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Flowershop working!anon has a thing for flowers and their meanings, and today she wants fluffy/mild-angsty USxUK! Is anyone aware of the meaning of a blue aquilegia? It means, "Smile even when you're sad, because the sadness of knowing you don't smile anymore is painful to me." UK is feeling a little down (probably because of you-know-what) and America suprises him with a boquet of Blue Aquilegia to cheer him up, preferably leading to comfort, some understanding, and maybe some sweet sex on a rose petal-scattered bed. Bonus for a kiss in England's garden, just to finish off the flowery touch!
Author!Anon is back! Whooo. My very first fill and hetalia fic.
This is more of a series of short drabble-ly stuff. They are written in no particular historical order and can be historically inaccurate in some parts. orz *shot*
Also, yes, the requested flower will appear later, but I’m only posting this first. ;) orz. I fully intended to write a short piece, but then my muse went, why not do more flowers, and I capitulated.
Floriography (US/UK, with perhaps a hint of UK/Japan in one part)
1
In the wilder patch of America’s garden, there is a shrub that he is very fond of, partly because when he first saw it, it was almost the same size as he was, and because his friends, especially the birds, love to feed on its red berries.
He also likes it because it helps him know when England comes and goes.
“Chaucer called it the whipple-tree, but I believe nowadays they refer to it as dogwood,” replies England when America asked what its name was when they were having tea beside it in the garden one morning after he arrived after months of being away. The shrub is covered in pretty white blooms, as it always is when England arrives.
America doesn’t know Chaucer and wants to ask who he is, but that would mean England talking about someone else other than himself or America, and he didn’t want that. He and England only have very little time to spend together, and America does not intend to waste it. So he asks, instead, “Why is it called that? It doesn’t look like a dog.”
“They used the wood for hilts of daggers,” England explains, “so they called it dagwood. As time went on, however, dagwood changed to dogwood.”
Wow. England has answers for everything. “Do you have them at your place too?”
England nods. “Other than hilts, they’re made into arrows or shuttles for looms. Some even make preserves from the berries.”
It’s America’s turn to nod. “My friends think the berries are delicious.”
England laughs and says, “Is that so?” then sweeps him into the warmth of his arms, and smiles at him, and that makes America happy, but not as much as when England tucks his chin on his shoulder and whispers, “I’ve missed you.”
--
When the dogwood’s leaves and twigs turn a bloody red, he knows it was time for England to go.
America also knows it is an unbecoming action at his age, but he still clings on the edges of England’s clothes as he leaves, although he knows from experience that it never works. His world is colder without England, and much, much more lonely.
England gives him a small sad smile, and strokes his hair with a soothing hand. “Hush. Don’t worry, I’ll come back. I always do, don’t I?” England crouches so that they’re eye to eye, green on blue. “I know you feel lonely, but you still have to keep doing your best and grow strong. Even when I’m not here. Will you promise me that, America?”
America fights back his tears. and nods. “I promise.”
--
England does not come back for a long time. But America continues to wait. That is all he could do.
America is rarely in the garden nowadays, as he spends more of his time with his people or working and reading, learning new things. He does this because he wants to, and it fascinates him, and because he wants to be strong, so when England comes back (and he will), he would be so proud of America.
--
One time he does pass by the garden, he nearly slammed into the trunk of the tree.
Tree, not shrub, because the dammed thing towered over him now, and he’d gotten pretty tall. It’s stem had turned into a trunk almost as wide as him, its twigs into spreading branches.
Absently, he remembers England telling him the wood was used for some sort of weapon, and he wonders if it can be used to make muskets. He should ask England, when he comes back.
He looks up at the blossoming tree, smiling wistfully to himself. He wishes England would come back soon so he could see his tree—and him.
England would be so surprised to see how tall they both had grown.
--
In winter the tree is bare except for snow, and America knows he should chop it down, use it for firewood, his soldiers are freezing, and he is so very cold and he is still at war with England, and he hurts and he just wants this to end, to be free, and he should chop it down, but he couldn’t.
This is more of a series of short drabble-ly stuff. They are written in no particular historical order and can be historically inaccurate in some parts. orz *shot*
Also, yes, the requested flower will appear later, but I’m only posting this first. ;) orz. I fully intended to write a short piece, but then my muse went, why not do more flowers, and I capitulated.
Floriography (US/UK, with perhaps a hint of UK/Japan in one part)
1
In the wilder patch of America’s garden, there is a shrub that he is very fond of, partly because when he first saw it, it was almost the same size as he was, and because his friends, especially the birds, love to feed on its red berries.
He also likes it because it helps him know when England comes and goes.
“Chaucer called it the whipple-tree, but I believe nowadays they refer to it as dogwood,” replies England when America asked what its name was when they were having tea beside it in the garden one morning after he arrived after months of being away. The shrub is covered in pretty white blooms, as it always is when England arrives.
America doesn’t know Chaucer and wants to ask who he is, but that would mean England talking about someone else other than himself or America, and he didn’t want that. He and England only have very little time to spend together, and America does not intend to waste it. So he asks, instead, “Why is it called that? It doesn’t look like a dog.”
“They used the wood for hilts of daggers,” England explains, “so they called it dagwood. As time went on, however, dagwood changed to dogwood.”
Wow. England has answers for everything. “Do you have them at your place too?”
England nods. “Other than hilts, they’re made into arrows or shuttles for looms. Some even make preserves from the berries.”
