America’s eyes dart to the right. Italy stands by the cart, smiling.
“I was hoping that you would make it, America. Now it’s time to make dinner!”
He rummages through the cart and takes out a few plugs, putting them all over America’s body.
“W-Wait,” America says weakly. “J-Just what are you…?”
Italy smiles and holds up a remote control connected to all of the plugs. “Everyone knows you just have to have veal deep fried!” And he turns the knob.
Electricity rockets through America. His body seizes and convulses, his muscles tensing and his arms thrashing. He lets out a cry that echoes along the filthy walls and can be heard above the buzz of electricity. Sparks fly into the air and white light flashes behind his eyes. The last thing he hears is Italy’s laughter before his vision turns black.
*
America finally comes to what seems to be hours later. The bright florescent light still shines above him, blinding him. However, instead of before, he is completely naked, all of his clothes stripped away. He wants to raise his head to look around but pain shoots up his spine.
“Oh, you’re still alive?”
Italy, ever smiling, climbs onto America’s lap, looking down at him with his twinkling amber eyes.
“I thought you’d be dead by now, but this is even better!”
He reaches for something outside of America’s vision and stabs something directly under America and into his spine. America gasps, but is unable to do much more as numbness consumes him from the neck down.
“I-Italy,” he gasps. “P-Please, I beg of you.”
“Oh now you beg, America. Too late now. I’m already starting to make dinner!”
The shot manages to lessen the pain when he moves his neck, so America looks up in horror.
Italy pokes his abdomen. “Did you feel this?”
America says nothing and gulps.
“That’s a yes!” Italy swipes a long, sharp, extremely clean knife and a fork off the cart.
“We’re going to have so much fun, America.” He traces the knife up America’s abdomen and stops at the bottom of his ribcage. “Buon Appetito!”
He first cuts horizontally across the skin, then makes a line straight down his abdomen before ending near his groin and making another horizontal line there. Italy licks his lips and opens the skin flaps. It’s a disgusting, gruesome thing. America wants to throw up again as he looks at his own dissection, his internal organs open for all to see.
Italy giggles and slices through America’s perineum, eliminating the protection for America’s organs.
“And now we move onto the main course, Spaghetti Americano!”
He takes the fork and stabs it right into America’s small intestine. America actually grows faint when he sees Italy twirling the fork. Blood spurts onto Italy’s face as the colon disconnects from the stomach and America feels it tugging as the organ struggles to stay attached to his rectum.
With a sickening rip, Italy tears the small intestine completely off and shovels it into his mouth. He slurps loudly, the blood dripping down his chin.
When he has eaten around half of his colon, Italy breaks it off and puts it down.
With a giggle, Italy moves his knife down to America’s groin and slices a circle around America’s testicles.
“You’re a lot smaller than I thought, America.” He smiles and rips off America’s balls with one hand.
America can’t feel it, but nonetheless he lets out a weak whimper. Italy cuts small lines in them and sinks his teeth into his testicles, blood spurting on his face like tomato sauce. For America, he is unable to look away as Italy wolfishly devours a testicle.
“I don’t typically eat deep fried meatballs, but these are delicious!”
He chews and swallows it, licking the blood of his lips.
“Mmm, that was so yummy, America!” Italy exclaims. “You were still warm, and that made it even better!”
America can’t even hear him at this point. All sound has become muted to his ears. He begins to slip into unconsciousness, his vision beginning to fade.
Italy scowls in displeasure. “America, don’t go yet! We haven’t finished eating!”
A sudden jolt wakes America from his stupor. Italy hovers over him, America’s own liver on the fork.
“I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t give my guest some food! Here—”
Italy shoves the slimy, moist liver into America’s mouth. America tries to get his gag reflex to work and spit it out, but he is already too weak, and the revolting organ remains inside his mouth, the burning acid from his gallbladder searing his throat. America’s eyes water, and he sobs.
“And now it’s my turn!” Italy runs his eyes over America’s dissected body before reaching deep inside him with a fork and emerging with his heart, carrying it in both hands.
“Ti amo, America!”
Italy runs his fingers delicately over the tubes on the top of the heart. “Oh look, ziti! This would be excellent with bolognesa!”
He looks up at America and gasps happily, putting his heart down and clapping. “Oooh, I remember how to get the ingredients for bolognesa now.”
He gets a vial from the cart and places it right under America’s neck.
“Hey, hey, America!” He stabs America’s neck. “I won’t forget the taste of the bolognesa made out of you from earlier!”
The knife tears through the soft skin of America’s neck, and just rises and rises.
Italy looks down at America’s ruined corpse and sighs. He begins the busy work of skinning and separating America’s body into quarters of meat. Disappointment sets in the Italian man. America barely lasted an hour. Spain lasted three and England’s constant struggle caused him to survive for eight hours. America was all bark and no bite, but he’s quite tasty!
