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It had finally been a day after sleeping beauty was spanked by the Queen herself and “O” found herself among a party of the most distinguished guests wearing only a feathery mask, that England decided he’d had enough.
Online training was an option, but England felt some things were meant to be experienced in person, besides call him old-fashioned, but computers weren’t his thing.
Nonetheless, another quick search on the internet and he had a list of places he could go to, mostly clubs and gatherings. He discarded places on his own land right away since he’d probably get arrested; his officials sometimes were just impossible, making the most stupid things illegal. Netherlands, France, Spain they all had nice places, but they were too close to home, and he didn’t need that frog teasing him endlessly about his preferences.
He considered America, but decided against it at the end, the lad’s people scared him sometimes.
Canada… it sounded familiar. Oh right! His former colony. It seemed little innocent Matthew had more places than everyone except for the Netherlands.
The club was called “Subspace”, and it was just outside of Toronto, and the reviews were nice, it also seemed a great place for a newbie, since they didn’t have for the most part an enforced dress code.
And now he was finally here, walking the line that separated what he wanted from reality. He crossed the door, slowly, and took in the sight in front of him.
The neon lights flickered on and off over the dance floor as a group of couples, both gay and straight, danced at the pace of a slow song all of them mostly dressed in formal black and leather garments, except for the occasional latex and faux. It could almost be a normal sight of any upper class club, if you overlooked the men in tight stockings, black skirts and high heels; the women showing their breasts proudly for their partners, and the hundreds of chains, collars and piercings that created music whenever they softly brushed against any surface.
It was a whole new world, the grotesque turned beautiful, pain transformed into art, and surrender became erotic.
England gulped at the sight, this place was everything he had expected and wanted it to be. He felt overwhelmed, but at the same time comfortable, and homey. He felt like a salt water fish that had spent his entire life in a pond, to finally find himself in the open sea one day, a universe of possibilities opening themselves in front of him.
The crowd dispersed, but England kept on staring at the distance, too lost in thought to put attention to where his gaze was locked on. He didn’t notice as his eyes locked on the pair of long legs across the bar area, stuffed in a mini black dress, with both ankles cuffed and tied to the table. She was eating something from someone’s hand, licking the fingers in a very sensual way.
His eyes got lost in the vision, and he imagined himself in her place, head bowed down, eyes filled with the complete satisfaction, and eagerness to please, to make the owner of that hand happy.
The hand was removed, but England couldn’t stop staring, not even after she noticed his gaze on her and mumbled a few words to her Master.
England knew she was talking about him, he felt it. But his instincts seemed turned off. Even as he felt the look of more than one person in the club on his back, he didn’t back off.
Two strong hands pushed him backwards and he struggled to regain his balance. There was a crowd beginning to form around him and a very tall woman with black high heels in front of him, with a menacing expression on her face and ready to push him again.
Online training was an option, but England felt some things were meant to be experienced in person, besides call him old-fashioned, but computers weren’t his thing.
Nonetheless, another quick search on the internet and he had a list of places he could go to, mostly clubs and gatherings. He discarded places on his own land right away since he’d probably get arrested; his officials sometimes were just impossible, making the most stupid things illegal. Netherlands, France, Spain they all had nice places, but they were too close to home, and he didn’t need that frog teasing him endlessly about his preferences.
He considered America, but decided against it at the end, the lad’s people scared him sometimes.
Canada… it sounded familiar. Oh right! His former colony. It seemed little innocent Matthew had more places than everyone except for the Netherlands.
The club was called “Subspace”, and it was just outside of Toronto, and the reviews were nice, it also seemed a great place for a newbie, since they didn’t have for the most part an enforced dress code.
And now he was finally here, walking the line that separated what he wanted from reality. He crossed the door, slowly, and took in the sight in front of him.
The neon lights flickered on and off over the dance floor as a group of couples, both gay and straight, danced at the pace of a slow song all of them mostly dressed in formal black and leather garments, except for the occasional latex and faux. It could almost be a normal sight of any upper class club, if you overlooked the men in tight stockings, black skirts and high heels; the women showing their breasts proudly for their partners, and the hundreds of chains, collars and piercings that created music whenever they softly brushed against any surface.
It was a whole new world, the grotesque turned beautiful, pain transformed into art, and surrender became erotic.
England gulped at the sight, this place was everything he had expected and wanted it to be. He felt overwhelmed, but at the same time comfortable, and homey. He felt like a salt water fish that had spent his entire life in a pond, to finally find himself in the open sea one day, a universe of possibilities opening themselves in front of him.
The crowd dispersed, but England kept on staring at the distance, too lost in thought to put attention to where his gaze was locked on. He didn’t notice as his eyes locked on the pair of long legs across the bar area, stuffed in a mini black dress, with both ankles cuffed and tied to the table. She was eating something from someone’s hand, licking the fingers in a very sensual way.
His eyes got lost in the vision, and he imagined himself in her place, head bowed down, eyes filled with the complete satisfaction, and eagerness to please, to make the owner of that hand happy.
The hand was removed, but England couldn’t stop staring, not even after she noticed his gaze on her and mumbled a few words to her Master.
England knew she was talking about him, he felt it. But his instincts seemed turned off. Even as he felt the look of more than one person in the club on his back, he didn’t back off.
Two strong hands pushed him backwards and he struggled to regain his balance. There was a crowd beginning to form around him and a very tall woman with black high heels in front of him, with a menacing expression on her face and ready to push him again.
