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Pimp!Arthur, prostitute!Matt and client!Alfred.
C'mon anons, lets see some lulz!
C'mon anons, lets see some lulz!
It may be weird, but the thought about Russia x Russia is too sexy to ignore.
I don't know how it came to be or why, but somehow Russia copied himself (maybe in hope of two brains taking over the world's better than one?) - as long as the "real" Russia is forced to be the uke by the more sadistic copy <3
BONUS if other countries somehow finds out later~
I don't know how it came to be or why, but somehow Russia copied himself (maybe in hope of two brains taking over the world's better than one?) - as long as the "real" Russia is forced to be the uke by the more sadistic copy <3
BONUS if other countries somehow finds out later~
Anon must apologize for the…whatever this is. The other Russia didn’t turn out to be very sadistic, I’m sorry. *whimpers* and-and then there’s the ending. *shoots self* Hope the OP likes it anyway. Written at 4 AM...so there are bound to be errors.
--
It is the most beautiful thing in the world. Perhaps rivalling the beauty of sunshine and sunflowers and the warmth he has felt on his visits to south. They look exactly the same, but now there are two of them. The men who have led him here are talking, describing in ecstatic voices exactly how they made it possible, but he doesn’t really pay attention. The notion of someone sharing his face, being him is so unique, he cannot pull his eyes away.
The first touch is a bit hesitant, he doesn’t want to damage this beautiful thing—and the skin is warm under his touch, hair soft and lips moist. His mouth opens, eyes widen and all he can do is stare as eyes identical to his flutter open, looking directly into his. He gets up, leaning on two strong, bare arms and he hurries forward to support him. The other smiles—white, pearly teeth and eyes crinkling—and leans forward, resting his forehead on his chest.
“Россия,” the voice is huskier than his, but that’s not a problem—it’ll soon mirror his, he knows. He loves the way it sounds already, the way his…their name rolls off that tongue. His fingers grip those arms tighter and he turns to the men watching them with wonder and curiosity on their faces.
“Leave us,” he orders. He’s smiling so hard it hurts—he’s actually happy. Because this, this is something wonderful and he cannot wait to test it out.
The men obey instantly and scamper away; only one or two brave enough to linger because of curiosity, but they also do not stay long. His smile is threatening to split his face into two, and the mere sight of it drains their faces of colour.
Good. He just wants to be alone with this…new invention of theirs.
The man in his arms has gathered enough energy by now, for he’s looking up, violet eyes open wide and searching his face—but he has not moved away. He will not go away, he realises, because he is himself, and he can count on that.
He will never leave him. He will never let him be lonely, he’ll always be there and support him in the harsh days of winter, and he’ll always be there when everyone will become one with him. He’ll be his alone, and they’ll never be parted.
He sobs before he can understand, salty tears dripping over the other’s face and the other smiles—it’s so kind—and wipes them away. Pulls him closer and crushes their mouths together, swallows his cries and pitiful whimpers.
“Россия,” the name is repeated like a mantra. “I’m here.” Fingers in his hair, undoing his scarf, unwrapping it from his neck, brushing tenderly against his throat and he bares it, giving in. Because he will not betray him, and if—somehow, this were to happen, there won’t be a him anymore.
He’s pulled over on the hard slab, his coat and scarf already discarded and lying somewhere on the floor. The other him is already stark naked, but his skin is warm, so very warm and he reaches out to touch in wonder. The first kiss is pressed at his throat by the other, mouthing the soft—tender, vulnerable part of him and each word against it falls like a prayer.
He groans, wiggles out of his trousers, and straddles the other’s hips, giving him better access to explore his neck and chest. His fingers fist in the blond hair, shining almost white in the bright light overhead. “Please,” he begs, unsure as to what he wants—but figures the other would understand regardless. “Please.” A thousand pleas go with it and his other self tenses, grips him all too tightly against himself and then his world tilts off his axis.
--
It is the most beautiful thing in the world. Perhaps rivalling the beauty of sunshine and sunflowers and the warmth he has felt on his visits to south. They look exactly the same, but now there are two of them. The men who have led him here are talking, describing in ecstatic voices exactly how they made it possible, but he doesn’t really pay attention. The notion of someone sharing his face, being him is so unique, he cannot pull his eyes away.
The first touch is a bit hesitant, he doesn’t want to damage this beautiful thing—and the skin is warm under his touch, hair soft and lips moist. His mouth opens, eyes widen and all he can do is stare as eyes identical to his flutter open, looking directly into his. He gets up, leaning on two strong, bare arms and he hurries forward to support him. The other smiles—white, pearly teeth and eyes crinkling—and leans forward, resting his forehead on his chest.
“Россия,” the voice is huskier than his, but that’s not a problem—it’ll soon mirror his, he knows. He loves the way it sounds already, the way his…their name rolls off that tongue. His fingers grip those arms tighter and he turns to the men watching them with wonder and curiosity on their faces.
“Leave us,” he orders. He’s smiling so hard it hurts—he’s actually happy. Because this, this is something wonderful and he cannot wait to test it out.