When he is finished, Italy stores America’s meat in the freezer and hangs up his body to dry and drain. With the meat he already has on the counter, he dumps it all in with boiling pot as his stomach rumbles. Italy will eat well tonight.
But first, Italy has something that requires his attention.
He walks back upstairs and dials a number on Romano’s housephone. There is one ring, then two, then three, then—
“Dobry dzień!”
“Ciao, Polonia!”
“Italy, hey! Like, what’s up?”
“Would you like to come over sometime soon? We can make pasta!”
I hoped you like it OP! Now I'm off to eat America spaghetti!
... HOLY SHIT! THIS IS MORE GRAPHIC AND AWESOME THEN CUPCAKES!!! OP is so pleased with this, if not a bit disgusted, but I wanted to be grossed out so it's all good~! Thank you so much for filling this out anon, I loved it!
Warning: don't read under the strikes if this story made you sick, because even I'm a bit disturbed by my own comment
Wow, I must be a sick, sick person. Not just because I laughed through most of this story, but also because it reminded me of the types of fantasies I had when I was younger. I wasn't even old enough for them to be sexual fantasies (although they began to have sexual elements shortly before I stopped having them altogether, so probably the year or two before puberty). Nothing really about food, but they involved living dissection, a lot of gore, and general creepiness. I kind of forgot about them entirely until recently (because the kink and anon memes have generally made me more comfortable with myself). I don't have fantasies like that anymore, but clearly I'm still a disturbed individual because of how funny this story was to me. I especially laughed at the “I won’t forget the taste of the bolognesa made out of you from earlier!” line.
Anyway, don't underestimate kids - they can have disturbingly creepy thoughts/fantasies even before puberty hits. Because I'm pretty sure I'm not special enough for it to just be me. And I'm generally a really nice and "innocent" person who would probably shock everyone if they knew this about me, so it's not just the outwardly creepy kids.
TLDR I'm a highly disturbing person, but you wouldn't know it by looking at me. Innocent behavior, but sick mind. (Although I would never really hurt someone - even in these fantasies it was me things were being done to. I'm probably just a secret masochist.)
I suspect Poland would either make it out alive (he was able to tell Lithuania something was wrong without actually knowing anything during Bloodbath 2010) or at least put up a much better fight that America did. Just so this comment has something other than me talking about myself, which I bet nobody cares about.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Pasta (6/8)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 03:17 am (UTC)(link)“Italy where?”
“Oh perfect! You woke up!”
America’s eyes dart to the right. Italy stands by the cart, smiling.
“I was hoping that you would make it, America. Now it’s time to make dinner!”
He rummages through the cart and takes out a few plugs, putting them all over America’s body.
“W-Wait,” America says weakly. “J-Just what are you…?”
Italy smiles and holds up a remote control connected to all of the plugs. “Everyone knows you just have to have veal deep fried!” And he turns the knob.
Electricity rockets through America. His body seizes and convulses, his muscles tensing and his arms thrashing. He lets out a cry that echoes along the filthy walls and can be heard above the buzz of electricity. Sparks fly into the air and white light flashes behind his eyes. The last thing he hears is Italy’s laughter before his vision turns black.
*
America finally comes to what seems to be hours later. The bright florescent light still shines above him, blinding him. However, instead of before, he is completely naked, all of his clothes stripped away. He wants to raise his head to look around but pain shoots up his spine.
“Oh, you’re still alive?”
Italy, ever smiling, climbs onto America’s lap, looking down at him with his twinkling amber eyes.
“I thought you’d be dead by now, but this is even better!”
He reaches for something outside of America’s vision and stabs something directly under America and into his spine. America gasps, but is unable to do much more as numbness consumes him from the neck down.
“I-Italy,” he gasps. “P-Please, I beg of you.”
“Oh now you beg, America. Too late now. I’m already starting to make dinner!”
The shot manages to lessen the pain when he moves his neck, so America looks up in horror.
Italy pokes his abdomen. “Did you feel this?”
America says nothing and gulps.
“That’s a yes!” Italy swipes a long, sharp, extremely clean knife and a fork off the cart.
“We’re going to have so much fun, America.” He traces the knife up America’s abdomen and stops at the bottom of his ribcage. “Buon Appetito!”
He first cuts horizontally across the skin, then makes a line straight down his abdomen before ending near his groin and making another horizontal line there. Italy licks his lips and opens the skin flaps. It’s a disgusting, gruesome thing. America wants to throw up again as he looks at his own dissection, his internal organs open for all to see.
Italy giggles and slices through America’s perineum, eliminating the protection for America’s organs.
“And now we move onto the main course, Spaghetti Americano!”
He takes the fork and stabs it right into America’s small intestine. America actually grows faint when he sees Italy twirling the fork. Blood spurts onto Italy’s face as the colon disconnects from the stomach and America feels it tugging as the organ struggles to stay attached to his rectum.