I would like to see Korea finding these videos, mistakenly thinking that he has stumbled on a valuable goldmine of information, and attempt to woo Japan by following their advice. Whether he is successful or not in the end is up to anon. No genderbends, please.
“Stop looking at her, you idiot!” Her voice was sharp, and angry and as strong as her hands “Don’t you see she already has a Mistress! Have more respect!”
England’s mouth dried, and he was unable to mutter a coherent response, he felt disoriented... maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come here, after all. But, he didn’t understand what had he done? He had barely entered the club. He was pushed again, this time by another set of hands, male hands. His body stumbled downwards this time, losing his balance completely and he felt as the floor connected with his left check.
“Follow the rules of etiquette, or get out little man! We don’t want trouble makers in here!” The voice sounded oddly familiar, and if England would have listened to it carefully, he would have identified it right away.
He stood up slowly, carefully cleansing the invisible dust on the sleeves of his coat, and pants, and tried to recover a little of his dignity by standing straight, but people kept on staring at him. He regained his voice once again, his eyebrows curved into an angry expression and he turned to look at him who dared to talk to the British Empire like that.
“May I ask, who you are calling little man, you git?!” His proud stance (or maybe it was his accent), had more effect this time, and the man jerked backwards, an odd expression on his face. But England didn’t stay to contemplate it, he pushed the man as a hard as he could, making his way to the exit. He felt steps following him, as he passed the security guards and the people still eager to get inside.
He should have never come here, he had been stupid at thinking it would be easy, just coming, getting someone to Dom for him, and expecting the craziest, and most pleasurable night of his life. The dream was too perfect, and was now crumbling in front of his eyes; shame taking over the initial excitement, and doubts poisoning his mind.
“Arthur!?”
He would go back home, hide in his books, in the internet. He will finally find out where Beauty was sent for her punishment, and after, the fantasy will go away, yeah, it will be okay...
“Arthur.”
The steps were catching up with him, and England made a huge effort to contain the anger that boiled inside him, he couldn’t do something he would end up regretting later. The frustration of the night's events (or lack of them). were catching up with him faster than normal, burning a hole inside his heart that would have stayed forever, if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that held his shoulders stopping him on his run.
“England, wait!”
He turned slowly looking up at the tall figure behind him, that surprisingly knew his name. His green eyes shone in realization.
“Denmark?”
****
England’s mouth dried, and he was unable to mutter a coherent response, he felt disoriented... maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come here, after all. But, he didn’t understand what had he done? He had barely entered the club. He was pushed again, this time by another set of hands, male hands. His body stumbled downwards this time, losing his balance completely and he felt as the floor connected with his left check.
“Follow the rules of etiquette, or get out little man! We don’t want trouble makers in here!” The voice sounded oddly familiar, and if England would have listened to it carefully, he would have identified it right away.
He stood up slowly, carefully cleansing the invisible dust on the sleeves of his coat, and pants, and tried to recover a little of his dignity by standing straight, but people kept on staring at him. He regained his voice once again, his eyebrows curved into an angry expression and he turned to look at him who dared to talk to the British Empire like that.
“May I ask, who you are calling little man, you git?!” His proud stance (or maybe it was his accent), had more effect this time, and the man jerked backwards, an odd expression on his face. But England didn’t stay to contemplate it, he pushed the man as a hard as he could, making his way to the exit. He felt steps following him, as he passed the security guards and the people still eager to get inside.
He should have never come here, he had been stupid at thinking it would be easy, just coming, getting someone to Dom for him, and expecting the craziest, and most pleasurable night of his life. The dream was too perfect, and was now crumbling in front of his eyes; shame taking over the initial excitement, and doubts poisoning his mind.
“Arthur!?”
He would go back home, hide in his books, in the internet. He will finally find out where Beauty was sent for her punishment, and after, the fantasy will go away, yeah, it will be okay...
“Arthur.”
The steps were catching up with him, and England made a huge effort to contain the anger that boiled inside him, he couldn’t do something he would end up regretting later. The frustration of the night's events (or lack of them). were catching up with him faster than normal, burning a hole inside his heart that would have stayed forever, if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that held his shoulders stopping him on his run.
“England, wait!”
He turned slowly looking up at the tall figure behind him, that surprisingly knew his name. His green eyes shone in realization.
“Denmark?”
****
The sly grin characteristic of the Nordic nation lit his face at the sound of his name.
“Yup, that’s me!”
England hadn’t counted on this, finding another nation in this kind of place, that’s why he’d come to Canada, so that no one would know of his... strange needs.
“I’m sorry about, uhm, before... I, I didn’t realize it was you, but what...”
“It was you, git?!!” England’s face was on fire, but something inside him warmed up, a realization that his body had made, but his head still didn’t fully comprehended. The possibility to see his dream come true, and with someone he already knew and trusted... well just knew because, really, the last time he and Denmark had talked for more than fifteen minutes, the Nordic had been a Viking trying to conquer him. He had ruled out nations, for the possibility of them being weirded out, but if one of them was into this, England couldn’t imagine a better match. “What the hell were you thinking, pushing me like that, I made a complete fool of myself, bloody idiot!”
“Hey, hey, England, calm down! I said, I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t know it was you, and that was a pretty stupid move you made! Now, please, could you tell me just what are you doing here?”
“I... I don’t... I didn’t,” It was futile to lie now, and it would cause him more trouble than if he answered with the truth, but words were traitorous, and refused to come out in the moments where you need them the most, so England just glanced at his feet and let his unspoken answer float in the air around them.