It’s America’s turn to nod. “My friends think the berries are delicious.”
England laughs and says, “Is that so?” then sweeps him into the warmth of his arms, and smiles at him, and that makes America happy, but not as much as when England tucks his chin on his shoulder and whispers, “I’ve missed you.”
--
When the dogwood’s leaves and twigs turn a bloody red, he knows it was time for England to go.
America also knows it is an unbecoming action at his age, but he still clings on the edges of England’s clothes as he leaves, although he knows from experience that it never works. His world is colder without England, and much, much more lonely.
England gives him a small sad smile, and strokes his hair with a soothing hand. “Hush. Don’t worry, I’ll come back. I always do, don’t I?” England crouches so that they’re eye to eye, green on blue. “I know you feel lonely, but you still have to keep doing your best and grow strong. Even when I’m not here. Will you promise me that, America?”
America fights back his tears. and nods. “I promise.”
--
England does not come back for a long time. But America continues to wait. That is all he could do.
America is rarely in the garden nowadays, as he spends more of his time with his people or working and reading, learning new things. He does this because he wants to, and it fascinates him, and because he wants to be strong, so when England comes back (and he will), he would be so proud of America.
--
One time he does pass by the garden, he nearly slammed into the trunk of the tree.
Tree, not shrub, because the dammed thing towered over him now, and he’d gotten pretty tall. It’s stem had turned into a trunk almost as wide as him, its twigs into spreading branches.
Absently, he remembers England telling him the wood was used for some sort of weapon, and he wonders if it can be used to make muskets. He should ask England, when he comes back.
He looks up at the blossoming tree, smiling wistfully to himself. He wishes England would come back soon so he could see his tree—and him.
England would be so surprised to see how tall they both had grown.
--
In winter the tree is bare except for snow, and America knows he should chop it down, use it for firewood, his soldiers are freezing, and he is so very cold and he is still at war with England, and he hurts and he just wants this to end, to be free, and he should chop it down, but he couldn’t.
S. KoreaxChina with one of them falling in the infamous 'Spring of the Drowned Girl' from Ranma 1/2. Anything goes from there (sex, humor, etc...).
((Just a teaser...))
Yao stared down at horror from his position on the narrow trail, the squat guide next to him shaking his head.
“That’s the Spring of the Drowned Girl, yes,” he murmured, glad to not have to speak the stilted Japanese he had to usually affect for once. “Five hundred years ago, a young woman drowned there…” His voice trailed off as he saw the sudden expression cross the younger man's face. They stood in silence as they heard frantic splashing subside to someone gasping for air and a distant figure climbing out of one of the springs.
‘Do not look there, Yao. Aru, aru...Do NOT look over there…’
A rather high-pitched voice yelled, “Hey! Hyung! What the hell! I could have drowned, you know! Hey! Hyu~ng-!”
Then a moment of silence. Yao absently counted down from five, cursing his little brother’s predilection for white clothing.
“I’ve got boobs!”
Yao stared down at horror from his position on the narrow trail, the squat guide next to him shaking his head.
“That’s the Spring of the Drowned Girl, yes,” he murmured, glad to not have to speak the stilted Japanese he had to usually affect for once. “Five hundred years ago, a young woman drowned there…” His voice trailed off as he saw the sudden expression cross the younger man's face. They stood in silence as they heard frantic splashing subside to someone gasping for air and a distant figure climbing out of one of the springs.
‘Do not look there, Yao. Aru, aru...Do NOT look over there…’
A rather high-pitched voice yelled, “Hey! Hyung! What the hell! I could have drowned, you know! Hey! Hyu~ng-!”
Then a moment of silence. Yao absently counted down from five, cursing his little brother’s predilection for white clothing.
“I’ve got boobs!”
Russia wants the other countries to become one with him.
So he eats them.
So he eats them.
I looked at another anon said about just watching Hannibal and decided to be a bit classier about this.
Sorry, it's a bit short.
---
It had taken days, and after all that work, slaving away in the kitchens, and Russia was very, very hungry, but with so many dishes before him, he did not know where to start.
He supposed he could always start with what was closest to him — a platter of pierogis and derelye, vareniki, ravioli, pelmeni, jiaozi, gyoza, dumplings of all sorts, or perhaps to the side, the sausages, verivorst, kindziuk, falukorv, bratwurst, papet vaudois, bangers and mash, chorizo, spetsofai…
If he walked just a few steps to the right, he could have something more filling, like a schnitzel, back bacon, boliche (with more chorizos, of course), tafelspitz, lihapullat, Königsberger klopse, hamburger, — in fact with that cut there had been so much fat he’d had enough left over to make fries for the steak-frites.
But no, thought Russia, licking the bloodstains still on his fingers, no, this would not do at all. After so much effort, he could not just become one with any Nation first. He’d have to start with a plan, with a purpose.
So he found with his favorite, Juka; Lithuanian blood soup.
Sorry, it's a bit short.
---
It had taken days, and after all that work, slaving away in the kitchens, and Russia was very, very hungry, but with so many dishes before him, he did not know where to start.
He supposed he could always start with what was closest to him — a platter of pierogis and derelye, vareniki, ravioli, pelmeni, jiaozi, gyoza, dumplings of all sorts, or perhaps to the side, the sausages, verivorst, kindziuk, falukorv, bratwurst, papet vaudois, bangers and mash, chorizo, spetsofai…
If he walked just a few steps to the right, he could have something more filling, like a schnitzel, back bacon, boliche (with more chorizos, of course), tafelspitz, lihapullat, Königsberger klopse, hamburger, — in fact with that cut there had been so much fat he’d had enough left over to make fries for the steak-frites.
