Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:29 pm

HETALIA KINK MEME PART 5

axis powers
hetalia kink
meme

part 5


 
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New fills for this part go HERE.
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Germany/Pre!Israel

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11366082#t11366082

Germany/Pre!Israel during WWI. The prompt called for angsty trench-sex, though, but it's only mentioned. Sorry, anon. -_-;;

Neighbor

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 08:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Germany could not tell exactly what the man was. He lived like Nations, but he did not have one. He had his people, but they were spread far and wide. He had his culture, but it was steeped in others, and yet somehow preserved a religion so different. He lived close, somehow, at first coldly, and then slowly he began to talk to Germany, at first a little, then often, then as often as he could. When he’d asked to go to war, to fight beside Germany, Germany had to oblige.

He called himself Ashkenazim. Germany could only call him his neighbor.

“Why are we here, Germany?” asked Italy. Germany didn’t know why he brought him to the military hospital. Just as they walked through the doors, he could tell Italy was already uncomfortable.

“I’m visiting a neighbor,” said Germany.

“A neighbor? I thought I was your neighbor?”

“A different sort of neighbor,” said Germany.

“Like Greta? She makes good —”

“Wait here,” Germany ordered, and Italy obeyed, so Germany could find his way through the converted church alone. He passed makeshift cots of wounded soldiers — there were never enough — to try to find the man he came to see. Once Germany found him, he crouched down bedside.

“I heard you are refusing treatment,” said Germany. Weakly, Ashkenazim turned his head to see Germany, his face ashy.

“Germany…?”

Sometimes Germany visited dying soldiers. He sorely hoped that his neighbor would not get the wrong idea.

“Yes,” said Germany, “You may not die, but don’t think that by accepting help you’re wasting supplies. Don’t be a martyr. It prevents the system from moving smoothly.” He remembered some of his neighbor’s history, and through suffering Germany didn’t think he’d actually been to war. Ashkenazim did not understand the proper etiquette between Nation and military, Germany assumed, and though his neighbor was not exactly a Nation, he was close enough that the same rules applied.

“You don’t understand, they want to give me things that might hurt it,” said Ashkenazim.

“Hurt what?” asked Germany, and then he thought he many not have understood correctly. He took Ashkenazim’s hand, squeezing gently. “Pain is just pain. It will hurt longer if you don’t let them treat you. You can trust the doctors.”

“No, no, Germany,” said his neighbor, “No… I mean, I think it’s yours.” He put his hand right below his stomach, a universal gesture over the bandages.
Germany’s mind went blank.

“What?”

“It’s okay, because I love you, but —”

“No,” said Germany. There were a few lonely nights with gentle, private touches when the rest of the world had ceased to be gentle, but even so, they were both men. “That’s impossible.”

“I do love you.”

Germany put the back of hand against his neighbor’s forehead. It burned. “No. You are very ill. Delirious.”

“That’s not true! I knew the surgeons wouldn’t understand, but you would, please, Germany…” Ashkenazim moved his arm weakly, sloppily gripping Germany’s hand in both of his. “It-it’s strange, but it feels good, because it’s yours and I love you…”

But Germany’s mind was thinking back, to old tales of women — sometimes even men — feeling life growing within them and thinking it wonderful when truly they had been infested with something slowly killing them from the inside.

“You are my neighbor,” said Germany, trying a soothing voice and failing, brushing a hand through Ashkenazim’s clipped-short hair, “My sick neighbor.” Ashkenazim’s words were from the fever, Germany told himself. When the fever broke, he would stop saying such things, and he would return to being a neighbor, nothing more.

“Stay with me,” begged Ashkenazim, “please.”

“Don’t fight the doctors,” ordered Germany, perhaps too coldly. He had not expected his talk with his neighbor to be so difficult, and there was no telling what trouble Italy would get into in his absence.

“D-don’t go, Germany,” Ashkenazim wailed quietly, but Germany had already pried his hand free. On his way out, he told the nurse to check his neighbor for parasites. It was the least he could do.

Re: Neighbor

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Re: Neighbor

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OP

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Re: Neighbor

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CanadaxFrance

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 09:38 pm (UTC)(link)
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/3274.html?thread=4782794#t4782794

Request asked for first meeting.

Uncorruptable

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Colonies were desireable companties. France understood that as well as anyone. Everyone wanted someone who they could mold. The only problem was that in Europe countries were more quickly corrupted, without a cute inbetween phase. (Case and point England. France was certain that he had never been cute and innocent, even before France "adopted" him in 1066).

Naturally France was pleased by his latest discovery.

The small boy still hadn't ran away, although he looked nerivous clutching his bear closer to his chest. The deep azure eyes blinked up at him as golden bangs fell across his face.

No wonder Spain loves the 'New world' so much, if this is the kind of thing he finds. France thought kneeling down to be at the child's eyelevel.

This child seemed as uncorruptable as the vast land surrounding them. France wondered if he would always stay like that.

"Hello little one," He smiled. "I'm France."

The child's lip quivered slightly, but he forced himself to look into France's eyes. "My name is Kanada."

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Not Mine 1/2

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 09:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Request here of Austria vs. Hitler in Part 4: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?replyto=11362242

author!anon apologizes for fail!title

Austria often wonders where things went wrong. There are many moments that he can pinpoint and say, "Oh, you oughtn't to have done that Maria-Theresa," or "Sisi, why did your son turn out like that?" but he cannot quite find one in this case. It was alright for a time; he doesn't mind living with Germany and Hitler seems to know what he's doing, but things are changing and his people are getting angry. Austria often as he watches bombs drop on homes and fields of edelweiss, watches his people get rounded up and sorted and be found wanting and he thinks, 'This isn't what ought to happen'. But he can only watch, because his home is now just part of Germany's, and he has no power anymore; he hasn't since Hungary left.

He keeps his head down in Germany's garden, ineptly beating rugs and pulling out weeds. He is not meant for physical labor and Germany's boss seems to know this. Austria cannot turn hands meant to pull beautiful lines of melody out of ivory keys or violin strings, to tending the soil and to scrubbing the floors. Still, there was talk of sending him to a concentration camp, like some of his people, and so Austria keeps quiet and plays his violin only when no one else can hear it. Then he almost forgets to read music; then it is only the cries of his people ringing in his ears, then it is only his violin wailing for them, sobbing at his own inability to save them, shrieking that he cannot do anything to end this disaster.

He is old now, though he doesn't look it. He is old and weak and cannot help the people who loved him and believed in him and it hurts him. It is a sort of soul-hurt that he cannot get rid of through his music.

What is worse is German's boss, who watches Austria pulling weeds and repairing Germany's underwear and then goes off to do things Austria cannot even bear to think about.

One day, Hitler stops in front of the garden plot Austria is struggling to turn over and said, a little aburptly, "This is your fault."

"I didn't make you," says Austria, eyes on the soil. "You are not mine."

"I am an Austrian," replies Hitler.

"No," says Austria. He does not look up. He will not look up. For him, for that moment, his world is a plot of loosening brown soil, the flash of a shovel darting in and out of the ground (like a silver fish in the Danbue, thinks Austria and his eyes burn at the memory), the new blisters on his hands that make it so hard to play, the length of wood solid and thick between his palms. "You are not mine."

"And you think I don't know that?" asks Hitler. "Did you want me in the Art Academy? No. Did you want my help fixing yourself from the ravages of the world war? No. Did you own up to me? No. And all these things-- all these things made me. If you had been kinder, if you had been stronger--"

"What I am is none of your concern," Austria says, his hands clenched so tightly around the handle of his shovel he can see his knuckles against the skin of his hands. "You have reduced me to this, but I am still Austria and I will not acknoweldge you. You have made this mess without any help from me. I helped defeat Napoleon; I could have told you that General Winter has no mercy--"

"And yet--" there is a hint of danger in Hitler's voice, that note of almost frothing hysteria that whips up the masses into fluries of patriotism, but which aristocratic Austria disdains "--and yet you said nothing."

"You didn't ask me," says Austria.

"And you wouldn't have told me if I had!"

"No," agrees Austria, evenly. "The operative word is 'could'. Would I? No."

"And why not? I am an Austrian and you agreed to the Anschluss!"

"I did not agree to invade Russia."

"You were the victim of his airstrikes!"

"Because of your war."

"It is your war too!"

"It would not have been," Austria says, struggling to stay calm, "if you had not forced it upon me. We will not acknolwedge you."

"Will I have to beat it into you that you are mine?" snarls Hitler and two black combat boots edge into Austria's little world. "You are digging your grave."

Not Mine 2/2

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Austria has known this for months now and so merely upends his shovelful of dirt and worms onto Hitler's boots. Hungary would be proud of him. Hitler backhands him with a trembling hand and sends Austria's glasses flying. "You will acknowledge me as you once welcomed me."

Austria knows he should stop, but he doesn't. He is crouching on the dirt and his world has been reduced to blurs of brown and green and the silver thread of a wailing violin, swirling around in his mind, but still he says, "I only ever tolerated you."

It is, of course, a lie, because Hitler was convincing and Austria had been tired and grateful for a place to stay and someone to help him again, but Hitler believes it and kicks Austria in the side.

"I hate you," snarls Hitler.

"The feeling," Austria wheezes, "is perfectly mutual." He feels a combat boot crush his fingers. he has come through worse, Austria reminds himself. He has come through worse and he heals slowly, but so completely it has never affected his music before. So what if he is silenced for a year longer? The boot grinds his broken fingers into the soil. So what? Austria asks himself. He will play again someday. Hitler will never paint.

OP!

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England/America/Canada: double-fill, pre-fic notes

(Anonymous) 2009-06-03 10:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Author!anon is not sure about the rules of filling two requests simultaneously and hopes neither OP will feel cheated by this. For these requests:

  • http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11075522#t11075522 (America finds out he's not England's most important colony)
  • http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8318146#t8318146 (double penetration, uke!America)

    As usual for this fail!anon, there is a fail!warning to go with this: despite the fact that author!anon strongly hinted elsewhere that she would like for someone to make the first request above…author!anon did not exactly fill it as requested. So it's not Alfred finding out so much as Arthur finding out years later that Alfred found out. My face has been introduced to my palm so many times in the course of this kinkmeme, my palm is starting to think they're married.

