Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:34 pm

Past-Part Fills Part 3 -- CLOSED


This Past-Part Fills post is now closed to new fills.
Fresh past-part fills post HERE



Keep yourself up to date -- check out the news HERE

Phantom Touch

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
This comment is a placeholder for further chapters of "Phantom Touch"

Re: Phantom Touch

(Anonymous) 2010-05-06 08:34 pm (UTC)(link)
*cough* For anyone who wants to read this AMAZINGLY AWESOME FILL FOR WHICH I HAVE UNDYING LOVE, the first part's found here:

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=28985102#t28985102

READ IT FOR IT IS MADE OF YESSSSSS.

Phantom Touch hiatus

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VowOP gives you encouragement ^^

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*pokes*

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omnibus locis fit caedes

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
This is a place holder for future chapters of 'omnibus locis fit caedes'

Request and parts 1&2: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33293381#t33293381

[Part 10] omnibus locis fit caedes [3/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Sorry this took forever! I'm swamped with uni work, so it's amazing I actually got this out. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in Maryland, USA

The large house sat about two miles outside of the capital, on the border between Virginia and Maryland. It had long ago been decided that the States shouldn’t live at the White House, because it would have become much too crowded with fifty, energetic state personifications. The house normally stood empty, only used when everyone was called to the nation’s capital. For the rest of the time, the States would be at home in their own capital cities.

The house was where Delaware told California and Alaska to go. During the drive there, she sat in the back seat, calling up her forty-seven brothers and sisters, telling them that they were having an emergency meeting. She currently had the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly.

“New York, listen to me! No, I… It’s not your… Dammit, New York, listen to me! I need you to stay calm, okay? New York? Hey, don’t you hang up on me! God dammit!”

Delaware yanked the phone away from her ear and stared at the ‘Call Ended’ message on the screen. Kicking the back of the driver’s seat in anger (Alaska merely sighed and kept driving), she dialed up the second oldest of the States but got no answer on Pennsylvania’s home or cell.

“Dammit dammit dammit!” With another kick to the driver’s seat (and another sigh from Alaska), California decided to try asking his sister what was wrong.

“Del? Is… is something wrong with New York?” Now, California wasn’t scared of much but the temper of the oldest State was definitely one of those things and he wanted to get her calmed down as quickly as possible.

Big blue eyes, so much like their dad’s, turned to him but instead of anger, California saw fear.

“He said… New York said it’s his fault and… I don’t know… I’m scared he’ll do something stupid…” Delaware turned back to her phone, calling up the third eldest State and breathed a sigh of relief when he answered.

“Hey, Jersey, before you head to the house, check on New York for me. Please? I think he’s going to do something dumb…”

-----------

Albany, New York, USA

New Jersey arrived at his brother’s house, a frown on his face as he rung the doorbell over and over and still there was no answer. His brother and neighbor state always answered the door whenever he had guests. Which meant Delaware was right and something was wrong with New York.

Finding the spare key wasted precious time, because New York was always moving it to different locations and forgetting to tell his siblings. New Jersey finally found it when he kicked over a potted plant in frustration. Snatching up the key and ignoring the overturned plant, he hurried back to the door and into the house.

“Hey! Bro, get down here! Del needs us, so hurry up, okay?”

Silence. The entire house was eerily quiet. None of the music that normally played could be heard and it sent a chill down New Jersey’s spine. The last time the house had been silent had been in 2001…

“New York!”

New Jersey’s feet pounded on the soft carpet as he shot up the stairs, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Tripping on the top step in his panic, he went sprawling to the ground of the second floor. His knees and hands hit the carpeted floor hard and a stinging pain shot to his brain, alerting him to the very nasty rug burns he had just received. In any other situation, New Jersey would have stopped to take a look at the damage, but New York was much more important.

Ignoring the pain, he grit his teeth and stood, running down the hall to his brother’s bedroom. Without bothering to knock and simply throwing the door open, New Jersey was expecting to see his brother hanging from a make shift noose or seeing the window open.

But the room was empty and clean. Everything was in its proper place. Books were shelved, bed was made, dirty clothes put in the laundry basket. It would have felt like a room from a model home if not for the faint smell of pizza.

“New York…?”

[Part 10] omnibus locis fit caedes [3.5/?]

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omnibus locis fit caedes [4/?]

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OP SWOOPS IN, NINJA-STYLE! 8D

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AUTHOR NOTE

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Battle Royale

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 01:35 am (UTC)(link)
Place holder for future chapters of 'Battle Royale'

Request and part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32631621#t32631621

Dark For All Of Me

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
This is the placeholder for the Habsburg Marriage Trilogy.

Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=12238602#t12238602

Spain x Austria! after all they were kind of married for centuries.

Chapter 1 (Come Dew, Come Rust) and Chapter 2 (Earth and Moon) are located here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=33128485#t33128485

Dark For All Of Me [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 11:34 pm (UTC)(link)
And now, the final part of the trilogy. This period cycles through the latter half of the 1600s.


When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

Acceptance by Robert Frost



It was a relief to be away from the salty breeze that swept the ocean. His joints felt stiff, rusted almost no thanks to the salt, having experienced a rather limited range of movement throughout his journey. He had chosen to sail in order to avoid walking on accursed French soil, and so travelled through his new territory of North Italy. It had been flourishing better than anticipated and he was keen on keeping it that way; taking Italy with him was a move to strengthen their political ties and, perhaps with the destination in question, their personal ties. Loyalty was a virtue that never in abundance lacked, after all. He already had his hands full trying to reclaim Hungary. He didn’t need a coup to happen under his very nose.

Austria hated travelling, anyway. Now that his feet were planted firmly on blessed soil, he was more than eager to nestle him comfortably in Spanish hospitality and refrain from leaving for as long as he could manage. He felt, with some measure of private arrogance, that Spain would be more than willing to keep (not just have) him even unannounced. He had foregone a coach, preferring to walk. Italy, his attendant and a subtle number of guards followed suit.

The land of Spain was, as he had imagined, rich and vibrant. He could smell the earth and all its history and culture, and as he closed his eyes, he heard it whisper to him, in tongues he both knew and did not know, speaking words that twisted like smoke and had no shape as he walked into the heart of the city. It was not a gold-paved land as the stories on the high seas oft espoused, but there was strength in its soul.

It was a golden city that was recovering from economic ruin.

He noted that the people eyed him warily, eyes dulled from years of toil but still retaining a small spark of something that might have resembled hope. Considering the tribulations of the past century, it would have almost seemed pathetic but that very spark was an echo of the nation from which they birthed, giving them more resemblance to Spain than his own flesh and blood kin ever would. He felt a little self-conscious in his aristocratic finery but he maintained his upright persona and soon arrived at the seat of the Spanish nation – a small castle in the wood, not quite visible to those who did not seek to find it, at the end of an even dirt path that led from an inconspicuous road from the docks. Nations, the ones in the midst of war at the very least, tended to live near the closest international ports.

The guards of the castle gates scrambled to attention and saluted once they were shown the royal crest of the House, letting the entourage through. Faintly, Austria could hear a carriage filled with gifts and belongings travelling through the wood. He would leave it to his people to organise.

“Make sure you behave yourself,” he reproached Italy firmly. “We are guests.”

“Yes!” Italy squeaked, fidgeting nervously even as he neatened his gown.

Austria took a slow breath, straightened his jacket once and walked through the threshold.

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A Different Kind of Fairytale

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=32442693#t32442693

.


- - - - » ENTER to an untold tale of magical twists & g r a n d e u r « - - - -




~A faraway kingdom.~
~Knight in shining armour.~
~Damsel in distress.~
~An unbreakable love.~
~Now, how did those fairytales always begin?~
~Ah, yes.~

Once upon a time…

.

The castle extended high toward the sky, seemly to emanate off a silhouette glow. The white stone of the castle gleamed in the brilliant rays of the sun. Many flags—colored of red, white, and blue—decorated the castle’s fascia. They overhang from the peaks of the ascending towers, flapping innocently in the zephyr wind.

Another perfect day in the kingdom of Britannia.

But beyond the monarchy walls, a low trotting of a horse came closer to the towns square amidst the rising gossip of the gathering general public. They gazed in awe at the sight of the regal-looking blond knight, clad in armour of purest silver. His blue eyes shined in an intensity and clarity not native to these lands, his white stallion ambling along with poise and posture.

“Who is that striking man?”

“Have you not heard? He is but the valiant knight Sir Alfred F. Jones!”

“You mean the knight who has slain countless dragons and saved numerous villages in order to protect the weak and defenseless?”

“But what is he doing here in our fair kingdom?”

“I wouldn’t mind him sweeping me off my feet any day.”

Alfred must’ve heard that comment, for he flashed a brilliant smile at the young lady. She instantly swooned as if her heart had left her body and floated up to heaven, clasping her hands together before falling over in infatuated bliss. Luckily, a couple of her friends caught her in the nick of time, on of them trying to shake her back to consciousness. The other stared onward at the retreating knight, his figure getting lost in the sea of the crowd.

The castle looked much bigger than expected as Alfred came closer to his destination. He dismounted his trusty steed, petting it on the mane a few times before entering the double doors.

The first thing that stood out was the seemingly endless staircase at the center of the main room, stretching outward and onward in miles till end. Tapestries hung along the walls embroidered in extravagant silk, highlighted under the sparkle of the grand chandelier dangling above the dome-shaped ceiling.

