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I know we've requested punk!Arthur before and same goes for band AUs, but could we please combine the two and have Arthur kicking around the 1970s as part of an underground punk band?
Bonus points if he punches one of the Sex Pistols in the face and has a stupid nickname.
Bonus points if he punches one of the Sex Pistols in the face and has a stupid nickname.
Germany/Poland - modern times, on the outside Poland is normal and behaves like he always did but when he is alone he can't help and remember all bad things that happened to him - and he is becoming crazy. Germany is somwhere in this.
Bonus: Poland cutting himself.
Bonus: Poland cutting himself.
The Day Gilbert the Awesome Discovered the Meaning of Despair.
(Anonymous) 2009-03-16 02:20 pm (UTC)(link)Quadruple amputee Prussia under Russia's 'tender loving care'. Give me the one day that he finally breaks down. No AU, thank you.
When Gilbert came to, the world was foggy, and consciousness came in waves. He was numb in many places, and the first clear thought in his mind was that he’d been drugged. Fuck. What had that bastard done to him this time?
In his time in the Soviet Union, Gilbert had never been content to lie down and be one of Ivan’s playthings. The Baltic States had all devolved into cowering heaps of submission, but not Gilbert. Gilbert went out of his way to ruin every task he was assigned, to make a mess of everything he could, and run off at any given occasion. Frequently he spent nights prowling about the wall until someone, invariably, found him and dragged him back inside. But he knew some of the people who, formerly, had been his had found their way through. There must be a way through the wall.
The other night, he had been ordered to wash the dishes after a large dinner party with the premier. Gilbert made an executive decision, then and there, that he was not Ivan’s busboy and was thus not going to behave as such. He instead destroyed every dish in the kitchen he could get his hands on before climbing out the window and heading for the wall.
He couldn’t remember much after that.
Well, some parts of him may be numb, but his head was killing him. Whatever they put him down with was damn strong. The room still hadn’t quite come into focus either. He went to rub the bleariness from his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Fuck, had they paralyzed him?
Trying to keep his breath steady, he blinked until his vision was clear, tried to move to prop himself up and look around. Nothing happened. They really had fucking paralyzed him, hadn’t they? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No, he’d had worse than this. It must be chemical paralysis because he could still feel his spine, and a soreness in his shoulders. No, it would wear off soon, and he would be fine.
If it was chemical paralysis, then, why could he still move his head?
What had they done to him?
He lifted his head as best he could, glanced down along his body.
His breath caught in his throat.
He shifted his gaze to one side, to the other. He struggled to get response from his body. His back arched, but his legs would not draw up, and he could not bring his hands to his face. For all he could see, his body ended at his shoulders and his waist.
In his time in the Soviet Union, Gilbert had never been content to lie down and be one of Ivan’s playthings. The Baltic States had all devolved into cowering heaps of submission, but not Gilbert. Gilbert went out of his way to ruin every task he was assigned, to make a mess of everything he could, and run off at any given occasion. Frequently he spent nights prowling about the wall until someone, invariably, found him and dragged him back inside. But he knew some of the people who, formerly, had been his had found their way through. There must be a way through the wall.
The other night, he had been ordered to wash the dishes after a large dinner party with the premier. Gilbert made an executive decision, then and there, that he was not Ivan’s busboy and was thus not going to behave as such. He instead destroyed every dish in the kitchen he could get his hands on before climbing out the window and heading for the wall.
He couldn’t remember much after that.
Well, some parts of him may be numb, but his head was killing him. Whatever they put him down with was damn strong. The room still hadn’t quite come into focus either. He went to rub the bleariness from his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Fuck, had they paralyzed him?
Trying to keep his breath steady, he blinked until his vision was clear, tried to move to prop himself up and look around. Nothing happened. They really had fucking paralyzed him, hadn’t they? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No, he’d had worse than this. It must be chemical paralysis because he could still feel his spine, and a soreness in his shoulders. No, it would wear off soon, and he would be fine.
If it was chemical paralysis, then, why could he still move his head?
What had they done to him?
He lifted his head as best he could, glanced down along his body.