    Anyhow, on to the fill now!

  • the light that shines behind your eyes (1/9)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-03 10:40 pm (UTC)(link)
    part one

    Barcelona, Spain – July 1929

    The British Empire doesn't know whether it is amusing or pathetic that he's come to Barcelona for the Expo, and yet for the third night in a row he's wound up in one of the city's few legitimate English pubs with various of the Dominions and Crown Colonies for drinking partners. Tonight, for example, he's been sat at a table with New Zealand, Fiji, and West Indies. At this rate, he may as well have stayed in Newcastle Upon Tyne—no, scratch that. If he'd stayed at the North East Coast Exhibition, he would have missed the entertainment of watching America make a happy arse of himself.

    At the moment, Alfred is as much a spectacle as any of the pavilion exhibitions and more entertaining, even though Arthur can't hear what he's saying. He's flushed and waving his arms about with exuberance, his own natural and probably some drink-induced as well. Arthur imagines he's talking about how the hamburger he ate at the fair today is the best burger he's ever had in his life, even though Arthur is absolutely certain no burgers were served at the Fair. Well, maybe over at the Ibero-American Exhibition in Seville. In which case it was probably at Alfred's own exhibit that he had a burger, and that would mean he's traveled the 800 or so kilometers to Barcelona just to brag about his own hamburgers. He'd have to have driven like a madman to get here. Or perhaps he rented a private aeroplane, finally put that bomber jacket of his to purposeful use. Arthur pictures Alfred barnstorming across Europe, advocating the hamburger with all the fierce enthusiasm he's displaying now—

    But as Alfred turns and his eyes slide across Arthur's face, crossing Arthur's gaze without lingering; as Arthur gets a good look at Alfred's face, he sees something there that is fierce, but decidedly is not enthusiasm. There's a jumble of emotions and Arthur can't read them all, but he does see anger. That flailing, then, could get dangerous.

    And in the next moment it does, as Alfred tries to get up and knocks over his chair, nearly knocks himself over, grabs at the table to steady himself and nearly knocks that over, succeeds in righting himself and the table, but not before several glasses have slid off and crashed on the floor.

    As Arthur rises to go sort out Alfred, he sees that the dominion and colonies sharing his own table are neither laughing at his former colony nor expressing outrage; instead, there is a sort of solidarity in the concern on their faces, and Arthur finds himself unaccountably pleased. Though he could, of course, walk off without a word to them, he nevertheless excuses himself politely.

    By the time he's got through the civilities of good evenings and turned towards Alfred again, he sees someone else is there already—ah, it's Canada. That's all right, then. Matthew must have been sitting with Alfred all along. He's picking up the chair, getting Alfred to hold onto it to steady himself while Matthew picks up some of the other items that fell off when the table tilted—oh, leave those, Matthew! There are people to do that, you know. Arthur knows that Matthew does know, and also that Matthew will continue to straighten up anyhow, just as he's almost certainly making apologies he shouldn't have to. Now he's got his shoulder under Alfred's arm to shore him up, and off they go.

    Arthur could sit down and have another drink. But he's already excused himself, and while he knows no one would say anything about the awkwardness of reseating himself, Arthur decides to be off as well. Besides, Matthew might need help wrangling the cowboy.

    He doesn't see them when he exits the pub, but then he hears their voices—or Alfred's, unmistakably—coming from a side alley. Rounding the corner, he sees them halted. Matthew seems to have it under control and Arthur is just thinking perhaps he ought to go back inside for one last drink, when Alfred pushes himself away from Matthew—and then pushes Matthew. Another shove, and Matthew has to take a backwards step; he winds up with his back to the wall and as Alfred launches himself at Matthew, who raises his hands, Arthur starts forward with a shout rising in his throat—

    And then stops as Matthew pulls Alfred against him.


    tbc…

    the light that shines behind your eyes (2/9)

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    the light that shines behind your eyes (3/9)

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    the light that shines behind your eyes (4/9)

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    Re: the light that shines behind your eyes (4/9)

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    You know who I am author!anon

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    the light that shines behind your eyes (5a/9)

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    the light that shines behind your eyes (5b/9)

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    the light that shines behind your eyes - 8/9

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    the light that shines behind your eyes - 9/9

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    *blood loss* I need a transfusion, STAT

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    One of the OPs

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    Re: the light that shines behind your eyes - 9/9

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    (Anonymous) 2009-06-03 11:16 pm (UTC)(link)
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?page=41&view=10764738#comments

    Liet finally defeating Russia. :D

    The Downfall Of Russia[1/1]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-03 11:34 pm (UTC)(link)
    It's my first! Tell me what cha think!(Strangly, I'm the op doing my own fill. Pathetic, right? Anyone else can fill it to. :p)

    Russia lay in sunflowers, all of them broken and bloodied. Lithuania stood above him, knife in hand.
    “What are you doing?” Russia asked.
    “It’s…..time for your end.” Lithuania replied emotionlessly.
    Russia was confused. Everyone was supposed to become one with him, right? Right?
    “Why are you doing this, Liet?” Russia asked with unneeded sympathy.
    “I’m sick.”
    “Sick with what? Swine flu?”
    “No!” Lithuania shouted. “Sick of you!”
    Russia was surprised by Lithuania’s anger. “And only Poland can call me Liet.” Russia looked to the sky. He was never supposed to die. He was supposed to be ruling everyone. But there Lithuania was, standing above him, ready to kill him. Lithuania tightened his grip on his knife and knelt over Russia. He placed the knife over Russia’s heart.
    “I love you, Toris.” Russia said, ready to meet his doom.
    “I loved you once, Ivan. But not anymore. I must do what I must do.”
    “Why must you do this?”
    “You…..you used to be so strong, so big, and so……” He stalled on the word. “Nice.”
    “But-But Everyone must become one with Russia!” Russia stammered.
    Lithuania pushed the knife deep into Russia’s chest.
    Russia’s dying words and Lithuania’s last words to Russia were said at the same time.
    “What a shame.”

    Please Don't Cry, We're Designed to Die (1/2)

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    Frilly Tea 2/??

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
    Continued from:
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11349442#t11349442

    When the hot liquid poured down his throat, Alfred’s bust grew big, his hair became longer, and his body had actual curves. She jumped and looked down at her chest.

    Yao took a step back, clearly shocked by the occurrence, a look of shock on his face.
    “M-My god, ah-ah-aru…” He stammered, trying hard not to look at her chest. His face turned red with embarrassment, and quickly turned around and dashed back to his booth.

    Meanwhile, a lone Canadian by the name of Matthew was standing with only his polar bear Kumajiro by his side, frowning. Why was everyone ignoring him? He only wanted the other nation-tans to taste his maple tea, just once! Maple Tea was good!

    Then, when Yao cornered Alfred, pouring tea down his throat, Alfred became very, very attractive. So much that Australia was looking at Alfred as well, and he was on the other side of the large room filled with people.

    Their eyes met, and a vehement exchange occurred between the two in their facial expressions.

    She’s mine, mate.
    Oh FUCK NO, she’s mine.
    We’ll just see about that, then.

    And with that, with a flick of the hand, Australia sent his koala bear scurrying across the room and onto Alfred’s…um…chest….
    It latched on and lodged itself into her chest, burying itself into her ample bust.

    Alfred looked down with a start, and it quickly registered in her mind that a large marsupial had latch itself onto her chest.
    “EEP!” She squealed cutely, trying to pull the bear off her jiggly boobs.

    It became silent. Francis was grinning his devilish smile, masking the impure thoughts that lay only in his head.

    The koala bear in crawling up Alfred's body had (conveniently, in France’s eyes) ripped her right pant leg, shifted her belt down revealing her underwear, blue panties. Then it ripped her outer jacket, and finally, with it's struggling, nearly stripped America of her jacket.

    Alfred did not like the koala climbing up her chest, not at all. However, it was quite adorable and as it climbed up her leg, she saw how cute it was and let it climb up.

    One had to think that the koala bear was jazzed off tea. It clung onto her chest and "fell asleep".
    Australia glided over to America and grinned.
    "I'm sorry for that, Joey drank too much tea today..." Australia smiled, moving his hands slowly over her chest, feeling every part of her chest. It felt kind of nice, feeling his hands over her bust.
    Australia’s hands moved slowly, and with each passing moment, Canada got angrier and angrier. He knew what Australia was up to! He clenched his fists, and started to shake.

    How DARE he feel up MY America!?! I’ll kill him! Canada roared in his mind.

    Kumajiro looked up at Canada, starting to actually feel worried for his owner.

    America felt her face go red and her hands become clammy, and started to feel uncomfortable. She was glad that girls did not have a penis, for surely it would have been causing her panties to bunch up. She shifted slightly, and moved her hands upward to the Australian’s hands.

    America noticed that the tea had trickled down into said panties, making her feel very hot as just for a second, pictured the Australian’s fingers as the liquid, gliding down her curvy body. It was not hard either, because it had remained at the same temperature of the sweet heat of his deserts, radiating off his body.
    It made her go woozy, but she snapped back when Joey licked some of the tea off of her bust.

    “Ah, Australia, I can do it-” Her protest was interrupted by Australia “accidentally” grabbing and yanking her jacket off, along with the koala bear.

    Now Canada was SEETHING.
    In between seeing Australia strip his America of her clothes, and seeing all the other nations seeing his America in a state that only he should see, Matthew could not take it any more.

    Matthew refilled his mug full of maple tea again, enraged, determined to find an excuse to get his Alfred alone, and to make her his, whether she wanted it or not. The steam rose from the liquid, resembling maple syrup.

    He stormed onward, ready to show Australia who owned Alfred.

    Canadains do indeed have Maple Tea, I saw some when I went to Canada.

    Re: Frilly Tea 2/??

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:48 pm (UTC)(link)
    seeing his America in a state that only he should see
    Are you hinting that Canada's known all along? =O

    I LOVE AUSTRALIA IN THIS!

    Re: Frilly Tea 2/??

