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$cientology vs. France: France Wins

[(Anonymous)]

As requested here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22341072#t22341072

A short piece about the Co$. Make no mistakes, I am seriously biased against it. Read at your own risk.

Scientology, Meet Your Match: France [1/1]

[(Anonymous)]

In 2000, France listed Scientology as a cult and said so at a summit about religious freedom the next year. Scientology had never forgiven him for that.

Really, it wasn't that great of a surprise. As much as Scientology had made friends with other nations, his best friend was America, who extolled the virtues of religious freedom as vocally as Scientology condemned people and countries for being religious bigots. He sometimes spent time with Sweden, but only when Finland was somewhere else, and he enjoyed the occasional game of cricket or rugby with Australia and New Zealand. Recently he'd even started visiting Spain in the winter.

Once, Vatican took Scientology aside and started telling Scientology that while he was welcome to say whatever he wanted, taking excessive amounts of money from practitioners for auditing should be ceased. “Love of money nearly killed me, especially when Protestant Christianity was born.” Scientology had called Vatican an old man worshipping a false God and pushed him away. None of the religious representations had allowed that to go without comment, even Orthodox Christianity.

“Hey, I'm your friend, right? I respect all of you, I simply go about things in my own way,” he said in self-defence. That worked for some, but as Scientology's aggressive behaviour towards the others grew worse and he acted less and less respectful to the older religions they all began to shun him.

The nations found out eventually, of course, that Scientology had been lying about his great respect for the others. Prussia especially seemed determined to spread the word of Scientology's poor behaviour and conduct with the other religions and his own people. Perhaps it was because he'd spent so much time on the internet recently. Still, they kept response to a minimum. Religion was a messy business, and not one they wanted to toy with. Not even America and Canada finding Scientology going through their sensitive documents could not convince more than Canada that Scientology was a menace.

Then France sued Scientology for fraud and won. That drew a few surprised gasps and more than a few happy shouts from the other religions, who had been watching the affair from their seats in the court room. Sure, Vatican dominated France's time, and his laws occasionally made working with him difficult, but the others hadn't been shunned or treated badly by the romantic nation. And none of them particularly liked the young upstart religion.

When France announced he'd won the lawsuit at the next World Meeting, there was mixed reactions. Russia, England, Norway, Belgium, and even Switzerland seemed visibly pleased by the news. Canada was smirking in his seat. Spain and Portugal, still dazzled by their new friend, seemed shocked. America seemed downright distressed that his former role-model would try and sue Scientology.

Scientology was there, of course. How could he not be? When the reactions died down many turned to see what he would have to say in response. So Scientology walked right up to France and said, "France is pretty much in the Dark Ages on the subject of religious tolerance... I'll prevail as we have repeatedly in situations approximating this one." At which point France punched Scientology's face.

The reaction to that was even more vocal, and as Scientology stumbled away, trying to save face, some nations ran towards their new hero and started congratulating him, Prussia loudest of all.

However, Canada took his papa aside for a moment. “I don't think this is going to be much of a hit to him. From what I've been hearing, Scientology has almost a billion, maybe more, stored away.” France's grin, previously wide and bright, faded a little as he saw Scientology glowering at him from the doors to the meeting room.

Spain & England - Mending Relations

[(Anonymous)]

Spain and England working towards mending their relations. They could already been in a relationship, or just beginning. Something domestic, or generally hanging out with each other without the animosity.

Bonus: England initiates the first step.

Working out the Kinks (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

The world literally stops when England stands from his seat and walks to Spain. America stops babbling to France to stare. Germany pauses mid-yell and Northern Italy eyes actually open in shock. The meeting room is silent, save for a couple of furious whispers from Southern Italy, who cowers behind Spain’s back.

“Spain.”

Spain blinks in confusion before he smiles, “Yes, England?”

There is a slight digital chirp that follows a tense silence; Hungary had turned on her camera.

“I…I would like you to,” England pauses and blushes as he glares at all the other countries who stare at them. His green eyes clearly tell them to ‘piss off’.

They, of course, do not. They’re sure the drama about to happen will be well worth the drunken punk that will undoubtedly turn up at their houses.

“I would like you to accompany me to dinner. J-just to go over some points with you over… that.” England is shifting nervously, looking like an awkward teenager in a too big pinstripe suit and not the confident Nation that dares argue constantly with America.

Spain smiles wider and opens his mouth to respond, but South Italy beats him to it, “He accepts. Just go away.”

England’s gaze drifts down to Spain’s shoulder, glaring at South Italy. The grumpy Italian yelps and pushes Spain forward to shield him. Spain smiles, “Okay.”

England pales and his jaw drops open as he stares disbelievingly at Spain. For a few seconds he does a really good imitation of a fish, his mouth opening and closing so often, and Spain doesn’t have the slightly clue why.

“I was planning on cooking something myself, so would you like to come to my room?” Spain asks and blinks his green eyes as England turns a darker shade of red. No puede ser bueno para su salud cambiar de color tan seguido, Spain thinks and is about to ask if England is okay, when England answers. Suddenly, Spain notices, England looks happy. Not ‘HAHAHA! I just sunk your bloody Armada bastard!’ or ‘I’m going to pound your face from here to kingdom come France for even looking my direction’ but the kind of happy of someone who just got granted their greatest wish.

“Y-yo-you. I-I, that’s. Very well, I shall be there then,” England says as he finally gains control over his stutter and quickly runs out of the meeting room.

The second the door slams shut the room instantly erupts.

“OH MY GAWD! Liet! Did you like see that? Bushy brows just totally asked Mr. Oblivious out on a DATE!”

“Poland…”

“Spain! Let me borrow your room key! Japan and I have to go in for a while!”

“Germany, Germany! Big brother Spain and England are going to have a nice romantic dinner. We should too! I brought extra pasta, so I can cook!”

“Ah, Espagne I am jealous.”

“Did you hear that Mattie! England’s trying to get into Spain’s pan—”

“AL!”

“Irmão, you’d best give my cute little husband the best dinner ever,”

Portugal grinned as he slung his arm over Spain’s shoulders, and pulling him closer. “If you try to poison him in the name of your Armada, I’ll never forgive you.”

“That’s mean, hermano. We’re just going to eat dinner.”

Portugal started and looked at Spain, clearly re-evaluating his thoughts on how stupid his brother really was.

“Like hell. I hope you two go at it like the kinky fucking rabbits you are,” Prussia cackled as he appeared out of nowhere and draped himself over Spain.

“Don’t be so crude, Prussia,” A soft voice nation interrupts and walks in front of Spain, holding out a briefcase, “England forgot this, so since you’re going to see him later, could you please give it to him?”

Prussia tenses for a split second before leering, “Like you’re one to talk, Canada. Last time we wen—”

“GILBERT!” Canada hisses as his face turns scarlet. Much like England’s had, Spain notes in amusement. Still smiling, Spain takes the briefcase and promises to return it to England later that afternoon.

Got Peeps? (1/1)

[(Anonymous)]

"America!"

The younger Nation turned his head, baby chick in mouth, when Prussia called to him. Germany had made the mistake of allowing America into his house--some bullshit private conference about energy if Prussia remembered right, and somehow America had gotten the idea that everything was edible. It wasn't. And so Prussia shook him like a bottle of beer about to be given to Austria. What an idiot.

"What are you doing to Frederick?!"

"Hrmm?" Came America's reply, before he spit out the bird who notified Prussia of his safety with a cheerful chirp. "Eating him. Wasn't he one of those marshmallow peeps?"

"What?"

Prussia had tasted Peeps but once, during a visit to New York West had dragged him to. They tasted like sugar gone toxic, pure and distilled.

"He's not- he isn't- do you have any idea what that could do to the awesome him? Dear god, America, didn't you fucking see the sign that I taped on the door to my room? West should've told you not to mess with my stuff!"

Granted, that was the cellar door, but Prussia wasn't about to complain about his living conditions just yet. Because no one, and Prussia was sure that there were no exceptions, ruffled Frederick's feathers. Not even in the literal sense.

"I swear," he raised his voice and pointed at the tiny bird, hands shaking, "If I find one feather out of place on Frederick's body, America, your ass is mine. I'll do anything. I'll sneak into your house at night and set fire to that stupid jacket of yours if I have to."

At this, America was just a little bit scared. But like hell was he going to admit it! Heroes never showed fear.

"Wait."

"What?"

"The sign on the door? The one that said 'Prussia' on it in big capital letters?"

"You're damn right it was that sign!"

"...with the exclamation poi-"

"YES!"

Prussia looked about ready to kill him.

"Oh-OH!" America's face lit up like a child who'd found a candy house.

"Y'see, I thought that maybe somehow Germany was having Russia stay here, because they were both commies and Prussia sounds like a fake Russia anyway, but then I didn't see him anywhere. Maybe this makes a bit more sense, I dunno..."

"You don't remember me?"

Prussia was appalled.

"Me? You? America? Revolutionary buddies? Von Steuben? I was the guy who made your army totally bitchin' like mine? America, I just-"

Prussia's face became newly acquainted with his palm.

Then he turned to find the only person capable of driving America out of their house.

"WEST!"

Re: Got Peeps? (1/1)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh wow. Poor Prussia. And Frederick. I'm surprised Prussia didn't try to drop-kick America for his lack of respect to his elders!

[Part 6] Russia/America -- Arranged Marriage/Russia the Hero Fantasy AU

[(Anonymous)]

This is based on two prompts from Part 6.

This Arranged Marriage One: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17052450#t17052450

And this Russia the Hero with a preference towards Fantasy AUs: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=14989602#t14989602

I've also added a tidbit from one of my own requests in an earlier part that I'm not going to link to because it hasn't been filled and it seems unseemly to do so. Because it's a mix of two prompts it doesn't really follow either of them exactly to the letter I sincerely hope this doesn't offend either OP the idea spurned up and I couldn't ignore it...

This has the potential to be an incredibly Epic and Crazy and too long for its own good kind of story I'm having a lot of fun planning it out and have made copious notes about how everyone is connected (even those that probably won't even appear in the story), the different types of magic and even drew out a rather horrifying map. If there's any interest I'll probably copy up the less spoilery ones and add them to the thread.

This takes place in a world not too far removed from our own and I've kept a lot of the terms and names similar to our own mostly because I was too lazy to sit there and think up new ones but mostly because it felt better to stem it in some bits of reality. The layout of the land (ie where the countries are) are somewhat similar but mostly not.

Anyway enough babble...hope whoever reads this enjoys!

At Word's End -- Part 1a

[(Anonymous)]

His Royal Highness Prince Alfred of the Kingdom of Britannia stormed through the hallways of the palace like the hounds of hell itself were on his heel and wore a dark scowl to match. Members of the palace's staff and the Court alike scattered at his approach and in his wake quickly gathered together in their respective groups to chatter and gossip excitedly amongst themselves about not only the Prince's obviously foul mood but his very presence as well.

For the King's second son had not been seen in the palace since he'd snuck out of it five years earlier on his eighteenth birthday after a particularly nasty fight with his father. Nothing more had been said about him outside the King's most inner circle and even there it was almost as if he had vanished completely from the very surface of the world.

Now he was back and heading in the direction of the private family chambers his face as dark and intense as it could manage being that he had blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked at no one, stopped for no one that almost approached him and made no deviations from his chosen path. Clearly he was a man on a mission, this only made the chatter in his wake grow louder and more excited.