“Oh... I see.” In spite of his surprised tone, Denmark’s smile held its ground. “Well, you don’t have to be ashamed of anything, you know. I won’t tell, and I’m sure as hell you won’t either, but... Just what did you expect to find in there? If you are new to this whole thing, the place is too hardcore for you.”
“Well I have uhm... I wanted to... I needed, you know... to meet people? And I, yeah, I have some uhm...” He knew he wasn’t making any sense at all, knew that his ears and cheeks couldn’t turn redder then they were, but he also knew he was about to miss the opportunity of his life, if he didn’t do something soon. “My intent was to find someone free, and that will be seeking for someone too, I wished to experiment.” He cleared his throat standing upright, and doing everything in his power to maintain his dignity.
The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and it all came from England, who radiated a dangerous aura, full of shame and regret. Denmark was almost afraid of touching him, and snapping him out of his sudden self-hating world.
“It’s okay, Arthur. Everyone is looking for something here, whether it's fun, or just a partner, we are all the same.” He grew serious as he spoke, “Let’s go for a cup of coffee, okay? We can discuss the matter, with more privacy. I saw a Tim Horton, two blocks away.”
“A what?” It took two seconds to click in that he was in Canada.
“Remember you are in Canada.”
“Yeah, right, and that makes me wonder, what the hell are you doing in here?”
Denmark laughed, and pulled England closer as they walked.
“I could ask you the same my friend, but the answers for the coffee.”
The strange warmth inside England grew a little, he was going to talk things over with Denmark, maybe this could work out after all, and maybe he wasn’t as lost as he thought.
TBC
“Yup, that’s me!”
England hadn’t counted on this, finding another nation in this kind of place, that’s why he’d come to Canada, so that no one would know of his... strange needs.
“I’m sorry about, uhm, before... I, I didn’t realize it was you, but what...”
“It was you, git?!!” England’s face was on fire, but something inside him warmed up, a realization that his body had made, but his head still didn’t fully comprehended. The possibility to see his dream come true, and with someone he already knew and trusted... well just knew because, really, the last time he and Denmark had talked for more than fifteen minutes, the Nordic had been a Viking trying to conquer him. He had ruled out nations, for the possibility of them being weirded out, but if one of them was into this, England couldn’t imagine a better match. “What the hell were you thinking, pushing me like that, I made a complete fool of myself, bloody idiot!”
“Hey, hey, England, calm down! I said, I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t know it was you, and that was a pretty stupid move you made! Now, please, could you tell me just what are you doing here?”
“I... I don’t... I didn’t,” It was futile to lie now, and it would cause him more trouble than if he answered with the truth, but words were traitorous, and refused to come out in the moments where you need them the most, so England just glanced at his feet and let his unspoken answer float in the air around them.
“Oh... I see.” In spite of his surprised tone, Denmark’s smile held its ground. “Well, you don’t have to be ashamed of anything, you know. I won’t tell, and I’m sure as hell you won’t either, but... Just what did you expect to find in there? If you are new to this whole thing, the place is too hardcore for you.”
“Well I have uhm... I wanted to... I needed, you know... to meet people? And I, yeah, I have some uhm...” He knew he wasn’t making any sense at all, knew that his ears and cheeks couldn’t turn redder then they were, but he also knew he was about to miss the opportunity of his life, if he didn’t do something soon. “My intent was to find someone free, and that will be seeking for someone too, I wished to experiment.” He cleared his throat standing upright, and doing everything in his power to maintain his dignity.
The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and it all came from England, who radiated a dangerous aura, full of shame and regret. Denmark was almost afraid of touching him, and snapping him out of his sudden self-hating world.
“It’s okay, Arthur. Everyone is looking for something here, whether it's fun, or just a partner, we are all the same.” He grew serious as he spoke, “Let’s go for a cup of coffee, okay? We can discuss the matter, with more privacy. I saw a Tim Horton, two blocks away.”
“A what?” It took two seconds to click in that he was in Canada.
“Remember you are in Canada.”
“Yeah, right, and that makes me wonder, what the hell are you doing in here?”
Denmark laughed, and pulled England closer as they walked.
“I could ask you the same my friend, but the answers for the coffee.”
The strange warmth inside England grew a little, he was going to talk things over with Denmark, maybe this could work out after all, and maybe he wasn’t as lost as he thought.
TBC
Prussia is dying and the other characters don't care. He reflects upon his life of glory, and his subsequent life of failure and rejection, and how he got to the point where no one cares about him anymore. Then he dies alone. I want to be depressed, anon.
Author’s notes:
First of all a thousand thanks to my Beta <3 because if it weren't for her this author anon who does not speak English as her first language would fail hard! LOVE YOU DEAR ^^
And now for the notes.
The books England read are:
“Story of O” an erotic French novel by Pauline Réage from 1954. Story of O is a tale of female submission about a beautiful Parisian fashion photographer, O, who is blindfolded, chained, whipped, branded, pierced, made to wear a mask, and taught to be constantly available for oral, vaginal, and anal intercourse. Despite her harsh treatment, O grants permission beforehand for everything that occurs, and her permission is consistently sought. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Story_of_O
“The claiming of Sleeping Beauty” By Anne Rice (under the pen name A. N. Roquelaure) written in 1984. Beauty is awakened from her hundred-year sleep by the Prince, not with a simple kiss, but with a deflowering, initiating her into a Satyricon-like world of sexual adventures. After stripping her naked, he takes her to his kingdom, ruled by his mother, the Queen, where Beauty is trained as a slave and a plaything. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Claiming_of_Sleeping_Beauty
Hardcore BDSM (or that leaves any mark) is illegal in the United Kingdom, even between two consenting adults. This doesn’t mean people don’t do it, but everything is kept underneath the table.
