Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:55 pm

Hetalia kink meme part 24

axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 24


STOP! DO NOT REQUEST HERE.
NEW REQUESTS GO IN THE MOST RECENT PART!

New fills for this part can go here.
Please continue existing fills on this post until it is full.
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(frozen comment) Rome/Germania -- Goats

[identity profile] hetalia-kink.livejournal.com 2012-10-21 07:35 pm (UTC)(link)
(This is a model request. Please follow this format when requesting yourself: Pairing/character(s) and kink/prompt in subject line, BRIEF elaboration in message -- stay under 200 words and 3 bonuses. Historical background or definition of words, which can be removed without changing the prompt itself, won't count toward the limit.)

I'm requesting something humorous involving the above. Doesn't have to have smut, but smut would be nice.

Germany/Any (or Germany/None) - drinking beer and relaxing

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
Germany seems like he's so tense most of the time, so anon would love to see a fill where he just kicks back, loosens up, and drinks a nice, relaxing beer. This could be an after-meeting meet-at-a-bar type thing, or someone forcibly dragging him out to relax, or, well anything! Just show him letting his hair down a little. (He has to let his guard down sometime, right?)

Any pairing is okay, having no pairings are okay, go wild!

Fill- Big Brother 1a/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
A/N I might throw in the occasional non-English word, but I'm not comfortable enough writing accents to attempt them and possibly offend a native speaker, I apologize for ruining the integrity of their speech, but I'd rather do that than upset someone.

Big Brother
Part One

This could not go on like it was. West was running himself into the ground, and he the awesome Prussia would not stand for it any longer.

The look on Italy and Japan's face when their drill Sargent of a trainer was hog tied and dragged away by a whistling Prussia was absolutely priceless. Pictures would be sold on the black market for years, the source a subject of hot debate in world meetings for decades to come.

"Want to go get some pasta?" Italy offered hospitably after a few moments of silence.

Japan nodded, "Hai." He agreed politely.

Meanwhile there was much swearing in German, and a lot of struggling against the ropes binding him as the blonde haired blue eyed nation attempted to free himself from his older brother's demented capture. It was no use though, who do you think taught Germany how to escape from bindings in the first place? There was no way he was going anywhere until Prussia was good and ready to let him go.

It was one very disgruntled Germany that was shoved into a chair. Prussia had his hands tied behind his back, pinned between his body and the sturdy chair, several ropes went around his torso further securing him to the frame of the offending piece of furniture. His ankles were bound together, no matter how sturdy the chair, it was a rookie that secured their prisoners legs to the object they were tying them to as that was often the strongest body part. The knot at his ankles was cleverly tied to leave a trail of rope long enough to loop back around and tie off to the knot at Germany's wrists through a gap in the back of the chair. Judging by the set up and proficiency, Prussia had done this before, just never to his little brother. Now Germany was glaring at the grinning Prussia, even that little yellow bird that always hovered around Prussia seemed to be gloating. Stupid bird. Birds shouldn't be able to gloat, been hanging out with Prussia for far too long.

"Are you going to be a good little West and listen to me if I untie you?" Prussia teased, earning a wave of insults and cussing from the younger German. "Nah, of course not." Prussia answered his own question.

He circled the tied up Germany, thinking over the problem presented to him. Freeing his hands was a bad idea, but he'd had such an awesome idea when dragging him off; now what? Hmmm, this might freak him out, that was always fun.

"You need to relax West, calm down, spend some time with your awesome brother, drink a beer or two, and hey here we are!" A wide I-am-up-to-something-and-you-are-the-something grin crossed Prussia's face, and his ruby eyes gleamed as he stalked over to Germany a bottle of fine German beer clasped in one hand, a mug in the other.

Fill- Big Brother 1b/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 10:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Big Brother
Part One (b)

"Just untie me already!" Germany barked, "This is insane, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting my favorite little brother to relax? What kind of awesome big brother would I be if I didn't take out my little brother for a drink every once and awhile when he is working too hard?" Prussia responded, opening the bottle, carefully filling the mug to give it just the right layering.

Germany was expecting to be untied, or at least one hand freed so he could take the beer Prussia had poured, but oh no; that would be much too simple. Prussia started drinking the beer himself, directly in Germany's line of sight, and he was thirsty from all that struggling against the ropes!

There was a very impressive growl that had Prussia smirking. "Look you, this beer could have been yours, and many before this, but oh no, you just have to go off and play soldier all the time." Prussia took another long drink from the mug, and for once Germany realized this might not be such a crazy scheme, and slowly started to listen.

"West, I didn't raise you to be a wimp, never back down, but what is the point of conquest if you don't enjoy what you conquer from time to time?" He pressed, another drink disappearing. "The empires that fell the hardest were the ones who spread too far too fast. Look at Turkey, he's still around, or China, they stood against time because they settled into their power and kept it." Prussia could see the gears turning in Germany's mind, had enjoyed that look as the nation had grown under his tutelage. Austria hadn't done such a bad job giving him a foundation he supposed, but Prussia would always claim the truly formative parts of his brother West.

"What is this really about?" Germany finally asked, eyes taking in Prussia completely, trying to analyze his actions and for once failing to read him.

Another drink was gone before Prussia responded, "You've got the guts, and the strength, to be like the empires that last, but you have the flaws of the ones that fell. I should know, my empire has already fallen. You work, and work, and work, until you can't think anymore, then things happen within your country that poison you from the inside out because you were too distracted to notice them building up. We are not our leaders, we do not make those decisions, but they do affect us. So if I untie you, will you come out and have a drink with your awesome big brother and leave the soldiering for tomorrow?"

Germany nodded, "Ja, I will come have a beer with you." He agreed. "...But I might need a minute, I can't feel anything below the tie on my ankles, where did you learn this?"

Prussia started cackling, "Picked it up when I fought Austria, I'll tell you the story over beer." He promised.

Re: Fill- Big Brother 1b/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-27 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
This was really cute. And funny, too! I love the mentions of Prussia teaching Germany how to get out of knots, and Prussia’s very effective “interrogation” tactic. Because who can stand firm in the face of delicious, delicious beer. I’m looking forward to the next part (and very curious about the story of Prussia’s)! Great job!

As a side note, I wouldn’t worry about the accents. Personally, I find them distracting when they’re written out, and that it takes away from the flow of the story.

Fill- Big Brother 2/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-28 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Big Brother

Part Two

"You really seized Austria's vital regions?" Germany couldn't stop himself from asking. Uptight Austria? That just was not sitting well with him, even after the fourth round of stout frothy beer.

Prussia was kicked back on the bar stool next to him, frosted mug in hand, "Ja, I did. The frying pan to the head I got for it was worth it too," He insisted with a cheerful cackle.

Germany paused with his beer raised halfway to his mouth, blinking slowly, "Frying pan?"

"Word of advice from the awesome Prussia, stay away from Hungary, she is the keeper of Austria's vital regions." Prussia informed, switching to morose in 2.5 seconds, but a swig of beer swiftly fixed that.

It might have been the beer, or just because it was his big brother, "I tried to seize Poland once." Germany admitted.

"Bad idea, he's fun and all, but Lithuania is not one to irritate. You think it's easy putting up with Russia? Plus what about your little Italy?" Germany's interest was hard to miss, and boy did Prussia love to tease.

The pale skinned German had a horrible time attempting to hide his reddening cheeks, "What about him?"

"How did he feel about you trying to seize Poland?" The smirk was highly amused, and nearly an entire mug of beer disappeared as Prussia waited for Germany to collect himself enough to answer.

Big tough Germany was refusing to meet his brother's eyes, "Well he tried to seize Egypt! I had to rescue him of course, but still he tried!"

Prussia's cackle filled the bar, "Oh this is priceless West. We're you jealous?"

"No!" The rebuke was quick. Too quick. "Italy is a pain in the neck, why would I be jealous?"

"Oh I don't know," Prussia mussed, "Oh hey Italy! Come join us!" When Germany perked up and tried to find the slight Italian in the bar, Prussia burst out laughing. "You really fell for that?"

Germany hung his head in shame, even he couldn't believe he had fallen for such an obvious ploy.

"Italy is a pain in the neck alright, but he's your pain in the neck," Prussia informed, shoving another mug of beer in Germany's hand.

Germany swiftly drank it down, before speaking again, "Could you do something for me then?"

"Oh no, now what?" This was highly suspicious.

"Tell Spain to keep Romano from killing me? He thinks I'm going to corrupt his brother or something." Germany requested.

Prussia took a moment to contemplate the inquiry, toying with his brother, "You know what, no, I don't think so. You want Italy, you have to get through the whole family thing on your own. How scary could one older brother be?"

"Ah Prussia, you're my older brother!" Germany pointed out.

Prussia blinked, "That's different, I'm not scary, just awesome."

And with that big and little brother shared a toast with the wonderful beer they both loved.

Re: Fill- Big Brother 2/2

(Anonymous) 2014-04-30 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
This was a wonderful fill. I love your characterization and the family dynamics.

Re: Germany/Any (or Germany/None) - drinking beer and relaxing

(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Hello fellow Hetalia kink meme readers! This is my first post at all on the kink meme so please don't hate my story too much! Warning this is yaoi and it contains in and actually insest technically is noncon because they are under the influence of a drug! Part 1 of 2! Have fun!
............
"Aaahhh! I haven't been able to get out and enjoy a cold beer in what feels like centuries," Prussia leaned back on the back two legs of his bar-stool downing a pint of his favorite golden brown beer. His face was already red and flushed from the atmosphere and liquor of his favorite bar.
"That’s 'cause it has been centuries," grumbled Germany as he hunched over the table, gripping another glass.
"Hmmm? Whad' ya say?" Prussia paused and Germany said nothing. "W-Well, West why did you suddenly invite me out for drinks? Yet again, no answer. Wait that was a stupid question. Of course you invited me out cause no one can party like the amazing Prussia." Prussia busted out into snickering laughter, but when he got no response from Germany he slowly stopped. Again they were silent, hearing the noise of the others in the crowded bar. Annoyed by the silence of his little brother, Prussia finished off his beer quickly and slammed in down on the table. "Another," he shouted. Germany smiled, unaware Prussia emptied glass after glass until finally a wave of warmth and sleepiness washed over him and his vision became black.
...
Prussia's eyes slowly opened to see a yellow light. He blinked a couple of times, and his eyes adjusted to see his room’s usual white ceiling. He sat up only to feel a sudden stab in his left temple. "What a shitty hang over," her groaned. Then looking around he noticed that the room was trash free and neat. "Ah," This must be West’s room. He must have brought me back and taken care of me, so embarrassing." He swung his legs out of the bed and tried to stand up but suddenly he was overcome by his light-headedness and his legs collapsed. Wobbly, Prussia climbed back onto the bed. How could he have gotten this drunk he wondered but then his thoughts were broke by the creaking of the door opening. Germany stepped into the room. He walked over to a chair on the opposite corner of the room and sat down. An almost-empty bottle of Vodka in his hands, Wide eyed Prussia stared at the bottle and then at Germany. "T-that," Prussia stumbled.
"Oh, this?" Germany lifted up the bottle. "Russia gave me this. Isn't he nice?" A causal grin appeared on Germany’s face.
Prussia remembered that bottle. Once he had also been given that same type of drink. It was home made by Russia. Unknowingly, Prussia had drank it like it was normal alcohol, but it truth it contained an aphrodisiac that made the drinker relax and gave them the ability to let go and try to get whatever they were craving. Typically it was sex.

Re: Germany/Any (or Germany/None) - drinking beer and relaxing Part 2!!!!!

(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 11:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Germany rubbed his head letting some of this usually clean and organized hair hang loose. Thought ran through Prussia's head and it only made him dizzier. Suddenly, Germany rose and paced over to the bed. Stopping at the foot he took the last drink of vodka and dropped the bottle. He began climbing up onto the bed, and then towards Prussia. Scared, Prussia pushed back against the head board but Germany trapped him in a kiss. The vodka rolled down Prussia's throat and his mind emptied. A warmth rose in his belly and he was consumed by a drunken feeling much stronger than before. Germany backed out of the kiss but only long enough for both of them to get a breath. Then they both pushed into a deep, almost violent kiss. The sweet taste and scent of the drink intoxicated them both as they pushed away the blankets and Prussia slid down onto the bed. Germany’s kiss then lowered too Prussia neck. Suddenly Prussia let out an uncontrolled moan.
Germany laughed quietly and whispered into Prussia's ear' "Your neck has always been your weak point hasn't it." Surprised and embarrassed Prussia covered his mouth but the drink kicked in and he forgot about everything but the feel of Germany's large, wet tongue circling the right side of his neck. Germany rises up and the two awkwardly and rapidly stripped their clothes off, not caring for any rips or tears that might have happened.
Prussia then sat up and leaned toward Germany, connecting them again in a lustful kiss. Prussia released and then lowered his head down. Opening his mouth he gently licked the top of German's head to wet it. Next, he placed it in his mouth and began to bob his head slowly, only taking in a fraction of the actual length. Germany twitched in his mouth from the feeling and Prussia Pushed down his head as much as he could before it hit the back of his through and his stomach clenched. Prussia pulled back a little and he felt his eyes water but he still moved his head back and forth rolling his tongue around the bottom of Germany's shaft. Prussia gained speed and he felt Germany clench in his mouth but then, Germany pushed him off and straddled him. He raised his hips and licked his lips while staring down at Prussia with a lusty expression. Then, without any warning, Germany lowered his hips and Prussia gasped as he felt Germany's insides sliding down his penis. At first Germany didn't move at all but Prussia felt the inside of him quiver and twitch in pleasure and pain. The sensation made Prussia unable wait any more and he pushed his hips up very forcefully until it was all the way inside. Germany moaned loudly and tightened around Prussia.
"Too- much," Germany whimpered as he shook from the pain of having of Prussia in the deepest part of him. This only aroused Prussia more. He then sat up and began to tease Germany's right nipple. Thrusting into Germany as hard as he could and rolling his tongue across Germany's chest, Prussia began to feel the effects of the vodka release him and his mind cleared for the most part. He knew this was wrong and he should stop doing this with West but looking up he saw Germany's hair was in a mess and his face was blushing red from arousal as he moaned in ecstasy. Seeing that, he felt the power of a new drug intoxicate him even stronger than the vodka and he pushed down Germany on to his back and slammed into him with even greater force.
With every thrust Germany moaned louder and louder, and Prussia moved faster.
"C-Can't... I can't take it anymore." Germany cried out with a hoarse voice. "I'm-"
"Just a little more," Prussia bellowed as he thrust in deeper and faster than ever. Then, finally Prussia pushed in as far as he could and came. Germany, feeling the liquid warmth inside him did too and they both collapsed. They breathed heavily and they both slowly felt their body temperature lower back to normal. Then Prussia sat up only to see West sleeping soundly and quietly. He rose and went to the bathroom to get a wet towel to clean his sleeping partner.

Re: Germany/Any (or Germany/None) - drinking beer and relaxing Part 3!!!! afterword!

(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)
... The next day...
Germany woke up in his own bed, dressed but not without a hangover. What happened last night Germany wondered as he stood up and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As he quenched his thirst in the clear tap water he saw in the corner of his eye a piece of notebook paper on the table. He picked it up and it read:
West,
I'm sorry. I have gone to stay at Russia's house for a while. I won't be back for a while so behave.
Goodbye, The Awesome Prussia.

England thinks he is different Shakespeare characters

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:36 am (UTC)(link)
Whatever reason you like, but an accident causes England to think he is different Shakespeare characters depending on which Nation he is with.

With America, England thinks he is Romeo and America is Juliet to America ever annoyance

Rest for nations, surprise me!

Re: England thinks he is different Shakespeare characters

(Anonymous) 2013-01-03 07:56 am (UTC)(link)
I might try this if I ever have free time... seems like a lot of fun to be had

Greece/Japan - nipple play

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
Greece either playing with or licking/biting Japan's nipples.

Bonus if he's trying to get some sort of specific reaction out of Japan.
Another bonus if Japan comes just from that.

Re: Greece/Japan - nipple play

(Anonymous) 2013-02-10 05:58 am (UTC)(link)
Oh... I think I'll try this one.

America x Norway- trying to make him laugh

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:43 am (UTC)(link)
America trying to make Norway laugh at any cost.
Smut/fluff/it's all good.

Re: America x Norway- trying to make him laugh

(Anonymous) 2012-12-12 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, this sounds cute!
I may have to give it a shot. I'll aim to start this weekend. c:

Smile [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2012-12-13 03:29 am (UTC)(link)
Alfred laughs whenever he gets the chance.

Laughter comes so naturally to him. It’s what he’s always done to cope. Finding the humor in things is easier than facing the pain, so he laughs even when he’s upset. He laughs to ease ache, he laughs to curb his reality for just a little longer, and he laughs to make the good times better.

He laughs because he’s grown up around laughter. Matthew always found a reason to smile, so Alfred tried to, too. And they were never closer than when they could giggle with each other.

So he’s shocked, at first, when Lukas doesn’t utter a single sound after his joke.