Alfred paid no attention to the gossips behind him. He was indeed a man on a mission. A mission to find his father and kill him, well maybe not kill him since he valued his own life quite a bit and didn't fancy that the guards would be pleased with him if he tried it, but he did feel like introducing his father to his fist. That would be satisfying enough even though it would probably end with him being locked up in the dungeons and then exiled to Australia. That was okay he'd rather liked Australia and his father would well understand the message he'd been given. He didn't bother heading towards his father's personal chambers and instead turned towards his father's study. His father had always been constantly working when he'd been growing up he doubted that had changed very much over the past five years.

"Alfred," a familiar voice called out as he stormed into the outer chamber of his father's study past the guards that still recognized him and let him pass when he'd glared death at them. "It's true you have returned to us!"

Alfred turned his head and wasn't surprised to see the blonde man sitting at the desk near the large windows that overlooked the palace's large Rose gardens. Francis, his father's partner in all ways, the man who by all rights should have been running his own land but had instead to join his own with the King's though in doing so he had given up any real official power he might have had, though those that knew the relationship knew how much power Francis still truly held. Francis had been at the King's side when he had first found the twins and had helped raise them as their own. He was a brilliant man, sharp tongued and mischievous an excellent cook and always quick with a naughty retort when he thought he could get away with it.

Alfred watched the man rise from the desk with the same fluid, easy movement he had always possessed with a slight frown on his face. He had missed Francis a lot while he'd been gone. He wanted to do nothing more then throw his arms around the other man and rain all sorts of questions down on him, beg for some long missed cooking and ask for any new dirty jokes he'd created in his absence but he could not allow himself to be distracted. He knew that was what Francis had in mind as he had known his arrival would not be a surprise. His father had guards patrolling the entire borders of Britannia he would have been informed the minute Alfred had crossed them. While no patrols had stopped him and sent him packing Alfred knew his father well enough to know the fact that no one had approached him at all had meant something just as cold. No official party to escort him back to the palace was his father's way of showing him that he did not care about his return.

USUK, dogs?

[(Anonymous)]

Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=15689250#t15689250

Anon wants a crack fic where either Alfred or Arthur is turned into a puppy and the other has to take care of him! I'm thinking Artie would be a terrier or some sort, and Alfred would be a golden retriver... Up to you! Anon is easily satisfied!

BONUS: if Arthur is a Yorkshire terrier!!

A/N: this is my first time reading fanfiction, so please bear with me! Also, this may not be exactly what the requester meant, but I hope it's okay... ^-^;

This was not going to end well. This was not going to end well at all. Miss Sparkly Rainbow Bottoms could feel the oncoming disaster in her little pink hooves, but England paid no attention to her warnings and continued brewing the mysterious potion. He wouldn’t even stop after the concoction began to boil and turned a sickly green color- he just kept throwing ingredients into the cauldron, cackling madly from time to time.

If she didn’t know any better, Miss Bottoms would think that England was insane.

She nudged the nation softly, urging him to stop before something dangerous happened, but he simply dismissed her worries; he was a professional spell caster after all. Once he began mumbling something about ungrateful children and French rapist that should be locked up for eternity, Miss Bottoms hid herself behind the drapes and gave up on trying to dissuade the stubborn bloke.

She loved England – she really did- but sometimes he was an idiot. When dealing with magic, you should listen to the magical creatures. Shockingly, these creatures tended to know a thing or too about spells and potions; and this particular unicorn knew that this was going to take a turn for the worst—

BOOM.

Miss Bottoms winced as smoke filled the room. Some fairies opened the windows to air the room out. After everything was clear and it was safe to breath again, Miss Bottoms went to go make sure England was okay (and tell him ‘I told you so’). She paused as she heard the fairies giggling. That was not good- fairies typically only giggle at misfortune. And there was barking – which was also not good. Where did the dog come from? Cautiously, Miss Bottoms ventured over to where the fairies were gathered and oh dear Queen of England.

A dog.

England was a dog.

England was a bloody dog.

She stared at the tiny Yorkie; she couldn’t help herself. Eyebrows like those did NOT belong on a tiny dog. Or any dog. Or any other living being. And with his golden fur in complete disarray, he looked like a giant caterpillar. This couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Re: USUK, dogs? Part 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Unless of course America decided to come visit. And, like everything else the rebel nation did, he had to shout his entrance to the entire house.

“ENGLAND! I WANT TO SHOW YOU THIS AWESOME NEW BURGER I MADE!”

Everyone in the potion room held their breaths as the intruder came closer and closer to them. All of them prayed to God and several demigods that America would not notice the room, think England was gone, and leave. But America never did what people wanted him to do, did he?

“England? Are you here? Where are you –oh look! A room” If she had a hand, Miss Bottoms would have face palmed, but unfortunately, she had to settle for a simple eye twitch. The door to the potion room creaked open and a blonde head poke inside.

“Heeellllllooooooo? Anyone here? Wow, this room is horrible; Iggy really needs to find a better interior designer.” He entered the room and looked around briefly before tinkering with things on the shelf. It seemed as if their prayers were answered; America didn’t notice them—

“OMG IT’S A PUPPY!”

Or not. Miss Bottoms was so distracted by appealing to the Powers that be that she failed to notice America looking in their direction. Poor England tried to escape, but he was not used to paws and fell on his face. America quickly ran over and scooped him up.

“AWWWWH! You look like England! You even have his eyebrows! You poor thing...” The Yorkie nation growled and nipped at the taller (now really taller) nation, but America just laughed.

“ You even have his attitude! That’s it; I’m taking you with me! England was a horrible father and you need lots of open fields and hamburgers to grow big and strong!” England whined and sent a pleading look towards Miss Bottoms and the fairies, but there was nothing any of the could do; America was already out the door, gushing over his new ‘pet’.

“I’m going to name you McDonalds!”

May the Gods have mercy over England’s soul.

50 Things The U.S. States Are Not Allowed to To Do (As Written By Their Father)

[(Anonymous)]

1. Nantucket is not a toy.
2. Secession is not allowed.
3. - Threatening to secede also counts.
4. Threats to start another Civil War are not allowed. Please, I don’t think my body can take it.
5. Do not tease Wyoming by pretending he doesn’t exist.
6. -Remember, he’s still holding a number of our geysers and grizzly bears hostage. (WY: (cries) US: TEXAS!)
7. Hawaii is not allowed to taunt Texas about being the only other State that was once its own country. Especially since it’s not true (that was your predecessor/mother).
8. Texas is not allowed to taunt Mexico.
9. If Cuba enters Florida’s eyesight for even a second, he is to inform me immediately.
10. Just because Russia invaded Georgia the Nation does not mean that Georgia the State should let her guard down.
11. Massachusetts is not allowed to demand his siblings legalize gay marriage.
12. Massachusetts is not allowed to demand I force his siblings to legalize gay marriage.
13. Missouri is not allowed to pelt my current boss with eggs when he visits. She is also to remove that picture of President Eisenhower from her dart board.
14. Russia does not have candy with him and it is wrong to tell Alaska and Hawaii he does.
15. If Russia offers them candy, it is the older States’ responsibility to grab them and find me immediately.
16. The same applies to Denmark.
17. And Prussia.
18. And Spain.
19. And France.
20. ESPECIALLY France.
21. Hurricane Katrina happened four years ago. Louisiana is advised to move on, already.
22. California is not allowed to take Alaska and Hawaii to San Francisco. Or Berkley.
23. New Jersey jokes are not funny.
24. Nevada is not permitted to take her siblings to the area outside of Las Vegas.
25. If Kansas insults her siblings for not being as well-known as her, that does not give them the right to say “Welcome to Kansas: Enjoy our miles and miles of NOTHING!”.
26. -The Westboro Baptist Church is also an off-limits topic.
27. Teasing Florida about elections is not allowed.
28. Potatoes are not to be brought up around Idaho.
29. Nor is Mormonism around Utah.
30. You are not allowed to call your siblings that have stricter gun laws “pussies”.
31. Even if it’s true. (US: TEXAS!)
32. Pestering Puerto Rico to hurry up and join the Union is not permitted.
33. You are not to be alone with any Nation without at least one other Nation present. Unless the two Nations are any of those mentioned in 15-19. In that case, you are to remove yourself from the area immediately.
34. If you feel that a Nation is making a pass at you or one of your siblings, you are to find me immediately. If they’re making said pass in front of me, well… They deserve what I’ll do to them.
35. Male States are not permitted to speak to Hungary without me present.
36. Female States are not allowed to speak to Hungary without me present either, but for different reasons.
37. No, I will not cosplay for Japan, and I intend to have a talk with him for asking you to ask me.
38. The original 13 colonies are not allowed to mock England. I do that enough on my own.
39. Florida is no longer allowed to speak to Australia.
40. States are not encouraged to approach Nations who make up a significant portion of their immigrant population and try to emulate them.
41. -Illinois is particularly discouraged from emulating Poland.
42. You are not to approach Nations who make up a large portion of your immigration population and claim to be a love child they had with me. For a number of reasons.
43. You are not to approach Nations, period.
44. -ESPECIALLY not if said Nations are those mentioned in 15-19.
45. States are not to approach Sealand.
46. Nations are not allowed to approach States with impure intentions, lest I be forced to remind them of why I am the world superpower.
47. States bordering Canada are not to enter Canada without permission. States bordering Mexico are not to allow her to enter without permission.
48. States are not allowed to run amuck during World Conference meetings.
49. States are not allowed at World Conference meetings, period.
50. -Not even on “Take Your Daughter To Work Day”

Notes

[(Anonymous)]

13. Whoever wins the Presidential election in Missouri usually wins the election as a whole. The exceptions are Dwight Eisenhower and Obama. Missouri-tan holds grudges.
22. San Francisco is known for its gay pride parades, which can (and have been known to) get a little... inappropriate for children. Berkley is known for its controversy regarding its Town Council referring to its U.S. Marines recruiting station as "unwelcome intruders".
23. For some reason, New Jersey is often made fun of, especially by New Yorkers, it seems.
24. Prostitution is legal in the area outside of Las Vegas.
27. The 2000 election is NOT the first time there's been some election trouble in Florida. Go look up Rutherford B. Hayes on Wikipedia.
42. I read somewhere that Chicago has a high Polish population
47. We've had a lot of illegal alien trouble in the past few decades. Most of them are coming from Mexico.

[part 6] France/Picardy - "that" kind of picture

[(Anonymous)]

Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=15515682#t15515682

France showing Picardy what he meant by "that" kind of picture.



“Ok, go for it!”

“What?!” Picardy felt the top of his head where his boss had set the cat ears, and to his horror, he found that they were impossible to remove. “H-how do you take them off?!”

“You must wear them until you complete your mission, of course,” France said, smiling a perfect imitation of a Cheshire’s grin.

“Exactly what sort of weird mission is this?” Picardy grumbled, still tugging at the ears fretfully.

“Ah, do you need a demonstration of what I mean by that kind of picture?” France’s grin grew even wider, and Picardy would later regret his answer.

“I-I guess so.”

“Do you have your camera with you?” France asked, pointing at the bag on the living room table.