“Subspace” is a real Canadian Fetish-inspired club found just outside of Toronto. http://www.subspacefetishnight.com/ (webpage is not worksafe) Why did I choose Canada? Because it has the second largest BDSM population after the Netherlands (and anon is Canadian, so she knows the scene over here)
First of all a thousand thanks to my Beta <3 because if it weren't for her this author anon who does not speak English as her first language would fail hard! LOVE YOU DEAR ^^
And now for the notes.
The books England read are:
“Story of O” an erotic French novel by Pauline Réage from 1954. Story of O is a tale of female submission about a beautiful Parisian fashion photographer, O, who is blindfolded, chained, whipped, branded, pierced, made to wear a mask, and taught to be constantly available for oral, vaginal, and anal intercourse. Despite her harsh treatment, O grants permission beforehand for everything that occurs, and her permission is consistently sought. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Story_of_O
“The claiming of Sleeping Beauty” By Anne Rice (under the pen name A. N. Roquelaure) written in 1984. Beauty is awakened from her hundred-year sleep by the Prince, not with a simple kiss, but with a deflowering, initiating her into a Satyricon-like world of sexual adventures. After stripping her naked, he takes her to his kingdom, ruled by his mother, the Queen, where Beauty is trained as a slave and a plaything. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Claiming_of_Sleeping_Beauty
Hardcore BDSM (or that leaves any mark) is illegal in the United Kingdom, even between two consenting adults. This doesn’t mean people don’t do it, but everything is kept underneath the table.
“Subspace” is a real Canadian Fetish-inspired club found just outside of Toronto. http://www.subspacefetishnight.com/ (webpage is not worksafe) Why did I choose Canada? Because it has the second largest BDSM population after the Netherlands (and anon is Canadian, so she knows the scene over here)
Is here to shower your story with love! First of all, Louise shooting was so hot~ like yeah XD So funny, and yet unsurprising that Hungary is so much better than her. Awesomesauce that Hungary is going to go against her husband in order to help out a friend. Love-points for that. I'm definitely curious about Romano...more soon
hetalia-kink/hetalia/nations - hetalia-kink is obsessed with hetalia and nations come to rescue AU
(Anonymous) 2010-09-22 03:18 am (UTC)(link)Ok, I don't even know how did I get this crazy idea.
So hetalia-kink is this story's powerful yet evil villain. He [or she I don't really care] is a king of a kingdom and has an army called anons [who do the dirty works for him].
The main plot of the story is that hetalia-kink falls in love with hetalia, who is a very pretty/handsome prince from an enemy country. And obviously, the only way to get the prince is to kidnap him (and make him a [sex] slave) with the help of his army anons (who are secretly obsessed with hetalia as well).
But no fear, the nations (especially America) will come and rescue hetalia from hetalia-kink in order to prevent hetalia-kink from corrupting him (or something like that). I will leave it to anons if they succeeded or failed.
(Darn my irony)
Bonus: - Please, despite my humorous tone, I actually want a really dark and angsty fill.
Last word: to my potential fillers, you don't have to follow completely to my request, as long as there's hetalia-kink/hetalia/nations I am satisfied.
So hetalia-kink is this story's powerful yet evil villain. He [or she I don't really care] is a king of a kingdom and has an army called anons [who do the dirty works for him].
The main plot of the story is that hetalia-kink falls in love with hetalia, who is a very pretty/handsome prince from an enemy country. And obviously, the only way to get the prince is to kidnap him (and make him a [sex] slave) with the help of his army anons (who are secretly obsessed with hetalia as well).
But no fear, the nations (especially America) will come and rescue hetalia from hetalia-kink in order to prevent hetalia-kink from corrupting him (or something like that). I will leave it to anons if they succeeded or failed.
(Darn my irony)
Bonus: - Please, despite my humorous tone, I actually want a really dark and angsty fill.
Last word: to my potential fillers, you don't have to follow completely to my request, as long as there's hetalia-kink/hetalia/nations I am satisfied.
D'awwww...yes! Thirded!
Re: Well, OP here is gushing like the guro and RusCan fangirl she is
(Anonymous) 2010-09-22 03:29 am (UTC)(link)Damn, I was hoping I could get rid of that thing sooner. But, alright. Would you liked it wrapped up or just sent with a pretty bow stuck on it?
Ahhh, exactly. Guro brightens our days with all the things we are missing out on. The whites of bones and the screams of the innocent.
Said random stuff is the epitome of my happiness. I already had a thing for cannibals and when I had initially read Angst Circa 1773, I greedily adopted it as my new headcanon. ;) There were just too few Wendigo!Matthew tales that I thought I might stir some plot bunnies for fellow guro fans to appease myself and others. (had I the talent to pull it off, I would have just highjacked FF and spread the cannibalism love.)
Ahhh, exactly. Guro brightens our days with all the things we are missing out on. The whites of bones and the screams of the innocent.
