hetalia_kink | Hetalia Kink meme part 14 -- CLOSED

Hetalia Kink meme part 14 -- CLOSED

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hetalia kink meme
part 14

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This fic is so powerful! Amazing and horrible at the same time. I like the subtlety of the horror that goes on, too, as well as how private and introverted the kids seem to be about their suffering, and how...scarily normal the awful things that happen to them or they inflict on themselves seem to be in that household.

This notOP anon would like RusAme as well, especially because at the time makes a lot of historical sense and yes, Russia is another nation that knows a lot about being mistreated. Maybe Australia/Russia could work too? On the other hand, a terrifyingly creepy USUK with America totally unaware of what's going on with England and all his siblings would be fascinating...but depends largely on what you have planned for America.

I'd be happy as long as there isn't any CanadaUS, becuase it seems almost too evident and there are tons and dozens of fics about Canada being mistreated by England for his resemblance to America and the twins getting together in the end. So, well, I'll still keep reading, but that'd be the thing I'd least want to see. you asked *hides*

OMG. Somebody please do this. Seconded.

i-i'd totally be fine with that. ♥ second otp, actually -

Mom: Ukraine (I’m going with the fanon name Katyusha.)
Buford: Romano
Baljeet: Estonia (...wut? Oh, like this cast makes sense.)

Worth mentioning, I can’t write lyrics at all, so no fun musical numbers will be in this. If there were though, it would be about the donut carnival.

Sorry it’s been so long, real life is mean. In fact, I finished this part up because I had a bad day and wanted to make myself feel better. It worked.

Over the phone Felik’s mother, a nice woman named Katyusha, sighed. “Feliks, I’m at the bank. What are the boys doing this time?”

“Well, like, I’m not really sure, but you have to get down here right now!” insisted Feliks.

His mother sighed. “I can’t, I’m in line at the bank, and after this I have to go to the grocery store after this. I’m sure whatever the boys are doing won’t be any problem. See you later honey, bye!”

“But Mom-” Feliks started, but his mother had already hung up.

“Let me guess,” Yong Soo asked. “No luck?”

“We’re just going to have to keep an eye on this till Mom get’s home!” said the blond boy.

“What about getting ready for your date?”

Feliks froze. Oh yeah.

“Well, uh, I can just like, do that after I bust them! Yeah, like totally.”

Yong Soo didn’t mention that he doubted this would work out well, because he knew Feliks would just ignore it.

***
“Almost done with the carousel!” exclaimed Alfred, taking a step back to look at his handiwork. “Hey Matt, how’s the biodegradable wiring going?”

Matthew gave a silent thumbs up, not looking up from the donut.

Seychelles stood next to Alfred. “Biodegradable?” she question, and the blond nodded. “We want it to be a quick clean up, so everything is totally green and can even dissolve in water! Even the donuts!”

“That’s cool!” enthused the girl. “So, I’m done baking all the blueberry donuts. Do you need anything else?”

Alfred thought about it. “Well, now that I think of it, you’re really the only one who knows about it! Can you tell everyone to come here at 4:30?”

Seychelles giggled. “Anything for you Alfred!”

“Sweet!” said Alfred, turning back to the sugary construction.

***

“Sorry for the wait Kumajirou the Polar Bear,” said Dr. Beilschmidt as he flipped through the newspaper. “But the next showing isn’t until 5:00. I know, I don’t think someone as awesome as me should have to wait either, but you know what they say, c’est la vie.”

Kumajiro ignored the white haired doctor and continued to slowly use his watch laser beam to cut his way out of the spring.

***

“Is that a ferris wheel?!” exclaimed Feliks, peering through his completely unnecessary binoculars. “Are they like making a ferris wheel out of donuts?”

“That sounds pretty cool.”

“It’s not cool at all Yong Soo! It’s totally insane!” exclaimed the blonde, looking back at his bored friend. Yong Soo just shrugged. “Potato-Tomato.”

“Like, that’s not the saying. It’s like tomato tomahto.”

“What on earth is a tomahto? That didn’t originate Korea!”

Feliks rolled his eyes and looked back down at his brothers. “Honestly, this is getting out of hand! I can’t wait to bust them!” As he said this the blond checked his watch. “Oh no! I totally need to get my hair done for my date! Yong Soo! Watch the boys while I like wash my hair!”

Feliks tossed the unnecessary binoculars at his bored Korean friend as he ran out of the room.

***
4:40

“I think it’s going well, don’t you think so Matt?” Alfred asked excitedly, not looking back to see Matthew’s nod. “Even Lovino and Eduard are having fun!”

