Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-27 12:29 pm

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[Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 8/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 01:43 am (UTC)(link)
Placeholder for the rest of the Durarara crossover fic.


10 minutes ago

The young boy walking the streets of Ikebukuro looked like any other Japanese high school student, though his face would have been more suited to a middle school student.

He had his cell phone out and was studying it as he walked, something ordinary for young people in this day and age. The only thing out of place was the unusually intense expression he wore. His eyes were glued to the cell phone as if it were a matter of life of death, the look of concentration he wore seeming unsuited to his boyish face.

If anyone had seen the screen of the cell phone, they might have been surprised, especially if they knew him personally, because it displayed the website of the Internet gang the Dollars. Certainly his best friends Masaomi Kida and Sonohara Anri would have been surprised. No one would expect Ryuugamine Mikado to be part of the Dollars, much less be it’s founder.

Unfortunately he was so focused on his cell phone that he rounded the corner and promptly collided with someone else who also wasn’t looking where they were going.

“Uffmph--” There was a crash as the other person fell backwards and Mikado dropped his cell phone.

“I’m sorry--!”

“No--dieu--I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going...”

The person sitting on the ground was a young man who could be mistaken for a college student by age and dress, though his blond hair and blue eyes marked him as a foreigner, maybe an American.

Mikado offered a hand to help the young man up.

“Are you alright? I’m really sorry...”

"No, it's fine...thanks."

The young man had a soft voice and a gentle face, the kind of face that would cause high school girls to go “kya, kya” on sight. He stood, brushed himself off, stooped to pick up two cell phones that lay on the ground and stared at them, puzzled.

“O-oh! That’s mine...” Mikado reached out for his cell phone. The young man handed it back to him with a smile, holding up his own cell phone to compare it to Mikado’s.

Both displayed the Dollars web page on the screen.

“You’re part of the Dollars too, eh? I knew the Dollars were based in Ikebukuro, so I was really excited when my brother suggested we were going here, but I never expected to meet one so suddenly! I’m from Canada, y’see.”

Mikado was somewhat struck dumb by this, that a random foreigner in the street was also part of the Dollars. However, a little voice inside him was shouting in triumph.

“R-really? I had no idea there were people in other countries in the Dollars! That’s amazing!”

Mikado’s smile was growing wider and wider by the second--even if he was having trouble remembering where the country of Canada was--was it an American state? He didn’t think so...

The young man scratched his head and spoke apologetically.

“Hey, do you think you could tell me where I am, eh? I kind of got separated from my...friends...they’ve all probably forgotten about me by now...I suppose I’ll have to go find them again...stupid America, why’d he have to run off like that, huh?”

Mikado smiled. The excitement of something “not everyday” was coursing through him.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh--Matthew--Matthew Williams.”

“My name is Ryuugamine Mikado. Matthew-san, I think can help you find your friends. Let me show you what Dollars is capable of.”


CANADA. AND MIKADO. Those two MAKE the Dollars.

Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 9/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
Right now

Celty turned to show the the cell phone to England. He squinted at the screen, his overlarge eyebrows reminding Celty of furry caterpillars, bunched up as they were.

“Stupid America. Trust the prat to get himself on the Internet too...hmph. Wait...brother...? Who with us had a brother...or--wait--oh, who was it...?”

There was silence, as Celty’s helmet stared at England and England stared at the screen.

“AHA!” He snapped his fingers. “Canada! Quiet lad, doesn’t talk much, like a much less idiotic version of America. Has a big furry dog of some kind. I don’t remember him being with us, though...” England trailed off, uncertain. “Oh, well. It must be him. Well, Miss Sturluson. I understand you have instructions, but it seems I should help young...uh...Canada deal with this.”

Celty nodded, tapping away.

[I’m friends with Shizuo--maybe I can help too. Here it says they were last spotted near the train station. If we go where they last were...]

The motorcycle sped away with the neigh of a horse and a sound like hooves on pavement.

Right now: an office in Shinjuku

There was an almighty crash as Izaya’s chair tipped over backwards, depositing him on the floor.

Izaya sat sprawled on the floor in the wreckage of the chair, staring in horror at his computer. At the Dollar’s website on the screen.

His normal smile was still intact, but strained, and his eyes were that of someone who is watching well-laid plans crash to the ground in flames.

In Izaya’s case, that was exactly what was happening.

“Who?! Who is it?! Ryuugamine Mikado isn’t acting on his own! Who am I forgetting?!”

Namie’s face only showed mild perturbation that her boss was raving in a demented way.

“Mr. Evil Mastermind got outwitted, huh?”

Izaya ignored her, continuing to mutter to himself.

“Forgetting, forgetting, that’s part of it...who, who?! Ahhh...” his tone became soft. “Matthew Williams. Canada. He is truly...formidable...I should never have forgotten about him...truly a formidable opponent...with just this...he’s wrecked everything! If those two are directing the Dollars--! Damn it! He’s not human! No human could simply--disappear like that! Damn it!”


Oh, Izaya. How I love making you suffer. No one should be able to be a smug bastard like you are and get away with it. =3=
Apologies to OP for lack of actual fight scenes between Shizuo and America. I'll see if I can include one later...

Re: Authornon

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Re: Authornon

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 10/?)

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 8/?)

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Re: [Part 15] Above is PART 11

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 8/?)

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 12/?)

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 13/?)

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 14/15)

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Re: [Part 15] Durararatalia (Part 15/15)

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Part 11 - UK/US/UK - Fluffy US/UK from America's POV

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13943.html?thread=37460855#t37460855

I'd love to see some romantic, fluffy US/UK from America's point of view. Sweet things, like all the things he adores about England, his subtle habits that nobody else notices, or just how utterly amazing he finds him.

Fools Fall 1/2

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
England probably doesn’t realize it, but America likes to observe and catalogue things about him to recall later. No, England would probably just say that it’s impossible for America to pay that much attention to something, so America doesn’t bring it up.

But since he managed to admit to England that he’d like for them to be “special”, too, America has made it a point to notice every little thing about England. It’s why he has an electric teapot in his kitchen, and why he makes it a point to go to a specialty tea shop before England is due for a visit, so he can buy the loose leaf tea that he knows England likes. It’s worth it for the look of surprise, followed by affection and then feigned indifference on England’s face when he sees America’s thoughtful gesture.

England has a tendency to sing songs that were made popular by his people while he is working on his needlepoint. He doesn’t seem to notice that he does it, because when America was listening once, he blustered when America engulfed him in a hug after hearing him sing “it feels so right, now hold me tight.” England has a nice voice, and so America typically just sits and listens while pretending that he’s playing a video game with the volume down.

While America makes faces and hems and haws, he always keeps the handkerchiefs and other things England makes for him. He always keeps at least one handkerchief in his pocket that he can pull out when England is back in London and he wants a reminder of him. Then he knows he probably has a goofy, lovesick look on his face, but he never particularly cares.

England also has a tendency to slip into his various regional accents when he starts to get emotional, so naturally America just exacerbates the problem by singing “The Rain In Spain” no matter what accent England is really using. England is cute when he’s angry and flailing and hard to understand, so America doesn’t mind if he gets something thrown at his head for his cheek.

America finds it endearing that England is absentminded, so that even when America is in London, sometimes England can’t find his keys and spends a good deal of time muttering to himself and looking in even the strangest of places while America laughs at him for being such an old man.

They argue a lot, but more often than not they simply have harmless spats. In the rare instance they ever seriously fight, one will often storm out of the house and sulk somewhere until the other comes and finds them. Then they kiss as if their lives depend on it and murmur tender promises to never fight again, even if they’ll clash over cereal and the proper way to steep tea the next morning.

Their disputes bleed into meetings with the other nations, but they’re all so used to it that America knows that they simply take bets about when they’ll simply snap and have sex in the middle of the meeting. Although he won’t back down from a fight, America is also taking note of how good England looks in a suit, especially when he wears nice ones. Later they’ll act as if nothing happened.

Sometimes England is so much of an old man that it’s almost hilarious. Such as when he complains about the chavs who ruin his roses and America has to resist the urge to ask him if he shakes his cane at them and tells the damn kids to get off his lawn at the same time. Instead he just reminds England of his wild days in the 70s when he wore a lot of tartan and leather and styled his hair in a mohawk for a time. America then chooses not to listen when England retorts that he was the one who wore a lot of ugly leisure suits while he nearly broke his ankles trying to imitate John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.

Of course England always has his negative opinions about American movies, and he never misses an opportunity to remind America of this when he tries to watch a DVD with him. Although England continues to give scathing criticisms of Hollywood movies, he seems to have no issue with America getting into a Hollywood kind of mood and they wind up making love on a bed covered with rose petals and surrounded by candles.

Fools Fall 2/3

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Fools Fall 3/3

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Id, Ego, and Super-ego (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
Original Request:http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=49908409#t49908409

“Hey bro, you all ready to go camping this weekend?” Canada asked, tugging on America’s jacket to make sure he got his attention.

“Oh man, was that this weekend?” His brother smacked himself in the face as his schedule came to mind.

“Um, yeah? We’ve only been planning for about…three months?”

“Aw, dude. I am so so sorry, honestly, but my boss wants me to go to Asia this weekend and talk to some guys and such…y’know how it is.” America bit his lip in a genuinely apologetic fashion and shrugged.

“Oh, ok then. I…guess it can’t be helped…” Canada looked down at his shoes that shuffled around the carpet; he’d half-expected his brother to forget the trip like he did last year, but he’d remembered two years ago and it was great.

“Hey, don’t look so down. I’ll catch the next one, I promise.” America saw his brother looking down and picked up his chin and smiled at him, “Maybe you can get someone else to go with you. I’m sure a camping trip is a great way to improve ties with the other nations.”

“Hm, maybe. I’ll give a try.”

“That’s the spirit!”

During the meeting, Canada inspected the room for other people he could possibly invite. Cuba already told he couldn’t go that weekend, and France also had business to attend to. He was starting to ask himself if they really had other things to attend to or if they just didn’t want to spend time with him.

Hey, why aren’t you asking Ukraine to go with you? You want her to like you, right? Camping’s the perfect opportunity to show you how much masculinity we really have. That hoarse and husky voice rang through Canada’ s head. He tried to shake the noise out and suppress it with calm thoughts.

Well, yes…I do want her to like me, but…

But what? C’mon. Stop being such a pussy and just ask her. What’s holding you back? Are you on your period or something?

Shut up! I just…don’t think she even really likes camping. I’ve always thought it was just kind of a guy thing.

Get off your ass and ASK HER. Listen to me for once in your goddamn life. Why do you always have to ignore what I’m saying?

Because I’m afraid that what you say will make me hurt someone. Ukraine’s a sweet girl, and I don’t want to hurt her in anyway.

I’m not telling you to freakin’ beat her up; I’m telling you to stand up and ask her to go camping. No, scratch that, TELL her she’s going camping with you. Be a man!

