Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2014-02-10 06:09 pm

Hetalia kink meme part 27

axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 27

Requests open!

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There may be a request freeze until 50 fills for pages 31-35

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |
| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 |
| Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 |


Czech/Slovakia, Rekindling the relationship post-divorce

(Anonymous) 2015-11-08 11:20 am (UTC)(link)
How in the ever loving hell do we have NO Czech or Slovakia requests here? The mind boggles.

Anyway, since we finally do have a canon Czech Republic and Slovakia (who don't seem to be siblings, to boot), I would love these two falling for each other after the Velvet Divorce and everything that entails. Making peace with the past, trying to figure out where one stands when a long lasting dynamic has been totally upended, and so on.

Bonus: One (or both) always had feelings for the other (their union was purely political), but never feeling confident enough to act on it until total independence.

Bonus 2: Tsundere level over 9000!Czech

Bonus 3: Smut. (Definitely wouldn't say no to THAT one)

Re: Czech/Slovakia, Rekindling the relationship post-divorce

(Anonymous) 2015-11-30 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Hell yeah we need more Czech/Slovakia! Seconded!!!

Any/any, possibly-forced emetophilia.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-09 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
So glad anon... During forceful and/or forced blowjob, the giver pukes all over the receiver's lap, and is made to keep going.

I don't much enjoy nations being rapists, so consent being full or dubious is acceptable. However, I'd kill for it to be two equally nonconsenting nations forced into it by convenient OC human(s) - not real people, please. How humans would force nations to do anything I leave to you; hideously painful/dangerous magitech weapons? As for why, taking the vital regions joke too seriously and thinking it's necessary to win the conflict is always good.

B#1: Above-described nonconsenting version I'd like best with, listed in receiver/giver order, China/Japan, Japan/Korea, Germany/Italy, or Italy/Romano. Consenting could be anyone but I quite like Russia/America for it. If you choose Korea, if you can set it in the future or otherwise handwave his age up to eighteen I'd be more comfortable, though it's okay if not; nobody younger than him, please.
B#2: Consenting version I'd prefer no solid food involved in the vomit. Nonconsenting it doesn't really matter. Either way, strongly prefer focus on the actions and emotions rather than the substance.

OP

(Anonymous) 2015-11-09 02:54 am (UTC)(link)
Darn it, forgot one; Germany/Prussia for the forced version is also on my list.

OP

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-12 03:11 (UTC) - Expand

"Poacher's Pride" 1/? (torture, noncon incest, vomit)

(Anonymous) - 2015-12-22 02:18 (UTC) - Expand

Any/America/Australia, threesome.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-09 03:26 pm (UTC)(link)
"Now I'm in Australia! Now I'm in America! Australia, America, Australia, America..."

Re: Any/America/Australia, threesome.

(Anonymous) 2017-05-18 03:00 am (UTC)(link)
Italy smiled as he surveyed his two lovers on the bed. Australia was on top of America, on his hands and knees while America had his chest to the bed and ass in the air. Both had their legs apart and were ready to get the party started.

He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking it and deciding who should go first. He guided his dick to a slick little pucker, slowly entering.

Australia let out a heavy breath, hands massaging into Americas' shoulders. Italy stopped as soon as he was fully in. Soft artistic hands gently petted the southern nations' back. "Veeee~ Are you ok?"

"Yeah, you're doing great, Feli. Keep going!" Italy nodded, pulling out and thrusting back in. He started off slow, one eye on the other, before picking up speed. Those artistic hands gripped the others' hips for leverage, pulling him into every thrust.

He suddenly decided to withdraw, pulling away from the others' tight heat. Then he pressed against the other, neglected hole. His grin widened as it took more and more of his cock. His blood thrilled at the sight of his hips meeting the others'. He pulled out, leaving only the head inside.

"Are you ready, America?"

"Dude, I'm all yours. Go right ahead." Feliciano thrusted all the way into the nations' vital regions. America let out a soft moan, griping the bedsheets tightly. Likewise he thrusted in and out, leaning over the two, stronger countries to fuck the superpower nice and deep. Finally he withdrew, Alfred letting out as quiet whine at the vacancy.

He reentered Australia, causing him to arch a
little bit. "Now I'm in Australia~" Australia moaned, hands flexing and thrusting back.

Withdraw.

He reentered America "Now I'm in America~" America arched up and back, almost dislodging Australia who threw out his hands to steady himself.

Withdraw.

"Australia!"

"America!"

"Australia!"

"America!"





Any/any or gen, baby nations hatch from geodes.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-11 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
Inspired by AO3's "Gem Egg Hell" tag in the Steven Universe fandom. The geodes in question can be just found lying around or laid by parent nations, but I'm strongly leaning towards the latter because of the sadistic fun involved in a nation of either gender (let us assume male nations can temporarily shapeshift birth canals) having to birth a large rock. The impregnation can involve sex or be automatic when a new nation needs a representation. Just gimme some geodes.

Re: Any/any or gen, baby nations hatch from geodes.

(Anonymous) 2016-01-09 06:06 pm (UTC)(link)
I hope OP will like it, I found the request too amusing to resist.

Celestine and amethyst


The forest echoed of screams so horrifying that if England had his wits about him he would have been embarrassed about how many of the precious fairies had been scared away. As it was, England had been occupied with delivering a geode – giving birth to a new nation.

“I hate your stupid frogface!” England cried for the umpteenth time while he was trying to break every bone in France’s hand he was clutching onto ever since the labour started.

“It’s almost over, rosbif, I know you can make it.” France said, infuriatingly calm even though England felt like dying.

“Say that when you’ve pushed out a melon through a keyhole!” He wanted to shout, but the second part of his sentence trailed into a pained moan as a hundred knives stabbed him in the stomach.

“What did you do to me?” England wasn’t even ashamed he broke into sobs, it just hurt so much. “This is all your fault!”

“I wouldn’t say that, mon cœur. You had quite a part in our affair too.”