“This is terrifying and sticky!” screamed Eduard from the top of the donut ferris wheel.
“Quiet nerd! I’ve never felt so alive!” Lovino shouted back.

Alfred nodded assertively. “Yep, operation Make everyone love donuts is a total success! Let’s just hope it doesn’t rain. Not to put to much emphasis on that point, but if they get wet they’ll dissolve. I know it probably won’t happen but I feel the need to mention it again.”

Matthew nodded and took a bite out of a maple flavored donut just as a shriek sounded from their house.

Oh dear, loved your fill so much. And I'd love to comment properly, and was already formuling a great compliment in my head, but...

The RoxChu in the end made my brain melt in laughter. I laughed SO HARD, and still am!

America is being ignored.

As in blatantly avoided, totally snubbed, and other words that might seem synonymous but probably aren’t.

Either way, Sweden is not being a very good friend. Not that they’re officially friends, but it’s the principal of the thing. When somebody—America—calls you, you answer your phone, unless you’re Sweden. Or if somebody—America, again—texts you, you text back, unless you’re, surprise, Sweden. Maybe it’s a Swedish custom to be unbearably awkward and not return calls until, what, an entire week later, but America somehow doubts that. And when Sweden does get around to calling back, America misses it and Sweden leaves a one-word message.

”S’rry.”

... Really?

It’s not like America’s going to argue the fact that a voice mail from Sweden is still a voice mail from Sweden, no matter how pitifully brief, but really? America slams the phone on the receiver and glares at Tony, who looks extremely innocent but, in all actuality, he isn’t.

“You could have answered that for me,” America says in an attempt to be stern.

Tony doesn’t take him seriously and instead of nodding and saying, ‘Yes, I’ll do better next time!’, Tony just stands there, uninterested. Tony is not a receptionist. He is an extraterrestrial creature of much higher intelligence and deserves to be treated as such, because America most likely can’t spell ‘extraterrestrial’, even when using a dictionary for guidance. To reiterate the point that he is not, in fact, America’s personal call-taker, Tony walks out of the living room defiantly and goes somewhere to daydream about Lithuania.

“Tony,” America whines after him. “Come on, man. You know I totally didn’t mean it like that, honest!”

But Tony keeps walking and America is left inside the living room, minus one best friend in the shape of an alien. America debates over calling Sweden back, but it’s five at night and just late in Stockholm if the World Clock thing on his iPod is correct, and America’s not so much of an idiot that he would call Sweden while the guy is trying to sleep. No, America is polite and refined and exquisitely considerate, and England can go fuck himself for telling practically every nation otherwise.

In the end, America decides to make good use of his phone and disturb Canada. Canada doesn’t answer the first time, so America repeatedly calls until Canada picks up and spits out, “Yes?”

“Entertain me,” America complains.

“Do you know what time it is in Ottawa?” Canada asks, annoyed.

“Dude, you’ve told me, like, twenty times that D.C. and Ottawa are in the same time zone.”

Canada cusses in French.

“Is there a point to this?” he asks.

“Not really.” America shrugs. “Am I not allowed to check up on you or something? Thanks. I feel loved right now.”

“That’s not... Never mind.” Canada sighs. “Is there a specific topic you wish to discuss?”

“Stop making this sound like a conference. But, maybe. So guess what.”

“What?”

“So. I got a call.”

“That’s amazing.”

“But I missed it.”

“No way.”

“And you’ll never guess who it was.”

“Sweden.”

“You... You weren’t supposed to guess it that fast.”

“Excuse me. I meant to say ‘England’.”

“Oh, yeah, because I would intentionally answer England’s calls? Canada, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Sure. So Sweden called you?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to go engrave a trophy? I can do that for you.”

“Nah, it’s all good.”

The thing Vash Zwingli regretted most about his new life in America was that he agreed to be the one to teach Matvey Braginski how to be ready to kill. The first thing he asked the child, who was jetlagged and exhausted from the strain of leaving his family behind, was if he'd ever been shot.

Matvey stared at him with wide uncomprehending eyes, and then curled up crying. He was illiterate in English and even most Cyrillic, this Zwingli knew, but he didn't know the boy's extremely limited English vocabulary. Already Zwingli was unsure of how this new plan of Mr. Jones was going to work.

Matvey reminded Zwingli too much of his little sister when she arrived in America. But at least Lili had family to lean on when she was scared. Matvey got big guns and barked commands that he could only half-understand at the best of times. Zwingli knew a smattering of Russian from a part of his life that he wanted badly to forget, but didn't use it when he was training the boy, only when he wanted to tell Matvey how to be better.