His breath caught in his throat.
He shifted his gaze to one side, to the other. He struggled to get response from his body. His back arched, but his legs would not draw up, and he could not bring his hands to his face. For all he could see, his body ended at his shoulders and his waist.
Switzerland/Japan
Vash is jealous because Kiku is courteous and kind towards everyone, (especially Alfred. >D ) He appears to be angry at him all the time because of that, being particularly harsh and mean to top it off without giving a good reason for being that way (too proud to admit his feelings!!!). Drama ensues~?
Everything else up to the author! <3
Vash is jealous because Kiku is courteous and kind towards everyone, (especially Alfred. >D ) He appears to be angry at him all the time because of that, being particularly harsh and mean to top it off without giving a good reason for being that way (too proud to admit his feelings!!!). Drama ensues~?
Everything else up to the author! <3
Anyone/Latvia. The dominant partner keeps hearing about how fragile Latvia is, how he's always shaking, how he's so small, and begins to worry about hurting his little lover. Latvia demonstrates that he's strong enough to handle anything by topping the hell out of his partner. Yandere!Latvia is acceptable and sizekink is love.
Seconding! I can't believe this hasn't been requested yet. It'd also be awesome to see him with someone that isn't Russia, Estonia, or Sealand.
France -> Canada <- England
During one of their many fights, France and England both try to use the "Canada likes me more" line. Which abruptly ends the fight because they realize they don't know who he prefers. The two decide to tag-team an unsuspecting Canada; whichever country's name he says first during sex is the country they decide he prefers most. Bonus if he says another country's name, or they get so into it they don't remember whose name he said.
During one of their many fights, France and England both try to use the "Canada likes me more" line. Which abruptly ends the fight because they realize they don't know who he prefers. The two decide to tag-team an unsuspecting Canada; whichever country's name he says first during sex is the country they decide he prefers most. Bonus if he says another country's name, or they get so into it they don't remember whose name he said.
Arthur really didn't know what he was thinking. Not much apparently, because he was starting to believe he had one too many drinks and that what was urging him to do this. Or maybe two too many drinks.
Perhaps eleven.
He would probably be giggling to himself too if it wasn't Francis he was leaning on for support and if this situation wasn't Very Dire. Dire wasn't quite the word. Ridiculously Important was more like it, and if they didn't find the answer Right Now Arthur would owe Francis twenty quid and he really didn't want to owe Francis much of anything.
Maybe, just perhaps, that's why he didn't feel too guilty when he startled Matthew from his half-sleeping slump at the bar. That's where Matthew had been hiding from everyone for the night, more likely "abandoned", when he got tired of matching Alfred drink for drink. Arthur could see from the collection of shot glasses that Matthew hadn't stopped and was probably feeling All Right himself. He wasn't much for being the center of attention, but maybe the boy wasn't quite as dull as he had thought and oh my, wasn't he pretty anyway blinking sleepily at him like that?
Arthur released himself from Francis' support and leaned against the bar next to Matthew. Always one for the direct approach he started to slur, "We have a question for you--"
And Matthew was listening but Francis grabbed Matthew's chin and turned him away from Arthur and right into his own lips.
Irritated but accepting a challenge (and that Francis' way would get them to their goal fastest) Arthur buried a hand into that pretty blond hair to also find Matthew's lips and make that flushed embarrassed look less embarrassed and more flushed. He felt Matthew's mouth open and a faint moan and Matthew's hand reached to grab his neck and pull him closer.
Arthur opened his eyes to look triumphantly at Francis, who only rolled his. Francis pressed against Matthew's back and gently pulled him away (much to Arthur's discontent) and murmured so only the three of them could hear, "Will you join us?"
Matthew nodded dazedly and Arthur urged him off his bar stool and ushered him to the exit. Matthew turned to say something about his tab but Francis had already lay down some bills and followed them.
They moved like stumbling ghosts, dodging people and their drunk babble and blurry faces and friendly pats on the shoulder. All three watched Alfred challenging Ivan to vodka shots, their onlookers, and they passed unnoticed.