Canada pressed his fists against his skull as his psyche battled itself, trying to keep his other side of his down. That voice represented everything he kept hidden: his desires, his anger, his pride, his attitude, and especially his libido. He needed to keep it under control or else things would get ugly, oh so very ugly. Still, some things made it hard to keep this “Manada” down, things like temptation, like how today Ukraine was wearing a low-cut silk shirt under her blazer…that accentuated her cleavage quite nicely. Also, she’d put on the nice lip gloss this morning, the one that shimmered a rosy pink in the light.

I bet you want a taste of that, don’t ya? I know that I do. I want a piece of that so badly; I want to take her lips in mine and bite her so hard, and get my hands all over those mountainous tits… Canada smacked himself in the side of the head as if that would help. He checked his shirt’s pocket for the case of pills that normally helped him keep his wild side down, but feeling the empty fold of cloth reminded him that his prescription ran out just the other day, and it would be a week before he could get another fix. For now, he’d have to push Manada out of his mind by sheer willpower, but that was easier said than done. He bit down on his lower lip to contain his inner struggle, but he could already feel hair sprouting on his arms and chin. He banged down on the table and looked up to concentrate on the meeting proceeding before him, feeling his mind calm down as he listened to the lecture about global warming and going green.

Calm down. Just relax. Relax. Don’t let him control you. You can do this…you can…do…this…

Re: Id, Ego, and Super-ego (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 06:27 am (UTC)(link)
:3 o mai

More plz?

Re: Id, Ego, and Super-ego (1/?)

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Id, Ego, and Super-ego (2/?)

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Re: Id, Ego, and Super-ego (2/?)

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Id, Ego, and Super-ego (3/?)

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Id, Ego, and Super-ego (4/?)

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Id, Ego, and Super-ego (5/?)

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This Happens Sometimes [Russia/Lithuania, human AU]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 05:54 am (UTC)(link)

This happens sometimes, at parties:

I'm standing there alone, because as usual Feliks insisted that I had to, just had to go with him, and I know why - he's always so shy and practically hides behind me, until somebody has been chatting him up for a while and then it's like they're the best of friends. So I'm standing there alone and trying to keep an eye on Feliks and wishing I could go home because parties are not my thing, and there you are.

And right about then is when I think maybe I've had too much to drink but maybe it's because vodka's my favorite too - it was long before you - but it reminds me of you anyway.

And I know you're watching me across the room, even though every time I look at you you're carefully not looking at me.

And I remind myself that there are very good reasons why we broke up and that if I didn't feel sorry for you I would have left even before I did. Because you're fucked up and it's not your fault but it's not mine either and I can't deal with it anymore. And I tell myself that again and again

and still, when I wake up next to you in the morning, I smile, and I don't feel bad about it until I start to think about whether anyone saw me leave with you, and what you'll think if I'm gone when you wake up. I know you're better lately with the meds but I don't think I want to risk going down that road again. I don't know if better is good enough.

Am I an idiot or are they wrong about you? I don't know.

So I was going to leave this note on the pillow and try to explain but I don't think I've explained anything. So I'm going to go put the kettle on and by the time it whistles and wakes you up I will be gone and this note will be in my pocket and you won't ever read it.

But I guess you and I both know I'll see you later. Sooner or later.

Re: This Happens Sometimes [Russia/Lithuania, human AU]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)
You made me cry. I mean, actually cry.

I love you, anon.

Re: This Happens Sometimes [Russia/Lithuania, human AU]

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[Part 15] Only For You - Yandere!France/Yandere!America

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 06:07 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=60389398#t60389398

Previous: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=60436246#t60436246

Yandere!France and Yandere!America, both being just a bit disturbingly creepy. "Francis would show the boy what he did to people who made Alfred cry. Only he had the privilege to cause those tears to fall."

Almost have the next part done, will try to post it tonight.

Only For You [Part 2/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 04:20 am (UTC)(link)
((WARNING: Does not go into gruesome detail but does mention/deal with the unwilling amputation of limbs by use of a power tool.))

Alfred loudly swore for what felt like the millionth time that day, cursing his lack of foresight. It figured that he'd forget just how much of a pain it was to clean blood out of power tools only after the fact. Normally he wouldn't mind the extra mess, but the less evidence of his most recent misdeed on his own property the better.

The object the blood was clinging to so stubbornly was his favorite chainsaw, the ever considerate Francis had given it to him for his birthday a few years ago. It had soon grown to be the second most favorite present he'd ever received (the first of course being the Statue of Liberty). Alfred knew from experience that an axe would've been easier to clean - but the feeling of the chainsaw in his hands as he met out justice was just too good to give up in exchange.

The cause of all the blood (and of most of Alfred's current problems) was lying facedown, motionless on the red spattered floor next to his work bench.

Right now Germany was supposed to be attending some conference or another; Alfred hadn't really felt the need to check what it was for as he snuck up and knocked the other nation out with a quick blow to the head from behind. It was a little risky seeing as he'd done it just outside the embassy building, but the ends justified the means.

And so now he had an unconscious Ludwig with him in his garage. Well, maybe not all of Ludwig. Luckily for him Alfred had decided that the outright killing a fellow nation might be a bit extreme for the circumstances. So he'd compromised that a limb or two wouldn't be overdoing it at all. It was only his legs, not that big of a deal. He'd even been generous enough to bandage what was left. Maybe not with all the fancy anti-bacterial ointments that were usually recommended, but in his opinion Ludwig deserved an infection; several, in fact.

Alfred's train of thought was quickly derailed by the sound of someone lightly knocking on the door. Only one person besides Ludwig and himself should be at his house...

"Uh, I'm busy. I'll be out in a bit!" Alfred yelled at the insistent knocking. He really didn't want Francis to come in while he was still cleaning up, but that was mostly because he didn't want him to think that Alfred couldn't even take care of such a simple task.

"Alfred? Is something wrong?" As Francis opened the door his eyes seemed to be immediately drawn to Ludwig's unconscious body, still lying on the concrete floor. It was only after looking up and eyeing the blood covered chainsaw and rag in Alfred's hands that he seemed to understand the situation and sighed in exasperation. "Dearest, what did I say about getting carried away?"

[I'm baaaaaack~ And I actually managed to come up with more ideas for this. xD Thought I'd post this before the holidays hit in full force for me. Just want to say right now that I love both Canada and Germany, and that I have nothing against them at all. They are the victims of my love.]


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New Reader Anon

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Old Scratch Placeholder

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 07:02 am (UTC)(link)
I still have plot holes to take care of, but I will continue eventually. I promise.

Original Request:
Alfred can use magic. Dark and evil magic however. I want complete and total dark magic. It has no negative effect on him but on others…it can maybe kill if he so wants it to. I want the darkest magic you can think of. I want England trying desperately to get Alfred into the magic of the light. Was Alfred taken into the darkness without his consent or did he go willingly, and if he did for what reason? I would love you if he went willingly.

Request + first parts: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=52979385#t52979385

Past parts: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=55532345#t55532345

Re: Old Scratch Placeholder

(Anonymous) 2010-12-28 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)
AHA! I knew it! My moved-to-new-part senses were tingling. :3
*Sets up camp at new link*
*Offers freshly-made hot cocoa* Would you like some? :]


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OS is getting on my back... orz

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Old Scratch Gives South USA a Glimpse of his Past

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Plothole Anon!

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Re: Yay~!

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Old Scratch and America deliver an Ultimatum

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Re: Old Scratch and America deliver an Ultimatum

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AA and OS

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AA and OS

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OS runs in Alabama

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Re: OS runs in Alabama

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AA and OS

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New Reader Anon!

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Turnabout Hero Placeholder

(Anonymous) 2010-12-20 07:35 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah, I'm still around. I'll get the next part up...soon. Definitely before I go back to school next month. :)

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

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

Parts 5-9: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=37005349#t37005349

Parts 10-13: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=39724953#t39724953

Parts 14-16: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=51914041#t51914041

Side Story: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=44589977#t44589977

Turnabout Hero [17a/19]

(Anonymous) 2011-01-19 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
March 18, 2:35 PM. Detention Center, Visitor’s Room.

After realizing that there was more to the night of the murder that the evidence suggested, Maya and I decided to go back and visit Alfred again to try and get him to tell us what he really saw.

“We know he saw Lovino,” Maya recalled, “he almost said as much this morning.”

“Yeah, before Mr. Newspaper interrupted.” (Mr. Newspaper…he was definitely in the ally that night. What was he doing there, and how is he involved in all of this? I’ve got a feeling he’s played a much bigger part in all this than we realize.)

Alfred entered the room and took his seat. “Mr. Wright! Ms. Maya! How can I help you?”

“We’ve been continuing our investigation, and there are a few things we’ve found that we need your clarification on.”

“Like what?”

“Today during the break in the trial, you were saying something about Lovino?”

Those all too familiar psyche locks sprung into place. “Haha, was I? I don’t think I was. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m positive you were saying that he had something to do with the murder.”

“Really? Pinning something on someone completely innocent of any wrong doing? That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“Well, we don’t know if Lovino’s completely-”

“It just doesn’t sound like something I would do! You must be mistaken!”

(What the…what’s with that reaction?)

“Nick,” Maya whispered, “I think Mr. Newspaper scared him into silence with is comment…”

“Comment?” (That’s right…

“Jones Passes Buck onto Innocent Bystander! What a scoop!”

The media’s been attacking him a lot throughout the trial. It looks like it’s been affecting him worse than he’s letting on.)

“We need to scare him even more than Mr. Newspaper! Quick Nick, put on your intimidating face!”

“I don’t think scaring him is going to get us many results.”

“Well asking him nicely isn’t working. You got any better ideas?”

(I don’t.) “Mr. Jones!” SLAM! POINT! “You’re lying!”

“Is that so?” he smirked, “Can you prove it?”


“Intimidating Nick!”

“I mean…what?”

“Last I heard you still haven’t linked Lovino to much of anything really. How do you know I’m lying?”

“I, uh…” (This isn’t working. I should take glaring lessons from Edgeworth or something.)

“Need some help Phoenix?” a voice that wasn’t quite Maya’s, but just as familiar asked.

“Chief! What are you doing here?”

“Maya noticed that you couldn’t intimidate a kitten and thought I could help.”

(Maybe I could get a whip or something like Franziska…wait, Alfred’s been unusually quiet since…)

I looked over to see that Alfred had backed up as far as he could in his seat and was gaping fearfully at Mia.

“Y-you’re not Miss Maya. Wh-what happened to Maya?”

(Is he…scared of Chief?)

“I’m her sister, Mia,” she smiled and explained.

“B-but Mia Fey is…is…” he swallowed and whispered, “Not alive.”

“True, but Maya’s a spirit medium. She has the ability to summon me if she needs to.”

“Like a…like a…g-ghost?”

(Is Alfred Jones, the United States of America, afraid of ghosts?)

“I suppose if you want to look at it that way.”

Alfred bit his lip in thought, “I, okay. I’ll talk if you promise to let Maya go without hurting her.”