He had left Switzerland at first because he was disgusted by the nation's constant stance of neutrality in a world that was tearing itself apart, and then because he wanted to be a part of the tearing. Teaching Matvey how to kill had taught him the value of peace. From now on, Matvey would be one of the most disciplined children in his generation, and possibly one of the best-trained gunmen in the world. But he would never go to school, not as long as his charge's life was in danger, and it was unlikely that he would be able to maintain his long-standing record of never having been shot.

Matvey asked Zwingli several times what it was like to get shot, as though knowing beforehand would better prepare him. Zwingli never answered, because to be honest he had no idea how to do it in a manner that wouldn't give Matvey more nightmares. He knew that Matvey's sleep was disturbed, even with the medications that they gave him to calm him down sometimes, and didn't want to add to that by telling him horror stories about Bosnia and Herzegovina, or the Mafiya...

And now Matvey was fourteen and frightened, though his hands never shook once. He was disassembling weapons today, not blindfolded, though, and he seemed much more concentrated on the task than usual.

"Stop Matvey," Zwingli said quietly. Matvey stopped obediently. Zwingli sighed, and switched to Russian. "Is there something troubling you?"

Matvey shook his head, and fiddled with some of the components of the gun he was putting back together.

He looked so much like Lili when he did this that Zwingli felt a lump in his throat start to form. Lili was in high school, had friends. She didn't need to worry about being shot at or how fast it took her to disassemble a gun and put it back together again, if she could keep it under a minute. Zwingli was working to make sure that she lived as normal a life as possible here, and Matvey would never have that chance.

"You've been very good the last few days, Matvey. Would you like to go early?" Zwingli finally said. "Unless you want to stay, of course."

"Chess?" Matvey suggested hopefully.

Zwingli was the only person in the entire estate who liked chess almost as much as Matvey. Aside from Mr. Bonnefoy in the kitchens, that is, but the children were generally advised to stay away from him. There was a set in the storage room at the shooting range for some reason, that had mismatched pawns from two different sets and a wooden block signifying the white queen, but it sufficed.

It was a game that occupied both of them from guilt and fear and God knows what else. In strategy they could find refuge from the real world, where even the best-laid plan with however many contingency plans could go to hell in a second. Matvey needed it to maintain some sort of childhood innocence. Zwingli needed it because... well, he needed it.

"Your queen is unprotected," Zwingli mumbled.

"Then why don't you take it?" Matvey challenged.

"Because you'll put me in checkmate. Your Russian is showing, little one," Zwingli responded, unconsciously calling Matvey what he called Lili sometimes.

He moved his bishop just beyond the queen's reach, and leaned back, awaiting Matvey's turn.

Within the next three moves, Matvey had captured his queen and put him in checkmate. Zwingli smiled.

"Job well done, Matvey. Will you have another match?"

Matvey shook his head, and started packing up.

"I have to go and shadow Alfred now," he said quietly. "I should do a good job today. I'll be away for a while afterwards. But you know that, right?"

Zwingli nodded, realizing that this is what Matvey must have been worried about. It wasn't fair that he had to have this done to him. And to a child who had never had to undergo such a major procedure before, this must have been terrifying.

"You will be all right, Matvey," he promised. "I know that they wouldn't risk hurting you."

He decided not to add 'too much'. The boy was scared enough as it was.

“This is terrifying and sticky!” screamed Eduard from the top of the donut ferris wheel.
“Quiet nerd! I’ve never felt so alive!” Lovino shouted back.

_{Pft. That's what he said. XDD}

Canada was being sarcastic, but America doesn’t get it. Not that Canada cares, because it only proves further that he, Canada, is the smarter brother. It’s actually kind of offensive to Canadians everywhere that England likes America more than him, since Canada is the nice and sweet one and America’s the definition of ‘imbecilic asshole’.

“But it took him, like, a week,” America continues. “I don’t know if I said or did something, but I kept calling and texting and e-mailing and I didn’t get anything back until today.”

“You made gay jokes, didn’t you.”

“Well. No. Um. One, but he didn’t understand it. I thought it was funny, at least. And I’m sure if he got it he would’ve thought it was great!”

“Did you sing the ‘Double Rainbow Song’? Nobody likes that song except for you, trust me.”