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    Re: Frilly Tea 2/??

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    Parent Trap Fill

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
    Link to original request and parts one to fourteen: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8923330#t8923330

    SPOILER: He's not an only child [15.1/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
    In the Kirkland household, the lights were all out in the living room. Alfred was sitting on an armchair. Ludwig and Gilbert were sitting on the sofa adjacent to Alfred's armchair. The atmosphere of the room vaguely reeked of something sombre -- a deeper sort of sombre than having all the lights turned off.

    "So, Alfred," Gilbert said. "Okay, Ludwig, turn on the light."

    "You could've just opened the lights here, vater," Ludwig said.

    Gilbert crossed his arms. "Just turn on the light, boy. It makes us look cool."

    Ludwig let out a self-suffering sigh and turned on the lamp. The light coming from the lamp hit Alfred's face squarely, making him squeeze his eyes shut. The light, frankly, was blinding him like a motherfucker. He could see spots of light under his eyelids.

    As soon as he got adjusted to the blinding yellow light, he slightly opened his eyes, enough for the action to be called squinting.

    He could see the shadows that defined Ludwig and Gilbert's forms.

    Cool. It was like he was being interrogated by the police, except he was sitting in a way more comfortable chair.

    "Where's Matthew?" Gilbert asked.

    "Somewhere," Alfred said.

    "With Francis?"

    "With someone."

    "That wasn't a question, Alfred-- Hey, Ludwig, why don't we have a glass of water here? What will I throw at Alfred so that he can see the light and admit his wrongs?"

    "I already see the light, Uncle Gilbo."

    "Don't you be a smart-ass in-- Oh shit. I didn't just sound like some old, uncool father, did I?"

    "I didn't even hear anything."

    "Good boy, Alfred. So what about that water, Ludwig?"

    Ludwig raised a brow at his father. "And be chastised by Mister Kirkland as soon as he sees the mess you made on his furniture and carpet? I'd rather not," he said.

    "Well, you got a point there..." Gilbert tapped his chin with his index finger in thought. He crossed his legs. "We could do the water thing next time, I guess."

    "Please get back to the issue at hand, vater. You're digressing."

    "What? Oh, yeah. So, Al, Matthew's with Francis and you're with Arthur. The two of you were roommates in the camp you went to."

    "How did you know about the last one?" Alfred asked, trying his best to shoot Gilbert a suspicious glare. Trying his best because the light that was being shined at his direction wasn't making things easier for him.

    "Ludwig told me, duh."

    "Traitor," Alfred spat at what he thought was where Ludwig sat.

    "You never told me anything," Ludwig said. "If anyone's a traitor, it ought to be you."

    "... You're making sense there." Alfred was frowning now.

    "But that's not the point right now, Alfred. Why did you decide to do this? I don't even know how you managed to have Matthew agree to your plan."

    "We just wanted to see our parents. It's not our problem they're so secretive about this." Alfred folded his arms in front of his chest, looking as defiant as any other rebellious teenager.

    "I know right? Aren't they stupid and shit for doing this?" Gilbert asked. "I told them that it'd be nothing but trouble. They should at least let the kids see each other. But no. They're still busy being too asshatty at each other." He huffed. He'd obviously told them that quite a lot of times, only to have his words of wisdom fall on stubbornly deaf ears. "They're saying that they're over the goddamn divorce, but they can't even think about seeing each other without punching a bitch."

    "They're not even thinking about us."

    "Well, not really. `Cause it must also hurt not seeing your, you know, other son."

    "But they're too sour to care?"

    "Heartache, Al. It's a bastard like I've never seen one."

    "I don't understand!" He stood up and slammed his hands on the thankfully wooden table. He demanded for an explanation. Why were his parents stupid? Why did he and his brother never even knew that they had a brother in the first place? Why did they only know now that the mother they were looking for were actually, well, fathers? Why did it all have to be so confusing and he and Matt never really had a choice in all of this, didn't they?

    "It's a stupid grown-up thing. I'd rather you never understand."

    SPOILER: He's not an only child [15.2/?]

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    America/Canada - One With America Fill

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 02:35 am (UTC)(link)
    Original Request and Parts 1-3 can be found here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10244802#t10244802

    How To Marry A Canadian: A Hero’s Guide in Five Easy Steps (4/5)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 02:48 am (UTC)(link)
    Step 4: Seduce Woo Canadian

    So, Canada likes flowers, does he? That's sort of odd. America brought flowers to Mexico, but even that was just a piddly bouquet of daffodils he'd picked off the side of the road. But if flowers are what's going to get him closer to Canada, then he'll buy Canada the biggest bouquet he can get his hands on, and roses are the most American flower he can think of.

    He buys a dozen roses of red and white. He asks the florist for blue roses, too, but she stares at him blankly and tells him there aren't any. What the hell kind of patriotic colors are these, then? She looks at him like he's the queerest person on the planet, and honestly, America does feel pretty queer, bringing roses to a dude in order to propose an epic marriage of bromance. But the goal, America. Remember the goal! Hot Canadian. World respect. Wait, no. First it's world respect, then it's hot Canadian. Christ, he's gotta his priorities straight.

    When he makes his way back to Canada's house, he is disappointed to see his target hurrying away. Russia probably scared the crap out of him, too. He feels a frown tug at the corners of his mouth, but he won't be defeated! If he can't surprise Canada outside his home, then he'll just have to do it inside.

    And where does a good Canadian keep his trusty spare key? ...Well, apparently not in an outhouse. Huh. He did find a key beneath a potted plant, though.

    America lets himself through Canada's front door, and he is immediately overwhelmed by what he sees. The house is filled with sunflowers. The foyer, the living room, the kitchen, the hallways, everywhere is filled with splashes of golden color. He nearly falls backwards onto a vase full of them. Are these all from Russia? How long has that bastard been – dare he say it? – courting Canada, too?

    Oh God, it's worse than he thought. He wanders into the kitchen, lays the roses onto the table, then collapses into the nearest chair with his head in his hands. How is he supposed to compete with someone like Russia? The guy may be a complete psychopath, but at least Canada doesn't hate him. What kind of hero is he, that Canada would rather choose Russia over his own brother? He feels the tug of some unknown emotion as it wraps its cold grip around his heart and trails its spindly fingers up into his throat. Is he disappointed? Or is he--is he something else?

    Miserably, he marches through the halls until he finds Canada's bedroom. There are several bedrooms in the house, but America is sure this one is Canada's because clothing is laid out neatly on the bed. Trust Canada to be so organized. He smiles wryly. There's even a pair of boxer briefs emblazoned with the Canadian flag. America examines them with knitted brows, then clutches them to his chest and falls face forward onto the bed, startling a small, white mass of polar bear. America had not noticed it lying prone on the comforter and sleeping quietly, but he merely purses his lips and grabs the small animal so he can bury his face into its fur.

    "This sucks," America says. "What's a homie gotta do to get hitched around here?"

    "Vodka. And lots of marijuana."

    "Who said that?" America squints at the bear. "Who are you?"

    "Who are you?" the bear asks.

    "I'm America. Wait, you can talk?"

    The polar bear blinks its long eyelashes. "Who's America?" It motions towards the briefs. "Those aren't yours."

    America sputters, his mouth wide. "What do you mean, who-- I'm America. Hey!" He shouts as the polar bear grasps onto the pair of underwear with its teeth. "Give those back!"

    The bear's teeth sink into the fabric, and America rises onto his haunches as his grip tightens. He gives the briefs a yank, and the bear answers with a tug. So it's war he wants, huh? Let it never be said that America won't rise to an occasion. He came all the way out here. He might as well leave with a souvenir.

    Something sinks in the pit of his stomach as he yanks just a little too hard, and he hears the distinct sound of ripping. Oh, shit, America thinks as he tumbles headfirst from the bed, just in time for Canada to appear in America's upside down vision, practically falling into the room on top of none other than Cuba.

    "Alfred?" Canada gasps.

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    Author's Notes

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    England/America/Australia/Canada - Orgy

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
    Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11374530#t11374530

    Author!anon confesses to being unsure about Australia, since we don't really have any Hetalia canon for him yet--but OP wanted him, so author!anon tried her hardest.

    Please be warned: there is not even a shred of a plot in this. Hope you enjoy! ♥

    the collideoscopic pulse (1/4)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
    the collideoscopic pulse – part one

    England feels the pulse through the outer brick wall of the club: music and dance and alcohol and youth. Wildness. Boys—his boys are stood against the wall, as if propped up by the pulse; propped up by each other as much as anything. They turn to him and multihued gazes collide on green: impact: and England feels the kaleidoscopic pulse.

    They grin at him and he grins back, yeah, all right, he's here now. America comes away from the wall, Australia coming with him like they're attached, draped and mingled, curved lines of their bodies blurring together even in England's unblurred sight; and it's Canada, still against the wall, who wavers without support.

    England catches him before he can fall. Folds him into the car, lets Australia and America help each other. He glances in as he goes 'round to his side, sees the boys sitting nicely in the back, still beaming at him; up front, Canada is unfolding into a loose, floppy slump.

    America and Australia slide as the car starts off, slide out of niceness and into each other. All over each other, hands and tongues and limbs, as if movement is permission, motion is invitation. Canada twists to glance at them. Rests his chin on the seat back as he watches, until gravity gets hold of him again, tugs at him. He slips down and sideways, rests his head in England's lap. Rests, restless, drunken little movements, and England reaches down to tuck himself out of the way, to make Canada more comfortable.

    At the traffic light, England glances into the rearview mirror. And his eyes meet America's.

    America leans forward. "Can I suck your cock after Canada does?"

    England doesn't say yes; and he doesn't say no. He's saved from having to speak by Canada kissing him through his trousers.

    He's not saved at all.

    America reaches over the seat and undoes England's trousers for Canada, takes England out, handling him carefully. Australia comes forward, too, drapes himself 'round America to watch the proceedings, sucking America's earlobe, licking his neck; America's neck arches for Australia's tongue, his hand urges Canada forward.

    "He likes it when you touch his hair," America says, relinquishing his hold. "Light's green."

    Green for go.