The men obey instantly and scamper away; only one or two brave enough to linger because of curiosity, but they also do not stay long. His smile is threatening to split his face into two, and the mere sight of it drains their faces of colour.
Good. He just wants to be alone with this…new invention of theirs.
The man in his arms has gathered enough energy by now, for he’s looking up, violet eyes open wide and searching his face—but he has not moved away. He will not go away, he realises, because he is himself, and he can count on that.
He will never leave him. He will never let him be lonely, he’ll always be there and support him in the harsh days of winter, and he’ll always be there when everyone will become one with him. He’ll be his alone, and they’ll never be parted.
He sobs before he can understand, salty tears dripping over the other’s face and the other smiles—it’s so kind—and wipes them away. Pulls him closer and crushes their mouths together, swallows his cries and pitiful whimpers.
“Россия,” the name is repeated like a mantra. “I’m here.” Fingers in his hair, undoing his scarf, unwrapping it from his neck, brushing tenderly against his throat and he bares it, giving in. Because he will not betray him, and if—somehow, this were to happen, there won’t be a him anymore.
He’s pulled over on the hard slab, his coat and scarf already discarded and lying somewhere on the floor. The other him is already stark naked, but his skin is warm, so very warm and he reaches out to touch in wonder. The first kiss is pressed at his throat by the other, mouthing the soft—tender, vulnerable part of him and each word against it falls like a prayer.
He groans, wiggles out of his trousers, and straddles the other’s hips, giving him better access to explore his neck and chest. His fingers fist in the blond hair, shining almost white in the bright light overhead. “Please,” he begs, unsure as to what he wants—but figures the other would understand regardless. “Please.” A thousand pleas go with it and his other self tenses, grips him all too tightly against himself and then his world tilts off his axis.
First time requester... >///> (Though I have 'filled' 2 with art)
Anyway I'm asking for someone to be treated like a dog. I mean ordering them on their hands and knees, wearing a collar, the works. As for the paring I'm pretty open as long as it seems somewhat plausible. Smut is definitely what I'm aiming for but will accept anything. Human names or country names does not bother me.
Thanks
Anyway I'm asking for someone to be treated like a dog. I mean ordering them on their hands and knees, wearing a collar, the works. As for the paring I'm pretty open as long as it seems somewhat plausible. Smut is definitely what I'm aiming for but will accept anything. Human names or country names does not bother me.
Thanks
Russia/Belarus...? One day, Russia wakes up to find Belarus is gone (doesn't exist). At first he was happy... But as time goes by, he realizes he misses his stalker of a lil sister lol
So sorry. I was writing it being half-asleep.
___
And so Russia woke up.
He laid for a while, tense, feeling that something- something was definitely WRONG.
The bottles of vodka on his nightstand - checked. The faucet laying near him – checked. The scarf around his neck – checked. The shields with faces of America, Poland and more or less the rest of the world – yup, still on the walls. Belarus holding his hand in an iron-like grip-
Gone.
If possible, Russia tensed even more.
Very, very slowly he grasped his faucet and moved to the corner of the bed. He gulped, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the pipe and stuck it under the bed.
Nothing.
No tugging, no taking his faucet away from him and forcing him to tolerate the kisses and hugs so that he could get his precious pipe back and no Natasha jumping from under the bed and tackling him.
When his closet and shower turned out to be Belarus-free too, he began to be scared.
He dressed, ate breakfast, drank vodka, drank vodka some more, did some work, drank vodka again and all this time he was jumpy and almost in panic, as he didn’t see Natasha at all. He thought that Belarus prepared some kind of a trap and so his wariness of everything that was going on around him increased.
But the morning has passed and nothing out of ordinary happened. And as he couldn’t bear that passive wait for something, he decided to relax a little and harass Lithuania.
Now, if Belarus by some miracle was observing him all this time, she surely wouldn’t let him molest Toris. She never did. So it was also the excellent way to make Natasha show herself.
When after he stood in front of the door almost five minutes, knocking louder and louder, Lithuania finally answered him, he wasn’t happy at all with the state the other nation was in.
Random clothes were thrown on the more or less suitable parts of his body, autumn-brown hair were a mess, skin on the cheeks was flushed pink and he was visibly trying to breath calmly.
‘R-Russia?’ Toris suddenly looked concerned. ‘Something happened?’
Ivan smiled like he always did.
‘Oh it’s nothing, Lithuania, I just thought I’d visit my nice neighbor! Aren’t you happy to see me?’
‘Are you sure? You look worried…’
Ah, sweet Lithuania, always so predicting. Russia was just about to invite himself into the warm house, when Poland suddenly popped out from behind Toris.
Like the devil from the box, honestly.
‘Hey, like, what do you want?’ asked Feliks, standing between Ivan and Lithuania, who rolled his eyes and made a face. Russia smiled wider.
‘Just visiting a friend,’ he said happily. Poland waved his arms.
‘It’s like, so not cool right now, we’re totally busy here!’