“Says the kid who likes Justin Bieber. And, no, it wasn’t the ‘Double Rainbow Song’, and you can shut up because that shit is fucking hilarious. And get this—I got the message he left, and all he said was sorry. Not kidding here. Just sorry. No elaboration or anything! And it’s eleven in Stockholm so I can’t ring him up and ask him what’s up with him. Maybe he has a phobia of phones? I just figured since he doesn't like talking in general that he might not like phones.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Affairs that directly involve you and Sweden are not things that I want to interfere in. That having been said, may I go now?”

“Do you legit have something else to do?”

“Yes.”

“... Oh. What?”

“I-It’s nothing that concerns you!”

Canada hangs up abruptly before America can make some noisy protest and force Canada to stay on the line for another hour and spill his secrets. Besides, Canada was being a good brother by hanging up. No doubt America would mercilessly kick up a fuss if Canada had told him that he’s going on a date. Canada has enough of a heart that he would never brag about his success while simultaneously shoving America’s fail in his face. Without being subtle, that is.

America’s need to be perpetually humored leads him to staring at his phone and eventually calling Mexico, who hangs up before America’s finished saying, ‘Hi, it’s America!’ It’s not that Mexico doesn’t like America, it’s just that...

No, it’s pretty much that Mexico doesn’t like America in the least bit.

And, whatever. America doesn’t like Mexico either. The only good things about Mexico are the fiestas and alcohol and occasional sex, and America can get all of those things at Spain’s, anyway. Well, except for the last one. America likes his balls and would rather not give Southern Italy a reason to rip them off, thanks.

America is once again left with nothing to do, no Tony to bother, and nobody to call. America’s not going to call England or France, because calling one of them would lead to hearing the other make disgusting comments in the background. It happens more often than not.

Thankfully, America is saved from his immense boredom when Tony forgives him and offers to make peanut butter sandwiches for dinner because Tony doesn’t trust America with knives. America ends up spending the rest of his night eating sandwiches and watching crappy quality Disney movies on VHS with Tony but secretly wishing that maybe someday Sweden will be there to watch Disney movies with them, too.

omg anon this fic is so funny.

Iceland glared at Denmark and told him exactly what he could do with the lollypop. brat! XDD hope you continue soon!

The next day, as America’s busy reviewing papers and proposals and playing minesweeper and correcting stupid things stupid people stupidly send him because they’re stupid and have no idea how the country is run, he gets a call and answers before looking at the ID.

“Sup?” is the best America can manage with a red pen in his mouth. After a long bout of silence, America takes the pen out of his mouth and says, “This is my boss, isn’t it?”

America and his boss haven’t been on amazing terms lately.

Fortunately, it’s not his boss.

“... ‘S Sweden. Sorry ‘s not y’ur boss.”

Holy fucking shit it’s Sweden.

It takes all of America’s nerves not to throw up from the sheer nervousness because Jesus God he’s talking to Sweden on the phone for real.

“No, um. My bad,” America laughs in attempt to cover up his jitters with obnoxiousness. “That. Wow. That’s embarrassing. Err. What’s up? Need something?”

“Just... J’st callin’. Ya called me f’rst.”

“Yeah. I, uh. I got your message?”

“Hmm?”

“The one you left me. On my answering machine.”

“R’ght. Sorry ‘bout th’t. ‘M kinda busy.”

Work wasn’t why Sweden didn’t respond to America’s calls, but if America’s buying it, then okay. Mission accomplished.

“It’s. It’s cool. I get it. Trying not to strangle BP over here myself. Two words—oil and spill.”

“’S three.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to count the conjunction.”

“Mm.”

“Anyway, what time is it over there? My iPod gets confiscated every time I come in for work since it’s ‘distracting’.”

“’Round nine at n’ght.”

“Ouch, man. You’re not out with somebody? I bet the Swedish nightlife is wicked. I mean, you guys are famous for those banging hot chicks.”

“’Scuse me?”

“Like, I spent last night alone but that’s ‘cause Canada had ‘stuff’ to do and Mexico’s a dick. You’ve got tons of people close to you! Denmark. You should get in touch with him.”

Denmark so owes America.

Sweden flips a page in his newspaper and mutters, “R’ther jump off a br’dge.”

“Ooh, that’s cold. You positive he’s that bad? Dude seems pretty chill, if you ask me. Not so sure about Norway and Iceland since they kinda creep me out some, but. You know what I mean.”

“Don’t l’ke ‘im,” Sweden grumbles, and promptly changes the subject. “Ya doin’ work?”

“Dude.” America exhales loudly. “My eyes hurt from having to look at all this shit paperwork. Republican this, Democrat that. Fuck this, I say we all join the Bull Moose party. Should’ve listened to Washington, but nooo. Had to go and create factions. Goddamn. And this whole oil spill catastrophe is making me so frustrated I can barely concentrate. Do you think I need twenty pieces of paper on my desk detailing the suicide of fishermen? I don’t.”