Grudgingly, England had to admit France was right. Getting knocked up amongst nations wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t frequent enough to make him cautious of his trysts with his current archenemy and… Well. America happened.

“One last push, Angleterre! I can already see it!”

England blanched from pain until the wave passed, then almost instantly reddened from mortification and reached out to yank France down by the silk tie he still wore.

“Don’t. Fucking. Look.” He snarled into the other’s startled face, then squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sweat beading on his forehead as he gathered all of his energy for that last push.

And it really was the last, because in the next moment there was a dull thud under him and a great part of the pressure in his lower regions disappeared. He let out a relieved exhale and wiped the wetness from his eyes, trying to sit up in the bed made of wood and grass by France. It still irked England that he had to go through labour in a stupid American forest near Lake Superior, but according to tradition, nations had to be born in the nature, so he had no choice.

He managed to get a glimpse of the geode and France’s attempts to help the baby inside hatch, when suddenly his stomach started to hurt again, the same sharp pain from a couple minutes before, and he fell back on the bed, face contorting. France was already cooing over the giant rock England delivered, not taking notice of England’s own state, so the nation had to swallow the remains of his pride and called for help.

“Why isn’t it over now?” He whined while France did a quick check on him. When he repeated his question, France straightened, rubbing the back of his neck and looking apologetic.

“I’m afraid there’s one more.”

“One…more?” England’s expression screamed murder.

“Do you remember Canada?” England snorted. How could he not? He had the best sex of his life there and… Shit. “I think it lacks a representative too.”

“I’m going to kill you.” He hissed through gritted teeth as a short wave of contractions ran through his body. “Strangle you with my bare hands before cutting the Eiffel Tower from the very base of – Ooow, bloody fuck.”

England groaned, gripping the grass, France’s pants, his hand, anything he could reach as the pain sharpened, brimmed over and shred him into pieces until there was nothing, but white light. He faintly heard another thud and France’s happy, proud voice before the world faded and he passed out.




He woke up on a nest of soft sheets and embroidered pillows in the cozy bedroom of the lake house France built especially for this occasion. As his blurry vision cleared, England noticed a light blue and a deep purple geode, celestine and amethyst, broken in half on the table in the corner and there was a large cradle close to his side of the bed.

The mattress dipped beside him and his eyes met with France’s blue ones. “It’s good to see you awake, mon cœur.”

“Good morning.” England replied and accepted a kiss, too sore and tired to think of struggling. “I see they hatched.”

“Do you want to meet them before going back to sleep?”

“Please.”

France nodded with the sweetest smile ever that made even England’s heart melt a little, and got up to reach into the cradle, taking out a bundle that he quickly brought over to the bed.

“Say bonjour to America.”

The baby was blue-eyed, chubby and barely awake. He had a frown-like expression on his face that made him look like he was annoyed that his parents didn’t let him sleep any longer, and a lock of his hair was sticking up from his forehead, probably France wanted to style it, England thought. He chuckled and caressed one of those plump cheeks, but said he wasn’t strong enough to hold him yet.

France didn’t argue, just hummed and placed the baby back before he carried over the other bundle. It was a bit smaller and the little boy inside wasn’t as fat as the other, but his eyes were attentive and wide open, gleaming violet.

“And this petit ange is Canada.”

The newborn was sucking his thumb quietly, looking at England as though he was clever enough to speak already, but didn’t want them to have the joy of hearing it yet.

“He is beautiful.” England murmured, giving the other child his caress.

“Luckily they both take after moi.” France sing-songed, beaming, and took Canada back to his brother. England narrowed his eyes at him.

“Just wait until I’m strong enough, bloody frog.”

“Oh, you savage.” France said amusedly, walking back and sitting next to him on the bed. He reached over and entwined their fingers, the edges of his mouth slightly curving up. “I hope you don’t want to fulfil your threat about La Tour Eiffel…”

“We will see.” England said, only half-joking, then summoned up the energy to cup the back of France’s head and pulled, closing his eyes.
“Come here, you idiot.”

France laughed and complied, pressing a gentle kiss to England’s dry lips.

Any, nation regeneration freaking humans out.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-11 10:06 pm (UTC)(link)
A variation on the theme I don't think I've seen done; over the course of a war, the same human fights in multiple battles, and keeps seeing the same enemy soldier killed over and over and over.

Probably works best with a nation who's immediately noticeable; America, China, South Korea, or Prussia are my favourite choices, but anyone with a distinctive-enough look could work.

OP

(Anonymous) 2015-11-12 11:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Dammit, how'd I forget Hungary? She'd be pretty damn noticeable!

"Well. Shit." He Had Said. {1a/?} Crack

(Anonymous) - 2016-03-06 19:15 (UTC) - Expand

Re: "Well. Shit." He Had Said. {1a/?} Crack

(Anonymous) - 2016-03-18 04:46 (UTC) - Expand

Canada & North Korea, drugs, cannibalism.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-13 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
Pot is decriminalised in Canada and apparently legal in North Korea. NK has such a bad famine issue that cannibalism is not uncommon there, plus OP is fond of the famous gumiho myth (kitsune which eat people), and Wendigo!Canada seems to be popular. Put those together and their mutual munchies must be horrifying, even to nations who can regenerate. No prefs on who gets munched, though their siblings seem the obvious option.

My favourite version of NK is a girl about Sealand's age since her country's pretty new, though any is fine. No sex if she is that age, please, though I'm not averse to someone discovering her above traits the hard way, if you get my drift. Netherlands would be the obvious choice since we know his alleged tastes and he has pot too. No prefs on whether or not he's sober enough to even notice what's happening.

Any, Book Club

(Anonymous) 2015-11-13 01:12 pm (UTC)(link)
I would like some nations in an organised meeting setting, commenting on each others achievements in literature. I would love it if some nations have their own personal favourites that they are very proud of or jealous of, as well as ones that are famous but they think are overrated.