However the knight turned a blind eye to the pure finery of the room, instead swerving to the left and walked down the long hallway, his footsteps falling evenly on the red carpet that stretched all the way to the end of the hall. To his left, the wall was lined with windows that almost reached the high, arched ceiling. Pouring in from the windows was the bright light of midday.

He winked as he passed by a couple of walking maids as they scurried down the hall in embarrassment. The man chuckled to himself when he heard them squealed, and then walked further down the hall. Suddenly he stopped short, turning to face a set of giant pearl colored double doors. On either door was a symbol consisting of a lion and an unicorn, both figures facing the elaborate four-parted crest; the royal emblem. The door stretched up in its giant gold lined archway until it reached the ceiling.

It seemed like a daunting task to open such a large set of doors for any one man, but this is the heroic knight we’re talking about! No door can stand in his way! The knight smiled to himself and slammed the entranceway into the adjacent walls with a loud bang without breaking a sweat, stepping into the room.

The tiled linoleum floors glimmered with their fresh polish, clean and spanking new. The only thing laid out on top of the floor was another long red carpet that stretched all the way from the double doors to the two thrones. On either side of the wall were statues, both the respective symbols of the monarchy.

Re: A Different Kind of Fairytale 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
The throne room was huge, able to fit possibly hundreds of guests at a time. But for now, it only occupied a few people: a couple of guards, the king, the queen, and her royal Princess. They all looked at the intruder with surprised facades etched on each one of their faces, but the knight didn’t seemed to notice. He walked triumphantly down the length of the carpet.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesties," he called out. He continued his march down the long red carpet. Needless to say that the princess was surprised would’ve been an understatement, as a rising blush creped up by each advancing step of the blond haired knight.

And. He’s. Heading. Right. Towards. The. Princess.

The guards immediately sprang into action and formed a human aegis in front of the royal family, their swords drawn in defense. The Queen, sensing the dire outcome of this predicament, held up a hand. “Lower your weapons.”

The soldiers protested. “But, Your Maje—”

“It’s quite alright. He is to be trusted.” She said it in a tone that left no room for argument. The soldiers bowed and after withdrawing their blades, left.

Once the commotion had settled down, the Queen smiled pleasingly at the unexpected guest. “Yes, Sir Alfred? What do I owe this pleasure to?”

He was barely even trying to contain his pint-up euphoria when he bowed in greeting to the royal highnesses. “My Queen,” he addressed formally, then turned to the king. “Your Majesty. With all greatest respect, I would be honored to receive your blessings,” he made his way up the few steps that separated him with the princess—who was now blushing a rosy shade of red that Alfred finds so adorable—and took the smaller hand in his, “for your princess’s hand in holy courting.”

An awkward silence ranged throughout the immense room. The King blinked, quite shocked at the frank proposal. The Queen tried to hide her obvious quirked lips. The Princess, though, had it worst, face now scrunched up in an angry mortified glower. Trying to salvage any dignity left, the Princess turned to the King and Queen. “If you’ll please excuse us.”

Though the words seemed forced out through clenched teeth.

The Princess snatched Alfred’s wrists and brutally pulled him out of the room, closing the door along the way out. Leaning against the cool surface for a moment, the Princess diverted a full glare at the knight. Alfred just grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Well, that wasn’t exactly the most awesomest ending I was hoping for, but—”

A fist met his face in a sickening rupture, as the knight staggered backwards and covered his nose. “Ow! God dammit, what the hell was that for??”

He pouted and rubbed the sore spot. “You sure like it rough, don’t you?”

The taller blond grinned widely at the princess’s sputtering. He leaned down till they were face-to-face, centimeters left between them. The Princess reclined back until there was no more space to fall back on.

“So, how about a kiss?” He pointed at his nose, giving a gesture of ‘hey-kiss-it-better.’ Alfred waited as seconds ticked by, till he was punched harder, this time on the cheek, sending him sprawling onto the floor in a bit of a daze. The Princess sure had a mean upper-cut.


“ALFRED F. JONES!! YOU WANKER!!!!”


Presenting—

»x»x»x»x»x»x»x»x»x» . . «x«x«x«x«x«x«x«x«x«

Sir Alfred F. Jones & the Quest for Princess Iggy from the Devious UK Brothers

»x»x»x»x»x»x»x»x»x» . . «x«x«x«x«x«x«x«x«x«





« - - - - the s t o r y BEGINS - - - - »

.


HAH! Aren’t I a riot when it comes to storybook names? Lolz—
Second!anon should be working on her other fills will now since she just got a massive inspiration!, but she couldn’t resist filling this request. It was singing out to her like a siren call~

Wanna try my hand on a comical fluff again, though not my forte as you can tell. Hopefully I’m pulling it off right.

Note: What OP and anons most likely think the route this fill is going ISN’T really the route that this fill is going. Well, not giving that much away.

Wishing first!anon the best of luck on their fill~

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Wired Differently - Canada/America (+Sex Machine)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 06:02 am (UTC)(link)
Wired Differently

Request: Canada/America - Fucking Machine

Parts 1-3: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=26757646#t26757646

Parts 4-14: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=33778725#t33778725

Continued below.

Wired Differently (15/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
Most love confessions don’t end with the drone of a small motor.

America makes himself breathe, half-afraid that if he doesn’t concentrate on it, he might stop altogether. The curtains over the kitchen windows haven’t been closed—there aren’t any neighborhood houses nearby, but they still draw his fitful gaze every other moment—and he feels a little chilly, laid out on the kitchen table like this. But he wants it. He wants anything Canada will give him.

The fucking machine’s always been kind of an abstract idea for America. Fun to fantasize about, a good way to get into Canada’s pants multiple times, looks like a giant high-tech toy—but now that it’s buzzing somewhere below him, covering up Canada’s muttering as he blindly adjusts the angle, the fucking machine’s become a lot less two-dimensional. He wishes he could see it. He feels uneasy waiting, knees hooked over the edge of the oak. But then, that’s the point.

America licks his lips. He wants to touch himself, but he doesn’t. “You think, maybe if we used duct tape…?”

Canada kisses an ankle with affection. “You’d still break it. I’ll buy something in titanium online. I can always chain you up later.”

“It’s not like I want to be chained up,” says America lamely. He’s not entirely sure that’s true. When Canada says it, the whole thing sounds kind of hot.

“Scoot down a little more.”

He does.

“There.” Canada exhales, his nerves apparent. He stands, molding his palms to America’s legs and lingering just beyond where America needs them. “I think that’ll do it, eh? Let’s lube you up.”

“You’re so romantic. Tell me more.”

“America, shut up.” He sounds like he’s in love when he says it, so America obeys with little more than a crooked grin. He gazes up at Canada, adoring the fussed curl in his hair, made wild from anxiously tugging at it, and the way his brother’s mouth falls open at the sight of him (just a little, like saying, I forgot how incredible you looked two minutes ago).

“Should I…”

“Mm. Spread them more,” Canada tells him. He pushes at America’s inner thighs, firmly widening the gap between them. “God, I hope your balls don’t get pinched by this thing.”

America twists his head and muffles a burst of laughter in his naked shoulder. It’s so nuts, it’s so Canada. He loves him.

Canada sputters. “I’m serious! Ugh, you are so…” He must not know, because he gives it up, leaning over America to lick a wet stripe up his belly. America groans in appreciation, his cock twitching in interest at the attention lavished on his stomach. The heat of Canada’s mouth trails from navel to the hollow of his throat; in his mind’s eye, America imagines him recreating their border, making his own line in dirt and flesh.

Then Canada is kissing him, wet and perfect and awesome. The snap of the cap on the container of lube makes it to America’s ears, but he’s too busy being mapped, eagerly sucking on Canada’s tongue as it tries to catalogue every millimeter of him.

At the first brush of Canada’s digits, overly slick, something in America disassembles. He shudders, hands twining into Canada’s hair and wrenching him closer—tells himself it’s like every other time this has happened, the familiar and tender way Canada strokes the thin skin behind his ball sac, the sly press of a fingertip inside. The speed and precision that Canada uses to prepare him, open him up, stretching muscle and pushing deep, deep like he knows how much America can take. The same, not changed even a little, so there’s no reason to—

But it is different, because today Canada knows that he loves him.

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Wired Differently (16/?)

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Wired Differently (17/?)

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Wired Differently (18/?)

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Wired Differently (19/?)

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Wired Differently (20/20)

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The Remarkable Franco-German Friendship (3a/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 02:01 pm (UTC)(link)
request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33292357#t33292357

former parts (1-2): http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=33336389#t33336389

Anons, you are lovely and you know that and I am FUCKING SORRY for the lack of updates. Don't worry, I neither forgot about you or, worse, decided to abandon you. Finals decided to fuck a little around with my private life and I had to get the bitch back first. More frequent updates from now on. And yeah, chances are high I'll de-anon at some point. (So I can be hold responsible for finishing this, haha.)