Fresh air hit them like cold, waking water, and they all stopped to breathe and see the stars which were too clear and too blurry and too bright and too dizzy and completely beautiful and overwhelming. Then they as a unit pressed forward, Arthur and Francis sandwiching Matthew between them. They each used the other as support and touched and laughed and tripped and spoke in giggles and at some point their thinking did begin to clear and Matthew asked what exactly they were doing.
Francis only laughed and said, "I think we are either too drunk or not drunk enough!" He apparently decided the latter because he procured a wine bottle from his jacket. Arthur started to protest but then there was glass in his mouth and sweetness down his tongue which wasn't good but not bad.
Matthew grumbled about mixing beer and wine but then there was a mouth on his to shut him up, then a different mouth, then a bottle, and he was soon laughing at nothing again. Their heads were lost, and scenery lost with them but they knew their direction. They were staying at the same hotel, and that lent itself well to drunken excursions when they all needed help back.
None of them were really sure when the swish-click of their hotel room card came to be, or the heavy shut of the door behind them or one queen-sized bed. After what felt like "soon" Matthew was being pushed onto said queen-sized and Arthur more or less pounced to kiss him because Matthew did kiss nicely and sweet, and Arthur liked that Matthew touched back with his tongue and pressed back with his body.
Perhaps eleven.
He would probably be giggling to himself too if it wasn't Francis he was leaning on for support and if this situation wasn't Very Dire. Dire wasn't quite the word. Ridiculously Important was more like it, and if they didn't find the answer Right Now Arthur would owe Francis twenty quid and he really didn't want to owe Francis much of anything.
Maybe, just perhaps, that's why he didn't feel too guilty when he startled Matthew from his half-sleeping slump at the bar. That's where Matthew had been hiding from everyone for the night, more likely "abandoned", when he got tired of matching Alfred drink for drink. Arthur could see from the collection of shot glasses that Matthew hadn't stopped and was probably feeling All Right himself. He wasn't much for being the center of attention, but maybe the boy wasn't quite as dull as he had thought and oh my, wasn't he pretty anyway blinking sleepily at him like that?
Arthur released himself from Francis' support and leaned against the bar next to Matthew. Always one for the direct approach he started to slur, "We have a question for you--"
And Matthew was listening but Francis grabbed Matthew's chin and turned him away from Arthur and right into his own lips.
Irritated but accepting a challenge (and that Francis' way would get them to their goal fastest) Arthur buried a hand into that pretty blond hair to also find Matthew's lips and make that flushed embarrassed look less embarrassed and more flushed. He felt Matthew's mouth open and a faint moan and Matthew's hand reached to grab his neck and pull him closer.
Arthur opened his eyes to look triumphantly at Francis, who only rolled his. Francis pressed against Matthew's back and gently pulled him away (much to Arthur's discontent) and murmured so only the three of them could hear, "Will you join us?"
Matthew nodded dazedly and Arthur urged him off his bar stool and ushered him to the exit. Matthew turned to say something about his tab but Francis had already lay down some bills and followed them.
They moved like stumbling ghosts, dodging people and their drunk babble and blurry faces and friendly pats on the shoulder. All three watched Alfred challenging Ivan to vodka shots, their onlookers, and they passed unnoticed.
Fresh air hit them like cold, waking water, and they all stopped to breathe and see the stars which were too clear and too blurry and too bright and too dizzy and completely beautiful and overwhelming. Then they as a unit pressed forward, Arthur and Francis sandwiching Matthew between them. They each used the other as support and touched and laughed and tripped and spoke in giggles and at some point their thinking did begin to clear and Matthew asked what exactly they were doing.
Francis only laughed and said, "I think we are either too drunk or not drunk enough!" He apparently decided the latter because he procured a wine bottle from his jacket. Arthur started to protest but then there was glass in his mouth and sweetness down his tongue which wasn't good but not bad.
Matthew grumbled about mixing beer and wine but then there was a mouth on his to shut him up, then a different mouth, then a bottle, and he was soon laughing at nothing again. Their heads were lost, and scenery lost with them but they knew their direction. They were staying at the same hotel, and that lent itself well to drunken excursions when they all needed help back.