He gives his lover a concerned look and starts, “It’s funny because-”
“It isn’t funny if you have to explain,” Lukas deadpans. Alfred bites his lip.

“But!”

“Really, Alfred, it’s alright. I get it.” And the discussion ends there.

____

((Yeah so. Tumblr was down for a little bit so i managed to get something done.))

Re: Smile [1/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-01-07 11:13 pm (UTC)(link)
this is so cute please continue

England/any - his brothers get chatty with his one night stand

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
After a few drinks, England takes another nation home for a bit of how's-your-father. In the morning his lover is not in bed when he wakes up and England assumes s/he left. He goes downstairs to find his lover in the kitchen having breakfast with Scotland and Wales. Scotland and Wales proceed to embarrass the shit out of him by doing things like expressing surprise that he bagged such a hottie, asking his lover if England still farts in bed, scolding England for not getting up early and making his lover breakfast etc.

Bonus: England and the other nation have been together for a while, but he never brought him/her home because he knew this would happen.

Bonus 2: The other nation regrets the one night stand and was actually trying to sneak out when Scotland and Wales spotted him/her.

In Which the 1485 Kilt Incident That We All Promised Not to Talk About is Talked About

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 06:16 am (UTC)(link)
Hope OP doesn’t mind England/Belgium.


Arthur woke to laughter and the smell of breakfast from downstairs, and an empty bed.
The smell of breakfast was a little odd, but the empty bed was extremely worrying. So she didn’t want to stay. Ah, well. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t snuck out on his share of one-night stands, but this was different. He had hoped Lotte would stick around. She was nice, they had actually gone on dates- well. What happened, happened. So Arthur slid out of bed, tugged on a bathrobe, and padded downstairs-

And there were James and Owain telling Lotte about the renowned 1485 Kilt Incident over waffles. It took a little while for this to fully register in Arthur’s groggy, slightly sleep-deprived mind, but when it did, he lunged at James, shouting “Oh God no no no don’t tell her about the plover-”

Too late. Owain grabbed Arthur around the waist and shoved half a waffle into his mouth, while James blithely continued, “So then Arthur’s gone through all my brandy- and I’ll have you know, it was expensive back then- but anyhow he’s heard about how Herakles’s aunt had people shoving foxes down their togas to toughen them up and maybe I’ve had a few also but we’re on a hill and he says ‘I wanna be all tough’ so we’re looking but all we can find is this bird and then-”

Arthur tried to yell around his mouthful of waffle- which actually was quite excellent but that was not the point- and managed to produce “Mmph, mghph!” Lotte, who had been giggling and pushing the remains of her breakfast around, finally looked up.

“Ooh, Arthur, good morning! I made waffles- wait, never mind, you know that already.” She gestured at James, who had paused for a moment in his storytelling, and Owain, who had let go of Arthur. “Why didn’t you ever introduce me to your brothers?”

Owain looked from Lotte to Arthur and back again, smiling toothily. “Arthur! Shocked, I am- you have attracted a genuine woman! Why didn’t you tell us?” He turned back to Lotte. “So, tell. D’you have any drunken-Arthur stories we’ve not heard?”

The Belgian’s grin widens further, a little alarmingly. “Well, two weeks ago he was visiting-”

“Oh, so that’s where you’ve been when you say you’re on business!”

“-and we decided to go see my brother Mathijs. So there we were, in Amsterdam, and I said ‘why don’t we go out for a few?’, so we did. And Arthur said he could handle hard liquor and I was a little doubtful but this was the first time we’d actually gotten around to drinking so I said ‘show me’-”

James and Arthur say “Oh God” simultaneously.

“-and one shot of vodka each later I was perfectly fine and he was screaming at invisible things and wailing over some war about an ear.”

At this point, Arthur decided that there was nothing he could do to stop the others from telling these stories aside from hope Owain didn’t mention the Infamous Westminster Rum Incident of 1880. He sat down and speared a waffle off the plate.

Owain pushed his sandy hair out of his eyes and asked Arthur, “So, little brother, how did you even end up with Lotte? Because she’s actually good-looking-”

“Thank you!”

“And no offense meant but you do not have a great track record in attractive people, I mean-”

“Well,” James added, “except Antonio-”

“-But that was only once three hundred years ago, and you can’t bring up Francis either because that wasn’t all the way-”

Arthur stared wild-eyed at Owain. “Why do you know this?”

He merely tapped the side of his nose. “-So how did you get her? Especially when Mathijs is so protective?”

Arthur groaned- it was too early for this. “Look, can we not discuss this?”

James and Owain turned to Lotte, who gulped down some coffee and began. “Well, about three weeks ago…”

Arthur spent the rest of breakfast wondering if it was really for the best that Lotte hadn’t left.



Author!anon isn't too sure about this one...

Herakles's aunt and the foxes: there is a story about a Spartan boy who hid a live fox down his toga to avoid being punished for intending to eat it.
The ear: This actually happened. The War of Jenkin's Ear. It was very stupid.

OP

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 03:08 pm (UTC)(link)
LOL I love it, Authornon! Especially Belgium joining in with teasing England. You rock!

Re: In Which the 1485 Kilt Incident That We All Promised Not to Talk About is Talked About

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
Not!OP anon is laughing so hard XD poor, poor England :3 I love the way you portray Arthur's brothers. It makes them so feel like actual family instead of the bullies they're usually made out to be <3 I love your Belgium too! And those hints of SpUK and FrUK =w=

aaah thanks

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
Thank you! I really think the UK cares about each other- if nations held grudges in earnest for as long as some people think they do, they'd all hate each other so much nothing would get done. And sibling bonds are like my favorite things ever.
I kind of ship England/half of Europe, considering his history. And past England/smugness.

Re: In Which the 1485 Kilt Incident That We All Promised Not to Talk About is Talked About

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 04:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Wow, a!a.
A perfect ending to cap off what would have been a stressful day for me.

So...what DID happen during infamous Westminster Rum Incident of 1880? XD

Re: In Which the 1485 Kilt Incident That We All Promised Not to Talk About is Talked About

(Anonymous) 2012-11-28 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
I'm not really sure, but probably England ended up naked and quite possibly temporarily excommunicated, and probably he didn't talk to Jamaica for at least a year.

The Italies- Italian Organized Crime, sans Mafia

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:46 am (UTC)(link)
(Oh my God, we can request again)

So, I've seen a whole heck of a lot of Mafia!Italy/Romano stories and art. Where's the love for all the other, mainland groups? You've got the 'Ndrangheta, Sacra Corona Unita, Stidda, Basilischi, the Mala del Brenta; and especially the Camorra, the oldest, strongest group of the lot, based in Naples.

How do the crime groups and Nations interact? Do the Italies go to them when they want something done under the table, but really spend most of their time trying to fight them with the Carabinieri (Italian police)? Do they never cooperate with them? Are they directly involved in some of the illegal activities?

Tell me, Anons.

Bonuses:
1. Other Italian Nations make an appearance- Seborga, San Marino, the Vatican, Sicily, and/or Sardinia.
2. The Mala del Brenta is the newest Italian organized crime group, started in the 1980s and 90s through the unification of the Veneto (Venetian) region criminals by a man named Felice "Angel Face" Maniero- who is ALWAYS. SMILING. Just how much and in what way is Feliciano involved in this?
3. If Sicily shows up, she is a Mafia-hating woman.

Re: The Italies- Italian Organized Crime, sans Mafia

(Anonymous) 2013-03-15 07:28 pm (UTC)(link)
I am mulling this over. no promises yet, though, because it's gonna be a project, and i have some things I need to catch up on irl. But after that, yes, i'll be attempting. ^u^

OP!

(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh goodness thank you! I look forward to it!

Denmark- Narcissism

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
Denmark being self involved, after all, what a man.

Bonus: Denmark's hair is so big because it's full of tiny fjords.

What a man

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
"Come on. You know you wanna touch it." Mathias stands in his large, modern kitchen, actually wiggling his hips at Norway.

what a man- an

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
((Ugh sorry this is my first fill that sent too early))

made the request

(Anonymous) 2013-04-13 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
it's okay please continue

Any male nation - shaving

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
For some reason this anon finds the mental image of a guy standing at the sink shaving to be exceedingly hot (maybe it's cause it's like a little reminder of manliness, who knows!) And it seems like the vast majority of Hetalia characters are clean-shaven...so anon would love to see a fill in which a male character shaves his face.

Fic fill, art fill - anything! I'd seriously <3 you forever!

Anon is partial to the Nordics, Russia, and Canada, but any character is fine.

Not a fill, but OP might enjoy

(Anonymous) 2012-11-22 02:41 pm (UTC)(link)
This anon would love to fill this request, but I don't know if I'll have time. However, until then, I'm sure OP would enjoy this image. It's not mine, but both pic and user have deleted from pixiv :(

http://i49.tinypic.com/332o3dl.jpg

OP

(Anonymous) 2012-11-23 05:36 pm (UTC)(link)
OP definitely does enjoy! <3

Thank you anon!

Re: Any male nation - shaving

(Anonymous) 2012-12-03 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
This request intrigues me... I'm trying to finish up a Secret Santa, but I promise you, OP, it will be done!

Late!OP is late!

(Anonymous) 2012-12-06 07:16 am (UTC)(link)
OMG, yaaaay!!!

*camps out* :3

Modern Conveniences – Russia [1a/1]

(Anonymous) 2013-01-02 10:57 am (UTC)(link)
Apologies for the massive length, my god-awful Russian (to which I hesitantly turned to Google Translate and my own Rus-Eng-Rus dictionary) and for the whiffs of angstiness, which stems mostly from my fuzzy memories of Alaskan History in high school—specifically, where my teacher mentions that a lot of the "old-school" my words, not his noblemen took up or were made to shave during the rule of Peter the Great (1682-1725), who strived to bring Russia up to speed with modern Europe. That being said, I hope you like it, OP. I certainly enjoyed writing it.

All together, the things he needed cost a fair handful of rubles. For he—not quite a nobleman but not quite anything else—to be purchasing them was a little strange, but it needed to be done. Russia laid the things out on a small tray on his desk—a pair of scissors; a small brush with an ivory handle and badger hair bristles; a small ivory dish with a wedge of tallow and olive oil shaving soap (Samyye prekrasnyye kachestva1, the shopkeeper had assured him); and a straight razor.

It was this razor that fascinated Russia the most, and he flipped it open to inspect it once more. It was quite lovely, the handle made of lacquered Siberian pine and the rounded blade, no wider than his thumb, was one of fine Toledo steel, which gleamed in the winter sunlight that streamed in through the nearby window; in the blade, Russia could see his reflection, his purple eyes, his ashy blonde hair and the respectable beard that concealed most of the lower half of his face.

A kettle whistled in Russia's drawing room, and he closed the razor and laid it aside to fetch the kettle from where it hung in the fireplace. He carried it into his washroom and poured the boiling water into the washbasin. Working quickly, he plunged a small towel into the hot water, allowing it to absorb the scalding water before shaking the excess back into the bowl and returning the kettle to its proper place. He returned to the basin a moment later and took out the cloth, hissing softly through his teeth in response to the heat as he loosely wrung out the material.

Satisfied, he returned to his bedchambers and draped the cloth over the post on his bed long enough to remove his ozherelya2 and its accompanying koshulia3. He laid both on the foot of the bed and took up the warm cloth once more. He sat on the bed, then laid down, stretching his legs out in front of him and getting comfortable before draping the hot cloth over the bottom half of his face. The edge of the cloth tickled his nose, but he ignored it.

Several minutes passed; when he thought he could stare at his ceiling no longer, and when the cloth on his face had lost all its heat, he sat up, loosely clutching the towel in his hand and returned to the washroom. He laid the cloth on the edge of the washbasin and took up the dish with the shaving soap. He tipped the bar into his hand and laid it aside, filled the dish with water and settled the brush, bristles down, in the water to soak.

During this downtime, Russia took up the scissors and considered them, briefly, before taking on the seemingly daunting ask of trimming his beard to a more manageable length. The shiiink of iron against iron, and the sound of the hairs being trimmed, filled the small room. The blonde-grey hairs fell to the floor and every so often landed on the front of his sorochka4, but he ignored them for the time being.

After several minutes, he considered his reflection in the mirror hanging over it. His beard was much closer-cut, as though he were looking at himself when he first started growing it out when he was young (in relative terms, of course). He wondered what trimming it would have been like if he had been older, with a longer, fuller beard. He'd probably still be trimming.

Re: Modern Conveniences – Russia [1b/1 - Complete]

(Anonymous) 2013-01-02 11:24 am (UTC)(link)
That vague thought in his mind, he returned the shaving soap to the dish and took up the shaving brush. He took a moment to loosely shake off the excess water; the task completed, he whisked the bristles over the bar, watching as a thick white lather formed over the bar and in the dish. It was almost fascinating to watch, and rather mindless… Almost soothing. He scooped up the lather with the bristles of the brush and, after a moment's pause, started to brush the foam over his beard.

It was warm, and when he applied it to his upper lip it tickled his nose. His brow furrowed at the sensation but he pressed on. By the time he laid the brush aside, the lather made it look like he had a full beard once more, only now, instead of cutting it down with a pair of scissors, he would be cutting it down with a straight razor.

He turned the opened razor over in his fingers, watching the light glint on the blade before holding it up to his cheek, gauging where we was willing to start passing the blade over his skin. Just in front of the ear. That should be good. Willing his hands to be steady, he pressed the blade against his skin and brought it down in a single swipe before inspecting the damage. A swatch of smooth skin peeked out of the lather.

Vsë normalʹno5, he thought, wiping the blade clean on a dry cloth before going for a second pass… and then a third… and a fourth. The process continued on both sides of his face, then on his throat (being mindful to not cut himself while keeping his head tipped back to access the skin there was quite the feat) and finally around his mouth.

Russia couldn't say for sure how much time had passed; it couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes, he mused as he wiped the last of the shaving cream and cut hairs from the blade. He took a moment to make certain that he'd thoroughly cleaned the blade before folding it closed and laying it aside. When he looked at his reflection, he barely recognized himself without his beard—he looked much younger, like a little boy who had crawled into his father's clothes to play.

He reached up and brushed his hand over his now-smooth cheek. It felt… strange, and would certainly take getting used to. In the distance, the bells in Peter and Paul Cathedral marked the hour—two o'clock, nearly dinner, a meal he was expected to attend. Getting used to this new look, this new practice, would have to be put on hold for now.

----------
Translations
1 Samyye prekrasnyye kachestva – The finest quality
2 Ozherelya – A separate collar attached with buttons or ties or worn over a shirt
3 Koshulia – An outer shirt
4 Sorochka – A tunic like undershirt
5 Vsë normalʹno – All right, okay

Late OP is even later....

(Anonymous) 2013-01-06 04:22 pm (UTC)(link)
(Sorry for the lateness!) This was so lovely, A!A! I really love the way you describe everything just so; I can picture it so clearly in my head! And asdfahsdfhuiewap you filled it with Russia and I've always sort of wondered what Russia's reaction was to Peter's policy on beards and then you wrote it and it was awesome.

Thanks for the wonderful fill!

A!A

(Anonymous) 2013-01-07 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
(Ahh, no worries.) Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it, OP! I had a lot of fun writing that much detail-- honestly, writing this was a lot more fun than writing smut for another fill! I'm really happy you're pleased with Russia. He was the first one to pop into my head when I read the prompt, precisely for that same reason.

You're very welcome!

Re: Any male nation - shaving

(Anonymous) 2013-01-23 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
((This is my first time on the kink meme, aaaah))

A chill leaked through where the panes met the window glass, the bedroom door met the carpet and where the blanket didn't quite meet Canada's toes. The northern nation nestled deeper into his comforter, knowing he had to wake up but not feeling particularly motivated. Laying on top of the covers near his tummy was Kuma- ...Kumachi- ...Kuma-something. The polar bear was warm, furry, and much more pleasant than the cold bathroom floor.

Still, it had to be done. Canada yawned and sat up, blinking the heaviness out of his eyes. The cold-tainted air of the room made him shiver when it hit his bare chest. He would have to find those winter pajamas some day soon or he was going to freeze in his sleep. He threw the covers off his legs and onto a dozing Kuma-bear, whom he had at this point forgotten altogether.

Being too lazy this morning to find either his slippers or a shirt, Canada sauntered into the bathroom. His toes were not happy when they left the lush bedroom carpet for the barren tile floor.

He wasn't thrilled at his reflection. 'It's been so long since I shaved,' he thought, running a hand over his stubble and producing a scratchy sound, 'I'm starting to look like Papa.' He retrieved his shaving equipment and arranged it on the counter.

Another thought hit him, 'But if I shave, I'll look like America.' Why was fate so cruel?

Re: Any male nation - shaving

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Actually, I find the idea of Canada looking like France rather appealing ;D

Hm, having to chose between looking like a megalomaniac, loud sort of jerk with no ability to read the atmosphere, and a smooth, sexily accented Frenchman, I'd chose the Frenchaman any time. (Joke-joke-joke don't beat me, I'm not insulting America xD)

A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (1/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 09:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Well, you did say Nordics...*shrug* Set some time after he kicked ass (and lost) the Winter War.