But no, thought Russia, licking the bloodstains still on his fingers, no, this would not do at all. After so much effort, he could not just become one with any Nation first. He’d have to start with a plan, with a purpose.
So he found with his favorite, Juka; Lithuanian blood soup.
Any nation tries to seduce an unwilling America until he finally admits that he couldn't even if he tried, because it's, well...
hurricane season.
hurricane season.
Considering that America is oblivious guy, he wouldn't the difference between a friendly gesture to an sexual advance.
I want to see the people of Poland, who aren't exactly the most tolerant of homosexuals...
find out about the personification of their country, Poland, being, well, POLAND.
Anon would love you forever if Liet is also in this fill.
Anon also prefers country names.
find out about the personification of their country, Poland, being, well, POLAND.
Anon would love you forever if Liet is also in this fill.
Anon also prefers country names.
asdslldkasjdlaskj
Anon, you know my thoughts!
Anon, you know my thoughts!
France/Germany/Russia- Schlieffen Plan!!
I'll leave everything up to what anon wants! This anon just wants to see this! X)
-basically, during WWI, because Germany was in between France and Russia and didn't want a 2-front war, he decided to defeat France first, then attack Russia (since they were a bit technologically slow). But France countered, and Russia came fast advanced quicker than expected.
I'll leave everything up to what anon wants! This anon just wants to see this! X)
-basically, during WWI, because Germany was in between France and Russia and didn't want a 2-front war, he decided to defeat France first, then attack Russia (since they were a bit technologically slow). But France countered, and Russia
I loved learning about the Schlieffen Plan in history class. And plus, part of me wants to see this threesome so bad...
Plz be lynching me if this is dumb/ has been done XD;;
I got this idea from the PWKM about articles of clothing doing things to people, so here is what I want.
Either Sealand or Germany find the hat of the Holy Roman Empire, and somehow dream/go back in time, and meet Chibitalia.
If it's Sealand, maybe he meets a befriends a country that has similar issues as him; not respected and insignificant. Maybe even add in Sealand/Chibitalia for fun XD
If it's Germany though, I think it's best that he'd relive these memories through the Holy Roman Empire's eyes.
Either way, they learn about N. Italy. Can be a one time thing or maybe it happens every time the put on/are near that hat.
I-I'm so lame XD
I got this idea from the PWKM about articles of clothing doing things to people, so here is what I want.
Either Sealand or Germany find the hat of the Holy Roman Empire, and somehow dream/go back in time, and meet Chibitalia.
If it's Sealand, maybe he meets a befriends a country that has similar issues as him; not respected and insignificant. Maybe even add in Sealand/Chibitalia for fun XD
If it's Germany though, I think it's best that he'd relive these memories through the Holy Roman Empire's eyes.
Either way, they learn about N. Italy. Can be a one time thing or maybe it happens every time the put on/are near that hat.
I-I'm so lame XD
I second this!
And if no one tries their hand at this, I might even try the Sealand option XD because we get tons of fics where Germany relives HRE's memories, so might be fun to try something new!
And if no one tries their hand at this, I might even try the Sealand option XD because we get tons of fics where Germany relives HRE's memories, so might be fun to try something new!
UK, France, Canada & Belgium. In Flanders Field (not the poem but the actual location) UK, France and Canada make their way to Belgium's house for Remembrance Day. Buckets of angst pls.
For one minute the world stands still.
The only sound is the lone trumpet playing it’s Last Stand.
A sob breaks through the silence, as though the first crack in a dam more join. There is wailing now as the minute passes. Families embrace for loved ones long past, lost in a war that was supposed to end all wars.
Why did they go?
Some ask themselves what did their loved ones die for?
Did it really solve anything?
There are few left who knew those who died personally, but there are four standing to the side who remember them all.
They remember them.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
Private William Duncan
Private Maximilien Paul Emile Marie
Lazare Ponticelli
Canadian, British, Beligium and French a like.
They all lie here together. Together in life and together in death.
Canada’s lips are moving. He is repeating a poem named after this place.
‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,'
UK is silent, his face a stony. His eyes are dry but troubled. His heart aches as he looks at the only markers for thousands who died for them. And he remembers still the hundreds of thousands who are not here. The millions who answered his call.
There are tears running down Belgium’s cheeks. She is quiet but she cannot hold her tears. She cries for the soldiers and for the memory of the 4th of August 1914. She cried for her lost innocence and her lost children.
France is the one who shows the least emotion. He aches for those who have been lost and for the choices made against those who would not fight.
The ceremony ends and the cries of the living echoes the cries of the dead for one still moment in the ears of the four.
They close their eyes and for another year they pray for their peace, for the peace of the world.
But they know it will not come to pass.
So they turn, heading to the lone house on a hill not too far away.
Soon more tears will flow and they will laugh, cry and reminisce about those long gone.
And in the air a whisper a reminder to never forget:
‘The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.’
------
author!anon had a lot of trouble writing this, she cried. She isn't sure if it's exactly what OP want though.
