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[Part 10] Soprano (Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland) (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-06-06 01:04 pm (UTC)(link)Notes: Prompt was "I'm in need of a good, hard cry, anons. That being said, all I want, plain and simple is something downright heartbreaking." This may or may not fit.
---
(She attempts to play piano. She bangs again and again on the keys, making some kind of cacophony. Frustrated, she struggles to understand the sheet music. It doesn't do her much good.
From outside the door, he winces a little, but smiles and leaves her to it.)
“What are you doing here?” Switzerland has not lowered his gun. Austria swallows and maintains composure.
“I merely wished to speak to you.”
Switzerland snorts. “It's been a long time since you've wanted to do that.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
(She brushes her hair in the mirror. I don't look like anyone here, she muses. I look like that boy who was around when I was a baby. She barely remembers him, but she knows she looks like him. What happened to him?
She shakes her head. Nevermind.)
“Don't care,” Switzerland answers. “Why are you here?”
Austria sighs. “I had things to check up on.”
“Things...?”
“You know what I refer to.”
(A hand tugs on hers. “Miss Hungary, what's going on?”
She looks down in surprise. “Oh, Liechtenstein,” she says. “I... Mr. Austria has gotten himself into something of a fight.”
“With who? Why?”
“With quite a lot of people, altogether,” Hungary says. In the other room, Austria is discussing something with Germany in hushed voices. “Why...” she closes her eyes and remembers the past. “There are some people who don't care for him as much as you do.”)
It takes awhile for it to click in Switzerland's brain. When it does, the gun also clicks. “I would prefer you not talk about her like that,” he says. “She's not a thing. Not a diplomatic issue. It's none of your business anyway.”
(“Austria, you can't let them do this!” Hungary demands of him. He can only rub his forehead in frustration.
“What choice do we have?” he says. “We lost. Did you forget that?”
“You bastard!” She hits him hard on the back of the head. “After all this – after everything you went through to obtain all this, you'll let us go without a fight?”
“We have been fighting for the last five years. It did not work.”
“I would say it was your refusal to let your territories go that caused the problem in the first place,” England informs them smugly. Enormously hypocritical, from that man, and Austria has to grab Hungary's wrist to prevent her from punching him. “I would say most of your territories will not be that upset that you're gone. As far as I was aware, Miss Hungary, you have had a history of reluctance to him as well, have you not.”
Hungary does not answer, and Austria allows himself one defiance. “And what of those who don't? Those who have never been anything but... well, people I must care for.”
England barely blinks. “Every parent must let his children go sometimes, Austria,” he says. “I would know.”)
“I know,” he says. “I just... wanted to make sure she was faring alright.”
“Not like you,” Switzerland tells him. “How did you know she was in my house anyway?”
“It's not exactly a secret.”
“Whatever,” Switzerland says. “She's just fine. Now. No thanks to you.”
(“Miss Hungary? Mr. Austria!” She doesn't know what's going on. Miss Hungary only saw her for a few moments, saying she had to go, that they couldn't go back to the house, that she'd see Liechtenstein again someday. She didn't understand. Then Hungary was gone and when she tried to return home, the house was gone.
It is cold and raining and she looks for a place with just a little more shelter. She finds an alleyway. She collapses.)
“Switzerland–”
“Look, you lost her thanks to your damn war, and you gave her up without a fight. You don't get the right to come back in here, demanding to know about her. She's better off now anyway.”
Austria gulps. “I never denied that,” he says as steadily as he can. “I just... I needed to know if she was okay.”
---
(She attempts to play piano. She bangs again and again on the keys, making some kind of cacophony. Frustrated, she struggles to understand the sheet music. It doesn't do her much good.
From outside the door, he winces a little, but smiles and leaves her to it.)
“What are you doing here?” Switzerland has not lowered his gun. Austria swallows and maintains composure.
“I merely wished to speak to you.”
Switzerland snorts. “It's been a long time since you've wanted to do that.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
(She brushes her hair in the mirror. I don't look like anyone here, she muses. I look like that boy who was around when I was a baby. She barely remembers him, but she knows she looks like him. What happened to him?
She shakes her head. Nevermind.)
“Don't care,” Switzerland answers. “Why are you here?”
Austria sighs. “I had things to check up on.”
“Things...?”
“You know what I refer to.”
(A hand tugs on hers. “Miss Hungary, what's going on?”
She looks down in surprise. “Oh, Liechtenstein,” she says. “I... Mr. Austria has gotten himself into something of a fight.”
“With who? Why?”
“With quite a lot of people, altogether,” Hungary says. In the other room, Austria is discussing something with Germany in hushed voices. “Why...” she closes her eyes and remembers the past. “There are some people who don't care for him as much as you do.”)
It takes awhile for it to click in Switzerland's brain. When it does, the gun also clicks. “I would prefer you not talk about her like that,” he says. “She's not a thing. Not a diplomatic issue. It's none of your business anyway.”
(“Austria, you can't let them do this!” Hungary demands of him. He can only rub his forehead in frustration.
“What choice do we have?” he says. “We lost. Did you forget that?”
“You bastard!” She hits him hard on the back of the head. “After all this – after everything you went through to obtain all this, you'll let us go without a fight?”
“We have been fighting for the last five years. It did not work.”
“I would say it was your refusal to let your territories go that caused the problem in the first place,” England informs them smugly. Enormously hypocritical, from that man, and Austria has to grab Hungary's wrist to prevent her from punching him. “I would say most of your territories will not be that upset that you're gone. As far as I was aware, Miss Hungary, you have had a history of reluctance to him as well, have you not.”
Hungary does not answer, and Austria allows himself one defiance. “And what of those who don't? Those who have never been anything but... well, people I must care for.”
England barely blinks. “Every parent must let his children go sometimes, Austria,” he says. “I would know.”)
“I know,” he says. “I just... wanted to make sure she was faring alright.”
“Not like you,” Switzerland tells him. “How did you know she was in my house anyway?”
“It's not exactly a secret.”
“Whatever,” Switzerland says. “She's just fine. Now. No thanks to you.”
(“Miss Hungary? Mr. Austria!” She doesn't know what's going on. Miss Hungary only saw her for a few moments, saying she had to go, that they couldn't go back to the house, that she'd see Liechtenstein again someday. She didn't understand. Then Hungary was gone and when she tried to return home, the house was gone.
It is cold and raining and she looks for a place with just a little more shelter. She finds an alleyway. She collapses.)
“Switzerland–”
“Look, you lost her thanks to your damn war, and you gave her up without a fight. You don't get the right to come back in here, demanding to know about her. She's better off now anyway.”
Austria gulps. “I never denied that,” he says as steadily as he can. “I just... I needed to know if she was okay.”
[Part 10] Soprano (Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland) (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2011-06-06 01:10 pm (UTC)(link)(She doesn't understand what's going on. She's been hungry and alone for months, and she has no idea where she is. She's in the alley again. She feels like she's dying, and tries to pretend that's not what it is.
She remembers a story Miss Hungary once told her (she heard it from Mr. Denmark). A young girl forced out into the harsh winter by her family, to do... something. She wished for things. Eventually, her beloved grandmother came and took her away.
Liechtenstein frowns. She's never had a grandmother. She more or less had a mother and father, but...
Perhaps the blond boy from when she was a baby will come for her.)
Switzerland snorts. “I doubt you care very much,” he says. “You just want to look like you didn't give them all up without a fight.”
“Were you paying any attention at all for the last–”
“That wasn't about them. At least, not the ones who needed you. It was about your own pride and glory. War usually is.”
(“Thank you, Mr. Switzerland,” the girl tells him. It still sort of disturbs him how kind and respectful she is, although it's a trait he could deal with there being more of in the world. He's not sure.
“It was good?”
“Yes.”
There is an awkward pause, and he starts to wonder who she is anyway. “...You were one of Austria's territories, weren't you?”
She breaks eye contact. “Yes,” she answers too quickly. “But the treaty...”
He nods slowly. “I guess he just let this happen?”
“I don't think he had much of a choice...” She bites her lip as if she can't be sure she believes that. Her clothes are still torn from wandering and hang loosely on her frame from hunger.
Switzerland doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell her what a fool Austria was for not fighting to keep her, or what a bastard he truly is in general, or that things will be okay now. He simply gets up, and starts making her tea.)
Austria cringes. “Even if that's true, I promise I am not here for prideful reasons,” he says. “I just wanted to check she was okay.”
“She is.”
“...May I see her?”
“No.”
Austria recoils at the suddenness of the response, and the vehemence. Switzerland sighs. “Look, Austria, you're not anything to her, alright? You're not special. You just happened to be in charge of the land for a long time. You let her go without a second thought; that is relinquishing rights. You cannot play her father anymore. Now get out.”
(The house seems too big and empty now, even though he knows it has technically shrunk in accordance with the changes. There were just so many people in his house. He's not quite sure what to do know.
He finds his hands are shaking and doesn't know why. He wants to put his hands to use, and heads to his piano. People, and territory, and loved ones can come and go, but the music is his.
(It's not much of a comfort.)
He prepares his hands over the keys to play. He's not sure what, to be honest, but he can tell it's a piece he's played a million times before. He presses down.
He hits the wrong keys.
He tries again. It doesn't work. The racket that comes makes him cringe.
His hands start to shake more violently as he struggles to get the right notes. It only makes it worse. He sounds like a cat screeching from an alleyway at night.
He bites his lip to try and keep himself under control. Tears sting his eyes when he thinks of it all, his wife, his friends, his children all gone because–
And he tries again and again, making a mess of a piece while there's no-one to hear.)
Switzerland sticks his gun a little forward, and Austria knows there is no convincing the man. There is nothing left for him here.
Perhaps Switzerland is right anyway.
“Well,” he says as he opens the door again. “I do know she did not gain my musical talents.”
She remembers a story Miss Hungary once told her (she heard it from Mr. Denmark). A young girl forced out into the harsh winter by her family, to do... something. She wished for things. Eventually, her beloved grandmother came and took her away.
Liechtenstein frowns. She's never had a grandmother. She more or less had a mother and father, but...
Perhaps the blond boy from when she was a baby will come for her.)
Switzerland snorts. “I doubt you care very much,” he says. “You just want to look like you didn't give them all up without a fight.”
“Were you paying any attention at all for the last–”
“That wasn't about them. At least, not the ones who needed you. It was about your own pride and glory. War usually is.”
(“Thank you, Mr. Switzerland,” the girl tells him. It still sort of disturbs him how kind and respectful she is, although it's a trait he could deal with there being more of in the world. He's not sure.
“It was good?”
“Yes.”
There is an awkward pause, and he starts to wonder who she is anyway. “...You were one of Austria's territories, weren't you?”
She breaks eye contact. “Yes,” she answers too quickly. “But the treaty...”
He nods slowly. “I guess he just let this happen?”
“I don't think he had much of a choice...” She bites her lip as if she can't be sure she believes that. Her clothes are still torn from wandering and hang loosely on her frame from hunger.
Switzerland doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell her what a fool Austria was for not fighting to keep her, or what a bastard he truly is in general, or that things will be okay now. He simply gets up, and starts making her tea.)
Austria cringes. “Even if that's true, I promise I am not here for prideful reasons,” he says. “I just wanted to check she was okay.”
“She is.”
“...May I see her?”
“No.”
Austria recoils at the suddenness of the response, and the vehemence. Switzerland sighs. “Look, Austria, you're not anything to her, alright? You're not special. You just happened to be in charge of the land for a long time. You let her go without a second thought; that is relinquishing rights. You cannot play her father anymore. Now get out.”
(The house seems too big and empty now, even though he knows it has technically shrunk in accordance with the changes. There were just so many people in his house. He's not quite sure what to do know.
He finds his hands are shaking and doesn't know why. He wants to put his hands to use, and heads to his piano. People, and territory, and loved ones can come and go, but the music is his.
(It's not much of a comfort.)
He prepares his hands over the keys to play. He's not sure what, to be honest, but he can tell it's a piece he's played a million times before. He presses down.
He hits the wrong keys.
He tries again. It doesn't work. The racket that comes makes him cringe.
His hands start to shake more violently as he struggles to get the right notes. It only makes it worse. He sounds like a cat screeching from an alleyway at night.
He bites his lip to try and keep himself under control. Tears sting his eyes when he thinks of it all, his wife, his friends, his children all gone because–
And he tries again and again, making a mess of a piece while there's no-one to hear.)
Switzerland sticks his gun a little forward, and Austria knows there is no convincing the man. There is nothing left for him here.
Perhaps Switzerland is right anyway.
“Well,” he says as he opens the door again. “I do know she did not gain my musical talents.”
Re: [Part 10] Soprano (Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland) (2/2)
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-14 00:52 (UTC) - ExpandPlaceholder for single dad!Swedenx teacher!Finland + student!Sealand, wrongly suspecting abuse
(Anonymous) 2011-06-06 03:17 pm (UTC)(link)Nabbing a placeholder for the second fill for single dad!Swedenx teacher!Finland + student!Sealand, wrongly suspecting abuse prompt.
Prompt is here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=67759429#t67759429
Second fill (my fill) parts 1-5 are here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=74921029#t74921029.
Parts 6 on will go from here.
Thank you.
Prompt is here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=67759429#t67759429
Second fill (my fill) parts 1-5 are here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=74921029#t74921029.
Parts 6 on will go from here.
Thank you.
Watching Hanatamago pull on her leash as they walked down the cold path in Riseberga park, Tino ignored the slight twinge of embarrassment at the thought of using his dog to meet someone. It was the best chance that he had. He didn’t think it was quite appropriate to use his position as Peter’s teacher to meet Berwald nor did he want to since he was aiming for- what? A casual meeting? He was flying in the dark but it didn’t matter.
It was the last Saturday of break and Tino was hoping that Peter had returned to Sweden by now. If he had then Tino had decided to bet on Berwald and Peter being in the park around the same time as they had been for the last couple of weeks. It hadn’t snowed yet and he hoped that the two were out taking advantage of the It was possible that they wouldn’t be there but it was worth trying. He’d overheard Peter talking about dogs so Hana was the perfect bait. So he kept on walking towards the field where he had hidden before.
As he approached the field, he kept his eyes peeled for the familiar figures, willing them to be there. Yes! There were voices, he could hear them clearly. This was it. Tightening his grip on Hanatamago’s leash he adopted a purposefully casual stride and headed down past the field gazing around as if he was vaguely interested in whatever was around him.
Glancing over he saw Peter and the tall figure of Berwald. Berwald had a soccer ball and he was getting ready to kick it back to Peter. However, as soon as Peter saw Hanatamago his attention snapped from soccer to the dog and then up to Tino. As soon as he saw Tino a look of recognition shot across his face and he ran over. Tino felt a rush of elation shoot through him. It was going perfectly.
“Tino! What are you doing here? Is that your dog? May I pet him?” Peter asked already kneeling on the ground and holding his hands out for Hanatamago to sniff at.
“Yes, you may pet her,” he put a bit of weight on the ‘her’. “And I’m out walking for exercise.”
Which was true enough he thought privately.
Peter immediately started to pet Hanatamago and laughed when she tried to lick his hands. “She’s really cute.”
“Peter. Who’s this?”
A deep voice came from behind and Tino felt a slight shiver run down his back. This was it. He had to make at least a decent impression or else. Turning to face Berwald, he reached out a hand and introduced himself.
“Hello, my name is Tino Väinämöinen. Your son Peter is one of my students at school.”
Berwald looked momentarily surprised but also extended his hand to shake. “Berwald Oxenstierna. Nice t’finally meetcha.”
“It’s very nice to meet you too,” Tino replied. “It was unfortunate that I wasn’t able meet all the parents of my students before the year started.”
Peter interrupted before Berwald could reply. “Dad, look look look.” He pointed to where Hanatamago had bitten into the sleeve of his jacket. “I can make her go in circles.” He started to wave his arm and Hana was forced to circle to keep her grip on him.
“Peter, stoppit. S’not nice to do.”
Tino reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a red rubber ball and offered it to Peter. “Here. She loves to chase after her ball. If you want, throw the ball for her and she’ll bring it back.”
“Okay!” Peter grabbed the ball and Tino quickly unhooked her leash. Once Hanatamago was free, she started jumping at Peter’s heels and barking, eager to play. The two ran back into the field where Peter threw the ball as hard as he could, and Hanatamago exploded after it, barking like mad.
Tino smiled a little at sight, and the two men stood there silently watching Peter laugh and throw the ball and the dog bring it back.
Berwald seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking “D’ya like Sweden so far?”
Tino turned back to Berwald and smiled lightly. “Oh yes. It’s been fine. Although I’m still figuring things out slowly.”
Berwald nodded calmly.
“It’s different from Finland and Russia but I like it here. Getting used to the differences has been interesting to say the least,” Tino continued, happy to have a sort of conversation going.
“Y’lived in Russia too?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Yes. I lived there for three years in Saint Petersburg.”
“Mmm. “Y’speak Russian then?”
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=31141189#t31141189
Russia loves Amercia's eyes. He loves them very much.
A bit too much.
Okay, so I would love to see a Russia/America fic containing eye licking and eye removal (only one eye, though - the right one preferably /picky) ♥
I would like it to start out like a nice (and by nice I mean bitchy and rough and hot considering the pairing) make out session ... gone horribly wrong.
Russia should lick the eye in question before the removal, freaking America as he holds his eyelids open :D
And the eye would be removed with bare hands. Russia gets terribly turned on by America's struggling.
Andrussiacomesinhispantsatthesightofoneeyedamerica /shot
Make it hot and creepy, anons ♥
So, I didn't follow this request to the letter.
This is a humorous/erotic fic which involves consensual!eye removal and America's eye/eyesocket and Russia's heart/hole in chest as a erogenous zones. Yes, you read correctly. However, this fic will NOT contain skullfucking.
Please enjoy.
Russia loves Amercia's eyes. He loves them very much.
A bit too much.
Okay, so I would love to see a Russia/America fic containing eye licking and eye removal (only one eye, though - the right one preferably /picky) ♥
I would like it to start out like a nice (and by nice I mean bitchy and rough and hot considering the pairing) make out session ... gone horribly wrong.
Russia should lick the eye in question before the removal, freaking America as he holds his eyelids open :D
And the eye would be removed with bare hands. Russia gets terribly turned on by America's struggling.
Andrussiacomesinhispantsatthesightofoneeyedamerica /shot
Make it hot and creepy, anons ♥
So, I didn't follow this request to the letter.
This is a humorous/erotic fic which involves consensual!eye removal and America's eye/eyesocket and Russia's heart/hole in chest as a erogenous zones. Yes, you read correctly. However, this fic will NOT contain skullfucking.
Please enjoy.
“Your glasses,” he grunts, “off.”
“No,” again, America refused, as he always does.
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t see you enough to kiss you,” he said, even with their noses literally touching, his legs spread lewdly and accepting Russia between them, laid out on the table with his hands scratching at the back of Russia’s shirt until it tore.
“You don’t need to see me. I just need to see you.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You do not trust me?”
“Russia —”
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses since you got them,” said Russia, pressing his crotch against America’s, pinning him near painfully onto America’s kitchen table, “And when we have sex, they still stay on, and when you sleep, they still stay on… they are superglued to your face, da?”
“Right behind my ears, yeah,” moaned America, “They-they don’t come off.”
“And I told you if you took off my scarf my head would fall off, but it didn’t.”
“But I waited because could have. You don’t want to tempt fate.”
“But I'd rather live a little dangerously.” He licked at America’s cheek.
“I—”
“Please?”
There was a long pause, Russia’s tongue lingering at the glasses’ arm, hinting at what could have been if only the glasses were off.
“Just do it already…” America grumbled.
Russia bit the glasses’ arm, trying to pull them off as seductively as possible, but the glasses gave resistance, as if stuck there with some strong tape, but soon they were off.
“You are blind now?” asked Russia, setting the glasses aside, backing a way a bit to see his handiwork, only to find America’s eyes clenched tightly shut. “Of course you can’t see with them like that. Let me fix it,” he said, and using both hand pried each eyelid open. “There you are!”
America looked straight at him, or maybe he didn’t. Russia blinked, trying to figure out why America looked so angry at whatever he was looking at.
“Oh!” Russia said, giggling, “You’re cross-eyed!” While the left looked straight at him, the right had drifted inwards to stare at his nose.
“Yes! Now give me back my glasses! I can’t see like this.”
“Oh, but it’s cute!” Russia gushed, “It’s so cute, how it struggles, it tries so hard to be like the other but it can’t, can it? It’s so weak and futile!”
“And you’re looking less and less cute in double vision,” America grumbled.
“Ah, do you want me to fix that?”
“You can’t fix it, I tried—”
“If I pulled it out, then you wouldn’t see double, right?”
“That’s a bad idea,” said America, feeling the heat between them fading. The former lust in Russia’s eyes had turned into that childish excitement, the same kind that he had when he gripped that metal pipe.
“I’ll give it back afterwards. Think about it, think, isn’t it obnoxious whenever I have to kiss around your glasses? They’re always in the way. It would be wonderful without them. It should pop right out!”
America thought for a moment. He’d always prided himself on being open to trying anything once.
“You’ll give it right back afterwards?”
“Right back. Of course.”
“And this is going to hurt.”
“We do such painful things to each other all the time. How is this any different?”
“Well, this time you’re doing it on purpose.”
“What?”
“No,” again, America refused, as he always does.
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t see you enough to kiss you,” he said, even with their noses literally touching, his legs spread lewdly and accepting Russia between them, laid out on the table with his hands scratching at the back of Russia’s shirt until it tore.
“You don’t need to see me. I just need to see you.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You do not trust me?”
“Russia —”
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses since you got them,” said Russia, pressing his crotch against America’s, pinning him near painfully onto America’s kitchen table, “And when we have sex, they still stay on, and when you sleep, they still stay on… they are superglued to your face, da?”
“Right behind my ears, yeah,” moaned America, “They-they don’t come off.”
“And I told you if you took off my scarf my head would fall off, but it didn’t.”
“But I waited because could have. You don’t want to tempt fate.”
“But I'd rather live a little dangerously.” He licked at America’s cheek.
“I—”
“Please?”
There was a long pause, Russia’s tongue lingering at the glasses’ arm, hinting at what could have been if only the glasses were off.
“Just do it already…” America grumbled.
Russia bit the glasses’ arm, trying to pull them off as seductively as possible, but the glasses gave resistance, as if stuck there with some strong tape, but soon they were off.
“You are blind now?” asked Russia, setting the glasses aside, backing a way a bit to see his handiwork, only to find America’s eyes clenched tightly shut. “Of course you can’t see with them like that. Let me fix it,” he said, and using both hand pried each eyelid open. “There you are!”
America looked straight at him, or maybe he didn’t. Russia blinked, trying to figure out why America looked so angry at whatever he was looking at.
“Oh!” Russia said, giggling, “You’re cross-eyed!” While the left looked straight at him, the right had drifted inwards to stare at his nose.
“Yes! Now give me back my glasses! I can’t see like this.”
“Oh, but it’s cute!” Russia gushed, “It’s so cute, how it struggles, it tries so hard to be like the other but it can’t, can it? It’s so weak and futile!”
“And you’re looking less and less cute in double vision,” America grumbled.
“Ah, do you want me to fix that?”
“You can’t fix it, I tried—”
“If I pulled it out, then you wouldn’t see double, right?”
“That’s a bad idea,” said America, feeling the heat between them fading. The former lust in Russia’s eyes had turned into that childish excitement, the same kind that he had when he gripped that metal pipe.
“I’ll give it back afterwards. Think about it, think, isn’t it obnoxious whenever I have to kiss around your glasses? They’re always in the way. It would be wonderful without them. It should pop right out!”
America thought for a moment. He’d always prided himself on being open to trying anything once.
“You’ll give it right back afterwards?”
“Right back. Of course.”
“And this is going to hurt.”
“We do such painful things to each other all the time. How is this any different?”
“Well, this time you’re doing it on purpose.”
“What?”
