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Silver Hair, Silver Heart - pt 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20733648#t20733648

Personified!Moon which NASA then bombs for scientific research. I've added Nation-tan x Moon loving.

A/N: Obviously includes OC Moon.

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

“I love June,” said Iceland quietly.

A soft chuckle came from beside him and the white haired youth put his arm around the Icelander’s shoulders.

“Me, too.”

Iceland coloured slightly but he also smiled as he leaned his head on Sil’s shoulder.

They waited all year for June. For the midnight sun.

To the other nations, Iceland always looked like he was alone. The awkward fifth wheel of the Nordic countries, tagging along behind the happy couple, Sweden and Finland, and the bickering couple, Denmark and Norway. It was true, he did like to spend time alone. And that’s why he had Grimsey.

Grimsey was a tiny island under his control. With barely a hundred inhabitants, forty kilometres north of his mainland, it skirted the edge of the Arctic Circle. It was the solitude which had originally drawn him there. He’d spent so much of his spare time there that he built a tiny hut from lumber washed ashore from Greenland and filled it with a clumsily crafted table and chair, and eventually a small bed. It was the perfect place to be alone, where he could sit and think. And being so far north, Grimsey properly experienced the phenomenon of polar day and polar night.

Many of the nations thought the Nordics were bonkers. They couldn’t understand how they could handle days filled with endless light and then days filled with endless dark. Summer weeks when the sun wouldn’t set, where the moon would hang lifeless and useless in the sky, a pale ghost of itself. And Winter weeks when the sun wouldn’t rise, hiding beneath the horizon while the moon would wander slowly across the blackened sky like a radiant silver orb.

-----

It was five summers ago now, when Iceland made his trip to Grimsey and found a handsome youth sleeping on the floor of his small hut. For a moment he just stared. The island had so few occupants that Iceland knew almost everyone. But this young man didn’t look familiar. He had shoulder length white hair partially tied back in a dark ribbon, and like him, he was pale and delicately boned. He was wearing old clothes which Iceland had left behind.

He wasn’t sure which of them would come off better in a fight, so he decided not to disturb the intruder. But Iceland’s attempts to make a quiet pot of coffee were disastrous and he awoke the young man when the kettle slipped and clattered to the ground.

But the young man just laughed, not at all embarrassed to be caught napping on a stranger’s floor. He introduced himself as Silfur – or Sil for short. Silfur, thought Iceland. Icelandic for Silver. Like my hair. But then Sil said he wasn’t from around here. Just visiting. And what’s your name? Iceland’s response had caught in his throat. He couldn’t say ‘Iceland’. So it was just ... Ice.

Though he loved his solitude, there was something about Sil which intrigued Iceland, and therefore, he allowed him to stay. Despite his youth, he seemed old and wise, and was quite worldly, prattling on about all the places and things he had seen. Their first June together had been magical – there was a glow which seemed to reflect off Sil and Iceland took advantage of the sunlit days and nights caused by the midnight sun, spending nearly every moment of his day talking and laughing with Sil.

Silver Hair, Silver Heart - pt 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Of course, Iceland didn’t tell him who he really was. He couldn’t. That was just ridiculous. It was impossible for him to be with a mere mortal, to spend his life with someone who would age, grow weary and eventually die. So he just enjoyed Sil’s company, wondering when it would all fall apart, when his secret would be exposed, and when Sil would leave him.

But he didn’t have long to wonder for when the last day of June arrived, Sil looked sad for the first time. I’m sorry, Sil had said. But I have to go. He seemed so unhappy and it broke Iceland’s heart. Impulsively, he’d thrown himself at Sil, kissing him. The first kiss he’d given anyone. It was awkward and when they broke apart, Iceland’s face felt like one of the volcanoes which dotted his country and he was sure Sil could feel the heat radiating off him.

But instead, Sil had disappeared into thin air.

Iceland waited days for Sil to return. Then weeks. Then months. He had his responsibilities on the mainland but he returned to Grimsey as often as he could, just in case. Autumn came and went. Then Winter began its descent, bringing with it the polar night. Entire days passed when the sun didn’t rise, but this was normal for a land so far north like Grimsey. He’d never noticed before, but there was something beautiful about polar night in Grimsey. Despite the freezing cold, Iceland would find himself drawn out from his hut, and he would sit for hours in the snow, mesmerised as the white blankets reflected the shimmering light from the stars. But it was the moon which was most beautiful. Why had he never noticed that before? It must just be his eyes playing tricks on him, but he swore the moon looked brighter and closer to the earth than it had in previous years, almost as though it were coming to greet him.

But soon enough, the snow melted, and it became Spring. Sunlight returned to Grimsey, and Iceland, reluctantly, returned to the mainland. Maybe if he busied himself with work, he could forget about that one month where it seemed that all his dreams had come true.

-----

On the last day of May, Iceland packed a small bag with light clothes in his home in Reykjavik. The sun was still out, even though it was nearly 10 o’clock at night. His hand unconsciously grabbed a stack of work papers. Then he hesitated. Should he bring them? He was still for a moment then shoved them into the bag. If Sil didn’t show then he would need something to occupy his time.

It was a short journey and when Iceland arrived, he found his hut unoccupied so he lay down on his bed to reluctantly read his papers. He dozed off unconsciously because when he awoke, it was June.

And Sil had returned.

More correctly, Iceland had stumbled out of his bed in search of coffee the next morning when he tripped over Sil who had been sleeping on his floor. Just like when they’d met last year.

Iceland had been waiting for this moment as a drowsy Sil stirred awake. But then he flushed red as the memory of them parting came flooding back. He’d kissed Sil. And if he remembered correctly, Sil hadn’t kissed him back. He suddenly felt immensely stupid. He’d been pining all this time, a whole year, not even knowing if his affections would be returned.

But he needn’t have worried, as Sil didn’t mention it. They just went on being friends. It was a load off Iceland’s mind, but there was a part of him which wanted more. So on the third day, Iceland confronted him.

Phoenix Wright/Hetalia Crossover

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request/Parts 0-4: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33526853#t33526853

Hetalia/Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney crossover. Any of the games work.

***
Turnabout Hero: [5a/?]

March 16, 10:33 AM. Alleyway.

Eventually Alfred had to be taken away for questioning, so Maya and I decided to go to the crime scene to see if we could find any clues.

“I’m pretty sure the police turned the alley inside and out, after all this was a government official that got killed…by another government official.”

“You never know until you check! Don’t give up so easily Nick!”

(Wow, there are a lot of cops patrolling this alley. I guess it makes sense; this is a high profile case.)

“Well if you two aren’t the very last people I’d thought I’d find here!” a far too familiar voice shouted.

(What the…what’s he doing here?!)

“D-detective Gumshoe!” Maya spluttered, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same about you, pal. The guys here need all the help they can get with this case, so they sent out a call for any available homicide detectives across the nation. Since it’s been kinda slow at the station lately, the Chief thought I’d be more productive here!”

(More likely he just wanted you out of his hair.)

“We’re Alfred’s defense team!” Maya exclaimed.

“Really? I hate to break it to you pal, but that boy’s-”

“Guilty beyond all doubt. You have a mountain of evidence. Media’s making him out to be a monster. Yeah, Edgeworth told me all that yesterday.”

“Mr. Edgeworth’s here?! Is he heading the prosecution?”

“Nope!” Maya smiled, “He thinks he’s innocent!”

“What!?!! Mr. Edgeworth actually thinks someone’s innocent?!?”

(Looks like he’s rethinking his whole life’s purpose…)

“Alright pal! I’ve decided to help you as much as I can. If even Mr. Edgeworth thinks this Jones kid didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it!”

“But aren’t you on the investigation team that’s trying to put him in jail?”

“To be honest with ya pal, they actually kicked me off the investigating team…”

“What?! Really?!” Maya exclaimed, “Then what are you doing here?”

“The local police are done with the crime scene. I was just sent here to keep an eye out for some British guy that keeps poking his head around here.”

“Ooh! Does he have these huge eyebrows that look like caterpillars?”
“That’s the guy pal. You’ve seen him around.”

“I saw him this morning. He’s Nick’s new roommate.”

“…Huh?”

“Alfred’s brother is putting us up in a hotel room for the trial,” I explained, “Apparently there was some meeting that was supposed to happen, but it didn’t, so I got Alfred’s room and roommate.”

“Well, when you see him again, tell him to stop poking around in this case and let the police do their jobs, okay pal?”

“Got it. Can we get a closer look at the crime scene?”

“What?! You guys are civilians! I can’t just let you wander around a crime scene unsupervised.”

“But didn’t you just say you’d do anything in your power to help us…” Maya pointed out.

“But…”

“And you’d be supervising us anyway,” I added.

“Well, true…alright fine, but be quick about it.”

The white tape around where the body was found was lying in the middle of the alley. Crates and other general alley trash was scattered here and there, but other than that it was very clean, too clean for a crime scene.

“Hey, where’s all the blood and stuff?” Maya complained.

“The police already carted off everything that they thought was useful,”
Gumshoe explained, “Not that there was much to begin with. It rained that night and washed all the blood and any useful DNA and fingerprints away with it.”

Weather Data for March 10:
Heavy downpour starting at around 9:20.Let up at around midnight and ended at 3:30 AM on March 11.

(What?) “But…everyone keeps talking about this mountain of evidence! There can’t be nothing!”

“Whoa, relax pal. I never said there was nothing. They found Jones covered in the victim’s blood right after he died, with the murder weapon and everything.”

“But if his prints weren’t on the gun then anyone could have fired it.”

“It was his gun. He was the only one in the alley. What do you think happened pal?”

(There has to be some other explanation…)

Turnabout Hero [5b/?]

[(Anonymous)]

“Alfred said he saw someone else though,” Maya thought out loud, “that must be the real killer!”

“Hate to break it to you pal, but there’s no way that’s possible. Alfred was the only one in the alley when the police showed up.”

“So, the real killer escaped before they showed up.”

“To where? This alley’s a dead end pal. Look,” Gumshoe pulled out a diagram of the alley, “the body was here,” he pointed to an area near the end of the alley, “and the suspect was here,” a circle was drawn between the body and the alley’s entrance, “Where would your real killer have escaped to pal?”

Diagram of the Alleyway:
A diagram of the crime scene. Press Check for more details…whatever that means.

“The real killer snuck past him! There’s plenty of room!”

“Yeah, but the police weren’t that far behind. They would have seen him pal.”

“And Alfred said he only thought he glimpsed someone,” I added, “If the real killer got that close, I’m sure he would have had a better look…and probably done something about it.”

“Nick, you’re not helping your case here!”

“What about this right here?” I pointed out a small gap between two buildings that someone might be able to slip though, “Maybe the real killer escaped this way?”

“Hey you’re right! Maybe the killer did slip away after all!”

“Where’s the gap?” Maya looked around, “I don’t see it.”

“It’s…right there,” I pointed, “behind…those crates.”

“…So your miracle gap was blocked off pal?”

“…Maybe the crates were moved after the murder took place?”

“The police have been all over this alley since the night of the murder pal. Nobody would have had the chance.”

(Something’s not right …Alfred definitely saw someone else, even if he won’t tell me who. How did that person get away? Unless---he let the real killer escape! And he’s lying to cover it up!)

“What’s up pal? You’ve got that look on your face like you’ve just figured something really important out.”

“Oh, nothing…”

“If you say so…whoa! Is that the time?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s time to switch shifts. You guys better get out of here before my replacement shows up.”

Not wanting to get him or us in trouble, we decided to go back to the hotel.

March 16, 11:10 AM. Westin Arlington Gateway Hotel, Lobby.

(Well, the lobby’s empty now. No sign of Franziska or the other guests. Guess they’re out sightseeing or something.) Just then I heard a piano melody play.

“What a pretty tune…” Maya said.

“Don’t let him hear you, it’ll go straight to his already inflated ego,” Gilbert stated, rather loudly, as he came up behind us, heading towards the piano on the other side of the lobby. Elizaveta was sitting next to a man I hadn’t met yet who was playing the piano.

“The only one with an over inflated ego here is you!” Elizaveta glared. The man kept playing.

“You know you love me,” he responded, “What’re you guys still doing here anyway?”

“That’s none of your business!”

The man finished his song and looked up, noticing the crowd that had gathered around him. “Oh, Gilbert, when did you get here?”

“Same as ever specs. You’ll never beat me if you can’t pay attention to your surroundings.”

“You must be the lawyer and his assistant,” he ignored Gilbert and stood to greet us. “Roderich Edelstein. Austria.”

Roderich Edelstein
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Works for the Austrian Government. A musician with an aristocratic aura.

“Phoenix Wright. And this is Maya Fey.”

“Nice to meet you!”

“Pleasure. Ludwig asked me to keep an eye out for you so I could give this to you.”

Arrivals for March 10. DAY 0:
9:00 AM Check in: Alfred F. Jones (US).
London->Washington DC – 10:10 AM: Arthur Kirkland (UK) and Francis Bonnefoy (Fr).
Berlin->Washington DC – 11:15 AM: Ludwig (Ger) and Gilbert Wiellschimdt (Pru).
Rome->Washington DC – 12:00 PM: Lovino (S.Ita) and Feliciano Vargas (N.Ita).
Ottawa->Washington DC – 1:25 PM: Matthew Williams (Cnd). ARRIVING DAY 5
Madrid->Washington DC – 2:30 PM: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Sp). ARRIVING DAY 1

[Part 7] Alfred In Wonderland, Mad Hatter Arthur [art]

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20537040#t20537040

The request is a bit old, but I stumbled upon it and couldn't help myself

It didn't turn out as dark as I was hoping though.
Mad Hatter UK : http://take-a-byte.deviantart.com/art/Afternoon-Tea-159358949

Re: [Part 7] Alfred In Wonderland, Mad Hatter Arthur [art]

[(Anonymous)]

Gah! The colors are so pretty! Even as an AU Arthur's sipping his tea...