Some little notes to go with it. All those who are listed are real people who died in the war except Lazare Ponticelli who was France's last surviving veteran until recently. Other important things mentioned:
In Flanders Fields: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields
World War I Casualties: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I_casualties
Rape of Belgium: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_of_Belgium
French Army Mutinies: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Army_Mutinies_(1917)
The only sound is the lone trumpet playing it’s Last Stand.
A sob breaks through the silence, as though the first crack in a dam more join. There is wailing now as the minute passes. Families embrace for loved ones long past, lost in a war that was supposed to end all wars.
Why did they go?
Some ask themselves what did their loved ones die for?
Did it really solve anything?
There are few left who knew those who died personally, but there are four standing to the side who remember them all.
They remember them.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
Private William Duncan
Private Maximilien Paul Emile Marie
Lazare Ponticelli
Canadian, British, Beligium and French a like.
They all lie here together. Together in life and together in death.
Canada’s lips are moving. He is repeating a poem named after this place.
‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,'
UK is silent, his face a stony. His eyes are dry but troubled. His heart aches as he looks at the only markers for thousands who died for them. And he remembers still the hundreds of thousands who are not here. The millions who answered his call.
There are tears running down Belgium’s cheeks. She is quiet but she cannot hold her tears. She cries for the soldiers and for the memory of the 4th of August 1914. She cried for her lost innocence and her lost children.
France is the one who shows the least emotion. He aches for those who have been lost and for the choices made against those who would not fight.
The ceremony ends and the cries of the living echoes the cries of the dead for one still moment in the ears of the four.
They close their eyes and for another year they pray for their peace, for the peace of the world.
But they know it will not come to pass.
So they turn, heading to the lone house on a hill not too far away.
Soon more tears will flow and they will laugh, cry and reminisce about those long gone.
And in the air a whisper a reminder to never forget:
‘The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.’
------
author!anon had a lot of trouble writing this, she cried. She isn't sure if it's exactly what OP want though.
Some little notes to go with it. All those who are listed are real people who died in the war except Lazare Ponticelli who was France's last surviving veteran until recently. Other important things mentioned:
In Flanders Fields: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields
World War I Casualties: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I_casualties
Rape of Belgium: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_of_Belgium
French Army Mutinies: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Army_Mutinies_(1917)
UK/US, in Airforce and RAF uniforms. One or the other (or both?) finds both the uniforms and the piloting extremely hot.
Bonus for WWII era and bomber jacket love. Double bonus for plane sex.
Bonus for WWII era and bomber jacket love. Double bonus for plane sex.
He sees him spread out in the shade under the wing of a Hurricane, arms pillowing his head and eyes closed, not asleep but caught in that trance state of every pilot waiting for the call. He double-takes, and ends up transfixed by the bunched lines and waxed leather of America's flight jacket.
It looks well-used, not to mention well-loved, and under the strain of constant attack it infuriates England beyond reason. He shouldn't be allowed to wear it, to call himself a pilot –
He shouldn't be allowed to be here on England's bomb-scared land without doing something to help.
His heart is pounding in the middle of his throat. His stomach turns somersaults, and quite suddenly he finds himself marching in long strides over to America's make-shift bed.
He doesn't bother with niceties, demanding immediately, "Get out!"
"England?"
He shivers suddenly at the slow smile consuming America's face as he sits up, running a hand through his messy hair, and staring up at England with eyes as wide and blue as the sky itself.
His fists clench and unclench, and he manages to say again, "Get out of here!"
"Don't be so mean, England."
He traces the line of America's arms as he stretches them above his head, trying to scowl.
His jacket rides up, and England's stomach somersaults again as another couple inches of khaki fabric are revealed. It should look bland and unappealing, but on America it turns into something eye-catching and dangerous.
England opens his mouth, closes it, and tries to ignore America's returning smile as he fails to respond. "You shouldn't be here, America."
"Lighten up! I'm just checking on some guys."
"Excuse me?"
He steps back as America springs suddenly to his feet, dodging the wing and spinning to lean against the Hurricane's fuselage, almost directly beneath the cockpit.
He ruffles his hair again, the motion almost nervous, and England gestures impatiently for an answer.
"Two of mine are here, okay?"
England feels his expression freeze on his face in surprise, and he stares as America continues in a blushing mutter, "I wanna make sure you're taking good care of 'em."
"I didn't know."
"They're tricky devils," America laughs, "They keep following Canada around."
England flushes, and says, "I'll be having a word with him."
He stops paying attention about the time he notices America's body framed by the glinting silver of the Hurricane, though, and now he finds himself stepping slowly closer.
He licks his lips, marvelling, infatuated with the idea that America would break his own laws to be here.
Damn the fact America won't formally enter the war.
He wants to be here.
England knows, now, giddy with the information, and his fingers grasp, fold themselves into the fur lining America's weathered flight jacket, tugging him down the extra inch to meet England's lips.
"England, what are –"
His protests die as England's tongue threads its way into his mouth, and England's heart jumps as America suddenly hugs him close, practically crushing their bodies together, and leaning back against the fuselage, letting it support their weight as they continue to kiss.
He slips the first button of America's uniform jacket from its hole, and continues on with the second. He bites lightly into the kiss, and America hums, sliding a hand around the back of England's neck and digging in with blunt nails.
England's fingers catch and tug at America's dog tags, urging him to take England's mouth deeper.
"England, I, I want to be here, all of this waiting is driving me nuts," America says, forcing England to open his eyes and look at him, at that expression too bright to be believed.