None of them were really sure when the swish-click of their hotel room card came to be, or the heavy shut of the door behind them or one queen-sized bed. After what felt like "soon" Matthew was being pushed onto said queen-sized and Arthur more or less pounced to kiss him because Matthew did kiss nicely and sweet, and Arthur liked that Matthew touched back with his tongue and pressed back with his body.
Hetalia/ Code Geass crossover
England, Japan, and a third country of your choosing meet Britannia-tan.
DO IT.
England, Japan, and a third country of your choosing meet Britannia-tan.
DO IT.
A canon established couple. Any couple. Make it bleak. Tear my heart out, anons.
Just had a shit night/day, and I'm feeling masochistic.
Just had a shit night/day, and I'm feeling masochistic.
Hungary’s hair is a riotous mass of waves as it frames her bare shoulders and upper body. Austria thinks his heart will break as he hovers above her, tries to drink in the sight of her gloriously bare skin. This is the last time he’ll be able to have her like this, be able to go to sleep knowing she will be curled in his arms in the morning.
It’s the end of an era and the end of his marriage and after this they will be separate entities. Their nations are old and they were single long before they were together, but what they had carried them both further than they ever expected it to and now it is ending. Austria will be alone and Hungary… Hungary won’t be his anymore.
He drops his forehead to her shoulder and breathes in the scent of her milky skin. He knows it’s all over his pillows, but this is the original. Soon his bedding will smell only of him. The reminders of her presence around his house will fade as time and distance separates them and soon, soon all he will have are memories, not this flesh-and-blood woman in his arms who is so tangible and real he never wants to let her go.
More than anything he wants this time to be the best, to give her pleasure because it is the last time they will ever do this. But he can’t find it in him to move. The sooner this is over, the sooner she will be gone from his life. He knows her skin and the places that make her breath catch and her pulse spike perfectly, and the thought that her body will become a stranger to him is unbearable.
Hungary knows how he feels, and he knows she feels the same way in the tentative hold she has on his back. So far they’ve avoided looking into each other’s eyes, knowing what they will find there. Austria thought it would be too hard to make love to her when her eyes are filled with silent despair, but it doesn’t seem to matter whether he can see her expression or not.
He is affected by the situation all the same and he snarls, pressing a quick kiss to her collarbone. Every taste of her is precious, every feel of her soft hair, smooth skin, her body open to his affections. He wishes that he’d appreciated her more, wrapped her in his arms and never let her leave his side back when they had time. Time they suddenly don’t have. It is running through his fingers even though what he feels under his hands is Hungary’s silky hair.
Impatience fills him, urgency makes him start to move, to sculpt her throat with his lips and feather his mouth over her breasts. He kisses every inch of her skin, uses his tongue along her collarbone, in the valley between her breasts. Hungary’s breathing is now a soft pant and she trails her fingernails across his back, fists a hand in the hair at the back of his neck.
As much as he wants to touch her until he can feel her skin under his hands whenever he closes his eyes, he wants her to touch him as well, loves the feel of her hands clenching in his hair, playing over the muscle of his back. There is so much he wants to remember, and there will never be enough time for him to memorize the little hitch in her voice when he takes a nipple into his mouth or how her stomach flutters under the touch of his tongue.
Austria stops and swallows, absently running his fingers down her sides and tracing patterns into her hipbones. Slowly he raises his head to see Hungary’s face and he finds that she is watching him, her eyes wide open even as she pants. He is afraid suddenly, and he doesn’t know why. But the thought of losing her, of sleeping alone after so many nights with her in his bed sends his heart racing. He doesn’t want to lose her, can’t stand that he will always know what it was like to have her and that she will be gone, leaving him alone with his memories.
Greece meets another anthromorphic personification who also shares his love of cats (aka Death).