Although there are a lot of good English books, OP would be pleased if it is not English (as in the language) centric.

Bonus for Japan being quietly proud of Murasaki Shikibu, but no other nations has heard of her.

Re: Any, Book Club

(Anonymous) 2015-11-15 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
The possibilities for this are endless!

I can just see a smug Russia, a flaunting Poland, a defensive Germany, Italy babbling about The Devine Comedy, France waxing purple prose, and England getting shushed every time he tries to talk.

I will write this, it's too good not to be written.

Re: Any, Book Club

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-15 07:27 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Any, Book Club

(Anonymous) - 2016-02-24 04:33 (UTC) - Expand

Canada/anyone: disposable absorbent products

(Anonymous) 2015-11-13 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Canada/anyone though I would prefer a total crack ship (cause I love me a good crack ship), maybe with a certain grumpy Italian (*ships it so much and has head-canon for said Italian about him wanting a kid so badly*)... Though it doesn't have to be, I'm not picky. Just, no Prussia; I'm worn out on all the PruCan crap.
Anyways, Mattie has been having really bad nightmares lately and has been wetting the bed because of them, a whole lot too. He decided to wear, erm, disposable absorbent products to keep his bed dry (He is too embarrassed to call them diapers) and admittedly, he kind of likes them though he'd never tell a single soul! Ever! Though the other person somehow finds out about the 'disposable absorbent products' and blackmails Canada with them. What does poor Canada have to do? Be the other's baby for the rest of the day, and get taken to the other's place to find out they have a thing for caring for little kids, and sometimes not-so-little kids. Strangely enough, he enjoys being a baby more than just wearing the disposable absorbent products. *would like to see the nightmares going away at the end and maybe mentions of the couple doing this again*

Bonus points for making a 'mess'!

PruBela - Ice skating AU

(Anonymous) 2015-11-15 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Gilbert is a singles figure skater. Natalia has always done pairs figure skating exclusively with her brother Ivan. Due to an injury, Ivan is unable to skate for a while, and their coach decided to pair Gilbert and Natalia up for the upcoming competition.

Let the drama begin.

Bonus 1: Antonio, Francis and Roderich are also figure skaters. They usually do singles, but Francis sometimes does pairs with Monaco.
Bonus 2: Ivan occasionally hangs around when they are practicing, watching from the sidelines, smiling in that way that only Ivan does. It unsettles Gilbert to no end.

England/Canada - Loyalty

(Anonymous) 2015-11-16 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
I want something exploring the deep loyalty of Matthew towards Arthur. When he started having it, when it overcame other deep loyalties he had such as America in 1812 or France. Maybe WW1 and WW2 and how it was out of loyalty that he joined the second one.
Smut would be nice too but it isn't necessary. If you include it though Matthew bottoming in this pair is a preference of mine, and again it goes with the theme of loyalty.

Bonus:
One-sided AmeCan. Alfred secretly jealous of this raging loyalty Matthew has, and of Arthur's acceptance of it.

Thank you~

Any nation & human government, Italian Mutiny.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-16 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
During war/occupation/whatever, your chosen nation is really fucking sick of having to do things which seriously hurt their friends, neighbours, and family, but nation rules mean they cannot disobey their mortal bosses. So they do this: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BotheringByTheBook
Picking out every single loophole, going off on stupid tangents, delaying as much as possible, generally irritating the hell out of everyone and minimising the harm done to the occupied/invaded nation as much as they can. Whether their humans realise that's what they're doing is up to you.

Doesn't have to be the Italies, despite the name. I'm fond of the Asian family actually caring about each other even when their countries do awful things, so they could be good. Or it's probably something WW2 Ludwig would do, maybe partly to protect Gilbert? Or Alfred being smarter than he seems and trying to be a real hero more subtly?

Any, extreme gore/filth/squick.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-16 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
Because they've had centuries to get used to it on battlefields and suchlike, they can't die from any diseases they may catch, and ultimately it all decays into the earth and feeds their land, disgusting things like decaying bodies, sickness, and waste matter don't bother the nations anything like as much as they would a human. They don't go out of their way to handle disgusting stuff, but can do so with detachment. Demonstrate this in detail, please. I'm pretty hard to squick.

Multiple/Russia - Eastern block topping Russia at his request.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-16 07:56 pm (UTC)(link)
I want to see several of the eastern block nations (minus younger nations like Moldova and Latvia) topping Russia at his own request. The nations eastern block nations reactions are mixed but it's a difficult situation to get out of. Some might have political reasons, others want to get a chance at having power over Russia and some nation might be genuinely attracted to him.

Bonus 1: Despite being a complete bottom Russia manages to get into a position of control somehow.
Bonus 2: Russia is not forcing anyone to take part, despite that many nations feels like they have no choice due to their current political circumstances.
Bonus 3: Russia desperately tries to keep the word away from Belarus.

BFT, unrequited.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-17 12:30 am (UTC)(link)
Each of the Bad Friends Trio is in love with the one of his two friends who doesn't love him.

Fill

(Anonymous) 2016-01-09 01:29 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm sorry


Francis sat in his favourite armchair, book in lap, staring at the words that failed to make sense ever since… ever since it happened. Gilbert was probably out with Arthur, drinking away his brain and trying to forget in another’s arms. Understandable, n'est-ce pas?

And Antonio was… Francis sighed, squeezing his eyes shut to will away the dampness behind his eyelids. Antonio was cooking. French food, trying to make Francis feel better. It was a clear message, I’m sorry I’m sorry - as if pity would make it hurt any less.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Antonio was supposed to kiss back, with all the passion that he was, or shove and slap him away when their lips met in that terrible, stunning, perfect moment. But he just raised a hand, slowly, up to Francis’ cheek, and whispered those awfully hollow words, I’m sorry I’m sorry, into the space between their breaths.