    England goes, one hand on the wheel, one on Canada's head. Fingers wound into Canada's hair, holding him still. Canada's soft, protesting mewls vibrate on England's cock; Canada's tongue, unheld, laps and suckles.

    Through the light, down a darker street off the main, England goes. And stops.

    "Don't stop," America says. And again, before England can speak, a moan this time: "Oh~ don't stop..."

    England closes his eyes and listens to Australia sucking off America. Soft, wet, delirious.

    Velvet friction, Canada's mouth on England's cock, licking and sucking and humming, soft wet vibrations on England's cock; in the air, breathed in, blood oxidized and pulsing with soft wet vibration.

    Pulse of light on the other side of England's closed eyelids. He opens his eyes.

    The interior light has come on. It's a risk, so England reaches to turn it off, and the light catches on the mirror: flash of movement: America's thumb, America's hand in Australia's hair, Australia's mouth on America's cock. Australia's lips slide the length of America's cock, Australia's lips not as dark as America's cock; England watches the pink of Australia's lips, not tucked over his teeth. England watches Australia's white teeth on America's cock and shivers.

    England feels Canada going down on him; watches Australia going down on America, catches the perfect rhythm: America moving Australia to the same rhythm that Canada is moving on England.

    England shivers again. He looks away from Australia's mouth, away from America's hand, away from the mirror—but the mirror catches his eyes again. America's eyes catch him.


    tbc…

    the collideoscopic pulse (2/4)

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    Mistletoe (Sweden/Finland, Finland affair, Sweden finding out)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:30 am (UTC)(link)


    When he realized what Finland’s frequent absences, nights away, references to people Sweden had never met, meant, Sweden went cold, terrified-threatened-lost. He left the answering machine to run through the rest of the messages, drifting through the house – their house, built with his own hands and designed to their tastes, both of them, new since their postwar reconciliation.

    Seventy-year itch. He’d heard other Nations mention it before. No matter how much two Nations love each other, eventually they will tire of one another, and one of them will want a new trading partner, someone to liven up their foreign policy, introduce them to new cuisine…

    He and Finland had agreed when they joined the European Union that the treaties weren’t an open invitation for any member country to join their bed – that it would remain theirs alone. And Sweden had respected that, had wanted it – sometimes he remembered the old flicker of desire when he saw Denmark’s tooth-bared savage grin, or the strange free wildness that had struck him mad for America more than a century before. But those were unimportant. He’d been Finland’s in every way but conquered since long before Finland was Christian. The idea of having anyone else confused him, upset him –

    Hadn’t Finland felt the same way? He was a sovereign nation, answerable to none but the European Union, and they wouldn’t interfere in a marital spat. God, they’d probably even cheer Finland on, saying that preferential treatment wasn’t allowed, go, Finland, show Sweden that he can’t own you anymore.

    When Sweden found himself in his workshop, he didn’t leave, closing and locking the door and starting in on the bookshelves he’d promised to make for Canada. Tools and wood couldn’t break his heart.

    Re: Mistletoe (Sweden/Finland, Finland affair, Sweden finding out)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 08:44 am (UTC)(link)
    S...Su-san DDDD:
    His disbelief is so sad- nice job on such a short piece. Mmm Denmark's canine flashing smirk would be tempting.
    Will we find out who Tino thought was worth breaking Berwald's heart? Please continue if you can- this anon would love you even more ;_;

    Mistletoe 2 (one-part continuation)

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    Russia/America - Fill - Sweet Nothings

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
    Original request, and first three parts of fill:
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10416322

    Author!anon apologizes for some of the, kinda rushed scenes... I think. In the fill. OTL. I'm rushing, need to go back hometown~~ Thank you for anons' kind words and comments. \o/ Also, I apologize for any mistakes on the Russian ;____; Translations will be provided later. Thank you and please enjoy?

    Sweet Nothings - [4/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:51 am (UTC)(link)

    "You look bothered," Russia observed, able to look beyond what's in front of him to see what's really there. He looked as if he wanted to say more than that, but a strange expression crossed his face, and then there was no more. America wondered silently when he began to notice the little things, but didn't dwell for long since it's been too far back to actually remember when.


    He shook his head, getting into the conversation before his mind indulged in senseless wandering.


    "What gave it away?" he asked humourously, expecting their usual banter.


    "You haven't touched your food yet, or your coffee. It's quite unsettling for our America to act this way, that would be what others would think, net?" Russia asked, his voice carrying the same, amused tone, but with an undercurrent of -


    (There was a slight hesitation, but it was hidden well. America doesn't notice.)


    America's hands stilled. Usually, the younger nation smiles were quick and smooth, almost superficial in how generous he was with them, but with enough honesty to be considered real. This time around, looking at Russia looking at him like that, the smile came slow, soft, tilted differently - with more light in his eyes.


    Then he looked away hastily, completely missing Russia's reaction; but the smile on his face was too difficult to get rid of. He turned his attention back to the newspaper - there was something about a plane and France, bankruptcy and motors, an earthquake and a storm; but everything came up as jumbled letters which don't make sense, just as Cyrillic letters don't make sense to me...


    "It's nothing big - you know me, I'll probably figure it out in the end."


    "I know. To be of assistance is still a nice thought to dwell on."


    His cheeks warmed. Russia laughed, not unkindly, leaning back onto his seat while letting his chin rest on his hand and America knew, that under the table, he would be crossing his ankles. The nation's gaze was fixed on something beyond the windows of the dining hall, eyes the shade of rich violet. His cream-coloured hair fell softly against his face - Russia brushed the strands away absently and that was as far as America's thoughts carried him before he willed them away.


    He was an avid dreamer, but even that seemed too unimaginable.


    --


    --


    It has been a week since America saw a sign of white-gold hair - especially the one belonging to him. He supposed that the break was a welcome in its own right, even if he hasn't spoken to Russia since they shook hands and gave an unassuming hug in parting. Usually it only bothered him if they were apart for a few months, but it left a dull ache in his heart, these days.


    He decided to take a walk today through a nameless street, seeing faceless people passing by and grinning at each other, some old timers enjoying their last years and a few boisterous teenagers laughing loudly.


    He wasn't fond of looking at the couples. It lead him to paint a picture of Russia with the same kind of expression the lovebirds had when looking at each other, and it drove him to think that Russia always looks at me like that too, and he knew it was just his mind playing tricks.


    Ugh, what a jerk,

    America thought, rubbing his temples in frustration. Can't you just leave my thoughts for one hour, Ivan?

    "You look sad, gospodin - I mean, mister."


    The timid voice startled America out of his inner musing, and he looked to find a short, blonde teenage girl staring up at him with a concern look on her face. America grinned, almost on autopilot.


    "It's nothing. I'm just thinking, sweetheart." A strange look crossed the her features, and America blinked when he realized how creepy that sounded. He placed his hands up in defense. "I didn't mean anything, I'm just used to calling kids like that." If possible, she took up an affronted look without visibly frowning.


    "With all due respect, sir, you don't look all that older than I am."


    "You might be surprised," America said cryptically, and grinned. He looked around before sighing. "Right."


    Sweet Nothings - [5/?]

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    Re: Russia/America - Fill - Sweet Nothings

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    Sweet Nothings - [7/?]

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    Sweet Nothings - Postscript, Translations

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    Puberty prompt (1/3)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11082434#t11082434

    Anon is not sure if this is what the OP had in mind, but here goes: Turkey/Greece, rebellious (and horny) teenage Greece prior to the war of independence.

    In his captor’s eyes, Heracles has always been a brat of the most irritating variety. From day one, the boy displayed his constant dismay in explosive fashions. He would stomp through newly bloomed tulip gardens, knock over precious basins in the baths, and tear at the expensive silk beddings his master had obtained from a faraway Eastern land. Then he would do all of these things all over again, except this time with the addition his countless, goddamn cats.

    Heracles isn’t just being an unruly little piece of shit for the hell of it. He knows better. Sadiq knows that the brat knows better. As difficult as it is for the Turk to admit, occasionally, just occasionally, the kid has redeeming qualities. He feels like a goddamn masochist for admitting that, but it really isn’t so bad when the brat tires out and calms down after all the brawling. The older nation would pick up the younger, lay him almost gently on his lap, give the kid a rough ruffle on the head, and the two would drift asleep in the middle of broken furniture. That sort of activities always made for a picturesque afternoon.

    Of course, centuries have passed since the siege of Constantinople. While one may be glad that the young Greek’s behaviour has not remained at this cursed constant throughout the ages, the new changes didn’t exactly thrill his housemate; no, not at all. In fact, things went downhill.

    Now, Sadiq isn’t exactly the most patient or gentle of caretakers, not that he’s even conscious about the fact. Rough-handling the brat has always been his method of parenting, or so to speak; but picking the kid up by the neck or feet can only keep the him under the Turk’s thumb for as long as Heracles was still, well, a kid.

    This time though, things were a lot more different.

    Something crashed on the plush, crimson rug of elaborate, damask design; a weighty, pricy-looking vase; a work of art, not unlike everything else found in the Turk’s palace. The impact of the neglected treasure was completely muted by an unceremoniously loud thud, coming from the direction of two struggling shadows casted along the walls.

    The Greek, now only a single head shorter than his towering captor, had the later completely dominated underneath him. The young man’s form was slender, yet his limbs were strong and developed; long, muscular thighs had the less than amused Turk firmly pinned on the floor with significant pressure; torso and arms and all. The older man’s head painfully lifted from the rest of his body and forced against the wall. The mask was on the floor, feet away from its owner. Could he break free had he really wanted to? The brat was still just an unripe kid, after all. Sadiq would have to try, but some psychological barrier was stopping him. Maybe he really was a masochist.

    But it was unmistakable; the unusual, though still subtle grimace on the Turk’s face, replaced that repulsive smirk the older man seemed to wear wherever he went. Heracles was taking in every unsavoury movement of muscle on that face with utter satisfaction. Now it’s the Greek’s turn to smirk with triumph.