“Oui.” Pulling the digital camera out of his knapsack, Picardy turned it on and adjusted the settings before handing it to France. “Here, it should be ready to go, boss.”

“Excellent. Now, come here, Picardy. I can not show you what I mean if you are standing all the way over there.”

Picardy rounded the table and stood a little distance in front of the nation, who shook his head and gestured with an elegantly manicured hand. “A little closer, s’il te plait. Don’t be shy, I will not hurt you. We are connected at the heart, remember?”

Rolling his eyes, Picardy scooted a little closer, wondering, belatedly, what sort of photos France took last April Fool’s that had made everyone’s dreams come true. Before he could register what was going on, France had pushed Picardy’s shirt up, baring his stomach and chest, and quickly snapped a picture of his naked torso.

“Aah! What was that for?!!” he screamed, yanking his shirt back down.

“That is the type of photograph I need you to take,” France replied calmly, checking the preview screen with an appraising look. “A little blurry, I will have to do it again.”

“W-wait!” Picardy exclaimed, grabbing the nation’s wrist frantically in an effort to stop him from taking another picture. “Are you telling me that you were taking dirty photos for other people? And now that you’re sick, you want me to do th-that in your place?”

“Mmm, yes, you got it.” With surprising strength for someone who was groaning in agony not less than ten minutes ago, France pushed Picardy onto the couch, straddling his hips and yanking his shirt up again, taking two more photos while doing so. “Something like this is usually sufficient,” he said over the young man’s embarrassed objections, “but my adoring fans would really appreciate more.”

“More?” Picardy asked weakly.

In answer, France set the camera aside and began swiftly unbuttoning Picardy’s shirt, ignoring his efforts to dump him onto the floor. France simply laughed, settling his full weight onto Picardy’s abdomen and earning a gasp in return. “Excellent idea! A little struggle brings a flush to the cheeks and makes for a delightful picture. Remember that, mon chaton.” He took another photo and showed it to Picardy, just to make sure his lackey understood.

[part 6] France/Picardy - "that" kind of picture (2/2)

[(Anonymous)]

Picardy stared in undisguised horror at the miniature image of himself, shirt hanging off of his shoulders, a bright red flush coloring his cheeks.
“This is impossible, I can’t--- Hey, stop that!” Picardy protested, even as France started playfully stroking his bared stomach and thumbing at his nipples, the flash going off several times.

“Nothing is impossible! You are a clever and hard-working person, and I am sure you will find a way to do this for me.”

“B-but I don’t think… the subjects of the photographs will understand,” Picardy mumbled, feeling his face blaze up in mortification as France began to unfasten his pants.

“Probably not, but I think if you tell them this is for people in need, they might become more obliging.”

“Uh…” Picardy would disagree with that statement, but he could not really concentrate on forming the words with his boss palming him through his boxers with skillful fingers. He made one last half-hearted struggle while France stripped him completely, merrily taking photos throughout the entire process despite his earlier indisposition. Unfortunately, that only made him feel worse, (or rather better in certain places,) and Picardy had to cease his efforts before the pervert of a country got the wrong impression.

“Merci, for being a good sport, Picardy,” France purred softly as he leaned forward to nuzzle at the young man’s cat ears. “I have faith that you will do a fantastic job.”

“Is that so…” Picardy muttered, trying to cover his own vital regions with his hands.

Chuckling, France patted Picardy on his reddened cheek and whispered, “Now, would you like to know what to do for the bonus?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not.”



Sometime after Picardy had left to embark on his assignment, France finally decided to leave the comfort of his bed. Pulling on a silk robe, he ambled over to his office and inserted the stolen memory card into his laptop computer. To be completely honest, France would admit that he could never quite get the hang of technology, but he was willing to learn, especially when it came to preserving such high quality digital photographs and videos featuring his lackey in various compromising situations. Looking very much like the cat that got into the cream, France copied the files onto his computer, for later viewing whenever he got bored.

And what with him being so sick nowadays, France got bored quite easily.




[Derp, there's no title because I forgot. /fails]

[Part 6] Bad Friends + Romano : Bank Heist (continuation)

[(Anonymous)]

One for the Money parts 1-4: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=19031512#t19031512


A new part of One for the Money will be posted soon... Just going ahead and setting up a thread over here before Past Part Fills #1 is closed.

One for the Money (5a/?)

[(Anonymous)]

On the third day of confinement to the basement of an Italian restaurant, Gilbert decided to hold a meeting.

"We're supposed to be on vacation now," he stated, once Lovino was upstairs and he was sure that Francis would be able to prevent (bodily if necessary) Antonio from making a break to join the Italian in the kitchen. "And maybe it's just me, but staying here isn't much of one."

Antonio shook his head in disagreement, and then glanced at the stairs. "I kind of like it…"

"Of course you do," Francis countered with a sly, knowing smile. His hand had ended up on Antonio's thigh at some point, but the Spaniard hadn't seemed to notice. "You've hardly been apart from Lovino for days."

"The point is," Gilbert continued loudly, "that all we're doing is sitting around. We could have done that at home."

"And what do you propose, mon cher?" Francis posed. "We're hundred of miles away from home, with a bag full of money but no transportation unless we can persuade Lovino."

"Or Big Tony," Antonio added, as though the gangster would be willing to drive them anywhere (while they were still alive).

Francis continued without paying heed to the Antonio's interjection, "And Lovino seems to be in no hurry to leave."

Gilbert grinned. "Then that's where we'll start. I say it's time we buy a car."

--
Following Alfred had seemed like a good idea. A really good idea. A brilliant one, even; if he followed Alfred, it was surely inevitable that Arthur would find the answers to all his questions: about the temporary theft of his car, about where Alfred had been, about why Alfred had left. It was the why that bothered him the most.

And so it had seemed like a good idea up until his beloved Mini had coughed, choked, and stared spewing smoke.

This wasn't supposed to happen to him. He took care of his car. He wasn't supposed to be stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, with the bonnet of the Mini propped open as smoke issued forth from the engine.

Alfred was already long gone. One small stroke of bad luck, and now he'd lost the chance to get any of his answers.

Maybe he should just give up on chasing Alfred any longer. Maybe it was finally time to go home, and not to that dinky apartment he'd been renting.

Maybe it was time return to England…

--
"Alright, here's the plan," Gilbert said in hushed tones, crouched in the stairwell. "Antonio, you go into the kitchen to distract Lovino. If you see Big Tony anywhere, try to get him into the kitchen, too. Francis and I will sneak out the front while you distract them, and you can join us when we signal it's clear."

"What's the signal?" Antonio questioned.

"The signal's got to be something cool. Like a bird," Gilbert said. He paused, and then nodded. "Yeah, we'll go with that. Once we're outside, I'll caw."

"Do you think I'll be able to hear it from the kitchen?" Antonio asked.

Francis stifled a sigh. "Or we could simply leave," he pointed out.

Gilbert glanced back over his shoulder at Francis and grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"

Antonio was already in the doorway, peeking outside. "I don't see Big Tony anywhere," he announced. "I'm going in!"

Gilbert saluted him as he went.

--

Elastic people [42/?]

[(Anonymous)]

original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22133968#t22133968

previous parts 1-41: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=28546853#t28546853

BECAUSE I POST TOO MUCH. new thread ok, ok. i'm sorry!

--

And that’d been where Alfred had told him he’d pass.

Kiku sighed, tallied on a small notepad, how many more were Ludwig going to scare away? “It’s alright Mr. Alfred-”

Alfred cuts him off, “So what were you doing earlier?”

Kiku gapes at him, as if he’s asked a rude question and what he’d been doing previously had not been rude at all but rather the epitome of polite. Alfred gives him a flat look.

Sighs, does not explain.

“That guy back there, didn’t his brow remind you of some one?”

Kiku jumps on this topic, so long as it diverts his issue at hand, rummaging in his bag, bringing out a photo-“Ah yes. Are you by chance talking of the student council president here?”

They both look at the picture. Arthur looking rather surprised in it, candid photo as he takes his tea. Alfred nods in agreement. That’s the brow.

“You know him?”

“Yes, we get along rather well. His name is-”

“Arthur. Kirkland, right?”

Strategic hesitance, “You know him Mr. Alfred?”

Alfred laughs, rather loudly, the boy with the thick brow passing, looking in on them briefly, the girl from before not with him.

“Well, that’s the thing. I keep seeing him and thinking I know him from somewhere… but can’t quite put my finger on it you know! It’s hard to figure it out without staring, I don’t want him to think I’m weird or anything a stranger staring…” babbling, a look of concentration, he’d thought about this for a while.

Kiku nods, understanding entirely.

“If you want to get a good look at his face, why not get to know him?”

“I don’t know, it’s understandable that I know you through class, but there’s no way that guy would talk to me just because. He’s upper classmen! The only way he’d talk to me is if I’d gotten into some trouble or was doing something bad…”

A light bulb brightens somewhere; a student has just replaced one in the chemistry lab after all.

Kiku shakes his head, “There are better ways than-”

Fist to palm, too many ideas at once- “I’ll free the pet rat from the science room, no- I’ll wear my outdoor shoes inside- no, I’ll pass out fliers that lunch is free on Monday, I’ll eat on the top of the roof- I’ll paint the boy’s locker room hot pink, I’ll set fire to the vending machines, I’ll-”

Kiku, as if from nowhere, conjures a rice ball and puts it to Alfred’s mouth.

While he munches on it messily Kiku tells him- “Or you can join the student council.”

“Bwardon?”

Pardon?

Kiku nods, “They’re really low on staff, I’m sure Mr. Arthur would be happy if you joined him. Having someone so young on the council, is refreshing and encouraging to others (in my opinion), he’ll be sure to have no objections.”

Alfred swallows, “Mm, I don’t know I bumped into him before and the few other times we’ve made eye contact, he doesn’t seem to really like me…”

“So you’re already within his scope of interest, you’ll be fine. Give it a try.”

“I guess…”

Alfred looks at the picture Kiku is still holding, grinning.

“But for now, could you just give me this picture?”

Elastic people [43/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Knocking at his door, Alfred is curled up in his bed.

His room is a bit empty, a desk for schoolwork, computer. Clothes in the closet, a few dirty articles of it lying about, shoes in the middle of the floor, a tv, with a few dusty gaming consoles, too many games, a clock, no posters. Most books are piled (purely academic) though he likes to read a good novel now and then, all by his mounting schoolwork.

Winter break has been over for almost a week, creeping into two after this weekend and he still can’t bring himself to go.

He tells his mother it’s a cold, she relents.

“Alfred are you going to school tomorrow? Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” yes to everything.

“When you return are you going to join a club?”

“Why?”

How is it, this conversation was perfectly fine to be said through a door.

“I was just thinking, you’re always coming home late because of that student council, why not join a club, something fun? School shouldn’t be all work and no play.”

Alfred doesn’t answer, like he’s considering. Always thinking, he was always thinking now, looking back to every move Arthur had made. Every word he’d said every look-

“Alfred?”

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll join some kind of sport?”

He can almost hear her smile, “That’d suit you better don’t you think?”
In the morning, when he’s putting on his shoes about to go. Most of the schoolwork done, in a night. This sort of thing easy in comparison to what’s going on now, on this stage.

“Ma.”