Link: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29784334#t29784334
Well England turns into Britannia Angel, I would like America to turn into Lady Liberty (wears something similar to the statue of libertys robe/crown) and his power is up to you!
Bonus: he turns into Fem!America
Bonus 2: Britannia Angel thinks Lady Liberty is sexy as hell
Well England turns into Britannia Angel, I would like America to turn into Lady Liberty (wears something similar to the statue of libertys robe/crown) and his power is up to you!
Bonus: he turns into Fem!America
Bonus 2: Britannia Angel thinks Lady Liberty is sexy as hell
“I really appreciate this France.” America said as he straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
France smiled at him. “It is my pleasure. Although I think your children are having a fight.” he added glancing behind them.
America looked behind as well. New York and New Jersey were screaming at one another again and Virginia looked close to smacking the both of them.
America rolled his eyes as he looked back at France. “Yeah just ignore them. They’re fighting over where Liberty is. New York believes it’s in New York waters while New Jersey believes that it’s in Jersey waters.”
France glanced at the children once more. “They look as if they are ready to kill one another.”
“They might fight and beat the other up but their twins, deep down they love each other.” America said waving away France’s worries.
France shook his head in amusement as he turned back to the almost completely constructed green lady.
“She is almost ready.” France said.
America nodded and smiled. “I know. I really can’t think of a way to thank you enough.”
France smiled slightly as he slithered to America and placed an arm around the younger man’s waist. “I can think of a way you can thank me.”
America laughed as he leaned into France’s touch. “You know that won’t happen.”
France sighed in mock sadness “Ah well. A man can dream. Perhaps one day.”
America shrugged. “I can’t tell the future.”
The two of them glanced at the nearly finished construction. “I think they can finish without me, want to go back to my place and give a toast to this?” America asked.
“Only if we drink the good wine that I brought.” France said.
The walk was quick back to America’s house. Soon France was pouring the wine into glasses and with a flourish gave one to America. He pulled the glass back slightly.
“You are old enough right?” France asked with a smile around his lips.
Americas jaw dropped. “Of course I’m old enough.”
France smiled at him. “It is my pleasure. Although I think your children are having a fight.” he added glancing behind them.
America looked behind as well. New York and New Jersey were screaming at one another again and Virginia looked close to smacking the both of them.
America rolled his eyes as he looked back at France. “Yeah just ignore them. They’re fighting over where Liberty is. New York believes it’s in New York waters while New Jersey believes that it’s in Jersey waters.”
France glanced at the children once more. “They look as if they are ready to kill one another.”
“They might fight and beat the other up but their twins, deep down they love each other.” America said waving away France’s worries.
France shook his head in amusement as he turned back to the almost completely constructed green lady.
“She is almost ready.” France said.
America nodded and smiled. “I know. I really can’t think of a way to thank you enough.”
France smiled slightly as he slithered to America and placed an arm around the younger man’s waist. “I can think of a way you can thank me.”
America laughed as he leaned into France’s touch. “You know that won’t happen.”
France sighed in mock sadness “Ah well. A man can dream. Perhaps one day.”
America shrugged. “I can’t tell the future.”
The two of them glanced at the nearly finished construction. “I think they can finish without me, want to go back to my place and give a toast to this?” America asked.
“Only if we drink the good wine that I brought.” France said.
The walk was quick back to America’s house. Soon France was pouring the wine into glasses and with a flourish gave one to America. He pulled the glass back slightly.
“You are old enough right?” France asked with a smile around his lips.
Americas jaw dropped. “Of course I’m old enough.”
[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 1a/?
(Anonymous) 2011-06-07 03:03 am (UTC)(link)Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=58128150#t58128150
Nation A and B get into a bad argument. Doesn't have to be screaming/rage bad, but more like an everyday issue that gets twisted out of whack. Nation A decides that he's had it and locks the bedroom door (or sleeps on the couch, if you prefer). Now, B has to win him back throughawkward seduction.
Twist? Nation B is usually thetsundere ... uh, less eager one when it comes to bed.
I bookmarked this forever ago to fill with Spain/Romano, and just now realized someone started filling with France/Switzerland. >_<;; I hope the filler doesn’t mind my attempting this!
Spain was an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot who was fucking stupid. Romano glared at the couch, never having felt more offended by a piece of furniture. This wasn’t the first night he’d been told to sleep here, oh no. Not even the second or the third. This was the fourth fucking night Romano had Spain’s bedroom door closed in his face. The fourth fucking night he’d been expected to sleep on old, worn cushions without any kind of physical affection from the man who was supposed to drown him in it, no matter how many times Romano protested.
And why was Spain being such a cold bastard? Apparently because Romano flirted too much with the bellas he met on the street, or in restaurants, or in the park, or in stores. Or on the bus. Or hotels. Or in bars and clubs. Or that one time in the elevator…
But he was fucking South Italy! Romancing beautiful women was in his blood! He never had any intention of taking it further or betraying Spain. So why did Spain act as if Romano had? Alright. Ok. Perhaps he did put on a bit of a show when Spain was present. Romano couldn’t explain why exactly, but there was something quite gratifying in the way Spain’s mouth tightened and his eyes sparked with jealousy when Romano showed affection towards a pretty girl.
If he were honest with himself, Spain had warned him several times that he didn’t like when Romano hit on girls. But how could Romano take him seriously? It was nights after Romano paid more attention to girls than to Spain that Spain took him home and made love to him with the most passion. How could Romano have predicted that Spain would do a 180 and show no passion towards him at all?
Fights between them were not as common as some would think. Romano grew annoyed with Spain all the time, but Spain would usually brush it off his shoulders with a smile. And Romano’s quick temper was nothing but that – quick. As soon as he burst out in anger, Spain only needed to wait a short while before Romano was calm again, as if nothing had happened. But when Spain started yelling back, it became serious.
Romano could still hear the echo of Spain’s angry voice in his mind. Could see Spain throwing his arms out as he demanded to know why Romano thought it was such fun to completely disregard his feelings. Why Romano didn’t seem to value their relationship at all.
“Bastard,” Romano muttered as he threw himself on the couch. If he didn’t value their relationship then he wouldn’t keep coming over and he wouldn’t be dedicating so much of his fucking life to fucking Spain. Did Spain even realize how much of Romano’s time he possessed? He saw the idiot nearly every day, and even when he wasn’t with him for a day, he was talking to him on the phone. How did the few minutes he spent flirting with a girl even come close to comparison?
Romano slammed his fist against the back of the couch. Spain’s frigidity was driving him crazy with frustration. It had been two weeks since they’d last had sex, and he wanted some bad. Spain was a total whore for laving affection on Romano, so how the hell was the bastard not caving in already? Since when did Spain hold onto a grudge for so long? Damn it, Romano was not going to be the first to give in. He wasn’t about to apologize and beg Spain to fuck him, no way. That bastard was going to realize how badly he wanted Romano, and then he was going to apologize for getting upset over such a simple, stupid thing.
Nation A and B get into a bad argument. Doesn't have to be screaming/rage bad, but more like an everyday issue that gets twisted out of whack. Nation A decides that he's had it and locks the bedroom door (or sleeps on the couch, if you prefer). Now, B has to win him back through
Twist? Nation B is usually the
I bookmarked this forever ago to fill with Spain/Romano, and just now realized someone started filling with France/Switzerland. >_<;; I hope the filler doesn’t mind my attempting this!
Spain was an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot who was fucking stupid. Romano glared at the couch, never having felt more offended by a piece of furniture. This wasn’t the first night he’d been told to sleep here, oh no. Not even the second or the third. This was the fourth fucking night Romano had Spain’s bedroom door closed in his face. The fourth fucking night he’d been expected to sleep on old, worn cushions without any kind of physical affection from the man who was supposed to drown him in it, no matter how many times Romano protested.
And why was Spain being such a cold bastard? Apparently because Romano flirted too much with the bellas he met on the street, or in restaurants, or in the park, or in stores. Or on the bus. Or hotels. Or in bars and clubs. Or that one time in the elevator…
But he was fucking South Italy! Romancing beautiful women was in his blood! He never had any intention of taking it further or betraying Spain. So why did Spain act as if Romano had? Alright. Ok. Perhaps he did put on a bit of a show when Spain was present. Romano couldn’t explain why exactly, but there was something quite gratifying in the way Spain’s mouth tightened and his eyes sparked with jealousy when Romano showed affection towards a pretty girl.
If he were honest with himself, Spain had warned him several times that he didn’t like when Romano hit on girls. But how could Romano take him seriously? It was nights after Romano paid more attention to girls than to Spain that Spain took him home and made love to him with the most passion. How could Romano have predicted that Spain would do a 180 and show no passion towards him at all?
Fights between them were not as common as some would think. Romano grew annoyed with Spain all the time, but Spain would usually brush it off his shoulders with a smile. And Romano’s quick temper was nothing but that – quick. As soon as he burst out in anger, Spain only needed to wait a short while before Romano was calm again, as if nothing had happened. But when Spain started yelling back, it became serious.
Romano could still hear the echo of Spain’s angry voice in his mind. Could see Spain throwing his arms out as he demanded to know why Romano thought it was such fun to completely disregard his feelings. Why Romano didn’t seem to value their relationship at all.
“Bastard,” Romano muttered as he threw himself on the couch. If he didn’t value their relationship then he wouldn’t keep coming over and he wouldn’t be dedicating so much of his fucking life to fucking Spain. Did Spain even realize how much of Romano’s time he possessed? He saw the idiot nearly every day, and even when he wasn’t with him for a day, he was talking to him on the phone. How did the few minutes he spent flirting with a girl even come close to comparison?
Romano slammed his fist against the back of the couch. Spain’s frigidity was driving him crazy with frustration. It had been two weeks since they’d last had sex, and he wanted some bad. Spain was a total whore for laving affection on Romano, so how the hell was the bastard not caving in already? Since when did Spain hold onto a grudge for so long? Damn it, Romano was not going to be the first to give in. He wasn’t about to apologize and beg Spain to fuck him, no way. That bastard was going to realize how badly he wanted Romano, and then he was going to apologize for getting upset over such a simple, stupid thing.
[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 1b/?
(Anonymous) 2011-06-07 03:05 am (UTC)(link)Pretty girls were just pretty girls. Their soft curves and delicate features were meant to be appreciated and openly admired. They didn’t have hard muscles, and large hands, and a broad smile that made Romano’s heart skip a beat, and chapped lips that left tingles wherever they touched, and a resilience that allowed Romano to scratch and claw and grasp at their hair and skin without damaging them, and a large cock that stretched him and filled him until he was trembling with the overwhelming feeling of being completed.
Romano groaned and squirmed on the couch as his neglected body grew hot with arousal. He knew he was going to do as he’d done for nearly a week now, and jerk off by himself. He’d make a poor substitution for Spain’s cock with his fingers, and pretend that he was getting kissed with tongue instead of the pathetic pecks on the forehead and cheek that Spain had graced him with these past two weeks.
Fucking hell.
The next morning Spain descended the stairs all smiles, and Romano wanted nothing more than to punch that smile right off his face. How dare he appear so cheerful and refreshed when Romano had spent all night tossing and turning?
“Good morning, my little churro,” Spain sang out, pausing to kiss the top of Romano’s head. The cup of coffee in Romano’s hand shook as he fought off the urge to grab the back of Spain’s neck and yank him down into a proper kiss. He wouldn’t have even cared if Spain hadn’t brushed his teeth yet. That was how deprived he’d been.
“It’s a stupid morning,” Romano grumbled.
“I see you’ve made torrijas!”
“They’re stupid torrijas.”
Spain only laughed and sat himself down across from Romano. He grabbed a fork and stole a piece of Romano’s breakfast, and sent him a mischievous smile as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Damn him for being so fucking cute. Romano pouted into his coffee cup, unable to comprehend how Spain wasn’t suffering like he was. He craved sex so badly. It was all he could think about.
It was time to start employing sneaky tactics. His first plan of action: make Spain feel guilty.
“Last night was terrible,” Romano sighed, giving Spain the saddest look he could muster.
Spain’s chewing paused for just a moment before he seemed to steel himself and swallow. “I’m sorry,” he said with a surprising amount of sincerity in his voice. “What can I do to make tonight better?”
Have sex with me! “The couch is really uncomfortable,” Romano said slowly, trying to get an invite into Spain’s bed without actually asking for one. “It’s not like your—not like where I usually sleep.”
Spain sighed. “Romano.”
“Spain!”
“Romano. You know I love you, but you’re not sleeping with me tonight,” Spain said firmly. He poured himself a cup of coffee as Romano gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to stomp his foot like a child. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“Fine, fuck you!” Romano snapped, unable to help the outburst. Fucking Spain. Fuck!
Spain took a slow sip of coffee before glancing up at the kitchen clock. “Would you like to help boss pick some tomatoes for dinner before it gets too hot outside?”
“Go pick them yourself, bastard.”
“Only good little henchmen who help their bosses pick tomatoes get to eat them in the field,” Spain said with a waggle of his finger. Romano scowled and resisted the urge to bite that taunting finger, instead forking a large piece of torrija and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed in misery, wondering how the hell he could break Spain’s resolve. No immediate solutions were forthcoming, but it occurred to him that refusing to do what Spain wanted would probably not work in his favor.
Romano groaned and squirmed on the couch as his neglected body grew hot with arousal. He knew he was going to do as he’d done for nearly a week now, and jerk off by himself. He’d make a poor substitution for Spain’s cock with his fingers, and pretend that he was getting kissed with tongue instead of the pathetic pecks on the forehead and cheek that Spain had graced him with these past two weeks.
Fucking hell.
The next morning Spain descended the stairs all smiles, and Romano wanted nothing more than to punch that smile right off his face. How dare he appear so cheerful and refreshed when Romano had spent all night tossing and turning?
“Good morning, my little churro,” Spain sang out, pausing to kiss the top of Romano’s head. The cup of coffee in Romano’s hand shook as he fought off the urge to grab the back of Spain’s neck and yank him down into a proper kiss. He wouldn’t have even cared if Spain hadn’t brushed his teeth yet. That was how deprived he’d been.
“It’s a stupid morning,” Romano grumbled.
“I see you’ve made torrijas!”
“They’re stupid torrijas.”
Spain only laughed and sat himself down across from Romano. He grabbed a fork and stole a piece of Romano’s breakfast, and sent him a mischievous smile as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Damn him for being so fucking cute. Romano pouted into his coffee cup, unable to comprehend how Spain wasn’t suffering like he was. He craved sex so badly. It was all he could think about.
It was time to start employing sneaky tactics. His first plan of action: make Spain feel guilty.
“Last night was terrible,” Romano sighed, giving Spain the saddest look he could muster.
Spain’s chewing paused for just a moment before he seemed to steel himself and swallow. “I’m sorry,” he said with a surprising amount of sincerity in his voice. “What can I do to make tonight better?”
Have sex with me! “The couch is really uncomfortable,” Romano said slowly, trying to get an invite into Spain’s bed without actually asking for one. “It’s not like your—not like where I usually sleep.”
Spain sighed. “Romano.”
“Spain!”
“Romano. You know I love you, but you’re not sleeping with me tonight,” Spain said firmly. He poured himself a cup of coffee as Romano gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to stomp his foot like a child. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“Fine, fuck you!” Romano snapped, unable to help the outburst. Fucking Spain. Fuck!
Spain took a slow sip of coffee before glancing up at the kitchen clock. “Would you like to help boss pick some tomatoes for dinner before it gets too hot outside?”
“Go pick them yourself, bastard.”
“Only good little henchmen who help their bosses pick tomatoes get to eat them in the field,” Spain said with a waggle of his finger. Romano scowled and resisted the urge to bite that taunting finger, instead forking a large piece of torrija and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed in misery, wondering how the hell he could break Spain’s resolve. No immediate solutions were forthcoming, but it occurred to him that refusing to do what Spain wanted would probably not work in his favor.
[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 1c/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-07 03:08 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 2a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-13 00:50 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 2b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-13 00:52 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 3a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-16 23:59 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 3b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-17 00:00 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 4a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-24 02:11 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 4b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-24 02:13 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 5a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-07-04 03:07 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 5b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-07-04 03:09 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 6a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-07-13 04:08 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 6b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-07-13 04:12 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 7a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-08-01 00:33 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 7b/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-08-01 00:34 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 8a/?
(Anonymous) - 2011-08-05 03:00 (UTC) - Expand[Part 15] Spain/Romano - Withholding Sex, Seduction Part 8b/8
(Anonymous) - 2011-08-05 03:01 (UTC) - ExpandOkay, first fill on the kink meme! Hopefully it will satisfy you guys!
A hand slammed down onto the desk, scattering papers as Norway glared over his reading glasses up at the intruder. He had work to do, with the recession going on, and the Øya Festival coming up soon. He didn't have time for Denmark's shenanigans.
“Hey, Norge!” Denmark said happily, “I've got the answer to our financial problems!”
Norway lifted an incredulous eyebrow before bending to pick up the fallen papers. “Oh really.”
“Yeah, really!” The excitable Nordic country waved around his hands animatedly, knocking another pile of papers to the ground. Norway suppressed a groan and bent to pick those up too. Heaven knows that Denmark wasn't going to help.
“Don't you want to know what my plan is?!”
"No."
"So basically," the Dane chattered on, ignoring Norway's refusal, "You and me are gonna write porno."
This made Norway pause for a moment.
Then he rolled his eyes and went back to organizing his fallen paperwork. This was really rather typical of Denmark.
"So, whaddaya think?" There was a sparkle in Denmark's eye, Norway observed. He really wanted this.
"No. Do it yourself."
"Aw, Norge!"
(recaptcha: agc dommage. Are you telling something there captcha?)
A hand slammed down onto the desk, scattering papers as Norway glared over his reading glasses up at the intruder. He had work to do, with the recession going on, and the Øya Festival coming up soon. He didn't have time for Denmark's shenanigans.
“Hey, Norge!” Denmark said happily, “I've got the answer to our financial problems!”
Norway lifted an incredulous eyebrow before bending to pick up the fallen papers. “Oh really.”
“Yeah, really!” The excitable Nordic country waved around his hands animatedly, knocking another pile of papers to the ground. Norway suppressed a groan and bent to pick those up too. Heaven knows that Denmark wasn't going to help.
“Don't you want to know what my plan is?!”
"No."
"So basically," the Dane chattered on, ignoring Norway's refusal, "You and me are gonna write porno."
This made Norway pause for a moment.
Then he rolled his eyes and went back to organizing his fallen paperwork. This was really rather typical of Denmark.
"So, whaddaya think?" There was a sparkle in Denmark's eye, Norway observed. He really wanted this.
"No. Do it yourself."
"Aw, Norge!"
(recaptcha: agc dommage. Are you telling something there captcha?)
The next day, Denmark was back, this time with Iceland in tow, looking distinctly amused.
"Hey, Norge, Iceland agreed to help! You want to write with us now? Brotherly bonding and all that!"
Norway looked from Denmark's eagerly expectant face to Iceland's barely concealed snigger and took two seconds to make his decision.
"Go away."
"But, Norway!"
Two seconds later, a troll kicked both intruding nations out the door.
"Hey, Norge, Iceland agreed to help! You want to write with us now? Brotherly bonding and all that!"
Norway looked from Denmark's eagerly expectant face to Iceland's barely concealed snigger and took two seconds to make his decision.
"Go away."
"But, Norway!"
Two seconds later, a troll kicked both intruding nations out the door.
Hungary/Croatia, I'm not sure if I got the request right but it's at least based on this: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=50033849#t50033849
I heard Serbia/Croatia and Hungary have the worst profanity in Europe but since I don't speak either I can't say for sure...
"Thank you," Serbia said. "Most unexpected and a little random... But I think it's about time I got acknowledged for my progress in this area. I would like to thank Turkey, Hungary and Germany for invaluable inspiration. And Albania and Bulgaria for rewarding cultural exchange. And my neighbors should really be here with me because they speak my language too.”
Hungary's cheeks flushed. She wanted to hit someone. Anyone except Serbia whose trolling acceptance speech put all attention on him instead of her.
This party had started out fun, until Prussia, Spain and France unveiled their great idea to core the most offensive cursers in Europe. She thought it was funny when Romania got the third prize. When they decided she was the runner up the laugh stuck in her throat. Serbia winning wasn't a surprise and he imminently pushed her and Romania aside to take all the spotlight.
But not before she had seen the frown of disapproval pass over Austria's face and no matter how she tried she couldn't dispel that image.
Hungary gulped down the rest of the beer in her glass before she put it down. Prussia was getting really into an improvised interview with Serbia who didn't mind explaining the worst curses Prussia had heard only was the tip of the iceberg. Switzerland tried to cover his sister's ears.
Hungary slipped out into the corridor. She rested her back against the wall and thought of ways she could kill Prussia for embarrassing her. She didn't have that much of a potty mouth, did she? Sure, sometimes she traded insults with Romania. Sometimes. Her Balkan neighbors used to high-five her when she came up with something particularly creative and maybe she did the same when Serbia or Croatia got really inspired. That didn't mean she was one of the coarsest nations in Europe. That was preposterous.
She heard someone coming. Austria, she hoped. Maybe Prussia who wanted to apologize?
“Sulking?” Croatia asked.
Great. Croatia had a way of showing up when she felt down and he never made her feel better. At least he was less rude than Prussia.
“I needed some air,” Hungary said. “What about you?”
“I got tired listening to Serbia.”
“Jealous you didn't even get a mention?”
Croatia pretended he didn't hear the question. They stood together in silence. When she thought about it, Croatia wasn't bad looking. In a photo she might have found him more attractive than Austria. In real life he had nothing of Austria's grace and sophistication. Grace and sophistication wasn't always what you wanted though, especially not a late night at a party.
Without thinking too clearly their hands accidentally brushed past each other, then another touch that lingered a little longer. They had lived in the same house for a long time, it wasn't the first time it happened but it never turned into something more. Maybe because they had been very young for a lot of it.
I heard Serbia/Croatia and Hungary have the worst profanity in Europe but since I don't speak either I can't say for sure...
"Thank you," Serbia said. "Most unexpected and a little random... But I think it's about time I got acknowledged for my progress in this area. I would like to thank Turkey, Hungary and Germany for invaluable inspiration. And Albania and Bulgaria for rewarding cultural exchange. And my neighbors should really be here with me because they speak my language too.”
Hungary's cheeks flushed. She wanted to hit someone. Anyone except Serbia whose trolling acceptance speech put all attention on him instead of her.
This party had started out fun, until Prussia, Spain and France unveiled their great idea to core the most offensive cursers in Europe. She thought it was funny when Romania got the third prize. When they decided she was the runner up the laugh stuck in her throat. Serbia winning wasn't a surprise and he imminently pushed her and Romania aside to take all the spotlight.
But not before she had seen the frown of disapproval pass over Austria's face and no matter how she tried she couldn't dispel that image.
Hungary gulped down the rest of the beer in her glass before she put it down. Prussia was getting really into an improvised interview with Serbia who didn't mind explaining the worst curses Prussia had heard only was the tip of the iceberg. Switzerland tried to cover his sister's ears.
Hungary slipped out into the corridor. She rested her back against the wall and thought of ways she could kill Prussia for embarrassing her. She didn't have that much of a potty mouth, did she? Sure, sometimes she traded insults with Romania. Sometimes. Her Balkan neighbors used to high-five her when she came up with something particularly creative and maybe she did the same when Serbia or Croatia got really inspired. That didn't mean she was one of the coarsest nations in Europe. That was preposterous.
She heard someone coming. Austria, she hoped. Maybe Prussia who wanted to apologize?
“Sulking?” Croatia asked.
Great. Croatia had a way of showing up when she felt down and he never made her feel better. At least he was less rude than Prussia.
“I needed some air,” Hungary said. “What about you?”
“I got tired listening to Serbia.”
“Jealous you didn't even get a mention?”