With a sickening rip, Italy tears the small intestine completely off and shovels it into his mouth. He slurps loudly, the blood dripping down his chin.
When he has eaten around half of his colon, Italy breaks it off and puts it down.
“Oh! What’s spaghetti without any meatballs?”
Pasta (7/8)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 03:17 am (UTC)(link)“You’re a lot smaller than I thought, America.” He smiles and rips off America’s balls with one hand.
America can’t feel it, but nonetheless he lets out a weak whimper. Italy cuts small lines in them and sinks his teeth into his testicles, blood spurting on his face like tomato sauce. For America, he is unable to look away as Italy wolfishly devours a testicle.
“I don’t typically eat deep fried meatballs, but these are delicious!”
He chews and swallows it, licking the blood of his lips.
“Mmm, that was so yummy, America!” Italy exclaims. “You were still warm, and that made it even better!”
America can’t even hear him at this point. All sound has become muted to his ears. He begins to slip into unconsciousness, his vision beginning to fade.
Italy scowls in displeasure. “America, don’t go yet! We haven’t finished eating!”
A sudden jolt wakes America from his stupor. Italy hovers over him, America’s own liver on the fork.
“I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t give my guest some food! Here—”
Italy shoves the slimy, moist liver into America’s mouth. America tries to get his gag reflex to work and spit it out, but he is already too weak, and the revolting organ remains inside his mouth, the burning acid from his gallbladder searing his throat. America’s eyes water, and he sobs.
“And now it’s my turn!” Italy runs his eyes over America’s dissected body before reaching deep inside him with a fork and emerging with his heart, carrying it in both hands.
“Ti amo, America!”
Italy runs his fingers delicately over the tubes on the top of the heart. “Oh look, ziti! This would be excellent with bolognesa!”
He looks up at America and gasps happily, putting his heart down and clapping. “Oooh, I remember how to get the ingredients for bolognesa now.”
He gets a vial from the cart and places it right under America’s neck.
“Hey, hey, America!” He stabs America’s neck. “I won’t forget the taste of the bolognesa made out of you from earlier!”
The knife tears through the soft skin of America’s neck, and just rises and rises.
And America fades away.
Pasta (8/8)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 03:21 am (UTC)(link)“America?”
Italy looks down at America’s ruined corpse and sighs. He begins the busy work of skinning and separating America’s body into quarters of meat. Disappointment sets in the Italian man. America barely lasted an hour. Spain lasted three and England’s constant struggle caused him to survive for eight hours. America was all bark and no bite, but he’s quite tasty!
When he is finished, Italy stores America’s meat in the freezer and hangs up his body to dry and drain. With the meat he already has on the counter, he dumps it all in with boiling pot as his stomach rumbles. Italy will eat well tonight.
But first, Italy has something that requires his attention.
He walks back upstairs and dials a number on Romano’s housephone. There is one ring, then two, then three, then—
“Dobry dzień!”
“Ciao, Polonia!”
“Italy, hey! Like, what’s up?”
“Would you like to come over sometime soon? We can make pasta!”
I hoped you like it OP! Now I'm off to eat
Americaspaghetti!Re: Pasta (8/8)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 06:11 am (UTC)(link)I started to giggle when Italy decided to fry America, because really. Of COURSE America should be fried!
Re: Pasta (8/8)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-21 03:02 pm (UTC)(link)What is wrong with me, I laughed way too much
(Anonymous) 2012-03-22 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)Wow, I must be a sick, sick person. Not just because I laughed through most of this story, but also because it reminded me of the types of fantasies I had when I was younger. I wasn't even old enough for them to be sexual fantasies (although they began to have sexual elements shortly before I stopped having them altogether, so probably the year or two before puberty). Nothing really about food, but they involved living dissection, a lot of gore, and general creepiness. I kind of forgot about them entirely until recently (because the kink and anon memes have generally made me more comfortable with myself). I don't have fantasies like that anymore, but clearly I'm still a disturbed individual because of how funny this story was to me. I especially laughed at the “I won’t forget the taste of the bolognesa made out of you from earlier!” line.
Anyway, don't underestimate kids - they can have disturbingly creepy thoughts/fantasies even before puberty hits. Because I'm pretty sure I'm not special enough for it to just be me. And I'm generally a really nice and "innocent" person who would probably shock everyone if they knew this about me, so it's not just the outwardly creepy kids.
TLDR I'm a highly disturbing person, but you wouldn't know it by looking at me. Innocent behavior, but sick mind. (Although I would never really hurt someone - even in these fantasies it was me things were being done to. I'm probably just a secret masochist.)
I suspect Poland would either make it out alive (he was able to tell Lithuania something was wrong without actually knowing anything during Bloodbath 2010) or at least put up a much better fight that America did. Just so this comment has something other than me talking about myself, which I bet nobody cares about.