceful fo’ mah dadz liking. 'Places like these turn boys tha fuck into poofters,’ he normally holla’d, n’ afterwardz he would eye mah crazy ass wit such suspicion dat done cooked up mah stomach twist n’ turn up in anxiety fo’ realz. At dat time I wasn’t shizzle what tha fuck it meant ta be a poofta and a bum pimp as he would also call dat shit. But I knew it was some shiznit bad, n’ dat he thought of mah crazy ass as such when I wrote 'unicorn-stuff’ on top of mah wish list.
Alfred wasn’t a poofter, n’ mah dad dug his ass from dizzle one yo. Dude was messy, always covered up in mud and apple-juice, avoided takin a bath if he could, ate worms just ta be brave n’ owned nuff muthafuckin toy-guns - some shiznit dat I found not only ta be a disturbin but also wack interest.
I didn’t like Alfred from dizzle one, and dizzle two and three and four. I hated his ass from tha second up gazes kicked it wit yo. Dude came from one of tha big-ass ghettos overseas, n’ he had no idea of how tha fuck ta behave up in a smaller, English hood. Da pantechnicon had hardly settled up in they driveway before he jumped up of it, holdin tha American flag up in one hand n’ a gin n juice glock up in tha other, skipped across tha hedge separatin our gardens n’ planted tha flag up in one of mah sneakers fo’ realz. As he straightened up, he pointed tha glock at mah forehead n’ grinned.’
Five weeks without Lily of the Lamplight, six weeks without Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, twelve weeks without La Patisserie de la Rose, Sixteen weeks without Bésame Mucho, ten weeks without American Dreams in an English Village…
HOW AM I SUPOSSED TO LIVE LIKE THIS?
George DeValier and Butterfish… I don’t want to pressure you two or anything. You have no idea how much I admire the both of you and your stories. I believe that if it’s taking so long for you to update there must be a reason, and I hope everything is okay and all. But hell, I’m getting sick because of abstinence here. I mean, if you keep updating each fanfic from three to three months, we’ll have what, four chapters per year?
I DON’T KNOW IF MY HEART CAN TAKE THIS WAIT OKAY ASDFGHJKLÇ;ASDFGHJKLÇ;
yeah i remember that time i read american dreams in an english village and i practically couldn’t even sleep because i was too excited to looking forward to reading the next chapter
i ended up reading them anyway when i couldn’t fall asleep
always ended up reading until 4-5AM
and i was so damn tired but happy
“"No, but they do know you’re gay. And that we’re good friends. I think that still counts for something.” Alfred looked at me and I took a bite off of my ice cream and shivered. The cold tickled through my teeth.“
i jUST READ THE "I took a bite off my ice cream and shivered. The cold tickled through my teeth.” AND I GOT SO MANY FEELS BECAUSE AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS FANFICTION ARTHUR HAD POINTED OUT HOW ALFRED WOULD EAT HIS ICE CREAM IN LARGE BITES AND HE COULDN’T STAND THAT BECAUSE HE DIDN’T LIKE THE COLD THROUGH HIS TEETH AND AFKDJHGALSJKASD
“Who’s that?” she asked, and he straightened up and lazily saluted at her.
“Evan, ma'am.” I could see my mom’s gaze flickering when she caught a glimpse of the big military boots he was wearing, and somehow I felt a bit sorry for her. One thing was me looking odd, but to have odd friends walking around her home was probably pushing it a bit, so I tried to block the doorway to prevent him from talking any more to her. So far I had succeeded in only having him over whenever my parents weren’t, and the only friends from school mom had seen were Toris and Heracles. She knew I hung out with others as well, but I think she could accept it as long as she didn’t have to be confronted with them. But now she was getting dangerously closed to something she couldn’t quite handle. She cleared her throat.
“Are you going out, Arthur?” she asked me, but before I got around answering her, Evan popped his head in under my arm and slipped into the kitchen.
“We’re not until tonight,” he answered, and Mom took a step away from him and started to look very concentrated as she pulled out teabags and biscuits from her bag.
“I believe I asked my son,” she said, and the politeness in her voice was forced. I gave Evan’s shoulder a slap, but he just grinned and leaned against the kitchen table while he watched her.
“I believe I answered anyway,” he said provokingly. I bit my lower lip and watched Mom’s brows knit together, but she took in a deep breath and started to put away the empty bags, hiding them underneath the sink.
“So you’re a friend of Arthur?” she asked, and Evan nodded without looking at me.
“Yeah, a very good friend.”
“Do you look out for him?”
“Of course,” he said and looked back at me with raised brows. He was amused. I wasn’t. My stomach was hurting. I couldn’t figure out what Mom wanted to accomplish from this conversation.
“I think Evan is heading home,” I said and gave him a stern look, but he just turned his back to me again.
“You don’t do drugs, do you?” Evan whistled. Mom looked up at him. He hesitated, but then he shook his head.
“No, I don’t. And Arthur doesn’t either.” She straightened up and ran her fingers through her messy locks. She looked tired.
“And you don’t do anything illegal?”
“We don’t even steal a condom.”
“Do you use them?”
“What?” Mom leaned against the table and looked at him.
“Do you use condoms when with the girls?” A grin slowly spread across Evan’s face. My heart skipped a beat, and I reached over and grabbed him by the jacket before he got around answering her. I dragged him out into the hallway.
“That’ll be all, Mom,” I said and opened the front door.
From chapter 11 of “American Dreams in an English Village”. Going down memory lane!
Where did all those years go?” I asked again, this time in a whisper, and I reached up to pull off his glasses. He let me and watched as I placed them on my stomach before grabbing him by the cheeks, pulling him down close to me.
“A lot has happened since then, hah?” he mumbled, his breath slipping across my lips.
I closed my eyes and nodded.
“Moving houses, changing schools.”
“New friends, strange parties,” I added. I slowly opened my eyes again and blinked at the sun.
Alfred smiled down at me. “But the same guy.”
I felt a warmth spread in my body at the sight of his grin, and I laughed, “Yes. The same guy.
LAST chapter of ‘American Dreams’ is up now - go read it!