Croatia pretended he didn't hear the question. They stood together in silence. When she thought about it, Croatia wasn't bad looking. In a photo she might have found him more attractive than Austria. In real life he had nothing of Austria's grace and sophistication. Grace and sophistication wasn't always what you wanted though, especially not a late night at a party.
Without thinking too clearly their hands accidentally brushed past each other, then another touch that lingered a little longer. They had lived in the same house for a long time, it wasn't the first time it happened but it never turned into something more. Maybe because they had been very young for a lot of it.
“I always wanted you, you know,” Croatia casually said as his hand lightly touched her waist, then stayed here. “Can you guess who my teenage fantasies were all about? You always been such a pička, I wanted to fuck you and kill you at the same time.”
Hungary almost choked. She heard worse but not from him. Croatia was usually careful around her.
“I can't believe you didn't get a prize... What's with you tonight?”
“Don't worry about me, Serbia was willing to share the honor for once. Aren't you proud of your second place?”
Hungary didn't bother to reply.
“Come on, it was pretty funny. Lighten up, do you really want to be like that stuck-up Austria? Everyone else is having fun.”
“Didn't you have a crush on Austria?” Hungary said. It usually worked, he got so annoyed he forgot all about everything else they talked about.
“No point denying it, is it? I know Austria never thinks about me, but what about you? Didn't I ever manage to stir up your hormones?”
“I spend my puberty worrying about when I was going to grow a penis...”
That wasn't a no.
“That's no excuse. I thought you would too, remember? You didn't even tell me when you found out the truth, Bosnia and Herzegovina had to straighten that out while laughing until they almost couldn't breathe..”
Hungary giggled. That had been funny. She should have told him of course but she had forgotten all about even mentioning it to him in the first place by then. Poor Croatia went on with very strange ideas about the opposite gender for several more years.
“And that's just the beginning of it... I can't believe you managed to convince people you are nice when you can be such a bitch.”
“Hey!” Hungary protested. No one talked to her like that. Especially not Croatia.
“You're not the boss of anything these days pizda.”
She smacked him across the face. They stared at each other. For once Croatia didn't back away and mockingly surrendered the way he usually did.
“I heard if you stare into someone's eyes for over twenty seconds it's going to end in either sex or violence,” Croatia said, breaking the uncomfortable silence with even more uncomfortableness.
She knew he had wanted her for years, but she had never expected him to be this blunt about it. What had happened tonight for him to work up this kind of suicidal rudeness and directness? And yet, of some reason, it didn't set off the part of her that wanted violence.
“I guess we have no choice then,” she said, moving closer.
He flinched, expecting her to hit him again. Instead she kissed him. First carefully, to try it out. It felt pretty good and they continued to explore the kiss together. Then they broke apart, finally speechless.
Croatia gestured to the closed bathroom door and she nodded. The bathroom was much smaller than expected but at this point it didn't matter. With a little effort they both fit in and Hungary hurried to lock. She had once walked in on Spain and Romano in a a larger bathroom and she learned more than one thing from it.
Hungary almost choked. She heard worse but not from him. Croatia was usually careful around her.
“I can't believe you didn't get a prize... What's with you tonight?”
“Don't worry about me, Serbia was willing to share the honor for once. Aren't you proud of your second place?”
Hungary didn't bother to reply.
“Come on, it was pretty funny. Lighten up, do you really want to be like that stuck-up Austria? Everyone else is having fun.”
“Didn't you have a crush on Austria?” Hungary said. It usually worked, he got so annoyed he forgot all about everything else they talked about.
“No point denying it, is it? I know Austria never thinks about me, but what about you? Didn't I ever manage to stir up your hormones?”
“I spend my puberty worrying about when I was going to grow a penis...”
That wasn't a no.
“That's no excuse. I thought you would too, remember? You didn't even tell me when you found out the truth, Bosnia and Herzegovina had to straighten that out while laughing until they almost couldn't breathe..”
Hungary giggled. That had been funny. She should have told him of course but she had forgotten all about even mentioning it to him in the first place by then. Poor Croatia went on with very strange ideas about the opposite gender for several more years.
“And that's just the beginning of it... I can't believe you managed to convince people you are nice when you can be such a bitch.”
“Hey!” Hungary protested. No one talked to her like that. Especially not Croatia.
“You're not the boss of anything these days pizda.”
She smacked him across the face. They stared at each other. For once Croatia didn't back away and mockingly surrendered the way he usually did.
“I heard if you stare into someone's eyes for over twenty seconds it's going to end in either sex or violence,” Croatia said, breaking the uncomfortable silence with even more uncomfortableness.
She knew he had wanted her for years, but she had never expected him to be this blunt about it. What had happened tonight for him to work up this kind of suicidal rudeness and directness? And yet, of some reason, it didn't set off the part of her that wanted violence.
“I guess we have no choice then,” she said, moving closer.
He flinched, expecting her to hit him again. Instead she kissed him. First carefully, to try it out. It felt pretty good and they continued to explore the kiss together. Then they broke apart, finally speechless.
Croatia gestured to the closed bathroom door and she nodded. The bathroom was much smaller than expected but at this point it didn't matter. With a little effort they both fit in and Hungary hurried to lock. She had once walked in on Spain and Romano in a a larger bathroom and she learned more than one thing from it.
Written for this prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17933602#t17933602. I took a different interpretation of the prompt than the previous anon that filled, so I hope OP likes it.
----
America, sitting on his bed, wondered what the hell was taking England so long in the bathroom. He’d only gone to brush his teeth, and he’d been in there for about ten damn minutes, and America was getting impatient. The last two times he’d visited were full of running here and there and as soon as they had some downtime England would fall asleep, or claim to have something to do…or anything, actually. But tonight, there was nothing. They were solely on vacation now, and England was taking forever.
He got up and wandered over to the door, knocking lightly. “Arthur?”
“You can’t come in right now! I’m changing!” England said through the door, sounding slightly panicked. America rolled his eyes and gently eased the door open so it wouldn’t squeak. England was giving his scale what could only be called a death glare as he stared at the numbers.
“Babe, what are you doing?” America asked in a voice that was more fondness than exasperation.
“I thought I told you not to come in!” England shouted at him, and it looked like if he could throw something, he would. America, rather unconcerned, wandered over to the scale at looked at the number: 182 pounds on the dot. England squeaked and covered it with his foot.
“What’s with you?” he asked, kissing England’s shoulder. He smacked him. “Ow, Artie!”
“You…you…insensitive git!” he said, crossing his arms, kind of awkwardly, like he was trying to cover his stomach under his shirt. “I’ve gained weight and all you can ask is ‘what’s with you?’?!”
“You’ve gained weight?” This was actually news to him, but then again he hadn’t seen England naked in quite a while, and to be honest, he hadn’t been looking.
He blushed, and looked to the side, muttering, “I’ve gained three stone two pounds.”
“Stone?” he questioned.
“It’s 14 pounds.” America quickly did the math in his head.
“So you’ve gained 44 pounds?”
“Yes, you stupid git!” he blushed, his entire face lighting up. America gave him a quick once over but couldn’t see anything with that very large t-shirt of his he was wearing. “And stop looking at me like that!”
“Well, if you did weigh 138 pounds before this, it couldn’t have been particularly healthy,” he offered. “And I always did think you needed to gain more weight.” England was far too bony to be healthy.
“You…you don’t care at all, do you?!” England yelled, swelling up like he was about let loose on a very long, anger filled rant when America covered his mouth with a kiss.
“Of course I don’t care,” he said, after pulling away. “I love you, don’t I? To be honest I really hadn’t noticed, but you’re making it hard to notice. So stop that, and stop being an idiot. Is this why we haven’t had sex in two months?” England didn’t answer, but from his expression, you could tell it was a yes. America sighed, and then scooped him up. “You are incredibly stubborn sometimes, you know?”
“Put me down!” England demanded, and America did on the bed and under him. “I-I didn’t mean like this…”
“Well, I did,” America all but purred, descending on him to give him a mindblowing kiss. “I want you.”
America then found his world turning, and suddenly he was on bottom, with England over him. “Idiot, I’m not going to sleep with you until I lose all this weight!” America sighed, realizing that England had missed the point. “It’s your bloody fault anyway. All the junk food I eat with you has caught up to me, not you, because you have some sort of freakish metabolism.”
----
America, sitting on his bed, wondered what the hell was taking England so long in the bathroom. He’d only gone to brush his teeth, and he’d been in there for about ten damn minutes, and America was getting impatient. The last two times he’d visited were full of running here and there and as soon as they had some downtime England would fall asleep, or claim to have something to do…or anything, actually. But tonight, there was nothing. They were solely on vacation now, and England was taking forever.
He got up and wandered over to the door, knocking lightly. “Arthur?”
“You can’t come in right now! I’m changing!” England said through the door, sounding slightly panicked. America rolled his eyes and gently eased the door open so it wouldn’t squeak. England was giving his scale what could only be called a death glare as he stared at the numbers.
“Babe, what are you doing?” America asked in a voice that was more fondness than exasperation.
“I thought I told you not to come in!” England shouted at him, and it looked like if he could throw something, he would. America, rather unconcerned, wandered over to the scale at looked at the number: 182 pounds on the dot. England squeaked and covered it with his foot.
“What’s with you?” he asked, kissing England’s shoulder. He smacked him. “Ow, Artie!”
“You…you…insensitive git!” he said, crossing his arms, kind of awkwardly, like he was trying to cover his stomach under his shirt. “I’ve gained weight and all you can ask is ‘what’s with you?’?!”
“You’ve gained weight?” This was actually news to him, but then again he hadn’t seen England naked in quite a while, and to be honest, he hadn’t been looking.
He blushed, and looked to the side, muttering, “I’ve gained three stone two pounds.”
“Stone?” he questioned.
“It’s 14 pounds.” America quickly did the math in his head.
“So you’ve gained 44 pounds?”
“Yes, you stupid git!” he blushed, his entire face lighting up. America gave him a quick once over but couldn’t see anything with that very large t-shirt of his he was wearing. “And stop looking at me like that!”
“Well, if you did weigh 138 pounds before this, it couldn’t have been particularly healthy,” he offered. “And I always did think you needed to gain more weight.” England was far too bony to be healthy.
“You…you don’t care at all, do you?!” England yelled, swelling up like he was about let loose on a very long, anger filled rant when America covered his mouth with a kiss.
“Of course I don’t care,” he said, after pulling away. “I love you, don’t I? To be honest I really hadn’t noticed, but you’re making it hard to notice. So stop that, and stop being an idiot. Is this why we haven’t had sex in two months?” England didn’t answer, but from his expression, you could tell it was a yes. America sighed, and then scooped him up. “You are incredibly stubborn sometimes, you know?”
“Put me down!” England demanded, and America did on the bed and under him. “I-I didn’t mean like this…”
“Well, I did,” America all but purred, descending on him to give him a mindblowing kiss. “I want you.”
America then found his world turning, and suddenly he was on bottom, with England over him. “Idiot, I’m not going to sleep with you until I lose all this weight!” America sighed, realizing that England had missed the point. “It’s your bloody fault anyway. All the junk food I eat with you has caught up to me, not you, because you have some sort of freakish metabolism.”
“Arthur,” he said in his no-nonsense, don’t argue voice. “I don’t actually care what you look like. I’m not shallow, babe. I mean, it’s a perk, but I’m pretty sure you can make anything hot, because I already love your body, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to love it even with all that extra weight on it. Of course, I don’t know for sure, because you won’t take your damn clothes off so I can fuck you into the mattress and make you scream my name. I am dying right now, we haven’t had sex in two months and I want some, and you can do whatever you want to lose the weight or not, but right now I want you and a little fat is not going to make me lose my fucking erection.”
England stared at him. America touched a hand gently to his thigh.
“Hey, babe. Just show me.” England hesitated for a moment, then almost shyly, like he was a virgin, pulled his shirt off. America let his eyes wander over his body, and then laughed. “Is that it?”
“Yes, of course it is! What did you expect?” he asked irritably, crossing his arms. America laughed gently again and hooked his fingers into England’s large sweatpants, tugging.
“Take these off too. I want to see all of you.” England hesitated once again but then did it without a fuss and America flipped them over again so he was on top.
“So…” he trailed off as America kissed his neck.
“Babe, you do know that you don’t look that different, right?” He really, truly didn’t, other than the fact that he wasn’t completely bony anymore. He looked…healthy. And maybe had a bit of a stomach and love handles, which were making America’s mind go very bad places.
“But…but… I’ve gained-“ America cut him off again with a kiss.
“You look fine, Arthur. Nobody probably even noticed because you’re overreacting.” His hands skimmed down his sides to grab at his hips. “You have love handles now. I find that incredibly sexy.”
“You…you’re ridiculous, America,” he said, blushing. America grinned and sat down on his thighs, hands drifting up to press down onto the softness around his middle insistently. If he thought that England had been blushing before, he burst into flame now, squirming and biting down on his lip to stifle the moan he knew he was holding in.
“They do say ‘more cushion for the pushin’ ‘ for a reason,” he said with a wicked, wicked grin and pounced.
The next morning, America woke up and very gently eased himself out of England’s death grip and left the bed for a few seconds to go to the bathroom and grab his laptop. There were a few things he needed to check.
England woke up a few minutes later to the typing, looking at him blearily. “What the bloody hell are you doing, Alfred? ‘S too early…”
“Do you realize, that at 182 pounds, you’re only about seven pounds overweight?” America asked him, turning the laptop so he could see it. “You are 5 foot 9 inches, right?”
“That can’t be right…” England said, squinting at the screen.
“Well, that’s on the high end, but really… you look healthy and not bony like you always have.” America poked him in the side, and he squirmed, slightly ticklish. “So if you’re going to try to lose weight, only lose some, or else I’ll worry.” Because now he knew about it, and he couldn’t un-know.
England gave him a small smile that spoke volumes as he snapped the laptop shut and set it over to the side. “Darling…thank you.”
“For what, I didn’t do anything…” America said, grinning. “Except feed you hamburgers and give you bruises where I held those incredibly cute and sexy love handles last night.” That earned him a pillow to the face.
He pulled it down, laughing, and then saw the slightly predatory look on
England’s face. “Would you like to give me more?” America’s smile turned into a smirk as he pushed him down onto the bed again.
God bless hamburgers.
-------
The website that America (and I) looked at to get the numbers is here: http://www.disabled-world.com/artman/publish/height_weight.shtml
England stared at him. America touched a hand gently to his thigh.
“Hey, babe. Just show me.” England hesitated for a moment, then almost shyly, like he was a virgin, pulled his shirt off. America let his eyes wander over his body, and then laughed. “Is that it?”
“Yes, of course it is! What did you expect?” he asked irritably, crossing his arms. America laughed gently again and hooked his fingers into England’s large sweatpants, tugging.
“Take these off too. I want to see all of you.” England hesitated once again but then did it without a fuss and America flipped them over again so he was on top.
“So…” he trailed off as America kissed his neck.
“Babe, you do know that you don’t look that different, right?” He really, truly didn’t, other than the fact that he wasn’t completely bony anymore. He looked…healthy. And maybe had a bit of a stomach and love handles, which were making America’s mind go very bad places.
“But…but… I’ve gained-“ America cut him off again with a kiss.
“You look fine, Arthur. Nobody probably even noticed because you’re overreacting.” His hands skimmed down his sides to grab at his hips. “You have love handles now. I find that incredibly sexy.”
“You…you’re ridiculous, America,” he said, blushing. America grinned and sat down on his thighs, hands drifting up to press down onto the softness around his middle insistently. If he thought that England had been blushing before, he burst into flame now, squirming and biting down on his lip to stifle the moan he knew he was holding in.
“They do say ‘more cushion for the pushin’ ‘ for a reason,” he said with a wicked, wicked grin and pounced.
The next morning, America woke up and very gently eased himself out of England’s death grip and left the bed for a few seconds to go to the bathroom and grab his laptop. There were a few things he needed to check.
England woke up a few minutes later to the typing, looking at him blearily. “What the bloody hell are you doing, Alfred? ‘S too early…”
“Do you realize, that at 182 pounds, you’re only about seven pounds overweight?” America asked him, turning the laptop so he could see it. “You are 5 foot 9 inches, right?”
“That can’t be right…” England said, squinting at the screen.
“Well, that’s on the high end, but really… you look healthy and not bony like you always have.” America poked him in the side, and he squirmed, slightly ticklish. “So if you’re going to try to lose weight, only lose some, or else I’ll worry.” Because now he knew about it, and he couldn’t un-know.
England gave him a small smile that spoke volumes as he snapped the laptop shut and set it over to the side. “Darling…thank you.”
“For what, I didn’t do anything…” America said, grinning. “Except feed you hamburgers and give you bruises where I held those incredibly cute and sexy love handles last night.” That earned him a pillow to the face.
He pulled it down, laughing, and then saw the slightly predatory look on
England’s face. “Would you like to give me more?” America’s smile turned into a smirk as he pushed him down onto the bed again.
God bless hamburgers.
-------
The website that America (and I) looked at to get the numbers is here: http://www.disabled-world.com/artman/publish/height_weight.shtml
[Part 15] A tale of two hair curls [Norway and Korea's hair curls fall in love]
(Anonymous) 2011-06-08 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)This is a placeholder for future updates of "A tale of two hair curls."
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=56586774#t56586774
Parts 1 and 2: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=75813460#t75813460
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=56586774#t56586774
Parts 1 and 2: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=75813460#t75813460
Something one should never try to do is write multiple things at the same time. No, not in quick succession, but having multiple Word windows open, half-formed chapters on each document.
It ends only with low productivity and writer’s block.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next time Svalbard saw Spirit was a month later at another meeting.
What do you two talk about, anyway? Jan Mayen asked. It must be very interesting, since you chat the entire meeting, and shout across the room at each other if you . See, South Korea’s all the way on the other side of the room, but you’re still talking to-what’s his name again?
Spirit, Jan, Spirit. Generally, it was impolite to broadcast your conversation if you were a hair curl. What one spoke of was between them and the other person they spoke to. Due to this, and to the odd fact that Spirit didn’t usually talk to anyone but her, Jan Mayen didn’t know anything about the smiling ahoge, not even a name.
Not even other hair curls noticed Jan, he was so small. Added to the fact that he didn’t usually like to initiate conversations with others, Jan didn’t really know much about others. Neither did she, actually-the only other ahoges she’d actually spoken to were Mariazell, Nantucket, and Spirit.
And we talk about a lot of things.
That isn’t really an answer, Jan noted.
Why do you care so much, anyway? Jan didn’t say anything after that, which, for a moment, made Svalbard feel slightly guilty, but it soon passed. That hadn’t actually been an argument, after all, and just because she didn’t want to say something now didn’t mean she couldn’t say it later-after all, they had nearly forever for that. No one was interested in annexing either of them, and they floated in the same position on a constant basis.
They quite literally could not avoid each other if they tried.
Svalbard decided not to think about that. It was pointless and Spirit was saying something that was probably interesting.
What would you do if you were human?
..What?
What sort of question was that? They weren’t human and never would be. There was no point in asking such a question.
What would you do? Svalbard asked.
I asked you first!
I won’t answer until you do. That seemed to work. Spirit pouted, and began.
Hmm…if I were human, I would…I don’t know what I would do. I think I’d stay in Seoul. I’d read a lot, too…South Korea doesn’t like to read much, which is bad! If he doesn’t read, how can I?
I didn’t know you liked books, Svalbard commented.
I do! I just can’t read them most of the time…if I were human, I think I would try to read every book in the world! I almost have forever to do it.
But new books will be written while you finish other ones.
Details, details! It doesn’t matter. Now what would you do? Spirit gave her an expectant look. Svalbard still found his face disturbing, but had grown used to it by now. And she liked Spirit too much to let herself be too bothered by it.
Eh…hmm…I think I would go back to my archipelago…I haven’t been there since 1919. The last time I saw Pyramiden was when it was being built, and then it was abandoned…it’s really cold, and there are too many polar bears, and it’s dark half the year, but it’s still home, you know? Spirit would have shrugged if he had had shoulders, instead grinning wider. It was hard to see at first, though, because he was half way across the room with South Korea, nowhere near Norway.
Spirit grinned very often. For that reason, Svalbard didn’t think his smiles would be special anymore, that she would have been desensitized.
She was wrong, it seemed.
It ends only with low productivity and writer’s block.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next time Svalbard saw Spirit was a month later at another meeting.
What do you two talk about, anyway? Jan Mayen asked. It must be very interesting, since you chat the entire meeting, and shout across the room at each other if you . See, South Korea’s all the way on the other side of the room, but you’re still talking to-what’s his name again?
Spirit, Jan, Spirit. Generally, it was impolite to broadcast your conversation if you were a hair curl. What one spoke of was between them and the other person they spoke to. Due to this, and to the odd fact that Spirit didn’t usually talk to anyone but her, Jan Mayen didn’t know anything about the smiling ahoge, not even a name.
Not even other hair curls noticed Jan, he was so small. Added to the fact that he didn’t usually like to initiate conversations with others, Jan didn’t really know much about others. Neither did she, actually-the only other ahoges she’d actually spoken to were Mariazell, Nantucket, and Spirit.
And we talk about a lot of things.
That isn’t really an answer, Jan noted.
Why do you care so much, anyway? Jan didn’t say anything after that, which, for a moment, made Svalbard feel slightly guilty, but it soon passed. That hadn’t actually been an argument, after all, and just because she didn’t want to say something now didn’t mean she couldn’t say it later-after all, they had nearly forever for that. No one was interested in annexing either of them, and they floated in the same position on a constant basis.
They quite literally could not avoid each other if they tried.
Svalbard decided not to think about that. It was pointless and Spirit was saying something that was probably interesting.
What would you do if you were human?
..What?
What sort of question was that? They weren’t human and never would be. There was no point in asking such a question.
What would you do? Svalbard asked.
I asked you first!
I won’t answer until you do. That seemed to work. Spirit pouted, and began.
Hmm…if I were human, I would…I don’t know what I would do. I think I’d stay in Seoul. I’d read a lot, too…South Korea doesn’t like to read much, which is bad! If he doesn’t read, how can I?
I didn’t know you liked books, Svalbard commented.
I do! I just can’t read them most of the time…if I were human, I think I would try to read every book in the world! I almost have forever to do it.
But new books will be written while you finish other ones.
Details, details! It doesn’t matter. Now what would you do? Spirit gave her an expectant look. Svalbard still found his face disturbing, but had grown used to it by now. And she liked Spirit too much to let herself be too bothered by it.
Eh…hmm…I think I would go back to my archipelago…I haven’t been there since 1919. The last time I saw Pyramiden was when it was being built, and then it was abandoned…it’s really cold, and there are too many polar bears, and it’s dark half the year, but it’s still home, you know? Spirit would have shrugged if he had had shoulders, instead grinning wider. It was hard to see at first, though, because he was half way across the room with South Korea, nowhere near Norway.
Spirit grinned very often. For that reason, Svalbard didn’t think his smiles would be special anymore, that she would have been desensitized.
She was wrong, it seemed.
[Part 17] Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=71081541#t71081541
America discovers that Russia is plagued by terrible nightmares and had been for years. After finding a way to enter Russia's dreams (magic, alien technology, etc) he decides to travel into the nightmares to save Russia from whatever is tormenting him inside his head. That's what a hero does, right?
Bonus: Many of the nightmares are centered around things in Russia's past.
Bonus 2: America accidentally stumbles upon some nice, fluffy dreams about himself in Russia's head.
America discovers that Russia is plagued by terrible nightmares and had been for years. After finding a way to enter Russia's dreams (magic, alien technology, etc) he decides to travel into the nightmares to save Russia from whatever is tormenting him inside his head. That's what a hero does, right?
Bonus: Many of the nightmares are centered around things in Russia's past.
Bonus 2: America accidentally stumbles upon some nice, fluffy dreams about himself in Russia's head.
Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?
-John Lennon
America had never really given much thought to why Russia was always up before him until Lithuania had pointed it out to him. He had assumed it was simply the other nation’s quirk: early to bed and early to rise and all that. But now as he slowly woke up and studied the other nation’s pensive look, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.