Tino was happy that the war was over for a number of reasons. First of all, the war was over, which was pretty much the most important thing of all. Second, he would have some peace from Russia, at least for a while. Third, he was going home.

While he certainly had kicked some fat Russian ass, he had lost in the end, and war just wasn’t his thing. Besides, Sweden, ever so neutral, was stalking him even more than usual. He had come with 8.000 volunteers—which, considering how harsh his bosses where about the neutrality, was very sweet—and now didn’t leave his side. It crept him out, and nowadays not even Russia could do that anymore, to have him so close at all times, wide-eyedly glaring at his face or watching him while he slept or ate. So, it was natural that he missed the lonely comfort of his home.

The last reason was far less relatable to his people and much more about Tino himself. During the battles he’d barely had time to do the most basic things: sometimes he would either have time to eat or to sleep, having to decide, and he certainly wouldn’t waste that little time for anything else. He had been able to wash his hair a few times, but that was really a luxury… and the one thing every young man had to do every morning if he wanted to keep a clean appearance was completely set aside and forgotten.

He hadn’t shaved. Not once.

Now, he wasn’t like other people from throughout Scandinavia, who grew wiry dark blond beards that shone in manly, Viking glory. He did not really have to shave every day, just every other. The thing that covered his cheeks and chin was more a soft fluff than a beard, yet it was just as uncomfortable and itchy. Besides, he didn’t even want to imagine how ridiculous it must look like.

When he went home, the first thing he did was running a long, long shower. The second, tending the wounds that looked the worst. The third, sighing, the fourth, counting to three, the fifth, opening his eyes to see himself in the mirror.

Ugh.

He really couldn’t think of much more.

Well, at least it didn’t look all that ridiculous; he actually looked a bit scruffy, which, in turn, made him look a bit more male. It was just so unfamiliar, so weird; he would be happy to get it off. He sighed again, preparing the shaving foam and the razor.

As he was about to apply the foam, he heard a “hej” at the bathroom door, which hadn’t been closed, making him jump, take the razor, and look menacingly at the intruder.

It was Sweden.

He looked angry.

“M-master Sve? What are you doing here?” Tino asked, putting the razor down. On second thought, he didn’t really look angry; this was just his usual concentrated frown, with a shade of something like… sadness? Disappointment? Finland couldn’t quite tell, but it looked out of place.

“Hm. Made food” the taller man replied, glaring daggers at him. Tino felt naked.

Wait. He was naked.

He started to blush; for all but a little white towel around his mid section, he was butt naked, and Sweden was staring that penetrating stare of his. He tried to regain his composure, frowning.

“Well, thanks for cooking, but, um, what are you doing here? ” he pointed at the floor, hoping to make clear that he meant the geographical location.

“Door w’s open.”

Oh. So, not quite. “No, I mean, in Finland” he said. Sweden’s glare was even stronger than before, and Tino couldn’t help but feel that it was daring him to continue. It was terrifying. “I’m, um, independent now, remember?” he added, to clarify. Pretty much since his independence from Russia, they hadn’t had a moment to discuss the fact that Finland was no longer under anyone’s rule, so maybe he was just misadjusted.

Sweden’s face fell. Now, the sadness was almost unmistakable, and the frown was receding. “Ah. B-but. Y’re still m’wife, right?” he asked, and his eyes, while still boring into Tino’s, looked almost pleading.

A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (2/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)
“Oh. This. ” Tino thought, remembering this awkward nickname the Swede had for him, or whatever it was supposed to be. He frowned. He had been calling him that for centuries, and he’d never understood it. He used to think it was a way to demonstrate the power Sweden had over him to other countries; a more polite way of saying, “my bitch”. But he knew the other nation now, and thought it implausible: he was actually a nice guy, so, other than a joke, he had no idea what he wanted to express with that.

It made him a little angry, to be honest. Sometimes he still wondered if it was, indeed, just his way of expressing ownership. Tino was a man, not a wife, and most certainly no one’s bitch, especially not now, after kicking Russia’s behind in such a royal fashion. He looked anywhere but at the Swede when he said, “Hey. We talked about this. That’s a weird joke of yours which I don’t really get, so you’ll have to explain it, or stop making it.”

The other also looked away, and grunted. When Tino looked at him again, he was surprised to see him flustered, the frown gone, and the sadness he’d seen on his face before almost the only thing on his face.

He felt guilty, but he was also angry. He noticed that his hands shook heavily while he took the shaving foam again, but he didn’t know if it was because of anger, guilt or the tension that was so obvious between them. He sighed, and started to say “Mister Sve”, but quickly corrected himself, remembering that he was not his subordinate, “I mean, Sweden, thanks for the food, but I was about to shave, so…”

He left it open, hoping the other would catch his drift and leave. He applied the foam on his face.

“’s okay. I’ll wait” the Swede said, nearly making him drop the just picked up razor again.

Great, now he was nervous, and Sweden was back to his usual stalking self. Just as it had been in the beginning of their time together, Sweden glared while he was a shaking little mess.

He started shaving, feeling the other’s gaze on every patch of hair and foam he removed.

It was awfully embarrassing.

He normally didn’t let his mind wander, and, during the war, he frankly hadn’t had the time to think about it, but now, in this awkwardness and tension and with Tino suddenly aware again of how naked he was, he couldn’t avoid the flow of his thoughts.

They were all about Berwald.

The choice of name—Berwald, and not Sweden—is fully intentional. While they were nations (and as a nation, Finland fought to lose any kind of dependency on Sweden), they were also people, and as a person, Tino found that he couldn’t. He wanted to depend on Berwald, on a personal basis. He wanted him to be there when he was beat or when his work got to him or when someone attacked and his people were dying. Not for help to solve the conflict—Tino, Finland was strong enough to do that on his own, he needed no one to save his ass, thank you very much—but to be there.

It was quite mortifying, really. He had felt like this since… well, since always, really, but he’d just noticed it around the time of The Reformation, when he was growing up and developing a bigger consciousness of his own identity, the progressing evolution of his people reflecting on him by making him be able to think about himself, too.

Before he knew it, he had one hell of a crush on his silent companion. He was tall, looming and creepy, true; yet there were times where he was so gentle it was disconcerting, and the few times he’d seen him smile had been enough to stir something deep within him, to make him want to be there to see every single smile of his and provoke them, too.

Telling him would have been the logical course of action, of course; yet he did no such thing. Mostly, the reason was that he didn’t know how much Berwald really reflected on being more than just Sweden: it was commonly a taboo for a nation to talk about it. Not many humans knew about their existence as anthropomorphic allegories of their folk, but the few who did, mostly their bosses, put two and two together and came to the conclusion that it could be harming to the people if the nation was to stop seeing itself as such.

A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (3/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Just thinking about it would have to be fine, because to forbid thoughts was quite unrealistic (which did not keep many from trying), but admitting it to someone else was not allowed.

He couldn’t go to him as Finland, because it would mean that he truly wanted to become one with his country, letting go of his traditions and language, and he was proud; but he couldn’t go to him as Tino, either, because he didn’t know if Berwald could even return his feelings. So he kept silent throughout the centuries, until Russia decided to destroy their little whatever-it-was (friendship? Family?) and took him away, leaving a very shaken Mr. Sweden behind.

Now, after his independence, the feelings that had never really left resurged with violence. His people seemed to have something against the Swedes all of a sudden, but Tino felt it even stronger than before: love. It was embarrassing and stupid, but he hadn’t chosen it, and it was there. When he’d seen Sweden, who wasn’t even supposed to be there, arrive with his volunteers, his heart had made a somersault. He was quick to repress it, though; war was war, he couldn’t be anything but Finland, and Berwald… he was probably just there as a metaphor of the Swedes who weren’t so keen on the neutrality.

He was so absorbed in his musings about the Swede that it was quite a pull towards reality, an unexpected slap in the face, when he slipped a bit with his razor and cut through his skin. It wasn’t deep, it didn’t even hurt too much; he normally wouldn’t even have complied, but it was so sudden that he gasped.

“TINO!”

He heard the cry on his side and saw the Swede jump, but couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

It had been his name.

His human name.

The one they weren’t allowed to use with each other.

This time, he did drop the razor. He stared at Sweden, Berwald, a flush spreading on his cheeks again, as red as the blood that trickled down his throat, where his heart was caught at the moment. Berwald stared too, worry in his face, for the blood, but also insecurity for what he’d just done. His face was even redder.

They stood in silence and just looked at each other, until Tino found the strength to mutter, “Um. I should f-finish.”

Berwald returned to his usual, unemotional frown, retrieving Tino’s razor; yet when the smaller extended his hand to take it from him, he didn’t hand it over. “I’ll do it”, he provided as an explanation. Tino was too dazed to object.

The Swede dabbed a towel in water and gave it to Tino, so he could press it against his cut. Then, while the Finn was applying a small piece of toilet paper on it so it would stop bleeding, he cleaned the razor and positioned himself behind him.

Tino closed his eyes, his mind too overwhelmed to function fully. Finland wanted to open his eyes and supervise Sweden, not trusting him with a razor on his throat, but Tino knew who he was leaning into, and couldn’t resist. Not after his name had been called out like that, not after seeing that expression and that blush. He just wanted to think and to lean back and relax in the other’s hands.

The blade was sharp, yet it merely ghosted over his skin. It wasn’t as intense as the heat that was pressed against his back, and it was over before he could register it.

He didn’t open his eyes and didn’t pull away. Berwald let the razor drop in the sink, confirming that he was done. He took another damp towel and cleaned his face. He waited, but Tino still didn’t move, pressed against him, shaking slightly. His hands were clenched to fists, his breath quick.

He was waiting, too. Waiting to see how long it would take until Berwald moved away on his own accord. Or until he said that he was sorry. Or until he just went off to wait for him in the kitchen.

The tender voice against his ear hadn’t been what he’d expected.

“’m done, Tino”.

A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (4/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)
He had felt naked before, but now he felt even more exposed, he felt open, almost raw: at the mention of his name in that deep voiced murmur, the part of his anatomy the towel was just struggling to cover had… reacted.

Tino opened his eyes in shock, terrified of his own body. The entire moment, with its tension and its warmth and the memory of his name, had been arousing, but the fact that just the second mention of it, the confirmation that it had been real, was able to get him hard, scared him.

This was unfamiliar territory. His eyes met with the immense blush of his reflection; he looked every bit as aroused as he was, and this made him anxious. He saw Berwald staring at him through the mirror. He bit his lip, averting his gaze.

Behind him he could hear the other’s breath hitch and catch in his throat in a chortled gasp. Tino felt his hands on his shoulders, they seemed to be trembling… but just when he wanted to look at him in the mirror again, the taller man grunted and stormed out.

He was left there, confused, aroused, a tight feeling in his chest.

When he heard the front door to his house shut, he sank to the floor, towel falling off his hips then.

He masturbated, fast and desperate and alone, ghosting his hands over his freshly shaved face.

They could never speak of this again.










Happy Ending: one day, they do speak about it again.
Quick explanation: this has been written for a long, long time. I saw the request and there was this plotbunny and I couldn’t shoot it… but then someone else filled it and I hadn’t finished and I was depressed, so, uh, I left this lying around on my computer for a while. Today I found it and thought, fff, what the heck.

It contains angst and some sort of romance and sorta theory of nations and too much plot for this request, but, uh, well. It’s also not as cool as the above fills, and that is not just me fishing for compliments, but actually appreciating the Russia fill a lot because it’s fantabulastic. The Canada fill is sadly short, though! can you tell that the original version wasn’t going to end like this, but with them having sex? Lololol *shrug* I just… the OP didn’t request that so I cut that scene and ended it like this instead. There’s half written porn of it on my computer, though.

Re: A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (4/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 06:42 am (UTC)(link)
How did you make shaving so DEEP anon???? That's some scary talent right there. I like the depth you went into on using their human names and what it would mean for two nations to be together. It was really nice. Thanks for a great fill!

Re: A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (4/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 10:49 am (UTC)(link)
That's my secret talent- deep shaving.

(Wait that sounded worse than I wanted--) Anyway, thanks for your kind comment! It means a lot!

Re: A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (4/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 09:01 am (UTC)(link)
Ahhh, my heart ;_; That was so bittersweet and lovely and profound, and you introduced some interesting concepts about the nature of their identities as anthropomorphic nations, and ahhhhh~ As much as I wanted to see them acknowledge their feelings for each other, this actually seems a fitting ending for it. Thank you for a really kickass fill, anon!

Re: A quick recreational activity after a long period of war (4/4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 10:54 am (UTC)(link)
I'm relieved I actually managed to get my point across--most of the time I felt like what I was writing wouldn't make sense to anyone else.

The original ending was actually Tino deciding to nut up or shut up and saying "Berwald" while going after him and they pretty much jumped each other in the hallway, but this is more appropriate xD

The Things They Teach (1/2)

(Anonymous) 2013-03-07 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
(I hope this posts right. I know there are already a lot of replies to this; I figured one more Russia fill couldn't hurt. Based off Peter the Great. In 1705 he implemented a decree on the shaving of beards. I wrote this before reading the other fills.)

The Things They Teach


Peter had hated beards.

Ivan remembered that about his past ruler. Well, there were many things about the Tsar he remembered. Things that had been ingrained into his memory, etched into his history so deeply that they had become a part of him.

He could feel more than see the ashy stubble as he rubbed his face. Sleepy eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Ivan imagined he would look older if he allowed the hair to grow out for once. It would hide the youth his face had never quite lost.

Slowly, sleep still tugging at his limbs, Ivan filled the sink with warm water. When it was high enough he turned off the tap and dipped a washcloth into the steaming basin. The water was too hot, his hands turned red. It didn’t matter. Ivan never shied away from warmth and held the damp cloth to his face wetting the skin.

Long ago he had watched with envy as peasant boys and the sons of Boyars grew their first whiskers. They had proudly let the hair grow, a sign of maturity. Boys became men in the blink of an eye. Soon they had sons of their own and Ivan watched them all grow up one right after the next.

Countries mature so slowly though. Generations pasted before Ivan had even managed to grow taller than his sister, taller than Poland, taller than Lithuania, taller than Mongolia. It had taken centuries.

Skin now warm and wet he smoothed shaving cream along his jawline covering the fair stubble with creamy white. It looked silly he thought, all that fluffy white. Like clouds.

Peter had hated beards. They were just one of the many things his Tsar found fault with. Old fashioned he called them. Ivan was shocked to learn that he was behind the rest of the world already. For the first time Ivan become truly aware of the Western world outside of bloodshed. It hadn't mattered before really. So long as they left him alone, so long as relations were good. But he was older now, stronger, and his people demanded more from him.

Peter liked Western things, all the new clothes, new styles, and new weapons. These new things would make Ivan respected by the Western powers. They would make him even stronger, more cultured.

He dragged the razor down the right side of his face close to his ear. Pale, clean skin was left behind with each new stroke. Bit by bit the foam was scrapped off and washed away in the sink.

He remembered the day Peter had grabbed his chin, craning his neck up so he could look at him. The Tsar had always been so much taller. Even after centuries of growing Ivan had just reached adolescence. He had smiled sheepishly under the Tsar’s critical gaze having noticed the few pale hairs dotting his chin days ago.

“Come with me.” Was all Peter had said and lead him away.

Ivan had considered himself lucky as Peter watched over his shoulder, teaching him how to properly hold a straight razor, that his Tsar had been kind. Although it sounds silly now, Peter had been very serious about the tax he decreed on beards. Something devised to whittle away at the traditions the Tsar considered passé. Ivan had seen Peter personally remove the beards of a few men by the root for their disobedience.

Re: The Things They Teach (2/2)

(Anonymous) 2013-03-07 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
Years upon years of practice had made the act of shaving effortless. Something he did some mornings without thought. He gently pulled at the scarred skin of his neck and raised his chin, shaving what stubble remained under his jawline, vigilant not to nick the tender flesh. Contorting his mouth the hair under his nose and lips was soon sheared away. Peter had allowed mustaches, he found them sophisticated. Ivan couldn't image himself with one; he doubted it would suit his childish face.

The washcloth had cooled by the time he wiped his skin clean. He stared at the same face he had seen in the mirror for ages. He was shaven, youthful, perpetually a young man.

As he rubbed aftershave onto his skin he absently wondered again how he would look if he actually let the hair grow. Probably not unlike those young serfs all those years ago Ivan decided, not that it mattered now. Still, Peter had hated beards and Ivan found that even after all this time he couldn't bring himself to like them anymore either.

He smiled at himself in the mirror. How silly, he thought, the things humans teach us.

Re: The Things They Teach (2/2)

(Anonymous) 2013-03-08 08:54 am (UTC)(link)
Finland!Anon comenting :D
Yaay, welcome to the bandwagon! Here, have cookies! Nah, just joking, I understand the urge to fill this prompt ;D Since I had also filled it after two fills and didn't want to post it at first, I understand your troubles *brofist*

I loved your fill! I think the only reason it doesn't have more coments is because the Russia fill above touches the same time period, but your fills couldn't be more different. I also couldn't get the line about moustaches out of my head, so, here, have crappy!fanart xD http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=mbpnyv&s=6 (beware, beware of my mouse skills!