“It’s not like Mia’s an evil- OW!”

Mia elbowed me before smiling at him. “Alright, it’s a deal.”


The psyche locks broke and the chains disappeared.

“I, uh, well…” he looked pointedly at Mia.

“I’ll just leave you boys alone then,” she winked at me before leaving the visitor’s room.

“So what did you really see Alfred?”

Alfred sighed and looked me right in the eye, “You were right. Lovino was there. But he didn’t do anything! I swear! He was crouched over Congressman Smith, trying to help him…but he kinda bolted when he saw me.”

“Did you see where he went?”

“No. There was a flash of light to my left and it distracted me for a bit. When I turned back to where Lovino was he was already gone.”

(Gilbert said he saw him escape up the fire escape, and he also mentioned a flash of light too, didn’t he? Things are finally starting to come together.)

“Alfred, does this look familiar to you?” I showed him the flashbulb.

“That’s a flashbulb isn’t it? Weird, you don’t see those around much anymore. The only person I know who even bothers carrying them is Mr. Newspaper. Where’d you find it?”

Turnabout Hero [17b/19]

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Dear OP

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Part 12 - Finland/Estonia, fluff, G

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 12:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=42607836#t42607836

I'm sorry I didn't manage to fit in the badass!Finland bonus!


One morning, Estonia woke up to find a snowman in his garden.

At least, he assumed it was meant to be a snowman. If he were to describe it objectively, he would say that he had two huge misshapen blobs of snow in his garden, one on top of the other. He briefly wondered if it was the work of a snowman-making elf who had to flee before they were seen and couldn’t complete their work, then shrugged and began to get ready for the day.

The next morning, the snowman had gained a pair of stone eyes, a carrot for a nose and two knobbly sticks for arms.

When he got home later that day, the carrot had fallen down, the dent it left giving the snowman a look of perpetual surprise. Estonia picked up the carrot and placed it back in the center of the head. He imagined that the snowman looked a bit happier with its nose back.

On the third morning, the snowman had a pair of glasses and a wide smile made of pebbles arranged in a curve. There was also a scarf around its neck, a strip of blue as blue as a cloudless summer sky standing out against the white of the snow and the black of the pebbles.

Next morning, Estonia woke up earlier than usual. Without turning on the lights, he peeked out through a gap in the curtains. The sky was still dark, the heavy clouds blocking what little sunlight there was at that early hour, but he could make out a familiar figure busily sculpting snow in his garden. He rushed out, pulling his coat on over his pyjamas.

“Suomi! What are you- what on earth is that supposed to be?”

Finland turned around with a gasp. “Viro! I was just out on a walk! And I happened to pass by here.”

Estonia regarded Finland with narrowed eyes but the end of his lips curled upwards, showing his amusement. “You just happened to walk across the country on your morning walk? And started making a snow... a snow-something.” He gestured towards what looked like a thin, rectangular block of snow.

“It’s nothing!” Finland said immediately, trying to hide it from view. Estonia raised one eyebrow and waited.

Finland puffed out his cheeks. “Fine. If you must know, it’s a snow-laptop. I’m making a snow-laptop for snow-Estonia.” He pointed at the snowman.

Estonia stared Finland for a long moment, then turned away and clasped his hands over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Finland peered at him curiously. “Do you like it? I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas so I thought I’ll make you your own snowman.”

Estonia took off his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. “This is certainly the most unique gift I have received this Christmas.”

“But do you like it?” Finland persisted.

Estonia smiled warmly at Finland. “I do. Thank you.”

Finland returned the smile, his face lit up in joy. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s cold. Let’s go in, I’ll make you some coffee.”

Finland beamed at him and slung an arm over Estonia’s shoulders. “My hands are cold,” he complained, then grinned when Estonia yelped as a cold and damp gloved hand came in contact with his unprotected nape.

“Wakes you up quicker than a caffeine rush, doesn’t it?” Finland laughed and began pulling Estonia towards the house, where the light and warmth beyond the opened door beckoned.

Re: Part 12 - Finland/Estonia, fluff, G

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 12:23 pm (UTC)(link)
aaaw ... that was adorable ! Nice work, anon !


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PS, from OP

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Your Smile and the Sound of Your Voice (1/6)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)

OP didn’t specify what type of sex so I went with frottage, because full-on anal first thing in the morning seems a bit rough.

Title comes from the song “Name of the Game” by ABBA. it’s kind of my theme song for them don’t judge me.

First-time author-anon hopes OP is still around and enjoys this meager offering.

No matter how carefully one arranges one’s curtains, there will always be a stubborn ray of sunlight that peaks through. This morning’s rebellious ray slipped in from the left side of the window and slanted across a pale face poking out from beneath the bed covers, as if aiming directly for the young man’s eyes.

His sleep disturbed, Toris lifted his eyelids and immediately regretted it. He screwed his eyes shut again, colored patterns appearing in his vision from the clear morning light, and whined. Red-orange light still filtered through his eyelids, so he heaved himself onto his other side, settling back on the mattress with a drowsy grunt. He drifted for a while, inane thoughts and half-dreams fluttering aimlessly around his mind.

It was probably about half an hour later when he gained full consciousness and blearily opened his eyes again. He blinked a couple of times to get his vision focused, and was met by the sight of another face just inches from his, blond hair adorably tousled and blue eyes closed at the moment, still dead to the world.

Slowly, somewhat lazily, Toris lifted a hand and gently brushed the hair out of Alfred’s face. He traced his thumb down the American’s cheek lightly, so as not to awaken him, and smiled to himself. It was nice to see Alfred calm and at rest for once, rather than active and loud and doing a million things at once. Toris loved that side of him as well, but a little peace and quiet was nice every now and again.

He traced the shape of Alfred’s nose, making the American’s face twitch and he laughed to himself softly. He really could be cute sometimes.

Toris decide to let sleeping nations be and rolled over. He faced the curtains again, thankful the intrusive ray of light had shifted by now, and watched the pattern of tree branches cast shadows against the off-white fabric.

Your Smile and the Sound of Your Voice (2/6)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)
After another long while, Toris was beginning to feel restless. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the shapes of constellations made up of glow-in-the-dark stars above him. He contemplated getting up and making breakfast. Really, all his body wanted him to do was turn back onto his side, tuck his head under Alfred’s chin and go back to sleep, but his mind was nagging at him to get up and do something, urging that he was wasting valuable time just lying there, and it was making him antsy.

In the end, it was his need to keep busy that won out, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed with a sigh. He really needed to learn how to relax and enjoy himself.

“Where ya goin’, beautiful?”

Toris turned at the voice to face a sleepy Alfred, squinting blearily up at him in the morning light.

“Just to make breakfast,” he said. “Do you want bacon and eggs?”

“Mn… later,” Alfred mumbled, lifting an arm and groping drowsily for Toris’s waist. “Cuddles…”

The brunette sighed again. “Don’t you think-”

“No thinking, too early,” Alfred whined. “Gimmie a cuddle.”

Toris rolled his eyes. “Fine, but not for too long. I don’t want to waste too much time in bed.”

“It’s Saturday. Nothin’ to do but waste time.”

Knowing it was pretty much impossible to argue with American logic, Toris slipped back under the covers and let himself be pulled against the body beside him.

Alfred’s arms were strong and welcoming, and the gentle tempo of his heart beat against Toris’s fingers was regular and soothing. He almost gave into the temptation to close his eyes and slip back into unconsciousness, but no, he would not let his resolve give out now, no matter how gorgeous Alfred looked gazing softly at him in the butter-yellow light, a mellow smile playing on his lips. He would be out of this bed in five minutes, ten minutes at the max.

Then Alfred started rubbing the small of his back and ooh, that felt good.

“You do too much,” the blond murmured, burying his nose into Toris’s hair. “Let someone else take care of you for once.”

“That’s the same line you used on me last night,” Toris mused. Still, he did nothing to stop Alfred’s ministrations.

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” Alfred countered, smiling against Toris’s scalp. “And it’s not a line. I really mean it.”

“I know you do,” the brunette said. He let himself nuzzle a bit closer. “And… I appreciate it.”

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[Part 14] Japan/Greece - Dem Thighs Microfill [1/1]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=50459833#t50459833

Short, cracky microfill.


Japan suppressed a smirk as he kissed Greece all while sliding his lube-coated hand down the other’s thigh, squeezing the muscles there. Ah, Greece’s thighs… Japan nearly drooled at the thought of the meeting earlier, where Greece had been walking around in loose slacks that unfortunately hid his gorgeous thighs from the world. But Japan could still imagine them, and imagine them he did. Those taught muscles, stretching and sliding underneath the pale, smooth skin as he walked, the toned firmness as he gripped Greece’s thighs, Greece when he wore shorts: Japan pictured it all during the meeting and when it was over, nearly dragged Greece back to his hotel room.

Which was how they had ended up on his bed, Greece moaning on his hands and knees underneath him as Japan kept rubbing his hands in slow, tortuous circles, smearing the lube evenly across Greece’s bare thighs. Japan pulled back from the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva dripping from his mouth, and murmured uncharacteristic dirty words into Greece’s ear, enjoying the change of pace and taking control over the situation. If Greece’s hand on Japan’s cock was anything to go by, he was enjoying it, too.

Finally, Japan drew back from Greece and took a brief moment to enjoy those thighs again, slick with lube, before he slid his prick in between them. He moaned appreciatively before he started thrusting, relishing the feeling of the muscle of Greece’s thighs rubbing against his dick. Japan wound a hand under Greece’s stomach to wrap his slick fingers around the other man’s cock and pleasure him. The two moves together, getting closer and closer to coming.


Meanwhile, thousands of miles away…

Zeus was lying on a cloud, somewhere on Mt. Olympus, watching the two nations eagerly. Drool was pooling in his mouth and dripping out the sides as he murmured, “Dem thighs!” Suddenly, he felt someone hit him across the back of the head.

“No!” Hera shouted before grabbing Zeus by the ear and dragging him away from the delicious sight of Greece’s legs.

“But, Hera, dem thighs–”

“NO! Do I have to turn him into a cow, too?” his wife shrieked and Zeus immediately quieted. Dem thighs would not look nearly as good on a cow so he let Hera drag him away, determined to be more secretive with his peeping on dem thighs in the future.

Re: [Part 14] Japan/Greece - Dem Thighs Microfill [1/1]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-22 02:01 am (UTC)(link)
Gees Japan makes me want a piece of them thighs too LOVE this anon. I'm sure there's an actual name for it... but for now I'll call it thigh sex and I must say, I love thigh sex somuch. <33

and yes, Greece's thighs are truly enviable by the gods

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La Liberté Que Nous Trouvons Dans La Défaite

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27984910#t27984910

7th January 2010, 4:27pm. And fifty-one seconds.

Around tea-time.

- - -

“The freedom we find in defeat is as sweet as the joy we find in victory.”