____

The Remarkable Franco-German Friendship 3

iv: in which you learn things about Prussia's sex life, France tries to scare you and Karl Lagerfeld will not be pleased to hear of this


So, oui—or as les anglaises would say, 'Bloody yes, indeed!'—Prussia was wearing make-up. Can you imagine that? Non, bien sûr you cannot! And I can tell you exactly why you don’t. Oh, non, non, don't worry. I do not blame you. How could I? There is only so much the feeble little human, or any mind in general for that matter, is able to cope with before it...well, shuts down. It is only a natural reaction, no? Some call it être au bout de son latin, being at one's wits' end. Or a simple lack of imagination.

However, I call it self-preservation, la Grande Conservation of mankind. Therefore, chère dames, cher homes, do not feel, by all means, inférieur to me. There is no need to. Trust me. Just because you cannot imagine what my eyes were forced to witness, just because you are unable to experience the pain my eyes were forced to endure—don't worry! I have seen things far worse. Oh, and of course that does not make you inferior beings, I forgot to mention.

Admittedly, few things are worse than Prussia wearing make-up but let us not get lost in details of little matter. Let us, pour un moment, forget what Prussia's appearance was doing to my eyes—killing them slowly and painfully, if you absolutely must know, oui—and… and… ah merde! Zut alors! Je déteste oublier ce que je voulait dire. What a pain in the derrière.

Ah. Whatever. Let us come back to Prussia, shall we.

So, while I looked Prussia up and down and tried not to bleed too much out of the corner of my eyes, Prussia was glaring, albeit with some difficulty, up at me and slurring words I did not catch. He did not only look like a mess; he was a mess. The glittering eye shadow, the several hundred layers of various kinds of rouge and the smeared lipstick were just a vague extra that added a certain gayness factor to it all.

... Ah. I feel I need to get something straight right before someone might even think of getting it not so straight. (Ho ho ho! You dirty, dirty mind, you.)

I do not think―not at all!―that there is anything shameful about a man wearing make-up. Au contraire! You know me, don’t you? The très bien moi?
You do, and that is why you also do know that the très bien moi is not one to deny anyone his or her or its fun. Je suis très liberal, I am the Nation of l’Amour. And l’Amour neither knows restrains nor boundaries.

And yet. Yet I also take immense pleasure in looking like a man. A real man. Hence the five o'clock shadow you can see and feel on my manly chin.

The Remarkable Franco-German Friendship (3b/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 02:04 pm (UTC)(link)
This is why, you see, feminine make-up would undermine my masculinity. If it didn't as much as it always does, though, it would put such a perfect emphasize on my doll-like appearance with my fair taint and soft skin and full lips and angelic curls framing my angelic face. Don't you think so, too? (Qui ne dit mot consent, just so you know. Silence actually does give consent.)

... Now, where wa―ah! Right! Prussia, of all nations, dressed in lederhosen and wearing make-up. Horrible, oui, and I mean the French pronunciation here. I was so scared.

Pourquoi?

I can’t believe you ask.

Alors, please do imagine Prussia and now do imagine him sloshed out of his mind. You have done that? Perfect. Now try to recall the look of lederhosen, that horrendous Bavarian clown costume in leather. If you succeed in doing that transfer that image onto Prussia―remember, still sloshed out of his mind. Last but not least you try to imagine all that and Prussia, coming straight out of a gay bar.

If you still can sleep at night, pretend to be Canadian if you are not (then pet Canada's lovely hair on my behalf and do remind him to wash it with the new shampoo I have sent him last week, it makes his hair as smooth as mine) and imagine you go to bed. Prussia is creeping outside in your garden. And now he comes through your unlocked door at night, heading for your kitchen. Mistaking your maple syrup for beer.

If you are not Canadian and cannot pretend to be Canadian and do still sleep at night, rather well, I might add, then go to your local German pub and ask for a Bavarian sausage salad except you don't want it Bavarian style but rather East German style with an extra lot of mayonnaise and French fries. I assure you, you won't have any troubles keeping your eyes open for the next three weeks to come.

Horrible?

Oui. Absolutely.

Although I have to admit it is a bit unfair to compare Prussia with his food―even his food has its dignity, I have been told―and even more so to instill nightmares in the lovely minds of my lovely Canada's people.

En plus, my fear didn't last as long as the trauma of East German food or angry, sloshed out Prussian syrup thieves creeping through your backdoor would have had its effects on its respective victims.

My fear lasted for ten seconds,actually, in which I feared Prussia would smear his… ah… 'colourful' face against my new suit exclusively designed by Karl Lagerfeld in person, just for me and moi alone. Understandably, je pense, that thought had me shrieking in horror, and I think that is when my leg accidentally―it truly was une accident!―connected with Prussia's face and I… well, I probably knocked him out.

It hadn't been―no. No, that's not right; it had been my full intention to send him to the ground.

Mistakes happen.

What can you do? Apart from protecting your suit, I mean. This is called limitation des dommages, limitation of damage. Or defect. Prussia being quite clearly the defect here, no.

Mais oui, Prussia. Prussia, who was once more lying half-consciously on the ground. One could have felt guilty the way he was sprawled out there, a thin thread of drool trickling down his chin.

Attention! Could being the keyword here, not that I actually did. I mean, would you feel sorry if one attacked your exclusively designed Karl Lagerfeld suit? Oui, I can hear your answer and be assured, it is music in my ears. Be a dear and lovely and try to think your answer in French now and you get a kiss for free. (Which is not to say I wouldn’t kiss you anyway. Kissing, I have invented kissing, have I not? Kissing lovely beauties is my mission commissioned by no one else than God himself. And we all do know there is only one God and he speaks the language of love and has the most beautiful face the world has ever seen.)

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Part 9, France & UK, Living with a ghost AU, update (artfill)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)
request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27684878#t27684878
France is the new chef in town, and needs a place to live. And what better place than that old, abandoned loft which he can spruce up according to his tastes?
Then of course the dream house is ruined when he finds out that no, not rats, not cockroaches, but a GHOST lives there too. A particularly angry British ghost with no sense of taste.


previous part: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=38399781#t38399781

fill:
a - http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/9166/ghost4a.png
b - http://img179.imageshack.us/img179/851/ghost4b.png
c - http://img179.imageshack.us/img179/60/ghost4c.png
d - http://img704.imageshack.us/img704/9775/ghost4dc.png
e - http://img35.imageshack.us/img35/1870/ghost4e.png

oh god, i can't draw... xD


Re: Part 9, France & UK, Living with a ghost AU, update (artfill)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 06:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, yes, yes, you can draw!!!

I'm dying of cuteness!

Francis bookmarking the link...Oh, god, he can't help it, can he?

And Arthur going: "I'm dead...and stuff". Why so tsun, Arthur? (hugs him).

Please, please, draw more! This is fantastic!

OP

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Living with a ghost AU, mini UPDATE

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Living with a ghost AU, mini UPDATE #2

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Re: Part 9, France & UK, Living with a ghost AU, UPDATE

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ATTN TO OP

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Germany/N.Italy - Italy admires how strong Germany is

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/3274.html?thread=2387146#t2387146
Germany/N.Italy - Italy admires how strong Germany is - during sex of course.

They say that in heaven the mechanics are German. Feliciano, who has been sleeping with the personification of Germany for the past six months, is inclined to believe that. Every movement the man makes is fluid, graceful, but with a practicality that leaves nothing wasted. It’s like watching a car that that slides smoothly through the gears, hugs the corners, and purrs when you accelerate. Feliciano thinks it’s an especially appropriate metaphor right now considering Ludwig has just picked him and carried him up the stairs to his bed, letting him feel the shifting muscles of those strong arms and the steady thump of Ludwig’s heart.

Except when he breathes in Ludwig’s ear the bigger man makes a sound that could be a growl and pins Feliciano to the bed, and he thinks that maybe it be better to describe Ludwig as some sort of predator animal. Something like the dogs the man loves so much, Feliciano decides, although he doesn’t know the breeds enough to say which one. One built for strength and work, bred for loyalty and intelligence. And definitely a dog instead of a wolf, despite the way Ludwig bares his teeth in a snarl when he’s angry and likes to bite Feliciano’s skin before laving at the marks with his tongue. A wolf doesn’t follow the orders of a master or allow himself to be petted till his hair is all messed up and falling in his face.

And then Ludwig steps back so he can strip, and Feliciano-already naked from his earlier siesta-props himself up on his elbows to watch. The painter in him always loves this part, for his lover is beautifully formed in his strength. Feliciano sees shoulder muscles built for supporting a country that connect to strong arms that end in calloused, capable hands. A sculpted chest narrowing to hips that curve into a firm ass before becoming legs thick with muscles from hard work. He watches and wishes he had ability as a sculptor as well as with paints, because while a painting might better capture the scars that slash through pale skin or the dusting of freckles across Ludwig’s broad back or the trail of blonde hair that bisects firm abs, it might not be the right medium to show off the symmetry of the man’s form.

Ludwig crawls into bed with him, pulling him close, and Feliciano thinks that the problem with both ideas is that they fail to capture the really important part of this man. Other men are physically strong and other men are beautiful and many men are both, but not many are all of that and this solid and warm. Not many men could pick up a rifle or swing a fist with such skill and then feel confident enough in their manliness to go home and bake a cake. And it takes so much inner strength to not only acknowledge the kind of mistakes Ludwig has made but to move forward from them to become what he is today. And that, Feliciano thinks, is what makes Ludwig amazing.

And then Ludwig bites down his neck, and Feliciano stops thinking and just appreciates.

Holy...