*flutters off into anonymity again*

Re: The Things They Teach (2/2)

(Anonymous) 2013-03-10 06:12 am (UTC)(link)
Finland!Anon~ I loved yours, though I rarely comment, sorry. I've got a huge soft spot for sufin and you're characterization of them was delicious.

Anyway, gurl dat art. Thank you! That is adorable! That is exactly how I picture mustache!Russia would look.

Re: The Things They Teach (2/2)

(Anonymous) 2013-03-09 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)
I loved this.

America/Romano -- watersports

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
because both are were bed-wetters

Spain/anyone - Tomato flavored lube

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:02 am (UTC)(link)
Spain finds some tasty lube and decides to experiment around with it.

FrUK -- coming on France's face + glasses

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
France giving a blowjob while wearing glasses; England comes on his face (and said glasses). Inspired by this official art from the calender:

http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcpnrePTUv1r60d5lo1_1280.jpg

Bonus: England licks them clean.

/potential filler

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
Is AU fine?

Can I be cliché and do library AU?

Re: /potential filler

(Anonymous) 2012-12-03 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
Yes!

/another potential filler

(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Would you still be interested in seeing this filled? I'd love to give it a go, if so.

Re:reply

(Anonymous) 2016-04-05 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)
yes please

Re: FrUK -- coming on France's face + glasses

(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Would you still be interested in seeing this filled? If so, potential filler here.

Germany or Fem!Germany/any-Experience

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
I've seen a lot of fics where Italy or anyone really is experienced and shows Germany or fem!Germany the ropes. I want the opposite. I don't care who the other person is.

Want 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 07:38 am (UTC)(link)
Ah, I guess I'll take a shot at this fill...



It had been the fantasy of many nights.
Louise, blushing and soft beneath him, helpless to his touch and begging for release. It was a simple dream, but a dream all the same.
Feliciano wanted to tie up his girlfriend and make her weep from pleasure.
Problem was, he wasn't sure at all how to go about it.
He knew for sure that she'd be up for it. In one of the more awkward moments of their relationship, she'd confessed to having a certain love for bondage and quite the collection of whips and chains, if rumors were anything to go by. But that wasn't the issue here. He was ignorant of how to operate it all. Feliciano couldn't hardly tie his own shoes, let alone a proper knot, and he was still unfamiliar with Louise's body, having only er... -made love- to her a handful of times.
Certainly, he was no blushing virgin, and the subject of sex had frequented the dinner table when he and his brother had roomed together back in art school, but there was something about Louise that made him nervous. She was so... powerful. Her presence filled the room as she walked in, and she easily commanded a courthouse full of convicts and murderers. Honestly, it turned him on how his woman had everything under her thumb. But at the same time, she was so soft and sweet and kind and caring. Oh, even thinking of her now made poor Feli melt.
But that was besides the point.
Feliciano wanted to dominate that powerful woman and make her scream.

Re: Want 2/?

(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 08:14 am (UTC)(link)
First, though, he had to figure out how.
The internet was the obvious choice, but that seemed somehow cold to his romantic heart. He would definitely not be asking his brother or Louise's brother. Both of them would beat him up for wanting this: Lovino because he was ashamed his brother was dating a German and Gilbert because he hated knowing that his little sister even knew what sex was.
Other than his other friends, who he didn't trust much with his love life either, there was no other option.
He had to go to Louise herself.
That would be the most embarrassing moment of his life, no doubt about it. Feliciano could feel his face heating up at just the thought of it. He loved her dearly, but even love can't make the shameful things go away.
So he did his best to word what he wanted to say in his head as he removed his apron and washed his hands in preparation of leaving his studio. If this was going to happen, it had to happen today. Otherwise, Feli would just lose his nerve.
Moving his operation downstairs and into the kitchen, Feliciano glanced at the clock on the oven. Nearly an hour before Louise came home. They'd lived together only three weeks now and they'd formed a schedule. Feliciano would start dinner around five, and Louise would be home from work at six. Most nights, they would eat and talk and laugh, but Feli had a feeling that that would not be the case tonight. His palms were sweating as he cut up tomatoes for dinner.


Time seemed to tick on endlessly slowly as Feliciano made dinner. Each glance at the clock had ticked one or two minutes by, and each minute made his heart drop more in his chest. What if she said thought he was disgusting after this? What if she hated him and never spoke with him again? What if she said no? There were too many 'what-ifs' for Feliciano's taste, and he was so worried he nearly let the pasta burn.
Now, trying to clean up the bits of broken and browned spaghetti at the bottom of his favorite pot, Feliciano found his time had run out.
He hadn't heard the car enter the drive, but Louise's opening the door and her heels clicking on the floor didn't pass his notice. That, oddly, didn't stop him from nearly dropping the pot whenever she stopped in the kitchen to greet him.
"Ah! Louise! You scared me, ahaha," Feliciano felt for sure that he'd sweated through his shirt.
"But I only said hello, Feliciano." Louise took another step towards him. "Have you been scaring yourself again?"
Feliciano knew that he had to act normal. "No, no!" He put down his work and came in, leaning up slightly to kiss his love on both cheeks. "How was work, bella?"
Louise blushed, still not accustomed to the compliments and affection. "Ah, it was all paperwork and filing today."
Feliciano smiled at her. "I'll bet you enjoyed the quiet. It's been so busy lately."
"Ah, it was very nice to be able to just sit today." Louise looked down to remember that she was still dressed in stark-white blouse and skirt, and was fairly uncomfortable. "I'll be right back for dinner, let me just go clean up a bit."
A bit of the anxiety Feliciano was feeling drained out of his body as he watched her retreat into their bedroom. He was going to ask her tonight, even if he died from a self-induced heart attack afterwards.

Want 3/?

(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 09:15 am (UTC)(link)
"Pasta again tonight?"
Again, Feliciano almost had a coronary. "Ah! Louise! Stop sneaking up on me." He finished plating the simple spaghetti, knowing that having fettuccine the night before and lasagna the night before that, Louise was probably sick of pasta. What could he say, though? He was Italian, after all.
She giggled, a surprisingly girly sound coming from the strong woman. "I'm sorry. You're a bit on edge today, though, so it's not entirely my fault. And you made a mess of the kitchen again." She now frowned with disapproval, seeing the stacked-up dishes in the sink and the food left out or smeared on the counters.
"I'm sorry; I forgot." Feliciano laughed winningly, dissolving Louise's anger. "We can clean up after dinner!" The perfect time to strike out with the question.
Louise picked up forks and glasses for the both of them, pulling the cheap white wine they would drink on weekdays out of the fridge. "You really do need to start cleaning up after yourself. That studio of yours is just a mess."
"Ah, what can I help? I don't do it on purpose." Feliciano brought their plates to the table intended for four, sitting them next to each other so that he could maybe play footsies with the beautiful lady while they ate. "Can you get the Parmesan too, please?"
"Mhmm." Louise shut the fridge with a foot and glided over to the table, giving Feliciano the perfect view of her in whole.
She'd changed into sweats and a t-shirt. That distracted nothing from her beauty, however. She was still the busty, gorgeous girl that inspired Feliciano no matter what she wore. He felt his nerves return tenfold when he remembered the fantasy, and was sure he made a very horrid face.
Louise didn't seem to notice, though, and sat down, distributing forks and drinks and a slightly tired smile. "So how was your day then, Feliciano?"
He choked a bit on his first bite of pasta, but recovered quickly enough to respond. "Oh, aha, I finished the painting for the man who wanted a landscape, and I've started on another portrait." He coughed, clearing his windpipe of the last of the pasta. "I think I'll finish that one this week."
Worried by his choking and all of the strange behavior tonight, Louise reached a concerned hand over the table. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine! Perfectly fine!" Feli waved her arm away. "Just tired, is all."
"Okay..." Her suspicion didn't fade. Perhaps something had gone wrong with one of his orders? He would tell her when he felt the need, so she bent back over her meal.

The meal ended up being eaten in near silence. Even the loosening of wine didn't do much for the conversation, and all that was said were a few pleasantries and 'Pass the salt's. As the meal drew to a close and Louise got up to take her dishes to the sink, Feliciano knew that he had to do something soon, or he'd end up with this unfulfilled want for months.
"Er, Louise um..." He swallowed and got up to head for the sink. "I have something I want to talk about."

Re: Want 3/?

(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 09:31 am (UTC)(link)
So she had been right. Calmly, Louise turned to face him. "What is it?" She tried to make the tone soft and non-threatening. If he was this nervous about it, she wanted to be gentle.
"Um well..." More swallowing. "I-I uh," a twitch. "Um..."
Louise honestly wouldn't have much patience for this if he was going to continue like that. She came a bit closer, noting that Feliciano looked to be blushing fairly hard. "You can tell me, whatever it is."
Feliciano tunred away, unable to look at her. "Ah, I-I want..."
"Want?"
"Want to..."
Very curious now, Louise took Feliciano's chin in hand and turned him back to face her. Heels eliminated, they stood about the same height now, Louise perhaps being a mite shorter. "Come on now."
"I want to tie you up!" The emotional buildup for Feliciano had finally burst its bridge. Rather than feeling better about it now, he was more worried by Louise's startled expression.
"Tie me up?" He couldn't possibly... "What do you mean by that?"
Feliciano, under the heat of the spotlight again, started sweating. "Well... I want to tie you up.... and... um..." He searched for it. "Play with you?" Well, that had turned out about three hundred percent less suave and seductive than he wanted it to.
Louise was actually quite affected by this. Those words sent a spike of arousal through her as she imagine her sweet, innocent boyfriend taking to bondage. "Play with me?" she repeated dumbly, taking another step closer.
Feliciano registered the change in her expression and felt more reassured. "Yes." Gaining confidence, he added. "I want t-to finger you and... um." Feliciano turned away and blushed again. Confidence gone, abort mission.
But Louise reacted exactly opposite to how he'd expected. She pulled his head to face her again and gave him a soft, but lingering kiss on the lips. "We can do whatever you like," she replied quietly. Louder, she added. "But first you have to clean this kitchen. I'll be in the bedroom." Feeling a bit more excited than she felt was necessary, Louise hurriedly left for their bedroom.
As soon as he heard the bedroom door close, Feliciano snapped into action, wanting more than anything for what might happen next.

Re: Want 3/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 06:46 am (UTC)(link)
I don't remember seeing this in the fill list but I wish I'd read it earlier! This is so strangely adorable anon. I love dorky interactions. This is awesome. I wish there were more.

femChina/femAmerica, humiliation ageplay

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
FemChina/FemAmerica, humiliation ageplay. Lady China putting that gosh darned whelp Lady American in her place as a young nation through some ageplay domination.

Re: femChina/femAmerica, humiliation ageplay

(Anonymous) 2012-12-11 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Maybe filler; what kind of ageplay is OP looking for? Just some belittling based on relative inexperience, or are you after pigtails-and-schoolgirl sort of stuff?

Fill in progress

(Anonymous) 2013-01-16 12:17 am (UTC)(link)
Not sure what OP wants down to fine details,but I'm attempting it nonetheless. This is new territory for me,so if nothing else the experience will help me flex my mental abilities.

Re: Fill in progress

(Anonymous) 2013-01-25 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Eagerly awaiting!

Re: Fill in progress

(Anonymous) 2013-02-11 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Seconding the above!

UKUS - winter themed dates

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
So basically some good ol' fashioned UKxUS fluff, but in winter-format. As in, sharing scarves, sipping hot-cocoa, walking through Christmas markets... etcetera. The reason for the order isn't because I want America to be uke-ish, but I find that people who set the 'order' as such tend to get his dorky side better. And I do love his dorkiness.

No smut please.

Bonus: America complaining about thick clothing, and England makes a lewd joke about taking it off, but doesn't follow through with it because they're in public and he doesn't want America to get cold.

Re: UKUS - winter themed dates

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 05:03 am (UTC)(link)
i might be interested in filling this - would an AU be okay? Or do you prefer non-AU?

Re: UKUS - winter themed dates

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
AU, non-AU, anything is fine with me, really. :)

Re: UKUS - winter themed dates

(Anonymous) 2013-08-09 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
"Would you just look at that one?"

Squinting, England stared up at the towering monstrosity and snorted, shaking his head in bemusement. "It's like that tree from that ridiculous, redneck film of yours."

"Aw, man, it's Christmas. D'you gotta criticize my heartwarming classics every chance you get?"

Sniffing, England bumped his cold cheek against his and it felt nice enough to elicit a rosy flush in his own. "Very well, darling. I won't say another word about your smashing holiday films, even if they DO so happen to have Christmas trees several feet too big for the ceilings and rabid squirrels hiding amongst the branches."

"Scrooge."

Doing his hardest to scowl, America ducked his head and hid a smile in the muff England brought-the ONLY one, conveniently enough, considering he knew America always forgot his gloves-so the two had to share, their free hands intertwined together underneath the rabbit fur. Eyes softening, England pulled his hand free and kissed the skin. "Ermph. Hurry up. It gets so bloody cold out here."

"I can't decide." He spun around in a circle in the forest of dark evergreens dusted lightly and sweetly with snow like powdered sugar. His arms were extended as if he made to make a snow angel in the air and take flight. Somewhere a cheesy, overplayed Christmas tune was tinkling from speakers. "I want 'em all!"

England rolled his eyes but smiled. "To narrow it down, why don't you pick a tree that actually fits through the door this time?"

"That was one year and you know it! 'Sides, I wasn't the one who bought that little tree in the hopes of embarrassing me for that Christmas party!"

"Like you didn't anticipate and thoroughly one-up me on the occasion," The man sighed, humming when America affectionately poked him on the nose.

"Guess we should hurry up. I'm freezing my jingle bells off here and I hate bein' buried under all these heavy clothes," he complained, looking down unhappily at himself. "I can barely move! I feel like Ralphie's little brother, what's his what's-his-name."

A devious spark had England's lip curling. "Well, love, I should gladly take them off for you, if clothes are such a hindrance."

Laughing, America squawked as the older country's affectionate slaps on the back moved gradually down south and he immediately smacked the other's hand away, blushing crimson. "Acck! You perv, you'd undress me in public?!"

"Of course not. You'd catch your death, love." England bent to look at a tree's price tag. "Well, what about this one? Price is fair and looks fine."

"It's not fine. It's crooked."

"It most certainly is not, you little-"

"It wouldn't hold a lot of presents underneath it!" He protested and England wants to hide his face in his hands and wonder for the thousandth time where he went wrong, wants to scowl, wants to laugh, wants to scoop up the whiny America and maybe present him with an avalanche of silly gifts the way a glowing America does every year. Lovingly and without question, with a beatific smile on his face. Twit. Darling, dearest little twit.

He's distracted by his reverie when at last America exclaims, "Got one!" And turns to see America grinning and clutching what looks to be the tiniest, sorriest little wretched tree imaginable, perched in a rough sack. "We're good to go."

"I thought you wanted a large tree? You practically do every year."

"Yeah, but this one's like a Charlie Brown tree. And it's alive!" He jostles it merrily and sends pine needles scattering in this sweet-sticky-smelling grove. "And we can plant it, too. I'm trying to be more eco-friendly, so we'll just go with this one. 'Sides, all it needs is a little love."

The pathetic thing can probably use a little more than that, but by his next visit the tree will probably already be growing large and tall next to America's house, proud and strong and shining under America's care. The idea makes him a little wistful and so he sighs again, bumping his nose against a surprised nation's neck and nuzzling it affectionately.

"Whatever you like, love."

"Those are words I like to hear. C'mon! Let's go check out and get hot chocolate! Aaaand we gotta go on the carriage ride together before we go home!"

Home. Although the idea of riding on a sleigh is somewhat absurd, and it's absurder still to be guided by the chattering country into line, he can't help but think of a warm house that smells of cinnamon and sugar and gingerbread, maybe of Alfred covered in icing if he can sneak the bag away. Oh, that would be lovely. He licks his lips as Alfred pays for the little tree and cradles it like a newborn baby as the two head away, still hand in hand.

After getting their chocolate (probably cheap Swiss Miss, but who cared?) the two climb into the sleigh, and the horses are off, bells on the side jostling and jingling with every movement. So silly. So unnecessary. So invariably precious.

America tucks his head underneath his chin and England absently pulls out his blanket from the basket he'd been toating around, wrapping the two up in warmth even as he pulls the nation upon his lap. He feels a pleasant rush of satisfaction, dreaming of when the two would decorate their stupid little tree and plaster it with ornaments, eat cookies and watch films together under the blankets, America in his arms...just like this...

So good.

Re: UKUS - winter themed dates

(Anonymous) 2013-08-09 11:21 pm (UTC)(link)
I think I got a cavity, my dentist is going to kill me. But, I loved ever second of it. It gave me lots of warm fuzzies.