Said random stuff is the epitome of my happiness. I already had a thing for cannibals and when I had initially read Angst Circa 1773, I greedily adopted it as my new headcanon. ;) There were just too few Wendigo!Matthew tales that I thought I might stir some plot bunnies for fellow guro fans to appease myself and others. (had I the talent to pull it off, I would have just highjacked FF and spread the cannibalism love.)
Desirable threesome is so desirable.
Seconding like a boss.
Goddamn it, Captcha, I have no Greek letters on my keyboard! This is the second time today that you're pulling weird BS on me!
Seconding like a boss.
Goddamn it, Captcha, I have no Greek letters on my keyboard! This is the second time today that you're pulling weird BS on me!
Re: Well, OP here is gushing like the guro and RusCan fangirl she is
(Anonymous) 2010-09-22 03:41 am (UTC)(link)I really hope that this request spawns more fills, actually, as I'm rather a fan myself.
I'm probably way off base, but "Romans go home" reminded me of the sings we (the Argentinians) would paint during the Falklands/Malvinas War: "English Go Home".
NO. BAD AUTHOR. WHY ARE YOU STARTING NEW REQUESTS WHEN YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED YOUR OTHER ONES. *smacks self*
Not any of the anons who promised above. Hope no one minds. :D The plot bunnies were eating me and smacking me upside the head with metal bats. I didn’t want to die D8
Oh, and there probably won't be any smut in this fanfic, just as a forewarning. If it's extremely wanted by the OP and other anons, I miiiiight try to squeeze something in, but no promises.
.~.~.~.~.
The world outside the window was on fire, red and orange and gold reflecting brightly against the glass. The leaves on the trees, already saturated with color from the chilling wind, were dyed even more magnificently in the sunset, the soft light casting sharp shadows around corners of the room. South Italy sat on the side of the bed Spain should have been occupying, watching the world flare brightly and slowly dim to darkness.
Time passed, and South Italy did not move from his spot where Spain should have been, bare feet curling into the chilled—unnaturally so, it seemed, without Spain to warm them—sheets, nearly naked save for a pair of boxers, shivering slightly, as the first stars peeked out through the inferno.
The stars grew more numerous and the world bled color until it had dimmed to a dull slate, and South Italy did not move.
If the world was right, Spain would have long ago burst into the room, laughing and bright with life, annoying him for a while before settling down and curling up on the bed, snoring softly, twining his limbs with his own.
But the world was not right, and Spain was not there. And South Italy did not move; even as the moon began to dominate the sky, save for the occasional shiver from the growing cold.
Spain was never again going to occupy this side of the bed, his breath softly ghosting over Italy’s skin, warmth seeping into the sheets and into him.
Spain was dead. He was never coming back. He had seen it with his own eyes, seen his goofy (stupid, dimwitted, beautiful) face slide into nothingness, shining dust glittering in the wind.
He fell asleep restlessly that night, on Spain’s side of the bed, clutching to the sheets like a lifeline and shivering in the cold.
The next morning, when the world was once again bathed in gold, North Italy crept into his brother’s room.
South Italy would not wake up.
.~.~.~.~.
“Lovi…” South Italy stirred slightly, clenching his eyes tighter shut against the onslaught of light that was assaulting his eyelids.
“Lovi…”
Dammit, who was calling for him at this hour? Granted, he had no idea what time it was, but he wanted to sleep so it was early enough!
“Lovi! Mi amor, wake up!” THUMP!
“GAH!” He jolted awake, thrust out of dreamland when a gigantic weight suddenly deposited itself around his waist, knocking the wind right out of him.
“Lovi! Thank goodness you’re awake! You were sleeping like the dead, it took me forever to wake you, but you were making sad sounds and it sounded like you were having a nightmare so I couldn’t just let you sleep…”
…Wait. He knew that voice. But it couldn’t be…
South Italy looked down to meet bright green eyes, shining with worry, but they were there, bright with life.
“S-Spain?!” Surely this was an illusion, something made up by his sleep deprived mind. He was hallucinating. He had to be… any second now, Spain would disappear, and he would be left alone in the bed, forever.
He stared at Spain for a moment before blinking and shaking his head, but he did not disappear.
“Yes?” Sure enough, he answered, cocking his head to the side slightly, like he always did when he was confused about something. The familiarity tore at his heart. It couldn’t be, but…
It was. Antonio was alive. But he had seen him die with his own eyes! How was this possible? Yet here he was, warm and bright with life, waking him up like he usually did in the mornings.
Not any of the anons who promised above. Hope no one minds. :D The plot bunnies were eating me and smacking me upside the head with metal bats. I didn’t want to die D8
Oh, and there probably won't be any smut in this fanfic, just as a forewarning. If it's extremely wanted by the OP and other anons, I miiiiight try to squeeze something in, but no promises.
.~.~.~.~.
The world outside the window was on fire, red and orange and gold reflecting brightly against the glass. The leaves on the trees, already saturated with color from the chilling wind, were dyed even more magnificently in the sunset, the soft light casting sharp shadows around corners of the room. South Italy sat on the side of the bed Spain should have been occupying, watching the world flare brightly and slowly dim to darkness.
Time passed, and South Italy did not move from his spot where Spain should have been, bare feet curling into the chilled—unnaturally so, it seemed, without Spain to warm them—sheets, nearly naked save for a pair of boxers, shivering slightly, as the first stars peeked out through the inferno.
The stars grew more numerous and the world bled color until it had dimmed to a dull slate, and South Italy did not move.
If the world was right, Spain would have long ago burst into the room, laughing and bright with life, annoying him for a while before settling down and curling up on the bed, snoring softly, twining his limbs with his own.