Ivan was sure that Toris kicked Poland in the leg then, as Feliks jumped and turned around to face him with a pout and a glare. But when he looked at Lithuania, he was smiling innocently.
‘It’s all-‘ he began, but Ivan cut in.
‘Oh, I don’t mind. Actually, I’ll be very happy to join you,’ and now smile nr 15 version “I know exactly what you had been doing and I don’t mind watching”.
Poland flushed bright red and pointed a finger at him.
‘Totally NO! Go away!’
Toris took a hold of Poland’s arm and moved him to the side.
‘No, you go and I will take care of it,’ he said firmly, pushing at Feliks’ back. Poland pouted and obeyed, but not before sticking his tongue at Russia.
Ivan waved to him cheerfully, mouthing a ‘bye-bye’. Feliks showed him an index finger.
‘Um, so.’ Toris rubbed the back of his head and looked around. And then he froze suddenly.
‘Oh, where’s Belarus?’ he asked, honestly surprised. Ivan looked around too, like he thought that Belarus would jump from behind a tree (like Poland… it was a disturbing thought), and shrugged.
‘Oh,’ repeated Lithuania and the worried expression returned to his face. ‘Did you two, um,’ he blushed, seemingly uncomfortable. ‘Did you two, eh, have a fight?’
Ivan would laugh if he wasn’t so surprised. Before he could think of what to say, Toris came to his own conclusion.
‘I’m so sorry! I have no idea where she is, but I think you should ask Ukraine. She has a meeting with America right now. Don’t worry, it’ll be ok.’
___
And so Russia woke up.
He laid for a while, tense, feeling that something- something was definitely WRONG.
The bottles of vodka on his nightstand - checked. The faucet laying near him – checked. The scarf around his neck – checked. The shields with faces of America, Poland and more or less the rest of the world – yup, still on the walls. Belarus holding his hand in an iron-like grip-
Gone.
If possible, Russia tensed even more.
Very, very slowly he grasped his faucet and moved to the corner of the bed. He gulped, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the pipe and stuck it under the bed.
Nothing.
No tugging, no taking his faucet away from him and forcing him to tolerate the kisses and hugs so that he could get his precious pipe back and no Natasha jumping from under the bed and tackling him.
When his closet and shower turned out to be Belarus-free too, he began to be scared.
He dressed, ate breakfast, drank vodka, drank vodka some more, did some work, drank vodka again and all this time he was jumpy and almost in panic, as he didn’t see Natasha at all. He thought that Belarus prepared some kind of a trap and so his wariness of everything that was going on around him increased.
But the morning has passed and nothing out of ordinary happened. And as he couldn’t bear that passive wait for something, he decided to relax a little and harass Lithuania.
Now, if Belarus by some miracle was observing him all this time, she surely wouldn’t let him molest Toris. She never did. So it was also the excellent way to make Natasha show herself.
When after he stood in front of the door almost five minutes, knocking louder and louder, Lithuania finally answered him, he wasn’t happy at all with the state the other nation was in.
Random clothes were thrown on the more or less suitable parts of his body, autumn-brown hair were a mess, skin on the cheeks was flushed pink and he was visibly trying to breath calmly.
‘R-Russia?’ Toris suddenly looked concerned. ‘Something happened?’
Ivan smiled like he always did.
‘Oh it’s nothing, Lithuania, I just thought I’d visit my nice neighbor! Aren’t you happy to see me?’
‘Are you sure? You look worried…’
Ah, sweet Lithuania, always so predicting. Russia was just about to invite himself into the warm house, when Poland suddenly popped out from behind Toris.
Like the devil from the box, honestly.
‘Hey, like, what do you want?’ asked Feliks, standing between Ivan and Lithuania, who rolled his eyes and made a face. Russia smiled wider.
‘Just visiting a friend,’ he said happily. Poland waved his arms.
‘It’s like, so not cool right now, we’re totally busy here!’
Ivan was sure that Toris kicked Poland in the leg then, as Feliks jumped and turned around to face him with a pout and a glare. But when he looked at Lithuania, he was smiling innocently.
‘It’s all-‘ he began, but Ivan cut in.
‘Oh, I don’t mind. Actually, I’ll be very happy to join you,’ and now smile nr 15 version “I know exactly what you had been doing and I don’t mind watching”.
Poland flushed bright red and pointed a finger at him.
‘Totally NO! Go away!’
Toris took a hold of Poland’s arm and moved him to the side.
‘No, you go and I will take care of it,’ he said firmly, pushing at Feliks’ back. Poland pouted and obeyed, but not before sticking his tongue at Russia.
Ivan waved to him cheerfully, mouthing a ‘bye-bye’. Feliks showed him an index finger.
‘Um, so.’ Toris rubbed the back of his head and looked around. And then he froze suddenly.
‘Oh, where’s Belarus?’ he asked, honestly surprised. Ivan looked around too, like he thought that Belarus would jump from behind a tree (like Poland… it was a disturbing thought), and shrugged.