And teapot!Alfred made me giggle. :D

And the Ocean Calls My Name (10/?)

[(Anonymous)]

And the Ocean Calls My Name (6/?) - Sealand, England, Prussia, Sweden/Finland

Request: Pre-wannabe!Nation Peter given an encouraging war pep speech by Arthur.

Summary: In 1942, in the midst of WWII, England made a decision to build Sea Forts in the Thames Estuary to combat German vessels. That was his intent... but what he created would ultimately go beyond a mere structure of steel and concrete. (A Historical Sealand story)

Request is here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32543301#t32543301
Parts 1-9 can be found here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32913221#t32913221

-


Even expecting it, he jumped at the sound of someone knocking on his door. Part of him was tempted to either yell at whoever it was - England? Would England have come himself? - or to hide under the bed and pretend he wasn't even there. The inclination was swiftly overpowered by a mixture of guilt and determination. Maybe he wasn't a nation, exactly, but that didn't mean he was going to sit here and cower in the dark. Fort Roughs let out a slow breath, rubbing at his forehead for a second before straightening up and turning around. The sound of the bolt unlocking was so loud it made him cringe a little inside.

It wasn't England on the other side of the door. It was the base's captain, standing there with a steady gaze. Their eyes met and Fort Roughs drew to attention and gave the man a salute which was quickly returned.

"At ease, Peter."

Fort Roughs sighed, letting his hand drop to his side. "Where's... where is..." He faltered, but the captain understood what he was trying to ask.

"England had to go back to meet with Parliament, Peter. I was told to let you know that they'll be providing new shipments of supplies within the week, with some new off-duty materials." If England had mentioned their little altercation up above, the captain gave no sign of it. Fort Roughs swallowed and nodded, not sure whether to be relieved or more worried.

"Captain." His tongue flicked across his lips, a quick, nervous gesture. If the captain had said nothing of the incident, then maybe he was a fool to bring it up himself. "I- how was England?"

A slow, steady look. "Is that all you want to ask, or is there something more you wish to tell me?" And just like that, Fort Roughs knew that the captain was aware of what had happened.

Eyes slid away from the man's gaze. "I- No. I guess." And when the captain still said nothing in response, Fort Roughs let out his breath in a sigh. "Would he not even reprimand me, then, or is that your job, Captain?" His voice came out flat. If England had wanted to take him to task, he would have been well justified and yet... he couldn't even take the time to do that much.

"No." There was no indication of which question the captain was answering. "It's not my place to decide what should be done with you." Of course not. It wasn't like he was technically under the captain's command. In truth, Fort Roughs' own role had always been a little nebulous; he was half the cute kid mascot - someone for the men to treat like a surrogate son or a kid brother - half the advisor of sorts, who could tell anything amiss based solely on his own senses. It wavered back and forth so much between the two that it was no wonder the captain had no idea what to do right now. Was he under Fort Rough's jurisdiction, as he was under England, or was it the other way around? The uncertainty was taxing.

And England, the one person who could have declared his role with some assurance, was not here.

And the Ocean Calls My Name (10b/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Fort Roughs let out his breath, a soft sigh, and seized his own future in both small hands. "Captain. I do have something else to tell you. I-I must admit that I have made a - an error... in judgment." And oh, it was hard, so very hard to say those words. He wasn't sure himself if he felt guilty for overreacting, or just because he'd hurt England doing so. He didn't really want to think about it. "And as you are my commanding officer, I ask that you take any disciplinary measures you feel to be sufficient punishment for my actions." Fort Roughs had no idea what those might be, save that he couldn't be court martialed. The irony of the fact that he'd essentially given the captain the order to command him like he was any of the other sailors did not escape him.

His captain gave him a curious look, one that made him want to squirm in a mix of embarrassment and impatience. "You understand that I can't allow someone under my command to behave in such a disrespectful manner. This reflects badly on my own leadership." From the slow way the captain was speaking, he was giving Fort Roughs a chance to take back what he'd just said. As tempting as it was, Fort Roughs only bit his lip and nodded assent. "For the next two weeks, you are to report to me at the end of your duty shift. I'm certain that I can find plenty of menial work to keep you occupied."

Two weeks of scrubbing the boiler room floors and doing inventory on the weapons locker was not going to be fun, but it was the uncharacteristic coolness of the captain's tone, the way the man deliberately refrained from calling him by name, that really drove it home. He'd asked for no quarter and that was exactly what he was getting. Fort Roughs swallowed. "I understand, Captain." His tone was soft, but he managed to keep most of the hangdog guilt from it.

"And?"

He blinked. There was an 'and'? "I... uh..."

"You are late for your duty shift, Mr. Kirkland."

Oh! Fort Roughs flushed, making a flustered noise, but there was no lenience in the man's gaze. The young fort was forced to scramble for his post with the captain's watchful gaze on him.

Norway and his bunnies - 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16954146

Norway didn’t often get the house to himself, what with Denmark following him around like a lost puppy and Iceland forever getting underfoot. So when he found himself in a quiet house on a quiet Saturday afternoon, he was a bit lost as to what to do.

Twenty minutes later, as he sat on the floor of his dressing room bagging old clothes from his wardrobe to give to charity, he wondered if he’d gotten too old. Spring cleaning was hardly how he envisaged spending his spare time, but he didn’t know what else to do.

It was amazing the amounts of junk and clothes he’d accumulated, he thought as he filled another bag with last season’s business shirts and ties.

Then he saw it. A solitary long pink ear sticking up from behind a box of god knows what. He fished the ear out, attached to a pink stuffed bunny. It had an eye missing and its mouth was merely a stitched X but memories of going to sleep every night cuddled up with Mr Bun came flooding back and he gave his favourite childhood toy an impulsive, happy hug. He’d been a rather serious child, what with it being the Viking period and all, so Mr Bun had remained hidden from his brothers, brought out only when he was sure they’d gone to sleep. He’d wriggle down under his covers, hidden from view and hug Mr Bun, whispering to him what he’d done during his day as though the bunny were a diary, then losing himself in happy dreams where he’d go on adventures with his pink friend.

Mr Bun looked a little sad with only one eye so Norway checked his stash of spare buttons which came with coats. Finding a somewhat suitable replacement, he sewed it on carefully. He inspected its fabric. It had been crafted centuries ago from dyed pink linen, but it had held up pretty good. He vowed to take him to an antique toy restorer in the near future.

He looked behind the box again. There was Mrs Bun! And little baby Bun! He pulled them all into a big bunny hug, squealing happily and even throwing in an ecstatic twirl, delighted to be reunited.

Then Norway was struck with sudden inspiration. Upending the box behind which the Bun family had been hiding, he made a make-shift table and covered it with a white pillow case. He jumped up and ran down to the kitchen. Ten minutes later he returned carefully balancing a pot of tea and four teacups and saucers on a tray. He kicked shut the door to this dressing room and, settling back on the floor, piled some stray books around the table so that Mr and Mrs Bun and baby Bun could sit up. Then he poured himself a cup of tea, placing an empty teacup in front of each bunny.

He didn’t even feel silly starting to talk to Mr Bun about everything that had happened since they’d last been together. How Sweden and Finland had moved out – oh, and they were a couple. And how he started going out with Denmark and how Iceland still seemed to be scared of girls. Every now and then he would hold Mr and Mrs Bun’s empty cups up to their stitched mouths as though they were drinking the tea.

This was fun, he thought. He wished he’d done this sooner.

“And then Sweden bought this kid off the internet – but he’s actually a nation like us. Well a micro-nation, he’s not properly recognised or anything. Oh, Mr Bun, would you like more tea?” Norway picked up the teapot and fake poured the bunny more tea.

Click.

Norway froze. Was that noise, or was his mind playing tricks? He turned to the direction of the sound, still holding the teapot. And saw Denmark standing in the open doorway, his phone raised in front of him, grinning deviously. Norway’s eyes and mouth opened wide in shock.

It took him a moment to realise Denmark had taken a photo. A photo of him having a tea party with his stuffed bunnies. Which was now on his phone, which he could MMS to everyone in his address book, including all the nations. Norway shut his mouth and turned bright red as Denmark smirked.

“Well, I see you have, uh, company. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Norway hastily put down the teapot and scrambled to stand up but Denmark fled, hoots of laughter disappearing down the hallway.

Re: Norway and his bunnies - 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

This was PRICELESS, anon! You don't even know how much I love you for this. Seriously, the only thing that would make it better would be some art of that last scene to go with it <3

Part V Happily Married USUK (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Okay. Firsttime!Anon asks for your forgiveness, blessings, and patience. While I intend for this to be a rather short fic, I have been known for fluffy newlywed scenes to get ahead of me, and if OP would like me to continue, I would adore to write more. Like I said, please be kind USUK anons! Using human names between England and America since they’re on very intimate terms.
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=13787914#t13787914

---------

Arthur smiled down, feeling himself glow from within as he twisted the glowing golden band around his finger. Bloody git had bought one with a diamond - despite how wholly embarrassing the situation was, he couldn’t help but be flustered in that warm state that Alfred always managed to put him in. Twat. He looked up, meeting those brilliant blue eyes with that same, lopsided, dusty old smile, feeling the larger, callused hand reach out and take his, their wedding rings clinking pleasantly.

“Still sore from the honeymoon?” Alfred smirked, moving his hand to wrap around Arthur’s shoulders, causing the shorter man to squawk indignantly at him, glaring softly at the playful comment. Though, soon, the blonde reached down to nuzzle his cheek with his nose, pressing a gentle kiss as they lingered outside of the meeting room. “Don’t worry, babe, you’re not waddling that much.”

Arthur snarled up at him, though his smile betrayed him. “Bloody prick, we’ll have to go in eventually.”

“Mmm, but I’d rather spend more time with you… We are married now, after all,” Alfred purred, leaning close to Arthur again, seemingly unable to keep himself more than 4 centimetres from the Englishman.

Arthur snorted. “No, really? I was frightfully unaware,” he rolled his eyes, giving the blonde one last shove before opening the door and walking inside, looking back at him, completely oblivious to the stares from around the room.

---------

Sorry for shortness, the next entry will be twice as long if not more. I’ve just been neglecting my English essay is all.

Ricette d'amore

[(Anonymous)]

Request and Part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33391941#t33391941

(Direct to part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=34015813#t34015813)

Human!AU based on the movie "Bella Martha"/"Mostly Martha" ("No Reservations" = American remake of that movie), in which Ludwig is a perfectionist chef, Feliciano is not a perfectionist (but still a chef), and they fall in love. Along the way, Ludwig learns a little about living.

Ricette d'amore [2a/?]

[(Anonymous)]

In the master bedroom of the fourth floor apartment of one Ludwig Beilschmidt, the bedside alarm went off every day, without fail, at 05:40. Five minutes later saw Ludwig Beilschmidt out the door of his apartment, ready for his daily morning run; one hour later saw his return. By 07:00, every morning, Mr. Beilschmidt was washed, dried, pressed, starched and ready to make his well-balanced, nutritious breakfast in the largest room of his apartment.

The kitchen.

Ludwig’s life revolved around cooking; partially because he wanted it to, and partially because he had nothing else. He worked every evening as the head chef in a four star restaurant called… well, called The Black Magic. Despite the strange name (the owner was British, what could you expect?), The Black Magic was one of Köln’s most popular restaurants. Because although it was small, and had a rather eclectic staff, The Black Magic could boast some of the best Italian cuisine in the world.

Ludwig was very aware, and incredibly proud of this fact.

The late morning and early afternoon of his schedule had once been devoted to Ludwig’s perusal of produce and the other necessary purchases a true restaurant’s kitchen needed to make every day. That had ended after his boss, Mr. Kirkland – no, Arthur (“You sound like you’ve got a meter stick halfway up your ass, Beilschmidt! We work together for how long every day? Seriously mate, give it a rest. We all have first names: use them.” his boss had not seen the irony.) had banned Ludwig from these activities. His claim was that Ludwig had been scaring the suppliers.

Ludwig was unaware if that was a fact, but he was not the sort of man to disobey an order from his boss, no matter how ridiculous it felt.

Nowadays, the time between Ludwig’s breakfast and the time he went to work was devoted to the regular tasks necessary to keep a household running. Ludwig cleaned his kitchen, of course, promptly after both breakfast and lunch.

He also dusted his sitting room.

He vacuumed the front entryway.

He cleaned just about every available surface.

Time permitting, he balanced his checkbook and set in order any other pressing documents.

Sometimes he read (novels, because a good chef was well rounded even outside of the kitchen, and because he usually finished the newspaper during his breakfast).

If there was extra time, Ludwig would clean his kitchen again. Just to be sure.

And when all of his household tasks were done, he left for work.

Ludwig arrived every day at The Black Magic at 15:00 sharp. He didn't have to be there so soon, especially as Arthur himself rarely arrived until a half hour later. But somewhere back in the depths of time, Ludwig had decided that arriving at exactly 15:00 (with a 5 minute margin of error in either direction to account for late trains and traffic) was necessary in order to properly prepare his kitchen for that evening's work. So far, Ludwig's scheduling had succeeded, so he never entertained the thought of changing his routine.