Weak grey light seeped into the room, cold with the breaking morning. Birds chattered in the distance, their calls muted by the closed window. America didn’t move, watching Russia carefully. The other nation had yet to notice that America was awake, still looking out the window to where the sky began to slowly slide from the dark hues of midnight to the pale yellow of breaking day. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were glazed by the weak grey light, making him look more grave in his silent and private thoughts.
America finally shifted to glance at the glowing alarm clock and blinked tiredly at the soft green 4:30 lighting up his side of the bed. Outside of the New England home, a soft gust of wind made the trees shiver and wave to the still dark sky. A hand swept over his shoulder and Alfred glanced to his left as a calloused thumb began to slowly encircle his bare shoulder gently and soothingly.
“You should go back to sleep,” Russia murmured gently, as if not to disturb the peace of the morning.
“ ‘M not tired,” America sighed into Russia’s arm, curling against him sleepily. Russia hummed in reply and moved to running his hand down America’s arm reassuringly, trying to lull him back to sleep. His eyes finally flickered away from the window to glance down at America who was resting his head against his clothed chest. America placed a small kiss against the worn blue nightshirt he was wearing, too tired to reach up and kiss Russia on the lips. “But you should go back to sleep.”
“I am not tired either.” Russia turned to run his finger through America’s golden hair and then looked back out the window. America watched him carefully, biting at his cheek as he noticed how dark and flat his eyes were, how troubled he looked.
“Why’re you up anyway? It’s too early,” America groaned and shuffled further against Russia’s side and under the sheets. He draped his arm over Russia’s stomach.
“Time zones,” the older nation replied, looking to the darker side of the room and paused in stroking America’s arm. After a minute, America glanced up at him and nudged his arm to which Russia turned back and gave a small smile.
“You’ve already been here for a week. How can you still be messed up on time zones?”
Russia glanced down to him blankly and leaned down to kiss his lips. America smiled sleepily and returned the gesture, enjoying the warmth of the other’s body over him. “Are you still not tired?” Russia murmured into his ear, kissing his jaw gently.
“Nope. Not at all.” America grinned and kissed Russia’s forearm.
“Good,” Russia hummed against America’s neck and placed one hand on the other’s waist.
-John Lennon
America had never really given much thought to why Russia was always up before him until Lithuania had pointed it out to him. He had assumed it was simply the other nation’s quirk: early to bed and early to rise and all that. But now as he slowly woke up and studied the other nation’s pensive look, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.
Weak grey light seeped into the room, cold with the breaking morning. Birds chattered in the distance, their calls muted by the closed window. America didn’t move, watching Russia carefully. The other nation had yet to notice that America was awake, still looking out the window to where the sky began to slowly slide from the dark hues of midnight to the pale yellow of breaking day. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were glazed by the weak grey light, making him look more grave in his silent and private thoughts.
America finally shifted to glance at the glowing alarm clock and blinked tiredly at the soft green 4:30 lighting up his side of the bed. Outside of the New England home, a soft gust of wind made the trees shiver and wave to the still dark sky. A hand swept over his shoulder and Alfred glanced to his left as a calloused thumb began to slowly encircle his bare shoulder gently and soothingly.
“You should go back to sleep,” Russia murmured gently, as if not to disturb the peace of the morning.
“ ‘M not tired,” America sighed into Russia’s arm, curling against him sleepily. Russia hummed in reply and moved to running his hand down America’s arm reassuringly, trying to lull him back to sleep. His eyes finally flickered away from the window to glance down at America who was resting his head against his clothed chest. America placed a small kiss against the worn blue nightshirt he was wearing, too tired to reach up and kiss Russia on the lips. “But you should go back to sleep.”
“I am not tired either.” Russia turned to run his finger through America’s golden hair and then looked back out the window. America watched him carefully, biting at his cheek as he noticed how dark and flat his eyes were, how troubled he looked.
“Why’re you up anyway? It’s too early,” America groaned and shuffled further against Russia’s side and under the sheets. He draped his arm over Russia’s stomach.
“Time zones,” the older nation replied, looking to the darker side of the room and paused in stroking America’s arm. After a minute, America glanced up at him and nudged his arm to which Russia turned back and gave a small smile.
“You’ve already been here for a week. How can you still be messed up on time zones?”
Russia glanced down to him blankly and leaned down to kiss his lips. America smiled sleepily and returned the gesture, enjoying the warmth of the other’s body over him. “Are you still not tired?” Russia murmured into his ear, kissing his jaw gently.
“Nope. Not at all.” America grinned and kissed Russia’s forearm.
“Good,” Russia hummed against America’s neck and placed one hand on the other’s waist.
Placeholder for future fills.
Parts 1-3 and Original Request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5527511
Parts 1-3 and Original Request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5527511
I'm totally camping out for this one! :)
request/parts 1-3b ; http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=42636252#t42636252
PROMPT: Ok, this is might sound odd, but bare with me... AU!GerIta. Germany is a morning glory (yes, the flower) whose vine has wound itself around a pole that supports the awning of a gelato cart. Italy is the guy who works at the gelato cart. Since Germany can't really go anywhere, he spends his days watching Italy as he cheerfully eats sells gelato or gives it free of charge to those who look like they're having a bad day, sings and draws during his break. Love blossoms; unfortunately Germany, being a flower, can't act on it.
That's where convenient plot device (wishing star/Teutonic Britania angel/whatever) comes in to turn him into a human for a limited period of time. Germany must get Italy to return his feelings within that period or return to being a flower forever. I'd like him to be successful, please <3
Bonus: Once Germany has become human, Italy comments that he misses the pretty little morning glory that used to keep him company at his gelato cart every day.
Bonus 2: Germany retains flower-like behavior as a human, e.g. he tries to drink by soaking his feet, tries to keep his face toward the sun, being clingy, gets very sleepy once the sun sinks (he was a morning glory after all).
gah, sorry if I did/am doing this wrong... ;-;
PROMPT: Ok, this is might sound odd, but bare with me... AU!GerIta. Germany is a morning glory (yes, the flower) whose vine has wound itself around a pole that supports the awning of a gelato cart. Italy is the guy who works at the gelato cart. Since Germany can't really go anywhere, he spends his days watching Italy as he cheerfully eats sells gelato or gives it free of charge to those who look like they're having a bad day, sings and draws during his break. Love blossoms; unfortunately Germany, being a flower, can't act on it.
That's where convenient plot device (wishing star/Teutonic Britania angel/whatever) comes in to turn him into a human for a limited period of time. Germany must get Italy to return his feelings within that period or return to being a flower forever. I'd like him to be successful, please <3
Bonus: Once Germany has become human, Italy comments that he misses the pretty little morning glory that used to keep him company at his gelato cart every day.
Bonus 2: Germany retains flower-like behavior as a human, e.g. he tries to drink by soaking his feet, tries to keep his face toward the sun, being clingy, gets very sleepy once the sun sinks (he was a morning glory after all).
gah, sorry if I did/am doing this wrong... ;-;
Gah, sorry if this is a complete fail. It's been a year since my last update, so my style may have completely changed, and I am so, so sorry for that, and my absence. D;
The blonde male continued to eat the gelato, marvelling still at the taste - which was unlike anything he had ever had before. Cold, and so unlike the crisp water he soaked up through the ground, or the food the warm sun allowed him to make. He wondered if all human food tasted like gelato - so wonderful, yet odd. He couldn't tell whether he truly liked it or not, though, to be honest.
When he had finished the treat, Feliciano started up a conversation involving futbol, and Ludwig listened though he had no clue what the smaller man was speaking of. It seemed that his new found vocabulary, though large, didn't include certain words.
"Ve, everyone's saying our team should've done better... And I guess that's kind of true, but they still did their best, and sometimes--"
Ludwig stopped listening, watching as a man - the same who had previously insulted him -approached the cart.
"I mean, maybe they were having a bad day or somethi-- Oh! Fratellone!" The grin was evident in Feliciano's voice, and the male, fratellone? fratello? which one was his name? frowned at him, stopping at the cart. Ludwig watched the man meet his eyes, and the blonde stared right back, unafraid.
"Feli? Who is this guy?" The young man scowled, glancing over at Feliciano.
The smaller boy grinned, "That's Ludwig! I met him today! He was sleeping here this morning! Ludwig, this is Romano, he's my big brother~!"
Ludwig blinked, Romano? "Hi." His deep voice broke the air, and he noticed the way Romano shivered, stepping over ( not as incospiciously as he probably would have liked ) to stand infront of Feliciano.
"F-Feli! What in the world is he doing here? Is he... Is he /German/?" Romano's voice dropped into a hiss, "Why in the world would you hang around a German?!" He whispered, though Ludwig could still hear very well what was being said. It seemed that the Italian wasn't very good at being sneaky.
"Ve?" Feliciano tilted his head to the side and Ludwig practically melted at the cuteness, because, oh, sun, his Italian was so cute. He briefly wondered if any other flower had an Italian as cute as his. Probably not.
"Ludwig's nice, though!" The brunette grinned. "He's been fine the whole entire day! Also, he's given me company - I've been so lonely today, c-cause..." Feliciano suddenly gave a pout. "'Cause my poor fiore d-disappeared, Fratellone! V-ve!"
Romano glanced over to the pole and noticed that the flower was indeed gone. "You finally got rid of it?"
"Wh-what? No! I... I came here this morning and it was just... just /gone/!"
Romano's eyes then turned to settle on Ludwig, who was too busy staring at Feliciano with a slight, yet dopey smile on his face to notice. "And you say he was here this morning? What if he stole it?"
"Huh?" Feliciano blinked, his eyebrows furrowing worriedly. "Ludwig? He wouldn't steal it, silly! He's nice--"
"He's German."
"He's /nice/!" Feliciano added stubbornly.
Romano fixed him with a small glare. "... Fine. But if you get attacked by this kraut, don't come crying to me, because I'm not going to help!" He huffed.
"Okay~!" Feliciano smiled, because he knew that, for one thing, his friend Ludwig wouldn't hurt him, and for another - that his brother would most definitely help him if he needed it, regardless of what he had said.
He watched as his brother started to turn to leave, "H-hey! Aren't you going to buy some gelato?"
Romano ran a hand through his hair, frowning. He was too annoyed with the fact that Feliciano had befriended a German to want to eat gelato. Not at his brother's stand, at least... "No!" He gave another huff, before leaving rather quickly.
The blonde male continued to eat the gelato, marvelling still at the taste - which was unlike anything he had ever had before. Cold, and so unlike the crisp water he soaked up through the ground, or the food the warm sun allowed him to make. He wondered if all human food tasted like gelato - so wonderful, yet odd. He couldn't tell whether he truly liked it or not, though, to be honest.
When he had finished the treat, Feliciano started up a conversation involving futbol, and Ludwig listened though he had no clue what the smaller man was speaking of. It seemed that his new found vocabulary, though large, didn't include certain words.
"Ve, everyone's saying our team should've done better... And I guess that's kind of true, but they still did their best, and sometimes--"
Ludwig stopped listening, watching as a man - the same who had previously insulted him -approached the cart.
"I mean, maybe they were having a bad day or somethi-- Oh! Fratellone!" The grin was evident in Feliciano's voice, and the male, fratellone? fratello? which one was his name? frowned at him, stopping at the cart. Ludwig watched the man meet his eyes, and the blonde stared right back, unafraid.
"Feli? Who is this guy?" The young man scowled, glancing over at Feliciano.
The smaller boy grinned, "That's Ludwig! I met him today! He was sleeping here this morning! Ludwig, this is Romano, he's my big brother~!"
Ludwig blinked, Romano? "Hi." His deep voice broke the air, and he noticed the way Romano shivered, stepping over ( not as incospiciously as he probably would have liked ) to stand infront of Feliciano.
"F-Feli! What in the world is he doing here? Is he... Is he /German/?" Romano's voice dropped into a hiss, "Why in the world would you hang around a German?!" He whispered, though Ludwig could still hear very well what was being said. It seemed that the Italian wasn't very good at being sneaky.
"Ve?" Feliciano tilted his head to the side and Ludwig practically melted at the cuteness, because, oh, sun, his Italian was so cute. He briefly wondered if any other flower had an Italian as cute as his. Probably not.
"Ludwig's nice, though!" The brunette grinned. "He's been fine the whole entire day! Also, he's given me company - I've been so lonely today, c-cause..." Feliciano suddenly gave a pout. "'Cause my poor fiore d-disappeared, Fratellone! V-ve!"
Romano glanced over to the pole and noticed that the flower was indeed gone. "You finally got rid of it?"
"Wh-what? No! I... I came here this morning and it was just... just /gone/!"
Romano's eyes then turned to settle on Ludwig, who was too busy staring at Feliciano with a slight, yet dopey smile on his face to notice. "And you say he was here this morning? What if he stole it?"
"Huh?" Feliciano blinked, his eyebrows furrowing worriedly. "Ludwig? He wouldn't steal it, silly! He's nice--"
"He's German."
"He's /nice/!" Feliciano added stubbornly.
Romano fixed him with a small glare. "... Fine. But if you get attacked by this kraut, don't come crying to me, because I'm not going to help!" He huffed.
"Okay~!" Feliciano smiled, because he knew that, for one thing, his friend Ludwig wouldn't hurt him, and for another - that his brother would most definitely help him if he needed it, regardless of what he had said.
He watched as his brother started to turn to leave, "H-hey! Aren't you going to buy some gelato?"
Romano ran a hand through his hair, frowning. He was too annoyed with the fact that Feliciano had befriended a German to want to eat gelato. Not at his brother's stand, at least... "No!" He gave another huff, before leaving rather quickly.
The prompt: "During his revolution, England makes America wet himself, to humiliating him."
- - -
America awoke with a groan, he had a horrible headache and no idea why. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield, his men against England's, he remembered England was also there, anger showing in his green eyes. He remembered England charging at him, coming towards him and then...nothing, that's all he could remember.
Groaning again America tried moving his arms, only to find them tied up behind him. Turns out he was sitting in some hard wooden chair, his own legs tied to the chair legs as well. He must have been caught he figured, damn, he really did not want to face England.
England himself, though beyond pissed, was determined to be the adult in the situation. America was just a child having a tantrum, as far as he was concerned. He had more men, all of whom had received more training, had access to more resources, and far more experience. The revolution had been a tad unexpected, but it was nothing more than a nation's teenage rampage. It was for that reason that he spent several minutes pacing back and forth outside of the room America was being held in, determined to get ahold of himself. Alfred was a child. The same one he had raised to be thirteen beautiful little colonies. He couldn't blame a child for not understanding the importance of doing your part for the greater good. After all, he himself had been rather immature at such a young age...
Far more relaxed than he had been previously, the empire took a step inside. "Alfred," he addressed sternly, pleased that the man had woken up. "It's time we had a little talk."
America looked away, so angry at himself for getting caught so easily. He briefly wondered what became of his men. Where they killed or simply captured like he was. It was no use asking though, he knew he wouldn't get a clear answer. "I've tried talking, you won't listen," he simply said, struggling against the ropes binding his limbs. War had made his body so weak, normally he would have easily been able to break free but now, he couldn't even break through some simple rope.
"Writing that little Declaration of Independence does NOT count as talking," said England, doing his best not to snap at the other. Be the adult, he chanted in his head. Children are more apt to listen to someone who isn't overly emotional. At least America wasn't able to get free of the rope... He remembered his first losing battle. It always did a number on one's strength. Apparently even Alfred was being weakened by it. "Listen, Alfred. I understand that at your age, it's difficult to have someone telling you what to do. You feel like an adult, and you want to be recognized as one. However, this little tantrum of yours is only proving that you're still a child."
- - -
America awoke with a groan, he had a horrible headache and no idea why. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield, his men against England's, he remembered England was also there, anger showing in his green eyes. He remembered England charging at him, coming towards him and then...nothing, that's all he could remember.
Groaning again America tried moving his arms, only to find them tied up behind him. Turns out he was sitting in some hard wooden chair, his own legs tied to the chair legs as well. He must have been caught he figured, damn, he really did not want to face England.
England himself, though beyond pissed, was determined to be the adult in the situation. America was just a child having a tantrum, as far as he was concerned. He had more men, all of whom had received more training, had access to more resources, and far more experience. The revolution had been a tad unexpected, but it was nothing more than a nation's teenage rampage. It was for that reason that he spent several minutes pacing back and forth outside of the room America was being held in, determined to get ahold of himself. Alfred was a child. The same one he had raised to be thirteen beautiful little colonies. He couldn't blame a child for not understanding the importance of doing your part for the greater good. After all, he himself had been rather immature at such a young age...
Far more relaxed than he had been previously, the empire took a step inside. "Alfred," he addressed sternly, pleased that the man had woken up. "It's time we had a little talk."
America looked away, so angry at himself for getting caught so easily. He briefly wondered what became of his men. Where they killed or simply captured like he was. It was no use asking though, he knew he wouldn't get a clear answer. "I've tried talking, you won't listen," he simply said, struggling against the ropes binding his limbs. War had made his body so weak, normally he would have easily been able to break free but now, he couldn't even break through some simple rope.
"Writing that little Declaration of Independence does NOT count as talking," said England, doing his best not to snap at the other. Be the adult, he chanted in his head. Children are more apt to listen to someone who isn't overly emotional. At least America wasn't able to get free of the rope... He remembered his first losing battle. It always did a number on one's strength. Apparently even Alfred was being weakened by it. "Listen, Alfred. I understand that at your age, it's difficult to have someone telling you what to do. You feel like an adult, and you want to be recognized as one. However, this little tantrum of yours is only proving that you're still a child."
"I am not a child, you need to accept that I am growing up and you can't control me anymore," America said, raising his voice, angry at the fact that England seemed so...so calm. "Why am I tied up in here anyways? You can torture me all you want, you know I won't confess anything nor will I give up!" he said, figuring that's what he was there for, an interrogation.
"Torture?" England repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I raised you, Alfred! Do you really think I would stoop so low as to torture you?" He didn't want to admit how much it hurt to hear what America thought of him. No... He couldn't take it so personally. Just a childish tantrum... Just a childish tantrum... "I'm ashamed of you, Alfred. Truly, deeply ashamed. I was so convinced that you had grown up. Had you been patient like your siblings, I may have considered giving you the representation you asked for." He took another step forward, not once breaking eye contact. The British Empire knew how to emanate confidence, even if he wasn't entirely so on the inside. "You've done nothing but convince me that you don't deserve it."
"It's war why, shouldn't I expect torture?" America spat, he hated England so much right now, so very, very much. "Then what do you have me in here for? Why am I tied up to a chair in this room with just you in it? I know it isn't just for talking," America said, he wasn't stupid, he knew England had to have planned something.
"I've already told you, Alfred. This isn't a war. You have absolutely no chance to defeat me," England responded flatly. "This is a tantrum. The tantrum of a child who thinks he knows what's best. I don't hold it against you, of course," he continued. "It's my own fault for not being around enough..." The Briton sighed. "I should have recognized that you needed a little more guidance than the others after that tea party of yours." Yes, he should have seen it, he should have known that America was going to be his problem child out of the bunch. "However, this is not the right way to cry out for attention! You're costing thousands of soldiers their lives!”
America hated being called a child, he was an adult, a grown adult who could make his own decisions. "That stupid tea party wouldn't have happened if you weren't so greedy about your shitty tasting tea in the first place!" America screamed. "Now if all you have planned is to just stand there and insult me then just fucking leave, you won't change my mind, nothing will."
“Vulgarity is not helping your cause, Alfred!" said England, raising his voice slightly. "I know it can be hard to give things up for the greater good, but what do you think I DO with the money you pay me in taxes? I put them to use in wars, Alfred! Not only for my sake, but for yours as well! Shall I list all the times I've had to send my soldiers over to help you with something that, in all honesty, was your own fault? Soldiers that had to travel across the sea, leaving their friends and family, only for you to decide that you wouldn't so much as allow them some hospitality?"
"Just...shut up okay, go away, I don't want to see you right now, just leave." he said, lowering his voice. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you planning to do with me? Why am I tied up in here alone if not for an interrogation?" he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice. He had heard stories of how scary England could be, especially during a war.
"Torture?" England repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I raised you, Alfred! Do you really think I would stoop so low as to torture you?" He didn't want to admit how much it hurt to hear what America thought of him. No... He couldn't take it so personally. Just a childish tantrum... Just a childish tantrum... "I'm ashamed of you, Alfred. Truly, deeply ashamed. I was so convinced that you had grown up. Had you been patient like your siblings, I may have considered giving you the representation you asked for." He took another step forward, not once breaking eye contact. The British Empire knew how to emanate confidence, even if he wasn't entirely so on the inside. "You've done nothing but convince me that you don't deserve it."
"It's war why, shouldn't I expect torture?" America spat, he hated England so much right now, so very, very much. "Then what do you have me in here for? Why am I tied up to a chair in this room with just you in it? I know it isn't just for talking," America said, he wasn't stupid, he knew England had to have planned something.
"I've already told you, Alfred. This isn't a war. You have absolutely no chance to defeat me," England responded flatly. "This is a tantrum. The tantrum of a child who thinks he knows what's best. I don't hold it against you, of course," he continued. "It's my own fault for not being around enough..." The Briton sighed. "I should have recognized that you needed a little more guidance than the others after that tea party of yours." Yes, he should have seen it, he should have known that America was going to be his problem child out of the bunch. "However, this is not the right way to cry out for attention! You're costing thousands of soldiers their lives!”
America hated being called a child, he was an adult, a grown adult who could make his own decisions. "That stupid tea party wouldn't have happened if you weren't so greedy about your shitty tasting tea in the first place!" America screamed. "Now if all you have planned is to just stand there and insult me then just fucking leave, you won't change my mind, nothing will."
“Vulgarity is not helping your cause, Alfred!" said England, raising his voice slightly. "I know it can be hard to give things up for the greater good, but what do you think I DO with the money you pay me in taxes? I put them to use in wars, Alfred! Not only for my sake, but for yours as well! Shall I list all the times I've had to send my soldiers over to help you with something that, in all honesty, was your own fault? Soldiers that had to travel across the sea, leaving their friends and family, only for you to decide that you wouldn't so much as allow them some hospitality?"
"Just...shut up okay, go away, I don't want to see you right now, just leave." he said, lowering his voice. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you planning to do with me? Why am I tied up in here alone if not for an interrogation?" he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice. He had heard stories of how scary England could be, especially during a war.
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=1429368#t1429368
I wanna see Prussia's death.
You want it too. Make everyone suffer, but specially, make him suffer.
♥♥♥
Er, I didn't really make him suffer (Unless I say LIFE was his suffering!) but... Yeah. Short Deathfic.
I wanna see Prussia's death.
You want it too. Make everyone suffer, but specially, make him suffer.
♥♥♥
Er, I didn't really make him suffer (Unless I say LIFE was his suffering!) but... Yeah. Short Deathfic.
Dying wasn't like how the others described it. Dying was told to be painful, where your life flashes before your eyes and you cry out your regrets. Where loneliness and sorrow overtake you and you fall into a bright light that will take you to your destiny. It was a journey, a quick and sad one full of pain and praying and questions. You were supposed to fear it and fight for your life.
But to Gilbert Belischmidt death was a lot like sleeping. It was comforting, calm and warm... but there was always someone there to disturb it.
---
"Gilbert, wake up!" His boots were kicked and he slowly opened his weary eyes to see the shoes in front of him. They were Ludwig's and he didn't even have to look up to know. "Can you please stop sleeping in the street?"
The sun blinded him for a moment as he raised his head to see his brother standing above him with the grocery bags in his hand. Behind him a couple girls laughed and he lowered his head, sleep bothering his eyes. He knew a couple minutes more and he would have finally gotten his goal of dying... Leave it to his brother to ruin it for him again.
"Gilbert, I mean it!" There was another kick and he slowly raised himself up. His knee nearly gave out as he did and the sleeve of his jacket was grabbed in a second to prevent him from crashing. More yelling met his ear but he didn't hear it as he started to stagger forwards. Death was all he could think about.