The world is quiet here. Perhaps it's the snow, perhaps it's the thickness of the clouds outside, perhaps it's the absence of wind (or perhaps it's the fear, which floods the cracks and darkens the world). It should have been a day like any other, dull and grey, but so much hinges on this one moment in time, the fate of an army, so many fallen, but just enough still standing, in a world which is black and white, victory and defeat, life and death. It reminds him of countless battlefields, steaming under winter skies with the warmth of blood.

It's also a bit chilly.

And what's worst is France. France smiles in the face of his loss, the smirk of someone who never surrenders when they ought to. He lives to wring the utmost irritation out of any situation – but this will be the final time. This is the end of the game. England slams his fist down.

“I'm the motherfucking British Empire, you bitch!”

France stretches and stands up, reaching for his coat.

“England – it's only a game of chess.”

“Well, yes.” It throws him for a moment, but England soon recovers. He slams his fist down a second time, for emphasis, and the chess pieces jump in the air. “But I kicked your bloody arse at it!”

“I believe the correct term is 'checkmate'?”

“It doesn't matter what the correct term is. What matters is that I won. Admit your defeat!”

“I admit my defeat. May I go now?”

Eventually, he is released, probably to share his concerns with Germany about England's mental state.

England doesn't care. He packs the chessboard away with a smile and makes himself a cup of tea, to watch the snow falling. It might not quite be up to the same standard as Waterloo but, damn it, he can still put France in his place when he tries.

- - -

Author's Notes
La liberté que nous trouvons dans la défaite: (Intentionally garbled) BabelFish for “the freedom we find in defeat”. Or something. BabelFish is an official language now.

The freedom we find in defeat is as sweet as the joy we find in victory: Not a real quotation from anywhere.

7th January 2010: Not much happened on this day. England was covered in snow. Maybe he invited France over to pass the time.

I'm sorry, I'll go back to real fills now.

Re: La Liberté Que Nous Trouvons Dans La Défaite

(Anonymous) 2010-12-21 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Lol! Anon, that was amazing! xD England had me laughing so hard!

Ah, I really enjoy well-written, funny little fills like that (especially with my fav characters xD)

Very well done!


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Part 14 - UK - masturbation, danger, fantasizing - Relinquished [2/2]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-22 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
Request and the previous chapter: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=49972665#t49972665

This took a ungodly long time to finish, so I don't really know if the OP is still lurking around, but I hope everyone who stumbles upon this fill enjoys!

Relinquished [2/2]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-22 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
This phantom America is truly faithful to the original. Every aspect of him has been sculptured and tailored to mimic the America that England knows from beyond this astral plane. ‘His’ characteristics - that slight pout of disappointment from England’s reaction; those large unusually rough hands that made England’s skin crawl with frenzied anticipation as ‘America’ caresses his back with languid strokes; the bulging sinewy biceps on ‘his’ arms. Just perfect.

Everything is perhaps a bit too perfect.

England sees the blueness of his eyes beyond the identical spectacles that twinkled and shone in the faint lamplight – what little smidgen of light there was in this vision, anyway - and tells himself that there is no way this can be the real one. America will never treat him this way. He expects something more abrasive from ‘him’, even edging to haphazard. Relationships can turn sour in the passage of time – theirs is no exception.

Do not fall for the temptation.

“D’you want me to stop?” ‘he’ asks, voice remorseful and crestfallen. “Did I do something wrong?”

That sheepish naiveté will be the death of England. Whether it is feigned or not, England cannot tell. It doesn’t even matter, really. It shouldn’t matter.

England knows that it is just an illusion, a mere figment fabricated by the curse of Busby’s Chair. A twisted projection of his own desires.

One blink of an eye. Just one peek back into light, however sparse it was, and the whole scene will dissipate with a torrent of color and musty yellow vapor. England will be back in his dingy little secret basement antechamber - sweaty and unsated, but relatively safe on that blasted Chair.

England opens his mouth to retaliate to the advances – perhaps a venomous “Fuck you!” will douse that gusto of ‘America’’s somewhat. A little bit short on the gentlemanly ways England committed himself to perfecting, but if it is indeed a genuine carbon copy of America, then it’d be temperamental enough to lash ba –

‘America’’s soft, soft lips somehow managed to latch onto his own, gently nibbling. Sucking. A broad palm pushes England’s nape forward, tilting his mouth for better purchase. ‘America’ continues his little assault onwards, tongue slowly shimmying its way into England’s hesitant lips. All of England’s thought processes screech to a halt at the silken heat, just enough to ruminate and think what the fuck is happening now.

Before he was even dimly aware of it, England slackens his jaw further, allowing ‘America’ full access to a deeper kiss. ‘His’ left hand is on England’s cock again, the pad of ‘his’ thumb circling, teasing.

The taste of America’s mouth is blissfully indescribable. Hints of chocolate ice cream come to mind – a wee bit sweet but not overpowering.

Everything – just everything – about him is heady and addicting. England doesn’t even know where to start - the apparent sincerity in his eyes, those calloused workman’s hands that sent steaming, crackling heat across England’s spine, or that benevolent smile that can charm anyone into submission. It’s everything that he wanted to see and feel from America.

It’s beyond pathetic, him pining something like this. And from his supposed adversary, no less.

Sighing, England notices that his guard begins to slip lower and lower each second.

‘America’ leans closer to his ear - far, far too close for comfort - and says, “Just trust me, okay?” ‘His’ voice didn’t bide any trace of malice or any bad intentions, as far as England can hear. It’s that serious voice of his, the one that guarantees the assurance England needs from ‘him’. ‘He’ continues, “I’ll never do anything that can hurt you.”

What was left of England’s doubts evaporates in an instant. He is more than aware that this is all inconceivably wrong and immoral on so many different levels. But those words – they remind England of the many unspoken promises he and America had from a while back. The times when they were together. The times England considered himself to be truly happy.

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Author!Anon here!

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[Part 6] England Magic Backfire = Chibi NA Twins

(Anonymous) 2010-12-22 06:07 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17402146#t17402146

So, all those Britannia Angel requests where his spell backfires and America is turned back into a little kid.

That, only this time BOTH of the North America brothers are turned back into tiny toddlers, who don't remember any of the Europeans at all. Nations fight over who should get to take care of them until England figures out how to turn them back to normal. Can see Sweden/Finland vs. England vs. France vs. Spain, who all have somewhat legitimate claims to one or the other. (And maybe creepy Russia too?)

BUT, when they try to separate the twins, they both throw HUGE tantrums. Like, Canada bawling and kicking at France, and America biting England's hands until he lets go, and then running to each other. Basically, super-clinging to each other twins, who throw a fit at being separated.

Bonus: Even after being turned back somehow, Canada and America continue to be super-clingy with each other.

This request haunted me for three days so I decided to fill. This is my very first fill in this meme because I am new to the magic that is Hetalia.

United ( Prologue/?)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-22 06:12 am (UTC)(link)
It was a wonderful day for America. He managed to get both his Starbucks coffee, ten McDonald’s burger and still have enough time to get to the world meeting. All was right with the world.

Well not the world, America, the world still has issue.

Well again not America the country, but America the person, America the country is still having issues also.

Anyway, America was enjoying himself. That was until he turned to go in the conference room, where England was floating above the table in… was that a toga? Wings? And a wand? America stop and stared, that was not possible. Unless; “Ghosts,” breathed America. He begun to back up, turn around, and run…right into Canada.

America went to scream but Canada, not wanting to hear it, smacked his free hand over America’s mouth. “America,” said Canada in his soft voice, “What are you doing?”

“Iw lsihds sdf sadfihpia,” mumbled America from underneath Canada’s hand. Canada pulled his hand back and adjusted Kumajirou. “Could you repeat that, please?” asked Canada.

“I’m going to get more burgers.” America replied. Canada looked unbelieving but didn’t call America on it. “You can’t,” he said instead. “The meeting starts in two minutes.” He grab America’s arm and pulled he along. “We need to go in.”

As luck would have it, just as they got to the door, England spun around and apparently finished a spell, sending it towards the both of them. A bright light flashed and that was the last either of them knew for the next few moments.

*So what do you think? Should I continue? By the way the rest should be longer this is just the prologue. Also could someone tell me how to change the format?*

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Untitled [1/2]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
For the "Anything Goes" prompt: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11411.html?thread=23682451#t23682451. So apparently I still have stories to tell, shallow as they are. Trigger warning for graphic rape.

“Where should I cut next?” Francis asks, pressing the blade against Lovino’s wrist.

Francis doesn’t blame Antonio’s silence. He seems more--preoccupied--with Romano’s naked body, bound spread-eagled to the bed, his mouth split wide with an o-ring gag.

“Hey.” Gilbert jostles Antonio, grinning, his eyes not leaving Lovino’s tear-streaked face.


“Where do you want him to cut next? C’mon!”

“Oh, uh--right thigh!”

Francis moves his knife down so the blade presses to Lovino’s skin. He ignores Lovino’s sobs--for his own good, of course, maybe next time he’ll think twice before mouthing off to him. “Tell me where to stop,” France says, and zig-zags the blade, inner thigh, outer, moving from the knee up to--


Inner thigh. Good choice. Francis’s smile turns into a sneer, and he presses.

Romano screams, and dieu, Gilbert is right, the screams are better than a regular cloth gag. Francis shudders, sighs, palms himself through his pants.

“Oh fuck,” Antonio whines, and Francis yelps and has to twitch his wrist when Antonio shoves him away, starts sucking on the blood. Lovino writhes, sobs, and his tears mix so prettily with the blood and scars already smeared on his face.

“You want to fuck him?” Prussia asks, walking up to the bed and unzipping his pants, bringing his cock out. Antonio shakes his head, smears a bright, thick line of red all over his lips.

Gilbert shrugs. “I’ll do it, then,” he says. Francis swallows as Gilbert grabs Romano’s hips with one hand, takes his cock with the other and rubs it against his asscrack. Romano’s eyes go wide--Francis doesn’t blame him, but it makes him snigger--and then Gilbert shoves in with one fast, harsh movement, a movement that makes Lovino throw his head back in a choked scream as the back of his head hits the headboard with a loud knock.

Francis tuts, swinging a leg over Romano’s chest--he has no pants on, of course, not right now. “You want this?” Francis asks, holding his cock out. Lovino grunts at him, glaring, and it’s more comical than scary, making Francis throw his head back and smile at the ceiling. “You’ve got such a potty mouth,” Francis says, inching closer. “Don’t complain when people make it dirtier.”

And then he slides into the o-ring, into Romano’s open mouth, so wet and warm and safe from those white, painful-looking teeth. “He won’t choke? You’re sure?” he asks, and turns back to see Antonio digging more shallow cuts into Lovino’s waist as Prussia fucks, fucks, fast and hard with no rhythm. He can’t tell who’s making Lovino thrash and twitch like that.

“No,” Antonio gasps, lifting his head and oh, there’s that conquistador’s glint, that vicious want in those eyes--

Shit,” Francis hisses, and fucks hard and deep. Lovino’s sobs finally fall into silence at the sound of flesh on flesh, moans and heavy breathing filling the air.