Things that aren't broken don't need to be fixed.

By 16:00, more or less, the rest of the restaurant's staff had assembled by the bar and Arthur had finalized his decisions of desserts and daily specials. Customers weren't allowed through the doors until 18:00, and the two hours in between were supposed to give the staff time to loosen up, chat and prepare. Outside of the kitchen, in the regular world where The Black Magic was owned and operated by Arthur Kirkland, the time was busy but relaxed. Arthur often kept to his office (well away from the food), and the head waiter, Tino, told jokes as he folded napkins and directed his subordinates in their placement of silverware and decorative flowers.

Ludwig approved of Tino's work, and did not mind the light atmosphere he kept up in the main room. Just as long as the same frivolity did not make its way over to the kitchen.

Ludwig’s kitchen.

Liet Gets Drunk: Russia/Lithuania

[(Anonymous)]

Fill for this request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=4970967

"Russia forces Lithuania to drink vodka, Lithuania gets drunk and Russia takes advantage of him."

It's a really old request, I think, so OP, if you're still here, I hope you like.

Re: Liet Gets Drunk: Russia/Lithuania

[(Anonymous)]

“Sit.”

The Russian gave the order in the way one might speak to a dog, grasping the smaller man's shoulders and forcing him down onto the wooden kitchen chair. Toris didn't move, his eyes darting around the room nervously, wondering exactly what trouble he was in this time.

Ivan rummaged around in one of the kitchen cupboards and a moment later slammed two glasses and a bottle of vodka down in front of the timid brunette. He poured one glass and grabbed Toris' wrist, shoving it into his hand.

“What shall we toast to?” he asked with a faint smile on his face. The Lithuanian looked at him in frightened confusion.

“Um...what...” he cleared his throat. “I don't...understand.”

“I'm bored,” Ivan said simply, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Let us pass the time by drinking together.”

“I...I...don't...” Toris glanced from the glass in his hand, to the deceptively benign face of his captor and long-time tormentor and his shoulder slumped. There was no choice in the matter anyway, so what was the point in telling the Russian that he didn't drink, that he hated the smell of vodka, that it made him feel queasy. Ivan already knew these things.

“Drink, Toris.” It might have been phrased as a friendly suggestion but Toris knew better than to argue. In one desperate motion he drained the contents of his glass, swallowing the burning liquid before coughing and spluttering, tears appearing at the corners of his eyes.

Ivan's smile grew wider and he poured a measure for himself, downing it easily before refilling both cups. “Again.”

The Lithuanian grasped the glass and put it to his lips determinedly, flinching a little at the smell. One measure was more than enough, as far as he was concerned. But he knocked it back, feeling the rush of artificial warmth in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he understood why Ivan drank the stuff so much. The fiery sensation it produced in him was a welcome change from the perpetual cold of the Russian's house.

“More.” Ivan refilled his glass. Toris downed it obediently.

It wasn't so bad, he thought to himself. His head was starting to swim a little and the harsh spirit made him feel as though he wanted to choke but he felt warmer than he had in such a long time. Maybe even a little relaxed. They continued in this vein, shot after shot, silence apart from the Russian's continued orders to keep drinking.

He was starting to feel strangely sick now, his cheeks burning and his vision swimming. Gradually, over the course of their silent little drinking session Toris found himself staring more and more intently into the violet eyes of his captor, found himself fixating on that brutally childlike little smile on his lips. The taste of the vodka on his tongue made him think of all the times Ivan had claimed his mouth with his own, how impotently angry that made him, how he hated the Russia and hated himself and hated his own need and...

“You're a bastard,” Toris blurted out, his head lolling a little to one side. He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

Blossoms For Your Beauty (4/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Short update is short, but it's been far too long since the last update. I blame real life. University sucks like that. No warnings for this bit. No funny languages or Japanese this time either; sorry for those who enjoyed that. Maybe in later chapters, y/n?

-.oOo.-

There was no getting back to sleep after that. Waking the others up wouldn’t improve the situation, and it gave him some time to think, so Alfred just laid there as the meagre light strengthened little by little, one hand resting near his head while the other laid on his stomach, stroking gently. He was surprised by how large he was; none of his “sudden” children had happened so quickly in the past.

Third trimester, it has to be. His hand paused and his fingers curled as he thought of the reactions this would get. The other Nations knew of his states, knew that he carried them like any mother with her children, but the rapid pregnancies were unusual, even for their kind, inhuman as they were. He would hide himself away whenever it happened, from Nation and human alike, so no others would know. And it hadn’t really mattered back in the days without frequent global, or even transcontinental, travel, but now…

Alfred sucked in a breath as Arthur moved in his sleep, heard an incoherent grumble as he shifted, one arm flopping across Alfred’s side, just brushing the curve of his belly. He held the breath until the mumbling subsided back into light snores. The child moved inside of him, kicked between his hand and Arthur’s arm, and he reached up to rub small circles over it.

Ah, little one, how will I explain you to them when even I’m not sure why you’re here?

-.oOo.-

Arthur roused from sleep slowly, not being a morning person in any sense of the word. He vaguely registered the soft light coming in through the windows, birdsong in the trees outside. He let his eyes drift shut once more, resigning to a few more minutes of not-quite-sleep before he had to haul himself out of bed in search of a hot shower and even hotter tea. Nuzzling into the nape of Alfred’s neck, he breathed in – he smells like his East Coast today – and tightened the arm he had draped around America in his sleep.

His forearm brushed a swell of flesh that hadn’t been there the night before. England bolted upright, staring down at the man lying between Kiku and himself.

He was fairly certain that he looked the fool, sitting there propped up on one arm, sheets and comforter barely covering his nakedness, his mouth hanging open in utter dumbfounded surprise. Somewhere through the haze shrouding his brain, he noticed that Alfred’s eyes were open, a sliver of blue peeking sideways at him. The younger Nation’s expression was closed, unreadable. Arthur belatedly realized that his other arm was still lying on Alfred, his hand unconsciously stroking the young man’s distended belly, making soothing circles with his fingertips. It was a habit he had picked up in a much earlier time, centuries ago, during the hectic years that spanned the births of the original Thirteen and the Northwest Territories, the first children he fathered on his former colony.

He stared at his hand for a second; stared at America, then at his hand again. He stilled his fingers, spreading them wide and placing his palm on the soft, soft skin, feeling for the child inside. His expression softened as he felt a push against his hand and looked up at Alfred, who still wore that shielded expression, though some of the boy’s apprehension and doubt had leaked through his emotional barrier. England fixed him with a sleepy, wry smile, a rather lopsided one at that.

“I suppose you’ll be blaming me for this one as well?”

Alfred’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut, his trepidation returning at the feel of another hand pressed against his stomach, Kiku awake now and staring with wide-eyed wonder at America’s bulging middle.

Re: Blossoms For Your Beauty (4/?)

[(Anonymous)]

*glee* You wrote more! Armageddicon inspiration? XD

Iceland x tentacle monster - 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29409038#t29409038

A/N: This is crack! Not serious!

Norway watched, annoyed, as Iceland tucked the newspaper under his arm and pocketed the change without checking it. He knew it was wrong – Ice had given the newsagent a 50 kroner note and received back a meagre handful of coins. The newspaper only cost 8kr.

He sighed to himself. Iceland was becoming more and more irresponsible with money and it was reflecting in his nation’s dire financial position. Norway swore he once saw Iceland start a fire in the hearth with a wad of cash because he’d been too lazy to go out back and chop wood.

And it was affecting Norway’s personal life too. To save money, Iceland had weaselled his way back into living with him and Denmark which meant there was no more impromptu breakfast counter sex or court yard sex or Denmark’s library sex. Their not-so-secret ‘toy’ stash had to be tucked away out of sight and it was no longer possible to walk around in their full glory when clothes were too bothersome. Iceland also didn’t do his share of the chores: disappearing from the kitchen when the dishes were piled high, complaining there were too many spiders outside to do the weeding or simply hiding in the attic playing on his gameboy for hours leaving Norway to clean the gutters out by himself.

And for the past two months, Iceland had been whining to Norway and asking for money. He’d gotten by originally with buying Iceland this and that and maybe a 100kr note every now and then, but Iceland started asking for more valuable things. Contracts. Low interest loans. Sustainable energy grants. Trade deals to import endangered spotted female pelican eggs from the southern-most harbours of Equatorial Guinea. The price tags started going up and up and the requests became more and more outrageous.

Fed up, Norway decided to teach his little brother a lesson.

Which is why the pair of them were standing outside the Norwegian National Bank at midnight. Norway was holding the torch while Iceland was pushing an empty wheelbarrow.

“Now remember,” said Norway, stealthily unlocking the large brass padlock which secured the front doors, “This is all under the counter. My country can’t be seen to be giving you the money to bail you out, so you’ve got one hour to fill the wheelbarrow with as much cash and gold bars as you can carry. That way, I can claim it was a bank accounting error or something and you can keep it without anyone getting suspicious.”

Iceland bounced along happily, following Norway to the vault. Norway inputted the secret code and spun the handle, the door opening with an impressive hiss. Iceland ran inside and started pulling bags of notes from the shelves, not even caring that there was a security camera watching his every move. Geez his brother was thick sometimes.

A few coins spilled from a pile in the far corner of the vault which Iceland hadn’t gone near, but Ice didn’t notice, instead stuffing his pockets with government bond certificates. That was Norway’s cue. He stepped outside and quickly pushed the door of the vault shut.

Iceland x tentacle monster - 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

“Norge?” came Iceland’s voice from within the steel vault. “I-I think the door shut by mistake.”

Norway remained silent. A few seconds later a frightened squeak came from the vault, along with a great flurry of noise.

Norway wasn’t sure whether to wait or leave. He’d rummaged through his old spell books and summoned the tentacle monster yesterday, hiding it inside the vault when he used the cash machine. He’d then come up with his ‘scheme’ to lure Iceland inside and let the monster have its way with him. He was hoping that being a tentacle monster’s play thing inside a vault full of cash would give Iceland the message to be more cautious about money.

Norway decided to wait and sat down. The sounds became more and more peculiar. The monster seemed to have a voice, making happy gurgling noises while Iceland let out random profanities and indignant squeals. At one point the noises shifted to the top of the vault and Norway could imagine the monster sliding its way to the ceiling and holding a frightened Iceland high above the money while enjoying his pale white skin and delicate physique.

After the hour had expired, Norway hesitantly opened the vault. There was a lot of ... slime. And Iceland looked strange. His clothes were half torn from his body, his face flushed and he was missing a clump of hair. What flesh that was exposed bore evidence of many hickeys. The tentacle monster lay in the corner sated upon a pile of gold coins but was still stroking Iceland suggestively on the head.

With quivering knees, Iceland silently stood up and pushed his wheelbarrow full of Norwegian plunder through the sticky residue and out of the vault. They didn’t talk on the way home.

A day later, Iceland moved out of Norway and Denmark’s house, muttering something about being needed back in Reykjavik. The next time Norway heard from his brother was at the world meeting where Iceland seemed to have recovered from his traumatic rendezvous with the tentacle monster. Norway was even more shocked to hear Iceland give his financial report and announce that all of his national debts had been cleared. Surely one wheelbarrow full of cash and gold wouldn’t wipe the entire debt of a nation, no matter how small. Norway was intrigued. Maybe Iceland had learnt his lesson after all had studiously invested it wisely.

As Norway left the meeting hall still puzzled, he passed Japan who was engrossed with something on his phone. He heard a frightened squeak and stopped, looking around. Iceland was nowhere to be found, but he was sure that was his brother’s noise. Japan looked up at Norway, beet red, then hurried away.

“Hey Norge,” called Iceland, walking up behind his brother.

“How on earth did you wipe all your debt?” asked Norway, putting the squeak out of his mind.

“Oh,” said Iceland looking a little embarrassed. “Let’s just say that Japan really likes tentacle monsters.”

Norway didn’t ask any more questions.