Antonio tried to remain cheerful, because nothing really happened, things would go back to normal in no time. Or so he hoped. Francis gave him an incredulous look when he announced he was going to cook dinner, but he just laughed, saying he needed a distraction. That was him coping, forever trapped behind the mask of his smile, his well-proven shield.

Secretly, he yearned for freedom. He was aching for a wild, untamed force, one that came and gone like the wind, and always, always struck Antonio breathless with wonder. He wanted Gilbert, his mischievous, carefree friend who never failed to see the next adventure and often got in trouble for living in the moment. Gilbert, who seemed to hide none of his emotions, instantly saying what was on his mind, getting punched for it didn’t matter. Except, Antonio thought bitterly, for the one thing he managed to keep in secret all this time.

When Francis kissed him earlier that evening, the surprise caused a second of confusion and by the time Antonio realised what was happening, it was already over. Only faint warmth and the lingering taste of crêpe remained from the touch of those lips, from that silk-like softness. The scent of expensive cologne and lavender shampoo filled his nose as Francis’ gentle eyes stared at him expectantly, stabbing Antonio with guilt. He couldn’t push his best friend away. So he apologized, knowing that he was the one who felt the wrong thing again and that maybe he should pretend to feel otherwise, like he always did. But before he could make up his mind, a horrified voice cut through the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?”



At first, Gilbert didn’t know where he was going. All he knew that he was running, away from that scene, away from that hurt. They talked – yelled, in his case – and came clean at least. Francis loved Antonio. And Gilbert… well, he would survive. Somehow. Or not. Who cared? Who gave a damn fuck about him, the German college dropout, brother of one and only Dr.Beilschmidt? Not Francis, that’s for sure.

When they first met, Gilbert swore he saw an angel. Francis was sitting at a table in one of the library study rooms, under the sunlight filtering through the smudged glass of the window, shining golden hair framing his face. He looked so pure and delicate, so breathtakingly beautiful, that it took Gilbert ten whole minutes to get together his awesomeness and walk over to him. As it turned out, pure was something only he could associate with Francis and delicate didn’t quite fit either after seeing him fight with Arthur, but beautiful… God, that he really was.

“Bollocks! Beilschmidt, you reek of sweat.” Oh. So he was running to Arthur’s apartment. That… that made some sense actually.

“Night, Artie. Wanna drink?”




After half an hour or so, Antonio concluded that no matter how much food he cooked or how many dirty dish he cleaned, it couldn’t help him in the moment. What they admitted today, all three of them, was more than what he could cope with. Gilbert apparently loved Francis. Always did, he said. Antonio wisely kept his mouth shut, but his eyes were glued to Gilbert the whole time of the confession. It hurt, deeply, but not as much as it hurt to see him leave.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Francis said after they ate their dinner in tense silence.

“I wanted to.” He knew French food couldn’t make Francis feel much better, but he tried at least.

“Leave the dishes tonight, we both need a good rest and you look tired. Come on, I’ll –“

“Don’t fucking baby me!” Antonio snapped, immediately cursing his crumbling self-restraint. He closed his eyes momentarily, then turned back to the sink.

“Sorry, Franny. You know how Gil gets when he sees a mess, so…”

“He won’t come back.”

The plate in his hand dropped into the sink. Francis had to be wrong. Yes, Gilbert said he was moving out and left, but his things were in his room and the motorcycle was still in the garage, shiny and gorgeous, next to Antonio’s battered car. He would surely come back for those and Antonio would wait for him.

“What do you mean?”

I love you, Francis. Never loved anybody else. – It rang in Antonio’s head.

“Ludwig called. He said he would take his brother’s things tomorrow. Gilbert won’t come back, Antonio.”



“He kissed Antonio.” Gilbert cried into his drink, unashamed of the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Francis kissed him, I saw it.”

“That bloody frog!” Arthur growled next to him, slurring from all the alcohol he already consumed. “Forget that slem-… selm-… slimy creeeeature.”

“I can’t.” Gilbert muttered and buried his face in his hands. “I love him.”

He never quite had a heartbreak this bad. Maybe it would kill him and do a favour to the world. Frankly, it would do one to Gilbert too.

“Let’s fuck.” Arthur suggested eloquently, swiping off his drink from the table.

“Sorry.” Gilbert replied, knocked back his shot and stood, wobbling a little, without sparing a glance at his companion. “I’m going home.”

“Waaait. What?” Arthur squinted at him, eyes crossing for a second. “Francine is gonnnna be therrre.”

Gilbert shook his head, wiping the wetness from his puffy eyes. “No. I mean I’m going home. To Luddi.”




“It’s my fault!” Antonio bawled like a child in Francis’ arms, thoughts and body and emotions out of control. “You love me, but I love him and he…”

“Yeah, that’s… a little messed up.” Francis confirmed, stroking his friend’s curly locks.
He was sitting on the floor where he rushed to when Antonio collapsed. The tiles under him were cold, hard and increasingly uncomfortable, but there was no way Antonio could move at the moment, so he closed his eyes and leaned back against the kitchen cabinet with a resigned sigh.

“Are you going to leave too?” Antonio clutched at his shirt in desperation, soaking it with his tears and soapy wet hands.

“No, mon ami. I’ll stay with you.”

But in all honesty, he didn’t know. Could he stay and live with that? Carry on with the knowledge that however much Antonio needed him as a friend he would never want him as a lover?

“Can’t we… can’t we just go back and pretend today didn’t happen?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Antonio sobbed louder at that and Francis was getting close to panic. He was running out of comforting methods. As a last-ditch effort he started singing a lullaby his mother taught him back in old, lovely France, and miraculously, it helped. The weeps quieted, Antonio’s hands released Francis’ shirt in favor of his hands, and soon enough he was sleeping like a baby in Francis’ lap.

“Yes, I’ll stay.” Francis whispered to himself, more sure of it now. He would stay and repair what had been damaged and help Gilbert come to terms with things too. It wouldn’t be easy, but he knew it was possible with time.

They were best friends after all – however big of an obstacle life brought, they were going to get through it - together.