    The argument was started over nothing, like they always were. Hell, the reason behind the fight was the last thing on the Turk’s mind. Did he underestimate the brat’s strength by that much? While he desperately tried to convince himself that Heracles’ daunting display of power was not a result of the younger man’s growth, there was no way of logic to deny this fact. He was growing up, and growing apart. Along with cursing his tactical disadvantage, Sadiq also felt a pang of... melancholy? Before he could locate the origin of such an emotion, the Turk’s thoughts were perturbed by a deliberate shift of his opponent’s body. The pressure became more crushing, painfully suffocating, even.

    “Get off, brat,” the Turk managed to struggle between soft, intermittent gasps for air, “ya ain’t exactly a kitten anymore, ya know?”
    The Greek didn’t say anything; there was not a movement of the mouth other than the corners that curled up further sadistically.

    Puberty prompt (2/3)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
    From then on, time passed with a painful stagnancy. Knowing the stubbornness of the younger man, the Turk didn’t bother to further waste his breaths. He closed his eyes, conserving air as best as he could under the choking weight. Not another word came out of either of them. If Sadiq knew all the tricks and knots of his long-time companion, and how could he not, it would not be long before the silence was to erupt into a climax initiated by the impatient Greek. And he was right, like always.

    With his smirk fading into a frown and unsure of what to do, Heracles placed tentative hands on either blade of his prisoner’s shoulders. The grip tightened around the firm trapezius muscles, then loosened. Though swarmed with confrontational emotions, the always thoughtful philosopher knew it would do him no good to kill the Turkish bastard. So what then? Maybe the asshole will do something, anything, if he knew this wasn’t just a joke. So Heracles made the mistake of shifting his hips even closer to the Turk’s windpipe. Unknown to the Greek teen who tried so hard to coax a reaction out of the Turk, the latter was struggling with the same intensity to not get up and knock the brain out of the arrogant brat.

    Mind calm and eyes remaining closed, there were still senses the Turk could not ignore. For one, there was a sensation of incredible heat and unfamiliar hardness pressed against his throat. Though curious, Sadiq refused to open his eyes, unwilling to give the unruly brat the satisfaction of even the most subtle reaction. Waiting things out, he swallowed.

    To Sadiq’s surprise, this most natural reflex induced a mix of soft gasp and almost inaudible moan from the younger man, and it looked like the realization was just much of a shock to Heracles. Without opening his eyes, the Turk knew immediately the reason for this particular reaction, possessing the lustful knowledge even before the owner of such heat. The smirk returned to his countenance. This factor could very well work to his advantage.

    No longer holding regard for the game of cat and mouse, Sadiq ‘s gaze traveled up Heracles’ body with unbeatable velocity, just to confirm what he already knew was right. The predator’s flare in those eyes was staring straight into the once-clear blue orbs of the Greek, now clouded with unmistakable lust and frustration. Sadiq could just laugh at the brat’s pitiable attempt to cover up his slip. Though Heracles’ face was dark with his back against the setting sun, the coral on the teen’s cheeks were far from unnoticeable.

    Still beside himself with embarrassment and fluster, Heracles loosened his trap ever so slightly. Seizing this split-second of opportunity, the prisoner attempted to reverse his situation. Powerful arms slid from underneath the now trembling thighs with lightning speed; then they were shrewdly cemented on top of their former captors. The Turk’s large hands tightly held down the hips of his teenage opponent.

    “’s wrong, brat? Is this handsome face what ya think about when ya try to fall asleep at night?” the Turk was breathing deliberately hard, and Heracles could feel the unbearable fire against his most sensitive of regions through the thin silk of his robe. Like the torture of hell and anticipation of heaven, the Greek’s last remnant of control was shattered completely. Thrusting forward with desperation and unable to muster enough sense to retort the Turk’s taunt, Heracles was pleased to find his former prisoner was all too happy to comply.

    “Or maybe the thoughts of me keep you up all night?” Sadiq managed to chuckle almost incoherently while working on the sash of the youth’s robe with his lips and teeth. After what seemed like an eternity, the luxurious satin fabric came completely undone, and the Grecian dress fell apart effortlessly after that.

    The older man nuzzled teasingly at the turf of soft, dark curls. The scent of musk and sweat and undeniably raging hormones was sharp and heady, and Sadiq inhaled deeply. At the same time, he purposely avoided making any contact with the teen’s precious organ of arousal, yet touching everywhere around it with his nose and lips.

    ...

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    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
    request - http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?replyto=11353026

    o-on this like a fat kid on cake.

    --

    England had barely just able to appreciate the feel of solid ground under his feet by the time his adorable charge ran up to him and clung to to him, crying like there was no tomorrow. He smiled bemusedly at the boy, and smoothed his hair down soothingly.

    "America, America. I'm back, so there's no reason to cry now, is there?", he asked, as he hefted the boy up to his chest and began walking in the direction of the settlement. To his surprise, America only sobbed harder when he realized what direction they were heading.

    "Don't go that way England, please... Any way but that way!", he begged, sobbing to a now very confused England. He set the boy back on his feet, bringing himself to his knees to look at him face to face.

    "What could possibly be wrong with going back to the settlement? Everything was fine last time I was here, it was even safe enough for a few women. So why...?" The colony shook his head violently, tears covering his chubby cheeks. Oh, so that was why.

    The older country brought the boy into his arms, and shushed him for a bit, until his sobs broke into shakes, and the shakes into shivers.

    "America... I know that it can hurt. But this happens. Their lives are replaceable, and of little consequence or value. We'll start over as many times as we need to until you're a thriving colony. I promise." He said, trying to assure the child, who simply nodded blankly in response. England sighed, giving the boy a weak smile and and standing.

    "Come now. We need to prepare another boatload..."

    --

    probably not what OP wanted... -shameshame-

    reCAPTCHA: dmitri of ...shutupiknowipromisedRussia/Lativa. I'll get to it, geeze...

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
    By the way!

    I forgot to mention that I aimed for historical accuracy with this.
    They're referring to the lost settlement of Roanoke Island!
    Hope OP doesn't mind that I did...

    not op

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    America/Austria

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 06:16 am (UTC)(link)
    Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11350978#t11350978

    Asked for America/Anyone (but would especially like Austria), with the phrase, "Smile. It's the second best thing you can do with your lips."

    So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night....

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 06:22 am (UTC)(link)
    Anon should mention here that apparently, it's a very popular (?) tourist attraction in Austria to take a tour of where scenes for the film The Sound of Music was filmed. It's especially popular with American and Japanese tourists (thus why Japan makes an appearance). They also apparently encourage participants to sing the songs from the film during the ride.
    This anon also hopes OP doesn't mind that the nations refer to each other with their human names. ;A;


    The bus rattled languidly down one of Austria's many roads, giving its occupants a nice view of the scenery, the wide skies, the mountains in the distance...really, it was a beautiful sight. Sadly, Austria could not fully enjoy it, with America sitting next to him and bouncing up and down in his seat like an excited child (and if he didn't stop it this instant, God so help him...).

    "Alfred, could you please refrain from jumping around? We are in a moving vehicle." It was the third time he had asked the other nation to calm down, and his patience was wearing thin.

    "Yes, Alfred-san...I believe you might be bothering some of the other people," Japan chimed in from the seat behind them.

    "What? Oh, sorry, I'm just...so excited! Wow! This is so cool! I haven't been here in ages, and, wow, this brings back memories--"

    "--So you've said, Alfred," Austria pushed his glasses up. "Five times already."

    "Well, yeah, but it's true! After all, The Sound of Music was an awesome film--okay, I filmed it so that would make it awesome any way, but--and you even let us film it here, and this is such a great tour, 'cause we get to travel around in a nice big car, and they're playing the soundtrack nonstop--man, that Julie Andrews is something, isn't she?" America turned around in his seat to peer down at Japan. "Don't you think so, Kiku?"

    "It is...quite enjoyable," He conceded, nodding.

    "See, Rodereich? Man, this was all just a stroke of pure genius~"

    "Hm." Austria let his gaze wander back over to the window (America, thankfully, seemed all too happy to start ignoring Austria again and enjoy the never ending run of The Sound of Music that was running on the bus’ television screens).

    America had been right, he admitted, in that this tour brought back memories--though not the kind the blond nation meant.

    For him, it meant directing a cheerful musical, dancing with that Miss Andrews he loved so much, singing with her.

    For Austria, it brought up rather...unpleasant memories. Of the second World War, of the German occupation...

    It wasn't until he felt a sharp, painful poke in his side that Austria realized he had drifted off. Startled, he looked over to see America (with his face shoved up close, a little too much for comfort), frowning.

    "Yes? What is it?" Austria demanded, the inquisition coming out a bit harsher than he had intended.

    "We're on a trip," America whined. "We're supposed to fun!"

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    US/UK -- The Crossdressing of Arthur Kirkland

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 08:17 am (UTC)(link)
    original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10293698#t10293698

    Asked for Gakuen Hetalia AU where Arthur cross-dresses and manages to confuse the living daylights out of Alfred and his thoughts on sexuality.


    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [10/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 08:18 am (UTC)(link)
    The game plan, Alfred told himself repeatedly after he'd gotten over being a loser, was made to make Arthur truly realize that he (Alfred, that was) was the most awesome person in the world. This game plan that Alfred had thought up consisted of many parts. Namely, following Arthur around while spreading awesome "might have been propaganda if not for the fact that it was real" about Alfred, annoying Arthur (which was the most fun part), consistently prodding -- both physically and verbally -- Arthur, and possibly other parts that Alfred would think up of as things progressed.

    It was a fool-proof plan that was ninety percent determination, five percent idiocy, and five percent imagination. Knowing Alfred, he'd make it work out. Somehow.

    So this was how Alfred found himself casually walking behind Arthur while pelleting Arthur with crumpled paper balls. These paper balls had "Alfred is awesome" written all over them, care of his ever-loving fan club.

    He could see Arthur's fists clench and the air around Arthur grow magically darker. Soon. Soon, Alfred told himself. Arthur would snap and then--

    "Could you just let it go, Jones?" Arthur said behind gritted teeth. He stopped walking and turned to face Alfred with nothing but fierce animosity stamped on his eyes. "It's already dismissal time. Don't you have some cheerleader to bang?"