She looks up, almost due, hand over her belly, the other a duster. Wants to just bid him good bye. Early to bed, early to rise. Alfred suddenly thinks she hasn’t always been like this, and it’s a thought that almost scares him. Who are you stranger? Alfred smiles.

Where this ended, where it began.

“You didn’t seem to like Arthur very much. You kept picking on him. Is that why you want me to leave the student council?”

“I already told you-”

“There can be more than one reason.”

And Alfred has thought of many, many reasons.

His mother regards him, expression cold (reminiscent of Arthur, looking so much like him or he her that Alfred is startled, this thought, to another and another) purses her lips, “You caught me. I don’t think he’s very pleasant. You didn’t see how he was after you left. I just think it’d be best if you stayed away from such negativity.”

Looks her in the eye, the still duster in her hand.

Throws the bag over his shoulder, brow wrinkled good natured- “I see. I’ll do what I can then. Bye!”

Walking, the snow is almost gone, melting. His hands shoved deep in his pockets he thinks. What Arthur has been doing…- a play does not have to merely consist of one actor.

Alfred would just have to outperform Arthur.

He goes to school.

--

Pauses before the doors to the student council room.

About to open it when frantic, Veronique flies out of the doors, barreling into him, “Excuse me!” she says rather loudly, looking up at him, “Oh, Alfred. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

But she’s obviously in a hurry.

We can talk later his face says, one look. She smiles gratefully, “Francis- Francis was helping the cooking club today again and-”

“You better hurry then,” Alfred starts to tell her but she looks at him funny, she’s said those words before. A brighter smile, nods. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back; he’s at the nurse’s right now!”

Runs off, skirt twirling high from how fast she whips around and dashes down the hall, shoes skidding across the glossy floor. Still clean from break.

Alfred walks in, still looking back after her, puts his book bag on the couch- that-

“I’m surprised,” Arthur says without looking up from his paperwork, a window the slightest of fractions. Open. The doors shut behind Alfred, finally, slowly. Alfred frowns, stoic as possible at Arthur who is scribbling away on some document or other. “I didn’t think you’d come back. I was sure you’d be quitting.”

“Is that what you want?” whoever says bark is worse than bite can be right, Arthur looks up sharply.

“Isn’t it obvious? So where is your paper of resignation – or would you rather present it to me orally?”

failed!bondage

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16102946#t16102946

I used the Germany/Italy pairing. Also, I used real names. Hope this goes well. First time writing either of these two.

Chains of Steel (or Love) 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Feliciano knew that Ludwig had some particular tastes in the bedroom that he didn’t want to share. He had been thrilled that the stoic blond had finally divulged a certain fantasy. He had, of course, insisted that they try it that night. Ludwig had protested, saying it was not important.

But, as usual, Feliciano won the argument.

Ludwig silently handed over the handcuffs for the Italian nation to study. The brunet tested the cold metal bracelets, unusually silent.

“If you’re nervous, we don’t have to do this.”

Feliciano looked up. Ludwig’s eyes were indecipherable and his voice neutral. Outwardly, he looked calm and collected. But Feliciano knew this would hurt him. if he didn’t show trust in Ludwig...

“Ve! I’m not scared.” He shot a brilliant smile to Ludwig. Truth be told, he was a little nervous. This was something new and scary. But if Ludwig wanted this, he would do it. Standing up, he stripped off his clothes. Once naked, he stood and waited for instruction.

Ludwig pushed him back onto the bed, eyes fiery. Feliciano gulped. They had decided on a word earlier that he would use in case things got too scary: pasta. The one word he was sure he would never forget. Ludwig grasped one wrist and snapped the metal bracelet over it. He threaded the chain through the metalworking on the headboard before encasing Feliciano’s other wrist. Reaching behind him, Ludwig gripped a black sash. Without hesitation, he tied it around the brunet’s eyes.

Feliciano was getting a little more nervous now. His sight as well as mobility was taken from him. Sex to him was all about the senses. Now he couldn’t touch or see Ludwig. What was going to happen now?

Leather-gloved hands slid along his sides, heightening his uneasiness. Fingers toyed with his nipples, pinching and stroking them to hardness. One pinch was a little too hard, prompting a pained whine. A dark chuckle echoed above his head. Feliciano froze for a moment. Why was Ludwig laughing at him? Didn’t he know that hurt?

Hiccup

[(Anonymous)]

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=15792418#t15792418 original request here.
WARNING. WORLDLINGO TRANSLATOR HAS BEEN USED. IF YOU SPEAK ANYTHING BESIDES ENGLISH AND SPANISH, PREPARE TO CRINGE. (sorry gaiz, I only know those two, and even then my Spanish is pretty shaky). ANYWAY.
---------
“Hola amigos!” Alfred chirped as he slipped into his seat at the world meeting. Spain smiled brightly at the sound of Spanish on Alfred’s lips.
“Hola, joven! Como estas?” Alfred grinned brightly and took a sip of coke.
“Muy bien! Pues, quizas no muy bien,” he paused, thinking to himself before shrugging.
“Oh?” Spain replied. “Por que no?”
“Porque yo tengo- hic!” he hiccupped, and rubbed his chest before continuing. “the hiccups.” Spain frowned.
“Lo siento sobre los hiccups, amigo. But what’s with the sudden switch to English?” he asked. America stared at him dully.
“I just said that I had the hiccups.” Spain nodded slowly, not seeing how the two were related.
“Okay, amigo. Feel better!” he said waving cheerily before turning to South Italy.

England slipped into the vacant seat next to Alfred and leaned over.
“What the bloody hell was that about? And did you remember those papers?” he asked. America turned to him.
“I don’t really know. He was just happy to hear me speak Spanish, I gue- hic! Et, oui, je me souviens.” He finished in French. England scowled.
“What are you on about?!” he scowled.
“Quoi?” Alfred asked. England scowled even further.
“Fine! If you’re going to be that way, I’ll leave!” He rose from his seat and crossed the room to sit next to Denmark, who greeted him with a beer smuggled int the conference room.

“Mais- hic! Watashi wa- hic! Didn’t do anything! What are you talking about?” Alfred whined. Kiku turned at the sound of Japanese, but dismissed it when he heard nothing further.
Soon all of the nations were assembled and Alfred stood.

“Okay everyone! It’s time to start th- hic! Weltweit Konferenz! Das Hauptproblem von heute ist Erderwarmung- hic! Y yo creo que nosotros debemos hacer un hombre que puede protejer el mundo del sol!” he finished his statement to dozens of puzzled looks.

“Um, America?” Italy finally asked.
“Si?” he replied. Italy paused and scratched his head awkwardly.
“Why are you speaking like that?” he asked.
“Como que?” America hiccupped once more and pressed a hand to his chest.
“In all those different languages.” Italy finished lamely.
“Eh? Oh- Oh! Je suis desole, L’Italie! J’ai pense- hic! Dat verklaarde ik. Ik heb hiccups.” He finished in Dutch.

Re: Hiccup

[(Anonymous)]

“And what does that have to do with anything?” South Italy asked.
“U zeit, ik heb geen officiele taal- hic! Pero tengo muchas idiomas en mi fronteras, y cuando tengo los hiccups, el idioma que you usa a hablar cambio con- hic! Za kazdym razem i hiccup.”
“Oh!! That makes sense!” Spain exclaimed.
“What did he say?” asked Japan.
“He said he has so many languages inside his borders, that every time he gets the hiccups, he switches languages! It’s kind of funny!” Spain laughed.
“That does make sense.” Switzerland commented absently.

“Faktycznie- hic! Это отчасти раздражающе, даже если это действительно имеет смысл.” America replied shortly. Russia chuckled at his words.
“You sound so cute speaking Russian! It is more cute than annoying as you claim it is.” He chirped, and Poland bristled.
“No way! He like, totally sounded better speaking Polish!” America hiccupped fiercely again.

“Does it really matter? And can some one please help me get rid of these! Hic! Je suis malade des langages intermédiaires constamment!” He exclaimed, and Francis chuckled at his oddly accented French.
“Have you tried all of the usual methods?” England asked, still put out by the French.
Alfred nodded.
“Oui! Hic! Nunca se funciona!” he sighed in exasperation.
Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm, whipped him around, and pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. After a long, and admittedly steamy moment, the Netherlands pulled back, ruffled America’s hair, and returned to his seat.
“I- you- wha…” America trailed off.

“I fixed your hiccups. And anytime you want more than a kiss, kid, just speak some more Dutch.” He grinned. America spluttered incoherently before slumping into his seat.
“…Jerk.” He mumbled under his breath.

The Netherlands only smiled.
-------
ifailplz. ORZ. anyway, had fun with this one, especially translating. I basically raped a couple languages up the arse. Sorry team. :/ But I hope you like it in spite of the horrific language fail.

The Devil in Me

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, so I can't find the original request of the first two parts of the fill that I did already, so I am just reposting it here but the original requests and fills were in part 5... I'm pretty sure. So yeah that said, on with the story.

Prologue

[(Anonymous)]

The Devil In Me {Prologue}

"Ah.. It hurts." muttered a small America clutching his chest. He lay in his bed, face flushed with heat, eyebrows furrowed in pain. England sat in a wooden chair next to the boys bed, moping the sweat from his younger brother's brow with a cool washcloth. His eyebrows matched the furrowing of the small boy in the bed, but his from worry. America had been feeling ill, and England had been doing his best as an older brother to care for him, but as much as he tried nothing he did seemed to help. The pain appeared to be getting worse, not better, and the evidence of that was an angry welt that seemed to grow bigger every day down the middle of America's chest.

Tears prickled the corners of the boy's eyes and England felt as though he would cry himself. He knew what the problem was. The problem was him. He and all of his people, pouring over this new continent, and how they were clashing. Clashing with the natives, those who had lived there so much longer, who had probably feed America and sheltered him before he even knew he existed. These people were killing each other, and while Arthur felt the pang of death, Alfred, as he had named the nation, felt the pain of a country at war with itself. That was a pain that hurt much more, that was no doubt tearing Alfred apart. And England, could do nothing but sit there and worry and blame.

Blame himself for helping to cause this pain, though he knew he would never leave. Leaving would be akin to giving up, and the British Empire never backed down. Perhaps some soup... he thought and began to stand. Reaching his full height he began to turn, but Alfred's hand shot out towards his and held it in a tight grip, stopping him from leaving.

"E-england, don't, don't leave me." said Alfred, inhaling quickly in between each word in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He looked at Arthur with his bright blue eyes, full of worry and hurt.

"I'm just going to make you some soup, I'll be right back." he assured the boy and felt America's grip loosen. "Try and get some rest." he finished, turning from his young charge. Allowing himself a small smile he left the room taking comfort in the fact that America didn't want him to leave his soil just as much as he did. I'll see you through this, he thought. You'll be all right.

Part 3 - FrUK, mpreg and shagging :D (2nd fill)

[(Anonymous)]

Request and first fill: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5330391#t5330391

Long Due [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

_{So, uh, this is mpreg-filler!Anon, who said she was on this like white on rice...months ago. Apologies! D: I also apologise in advance for any butchery of Francis, as I don't write him often, an any butchery of French, as well, as it is not my language. I love the FrUK love/hate relationship,though, and I love this prompt. :D}

-

The call from Arthur had been almost frightening, more a terse six-word statement before the phone clicked and went dead. Those six words specifically being “Come over yesterday, you frog bastard.” Aside from the command to come over (instead of the usual “stay on your side of the Channel and we won’t have any trouble”), there was nothing odd about the message itself. Arthur had called Francis a frog bastard more times than he could count, over their vast history together.