“Hmm.”

“And—and. War. This is insane. I don’t even. And China’s put everybody into a panic because he’s got the second best economy or something and everybody’s like, ‘What do we do if China surpasses the United States?!’ and I’m like, ‘Settle down, guys, he won’t!’ and they’re like, ‘How do you know?!’ and I’m like, ‘Christ, somebody kill me’. I. Hate. Government. Officials. They all think they’re so much smarter and know a whole lot more than me. And bullshit to that because after something bad happens they all come crying to me like, ‘What are we supposed to do now?!’. It’d be easier to go find the national fucking treasure with Nicolas Cage than help come up with a solution to all this bullcrap.”

Sweden contemplates a response to that, but gives up and just continues to read his newspaper. As expected, America keeps talking regardless.

“Speaking of bullcrap, what are you up to at nine? Shouldn’t you be, like, sleeping?”

“’M reading the paper ‘nd watchin’ a show w’th Peter. D’ya go t’bed at n’ne?”

“Sounds fun, what show? And, no, I go to bed at two in the morning or past that most of the time, but I just figured I was the only one who stayed up late.”

“’S in Sw’dish.”

“You don’t get any English shows?”

“D’n’t watch ‘em.”

“You should.”

“Mhmm. Why d’you go t’bed at two? ‘S too late f’r me.”

“I always go out with people. People usually meaning Russia, but that’s ‘cause he’s the only guy who can drink his weight—which is a lot—in vodka and still act relatively sober. Key word? Relatively. And he’s real good at poker. I played poker with Spain this summer when I was over his house and, lemme tell you, he sucked sooo bad. Romano was okay, he just kicked me in the nads every time I didn’t let him win.”

“V’ry nice.”

“Oh, and then we tried the cinnamon challenge. Spain didn’t win, and neither did I. It’s painful. Come to think of it, Austria’s the only person who’s won the cinnamon challenge in the history of ever. I never thought winning was possible, but. And Russia was close this one time, but then he inhaled some. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I so wish you were there, man, it was hilarious.”

Compared to America, Sweden really has no life whatsoever, so he settles for giving America another pensive noise while sinking further into his newspaper. It’s starting to get more and more obvious how Sweden’s life is devoid of any excitement or impulsive actions and, quite frankly, it’s almost humiliating. America goes on and on and on about his action-packed stories, while the most Sweden has to offer is an intense level of boring.

It’s sad.

Very, very sad.

America, who’s never been one to read the atmosphere, assumes the silence is some sort of companionable thing and doodles hearts on the edge of his documents while Sweden is internally depressing himself. As the silence drags on, the hearts get darker and bigger and stick figures of Sweden start appearing, as well as the nation’s name.

“Things aren’t hectic over there, are they?” America says, preoccupied with drawing squiqqles.

“N’t really,” Sweden replies.

“So how’s Sealand?” America tries, hoping for a complete sentence as an answer.

“All r’ght. S’ys hi.”

“Tell him I say hi too, then.”

“M’kay. He’s goin’ t’Latvia’s next weekend.”

Latvia?

Who in God’s name would willingly go to Latvia’s?

That’s what America wants to say, but instead he goes with, “Latvia? Who in God’s name would willingly go to Latvia’s?”

And, oh crap. Brain-to-mouth filter on, please.

“I just meant that sometimes Russia creeps on Latvia!” America says, expertly deflecting the situation. “So...”

Sweden turns the page in his paper. “’S fine. L’tvia’s a good k’d.”

“If you say so. Are they friends?”

“Mhmm.”

“I used to be awesome friends with Lithuania but then he had to go back to Russia’s and do shit so we don’t talk a whole lot anymore. Kind of sucks nuts, Lithuania was a cool dude.”

“How ‘bout Eston’a?”

“Estonia? I don’t know him that well but he’s fixed my computer a shittilion times. Took me, like, five tries to realize that kicking a computer tower when it’s slow actually breaks it even more? Not cool. Yeah, anyway, why?”

“N’thing.”

“Ohh, riiight, it’s him and Finland now. Gotcha. Don’t worry, Estonia’s just a nerd. But don’t you know him better than I do?”

Estonia’s usually too busy hiding behind Finland or the nearest object to talk to Sweden, so, no. Sweden doesn’t know Estonia at all.

“Mm-mm.”

“Wait, aren’t he and Finland...? Shouldn’t you see him at Christmas parties and the like?”