It's my first time filling a prompt here, so I hope I didn't bungle up anything and the fill wasn't really bad. :)

America/France + England, Shrinking

(Anonymous) 2015-11-18 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
I'm in a mood to see both America and France be creepy in someway together after reading a fic where they were both being creepy, so I would like to see them gang up on England who was shrunk down to around Barbie doll size give or take(up to the filler), for whatever reason up to the filler, and they both use him sexually and perhaps they end up deciding to keep him as their own little pet.

Bonus 1: They humiliate him.

Bonus 2: It's a slow shrink.

Thank you in advance to whoever fills this.


Reader/fillerxfem!Nation - Making the gf happy aka, high mantanance

(Anonymous) 2015-11-18 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
Whelp, congrats, you've just found yourself in a relationship with one of the lovely ladies of Hetalia. Unfortunately, they also require lots of attention and are difficult to please, how can one ordinary person fill their needs?

Bonus-
:Told through the reader's, or writer's, perspective
:Needy nations are needy
:Development before smut.

Ensemble, bad translations.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-18 02:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Deus ex magica results in the nations being unable to use their universal nation-specific language and having to communicate in human languages. Neighbouring countries at least have a rough idea of what the other means, but linguistic "false friends" cause issues and "My Hovercraft Is Full Of Eels" results abound, previously colonised/invaded nations won't use the language of their coloniser/invader who in turn doesn't know the right words in the other's language to say what they need to, and some just enjoy misleading the others.

Special bonus if you can get in something similar to a scene I loved from the webcomic Dominic Deegan: "Don't worry, I speak their language." *yells* "'Beware! I am very dangerous and I am going to kill you all!'" *whispers* "That means 'hello', right?"

Minifill

(Anonymous) 2015-11-26 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
This may have strayed a little from the original prompt, but it was too perfect to pass up. Hope you like it, haha!

-----------------------------------------

“Canada, could you please ask France to stop drawing on the paperwork.”

“Mon petit, tell that rosbif that if I could read any of this...chicken scratch he calls writing, I won't find the need to communicate through pictures.”

A splutter. “My handwriting is not the issue here! And as if there was any reasonable message in these...atrocities! Canada, tell that knob head that the next time I see a picture of a naked woman in the margins I'm feeding it all to your polar bear!”

(“I... I don't think Kumakichi eats paperwork...” “Who?” “...I'm Canada....”)

“Quoi? It's art, but what does a rosbif understand of art? Everyone knows that les Anglais have no knowledge of art, just like they have no sense of taste. Mathieu, you agree with Papa, non?”

(“Erm...”)

“You...! Canada, tell that arsehole he can just go stuff himself!”

“Moi? I was simply stating the truth.”

“What was that, you frog-eating wanker!?”

“It's getting quite obvious that they understand each other perfectly, isn't it?” America commented as his brother buried his face in his hands. “Popcorn?”

Canada just sighed.

OP

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-26 23:23 (UTC) - Expand

Any, "conquest = rape" deconstruction.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-18 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)
I know we all love our easy porn setups, but actual thought on how "conquest or won battle = rape" is often done makes it look pretty bizarre (not bashing, a lot of porn setups are weirder). It's hard to sympathise when logically the victim would probably have done the exact same thing beforehand, possibly to their current attacker, or would go on to do so in future, and it never struck me as wise to do something that traumatic to someone with whom you'll have to interact for centuries and will have ample chance to get you back.

My favourite way of doing this would be either a humorous take with a nation explaining the above to a human who's got the wrong idea, or a scary possibly-super-dark-humour deconstruction in which they really do things this way and it happens so much that they don't care anymore. Just keep the kid-nations out of the onscreen bit, 'kay?

Bonus: if using the funny version, use the phrase used by das-sporking to mock a similar issue in a hentai where literally everyone raped everyone; "Will the Real Sex Offender Please Stand Up?"

Re: Any, "conquest = rape" deconstruction.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-22 08:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Author note: Serious/dark take on the request, as a mini-fill, with musings on how/why something like that would happen, and how the nations would likely view it among themselves. No on-screen action.

None of them knows when it started – even China has vague memories of a long-gone nation conquering him in the usual not-quite-apologetic manner. All of them try to be decent about it when their bosses annex someone new: it's not like they can tell the boss to give the nation back.

And, well... it does help.

Their bodies might be more or less human, but they don't react quite the same way, and being annexed by a victorious nation, while not something to look forward to, isn't exactly the traumatic experience a human experiencing the equivalent would suffer.

Prussia disagrees, but then, Prussia was once a religious order, complete with a vow of celibacy that he's spent centuries pretending he doesn't still keep. He's also one of the few who's never claimed conquest rights over another nation.

Not that anyone realizes this: for all of them being claimed also means being desirable – except perhaps Prussia who is frankly, strange – being desired. Wanted. Even Switzerland, the eternally neutral, knows the urge to dominate that all of them battle in their own way.

They don't talk about it. Nations prefer not to remember being conquered, and they really don't want their bosses trying to get them counseling for the PTSD the bosses would insist they must be suffering. They might have PTSD, but they don't deal with their lives in a human way, and they'd just freak out a counselor, which would be unforgivable: the one thing all the nations agree on is that they would do anything, suffer any torture, to spare their people.

It's probably how this started – a defeated nation offering himself up in place of the orgy of rape and slaughter victorious armies usually inflicted. Rituals grew up after that because all of them knew that things change and last century's empire becomes this century's client state, so they'd eventually be on the receiving end no matter how strong they were.

That's Prussia's theory, anyway, although he's mostly an observer these days. He likes to amuse himself with research into how nations work when he's not playing the fool or – rarely – letting hints of his old disciplined military slip out to terrorize the rest of them. He's picked up a lot from drinking rice wine with China and just reminiscing about old times, from helping Mongolia build yurts and letting the other nation ramble on about the old days when he'd been the unstoppable Hordes.