But the world was not right, and Spain was not there. And South Italy did not move; even as the moon began to dominate the sky, save for the occasional shiver from the growing cold.
Spain was never again going to occupy this side of the bed, his breath softly ghosting over Italy’s skin, warmth seeping into the sheets and into him.
Spain was dead. He was never coming back. He had seen it with his own eyes, seen his goofy (stupid, dimwitted, beautiful) face slide into nothingness, shining dust glittering in the wind.
He fell asleep restlessly that night, on Spain’s side of the bed, clutching to the sheets like a lifeline and shivering in the cold.
The next morning, when the world was once again bathed in gold, North Italy crept into his brother’s room.
South Italy would not wake up.
.~.~.~.~.
“Lovi…” South Italy stirred slightly, clenching his eyes tighter shut against the onslaught of light that was assaulting his eyelids.
“Lovi…”
Dammit, who was calling for him at this hour? Granted, he had no idea what time it was, but he wanted to sleep so it was early enough!
“Lovi! Mi amor, wake up!” THUMP!
“GAH!” He jolted awake, thrust out of dreamland when a gigantic weight suddenly deposited itself around his waist, knocking the wind right out of him.
“Lovi! Thank goodness you’re awake! You were sleeping like the dead, it took me forever to wake you, but you were making sad sounds and it sounded like you were having a nightmare so I couldn’t just let you sleep…”
…Wait. He knew that voice. But it couldn’t be…
South Italy looked down to meet bright green eyes, shining with worry, but they were there, bright with life.
“S-Spain?!” Surely this was an illusion, something made up by his sleep deprived mind. He was hallucinating. He had to be… any second now, Spain would disappear, and he would be left alone in the bed, forever.
He stared at Spain for a moment before blinking and shaking his head, but he did not disappear.
“Yes?” Sure enough, he answered, cocking his head to the side slightly, like he always did when he was confused about something. The familiarity tore at his heart. It couldn’t be, but…
It was. Antonio was alive. But he had seen him die with his own eyes! How was this possible? Yet here he was, warm and bright with life, waking him up like he usually did in the mornings.
yes, that's exactly what i meant. sorry about not being clear about that ^^;;
“…Lovi? Are you okay? Usually you’re yelling at me and telling me to get off by now…not that I don’t mind, I like holding you, but…” He squeezed his arms tighter around South Italy’s waist for emphasis, expression growing more concerned.
Despite himself, tears welled up in Lovino’s eyes, blurring his vision and making his throat constrict as his heart leapt up into it.
He was alive. It was too good to be true.
“Wah! Lovi, don’t cry! Was the dream really that scary? It’s okay! Tell me about it, Boss Spain will make it better!”
“S-Shut up, i-idiot…” Lovino choked out through the tears, for once accepting Antonio’s smothering.
He had never thought he would miss Spain’s touch this much.
.~.~.~.~.
“Ve, fratello…” North Italy sniffed loudly, fat tears rolling off his cheeks, staining Germany’s uniform as he clung desperately to him. “Germany, what’s wrong with my brother? Why won’t he wake up?”
“I don’t know,” Germany replied, voice stiff but still soft, “we’ll find out when the doctors come back. Be patient, Italy.” He felt Italy nod, sighing as he felt him rub his nose into his sleeve again, a grimace forming on his features. He wanted to go and change his jacket, into one that was less wet with tears and snot, but Italy seemed to have claimed his right arm as his own and his sleeve as a handkerchief. He didn’t think he’d be getting either back soon, so he resigned himself to his fate, as a snot-rag/pillow to a sobbing Italian in a stiff plastic chair in a government-run hospital. He didn’t have the heart to pry him off, anyway.
Early that morning, just barely after the sun had risen, he had been surprised (not that he hadn’t already been up for a while) with a phone call from North Italy, sobbing incoherently into the mouthpiece. Once he had gotten over the initial shock of Italy being up at the crack of dawn without pasta, gelato, or retreating being involved, he had just barely caught a vague idea of what he was blabbering about, mostly from piecing together “brother” and “sleeping,” the only two words he was able to pick out of his wailing. It was only when he got to Italy’s house that he found out what was really going on.
He arrived to a sobbing Feliciano clinging to an ice-cold, but breathing, Lovino. He’d tried to rouse him, but even he could not wake Lovino up. Which was strange, because it seemed like the nation always seemed to have a radar for when he was around, probably just so he could threaten him every chance he got. They had tried everything they could think of—warming him up with blankets, shaking him (well, Italy did that part, mostly), some water, even pulling on his curl. Nothing. Eventually they had run out of ideas, and had to resort to calling Italy’s boss to have him transported to the hospital.
Now, they were waiting for word on what was going on, Italy clinging to him like a life raft. And while he wasn’t incredibly fond of the nation, deep down, Germany hoped everything was alright.
They couldn’t afford to lose another nation, not so soon. The world wouldn’t be able to take the strain.
Looking down at Feliciano, Ludwig slightly amended that thought. Italy wouldn’t be able to take the strain. And he was the one he was worried about the most.
.~.~.~.~.
Just as a heads up, I have absolutely no idea what my update schedule might be. Considering the state of my RL and my other fills—probably not incredibly often. I like to have lots of ideas and write them, but currently my writing time is being sucked out of my studying time (and not my free time, because who wants to study? OTL) and…my schooling is suffering for it, so…yeah. Apologies if my slow updates frustrate anyone.