I Hope It Doesn't Look Like You! (3-A)

[(Anonymous)]

Ivan's face looks so blank.
"He wants an abortion" Elizaveta repeats staring at the pavement.
Ivan stares at her but him doesn't see her, truly. "It's okay" is the final answer.
Elizaveta, her eyes wide open, looks up at the man in front of her. "What?"
"It's okay" Ivan repeats. "It's what he wants, da? I'll call my better doctors and..."
"Wait! Wait! Wait, Russia!" Hungary exclaims.
"What is it?"
"What is it?!" Elizaveta is shocked. "Gilbert wants to abort your baby and you just accept it?"
"What else can I do, Hungary?" Ivan asks raising his voice. Elizaveta wants to laugh, so... is that man the worse enemy of America? The great and cruel Russia? Two words: incredible and ridicule. "Oh God..." She sighs. "You forced us to live in your home, Ivan. I think you the only whom can do something!"
Ivan is astonished. "Do you want Gilbert bears my child?" He asks with an amused smile. "The girls are crazy but you are the craziest!"
Elizaveta sighs again. "I'm worry about Gilbert."
"Relax! My doctors are good.."
"I didn't mean that!" Elizaveta's expression become sad. "Gilbert is so scared now, he doesn't accept his baby because of it."
Ivan laughs, a laugh without joy. "Hungary, the real problem isn't the child" He admits sadly "It's me and you know it."
Elizaveta nods in agreement. "Yes, of course, his real problem is you."
"Thanks..." Ivan murmurs.
"But the baby..." Elizaveta makes a pause. "Gilbert will regret the abortion, I'm sure of it! I know him and when it will happen he... he..."
Ivan shakes his head. "His hate is too great, he would have wanted the baby if it wasn't mine."
Elizaveta opens her mouth and closes it a moment later. "Yes" She nods. "Maybe you are right."
"So..." Ivan sighs sadly. "There is nothing I can do to change his mind."
"You can Talk to him."
Ivan laughs. "Sure! And he can shout all the time"
"Ivan, please"
"I'll think about it"

Gilbert stares the ceiling with a bored gaze, his hands still are on his stomach. Toris is sitting on a chair next to the bed, his face looks a little worried because of the silence. He accept to look after the german during Elizaveta's absence but Gilbert ignoring him and Toris isn't sure what to do. He doesn't want bother Prussia, he is thinking about the baby and the abortion, probably.
"Where fucking are that woman?!" Gilbert shouts without warning. Toris jumps on the chair. "You need to stay calm, Gilbert" he says with a gentle smile. "Elizaveta is with Russia, they are talking about you and the..."
"They aren't talking!" Gilbert exclaims. "I just want a doctor! Isn't necessary to talk!"
"I think... I think Russia is thinking about it. Maybe it isn't so easy for him"
Gilbert turns towards the Baltic. "What do you mean?" he asks lowering his voice.
"I mean" Toris sighs. "Maybe, Russia doesn't want lose the baby inside you. He loves you and probably loves your baby and..."
Gilbert laughs. "He can't love! He doesn't love me or the baby he just want someone for himself to fuck, to torture, to hurt!"
"Maybe, Russia do it with all us" Toris admits. "But you are different, Gilbert. You are special for him."
"Of curse! He wished to destroy me for centuries. I'm his now, it isn't important if I am happy or not."
"He wants to make you happy" Toris murmured sadly. "He is just an hurted and lonely nation"
"I'm too because of him."
"Do you want revenge on him?" the Baltic asks. "The reason because you want the abortion is..."
Gilbert shakes his head. "I'm not so cruel or idiot"
"Why?" Toris asks, at the end. "Why don't you want your baby?"
Gilbert bites his bottom lips, he doesn't look at Toris now but the Baltic notices his wet eyes. "Because I'm tired to see only death around me."
Toris is confused, now but he can't make others questions because someone enters the room. There is Ivan on the door, Gilbert sees him and turns his face in the opposite direction.

I Hope It Doesn't Look Like You! (3-B)

[(Anonymous)]

"You can go, Toris" Russia says and the Baltic leaves quickly the two lovers alone.
Ivan comes nearer to the bed and sits down on the mattress next to Prussia. "Hello?" he says gantly. "What do you want?" Gilbert asks coldly.
Ivan forces a smile. "Just talk to you"
"What about?"
"Ehm... our baby, I guess."
"Oh sure!" Gilbert turns towards the russian. "Don't wast your time, fucking commie, tomorrow there will be no baby, right?"
Ivan nods. "Yes, my doctors will be here tomorrow but I want to be a father for a while."
Gilbert's face looks confused. "Bastard, the baby still..."
"Yes, I know" Ivan interrupts him. "But I want to stay with you and the baby, is it inside you, da?"
"Inside me..." Gilbert murmurs looking at his stomach. "Yes it is."
Ivan smiles sweetly and he lifts up his right hand. "Can I...?"
"Ja" Gilbert nods. The russian's smile becomes wider while he rests his hand on the german's flat stomach. Ivan has concentrated gaze and Gilbert stares at him till the russian sighs sadly. "I feel nothing..."
Gilbert gives an exasperated sigh. "It's too early to feel something, idiot!"
"Don't you feel our baby inside you?" Ivan asks with a childish expression.
"No, I don't... and don't make that face I said it's too early!"
Ivan shakes his head a little. "No it isn't, because tomorrow will be too late."
Gilbert doesn't replies, he looks down at Ivan's hand on his stomach. Does he hope to feel the baby, really? Is he so desperate?
"I'm sorry, I'm a little sad" Ivan says with a forced gentle smile.
"I see..." Gilbert murmurs.
"I mean... you are my love and it is our baby, I never thought about it but I love the baby since the day you told me about your pregnant. I was confused and scared but... but I imagine the baby and in my imagination it has your eyes and your hair... it is beautiful."
Gilbert looks at that man, that bastard has taken him away from Ludwig, unable to believe that the Ivan in front of him is the same cruel nation of Russia that the world know.
"In your imagination, the baby..." a pause. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
Ivan lifts up his violet eyes to meet Gilbert's. "It isn't important, little one, because we'll never know what it will be."
Ivan removes his hand from Prussia's stomach and Gilbert feels a shiver down his back. Russia leans down to kiss his lover on the cheek and then he leaves.

Gilbert doesn't sleep, he is too busy to think about Ivan and their baby.
The russian's feelings towards the baby are sincere, Gilbert can say it, Ivan really cares about the little creature inside him, he loves it. In a different occasion, Gilbert would laugh but in that situation there is nothing to laugh, really. Will Ivan love him after the abortion? Will he forgive Gilbert to have killed his precious baby?
"Wait! Why I care about it?!" he shouts at the empty room. "I hate him! I'm too awesome to care about his fucking love towards me!"
He hasn't the courage to remove his hands from his stomach, he doesn't want to admit it but he hasn't, really. He presses a little more the palm against the cover skin looking down.
"Hey you..." he says. "Don't be sad, the world is only a big shit, after all. You are going to go in a better place, I promise!"
Gilbert looks at his stomach with a astonished gaze. "Why I'm talking to you?!" He exclaims. "You can't hear me! You are just... a life."
He makes a pause. I'm tired to see only death around me.
He said it and it is true but... "You are just a little, fragile, life inside me."
Gilbert cries, he cries until the sun rises when Elizaveta enters his room.
"The doctors are here, Gilbert" she says.

Nuovo Impero Italiano [1a/?]

[(Anonymous)]

OP, this is the first chapter. I am not sure how many there will be, and if I’m doing it right. Please do comment if you like and if you think I should write more of this, otherwise I’ll stop. Thank you.

Original request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20751312#t20751312
(Italy is hit by a spell and lands with sort–of–amnesia, turning Roman Empire on everybody. Just read, it’s hard to explain!)

–––

Everything was fuzzy.

There was a dull pain his both of his temples, so strong that he could hear his heart thumping, and each beat sent waves of dizziness through his body. The pain spread slowly down to his neck, tingling unpleasantly when it reached his fingers, and then causing twinges in his chest, every short intake of breath making it worsen.

He couldn’t open his eyes, small flashes of light running behind his closed eyelids, and the sounds that reached him felt like they were coming from far, far away –as if he were underwater, and the ripples were only making it harder to listen.

“…t…ly… ca… hea– m…?”

A strong wave of dizziness hit him again and he fought the urge to roll over and vomit, only because he knew he couldn’t move a muscle even if he wanted to.

He was confused. Where was he? What had happened?

He’d been attacked. The knowledge hit him like a spear, an itch in the back of his head that he should know what was happening, but he didn’t… something was wrong.

He shouldn’t be there, in pain –he should be up, seeking…

“Ita… y… k?”

Fighting for his consciousness not to be lulled back in the same deep nothingness he’d just resurfaced from, he forced himself to wake up.

Prying his eyes open, at first he could only see a blinding light, then figures finally took focus again around him, and finally he let out a soft groan, realising he was lying on the ground.

The pain had yet to disappear, but it was somewhat dulled now, and it did help that his head was pressed against something soft. Looking up, he met a pair of worried blue eyes, and stared.

“Italy, are you ok?”

……………………………………………

“He’s coming to” France leaned forwards a bit, eyes reflecting the same relief Germany was feeling, and at his side England let out a sigh.

France promptly turned around and smacked him in the head, serious eyes filled with anger. “That’s for your inconsiderate actions, Angleterre!”

“Y–you bloody git! I didn’t do it on purpose! It was an incident!”

“You two, stop yelling, aru! Being loud won’t help him!”

Germany ignored all the chaos the various nations were making and held on Italy’s shoulders, gently pushing him upright as his eyes blinked slowly, eyes clearly regaining their focus. Under his fingers, he could feel the muscles spasm and contract repeatedly.

“Italy” he repeated again, voice itching with concern, “how are you feeling?”

The morning meeting, that had proceeded so well and uneventfully up to that point, had quickly turned into another messy, chaotic circus in the span of ten minutes –not that someone had expected anything different, after all.

As fast as Russia chugging down a vodka, the meeting had degenerated, first with Korea and China’s fighting, as Im Yong Soo had tried to grope Yao for the fifth time, then Ivan poking with his pole at Liet, whose nerves had crumbled again.

Poland had straightened up, quite a vision with his clean, ironed brand clothes and plushie bag, placing himself between Lithuania and Russia and throwing insults at the latter, being backed up by Prussia all the while.

After all, Prussia liked a good brawl every now and then.

On the other side of the long table, Belgium, Hungary and Liechtenstein had suddenly started talking in hushed tones, throwing sideways glances at Austria and Switzerland whilst looking at what, in the distance, could easily pass as a photo album.

On his own, Austria was far too ticked off by everyone’s lack of proper behaviour to pay notice of what his ex–wife and her friends, and was trying to discuss in private with Germany, Croatia and Slovakia about import–export.

Nuovo Impero Italiano [1b/?]

[(Anonymous)]

The Italian brothers, clearly easily ignoring the chaos around them, were preparing for siesta, taking out their pillows from who–knows–where, and Spain and Mexico were discussing the sleeping arrangements and how to steal a bit of the Italian brothers’ blankets to share that sacred moment of sleep with them.

And of course, on top of all that, it was England’s turn to talk, so America was standing up, opposing his once care–taker with all the arguments he could –most of them invented on the spot and without actual background, too.

To add to all of this, France was trying to molest Japan, which was actually what had caused things to go down the drain.

“You! Stupid frog –what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” England, finally noticing where France’s hands were, moved closer to the man, ignoring a now spluttering America.

“What do you mean, what? I’m… spending some time with dear Japan, here” was Francis’ reply, in a low, seductive voice.

“You– you just stay away from him!”

“F–Francis–san, I’d like you to stop groping me already… if you could…”

If there was something England really hated, it was France’s lewd ways –on top of that, towards a closed off, timid person such as Japan. Not to mention the fact that France had previously groped, in order, England himself, Finland, the northern and southern part of Italy, Canada, England again, Belgium, Spain, England again and lastly Austria.

In a flash, Arthur was holding out his wand –the one he used for his darkest rituals, hiding away in his basement where Alfred was the only one to ever wander to (and only to ask him where the burgers where), and his lips were already forming one of his lethal curses–

This was definitely the time where France would get what he deserved…

Things fell into slow motion even by Germany’s eyes, as the blond, who had turned around, ready to demand people to just stop chatting and finally start getting down to business, saw America move.

Completely oblivious to what England was doing, the American Nation tackled him from behind, whining about needing the Englishman to listen to his heroic and awesome ideas.

There was some sort of explosion coming from England’s wand, a lightening, and instead of hitting France, it passed at his right…

… flew past Mexico’s head…

… was evaded by Bulgaria, who ducked…

… and hit Italy straight in the face, sending him sprawled on the floor.

“Italy!”

Germany had been the first to move, after the shock that had paralyzed all the nations in the conference room, running by the fainted Italian’s side and holding him up, watching with something akin to dread the pale skin and trembling form, gathering his head on his lap and holding him still.

“What the hell happened?!” America was flung away from the fallen form of England, only to be replaced by a definitely angered France, who grabbed the Englishman’s shirt by its neck and hoisted him up. “You! What was that?!”

“I…” clearly feeling cornered and guilty, England resorted to his usual behaviour and hunched his shoulders, pushing the French away from him. “I don’t know, ok? The spell wasn’t meant to be sent that early, and I wasn’t concentrating and America… so… I…”

“I swear, Angleterre, if you hurt him I’ll–”

Italy’s frame stilled, and his eyelids trembled, opening slightly. He winced, and Germany quickly held up his hand to stop the light. “Italy, are you ok? Can you hear me?”

Grunting out an unintelligible answer, Italy finally opened his eyes; they were a shade darker, and almost bloodshot, and Germany winced, hands tightening their hold on the fallen Nation’s shoulders.

“Hnng… it hurts…”

Germany nodded, relieved to hear him speak. “You were hit quite hard. You had us freak for a moment, here”.

“Speak for yourself, potato–bastard! I–I didn’t care if he was hurt a–at all!”

“Mi querido, this is so untrue. You were grasping my hand so strongly it hurt~”

“S–shut up, tomato–sucker!”

“Water, please” Austria kneeled next to Italy, snapping his fingers in a random direction. Switzerland stood up and grabbed a glass, filling it with the bottle of water he always brought with him; Vash kneeled next to the Austrian, who gently pressed the cold surface against Feliciano’s lips.

[(Anonymous)]

Request Part 3: Matthew in highschool alternate universe. The brunt of being a loner. The hardships of a social outcast.

......and having a major crush on 11th grader Francis. :D

c'mon, we need some matthew lovin's <3
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5853143#t5853143

The Wit Of The Staircase 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Matthew's interjections are Québécois profanities (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quebec_French_profanity)

--
Matthew Willaims was not your average high school student. In fact, he was something of a pariah in his school, as he used words like pariah on a regular basis, didn't know the latest happenings on Gossip Girl, and didn't desire the kind of love life that Gossip Girl featured prominently.