‘Oh,’ repeated Lithuania and the worried expression returned to his face. ‘Did you two, um,’ he blushed, seemingly uncomfortable. ‘Did you two, eh, have a fight?’
Ivan would laugh if he wasn’t so surprised. Before he could think of what to say, Toris came to his own conclusion.
‘I’m so sorry! I have no idea where she is, but I think you should ask Ukraine. She has a meeting with America right now. Don’t worry, it’ll be ok.’
Kumajirou + G8. A Hetalia-G8 meeting as told from Kumajirou's POV. Kumajirou's inner voice must sound like a jaded, 40 year old man. Or Oscar the Grouch lol
Okay, I want US/Fem!UK...
HOWEVER, I want to see Oedipal stuff. As in, Alfred lusting over his Mother-figure. >.>; AND FEELING INSANELY GUILTY-CONFLICTED, IDK.
Sex—or near sex is required. Bonus if England also feels the same way—if not, that's also okay.
*is very glad of being anonymous*
*goes back to filling requests in Part II*
HOWEVER, I want to see Oedipal stuff. As in, Alfred lusting over his Mother-figure. >.>; AND FEELING INSANELY GUILTY-CONFLICTED, IDK.
Sex—or near sex is required. Bonus if England also feels the same way—if not, that's also okay.
*is very glad of being anonymous*
*goes back to filling requests in Part II*
I-I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for. I kind of wanted to try this... and something short was all I could do.
It was something they both knew was wrong. It shouldn’t have even started. There should have been no opening for it to happen. But here they were. Trapped within the sheets of shame. Trapped within each other.
She was the mother. Not entirely pure, but always thought she had his best interests in mind. And right now, as her timeless, skilled hands traveled down his body -- touching in all the right places -- he thought she did.
He was the son. Entirely rebellious and seemingly uncaring of what others thought of who he was and how he acted. Except caught in this moment as his lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, she thought he was a complete gentleman.
Not a word was spoken outside a soft utterance of a name. A heated gasp. A strangled moan as he entered; crossing that line that shouldn’t be crossed. His stomach flipped. Her heart dropped. But they didn’t stop. They couldn’t stop.
Once it was over the realization would settle in, the meaning of what they had just done resting heavy over them; casting them into years of shame and stolen glances. But for now, they would content themselves to believing this was bliss.
It was something they both knew was wrong. It shouldn’t have even started. There should have been no opening for it to happen. But here they were. Trapped within the sheets of shame. Trapped within each other.
She was the mother. Not entirely pure, but always thought she had his best interests in mind. And right now, as her timeless, skilled hands traveled down his body -- touching in all the right places -- he thought she did.
He was the son. Entirely rebellious and seemingly uncaring of what others thought of who he was and how he acted. Except caught in this moment as his lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, she thought he was a complete gentleman.
Not a word was spoken outside a soft utterance of a name. A heated gasp. A strangled moan as he entered; crossing that line that shouldn’t be crossed. His stomach flipped. Her heart dropped. But they didn’t stop. They couldn’t stop.
Once it was over the realization would settle in, the meaning of what they had just done resting heavy over them; casting them into years of shame and stolen glances. But for now, they would content themselves to believing this was bliss.
Denmark/Norway
Something with this line please, anon-san:
And there was something in Denmark's eyes that Norway could not resist, perhaps it was sadness, or desperation. And it was weird because Norway felt a determination to erase that look the other man had.
Something with this line please, anon-san:
And there was something in Denmark's eyes that Norway could not resist, perhaps it was sadness, or desperation. And it was weird because Norway felt a determination to erase that look the other man had.
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=4961239#t4961239
Russia/Poland and Germany/Poland at the same time (double penetration or Poland taking it to the mouth while being fucked).
Set after 17th September 1939, no help from anywhere and all that. Dark, angsty, make me cry?
Set after 17th September 1939, no help from anywhere and all that. Dark, angsty, make me cry?
Japan/England, in that order.
Possesive!Japan and sex in a public place, please. (:
Possesive!Japan and sex in a public place, please. (:
Re: Tell me I'm not the only one who wants this done. D:
(Anonymous) 2009-03-05 09:04 pm (UTC)(link)No, you're not.
SECONDING.
SECONDING.
George W Bush/any foriegn nation-tan. Conversations about history/foriegn policy/whatever.
Could be him and America meeting other nation tans at some world summit, or just bumping into them sans leaders at some speech (that way you don't have to know who the prime minister of another country is/way!). The possibilities are endless!
Make it cracky. Nicknames (presscore style) are appreciated, srs bsnss is not. Russia and Putin are win, but so is everyone else.
Could be him and America meeting other nation tans at some world summit, or just bumping into them sans leaders at some speech (that way you don't have to know who the prime minister of another country is/way!). The possibilities are endless!
Make it cracky. Nicknames (presscore style) are appreciated, srs bsnss is not. Russia and Putin are win, but so is everyone else.
4 arrested outside Bush's speaking engagement in Calgary
Four people were arrested in downtown Calgary on Tuesday during a protest outside the building where former U.S. president George W. Bush was making his first official speech since leaving office.