    Alfred just raised a brow and shrugged. He then said, "I don't actually sleep with them, you know? That's more of Francis' sort of thing." He didn't even go out with them. He'd go and do public indecency -- sans the sex part -- with them, but he'd never actually take them to restaurants or to whatever people went to date. Arthur had to be an idiot not to know at least that part.

    "... You don't?"

    Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm not some whore, you know."

    "Technically, you'd be a gigolo."

    "Whatever. Anyways, have you gotten in your head that I'm super awesome?"

    Arthur frowned. "You're not awesome in any way, Jones." Then he turned around once again and began to walk. "And just go home. I'm going around the school to see if anyone aside from those with after-school permissions are staying here."

    "I'll come with you." Alfred then began to throw the paper balls at Arthur again.

    "You make sure that you clean up your mess or else."

    "Don't be a stick in the mud, Artie."

    "I'll show you a fucking stick in the mud."

    That was the last thing Alfred heard before he got punched in the face. When he came to again, Arthur was nowhere to be found. Alfred groaned. He'd come so far today. But then he grinned. Just because he lost Arthur didn't mean he couldn't find the guy again.

    He closed his eyes, hoping that he had one of those "Oh shit, I feel that the guy I'm currently into now is nearby" senses that most gay men seemed to have in those books that he read. After standing like an idiot in the middle of a deserted hallway for three minutes, he decided to just go around and search for Arthur on his own.

    The senses thing was utter bull.

    So Alfred jogged through every hallway of every floor. When he couldn't find Arthur in the building, he decided to go to the next.

    He had all the time in the world, he told himself. Well, he'd probably give up after five in the afternoon. He had a movie to watch, after all.

    It was when he reached the last hallway of the next building that he heard a sound. A set of doors opening and closing. His ears twitched. Locker room doors, that was what they were. They weren't as loud as the other doors, though they did have a particular sound to them that not many people noticed. Alfred noticed because, well, he was awesome.

    ... Totally not because he used to scare himself when he was all alone in the locker room; scare himself enough to heighten his senses. Definitely not that.

    So Alfred ran to the nearest locker room.

    He really really wanted to convince Arthur that he was awesome. He didn't run because he was scaring himself shitless being all alone in an all too cold hallway. Yeah. He was too cool to be afraid of anything. Yeah.

    He gulped and wiped the sweat that was building on his forehead.

    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [11/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're still not Gay [12/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [14/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [15/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [16/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [17/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [18/?]

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    Sorry, Alfred, You're Still Not Gay [19/?]

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    China the Doting Father

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 02:19 pm (UTC)(link)
    original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11201730#t11201730

    Asked for Asian family with China as the doting father-figure.


    Taiwan was a flower, her beauty unparalleled by anyone and her gracefulness unmatched by any dancer.

    Hong Kong was silent yet knowledgeable, powerful but not quite there yet.

    Korea was the sun brightly shining in the sky, the blot of color needed to start the day.

    Japan was cunning and quiet, filled to the brim with potential and obviously quite dangerous to mess with.

    There were more, of course. Always more. But these four were the only ones in front of him right now.

    China smiled at them and patted their heads. He was proud, so proud that his heart could burst. They were his life, he'd told them.

    Taiwan had blushed and gave him her soft, pretty smile. Hong Kong had nodded and had the beginnings of a smile on his face. Korea had grinned and hugged China while saying he was the best. Japan had merely looked at his own feet.

    "Let's go eat lunch, aru!" China proclaimed.

    He led the little countries to a table enough to seat six.

    It was quiet around his home. He didn't live in the mainland or with the emperor. He liked the peace offered by the bamboo woods. He liked the sounds of nature soothing his body every morning and well into the night. He became lonely every now and then, but he would never trade this sort of lifestyle for anything else.

    Besides, none of his kind would ever willingly step into his house if he lived in the middle of the hustle and bustle of his city.

    They would be afraid, overwhelmed. Taiwan was shy. Hong Kong would be too quiet. Korea would probably say that he was okay, but he really wasn't because he was a little boy also. Japan would probably be most suited because he was well on his way when it came to large cities, but he'd never really fit in with any crowd.

    "Ah, some weird-shaped fish!" Korea exclaimed as he pointed at a dish. "I knew that I'd only be able to see it here! Big brother's cooking is something else!" He giggled as he took some of the oddly-shaped fish he'd pointed at before.

    "Don't be rude," Taiwan said as she put in some tofu on her plate. She then looked at Japan with a blush on her face and asked, "Would you like some, Japan?"

    "Thank you," Japan said.

    Taiwan was all too happy to oblige. China thought they looked cute. It would do Japan well to have someone caring like Taiwan; and she would probably be able to stand up on her own with someone like Japan backing her up. It would be a nice union, China thought. He'd probably think about it more, and tell it to them when the time was right.

    "Please pass it to me after you finish," Hong Kong said.

    "Of course," Taiwan said.

    "Hey, hey, big bro! Do you have dumplings today?" Korea asked.

    "I'll get them out," China said. "I'd have forgotten if you didn't tell me, aru."

    Korea had beamed at China, obviously proud of himself.

    China had just chuckled then and went to his kitchen to get the dumplings.

    He wished that times like these would go on forever.

    Re: China the Doting Father

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)
    OP ANON JUST DIED FROM CUTE.
    I just love how you wrote them. THANK YOU~

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    But Hold Me Fast [17/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
    Writernon apologizes to the OP and to the other readers for how long this is taking – I’m starting to struggle with this story a bit, but I’ll try my best to update more regularly.
    ___

    Alfred blinks as something stirs in his memory. “Bad fairies,” he murmurs, causing Lovino and Matthew to turn to him.

    “You know what this bastard’s talking about?” Lovino asks.

    Matthew’s frowning, though, and nodding along with Alfred. “No. You’re right. I’ve heard of them before, too. I just…can’t remember where.”

    “It doesn’t matter now,” the cloaked man says. “What matters is that they’re overrunning this world and causing havoc. They’re manipulating and influencing Nations.”

    Matthew frowns. “But what about the…the good ones? The good fairies. Don’t they help balance out the bad that –”

    “The Seelie Court has all but vanished,” the man answers. “Their Queen is sleeping under Avalon’s Lake, and the Seelie’s gather their power from her. It might be possible to wake her.”

    “So where is this damn lake?” Lovino asks, sounding as frustrated as Alfred feels. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, take us there?”

    “I’m not allowed to interfere. There are rules here. And one of them is that you’ll have to find the end of this journey by yourselves, though you might get a little bit of help if you’re smart enough to spot it.”

    Lovino snorts. “You’re a pretty cruddy fairy, you know that?”

    Alfred sees a smile flicker beneath the hood’s shadow.

    “Who ever said I was a fairy?” The man scoffs and turns his back. “Regardless, that’s the situation. Reject this dream and go back to certain death, or accept it and fight to save the ones you love – the choice is yours.”

    Alfred blinks, and the man is no longer there.

    “This is…this is bullshit,” Lovino says, but his confidence sounds like it’s fraying at the edges. “This isn’t – this can’t be –”

    Alfred opens his mouth to agree, but nothing comes out when he realizes he doesn’t know what to believe.

    Matthew looks up at Alfred, and Alfred watches as something in his brother’s eyes hardens.

    “I’m going.”

    Lovino sputters. “Y – you can’t mean that you actually believe –”

    “We have nothing to lose if we do this,” Matthew points out. “And we all have something to lose by not even trying – you guys might die and I…I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here. And…don’t you guys feel it, too? There’s something here we have to do.” He turns his head away from Alfred and into the vast darkness beyond. “Something that has nothing to do with saving the world.”

    Alfred thinks, reaches into himself – and yes, there it is, some urge welling up underneath and into his heart.

    “You guys do what you want,” Matthew says, and turns away. “I’m going to find the Seelie Queen and do what I can.”

    Alfred watches Matthew as he walks away and finds he can’t say a word. It would be such a simple thing to just wish to wake up and get away from here, like the man said.

    “….What about you?” Lovino asks, but Alfred doesn’t look away from Matthew’s retreating form. “Are you seriously going to buy this crap?”

    To get away would be the easy way out.

    But when does a hero ever take the easy road?

    Alfred lifts a foot, places it in front of him. Repeats. His legs speed up as he jogs to keep up with Matthew’s retreating form.

    “What – what are you – you’re not serious, right!? Right?” Lovino calls after their retreating forms. “You guys are – hey! Don’t leave me alone!”

    Alfred doesn’t respond to Lovino, his attention focused on Matthew as he slows and stops to walk alongside his brother. “It can’t be too bad,” Alfred says. “We’ll be just like those heroes in Kiku’s fantasy comics who save the world and stuff.”

    “I’m glad you decided to come,” Matthew says, and gives his brother a small smile.

    “Gah – you bastards, leaving me alone like that,” Lovino pants as he comes up behind the two. “So where are we going?”

    “I have no clue.”

    “M-Matthew!?”

    “Oh, great, now we’re lost. You guys are no better than that tomato bastard!”

    “Look at it this way, Lovino – would you have had Alfred pick the random direction to walk in?”
    ___

    It’s not until Ludwig’s back in his hotel room that he gets the opportunity to take a really close look at the book Heracles gave him.

    You forgot to link Parts 1-16:

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 03:26 pm (UTC)(link)
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8703170

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    OP Anon!

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    Re: But Hold Me Fast [18/?]

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    But Hold Me Fast [19/?]

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    But Hold Me Fast [20/?]

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    USxUK Slave AU

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:37 pm (UTC)(link)
    Arthur's brother sells him into slavery to cover their debts. His new owner is none other than Alfred.

    Request and parts 1 - 21 here:
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=9419714#t9419714

    Pride goeth before destruction [22/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
    Sorry for the lack of updates. Exams -_-

    The moment they got back, Alfred pushed Francis into Emily’s care and dragged Arthur to the master bedroom, shouting explicit orders for no one to enter no matter what. He stressed the ‘no matter what’ part.