People didn't shove him in lockers or shove his face in the toilets, for which he was grateful. Had they ever tried, Alfred would have smashed their face in, and they apparently sensed this. Or maybe Alfred had mentioned casually that he would pound anyone who laid a hand on him. Either way, it worked...maybe a little too well. They didn't exactly notice he was there, either. If this was a cliche teen drama, this would be the time for some teacher to notice him, let him bloom under their tutelage, whereupon he would give the speech as the Valedictorian to the musical accompaniment of Time Of Your Life by Greenday.

This was not a cliche teen tv drama. Even if sometimes it felt like one. Kiku was still top of the class. Matthew was still a B-average student who only excelled at art and in French...well, sort of. No matter how many times he tried to explain to Mme. Belgique, she did not understand that his Québécois was legitimate and he wasn't just profaning the language either by stupidity, or to give her headaches. (Or as Alfred would've put it "for shits and giggles")

In fact, he'd only taken the French for nostalgic reasons, to remind him of Quebec, and keep the language, and those memories associated with it alive. And because he didn't want to take Spanish or German, but that was beside the point.

His life was pretty boring and predictable. Getting B's dooming his GPA because he always freaked out at tests, practically sleepwalking through the halls until he could go home and blog about how much he couldn't wait to be in college already. And it continued about that pace, right up until Francis Bonnefoy came into his life. Francis, as it so happened, was an exchange student straight from Paris. The adjectives generally ascribed to him were 'dreamy', 'gorgeous', 'sexy, and 'ohmigawd he looked at me I think I'm going to die of happiness.'

All the girls had a crush on him, but they seemed to simultaneously have crushes on any remotely handsome guy, so that could be taken with a grain of salt. Matthew would like to say that he was above all of this, that he wasn't swooning over Francis Bonnefoy ..but he had it bad for Francis. He knew logically that Francis was a jerk – a very sexy, very charming jerk. He knew this was a bad idea, but his heart (or more likely, hormones) said otherwise. It was the accent, really. The sheer fact that he could make the phonebook sound like erotica just from the way he enunciated things. To say nothing of his suave, elegant ways, or the way the light caught his hair.
\Matthew was glad that Francis was an eleventh grader. If they'd shared classes, his GPA would've been utterly destroyed. Instead of math equations, there'd be sketches on the back of trying to capture the exact way Francis' mouth quirked in a self-satisfied smile, or how his eyes crinkled in a full-bodied laugh when Gilbert told a particularly vulgar joke.

He had tried to tell himself that falling for Francis was generally a bad idea, considering that he was the biggest playboy in the school. Then he comforted himself by figuring that the chances that Francis would even notice that he existed were nil. So it'd be about the same as the girls who fell head over heels with Justin Timberlake or some other so-called popular star. Except instead of squealing about how gorgeous so-and-so was, he drew.

So watching the way his he sat casually outside, the sun in his hair, laughing at some joke that Gilbert told, Matthew found himself drawing it. It was automatic, like some barrier had been felled between actions and speech and it was just thoughts spilling out onto the page.

Matthew was just showing his artistic side, and admiring something – someone beautiful.

*

For the fuzzy and warm inside

[(Anonymous)]

request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5354711#t5354711

I know that this isn't what OP had in mind, but. Plot bunny wouldn't leave my mind anymore.

---

"Good morning."

Canada turned around and smiled at his third costumer today. The jeans jacket that he wore was definitely bought with Westmark at one of the black markets, maybe when the man had made a trip to Berlin.

"Good morning. What would you like to have? I'm sorry to have to say that we're out of eggs and potatoes and carrots, everything else is like yesterday." A nervous smile accompanied his words. This costumer was known for his strange requests that he'd have to go to one of the - what were they called, those stores that sold import goods from the West - and he always had a hard time to explain to him that no, they didn't have those. Where had he grown up to always make those demands?

The blond looked down on the paper and his hand and nodded inwardly. Yes, Vietnam. He looked like it, too. Vietnamese. Or maybe Korean. Though they had agreed on never ever mentioning that for obvious reasons.

"Kimchi!"

Korea didn't like to be reminded about his more Northern twin brother.

"...We don't have Kimchi. But we can offer radish-"

"No, I'd like Kimchi." The taller man seemed to think for a moment. "What kind of nation is this, that they don't even have Ki-" At which point something hard hit the back of his had.

"I've always been awesome, and if you don't get something, you have to make it yourself! That's true awesome." Prussia grinned and ignored Latvia, who sat next to him, adding that that was true Communist awesome if anything. The small Baltic wasn't particularly happy about being here, but he had been abducted for their game of GDR supermarket for a simple reason - standing in line just didn't work if you were only three people. They had kidnapped Sealand for the same reason, but the micronation had lost interest after the first twenty minutes of waiting for the promised eggs to arrive. Denmark had left to get them some beer to make the wait easier and Cuba to get himself some cigars.

Most other nations had either been busy or refused to pretend being Prussian citizens, and nobody had dared to ask America if he wanted to pretend being Communist. The last time Prussia had asked him to join his Ostalgic GDR reenactment there had been three months of the superpower trying to persuade Germany to send his brother into an asylum - until the beginning of the superbowl finals when the bespectacled nation just forgot that they existed at all.

"...better watch where you throw your beer cans." The Northern Nation sighed and turned his attention back to the other men in the room. Maybe they should have asked a girl to join them, to lighten the atmosphere - Seychelles would have been a good idea...

"Oi, you dreaming of yer sweetheart?" He felt a heavy slap against his shoulders. Denmark had returned, and Korea helped him dragging the American over into the room that they had changed into a temporary restaurant. "I organized some beer, and Cuba even got enough petrol to drive down to the beach tomorrow. And then the day after that Sve's coming to drive us back to Lubeck."

Canada smiled. "Sounds good." It was a nice and warm feeling, being this close, making do with the strangest things and thus having what they needed no matter how they got it, not having to worry about what tomorrow might bring - but it only was really good because they knew that they could step out of this and go back to free TV, Internet, bananas and Spice Girls.

For the fuzzy and warm inside - Notes

[(Anonymous)]

Stupid character limit -.-
-----

Notes:
Ostalgie = Osten (East) + Nostalgie (nostalgia)

Standing in line forever, Stores being out of things, making everything out of everything, very low unemployment, not being allowed to go to the beach at night, illegal imports that you could only buy with West German Mark, certain things being and not being available... The GDR had good and bad aspects, and with how Aufbau Ost failed, the number of people who want it back is on the rise.

Vietnam, Korea. Guess where the Asians that worked in the GDR came from? The Koreans were all ordered back to their country when the relationship worsened (even if they had family in the GDR which was illegal anyway, contact between them and the natives wasn't wanted), but many Vietnamese stayed and are still in Germany, their children's grades are the best of all groups of immigrants.

For Him (1)

[(Anonymous)]

~Hey, Anon felt like taking originalfill!Anon's request up. Here's the post-dinner happy-feel good sex you wanted. Nothing like having Spring Break to get your kinkmeme filling senses back on track. Plus, this is an excuse to show off my epic high-school level spanish speaking skills.

Oh, and the first fill is found HERE~ ---> http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=594552#t594552
---------------------------

Dinner had been quiet, but the silence was what Spain wanted. He was pretty sure Romano had wanted the quietness, too.

They had eaten slowly, picking gradually at their garden salads and Pasta alla Norma. Spain had sipped his Chianti, his warm eyes affectionate along with the curve of his lips. He had stared right at the younger male as the wine touched his lips and had elicited a small blush from him each time.

When the meal had come to a close, it surprised the older when Romano had risen from his chair, mumbling that he would take care of the dishes. It was a small gesture, yes, but something like that being volunteered by the Italian was a miracle all in itself. He had offered to help, but Romano adamantly refused his assistance. The table was cleared almost rhythmically, Antonio watching with fascination. Romano worked so efficiently, yet, it wasn't even that that caught the Spaniard's attention. His body moved fluidly, almost as if it was a dance.

It was a silly thought. Romano would never be caught dancing, and certainly not while he doing something as menial as cleaning up. But, that fact didn't make his movements any less beautiful in Spain's eyes.

The brunette had his back turned to the older male as he scrubbed the plates clean in the sink, small grunts bleeding through the sound of the warm rush of water. Spain had tried to satisfy himself with simply observing the younger wash, but it was a fruitless tryst. Romano had been cooking him dinner... Romano had been doing the laundry... Romano had been crying for him. It was too much to sit back and do nothing. He deserved some gratitude. As Spain silently stood from his chair, he decided the younger deserved it now.

His tan palm reached out and cupped the younger's shoulder. Spain could feel the warmth of his body radiate through his shirt and the firmness of the flesh beneath, and that alone kept his hand in place. Romano tensed up immediately, and turned his head with an annoyed huff. "I told you I don't need help! Sit your ass, dow-!"

For Him (2)

[(Anonymous)]

Smooth lips were pressed to the slightly agape pair, a nose bumping a nose and a kiss being given. The older nation pulled back as quickly as he swooped in, and was pleasantly rewarded with the awestruck look on Romano's face. The sponge he had been holding had even fallen to the tiled floor. He was so cute... he had to lean in and kiss him again. And again. And again...

He had not realized when Romano had started to return his pecks. All of a sudden lips were lingering longer and longer until the fine line between a peck and a liplock was crossed. Slightly smaller hands than his own, still damp from washing, crawled up the flesh of his neck and cupped both his cheeks. Romano was kissing with more feeling, his own eyes fluttered closed and his cheeks were faintly tinted with most mild shade of rose.

Those welcomed hands did not stay in one place for long: they slipped away from Spain's face and relocated to his chest. They pushed him against the counter, push, push, push until Spain caught on and moved up to sit on the marble surface, all the while keeping their mouths connected. A heavy breath puffed against Spain's mouth before Romano broke away. The breath still had the sweet fragrance of wine.

Romano leaned up, standing on the very tiptoes of his boots as his mouth started attacking the other's face. Kisses were peppered up and down his cheeks, along his forehead, chin, and nose. Fingers tangled in the cocoa locks, tugging and pulling the Spaniard's head along to move along with his gentle kisses.

Spain's voice was husky, letting murmurs of his own native tongue slip past his smiling lips. "Eres cariñoso y tan precioso. Romano, te amo. Te amo mucho. Ay dios mio, te amo tan mucho." His hands rubbed along the expanse of Romano's thin back, bringing him closer to his body, as close as he possibly could be as the lips he loved so much traveled down his neck and lavished the sensitive skin with a whole new array of kisses. "Romano... mi amor... voy a hacerte el amor."

At this, the Italian stopped his kisses and pressed his face into the Spaniard's neck. From how hot the flesh was, he was definitely blushing. "Chiudi il culo."

Spain grinned. "Mentí. Eres muy grosero."

Romano snarled, whispering, "...zitto..." on the older's lips before he pushed into him for a rough kiss. Spain didn't mind. Lips, teeth, and tongues moved in a heated frenzy as the kiss progress, deepening and becoming more intense as time passed. Romano was desperately trying to get closer, and the only way that was going to happen was by climbing onto the counter with that idiot, Spain. Deciding to try that out, he only managed to scramble a bit upwards before a crystal wine glass knocked off and smashed into a several glittering fragments on the floor.

"¡Uy!" A small playful laugh from Spain vibrated against Romano's lips, which in turn earned the other a bite to his lower lip and the separation of their mouths. No matter how tough the Italian acted, he knew he was fragile. For someone prone to embarrassment and emotion, he usually hid it very well with his attitude, but in times of passion, the wall he built around his heart would crumble just enough to see what was beyond. In his eyes, Spain could see he was upset and ashamed. Romano would never ask for any form of condolences, and they both knew it.

Cradling the younger's head to his collarbone, Spain rubbed his nose into his hair. "It's okay... don't worry about it. Quiero ir al cuarto de todos modos."

[(Anonymous)]

Origional: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=2049144

Anon is going to try this on her I phone. She apolgizes in advance for typos and spelling.

Tell Us Exactly How You Feel

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29174798#t29174798

My fill sucks big time, but the prompt was just too delicious. My fave 3! The second fic I have ever written. I have never done smut. OH GOD, OP, FORGIVE! Forgive and enjoy.

"You know what that -hic- bastard did to me? What -hic- he did to everyone? Jesus -hic- dude, you should've seen my people. They looked like a bunch of skeletons, sitting in the camps -hic-, and all that time, he was keeping me in his house, USING me, using my brothers and friends...."

"No, no," America slurred. "Say NO more. I comPLEtely underSTAND youuuu -hic-" He stopped for a moment to take a sharp swig of whiskey, finding it empty, and let it fall to the concrete floor of the bar, shattering. "Did you see that shatter? -hic- I'd like to shatter HIM. HIM, that guy who hurt me so much, who made me stockpile nukes just so I could believe I was better than he was."

"I wish there was a -hic- way to get back at him." Lithuania drank the last bit of his vodka. "I want to show him how much it hurts when he -hic- does things.... when he does those terrible things to people and tries to make -hic- MAKE THEM ONE with him.... I want him to know how it feels to be trapped, and helpless, with the things you want right in front of you -hic- and you can't touch them...."

"I know!" America shouted, and pounded his fists on the table. "I hate how he thinks it's so great, SO GREAT, to be some maniac, who just takes and takes. God.... remember what happened to Georgia? Remember all that stuff with Poland back in '39? He thinks he can have what he wants."

"Yes, of course! I hate him! Hate -hic- him! He makes me work for him STILL, even though it's been forever since we lived together. And he -hic- does such inappropriate things.... touches...." he shook his head with sorrow.