“D’n’t have Chr’stmas parties.”

“You don’t?” America stares at his phone in incredulous shock. “You don’t have one big Christmas party?”

“We ’sposed to?”

“I guess not. I just mean, like, I have one big Christmas party for a bunch of nations and then there’s the ‘family’ party where Canada has a little too much wine and spiked eggnog and England gives me an ugly Christmas sweater that he wants me to wear next year. And then I get something inappropriate from France and half of the time Canada forgot to get me a gift. The Nordics don’t have a bang up Christmas?”

“Us’d to.”

Gilbert peered from behind the tree he had hidden himself from. He was sure that if Germania hasn’t been distracted he would’ve found him by now.

But his sire was distracted by the living being in his stomach and so there for Gilbert was able to watch him with the assurance that Gilbert would see Germania before Germania would see him.

His eyes narrowed as Germanias hand caressed the sword on his side once more. He almost did it a few times. A few times he brought the sword in the air preparing to strike his own stomach but stopped with his hand still in the air for whatever reason was going through his head.

He was going to kill Gilberts little brother or sister.

Gilberts upper lip curled over his teeth at the thought. He was taught to respect the family and cherish them. All the knights in his order were his brothers and their wives were his sisters.

And he would fight to a dead that would never come to protect them.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he was alive truthfully. When Germania had birthed him he had been a stillborn. His heart didn’t work and he didn’t breathe but he still heard and saw everything around him.

And Germania when seeing that he had been born dead left him in the forest, happy that he didn’t have to dirty his sword with blood.

Merely moments later the knights of the Teutonic Order had found him. They had picked him up and decided to give the child a proper burial for his passage into heaven.

When the head priest had held him to say the blessing Gilbert had absorbed something into him and he started to cry as any other newborn would.

The knights had proclaimed this a miracle and the priest declared that it was mercy from the lord for an innocent child.

Since that moment he became the personification of the Teutonic Order, the symbol for everything they stood for. He proudly wore the armor and the symbol in plain sight where everyone was able to see it.

And slowly the blonde hair he had been born with turned white and the blue eyes he had been born with turned red.

From the moment the words on the wind had reached him that Germania was once again pregnant with an heir he had raced off to find if that was true.

To his horror it was.

He had immediately recalled when he had been born, how Germania had been ready to kill him if not for thinking that he was already dead.

And now he was going to do the same to this unborn child.

Gilbert swore to the heavens, his heart so loud he was sure that the Almighty himself could hear it, that he wouldn’t allow that child to be killed in such cold blood by the parent. It will be born.

And he will take it to raise it somewhere safe with all his brothers and sisters helping him.

Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Norway, and Iceland used to have Christmas festivities, but Finland never showed up for some unknown reason which lead to Norway and Iceland deciding to celebrate it own their own as siblings. And then Norway begrudgingly started inviting Denmark after he and Denmark started doing questionable things, so they left Sweden. Alone. On Christmas. It was less disappointing the year Sweden got Sealand, but Sealand demanded to be taken to Latvia’s for Christmas, so Sweden was left. Alone. On Christmas. Again. And again and again.

It happens every year, the whole ‘being alone on Christmas’ thing, so Sweden’s stopped caring a while ago. And Sweden chooses to ignore the fact that America has ‘one big Christmas party for a bunch of nations’ but he’s never been invited once.

“My mind is blown,” America says. “I know you guys aren’t close and stuff, but not even during Christmas? That must be horrible.”

“Hmm.”

“Though, dunno, maybe chilling with just Tony would be better than watching England get smashed and dress like a sexy waiter to impress France. Scarred for life, that I am. It’s sickening.”

That image is horrendous.

It’s so horrendous that Sweden realizes that Sealand has torn the newspaper out of his hands and the program they were watching is over, and Sealand declares that he expects to be tucked into bed sometime this century. Hanatamago barks alongside Sealand’s whining, wanting to be let outside.

It’s weird how Sweden just spent the last half hour casually chatting with America. But that can be analyzed to death later.

“G’tta go,” Sweden relates.

“Huh? Err. Yeah, I should. Like. Go back to work. Before my boss kills me. Um. It was nice talking to you,” America says in response. “If you ever feel like calling me again, that’d be sweet. Or. No. Or I’ll call you. You can even text me, if you want.”

“S’re.”

“So. Yeah. This was tons of fun and you’re not that dull so don’t use it as an excuse to prolong calling me back, okay? I’ll spam up your voice mail if you do.” Before Sweden can splutter out a reply, America grins and adds, “Night, bye!”