Untitled

(Anonymous) 2013-09-28 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
Hope OP doesn't mind a second fill. This is my first fill too so I hope you like it. I'll crawl back to my hole now orz

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

America loved Christmas and America loved England so he figured what better way to spend Christmas? Except England, like a crazy person, wanted to spend the frigid season out doors in New York where there happened to be three feet of snow (about 1 meter. You're welcome.).

All America wanted to do was curl up with his boyfriend and watch sci-fis like Star Wars and Firefly but instead he was stuck looking like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in freezing weather. "Englaaaaand. Why can't we just stay inside and drink hot chocolate?" He complained as they walked through Central Park.

"You're the one who invited me over."

"But I didn't want to go outside. It's cold and my clothing is too thick which is not helping the fact that I'm freezing."

"Maybe I should just remove your clothing for you if that would be of any help." England replied, smirking as the American sputtered although his cheeks were already red from the cold.

"You're a jerk." America stated when he finally found his voice.

"You still love me for it."

"Can't we just go home and cuddle or something?" The American asked as he hugged his boyfriend, enjoying the warmth brought on through the contact.

"Are you really that cold?" England asked as he carded his fingers through America's golden hair fondly.

"Yes. I was hoping we could do cute things like cuddle in pajamas and blankets while watching movies or drink hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream or eat a big homemade dinner or all of those." America admitted, earning a soft smile from the Brit.

"You're such a dork." He laughed.

"Yeah. I know. But please? Can we?" America pleaded.

"Alright. But only if we can watch Doctor Who as well when we cuddle into oblivion."

"Awesome." America replied with a bright smile that could block out the sun.

"Yes yes. Now come along Pond." England said as he clasped America's hand and their fingers intertwined.

"Sure thing." He replied cheerily as they walked back to America's apartment hand in hand and smiling at each other like giddy teenagers still in their honeymoon phase.

HetaHazard - FACE Family

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:39 am (UTC)(link)
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6B499B1018CAA84A

In recent updates of HetaHazard, America and France went on ahead and encountered Prussia, who's flipping out and England and Canada were left behind at the mine carts because they passed out. At one point, America also says "daddy", but it's not made clear why he said that.

Perhaps a fill where something happens to America and France, and England and Canada eventually start worrying enough to go on ahead after them (and maybe save them from something)? FACE family fluff with some drama?

Bonus: at some point America shouts for England, referring to him as "dad".

Re: HetaHazard - FACE Family

(Anonymous) 2013-01-30 04:45 am (UTC)(link)
Seconded. Because I really want to see this too. Not OP, but would appreciate Protective!Alfred to his family, especially to Matt.

America/Any (none) - Insecurities

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
We know that America has insecurities about being inadequate (history wise) compared to the other countries. Let's expand on this. I don't want just the inadequacy but the focus on feeling as tho every other single country hates him.

Bonus 1: Show him using normal day to day contact to prove/verify the hatred towards himself.

Bonus 2: What his comfort activity/escape? (no video games please)

I don't care if there is a pairing or not or even if you want to make it a tragic traumatizing no happy ending. I just want to see some ideas :D

Re: America/Any (none) - Insecurities

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
Seconded! America, I wanna hug you right now. :(

Insecurities and Depression 1a/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
Hopefully OP won't mind a very serious fill.

---

Like most days where ‘heroes’ feel down, this was hardly anything special. It was raining and cold and every so often a bolt of lightning would light up the sky. Given that America wasn’t fond of cold weather in the first place, he was understandably less than thrilled when he glanced up from a governmental report to look out the window.

Sighing, he closed the curtains and hoped the thunder wouldn’t be too loud.

Murphy’s Law wouldn’t even allow that small mercy. After all, if it was already an awful day, why on earth should the Universe be inconsistent? So Mother Nature of course had to kick it up a notch, the thunder louder than ever, the rain pouring down at an almost obsessive rate.

America just sighed again, leaning closer to his papers, trying his hardest not to get distracted. It was already hard enough to see, as his eyesight had just been getting worse and he needed a new prescription, but he had a migraine on top of it.

So, naturally, right when he was trying to finish up the report, the lights cut out.

Realizing that there wasn’t much he could do, he just laid backwards and gave up for the day. He had a vague hope that tomorrow would be better, but knew in his heart that, like all the days before it, it’d still be full of people who either didn’t appreciate him, expected too much of him (or worse, too little), or just plain didn’t like him.

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the thunder fortunately kept at bay by the loudness of his dreams.

---

America woke late. He knew very well that he’d just been sleeping later and later, and that maybe he should stop, lest he get in the habit of getting more than five hours of sleep as he’d been doing for the longest time, but it just felt so good to escape for so long.

Still, when his boss called only a few minutes after America had woken, the nation couldn’t help but feel a bit depressed.

“Did you finish reading the report I sent you last night?” his boss asked in the ‘Presidential’ tone that America had grown to hate.

“The power cut off,” America tried to explain. “But I got the gist of it. More tax cuts for everyone, huh?”

“If you’d actually finished the paper you’d have known that I also proposed a few more trading regulations. We can slow the debt accumulation by at least fifteen percent—”

“Yeah, I know,” the nation replied, rubbing at his forehead. “But we need to start paying it off as soon as possible. The economy isn’t going to get better until we fix it. And I don’t want to just keep piling it up for the next generation!” He sighed, realizing how harsh he’d sounded. “Sorry, sir. I’m just… really, really tired of feeling the economy get worse. It’s about to the point where it’ll make me physically ill, you know?”

The president stayed quiet for a while. “Well, maybe if you actually showed up to the meetings in D.C. and proposed these things, you’d get some more ground.”

America tried to protest—tried to tell him that he wasn’t supposed to interfere—but before he could get more than a strangled “But sir!” out, the president hung up.

He stared at the phone for a while, wishing he had the nerve to call back, to yell at his president and say that if he couldn’t even treat his nation’s representation right then how was he supposed to treat the actual people right, but America felt too tired to much of anything.
He fell back against his pillow, fully intending to sleep the rest of the day away, if just for a break.

Dreams and nightmares and the vaguely creepy, vaguely twisted parts in between kept waking him up, though, and by midday, he gave up.
He scanned over the report again, fully expecting to see an actual proposal of trade regulation. Near the bottom, he saw it—half a sentence, maybe, and used words such as ‘if’ and ‘perhaps’ to explain it.

America crumpled up the paper and threw it away.

Insecurities and Depression 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
---

World Meetings had become subdued affairs. There was less arguing as passive-aggressive commenting, and any physical violence was met with a strict appointment with bodyguards.

America couldn’t help but miss the old ways, when everyone was varied and no one got confused for someone else—when everyone proudly hailed their country’s flag at the opening ceremonies, and brought a specialized dessert for the lunch break. Anything but what it was now, really—where everyone wore a suit with perhaps just a touch of their individuality, and nations were expected to leave the premises for their lunch.

What he missed most, though, was probably the debates himself. Sure, they rarely got anywhere, but no one had to second-guess who was siding with who, and why someone was pushing the reform that they were pushing. No one had to guess at much of anything; the nations all but screamed their opinions at eachother, all but beat eachother over the head with their ideals.

America felt more depressed than usual, though, upon realizing that he was the host.

It meant that, not only would he have to hear people muttering about his lack of cultured restaurants and ‘uncouth hotel staff’, but he’d have to accommodate the snide remarks, take them in stride, and get a lecture from his boss not to do the same when in other countries. As if he would to start with.

Finally—finally—the first day of the conferences came, and he could just get it over with and be done with it for the next month or so.

As always, he was nervous with his speech—he’d never been good at them, much less when he had to be as indirect as possible, to avoid “upsetting an ally”—and, as always, it was that nervousness that was his downfall.

“Uh—Good morning,” he said, cursing himself for the mistake he’d already made, cursing himself for causing the frown from his boss that he just knew was there as the man watched from a separate room. “And welcome to good ol’ New York City, yeah? As I’m sure everyone knows, we have a lot to get covered today, so I release the stand to, um,” he glanced down at his notes, “Switzerland.”

And he could have sprinted back to his seat, could have fallen flat on his face, he was so happy to get to sit down, to have at least an hour and a half of taking notes before a lunch break, and then another two hours of note-taking before he made his presentation. After that, he’d just have to take more notes and then close the meeting and—

Someone elbowed him in the side, shortly after Switzerland’s presentation, and America glanced up with startled eyes to find England, looking coldly disappointed as usual.

“Can—Can I help you?” America asked carefully, nearly choking mid-sentence.

“My boss has requested that we dine together,” England said carefully. “And given that I’m hardly one to neglect diplomacy, I’m inclined to follow his suggestion.” He paused, looking almost disdainful as he added, “And for God’s sake, pick a decent restaurant for once.”

America just stared at him for a moment, then forced his lips into a reasonably-believable smile. “Not a problem. My boss has been worrying about relations with your nation as well.”

England gave him a semi-curious look(but not particularly interested—because it would be terrible, wouldn’t it?), but seemed to shrug it off fairly easily. “Whatever you’d like. Though I must say, if your boss is lecturing you about it, oughtn’t you have said something earlier?”

And with that, Germany cleared his throat and motioned for the in-between speakers chatter to die down. It did, and then the presentations moved on.

Insecurities and Depression 1c/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
---

“So, have things been going well for you?” America asked, hoping the atmosphere at the restaurant was quiet enough for his companion. He’d picked this place specially, hoping it would be high-enough class.

It appeared to meet most of England’s qualifications, but nevertheless, something always seemed to be wrong with it, and this one was no exception, judging by England’s previous comment about the absurdity of the portion sizes. “Fairly well. My economy is slowly improving, no thanks to your bloody economic crisis. However, I’m not the one with a sixteen trillion dollar debt so, I’m afraid I must ask—how are you doing?”

America forced out a chuckle, but it came out more nervous than anything else. He mentally slapped himself for losing composure. “It—It’s not too much of a problem, really. My boss is pushing to slow the debt rate, if nothing else, but I really wish he’d start paying things off. China wants my hide on a silver platter,” he said, trying to inject some humor into the conversation, but failed miserably.

England just frowned. “Perhaps if you weren’t so hard-pressed on maintaining traditional Capitalism, you wouldn’t be in such a tight situation.”

“I couldn’t do that to my people,” America said firmly. “And if I’m not mistaken, you were just as much a proponent of Capitalism as I was, especially in the Second World War. And since you’ve never said a harsh word about Churchill, I don’t think you should be trying to tear down what he stood for—”

“No need to get so defensive,” England said, raising an eyebrow at the strong answer. “I was just making a statement is all. Really, America, you should learn to reign in that temper of yours.”

America stared at him for a long while, but before he could control his tongue long enough to make a reply that wasn’t rude, the server came and delivered their respective dishes.

After England made a particularly snarky comment about the size of the portions, yet again, America stopped bothering to reply at all.

Insecurities and Depression 1d/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
---

“You were rather rude to him, you know,” America’s boss said later, after the meeting had ended (and he’d screwed up his presentation and closing speech and damn, why did he always have to do that?). “You should apologize.”

“He was pretty rude to me, too, in case you didn’t hear that part of the story,” America snapped, tired of the bias and the high expectations.
“You’re better than that, though,” his boss tried to explain, tried to convince him.

America just scowled at him. “Glad you think so. I’ll make sure to keep the rest of your brilliant theories in-mind at all times, because they’re just so useful, aren’t they?”

“Hey—” the president started to say, but his nation just gave him a long look, and it seemed to silence him.

“I’m taking my vacation. Since I haven’t taken one in almost two years, I don’t think anyone is going to mind if I extend it a little,” America said firmly. “All I’m asking for is three weeks, boss. Three weeks, and then I’ll go back to… whatever it is you guys seem to want me to do.”
His boss considered him a moment, then finally shrugged and said, “All right, then. Three weeks, America. Three weeks. And try not to make it expensive—we don’t want to give the wrong impression, and this is on government money, after all.”

And with that, the man proceeded to enter his private limousine, leaving America far behind.

---

Perhaps isolation hadn’t been the best solution to his problems, America mused, a few days into his vacation. But he’d needed it, he’d needed it so badly it physically hurt. As far as he was concerned, he couldn’t take one more meeting, one more report, one more anything.

Still, having so much spare time forced him to acknowledge some things he’d been repressing for he didn’t even know how long.

Absently, he traced a hand over his middle, first berating himself for neglecting personal fitness—as he could swear he’d been thinner a few weeks ago; perhaps he should skip dinner tonight, too, and maybe lunch the following day?—and then, a moment later, feeling the faded scar that circled his waist.

It was jagged, to be sure, but the jaggedness more represented the states borders than someone just shifting a knife up and down and back and forth across his middle. He wouldn’t have let someone do that to him—wouldn’t have let someone do that to him without a fight—but some Nation-details were unexplainable. This was one of them.

Still, the memory of it made him hurt, a deep, almost physical ache.
He hadn’t even been a nation a hundred years before his country was nearly split in half. And Reconstruction had taken so many years, and he’d gotten no foreign aid because no one cared—

No one cared even in modern times, he couldn’t help but remember. No matter how often he would provide resources and people to physically help nations dealing with disasters, it seemed like the favor would never be returned. The last time he’d gotten people even offering to help him was with the BP Oil Spill, and a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was just for the sake of nicking some oil out of it.

Feeling particularly bitter, he didn’t bother to pick up the phone when it started to ring, instead turning the power button off so it wouldn’t bother him in the future.

Insecurities and Depression 1e/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
---

Five days in, he started having trouble sleeping.

Thoughts were keeping him awake—thoughts and memories and insecurities, but mostly insecurities.

He couldn’t remember the last time a nation had said something kind to him. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone, citizens included, had said anything remotely positive. Sure, the Fourth of July was reasonable, but that was all fanfare, and people just used it as an excuse to take a day off and eat ‘American’ food.

And even then, he got in trouble for even mentioning the Fourth of July at meetings. The other nations would either scoff at him for being so childish or tell him to perhaps spend half as much money on repaying debts as celebrating nationalism and maybe he wouldn’t be in such a bad financial position.

Then there were the memories—the night-terrors, the normal nightmares, the vaguely disturbing dreams that always came about after watching a television special on his ‘history’.

So, no, he wasn’t exactly sleeping well, and, really, it wasn’t that big of a deal to him when he finally gave in and picked up some sleeping pills.

He took three more than necessary the first night, and to his pleasant surprise, he’d managed to sleep without too many dreams, and waste away nearly twelve hours.

So he started doing it every night.

Within a week, he’d managed to sleep away nearly three fifths of his time. But if just didn’t feel like enough. Perhaps he could just do away with himself and sleep until the end of the year? Being comatose actually sounded quite lovely. It would mean that he couldn’t hear any insults, and that he’d finally be thin-thin-thin, because he couldn’t eat, couldn’t get called a pig, couldn’t be called obnoxious if he couldn’t yell at everyone and—

He downed most of the bottle before he’d stopped to consider what he was doing.

---

America woke nearly two months later in a hospital, with an I.V. in his arm and his heartbeat being monitored beside him.

His boss wasn’t happy—he tried to get America sent to a Rehabilitation Center.

America refused.

---

Okay, so this is the end of part 1. I've finished this entire thing, but I don't want to overwhelm anyone, so I'll be posting the rest later.

Re: Insecurities and Depression 1e/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 06:29 am (UTC)(link)
I really like it so far anon! My heart aches for poor Alfred, and I hope someone notices and steps in to help soon!

I'll be looking forward to the rest.

Re: Insecurities and Depression 1e/?

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 02:17 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here. I have to say I wasn't sure if my request was well written enough to get the point across, but from the looks of it you understood perfectly. Doing a great job, thank you Anon :)

Re: Insecurities and Depression 1e/?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Author anon here! Glad you like it, and you're very welcome. :)

Insecurities and Depression 2a/2

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:09 am (UTC)(link)
---

“Are you all right?” Canada asked, nearly a week after America had finally been declared ‘stable’ enough to return home, but not without someone to watch him. Given that America didn’t seem to trust his citizens anymore (after all, they identified with other nations as far as ethnicity went, and everyone hated America anyways, so what was the point?), a nation had been assigned to watch over him.

Canada hadn’t been particularly happy, either. But he showed up, which is better than any other ‘close’ allies had done.

(Always with condolence letters or supposed-to-be-thoughtful get-well cards or messages left on answering machines. They all seemed so concerned, but if they cared, wouldn’t they show up?)

“Just peachy,” America replied, putting on that same fake smile as always. “Say, how about we do something sort of fun, huh? Maybe get out of here for a while? Go ice-skating or something?”

Canada gave him a quizzical look. “We both have paperwork to get done, and you’re not supposed to do anything dangerous for a while anyways—”

“I’ll be fine, just, I need to get out of this place, you know?” America admitted, but only because the medicine made his brain feel foggy, and it was so hard to think straight when he felt inclined to start chanting some old Mayan war-cry, what year was it, anyways?

“Right,” Canada said, a thoughtful smile on his face. “Maybe later today, all right?”