"You know what I want to do?" America intoned. "I want to get the things he wants most of all, and I want to hang them up in front of him, and I want them to be JUST out of his reach."

Somewhere in all this talk of hurt and revenge, Lithuania had the great idea. His plan was better than hate sex. It was better than the occurence of jealousy and the installation of pain and hopelessness. It was better than either of these things because it was BOTH of these things put together, and as soon as America heard the plan in hushed whispers from the brown-haired man, he smiled drunkenly and put his stamp of approval on it by proposing a toast.

Lithuania's plan was risky. It wasn't difficult, but it was extremely risky, and he couldn't afford to mess it up even a little bit, or the whole thing would be shot.

Suffering from a hangover because of the vodka consumed with America the previous night, he stood in the kitchen and prepared a light breakfast for himself and his housemates. His head hurt tremendously, and he almost considered calling the whole plan off because of the pain reverberating through his brain. But he couldn't do that. He had to carry it through. He had to show that bastard Russia that he WASN'T the king of the whole world, and he COULDN'T have everything he wanted.

Tell Us Exactly How You Feel (part 2)

[(Anonymous)]

As if on cue, the giant thumped down the stairs as Lithuania set out his breakfast on the table and plotted his imminent ruin. "Good morning, my little Lithuania!" he exclaimed, with that stupid damned smile of his. Lithuania wanted to shoot the teeth right out of that grin, but all in due time, he told himself, all in due time, that grin would die. It would be forcibly peeled off of his face before the day was through.

Lithuania wore no apron, but a crisp white shirt, half unbuttoned, and black slacks. He wanted to look nice. It was part of the plan. He had to bait the monster into the trap. He couldn't help but giggle deviously as he felt Russia's eyes on him, peering at the exposed skin beneath the dress shirt. Let the sick fuck stare, he thought, the more he wanted it, the better. "I can't help but notice," Russia began, "you look different today. You brushed your hair, and your choice of clothes is.... very nice." As he said this, he grazed his fingers gingerly along the other man's collarbone. Lithuania let him, and he even touched the hand a little bit, just to make the bastard feel more horny. What he didn't expect was Russia's hand on his neck, as the tall man bent down and attempted to steal a kiss. It was cut off, however, by Lithuania's next words.

"Russia." Lithuania said stoically. "Please eat. I am expecting a visitor in a little while."

"That's no problem, Lithuania." Russia said. "I will eat quickly, for I too have much to do today. May I ask who your visitor is?" He ran his hand down Lithuania's back, making him shiver and step quickly away.

"One of my friends. It's of no worry to you! Now eat, quickly, before the food gets cold."

A shine lit up Lithuania's eye as the mammoth sat down and took a bite of his meal. Then another, and soon enough, the entire meal was gone. Russia ate all of his food: all the potatoes, all the eggs, and all the sleeping pills Lithuania had hidden in them. He had used several pills in the food, for he dared not underestimate the force needed to bring down such a giant.

Indeed, it almost made him laugh with glee, but he kept it inside. The bastard didn't even know what he had just consumed. As he staggered back up the stairs, Lithuania watched him lose more and more energy with every step, until he finally wobbled into his bedroom and collapsed beside the bed.

As if on cue, the giant thumped down the stairs as Lithuania set out his breakfast on the table and plotted his imminent ruin. "Good morning, my little Lithuania!" he exclaimed, with that stupid damned smile of his. Lithuania wanted to shoot the teeth right out of that grin, but all in due time, he told himself, all in due time, that grin would die. It would be forcibly peeled off of his face before the day was through.

Lithuania wore no apron, but a crisp white shirt, half unbuttoned, and black slacks. He wanted to look nice. It was part of the plan. He had to bait the monster into the trap. He couldn't help but giggle deviously as he felt Russia's eyes on him, peering at the exposed skin beneath the dress shirt. Let the sick fuck stare, he thought, the more he wanted it, the better. "I can't help but notice," Russia began, "you look different today. You brushed your hair, and your choice of clothes is.... very nice." As he said this, he grazed his fingers gingerly along the other man's collarbone. Lithuania let him, and he even touched the hand a little bit, just to make the bastard feel more horny. What he didn't expect was Russia's hand on his neck, as the tall man bent down and attempted to steal a kiss. It was cut off, however, by Lithuania's next words.

"Russia." Lithuania said stoically. "Please eat. I am expecting a visitor in a little while."

"That's no problem, Lithuania." Russia said. "I will eat quickly, for I too have much to do today. May I ask who your visitor is?" He ran his hand down Lithuania's back, making him shiver and step quickly away.

"One of my friends. It's of no worry to you! Now eat, quickly, before the food gets cold."

Part 3: 5 Things Finland Has Learned About Sweden Since He Started Sleeping With Him

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: Sweden/Finland. Berwald is a much bigger perv than he lets on to be and Tino experiences it for the first time. Dirty talk please? http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=7183063

Probably only marginally what the OP had in mind, but I gave it my best shot (and I got the dirty talk in....sorta). Hope they like anyway.

-----------------
1. The Man Can Talk When He Wants To
Most people who have ever met Sweden assume that the man has very little, if anything at all, to say. Finland, who knows the larger nation almost better than he knows himself, would say that his Su-san only uses as many words as he really needs.

For example, he usually says right in Finland’s ear that he’s going to take his wife to their bed and stay there till neither of them can move, and only then does he scoop the smaller nation up in his arms and carry him through the house to their bedroom. He usually doesn’t say anything more until he’s deposited Finland on the bed and gotten their clothes off, and then he starts up a running commentary. He tells Finland things like I’m going to put my mouth all over your stomach or I’m going to leave a bite mark here where only I’ll know it’s there and then he does just that.

He used to ask questions, things like was he enjoying this and did he want more. Eventually they became less questions and more statements of wonder, and then finally statements of truth. Finland might be outraged by that smugness if he hadn’t already admitted to himself that Sweden deserved it.

2. He likes not having to be gentle.
The term wife, Finland has come to understand, is not Sweden’s way of saying my bitch, but rather his attempt at reconciling his Christianity with his feelings. He knows for a fact that Finland isn’t docile or fragile, and prefers it that way.

Su-san is one of the kindest souls Finland has ever met. He is still, however, a Viking nation, who no longer craves battle for its own sake but is completely capable of rising to a challenge if the need is there. And he loves the knowledge that his small built lover can tough it out with the best of them, even himself if it ever came to that. He gets off on the idea that while handling Finland like something fragile can be a pleasurable option for them both, so is pinning Finland to the nearest surface and leaving bite marks all over his body while taking him hard and fast.

Finland isn’t sure, but he thinks there may also be a part of Sweden’s psyche that appreciates that he’s getting what he wants because Finland chooses to give it to him, not because he can’t fight back.

5 Things Finland Has Learned About Sweden Since He Started Sleeping With Him, part 2

[(Anonymous)]

3. Hockey is a serious matter.
Canada isn’t the only country who takes the sport of hockey seriously. Finland and Sweden never miss a game during the season, jerseys on and yelling at the tv at the top of their lungs (once the novelty of watching Sweden actually yell has worn off Sealand tends to find other places to be when games are on to get away from the crazy). Normally it’s also a love they can share, rooting for the same teams in both the Finish and Swedish leagues.

Of course, the Sweden vs. Finland games are a completely different matter.

To keep things civil in their household, they have instituted a sort of friendly game of their own. Each timeout imposed on their team gains the other a hand job, each goal is worth a blowjob, and the winner gets their pick of sexual favor.

He is surprised to discover that Sweden is partial to lap dances.


4. He loves the sound of the Finish language.
Finland, out of necessity, has become quite good with languages. He knows Swedish,because that was what Sweden wanted him to speak once upon a time. He’s also fluent in Russian, because that was the only way to stay one step ahead of doom during those years he lived with Ivan.

And then there is Finish, the beautiful language that was one of the first things that was all his.

Su-san had requested of him, when they were getting back on even keel after Finland won his independence from Russia, that he teach him his language. As Sweden’s grasp had started to improve, Finland had taken to speaking it around the house so Sweden could get more practice. It seemed not to be working though, because often he would look to Sweden for a reply and the man would just blink at him for a moment before asking him to repeat what he just said. He had begun to worry he was speaking too fast, because Sweden seemed perfectly capable when he was speaking the language on his own, when one day he had turned around for a reply and found himself trapped between the counter and the larger nation. Sweden had taken his face between those wonderfully large hands, apologized for not being able to pay attention, and lowered his head for a kiss that stole Finland’s breath away.

Eventually he had pulled back and insisted into Finland’s hair that he really was trying. Finland had pushed himself up on the counter so they could be at the same height and drew Sweden close again.

(Much much later, as they lay tangled in the sheets of Sweden’s bed, the larger nation had asked him to repeat what he’d missed earlier because he really did want to learn, and he had not been able to keep from laughing because that was such a Sweden thing to say.)

Part 4: Finland/Estonia Estonia in a Dress

[(Anonymous)]

Original request:http:// hetalia-kink. livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10924482#t10924482

A.N: This is this Anon's first fill ever. Please be gentle. Hope you enjoy and if OP!Anon is out there still I hope you enjoy it! ^_^

* * *

This was wrong.

So very, very, wrong.

At first the visit to his friend, Estonia's house had been merely for him to visit and for the two to catch up. However the moment the other brought alcohol into the mix the visit proceeded to go downhill very quickly.

"Hey, Eddy, why do you have a dress in your closet?" Finland asked pulling the garment out. It was a light blue gown with numerous bows, lace trims, and frills. Finland looked over at his friend who had finished taking another shot.

"It's Poland's," Estonia explained, slightly slurring his words and his cheeks pink from drink. "He and Lithuania stayed over about a week ago and he left it here by accident. Said something about coming by later to pick it up."

Finland nodded and stared at Estonia, then at the dress, then back at Estonia, the wheels in his head turning, thinking… the brown-eyed blonde then turned to the other stating.

"I dare you to try it on."

The room was quiet for around three seconds before Estonia busted out laughing.

"W-what?" he choked out through his laughter, "You want me to put on a dress? Not just any dress, but one of Poland's dresses?"

Finland frowned slightly watching the spectacled boy continuing to giggle.

"So is that a 'no'?" The blonde asked pouting at his friend.

"Tino, why would I wanna wear"- Estonia stopped midsentence as he saw the look that Finland gave him. The Nordic nation was pouting and his brown eyes were huge and pleading, the whole look screaming 'please?'.

The Baltic sighed before muttering, "All right, all right go out in the hallway and let me change."

"Yay!" Finland cheered and handed the dress to his friend before turning around and leaving him to change.

- - -

"Hey, Eduard are you done changing yet?" Tino asked sitting outside the other blonde's bedroom door. It had been fifteen minutes since he started waiting for Estonia to come out to let him see him in the blue dress and Finland was wondering was taking him so long.

"I- I'm not coming out!" he could hear Eduard call through the door sounding completely embarrassed. Tino stood up and called back,

"Aw, come on. It can't be that bad, please open up and let me see."

There was a pause before Tino heard the doorknob turn and stepped back making way for the door to open up. He had to force himself not to let his jaw go slack and hang open.

Which brought him back to their present situation.

And how wrong the whole thing was.

Eduard stood in the doorway, his face a bright red and he looked like he was going to die from embarrassment. The dress fit perfectly, but looked so wrong on his friend, maybe it was the number of bows, or perhaps there was too much lace… or it might be the fact that Estonia was never meant to wear a dress…

That last option might be it….

"Finland, remind me to never, and I mean never let you talk me into doing anything like this again," Estonia said while shifting the heavy cloth of the dress. "God, how the heck does Poland manage to move in this thing?"

Finland was still staring at his friend, wondering on what to say. The blonde then cocked his head to the side and stated,

"You know, if you just grew your hair out a bit more then you could probably pull it off."

Moral of the story, never mix friends, alcohol and cross-dressing.

Re: Part 4: Finland/Estonia Estonia in a Dress

[(Anonymous)]

I could've sworn I've read this before.... Is this also on ff.net? 'Cause if not, I might be going crazy. XD

Anyway, I love how it was Poland's dress ^__^ Probably the only reason why Estonia would have a dress in his closet in the first place...

*snicker* Eesti can't deny Finland anything. *snicker*

That's When You Know, GerIta (1a/4 or so)

[(Anonymous)]

Anon is on a crazy GerIta-filling spree. It’s weird, the need for this pairing hit me completely out of the blue like a ton of bricks just a few days ago and now I can’t stop wanting more. Anyway, this is a rather old request so I hope OP is lurking around here somewhere ^^;

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when he started feeling that way about Italy, but if Germany had to take a guess, he would say it had started that day about seven months ago. The day itself hadn’t been anything special, besides the fact that it was the first time that the two of them had ever spent time together purely for social reasons. True, they had had lunch and drinks and sweets together many times, but it was always after work or between meetings.

Today was different though. Germany had awoken on his day off with the sun shining brightly in his face through the crack in the curtains. Sniffling and rubbing his eyes groggily, he went to the window and looked outside. The sight of the beautiful autumn day beyond the glass filled him with contentment and he opened the window to let in the breeze. Sunlight streamed through the brilliant red and yellow-leafed trees, casting ethereal colored patterns on the ground below. He could see children playing in the park nearby, their laughter ringing through the crisp fall air. Germany closed his eyes, letting the gentle breeze ruffle his hair, thinking it was the perfect day to take his dogs out for a walk. He’d just have a shower and be off.