America closes his cell phone and tosses it somewhere on the desk.

Sure enough, America’s boss flips his lid when he’s handed papers with hearts and smiley faces drawn on them instead of corrections and signatures.

“Why weren’t you doing your job?” America’s boss asks.

“I got distracted,” America explains, shoving his hands in pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “I can do those over.”

“You’re going to have to,” his boss says, exhausted. “You do realize that we have to print these off again and waste paper?”

“Don’t we recycle?” America asks.

“That’s not the point. What happened to be so much more important than your work?”

America’s boss doesn’t get mad—he just pulls the whole ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ act, which never fails to make America feel guilty.

“Stuff,” America tells him quietly.

His boss sighs for the umpteenth time. It’s like he’s dealing with his daughters, not his country. “What kind of stuff?”

“Improving international relations?” America suggests.

“Do go on.”

“Um, Swedish-American relations.”

“Yes?”

“Sweden called my phone and I thought it was you so I answered but it wasn’t you but I stayed on the line anyway because Sweden’s nice. And stuff.”

“Why does he have your work number?”

“He called my cell phone.”

“Why does he have your cell phone number?”

“Germany made everybody put their information in an address book thing and then everybody got one. I didn’t tell you about it?”

“No, you didn’t. Why did he call you?”

“To talk.”

“To talk?”

“We’re acquaintances, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re technically not friends since Swedish people don’t get familiar with people as quickly as we Americans do, so ‘acquaintances’ is probably the best word to describe it. I think.”

“As much as I appreciate your effort, please, do your work before you decide to speak with another nation, unless it’s Canada.” America’s boss hands him his papers back with a smile. “You can clean these up tonight and bring them in tomorrow.”

Aha, biodegradable donuts...I think I see where this is going!

That which yields is not always weak. -- Jacqueline Carey

2.

Tim Hortons was immensely crowded, something you could only see in 24-hr open stores. England grew uncomfortable shaking his legs every so often to alleviate little of the nervousness that invaded his body.

Denmark was buying coffee for both of them and it gave the Brit a few minutes to think what he was going to say. He knew he couldn’t just trust the other nation like that; hell he wasn’t even sure Denmark wanted what he wanted.

But first of all he wanted to know what had caused that violent reaction from the Nordic nation inside the club? Just what did England do wrong?

“Here Arthur” The smoking cup of coffee was placed carefully on his hands, it was glad and why hadn’t he asked for tea gain?

Denmark sat on the chair across from him and put his own cup of coffee on the table; he crossed his arms and looked directly at England in the eye.

“So what were you doing there Arthur? You were about to get your ass kicked!”

The sly smirk was on Denmark’s face again and the Brit felt anew anger arise again.

“Shut up prat! I’ve never been to a place like this before! Just stop making fun of me and shove your little grins up your ar…”

“Wait Arthur Arthur take it easy man! I’m not making fun of you ok. I was there in the same club remember? Now just calm down let’s talk this through. England’s face relaxed a little “Gezz man and they say I’m the impulsive one…”

The mood lightened up hugely after that, Denmark told him about his own experiences, how he and Norway had discovered BDSM together during a convention in one of their cities and had tried a couple of times, first with failing results but then it had been amazing. Denmark was read to commit to a relationship within the life style but Norway wasn’t so they had broken up. That’s how Denmark got more into the scene and like England he had thought it wasn’t wise to try it near home.

After asking around Netherlands had suggested Canada and although it took Denmark a few days to remember who Canada was it finally clicked and he phoned him. Needless to say Matthew had been very surprised by his call and even more surprised by the kind of questions Denmark asked but he had answered them all giving Denmark the address of a few clubs, most of them in Vancouver and Toronto.

“Wait” interrupted England “How does the lad even know?”

Denmark laughed but England’s face indicated he was serious.

“Oh! Uhm… I’m not sure, and I’m really not the right person ask that to you know…” He looked at the Brit with a mischievous grin but those green eyes were still hard waiting for an answer “Ask Netherlands” he groaned “And that’s all I’ll say on the topic, and anyway like I was saying…”

England tried to convince him to tell him what was going on between Netherlands and Canada, but the man just smirked and kept on going with his story.

He had been a dominant for two people since Norway, a small girl he lovingly called “lille” and a young man in his twenties, he even had a picture of the man on his cellphone, he was covered with piercings and England silently hoped he wouldn’t end up like that.

“I was a sub once too”

He almost spilled his drink.

“You are into both?”

“Nop”

“Then why? How?”

Confusion clear on his face but Denmark smiled even wider.