    Arthur indignantly stumbled into the room, turning around with a glower as Alfred closed the door behind them and locked it. Perhaps the sound of the sliding bolt should have alarmed him a little but he was sure that he could hurt Alfred at least as much as the man could hurt him if it came down to it and, besides, he really was too angry to care.

    Alfred matched his gaze. He made a point of skirting around Arthur, who was backed against the far wall like a trapped and irate animal.

    “Well? What do you want to know?”

    Arthur spared him no mercy. “Why did you make that deal with my brother? Do you really hate me that much? Why? When did we ever meet? When did I ever offend you?” he shouted, hardly caring if Emily and Francis could hear him below or if the entire street was listening to him shout.

    “Too many questions!” Alfred slapped the palm of his hand against his head but when he started to try to answer them he at least looked sincere. At least, Arthur felt a faint flutter of hope that he being sincere. “You never offended me,” Alfred sighed. “If you want to know when we met, I can explain it to you.”

    “I don’t remember you at all,” Arthur grumbled.

    “That hurts, Arthur! You mean you don’t really remember this dashing gentleman?”

    “Dashing gentleman? Who?” he glanced around the room as if searching for a third person.

    “I’m talking about me!” Alfred pointed at himself “The one and only awesome, me!”

    “No, not at all,” Arthur deadpanned.

    “Well, I remember you!” Alfred cried, offended. “Okay, so I won’t blame you for not remembering – though you should totally get your eyes checked – since we only met once and briefly at that.”

    Alfred flung himself into an old armchair, making himself comfortable while he spoke. Since it seemed that this would take a while, Arthur too allowed himself to relax against the wall a little, though he was ready to immediately spring away if Alfred tried anything inappropriate.

    “So...you really don’t remember?” was the first thing out of Alfred’s mouth as he began.

    “I told you I didn’t.”

    “But there was snow!” he cried.

    “I don’t remember,” Arthur insisted. “There’s snow every winter.”

    “And there were bunnies!”

    Arthur’s eyebrow twitched. “...You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

    A sly grin spread across Alfred’s face. “If I was...you would feel it.”

    “Just tell me the damn story!” Arthur snapped.

    “Alright alright,” he sighed. “Well it was during winter, remember?”

    “I already said that I didn’t!”

    “Shh!” Alfred silenced him, a lot more enthusiastic about this story-telling business than seemed entirely appropriate. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “It was during winter. When the river freezes over they hold a fair there. Surely you remember that.” He glanced at Arthur who nodded an affirmative. “I think it was five...six year ago. Maybe it was seven. No, actually it was definitely six!”

    “You have a pretty bad memory,” Arthur looked at him sceptically.

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    Pride goeth before destruction [23/?]

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    What's In a Name [5/5]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 06:03 pm (UTC)(link)
    Original request + Parts 1-4 : http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=11040962#t11040962

    -

    England’s head snapped to the side where he could see two tufts of blonde hair hiding poorly behind a potted plant. Alfred and Matthew, oh god.

    “Ignore them, mon cher.” Francis whispered before capturing Arthur’s lips into another breathless kiss. “Let them watch.”

    “What – “

    France’s mouth trailed down further, while a hand – the one that had been on Arthur’s ass just moments before – deftly unbuttoned England’s shirt. A tongue trailed across his chest, circling around erect nipples and making Arthur make sounds he hasn’t made in a very long time. Francis nibbled on skin, performed open mouthed kisses on the sweating body, licked Arthur so sensually that Arthur was getting harder and harder – his cock throbbing and leaking precum in Francis’ skillful hands.

    Soon enough, his pants were down and his fingers were tangled in France’s damp and wavy hair. Francis was sucking him, blowing him, taking him in whole, and oh god –

    Arthur was panting so hard, sweat trickling his skin and making his shirt cling to his back. His vision was in a daze and he couldn’t even think properly. And if Francis wasn’t holding his hips against the wall, he was sure his knees would have given in as soon as Francis had put his cock into his mouth.

    Distantly, he could hear a hushed conversation over at the side, but England was distracted by France’s head bopping up and down, lips making obscene wet popping noises whenever he took the cock out…

    France was looming over him again, kissing him with enthusiasm and Arthur kissed back with as much fervor, tasting himself, because this – this was what he had wanted secretly for so long that it actually hurt

    Arthur’s eyes were tightly shut, but he could feel Francis moving to whisper in his ear, accent thick with lust and desire.

    Come for me…

    And Arthur came, his seed spilling all over both their stomachs and a raw scream ripping through his throat.

    “Francis…” He murmured, his body shivering against Francis’ clothed form.

    Francis pressed against him and Arthur could feel the other nation’s hard, constricted cock against his bare thigh. “Arthur, look at me.”

    Arthur did, with dazed green eyes. The Frenchman looked at him with such intensity, his eyes glimmering with want…

    Then Francis spoke.

    I have always wanted you… So bad…

    They shared another kiss, and this time, there held a deeper meaning.

    -

    Author!anon: OTL

    What's In a Name [6/5]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 06:11 pm (UTC)(link)
    Omake

    “Err… So. I was honestly not watching you two have hot, steamy almost-sex in that corridor. Really. …Don’t look at me like that, Arthur!”

    From beside of Alfred, Matthew uncomfortably shifted.

    England was unconvinced. His penetrating glare and heavy flush made sure of that. “Right. So it wasn’t the two of you who were hiding behind that plant and I was just hearing voices, huh?”

    He was also thoroughly embarrassed. Being caught in a compromising position with Francis of all people! (If he was being honest himself, he wasn’t embarrassed because he was with France – but because he was caught. But no one needed to know that.)

    “It’s fine, Alfred.” Francis was grinning from beside of Arthur, an arm coiled firmly around the Englishman’s waist. (Arthur had stopped struggling a long time ago, knowing it was futile.) “It’s a shame that you interrupted us just when things were getting quite passionate, though. However, now we can go back to our hotel room. It wouldn’t do – as much as I would like to – to have spontaneous sex in a place wherein anyone could interrupt.”

    “W-who said we were going to sleep together -- ?!”

    Francis pressed a finger on Arthur’s protesting lips. A suggestive wink. England choked on his words.

    “Uh.” Matthew looked back and forth between the two Europeans, eyebrows raised and eyes blinking. “So. Does this mean you’re together now?”

    -

    “You know… Since Alfred is technically a Francis too…”

    “Shut it, you frog.”

    -

    Author!anon: I might have giggled too much writing this entire thing. Especially in the sexy scenes. Definitely in the sexy scenes. Because it's my first time properly writing such thing :'D B-but, I hope OP!anon likes it!

    Also, I wrote this part just for Alfred's first line. True fact.

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    A Day in the Life [1/?]

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)


    --

    Mais qu'est-ce que t'as foutu, Arthur!?” Francis exclaimed, gesturing wildly at his—no, now her—ample chest. Arthur seemed unable to say anything, his vision fixated on spot no gentleman would dare admit to look at, but a slap from the other brought back his senses and he quickly moved his head to stare at a spot to the left of Francis’ head, wishing his face were a little less red. “What did you do!?

    Arthur coughed, his voice suddenly returning as his anger resurfaced. “Me?! I told you time and time again not to just come into my house unannounced, especially when I’m working with magic! It’s your own bloody fault, bastard!” He yelled back, his face red from anger now.

    Va te faire foutre! Fix it!” Francis yelled. His—her hands flew to her face, and if Arthur didn’t know better, he’d say she was crying. “My big brother stubble…my glorious body…Arthur, change me back!” And Arthur tried.

    He tried over and over again, day after day, week after week, month after month, and eventually, years passed. After consulting with his magical friends and books, Arthur had tried everything, and the time had come to just declare it impossible to return Francis to his male self. Francis being Francis, however, he—she rolled with it. She changed her name to Marianne, and was soon back to her old, perverted self. Life seemed to be getting back to what could be considered normal for Nations. That all changed when Marianne came to Arthur and told him she was pregnant with his child. The next thing they knew, they had two gorgeous twin boys and were attempting to live together. By some miracle they have yet to kill each other. This is a tale of a day in the life of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy family…

    --

    Definitely not OP

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-05 07:30 pm (UTC)(link)
    But regardless, I was squeeing over this fill before I even clicked the link. I have to say: the fact that her name is Marianne absolutely killed me. You've killed me, anon. HOW COULD YOU? DD:

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    OP CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH

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    A Day in the Life [2a/?]

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    A Day in the Life [7/7]

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    Stealing Trinity, the Awesome Way

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10862018#t10862018

    Prussia/Sealand. Plotting world domination together with eventual smut.

    Re: Stealing Trinity, the Awesome Way

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)
    Sorry about the wait, but my computer deleted most of the fic I had planned out. I promise there will be Prussia/Sealand shota as the fic goes on, but it'll take me a little while to get there :) Thanks for the comments so far!

    *********

    "What did you say!?" Prussia shoved Sealand with more force than he'd intended to, sending the younger nation toppling over, holding his half-finished bowl of ice cream above his head in an attempt to keep it from spilling on his bed. Sealand pushed himself back upright again, scowling, and set down his bowl of ice cream before shoving back at Prussia just as hard. Prussia toppled off the bed, his ice cream bowl flying through the air. Sealand yelped and caught it before it could fall onto his pristine sheets. He set it down carefully before peering over the bed at Prussia.
    "Prussia, are you OK?"
    Prussia scowled up at him. "What was that for?"
    "For being a stupid whineyhead. Why did you shove me!?"
    Prussia crossed his arms. "For being a stupid whineyhead. I'm totally a country." He pulled himself up on the end of Sealand's bed, groaning like an old man. "I'm at least as much of a country as you are."
    "I have 25 whole citizens!" He grabbed Prussia's outstretched hand and pulled him onto the bed. "You don't have any!"
    "I share Germany's, alright? Anyways, obviously, if we don't have any ourselves, we steal them from someone else! Let's see, who has nukes? Not Russia..." Both of them shivered. "France..."
    "France sounds easy to push over!" Sealand said brightly. "We can just go and invade him, right?"
    Prussia winced and covered his crotch protectively. "Nah, not France. How about Eng-"
    "NO!"
    "Alright, alright, no England."
    "What about China? I mean, he seems pretty wimpy."
    "Nah. Too easy. And do you speak Chinese?" Sealand shook his head, eyes downcast. Prussia stared off into space for a second, counting off things on his fingers and mouthing names. He reached his fifth finger and grinned. "I got it! America! He's got so many he won't bother if we steal a few!" Sealand thought seriously for several seconds. His face slowly lit up.
    "Yeah! We can hitch a ride on one of jerk UK's planes!" Sealand exclaimed, grabbing ahold of his empty bowl. Prussia took a last gulp of raspberry ripple swirl and shoved the bowl into Sealand's hands. Sealand stacked the bowls and stuck the spoons into the top bowl, putting them down on the floor. They hit the metal with a hollow sound. "That jerk UK took me to visit America once, so I know where his house is. He probably keeps them somewhere in there, considering how much he loves them!"
    He looked away from Prussia suddenly. "So... Um... Next week?"
    "Yeah, that works." Prussia got up and stretched. "Listen, kid- do you have any more pocket money?"
    "Um, no... But I can get some!"
    "Bring some of that raspberry ripple stuff. I'll raid Germany's fridge and see what I can find. See you next week, kid." He winked and gave Sealand a thumbs up.
    "Bye Prussia!" said Sealand brightly, and waved Prussia out the door.