And because I love pregnancy/parentfic. And this pairing, which is cute.
"Austria + Hungary = Czechoslovakia and the State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs?"
I know, I know, I'm a sap. Please?
"Austria + Hungary = Czechoslovakia and the State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs?"
I know, I know, I'm a sap. Please?
Czechoslovakia's birthday= 28 October 1918.
Czechoslovakia can either be presented as one country who simply falls on harder times after 1992, or twins referred to as one collective (as in, there's a "Czech" nation-tan and a "Slovakian" nation-tan).
Your call, anon.
Czechoslovakia can either be presented as one country who simply falls on harder times after 1992, or twins referred to as one collective (as in, there's a "Czech" nation-tan and a "Slovakian" nation-tan).
Your call, anon.
With all the genderswap going on, how about some Fem!Romano/Spain, anon? ;)
Arthur/Marauder!Lupin. Arthur believes in all kinds of crazy things; Remus is All Kinds of Crazy Things.
B: Lupin hulks out and Arthur needs to be saved by Marauder!James. This can lead to whatever you want, anons. :)
HP/Hetalia in case you guys couldn't guess lol I'm going to hell.
B: Lupin hulks out and Arthur needs to be saved by Marauder!James. This can lead to whatever you want, anons. :)
G8 Superbowl Game. America drags all the other members of the G8 to watch the superbowl. Crazy shinanigans and way-too-enthusiastic fans abound!
Bonus: America's cheering on the Patriots, because you know he would.
Extra, extra, extra bonus: America only brought the other guys (and probably drugs them, too) because there are eight letters in the word "PATRIOTS".
Bonus: America's cheering on the Patriots, because you know he would.
Extra, extra, extra bonus: America only brought the other guys (and probably drugs them, too) because there are eight letters in the word "PATRIOTS".
Germany/Italy, foreplay with art materials.
(specifically, I have in mind teasing each other with paintbrushes, but any others are more than welcome.)
(specifically, I have in mind teasing each other with paintbrushes, but any others are more than welcome.)
... how is this not seconded!! D: It would be so hot, somebody do it!
Well, I was going to check on my Yahoo e-mail today when I stumbled on to something interesting. Apparently, American cheerleading is all the rage in China right now since the 2008 Beijing Olympics (see: http://buzz.yahoo.com/article/1:y_featured:3e7675ee268480ec43739f6cadee7833/Cheerleading-hits-China). So...
America/China. Cheerleader roleplay sex with twin ponytailed, crossdressing cheerleader!China.
Bonus!: If you can make this a threesome with Russia somehow (and I will love you for life).
America/China. Cheerleader roleplay sex with twin ponytailed, crossdressing cheerleader!China.
Bonus!: If you can make this a threesome with Russia somehow (and I will love you for life).
US/UK hurt/comfort involving the 7/7 bombings.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/7_July_2005_London_bombings
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/7_July_2005_London_bombings
"They... they died!" he sobs. "It hurts so much..."
Alfred is sitting there with him, hugging him from behind. He can remember doing this for Alfred when he was tiny, after a bad dream or when he'd been sad.
"Don't worry. It'll be okay. You've been through worse, right?"
"It still hurts. I can hardly remember the last time anything hurt this bad..."
It was true. Deep within his chest, his heart actually ached. Of course, it had been so many times worse back when...
Well, it had been worse. But at least then, some of them had died for a reason, protecting their country, the last fortress against a lunatic.
This time was different.
"They didn't even have to die!" he croaks.
"I know." Alfred murmurs, hugging him a little tighter.
"It's so unfair..." Arthur wipes a few tears away, but they're quickly replaced by new ones.
"I know..." Alfred croaks, as if in pain.
"Those bastards, I'll kill them! I'll kill whoever did this!" he cries, half-screaming and half-weeping.
"No. You can't."
"I will! I have to! They've got to die! How could they do this?!" Arthur is screaming now, his judgement clouded by pain and tears.
Alfred holds him even tighter. Damn! How'd he get to be so stong?! Arthur can't do anything but writhe and kick out at thin air.
"No." he breathes, into Arthur's ear. "You can't."
"I..." Arthur begins. "I miss them. I miss them so much... Why'd they have to die like this?"
"I don't know. It was meaningless. Cruel. Disgusting. It was evil."
Arthur lets more pained howls rip their way out of his throat. It was so unfair! It was disgusting! It was horrifying! How could Alfred just sit there?! The ones who did this had to die!
"They died..." He cried.
"You've been through worse. You'll get through it." Alfred rested his head upon Arthur's shoulder.
"I know, but it still hurts..."
"It'll be okay. Forgive them, and forget them."
"How can I?! When they're dead, when the people who did this are still alive and well?!"
"You can get throught this. I'm behind you all the way."
Arthur suddenly remembers. Oh, God. Here he'd been, moaning about how sad his life was, and yet here was America, having been through something far, far worse, acting as if he, England, was the one who mattered.
"You..." The tears came faster than they had earlier now. "I'm so sorry..."
"You only just remembered?" Alfred smiles, an expression full of pain. "God, you call me stupid?"
He laughed, bitterly.
"You helped me out, remember?"
"Yeah..."
"But you couldn't stop me from taking my revenge, could you? Noone could have stopped that amount of rage... You know what happened, don't you?"
"Yeah..." It came out as a tiny, childish whimper.