"Gilbert, are you listening!?" He moved away from the sound of his name. "GILBERT!"
He didn't want to hear him. He wanted to find a place to lay down, to close his eyes and let the angels take his soul. He had been living too long, he knew it and he could feel himself rotting from the inside, begging for the reaper to find him. He was once again grabbed and pulled away from the busy street as Ludwig began to shout at him for nearly going into traffic.
"GILBERT!"
"What?" He finally muttered and his weary eyes met his brother's. Ludwig was giving him a worried look now and he grabbed onto his arm as he started to pull him down the sidewalk. He staggered after.
"Gilbert, you're starting to scare me!" He said as they found a pace together. "You're not acting like yourself!"
He wanted to tell him he wasn't himself, that he was just some rotting breathing corpse waiting for The Light but he held his tongue. Instead he just gave him a lopsided grin and flashed him a peace sign for fun.
"I'm fine, West... Come on!" His body was even more exhausted than it had ever been as he tried to stumble forwards. "I'm just really tired..."
Ludwig didn't seem convinced but he went silent as he led him along. They turned a few corners, Gilbert bumping into him as they did and they came across an open market where a few benches lined the street under the trees. Gilbert made for them, reaching as he did.
"H-Hey! Gilbert! I don't need anything here!"
"Please, West." He begged, his hand coming out as he touched the wood. He knew it as soon as he felt it that this was the spot where he could go. "Please! Just... find something in there, okay? Just let me rest one last time, please!"
His brother didn't catch on to his double meaning and he let him fall down on the bench, his eyes closing immediately.
"...Gilbert, are you sick?" He asked above him and it took minutes before Gilbert nodded a yes - anything to get him away. He just needed to die. "Look, I'll go in there to get some medicine, okay? But then we need to go home! I bought milk and I can't have it out for long!"
But to Gilbert Belischmidt death was a lot like sleeping. It was comforting, calm and warm... but there was always someone there to disturb it.
---
"Gilbert, wake up!" His boots were kicked and he slowly opened his weary eyes to see the shoes in front of him. They were Ludwig's and he didn't even have to look up to know. "Can you please stop sleeping in the street?"
The sun blinded him for a moment as he raised his head to see his brother standing above him with the grocery bags in his hand. Behind him a couple girls laughed and he lowered his head, sleep bothering his eyes. He knew a couple minutes more and he would have finally gotten his goal of dying... Leave it to his brother to ruin it for him again.
"Gilbert, I mean it!" There was another kick and he slowly raised himself up. His knee nearly gave out as he did and the sleeve of his jacket was grabbed in a second to prevent him from crashing. More yelling met his ear but he didn't hear it as he started to stagger forwards. Death was all he could think about.
"Gilbert, are you listening!?" He moved away from the sound of his name. "GILBERT!"
He didn't want to hear him. He wanted to find a place to lay down, to close his eyes and let the angels take his soul. He had been living too long, he knew it and he could feel himself rotting from the inside, begging for the reaper to find him. He was once again grabbed and pulled away from the busy street as Ludwig began to shout at him for nearly going into traffic.
"GILBERT!"
"What?" He finally muttered and his weary eyes met his brother's. Ludwig was giving him a worried look now and he grabbed onto his arm as he started to pull him down the sidewalk. He staggered after.
"Gilbert, you're starting to scare me!" He said as they found a pace together. "You're not acting like yourself!"
He wanted to tell him he wasn't himself, that he was just some rotting breathing corpse waiting for The Light but he held his tongue. Instead he just gave him a lopsided grin and flashed him a peace sign for fun.
"I'm fine, West... Come on!" His body was even more exhausted than it had ever been as he tried to stumble forwards. "I'm just really tired..."
Ludwig didn't seem convinced but he went silent as he led him along. They turned a few corners, Gilbert bumping into him as they did and they came across an open market where a few benches lined the street under the trees. Gilbert made for them, reaching as he did.
"H-Hey! Gilbert! I don't need anything here!"
"Please, West." He begged, his hand coming out as he touched the wood. He knew it as soon as he felt it that this was the spot where he could go. "Please! Just... find something in there, okay? Just let me rest one last time, please!"
His brother didn't catch on to his double meaning and he let him fall down on the bench, his eyes closing immediately.
"...Gilbert, are you sick?" He asked above him and it took minutes before Gilbert nodded a yes - anything to get him away. He just needed to die. "Look, I'll go in there to get some medicine, okay? But then we need to go home! I bought milk and I can't have it out for long!"
Part 7--The 'New World' Sees You--"The New World" (1a/1)
(Anonymous) 2011-06-10 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)A recent prompt sparked my interest, however, it got deleted because there was a similar, earlier prompt. This fill is more like that prompt, however, I'll link back to this prompt.
Once upon a time, the western European countries colonized the Americas.
In this AU, they never even had the time to consider it.
When 1492 comes along, Columbus arrives to the Americas to find it as technologically advanced as current day time (same countries, too), and his arrival on their shores has now made them aware of just how 'under-developed' the 'Old World' Nations are.
In 20 years time, the Europeans come to realize that the once 'indifferent to the rest of the continents' Americas are absurdly fascinated with putting the rest of the world up to speed - by force, if need be.
US trying to be the Hero, has never sounded more frightening.
Bonus) Queen Isabella of Castille backed Columbus because for years a good number of royals, herself included, had been suspiscious of just how different, isolated, well-fed and well-armed the Nordic Nations, plus Russia, were (taking into consideration that it was the Little Ice Age and they should have been dying of starvation and not prospering at all!!). The 'new route for India' was a coverup to confirm her suspiscions.
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20368336
So, to explain, since I'm working off the deleted prompt--no terrifying-hero-complex!America in this bit or Isabella bonus. Sorry to disappoint, guys. Just a short fill.
Names/cast shall be listed at the end to explain.
---
Kentahten waits.
It was Taíno’s people who first spotted the oncoming ships. The Europeans have finally tried to return to their section of the world. It was centuries ago that the Nordics first came to them and tried to settle. Kentahten and Kanata were too young to remember, although Kanata vaguely recalled one of them—perhaps Norway—patting his head and calling him “Vinland”. But their stay didn’t last when Kentahten and Kanata’s family forced them back. For years they remained in their own lands, forgotten by Vikings and the rest of the world alike.
But not forgotten by the rest of the universe.
Kentahten was the one to discover Tony; Uncle Navajo had sent them a message of a strange light that crashed into the earth. Kentahten’s parents like all the other tribes were confused, so Father Mohawk joined other representatives to see the strange sight. It was only at the last moment that Kentahten managed to convince the rest of his parents to send him along with his warlike father—if nothing, they sighed or laughed, it would keep him out of trouble. So he and Father Mohawk set out to Uncle Navajo’s lands.
Once there, Father Mohawk and the other tribal nations wasted weeks combing the ground while Kentahten ran wild in the unfamiliar lands. The strange object had vanished almost overnight, although evidence remained. At last, Father Mohawk shook his head and went to collect his wayward son.
Only to find that he’d attracted the strangest playmate Mohawk had ever seen. Kentahten laughed and introduced his new friend as Tony, whose ship—which, Kentahten informed his father seriously, was not the same as a canoe—was the one that crashed landed, and can’t he please come back with us?
Mohawk stared, shook his head, but agreed nonetheless. They had been blessed with a surely strange son, no doubt.
At first, no one knew what to make of Tony. Was he a monster or god, creature or strange human? Kentahten cared little for such wonderings though and cared only to play with his new friend. His new friend who, as he was quite delighted to have such an uncomplicated playmate, began to teach him and the rest of the tribes new things. First, Tony taught Kentahten of the stars and their properties, of planets and moons, of peoples and species unlike any on Kentahten’s planet. When Kentahten told Tony of his planet and of their traditions, Tony began to teach them more. How to create hardier crops, how to make more efficient tools, but most regrettably, how to make more destructive weapons.
Once upon a time, the western European countries colonized the Americas.
In this AU, they never even had the time to consider it.
When 1492 comes along, Columbus arrives to the Americas to find it as technologically advanced as current day time (same countries, too), and his arrival on their shores has now made them aware of just how 'under-developed' the 'Old World' Nations are.
In 20 years time, the Europeans come to realize that the once 'indifferent to the rest of the continents' Americas are absurdly fascinated with putting the rest of the world up to speed - by force, if need be.
US trying to be the Hero, has never sounded more frightening.
Bonus) Queen Isabella of Castille backed Columbus because for years a good number of royals, herself included, had been suspiscious of just how different, isolated, well-fed and well-armed the Nordic Nations, plus Russia, were (taking into consideration that it was the Little Ice Age and they should have been dying of starvation and not prospering at all!!). The 'new route for India' was a coverup to confirm her suspiscions.
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20368336
So, to explain, since I'm working off the deleted prompt--no terrifying-hero-complex!America in this bit or Isabella bonus. Sorry to disappoint, guys. Just a short fill.
Names/cast shall be listed at the end to explain.
---
Kentahten waits.
It was Taíno’s people who first spotted the oncoming ships. The Europeans have finally tried to return to their section of the world. It was centuries ago that the Nordics first came to them and tried to settle. Kentahten and Kanata were too young to remember, although Kanata vaguely recalled one of them—perhaps Norway—patting his head and calling him “Vinland”. But their stay didn’t last when Kentahten and Kanata’s family forced them back. For years they remained in their own lands, forgotten by Vikings and the rest of the world alike.
But not forgotten by the rest of the universe.
Kentahten was the one to discover Tony; Uncle Navajo had sent them a message of a strange light that crashed into the earth. Kentahten’s parents like all the other tribes were confused, so Father Mohawk joined other representatives to see the strange sight. It was only at the last moment that Kentahten managed to convince the rest of his parents to send him along with his warlike father—if nothing, they sighed or laughed, it would keep him out of trouble. So he and Father Mohawk set out to Uncle Navajo’s lands.
Once there, Father Mohawk and the other tribal nations wasted weeks combing the ground while Kentahten ran wild in the unfamiliar lands. The strange object had vanished almost overnight, although evidence remained. At last, Father Mohawk shook his head and went to collect his wayward son.
Only to find that he’d attracted the strangest playmate Mohawk had ever seen. Kentahten laughed and introduced his new friend as Tony, whose ship—which, Kentahten informed his father seriously, was not the same as a canoe—was the one that crashed landed, and can’t he please come back with us?
Mohawk stared, shook his head, but agreed nonetheless. They had been blessed with a surely strange son, no doubt.
At first, no one knew what to make of Tony. Was he a monster or god, creature or strange human? Kentahten cared little for such wonderings though and cared only to play with his new friend. His new friend who, as he was quite delighted to have such an uncomplicated playmate, began to teach him and the rest of the tribes new things. First, Tony taught Kentahten of the stars and their properties, of planets and moons, of peoples and species unlike any on Kentahten’s planet. When Kentahten told Tony of his planet and of their traditions, Tony began to teach them more. How to create hardier crops, how to make more efficient tools, but most regrettably, how to make more destructive weapons.
Part 7--The 'New World' Sees You--"The New World" (1b/1)
(Anonymous) 2011-06-10 11:47 pm (UTC)(link)“Don’t be like the morons across the sea,” Tony hissed. “I didn’t go to those lands because that’s all they do—fight, war, and then bitch about how terrible it all is before going and doing it all over. If you want me to stay and keep teaching you, you guys are going to have to learn to get along.”
Tony’s punishment for them was simple—to spread the knowledge they already knew to the other tribes. Kentahten’s parents balked at first, but finally agreed. And so, Kentahten got his secret wish; he and Tony traveled to the other tribes until at last the knowledge was shared from furthest reaches of Kanata’s lands to Mapuche’s southern shores. Roads now ran up and down their lands, connecting them together, like the information that bound them. Tony’s punishment of goodwill was rewarded with peace. Only Kentahten and Kanata were more pleased by the good relations of their people. And yet, when at last the trip was done, when Kentahten returned to find his people with things like planes and colleges, did Kentahten turn to Tony with dancing eyes.
“You told me once,” he said as he crouched down so he and Tony was eye to eye, no longer that small child from before. “That across the ocean lay other nations.”
Tony frowned and shifted warily. “Yeah, I did. What about ‘em?”
Kentahten grinned. “Tell me of them?”
With Tony’s explanations and their new satellites to show him, Kentahten and the rest of his people—not just his Haudenosaunee, but Kanata’s and Anahuac’s and everyone else as well—learned about the rest of their globe. Of their lands, beliefs, cultures, and of their wars.
So many of his relatives were repulsed—they were learned now, enlightened. They would have no more to do with war and conquerors. But while others turned away, Kentahten watched with curious, excited eyes.
And now they, the backwards Europeans, the “Old World” were coming to them.
“Let our relatives try to repel them,” Kentahten whispered to Kanata on his cell phone. “I want to see and talk with them.”
“You could invite disaster,” Kanata replied, ever cautious.
Kentahten grinned and shook his head, ending the call while turning to the East with the sunrise and the Old World.
Kentahten, or rather, America—as the Old World called him—waits.
---
Kentahten-America (really, he should be called Haudenosaunee at first, but I didn't want to give ONE character THREE names in the same story; anyway Kentahten is an Iroquoian word meaning "land of tomorrow", which is where the name Kentucky comes from. America here would be the Iroquois League)
Taíno-Cuba
Kanata-Canada (Canada was discovered by the Vikings and named Vinland at first--until the settlers died and the Vikings forgot about them)
Anahuac-Mexico (Or rather the Aztec empire)
Mapuche-Chile (or Argentina, they lived in both)
Tony’s punishment for them was simple—to spread the knowledge they already knew to the other tribes. Kentahten’s parents balked at first, but finally agreed. And so, Kentahten got his secret wish; he and Tony traveled to the other tribes until at last the knowledge was shared from furthest reaches of Kanata’s lands to Mapuche’s southern shores. Roads now ran up and down their lands, connecting them together, like the information that bound them. Tony’s punishment of goodwill was rewarded with peace. Only Kentahten and Kanata were more pleased by the good relations of their people. And yet, when at last the trip was done, when Kentahten returned to find his people with things like planes and colleges, did Kentahten turn to Tony with dancing eyes.
“You told me once,” he said as he crouched down so he and Tony was eye to eye, no longer that small child from before. “That across the ocean lay other nations.”
Tony frowned and shifted warily. “Yeah, I did. What about ‘em?”
Kentahten grinned. “Tell me of them?”
With Tony’s explanations and their new satellites to show him, Kentahten and the rest of his people—not just his Haudenosaunee, but Kanata’s and Anahuac’s and everyone else as well—learned about the rest of their globe. Of their lands, beliefs, cultures, and of their wars.
So many of his relatives were repulsed—they were learned now, enlightened. They would have no more to do with war and conquerors. But while others turned away, Kentahten watched with curious, excited eyes.
And now they, the backwards Europeans, the “Old World” were coming to them.
“Let our relatives try to repel them,” Kentahten whispered to Kanata on his cell phone. “I want to see and talk with them.”
“You could invite disaster,” Kanata replied, ever cautious.
Kentahten grinned and shook his head, ending the call while turning to the East with the sunrise and the Old World.
Kentahten, or rather, America—as the Old World called him—waits.
---
Kentahten-America (really, he should be called Haudenosaunee at first, but I didn't want to give ONE character THREE names in the same story; anyway Kentahten is an Iroquoian word meaning "land of tomorrow", which is where the name Kentucky comes from. America here would be the Iroquois League)
Taíno-Cuba
Kanata-Canada (Canada was discovered by the Vikings and named Vinland at first--until the settlers died and the Vikings forgot about them)
Anahuac-Mexico (Or rather the Aztec empire)
Mapuche-Chile (or Argentina, they lived in both)
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=56648470
Part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=76911444#t76911444
Sorry this took so long. Between classes and the three other fics I'm working on, I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments on the first part! I'm so happy that the OP is happy. One anon asked if this was an AU fic and yes it is.
Notes for this part:
Text that is in brackets and italics refers to a team interview, you know, when they talk off screen. Also, I decided to stick with the present tense writing style for now. Please enjoy!
---
“Go!”
The teams all rush forward in a mad dash for their bags and their first clue. The first to reach their luggage are Alfred and Arthur, although they are closely followed by the other teams. Soon, the sound of ripping paper fills the air as all the teams frantically open their clues.
“Fly to Munich, Germany,” they all say, almost simultaneously.
“Hell yes!” Gilbert shouts. “Home court advantage!”
“You’ll have to figure out how to get out of New York City first,” Alfred yells over his shoulder as he and Arthur race towards the elevator, Angelique and Belle right behind them. All of the teams are soon crowded in front of the elevator. The first elevator arrives and each of them struggles to get inside. The four teams that are successful are Alfred and Arthur, Elizabeta and Roderich, Belle and Angelique, and Francis and Gilbert. The rest of the teams are forced to wait impatiently for the next elevator.
---
Elevator 1
“Are you guys ready to lose?” Angelique says.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” Arthur says.
“I’m just happy to be here!” Elizabeta says breathlessly.
“This elevator is much too cramped,” Roderich says. He suddenly jumps. “OK, who touched me?”
Francis snickers and he and Gilbert exchange hi-fives. Elizabeta shoots them a dark look.
---
The second elevator arrives at the 102nd floor. Mathias and Berwald, Antonio and Lovino, Ludwig and Feliciano, and Lili and Vash all squeeze into it. The teams left on the 102nd floor let out a collective groan.
“At this rate, we’re going to miss all three flights,” Toris says sadly.
“I refuse to accept that my brother and I will be last!” Natalya says.
“Maybe we could take the stairs,” Feliks says. “How many are there?”
“1,860,” Kiku says. Yao makes a face.
“I might be too old for this,” he says.
---
Elevator 2
“Why do I have to be in the same elevator as you?” Lovino snaps at his brother. “You should have just taken the next one!”
“I think it would be best for everyone if a fight didn’t break out in here,” Ludwig says.
“If either my sister or I get hurt you will all be in very big trouble,” Vash warns.
“Does anyone want to know how many elevators have broken down and crashed in the Empire State Building?” Mathias asks.
“NO!”
Part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=76911444#t76911444
Sorry this took so long. Between classes and the three other fics I'm working on, I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments on the first part! I'm so happy that the OP is happy. One anon asked if this was an AU fic and yes it is.
Notes for this part:
Text that is in brackets and italics refers to a team interview, you know, when they talk off screen. Also, I decided to stick with the present tense writing style for now. Please enjoy!
---
“Go!”
The teams all rush forward in a mad dash for their bags and their first clue. The first to reach their luggage are Alfred and Arthur, although they are closely followed by the other teams. Soon, the sound of ripping paper fills the air as all the teams frantically open their clues.
“Fly to Munich, Germany,” they all say, almost simultaneously.
“Hell yes!” Gilbert shouts. “Home court advantage!”
“You’ll have to figure out how to get out of New York City first,” Alfred yells over his shoulder as he and Arthur race towards the elevator, Angelique and Belle right behind them. All of the teams are soon crowded in front of the elevator. The first elevator arrives and each of them struggles to get inside. The four teams that are successful are Alfred and Arthur, Elizabeta and Roderich, Belle and Angelique, and Francis and Gilbert. The rest of the teams are forced to wait impatiently for the next elevator.
---
Elevator 1
“Are you guys ready to lose?” Angelique says.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” Arthur says.
“I’m just happy to be here!” Elizabeta says breathlessly.
“This elevator is much too cramped,” Roderich says. He suddenly jumps. “OK, who touched me?”
Francis snickers and he and Gilbert exchange hi-fives. Elizabeta shoots them a dark look.
---
The second elevator arrives at the 102nd floor. Mathias and Berwald, Antonio and Lovino, Ludwig and Feliciano, and Lili and Vash all squeeze into it. The teams left on the 102nd floor let out a collective groan.
“At this rate, we’re going to miss all three flights,” Toris says sadly.
“I refuse to accept that my brother and I will be last!” Natalya says.
“Maybe we could take the stairs,” Feliks says. “How many are there?”
“1,860,” Kiku says. Yao makes a face.
“I might be too old for this,” he says.
---
Elevator 2
“Why do I have to be in the same elevator as you?” Lovino snaps at his brother. “You should have just taken the next one!”
“I think it would be best for everyone if a fight didn’t break out in here,” Ludwig says.
“If either my sister or I get hurt you will all be in very big trouble,” Vash warns.
“Does anyone want to know how many elevators have broken down and crashed in the Empire State Building?” Mathias asks.
“NO!”
The first elevator reaches the ground floor with Alfred and Arthur being the first team to run out. The four teams race through the lobby with Elizabeta and Roderich bringing up the rear as the latter struggles to keep up.
“Come on sweetie! You need to run faster!” Elizabeta calls over her shoulder.
Waiting outside the building are eleven taxis.
“Thank goodness we don’t have to drive there ourselves,” Francis says as he and Gilbert load their bags into the back of their taxi.
“LaGuardia,” Gilbert says to the driver. “And go as fast as you can. Thank fuck that we’re going to Munich.”
---
“I can’t believe we’re going to Munich!” Belle says happily as their taxi pulls away from the curb. “I can finally use that German I took in college!”
“I take back everything I said about it being a useless language,” Angelique says.
---
“Isn’t this exciting Roderich? Munich!” Elizabeta squeals happily.
“Not really. We go there almost every summer,” Roderich says as he slides into the taxi next to her.
---
Alfred checks behind to see that the other three taxis are following them. “Hell yes! First place!”
“As it should be,” Arthur says smugly.
---
Elevator 2 reaches the first floor. The teams rush out with Mathias and Berwald in the front.
“Damn it!” Mathias says when he sees the seven remaining taxis. “The others are already gone!” They both climb quickly into their taxi. “I need you to drive to LaGuardia airport as if your life depended on it,” he says to the driver. “Or else my buddy here will be very upset.” The driver visibly shudders when he sees Berwald in the rearview mirror.
“What have I said about using me as a threat?” Berwald says.
“But it works!”
---
“I don’t care if you have to run a million red lights as long as you get us to the airport before the rest of these losers,” Lovino yells at the driver.
“Hey Lovino, isn’t that building so cool?” Antonio points to a skyscraper down the street.
“Get in the damn car!”
---
“We need to get to the airport as quickly and safely as possible,” Vash says after making sure him and his sister are both buckled.
“This is really exciting, isn’t?” Lili says. “It will be nice to see Munich again.”
---
“LaGuardia airport!” Ludwig says as he slides into the car.
“And step on it!” Feliciano adds. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” he says in response to the look Ludwig gives him.
---
Elevator 3 arrives at the lobby. Toris and Feliks are the first team to run out, followed by Natalya and Ivan.
“Hold on Kiku,” Yao calls. He’s leaning against the wall next to the elevator, breathing heavily. “That ride made me a little ill.”
“…you can’t be serious.”
---
“This is totally not cool,” Feliks says when they reach their taxi. “All the other teams are gone!”
“Hopefully we can still catch up,” Toris says as he puts their bags into the back of the taxi.
“Dude, you’re gonna have to go super fast to the airport,” Feliks tells the driver, “Seriously, put this thing in hyperdrive if you have to!”
---
“If you don’t get us to the airport before the rest of these teams, you will not live to see another sunrise.”
“Natalya! You can’t threaten the driver!...and you can’t sit in the front seat either!”
“Come on sweetie! You need to run faster!” Elizabeta calls over her shoulder.
Waiting outside the building are eleven taxis.
“Thank goodness we don’t have to drive there ourselves,” Francis says as he and Gilbert load their bags into the back of their taxi.
“LaGuardia,” Gilbert says to the driver. “And go as fast as you can. Thank fuck that we’re going to Munich.”
---
“I can’t believe we’re going to Munich!” Belle says happily as their taxi pulls away from the curb. “I can finally use that German I took in college!”
“I take back everything I said about it being a useless language,” Angelique says.
---
“Isn’t this exciting Roderich? Munich!” Elizabeta squeals happily.