Despite himself, tears welled up in Lovino’s eyes, blurring his vision and making his throat constrict as his heart leapt up into it.
He was alive. It was too good to be true.
“Wah! Lovi, don’t cry! Was the dream really that scary? It’s okay! Tell me about it, Boss Spain will make it better!”
“S-Shut up, i-idiot…” Lovino choked out through the tears, for once accepting Antonio’s smothering.
He had never thought he would miss Spain’s touch this much.
.~.~.~.~.
“Ve, fratello…” North Italy sniffed loudly, fat tears rolling off his cheeks, staining Germany’s uniform as he clung desperately to him. “Germany, what’s wrong with my brother? Why won’t he wake up?”
“I don’t know,” Germany replied, voice stiff but still soft, “we’ll find out when the doctors come back. Be patient, Italy.” He felt Italy nod, sighing as he felt him rub his nose into his sleeve again, a grimace forming on his features. He wanted to go and change his jacket, into one that was less wet with tears and snot, but Italy seemed to have claimed his right arm as his own and his sleeve as a handkerchief. He didn’t think he’d be getting either back soon, so he resigned himself to his fate, as a snot-rag/pillow to a sobbing Italian in a stiff plastic chair in a government-run hospital. He didn’t have the heart to pry him off, anyway.
Early that morning, just barely after the sun had risen, he had been surprised (not that he hadn’t already been up for a while) with a phone call from North Italy, sobbing incoherently into the mouthpiece. Once he had gotten over the initial shock of Italy being up at the crack of dawn without pasta, gelato, or retreating being involved, he had just barely caught a vague idea of what he was blabbering about, mostly from piecing together “brother” and “sleeping,” the only two words he was able to pick out of his wailing. It was only when he got to Italy’s house that he found out what was really going on.
He arrived to a sobbing Feliciano clinging to an ice-cold, but breathing, Lovino. He’d tried to rouse him, but even he could not wake Lovino up. Which was strange, because it seemed like the nation always seemed to have a radar for when he was around, probably just so he could threaten him every chance he got. They had tried everything they could think of—warming him up with blankets, shaking him (well, Italy did that part, mostly), some water, even pulling on his curl. Nothing. Eventually they had run out of ideas, and had to resort to calling Italy’s boss to have him transported to the hospital.
Now, they were waiting for word on what was going on, Italy clinging to him like a life raft. And while he wasn’t incredibly fond of the nation, deep down, Germany hoped everything was alright.
They couldn’t afford to lose another nation, not so soon. The world wouldn’t be able to take the strain.
Looking down at Feliciano, Ludwig slightly amended that thought. Italy wouldn’t be able to take the strain. And he was the one he was worried about the most.
.~.~.~.~.
Just as a heads up, I have absolutely no idea what my update schedule might be. Considering the state of my RL and my other fills—probably not incredibly often. I like to have lots of ideas and write them, but currently my writing time is being sucked out of my studying time (and not my free time, because who wants to study? OTL) and…my schooling is suffering for it, so…yeah. Apologies if my slow updates frustrate anyone.
Anon noticed a lot of pairings which involve couples with vastly different physical statures and often polar opposite personalities. So I'd like to see either an AU or a magic induced I'm-bored-lets-spice-up-the-sex-life fill in which any couple switch personalities and their general stature or body types.
So lets sayNot implying anything here! *winkwink* England and America are switched: America as a short and moody, mostly well mannered tsunsun, and England as a tall, freakishly strong drink of airhead.
Bonus: (If not AU and characters are just curious)During the foreplay/sex that follows, both are in awe and turned are at how bizaare and different things are for them.
--No Genderbend plx, even if a het couple is used! As much as I enjoy it, I's rather see characters in their own gender.
So lets say
Bonus: (If not AU and characters are just curious)During the foreplay/sex that follows, both are in awe and turned are at how bizaare and different things are for them.
--No Genderbend plx, even if a het couple is used! As much as I enjoy it, I's rather see characters in their own gender.
What it says on the tin, a love story between genie!Germany and human!Italy. It'd be great if anon could work some plot magic, maybe with a little adventure. Perhaps Italy finds the lamp containing Germany when he's wandering, lost and on the brink of death, in the middle of the desert.
Germany secretly wants to be free, but after having been promised and let down by so many masters in the past, he has given up hope. Italy restores that hope when he lives up to his word by wishing for his freedom in the end.
Germany secretly wants to be free, but after having been promised and let down by so many masters in the past, he has given up hope. Italy restores that hope when he lives up to his word by wishing for his freedom in the end.
God, this looks so fabulous. :D You really did an excellent job with England's growing need to explore his sexuality and his need for submission -- not to mention his need to freaking relax, trust somebody, and have a good time! -- and I enjoyed your description of his apprehension and fascination with the new world he finally entered by stepping in that club. And good lord, England, attend some damn munches first. OTL Hell, most of us feel that weird at our first munch, for that matter, but still, he needed to do some real-life research before going to a place where everybody knows basic etiquette. Ah, and his faux pas in staring at someone's slave like that! (Or sub?) *facepalm* I mean, his intentions were totally innocent, but damn. Although the way he was so transfixed was very intriguing to read. And revealing!