Discworld/Hetalia crossover
Discworld/Hetalia crossover
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Germany/Prussia... wallsex. Or, y'know, whatever the hell you call doing it phonesex-style across the Berlin Wall. Screw the laws of acoustics. :D
It is mid-afternoon. The sunlight glints on the broken glass, as bright as it's going to get today. The guards see him come, see him sit with his back against the wall and lean his head back, but no one would be stupid enough to run in the middle of a clear day, so after glancing over to ascertain that he's not a crazy person, they turn back to their cigarettes and their own conversation.
Prussia lost his own radio somewhere in the smoke and the carnage and a crunching soviet boot, but he scavenged a decent one of the corpse of a British light artillery, corporal, so he pulls it out, fiddles with the damaged antenna, and turns it to their channel.
"I'm here," he murmurs, and waits.
"Gil," West replies, eager and concerned and fond at once, the sincerity in his voice clear despite the faint crackling and hiss of static.
"Hey West," Gil says, and doesn't choke on the soft words, even though his throat kind of wants to.
"You okay?" West asks softly. Gil's eyes flutter closed, his fingers dusting over the fresh bruises dug into his hips as he tries to ignore the memories of heat and weight and ominous promises in the dark. Prussia is the older brother. He can do this. He can be strong for his brother - he has to be strong for West, because if he didn't have West to worry about, then - then nothing. He may be beaten, but he can still do his duty to his family, damn it. War is hard on everyone. Prussia a tough bastard. He isn't going to cry like a little baby just because -
"I'm fine," he croaks, keeping it steady. "Pretty busy, fixing up damaged buildings. Ivan's batshit, but he's fair enough," Gil lies.
"I'm glad," West tells him warmly, and it makes Gil ache like pieces inside of him are rusting and breaking.
"I miss you," he whispers, the radio shaking in his damp palm. "I miss your eyes, how intense they always are. Your hair sliding through my fingers. It's so fine, West; even when you were a baby it was like that. I miss that noise you used to make when I bit your neck just right."
West does it, a soft little keening sound right into the radio.
"What are you doing?" Prussia asks, his voice low and heated.
"Oh - pinching - remembering your teeth, Gil, the way you'd torment me-"
"Yes," Prussia hisses, "Remember that. Remember me. I’m biting you. Your stark, dark pink nipples. Can you feel my mouth, West?”
“Yes, I – oh, fuck, Gil, your mouth–” West gasps.
“Sucking on them,” Prussia pants, his free hand grinding down on the damp spot on his pants, “–can you feel–”
“I feel your mouth. Can you taste my nipples?”
“Yes, gott, sweet little nubs under my tongue–”
“I feel your tongue, Gil, wet and shameless, you were always so shameless–” West groans, the way he always did when –
“You’re arching your back,” Prussia knows, “I’m making you, twisting you out of your stiff, formal–”
“Yes,” West growls, "please," puffing breaths almost obscuring the words over the radio. “Making me lose it, always, you–”
“My mouth on your stomach, sucking, I’m sliding down, West, can you feel me–”
“I feel you, can you–”
“I feel your skin, West, it’s so hot, you’re blushing all the way down your stomach, red and hot and beautiful–”
“You torment me–”
“My fingers are on your thighs, West, tugging them open,” Prussia hisses.
“Gil – ah! It tickles, your fingers are on me and–”
“Sucking you. West, I’m sucking you, I have your cock in my mouth, so hard, my lips around you, you're thick and deep and delicious–”
“Oh Gott yes–”
“Can you feel–”
“I feel you, Gil, can-”
“Feel you, so deep, bumping my throat, salt and musk tasting you, swallowing, please, West, let me taste you–”
“Always–”
“Remember me,” Prussia whispers, hips jerking inside his pants, letting his finger slip off the talk button and lose his words to the rubble and the concrete and the spots of reflected sun on the ground.
~*~
Notes: I totally patterned some of this off of the "feel without touching" scenes from the movie Bent, which is a great film as well as filthy hot.
Prussia lost his own radio somewhere in the smoke and the carnage and a crunching soviet boot, but he scavenged a decent one of the corpse of a British light artillery, corporal, so he pulls it out, fiddles with the damaged antenna, and turns it to their channel.
"I'm here," he murmurs, and waits.