Two men were charged with obstructing a peace officer and resisting arrest. Another man was charged with breaching the peace, while the fourth was issued a ticket for violating a public behaviour bylaw, said Duty Insp. Rob Williams of Calgary police.
Bush addressed an invitation-only crowd of about 1,500 at the Telus Convention Centre in his first speech since leaving office. Tickets were reported to cost $400 per person. Media were not allowed inside.
About 200 protesters crowded around the entrance of the convention centre in the morning, heckling ticket holders and chanting "go home."
"I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to publicly voice my displeasure with the American foreign policy" under Bush, said Jeff Gaillus, who was carrying a rod with a shoe at the end of it. "I'm not sure what he has to tell us to shed wisdom on the future of the planet."
-----------------------------------------------
"... So," said Canada, awkwardly.
"... So," agreed George, although the nation had not actually been asking a question, or even making a statement which really needed agreement at all. Still, it filled the air, and that was what counted.
Not that it made the situation any less awkward, of course. Canada fidgeted slightly and glanced out the window, where people were still shouting angrily outside the building, then sighed as another barrage of shoes thudded against the window. He wondered if the people outside were ever going to realize that the shoes were not nearly heavy enough to break the window, and then sighed again, just for good measure.
George Bush didn't say anything this time, which was just as well, because it's not as though saying something would have made the two-hundred-some protesters outside stop with the footwear.
"... Well," said Canada, finally, massaging his temples with both hands, "I guess you'd better go talk to them. Not-- not them obviously, they'll throw stuff at you and that wouldn't exactly be the best situation to be in, but-- you know. The people who actually want to see you."
George Bush agreed, and gave a speech. We're not sure what exactly he said, but apparently he charmed the crowd with humour and insights, so that's a plus.
"Man, y'know," Canada said, after the no doubt charming and humourous speech, "I like you way better that you're not actually America's boss anymore. Isn't that weird?"
George Bush shrugged and said it made sense, and held his hand out. Canada shook his hand, and for a moment it seemed as though a deep wound was finally closing, and the sun could shine again on the world--
--then they both got nailed in the head with running shoes. Or rather, Canada got nailed in the head with a running shoe. George Bush dodged it.
The end.
Four people were arrested in downtown Calgary on Tuesday during a protest outside the building where former U.S. president George W. Bush was making his first official speech since leaving office.
Two men were charged with obstructing a peace officer and resisting arrest. Another man was charged with breaching the peace, while the fourth was issued a ticket for violating a public behaviour bylaw, said Duty Insp. Rob Williams of Calgary police.
Bush addressed an invitation-only crowd of about 1,500 at the Telus Convention Centre in his first speech since leaving office. Tickets were reported to cost $400 per person. Media were not allowed inside.
About 200 protesters crowded around the entrance of the convention centre in the morning, heckling ticket holders and chanting "go home."
"I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to publicly voice my displeasure with the American foreign policy" under Bush, said Jeff Gaillus, who was carrying a rod with a shoe at the end of it. "I'm not sure what he has to tell us to shed wisdom on the future of the planet."
-----------------------------------------------
"... So," said Canada, awkwardly.
"... So," agreed George, although the nation had not actually been asking a question, or even making a statement which really needed agreement at all. Still, it filled the air, and that was what counted.
Not that it made the situation any less awkward, of course. Canada fidgeted slightly and glanced out the window, where people were still shouting angrily outside the building, then sighed as another barrage of shoes thudded against the window. He wondered if the people outside were ever going to realize that the shoes were not nearly heavy enough to break the window, and then sighed again, just for good measure.
George Bush didn't say anything this time, which was just as well, because it's not as though saying something would have made the two-hundred-some protesters outside stop with the footwear.
"... Well," said Canada, finally, massaging his temples with both hands, "I guess you'd better go talk to them. Not-- not them obviously, they'll throw stuff at you and that wouldn't exactly be the best situation to be in, but-- you know. The people who actually want to see you."
George Bush agreed, and gave a speech. We're not sure what exactly he said, but apparently he charmed the crowd with humour and insights, so that's a plus.
"Man, y'know," Canada said, after the no doubt charming and humourous speech, "I like you way better that you're not actually America's boss anymore. Isn't that weird?"
George Bush shrugged and said it made sense, and held his hand out. Canada shook his hand, and for a moment it seemed as though a deep wound was finally closing, and the sun could shine again on the world--
--then they both got nailed in the head with running shoes. Or rather, Canada got nailed in the head with a running shoe. George Bush dodged it.
The end.
Anything involving the canon triangle Japan/Turkey/Greece (goes T-->J<--G as Himaruya points out).
...dude. GTFO of my head. I just had a dream about that pairing this morning.
And by this, I mean SECONDING.
And by this, I mean SECONDING.
So, we had some Canada/Netherlands lovin' with Stroopwaffle (back here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/3274.html?thread=2940618#t2940618), so hows about this time we have
CANADA/NETHERLANDS : BEAVERTAIL.