“Do you understand?” Francis asks, leaning his head down to smile into Lovino’s eyes. “Do you know why we’re doing this? It’s because otherwise you won’t learn not to talk back to Antonio’s friends. You know this now, right?”

His mouth is a bit too preoccupied to respond. All the better.

“Shit, shit, Francis, I’m going to come,” Gilbert growls into his shoulder, and the thought sends pleasant tingles all over Francis’s cock. Antonio’s own groan doesn’t bode well for him, either. An idea alights on Francis.

“Come up here,” Francis says. “Come up here and--”

But they’re onto him and by his side in a flash, jerking themselves of fast and hard as Francis keeps thrusting and thrusting. So hot, so good, everything feels so good--

Gilbert comes first. Antonio comes just after he starts, and their semen leaves criss-crosses all over Romano’s face. The sight is enough to make Francis climax with a sigh, pulling out just enough that he can see his own come souring on Romano’s tongue.

And with nothing he can do about it.

Panting fills the air. Gilbert chuckles a little. “Shit. Shit, that was--”
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[PART 15] By Heart - Scotland/fem!Canada

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 03:27 am (UTC)(link)
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<size="1">') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

<size="1">Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=56604438#t56604438
'Canada realizes she's fallen in love with Scotland, after gathering her courage (and talking to Alfred) she confesses. I'd love for her to say the phrase "I know everything about you and I love you."'</size>

This will probably take a while to finish, because I want to set it up fairly well before the actual prompt happens, haha. It happens when you're using what's effectively an OC nation. Apologies!

I hope you like it regardless. :)

By Heart [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
Canada distinctly remembered meeting him for the first time. Hardly ten minutes in unnoticed company with the man, but she had still liked him immensely. And first impressions are important (France had said so), so the memory was still as vivid as ever, no matter how many times her mind brushed over it like a crinkled monochrome photograph, tattered by endless fingering of the corners and faded by sticky prints.

He was maybe as tall as France, she decided – but she couldn't really tell, as they were sitting down, and sometimes people slouched or sat too stiffly so it was impossible to gauge their actual height. However, even from her poor vantage point peering around the giant oak door of the main hall, she could see marked differences between this nation and her carer. Heavy eyebrows and pointed features gave her a pretty good indication of who he was related to (but she kind of wished he wasn't; it ruined the illusion she wanted to have of him), but the way he sat, awkward and fidgeting, in his formal clothes, was somehow endearing. Dressed in a deep blue tailcoat and soft, dove-grey undershirt, he tugged at his cuffs and shifted around, eyes fixed on France but very much distant towards whatever they were discussing. He didn't really seem like the kind of nation content with fine cuisine and sailing around the world and making his 'mark', somehow. At polar opposites with France, that way; here, he looked a little lost.

Besides, if his brother was England fine dining would really be lost on him anyway.

Slipping carefully around the doors as not to be seen or heard by France – who, while never violent towards her, tended to push her away from things like this, even though surely she'd have to do this herself one day because she was just as much (if not more! Size wise, at least) of a country than he was – Canada slipped herself up against the wall, hoping that her height wouldn't give her away. She was growing faster now, like her brother a little bit, but not quite that speed. She didn't think she'd want to be all gangly and awkward and pretending to be a proper adult nation just yet. America could be really annoying, sometimes, but she couldn't ever quite say that. He was nice most of the time! ... Except when he forgot she was there and wandered off and left her... or when he didn't bother to come and see her at all...

Oh, she hoped her unfortunate talent would come in useful just this once. She... really wanted to watch him, for some reason. She didn't really understand why, but it didn't matter that much and she could always think about it later. Frowning at her eye line with the grand sprawling table, Canada slunk quietly down the wall, her heels pressing into the carpet and slowing her descent. Trying to be inconspicuous as usual but failing miserably, she stared up in awe at the other nation's face; he did seem awfully England-like with his wide eyebrows and slightly-upturned nose, but his cheekbones were higher, the outline sharper. His hair was so... bright, wildfire-orange. She couldn't really describe it properly. Slicked back away from his face – practical and certainly not fashionable; she wondered how France felt about it – stray hairs fluttered in front of his eyes and made his nose wrinkle as he shooed them out of the way with a flick of his hand.

She wanted to touch it.

But that might be a bit strange, just touching his hair like that. ... And that would give her away, anyway, wandering all the way over there.

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Let's Pretend This Never Happened pg 33-37

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)
from part 9
Original request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27232526#t27232526
"England/little!America non-con, angst,"

pages 01-21

pages 22-32

mediafire link for all pages up to page 37

Y!Gallery links for new pages.
page 33 http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/754056/
page 34 http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/754057/
page 35 http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/754060/
page 36 http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/754063/
page 37 http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/754066/

I am going to hell for this.
and yeah, I know England is acting occ

Re: Let's Pretend This Never Happened pg 33-37

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 10:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Heart is breaking......BAWWWWWWWWW

/can't believe I'm actually reading this

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Bratva 22a/??

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 10:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Request and parts 1-21: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=57751574#t57751574

“Damn, man. You don't look so hot.” Gilbert folded his arms, leaning back against the wall. “Work stress?”

Ivan grunted. “Something like that.”

“Heh. You think you're stressed? I'm running two businesses. I don't see you running two mafias.” He laughed nervously at the death glare he received. “Do I want to know to what I owe this pleasure?”

“You owe me a favor.”

Gilbert sighed. “I thought it might be something like that...”

“We did small favors for each other. And I did a big favor for you. Now I need a big favor from you.”

“Should I be sitting for this?” Without waiting for an answer, Gilbert flopped onto a chair, loosening his tie before settling back and propping his feet onto the desk. “Lay it on me.”

“Alfred has been kidnapped,” Ivan said tonelessly.

Gilbert promptly sat up straight, crimson eyes widening. “Seriously?”


“Damn...” The albino ran his hands through his pale hair. “I liked him.”

Ivan's eyes narrowed. “Do not speak of him as if he were dead.”

“Sorry. So what am I doing about it?”

“What do you think? It was the Italians. And your brother.”

Gilbert groaned. “You want me to cross Ludwig?”


“And I don't have a choice, huh?”

“You don't want his death on your conscience, do you? Or your brains all over the wall...”

“No,” Gilbert said with a shudder. “No I don't.”

“Good. Find out where they're keeping him.”

“Yeah, yeah. But don't expect an instant miracle, he doesn't exactly trust me.”

Ivan nodded slightly. “I know that. But more than he trusts me, I'm sure.”

Gilbert smirked. “He'd trust the entire population of the police station before you.”

“So get to it. Now. We have less than a week.”

“Until they kill him?”

“Yes.” Ivan didn't feel the need to tell him he had no intention of letting that happen, and would give in to their demands first.

“Shit, man...” Gilbert grimaced. “He's a good kid. I'm on it.”


Lovino grumbled to himself as he stomped down the stairs, damn near tripping in the damn dark, and felt around for a few moments before locating the cord to turn the light on. “The things I do for my idiot brother! Like I give a fuck if you eat or not. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna cook for you.” He tossed the paper bag he was carrying onto the prisoner's lap. “I suppose you need your hands. If you hit me, you'll regret it.” It was creeping Lovino out, the way the kid was just staring at him, eyes dull. He'd always been so loud and obnoxious before. “Huh.” He backed away once Alfred was partway freed. “Starting to lose it, huh?”

Bratva 22b/??

(Anonymous) 2010-12-23 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)
The kid's blue eyes drifted down toward the bag. “You brought me... fast food?”

“Hey, shut up. Like I said, I ain't cooking for your ass, I'm just doing a favor for my brother. If you don't like it, you can... er...” He had never seen anyone devour a hamburger so fast. “Uh, okay then.”

“Thank you.”

Lovino shrugged, feeling a bit flustered by that. “Sure.” He wandered around the room as the boy ate, feeling kind of awkward for some reason.

“How old are you?” Alfred said abruptly, mouth full of fries.

What a bizarre thing for a prisoner to say. “What do you care?”

“Just wondering. You seem young for... all this.”

Lovino snorted. “Older than you. Braginsky's sure robbing the cradle, the perv. What are you, sixteen, seventeen?”

“Twenty.” Alfred smiled. “Just recently turned twenty.”

“Oh. Well, hope you had a good birthday.” Since there wouldn't be more.

“It could have gone better.” Alfred turned his creepy dull eyes on Lovino. “I got kidnapped.”

Lovino looked away, shrugging. “Well don't tell Feliciano, or he'll want to throw you a party, or something stupid like that.”

“You are an oddly nice pair of mafia bosses.”

Lovino sputtered. He hadn't thought of himself as particularly nice. “Well, it's not like we killed our way to the top. We inherited the position from our grandfather.” He wasn't even sure why he was bothering to explain.


“Unlike Braginsky.”

“Don't talk about him.”

Lovino just shrugged. If the kid preferred the ignorance is bliss route, whatever. “You used to be so annoying. Being stuffed into a basement seems to have been good for you.” The prisoner just looked at him. “You're quiet enough I'm starting to worry we got the wrong one. Ludwig would sure be pissed...” Alfred's eyes widened in alarm, and Lovino snorted. “What, you think we didn't know about him?”


“Just because I didn't know your stupid age doesn't mean we didn't research the important stuff. And finding out if one's target has an identical twin is rather important.” He rolled his eyes. “Ludwig must have reminded us about five thousand times to make sure we got the right one.”

Alfred was silent for a moment. “And... if you hadn't?”

“I think you can guess.”

And the kid said nothing after that, just stared at the floor. Bored with him, Lovino tied him back up. “Feli will probably check in on you or whatever when he gets back, I guess.” No response, so Lovino turned the light out and left.

“How is he?” Ludwig asked, glancing up from his book. As if the beer-sucking bastard cared.

Lovino shrugged. “Losing it.”


“Probably a good thing. I think Feli's getting too attached. He'll feel better about killing the kid if it's more like putting him out of his misery.”

“He gets attached to everything.”

Lovino rolled his eyes. “You don't have to tell me...”

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Rejected Proposal #2849 (1/2)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16879138#t16879138

Reference Image: http://i30.tinypic.com/63w002. <-- You should probably look at this to get an idea of what the story is about

Note: Crack, thinly veiled as something with a plot. Please be tolerant of the unfunny.

Denmark laughed at Sweden’s outfit (and was only spared death because of the fact that the other could not run well at all in heels) until he saw his own.

S-stockings?!” He whined. “Does this mean I have to shave my legs?”

“Shut up!” Iceland fumed from the corner. “At least you don’t have to wear short shorts!” He tugged at the bottom of his shorts, muttering something about thigh-high boots being for hookers.

Norway, comfortable in his relatively unhumiliating outfit, sat in the corner and sipped his tea.

Finland looked around miserably. “I-I’m the only one in pink…! I look like a gi-“ Then he caught Sweden’s eye and wisely quieted. Although, Finland flushed, his husband’s ass did look very perky in that pencil skirt, and those stiletto boots really brought out the curves of his calves.