“Not really. We go there almost every summer,” Roderich says as he slides into the taxi next to her.
---
Alfred checks behind to see that the other three taxis are following them. “Hell yes! First place!”
“As it should be,” Arthur says smugly.
---
Elevator 2 reaches the first floor. The teams rush out with Mathias and Berwald in the front.
“Damn it!” Mathias says when he sees the seven remaining taxis. “The others are already gone!” They both climb quickly into their taxi. “I need you to drive to LaGuardia airport as if your life depended on it,” he says to the driver. “Or else my buddy here will be very upset.” The driver visibly shudders when he sees Berwald in the rearview mirror.
“What have I said about using me as a threat?” Berwald says.
“But it works!”
---
“I don’t care if you have to run a million red lights as long as you get us to the airport before the rest of these losers,” Lovino yells at the driver.
“Hey Lovino, isn’t that building so cool?” Antonio points to a skyscraper down the street.
“Get in the damn car!”
---
“We need to get to the airport as quickly and safely as possible,” Vash says after making sure him and his sister are both buckled.
“This is really exciting, isn’t?” Lili says. “It will be nice to see Munich again.”
---
“LaGuardia airport!” Ludwig says as he slides into the car.
“And step on it!” Feliciano adds. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” he says in response to the look Ludwig gives him.
---
Elevator 3 arrives at the lobby. Toris and Feliks are the first team to run out, followed by Natalya and Ivan.
“Hold on Kiku,” Yao calls. He’s leaning against the wall next to the elevator, breathing heavily. “That ride made me a little ill.”
“…you can’t be serious.”
---
“This is totally not cool,” Feliks says when they reach their taxi. “All the other teams are gone!”
“Hopefully we can still catch up,” Toris says as he puts their bags into the back of the taxi.
“Dude, you’re gonna have to go super fast to the airport,” Feliks tells the driver, “Seriously, put this thing in hyperdrive if you have to!”
---
“If you don’t get us to the airport before the rest of these teams, you will not live to see another sunrise.”
“Natalya! You can’t threaten the driver!...and you can’t sit in the front seat either!”
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18439.html?thread=65229063#t65229063
This prompt might also work with the german brothers.
So, US+Can or the Italies are conceived as identical twins. In the womb, though, one of the twins dies (can be either one). The surviving twin is never told, and is born healthy and grows up normally. Once he gets to around 18-20 years old, he starts developing a split personality. And that split personality is his dead twin.
Eventually, he is informed of his twin that died, and begins to associate his alter ego with his dead twin, and the other personality even names himself. Once the split personality develops fully, the living twin is asked if he wants medication or treatment, but denies it. Why? He feels a connection with his other personality and doesn't mind sharing a body with him.
Romance with the character suffering from Split personality is optional, but I'm sure a relationship with two personalities would be very interesting.
I'd really like a happy ending, where both 'twins' are fine with their situation and are (generally) mentally stable otherwise.
The couple that the twins are born from can be cannon or not, or you could even have the surviving twin adopted by two cannon characters.
Bonus- Surviving!Matthew is adopted by gay couple Francis and Arthur, and Alfred is his other personality.
This prompt might also work with the german brothers.
So, US+Can or the Italies are conceived as identical twins. In the womb, though, one of the twins dies (can be either one). The surviving twin is never told, and is born healthy and grows up normally. Once he gets to around 18-20 years old, he starts developing a split personality. And that split personality is his dead twin.
Eventually, he is informed of his twin that died, and begins to associate his alter ego with his dead twin, and the other personality even names himself. Once the split personality develops fully, the living twin is asked if he wants medication or treatment, but denies it. Why? He feels a connection with his other personality and doesn't mind sharing a body with him.
Romance with the character suffering from Split personality is optional, but I'm sure a relationship with two personalities would be very interesting.
I'd really like a happy ending, where both 'twins' are fine with their situation and are (generally) mentally stable otherwise.
The couple that the twins are born from can be cannon or not, or you could even have the surviving twin adopted by two cannon characters.
Bonus- Surviving!Matthew is adopted by gay couple Francis and Arthur, and Alfred is his other personality.
It was almost as if Ludwig was having an out of body experience.
No scratch that. It was exactly like he was having an out of body experience.
Ludwig was watching himself walk down the street in the middle of the night. Although he couldn’t control himself he couldn’t control himself he knew exactly where he was going.
The Devils Crib. The underground club where the teenagers went to drink, do drugs, and have sex to their hearts content.
Half an hour ago he didn’t even have the slightest idea of which side of the city it was on.
And himself. Gone was the carefully gelled hair, the carefully ironed suits and vests, the glasses and the shoes. In their place were clothes Ludwig never even remembered getting.
Everything leather. The jacket, the pants, the boots. The shirt was ripped in places and had the picture of a black eagle on it. There was a spiked collar on his neck. His hair wasn’t gelled and instead down and wild. The only thing he recognized was the iron cross necklace his father had given him years ago.
But what scared him the most was the look on his face. Never in his life had he ever had such a gleeful and feral look. His eyes were a light and he had a combination of a grin and a smirk. His hands flexed at his sides as if he was itching for a fight and there was a slight bounce in his step.
There weren’t that many people out at this time but those who were threw looks of suspicion at him before quickly walking away.
His body paid no attention to them; he had a place to be.
He made a sudden turn at an alley and walked down it before coming to a door. When he opened it the smell of smoke and g-d knows what else met him.
Ludwig felt his heart quiver with excitement before he descended into the stairway.
The scene that met him was straight out a movie. Lights flashing everywhere, the music going on so loud the floor were shaking, smoke from the machines, cigarettes, and other substances filled the air. People dancing to the music. Some couples grinding on one another. Hands flying over their partners bodies, kissing, grinding, grinning, moaning.
He felt his eyes scan the crowd before locking on one girl who stood dancing alone. Her eyes were closed and she was moving steadily to the beat. Her lips were drawn upwards. Her green dress accented her curves nicely however what might’ve scared the other men away was the frying pan she twirled in her hands.
He felt his lips go upward in a grin as he made his way towards her. Once je was close enough he gently touched her shoulder to get her attention.
No scratch that. It was exactly like he was having an out of body experience.
Ludwig was watching himself walk down the street in the middle of the night. Although he couldn’t control himself he couldn’t control himself he knew exactly where he was going.
The Devils Crib. The underground club where the teenagers went to drink, do drugs, and have sex to their hearts content.
Half an hour ago he didn’t even have the slightest idea of which side of the city it was on.
And himself. Gone was the carefully gelled hair, the carefully ironed suits and vests, the glasses and the shoes. In their place were clothes Ludwig never even remembered getting.
Everything leather. The jacket, the pants, the boots. The shirt was ripped in places and had the picture of a black eagle on it. There was a spiked collar on his neck. His hair wasn’t gelled and instead down and wild. The only thing he recognized was the iron cross necklace his father had given him years ago.
But what scared him the most was the look on his face. Never in his life had he ever had such a gleeful and feral look. His eyes were a light and he had a combination of a grin and a smirk. His hands flexed at his sides as if he was itching for a fight and there was a slight bounce in his step.
There weren’t that many people out at this time but those who were threw looks of suspicion at him before quickly walking away.
His body paid no attention to them; he had a place to be.
He made a sudden turn at an alley and walked down it before coming to a door. When he opened it the smell of smoke and g-d knows what else met him.
Ludwig felt his heart quiver with excitement before he descended into the stairway.
The scene that met him was straight out a movie. Lights flashing everywhere, the music going on so loud the floor were shaking, smoke from the machines, cigarettes, and other substances filled the air. People dancing to the music. Some couples grinding on one another. Hands flying over their partners bodies, kissing, grinding, grinning, moaning.
He felt his eyes scan the crowd before locking on one girl who stood dancing alone. Her eyes were closed and she was moving steadily to the beat. Her lips were drawn upwards. Her green dress accented her curves nicely however what might’ve scared the other men away was the frying pan she twirled in her hands.
He felt his lips go upward in a grin as he made his way towards her. Once je was close enough he gently touched her shoulder to get her attention.
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=74701882#t74701882
"Germany completely gets off on being both desired and degraded. Lots of rough sex (including face-fucking and/or facials) and mean dirty talk please, calling Germany a whore/slut, how desperate he is for cock, how that's all he's good for. Germany is horribly embarrassed but does, in fact, absolutely love it. No DP please, but one nation taking his mouth while another fucks him is very much approved of.
Can be PWP or something a lover arranged after Germany confessed the fantasy. (Although if you go the later route, Prussia or France for his lover, please?)
Nations I'd love to be included, but you definitely don't need all of them/can include others if you want: Prussia, France, Austria, America, England, Mangary, Boylarus, Italy, Romano, Denmark, Sweden."
Not much porn in this first bit; I'm getting there, sorry. XD
---
It's one-thirty-two in the morning when Germany finally finishes his work and allows himself to walk off to bed. And the conference is scheduled for six the next morning. He tries not to complain, but honestly.
As such, he's already gotten to his room, slammed the door and pulled his shirt off before he opens his eyes enough to realize he is not alone.
His brother is there. By itself, that would be unusual, but not completely bizarre. However, with his brother is America, England, France, Austria, both Italies, Sweden and Denmark. Which means (including himself) there are eight nations and ten personifications in his room. One of which (maybe two if you're generous, because Prussia does at least live in the house. Oh and Italy, because he's Italy) have any reason to be here.
They all give him different looks, whispering things to each other that he can't here. “...Uh,” is his eventual response to the situation. “Excuse me, but, erm, why are you all here?”
“I let 'em in,” Prussia says, which sounds like something Prussia would do, but isn't very helpful for determining what's actually going on.
“But why?”
“Germany,” says England, wearing a wicked smirk that typically does not lead to good things. “Just thought we'd need to have a little get-together before the meeting tomorrow.”
“We would?”
“Oui Allemagne,” France answers, also smirking from where he is sitting on Germany's bed. Why is he on Germany's bed? “Why don't you come sit down and we shall... tell you the details.”
Germany looks away as France pats the space beside him. It appears that he is just being his typical perverted self. However, if that were the case – England would be yelling by now (England would be yelling by now if he were simply in the same room as France on most occasions), Austria would start going on about indecency and such, and generally things would not be as easily accepted as they are being right now. A blush settles over Germany's face as he begins to... not worry, but be concerned by what exactly may be happening.
“Ah, are you shy? There is no need to be.”
“Would you shut your stupid French mouth?!” England bursts out. There, that's more like it. “If he won't sit, he won't sit. You'll scare him off entirely at this rate!”
Wait, what? “Dude, England, chill!” America says. “We're all here for the same thing, right. Except Germany I guess, kinda sorta, depends whether he agrees or not. But anyway, could you two please try to get along for a bit?”
“I was doing just that, my dear Amerique, before this brute started to verbally assault me for no reason!”
Germany coughs and draws attention back to himself. “Ahem, is anyone planning on telling me what is going on?”
There's a pause. “Ve, Germany! Come sit with us!” Italy is also sitting on the bed, grinning in an almost scary way. Germany hesitates. However, it's Italy, who has always seemed unnecessarily innocent and nothing should happen there. So he acquiesces and makes his way there, staying as far away from France as possible.
“So, you're not willing to tell me what's going on either, are you?”
"Germany completely gets off on being both desired and degraded. Lots of rough sex (including face-fucking and/or facials) and mean dirty talk please, calling Germany a whore/slut, how desperate he is for cock, how that's all he's good for. Germany is horribly embarrassed but does, in fact, absolutely love it. No DP please, but one nation taking his mouth while another fucks him is very much approved of.
Can be PWP or something a lover arranged after Germany confessed the fantasy. (Although if you go the later route, Prussia or France for his lover, please?)
Nations I'd love to be included, but you definitely don't need all of them/can include others if you want: Prussia, France, Austria, America, England, Mangary, Boylarus, Italy, Romano, Denmark, Sweden."
Not much porn in this first bit; I'm getting there, sorry. XD
---
It's one-thirty-two in the morning when Germany finally finishes his work and allows himself to walk off to bed. And the conference is scheduled for six the next morning. He tries not to complain, but honestly.
As such, he's already gotten to his room, slammed the door and pulled his shirt off before he opens his eyes enough to realize he is not alone.
His brother is there. By itself, that would be unusual, but not completely bizarre. However, with his brother is America, England, France, Austria, both Italies, Sweden and Denmark. Which means (including himself) there are eight nations and ten personifications in his room. One of which (maybe two if you're generous, because Prussia does at least live in the house. Oh and Italy, because he's Italy) have any reason to be here.
They all give him different looks, whispering things to each other that he can't here. “...Uh,” is his eventual response to the situation. “Excuse me, but, erm, why are you all here?”
“I let 'em in,” Prussia says, which sounds like something Prussia would do, but isn't very helpful for determining what's actually going on.
“But why?”
“Germany,” says England, wearing a wicked smirk that typically does not lead to good things. “Just thought we'd need to have a little get-together before the meeting tomorrow.”
“We would?”
“Oui Allemagne,” France answers, also smirking from where he is sitting on Germany's bed. Why is he on Germany's bed? “Why don't you come sit down and we shall... tell you the details.”
Germany looks away as France pats the space beside him. It appears that he is just being his typical perverted self. However, if that were the case – England would be yelling by now (England would be yelling by now if he were simply in the same room as France on most occasions), Austria would start going on about indecency and such, and generally things would not be as easily accepted as they are being right now. A blush settles over Germany's face as he begins to... not worry, but be concerned by what exactly may be happening.
“Ah, are you shy? There is no need to be.”
“Would you shut your stupid French mouth?!” England bursts out. There, that's more like it. “If he won't sit, he won't sit. You'll scare him off entirely at this rate!”
Wait, what? “Dude, England, chill!” America says. “We're all here for the same thing, right. Except Germany I guess, kinda sorta, depends whether he agrees or not. But anyway, could you two please try to get along for a bit?”
“I was doing just that, my dear Amerique, before this brute started to verbally assault me for no reason!”
Germany coughs and draws attention back to himself. “Ahem, is anyone planning on telling me what is going on?”
There's a pause. “Ve, Germany! Come sit with us!” Italy is also sitting on the bed, grinning in an almost scary way. Germany hesitates. However, it's Italy, who has always seemed unnecessarily innocent and nothing should happen there. So he acquiesces and makes his way there, staying as far away from France as possible.
“So, you're not willing to tell me what's going on either, are you?”
I'm already loving this fill. Can't wait to see what happens next, anon &hearts
[Part 18] Door Stopper [2/?] [Germany/Various] (that's more accurate, isn't it?)
(Anonymous) - 2011-06-11 13:08 (UTC) - ExpandPart 18--DenNor, Attention Whore (Putting a Sexy Show, Other Not Allowed to Touch)
(Anonymous) 2011-06-11 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)Original post: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=74686778#t74686778
Smut, PWP ahead folks...
Denmark was being annoying.
That was nothing new under Norway’s sun, but at this moment his antic were particularly unwelcome as Norway struggled to read through the latest legislation dealing with drilling in the North Sea. Rubbing his temples in frustration, he began to wonder what madness had induced him to let the man into his office in the first place.
“Sit there and be quiet,” He told him in no uncertain terms. But did Denmark ever listen? No, the man was incapable of following anyone’s instructions.
First, the idiot draped himself across the desk, trying to read the document upside down until Norway swatted him away.
Next, it was not so subtle whining that he was ready to go out for the weekend and when was Norway going to be done so they could leave.
Then, the troublesome moron decided to rub Norway’s increasingly tense shoulders, seemingly blissfully unaware that he was a significant contributor to his current state of stress. He actually tried to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, some nonsense about how good he looked today, how much Denmark had wanted to see him, as he slid a hand down his front, goal doubtless to go down his pants.
Enough was enough. Norway shook him off roughly, breaking away from his work long enough to give him a glare as cold as tundra, pointing to the door and commanding, “Get out.”
Denmark had the gall to look hurt, refusing to leave, “C’mon, you know you want me to.”
Norway snorted, gripping his pen hard enough that it was leaving indentations on his palm, “Hardly. Either get out or shut-up.”
He turned his attention back to the legislation, gratified that Denmark was finally quiet, though he heard him shuffle aimlessly about the office. As long as he wasn’t in his space interrupting, Norway couldn’t be distracted enough to care.
He’d no sooner completed that thought when his hands were suddenly in a tight and familiar grip, arms being pulled behind him, trapped behind in the chair. He attempted to jerk away, but Denmark, was, always had been stronger.
“What the fuck are you doing,” he hissed as he felt a silk tie being wound around his wrists, effectively binding him to the chair, infuriated and ready to spit nails.
Denmark moved in front of him, pushing up on his desk, scattering his work over the floor, looking directly at Norway, his face determined in that old Viking way that never boded well for anyone.
“I’m going to make you pay attention to me.”
Smut, PWP ahead folks...
Denmark was being annoying.
That was nothing new under Norway’s sun, but at this moment his antic were particularly unwelcome as Norway struggled to read through the latest legislation dealing with drilling in the North Sea. Rubbing his temples in frustration, he began to wonder what madness had induced him to let the man into his office in the first place.
“Sit there and be quiet,” He told him in no uncertain terms. But did Denmark ever listen? No, the man was incapable of following anyone’s instructions.
First, the idiot draped himself across the desk, trying to read the document upside down until Norway swatted him away.
Next, it was not so subtle whining that he was ready to go out for the weekend and when was Norway going to be done so they could leave.
Then, the troublesome moron decided to rub Norway’s increasingly tense shoulders, seemingly blissfully unaware that he was a significant contributor to his current state of stress. He actually tried to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, some nonsense about how good he looked today, how much Denmark had wanted to see him, as he slid a hand down his front, goal doubtless to go down his pants.
Enough was enough. Norway shook him off roughly, breaking away from his work long enough to give him a glare as cold as tundra, pointing to the door and commanding, “Get out.”
Denmark had the gall to look hurt, refusing to leave, “C’mon, you know you want me to.”
Norway snorted, gripping his pen hard enough that it was leaving indentations on his palm, “Hardly. Either get out or shut-up.”
He turned his attention back to the legislation, gratified that Denmark was finally quiet, though he heard him shuffle aimlessly about the office. As long as he wasn’t in his space interrupting, Norway couldn’t be distracted enough to care.
He’d no sooner completed that thought when his hands were suddenly in a tight and familiar grip, arms being pulled behind him, trapped behind in the chair. He attempted to jerk away, but Denmark, was, always had been stronger.
“What the fuck are you doing,” he hissed as he felt a silk tie being wound around his wrists, effectively binding him to the chair, infuriated and ready to spit nails.
Denmark moved in front of him, pushing up on his desk, scattering his work over the floor, looking directly at Norway, his face determined in that old Viking way that never boded well for anyone.
“I’m going to make you pay attention to me.”
“I am going to kill you,” Norway struggled against the tie, but Denmark did always know how to hold a man down.
Denmark laughed, low and tinged with darkness, “You of all people should know better. It’s impossible to break out of one of my knots. So just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Norway stilled, choosing to save his energy for thinking up creative ways to murder the Dane whenever this little charade was over. Determined not to give Denmark the pleasure, he stared blankly ahead, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.
Denmark made his intentions clear quickly and effectively as spread his long legs on either side of Norway’s chair, giving him an eyeful of the bulge in his pants. In spite of his best intentions, Norway’s breath caught.
Denmark, casually, carefully started unbuttoning his shirt, humming to himself and shifting his hips back and forth ever so slightly with each button that came undone. It was a little hypnotic. Norway licked his lips, mouth gone dry, as Denmark dropped the shirt at his feet, broad chest on display. The bastard ran his hands over his arms, and then let his fingers drift over his nipples, his sigh echoing in the office’s evening quiet.
As Denmark trailed his fingers lower, lower, Norway’s eyes unable to keep themselves from following the movement, he started talking, tone intimate and dirty, “So freaking frustrating, Norge.”
His zipper came down, the sound echoing in Norway’s ears, “I can’t ever tell what’s going on in that mind of yours. Always running so hot and cold.”
He shimmied a little, letting his pants and boxers slide down slightly, revealing the sharp hipbones that Norway secretly loved to lick, “Since you never tell me anything, I’m going to tell you what’s on my mind.”
Now Denmark had his cock in hand, hard and ready. Always wanton and a little showy, he titled his head back. Norway wanted to bite his throat, struggling once again to relieve himself of his bonds.
Stroking himself, running his thumb across the tip of his cock, jerking forward each time he did so, Denmark continued talking, (always talking), voice going scratchy, “I walk in, been waiting to see you all week, and, fuck, I just want to touch you all over. Wanna throw you over my lap and kiss you until you beg me for it.”
Norway moaned, he couldn’t help it, he was so hard now, pulling against the tie, wrists starting to chafe. Denmark moved off the table, sliding one knee on to the chair between Norway’s legs, putting just enough pressure on Norway’s aching cock to be an unsatisfying tease. Denmark’s own dick was now so close to his face, Norway thought he could feel its heat on his cheek.
But Denmark wasn’t looking at him, continuing to stroke himself, faster, harder as he tripped over his words, breath coming in shallow pants, “Push you down on your desk, spread you open and fuck you so hard you feel me for days.”
Norway was hot, so hot he was going crazy. He wanted Denmark to look at him, wanted to watch his face as he came undone.
Denmark’s strokes were now uneven and hurried as he bent even closer to Norway, “Want, I want,”
Norway couldn’t take it anymore, breathlessly ordering, “Look at me!”
Denmark’s eyes snapped to his, the connection electric and immediate, pushing Denmark over the edge as he came long and hot over Norway’s face and neck.
Denmark laughed, low and tinged with darkness, “You of all people should know better. It’s impossible to break out of one of my knots. So just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Norway stilled, choosing to save his energy for thinking up creative ways to murder the Dane whenever this little charade was over. Determined not to give Denmark the pleasure, he stared blankly ahead, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.
Denmark made his intentions clear quickly and effectively as spread his long legs on either side of Norway’s chair, giving him an eyeful of the bulge in his pants. In spite of his best intentions, Norway’s breath caught.
Denmark, casually, carefully started unbuttoning his shirt, humming to himself and shifting his hips back and forth ever so slightly with each button that came undone. It was a little hypnotic. Norway licked his lips, mouth gone dry, as Denmark dropped the shirt at his feet, broad chest on display. The bastard ran his hands over his arms, and then let his fingers drift over his nipples, his sigh echoing in the office’s evening quiet.
As Denmark trailed his fingers lower, lower, Norway’s eyes unable to keep themselves from following the movement, he started talking, tone intimate and dirty, “So freaking frustrating, Norge.”
His zipper came down, the sound echoing in Norway’s ears, “I can’t ever tell what’s going on in that mind of yours. Always running so hot and cold.”
He shimmied a little, letting his pants and boxers slide down slightly, revealing the sharp hipbones that Norway secretly loved to lick, “Since you never tell me anything, I’m going to tell you what’s on my mind.”
Now Denmark had his cock in hand, hard and ready. Always wanton and a little showy, he titled his head back. Norway wanted to bite his throat, struggling once again to relieve himself of his bonds.
Stroking himself, running his thumb across the tip of his cock, jerking forward each time he did so, Denmark continued talking, (always talking), voice going scratchy, “I walk in, been waiting to see you all week, and, fuck, I just want to touch you all over. Wanna throw you over my lap and kiss you until you beg me for it.”
Norway moaned, he couldn’t help it, he was so hard now, pulling against the tie, wrists starting to chafe. Denmark moved off the table, sliding one knee on to the chair between Norway’s legs, putting just enough pressure on Norway’s aching cock to be an unsatisfying tease. Denmark’s own dick was now so close to his face, Norway thought he could feel its heat on his cheek.
But Denmark wasn’t looking at him, continuing to stroke himself, faster, harder as he tripped over his words, breath coming in shallow pants, “Push you down on your desk, spread you open and fuck you so hard you feel me for days.”
Norway was hot, so hot he was going crazy. He wanted Denmark to look at him, wanted to watch his face as he came undone.