There's information in his diaries, too, that only he can read – not least because his "I was awesome" and fulsome self-praise was and is actually an odd kind of personal code that hides the truth.

Prussia likes knowing things the others don't know. It amuses him when talk turns to his old conquests and nobody will admit that once the fighting was done he never laid a hand on them. That it shames them to think that he didn't find them desirable enough to seal the conquest.

They don't know he once vowed on his full name at the time – not knowing what it meant, only that this was something important, that he never wanted to break this promise to himself – that he would never do that to anyone, ever. Small he may have been at the time, but with the loss of Acre still branded on his body and hurting inside from Mamluk taking conquest rights from a body too young for the act, he knew what had been done to him was wrong. He didn't learn until much later that grown nations thought it normal.

He's never going to tell them. He'd rather they think him a monster than pity him. Sometimes, he's not sure who the monsters really are.

OP

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-22 23:17 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Any, "conquest = rape" deconstruction.

(Anonymous) - 2015-12-02 06:24 (UTC) - Expand

Netherlands/Germany - bitching about football teams

(Anonymous) 2015-11-19 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Exactly what it says: The Netherlands and Germany bitching about each others football/soccer teams. (For everyone who doesn't know it: Germans and Dutchmen really like tease each other, especially when it's about football.) Smut isn't necessary, but would be appreciated. ;)

Bonus 1: I don't care if it's fem!slash or het, but I would absolutely love a fem!Germany.
Bonus 2: If there's smut, Prussia finds out later and gets really overprotective.

Ensemble, Eye of Argon reading.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-19 08:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Found an old 2 Girls 1 Cup reaction fill, and I think another of the internets' horrible greats needs to be done. Stuck in a room together, maybe snowed in at the conference building, the nations pass the time with an Eye of Argon reading until England explodes from the abuse of his language.

Please don't copy-paste the whole Eye of Argon, we all know the story. Snippets in between lots and lots of commentary and reaction description, please.

(Bonus if someone present would know there actually is, chemically speaking, such a thing as a scarlet emerald.)

Re: Ensemble, Eye of Argon reading.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-20 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
(Also Sweden is totally the only one who can pronounce "Agfnd".)

Re: Ensemble, Eye of Argon reading.

(Anonymous) - 2016-09-11 00:50 (UTC) - Expand

Any Nation - Horrified by something they have done

(Anonymous) 2015-11-23 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
So I want to see the nations completely horrified by something their country (and in that sense themselves) did to another nation. A visceral vivid reaction is preferred.

Please no rape, there are plenty of wars, invasions, assassinations that actually happened that can be used in this context. Rape really doesn't need to figure anywhere.

Multiple fills highly encouraged

Bonus:
America has an internal crisis because he believes everything (or almost everything) he does is the right thing for freedom in the world. Then why does he feel so terrible about doing it

Please, wake up [1/1]

(Anonymous) 2015-12-06 01:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Warning: Triggers for self-induced vomiting, self-harm, starvation and references to the Holodomor.

------------------------------------------------------------

She balanced the tray on her hip briefly to knock the door. “Brother, I have your dinner.”

Silence was her only answer.

Fingers tightened on the tray, gripped so hard the knuckles on already pale hands turned ghastly white.

“Brother, please open the door.”

Her lip started to tremble; she caught it tightly with her teeth, hating the weakness.

“Brother, please...”

A drop of moisture rolled down her chin. Her tongue flicked out to taste copper droplets on chapped lips. In previous occasions, it had been accompanied by salt, but she had long since found that she had run out of tears to shed.

“I'll... I'll leave the food by the door, so please eat it, alright?”

She knew that when she came back for it two hours later, nothing would have changed.

----------------------------------

Fingers reached down the back of his throat. The touch hurt, the sensitive skin fiery and inflamed. But the fingers reached back still, terrible and familiar. His chest heaved as he gagged, stomach turning and churning, expelling everything within it.

Yet there was nothing.

He hadn't eaten in days...weeks...months? Of course there wasn't anything left to vomit.

He stared at the emptiness. Empty, like his inability. He could do nothing.

There was a growing stain of red on the floor and his eyes fixated on it. How strange. Ah, he must have bitten his tongue. Or his lip. Or perhaps one of the scabs had broken. He really couldn't feel enough to know.

Empty.

Blistered fingers, swollen and scabbed, dipped into the red, lifting the spilled blood to his eyes.

His own or his sister's?

It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

The fingers reached back into his throat.

---------------------------------------

Belarus leaned her forehead against the cool wooden door. This was another door that if she called out, no voice would answer. But unlike that other door, this one would not be locked. If she reached her hand out, the door handle would given easily and soundlessly beneath her hand.

She almost wished that it wouldn't.

Because beyond that still closed door was further silence. And she hated it. Hated the silence from someone who had always given her warmth. Someone would have given her warmth now, if she could.

Taking in a deep breath, she opened the door. The first thing one smelled was noxious antiseptics, but even that could not mask the smell of sickness. Of rot.

And in the middle of all that, was their sister.

Belarus walked further into the room almost in the haze, footsteps loud in the ringing silence, coming to stand beside the bed. The frail figure under the covers didn't stir even an inch, save the too-shallow breaths that were barely visible under the blankets.

Their sister hadn't awoken since they had brought her home, three weeks ago. She had been painfully thin then, and still was; if she was a human, it would be a wonder she was still alive. But of course she was still alive, she was a nation and nations did not die from such things.

No... a nation could die from starvation, if all of the nation's people died of it.

Belarus shook the thought away. It wouldn't reach that end. It couldn't.

Automatically she began to check the various tubes that fed life into their sister's body. They had attached her to IVs of water and nutrients, but it didn't seem to do any good. And of course it wouldn't, when it was a sickness of the people, not a sickness of the body. Some may argue then that there was no use in having them at all, but none dared to say so again under the eye of Belarus' knives.

(Because Belarus needed this, needed to do something, to be able to do something.)