It was while he was in the shower, of course, that Italy decided to drop in on him. This was by no means the first time this had happened, so while Germany was shocked by the sudden interruption, he wasn’t shocked that his friend had the audacity to do such a thing. He finished washing the last of the shampoo from his hair before turning on Italy with a scowl.

“Italy!” he barked. “What have I told you about bursting in on me while I’m in the shower?!”

“But Germany!” Italy babbled excitedly. “Have you seen how nice it is outside? It’s warm and sunny and all the leaves have changed color and it’s really pretty! I brought some food from my house! Let’s go have a picnic!”

Germany briefly considered that proposal. Admittedly, it did sound pretty appealing. Regardless of the amount of trouble Italy usually ended up causing him, he did have an innocent, earnest sort of charm about him and Germany did enjoy his company sometimes. Spending the day outside with a friend in such nice weather would be a good way to unwind after a stressful week. Then he remembered that he was still naked and put on his stern face once more.

“Before we do anything, get out of here and let me finish my shower!” he ordered. “Don’t ask me questions when I’m naked!”

Germany threw his towel at Italy’s face, chasing him out of the bathroom.

That's When You Know, GerIta (1b/4 or so)

[(Anonymous)]

…And that was how Germany found himself in a quiet part of the park near his house, sitting on a blanket next to Italy, watching the smaller man pull an impressive array of dishes from the basket he had brought. The blond looked on in amazement and even anticipation as Italy laid the food out in front of them. He wasn’t especially good at giving compliments so he wasn’t sure if Italy was aware of it, but he had always really enjoyed the Italian’s cooking. The rich, mouthwatering scents of basil, tomatoes and garlic crashed over him and made his stomach growl loudly. Italy looked over at him with a grin.

“Hee hee! Are you hungry, Germany?” he giggled.

Germany cleared his throat, his face coloring slightly as he put a hand over his noisy stomach in a weak attempt to quiet it. “Sorry about that.”

Italy waved his friend’s apology aside cheerfully. “I’m glad! I made this food with lots of love so I could share it with Germany! I would be sad if you weren’t even hungry!”

Germany stared at the little Italian in wonder. He hadn’t really noticed it until this very moment, but Italy really seemed to be in his element right now. Chattering happily about the different foods he had brought for Germany to taste, explaining which wines complimented them the best, expressing his feelings so freely and fearlessly… It almost made him forget Italy’s usual uselessness.

Germany’s awareness of the situation deepened as he took in his friend’s appearance in addition to his actions. Now that he thought of it, he had never really looked at Italy before. Of course he could give a physical description of him if needed but he had never truly looked at him. The dappled early afternoon sunlight peered through the trees and caught his silky chestnut hair, giving it a pleasant luster, that one stubborn curl fluttering in the wind. His lively chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with vitality as they fixed on the plate of food he was preparing for Germany, and at this proximity, he could see delicate shades of amber in them as well. Italy’s round cheeks were touched with a healthy hint of pink, and his lips were full and soft-looking. It had never occurred to him before, but Italy was really quite beautiful.

Italy looked up from the plate he had just finished preparing for his friend with a sunny smile. “I think you’re really going to like the manicotti today!” he chirped. “I made the noodles from scratch and bought the cheese fresh from the farm this morning!”

“It smells good,” Germany admitted, willing his stomach not to growl again.

Italy took a fork in his slim fingers and expertly scooped up a bit of the manicotti before holding it up to Germany’s mouth. The sight of Italy’s eager eyes and soft smile as he offered to spoon feed him caused a curious, unfamiliar tugging sensation in Germany’s chest. What was this feeling? Germany could honestly say he had never experienced it before. It made his heart race and his cheeks feel warm. The blond accepted Italy’s assistance uncertainly. His eyes widened in shock as the taste of the manicotti spread across his tongue in a burst of expertly blended bold and subtle flavors. The mild creamy cheese perfectly complimented the rich, earthy essence of the tomato sauce. In short, it was perfection. Italy had really out done himself this time.

“What do you think, Germany?” the smaller man asked hopefully. “Do you like it?”

Germany swallowed, almost reluctant to let that heavenly flavor leave his mouth. “It’s delicious. I’ve had manicotti before, but never like this.”

Italy hummed joyfully, his cheeks pinked with pleasure at his friend’s compliment. “Wah, I’m so happy! I worked really hard to make it just right for Germany so I was pretty nervous just now! Oh, and wait until you’ve tried this wine! It’s just perfect for manicotti!”

Germany felt that strange sensation in his chest again when their fingers brushed as Italy passed him a glass of wine. What a curious feeling. Surely it wasn’t normal for a person’s face to feel hot and their heart to suddenly speed up for no apparent reason. Perhaps he would have to stop by the doctor’s office sometime this week. He made a mental note of it as Italy finished filling his own plate and scooted over to sit closer to Germany.

[Part 9] Detective spain

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29115918

Anon asks for:

- Spain as a detective
- Prussia as his assistant who insists to help out instead of finishing his studies (he should study something cool)
- France as their rich friend with connections
- mafia!Romano. Make him dangerous.
- Veneziano as a spy. If he's good at it is up to anon.

What the case/cases are is up to anon, but I'd like some romance in it. :) And human names, of course.

Bonus: Greece as Spain's neighbor who keeps on loosing his cats and asking Spain to find them.
Bonus2: England as a policeman. Prussia's favourite policeman, too.
Bonus3: There's a case with China and his lost panda bear, which actually has something important in it.
Bonus4: anon likes Romano/Spain... but it's not necessary at all.

Please? :D

Drop Dead, Gorgeous

[(Anonymous)]

Found this Req in my bookmarks and couldn't resist. Hope OP doesn't mind the genderbends and not-quite-request-following fill

It was a muggy July afternoon. The window of my office was open to allow the mostly nonexistent breeze in. A news paper at the corner of my vision proclaimed “Murder of eight captured by police in Illinois” Out front I could hear Maria, my assistant/partner/sometimes lover, typing away at...well I'm never really sure what it is she's typing....
Business had been slow the past few months and, from the way the morning had gone, I didn't think it was going to be improving anytime soon. I'd propped my feet up on my desk, a big oak number, and was in the middle of my siesta when the door the door was flung open.
“Detective Carriedo, I presume?” The tall Asian woman strode in, taking the seat across from me.
“Si, Pri-” She waved her hand dismissively, cutting me off.
“Lets not beat around the bush-da ze. I need you to find something for me-the sooner the better” She reached into the long sleeves of the outfit she was wearing and pulled out a folder. Setting it out on the desks surface she opened it and pulled out several photographs. The first of which was slid across the wood towards me.
“This is what you're looking for”
I couldn't help but laugh when I glanced down at the picture. It was a panda bear, a stuffed one like you'd find in any toy store. Somehow, the woman didn't seem nearly as amused as I was.
“It belongs to my brother, it contains something very important: the less you know about it the better” another picture was placed in front of me as she continued .
“This is the person that has it-Ivan Braginski” A head shot of a husky blonde man in a scarf. 'Wait, what?'
I was about to ask why she wanted me to find something if she already knew where it was when the last of the pictures found its way into my line of vision. This time a picture of an effeminate Chinese man with what I guessed was the bear in question.
“That is my brother Yao, da ze. It is imperative that neither of them know what you're doing” The folder disappeared back into her sleeve and she used the desk to push herself up. “I'm afraid I can't stay longer.” She reached into the sash at her waist and handed me a card and a wad of cash. “If you need to contact me you have my number there. This should cover your expenses for now. It'll be doubled once you complete your task. Good day Detective.”
The dark haired woman was gone as quickly as she come.

I sat and stared at the card she'd given me-my half asleep mind trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. Don't know how long I did that before Maria appeared in the doorway. Arms crossed.
“Well, are you gonna get started any time soon?” I blinked at her.
Red eyes rolled as she took over the previously occupied chair. “See, this is why I'm the awesome one in this partnership”
The small piece of cardboard suddenly appeared in her hands.
“Seems our client is one Im Jung-Hye :Lawyer. And-” there was an impressed whistle. I raised an eyebrow. The albino held up the newly folded bills. “There's $25,000 here.” I gave her a disbelieving look and held out my hand. The money was dutifully dropped into it and I re-counted. There were exactly 25 thousand-dollar bills.
“Wow, they must really want that bear” I commented
“Damn Straight.” Maria agreed. “The question is why...”

Notes
-Maria=Fem!Prussia-anon doesn't like the name Gilberta
-Jung-Hye=Fem! Korea
-Richard Speck: was a mass murderer who killed eight student nurses from South Chicago Community Hospital in Chicago on July 14, 1966. He was arrested three days later.
-Bills with high denominations, $1,000, $10,000 etc weren't taken out of circulation until 1969

Little Bloody Red Riding Hood [1/2]

[(Anonymous)]

Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32070725#t32070725

This is the kind of crap that spawns from my brain when I am hungry. /excuse I'll fix any fail when I de-anon maybe ;_;

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a grumpy, anti-social boy whose name was Arthur Kirkland. Now, Arthur was famous for three things.

Firstly, his eyebrows which were somewhat larger than average with no resemblance to caterpillars whatsoever. People quickly learned to not mention them.

Secondly, his nasty temper which showed especially when quarrelling with his grandfather. Their fights sometimes got so vicious that it had a tendency to accidently demolish the area in which they were bickering or, you know, the entire town. After this happened one too many times, the citizens of the town voted to have them both banished to the nearby woods. They made sure to live on the opposite sides to make sure that their contact was minimal.

And last, but not least, the bright red cloak which he always wore. Of course, no one dared to ask but rumour was that he dyed his cloak with the blood of his victims, hence his name Little Bloody Red Riding Hood.

Despite them being blood relatives, young Arthur Kirkland refused to acknowledge having any French roots and would gladly slaughter any who would suggest otherwise. In fact, his kill count was already at - Editor's note: You are going off on a tangent, stick to the bloody story or you'll be next - some number I forgot exactly but is definitely in the acceptable range.

It was that time of the week, where he was to pay an obligatory visit to his beloved French grandfather for their obligatory snark and fistfight session. Through much statistical and psychological analysis, it was discovered that at a frequency of once per week, these visit would help regulate their irritation and hatred for one another.

Muttering obscenities which are too vulgar to be recorded, he stomped down the familiar path towards the fucking frog's house, unaware that a pair of bright blue eyes was staring at him lustily.

Now I know what you're all thinking: OMFG FrUK INCEST?!11!!! <333

But no, that would incorrect, for those eyes belonged to one Alfred F. Jones. Alfred was a wolf who had been sent by his pack on an epic quest and as a hero, he couldn't turn that down! He had come to this neck of the woods, looking for the ever elusive atmosphere. What he found, was something much, much better.

Tail wagging in anticipation, he composed himself before jumping out of the bushes and right in Arthur's path. "S'up, man. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" said Alfred suavely.

Arthur balked at the sudden appearance of the stranger (wolf-man-thing?) and immediately felt the blood rush to his head. Good lord, that unkempt appearance! That accent! It was just so...so, "...'s'up'? What kind of word is 's'up'? Do you have any respect for the English language at all you damnable yank?!"

Well, that sort of reaction was entirely unexpected. Alfred held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, take a chill pill eyebrows." He raked his eyes over Arthur's form, greedily taking in what he could. Damn, he looked so much better up close. Well, once you got past the eyebrows. It was a shame that cloak was in the way. He didn't really think red was his colour.

Now Arthur, having lived alongside Francis for too many years, was not oblivious to this attention. He blushed in indignation before the final word sunk into his brain.

As you know, Arthur was just a little bit sensitive about the appearance of his eyebrows. After polite introductions, Arthur proceeded to attempt to beat the shit out of the wolf. Exactly what happened next is censored because I am trying to keep this documentary PG but uh, Alfred got just away thanks to his negotiation skills.

Alfred dodged the next blow and before Arthur really landed a blow, hastily spat out, "I know this really awesome patch of daisies." Because you gave people flowers when you were courting them right?

That gave Arthur pause. Francis was allergic to daisies and it had been ages since he had managed to find one that hadn't been destroyed. He sheathed his sword, "Go on."

---

Little Bloody Red Riding Hood [2/2]

[(Anonymous)]

Was going to leave the fail alone but hngghh imperfection...

So, Arthur went on his merry way to have happy flower-picking times while Alfred went off to eat Francis since there was a rumour circulating in his pack that French people tasted like beef.

---

Scene: Francis' house. Bedroom devoid of Francis. Alfred on the bed unconvincingly disguised as Francis; signs of obesity observed.

Diagnosis: Insanity from neglect of the English language(?). Specimen should be detained for further observation.

"What the fuck are you doing here Jones?" Arthur deadpanned from his place in the doorway, basket of daisies in hand. He had made sure to scatter the pollen all over the house.

The wolf, blinked innocently from his place on the bed. "Mez amee, who ez this fucking awesome Jones you speak of? Jee maple Francis," said Alfred with an extremely phony French accent.

From the inside of Alfred's stomach, Francis' remains wept at the butchering of his beautiful language. Arthur laughed at his pain.

"Cut the crap Jones, where's the frog?" Arthur sighed irritably as he eyed the other. Frowning slightly, he commented, "You gained quite a bit of weight since we last saw each other, oh about an hour ago. Glutton."

Ignoring the last comment, Alfred sighed. A shame his fail-proof plan had, uh, failed. Well, he wasn't one for subtleties anyway. In the blink of an eye, he had Arthur pinned down on the bed, cloak ripped off, as he loomed over him. Arthur simply stared back at him unimpressed.