Ai, Istas,” America whispered, wondering why his tongue felt so thick around the words, wondering why it sounded so foreign when he was sure he’d just said “Yes, Snow,” because that was what the land above him was, wasn’t it? Just snow and ice, but there was a little boy that looked like him that lived there, so maybe there was something more and—

Canada sighed and brushed the bangs away from America’s forehead. “Go to sleep, all right?”

America nodded and it wasn’t long before the dreams and nightmares were chasing him, swirling around with their varying shades of darkness.

---

“Is he doing better?”

America overheard it one day, recognizing the voice as his vice president’s. He scoffed and turned over, letting the blankets swallow him up yet again.

“I think so,” Canada said cautiously. “I can never be sure, though. One minute he’ll be fine, if a bit distant, and the next he’ll be speaking some ancient native language. I don’t know what to do.”

“If you need to, you can take a break,” the vice-president said, clearly sympathetic to America’s caretaker (and interestingly enough, not to America himself, never to America himself because it just didn’t work like that, it just didn’t). “I’m sure we can find someone else willing to help…”

“No, I’ll stay until my government makes me come home,” Canada said, perhaps a little too quickly.

America felt a surge of gratitude and did his best to improve—he really did—but there was still a crippling feeling of something or another, difficult to place and impossible to remove.

Insecurities and Depression 2b/2

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
---

“Are you going to be all right?” Canada finally asked, voice as soft as ever, but there was the unmistakable firm tone to it, the tone that made America remember why he’d been afraid in 1814—and oh, God, he’d lost that war, too, and his people had been so disappointed—and America flinched.

“I keep telling you I’m already fine. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” America snapped, feeling curiously bitter. “You don’t have to stay. Really.”

Canada stared at him for a long while, face hard and unreadable, before finally softening up again. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he asked with a sigh, gently running his fingers through the hair that needed to be washed, and badly.

America leaned into the touch, and within moments had fallen back asleep.

---

Little by little, America started to come back.

It took him a while, but finally, finally, his old personality started to shine through, and with it came an even stronger aversion to assistance.

“I’m fine,” he all but snapped at Canada while the other nation insisted, insisted on helping him, insisted on guiding him through the house, insisted on helping him into the shower, insisted on going on a walk with him instead of letting him go alone.

“I know, all right?” Canada snapped back, passive-aggression replaced by something almost resembling anger. Real anger, too. America hadn’t seen this side before. It intrigued him even as he was yelled at. “For once in your life, think about someone else! Do you think I like watching you struggle?! No! If I can help, I will, and you’d better be sure that I’m going to whether you like it or not.”

The glare is new, too, and it’s all America can do but back down and allow his brother-nation to help him to his feet, shoving him out the door but never letting go of his hand and back into the world.

Whether he liked it or not.

---

America continued to improve, that day and the next.

A week passed.

Then two.

He didn’t have a relapse, and the longer he spent up and around and not sleeping more than necessary, the more energy he seemed to have. And with the release of energy came the natural cure to depression. That, and it seemed rather impossible to be continuously down when he was up and about, distracted, for most of the day.

“You’re feeling better, eh?” Canada finally asked, after what had to have been three weeks after finally, finally, finally starting to recover. “That’s good.”

America smiled, and it wavered a little, to be sure, but after so long of no genuine smiles, it was worth a thousand of his normal, plastic ones.

Insecurities and Depression 2c/2

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
---

“So, what happened back then, anyways? Did you have a mental breakdown or something?”

It’s a question he hasn’t been asked much. The other nations aren’t exactly prying, not with the way they’re expected to act (like trained puppets; it still makes America sick, sick sick sick), but that night, it looks like Canada finally wants an answer.

It’s a few years late, but then again, a few years is more like a few minutes, in nation-time, and America is still hesitant about coming clean.

But a few drinks have loosened his tongue, and he trusts his brother-nation enough to know that he won’t spread the story or treat him different afterwards. So America took another swig of his drink, sat back, facing away from Canada, and finally answered him.

“I just… I dunno. I was real tired of the way things had been going, you know?” America paused, hesitating, but Canada doesn’t interrupt tells him that it’s not a good enough explanation. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just… You know that everyone kind of hated me, right? Most of ‘em still hate me? And they’re all older than me, an’ more mature and everything. But they never really accepted me, you know? They always jus’ pushed me down ‘n then yelled at me whenever I acciden’lly pushed ‘em down wit’ me. They never… ever liked me, an’ they hated me, and y’know ‘s well as I do that we need everyone’s approval t’ feel like real nations. ‘N if we stop feelin’ like nations… What are we, y’know? ‘S why we need people to acknowledge us as nations ‘fore we actually become ‘em, ‘n all.” He took another long swig, then waved his hands, trying to continue. “Anyways. I tried to keep actin’ normal, or at least actin’ like my boss wanted me to act. They’ve got us all on strings, y’know? Don’t piss off this nation, or we might actually go to war, or it’ll be, Try to suck up to this nation, we’re in debt to them and maybe they’ll talk their boss into giving us an extension. That type of thing. You know what I mean?” And it’s an actual question, the way he looks up at Canada and waits for an answer.

Canada doesn’t hesitate to give him one. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But it’s just how things are nowadays, eh?”

“Yeah,” America said, snorting. He took another swig. “I hate it. ‘M the representation of freedom. I should a’least get to be free, myself, right? Anyways, it just got so hard. I started snapping at my boss more, started screwing up on how I was supposed to act for lunch date-things, whatever they are. And… just, it sucks. It really sucks. But finally I asked my boss for… for some vacation time.” Tears filled his eyes, and he scrubbed angrily against them, willing himself to continue. “Ah, I hate that. But, but when I finally got away, I just couldn’t sleep. Everything I’d been trying to keep away from… that I’d tried not to think about, suddenly was there, all the time. Nothing could distract me ‘r anything, an’ I just… I just couldn’t take not sleeping, either, so I started taking some pills. Just a couple, just to sleep, y’know?” His voice wavered, and he glanced back to Canada for some reassurance.

“I—I understand,” Canada said, neutral as always, but at least he didn’t look angry or disapproving. Mostly just disappointed. “I wish you had just… just called me, or something, but… I understand.”

America nodded, grateful. “Yeah—Yeah, I wish I’d called you, too. But… well, you… y’know what happened next, right?”

Canada nodded. “You took almost half a bottle of those pills, America. It’s lucky that you were only out for a month. It could’ve been worse—”

“When I woke up, I was glad,” America interrupted, washing the words down with another sip. “I was… I was really happy to not have had to deal with everything, even if just for that month. I was happy.” Upon seeing Canada’s slightly horrified expression, he quickly added, “’M not happy now, ‘bviously, bu'… Bu’ I was right then. And tha’s all I really cared about at that time.”

Canada just watched him for a minute or two, sipping his own, slightly less pure-alcoholic drink, then sighed. “You scared everyone, you know. Scared me and England half to death. France wasn’t much happier, and Japan and Lithuania were even worse, maybe.”

Insecurities and Depression 2e/2

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:17 am (UTC)(link)
“Yeah, but you’re the only one who actually came,” America grumbled, feeling rather childish, even as he took yet another swig of his drink, wishing not for the first time that he could just pass out and be done with it, give into the sweet nothingness of sleep.

“But not the only one who wanted to,” Canada pointed out. “Trust me on that.”

“Yeah? Well why didn’t they?” America snapped, suddenly feeling angry. “If they cared so much, why couldn’t they have done the right thing? They know good and well that I’d’ve done the same thing for them if it happened to any of them! Why couldn’t they have just done it for me?!”

“Sit down,” Canada said quietly, and America realized belatedly that he was standing.

“Sorry,” America muttered, sliding back into his chair.

“They didn’t come because they were asked not to,” Canada said patiently, once it appeared that America was no longer likely to stand up and start flipping tables. “Your boss,” he explained. “Your boss… made some pretty dumb decisions, I’m not going to lie. Asking you to act like a trained monkey, letting you stay by yourself after you’d already started to snap, then still keeping you pretty much alone, with only one person… yeah, pretty dumb. But he thought he was doing the right thing.”

“He could’ve asked me what I wanted,” America said, but he didn’t have much enthusiasm at all, and suddenly the table looked rather comfortable, like a wooden pillow. He laid his head down on it, breaths starting to deepen.

“You always sleep when you’re upset, don’t you?” Canada said with a sigh.

“’M not asleep,” America mumbled, but he couldn’t deny that he was tired, and probably unable to lift his head, though that might have partially been because of the alcohol. “Just… restin’.”

“Mm-hmm.” Canada smiled, then gently lifted the glasses from America’s face, further worsening his vision, already blurred from his less-than-sober state. “You gonna remember any of this tomorrow?”

America chuckled. “Don’ think I could forget. But you won’t get this outta me then, y’know.”

“Anything else you want to say, that you won’t say tomorrow?” Canada asked with a small smile.

“Yup,” America said around a yawn. “Wish they’d… Ngh, wish they’d actually act like they were all older’n me. They have such big talk nowadays but I remember when it didn’t matter that I was only here for a couple’a years. When I wasn’t yelled at for bein’ immature, ‘cause they still sorta seemed to like me. Or maybe they just hated me less.” He frowned, blinking his eyes closed for a second longer than he had last time. “I dunno. But… I-I really wish they’d stop hating me. An’ stop makin’ fun of me for bein’ a kid, sort of. ‘M supposed to make mistakes, right?”

Canada gave him a long look, then frowned. “…Right. How about you sleep it off, eh? You’re gonna have a nasty hangover in the morning, but you look tired…”

America smiled. “Yeah. I’mma sleep on th’ couch, okay?”

“Alright, but don’t get any vomit on it when you wake up, ‘kay?” Canada asked with a teasing grin that he hadn’t gotten to use since who-knew-when. However, seeing that America was making no move to the couch, he couldn’t help but step in. “Hey, you gonna actually move there or what?”

“’M tired…”

Canada sighed, then looped one of America’s arms over his shoulder, easing him up from the chair and over to the couch, ignoring the grumbled protests. “Sleep well, alright?”

But America was already gone, sleep claiming him without a second’s notice, and without a notice of the frown that followed him into sleep.
Canada let his heart break only when he was sure his twin wouldn’t wake up, and only when he’d already fastened a blanket up to the American nation’s shoulders.

Tomorrow morning, he’d smile and be polite and proper, even as his brother-nation hurled into waste-baskets and he nursed a hangover of his own. But tonight, he’d let himself think things over for a while, forcing himself not to forget the night’s conversation, and making a note not to let it happen again.

It was a while before he fell asleep, but just before he did, he could almost hear a laugh, but it still didn’t live up to the boisterous laughter from before.

He’d fix things as soon as he could.

---

End

Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
Sorry for the general dark theme, and for the kinda crappy ending. However, I needed to practice angst and all, so, uh, yeah. Sorry if I went overboard, and also, I'm really sorry if I made England seem like an asshole. I'd apologize for America's boss, but he's sort of an OC, since I'd never portray a president that disrespectfully, even on anon.

But I really appreciate those of you that commented, or might comment after this part. Because it's really the support of the reader that keeps a writer going, you know?

Anyways, thanks for reading, if you've actually read this far. :) I'll probably de-anon to my de-anon account (SevenServers), so check me out on livejournal sometime.

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:15 am (UTC)(link)
This angst-junkie was quite happy with the level this hit on the angst-o-meter. Yeah, the ending was a little awkward but not unbearable and it involved brotherly!Canada which makes me dumbly happy.

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Author anon here, and thank you very, very much. And I'm not going to lie, the ending could've been done better but I only had so much time and I didn't want it sitting on my computer for forever. But thanks a bunch! :)

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
Too dark for me to comment, but I thought I'd drop a note to let you know I read it--and even enjoyed it. Just...a little too sad for me to say anything upbeat about it.

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
didn't like it, and the problems weren't resolved. the characters were out of character, and canada was crappy support.

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 03:35 am (UTC)(link)
Authoranon here... Sorry to hear that. However, as for the problems not being resolved part, well, I have to say that the prompt itself said that it didn't have to have a happy ending, and it's not like I could know what everyone wanted before I started writing.

However, regardless of whether or not you'll ever see things from me again on anon, I'll keep everything in mind. :)

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)
I'll admit right now I was looking for catharsis when I opened this (then again, isn't that what angstfic is for?), and it hit all the right buttons. Felt real to me. Depression isn't something that just goes away... Takes effort, and there was the promise of that in the future. So just saying I didn't mind the ending, cuz actually resolving the problem would extend the length by a huge amount so I understand leaving that out.

Also, I just wanted to post some positive comments after that last one;;; Don't stop writing please~

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Author anon here! Thanks so much for the positive comments ('cause I'm not gonna lie, I definitely prefer happier toned comments, you know?). And you understand perfectly! I really didn't want to write five chapters for the problem to get resolved because it would feel way too cheesy. Thanks again for your support! :)

(And don't worry, I'll probably never stop writing.)

Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes

(Anonymous) 2013-06-14 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
This is extraordinarily late (about six months since the last comment!), and I'm fairly sure you probably aren't checking for comments on this anymore and will probably not read mine but regardless, I needed to express my praise for this story!

I very much like the turn of events and the ending. Quite frankly, a thought in the back of my head was weary that this was going to be a story in which it builds up so much angst just to resolve it so unrealistically quick. I'm very happy with the fact that America's depression is taken into real terms.

As for the support, it may have been lacking at times but it could also be taken more towards America's own perception of the situation and as such its more pessimistic. So, really it's not a such a huge thing you should fret about for it can possibly be a slight mixture of third-first person point of view and as such can add a certain style to the tale.

All in all, it really was a great story! I do so hope you continue writing.

Re: Insecurities and Depression 2e/2

(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 03:41 pm (UTC)(link)
I thought that this story did really well in getting the emotions that needed to be conveyed, though I agree with one of the other commenters that the support from the other nations were a bit lacking.

However, given that this is a short piece, and also keeping in mind how difficult it is to support someone with depression can be, I think that their behavior is not unheard of. The ending is perhaps slightly rushed, but really this was fantastic overall. Keep up the good work author-anon!

Re: Insecurities and Depression 2e/2

(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Awh, thanks so much for the concrit. ^^; I think it mainly shows that I just didn't really give myself much time to think of how I really wanted the other characters to act, therefore they're out of character. And I agree: The ending is really rushed. Thanks again, commentor-anon.

UKUS Captain America and Iron Man

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 02:49 am (UTC)(link)
The other day I saw a UK/US picture where Arthur was Iron man and Alfred was Captain America and I would love too see a fanfic with that. Uk/Us story with Alfred as Captain America, and Arthur being the British Iron Man.

B1: Peter is Spiderman
B2: If Mathew was the Hulk
B3: Jarvis instead having british accent, has American accent

Kirkland Tower [1a/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 01:21 pm (UTC)(link)
This is Author!Anon's first time posting and they apologize profoundly for it. Hope this is something like what you were hoping for!


Arthur believed ‘tinkering’ was a far too simplified verb to describe the intricate mechanics he was performing on his latest prototyped suit, but tinkering is exactly what FRANCIS described it as when he informed Alfred that Kirkland Tower wouldn’t be accepting any visitors today. Bloody French setting, nothing but snarky comments and requests for wine despite being told that such liquid would kill it. Idiot. “Perhaps you should return later when Arthur is more in the mood for your shared sexual tension, non?”

He’d been meaning to change it for months now; it shouldn't be hard, he’d added additional speech and language settings in during the preliminary implementation, and a simple switch of wires would finalize the changes. Arthur bit his lip, his eyes flickering between his current project and FRANCIS’s central system, his brain still a stuttering mess from the computer program’s earlier comment and his chest aching more than usual. ‘Frankly Rather A Nuisance Computer Intelligence Service’ most definitely needed an update, he decided, striding towards the hub and mumbling insults as he worked.

“Why fix suit when there is much vodka to be drink, da?”

Arthur grimaced and quickly turned the Russian setting off. Why he had included that in the first place was a mystery to him; like much of his work, it was probably just because he could. The Italian setting proved just as irritating and unhelpful as the French, and the German setting was honestly more terrifying than cooperative.

“Dude, hey!”

He tried to switch but, try as he might, his fingers refused to let him pass the American setting. “FRANCIS?” he said, aiming to sound stubborn and outright, but instead begrudgingly hearing his own voice soften at the familiar accent.

“What can I do for ya, man?”

Arthur shuddered at the blatant disrespect for the English tongue, but he avoided bringing it up. His shoulders relaxed and his fingers lightly traced the wires with a fond smile creeping onto his face, before he went to grab the necessary tools to confirm the modifications. It wasn't as if the accent sounded exactly like Alfred, it was just the simple, stereotypical drawl of an American chap that may somewhat resemble Alfred’s irritatingly alluring voice.

An obnoxious sounding “alterations complete!” alerted Arthur to how painfully ridiculous this increasing attraction was becoming, and he ran calloused fingers through his hair, allowing himself two seconds of self-evaluation before FRANCIS announced another visitor.

“Whoa, Artie, this looks kinda serious. Peter and an injured Alfred are awaiting entrance at the main doors.”