With a gentleness few thought her to be capable of, Belarus knelt beside the bed and cradled her sister's brittle hand between her own, pressing it against wet cheeks. So she could still cry after all.

“Please sister, wake up soon.”

(Because her sister was dying and her brother wanted to die, and Belarus knew that there was nothing that she could do.)

NotOP

(Anonymous) - 2015-12-06 13:23 (UTC) - Expand

"Ugly Story" 1/1

(Anonymous) - 2015-12-06 14:27 (UTC) - Expand

Anyone(everyone)/Estonia - bullying (High School AU)

(Anonymous) 2015-11-23 01:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Um ... I don't know what else to say?

Re: Anyone(everyone)/Estonia - bullying (High School AU)

(Anonymous) 2015-11-23 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Any details you can provide may help a potential author!Anon get inspired. This may very well be an espntaneous request, but if it's not, chances are you have entertained some possible scenarios in your head already. Write those here! Be as detailes as you can. Try to get an author inspired! :D

Any, killing boss's lovers.

(Anonymous) 2015-11-23 10:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Listening to this, and want a nation in place of the ship: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hf3Qd5aMAQ4

The nation doesn't have to be in love with their boss, just thinking that the lover is getting in the way of their ability to lead - I like the idea of a young nation seeing the boss as a parent, in particular. Arranging for their death rather than striking the killing blow might work better. I recently developed the headcanon that, while nations can kill their own citizens, they will suffer the same wounds, or at least the pain of same, so if that's worked in I'll adore you.

Minifill: Fealty

(Anonymous) 2015-11-24 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
same-day prompt delivery woohoo.

Ending kind of veered away from what you ordered, OP, but here's a minifill for ya.

Fanfiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11631145/1/Fealty



They swear him in as President after a mockery of an election. Everyone in the world knows this man will stay in office until his dying breath or until some heir of his becomes old enough – groomed enough – to take his place. But that’s a triviality to her. She has a country to run, and she doesn’t care much who takes the ceremonial throne.

She represses an unladylike snort as a thought crosses her mind in the middle of a National Assembly meeting. Japan once had a style of government where the supreme emperor held only ceremonial powers, compared to the shogun with the real authority. She always presides over the National Assembly, and the human representatives who know her real identity see her as a sort of figurehead. Hah. They think her their empress, sitting there in an elegant if not dated dress, examining the proceedings with eyes broadcasting the boredom she feels over watching this scene play out tirelessly over many generations.

Little do they know how absolutely pointless their caricature is.

The discussion pauses as the main doors open, and in walks the much-esteemed President now… with his son and his wife. A polite smattering of greetings and deference piddles around the room while the leader of her country makes his way up to the podium next to her, to sit next to the Republic, to flaunt his authority over these humans, to groom his son for the task of leading once he is gone. But his eyes linger on his wife – admittedly beautiful, and charming, and intelligent enough. It’s easy to see that while he loves his country, that human woman holds his heart in her hand.

Other Nations who knew this one might assume, with good reason, that the reason her eyes narrow at his devotion is jealousy. But nothing could be further from the truth. This man, this President, he has a country to run, and his woman will only impede him.

Something needs to be done.

- - - - - - - - - -

She does not want to hurt her own citizens. Every pain and frustration of her people belongs to her, too, though it exists more as a background hum in the life of a Nation. Generously, her first step of action is inaction. She waits, she watches, she plans each step of the deconstruction should it become necessary.

Phase One. Whispers follow the inaction. Alone in the private offices of the President, with no audience and no bugged furniture or persons, she tells him, point-blank, his responsibility as President: love your country first and your family second. Slacking off in office will not be tolerated. It is unseemly to spend so much time out with his wife, leaving affairs of state to others. He seems chagrined and reticent, and she tries to pretend it’s not just an act, that he isn’t just a child in Presidential clothing, that he won’t revert to his old ways the second Teacher takes her eyes off him. So she heads off his wife, and mincing no words explains what she told her dear President: that country comes first. The woman seems abashed, then understanding, and then – did she have the gall? – pitying.

It takes all of a month for her lectures on “country first” to slide off them like water. They are young, they are human, they are in love, and so what if this man is President? It just means that, for their short tenure on Earth, they can really believe that they live on top of the world.

She doesn’t like cocky, disobedient Presidents, but she does like Jenga.

- - - - - - - - - -

Phase Two begins with encrypted conversations and transactions, on the dark web, between masked people, relaying instructions into a nightmarish paper trail of confusion, on computers built and prepared privately which will be destroyed after one use each. Money leaks from a bank and vanishes from the strictly-monitored web as it changes into physical currency, shipped beyond her borders in innocuous suitcases and numerous envelopes, to the right people who will get it to her business partners discreetly and do what she requests.

Phase Two ends with a spectacular Presidential motorcade finale of gunshots, screams, grief, and dead Presidential wives.

Black drapes her country’s buildings in an omnipresent funeral shroud. The populace mourns, wails, cries for revenge against the monsters who would commit such a heinous crime. In broad daylight! In front of her child! During such a happy celebration!

She cries with them because it fills her with deepest remorse that her Presidents lack common sense.

- - - - - - - - - -

Phase Three takes place on a tense afternoon four months after the shooting. National grief has long subsided, although the President still mourns, and it shows in his step and his mannerisms. He stands in his ornate office, staring out a wide and opulent window down at the gardens and the bustle of the capital beyond. The sun shines while his heart rains. Enough is enough.

She enters quietly and announces herself, and her President turns to greet her. His eyes light up with fondness, and pride, and love for his country, but nothing like the love that burned for his wife. Nothing like the kind of steadfast, unbreakable loyalty she needs.

“Get over it,” she snaps without preamble, and her boss flinches back, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Your wife. Her death. Get over it.” Loss crosses his face now, and then fury. But before he can launch into a righteous tirade that would make Shakespeare envious, she raises her hand. “I understand human grief. Humans need time to heal from tragedy. You have had time. Now get back to work.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?! I am your leader! Your leader!” He snarls.