(Anonymous) 2010-04-25 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Writer!Anon, I'm not OP, but damn I enjoyed this piece of work. I think you really captured the way Feliciano thinks and then turned that on Ludwig, and God damn, you've shown that such a combination makes something simply beautiful.

In short, you rock.

not OP but I loved this

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dio mio...

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[Part 9] Magic Cube [1/3]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 12:30 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=28239374#t28239374

The Rubik's cube was invented by a Hungarian so...

Right after its invention, Hungary comes up to the other nations with a proposal. If they can solve the Rubik's Cube in X amount of time, they'll win something - plus they'll prove just how clever they are to the rest of the world. If they can't she gets to take pictures of them in any poses she wants to fill out her collection.

Most of them being the proud nations they are, don't want to be considered idiots by the rest of the world. They fail. Utterly.

Bonus: Someone totally unexpected like Italy solves it with no problem.


--

"You're late, Hungary!" Prussia teased when the Hungarian was the last person to walk into the room.

"Shut up or would you like a face full of metal?" She asked and Gilbert promptly closed his mouth. "Anyways, I'm sorry I'm late!"

"I hope you have an adeqate explaination, Ms. Héderváry." England said, he was starting to get a headache.

"Oh! Right, of course!" She said, full of enthusiasm once again. "You see, we were putting the finishing touches on this!" She reached into her bag and pulled a cube.

Everyone in the room stared in confusion. "So...uh...What's so special about that box?"

"You'll see!" Hungary said with a smirk before handing one out to everyone in the room. "Its a puzzle!"

"Er...Elizaveta... I'm pretty sure puzzles are 2-D?" Austria asked. He was probably the only one to question her without getting hurt.

"Oh, no! Roderich, you see, this is a new type of puzzle that me and one of my citizens invented!" Hungary said proudly. "Anyways, here, let me show you how to play with it. Watch, you can twist it and stuff..." She started demonstrating the cube by twisting the pieces left, right, up, and down. "...Do you get it?"

Mostly everyone nodded their heads. "I don't get it...!" Sealand said with some disappointment in his face.

"Look, here, Peter..." England started, trying to show Sealand how to use the cube.

"No! I don't want Jerk England to teach me!"

"Why you...I'm just trying to help!" England protested. He was being nice for once and the brat was just going to brush him off?

"Papa! Teach me!" Sealand said, rushing off to Sweden's side for help.

Hungary cleared her thoat. "Ahem. As I was saying...Everyone understands now, right?" The room was filled with 'yes's in different languages. "Ok, so what I wanted to do today was to let everyone try it out and whoever can solve it the fastest will get any prize they want."

"Any?" Prussia repeated.

"Any?" Russia echoed.

"As long as its within reason." Hungary said with a smile that clearly meant 'If it is not within reason you get a whack on the head'.

Russia nodded. Getting everyone to become one with him was perfectly within reason.

"...Is asking a date from you within reason?" Prussia asked.

"No."

"But--"

"Get to work!" She yelled at him.

Magic Cube [2/3]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
They were all hard at work for even if they didn't want to do it, Hungary would hold up a frying pan aggressively before they could complain.

About an hour later, someone yelled "I've got it, aru!" All nations turned to look at one end of the table. Some groaned in annoyance at not being first and others were finally relieved they wouldn't have to twist the cube anymore. Belarus especially glared at China in hatred. She really wanted to win, she would get Hungary to help her make Russia one with her.

Hungary was surprised that someone had figured it out so quickly and went to see China's cube. She turned it around all sides and raised an eyebrow with a frown. "...China, you're supposed to make all the colors on each side match... You've only completed one side."

"...So do I get a prize, aru?"

"Only when you complete it."

And with that, the nations that didn't want to do this anymore let out a groan and went back to work. Others, such as Belarus went to work happily. Belarus with a much creepier smile than all others made Russia attempt to make himself smaller and hide behind someone. It didn't work, he was the tallest person around.

"Aw, it was a nice try, Aniki." Korea said to China. "Say, what would you want if you won anyways?"

"For Japan to give me all of his Shinatty-chan's at his house, aru!"

Japan gave him a shocked look. "No! I need those for tourists!" He turned to Hungary with a slightly pleading look. "If you agree to that, I won't sell you my doujinshis!"

"What...? Er, ok, China, anything but that."

"...Um, ok. I guess I'll just ask for Taiwan back, aru."

Taiwan gave China an annoyed and shocked look. "I am going to win this now even if it kills me!" She declared and went back to the cube more diligently than ever. "And then I'll make Taipei China's new capital!"

China let out a gasp and wasted no time at working on the cube again.

--

America let out a whine. "We've been at this for hours! I can't solve it!" He complained. "I don't want to do it anymore~!" He said with a pout. And the fact that he couldn't solve it made him upset. He was a hero! He needed to be good with everything. ...Or if he wasn't good at that one thing, then no one else can! It was his hero logic. "Let's all just say we give up, ok?" He suggested.

"Heck no!" Switzerland yelled. "I'll solve this thing!" He was getting angrier by the minute by the cube and was now twisting it madly.

"B-Brother! Calm down!" Liechtenstein said, trying and failing at trying to stop her brother from getting mad.

"No! At this rate, I'm going to shoot this thing!" At that statement, the room went into an uproar of complaints of what they were going to do with the cube.

"...Hey." Hungary called. "HEY!!" She yelled to get everyone's attention. When they did, she glared at them and held the pan in a menacing way. "If you don't participate anymore, I'll make all of you model for me and Japan's doujinshi's!"

At that, everyone froze and started contemplating on whether or not to continue. Eventually, they picked up their cubes again.

--

Ukrine was working on her cube when she heard a slightly strange sound next to her. Was that snoring? Looking next to her, Italy had fallen asleep. "I-Italy! Wake up! Hungary would be mad if you weren't working on that cube...!" She whispered, poking the Italian lightly on the arm.

"Ve?" Italy said, getting up to rub his eyes. "But I've already solved it." He said with a yawn. He had solved it within the first ten minutes of its distribution.

The people sitting at Italy's end of the table looked up in surprise.
"What?!"

--

The only reason I made China think he solved it was because at anon's school, a lot of Chinese kids are obsessed with this little cube.

Captcha: accurate state ...Does that mean the Chinese really loves this little cube?

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Girasole [1a/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 12:38 am (UTC)(link)
I hope OP appreciates, and I am not entirely sure how long this will be, but please follow me through to the end, ok?

original request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27371790#t27371790 (obscure pairings)

This fill with be Russia/N.Italy


---

The corridor was completely empty when the elevator reached the floor, doors sliding open with a soft ‘ping’ sound.

“We’re a bit late for today’s meeting, damn it” Romano muttered, not at all pleased. “I told you to wake up sooner!”

“It’s not my fault if brother had to stop at the store to buy tomatoes on the way here, ve~”

“S–shut up Feli!”

The Italian brothers exited the elevator together, hesitating for a moment before heading left down the corridor.

They were headed for the second Nations’ meeting (there were three more planned for the week, for a grand total of twenty in the span of a month) held at the UN building, but had ended up being quite late –thankfully their driving skills had been very helpful.

“Ve~ after the meeting I’m going to go and eat some fettuccine at that nice restaurant two blocks away~” Italy clutched the documents he was holding and smiled at his brother, already lost in his daydreaming about food. “Do you want to come, too?”

Romano grunted in reply, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure their food is acceptable?”

“Of course! Ve~ the cook is Italian, after all~”

With a satisfied nod, South Italy hummed and checked his watch. “It’s the business room down this hall, right?”

“Yes, I think it–” Italy stopped mid–sentence and blinked. “Ve, isn’t that–”

Romano looked up to see what his brother was talking about and let out a soft yelp; standing in the corner of the hall, in all his imposing self, was Russia, busy looking at something the two couldn’t see from their position. He didn’t appear to have noticed them, thankfully.

“I–it’s Ivan, damn it! C–chigii!” Romano took a few steps back, eyes glued to the form of the Russian Nation. “W–why is he standing there next to the door? W–why isn’t he inside?!”

“I don’t know, ve~ b–but if he’s there, I don’t wanna go to the meeting! He’s scary!” Italy whined, shaking his head from side to side.

“What if he turns around?! I don’t want to talk to him! D–damn it all!” Romano shook his head, and without further ado he turned around, ready to run.

Italy let out a wail and tried to stop his brother, but his hand clenched around thin air, and he was left frozen on the spot, watching his brother disappear behind the corner. “T–the meeting, Lovi!” he called out.

“I–I’m going to get to the s–side door, shit!”

Italy’s head spun around again, and he let out a soft, relieved sigh when he noticed that Russia hadn’t heard them at all, despite his loud shouting.

Being alone with Russia and his attempts at making everybody be one with him was quite scary, and the Italians were known not to be the most courageous people around, so Italy didn’t blame his brother from running away.

Not to mention that they had tried being friendly with the Russian man, due to their bosses doing business together, but unfortunately for them, Belarus had always been far scarier than her older brother was.

Italy gulped down and looked around in the hall, half–expecting to see the familiar figure of the lithe yet deranged Nation coming closer with a knife, but the hall was empty, aside from Russia and himself.

On the subject of Russia, he was still staring at something Italy couldn’t see, and had yet to look away.

What was so interesting for the other Nation that kept him so enraptured?