But the English Nation had said it with such cold reserve, that it was almost like a siren song to Francis. For all that they antagonized one another, that he had picked on the younger Nation before civilization had reached that isolated island (and even after, which was neither here nor there, really), their history was complicated. And while there had been many times when England and his army had joined a war for the express purpose of meeting France on the battlefield, they had couched in the same trenches as well, had – in more recent history – fought as allies. And even if the extent of their civil discourse was no more than a lack of outrageous name-calling, they had become inextricably linked over the years of their history. And if anything was wrong with Arthur, well, let it never be said that Francis was too far behind.

Though whether he would actually try to help or just laugh at the other Nation’s plight...well, that was an answer yet to be discovered.

When he arrived at Arthur’s house, the front door was open. Which was odd. He let himself in, knocking on the doorframe with two knuckles.

“Angleterre,” he called. “Mon ami, are you home?”

“In the parlor,” came the drawled reply. Francis’ expression brightened. So then his little Englishman wasn’t dead after all! He pranced into the parlor, and promptly pulled up short when he saw Arthur. His eyebrows launched themselves to his hairline, and his eyes widened.

“Mon Dieu,” he breathed. “You’re... You... mon Dieu!” Green eyes slit open and stared dispassionately at Francis from where Arthur’s head was tipped back over the armrest of the sofa.

“Disgusting, isn’t it,” he stated flatly. It wasn’t a question. Francis recovered quickly, as Arthur used the back of the sofa to haul himself up over the distended girth of his rounded stomach. The outline of a foot pressed against the taut flesh from within dispelled any doubt as to the nature of Arthur’s unique predicament.

“Non,” he said, moving over and helping his very heavily pregnant lover to stand. “You are pregnant, mon cher.” He tried to press a kiss to his lips, but Arthur scowled and turned his head so that the kiss landed on his cheek instead.

“Listen here,” he said. “As you can see, I’m uncomfortably pregnant. As you can probably infer, it’s yours. As of today, I am officially at forty-two weeks, which puts me an unbearable two weeks past my due date, and despite the fact that I am fully effaced and the baby thoroughly engaged, I haven’t gone into labor yet.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?” Francis asked, genuinely confused. This was something that was supposed to happen naturally, wasn’t it?

Apparently, he mused as Arthur grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and yanked him down so that he was glaring daggers down into Francis’ eyes, Arthur wasn’t satisfied with letting things happen naturally.

“I’m desperate,” he said, and his voice betrayed him by cracking just slightly. “There’s only one thing I haven’t tried to get it out, and that’s where you come in.”

Canada/Ukraine Bra fitting

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=14017034#t14017034

Ukraine finally decides to go for a bra fitting. Poland's unavailable to be the gay best friend in tow, so he sends Canada instead.


Canada's only about half gay.


Cute and steamy (and maybe right in the dressing room???) please~


Fill: http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/026/0/3/I_has_not_teh_gaiz____by_Greenelsewhere.jpg
(It's amazing what the right bra can do to the appearance of your breast size)

Re: Canada/Ukraine Bra fitting

[(Anonymous)]

fantastic work, artist!anon!! ukraine is gorgeous and poor mattie is ADORABLE <3<3<3 i love the way he's shuffling his feet...



reCaptcha: torment up. i'll say! XD

Lessons (Part 1, 1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

~ ~ ~

1749

"Matthieu?"

The colony looked up from his breakfast. "Yes, Francis?"

"You know that the political situation in Europe is.. unstable. Aix-la-Chappelle was a loss for us - for you - and I don't know if I can protect you anymore. The last war drained my resources, but I have to protect my people too, and-"

Matthieu cut him off with a smile. "And you need to go back to France. I understand."

Damn him for being so adorable. Francis shook his head. "No. In case Arthur decides to steal you away from me entire, I need to teach you how to survive in European politics. We've had over a millennia to make things difficult, and you'll need to stand on your own. It's not an easy task."

Matthew's brows furrowed, and Francis rejoiced that whatever else, Matthieu was still his charge, free of the Kirkland "family" curse. "I've learned your history, and England's. I've sat in on negotiations, watched laws being drawn up, have a government. What else is there?"

"Diplomacy isn't only about diplomats and functionaries, my sweet. It's deciding what you want, how you wish to attain it, and minimising the cost to yourself. Since nations and their governments work so closely, while your officials are discussing terms you must also be working with other nations. Convince a nation you are on their side, that you have something they want, and the world will be yours." His mouth quirked. "How do you think Austria rose to such prominence?"

"... Oh." He watched Matthieu work through the implications, nod. "I'll have to work more closely with the council, then."

"Yes. I doubt Arthur will allow it if you become his, but you will need the practice." He tucked a curl behind Matthieu's ear, cupped his cheek. "Ahorn."

"Hm?"

"If I go too fast, or do something between us - as Francis and Matthieu - that you want me to stop, say 'ahorn.'"

"And it does not apply to France and Canada?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"No, it does not." He kissed Matthieu's forehead, nuzzled him gently. "Are you ready for your first lesson?"

~ ~ ~

"There are three main ways of presenting yourself, Matthieu - as something innocent, something desirable, and something to be feared. Each has benefits, but presented poorly all will backfire."

"Like how Russia combines fear and innocence but just comes off creepy?"

"Yes. Arthur's combination of fear and desirability, on the other hand, works wonderfully with the rest of the world. For you, innocence." A finger traces the side of his face, the line of his jaw. "You are naturally sweet, and your experience would not be believed. In a few hundred years you may choose another persona, but you may find that you like being underestimated."

~ ~ ~

Lessons (Part 1, 2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

August 1814

Alfred shoved his brother against a brick wall. "Goddamn it Matt, what are you doing here?"

"Watching." Matthew smiled, his civilian clothes smeared with soot. "After you burned Newark and York I begged England to let me come down to see this. I'm so very glad I did."

"Newark was a mistake, they were supposed to get notice, and York got out of control. It was never supposed to be like this."

Oh, this was fun. "'A matter of marching.'"

"Huh?"

"That's what your Jefferson said about invading my lands. That you'd cross the border and we'd welcome you with open arms, before you bargained us back to the British to stop impressment of your sailors. And now this." He gestured at the city around them, the British soldiers running by. "Quite civilised, isn't it?"

"You're burning my CAPITAL, you asshole."

Matt let himself roll with the punch, grinned. "Yes, just like you burned York. But Arthur's troops are only burning government buildings, your people will be safe. They won't freeze to death in the snow because someone couldn't be arsed to follow his own orders."

"You got your revenge for Newark last spring. You smacked me out of Niagara. You burned Buffalo. You scalped my farmers. Now put these goddamn fires out."

"Scared, are we?"

"Heroes don't get scared!"

"Heroes don't invade their brothers, or expect their brothers to roll over and die."

"That's not what I-"

Matthew leaned in, lips soft against Al's ear. "You couldn't beat us in your revolution. You won't beat us now. Quit while you're ahead." Al shivered, and Matt pushed away from the wall, from his brother.

"Papist whore," he whispered.

Matthew grinned over his shoulder as he walked away. "Failure."

~ ~ ~

"Matthieu, yes, like that. And if you arch your back, your partner will have the most beautiful view. Yes. And surely by now you've realised the significance of this position?"

Hips rock together, apart, together. "More control for the person straddling?"

"Yes, and especially good for those who haven't been the receiving partner before."

"You know very well that this isn't my first-"

"Yes, I do. But those were about figuring out what you enjoy, while this is about education."

A breathy chuckle, and clench around Francis' cock. "Well then, what do you enjoy?"

~ ~ ~

1752

Alfred shifted where he was sprawled on the riverbank. "You've changed, Mattie."

"Whad'dya mean?" Matthew leaned back on the grass, his eyes never leaving his brother.

"Since the last Treaty, and Francis started coming to your house again. You've grown."

"My clothes all still fit."

"No, it's like-" He frowned, plucked some grass. "Your face, your back, you hold yourself different. What's he doing to you?"

"Teaching me. In case something happens and I have to go with Arthur completely, and what to do when I control myself."

"Independence." He layered the word with awe, and a bit of scorn.

"Not yet, not for a long time. It's just- Never mind."

"Just what?"

He sighed. "Some of it makes sense to learn, like history and politics, or etiquette. Some of it doesn't."

Alfred rolled over onto his brother, propped himself up on his elbows. "He's not hurting you, is he? I'll kick his ass for you."

"No, not hurting. He's.. yeah." He tilted his head. "Want me to show you?"

He nodded.

Matthew slid his fingers up Alfred's jaw, through his hair; cupped the back of his head while Matt leaned up and brushed his lips across his brother's. Al made a startled noise, pulled back.

"Arthur's going to kill him."

"Maybe. But if we were girls we'd be of marriageable age, so..."

"Huh." A pause, then Alfred dropped his mouth to his Matthew's, a little clumsy. "Show me," he murmured into the kiss.

~ ~ ~

"Matthieu?"

"Yes?"

The larger body spoons up behind him, arm wrapping around his stomach. "I need you to remember this: you need a safety valve. Don't try to be innocent all the time - laugh, cry, get angry. Don't let the mask become you."

Like you and Arthur, he thinks.

~ ~ ~

theme: kisses FrUK 16/?

[(Anonymous)]

Messy Kiss

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

Arthur sighed as he shifted and gazed around the lit room again. It was sparsely decorated, only a couple of paintings here and there, their gold frames contrasting deeply against the white wall. Two rows of pedestals jutted from the marble floor, holding ancient vases and statuettes.

The largest one, the one Arthur stood next to, held an ancient French queen’s necklace. It was a coveted thing, having once sold for 1.846 million dollars. Arthur glanced at it, the trinket he was supposed to protect, and didn’t feel it worth the cost.

“It’s an absolutely ugly thing,” Arthur sighed and glanced at the dark emeralds held within thick strands of gold. He could see why it was valuable, just not, “Why are they willing to pay so much for this thing?”

“Because, chou, it is history.”

Arthur stiffened and instantly reached for his gun, but whoever was there, caught his wrist. Arthur hissed and looked over his shoulder; catching sight of blue and gold before the back of his knees were kicked.

He fell on his knees, crying out when he landed with a painful ‘crack’ and his arms were stretched behind him painfully. He barely registered being turned around and then heard the ‘clink’ that came with the locking of handcuffs—his wrists.

“People want to own history, be it the past or present,” Arthur’s assailant smiled as he crouched down to eye level. This was beyond embarrassing, degrading, demeaning. He was the Police Chief. He wasn’t supposed to fall for things like this anymore.

“I suppose you’re the thief that came for it, you fucking bastard.”

“Je m'appelle Francis, my dear uncouth officer,” Francis laughs, “and yes, I am the one that came to steal the gorgeous emeralds.”

Arthur snorts and tests the cuffs, knowing he’s not going to get out until one—Francis unlocks them, or two—he’s found by someone.

“French then. Perfect for a thief,” Arthur sneers and lashes out, trying to kick the man. He laughs and leans back, just out of reach. Francis catches his leg, stretching it out and reaches under the trouser leg, dragging it up as his fingers crawl up Arthur’s leg.