The very French nightdress he was wearing could possibly have taken away some of his intimidation.

Nonetheless, he persevered. As he practically eye-raped his prey, he noted in a delighted voice, "You're so fucking hot up close." He was further delighted to find that it caused quite an adorable blush to appear on the man's face as he seemed to struggle to find words to express himself.

Leaning down, he brushed his lips against the side of Arthur's neck, causing the man to stiffen underneath him. He licked at his pulse point slowly, relishing in the other's taste, pleased as he felt the other shiver.

"I see," Arthur murmured. Alfred paused in his ministrations to glance questioningly at Arthur.

And then faster than a blink of an eye, Alfred suddenly found himself with his on his back, with his hands tied to the head of the bed.

Alfred could only gape. "How the hell did you manage to do that?!" he demanded, unsuccessful in his attempts to free his hands. They were only ordinary (looking) ropes! He should have easily been able to rip free of them.

"Magic," Arthur reply drily. Alfred could've sworn he heard the sound of several girls giggling somewhere (and he knew that there was no one else in the area oh god what if they were g-g-ghosts) but at the moment, he was much too distracted by the slowly stripping Arthur, perched on his chest.

He felt his mouth dry up at the show and had to forcefully swallow. Arthur sent him a wicked little smirk that went immediately to his cock. Leaning forward, Arthur brought his lips close to Alfred's own. So close, yet not close enough. He strained to bring them into contact but the goddamn tease refused to yield. "I'll show you," Arthur breathed out across his lips, "What it means to try and top me." At the last word, Arthur forcefully grinded his hips down to Alfred's own, eliciting a moan.

This wasn't how it was supposed to play out. Alfred was half-terrified, half-turned on as he waited for what was to happen next. He wasn't disappointed.

And so, the rabbit caught the wolf.

[FrUK] Entente [1a/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Original request is here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=31141445#t31141445

Basically, it comes down to this: The Louvre and British Museums have been pillaged. France and England team up (however reluctantly) to catch the thief, and end up looking very badass and involving a lot of people and getting caught in gunfights (eventually, anyway). This anon has twisted up the request a bit, though—hope you don't mind, OP—and set this during the Belle Époque, at the beginning of the 20th century; the official reason is that guns and car chases looked a lot more awkward and awesome back then and the unnoficial one is that Holmes and Lupin both get to be thrown in.

Set in 1904, just because.

Hope you'll find this, OP!

*
There was a little River Thames fairy on the otherside of the windowpane. She flitted up and down and chittered softly, both minuscule palms pressed on the glass, smiling sweetly at Arthur with dark, low-hooded eyes. Those were the smiles that had always so terrified and fascinated him all at once when he was a young boy; over a millennium, and they still pinched at his heart. Arthur found himself smiling back.

“Hullo,” said the dressing-gown’d man he had been deep in conversation with only moments earlier; “Kirkland, you’re straying off again.”

“So sorry,” Arthur muttered. “You were saying?”

Holmes munched down on the mouth of his pipe for a second and considered him sententiously; Arthur reflected he must look rather haggard. “I was saying,” Holmes said slowly, “that I do not see why you would have rushed here to call on for breakfast, without taking a coach and with,” he gestured with his pipe-holding hand towards a three-legged stand next to the table, “a stack of newspapers, if it were not to ask my advice on such a delicate matter.”

“How do you know I did not take a — never mind.” Arthur had stood, and, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, and then taking one out again to pick one of the newspapers from the pile, finally exploded: “Well, what do you think of this matter, Holmes? I take it you’ve read this morning’s edition, by the way,” he added, momentarily sidetracked.

Holmes was busy buttering a crumpet. He looked up, nodded, and then reached out for the jam. “Marmalade?”

“Please,” Arthur said distractedly, as he sat back down and scanned the headlines for about the tenth time that morning. They read, NEW DISAPPEARANCE AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM and lower, in smaller type, THIS TIME A PAINTING WALKED AWAY, GUARDS SAW NOTHING, and WHAT NEXT? Followed a lengthy article on the stolen masterpieces, and the obviously poor safety system at the British Museum, as well as a rather blurred photograph of a brown-painted wall with a clearer, empty square.

“This is maddening,” Arthur murmured, accepting a cup of tea and absently pouring cream in it. “Five items gone — five — and nothing to be done, no trail to speak of, not even one suspect. ‘The police admitted to not having the slightest clue to—‘ Oh, ah ah. Very funny,” he told the newspaper.

Holmes struck a match, and entreprised the rather difficult task of re-lighting his pipe.

“Well, don’t just sit there!” Arthur exclaimed, apparently forgetting that he had comfortably crossed his legs and had a cup of tea in his left hand. “If this goes on soon there won’t even be a British Museum anymore!”

“I am aware—“ puff “—that the several thefts—“ puff “—that have occurred within the last year—“ puffpuff “—have distressed you a great deal, my dear man.” A thin trail of blue smoke sifted up from the newly-lit pipe, and Holmes leant back comfortably, sipping his tea. “I am also well-aware that our brave constables are sadly no farther afield in their investigations than they were ten months ago.”

“Helpful,” Arthur said dryly.

“However, I am astounded that not one of them has attempted to change tactics.”

Arthur frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Holmes reached out for the newspaper. Arthur passed it over bemusedly, settled back with his tea, and then started as the rag was thrust back under his nose, one long finger tapping at a small, thin column.

[FrUK] Entente [1b/?]

[(Anonymous)]

It was barely three hundred words long and briefly related the theft of a valuable Renoir painting in the Louvre museum, Paris, France. Arthur read it with raised eyebrows. “Well? What about this?”

Holmes managed to look meaningful while swallowing a mouthful of crumpet, which was somewhat of a feat.

“… what — no. Surely not,” Arthur muttered, and read the column again. “This sort of thing happens every day, Holmes.”

“Hardly so. In fact, I have been observing the thefts at the Louvre museum — this is the sixth — for just as long as those at the British museum; I have gathered quite the remarkable collection of clippings,” Holmes said, looking modest. “Both types of robberies are remarkably similar in execution. And the Parisian police is about as much at a loss as Scotland Yard.”

‘That’s because they’re all a bunch of incapable nincompoops,’ Arthur almost said, but managed to check himself — by the look on the other man’s face, anyway, he might as well have said it outright. “So your argument is,” he said slowly, “that it is the same people who stole that Renoir who also robbed the Museum, is that it?” He mulled it over for a few seconds. “What’s the point?”

“We have little way to know,” Holmes said amusedly. “Still, it might be a way to narrow down the tracks. By comparing the French and English files—“

“—we could find some common ground to work on,” Arthur completed, and felt the implications of this sink in like a sledgehammer. Wonderful. He would have to contact the frog, of all people, maybe even go to Paris—

But not now. Right now, he would sit with an old friend and have his tea in peace. This was clearly the very right, very English and proper way of dealing with it all.

*

Still, though, he thought later, as he returned home for lunch, it was not only the best way out of the knot of issue he found himself in right now, but also the only way out. And it was true that it might give some, ah, very productive — positive! positive! results. If it didn’t — well, if it didn’t, he could always come back home and forget all about it.

He was halfway to Dover before he realized it, thought better of it, and turned around. Someplace around Chatham he stopped again and sat himself down for tea, with a newspaper and a plate of scones, and tried very hard not to think about blue-eyed blonde Frenchmen for all of a minute and a half. It backfired spectacularly.

It backfired all the more spectacularly that a blue-eyed blonde Frenchman with an extremely fashionable travelling cloak and a suitcase passed him by only two yards away, paused, looked back, and then blinked at him in the most puzzled manner.

Arthur hastily restored his attention to his evening paper, but as he heard the whoomph of a body settling itself down on the opposite seat and the grin in the other man’s voice, he knew he was doomed.

Bonnefoy set his hat down on the scones (which, in England, is most commonly known as adding insult to injury. Or possibly injury to insult).

“Arthur, mon cher, vous ici!”

“That should be my line,” Arthur muttered without looking up, “You’re on my soil.”

All I Wanted (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Origional: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11411.html?thread=22623379#t22623379

Anon is feeling inspired, and so her other fill will just have to wait. :)
-------------
They were never together. Germany is thankful for this, because if that wonderfully forgiving but not invulnerable man had given himself to the man Germany used to be they would have been twisted in ways they couldn't fix. After that they were both hurt, but Germany more so. His mind was lost to the pain, the pain of separation and a body that trembled when he moved and the tremendous weight of guilt. He would sleep for days, fall down stairs and break down crying. And although he discovered that he ached for companionship the most in that era, he was eternally grateful Italy didn't see him like that.

They didn't loose contact, no, but they weren't as close as before. They would talk to each other occasionally, over the phone or after meetings. They were kind to each other, but there was a hole in their friendship from the way it ended. Italy seemed shy somehow, and though Germany had long ago forgiven him he could never tell if it was something Italy wanted to hear. So their paths diverged a little, followed directions that neither of them were sure of. And then Italy and Seychelles started dating.

Everyone said they were cute together, and Germany, despite protesting otherwise, could see it. She was lithe and a little shy, he was sweet and calm with her. They smiled and laughed and kissed in public, at ease with each other. Germany could never tell why, but just seeing them holding hands was enough to make him want to leave the room. He couldn't explain the urge to his satisfaction and so made up excuses everyone looked at him sideways for.

It wasn't untill Italy asked him about it that the enormous knot of emotions he had been hiding away rose to the surface. He suddenly found himself unable to speak, filled to the brim with regret and jelousy and above all.... something he couldn't describe but was huge, something that pulled at his heart like nothing else he'd ever felt. Italy stared up at him with those big brown eyes untill he ran from the room with some muttered excuse. He ran to his car, locked the door, and unbuttoned his shirt so he could draw a few greedy breaths. He stayed like that, head between his knees untill his heart stopped racing and his hands stopped shaking. It was then that he realized what that insurmountable thing was: heartbreak.

He was in love with Italy.

NOT OP: All I Wanted (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

According to OP request, this fanfiction had huge potential in turning in good fic, and you did good job for first chapter, Italy partner choice is cute(not that I ship them) but it's quite oposite from Germany which would made him even more jealous and sad. Still this is beginning lots of stuff needs to happen and I hope for cute Happy-GerIta-Ending here~ but in the middle angst is good. Still happy ending is happy ending!!! Still I am not OP and I have nothing to say in this. :X

Oh yeah, for other people to know about this fic and future updates, send update here, of course read the rules:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/7233.html?page=1#comments
I hope you will update next chapter soon ;)

Hoodoo [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Original: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21500368#t21500368

First off, I am sorry OP that it took me this long to fill it. Secondly, this isn't exactly what the OP requested but I hope this is more than satisfactory. As for the title of this fill, it's based on a song by Muse
------

Sometimes, he hated being America

Sometimes, he just wanted to be Alfred F. Jones, a nineteen year old boy who enjoyed playing football and being generally obnoxious.

Sometimes, he hated America

And sometimes, he hated himself for being America

Sometimes, he just wanted to run away from it all, his responsibilities, his problems, his government, his people, his everything

Sometimes, he crossed the border illegally.

Sometimes, he went missing for days.

And sometimes, Canada found him.

--

“Shouldn’t you be in Washington right now?”

“Shouldn’t you be in….whatever the hell the capital of your country is?”

Silence settled between the two as Canada considered America’s question.

“…Do you really not know what my capital is?”

And America would simply huff, abruptly standing up and wiping the imaginary dust from his pants.

“I’m an American pretending to be Canadian, why would I know what your capital is?”

With a shrug, Canada shook his head.

“I just sort of figured you would know it…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Isn’t it Ottawa?”

And Canada couldn’t help but smile at that.

--

Sometimes, Canada wondered why he even bothered to try and understand his brother.

Sometimes, Canada understood that his brother needed to be alone.

Sometimes, Canada couldn’t even give him that much.

And sometimes, Canada wondered why Alfred had started this stupid war if he didn’t want to go in the first place.

Sometimes, Canada could feel those American boys who ran to his country for shelter.

Sometimes, Canada could feel Alfred among them.

Sometimes, Canada wondered if a government could put their own countries name in the draft.

And sometimes, Canada would pretend that he didn’t know that Alfred wasn’t the hero he believed he was.

Hoodoo [2/2]

[(Anonymous)]

--

“I’m leaving.”

“Vacation?”

“War. For morale, they say.”

“You’re doing that badly?”

“…why don’t I want to go into this war?”

“I’m surprised they didn’t send you off earlier…”

“All the others I was more than willing.”

“Are you going as America?”

“All the others I felt right.”

“Or are you going as Alfred?”

“…I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

And Canada could do nothing but smile sadly.

--

Sometimes, America would wake up in the middle of the night and listen to the sound of gun shots, of bombs dropping, of women and children screaming.

Sometimes, he would wake up to the smell of the jungle, the taste of sweat and blood on his tongue.

Sometimes, he would swear that he had been watching himself die.

And sometimes, he would wake up crying.

Sometimes, he would curse the government and his president, sick of seeing his boys dying useless deaths.

Sometimes, he would praise them, all promises of pulling out soon.

Sometimes, he would be silent as he stared at Canada.

And sometimes, he would cry.

Mostly though, Alfred would return to America, to Washington, to the army, to a country familiar but never before seen.

Mostly, he would listen to the sounds of men dying, bombs dropping, guns firing, and the land breathing around him.

Mostly, in the dead of night, he would remember his citizens who escaped to Canada.

But more than anything, he would wonder when he had become such a coward.