Arthur stifled himself from scolding FRANCIS’s use of the unfortunately accustomed nickname by dropping everything he was holding and running to the intercom, screeching a quite un-gentlemanlike, “well then show me them, you automated tosser,” as he searched the screen for any sign of the two reckless individuals. The screen blinked on, revealing an extremely sheepish looking Peter holding up Alfred awkwardly on one shoulder, giving a small wave.

“Howdy, Arthur!” He said, his smile tainted by blood running down one side of his lip and a shining bruise brewing on his right eye. “Funny story, hehe, so these huge guys are coming up to me and I’m like, don’t worry, I’ve got this, Spiderman to the rescue! And so I go pew, pew, pew with my wicked awesome string shot, all pokémon like, but I may have, heh, underestimated how many there were, which totally wasn’t my fault, so - even though I could definitely handle this myself- Alfred appears and is like CRASH, BANG, POW and it looks AWESOME, but, uh, we both are kinda… beat up, heh.”

“You are two of the most insufferable boys I have ever had the displeasure of getting to know,” Arthur growled through the intercom whilst banging his head repeatedly against the adjacent wall, “Let them in.”

“Sure thing, dude!”

“Hey, Arthur, is that..”

“Shut up and get inside before someone notices you!”

Kirkland Tower [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 01:23 pm (UTC)(link)
As soon as the elevator opened, Arthur was at hand to heave Alfred to, what Alfred repeatedly called, his ‘dentist’s chair’ and placed him down, hurriedly examining his wounds. There was hardly any physical damage, as expected, but he was clearly unnaturally exhausted. “You’re not telling me that ordinary men managed to do this, are you?” He asked, glancing towards Peter who stood fiddling with his ridiculous mask and excitedly examining all the technology surrounding him. “Oi! This isn’t a school trip, answer me.”

Meh, meh, meh, answer me, I’m Arthur and I’m great ‘cause I’ve got a tower,” Peter grumbled as he walked towards Alfred and guiltily pulled the unconscious hero’s collar down to reveal irregular claw marks decorating his shoulder, “so there may have been these weird alien things.”

“Weird alien things? You idiotic pre-pubescent arachnid, go to the communications room and alert Fury immediately of any details you remember before I find a way to use your stupid web things to strangle you half to death, do you understand?”

Peter shrugged and twirled on his toes, calmly exiting the room as if he hadn’t just been witness to yet another extra-terrestrial attack.

“FRANCIS, connect Peter to Fury,” Arthur called, a shaking palm cupping Alfred’s cheek.

“On it!”

The excited screech of FRANCIS awoke Alfred, who slowly opened one eye and shot Arthur a tired smile, “I thought I was the only American allowed in the Kirkland tower,” he wheezed out, and Arthur blushed but managed to keep his composure.

“One American is most certainly enough,” he replied, lowering himself onto a chair beside the quivering Captain and reaching over to grab a wet-wipe from one of the many tables surrounding them. He carefully began dabbing the claw mark, glad to see it cause no adverse effects. “Why on Earth did you think you could manage this on your own?”

“I wasn’t alone, Peter was there!”

“Peter still sleeps with a teddy bear,” Arthur snapped. A feather-light touch sliding over his arc-reactor caused him to freeze, Alfred’s hands sleepily exploring Arthur’s chest as if they had a right to, as if this wasn’t a completely out-of-the-ordinary event.

“Look at big old billionaire genius playboy philanthropist Artie getting worried over me,” he smirked.

“My concern lies purely with the safety of humanity and nothing else.”

“Sure it does.”

Re: Kirkland Tower [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 01:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Ohhh my goodness A!A! This is wonderful! I'm eagerly watching my email for more :)

Re: Kirkland Tower [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)
This is brilliant.

Re: Kirkland Tower [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-24 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
First chapter and I arleay love it, you did this fusion story wonderful! I seriously love the FRANCIS part. This is pure genuis! Can' wait to read more, and curious... Does this make Ivan the Black widow?

Re: Kirkland Tower [1b/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 01:06 am (UTC)(link)
*loud girly fangirl scream

Any Pair-Boss (or famous human) walks in on them

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:00 am (UTC)(link)
By any, anon means anything... (even NZ/sheep is good). Whether the somewhat-busy pair decides to act decent(or flustered at being caught in the act), or subsequently ignoring the person who just walked in on them, or even yelling to give them some privacy please is up to the anon.
Oh, and the boss/human reacts to what he/she sees. Be it just being petrified, drinking oneself to oblivion and hoping it was just a dream, or even going to make artwork or literary pieces about..that. Or maybe having a nice chat with their psychiatrist.
Anon prefers pairs that will shock/surprise the reader. So life-long enemies, objects, and whatnot XD

Bonus 1: Use of the line "it's just the -insert country-'s president/prime minister"
Bonus 2: the setting is in the private office/study of the human, or somewhere where people will really get caught, because the pair wants to be caught, or didn't bother to care where they go and do.
Bonus 3: second time's the charm ^_~

Re: Any Pair-Boss (or famous human) walks in on them

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
OP, I have a cracky idea for this, but it's England/Belgium -- not exactly a surprise or shocking pair like you were wanting. Are you okay with this, or would you rather I didn't post?

OP reply

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
No problem! England/Belgium is good with me.
OP was just going for a request that would get funny fills. I mean, even GerIta would be acceptable, just depends on what the boss walks in on. >XD

Like a Boss Part 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-08 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
First-time filler is glad this is anonymous.


Alfred threw his head back and groaned. A ten-inch tall inflatable Statue of Liberty slid slightly further into his welcoming cavern. “F-Francis,” he moaned, bringing the other’s photograph to his lips and gently kissing it. “I swear, this is the last time I’m letting you do me in the Oval Office.”

He laughed breathlessly and slid the inflatable doll almost all the way out before slamming it back in. He thrust his hips into the air and whimpered. “Please, Francis, I’m so c-close-”

A knock sounded on the door and Alfred wiped his bangs away from his forehead angrily. “Who is it?” He asked between clenched teeth.

“It’s me,” a distinctly British-sounding voice said from the other side of the heavy oak doors.

“Arthur?” He frowned up at the ceiling and tried to hide the photograph of Francis somewhere under the stacks of paper-work and war declarations from Germany and Japan.

“You ask the same thing every time,” a very annoyed Winston Churchill drawled as he entered the room and closed the doors behind him.

“You Britishes. All sound alike,” Alfred said somewhat breathlessly.

Churchill rolled his eyes and blew a puff of cigar smoke in the American’s face. “Sign these,” he said, thrusting a stack of papers into Alfred’s hands along with a heavy pen.


Alfred hastily scrawled his signature, rolling his eyes in return. “Why is it that you always want me to sign things for you when I’m clearly busy?”

“Because otherwise you would never approve two billion dollars worth of military aid to the United Kingdom.”

Alfred sat up and immediately regretted it as the doll in his ass rubbed against him in exactly the right way and he made an embarrassing noise. “What?”

“You heard me.” The Prime Minister winked. “Ta-ta.”

Alfred groaned and reached across the desk for Frank’s bobble-head doll of Winston Churchill.

“Stupid Britishes,” he muttered. He gave the pump a few more squeezes and promptly came all over the Prime Minster’s face.


Like a Boss Part 2/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-08 07:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Alfred dragged Francis into an empty Oval Office. “Second time’s the charm,” he shouted, practically tearing off his clothes and spreading himself out upon the desk for his lover.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, mon amour? The President will be in any moment and-”

Alfred pulled Francis on top of him and kissed him soundly. “That’s the point. Now fuck me.”

Francis grinned. “Who am I to ignore such a glorious request?”

Alfred wriggled his eyebrows and purred invitingly.

Francis had just gotten to work nibbling and sucking every inch of his lover’s skin when the doors swung open.

The President momentarily looked torn between running away and passing out. He coughed politely and let the doors swing shut behind him as he stepped forward into the center of the room. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet for a moment before his eyes met theirs. “Mind if I join?”

Alfred threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve been waiting since 1942 to hear those words.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, than,” the President said, loosening his tie and winking.

Re: Like a Boss Part 2/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-08 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
The first one was funny. The second one will require brain bleach to cleanse from my mind.

Re: Like a Boss Part 2/2

(Anonymous) 2013-02-09 01:57 pm (UTC)(link)
OP looks away for a few hours...and then this pops up.

Truly like a boss!
(especially Churchill! Go, bulldog!)

I don't think I can use enough brainbleach to not think that that president is Roosevelt though. O.o

Consequences of Superstrength - America

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:02 am (UTC)(link)
America accidentally killing another Nation with his strength and traumatized even though the death isn’t permanent. Could be as innocent as slapping someone on the back so hard they fly across the room or a too-tight hug, just lots of America horror.

Re: Consequences of Superstrength - America

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
And here I was just about to request something similar to this... are you me, OP?

Re: Consequences of Superstrength - America

(Anonymous) 2012-11-26 02:45 am (UTC)(link)
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8657793/1/Paraphilial-Activity

Re: Consequences of Superstrength - America

(Anonymous) 2013-01-23 02:51 am (UTC)(link)
As much as there is already a fill similar to this, I might try a more serious approach than the one on FF.Net! Hopefully soon!!

Death Is Nothing To Us (1)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-26 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
Set post-independence for Canada and the very very beginning of the Industrial Revolution for both nations, although America is growing like 3x as fast so his strength is insane.

They had only been talking. That was all there was to it. Talking and spending time together outside of terse meetings and twelve-page letters filled to the brim with minute details of every way the world was changing.
Talking. Really.

Alfred hadn’t noticed when he grabbed Matthew’s wrist and tugged, and the other young man winced, eyes watering behind round glasses, as he was pulled into his brother’s arms. The hug was tight, tighter than Matthew had ever experienced, and left him with a dull headache when Alfred finally released him.

“Matthew, it’s been so long,” Alfred chirped, hands on either shoulder, giving such a warm smile that Matthew had to forget about Alfred’s strength. “How have you been, brother?”

“I’ve been getting on,” Matthew responded, and he sat down by the hearth with his brother, sinking into soft leather chairs. Talking. It’d been the first time they had seen one another in person since before 1860; before everything began. It was astounding how different they looked to one another after only ten relatively short years, and although they were the same in age Matthew couldn’t help but continue to feel somewhat inferior than his suddenly taller, ample southern brother.

Neither was quite sure what brought it on. Their languid conversation broke away into European tensions, and since Alfred hadn’t been since 1800, he was eager to hear all about the changes happening, especially in the United Kingdom. Even after his independence, Matthew continued to use his ties to Europe to further his own nation, since, even as much as it was chagrined to Alfred, the nations were becoming more internationally involved every day.

The hearth was blazing, built by hand, brick-by-darkened-brick, and wasn’t polished in the sense that there were many jagged corners left unfinished. Alfred had stood, excited about something, boots clicking along the floor as he paced, nearly demanding answers from Matthew. Matthew tensed as the excitement grew, and when had Alfred gotten so tall?

“Matthew, don’t you see?” Alfred was explaining, pulling his brother to his feet. Matthew stumbled over the loose bricks on the floor and grabbed the back of his chair, watching his brother move in excited circles. “It’s like everything is moving forward ten times faster than before! The last two hundred years were nothing in comparison to the next ten!

“The world is humming along quickly,” Matthew commented, and Alfred turned to face him, that smirk taking up his entire face.

“It’s faster than ‘quickly’, Mattie, it’s-- it’s--I can’t even begin to describe it! It’s like someone poured something hot in my veins and I’ve woken up for the first time in seventy years!” Alfred exclaimed, and he grabbed Matthew’s arms, pinned them to his sides, and pulled him forwards so quickly Matthew lost his footing--and then Alfred pushed him back so fast as he went into another tirade-- the hearth was coming closer—

It wasn’t until Alfred heard the sickening crack that he stopped talking spun on his heel, face going from joyous to shocked.

Matthew was lying on his back on the hearth, mere centimeters from the flames, staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling as blood dripped into his mouth. Alfred glanced up at the bricks surrounding the fireplace and saw the shining red-brown stain from where Matthew hit as he went down, the blood strewn from his sunny locks down to his shoulder and on his face.

“Matthew?” Alfred asked, eyes playing the scene over and over, frozen in place. Matthew blinked twice, in such a slow and deliberate fashion that Alfred felt a chill from how unnatural it looked. “Mat...thew?” The northern brother curled up onto his side and hissed like a wounded animal, finally putting a hand to his bleeding head. Alfred snapped out of his reverie and rushed to his brother’s side, crouching beside him and trying to take a look at Matthew’s wound.

Death Is Nothing To Us (2)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-26 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
“Oh my God, Matthew, is it...” Alfred murmured, and then drew back with a gasp as he saw how deep the wound ran. It tore through the back of Matthew’s head, pieces of brick and debris caught in his hair and in his blood, and it extended across the back of his crown. Alfred wasn’t positive but he swore he saw specks of smooth white from where his skin was torn straight through to his skull.

Upon closer inspection of the hearth, he saw that the blood spread across a series of sharp, jagged bricks, much farther than he first anticipated. Matthew was still moving very slowly, one hand bloodied from holding his wound.
“I’ll b-be right back, Matthew, alright?” he stammered, and nearly tripped over himself as he bounded up the rickety stairs to the washbasin in the back of his bedroom. Two towels were tied to a post and he dipped them into the freezing bucket of water, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped one of the towels.

“Just--just keep your eyes open, okay, Mattie?” Alfred yelled, twisting the towel in his hands. They had just been talking. How could this have happened? He hadn’t even held Matthew that tightly... had he? “Matthew, you should start talkin’!”

He didn’t give himself time to dwell on his thoughts as he ran back downstairs, running into the tiny kitchen for a bottle of something to stop the pain--if Matthew had any. Alfred didn’t like how Matthew had barely made a sound after hitting his head so thoroughly on the fireplace. Alfred knew what it meant when someone had a terrible injury and made nothing out of it, and it normally ended poorly. He nearly ran into a door as his floor beneath his feet went from wood to earth and grass back to creaking wood. He didn’t have time for this—

He found a mostly-empty bottle of gin covered in dust hiding in the back of a cupboard, but it was good enough. He dashed back into the sitting room, where the air was heavy with copper and dry heat. The scent left a tremor in his step but he ran back across the room, dropping to his knees beside Matthew’s still form.

“O-okay, Mattie, I’m just gonna--there,” he murmured, pressing the cold towel to the back of Matthew’s head. “Mattie, I’m gonna need your help, can you... Mattie?” Alfred’s heart lept into his throat as he leaned back to take a proper look at Matthew’s face. His left arm was still bent back over his head, but hung limply in his hair, no longer holding the wound. His face was turned away but Alfred bent down, noticing that Matthew’s glasses were mostly on the floor. The newly formed independent nation’s eyes were open but were at half-mast, glossy yet unfocused. Blood had pooled on the floor near his lips and his slow, labored breaths caused the blood to ripple and bubble. He was dying.

Alfred just stared open-mouthed at his brother, sitting on his haunches, one towel still in his hand.

“Matthew...?” Alfred asked again, a tremble to his voice. His throat became very dry very quickly and he put the towel on the floor, rolling Matthew gingerly onto his back.

Death Is Nothing To Us (3)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-26 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
“Oh, my Lord in Heaven,” Alfred mumbled, brushing Matthew’s bangs from his forehead. “Matthew, I... Oh, oh no, no no no nonononono...” his words fumbled together into a grunting sound and he sat down on the floor, both hands on his head. He had just killed his brother. And he had no idea what to do.

He’d never actually seen another nation die before his very eyes. Of course he knew it happened often, especially if Arthur’s and Francis’s stories were anything to go by, but he’d never seen it plain before him. He vaguely remembered Arthur trying to explain the dying process to him once before, but he was young and didn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation.

”What you must understand is that when it happens to you, or me, or someone like us, it is never forever,” Arthur had said to the adolescent, uncomfortable but determined in the conversation. “But with your friends, your comrades, your soldiers, your people--it is eternal.”

He recalled, at an even younger age, seeing two large men practically drag Arthur into their house, when he was just a babe, and leaving him on his bed, where he didn’t move for a day. Alfred, barely old enough to walk, had wanted his company but knew that something was awry until Arthur called for him to sleep through a particularly cold night. Those same feelings of bitter fear raked through the back of his throat as he stared down at Matthew.

“Alright,” Alfred said through a deep breath. “Alright. It’s... it’s not forever.” He gulped and pulled Matthew’s glasses from his face, running his fingers over his cold forehead as he did. “I... is there anything I’m supposed to do?” Alfred pulled Matthew’s eyes closed, and the scene became a bit less grisly. He looked as if he were sleeping... on Alfred’s hearth.

“Well, uh, he won’t be happy if he wakes up here,” Alfred said to himself, leaning over Matthew’s body. He pulled the limp form up over his shoulders and stood with shaking legs, taking careful steps towards the stairs. The towel fell to the floor in a sopping slap, inundated with blood and water. Alfred stepped over it and treaded the stairs, listening for signs of life with each step he took. Alfred wasn’t entirely sure just how the revival process for nations worked. He wasn’t even sure if Matthew had fully “died” as he carried them to the second level.