"Gil," West replies, eager and concerned and fond at once, the sincerity in his voice clear despite the faint crackling and hiss of static.
"Hey West," Gil says, and doesn't choke on the soft words, even though his throat kind of wants to.
"You okay?" West asks softly. Gil's eyes flutter closed, his fingers dusting over the fresh bruises dug into his hips as he tries to ignore the memories of heat and weight and ominous promises in the dark. Prussia is the older brother. He can do this. He can be strong for his brother - he has to be strong for West, because if he didn't have West to worry about, then - then nothing. He may be beaten, but he can still do his duty to his family, damn it. War is hard on everyone. Prussia a tough bastard. He isn't going to cry like a little baby just because -
"I'm fine," he croaks, keeping it steady. "Pretty busy, fixing up damaged buildings. Ivan's batshit, but he's fair enough," Gil lies.
"I'm glad," West tells him warmly, and it makes Gil ache like pieces inside of him are rusting and breaking.
"I miss you," he whispers, the radio shaking in his damp palm. "I miss your eyes, how intense they always are. Your hair sliding through my fingers. It's so fine, West; even when you were a baby it was like that. I miss that noise you used to make when I bit your neck just right."
West does it, a soft little keening sound right into the radio.
"What are you doing?" Prussia asks, his voice low and heated.
"Oh - pinching - remembering your teeth, Gil, the way you'd torment me-"
"Yes," Prussia hisses, "Remember that. Remember me. I’m biting you. Your stark, dark pink nipples. Can you feel my mouth, West?”
“Yes, I – oh, fuck, Gil, your mouth–” West gasps.
“Sucking on them,” Prussia pants, his free hand grinding down on the damp spot on his pants, “–can you feel–”
“I feel your mouth. Can you taste my nipples?”
“Yes, gott, sweet little nubs under my tongue–”
“I feel your tongue, Gil, wet and shameless, you were always so shameless–” West groans, the way he always did when –
“You’re arching your back,” Prussia knows, “I’m making you, twisting you out of your stiff, formal–”
“Yes,” West growls, "please," puffing breaths almost obscuring the words over the radio. “Making me lose it, always, you–”
“My mouth on your stomach, sucking, I’m sliding down, West, can you feel me–”
“I feel you, can you–”
“I feel your skin, West, it’s so hot, you’re blushing all the way down your stomach, red and hot and beautiful–”
“You torment me–”
“My fingers are on your thighs, West, tugging them open,” Prussia hisses.
“Gil – ah! It tickles, your fingers are on me and–”
“Sucking you. West, I’m sucking you, I have your cock in my mouth, so hard, my lips around you, you're thick and deep and delicious–”
“Oh Gott yes–”
“Can you feel–”
“I feel you, Gil, can-”
“Feel you, so deep, bumping my throat, salt and musk tasting you, swallowing, please, West, let me taste you–”
“Always–”
“Remember me,” Prussia whispers, hips jerking inside his pants, letting his finger slip off the talk button and lose his words to the rubble and the concrete and the spots of reflected sun on the ground.
~*~
Notes: I totally patterned some of this off of the "feel without touching" scenes from the movie Bent, which is a great film as well as filthy hot.
Anyone/Canada
I was reading this: http://technophile.livejournal.com/276799.html?thread=9514815#t9514815
This line came up, "There's something about the way that everyone screams out America's name when they come inside Canada that just makes Matthew shake in anger."
Love to see this elaborated upon. Thanks.
I was reading this: http://technophile.livejournal.com/276799.html?thread=9514815#t9514815
This line came up, "There's something about the way that everyone screams out America's name when they come inside Canada that just makes Matthew shake in anger."
Love to see this elaborated upon. Thanks.
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Russia/Latvia
OK, after I read annotation Baltic States aren't related and in the same strip that Latvia wants to have sibling...
..and after my friend told me Latvia and Russia have almost the same color scheme...
I would love to see Russia as Latvia's long lost sibling. Especially the moment they discover their relation.
Smut or not, crack or serious.. I don't care till you make it true! I believe in you anon.
OK, after I read annotation Baltic States aren't related and in the same strip that Latvia wants to have sibling...