And you totally faked me out; I thought we were getting Dom!Canada, but you went with Denmark. Very cool, anon. :D And he's smart enough to handle England delicately and get him somewhere where he can relax and feel comfortable before giving him a talk, feeling him out, negotiating, etc.Even if he was a fool to offer him coffee! XD You rarely see a responsible Denmark like that; because he hasn't gotten tons of characterization in canon, he tends to get very flat characterization in fic. Thank you for making him so realistic, anon. (And I couldn't tell you weren't a native speaker, so you and your beta both did an excellent job!)
And dear god, I'm glad to see someone who's experienced and/or has done their research writing D/s and BDSM fills for once; that's been happening a lot in the last few months, but it seems like a totally recent development, unfortunately. Much of what I had seen before on this meme wasn't really SSC/RACK, which isn't really BDSM to me. Heh, although we perhaps have to redefine "sane" sometimes in this fandom, if nations are more mentally and physically resilient, can't die, etc.
Ah, you're Canadian? I was having a conversation with someone about the particular fetishes/practices in various nations' BDSM scene in the comments for this fill (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=53623481#t53623481), and we were trying to figure out which nation's scene had which specialties. (Like the English with caning and spanking, the Japanese with shibari, the Germans with scat/leather/uniforms/etc.) If you were comfortable talking about that at all, could I ask you dumb questions about that? If not, it's totally cool; I figured you would feel comfortable saying "no" or ducking the question in an anonymous meme, which is totally understandable! <3
And you totally faked me out; I thought we were getting Dom!Canada, but you went with Denmark. Very cool, anon. :D And he's smart enough to handle England delicately and get him somewhere where he can relax and feel comfortable before giving him a talk, feeling him out, negotiating, etc.
And dear god, I'm glad to see someone who's experienced and/or has done their research writing D/s and BDSM fills for once; that's been happening a lot in the last few months, but it seems like a totally recent development, unfortunately. Much of what I had seen before on this meme wasn't really SSC/RACK, which isn't really BDSM to me. Heh, although we perhaps have to redefine "sane" sometimes in this fandom, if nations are more mentally and physically resilient, can't die, etc.
Ah, you're Canadian? I was having a conversation with someone about the particular fetishes/practices in various nations' BDSM scene in the comments for this fill (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=53623481#t53623481), and we were trying to figure out which nation's scene had which specialties. (Like the English with caning and spanking, the Japanese with shibari, the Germans with scat/leather/uniforms/etc.) If you were comfortable talking about that at all, could I ask you dumb questions about that? If not, it's totally cool; I figured you would feel comfortable saying "no" or ducking the question in an anonymous meme, which is totally understandable! <3
'England' and 'America' are secret agents for rival groups, at the top of their game and itching for an excuse to get rid of the competition. Any suitable setting; evil organizations/super'hero'-vs-super'villain'/cyberpunk dystopia, etc--just make it as violent/gritty/twisted as you dare, preferably with no one firmly in the 'right' or 'wrong.'
Arthur and Alfred are regular guys who meet one day and get along great despite all the insults/bickering. They go from friends to close friends, and, only if anon wants, to "I do not gaze at him will you stop these ridiculous insinuations"and "WHAT that was a TOTALLY PLATONIC MANLY hug " They have lots of fun and lols.
Of course the two worlds inevitably collide. How and what happens after is entirely up to anon. :)
Bonus:
1. One/both getting suspicious but inwardly denying it with increasingly implausible excuses. The relationship grows strained regardless.
2. Fights scenes. With explosions! ♥
3. For anons who want to, actual snuggly, nose-in-hair Alfred. :D
Again, if there is a well-written fic with this premise, in or out of the meme, kindly point me there and consider this filled.
Arthur and Alfred are regular guys who meet one day and get along great despite all the insults/bickering. They go from friends to close friends, and, only if anon wants, to "I do not gaze at him will you stop these ridiculous insinuations"and "WHAT that was a TOTALLY PLATONIC MANLY hug " They have lots of fun and lols.
Of course the two worlds inevitably collide. How and what happens after is entirely up to anon. :)
Bonus:
1. One/both getting suspicious but inwardly denying it with increasingly implausible excuses. The relationship grows strained regardless.
2. Fights scenes. With explosions! ♥
3. For anons who want to, actual snuggly, nose-in-hair Alfred. :D
Again, if there is a well-written fic with this premise, in or out of the meme, kindly point me there and consider this filled.
I want to see fem England (Igiko) riding France during first time sex, plus fluff?
it's fine if her name is Igiko, Alice, or just England.
bonus: genderbent England, though the genderbending's not required; he could be born as a girl or accidentally changed into a girl.
it's fine if her name is Igiko, Alice, or just England.
bonus: genderbent England, though the genderbending's not required; he could be born as a girl or accidentally changed into a girl.
Oooh, I'm excited to see how this goes, anon. I haven't seen something like this with Spain as the dead one. Nice pick on your part. And I know what you mean about having no time. Don't worry! This anon will be waiting patiently.
If Japan was a flustered mess just seeing Germany and Italy hanging around in bathing suits in the summer, imagine when they head down to a nude beach, with him not suspecting. I don't want the reason to be malicious, more like one of them forgot to tell him.
Cue a very awkward and desperate Japan. Reading his mental processes would be great. Also, if Germany and Italy continue to act the way they do, like angry wrestling, or just hugs, slathering sunblock on each other, etc. that would be a major bonus.
Cue a very awkward and desperate Japan. Reading his mental processes would be great. Also, if Germany and Italy continue to act the way they do, like angry wrestling, or just hugs, slathering sunblock on each other, etc. that would be a major bonus.
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