You know, one of these---> http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2331/2215056900_ef5ca8e604_m.jpg
CANADA/NETHERLANDS : BEAVERTAIL.
You know, one of these---> http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2331/2215056900_ef5ca8e604_m.jpg
Russia/Propaganda or Russia/China - communist symbolism and the end of an era.
1993, as the Russian Federation officially adopts the modern tricolor, Ivan reminisces about the Soviet flag he's left behind -- raising it over the Reichstag in 1945, influencing the design of China's flag, etc...
1993, as the Russian Federation officially adopts the modern tricolor, Ivan reminisces about the Soviet flag he's left behind -- raising it over the Reichstag in 1945, influencing the design of China's flag, etc...
Germany/N. Italy, "I'd chose you over the internet."
(Just so you know, Apparently 84 percent of 20-something Germans would pick the internet over their spouses AND cars. (http://www.reuters.com/article/oddlyEnoughNews/idUSTRE5213OS20090302?feedType=RSS&feedName=oddlyEnoughNews&rpc=69) Oh Germany.)
(Just so you know, Apparently 84 percent of 20-something Germans would pick the internet over their spouses AND cars. (http://www.reuters.com/article/oddlyEnoughNews/idUSTRE5213OS20090302?feedType=RSS&feedName=oddlyEnoughNews&rpc=69) Oh Germany.)
Sweden/Finland, kind of like little red riding hood, only Finland's actually a badass sniper contrary to his image. 8D A fairy tale-ish feel to the story would be nice. <3
I WANT THIS SO BAD. We all know that Finland is secretly GAR.
Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)Prussia wasn't sure how he got here, exactly.
One minute he was balancing on his neighbors' window ledge, holding onto their roof with one hand while peering through the slit in their bedroom curtains and whacking off furiously with the other.
(And seriously, who could blame him? Hungary in lingerie. Hungary. In little lacy green and white panties and a matching bra with its straps tugged down, one of her round, creamy breasts unfortunately obscured by her useless husband's mouth, but the other heaving wonderfully with each gasp and groan that shuddered through her. The musician's pale, tight ass was waving ridiculously at the window and Hungary had already made an excellent start on mussing up his obsessively neat hair.)
And then the next thing Prussia knew, Hungary had hiked her bra back into place, stalked to the window and flung the curtains open, (heedless of the prat's protestations of modesty), and hauled Prussia through the window with a fist twisted yanking his hair.
So now he lay flat on his back in their bed (their stupid comfortable marriage that smelled like both of them so much it seemed like just one scent instead of two commingled) with his legs in the air, while Hungary casually pushed the long metal handle of her frying pan in and out of his aching ass. She wasn't even paying attention to him, her eyes closed as she moaned appreciatively at her pretentious fag of a husband licked and sucked dutifully between her legs, the fingers of her other hand curling in his stupid shiny hair.
The first time Hungary came, shuddering around her prick of a husband's long, elegant, dexterous fingers (pansy, faggy, pianist fingers, a real man had weapons calluses, goddamnit), while her own fingers were perfunctorily and roughly prying Prussia just open enough, she had announced very clearly that the first person with a penis who had an orgasm would be promptly kicked out.
Which, Prussia thought, his back arching impressively as the now-warm handle dragged across his sweet spot yet again, was really monumentally unfair. He was being fucked by the full strength of her Magyar blade-arm, while musicboy was just eating pussy.
And humming something by Hayden. Typical. Prussia grunted in annoyance at the way the tune made Hungary whimper and squirm and lose her rhythm pounding him.
Which wasn't to say that Prussia wouldn't love the chance to slide his tongue into that wet, beautiful cunt, and the smell alone was driving him slightly mad, let alone the taste, but given Hungary's considerable skill pegging him with pan (Ha! Prussia always knew her husband was a fucking faggot, she must have been practicing on him for centuries) Prussia considered himself at a distinct disadvantage.
One minute he was balancing on his neighbors' window ledge, holding onto their roof with one hand while peering through the slit in their bedroom curtains and whacking off furiously with the other.
(And seriously, who could blame him? Hungary in lingerie. Hungary. In little lacy green and white panties and a matching bra with its straps tugged down, one of her round, creamy breasts unfortunately obscured by her useless husband's mouth, but the other heaving wonderfully with each gasp and groan that shuddered through her. The musician's pale, tight ass was waving ridiculously at the window and Hungary had already made an excellent start on mussing up his obsessively neat hair.)
And then the next thing Prussia knew, Hungary had hiked her bra back into place, stalked to the window and flung the curtains open, (heedless of the prat's protestations of modesty), and hauled Prussia through the window with a fist twisted yanking his hair.
So now he lay flat on his back in their bed (their stupid comfortable marriage that smelled like both of them so much it seemed like just one scent instead of two commingled) with his legs in the air, while Hungary casually pushed the long metal handle of her frying pan in and out of his aching ass. She wasn't even paying attention to him, her eyes closed as she moaned appreciatively at her pretentious fag of a husband licked and sucked dutifully between her legs, the fingers of her other hand curling in his stupid shiny hair.