“Every Dom should sub at least once Arthur. It makes you see everything from a sub’s perspective and you are able to understand their feelings a little more”

The conversation switched to England from there, why had he chosen that club? Why had he gone alone? How did he discover the lifestyle? What was he looking for exactly? What did he offer in return? And what kind of research had he made?

England answered most of the questions, adding well placed insults in between to emphasize his opinion on some lifestyle issues and Denmark’s stupid laugh. He told Denmark he was looking for a Dom, he told him how daily life became too much for him and he needed some kind of release, besides… he hesitated but ended up telling the Nordic of his fantasies, how his body shivered at the thought of being all completely dominated. Wow, he was actually saying this, in a public place and he was sweating. He excused himself to go to the bathroom needing something to cool himself as he noticed the effect their talk was having on his body.

He rinsed his face with water and tried to calm down; it wasn’t possible that a simple talk could do this to him. He had been feared once, people had tremble at the very mention of his name but he felt weak now and the worst he wanted to give in to that weakness.

That was urban dictionary... it's a very fun website to type your name into 8D

Nothing of his problem had been resolved by the time he returned to the table. He moved around his chair and sat down again trying his best to hide his physical reaction from Denmark with his coat. His leg rubbed against Denmark’s as he tried to find a more comfortable position and they both froze in place. Denmark shot him a look interrupting his talk for a second; the Brit looked back and held Denmark’s gaze for a second before lowering his eyes to the table. Denmark rubbed back sliding the sole of his shoe along England’s thigh his blue eyes watching him intently.

“Tell me, tell me what you want? What do you want, what do you need from me?”

“You are looking for a sub, I want to learn to be one” He made his best to keep his voice angry not wanting to betray his arousal but the environment became suffocating and breathing hard. Denmark smiled a different smile from his usual grin. It quickly turned into a surprised expression as Arthur suddenly stood up from his char and got closer to Denmark.

He locked lips with the nation ignoring the subtle voice in the back of his brain that screamed to him he was crazy. The other recovered quickly from the initial shock and responded eagerly.

“Teach me” breathed England into the kiss.

The Nordic groaned and licked at England’s lower lip. England pulled at his arm trying to make him stand up still kissing him.

“What are you doing?”

He broke the kiss and Denmark pulled back a few steps to look at England in the eye.

“I have a hotel room booked for the night”

Laughter exploded from Denmark’s throat and Arthur looked at him confused and irritated.

“Stop laughing at me idiot! You have been doing it all night! If you don’t want to do this just fucking say so git I won’t take anymore of your laughing at me!

Denmark shook his head. His voice became soft almost a whisper. There was a hint of something on it but England couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. He felt himself shiver under it and he leaned closer to Denmark again almost unconsciously.

“It is a great experience Arthur, one that I most certainty would like to try with you. I don’t know where you keep getting that I’m trying to make fun of you if I’m sunk deeper into this than you’ll ever be”

He increased the distance between them one more time and England did nothing to stop him.

“But We can’t do this right now Arthur, you don’ trust me, this is not how these things work”

A piece of paper was slipped on the table and Denmark spoke in a low voice, his smirk long gone now.

“This is my personal cellphone”

England nodded and without a second look back Denmark left.

He took the piece of paper from the table and opened it, inside there was a cheerful happy face and a few scribbled notes:

"Rule # 1: Never look touch or speak directly to a sub unless you have permission. This is one of the most important rules of etiquette and you are a gentleman so make sure to remember next time and I won’t have to push you again (sorry about that).
This is my cellphone: 69580711
Call me anytime next week.

Sincerely the great Neil (please stop calling me Denmark!).”

Arthur smiled and tucked the piece of paper on his pocket. It would be a long week.

Author’s note:

Denmark’s cellphone is a random number so don’t try calling it please!

“lille” is Danish for “small or petit”

One of the most enforced rules in D/s clubs and in the lifestyle in general is the sense of ownership over a sub, to be the only one with the power to make him/her obey you. To touch, talk or even look at someone else’s sub could have very nasty consequences for the offender. England got it easy on here.

Aw, that's all sad that Sweden doesn't have anyone with him during Christmas. Well that's definetly going to change now that America's in the picture :D Now I really hope that America can get them all together more often.
This story is all awesome

England is so perfect as a woman. She isn't entirely sure of herself, but she's alright with who she is, all at the same time...

Delightful. Can't wait for more.

Awww.... [Was so going to try and get a hold of Denmark]
More! _Please!!

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Hetalia Kink meme part 14 -- CLOSED

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