"And now, thanks to me forcing you into this stupid war, you're in pain."
Arthur felt the tears rise up, yet again.
"Hnngh..."
"I thought so. Look, let's try to get through this together. You don't want to end up like me, do you? Locked in some battle I don't even want to fight anymore..."
"You're right." Arthur takes a deep breath. Alfred smiles, and presses his face against Arthur's .
"Good." Alfred rewards Arthur with a tiny peck on the cheek. "Now, let's get on with our lives. I know it hurts, but you've still got all those millions of people who need you to be strong for them. They've all lost something, too."
Alfred stands, and helps Arthur up.
"Thanks..." Arthur mumbles.
Alfred beams.
"No problem! Just remember, I'm behind you all the way on this."
Arthur smiles, bitterly.
"Thanks."
Alfred is sitting there with him, hugging him from behind. He can remember doing this for Alfred when he was tiny, after a bad dream or when he'd been sad.
"Don't worry. It'll be okay. You've been through worse, right?"
"It still hurts. I can hardly remember the last time anything hurt this bad..."
It was true. Deep within his chest, his heart actually ached. Of course, it had been so many times worse back when...
Well, it had been worse. But at least then, some of them had died for a reason, protecting their country, the last fortress against a lunatic.
This time was different.
"They didn't even have to die!" he croaks.
"I know." Alfred murmurs, hugging him a little tighter.
"It's so unfair..." Arthur wipes a few tears away, but they're quickly replaced by new ones.
"I know..." Alfred croaks, as if in pain.
"Those bastards, I'll kill them! I'll kill whoever did this!" he cries, half-screaming and half-weeping.
"No. You can't."
"I will! I have to! They've got to die! How could they do this?!" Arthur is screaming now, his judgement clouded by pain and tears.
Alfred holds him even tighter. Damn! How'd he get to be so stong?! Arthur can't do anything but writhe and kick out at thin air.
"No." he breathes, into Arthur's ear. "You can't."
"I..." Arthur begins. "I miss them. I miss them so much... Why'd they have to die like this?"
"I don't know. It was meaningless. Cruel. Disgusting. It was evil."
Arthur lets more pained howls rip their way out of his throat. It was so unfair! It was disgusting! It was horrifying! How could Alfred just sit there?! The ones who did this had to die!
"They died..." He cried.
"You've been through worse. You'll get through it." Alfred rested his head upon Arthur's shoulder.
"I know, but it still hurts..."
"It'll be okay. Forgive them, and forget them."
"How can I?! When they're dead, when the people who did this are still alive and well?!"
"You can get throught this. I'm behind you all the way."
Arthur suddenly remembers. Oh, God. Here he'd been, moaning about how sad his life was, and yet here was America, having been through something far, far worse, acting as if he, England, was the one who mattered.
"You..." The tears came faster than they had earlier now. "I'm so sorry..."
"You only just remembered?" Alfred smiles, an expression full of pain. "God, you call me stupid?"
He laughed, bitterly.
"You helped me out, remember?"
"Yeah..."
"But you couldn't stop me from taking my revenge, could you? Noone could have stopped that amount of rage... You know what happened, don't you?"
"Yeah..." It came out as a tiny, childish whimper.
"And now, thanks to me forcing you into this stupid war, you're in pain."
Arthur felt the tears rise up, yet again.
"Hnngh..."
"I thought so. Look, let's try to get through this together. You don't want to end up like me, do you? Locked in some battle I don't even want to fight anymore..."
"You're right." Arthur takes a deep breath. Alfred smiles, and presses his face against Arthur's .
"Good." Alfred rewards Arthur with a tiny peck on the cheek. "Now, let's get on with our lives. I know it hurts, but you've still got all those millions of people who need you to be strong for them. They've all lost something, too."
Alfred stands, and helps Arthur up.
"Thanks..." Arthur mumbles.
Alfred beams.
"No problem! Just remember, I'm behind you all the way on this."
Arthur smiles, bitterly.
"Thanks."
Prussia/Austria, Germany/N.Italy, Spain/S.Italy/Spain, or Turkey/Greece
Kink-Having such powerful sex against a surface/object it breaks.
Bonus 1: The surface/object holds important monetary or sentimental value. (i.e. Austria's Piano)
Bonus 2: It's supposed to be a very sturdy surface/object.
Kink-Having such powerful sex against a surface/object it breaks.
Bonus 1: The surface/object holds important monetary or sentimental value. (i.e. Austria's Piano)
Bonus 2: It's supposed to be a very sturdy surface/object.
(screened comment)
Re: Some Prussia/Austria with an unfortunate piano XDD
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-16 16:29 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Some Prussia/Austria with an unfortunate piano XDD
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-16 20:12 (UTC) - Expand
(screened comment)
Switzerland/Liechtenstein + Hungary
Why you should never ask Hunagry for advice on your love life.
Why you should never ask Hunagry for advice on your love life.
After Russia takes Lithuania back from America, he sees suspicious kiss marks on Lithuania’s neck and chest. A furious (and jealous) Russia then brutally harasses Lithuania (physically first, and then sexually) and makes Lithuania forget America’s ‘touch.’
Bonus points if America learns about this.
Bonus points if America learns about this.
I think Anon has failed you/has not met your expectations and I am sorry. D:
---------------------------------------------------------
“It’s good to be home, da? Toris?”