She snorts. “Yes. The last dictator of Europe. And what a pathetic dictator you are.” Without missing a beat, she paces, she circles her prey, looking every bit the ancient nation the world knows her for. Her dark blue eyes momentarily gleam with something her leader cannot place – violence, intent to hurt, ambition, jealousy?, anger. Her platinum blond hair fans out behind her as she walks, her navy skirts parting in graceful waves, her dainty gloved hands reaching for a set of sinister knives the President knew she always had on her person, and she looks utterly bored.
“I have better things to do today than lecture you,” she says, and every syllable of her tone dripped with that very message, “so stay silent and do not waste my time.

"All you human bosses think it some sort of right to rule over us, to hold power over us Nations, the entities that withstand mortality and represent the people, their hopes, their dreams. You craft these governments for yourselves, you elect leaders, and then they make all the important decisions with the blessing of their obedient Nation. Damn that pestilence France and England for their inane blabber about the 'rights of man'! Long before anyone thought you up,” a knife whizzes until the acute point rests directly between his eyes, “We Nations ruled ourselves. Humans commanded at our discretion. We led as kings. We have no need of humans to lord over us.”

The President finds his voice then. “No human wants to live under the thumb of a person who will never die!”

“Yet you pray to an eternal deity,” she smoothly returns. “Look at you, spouting progressive ideas about the rights of man, when not even five hundred years ago absolute monarchy literally reigned supreme. Back then, we Nations grew up fast or fell under the boots of another. We came, we saw, we conquered. And we did not let the weaknesses of our people weigh us down. Weaknesses like love.” she spits.

“Love is the pinnacle of all human emotion-“

“Love,” she interrupts, “is the epitome of all human emotion. When you raised your hand and you swore your solemn oaths, boy, you declared, in front of your citizens, that you would protect and serve your country to the end of your days. Not your family. Not your lover. Your country. Do you know what that means? You essentially took a vow of chastity to never engage in the weaknesses of humanity – never to collapse from your wounds when you want to die, never to falter when you want to run, never to compromise when you only want to accept the unacceptable and face total destruction.

“You swore lifelong fealty to me. You claimed that I would always be your first priority, the holder of your strongest loyalty. That woman – she tempted you, made you break your vows never to engage in the carnal delights of being human, pulled you into weakness and away from your duty. We Nations entrusted our leadership to you, child, and how bitterly most of you disappoint us.

“Do you know why we Nations have human leaders, Mr. President? It’s so a human can see, for his or her tragic little lifespan, what a Nation feels like for eons on end. Raising up an unruly citizenry, defending them from outside harm and inside dissidents, giving them a morally strong upbringing, ensuring their safety and happiness and future, watching over them like a parent, a king, perhaps even a god. This is our divine purpose as Nations, Mr. President, and you, as my leader, get to share in my responsibility for your short stint on Earth."

She removes the knife when the President’s skin turns pale beneath her stare, as the weight of his chains finally sinks in and his duty stares him in the face at long last. Her blade returns to the sheath; she is once again demure and refined Belarus. Her work here is done, she has other duties to attend to today, she turns to leave.

“You may groom your son, Lukashenko.” She says this because both of them know that for now, she truly is allowing her boss to do so. “I do not care what the other countries say about being the last dictatorship of Europe. As long as we have food, everything will be fine. As long as there is order, we have a future. But mark my words,” she says as her hand closes over the doorway. “You may groom him but not love him more than you love your country. We all know what purpose he was born into…”

Her hand clenches over the handle, and she wrenches it to the side.

“And I can groom him just as well as you.”


So yeah, dark ending is dark but I hope you like.

Also, moral ambiguity is morally ambiguous. Belarus in this story favors absolute monarchy and rule by divine right, as in the days of the Царя (tsarya - Tsars - kings). She also compares the Nations to minor deities and overall presents Nations as loving their citizens until they step out of line or displease them. Belarus is considered the last dictatorship in Europe because one man has ruled since 1994 (Lukashenko) and eliminated the constitutional limit of two five-year terms for President.

The Lukashenko Belarus mentions in this story is supposed to be the current President's son after he himself grows up, because while I was interested enough in this oneshot to research the Belarusian government, I was not interested enough in the President to research his family. All I know is, the son of the current president has been given gifts such as a literal golden gun. Charming, amirite?

Also, checking out YT channel Geography Now for info on Belarus (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nASqSOtXkhk) had me updating my headcanon of her to someone who wants to be close to Russia, but not one with him.

OP

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-24 03:11 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Minifill: Fealty

(Anonymous) - 2015-11-27 18:20 (UTC) - Expand

France/Germany - seducing a policeman(Au?)

(Anonymous) 2015-11-24 07:20 am (UTC)(link)
France is a criminal (a sex offender?) who is being transported to another prison. For reasons unknown the policeman Germany is forced to be the one to make sure he gets there without any mishaps. France however has other ideas and he causes them to drive off the road somehow. But he isn't going to escape, he just wants to have fun.

How? That's for you to decide!

The whole world, various pairings - vampires conqure the world

(Anonymous) 2015-11-24 01:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Kind of like ross-over with Seraph of the End. The people living in the world are forced to become life stock for vampires. The incarnations of the nations are at loss, they don't know how to protect their people. And things get worse when one of them is turned into vampire too. And then another. And another. They close eyes to rest just for a second and oh, look! One of them has been reborn as a vampire once again.

Finally someone comes up with the idea to create an underground organization to plan a counterattack.

In the meantime there's a lot of blood sucking and probably sex going on. And maybe even those who aren't vampires need some kind of stress relief.

Anyway as you can see I want vampires and I want sex and I want blood and I want it now !

Or whenever someone is ready to be as kind as to fill my request.

Bonus:

There's a traitor inside the vampire circle who decides to work with that secret organization of nations.