Compelled by a sudden curiosity (probably bordering on masochism), Italy swallowed his fear and shifted sideways into the hall, keeping the wall glued to his back and the documents clutched into his arms.

He advanced inch by inch, stopping a few times when he bumped against a table or a radiator, freezing and glancing at Russia to see if he heard, and after some painstakingly long seconds, Italy was finally able to see what had interested the Russian Nation so much.

Girasole [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 12:39 am (UTC)(link)
At first, he thought it was the wall (after all, Russia was crazy enough to be attracted by a wall, right?), but then he realised it was a vase of flowers on a small side table.

To be more specific, a vase of sunflowers.

They were probably fake, too, because this wasn’t the right period to make sunflowers grow, but it looked like Russia didn’t care.

His eyes were glued on the flowers in the vase, and he was barely blinking, with an expression that tugged something in Italy’s chest, making his uneasiness and fear drain away.

That look –Italy had never seen such a sad, miserable expression on anyone but himself and his brother, ever (and Spain, when Romano prohibited him to eat tomatoes), and at first he didn’t understand what could cause Russia, of all Nations, to look like that.

These were flowers, right? There was nothing sad about flowers.

Besides, this was Russia –always smiling in that creepy way, bantering with America…

He looked sad. There was such a strong, unbidden longing in Russia’s eyes –as if the flowers were something so important to him that he couldn’t even look away from them…

Did he really like them so much? Was it even a matter of flowers, in the end, or something more? Italy licked his dry lips, curiosity spiking up again. Sunflowers –he painted them when he wanted to cheer himself up, to brighten up a room.

During the war, Russia had wanted Italy’s territories because they were warm…

In his own nation it was hard to grow flowers like these, no?

He didn’t understand what made the cold, tall nation so distraught in the presence of those flowers, but he understood an expression like this –he could read them well.

Italy shifted closer, eyes fixed on Russia’s face, stepping away from the wall in silence, not willing to break the silence and make the other aware of his presence –he felt like he’d happened upon something private, something that Russia didn’t want others to see, and felt ashamed of himself for being unable to just turn around and leave.

He didn’t like that look. At all. It was painfully obvious that Russia was suffering. Maybe the Russian man’s smile was creepy, but if he had to choose between that and the yearning look, then… then…

Italy took a shuddering breath and finally was able to look away, eyes wide falling on the documents he was clutching at his chest.

Silently scooting back into the corridor, heart thumping wildly in his chest, Italy gulped down his sudden uneasiness.

Casting a last glance at the Russian Nation still standing in front of the vase, he turned around and ran away.

……………………………

Russia always got to the world meetings early; it was a habit he had taken since the first years of the nineties, and it allowed him to prepare his documents and settle in without too many people around.

Usually, when he entered the meeting room England was there already, way earlier than he was; upon seeing Russia, the English Nation would nod at him and discreetly put away his embroidery kit, flushing crimson, but grateful that Russia didn’t comment on it.

Russia didn’t care either way, after all.

The Englishman would then offer him a cup of tea, and Russia would refuse it, smiling and occupying his time with wandering around or just sitting, waiting for the other Nations to arrive; they wouldn’t speak anymore, both lost in their own thoughts.

It was more of a polite ritual than anything, but it was a welcomed one anyway. Russia liked order in his things.

The third day of meetings, though, started in a different way.

Russia entered the conference room and nodded towards England, just as usual, staring with a vague amusement as the Englishman hurriedly buried his latest embroidery work in his bag, trying to look inconspicuous.

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[Part 9] Slayers/Hetalia crossover - "Clair"

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=29558030#t29558030

Request was for any other anime crossed over with Hetalia. Personally, my other favorite anime is Slayers. I started to wonder if that was even possible, and this just happened. idek you guys, I blame exams.

Clair
England find a young girl who happens to also be a magic book from another world, and all chaos breaks loose when a sorceress and her friends show up to retrieve it.

Clair - [1a/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
About once a century, Arthur was forced to go through his library and clean it out. He never really wanted to, but one could accumulate a lot of books over the years and there was only so much space for shelves in his rather cramped main residence in London. Admittedly, most of the books were never really gotten rid of, he just shipped them off to his second house in Yorkshire where there was more space.

Most of the books he ended up keeping in London were the ones he needed to consult on a regular basis, the ones that insulted France a lot, or the ones that were magical.

Halfway through a shelf of books, between the real edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them and his highly controversial Second Edition of the Buggre Alle This Bible, was a book. Granted, there were plenty of books, but Arthur was pretty sure he'd never seen this one before.

Frowning, he pulled it down off the shelf and eyed the dusty cover. There weren't any markings that he could see, and it did look quite old, but he was sure he'd never seen it before. He flipped open the front cover, and his frown deepened when he discovered it was written in no language he knew. In fact, it wasn't even written in a language he'd ever seen before. At all. And that meant it wasn't something that belonged in this world.

He put the book down, very carefully, and went to consult his other magical books.

~*~

"...What do you mean it... escaped?"

"Simply that, my lord. There's been a growing disturbance in the Astral Plane. No one has been able to ascertain its origin. When I went to retrieve the latest manuscript, it vanished before I was able to destroy it. I believe it fled through that distortion into another plane, my lord."

"I see. It must be retrieved."

"I understand, my lord."

~*~

"Miss Lina, please don't do this!"

"Shut up Amelia, it's just food! Waiter! More pork!"

"But Miss Lina..."

Zelgadis sighed, letting his chin rest in his hand and tuning out the chaos that was Dinner With Lina Inverse, Sorceress and Enemy of All Who Lived. He was successful, up until the point where Lina screeched and threw a Fireball over Zelgadis's head. He simply sighed, ducked, and wondered who had insulted her this time.

When he turned, he was mildly surprised to see Xellos standing in front of the smoking hole in the wall, innocent act firmly in place as munched on a skewer of meat that had previously been on Lina's plate.

"What are you doing here, Xellos?" Lina ground out. "How dare you interrupt my mealtime!"

Xellos swallowed his mouthful, then laughed lightly. "Actually, believe it or not, I'm here on other business. I ran into you by chance."

Lina frowned, eying him. "Oh really?"

"Really!" Xellos smiled, practically radiating innocence. "In fact, I should be going now. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely. Ta!" With a grin and a cheeky wave he was gone, just barely missing the second Fireball Lina threw at his head.

Amelia was frowning slightly when Lina turned back around. "Miss Lina, doesn't it seem strange that he would just coincidentally run into us here...?"

Gourry blinked at them all, never having stopped eating. "Eh? Why is it weird? Xellos is everywhere."

"And that in itself is suspicious," Lina muttered, then shook herself and frowned hard at Gourry. "Hey! That steak was mine!"

Zelgadis just shook his head.

~*~

Norway didn't know anything about strange books written in runes, though he did mention that the magical planes had felt a bit off lately. Arthur just sighed and thanked him for his help. He was considering trying a translation spell to get the book into English, or at least Latin, when he walked back into the library.

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Clair - [2a/?]

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Clair - [3/?]

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Clair - [4/?]

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Alcyone (1/32) - Greece and Japan as Cats (Comic Fill)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
Request from part four: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8732866#t8732866

AU! Japan and Greece are cats. Not catboys. Not catgirls. Just cats. They come from different lands, but somehow meet! I want to see a day with Cat!Greece and Cat!Japan! You can use meow-speak as a foreign language...

BONUS: I wanna see some fish catching or something. Because Japan likes fish, and as far as I can remember, so does Greece (at least they did in the place I visited). Bonus!bonus if Japan says he won't eat the fish because it isn't from Tsukiji or they GET there fish from Tsukiji (although I'd prefer it set in Greece).


Summary: Japan-kitty is stranded on a Greek Island and must learn to get by with the help of Greece-kitty.

Page 1: http://i39.tinypic.com/2nbsytx.jpg

Re: Alcyone (1/32) - Greece and Japan as Cats (Comic Fill)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
HOLY FUCK YOU DRAW BEAUTIFULLY

Wow. Just... wow. I'm guessing tired looking cat = Greece? And. I have nothing constructive to say. It was pretty. Can't wait for more.

This never happened

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11411.html?thread=23802003#t23802003

The request was England/Germany, before the world wars happened, at a wedding of two of their nobles. Getting trashed and having sex with England dominating. But morning come they both agree that this never happened.

Zechkumpan [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 05:07 am (UTC)(link)
Supposedly this should take place at the wedding of Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom and Prince Henry of Battenburg. But the references are small and can easily be ignored. Also, no sex yet sorry.



It was... a little strange.

The ceremony had proceeded without delay, and the celebrations had certainly been joyous. The wedding had been enjoyable and it couldn't have been planned any better.

But he supposed this feeling of unease was because there was something missing: he had no brother to look out for in this event. No one to stand beside during formalities. No one to keep an eye on during his own drinking to make sure he wasn't hackling some unfortunate guest, or worse, planning to sabotage the event itself for his amusement. In fact, his brother had pointedly refused to come. Prussia, of course, wasn't one who enjoyed events unless it specifically celebrated him as a nation: weddings weren't designed to celebrate him but a union of other people who happened to be not him. But he had thought that he might want to come if only to have an excuse to drink. Perhaps he had been hoping for too much when he gave him the invitation. Not that England himself had extended the invitation to Prussia.