The brunette turned around to have his face meet that of Ivan’s, which was probably much too close for anyone’s comfort. The Lithuanian could only watch Ivan as he looked down to the ground, disappointed in knowing that this time, because Alfred is troubled, he can’t be saved. Toris only sighed at the thought and turned back around, his back facing Ivan.
Startled at the reaction he received, the Russian roughly grabbed Toris by the lapels and turned him around so they were face-to-face. “Did you hear me? It’s good to be home, isn’t it Toris?”
Toris saw Ivan’s lavender eyes scanning his face, possibly trying to look for the fear that resided in him.
Toris stuttered. “Y-yes, Ivan… it is very nice to be home. I-I’ll… work very hard.”
“Good boy” Ivan slowly let go of the Lithuanian’s collar and examined the exhaustion on the smaller man. His eyes examined every visible part of Toris’ body, noticing every detail and how fair his skin was. Eyes examining from the jaw line, following those strange red marks that trailed down from his neck to his collar bone and possibly further.
Ivan narrowed his eyes at the sight of the blemishes. “Go rest for a little while.”
Turning his back to Toris, he waved his hand and walked off into the hallway.
“W-welcome home,…” a voice greeted behind the brunette. Toris turned around to see that it was his brothers Eduard and Raivis both looking exactly or even more fatigued than he did. The brothers approached him and both gave Toris a greeting and a hug before leading Toris back to his old room.
As they approached their rooms, Eduard and Raivis dispatched into their own rooms as Toris could only stand outside of his and stare. Stare at the door, which behind, led him to the many painful memories which drove him out of the Russian’s home and into Alfred’s.
---------------------------------------------------------
“It’s good to be home, da? Toris?”
The brunette turned around to have his face meet that of Ivan’s, which was probably much too close for anyone’s comfort. The Lithuanian could only watch Ivan as he looked down to the ground, disappointed in knowing that this time, because Alfred is troubled, he can’t be saved. Toris only sighed at the thought and turned back around, his back facing Ivan.
Startled at the reaction he received, the Russian roughly grabbed Toris by the lapels and turned him around so they were face-to-face. “Did you hear me? It’s good to be home, isn’t it Toris?”
Toris saw Ivan’s lavender eyes scanning his face, possibly trying to look for the fear that resided in him.
Toris stuttered. “Y-yes, Ivan… it is very nice to be home. I-I’ll… work very hard.”
“Good boy” Ivan slowly let go of the Lithuanian’s collar and examined the exhaustion on the smaller man. His eyes examined every visible part of Toris’ body, noticing every detail and how fair his skin was. Eyes examining from the jaw line, following those strange red marks that trailed down from his neck to his collar bone and possibly further.
Ivan narrowed his eyes at the sight of the blemishes. “Go rest for a little while.”
Turning his back to Toris, he waved his hand and walked off into the hallway.
“W-welcome home,…” a voice greeted behind the brunette. Toris turned around to see that it was his brothers Eduard and Raivis both looking exactly or even more fatigued than he did. The brothers approached him and both gave Toris a greeting and a hug before leading Toris back to his old room.
As they approached their rooms, Eduard and Raivis dispatched into their own rooms as Toris could only stand outside of his and stare. Stare at the door, which behind, led him to the many painful memories which drove him out of the Russian’s home and into Alfred’s.
DRUGS ARE BAD, MMKAY?
I want the hard stuff, anon. (No weed, Canada...) I want it dark nasty gritty AND sparkly trippy crazy.
Things I'd like to see:
America and cocaine
Germany and speed
Canada and inhalants (gas-huffing D:)
France and ecstasy
Russia and LSD
UK and heroin
China and opium
and more, if you can. Just. Make. It. Rough. (Yes, sex is cool too. Descriptive drugged states is the main kink!)
Re: Authornon, this is awesome- so I'm including a video!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-31 02:02 (UTC) - ExpandGermania at Rome's house,wanting to take a bath,and somehow Rome "joins" in.
Bonus if Chibitalia hears/sees them.
Bonus if Chibitalia hears/sees them.
Because we all know that went on in those Roman bath houses.
There's a party going on and all nations play "spin the bottle"
Bonus: for awkward couples/unlikely partners and if someone gets jealous
Bonus: for awkward couples/unlikely partners and if someone gets jealous
Please enjoy at your leisure this meagre teaser that this artist!anon offers.
Part 1:
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xsVhA7d4bHM/ScEQDWLro7I/AAAAAAAAAIE/ELOi4d7FVZ4/s1600-h/11.JPG
Part 2:
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xsVhA7d4bHM/ScEQDowBGsI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ZzPK5T_TiVQ/s1600-h/12.JPG
Part 1:
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xsVhA7d4bHM/ScEQDWLro7I/AAAAAAAAAIE/ELOi4d7FVZ4/s1600-h/11.JPG
Part 2:
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xsVhA7d4bHM/ScEQDowBGsI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ZzPK5T_TiVQ/s1600-h/12.JPG
Germany/Poland, can be platonic if you want: Prussian Trust
http://www.iht.com/articles/2006/12/21/news/germany.php
(Bonus for references to Historikerstreit--
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Historikerstreit
or just Germany introspection in general)
http://www.iht.com/articles/2006/12/21/news/germany.php
(Bonus for references to Historikerstreit--
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Historikerstreit
or just Germany introspection in general)
I couldn't quite get the Historikerstreit in there. Oops. :/
--
At some point over the years - and Germany is sure he knows exactly when that some point was - Poland has learned how to stay inches out of reach. He has it down to a science; right now he is close enough that Germany could make a lunge for him if he chose to, but far enough that he'd be able to not only slip away, but also try to stab Germany with one of pink sequined sticks he's currently using to keep his hair up in a bun.