..and after my friend told me Latvia and Russia have almost the same color scheme...
I would love to see Russia as Latvia's long lost sibling. Especially the moment they discover their relation.
Smut or not, crack or serious.. I don't care till you make it true! I believe in you anon.
So uh...I'm a bad person, and I saw this:
http://rule34.paheal.net/post/view/291694?search=Axis_Powers_Hetalia
I...I really want a story with Austria and Younger Italy.
I'm not sure how to ask, so yeah. I'm a bad person
http://rule34.paheal.net/post/view/291694?search=Axis_Powers_Hetalia
I...I really want a story with Austria and Younger Italy.
I'm not sure how to ask, so yeah. I'm a bad person
There's an Austria/Chibitalia request in one of the other parts if that's what you're asking for, or (looking at the picture) are you wanting an older Italy in chibitalia's clothes?
UK/US Standing sex against the wall of dressing room. England tops.
England/Canada. Anon wants to see something with a country saying some crap about England to Canada. Followed by Matthew growing a backbone and sticking up for Arthur. With Arthur overhearing it all~
US/bear arms
THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS
AHAHAHAHGHKSHDGKLS
THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS
AHAHAHAHGHKSHDGKLS
All England did was stare
At America with his bear.
But don't be alarmed.
He has the right to bear arms.
Still, he didn't think he'd put them there.
At America with his bear.
But don't be alarmed.
He has the right to bear arms.
Still, he didn't think he'd put them there.
Germany x Fuck box.
Guess who's in the fuck box?
N. Italy is.
Naked and Horny.
HELL YEAH, MAKE IT HAPPEN! I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER!
Guess who's in the fuck box?
N. Italy is.
Naked and Horny.
HELL YEAH, MAKE IT HAPPEN! I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER!
This anon's first attempt at smut. Sorry if it's terrible!
Germany wasn't sure what to make of the box at first. Was it the wurst he ordered last week? The packers had a sick sense of humor for putting that label on.
"Germany! GERMANY!!!" The box was talking to him. There's no way wurst could be talking to me, he thought. It called out to him again. That annoying voice! It had to be --
"Italy, I'm coming for you," he said while peeling off the labels. When the box was finally opened, he was surprised to find a completely naked Italy standing right in front of him.
"P-put some clothes on!" Germany stammered and averted his eyes.
"Why would I want to do that? It feels so nice!" Italy stepped out of the box and draped his arms around an increasingly reddening Germany. "Besides, it makes it easier for me to do what I want," he said while unbuttoning Germany's shirt.
Germany reached for Italy's hands and pulled them away from his shirt. He was about to scold the naked Italian, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Italy had already pressed his to Germany's and started kissing him.
Germany was hesitant at first. Sure they had kissed before, but that had been at night and not in Germany's entryway. But he couldn't resist Italy when he was this eager, and he started returning the sweet and pasta-flavored kisses from Italy. They started getting more and more into their kissing, and as soon as Germany released Italy's wrists, Italy tore off Germany's shirt and started kissing down his front.
Will post more tomorrow.
Germany wasn't sure what to make of the box at first. Was it the wurst he ordered last week? The packers had a sick sense of humor for putting that label on.
"Germany! GERMANY!!!" The box was talking to him. There's no way wurst could be talking to me, he thought. It called out to him again. That annoying voice! It had to be --
"Italy, I'm coming for you," he said while peeling off the labels. When the box was finally opened, he was surprised to find a completely naked Italy standing right in front of him.
"P-put some clothes on!" Germany stammered and averted his eyes.
"Why would I want to do that? It feels so nice!" Italy stepped out of the box and draped his arms around an increasingly reddening Germany. "Besides, it makes it easier for me to do what I want," he said while unbuttoning Germany's shirt.
Germany reached for Italy's hands and pulled them away from his shirt. He was about to scold the naked Italian, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Italy had already pressed his to Germany's and started kissing him.