“Finland! Sweden! You’re on!” Japan opened the door of the dressing room and gestured frantically. Finland and Sweden stood, hand in hand (well, Finland was trying to stabilize a wobbling Sweden, who didn’t appear to know how to move around in heels) and moved out, earning the pitying glances of the other Nordics.

In the other room was a black chair, surrounded by lights and huge camera equipment. Various other nations were around, checking camera angles and muttering quietly amongst themselves. A few threw Sweden and Finland looks of support and encouragement. France just leered.

In the middle of it all was Hungary, her hair up in a no-nonsense clip, holding a clipboard. When she saw Sweden and Finland she smiled briskly and looked down at her notes. “Lovely… lovely costumes, Japan.”

The small Asian man came to stand beside her, and they both nodded in approval while the two Nordics fidgeted.

“Sweden, do you still have your crop?” Hungary asked with a smile.

Hesitantly, the tall man in a skirt presented it while Finland stood on his tiptoes and straightened his husband’s hair bow.

“Good. I want you to spank Finland with it.”


“Sit on that chair,” She motioned to the black chair in the middle of the room, “Take Finland over your lap, and spank him with it. And be quick about it, too. Denmark, Norway and Iceland are up next.”

Sweden’s expression was set to kill until Finland hurriedly tugged him down and whispered earnestly in his ear. Then, the Northern lion seemed to calm down, allowing himself to be dragged, glowering, towards the direction of the set.

“I won’ hurt you.” Sweden sat in the chair, looking up at Finland in pink and blue.

“I know.” Finland gave him a kiss, and then climbed over to lie across the larger man’s lap. “Just make it sting a little, and I’ll cry a lot.”

Hungary took another two minutes to check with Estonia about camera angles while Finland squirmed himself into a more comfortable position. Then, “We’re set to shoot in three … two … one … go!”

With a hard swallow, Sweden raised the crop and brought it down lightly against the fleshy part of Finland’s bottom. The smaller man yelped sweetly, and not nearly convincingly enough.

“Harder!” Hungary barked.

“Do it.” Finland whispered, and the next hit was a stripe of hurt across the top curve of his ass, enough to make him cry out loudly and arch his back.

Sweden tried to control himself, because it broke his heart every time Finland made a noise in fear or pain. But this … this almost sounded like the whimpers Finland made in the bedroom, when he was at the end of his rope because Sweden had been such a tease and…



“Oh…oh Sverige-“




Hungary’s face was in the shadow of stage lights, completely unreadable. “That’s enough, pull down his pants.”

Rejected Proposal #2849 (2/2)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
A continuation of the unfunny

“Su-san!” Finland squeaked, covering his blushing face with his hands. “D-don’t look!”

“I n’vr knew.” Sweden murmured wonderingly, his gloved hand moving upwards to cup the bulge and squeeze it gently. Finland yelped.

“D-don’t be mean Su-san…” He panted, his hips bucking into Sweden’s firm grip. “Oh please.”

Nodding, Sweden pulled down Finland’s pants to his knees and leaned down to lick his partner’s trembling erection.

Cut! Cut!” Hungary yelled, startling the two Nordics from their own little world. “That was not in the script!”

Sweden growled, and Finland buried his face in his husband’s chest.

“Finland, you sit in the chair now, and Sweden…” Hungary flipped a page on her clipboard. “You hike up your skirt to your waist and ride him.”

Finland sat up suddenly, almost flipping himself off of Sweden. “You want me to top?”

“Why’d you think I put Sweden in stilettos and a skirt?” Hungary snapped her fingers.

Pleading, Finland looked up at Sweden. “Su-san, could we please…”

The other glanced down, blushing.

Twenty minutes later, Sweden walked in, limping slightly. Finland had his arm around his husband, and was smiling cheerfully. “Your turn!”

“How…how was it?” Denmark fiddled with his tiny top hat, too nervous to put on a show of bravado.

Finland shrugged in reply, still smiling as he arranged his husband on the couch.

“Denmark, Norway and Iceland!” Japan popped his head in again, and the others filed after him, Iceland cursing softly and pulling at his shorts.

When they were gone, Finland leaned down and whispered in Sweden’s ear, “I liked your garter belt, Su-san~”

When the three Nordics made it to the stage, Hungary was ready for them. This time, the set was a bed covered with rose petals. Denmark took one look at it and began laughing nervously.

“Alright.” Hungary cleared her throat, shifting on her director’s chair. “Let’s start with … Norway and Iceland. You kiss.”

N-no!” Iceland shrieked. “We’re brothers!”

Norway nodded mutely.

“So?” Hungary clicked a pen in her teeth. “That’s the point, boys. The Germancest video sold out in two weeks flat and the Ameritwins are practically idols in the pron industry, now. You should be so lucky. Now kiss.”

“Yeah~“ Denmark could not resist adding fuel to the fire. “Kiss your brother, Ice~” He smirked, earning death glares from the other two males.

“That’s right, and make it snappy.” Hungary called Estonia irritably with a wave of her hand. “We have a full schedule, and Denmark has to suck your cocks after this.”

“I…am going to suck what, now?”

“…and that is my plan for rejuvenating our stagnant global economy. Any questions?” Hungary beamed, tapping her manila folder on the table.

There was a hesitant smattering of applause, then:

“So, like, your plan to up the economy is to make pron videos of the countries and sell them?”

“Precisely.” Hungary smiled wider. “I have more visual aids if you-“

“No, no, that is quite alright, thank you … Hungary.” Germany cleared his throat, ushering Hungary off the podium. In the issuing awkwardness that followed, Finland could be seen comforting a visibly shaken Sweden, Denmark refused to talk to anyone, America and Canada were pretending the other didn’t exist (it wasn’t pretending, on America’s part), France was fairly vibrating with glee, and Switzerland looked ready to kill anything that moved.

“I propose we just gangbang America again.” England muttered in the silence.

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[Part 3] England/France - England falls in love with France

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 10:04 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5758679#t5758679

Arthur falls in love with Francis (for a change) and Francis toys with Arthur's feelings. Feel free to take this in any direction, though this Anon admits to being a total sap for eventual happy endings.

The Waterloo Line (1a/5)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 10:05 am (UTC)(link)
Or, why Arthur Kirkland believes the whole universe and everything in it is out to get him. Personally.

England lifts the receiver, then drops it back down again. It's the twentieth time he's done this.

Outside, the rain is drumming on the telephone box. People stream back and forth along with the water in the gutters, waving umbrellas bravely but in vain at the sky. A wet day in London or, as it is otherwise known, a typical day in London. The only difference is that this is New Year's Eve. The streets are already seething in preparation for the fireworks, the illumination of the Eye and the thousands of faces grinning through the drizzle. It may be wet, it may be cold, but this has never deterred the people of the land going about their daily business before and it's not going to now. Only one person isn't arming himself in grim preparation for the occasion of joy.

England can't hide here in the phone box forever, but he's damn well going to try. The chewing gum will keep him going for a while. He can always eat the stickers advertising taxi cabs if the situation gets desperate. Whatever happens, he doesn't want to step back outside to face the people, the rain and the country, and not just because he decided to leave his umbrella at home in blatant defiance of the weather forecast. He found this morning, when he left with half a slice of toast in his mouth and the label poking up out of his shirt, that his mind was occupied with only one thought and content to let the rest of his life do with itself as it pleased.

Sometimes he just wishes he could have five minutes of silence. There's always the sound in his mind of politicians and journalists and the general populace, deciding what he thinks and how he will behave. In the darkest moments of the night he can even hear their voices creating him. There is nothing quite so disturbing as waking up at three in the morning, sleepy and thirsty, to hear the Prime Minister's thoughts whispering in his head, or the latest headlines flickering through his mind like a damaged film reel.

If he could have those few five minutes to himself, he would treasure them for a lifetime.

He needs them right now. He needs to stop, he needs to think. He needs to work out, above all, where this thought came from – where it began.

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Part 11 - Fashion AU, Antonio the designer and Francis the model

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Spain/France AU with France as a popular model and Spain as a very much underrated fashion designer.

Inspired by this video of them: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFWb32yV6kM

Doesn't have to be long and doesn't have to be smut but both will make me super happy.
And doesn't matter who tops.

PLEASE. You know you want to.

Prompt and first part: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13943.html?thread=36190583#t36190583

A Form Intolerable [2a/?]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-24 08:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Like many of Madrid’s inhabitants, Antonio was a club hopper; he could never be satisfied with staying in the same place for an entire evening. But he had his favored corners and he had one particular place that he always went to, however briefly in the beginning of the night or the end. It was the first club he had ever gone to; perhaps there was a truth in the phrase that you never forgot your first.

He went from club to club, the music blurring into a steady, uninterrupted stream in his mind. Yet, the rooms filled with the young and beautiful and lively of Madrid seemed oddly dissatisfying, despite the inviting smiles and the good beats and the soft haze of alcohol. He found himself looking for something, someone perhaps, and it stunted any sense of enjoyment. Even when a quite pretty girl with the most remarkable legs grew impatient with his distracted air and went off with a decidedly smug nearby man, Antonio couldn’t bring himself to care.

Vaguely annoyed, he mused on declaring defeat and heading home. Ever an optimist, however, he headed to just one more club. Just one more, he told himself. Maybe just to have another drink for the night… besides, he hadn’t paid his usual visit and he was never one to shirk tradition.

El Molino del Viento was not Antonio’s second home. It was one of the older clubs but not as well known as the luxurious Palacio de Gaviria or the very eclectic Joy Eslava. The place invited all the oddities of Madrid, collected wanderers in a city filled with the restless. It couldn’t be a second home because it never kept those summoned for long; the place pulled you in and shoved you back out into the world before pulling back you in once again. The place was a port, and like a port, all manner of things gathered there and mingled.

Still, the sight of the familiar, garish sign never ceased to make him smile as he came up to the place, though the smile this time was fleetingly rueful. Antonio paid the modest cover charge and entered the now very familiar foyer. The place had none of the very real luxury of other clubs, antique or modern, but it reveled in never having anything truly ugly within its eccentric, welcoming bounds. No sterile white walls and modernist minimalism here, but dark suede chairs and worn red velvet cushions, a rescued chandelier, beautiful antique colored tiles in the foyer. Two suits of rusting armor played silent bouncer by the doors, one bearing a halberd and the other bearing a lance.

A bit of tension that had formed between Antonio’s shoulders eased and a smile came that much easier to his lips. The irritation faded as he sipped at the house sangría (made with blood oranges and sweet limes and filled with floating pomegranate arils) and greeted old acquaintances by the bar before becoming restless enough to seek out the dance floor.

At least he had the comfort of recognizing more than one or two of the people there, as he made his way through the crowd like a fish through a kelp forest. He had familiar music in mixes that he recognized and his body recognized the rhythms much quicker than his brain. When it came to movement, to dance, he never let himself think too hard. It was just like sewing.