“Now, now, no need to be so mean, chou,” Francis laughs and tickles the back of Arthur’s knee, grinning wider when the police officer moans and writhes at the act. Francis pulls back, a bit surprised, but comes back quickly.

“What a pretty sound,” He sighs and lifts the leg, grins when the trouser slides back, showing the pale leg and a knobby knee. He started at the sock, kissing, licking, mouthing it, and went up with the garter.

“Well, I rarely see men with these on, they look so nice,” Francis sighed into his leg, nosing the strap wrapped around his calf before continuing up to his knee. Arthur blushed and whined when Francis licked the soft delicate skin on the back of his knee.

“Oh god, god—just, Rabbit! Rabbit!”

“Oh, Angleterre,” France sighed and stood to unlock the handcuffs. England instantly wrapped his arms around France, thrusting into him. France turns around in that embrace, kissing England’s face.

“Why do you never let me love you?”

“Shut up. Don’t. I don’t deser—just fuck me.”

“I will make love to you one of these days, and you will love me back,” France hissed into England’s ear, wrapping his arms around the other main’s slimmer frame, tugging that heated body closer to his.

“Oh, just fuck me, France.”



_{I wanted so bad to make this the 10000th comment on the last part... But I wanted reviews XD}

Re: theme: kisses FrUK 16/?

[(Anonymous)]

I just read all the parts, and they're awesome. I am very vunerable to sad fics, so as soon as one of the short kisses ended somewhat painful, I quickly scrolled to the next to get a good, warm feeling. And suddenly they were all read <3 (Ffh, Australian kiss <3 I wonder about the french kiss~)

Russia/Prussia Berlin Wall [1]

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21688272

“You really have got to stop trying that,” Russia said levelly, as he slammed Prussia against the Wall.

“Fuck you,” Prussia growled back and had to bit his lip to stop from crying out when Russia turned him around and threw him back into the Wall, his face pressed up against the concrete.

Above them, guards walked along the wall, glaring lights flashing around, looking for others attempting to escape. “That’s an interesting idea,” Russia said after a long pause. “Is that what you want then?”

For a long second, neither Prussia nor Russia moved. Above them, the harsh lights continued to rove around. “What the hell are you thinking?” Prussia asked finally.

“About your offer.”

“What offer?”

Prussia could almost feel Russia’s smile. “You said, “fuck you,” I believe.”

Russia/Prussia Berlin Wall [2]

[(Anonymous)]

Freezing completely, Prussia hoped he’d misheard. “That… that was a phrase of speech, not a goddamn offer!”

“Do you think what you meant really matters?”

“Damnit, not here, please, come on, don’t—” Russia slammed his head into the wall.

“Why do you think you can make any kinds of demands from me?”

“Please,” Prussia tried again, the desperation in his voice not needing to be faked. “Please, Russia, please, don’t. We can go someplace, anywhere, but don’t…”

“Stop talking,” Russia said firmly, suddenly ripping at Prussia’s pants.

“But feel free to scream.” The former Empire could feel Russia’s smile against his cheek and shuddered.

Prussia bit his lip and clawed at the wall as Russia slowly moved into him. The light shined on them for a moment, paused longer than it had anywhere else, and then moved on. Around them, Prussia could hear people, his people, and knew they could see this, his public humiliation. Russia had made one of the games he played in dark corners into a very public spectacle.

He could even feel the light on them from behind his closed eyes.

“You’re not screaming,” Russia whispered.

“G—go to hell.”

"Life can be difficult" 1.1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Original request - http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21909456#t21909456

("I'm a what?" France finds out he's Fem!England's baby daddy)

OMG you guys this fill got a bit long.

Chapter 1

"Well, my dear, it is certainly lovely to see you again," Francis said, flashing her a most charming smile. He would not say that running into her was unexpected. Rather, he would not admit it. Of course, it was usual to run into other scientists you had worked with in the past at a conference, but after not seeing her for five years he had rather presumed that she had taken her talents elsewhere.

Of course, he had still been very pleased to stop her across the foyer. It had, however, been a slight shock.

“I’m sure it is,” she muttered, looking pointedly away from him. He studied her for a moment. Surely he could not yet have done anything to make her so angry? Maybe she had plans for this evening and had not wished to accept his invitation to dinner but had not felt able to say no? Maybe she had a lover now, or a husband, and had no interest in talking to past lovers? Maybe he should not have asked her? Still, when he had seen her standing there in the foyer after so long he had not been able to help himself.

“How have you been?” he asked, lifting his wine glass in what he hoped was a casual gesture. “I hope that the world has been kind to you?”

“Yes, fine,” she said, still refusing to meet his gaze. He glanced over to the area she was studying but, when he did not see anything of great interest, turned to study her instead. She was biting her bottom lip again, a gesture he remembered her making before when she was nervous.

“My dear,” Francis said, shifting forward in his chair. “Is there something I have done to upset you? Perhaps you did not wish to find with me this evening? Please do not feel obliged to stay here if you are unhappy...”

Her gaze shot up to meet his and they locked eyes for a few seconds before she looked away again.

“I...it’s not that I don’t appreciate the dinner...” she said, frowning. “Though you could have picked somewhere more casual. I just...I guess I don’t know why you asked me here.”

“Can a man not ask a beautiful woman to dine with him?” Francis asked, flashing her when he hoped was a seductive smile. She glared at him and he couldn’t help but let his smile fall into one which was more natural. He remembered this kind of interaction very well.

“No, not really,” she said, heaving a sigh, “Not when they fucked five years ago and haven’t spoken since.”

“My dear, do not be so rude!”

“Well, it was rude,” she snapped, her eyes finally meeting him again. “You damn frog, surely you get at least that much. It was just a quick, dirty fuck, right? Nothing with emotional significance. What did you think, that we would come to dinner and discuss technique?”

“Of course not,” he frowned. “My dear, it may have been meaningless to you but I assure you that it was not for me. Was it not good for you?”

“The sex was fine,” she said, waving dismissively. “What I mean is, having had sex doesn’t mean we’re friends and we can go out for dinner and a nice chat.”

"Life can be difficult" 1.2/?

[(Anonymous)]

“I beg to differ,” Francis said, frown now firmly in place on his lips. He had thought that of the two of them she would be the one to take things more seriously. He had been with many women over the years but she...she had not. She was inexperienced, jumpy, but very fun. “I do not simply ask any woman I meet into my bed. I only invite those to my bed who I feel connected to.

An awkward silence falls over the table as she refuses to look up, just staring into the bottom of her wine glass instead. He can tell from the sceptical tilt of her lip, an expression he still remembers well after all these years, that she does not believe him.

“Anyway, my dear, must I remind you that it was you who stole from my bed as I slept. It was you who did not say goodbye. If you was you who refused my efforts or communication after you left.”

“I needed to get the plane...I was busy,” she mumbled, flushing. He smiled, a point to him.

“True, I may accept that you needed to leave, but you may have woken me. Or, my dear, you may simply have replied to my e-mails once you returned home.

“Look, you damn frog,” she snapped. “Fine, it’s my fault. So, that still doesn’t explain why you asked me here. We fucked, I left, why drag it out?”

“Well, I happen to remember the charming your student I met all those years ago. The beautiful woman with whom I spent two week arguing and flirting. I had hoped that we might find some of that connection again.”

“You mean you thought I might fuck you?”

“You wound me England. For me, the sex was only a culmination of the tensions that had been building between us for the past two weeks. Admit it to yourself, you wanted me.”

“Don’t call me England,” she said, though now she seemed to be pouting. “I don’t have toaccept teasing from a guy like you. I have a name, you know. Do you even remember it?”

He remained silent. If he was truthful he did not remember her name. England had been his term of affection to her, their small joke. She was the only English person in their lab and she was so very English. She would drink tea at every opportunity. She wore sensible shoes. She baked scones for the office one day. It had been teasing, comforting. Still, it was unforgivable that he had forgotten her real name.

She stood and glared at him then turned and left, as simple as that. He relaxed into his chair with a sigh. Apparently, this evening had been a miscalculation. He had felt nostalgic when he saw her. Nostalgic for the young lady who had been so charmed for him and worked so hard to hide it. The girl who he had convinced to have her hair styled properly for the first time. The girl who’d let him talk her into her first manicure and her first pair of heels. It seemed he was the only one who regarded those memories with fondness after all.

~*~*~*~

It Went as Follows (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Part one and request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=9356738#t9356738

(The Morning After the Night Before. Recap, Canada runs out on England.)

”Oh, god, god please. Just,” Arthur moaned. His heart swelled as his cock hardened. He leaned his head forward, aiming to kiss his mouth. Missed. Got his nose instead.

They should open a window. The stench of marijuana and alcohol mixed with sweat and sex. The room would probably smell for days. Arthur didn’t care. Didn’t care for anything that wasn’t Matthew’s lips on his neck. His hands tugged at the other man’s black tie (so chic and fashionable). Tugged. Got it off and threw it.

His mind went dizzyingly white when their crotches touched. He forgot he was England. He forgot his pride, his history. He just wanted, “Matthew~.”

“Arthur,” Matthew sighed back, finished unbuttoning his white shirt. Lapped at and bit his nipples.

Arthur screamed, writhed, “More, more, more.”

“Okay.” Matthew was so good. So kind. Even high, he flipped him around. Shirt removed and thrown. It would be hell finding it tomorrow. Everything else was tugged off. Arthur ground forward, his erection pressing so deliciously against his cotton sheets.

The gold was becoming an ugly yellow were his pre-cum smeared.

His hips were pulled up, arse in air, lost the friction. Arthur whined.

“Shhh, let me do this,” Matthew whispered into the small of his back, kissed. There was a disgusting squirt and then wet fingers touched his ass, “Love you.”
~*~

Arthur looked at the tie left behind, scowling.

We’re sorry, Albion. We followed, tried to stop him, but he left.

The faeries had eventually come back, crying, sorrowful. They stroked his cheeks, kissed his brows, whispered comfort, sang for him. They tugged at his lips, trying to undo his dark frown. Told him it would be fine. Their sweet comfort was laced with darkness. They hoped for permission to curse him.

We can make him suffer, Albion. We can take his sanity; he will beg you for forgiveness. Let us, he will pay. You need not suffer. Albion

They could destroy him; they laughed—hissed what they would do to him into his ear. He would cry, beg, beg so sweetly for him. Arthur crossed his legs, rubbing the tie between his thumb and forefinger. Frowning. Thinking.

Thinking about last night.

“You will do nothing.” Arthur hissed, leaned back against the black leather couch in his living room. He threw the black silk tie onto the glass coffee table before him. It landed in his cup of tea. Liquid soaked it—travelled it languidly up it, darkening the black even more—gold thread becoming an ugly yellow.

Albion! Let us help! We can help, do not refuse us. They alternated between sweet and threatening.

“You will do nothing,” Arthur growled again, green eyes darker, glowing with power, “you will leave this to me.”

Their darkness left. He, angry enough for them. They smiled and went back to caressing his cheeks. Kissing his brow.

In his heart, he knew he wanted them to ignore him. They would not, they loved and feared him as much as he them.

Re: It Went as Follows (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

[Yay!!! You continued!!! Not OP.]