Denmark’s strokes were now uneven and hurried as he bent even closer to Norway, “Want, I want,”
Norway couldn’t take it anymore, breathlessly ordering, “Look at me!”
Denmark’s eyes snapped to his, the connection electric and immediate, pushing Denmark over the edge as he came long and hot over Norway’s face and neck.
Prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/19013.html?thread=67778373
Click. Click. Swiiiiiish. The door swung open with a sigh, groaning under the combined weight of the two people pressed against its old hinges. The classroom was shrouded in darkness, the only light filtering in through the windows up in the corners of the room. The new occupants of the room stumbled through the darkness, all moans and whispers and breaths, until they hit the edge of one of the desks and toppled over on top of it. There was a clink clank clunk as a set of keys tripped down the desk and slid across dusty linoleum, into a sliver of light from the windows.
The door hovered and then swung shut as the breeze came in from one of the windows that had been left open. Some posters fluttered on the edges of the breeze, but came to a halt, watching, waiting. Listening.
There was a loud scrape as the desk moved just barely an inch, and one of the people stopped moving, suppressing a chuckle.
“I-it’s not funny, Heracles,” a voice said, soft and heeded with lust with a hint of annoyance. Another chuckle. Clink, click, scrape. A belt slid to the floor. Kiss-swollen lips pouted, and were pulled forward into a long, open-mouthed kiss, black hair just covering his eyes as he leaned forward and over the other person, climbing up onto the desk, panting heavily.
Pop, pop, ziiiip. Jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned, fingertips grazing chiseled muscle tenderly. The windows rattled gently. The room hadn’t been in use since the morning, and it would continue to sit until the following morning. At least for a class.
There was a long, low moan, and the other boy, Heracles, was leaning back, completely against the desk, his head against the fake wood and his chin tipped up, eyes closed and cheeks rosy with pleasure.
“Kiku—“
“—shush, you’re being t-too loud—ohh—“
The wind through the broken, opened window kicked up a small chalk dust cloud from the chalkboard and skirted it across the board, leaving a sheen of white. Kiku was leading kisses down Heracles’s exposed torso, over ribcage, his stomach, his hips. Heracles gave an involuntary shudder that made the desk groan with annoyance. Kiku re-positioned himself over Heracles’s hips, bare knees rubbing against the top of the desk. His skin was turning red and angry with the unwanted friction, but he didn’t notice. He curled socked toes around themselves, curling into one of Heracles’s legs. Heracles’s other leg cast a shadow along the far wall as Kiku lifted it up, nails digging gently into dappled flesh and eliciting a gasp. Scritch, scratch, Heracles’s nails answered the motion along the desk.
The maps and posters around the room watched in silence as Kiku hoisted himself over Heracles, lips moving nearly inaudibly, pulling his fingers out from inside him and placing both hands on either sides of his hips, and Heracles took him in with a grunt and a moan and the desk wobbled.
Kiku thrust his hips into Heracles’s buck and leaned forward, capturing him in a long kiss, taking one hand and running it through Heracles’s hair, scratching his scalp and running his fingers down his neck. Kiku left his lips with a gasp and laid his lips along Heracles’s neck, exploring every inch of tender flesh, bits of his skin glowing in the few strains of light still filtering into the room. It was long past the bell at this point.
Click. Click. Swiiiiiish. The door swung open with a sigh, groaning under the combined weight of the two people pressed against its old hinges. The classroom was shrouded in darkness, the only light filtering in through the windows up in the corners of the room. The new occupants of the room stumbled through the darkness, all moans and whispers and breaths, until they hit the edge of one of the desks and toppled over on top of it. There was a clink clank clunk as a set of keys tripped down the desk and slid across dusty linoleum, into a sliver of light from the windows.
The door hovered and then swung shut as the breeze came in from one of the windows that had been left open. Some posters fluttered on the edges of the breeze, but came to a halt, watching, waiting. Listening.
There was a loud scrape as the desk moved just barely an inch, and one of the people stopped moving, suppressing a chuckle.
“I-it’s not funny, Heracles,” a voice said, soft and heeded with lust with a hint of annoyance. Another chuckle. Clink, click, scrape. A belt slid to the floor. Kiss-swollen lips pouted, and were pulled forward into a long, open-mouthed kiss, black hair just covering his eyes as he leaned forward and over the other person, climbing up onto the desk, panting heavily.
Pop, pop, ziiiip. Jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned, fingertips grazing chiseled muscle tenderly. The windows rattled gently. The room hadn’t been in use since the morning, and it would continue to sit until the following morning. At least for a class.
There was a long, low moan, and the other boy, Heracles, was leaning back, completely against the desk, his head against the fake wood and his chin tipped up, eyes closed and cheeks rosy with pleasure.
“Kiku—“
“—shush, you’re being t-too loud—ohh—“
The wind through the broken, opened window kicked up a small chalk dust cloud from the chalkboard and skirted it across the board, leaving a sheen of white. Kiku was leading kisses down Heracles’s exposed torso, over ribcage, his stomach, his hips. Heracles gave an involuntary shudder that made the desk groan with annoyance. Kiku re-positioned himself over Heracles’s hips, bare knees rubbing against the top of the desk. His skin was turning red and angry with the unwanted friction, but he didn’t notice. He curled socked toes around themselves, curling into one of Heracles’s legs. Heracles’s other leg cast a shadow along the far wall as Kiku lifted it up, nails digging gently into dappled flesh and eliciting a gasp. Scritch, scratch, Heracles’s nails answered the motion along the desk.
The maps and posters around the room watched in silence as Kiku hoisted himself over Heracles, lips moving nearly inaudibly, pulling his fingers out from inside him and placing both hands on either sides of his hips, and Heracles took him in with a grunt and a moan and the desk wobbled.
Kiku thrust his hips into Heracles’s buck and leaned forward, capturing him in a long kiss, taking one hand and running it through Heracles’s hair, scratching his scalp and running his fingers down his neck. Kiku left his lips with a gasp and laid his lips along Heracles’s neck, exploring every inch of tender flesh, bits of his skin glowing in the few strains of light still filtering into the room. It was long past the bell at this point.
Heracles reared his head back and opened glowing eyes, staring at the posters behind him and letting himself go, relishing in the contact and the pleasure and the touches and licks and nips and every inch of him was electrified.
“Oh my G-God, Kiku—!” and he dug his nails into the edge of the desk with a loud scrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaatch, for Kiku had taken to using his tongue along his nipples and it felt ridiculously good. Soon their talking had ceased and it came to needy, desperate pants, low moans and the sound of skin-on-skin-on-fake wood squeaking-on-linoleum. The adhesive on the posters closest to the ground—an old, old map of the world, sepia-toned and faded—began to fail as the humidity rose in the room with each haggard gasp of breath.
Kiku suddenly sat up straight and shucked his navy-blue blazer with a swiiiish crumple as it fell to the floor. His pressed dress shirt was still mostly buttoned and his tie was around his shoulders, partially undone. He leaned forward, his eyes rolling back into his head with a groan and kissed Heracles’s navel as his body tensed, and his entire body shuddered with climax as Heracles, Heracles rolled from his mouth in soft whispers. He only had a minute to rest, sweat pasting his hair to his cheeks, before he bent down and took Heracles’s still untended member between his lips to properly finish him off. Heracles reacted to the sudden wet heat with a moan, bucking his hips and curling his toes inward. By this point the sun had sunk farther in the sky and casted the light onto the laminated posters on the far wall, outlining a series of bumps as a shadow that moved constantly.
Heracles answered Kiku’s earlier declarations of his name with Kiku, Kiku, ohaio-shū watashi—! If the posters had been able, they would have shielded their eyes, and the door would have clouded and the chalkboard would have kicked up more dust to block them, anything—the stoic, faded looks of great world leaders were high above them, near the dusted windows, surveying the room and its occupants.
Heracles released one more sound that was more animal than human—and much louder than either probably wanted—and then relaxed, panting, his hands around Kiku’s neck, thumbing small circles into his back.
“...you weren’t joking when you said you wanted to,” Heracles murmured up into the air. Kiku snorted into his chest, lifting his head to place a small kiss on his lips.
“Well, I—“ and the desk wobbled violently. Kiku jumped, startled, and slid out of Heracles and off the desk, taking a few steps back. He brushed off his shirt and stood, pantsless, staring at the desk that Heracles was still strewn across.
“...this is my desk,” he muttered. He looked up and around and noticed the things he hadn’t in the heat of passion in the dark; the maps, the propaganda posters the portraits high above him. “This is my World History class.”
“Really?” Heracles asked, sitting up. He hopped off the desk and pulled his slacks back on, his shirt hanging limp and open on his shoulders. He rubbed at one of the red welts that was forming along his collar bone. Heracles looked up and noticed the portraits circling the room, their gazes almost fixed on them.
“They would be judging us, wouldn’t they?” Heracles asked, humor in his voice. Kiku nodded.
“Definitely. Let’s get out of here; they’re making me... uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t care before,” Heracles noted as he re-did his belt. Kiku pulled his slacks back on and frowned at the soiled desk. He glanced back up at the portraits, the maps, even the windows.
“...I wouldn’t have come in here if I knew it was this room,” he said slowly. Heracles slid Kiku’s discarded keys into his hand and kissed the top of his ear. “C’mon, let’s go; I’ll deal with that later.”
And the room fell into silence once more, the door sighing shut behind them.
Click, click.
--
I went a weird direction with this one; I was kinda thinking from the pov of the classroom, but I didn't want to leave out sexy details... I dunno. I think I'm getting better a smut?
“Oh my G-God, Kiku—!” and he dug his nails into the edge of the desk with a loud scrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaatch, for Kiku had taken to using his tongue along his nipples and it felt ridiculously good. Soon their talking had ceased and it came to needy, desperate pants, low moans and the sound of skin-on-skin-on-fake wood squeaking-on-linoleum. The adhesive on the posters closest to the ground—an old, old map of the world, sepia-toned and faded—began to fail as the humidity rose in the room with each haggard gasp of breath.
Kiku suddenly sat up straight and shucked his navy-blue blazer with a swiiiish crumple as it fell to the floor. His pressed dress shirt was still mostly buttoned and his tie was around his shoulders, partially undone. He leaned forward, his eyes rolling back into his head with a groan and kissed Heracles’s navel as his body tensed, and his entire body shuddered with climax as Heracles, Heracles rolled from his mouth in soft whispers. He only had a minute to rest, sweat pasting his hair to his cheeks, before he bent down and took Heracles’s still untended member between his lips to properly finish him off. Heracles reacted to the sudden wet heat with a moan, bucking his hips and curling his toes inward. By this point the sun had sunk farther in the sky and casted the light onto the laminated posters on the far wall, outlining a series of bumps as a shadow that moved constantly.
Heracles answered Kiku’s earlier declarations of his name with Kiku, Kiku, ohaio-shū watashi—! If the posters had been able, they would have shielded their eyes, and the door would have clouded and the chalkboard would have kicked up more dust to block them, anything—the stoic, faded looks of great world leaders were high above them, near the dusted windows, surveying the room and its occupants.
Heracles released one more sound that was more animal than human—and much louder than either probably wanted—and then relaxed, panting, his hands around Kiku’s neck, thumbing small circles into his back.
“...you weren’t joking when you said you wanted to,” Heracles murmured up into the air. Kiku snorted into his chest, lifting his head to place a small kiss on his lips.
“Well, I—“ and the desk wobbled violently. Kiku jumped, startled, and slid out of Heracles and off the desk, taking a few steps back. He brushed off his shirt and stood, pantsless, staring at the desk that Heracles was still strewn across.
“...this is my desk,” he muttered. He looked up and around and noticed the things he hadn’t in the heat of passion in the dark; the maps, the propaganda posters the portraits high above him. “This is my World History class.”
“Really?” Heracles asked, sitting up. He hopped off the desk and pulled his slacks back on, his shirt hanging limp and open on his shoulders. He rubbed at one of the red welts that was forming along his collar bone. Heracles looked up and noticed the portraits circling the room, their gazes almost fixed on them.
“They would be judging us, wouldn’t they?” Heracles asked, humor in his voice. Kiku nodded.
“Definitely. Let’s get out of here; they’re making me... uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t care before,” Heracles noted as he re-did his belt. Kiku pulled his slacks back on and frowned at the soiled desk. He glanced back up at the portraits, the maps, even the windows.
“...I wouldn’t have come in here if I knew it was this room,” he said slowly. Heracles slid Kiku’s discarded keys into his hand and kissed the top of his ear. “C’mon, let’s go; I’ll deal with that later.”
And the room fell into silence once more, the door sighing shut behind them.
Click, click.
--
I went a weird direction with this one; I was kinda thinking from the pov of the classroom, but I didn't want to leave out sexy details... I dunno. I think I'm getting better a smut?
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=72959034#t72959034
Prussia is teaching his kid brother how to fight when he notices he keeps pulling away and making excuses to go.
Prussia confronts him and Kid!Germany blurts out he's turning him on.
Prussia is quite flattered with this and not caring much for the morality involved, indulges.
Consensual sex, please!
Human/Nation names up to Anon.
Warning:Shota!
To um... uh... Clarify.
Prussia is teaching his kid brother how to fight when he notices he keeps pulling away and making excuses to go.
Prussia confronts him and Kid!Germany blurts out he's turning him on.
Prussia is quite flattered with this and not caring much for the morality involved, indulges.
Consensual sex, please!
Human/Nation names up to Anon.
Warning:Shota!
To um... uh... Clarify.
*bobs head* Just to seperate this so no one scrolling sees any triggery material. Since I sort of jump right into it... I don't enjoy traumatizing anons ;3;
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=73771066
Germany and A are starting a tentative relationship, the first real relationship Germany's had. Awesome big brother that he is, Prussia goes to A and gives him a TALK. Because of his guilt from WWII, Germany has a habit of doing things that make him miserable to win other people's approval/happiness. Prussia makes clear that if A exploits/abuses this tendency or otherwise breaks Germany's shy heart, Prussia will cause them excruciating pain. =D
Bonus: A is America, France, Denmark, or Poland.
I went for Poland/Germany since I'd been dying for a chance to try my hand at writing Poland. The story didn't quite turn out the way I'd intended, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, anon :)
Prussia’s Awesome Shotgun Talk
A muscle in Prussia’s jaw twitched as Poland hopped onto the conference table right next to Germany’s laptop, which just so happened to put him right next to Prussia as well. He kept his head shyly ducked as he chattered at Germany about his ‘totally fabulous plan’ to renovate his house. Every few seconds, he would peer anxiously at him to make sure Germany was paying attention. Germany, who was failing to pretend that he was still reading the calculations on his laptop, would also regularly peer at Poland. Whenever their eyes met, their cheeks would simultaneously change color to a darker shade of red, they would hurriedly look away and the process would repeat itself.
They were ridiculously cute, even the awesome Prussia couldn’t deny it. Unfortunately, their cuteness was of the nausea-inducing kind, to Prussia, at least.
Prussia would be damned if he was ever going to figure out when or how or why it had happened.
For Fritz’s sake, the bitchy little wimp was obsessed with the color pink and ponies! He had about as much in common with his dull stick-up-his-ass brother as Gilbert had with… with… he couldn’t even come up with a comparison, which just proved his point.
Yet, due to some inexplicable fit of insanity which Prussia blamed on all that pasta Italy had force-fed his poor deluded brother, Germany had fallen in love with Poland.
Prussia had nearly died from laughter when Germany confessed his crush amidst formidable stuttering and blushing.
Once teasing Germany had grown old, Prussia dismissed the matter. His little brother’s history with Poland wasn’t just a train wreck, it was the wreck of a decrepit train that had first derailed, then burned out and for good measure been blown up as well. He had decided there was no way in hell Poland would ever return his brother’s feelings and sooner or later, Germany would find a more suitable object of affection. Say, England’s imaginary fairy companions or Canada’s polar bear.
Prussia, it had to be said at this point before anyone could misunderstand, hadn’t been sore that Poland, the pink menace, possessed his precious East Prussia. Nope. That put him firmly into the category of ‘irredeemably unawesome,’ but people who unknowingly trampled on his shy little brother’s heart earned Prussia’s never-ending hate on principle.
Then it had gotten worse: Poland returned Germany’s feelings.
Prussia had been properly disgusted by the cheesiness, but he still hadn’t been overly worried. Surely Germany would realize he had made a terrible mistake just as soon as he had to put up with the real annoying Poland instead of whatever fluffy idealized version of him he had adored from afar.
Unfortunately, Prussia’s luck had run out decades ago and it didn’t look like it was about to return.
Their relationship was going perfectly fine.
To be sure, it moved at glacial speed. As far as Prussia could tell, they hadn’t gone beyond chaste dinner dates and holding hands in the park. History continued to loom over them like a dark shadow. Prussia could attest to it since Germany was under the delusion Prussia wanted to hear his laments that Poland would come to his senses and hate him again. Prussia’s reassurance that Poland suffered from ‘brain loss, not memory loss’ hadn’t been appreciated.
Germany and A are starting a tentative relationship, the first real relationship Germany's had. Awesome big brother that he is, Prussia goes to A and gives him a TALK. Because of his guilt from WWII, Germany has a habit of doing things that make him miserable to win other people's approval/happiness. Prussia makes clear that if A exploits/abuses this tendency or otherwise breaks Germany's shy heart, Prussia will cause them excruciating pain. =D
Bonus: A is America, France, Denmark, or Poland.
I went for Poland/Germany since I'd been dying for a chance to try my hand at writing Poland. The story didn't quite turn out the way I'd intended, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, anon :)
Prussia’s Awesome Shotgun Talk
A muscle in Prussia’s jaw twitched as Poland hopped onto the conference table right next to Germany’s laptop, which just so happened to put him right next to Prussia as well. He kept his head shyly ducked as he chattered at Germany about his ‘totally fabulous plan’ to renovate his house. Every few seconds, he would peer anxiously at him to make sure Germany was paying attention. Germany, who was failing to pretend that he was still reading the calculations on his laptop, would also regularly peer at Poland. Whenever their eyes met, their cheeks would simultaneously change color to a darker shade of red, they would hurriedly look away and the process would repeat itself.
They were ridiculously cute, even the awesome Prussia couldn’t deny it. Unfortunately, their cuteness was of the nausea-inducing kind, to Prussia, at least.
Prussia would be damned if he was ever going to figure out when or how or why it had happened.
For Fritz’s sake, the bitchy little wimp was obsessed with the color pink and ponies! He had about as much in common with his dull stick-up-his-ass brother as Gilbert had with… with… he couldn’t even come up with a comparison, which just proved his point.
Yet, due to some inexplicable fit of insanity which Prussia blamed on all that pasta Italy had force-fed his poor deluded brother, Germany had fallen in love with Poland.
Prussia had nearly died from laughter when Germany confessed his crush amidst formidable stuttering and blushing.
Once teasing Germany had grown old, Prussia dismissed the matter. His little brother’s history with Poland wasn’t just a train wreck, it was the wreck of a decrepit train that had first derailed, then burned out and for good measure been blown up as well. He had decided there was no way in hell Poland would ever return his brother’s feelings and sooner or later, Germany would find a more suitable object of affection. Say, England’s imaginary fairy companions or Canada’s polar bear.
Prussia, it had to be said at this point before anyone could misunderstand, hadn’t been sore that Poland, the pink menace, possessed his precious East Prussia. Nope. That put him firmly into the category of ‘irredeemably unawesome,’ but people who unknowingly trampled on his shy little brother’s heart earned Prussia’s never-ending hate on principle.
Then it had gotten worse: Poland returned Germany’s feelings.
Prussia had been properly disgusted by the cheesiness, but he still hadn’t been overly worried. Surely Germany would realize he had made a terrible mistake just as soon as he had to put up with the real annoying Poland instead of whatever fluffy idealized version of him he had adored from afar.
Unfortunately, Prussia’s luck had run out decades ago and it didn’t look like it was about to return.
Their relationship was going perfectly fine.
To be sure, it moved at glacial speed. As far as Prussia could tell, they hadn’t gone beyond chaste dinner dates and holding hands in the park. History continued to loom over them like a dark shadow. Prussia could attest to it since Germany was under the delusion Prussia wanted to hear his laments that Poland would come to his senses and hate him again. Prussia’s reassurance that Poland suffered from ‘brain loss, not memory loss’ hadn’t been appreciated.
“…and you totally have to come! Please please please? Say you’ll go with me?”
Prussia was pulled out of his brooding thoughts just in time to see Poland grab one of Germany’s hands and tug at it as he looked at him with very wide, pleading green eyes. He could see his brother’s resolve melt like ice in the sunshine. Wimp!
Germany sighed and nestled nervously at his tie. “I… Poland, I really don’t think it would be in good taste.”
“Please!” Poland’s bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know if I can do it on my own. Lithuania will be visiting Hungary with his boss and Italy’s football team has the friendly against England. You don’t have to come to the memorial, just be there when I get home, please? I hate coming home to an empty house on these days.”
Prussia’s spine stiffened. Wait! This wasn’t about helping paint Poland’s house pink or something equally ridiculous? He was trying to get him to go to a memorial? A glance at Germany’s merely uncomfortable expression sufficed to reassure Prussia that the era to be remembered wouldn’t be the one he had feared. Maybe something about Russia? Furious, protective indignation welled up in Prussia anyway. Germany didn’t enjoy memorials, especially Polish ones; it was unfair to ask him to attend ones that didn’t even concern him. Bossy Poland!
He leapt up from his seat, muttered something about having seen France and fled to the other side of the conference room to fume in peace until the conference started. If he had to listen to the vile little snake guilt his brother into going, he would give in to temptation and strangle him right here in front of the entire world.
Prussia seethed quietly all during America’s robot speech and Seychelles’ briefing on the rising ocean level.
The moment the break was announced, he leapt up from his seat and made a beeline for Poland. “Get up! I need to talk to you.”
Poland looked startled by Prussia’s sudden appearance, good. His eyes flickered automatically to Germany as if he was trying to determine whether he had sent him, not so good. “Ah, I see,” Prussia said with a mock understanding smile. “Waiting for my brother’s permission to leave, are you?” He snickered cruelly. “You’re never such a good little pet for Russia!”
Poland’s face paled and then turned purple all within a few seconds. It didn’t take much longer for him to leap up from his seat and snap at Prussia to, “Like, follow me already!”
Prussia followed, though not without a self-satisfied grin. The nicest thing about bullying your neighbors was that you knew exactly which buttons to push.
They found a small meeting room which was conveniently abandoned. It wasn’t far from the World Conference’s conference room, but far enough that their voices wouldn’t attract a crowd of spectators if they got into a fight.
Prussia leant jauntily against the table, ankles and arms crossed. “Poland, Poland, Poland,” he chanted mockingly, “prissy little Poland, kesese.”
Poland flashed him an irritated look and mirrored his crossed arms, though he leant against the windowsill. “What do you want, Prussia? I’ve got like, places to be!”
Prussia wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Do you think I want to be in your unawesome presence? Shush, I’m making a heroic sacrifice for the sake of family here!”
Poland pointedly inspected his fingernails.
“My brother,” Prussia said, and his voice was suddenly very serious, grim even. Personally, he thought he sounded awesome.
Poland looked up from his nails with wary interest.
Content with that, Prussia met Poland’s gaze with burning red eyes, unflinching, intimidating. “You and him. I don’t like it.”
Poland snorted indelicately. “Gee! And here I thought you’re going to, like, welcome me into the family with open arms!”
“Don’t be a smartass, My Little Pony!” Prussia snapped.
“Don’t be a jerk, rubber ducky!”
Prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=627832#t627832
Greece and Japan engaging in (aggressive) swordplay
Well, this is my first ever fill on the kinkmeme. Here's goes nothing:
_ _ _ _ _
“Warriors during Mother’s time didn’t really use swords. Or at least, not as often as your samurai do.”
“Oh? What did they use instead?”
“A Greek soldier’s main weapon was the spear. Swords were auxiliary weapons, and used mostly when one loses his spear in battle.”