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    Virgin!America (2nd fill) - Who Slept With Alfred Jones?

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)
    Original request and parts 1-12 found here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=6653655#t6653655

    Parts 13-20 found here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8192706#t8192706

    And so, the mutated fill continues.

    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 21/??)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
    The unicorn's gait was so sweet and light and swift England felt as if he were flying - the arid desert of Nevada flashed beneath the unicorn's cloven hooves in a blur of golden sand and gray-green sagebrush, her motion smoother than silk. England stroked her neck, as much to calm himself as anything. It was a good thing her paces were so perfect, that she was so sure-footed on the treacherous, uneven sand - England's attention was riveted on the figures in the rapidly decreasing distance, watching America turn and yell something loud but incomprehensible at Australia.

    Australia only whooped back at him, and whirled the blue shirt that had probably been on America a little while ago above his head. Like the little bastard thought he was at a rock concert!

    He was approaching them at an angle meant for interception - he had vague ideas of hurling himself at America and tackling the younger Nation off his mustang, although what to do after that was a bit of a blur. America caught sight of him though, and their eyes met for the first time since England had kissed him at the conference.

    England swallowed hard as something - _something_ flashed between them, history and emotion and heat and cold and....

    America's horse suddenly reared, neighing shrilly - it was a stallion, England could now see - pivoted neatly on its hind legs and sprang away, away from the angle of interception. Arthur cursed.

    Australia was a little late in turning, especially considering the speed at which his powerful horse had been moving, and by the time he'd wrenched his chestnut's head round and set after America, England had caught up, and was galloping side-by-side with his former colony.

    "Oy, old man," Australia yelled at him as they pounded after the fleeing America. "Why don't you give up right now? Wouldn't want you to have a heart attack or something trying. Anyway, America likes me better than you."

    "He does not!" England yelled back as their horses plunged down a steep incline, slackening their paces for the treacherous ground underfoot. "And who are you calling old?"

    "Obviously I'm calling _you_ old, you old man. And he does like me. Who's his good mate, eh? Who's the one wi' wildlife he calls 'fascinating'? I'll tell you right now, it isn't you. All _you_ do is yell at him. And you don't even _know_ what surfing is, do you..."

    England's enraged reply was interrupted by a sudden roar - all three of the Anglo Nations twisted to see two cars speeding towards them - the Nissan Pathfinder, no longer so shiny with its undercarriage caked with dust, and - they stared - the car that England, France and Canada had traveled all over the States in, only in much...altered condition.

    Altered meaning the much of the body was gone, as was the hood, and windows, and...basically it had become a bench mounted on what remained of the undercarriage. Flames spurted from its exposed engine. Canada was clinging to his seat, visibly terrified even from this distance; France was hunched over the steering wheel, laughing so maniacally it could be heard over the roar of the engines. Canada's polar bear was nowhere to be seen.

    And the engines _were_ roaring - by some miracle, or dark magic, or the laws of reality and time and space being shredded by sheer willpower, the flame-belching monster that the car had become was keeping pace with the Asian vehicle.

    And both were rapidly catching up to the three riders.

    "OH FUCK YOU GUYS," America screamed.

    ***

    - If possible, please imagine Cruella de Ville in that last scene when imagining Francis. :D

    - Australia and America, taught by Hawaii, are where what we now think of as surfing culture developed. Observe that "Australia's Narrabeen" is the only place outside the USA mentioned in the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA".

    - I remember reading a comment about the Special Relationship between Britain and the USA - "Australians think the special relationship is with them." Obviously, no fact-filled back-up footnote is this, but I found it grin-worthy.

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 22/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 23/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 24/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 25/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 26/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 27/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 28/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 29/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 30/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 31/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 32/??)

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    Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 33)

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    America + pain/humiliation/fear

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
    Request:
    http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10261442#t10261442

    Fail!anon Author!anon started writing this fill at the link above, but after discussions with another anon and considerable soul-searching, decided a rewrite was in order. So I'm starting back at part one here. Also, the title has changed from "Flick Your Cigarette and Kiss Me" to "The Only Way Out is Through."

    This fic involves multiple pairings, past and present, real and fantasized. Part of me doesn't want to give away all the pairings, but the other part of me knows most of you will want to know before starting to read. Please highlight here for the major pairings:

    Finally, author!anon wishes to thank everyone who read the first version and especially to those who offered encouragement (and most especially to you who pointed out all the missed potential). I very much hope you will give this version a read, and that you will find it even more satisfactory. ♥

    the only way out is through (1/?)

    (Anonymous) 2009-06-04 10:55 pm (UTC)(link)
    The Only Way Out is Through – part one

    Alfred is not in love with Kiku. What they have is better than love. Alfred doesn't have a name for it. There probably is a name, but Alfred likes it like this: nameless, freedom in the namelessness.

    When it begins—no, before it begins, Alfred and Kiku are fuck buddies. Kiku likely has his own term for it, but that's what Alfred calls it. It's more than fucking even then, of course. There are things they can do and say with each other that they can't—or anyhow don't—with anyone else.

    Like for example, this one time after they fuck, as they're lazing in bed, Alfred touches one of Kiku's radiation scars. Without flinching, Kiku looks at Alfred's fingertips resting on his skin there. As moments pass into moments, Kiku looks at Alfred's face and asks what he's thinking.

    Still looking at the skin, ruined and healed, Alfred says, "I was wondering what would have happened if I hadn't dropped the Bomb." He rolls onto his back then and looks up at the ceiling. "You would've won, probably."

    "Yes," Kiku agrees.

    Alfred wishes there were a crack up there for him to study, so his gaze wouldn't try to roll inside and into the past. He sighs at the flawless ceiling. "I wonder what that would have been like."

    The mattress shifts beneath him as Kiku lies down beside him. "Would you like to find out?"

    When Alfred turns his head on the pillow, he is met by a serene expression, the one that many who don't know Kiku well usually mistake for blank, but the one that Alfred has come to know—even now, even before it begins—means that Kiku has something exquisite in mind.

    "I kept my uniform from the war," Kiku says. "I believe it still fits me."

    Alfred's eyes glitter.

    "Please think of a safeword for the next time we meet," Kiku says.

    Propping up on his side, Alfred grins. "I don't need a safeword with you!"

    "I think you will, Alfred." If possible, Kiku's expression smoothes into a deeper show of serenity.

    It sets Alfred's glitter aflame. "Then you choose for me, if you think so."

    Kiku smiles then: "'Surrender.'"

    Alfred smiles, too.

    He wants to start that same afternoon, but Kiku insists that preparations must be made. Among them, he advises Alfred to acquire an American military uniform from WWII.

    "Oh, I kept mine, too! And it definitely still fits," Alfred says proudly.

    With a tilt of his head, Kiku considers Alfred. "You're very fond of your uniform, aren't you? And the memories it holds for you?"

    "Yes!" Too late to catch himself, Alfred tones down his enthusiasm as he amends, "Some of the memories, yeah."

    "Please wear one that has no sentimental value for you. Uniforms tend not to hold up well during interrogation, and I would feel very badly if I were to damage your fond memories."

    Oh, how Alfred glitters.



    It turns out not to be as easy to get ahold of an authentic WWII American military uniform as Alfred thought it would be. The Army surplus stores he goes to only have contemporary uniforms and most of the vintage stores don't have anything military, although he does find a pair of boots, which he purchases. At the pawn shops, he mostly finds medals (which he doesn't buy; the commercial exchange of bronze stars and flying crosses and purple hearts makes him incredibly sad). In the end, he finds one through auction that, though not a perfect fit, doesn't need much tailoring.



    The next time Kiku comes to see him, Alfred greets him at the door in uniform. His grin starts to fade when he sees that Kiku has on regular, contemporary street clothes, but comes back up as he realizes Kiku probably brought his uniform to change into instead of wearing it. That makes sense. He notices the elegant box in Kiku's hands now, and the corners of his mouth exceed their earlier height. "Is that what I think it is?"

    With the most minimal gesture, Kiku raises the box. "Tea."

    "…Tea?"

    "Yes." Kiku smiles. "It's a new blend I have discovered recently. I hope you will enjoy it."

    "Oh, I—" Alfred pauses uncertainly. "Are we—are we doing it today?"

    "Doing it?" Kiku repeats.


    tbc…

    the only way out is through (2/?)

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    the only way out is through (3/?)

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    the only way out is through (4/?)

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    the only way out is through (5/?)

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    the only way out is through (6/?)

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    the only way out is through (7a/?)

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    the only way out is through (7b/?)

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    the only way out is through (8/?)

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    the only way out is through (9/?)

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    the only way out is through (10/?)

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    the only way out is through (11/?)

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    the only way out is through (12a/?)

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    the only way out is through (12b/?)

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    the only way out is through (13/?)

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    the only way out is through (14/?)

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    the only way out is through (15/?)

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    the only way out is through (16/?)

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