You brought in the faeries. I never thought of them like that, willing to curse those who harm Arthur. Genius. Wonder what Arthur's going to do?

Feathers - An AmeIta fanfic (continuation)

[(Anonymous)]

I suck with these things. I am so sorry, but real life took everything away from me, and then there were other fills and I kind of waited for inspiration, and so...

*sad*

anyway. Let's recap, kk? Feathers is a sequel with mpreg of a previous fill of mine, Eggshells. You can read Eggshells without reading the sequel, of course, but it would be better to read Eggshells before trying Feathers. thank you?

Original request for AmeIta: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=13794570#t13794570

Eggshells: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=14545112#t14545112

Request for AmeIta mpreg: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17388578#t17388578

Previous chapters of Feathers: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=20930008#t20930008

Feathers [2a/?]

[(Anonymous)]

I am really sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter out. There is no real excuse, but still I hope some people are still following!

–––

The room was filled with Nations babbling to each other, just like every other World Meeting, and America stared at them in amusement, a smile stretching his lips so much he felt his face hurt.

Yet, obviously, he couldn’t stop.

Still looking around, America bounced to his seat, hands trembling a bit whilst holding his super secret documents, and waited for Germany to stand up and demand them all to shut up. This month it was his turn to start, after all –besides, he quite liked to yell at everyone for making too much ruckus.

France and England were not even yelling at each other. America didn’t know what was going on, but to see a flustered England splutter, unable to speak, whenever France looked his way, was quite entertaining no matter what. They had been like this for a while now, and this was the third meeting in a row.

Not that the other nations needed them to be loud.

“Stop poking at me or I’ll swear I’ll go Spartan on you”.

It appeared as though Greece and Turkey still couldn’t get in the same room without starting to bother each other…

“Mr. Russia, would you please stop trying to stretch Latvia…”

Alfred threw a semi–concerned look at the Baltic group, where Russia was standing, but decided it wasn’t safe to intervene.

It never was.

“Hey, Liet, look, I totally made my nails look fabulous, don’t you think? Flashy pink is the new groove!”

America didn’t even want to glance at Poland now.

“Ve~ Germany, will you please start this thing? I am hungry and I want to go eat burgers!”

That was enough to have the whole room fall into a strangled, shocked silence. One by one, most of the nations turned towards the Italian, who apparently oblivious to the attention, was clinging at the German’s arm and giving him his best puppy eyes.

America held back a smile.

“Ah, yes” Germany stood up, coughing in embarrassment at the attention, and made to speak, but on the other side of Italy, Japan quietly moved to place one hand over the Italian’s forehead, excusing himself as he did so.

“Italy–kun, do you feel sick, perhaps?”

Italy’s smile was as bright as usual, as he shook his head, reassuring his friend.

America darted his eyes around, noticing the lack of Italy’s brother from the room, and let out a small relieved sigh.

The older of the Italian Nations was home with a light flu, and Italy had promised him Romano was not to move from his bed, and Spain had remained there to fuss over him and make sure he rested… this solved one part of the problem.

America just had to keep away from the two brothers when Italy went back home to tell Romano, and everything would be fine. After all, whilst he didn’t oppose them anymore, he wouldn’t have liked what America was about to do.

“Well, let’s start today’s world meeting” finally Germany managed to get the Nations’ attention on him and slammed one hand down. Everybody quietened and shuffled with their documents, waiting their turn.

America fidgeted, feeling his excitement roar up considerably. He couldn’t wait… couldn’t wait…

Finally, after a boring intervention from both England and Russia, Germany nodded at him. America jumped up, barely containing himself, and puffed his chest out, knowing he had all the attention he needed.

“My fellow Nations!” he started, smiling and looking at everyone, beaming. He saw England roll his eyes. “You can consider yourselves invited to the splendid, majestic party I am going to hold in my house!”

Reactions were loud and instantaneous –Poland jumped up, bouncing in happiness at the thought of a party, Russia turned to the side, muttering a soft kolkol sound, Switzerland snorted, not caring at all, whilst some other nations were simply surprised at the announcement.

[part 5] Science Versus Romance [America/Estonia] part 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=14333962#t14333962




“Hey, Estonia, what’s up? Did you check out that email I sent ya?”

“Yes, I did, America. Sorry, I didn’t get the chance to reply yet.” Estonia felt it was unnecessary to mention that he actually had read the email (concerning developments in government internet security, from what he could decipher) several times, every “LOL” and “OMG” and outdated emoticon like a Cupid’s arrow to his heart. Nor should America know about the hours he had spent trying to compose a reply and failing miserably. He ducked his head and concentrated on the documents he had pulled up on his laptop, willing the blush that was about to rise to his cheeks to dissipate.

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” America replied, that movie-star smile lighting up his face and a space of 1.3 cubic meters all around him. “I got some free time, we could go over it now.”

There was nothing he would love more, but all Estonia said was, “All right, let me find the email first.”

“What, here? Pssh!” America exclaimed. “We’re out for today, let’s go to a coffee shop. My treat.”

Estonia found himself dragged out of the conference room, with laptop tucked under one arm and his other hand clasped in a warm grip, almost stumbling to keep up with America’s impossibly long strides. Fortunately, the coffee shop was just across the street, empty but for a middle-aged businessman reading a newspaper. Before they sat down and discussed business, America ordered them some drinks, directing the full force of his irresistible charm towards the bored-looking cashier until she blushed to the tips of her multiply-pierced ears.

The tables were much too small, Estonia thought, very aware of America pulled up close beside him, the way his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he stared at the laptop screen, the adorably obnoxious sound he made as he sucked at his iced mochaccino through a straw. Of course, America couldn’t sit across from him, he wouldn’t be able to see the screen that way. But every time America’s leg brushed against his, Estonia had to fight the simultaneous urges to shiver and melt at the touch.

Once they opened the email, the conversation turned to technical matters, and Estonia breathed an inward sigh of relief. As dense as the other nation could be in certain areas, he really was a technology prodigy and understood everything Estonia brought up without needing further explanation. It was just so easy to talk to him once one got over the initial awkwardness of him not remembering anyone’s name, and Estonia held a deep regard for those who could communicate well, although this was likely more because America lacked the sophistication to lie convincingly than anything else. They discussed the issue of government network encryption, brainstorming ideas to circumvent hackers and outwit the plots of cyber-terrorists while maintaining data integrity and infrastructure. More than once, Estonia laughed when America blurted out one of his usual crazy ideas.

Science Versus Romance - part 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

In a burst of inspiration, America quickly sketched out a framework on a napkin that would have made a comp-sci professor at MIT throw his degree away in shame, jotting down notes for reinforcing security with multiple layers of shifting encryption.

“We could probably talk to Switzerland about what he uses to protect sensitive information in the banks,” America suggested, scribbling a few more ideas and doodles onto the napkin.

“Unfortunately, he doesn’t like to share information with outsiders. He doesn’t even let Liechtenstein talk to me,” Estonia said with a sigh.

“That’s too bad,” America replied, grinning to himself as he folded the napkin into an airplane. “Tell ya what, I’m gonna bring this up to the folks back home and I’ll let you know what we figure out. We’ve got good guys in the department, but those Russian hackers are insane.”

“I understand completely.” Although the time his government site was hacked and replaced with pro-Russian propaganda, it had actually been the work of an Estonian, not a Russian. It was terrible, Russia would not let him hear the end of that for days, and Estonia’s mood immediately worsened just remembering the incident.

“Estonia? Something up?” America leaned in even closer, briefly squeezing Estonia’s shoulders in a half-hug. “You want me to get you a hot chocolate? Or a donut?”

“No, it’s nothing serious, I’m fine,” he replied, laughing sheepishly. “Thanks, America.” Estonia cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, feeling noticeably warmer due to America’s proximity.

Still smiling, America smoothly got to his feet, making his way to the counter while Estonia accidentally left his finger on the L key watching him. With a soft curse, he quickly deleted the jumble of letters right before America returned, holding a sprinkle-covered donut and a cup of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

Estonia did his best to decline the sweet, claiming that he was trying to cut back on sugar, but America insisted, and he was impossible to turn down. They ended up sharing the donut, much to Estonia’s mortification, and he blushed deeply, watching America lick the pink frosting off of his fingers with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hey, remember that movie we made the last time I was around?” America asked out of nowhere. “D’you still have it? I haven’t watched it in a while, kinda wanted to see it again.”

There was no way Estonia could have refused such a request, and he happily acquiesced. Although he would not quite label it high art, he liked watching the dramatic ending credits that America directed and starred in, regardless. Something about America made him perfect for the silver screen, or computer screen as the case may be, and Estonia had to admit, it was probably America’s presence that garnered the film so many views on the online video sharing site.

They did not get further than two minutes into the film before a warning notification popped up on the taskbar.

“Ack, it looks like the battery is running low,” Estonia mumbled, embarrassed. “And I left my laptop charger back at the hotel.”

“No problem, we can just watch it later. You’re… not busy tonight, are you?” America asked, fixing Estonia with an expectant half-smile.

“Uh, I should be free after dinner.” Estonia tried to look perfectly calm and not about to hyperventilate and hoped he succeeded.

“Awesome! I’ll call you around eight o’clock then?”

Nodding, Estonia closed the laptop, and before he lost his nerve, before his heart gave out from how hard and fast it was beating, he leaned forward and gave America a quick peck on the cheek. “It was great talking to you again, America,” he whispered, and smiled as cheerfully as he could before turning and fleeing to the safety of his hotel room.




[Err, I really did try to write more, but totally failed, sorry. Hope this was amusing enough!]

Prussia/England High School AU - Part 3a

[(Anonymous)]

Link to the original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29615886#t29615886

In the defense of his Awesome, it didn’t take Gilbert more than a few seconds to recover, even if he did recover by pushing Spain into Feliciano, which caused the little Italian to shriek loudly and create a distraction. He took this as an opportunity to inspect somebody who was suddenly not ‘some random new guy’ but instead was Arthur Kirkland. Gilbert couldn’t judge his height exactly while he was sat down but fairly sure that they were probably pretty similar in height. His eyebrows were still completely out of proportion with his face, his eyes were still green and his hairstyle hadn’t changed that much, getting a touch shorter and a tone lighter perhaps. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that his face-shape was a little more defined in was way that looked older he probably would look pretty much the same as he had done when he was eleven. Gilbert snorted at the realization.

Arthur just raised one eyebrow coolly. Like Gilbert’s not-gawking was completely unwarranted. So Gilbert stuck his tongue out. Because while he did have five years of history with Arthur, the kind of history one found between elementary school students wasn’t the sort that could be handled maturely.

Because that was what had rendered Arthur’s face and name so familiar. Five years of Elementary School together before Arthur had left and Gilbert had been forced to get new…teammates.

“What are you doing back?”

Francis gave a horrified gasp, “Gilbert! We are supposed to be making this charming young man welcome. His reasons for wanting to experience this marvelous establishment are clearly to experience our joy and hospitality!”

Arthur shot Francis an incredulous look. “You associate with this?”

Gilbert shrugged. “What are you doing back here? I figured I was rid of you for good. Did they chuck you out?”

Arthur looked genuinely offended. “The only reason I have for returning to this place is an unfortunate geographical convenience.”