The first time Hungary came, shuddering around her prick of a husband's long, elegant, dexterous fingers (pansy, faggy, pianist fingers, a real man had weapons calluses, goddamnit), while her own fingers were perfunctorily and roughly prying Prussia just open enough, she had announced very clearly that the first person with a penis who had an orgasm would be promptly kicked out.
Which, Prussia thought, his back arching impressively as the now-warm handle dragged across his sweet spot yet again, was really monumentally unfair. He was being fucked by the full strength of her Magyar blade-arm, while musicboy was just eating pussy.
And humming something by Hayden. Typical. Prussia grunted in annoyance at the way the tune made Hungary whimper and squirm and lose her rhythm pounding him.
Which wasn't to say that Prussia wouldn't love the chance to slide his tongue into that wet, beautiful cunt, and the smell alone was driving him slightly mad, let alone the taste, but given Hungary's considerable skill pegging him with pan (Ha! Prussia always knew her husband was a fucking faggot, she must have been practicing on him for centuries) Prussia considered himself at a distinct disadvantage.
Re: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-20 23:02 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-20 23:58 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-21 01:39 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hungary/Austria/Prussia, cunnlingus, pegging, gagging, HUNGARY IS ON TOP, is my point 1/2
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-21 06:03 (UTC) - ExpandN.Italy/Germany - Italy being a very possesive yandere, bondage. Bonus points if Japan walks on and Italy is all innocent.
Ludwig groans, struggling in the roughly tied bonds. His head pounds from the hangover he has; he still has a hard time believing that Feliciano would actually drug him like he obviously had. The beer had not even tasted different. One moment he had been drinking it and watching the Italian going on about something or another and the next he had felt himself slipping off the dinner table chair and seen a frightening smile stretching Feliciano's normally sweet and innocent face.
At the moment, Feliciano is standing over him, drinking from a glass of wine as he surveys his work. Ludwig's hands are tied tightly above his head in rough chains on the steel rack. His legs are lifted in a swing, tied up at the knees over the bar and his feet secured by leather straps to the sides of the contraption. The only thing holding Ludwig's body up is a series of leather straps and more of the rough chain, criss-crossing over his naked torso so that every motion that Ludwig makes rattles the chains and stretches the straps.
"Ve~" Feliciano says with a bright smile but no light in his eyes, "you're awake! How do you feel?"
Ludwig opens his mouth, speechless for a moment, before asking with panic seeping into his tone. "What...? Where...?" he manages, head still horribly muddled by the aftereffects of the drug.
Feliciano giggles and finishes his wine. He sets the empty glass down on a sturdy work table and picks up a long, cylindrical object with a rounded, bumpy end. Ludwig's eyes widen considerably as Feliciano rubs a big of a gelatin substance in a small bottle over the bumpy head.
"Don't worry, Ludwig! We are safe here," Feliciano smiles as he moves around so that he is between Ludwig's legs. "You don't need to be afraid of anyone hearing you scream."
Before Ludwig can protest, he feels the bumpy, wet head of the cylinder being pushed roughly inside of him. It is more the fear that makes he scream than the pain; Feliciano is giggling the entire time until the cylinder is completely inside of Ludwig's anal passage. Ludwig knows that he is shaking. The chains around him rattle in a chorus like hundreds of laughing voices.
"Ve~ Ludwig is so sensitive," Feliciano giggles, coming to stand over by Ludwig's head again and tracing his wet fingers (blood and gelatin mixed together) through Ludwig's hair. "But I know you like this, don't you, Ludwig? You big slut. Look at yourself: already starting to get hard."
And, indeed, Ludwig can feel his cock beginning to react the sensation of the cylinder pressing his bumpy head against his prostate, rubbing with every little motion Ludwig makes. The burning feeling of humiliation in his stomach makes his eyes burn and his lower abdomen fill steadily with more and more tension, which accentuates the source of humiliation.
"Why -?"
Feliciano slaps him in the mouth, hard. "Tsk. Speaking out of turn so soon. Ve~ I thought you knew better than that, mio tedesco."
He slaps Ludwig a few more times across the face for good measure. Each impact sent Ludwig swinging in the leather and chain, causing the metal to rough his skin and the cylinder inside of him to bump and rub across his prostate. Mock-sighing, Feliciano moves away from him and back to the work table, flicking Ludwig cock lightly in the half-mast head.
Feliciano considers the massive amount of contents on the work table before picking up a
Ludwig groans, struggling in the roughly tied bonds. His head pounds from the hangover he has; he still has a hard time believing that Feliciano would actually drug him like he obviously had. The beer had not even tasted different. One moment he had been drinking it and watching the Italian going on about something or another and the next he had felt himself slipping off the dinner table chair and seen a frightening smile stretching Feliciano's normally sweet and innocent face.
Hetalia + Karaoke. Hetalia nations in a karaoke box, each singing an international chart topper/famous song. Rivalry ensues.