Despite his curiosity, despite his wander lust (at least in regards to clubbing), he had to admit that he was a creature of habit. He always felt most comfortable in the places he knew best, and El Molino he knew almost as well as his store. Immersing himself fully and enthusiastically in the intoxicating air of the club, Antonio laughed as he found himself dancing with one of the club regulars, a girl who always wore bright red, from her hair decorations to her jewelry to her very fashionable heels. He buried his face against the juncture of shoulder and neck, smelling the fading traces of sandalwood and rose perfume subsumed by the salt of her sweat.

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Romano turning Mafia (Part 15, chapter thingy 1)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-25 05:03 am (UTC)(link)
Welcome to the world of Placeholders, anons!


The young man walked briskly, looking over his shoulder every other step, as if looking for something. A hand was shoved in his pocket, fingering a gun. He was twitchy, edge and he didn't like it one bit. Somebody was following him.

A noise startled him and he whirled around, cocking his gun and pointing it towards the alley he was facing. His eyes made out nothing in the darkness. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and turned back, only to scream.

A gun was pointed at him and behind that, dark hazel eyes that seemed to look right through him with all the feeling of a snake. He flinched and started to shoot wildly at the eyes, screaming in his panic. The gun and eyes however, disappeared into the darkness as the man kept shooting. The man only stopped when his gun ran out of bullets.

He breathed heavily, looking around to see if anybody saw him and to see if he could find the body but was interrupted by the feeling of a gun pointed at the back of his head.

He froze, trying hard not to run. There was a click and he closed his eyes. "Don't do it in your next life, asshole." a low voice whispered inches from his ear. He was barely given time to wonder what exactly he had done wrong when he was shot in the head and pitched forward.

The shooter took a breath, putting his gun away before blinking several times, as if shocked. He looked around before holding his arm and hissing in pain. He cursed loudly and wildly, turning to stumble out of the alley and darkness.


Beware OP! This won't be updated for a while at least until my body stops trying to torture me ;A;
But I hope you like this shitty prolouge anyway...

Anschluss 1938 1a/1

(Anonymous) 2010-12-25 10:01 am (UTC)(link)
this is loooong overdue. was supposed to re-post this proper a long time ago.

Since the end of the First World War, Austria had only looked at Germany from afar. He was not allowed to go closer, and neither was Germany as a result of the Treaty of Versailles. Although sometimes they did, in secret. It was just chance meetings at a bar or pub, when Germany was with Prussia, leading to them drinking together... It led to him being able to look at Germany whenever he wanted without Hungary berating him for it, somehow it felt as if it wasn't enough. No, it could never be enough, he thought to himself and slapped his forehead for thinking such thoughts - after what he went through with the German, there was no way he could go back to his side again... Or could he?

The brunette sighed as he looked out of the window, staring at the night sky. It had been quite a while since the Great War, but the memories felt as if they had just been freshly imprinted in his mind. He shook his head to clear himself of the thoughts and frowned as he continued reading an official document Hungary had handed to him the day before. His violet eyes narrowed as he thought of the forbidden encounter that happened between him and Germany not too long ago and laughed softly, berating himself for letting his thoughts drift in that direction. He was supposed to have forgotten all about that night, and yet... He sighed. It was getting late and he hadn't been getting enough sleep recently, making his eyes tire out easily from reading the fine print in the document.

Outside, the wind howled as Austria massaged his temples in an attempt to relieve the slight headache he was feeling. Lightning streaked across the sky and there was a loud, deafening clap of thunder. The soft pitter-patter of rain followed and grew in a crescendo to a fortissimo and Austria got up to close the window, irritated. He had expected the storm to start much later, when he was comfortably curled up in bed, but now it seemed as if he had no choice but to rest earlier.

Austria blew out the candle he was using and shut the document, placing a small paperweight on it and was about to blow out the other candles in his study when the doorbell rang. His brow furrowed, wondering who it was at this time of the day. His mysterious visitor kept pressing the doorbell as he made his way to the door, causing him to bite his lip. Hungary would never be this impatient and Italy rarely visited. This could only mean that... He took a deep breath as he flung open the door.

Standing in his doorway was a blonde that he knew all too well, clothes dripping wet with a hardened expression on his face; an odd mix of anger, impatience and determination.

Austria gulped, taken aback by the sudden visit from the person who had been occupying far too much of his thoughts.

"Are you going to let me in or are we going to spend the rest of the storm out here?" Germany snapped irritably.

Austria shook his head vigorously and stepped aside. "Um, please come in."

Germany crossed the threshold into Austria's home silently as the smaller nation closed the door.

"I'll get you a towel to dry off. Will you be staying the night?" Austria asked, feeling extremely foolish after he said it. Of course Germany would be staying the night, with the storm raging on outside.

Germany shot the brunette a dirty look. Austria gulped as he left Germany in the sitting room and headed for his bedroom, picking out a fluffy, white towel for the blonde. He lit the candles in the guest bedroom and returned to where Germany was, standing by the fireplace, shirtless. He thought of how not too long ago... His heart skipped a beat as wordlessly, the blonde took the towel that was offered to him.

Anschluss 1938 1b/1

(Anonymous) 2010-12-25 10:03 am (UTC)(link)
crap i forgot to put in the link to the request. here - http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=327800#t327800

"I'll show you to your room," Austria led the way, hoping that the king sized bed was alright with Germany. He did not look at him, afraid of what the other nation might do or say. Seeing the blonde topless was making his body experience odd, inexplicable sensations that he had not felt since the Great War and although his brain told him that he detested it, his heart secretly welcomed the return of those now forbidden feelings.

Germany threw his shirt on to the ground, along with his olive green jacket. Austria couldn't help but hold his breath in anticipation of what was about to follow, although he knew that such thoughts would eventually lead to his downfall. He couldn't help it - around the blonde, controlling the feelings he had kept buried deep in his heart was an impossible task - but he was determined not to make the same mistakes he did when he first approached the other nation for help at the start of the Great War.

"If there's nothing else you need, I'll be taking my leave," Austria bowed slightly, glasses slipping off his nose. He pushed them up again as he turned to leave, doing his best to conceal the confused expression in his eyes when the German cleared his throat.


The brunette felt his breath hitch and he bit his lip hard. He took a deep breath in a futile attempt to regain his composure - how long had it been since that low, husky voice had called his name? - and faced the other nation again.

Germany stared at him, long and hard and the Austrian flinched under his scrutiny. "You know damned well why I came here. This isn't one of Italy's foolish 'visits'," his sapphire eyes narrowed.

Austria averted his gaze. "No, it isn't."

"Look at me," the other nation commanded and despite his brain's numerous protests, he found himself obeying. He could no longer hide the terrible emotions he tried so hard to suppress but at the same time, looking at Germany, looking into the depths of his soul made him realise that indeed, there was no way that things could ever be the same.

"Germany, don't -" the brunette found himself saying and before he could complete his sentence, he was thrown on to the bed - Germany had grabbed him by his shirt front and pushed him down before he could react, using his strength to his advantage again, just like during the Great War. Austria found himself trapped, in his own home, by a visitor, no less. A tiny, mirthless laugh escaped him as the bitter thought filled his mind that he barely registered the sensation of something semi-hard pressing against his cheek. He froze, recognising the all too familiar scent.

Germany looked down at the brunette, eyes filled with nothing but condescension. Austria returned the gaze with one of undisguised resentment although he knew that it was useless even if he did so.

"Suck," the blonde ordered, voice devoid of any warmth and when Austria refused, the German forced his mouth open and thrust brutally into the orifice.

Austria felt hot tears forming in his eyes as he gagged form the sudden intrusion. His cheeks burned in embarrassment as he thought of how it seemed that not too long ago, he was in a similar position - he did not want to remember, but neither could he forget.

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[Part 12] Netherlands/Crossdressing!Canada

(Anonymous) 2010-12-25 10:55 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=43154652#t43154652

Netherlands/Canada, in an established relationship.
Canada hears rumours of Netherlands' lolicon tendencies, feels insecure, thus tries to remedy things by crossdressing [Bonus: gets help from Poland or maybe even France. God, who knows?]
Ends in sex, with a crossdressed Canada of course.

Though I love all the cutesy innocent stuff between these two, I just feel like some smut damnit

(( I don't know if OP is still here, but I was just working on a fic that might fill this one. So enjoy. ))

Underneath My Christmas Tree [1a/1]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-25 11:00 am (UTC)(link)
Netherlands slowly creaked open an eye. A bright light was flooding in from the window and the empty spot beside him in bed felt cold. It seemed that Canada had already gotten up and hadn’t found it necessary to wake the Dutchman as well.

Last night had been… sweet, but not quite what Netherlands had been hoping for. Christmas eve, a little alcohol, and the place all to themselves. And yet, nothing had happened. Yes, the usual snuggling and kissing and a little touch here and there. Though it hadn’t gone any further than that. Don’t get me wrong, Netherlands liked doing all that stuff with Canada. A lot. But he had kind of hoped for something more. The Canadian had been apprehensive to let the Dutchman make any advances on him, saying that they would need their energy for in the morning. Netherlands didn’t really see why, seeing as they had nothing special planned that day.

Netherlands thought back to last night. The blond had been acting a little strange, but the Dutchman had figured it was just excitement for today. He had been asking about his present, as usual, but Netherlands wouldn’t tell him. When Netherlands had inquired about what Canada had gotten him, he had just taken on a mysterious little smile and said he’d have to wait and see. So perhaps Canada did have something planned. He wasn’t sure what to expect, though if it was a surprise from Canada, he was sure it would be enjoyable.

As he smelled pancakes baking downstairs he got out of bed, took a quick shower and got dressed. He went into the kitchen, but there was no-one there. Though the scent that was lingering in the room told him that there was a cute Canadian waiting on him with pancakes somewhere in this house.

He tried the living room next, and not without success. His mouth fell open as he saw what was waiting for him under the Christmas tree. Sitting there was Canada, playing innocently with some tinsel while he was wearing a bright red, frilly, and very short Lolita dress. His hair was just long enough to be tied back in two small pigtails and he was wearing red stockings to cover up his legs, but not so that Netherlands couldn’t take a good look at the smooth skin of Canada’s thighs, right in between where the stockings ended and the dress started.

A large stack of deliciously fresh pancakes was standing on the coffee table, and the gifts Netherlands had bought Canada (a new pair of ice skates and a hockey stick) were already unpacked. But the European nation didn’t pay any attention to those things, since his gaze was fixed on the Canadian. When he realized he was being stared at, Canada quickly got up (the skirt flying up a bit in the process, giving Netherlands a nice view of pearly white panties) and gave the other a bright smile.

“Ah, you’re awake!” He exclaimed as he hopped over to Netherlands and gave him a chaste kiss and pointed to the pancakes. “I made you breakfast!”