God he talked like an old man. Gilbert didn’t know what was more worrying, that Arthur wasn’t ashamed of talking like that, or that he was fairly sure Arthur had always, talked like that.

“So basically you moved house?”

Arthur sighed in a manner which Gilbert might have described as long suffering if it weren’t for the fact that they’d only been talking for a minute or so. “If you wish to be simple about it… then yes, I did move.”

“Back to your old place?” Gilbert asked. Because really, who moved out of a town only to move right back to it a few year later?

Arthur shrugged, “We’re across town from there, near where you used to live, but yes. I don’t pretend to take an interest in the whys and wherefores of it all though.”

“Where I still live,” Gilbert corrected, “Not all of us went flouncing off y’know.”

Prussia/England High School AU - Part 3b

[(Anonymous)]

Arthur looked like he was about to snark something back, (it was strange how easily the memories of his expressions and actions came back to Gilbert) but Francis cut him off.

“What, exactly, is going on here?”

Gilbert looked at Arthur, Arthur shrugged. “Nothing is ‘going on’.”

Feliciano pouted, “But… Gilbert is talking to you in a way that is strange for strangers…”

“I’ve had the… experience… of making Gilbert’s acquaintance prior to this meeting.”

Feliciano just looked baffled.

“We used to know each other,” Gilbert clarified, “Way back when I was first learning how much everyone wanted to be around the awesome me.”

“Rather, I endured his presence for lack of any intellectual company in this backwater place.”

“Backwater! That’s a nice word for this place. It sounds all magical and pretty like a waterfall or a lake or something.”

Nobody corrected Feliciano’s error, although Arthur did roll his eyes. Backwater was a pretty good definition of the town – although Gilbert preferred to just say boring. It was the kind of town a person just wanted to get out of. At least Awesome people did.

“So you used to be friends?”

Gilbert winced – buddy-buddy stuff like that was for girls. “We used to be allies.”

Feliciano squealed and muttered something about ‘So cute!’ and France nodded, finally seeming to grasp what he was seeing.

The bell rang then, clear and sharp in their ears.

Arthur picked up his bag and walked off, in the direction of the main block.

Gilbert gaped. How could anybody just walk away from his Awesomeness?

Trials (Pru/Can -> US/Can)

[(Anonymous)]

Request and Prologue through part 15:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27706126

New parts will be posted here.

Dammit.

[(Anonymous)]

Title is "Invisible" not "Trials."

Boy Who Cried Wolf (Canada/America)

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: America comes whining to Canada so often that the one time something devastating actually does happen to him, Canada dismisses it without realizing it’s not his brother simply exaggerating. It doesn’t matter what happens to America, but the more personal and traumatizing, the better. >.>

Cue Canada finding out what’s happened somehow and immediately going to America. EPIC LOVE FOR PROTECTIVE!CANADA. EPIC, I TELL YOU. Ironically, America, after the event is first dismissed, seems set on pretending everything is hunky dory (even though it’s obviously not).

Parts 1-11:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=26806286#t26806286

Future parts will be posted here.

Bullet #09 (12/?)

[(Anonymous)]

April 2, 20XX

Paris, France

Of all the things America had been expecting, such a serene, soft-looking face had not been one of them. The woman’s dirty blonde hair is styled into a strict ponytail at the crown of her head, hazel eyes stern and contradicting the soft slope of her cheekbones. Her unpainted lips are curved into a small smile.

While one dainty hand dangles a nightstick by her side like a young girl will casually hold an umbrella, her other reaches out to brush calloused fingers over America’s cheek, tracing upward to graze against the blood caking the right side of his head.

Against his wishes, America flinches away from the touch.

“How skittish,” she says with a laugh, wiping the stray flakes of blood off of her hand onto her black cargo pants. Her accent is painfully American, and America feels an entirely unphysical twinge of pain lance through him at the insight into her nationality. “I’m actually pretty disappointed in you, Alfred. I had thought it would take more than a stun gun and one knock to the head to capture the United States of America.”

The surprise garnered is enough to make his heart skid over itself.

“W-what the hell are you talking about?” America asks after a beat, as calmly as he can manage. “Are you insane?”

“There’s no need to play dumb, America,” and she has the gall to giggle, the twitter of a tiny bird. “I know exactly what you are.”

Uncomfortably, America grips the arms of the chair he is bound to –Flex cuffs, he notes inwardly; he’s held down by Flex cuffs- ignoring the twinge of his increasingly white fingers.

How does she know? How could she have possibly found out?

“You must be crazy,” he says, swallowing to loosen the tension pulling at his throat. “I’m one of the President’s aides, not a country. If you haven’t noticed, countries are bodies of la-aah! Fuck!”

She removes her fingers from his head wound, and America fights not to vomit as the pain and flash of vertigo send his stomach roiling. She is no longer smiling.

“I told to stop playing around,” she scolds –because her tone could be called nothing else but that; America’s been on the receiving end of enough scoldings from England to be intimately familiar with the sound of a good tongue-lashing. Her eyes are cold, formidable body unyielding in its stance, so very confident. She is sure in her knowledge, positive that she is right.

It is discerning, and America feels a tingling along his spine.

“I’m not,” he growls at her. He catches her gaze and holds it, challenges the authority he can sense her trying to establish. “I’m not the United States. A person can’t be a fucking country, you crazy bi-”

This time, America is prepared for the blow. He chokes back his scream, refuses to allow her to hear his pain, even as the ringing in his ear becomes a metallic screech that pierces his brain like a bullet and the world tilts on its axis beneath him.

“I don’t like liars, Alfred.”

America smiles sharply in return, all cheek and bravado he doesn’t really feel. “And I don’t like being kidnapped by an unbalanced psych patient with a sadistic streak.”

She draws back her hand, ready to strike, and America closes his eyes, steeling himself for another blow.

It does not come.

“Fine.” When he opens her eyes she is back to her inhumanly calm demeanor, nightstick returned to hovering near her hip. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you admit it. I know the truth, and that’s all that matters. I don’t need you to confirm what I already know for me to fix you.”

“Fix me?” he questions, and the words feel like lead on his tongue, heavy and hard to articulate. Dread settles like something solid in his stomach.>/p>

“Why else do you think I went through all this trouble to collect you?” She sighs with a shake of her head, looking so sincerely upset that America’s not sure what to make of it. “You’re letting yourself become so corrupted, Alfred. It’s sickening, and I’m not going to let it continue.”

Fountain of Fire & Ice -- America Takes Alaska to Work w/Him at the UN

[(Anonymous)]

Well looks like Past Fills Part 1 Has maxed out so I shall be moving this over here now.

Original Request {Part 6}: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16293922#t16293922

Past Fills Part 1 Post (Parts 1-12): http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=19138776#t19138776

* * *
-With permission of the OP (thanks Discussion Post!) I've taken this in a slightly different, slightly more serious direction (and added in some Russia/America strained shippiness) then the original fill request asks for. The main bits are the same and the main focus throughout is America's relationship with his son. There is a mix of human and country names in this, mostly this will be directed at Alaska who will be referred to by his human name Sasha for the most part.
-This if probably not important but it's my person head canon that there are not 50 state-tans running around (and there is no mpreg). There are only a few of them and they were either older when they appeared due to some important historical moment (ie New York, Virginia, California) or they came to be a part of America by way of adoption (Texas, Florida, Louisiana, Hawaii) and America doesn't really view them as his children per-say more like...not siblings really but something more along that line then his children. Alaska is a rather special (and confusing) case for America as he appears when he's young and rather unexpectedly. None of the other tans are mentioned in any way in this so if you want to imagine there all running around feel free!
-Though the main part of this story takes place in the present day I still view Alaska as being young despite the state being 50 years old. I think it's fairly obviously that the tans age at a different rate then normal humans do and given the state's small population and outside-the-box-mentality he's aged at a slow pace.
-Please note I may poke fun of Alaska (the actual State) from time to time in this fic I mean no harm I have a huge soft spot for the State even though I've yet to actually get there...but well it's Alaska and I think its wackiness is all part of its charm. It's kind of like the US in general that way... ;-)

-This is probably going to be a long one and the parts will probably be on the longish side. It will bounce around between the modern storyline and the past (everything will be clearly marked). I will try to get out a part a week but that could be more or less depending on how the muses are cooperating with me.

Fountain of Fire & Ice -- Part 13

[(Anonymous)]

* * *
Alaska Territory -- January 1958
* * *

It took England two hours to arrive.

America knew it took some time to clear an unexpected trip out of the country with ones bosses, especially when it wasn't strictly speaking a business trip. But even with that in mind two hours seemed excessive. He suspected that England had dragged his feet as long as he felt he could get away with because he was irritated. This suspicion was confirmed when he opened the door to England's knock and found the other nation scowling up at him. He grinned down at the older nation who just glared harder.

"This had better be important, America, so help me if it isn't..." England muttered as he tossed his suitcase towards America and shook the snow off his jacket.

America caught the suitcase with good natured grin and held his hand out to take England's jacket as well. "Head into the living room," he said as he hung the jacket up. "Then tell me if you think it's not important."

England huffed but did as he was bid he stalked towards the living room and then stopped short. America bumped into his back and laughed softly as he knew that England had seen Alaska. Alaska was across the room near the window seat playing some sort of game with Canada and a rubber ball that Canada had brought with him. He'd also brought the new set of clothing Alaska was now wearing and various other things they'd need to take care of him. He'd been even more confused then England had been when America had asked him over the phone without being told the reason. But he'd melted completely over Sasha after he'd gotten over the initial shock. England watched the two with wide eyes for a long moment and then turned to address America quietly so as to not draw the attention of the two near the window who had not yet noticed their presence.

"Who is that?" he said sharply.

"It's a child, England," America said dryly with a smirk.

"I know that," England snapped. "I also know if it was just a human child you'd picked up somewhere I wouldn't be here. So...who is it?"

"He says he's Alaska," America answered easily.

England's head jerked towards America is eyes wide. "Alaska?" he murmured. "Do you think he is?"

"I have no reason to doubt him," America said with a shrug. "He feels the same to me as the other territories I've either acquired or that have appeared. Though he's a lot younger then any of them were when they showed up."

"Where did you find him?" England asked.

"In my bedroom," America said laughing at the expression that crossed England's face with that proclamation. "Last night as I was falling asleep there was this light and when I woke up he was there. I'm thankful they didn't make me chased through the snow for him at least." England nodded his head and looked like he wanted to do nothing more then to rush over and get a closer look. "Do you want to meet him?" America asked quietly.

England nodded but looked a little nervous as they started across the room. Canada heard them coming and leaned over to whisper something to Alaska who looked up and grinned widely at the sight of them.

"Da!" he said bouncing the ball in America's direction.

Alaska had been calling him Da since he'd woken up from his nap which at first had confused America until he realized it was his way of calling him Dad he didn't know what to think after that. He caught the ball and glanced towards England only to discover that England had stopped dead in his tracks a few feet back and was staring Alaska as if he'd seen a ghost. America knew what England was thinking, Canada had had much the same reaction when he'd first seen Alaska. There was no mistaking who he looked like.

He turned back to the pair near the window and with a smile and bounced the ball back towards Alaska. Canada sensing the growing tension in the room drew the child's attention back to him to give America and England a bit more time to hash things out. Then he walked back towards where England was still staring intently towards the child.

"England..." he said tentatively.