Bonus point if
- Sweden sings Dancing Queen/any other ABBA song
- Japan sings an anime song
- America does Madonna (80s pop is preferred)
Bonus point if
- Sweden sings Dancing Queen/any other ABBA song
- Japan sings an anime song
- America does Madonna (80s pop is preferred)
(screened comment)
Spain/his kids, breakup, aka Latin America Independence, Hetalia Version!
One day around 1810 our dear Antonio begins to receive letters in the line of "Because of mistreatment, abandon, reckless sacking of my house, being too smoochy with France, and having forgot my name in the last family party, I declare My Independence of You. Nice Tomatoes. Signed: your ex-boy-toychild. PS: attached to this is my people Independence Bill". He obviously doesn't take it well and immediately goes to try to do amends, only to find a bunch of angry teens with spears and guns. Cue mutual beatings, seduction attempts, insults, back-stabbings, house braking and the like.
Bonus points if any of this appears:
* Romano's snarks "I told you this was going to happen!", and/or Portugal scolding "That's because you had too many kids; my OWN ward wouldn't do that to me!" (cue foreshadowing)
* The Continental Latin Countries are all "What, you declared independence too?", and being not very coordinated (or friendly) among them.
* Any mention to La Gran Colombia, that ill-fated Commonwealth-like attempt of Venezuela, Colombia (with chibi!Panama), Ecuador, Perú and what would become Bolivia to live in the same house.
* Venezuela as a girl, and/or being an attention whore of the same caliber that USA.
* UK helping the independents, under the feeling "Now Spain's going to taste the same suffering I had."
* Spain eventually having to remember some of "his kids" names, because of how each one have scarred him in a way or another.
Naming choices and sexing levels are up to you, Anons. I'd like it silly, or at least bittersweet, but that's up to you also.
One day around 1810 our dear Antonio begins to receive letters in the line of "Because of mistreatment, abandon, reckless sacking of my house, being too smoochy with France, and having forgot my name in the last family party, I declare My Independence of You. Nice Tomatoes. Signed: your ex-
Bonus points if any of this appears:
* Romano's snarks "I told you this was going to happen!", and/or Portugal scolding "That's because you had too many kids; my OWN ward wouldn't do that to me!" (cue foreshadowing)
* The Continental Latin Countries are all "What, you declared independence too?", and being not very coordinated (or friendly) among them.
* Any mention to La Gran Colombia, that ill-fated Commonwealth-like attempt of Venezuela, Colombia (with chibi!Panama), Ecuador, Perú and what would become Bolivia to live in the same house.
* Venezuela as a girl, and/or being an attention whore of the same caliber that USA.
* UK helping the independents, under the feeling "Now Spain's going to taste the same suffering I had."
* Spain eventually having to remember some of "his kids" names, because of how each one have scarred him in a way or another.
Naming choices and sexing levels are up to you, Anons. I'd like it silly, or at least bittersweet, but that's up to you also.
OMG YES. Seconded with a passion. (We're doing this unit right now in my World History class.)
Hungary/Belgium, or Belgium/Hungary. My friend and I decided that if Austria is cheating on her with his mancrush, (Germany), then she needs to get a pairing too.
Russia/Lithuania
Russia forces Lithuania to drink vodka, Lithuania gets drunk and Russia takes advantage of him.
Russia forces Lithuania to drink vodka, Lithuania gets drunk and Russia takes advantage of him.
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=37242149#t37242149
Canada/France
Combo of dark and lulz--out-seducing the king of seduction and topping the hell out of him, also as a bit of a revenge fuck for Charles de Gaulle's Montreal shit-disturbing in '67.
Ideally, the sex starts off innocuously enough, then turns into really angry, slightly painful (for France) sex.
Combo of dark and lulz--out-seducing the king of seduction and topping the hell out of him, also as a bit of a revenge fuck for Charles de Gaulle's Montreal shit-disturbing in '67.
Ideally, the sex starts off innocuously enough, then turns into really angry, slightly painful (for France) sex.
Okay. This is for my American!Anonz who've seen this freaking commericial...or just anyone I guess (I'm no hater)...Burger King Burger Virgins...Yeah. No kidding. (I about died when that campaign went on)
Ze pairing: USxAnyone...I figure since the resteraunt is called Burger [i]King[/i] that you can get away with a USxAnnoyed!UK and since USxUK is my fndm *winkmaybe*), but also anyone who hasn't tasted/doesn't want to taste a burger could be used. (Americaisrapingpeoplewithburgerzwhat?)
Ze pairing: USxAnyone...I figure since the resteraunt is called Burger [i]King[/i] that you can get away with a USxAnnoyed!UK and since USxUK is my fndm *winkmaybe*), but also anyone who hasn't tasted/doesn't want to taste a burger could be used. (Americaisrapingpeoplewithburgerzwhat?)
US/Japan - US Occupation after the war. Not dark, but guilt is ok.
Kinks - Any of these (or all, woo) Accidental stimulation, inkbrushing, Comfort sex.
Kinks - Any of these (or all, woo) Accidental stimulation, inkbrushing, Comfort sex.
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