Sighing, Germany allowed himself another sip of wine. Speaking of England, he had yet to greet the nation. He had caught a glimpse of him during the ceremony but only out of the corner of his eyes. There hadn't been a chance to speak to him the entire day. Actually, the entirety of the day had been spent in trying to greet him or at least leave in a friendly word. But the nation had simply been 'unavailable, terribly sorry' every single time he'd tried to meet him. It was as if he was everywhere except where he would be: it had been more than a little frustrating. However, it was nothing to be upset over. Frowning slightly to himself, Germany swirled the wine expertedly. He might have been able to avoid waiting awkwardly as he was now if he had decided to come even earlier than he had. But then he had already caught the earliest ship to Osbourne; should he have arrived yesterday than, with the prin--

There. To his right, 2 o'clock to be exact, England in his fanciest suit yet was greeting guests left and right. Exchanging words in one moment, shaking hands the next, he had not noticed Germany yet. Not moving from his spot, Germany prepared himself for the wait. Judging from the cast of guests hovering near the area, it would take a while. But as England straightened from a hand kiss, Germany noticed his eyes flicker briefly towards his direction. In the next minute the Briton had managed to extricate himself from formalities and stand by his side as coolly as a breeze.

"I apologize; I heard that you've tried to reach me prior to the wedding."

England was, in his mind, the very picture of a gentleman. He had no hat on or walking stick by his side at the moment but his dress still spoke of the mannerisms and character so highly regarded by the British as the gentry. White gloves, black jacket, pressed suit, all the way down to his shining black shoes. Adel, but not quite; he thought as he noted the still messy hair. Nevertheless he felt himself stand taller than before in his military dress, almost to the point where he swore he could see the top of the other's head. That is, until his brother's words echoed in his mind-- "He's got some fucked up idea of superiority so if you wanna piss him off, just stand tall haha!"-- which made him pause midway.

"It was no trouble. I arrived earlier than needed."

Zechkumpan [2/?]

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1/2

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
Canada/anyone. Canada making out with/having sexy time with someone, and accidentally saying France's name instead of theirs.
Link: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=2131320#t2131320

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Canada's face was flushed. He gasped with every thrust, his body pliant beneath him. And at the final moment, his body spasming from pleasure, his lips parted and said a single word which killed any chance of an afterglow.

France!

England would have reacted sooner, but his mind blanked out from orgasm – surely pushed along by the last few clenches of Canada's muscles surrounding him. It was only a few moments later, after rolling off of him, his face in a pillow that England rose up and vented his anger.

"France? France? What the bloody hell is this, Canada? Do I look like that wine bastard to you?"

"Well, I thought it only fair, considering you called out my brother's name," he said. Canada smiled sweetly. His voice did not change from the very quiet, cute, nonthreatening tenor it always was.

"It's not my fault you look so damned much alike," England protested, spluttering. "You're easy to mistake."

"And it's not my fault that I have two papas, and I might accidentally forget when one is visiting at the time," Canada said. His voice took a steely edge, his smile turned brittle. He absently wiped the come from his chest on the sheets and fumbled for his glasses.

He hadn't done it often. Well, no more than five – make that ten – or maybe fifteen – well, certainly no more than twenty times. It was an easy enough mistake to make, and in the heat of passion, his mind would wander to America. His strong arms, his rough hands and devilish smile...sometimes those fantasies didn't stay quite as silent as he wanted them to be. It wasn't something he intended to do. It just...happened. He didn't intend to use Canada, and truly did appreciate Canada's merits – when he could actually remember who he was.

Canada kicked the sheets away and swung his feet over until he was in a sitting position. He didn't bother to pick the clothes up from the floor where England had taken them off and left them.

"I'm off to take a shower. Sarkozy will be here in a few hours. Don't you have a meeting to attend?"

He was getting dismissed out of bed by sweet little Canada, his former colony. England could barely believe what he was hearing.

2/2

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 05:39 am (UTC)(link)
"Sarkozy? That French bastard? You really think it's such a good idea after the last time there were Frenchmen running amuck in Quebec?" England said.

"Mm. I told you months ago that he was going to speak at Quebec," Canada said. "And Quebec has been rather good lately. If I deny him a visit from France, he probably will riot again."

"Months ago? I must have forgotten it," England said.

"You seem very adept at forgetting," Canada said. He leveled with a smile that might as well have been a glare for how much venom it possessed. Bloody hell the boy could keep a grudge. England might have had something else to add, but he was never at his best after sex. Then, he just wanted to fall into a deep sleep for a few hours. Pleasure always left him unwound and not at his sharpest. So it was that Canada stalked off, his anger more visible to the loo.

"Oh, and one more thing...."

Canada peered around the side of the door. His expression was deceptively innocent. "France gives better head than you. America and I both agree on this."

England cringed, a litany of swearwords on the tip of his tongue. He was quite certain that this had come from the Oh America, like that, yes mid blowjob which resulted in a little too much teeth to be accidental.

But there was the sound of the shower rushing, and a Canada singing, his voice sweet, and slightly off-key. He'd always enjoyed Canada's singing, though now this enjoyment was dampened by the fact that it was a very French song.

England sat wrapped in the come-drenched covers, stewing. What was with colonies these days? The brothers had been so sweet when they were younger. Yes, America was a little hellion, but his heart was in the right place. And Canada had barely given him any trouble at all – and when he did, it was sure to be caused by France sticking his fingers where they didn't belong.

The mere thought of the name made the rage stir anew in him. So then, as he was wont to do for everything, even Global Warming and food shortages around the world, he blamed France. America couldn't have ever won his independence without France's help. It would've been a mere bout of teenage rebellion which a good caning would take care of. And Canada wouldn't be here, kicking him out of bed and rubbing his French roots in his face if it wasn't for that wine bastard.

"Damn it all to hell," he muttered. He got out of bed, still a bit sore (though, there was a little pleasure in knowing that Canada would be more sore at the moment. England was not known for his gentleness) and pulled on his pants.

He thought it about time he paid the frog a visit.

--
Poor England. I'd like to think Canada just exploded with rage after getting mistaken hundreds of times and was pushed too far. He probably even apologizes tomorrow. I think England cheers himself up with some vino and beats up on France because OK MAYBE FRANCE GIVES BETTER BLOWJOBS THAN HIM, BUT HE CAN KICK HIS ASS ANY DAY.

Also, the timeline is October 2008, right before Sarkozy's speech. I suppose that means that France is going to be visiting Canada's bed soon as well?

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A Test of Strength [1/5]- UKUS, voyeur!Japan

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:01 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=34027589#t34027589
[Part 10] Push-ups, WW2

*~*

Basically, I took the picture, the third bonus, and just kind of...ran away with it. Sorry OP. I was originally going to post this in 2 parts- pre-smut and smut- but it was short enough that it just ended up being a oneshot. The second half of this is better, I swear.

Also, OP never answered the whole UKUS vs USUK thing before it maxed out, so I just went with what you wrote in the subject line. Also, I like England topping. XD

This is the first real fanfic I've ever finished, much less posted, so if you see any mistakes or have any concrit, kindly point them out please!


*~*

Japan crept through the bushes, moving carefully to avoid making any noise. To make noise was to get caught, which would be a dim move in and of itself, but to get caught spying while in the midst of a war, well- that would be the height of foolishness.

The practice grounds weren’t empty, but it was immediately obvious that his targets weren’t there, so Japan continued creeping around the premises. He got lucky when he came alongside one of the buildings and heard familiar voices coming from one of the windows near the tree. After confirming his solitude, he scaled the tree as quickly as possible (which still took much too long; he wasn’t as spry as he used to be). He spent only a moment eyeing the branch nearest the window before deeming it sufficiently leafy and sturdy enough to hold his weight and hide him from view.

After carefully arranging himself on the branch, he looked from his spot into the room. The window was slightly open, which was more than enough to allow the occupants’ voices to be heard clearly. Though he had arrived in the middle of their conversation, he managed to glean their intentions to test America's strength via...push-ups? This seemed to be a rather odd way to test one’s strength, but the results should give Japan exactly what he came for: intelligence on how strong America was and his role in the war.

The room he was peering into appeared to be dedicated to indoor exercise, with mats and weights and bars strewn about the floor. England and America were standing near a ratty blue mat discussing the details of the test. The rest of the Allies were nowhere to be seen.

Inside, England nodded his head, and this appeared to be the signal to start. He watched America remove his shirt and move into position, and England was moving as well-

Japan could hardly believe his eyes.

America was doing push-ups with England sitting on his back. And he was moving fast. Up, down, up, down, 33, 34, 35... England's voice was coming through the window with the regularity of a- what were those musical timers called? Ah, yes, metronomes- and showed no signs of slowing down.

From his position, he could see the scars that littered America's arms and shoulders, though they were far fewer than his own (and doubtless England's as well). England, he thought, looked much too comfortable on America's back.

Japan's mind finally cleared as he remembered he was supposed to be taking notes. He managed to note America's abundant arm strength before his ears tuned back to England's voice. What he heard froze his mind again.

"107, 108, 109..."

America had done over 100 push-ups with England on his back, and he showed no signs of exhaustion. The count was as steady as ever, though England's expression, still neutrally composed as it had been from the beginning, had acquire a slightly glazed sheen to it. America looked bored, as he had from the beginning.