Germany was hesitant at first. Sure they had kissed before, but that had been at night and not in Germany's entryway. But he couldn't resist Italy when he was this eager, and he started returning the sweet and pasta-flavored kisses from Italy. They started getting more and more into their kissing, and as soon as Germany released Italy's wrists, Italy tore off Germany's shirt and started kissing down his front.
Will post more tomorrow.
OKAY this anon wants to see Finland and Canada teaming up to top Russia. Because they could totally do that.
And the kink is topping Russia. Because really, how often does that happen?
And the kink is topping Russia. Because really, how often does that happen?
So recently, I've gotten really into the Beatles and found that they are very interesting people.
So something like England meeting the Beatles for the first time. They got to meet the queen, so why not their country!
Bonus: John Lennon's a dick to England.
So something like England meeting the Beatles for the first time. They got to meet the queen, so why not their country!
Bonus: John Lennon's a dick to England.
Inspired by episode eight, Germany/Italy: sadism, bondage, and bonus points for mentioning dogs!
America decides to visit Canada and sleep over at his house. (In a separate room.)Later that night when Canada decides to go to bed he realizes that Russia is in his room.
Anon would like Seductive yet Sweet Russia,
and Paranoid!I-Had-The-Worst-Dream-Ever!America, or something.
Kissing and "I think I love you." or whatnot, is encouraged.
COUGH-This hot pairing needs more love-COUGH
Anon would like Seductive yet Sweet Russia,
and Paranoid!I-Had-The-Worst-Dream-Ever!America, or something.
Kissing and "I think I love you." or whatnot, is encouraged.
COUGH-This hot pairing needs more love-COUGH
Hope you don't mind a multi-length fill, I love the idea of this so I intend to finish it this weekend.
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Mathieu wasn’t used to getting visitors. Even when he thought people were coming over to stay, once before, things turned out pretty okay.
That was when he was ‘younger’ but certainly not naive. He had been a nation before Francis stumbled off his boats and onto his land; when he was still on the wild edge he’d had after their wars came and went, still trying to cope with their absence and the reason for it. He knew it wasn’t going well and he couldn’t work out why. Before they came, his life had passed with rhythmic harmony hardly found anywhere; but now, their ideas only confused his people and belittled them. In practice, things were just barely holding together.
He knew he had to make his relationship with his neighbors work; Arthur was gone, Francis too so this, this, had to work out.
“So I thought I’d stop over,” Alfred had said, “Figure out why you spend so much time in someplace so cold, haha!”
“It’s not that cold,” Mathieu protested. “I’m not - look, right now things aren’t, I don’t know if now is the right time. I know you and Ivan are having-“ a complete war, minus the missiles, he though –“issues, maybe you shouldn’t be this close.”
“Hey man, I know there’s tension between us,” Alfred started.
“Yes!” Mathieu said. “Yes there is some tension and I don’t want to upset our barely passable peace so-”
“I think he needs to get over it,” Alfred continued with finality. There was a tiny part of Mathieu’s brain that was specifically devoted to giving warning sounds when he realized Alfred’s brash behavior was probably going toppled onto him.
It was hard to hear Al over that sound.
Maybe he thought he’d be over it already. He’d learned his lesson, in the first times he’d spotted Ivan stumbling along in windy snow, when he first saw the sparks of annoyance fly between his two neighbors; he shouldn’t step between them. Then Ivan had joined their side in the war, and it seemed so natural, that really two people who hated each other could nevertheless be on the right side. He thought they could just grow up – but now they were fighting yet again, practically over him.
By then he and Ivan were used to avoiding each other. The early days of walking in between trees and being utterly silent, with a hunter’s eyes had unnerved and thrilled Ivan. But when Francis came, things changed, and they only communicated through letters. It worked better that way, and certainly if Mathieu could ever make it so he never had to come face to face with the Russian, he would have. Life was just like that sometimes.
“Er. I guess Friday then, eh? Give us a good weekend?” Mathieu said helplessly.
“Absolutely bro, I’ll be there first thing in the morning!”
It was enough to make him sick.
Russia/Canada, Canada is having a nightmare about "becoming one with Russia." When he wakes up screaming, guess who's right there waiting for him? [.<
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