He looks deceptively cheerful, at least until one realizes that he is speaking through clenched teeth.
"You've, like, got a lot of fucking nerve," he says. It doesn't take a genius to guess what he's talking about.
Germany sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I had nothing to do with that."
"They're your people, aren't they?"
"I can't control everything my people do," he says with as much patience as he can muster. He lets the unspoken as if you didn't know that hang heavy in the air.
Maybe Poland notices, because he presses his lips together into a thin bloodless line and makes a noise that's probably supposed to be irritation. If he didn't sound strangled, maybe he'd be able to pull it off.
"Can't you, like, tell them to cut it out?" he says when he's regained his composure, although Germany's too polite to comment on that.
Instead he raises an eyebrow. "I doubt the lawsuit will get anywhere," he says. "Ignore them and they'll go away."
One of Poland's hands darts up to fuss with his bun, his fingers darting across the pink stick as if he's looking for a weapon; Germany doubts the action is conscious. "Easy for you to say."
What else do you want me to do? Germany wants to ask - or maybe I'm trying, can't you see that? - but he knows how Poland will answer, because Poland has never questioned or second-guessed his own actions, even when he ought to, and because he is still bitterly terribly (justifiably) angry.
"I'm not taking your land back," he says instead. "Calm down."
"I am totally calm," Poland mutters. "And, like, you couldn't take my land even if you wanted to."
Germany believes that much, at least. "I don't want your land."
"You're seriously lame now," Poland says, all exaggerated eyerolls and one hand on his hip; faint scars are visible on his arms, but only because Germany knows where to look. "You and that trust or whatever. I am so not scared of you."
But he doesn't come any closer than he has before - just outside of arms' length, carefully and deliberately calculated.
Germany's starting to doubt that he ever will.
--
At some point over the years - and Germany is sure he knows exactly when that some point was - Poland has learned how to stay inches out of reach. He has it down to a science; right now he is close enough that Germany could make a lunge for him if he chose to, but far enough that he'd be able to not only slip away, but also try to stab Germany with one of pink sequined sticks he's currently using to keep his hair up in a bun.
He looks deceptively cheerful, at least until one realizes that he is speaking through clenched teeth.
"You've, like, got a lot of fucking nerve," he says. It doesn't take a genius to guess what he's talking about.
Germany sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I had nothing to do with that."
"They're your people, aren't they?"
"I can't control everything my people do," he says with as much patience as he can muster. He lets the unspoken as if you didn't know that hang heavy in the air.
Maybe Poland notices, because he presses his lips together into a thin bloodless line and makes a noise that's probably supposed to be irritation. If he didn't sound strangled, maybe he'd be able to pull it off.
"Can't you, like, tell them to cut it out?" he says when he's regained his composure, although Germany's too polite to comment on that.
Instead he raises an eyebrow. "I doubt the lawsuit will get anywhere," he says. "Ignore them and they'll go away."
One of Poland's hands darts up to fuss with his bun, his fingers darting across the pink stick as if he's looking for a weapon; Germany doubts the action is conscious. "Easy for you to say."
What else do you want me to do? Germany wants to ask - or maybe I'm trying, can't you see that? - but he knows how Poland will answer, because Poland has never questioned or second-guessed his own actions, even when he ought to, and because he is still bitterly terribly (justifiably) angry.
"I'm not taking your land back," he says instead. "Calm down."
"I am totally calm," Poland mutters. "And, like, you couldn't take my land even if you wanted to."
Germany believes that much, at least. "I don't want your land."
"You're seriously lame now," Poland says, all exaggerated eyerolls and one hand on his hip; faint scars are visible on his arms, but only because Germany knows where to look. "You and that trust or whatever. I am so not scared of you."
But he doesn't come any closer than he has before - just outside of arms' length, carefully and deliberately calculated.
Germany's starting to doubt that he ever will.
Prussia finding out that Germany helps Japan in making Hetalia yaoi doujinshis. Japan's the one making the stories while Germany's drawing the art. Bonus points if he gets caught while working on a doujinshi that has Prussia in it.
No pairing's needed, but if that's what the anon wants, then why not? xD Just make sure that Germany practically dies of embarrassment, hehe...
No pairing's needed, but if that's what the anon wants, then why not? xD Just make sure that Germany practically dies of embarrassment, hehe...
S. Korea/China
For some strange reason I have the opinion that Yao is one of those people who take forever to wake up in the morning. Like they'll get out of bed and do stuff while half-conscious - even talking and stuff.
I want to see Yonsu take advantage of this one day and finally get Yao to 'accept' him. It'd be extra awesome if Yao fully wakes up just as Yonsu's coming inside him (sans condom).
For some strange reason I have the opinion that Yao is one of those people who take forever to wake up in the morning. Like they'll get out of bed and do stuff while half-conscious - even talking and stuff.
I want to see Yonsu take advantage of this one day and finally get Yao to 'accept' him. It'd be extra awesome if Yao fully wakes up just as Yonsu's coming inside him (sans condom).
ah, this is awesome<3
The last bit is especially funny XD
2nd!!!
The last bit is especially funny XD
2nd!!!
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