The miles of skin and rippling muscles were beginning to warm Japan's insides, and he firmly suppressed the feeling. He couldn't get distracted now; Germany was already stressed enough with trying to keep the Italies in line. It would be unconscionable to add to his anxiety.

A Test of Strength [2/5]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:06 am (UTC)(link)
Japan's attention returned to the scene in front of him when he heard America speak.

"223, 224, 225..." England's eyes weren't quite half-lidded, but his face definitely bespoke boredom.

"How long has it been?"

England checked his watch. "Less than 5 minutes."

America scrunched his face in annoyance. "This is getting really boring."

"I agree."

"I wanna stop."

"Getting tired?"

"No, I'm bored. I wanna do something else." Japan blinked rapidly. Was his English failing him, or did he imagine the suggestiveness America had given that last word? The images that flashed through his mind brought back the warm feeling, and a flush was spreading out from his neck.

"Hn. Tell you what. Get to 500 and I'll give you a special reward, how's that?"

“ Hm." Up, down, up, down, up, down. "How many am I am at now?"

"272, 273, 274-"

"They should be more than happy with 500." 500? Japan's eyes nearly left their sockets.

"I'd imagine so."

The shiny metal tags around America's neck suddenly caught his attention. He could just barely make them out, and he thought he could just make out their rhythmic clinking as they hit the floor every time America lowered himself. Trivial, but it was a distraction from England's hypnotically even voice. 355, 356, 357... Japan's hands refused to let go of the branch long enough to continue taking notes. What was there to write about? America was freakishly strong, and his strength was likely to be reflected in his military. Japan had never liked second guessing himself, but...perhaps that attack wasn't the wisest course of action. The warning to stay out instead spurred him to join the war.

Briefly, he wondered where the other Allies were. If he understood the situation correctly, this display of strength was their idea that neither England nor America were too enthusiastic about. Wouldn't they want to witness it to confirm for themselves? As if to answer his question, the roar of tanks and airplanes fired up in the distance. Oh, Japan thought distantly, they're readying for an attack. Germany should know. France, Russia, and China will be attacking soon. He had his notepad pulled back in front of him when his eyes drifted back to the window and, to his astonishment, saw England petting America like a kitten.

No, not petting. England was threading his fingers through the other's hair, and oh- he could hear the raspy breaths of the blonde still going up, down, up, down, up, down. America was finally tiring at- what was the count? 442, 443, 444... They may be at war, but Japan couldn't help but feel awe at this young nation and his boundless strength. He himself was getting stronger, thanks to Germany's training, but his old limbs would never approach anything resembling what he was currently witnessing.

America's breathing was decidedly more ragged than it was a minute ago, and his pace, kept in time by a British accent, was definitely slower than it had been thus far. Japan released a breath he didn't know that he had been holding. It wasn't as if his fears that America was secretly some sort of superweapon robot or one of those superpowered people he had seen in America's- comic books, they were called- had been dispelled. He had no business entertaining such silly notions, however much these comics were a secret guilty pleasure of his (after the war, when he has some time, he wants to try his hand at making his own comics). He vaguely recalled a muscular man with a red cape who was capable of superhuman feats, and wondered how much of this character was modeled on America himself.

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Thread of epic sadness

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:46 am (UTC)(link)
Original request:http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=30933317#t30933317

I'll be writing a few, so I'll just post them all in this thread.

(ReCaptcha: for ennobled. Sure, why not?)

Sides of the Wall-Ludwig [1/3]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:50 am (UTC)(link)
I got about halfway through the second part of this and realized everyone seems obsessed with Prussia, ah well. Also the different parts of this will be a bit short.
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There’s a wall between them.

Such a weak barrier would never separate them, and Gilbert sends his people off whenever he can.

He’s giving up a part of himself, fading slowly.

They talk often, voices carrying through the thick iron. No creation of man or nation could sever a brother’s love. They talk of memories and dreams, of love and war. They talk about the past, of the future, but never of the present, or the terrible wall separating them, stronger than iron.

Then Gilbert cuts himself short, words of hope, words of love, and an apology that they both know isn’t like him. They both know the reason he’s changed, they both know where he goes when he regretfully leaves the wall.

A single scream, although quickly cut off, lingers in the air. The sound is left ringing in his ears long after. Tonight, as it was with many others, he will not sleep.

He lies awake, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as though all answers could be found there.
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I'm not quite sure what Captcha thinks sparrows would do.

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Anything goes: Hetalia/Echo Bazaar!

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Using the anything goes: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11411.html?thread=23682451#t23682451

The silk mask was dark and ragged and stained where it rested on the prisoner’s face, but through it his eyes shone like the blue of a long-forgotten sky, his hair fair and golden and gleaming brighter than the sun. He rubbed his wrists absently where he’d wrenched off the chains easily as sorrow-spider silk, and dutifully made the rounds of the city: the taverns where they learned, rat catcher and clay man alike, to stay clear of his monstrous strength, the bars where he charmed the artists and poets with his ready laugh and lovely frame, the arch where his eyes sharp behind the contraband glasses learned him the secrets that were even more currency than echoes.

The only place he seemed to fail was trying to hide in the shadows, and often he retreated with only the laughter of cats for company.

But he was dangerous enough, and watchful enough, and persuasive enough, that a lack shadowy ability did not overly hamper him.

He cut through the Fifth City like a knife, but even he was held by the Bazaar: the Hesperidean Cider, gleaming just a few shades darker than his hair; you could work your lifetime away for that lifetime, and his longing was like a physical thing, so much that it wasn’t even a whispered secret, though much else about him was cryptic at the least.

They wondered why a man with such desire for the surface world would descend to Fallen London, and once, with his Magnanimity running high and his Ruthlessness blunted on the shattered corpses of those who would oppose him, someone dared the question and expected an answer to wring Admiration out of Deep Amber.

“Someone has stolen the heart of someone I love,” said Alfred, and in the moonish light he blazed somehow, and shadowed somehow, in the depths of Fallen London where no one looked to see the sky, be it day or night. His gaze fixed on the Shuttered Palace; he’d been and come away with no salve to the Ambition burning in his breast. The precious Cider waited heavy in his closest places, safe from any pickpocket dumb enough to dare. “I will find him if I have to burn here to water, and go down the river itself,” half to himself, and the Nightmares did not come that night.

[Part 10] Poppy Seeds - China/England - 1/?

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Request:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13125.html?thread=30611269#t30611269


China/England. Victorian era. Sex while they both get high on opium. I like frottage, hand jobs, blow jobs, but please no anal.

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England’s belly was full of home-made cider. His teeth felt like they were going to dissolve. The dock workers had been fascinated by him, by how much an ‘old toff’ could take, so they’d kept on filling him up. He stumbled through the parts of London that were no cleaner than a cesspool, out of the range of the gutters and windows. His mind was adrift from far more than the alcohol. His people spread their influence in a fine nebula, while he tried to remain insular. There were too many nations he couldn’t trust himself around. He’d see them again in another hundred years or two, when all of this had passed. For now, he had the dockers and the miners for company. They didn’t mind him so long as he kept tossing coins in their direction and he matched them drink for drink. England stumbled through the streets. He’d found his way into the slums. People spilled out onto the doorsteps, mostly the young men, with their bent backs and coal-blackened skin. Instead of turning back and heading home, England crossed through a narrow alley reeking of piss and blood, and into another street.

“Mister!” one of the stray, sexless children that wandered the streets here said. “Are you lost? Do you need shown there?”

England looked down at a scruffy brunette head. This one was a boy, England believed, no more than ten with huge brown eyes that reflected the light of his lamp. He reminded him a little of Korea, although younger. His feet were bare and black as pitch. England held out a shilling to him. He approached him with the caution of a wild deer. England held the coin in the palm of his open hand, as if he were feeding a horse a slice of apple. The boy snatched the coin and danced away as if he expected England to strike him. England held his hand over his pocket in case boy decided to pick it.

“Have you seen anything interesting?” England asked.

“I saw a Chinaman,” the boy said.

“There are a lot of Chinese here.”

[Part 10] Poppy Seeds - China/England - 2/?

(Anonymous) 2010-04-26 07:58 pm (UTC)(link)
“Not like this one. He wasn’t a docker or anything ‘cause he was too clean. He had big eyes and they weren’t squinty at all like my da says they are and he smelled nice and he said he never eats cats. He gave me coins too but they were funny-looking.”

“He spoke English? What did he look like?”

“He was,” the boy lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Handsome. But he was short for a grown-up. He let me touch his sleeves. I’ve never felt silk before.”

England shook his head. No, it couldn’t be. Why would he come here for any reason other than to slit England’s throat? Surely he was too polite to stage a confrontation on England’s home soil. “Where did you see him last?”

“I showed him to a place but it’s a long way…”

“There’s a sovereign in it for you.”

“Okay. Hold my hand so the others won’t think you’re free.”

England wrapped the boy’s smaller hand in his and let himself be led. It was rather like his forays with a child America, who had decided England absolutely had to see something. Except after this, this child would go back to his poverty. At least he appeared to be healthy, if a little thin. There was so much disease among the human populace here, dysentery and syphilis and influenza, not to mention the kinds of things that might happen to a little boy on the streets like this. The boy tugged England’s arm every time he appeared to slow. England saw only hints of the other children as they walked. They tended to become very good at concealing themselves.