Netherlands was at a loss for words for a moment, looking the blond over. He fiddled with some frills on his dress and looked up at the taller nation expectantly. Netherlands knew that Canada was aware of his Lolita complex. In fact, he had asked Canada to dress up for him more than once, occasionally even convincing the Canadian to actually do it. But never had he pulled on a dress so voluntarily, and never without Netherlands asking. To say he was pleased with this development would be an understatement.

Underneath My Christmas Tree [1b/1]

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[part five] Bad Friends Trio: first meeting

(Anonymous) 2010-12-26 04:06 am (UTC)(link)
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=14393610#t14393610

Anon would like to see Prussia and Spain meeting France--or is it Gaul?--for the first time. But here's the thing anons. First they think he's a girl and tries to kiddy!court him, then they find out he's a guy and yet still tries to court him!

Bonus if the two end up really liking France or taking it seriously because he's SO PRETTY!

[I've been meaning to write this prompt for a while, my apologies for the delay. Please enjoy!]

It's a Trap [pt 1/??]

(Anonymous) 2010-12-26 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
“Is that France?” Prussia muttered in disbelief, staring down at the procession from his perch on the balcony. At his side, Spain nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, that’s Francia! Isn’t she beautiful?” Spain gushed. “I had no idea someone so cute was my neighbor all this time!”

And Prussia felt the same. After all he had heard about the northwest corner of Europe, he had been expecting a sort of hideous and unholy hybrid of Latin and Germanic bloodlines, some shifty-eyed scheming braggart with a prominent nose and unruly red hair, an ill-favored descendant of Gaul and Rome and Germania and God knows what else bred there.

To his surprise, France turned out to be beautiful, stunning, even, and most importantly, everything Hungary was not. Graceful and slender, with long wheat-gold curls and big blue eyes, clear pale skin best described as roses and cream – by far the most attractive young nation he had ever seen. (Not that he had met very many of their kind, but still.) Rumor had it that other kingdoms were competing for France’s attentions, not only to capitalize upon her growing wealth and influence, but also to make gains into her fecund lands.

Actually, Prussia was not exactly sure what “fecund” meant, and perhaps he didn’t want to, but he was not about to let this opportunity pass, and certainly not to someone as flighty as Spain. He cast one last glance over his shoulder, at the fairy princess below astride her delicate white steed, and then followed the still babbling Spain downstairs to meet the kingdom of France for the first time.

This fabled first meeting did not go as smoothly as expected. No rose petals fluttering through the wind, no heavenly music in the air, just the sound of an adolescent cursing in French as the heel of her boot got caught in a stirrup. Prussia rushed to help France down from her horse, but as Spain was marginally taller and stronger, he got the honor instead, and in the ensuing scuffle, neither of them noted anything unusual about their guest.

Giggling, France gave both Prussia and Spain a kiss of appreciation on their cheeks, causing them to blush fiercely.

“My thanks for such a gallant welcome!” she remarked in a low voice, husky and sweet like honey. “Let me introduce myself! I am the kingdom of France, as you can surely guess. And you must be…?”

“I am Spain, and this is---“

“Prussia! Of the most awesome order of the Teutonic knights!”

Spain glared at Prussia, but decided to forgive him his outburst, since he was a guest here as well, and wasn’t much competition in the first place, being scrawny and generally annoying.

“Well, I am very pleased to meet the both of you,” France replied, curtsying prettily in a flurry of skirts. She straightened up, and it was then that Spain noticed that she was taller than he was despite their similar age, and it was then that Prussia noticed the slim and unfeminine sword belted over her tunic. Yet neither of these observations seemed very significant when compared to the fact that such a pretty girl had actually kissed them first.

France laughed as the two suddenly recalled their situation and vied for the chance to hold her hand, and before it got too rough, she solved the problem by taking both of their hands in her own, declaring that friends should not fight. And not wanting to upset their new acquaintance, Prussia and Spain grudgingly put aside their rivalry for the moment.

It's a Trap [pt 2/??]

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It's a Trap [pt 3/??]

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That One Where Prussia is Thoroughly Fucked, And He Didn't Even Do Anything To Deserve It (1/3)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-26 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=40828380#t40828380

“Where is it?” The question is accompanied by a smack on Prussia’s ass that has the white-haired country howling.

“I don’t fucking-“ The second smack makes him gasp, pulling uselessly at his confined wrists. Fuck, that man does not play around when he spanks. Every time his hand connects with the curve of Prussia’s ass, it’s like a hellish orgasm of burning and pain that has unleashed its fury on Prussia’s poor, innocent skin. It makes the former Teutonic Knight, former soldier, former East German, sob and consider begging for mercy. Consider.

“Where is my rabbit?”

“I-I haven’t seen it! I swear!“ Prussia wails, as he frantically searches his memory. Okay, today he woke up at noon, walked West’s dogs (fuck, did one of them eat it-)

Annoyed at the growing silence, Netherlands raises his hand again, ready to turn Prussia’s bottom into one large blister that will not be able to be sat on for days.

Frantic, Prussia begins to plead negotiate for his release. “Stop! I-I’ll help you look for it! I’ll buy you a new rabbit! I … I’ll do anything!”

Netherland’s hand stops one inch from Prussia’s twitching ass, making the other man sigh slightly in relief. “Anything?”

“Y-yeah.” Prussia laughs nervously. He doesn’t like the tone of that voice.

Ten minutes later, he knows exactly why he didn't like the tone of that voice.

“You look good …” Netherlands sits with his legs spread, gesturing for Prussia to come closer.

You are a fucking pervert!” The albino snarls, covering his crotch with his hands. He has been forced into white lace panties with a matching garter belt and thigh-high stockings. On his head perches a pair of perky bunny ears.

“Rabbits don’t talk.” Netherlands says simply. He looks to be on the verge of a smile. “Now come sit on my lap.”

Prussia swallows a manly sob and complies, hoping that no one – especially Hungary – catches him doing this. Gingerly, he sits on Netherland’s knee, trying to place himself as far away from the man as possible. Fuck you, he almost says (a useless, rebellious statement), but at the last minute remembers his stinging behind and manages to refrain.

As soon as the albino is on his lap, Netherlands flips him until Prussia’s ass is in the air once again. This time Prussia really does cry out, stammering out some expletive and a half-formed threat of what he would do to Netherlands if only he-

In warning, the larger man taps Prussia’s aching ass, and the other quiets with a whimper. “It’s still red…” Netherlands marvels, running his gloved hands over the trembling flesh under the white, transparent thong. Humming, he snaps the elastic, enjoying Prussia’s muffled response.

Although the Dutch man’s touches are deceptively gentle, every brush against Prussia’s sensitive skin still sends prickles of pleasure/pain running through his nerves. It felt like being tickled, but hotter, and … Prussia presses his thighs together, squirming on Netherlands’ lap. Suddenly, he feels the thong pushed down and his cheeks spread. The albino gasps, scrabbling uselessly at Netherlands’ crooked leg as he feels cold lubricant being spread along his damp crevice, and then a finger entering him.

Hgghhhhh…” Prussia twists his spine, trying to see what the fuck Netherlands is up to back there. With a stern hand on his shoulder, he is pushed back flat, and something thicker, with a tapered edge pushes into where the finger had been seconds before.

Muffling his cry (of pleasure? Pain?) Prussia tries to relax, expecting the glide to keep going deeper. But it just stops, and he feels a brush of soft fur against the small of his back.

That One Where Prussia is Thoroughly Fucked, And He Didn't Even Do Anything To Deserve It (2/3)

(Anonymous) 2010-12-26 05:08 am (UTC)(link)

“There,” Netherlands voice rumbles with amusement. “Every bunny needs a tail.” And he tweaks the butt plug affectionately, earning a horny moan from the man on his lap. Flipping Prussia over gently, Netherlands admires his work. Prussia is blushing fiercely, the red flaring across his sharp cheekbones and bathing his neck and chest, as well. The white panties are forever ruined, tented as they are with his erection, a sloppy circle of precum already staining the lace. Best of all, he is trembling sweetly in Netherlands’ arms, his normally-sharp red eyes glazed with arousal. “Now … “ Netherlands murmurs, trailing his fingers across Prussia’s flat, twitching stomach. “Will you be a docile rabbit, or a feisty one?”

Which one will get me fucked faster? Prussia almost says, again. But this time it is because he wants to be spanked. He hungers for any contact at all.

As if hearing Prussia’s unspoken plea, Netherlands begins rubbing circles across the albino’s stomach with one hand while the other migrates downwards to gently cup Prussia’s ass and thumb the damp crevice. Then he begins to play with the tail, murmuring dirty things in Prussia’s ear that has the pale man hissing and moaning with want.

Things like: “You know I always take my rabbit everywhere, lieve Pruisen … how about I carry you outside like this? You could sit in my lap during meetings and I could pet you all day long.”

Prussia squeaks, imagining a roomful of eyes on him as he is teased beyond reason, desperately clenching his thighs like he is now to prevent himself from rutting against Netherlands’ lap. Maybe they would watch him as he comes … fuck, he wishes he could come.

“Hmm…and shall I take you to visit Japan?”

Y-yeah … that tiny Asian dude has a thing for cameras, and dressing up. He would videotape Prussia’s every movement … the albino feels his face heat as Netherlands’ insistent tugging the butt plug makes a wet, obscene sound as it is pulled from his ass.

Prussia whimpers before he can catch himself, a low sound because suddenly, he feels very, very empty.

“F-fuck me …” He whispers, uncaring of any punishment.

Netherlands doesn’t bother hiding his grin this time. “Kneel and spread yourself if you want it so badly.” He whispers in Prussia’s ear, before releasing the other man from his lap.

Trembling, Prussia complies, too far gone to worry about his pride, or other trifling matters. When it comes to sex, it is clear what part of Prussia rules the rest of him. Kneeling on the corded carpet with his ass in Netherlands’ direction, the albino shimmies off the little scrap of lace and spreads his ass with both hands, exposing the twitching, pink hole still smeared with clear lube.

Prussia waits there, cold without Netherlands’ body heat and twisted in that uncomfortable position for what seems like an eternity. Behind him, he can hear the slick sound of lube being poured from the bottle and smoothed all along Netherlands’ length. His own erection lies hot and heavy between his legs, steadily dripping precum onto the carpet. Just a little … one of his hands migrates downwards, to grip his cock tight, right where he needs it. He feels so hot … it can’t possibly be healthy …

“Ah, ah, ah,” Netherlands makes a chiding noise as he tugs Prussia’s offending appendage away from his aching erection and presses it to the carpet. “My rabbit is disobedient. I believe further training is in order.” There is a smirk to his tone that Prussia does not like because Prussia should be the only one able to make his words sound like a facial expression.

Verdammit,” Prussia groans into the carpet, “No more fucking games! Fuck me!”

“Only if you promise…” Netherlands runs his fingers through Prussia’s fair hair, catching the bunny ears and putting them aside. “…that you’ll be my rabbit until it’s found.”

“Yeah … yeah …” Prussia pants, now desperately trying to grind his erection into the carpet, rug burns be damned.