“That is certainly interesting. And even so, your people created one of best sword designs in history.”
“Mmh. A little Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
* * * * *
Japan shook his head a little, returning his thoughts back to the onigiri he was rolling in his hands. He had risen earlier today to prepare some lunch for Greece and himself. Dressed only in his cotton yukata, he could feel the heat of the morning sun slowly creep across the kitchen floor and snake up his feet, chasing away the night chills within his bones.
Summer had arrived, and the turn of the seasons brought with it bursts of colours from blossoming flowers, blazing hot weather and occasional bouts of rain. It was also a time for writing wishes on paper streamers, for setting decorative bamboo offerings afloat on rivers, for celebrating festivals with music and fireworks.
Japan frowned, wiping away a trickle of sweat from his temples as he continued his work. An archeological exhibition on the subject of ancient Greek and Japanese weaponry was scheduled to begin today, one of the many summer cultural exchanges held in celebration of the nations’ long friendship. He had made agreements with Greece to view the exhibits together and Japan’s mind kept wandering back to their discussion several days back, about ancient warriors and battles. He was excited, to say the least.
He had just finished wrapping the nori around the last piece of onigiri when he heard a couple of knocks from the front door.
“H-Hai!” Rinsing his hands clean, he quickly made his way to answer it, wondering who it could be this early in the morning.
“Ohayo gozaimasu...,” He began as he slid open the door, only to have the rest of his words fail him.
“Kaliméra, Iaponía.” Greece stood before him, dressed in what looked like a chiton and a leather tunic over it, much like the battle dress ancient Greek soldiers used to wear. Leather greaves adorned with intricate designs enclosed around his calves and leather sandals wrapped over his feet like vines. With his hair aglow in the sun washing over him, and his skin a radiant bronze, he looked like a god.
“...Japan?”
At the sound of the other’s voice, Japan pulled himself out of his reverie, realizing that he’d been staring speechlessly at Greece. One couldn’t blame him for doing so however, as it wasn’t everyday that you had a Greek warrior paying a visit right outside your door step. A lesser man would have gaped stupidly, but he was a Japanese man, and he recalled his manners. So he did not gape, and instead invited his friend inside. He did however, allow himself to sneak a glance past the hem of the tunic and at those muscular thighs.
“My apologies, Greece-san. Please, make yourself at home. I’ll prepare some tea.”
Greece settled comfortably at the verandah, stroking the grey and white cat which had followed him and was now curled in his lap. He gazed out at the blooming plants, the flowers painting the garden in splashes of colour and thought how very much it looked like those postcards Japan sent him.
Greece and Japan engaging in (aggressive) swordplay
Well, this is my first ever fill on the kinkmeme. Here's goes nothing:
_ _ _ _ _
“Warriors during Mother’s time didn’t really use swords. Or at least, not as often as your samurai do.”
“Oh? What did they use instead?”
“A Greek soldier’s main weapon was the spear. Swords were auxiliary weapons, and used mostly when one loses his spear in battle.”
“That is certainly interesting. And even so, your people created one of best sword designs in history.”
“Mmh. A little Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
* * * * *
Japan shook his head a little, returning his thoughts back to the onigiri he was rolling in his hands. He had risen earlier today to prepare some lunch for Greece and himself. Dressed only in his cotton yukata, he could feel the heat of the morning sun slowly creep across the kitchen floor and snake up his feet, chasing away the night chills within his bones.
Summer had arrived, and the turn of the seasons brought with it bursts of colours from blossoming flowers, blazing hot weather and occasional bouts of rain. It was also a time for writing wishes on paper streamers, for setting decorative bamboo offerings afloat on rivers, for celebrating festivals with music and fireworks.
Japan frowned, wiping away a trickle of sweat from his temples as he continued his work. An archeological exhibition on the subject of ancient Greek and Japanese weaponry was scheduled to begin today, one of the many summer cultural exchanges held in celebration of the nations’ long friendship. He had made agreements with Greece to view the exhibits together and Japan’s mind kept wandering back to their discussion several days back, about ancient warriors and battles. He was excited, to say the least.
He had just finished wrapping the nori around the last piece of onigiri when he heard a couple of knocks from the front door.
“H-Hai!” Rinsing his hands clean, he quickly made his way to answer it, wondering who it could be this early in the morning.
“Ohayo gozaimasu...,” He began as he slid open the door, only to have the rest of his words fail him.
“Kaliméra, Iaponía.” Greece stood before him, dressed in what looked like a chiton and a leather tunic over it, much like the battle dress ancient Greek soldiers used to wear. Leather greaves adorned with intricate designs enclosed around his calves and leather sandals wrapped over his feet like vines. With his hair aglow in the sun washing over him, and his skin a radiant bronze, he looked like a god.
“...Japan?”
At the sound of the other’s voice, Japan pulled himself out of his reverie, realizing that he’d been staring speechlessly at Greece. One couldn’t blame him for doing so however, as it wasn’t everyday that you had a Greek warrior paying a visit right outside your door step. A lesser man would have gaped stupidly, but he was a Japanese man, and he recalled his manners. So he did not gape, and instead invited his friend inside. He did however, allow himself to sneak a glance past the hem of the tunic and at those muscular thighs.
“My apologies, Greece-san. Please, make yourself at home. I’ll prepare some tea.”
Greece settled comfortably at the verandah, stroking the grey and white cat which had followed him and was now curled in his lap. He gazed out at the blooming plants, the flowers painting the garden in splashes of colour and thought how very much it looked like those postcards Japan sent him.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Japan finally returned, setting down a tray of tea and cakes beside them. Greece graciously accepted the cup passed to him, and as he shifted in his seat, the grey and white cat yawned lazily, leaping out from his lap and out into the garden, suddenly intrigued by a couple of butterflies flitting around by the hydrangeas. They both watched the cat dance in circles after the butterflies, batting clumsily with its furry paws. Japan sipped his tea and after a prolonged silence, spoke up.
“Greece-san, may I ask why you are dressed like so?”
The Grecian was still studying the cat intently, and Japan wondered if he’d even heard his question when Greece finally turned his gaze back at his friend, head tilted sideways as if pondering about Japan’s question like how he’d ponder about Sisyphus.
“Since we’re going for the cultural exhibition later, I thought I’d dress the part.”
“Dress the part...?”
“Like how some of your people go out dressed up as superheroes or alien beings. I’m not quite sure what events make people want look like aliens though.”
Japan couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Greece’s last words.
“It’s called cos-playing, and it’s quite a popular hobby here. Sometimes they even have props to go along with their costumes.”
“Props?” Greece hmmed softly at the back of his throat, and reached over behind him, fishing for something in the bag he’d brought with him. Japan looked on, curious and when Greece turned to face him again, he held up a sword, its leaf-shaped blade glinting in the sun.
“Like this?”
“Ah, Greece-san, where did you get that from?”
Greece waved the blade lightly, as if testing out the feel of the blade cutting through thin air.
“It’s a replica Xiphos sword, fashioned after those used by Ancient Greeks. I thought you might be interested to see one.”
Japan was indeed curious to study the sword more, although he wondered why Greece thought he couldn’t inspect it when they headed to the exhibit later. Surely they had Xiphos swords there as well? But it wasn’t in the Japanese man’s nature to question things like this, so he only nodded and slowly reached out to touch the blade when Greece laid it on the floor beside them. Even though it was unsharpened, the blade did not look less magnificent or dull, and Japan could almost feel how old the weapon was.
“It is beautiful.” he stated simply.
“You have replicas of old weapons and armory too, right?”
“Indeed.”
“I’d like to see them.”
Several minutes later, the two were looking upon an assortment of replicas, weapons and armory used by samurai of old which Japan had carefully kept away. Greece glanced through them, his green eyes lit with curiosity as he studied the golden crests atop a black helmet.
“Does Japan still keep his real sword?”
“Kusanagi, you mean? I do, but I have no use for it ever since the war ended.” Japan paused, thinking hard. “I keep it mostly out of sentimental reasons, I suppose. Also because it was entrusted to me by the people.”
Greece hmmed again, as he set the helmet back down, and swept his gaze over the other replicas, running a hand slowly over the hilt of a katana. Japan could tell from the way Greece fingered the red and gold scabbard cords that he was musing about a new idea, although he wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“We should spar with swords.” The Grecian finally said.
Japan finally returned, setting down a tray of tea and cakes beside them. Greece graciously accepted the cup passed to him, and as he shifted in his seat, the grey and white cat yawned lazily, leaping out from his lap and out into the garden, suddenly intrigued by a couple of butterflies flitting around by the hydrangeas. They both watched the cat dance in circles after the butterflies, batting clumsily with its furry paws. Japan sipped his tea and after a prolonged silence, spoke up.
“Greece-san, may I ask why you are dressed like so?”
The Grecian was still studying the cat intently, and Japan wondered if he’d even heard his question when Greece finally turned his gaze back at his friend, head tilted sideways as if pondering about Japan’s question like how he’d ponder about Sisyphus.
“Since we’re going for the cultural exhibition later, I thought I’d dress the part.”
“Dress the part...?”
“Like how some of your people go out dressed up as superheroes or alien beings. I’m not quite sure what events make people want look like aliens though.”
Japan couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Greece’s last words.
“It’s called cos-playing, and it’s quite a popular hobby here. Sometimes they even have props to go along with their costumes.”
“Props?” Greece hmmed softly at the back of his throat, and reached over behind him, fishing for something in the bag he’d brought with him. Japan looked on, curious and when Greece turned to face him again, he held up a sword, its leaf-shaped blade glinting in the sun.
“Like this?”
“Ah, Greece-san, where did you get that from?”
Greece waved the blade lightly, as if testing out the feel of the blade cutting through thin air.
“It’s a replica Xiphos sword, fashioned after those used by Ancient Greeks. I thought you might be interested to see one.”
Japan was indeed curious to study the sword more, although he wondered why Greece thought he couldn’t inspect it when they headed to the exhibit later. Surely they had Xiphos swords there as well? But it wasn’t in the Japanese man’s nature to question things like this, so he only nodded and slowly reached out to touch the blade when Greece laid it on the floor beside them. Even though it was unsharpened, the blade did not look less magnificent or dull, and Japan could almost feel how old the weapon was.
“It is beautiful.” he stated simply.
“You have replicas of old weapons and armory too, right?”
“Indeed.”
“I’d like to see them.”
Several minutes later, the two were looking upon an assortment of replicas, weapons and armory used by samurai of old which Japan had carefully kept away. Greece glanced through them, his green eyes lit with curiosity as he studied the golden crests atop a black helmet.
“Does Japan still keep his real sword?”
“Kusanagi, you mean? I do, but I have no use for it ever since the war ended.” Japan paused, thinking hard. “I keep it mostly out of sentimental reasons, I suppose. Also because it was entrusted to me by the people.”
Greece hmmed again, as he set the helmet back down, and swept his gaze over the other replicas, running a hand slowly over the hilt of a katana. Japan could tell from the way Greece fingered the red and gold scabbard cords that he was musing about a new idea, although he wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“We should spar with swords.” The Grecian finally said.
Request and chapters 1-7 in Part 18: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=75187258#t75187258
Arthur slowly opened his eyes, half expecting early morning sunlight to be filtering in through the curtains. Reality took hold as he was met by the familiar dungeon and its many doors, as the overwhelming amount of aches and pains took his breath away. On top of everything else, now he was stiff and cramped from sleeping in a less than comfortable position. But he wasn't about to complain; he was still in his husband's arms, and how many more times would he get to experience that?
Judging by the gentle snores, Alfred was still asleep. Arthur shifted around, trying to extricate himself without disturbing his lover. His eyes landed on one of those creatures, sitting in one corner of the room a if it belonged there, and he froze. “Al?” It wasn't the same, though. Not quite. The coloring was a little different from the other creatures he had seen, but the major difference was its tentacles. Just as long as the others', but much more slender, they looked about half the width of the average (human) penis. But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. “Al, wake up.”
“Hm?” Alfred yawned, stretching away from Arthur. “What time is it?”
“I have no idea. We aren't alone.”
“No?” His eyes cracked open, and his face fell as he, too, remembered where he was. “Oh, I see it.”
“Does it look different to you?”
“Different?” Alfred squinted, and Arthur realized his face was bare. He located the fallen glasses not far from them and placed them atop Alfred's nose.
“There.”
“Thanks. Oh, yeah, it is different... huh.”
Apparently realizing they were awake (how nice of it to let them sleep in peace), the creature started moving closer, and they backed away. Arthur kept himself protectively in front of his husband. Alfred may be the hero, but he had suffered much more by those things.
“We can take it,” Alfred said as they backed themselves into a corner. “Right?”
Arthur swallowed, watching the hideous thing's advancement. “I don't know.”
“We can break those spindly little tentacles.”
As it approached, one of those tentacles waved around in the air, and suddenly, several smaller ones burst forth from the head. Like the tentacle they emerged from, they were long but slender, these not even as thick as the worms they resembled as they wriggled around.
Mind filled with horrifying images of being fucked by one of those tentacles, then having it shoot its tendrils up into his intestines, Arthur scrambled to his feet.
“These things just keep getting more fucked up,” Alfred moaned, getting slowly to his feet and looking around, presumably for a weapon. “Oh! That door's open.” He grabbed Arthur by the arm.
“That's probably where the thing came from,” Arthur said, but then his eyes fell on the door in question. It was normal sized, none of the creatures could have fit through it, and it was indeed open a crack.
Probably not a good sign, but at the moment it seemed better than sticking around. Trying to ignore the waving tentacles, they made their way arm-in-arm to the door and hurried through, slamming it shut behind them.
On the other side of the door was a hallway. There were various other doors along it, and one more at the end. Arthur tried the closest doorknob, and wasn't particularly surprised that it was locked.
“Who the hell built this place?” Alfred muttered.
“I don't know.” Arthur tried another door. Also locked.
“Don't you ever watch movies? The one at the end will be unlocked.”
“This isn't a movie...” Arthur said, but followed Alfred down the hallway. He opted not to say anything when the door swung open, stepping into the room within alongside Alfred. He still wasn't surprised when the door slammed shut behind them, leaving them trapped.
Arthur slowly opened his eyes, half expecting early morning sunlight to be filtering in through the curtains. Reality took hold as he was met by the familiar dungeon and its many doors, as the overwhelming amount of aches and pains took his breath away. On top of everything else, now he was stiff and cramped from sleeping in a less than comfortable position. But he wasn't about to complain; he was still in his husband's arms, and how many more times would he get to experience that?
Judging by the gentle snores, Alfred was still asleep. Arthur shifted around, trying to extricate himself without disturbing his lover. His eyes landed on one of those creatures, sitting in one corner of the room a if it belonged there, and he froze. “Al?” It wasn't the same, though. Not quite. The coloring was a little different from the other creatures he had seen, but the major difference was its tentacles. Just as long as the others', but much more slender, they looked about half the width of the average (human) penis. But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. “Al, wake up.”
“Hm?” Alfred yawned, stretching away from Arthur. “What time is it?”
“I have no idea. We aren't alone.”
“No?” His eyes cracked open, and his face fell as he, too, remembered where he was. “Oh, I see it.”
“Does it look different to you?”
“Different?” Alfred squinted, and Arthur realized his face was bare. He located the fallen glasses not far from them and placed them atop Alfred's nose.
“There.”
“Thanks. Oh, yeah, it is different... huh.”
Apparently realizing they were awake (how nice of it to let them sleep in peace), the creature started moving closer, and they backed away. Arthur kept himself protectively in front of his husband. Alfred may be the hero, but he had suffered much more by those things.
“We can take it,” Alfred said as they backed themselves into a corner. “Right?”
Arthur swallowed, watching the hideous thing's advancement. “I don't know.”
“We can break those spindly little tentacles.”
As it approached, one of those tentacles waved around in the air, and suddenly, several smaller ones burst forth from the head. Like the tentacle they emerged from, they were long but slender, these not even as thick as the worms they resembled as they wriggled around.
Mind filled with horrifying images of being fucked by one of those tentacles, then having it shoot its tendrils up into his intestines, Arthur scrambled to his feet.
“These things just keep getting more fucked up,” Alfred moaned, getting slowly to his feet and looking around, presumably for a weapon. “Oh! That door's open.” He grabbed Arthur by the arm.
“That's probably where the thing came from,” Arthur said, but then his eyes fell on the door in question. It was normal sized, none of the creatures could have fit through it, and it was indeed open a crack.
Probably not a good sign, but at the moment it seemed better than sticking around. Trying to ignore the waving tentacles, they made their way arm-in-arm to the door and hurried through, slamming it shut behind them.
On the other side of the door was a hallway. There were various other doors along it, and one more at the end. Arthur tried the closest doorknob, and wasn't particularly surprised that it was locked.
“Who the hell built this place?” Alfred muttered.
“I don't know.” Arthur tried another door. Also locked.
“Don't you ever watch movies? The one at the end will be unlocked.”
“This isn't a movie...” Arthur said, but followed Alfred down the hallway. He opted not to say anything when the door swung open, stepping into the room within alongside Alfred. He still wasn't surprised when the door slammed shut behind them, leaving them trapped.
They found themselves in a cage at one end of the room, a room that was the worst one yet. Chains, torture devices and sex toys lined the walls and tables. And in the middle... Arthur went cold at the sight of Matthew. Judging by Alfred's sharp intake of breath, he had noticed him as well. The poor boy was chained to the floor, limbs spread wide, knees bent. A ball gag stifled his cries. Reese was atop him, thrusting hard and fast. From the few glances Arthur had been unfortunate enough to see of Alfred's rape, the bastard had been bizarrely gentle. There was none of that now, he was pounding into Matthew, as if trying to fling him across the room if not for the chains.
Alfred gripped the bars of their cage until his knuckles were white, until it honestly looked like they might bend under his grip. “I'll kill you,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.
Reese apparently heard, glancing over at them with a smirk. His eyes rolled back in bliss, and he gave one last sharp snap of his hips. He groaned as his body tensed.
“I'll kill him,” Alfred repeated, sounding less threatening and more lost.
Arthur nodded. “Me, too.”
Having pulled out and tossed the condom aside, Reese tucked himself back into his pants. “I like him.” He glanced down at Matthew, who stared back with wide eyes. “I think I may have decided too quickly which one I wanted to keep forever. He looks just like you, but he has this innocence about him. Pureness.” He chuckled. “Which is funny, seeing as how he's been thoroughly fucked in every hole recently...” His expression brightened. “Speaking of...” He strode over to a door and walked on out, leaving the prisoners alone.
“I did not like that segue,” Arthur said.
“No...” Alfred sagged weakly against the bars. “Mattie? You okay?”
His brother whimpered, but mumbled what sounded like an affirmative around the gag.
“Okay. We... oh shit...”
Arthur blinked, following Alfred's gaze, and froze. One of the creatures was in the room now. It looked just like the one they had found upon awakening, with the slender tentacles. Or maybe it was the same one, it was impossible to tell. As they watched helplessly, it shifted closer to Matthew, who whimpered and struggled against his bonds. It settled between his legs, tentacles waving around as mucus dripped from them.
Arthur found himself unable to look away, as one of the tentacles plunged into his brother-in-law, followed quickly by two more. Alfred closed his eyes and turned away, so Arthur watched, as if they would be able to help if he saw something terrible happen.
Matthew writhed and moaned as the tentacles moved inside him. At least they were small enough they didn't seem to be causing him pain... Arthur felt sick as he watched, all the same. Look away.
Another tentacle repeated the action they had witnessed earlier, several skinny tendrils bursting forth from its head in front of Matthew's wide eyes. Will the ones inside him do that? Oh god... Arthur swallowed, breathing rapidly as he watched. One of the tendrils moved, shifting lower, until it found Matthew's cock. It nudged his cockhead, pressed against the slit-
“Oh god,” Arthur gasped.
“What?” Alfred looked, just as the tendril forced its way down into Matthew's urethra. Matthew arched back with a muffled cry, eyes squeezed shut. Arthur finally looked away, unable to take it anymore. He shuddered at Matthew's cries and sobs, at the squelching noises the slimy tentacles were making as they moved in and out of his body.
Glancing beside him, Arthur saw Alfred inspecting the bars of their cage, the wall and door behind them. He turned to help, looking for anything that would allow them to free themselves.
“If I had a bit more room, I could break the door down,” Alfred said. “Maybe.” He gave it an experimental jab with his shoulder and winced. “I hate this...” he said, locking panicked eyes with Arthur.
“I know.” Arthur couldn't stand being forced to watch helplessly, he couldn't imagine how much it was hurting Alfred. He turned to continue trying to figure out a way to escape their prison.
Alfred gripped the bars of their cage until his knuckles were white, until it honestly looked like they might bend under his grip. “I'll kill you,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.
Reese apparently heard, glancing over at them with a smirk. His eyes rolled back in bliss, and he gave one last sharp snap of his hips. He groaned as his body tensed.
“I'll kill him,” Alfred repeated, sounding less threatening and more lost.
Arthur nodded. “Me, too.”
Having pulled out and tossed the condom aside, Reese tucked himself back into his pants. “I like him.” He glanced down at Matthew, who stared back with wide eyes. “I think I may have decided too quickly which one I wanted to keep forever. He looks just like you, but he has this innocence about him. Pureness.” He chuckled. “Which is funny, seeing as how he's been thoroughly fucked in every hole recently...” His expression brightened. “Speaking of...” He strode over to a door and walked on out, leaving the prisoners alone.
“I did not like that segue,” Arthur said.
“No...” Alfred sagged weakly against the bars. “Mattie? You okay?”
His brother whimpered, but mumbled what sounded like an affirmative around the gag.
“Okay. We... oh shit...”
Arthur blinked, following Alfred's gaze, and froze. One of the creatures was in the room now. It looked just like the one they had found upon awakening, with the slender tentacles. Or maybe it was the same one, it was impossible to tell. As they watched helplessly, it shifted closer to Matthew, who whimpered and struggled against his bonds. It settled between his legs, tentacles waving around as mucus dripped from them.
Arthur found himself unable to look away, as one of the tentacles plunged into his brother-in-law, followed quickly by two more. Alfred closed his eyes and turned away, so Arthur watched, as if they would be able to help if he saw something terrible happen.
Matthew writhed and moaned as the tentacles moved inside him. At least they were small enough they didn't seem to be causing him pain... Arthur felt sick as he watched, all the same. Look away.
Another tentacle repeated the action they had witnessed earlier, several skinny tendrils bursting forth from its head in front of Matthew's wide eyes. Will the ones inside him do that? Oh god... Arthur swallowed, breathing rapidly as he watched. One of the tendrils moved, shifting lower, until it found Matthew's cock. It nudged his cockhead, pressed against the slit-
“Oh god,” Arthur gasped.
“What?” Alfred looked, just as the tendril forced its way down into Matthew's urethra. Matthew arched back with a muffled cry, eyes squeezed shut. Arthur finally looked away, unable to take it anymore. He shuddered at Matthew's cries and sobs, at the squelching noises the slimy tentacles were making as they moved in and out of his body.
Glancing beside him, Arthur saw Alfred inspecting the bars of their cage, the wall and door behind them. He turned to help, looking for anything that would allow them to free themselves.
“If I had a bit more room, I could break the door down,” Alfred said. “Maybe.” He gave it an experimental jab with his shoulder and winced. “I hate this...” he said, locking panicked eyes with Arthur.
“I know.” Arthur couldn't stand being forced to watch helplessly, he couldn't imagine how much it was hurting Alfred. He turned to continue trying to figure out a way to escape their prison.
Part 1-14: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=37408293#t37408293
Part 13-14 (edited), 15-65: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=41192345#t41192345
66-76: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=52116793#t52116793
77-85: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=65442132#t65442132
new parts start here.
Part 13-14 (edited), 15-65: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=41192345#t41192345
66-76: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=52116793#t52116793
77-85: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=65442132#t65442132
new parts start here.
//camps with kumajirou
reCaptcha you make no sense
reCaptcha you make no sense
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