“Mister,” the boy said. “How come you’re all dressed up and got money like a toff but you don’t sound properly like them?”

“There are more of you than there are of them,” England said.

The boy frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. You must’ve been like me and then got rich on the race horses. My da says he’s going to get rich on the race horses. Anyway, it’s through here but you’re not to tell the police, all right? Or about me neither.”

“All right, thank you.”

England handed over the sovereign. The boy clutched his hand as he tried to retract it. “I can do…” the boy lowered his eyes. “…Other things for you. For more shillings.” A slight tremble ran through his body. “With my mouth because I don’t want a sore bum.”

“No!” England said. He kneeled down in front of the boy and drew him into a hug. “Don’t offer those other things so lightly. Here.” England passed over three more sovereigns. “Don’t give that to your dad. Buy food with it and share it with your family. It should keep you going for a couple of weeks.”

The boy hugged him back and then ran off. Within a few moments, he’d completely disappeared. England straightened himself up and checked his wallet was still there. It was. He walked through the door the boy had shown him to. It led to another door via a set of wooden stairs. The damp had set in to them, making the small space stale with the scent of rotten wood. England trod carefully down them in case they buckled under his weight. He pushed on the second door, only to have someone on the other side push back.
“Who are you?” the voice on the other side said.

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[Russia/Canada] Meaningful [1/4]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-27 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=28958222#t28958222

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

Canada didn’t visit Moscow very often, and when he did, it would always be in a diplomatic, tight-scheduled trip. So when he did come for more than meetings and summits, Russia tried to make the best of it.

Which wasn’t very difficult – unlike his brother, Canada was very easy to please.

“Dinner was great, Russia. Thank you,” Canada smiled up at him, his cheeks flush from the below-zero temperature in the streets. Russia smiled back, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“It was my pleasure.” Russia spotted his apartment building in the distance, “Want to come inside? It’ll be warmer.”

“I’d love to,” Canada replied, and the light that bounced from his eyes made Russia’s hands warm inside their gloves.

Canada didn’t visit often, but when he did, it was always worth it.

---

The first kiss came after the tea. The wood crackled softly on the fireplace, and Russia took Canada’s glasses off, folding and placing them on the coffee table. Canada had then used the opportunity to snuggled closer, and rub his nose gently on the curve of Russia’s jaw. Time was precious, and Canada intended to savor every second of it.

The first kiss led to the second, and the third, and the fourth. Russia had a way to hold the nape of his neck that made Canada want to melt in the spot. He hooked a leg over Russia’s and used it to keep him there, close and pleasantly warm. Russia had his other hand around his torso, and he could feel his fingers tightening their hold slightly. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Bedroom?” He asked, without ever moving away from Russia’s mouth, lying butterfly kisses around his bottom lip. Russia sighed contently.

“Yes, пожалуйста,” He murmured in a low tone. Canada shivered when the deep rumble of foreign syllables inside Russia’s throat reached him. As if his blood could go any lower.

Gently, Russia disentangled first, standing up rather stiffly and just a little awkwardly. He offered his hand to help Canada up from the couch, and he took it, accepting gladly to be taken by the hand to Russia’s bed. Stepping away from the fire made him remember how cold it actually was, but instead of complaining he merely hugged Russia, circling his arms around his middle, to what must have certainly looked like an encouragement to the other. Russia chuckled, and his warm, black tea-scented breath tickled Canada’s ear.

Russia left his slippers by the bed before climbing it, and Canada followed suit. His fingers suddenly too thick to manage the simple task of opening his shirt’s buttons. Russia’s, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine – he quickly opened all his buttons and casted his shirt aside, and had already done the same with his scarf by the time Canada’s last button popped open. But before he reached to pull off his undershirt, Russia cupped his cheeks and brought him down onto the mattress, kissing him lightly, taking his time. This was something they liked to do; these lazy kisses on the bed, unhurried caresses where they knew the other liked most.

Re: [Russia/Canada] Meaningful [2/4]

(Anonymous) 2010-04-27 04:36 am (UTC)(link)
They had all the time in the world.

Canada let his hand descend over Russia’s side until he reached his belt, taking it off with ease, moving on to his pants. Russia hummed, and the sound, combined with of their sloppy kissing set the space behind his eyelids on fire. Russia’s hum turned to a full moan when Canada slipped his hands into his underwear, massaging him careful, but firmly.

Russia responded by clawing onto Canada’s back, one trembling hand sneaking between them to undo the Canadian’s belt as well with some effort, as the hand in his pants kept distracting him.

When they were finally naked enough to feel cold-induced shivers run over their backs, Russia pulled the comforter over them, nudging Canada towards the pillows to make him comfortable. Canada sighed softly, spreading his legs wider to accept Russia’s body between them.

Blindly, Russia’s hand reached to the nightstand, his lips and eyes never leaving Canada’s, and came back with a half-used tube of lube. Before he could even think about unscrewing the cap, and before Canada could even ponder the ideas going through his mind, he closed his legs over Russia’s hips and used it as leverage to roll them over.

Russia landed on his back with a wheeze that sounded like a laugh, and looked up at him with an amused look in his eyes. Canada stared back, smiling dumbly and excitedly, a sudden rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. He leaned down, hovered over Russia, and caught his lower lip between his teeth, pulling without biting.
One of Russia’s hands found its way to his hair, the other to his crotch. Canada gasped and moaned and laughed and kissed, and had he been a man he would’ve been the happiest of them all.

He took the lubricant from Russia’s hands and poured some in his palm; thick, cold gel turning warm in an instant. And as he rubbed it onto their erections he had to toss his head back, leave his mouth hanging soundless for a moment or two, and rock their bodies together, because, fuck, it felt good.

Russia rose a little, propped up on one elbow, and Canada could see the deep, red flush over his cheeks even in the dark, and the thin, almost imperceptible layer of sweat covering his torso. With much self-persuasion, Canada unfocused from rubbing their slick erections together to take off his undershirt, so he could lean down, press his unclothed chest to Russia’s, feel his erect nipples against his skin. Russia shivered with the contact and arched forward, fingers gripping Canada’s thigh instinctively. His elbow almost buckled, Canada almost lost his balance, but the world was multicolored and bright, and the comforter felt too hot over their bodies.

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General Relativity - Canada/Teacher!America AU

(Anonymous) 2010-04-28 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
General Relativity

Based on this request: This anon is dying to see Alfred as Mr. Jones, the bizarre new teacher at World Academy who's maybe a little too enthusiastic with his space and physics lessons, but somehow still manages to make people learn. Even more, she is dying to see Student A's blossoming crush and ensuing pursuit of a relationship with the oblivious teacher (preferably successful, and with some kinky student-topping-teacher sexytiems in the classroom).

Parts I-X: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27943950#t27943950

Parts XI-XVI: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=36015653#t36015653

General Relativity (17/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-04-28 05:15 am (UTC)(link)
XVII. Considerations on the Universe as a Whole



Next week, Mr. Jones bought him a stuffed whale.

“You do not know,” he told Matthew, face ashen and lip trembling in a way that made Matthew want to touch it, “how really, really, really sorry I am!”

“It’s okay,” said Matthew, holding the whale awkwardly in front of him like it might implode. It was soft and fluffy and light blue, the sort of toy you bought your three-year-old girl, and he was slightly afraid of contamination. But he was more afraid about sticking his fingers in Mr. Jones’ mouth on impulse, so he bore the burden well. “Seriously. No big deal.”

“God, it’s humiliating. I dunno know why Dr. Bonnefoy didn’t stop me,” Mr. Jones babbled, wringing the cuffs of his bomber jacket. Matthew wondered if this was what bothered him all class session; he’d never seen his professor stumble over words out of nerves rather than excitement. “Believe me, okay? I don’t drink a lot. In fact, I’m kinda bad at it. I love Kool-Aid. And when I say I love Kool-Aid, I don’t mean I put anything else in it, just sometimes two packets instead of one, because I want the sugar—”

“Um, are we going to go over my lesson plan?” Matthew interrupted, partly because he was afraid Mr. Jones would have a coronary and partly because he felt a little warmer inside with every word. Kool-Aid should not make him feel flushed; he didn’t even like Kool-Aid.

There was so much gratitude in the way Mr. Jones looked at him that Matthew half-expected (and feared, and wanted, and despaired) he would get a hug. Instead, Mr. Jones patted the stuffed whale like it was a pet dog, turned around to gather up his papers scattered across the desk, and started to talk about the Big Bang Theory. For the first time, Matthew sat down at a desk in the front row, unable to find a reason to do otherwise.

Mr. Jones pushed a desk up to meet his and took a seat, leaning forward. “You already have some background in this,” he said, holding up a battered textbook that was clearly his own so that Matthew could view the diagrams. “The Big Bang Theory’s model relies on general relativity. Good ol’ Al Einstein.” He laughed, and suddenly the words mattered.

And so, Matthew listened, his fingers rubbing the shiny plastic eye of the whale over and over. He thought, I could get used to this.

General Relativity (18/?)

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General Relativity (20/?)

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General Relativity (21-22/?)

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General Relativity (23/?)

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General Relativity (25-26/?)

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General Relativity (27-28/?)

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General Relativity (31-32/?)

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General Relativity (47/?)

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General Relativity (48-49/?)

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General Relativity (50-51/?)

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General Relativity (66-67/?)

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