Without thinking twice, Alfred laid Matthew’s bloody form down on his own small bed, blood immediately staining his pillow and duvet. Alfred winced at the sight but tucked Matthew in, jolting in surprise at how quickly Matthew grew cold.

“So, I should... I-I should patch up your head, then,” Alfred murmured, going into his trunk at the foot of the bed and pulling out old blood-stained linens. They were near ten years old but they’d have to do until he could get fresher linens from elsewhere. He turned Matthew’s head to the side and wrapped his head as best he could, stopping the blood flow, finally. Alfred couldn’t stop himself from touching the crook of Matthew’s elbow, feeling for a pulse. Nothing responded to his touch, and he trailed down Matthew’s arm to his wrist, to his hand, gripping the cold appendage with all his might.

Matthew remained still. Alfred swallowed his fear and stepped back, fists clenching at his sides.

He had killed his brother.


This isn't finished yet, just wanted to get the first part out. There will be more guilty!America later, I promise!

Re: Death Is Nothing To Us (3)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-26 06:26 am (UTC)(link)
Why is this so amusing to me

Re: Death Is Nothing To Us (3)

(Anonymous) 2013-01-28 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
Oh my god Alfred, sweetie! D: This is so painful... Wake up Matt, wake up! ;A;

Death Is Nothing To Us (4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
Uh, I had good steam and then... I wasn't sure where to end it. If I ever de-anon, probs re-write the ending.

For the fourth time in seven minutes, Alfred pressed his fingers to Matthew’s neck. Alfred just wanted to be completely sure, even if he hadn’t felt a pulse since he brought Matthew upstairs.

“Matthew, I am so, so sorry,” Alfred murmured. His voice was trembling, although he had calmed down considerably in the last few minutes. Something about watching Matthew’s still form had brought a strange sense of peace to the other nation. “What am I supposed to do now, Mattie? No one ever told me how to handle this…”

“Hush, child, why are you crying?” Arthur whispered as Alfred curled up into the elder’s arms, burying his face in the worn shirt.

“You we-went away and th-then those strange men brought you back, I di-didn’t like it,” Alfred managed through his tears and hiccups. “I said your name, and you didn’t say anything to me!” The wind rattled their weak windows and Arthur could feel the intensity of the cold night through their walls. He pressed Alfred closer to him to keep the child warm.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” Arthur said, wrapping both arms protectively around tiny shoulders. “I had no intention of you ever seeing me like that.”


Matthew’s lips were parted. His teeth were bloody. Alfred stared at his dry lips and wondered if he should… clean him up. Should he prepare the body as if for burial? Without the embalming, of course, he thought dryly. Alfred sighed and slid from the bed, instead heading to his small fire place and stocking it with kindling. He’s not gonna be any warmer when he wakes up, Alfred thought. As he attempted to get the fire going, he had a thought: how was he going to wake up, exactly? As far as Alfred knew, Matthew was dead as could be. Shouldn’t he be… waking up soon? Would he just sit up like he’d woken from a nightmare?

Or would it be gradual? Would his heart return, his breathing beginning slowly, his skin warming gently as blood flowed through his veins once more? Would he wake up in pain from his wound? Alfred had the great fortune of never being killed in his short life, at least not in a violent way like Matthew.

Alfred sank to the floor before the fireplace, looking down at his hands. These hands pushed Matthew. His stupid, foolish strength had brought this upon them. His face sank into his palms and he stared at the planked floor beneath his feet, listening to his own pulse beat in his palms.

When had he gotten so strong? He certainly never worked hard to build such strength. He watched his soldiers train for ramshackle battles and toil underneath the sweat of their brow to bring usher in this… new era of work.

Alfred cocked his head to one side and pushed on either side of his face; each sinew and vein seemed to tense in his hands, forearms and wrists, and suddenly his cheeks ached and the throbbing doubled in his eardrums. How powerful was he, now? He’d caught wind of some Europeans who were itching to get into his business plans, and his industry just grew by the day. He pushed on his face more, closing his eyes. How much damage could he inflict with just his hands? Did he even need weapons anymore?

Death Is Nothing To Us (5)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
“Augh!” he cried, sitting up straight, his chest pumping in heated gasps. The fire had started picking up and he’d been pushing on his own face for long enough that his head was throbbing mercilessly. Sweat dripped down his hands and he closed his eyes, swallowing as he stared at the floor.

The fire cracked at his feet and he turned around again, glancing at his small bed. Matthew’s sock poked out from underneath the duvet, and Alfred concentrated on it for so long he could have sworn he saw a twitch.

“Matt?!” he cried, choking on his own voice. When did he start sounding so hoarse? He scrambled to his feet and bolted to the bed, kneeling beside it. Matthew remained still, his skin completely white and cold. Nothing.

Alfred, coming to his senses, went over to the basin where he retrieved water before and dipped a rag into it, bringing it to Matthew’s bedside. He pressed Matthew’s lips apart and gently wiped his teeth, wiping off his lips and his face as he went. The dried blood dotting his hairline was swept from his light hair and he retained some look of normalcy.

As Alfred worked, he purposefully held the rag as delicately as he could. Now that he was aware of his growing strength, how was he to know what would be too much?

“How many others do you think, Mattie?” Alfred asked as he pulled the duvet up to Matthew’s neck. “How many others do you think I’ve hurt because of this?” There were times, before, when he would grab someone in excitement and they’d wince—times when he push people jokingly, and they’d stumble forward a little too far—

“I-I’m… I’m gonna go cook something now, Mattie,” Alfred murmured, standing up. “Just… come and find me when you… wake up.” But he didn’t move. He just continued to stare at Matt’s body as if he were timing Matthew’s wakening. Alfred stared at Matthew a moment longer, and then ran to his writing desk, grabbed a piece of paper, and returned to Matt’s bedside, gently pushing Matt over and laying down beside him on the bed.

“I’ll… cook later,” he muttered, laying the paper across his britches. “I have something I have to do first.”

--

It was just about nightfall when Matthew first opened his eyes. His throat was dry and every muscle ached in one way or another. His head throbbed and his skin burned, and as soon as he tried to move his head, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his skull. He closed his eyes in pain and buried his face in the soft, warm, firewood-scented mass to his right. That was snoring.

“Ugh,” Matt mumbled and he opened his eyes once more, allowing the room to come more into focus. He was tucked into Alfred’s too-small bed underneath his old English duvet, and he was snuggled into his brother’s shoulder. His brother, who had pushed him so hard he’d smashed his head—but then what? He wasn’t sure. Alfred was laid all over the bed, his legs on top of Matt’s and his arms strewn across his chest. He had four pieces of parchment in his lap and ink all over his britches from where he spilled the small inkwell he was using.

“Alfred,” Matthew said, but his voice came out a harsh whisper. He coughed into his arm and cleared his throat. “Alfred,” he tried again. He nudged his brother with his shoulder and instantly regretted it. A burning pain raced up his shoulder and he hissed into the dark.

Death Is Nothing To Us (6)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:53 am (UTC)(link)
Alfred’s head lulled to one side, and then fell down onto his chest, snapping him awake. He awoke with a start, jumping and immediately turning to his brother.

“Matt—Matt! You’re awake!” he cried, and nearly crushed Matthew as he toppled over him.

“Augh, Alfred,” Matthew whimpered, and Alfred immediately threw himself off him only to land with a thud on the floor. With a groan, Matthew perched himself up on the pillow, rubbing his face in small circles. He placed a hand to his head and felt the bandages, pressing gingerly on the back of his head.

“Matthew, how are you feeling?” Alfred asked, crawling back on the bed. He had fallen asleep long before he noticed any signs of Matthew’s awakening. Matthew cracked his neck and pressed his hand to his neck, breathing deeply. Alfred watched as Matthew’s eyes rolled closed, only to open again in a glossy expression. “Matt…?”

“Still recovering,” Matthew said finally. “Pulse is still slow.”

“Is… that how it works?” Alfred asked in a small voice. Matthew half-shrugged and rotated shoulders.

“There are a lot of factors involved… wait,” Matthew said, turning to his brother. “Do you… not know? How this works?” Matthew asked, groping around for his glasses. Alfred settled down beside Matthew, looking at him as if he were going to melt. Alfred looked away for a moment, sighed, and then looked back at Matthew, who was just staring straight at him.

“What?”

“Have you…. Never experienced this yourself?” Matthew asked, gesturing to himself. Alfred shook his head. “Really? Never? But surely you’ve helped someone recuperate from this…?” Again, Alfred shook his head. Matthew’s eyes widened and Alfred just shrugged.

“I’ve—I don’t know, Mattie, I’ve—during the wars and stuff, either I didn’t fight in them at all or I was by myself away from my allies, and—I’ve only seen this once.” Alfred bit his lower lip and pushed his glasses into his hair, looking uncomfortable. Matthew wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled back into the pillows.

“I’m still coming back. I’ve only done this once before, but I’ve…. Seen it plenty of times,” Matthew admitted. “Europeans find it… important for us to know how to deal with these things.” Alfred cocked an eyebrow.

“Colonies.”

“Right,” Alfred responded, shifting. The air tensed and Matthew closed his eyes once more. Alfred glanced at him, his breath catching in his throat. “Matt—”

“I’m fine, Alfred,” Matt said in a gently voice. “I’m fine, I just…. I need more time to rest.”

“Matt—”

“It’s alright, Alfred,” Matt responded, and Alfred closed his mouth. “You’re young, and you’re strong. I’ve seen this kind of strength in others before, Alfred. You should see the Beilschmidt boy, does he have some muscles. “

“Matt, it’s not alright,” Alfred protested. “Please, I—”

Alfred. I can hear your stomach from here. Go make something for us. If you’re truly sorry, you’ll do that much right now,” Matthew said, and he turned to his other side, sighing into the pillow. “Please. We can talk about it later.” With a defeated sigh, Alfred left the room. Matthew listened to his hesitant steps as he stared at the door, but then finally went down the stairs to the kitchen.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Matthew reached down and picked up one of the pieces of paper that Alfred had been writing on when he woke. It was a letter.

Arthur,

I have not written you in one hundred years.

But I think I need your help.


Matthew folded the note and tucked it into his shirt, not bothering to read the rest.

“I promise, it’ll be alright,” Matthew murmured as he drifted off once more.


I really liked this prompt and I'd love to explore it more! I hope OP somewhat enjoys?

Re: Death Is Nothing To Us (6)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 05:58 pm (UTC)(link)
I liked Matt's reaction and Alfred's personality is very IC too. I'm curious where this goes, especially once the older nations get into the story.

Re: Death Is Nothing To Us (6)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-04 06:20 am (UTC)(link)
Agh. Angsty.

Re: Death Is Nothing To Us (6)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-05 07:40 am (UTC)(link)
I like this a lot. Especially the fact that Canada is a lot less sheltered than America and more in touch with the rest of the world.
It's very interesting, and I, if not the OP, would love to see more.

Any/Any - Yellow Rose

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:04 am (UTC)(link)
These days a yellow rose is most commonly associated with friendship. It used to symbolize infidelity, jealousy, and dying love.
One Nation presents a yellow rose to his/her lover, thinking they'll understand the words he/she cannot say. The other Nations thinks it's sweet to get a flower meaning friendship from their lover.

Florigraphy

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 02:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Here's my fill. I hope it's ok for you OP. About the Liverpool reference, it's just a headcanon of mine that the nations will have several residences in their country and they like to move around.

The first flurries of snowfall, white petals against the dun earth of the river Mersey, roused Arthur from his light sleep.

His Liverpool residence was Georgian and took to the cold like an old woman, grumbling and shifting as she turned from the sun. Alfred had told him to modernise, to find somewhere easy to heat and with fewer long, creaking staircases.

However, Arthur found the handsome building comfortable enough. After all, nothing compared to a roaring fire on a chill winter's day.

He got to his feet with a sigh, tugging down the cuffs of his shirt. He took a log from the basket to reawaken the dying flames but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Arthur dropped the log into the grate, cursing softly as sparks flew up around his already-calloused hands. He hurried out the lounge and took the stairs two at a time. There was still some life left in this old body, he thought to himself, though he was careful to hold onto the bannister.

The locks were undone with steady hands. Liverpool might have been growing, reconciling and repairing the more sordid aspects of its past, but no city allowed a man to leave his house entirely unprotected.

A gust of wind brought the winter inside, snow swirling through the hallway. Arthur swiftly stepped back. A shiver crept down his thinly-clad spine.

On the doorstep lay a single package. A small blue box, no card or note.

Arthur peered gingerly out into the cold. He couldn't see hide nor hide of whoever had delivered it. A woman walked in the distance, her red coat radiant, but she was too far away, and too laden down with shopping bags, to have rung his doorbell two short minutes ago.

Shrugging, he picked up the parcel and headed gratefully back inside.

The unheated hallway was unbearable to stand around in, so the Englishman climbed the stairs, not quite so energeticlly as before, and settled himself before his fire in order to open the box.

He struggled clumsily at the ties with fingers numbed by cold until the contents fell into his lap.

A creamy white card and a butter yellow rose. They all but shone against his dark trousers. He held the card up to the light and was able to read 'mon coeur', written in tightly curled penmanship.

"Francis," he thought to himself. Sixty years together now, almost to the day, and he still was unused to the Frenchman's tokens of affection.

Discarding the note, he twirled the flower between his fingers. Arthur was duly proud of his skill as a gardener, Ludwig even had 'English Gardens' as attractions in his country, yet he was not sure that he could have produced a bloom of such lustre, such vivacity, in the depths of winter.

Still, yellow was a far cry from the beginning of their time together. No, that had been fierce scarlet. Once, the colour of their armies meeting each other in battle, the fires as cities burnt, then the gentle whisper of the flower-filled battlefields when the fighting was done.

What was it that a yellow rose meant? Arthur knew his lover to be almost overly fond of symbolism.

Whenever Francis sent flowers, they were always roses. The flower of love for the country of love, he would always say with that obnoxious laugh. Arthur would reply with a disgruntled noise, but the flowers would always end up in one of his best vases, watered daily without fail.

The Englishman was already searching for a vase by the time that the significance of a yellow rose struck him. He caught himself and stood stock still whilst his heart gave an imperceptible shift.

Re: Florigraphy

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Friendship. The yellow rose meant friendship. The strangeness of it made Arthur smile. The two nations renowned for their near constant antagonism, friends at last. After all the times that they had ripped out the others heart only to stamp on it - The Hundred Years, Joan of Arc, Agincourt - the gift of simple, understated love was seismic.

Unable to stop himself from grinning inanely, Arthur placed the bloom in pride of place, the centre of the mantlepiece.

All through that lazy afternoon, a nagging feeling tugged at his mind. Had he forgotten something? Had the stress of recent months caused him to forget some important rule for the care of roses?

Still, the rose glowed, brighter than the fire, an untimely winter sun, as Arthur finally succumbed to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Many miles away, in a winter far colder than Arthur's, Francis was awakening.

Lying in a bed warm with more than one person's body heat, he stretched, enjoying the relief brought to his sore muscles. A feeling of fluid satisfaction radiated through him, until a realisation of the date occurred to him.

His message to Arthur would have arrived only a few hours ago. His lover would have opened it, heard the words that Francis was unable to say, and perhaps even begun to tear apart anything that had brought them together.

The enormity of what he had done hit him like a freight train and a strangled sob ecaped his lips. The body lying in his arms shifted in sleep, making a small noise as it was dragged from sleep.

Francis leant in to kiss their forehead. "Shh, Matthieu, my love. Go back to sleep." He ran his hands along soft skin, barely scarred by him or any other.

"I am sorry," he whispered to himself as he buried his face in Matthew's curls, "So very sorry."

Re: Florigraphy

(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)
What a lovely fill. This seemed perfectly in character, and actually showing the difficulties involved in a romantic relationship between the two. I feel terrible that I kind of root for a mending!

And didn't Sarkozy call for an 'entente amicale' ("friendly understanding") between the two countries?

Perhaps I'm just old, but friendship is far more important to me than passions. My own marriage would never have lasted if I didn't sometimes drop the demands of a Lover and remember that it was more important to be my spouse's friend.

Re: Florigraphy

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 09:56 am (UTC)(link)
Anon is in love *v* this is so, so sweet~ Although anon was worried when Francis woke up in bed with Matthew. It sounded a lot like he was trying to say "we should just be friends"... I hope that's not what you were implying!~ D:

Random anon

(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 10:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Er, the prompt was miscommunication..The old meaning of yellow roses meant love dying, cheating. The new meaning is friendship. France was trying to tell England it was over, but England misunderstood.

Re: Florigraphy

(Anonymous) 2013-04-18 03:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Truly beautiful. Some of the best descriptive writing I've read in ages. The 'old sounds' in this work really got me.

England/Belgium, reunion sex

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
For whatever reason, England and Belgium (who are in a relationship) have been separated -- it could be the time she's spending living in France/Spain/Austria's houses. Maybe it's WW1, or WW2, or even during the Napoleonic time period. Maybe it's the 1600s or the 1700s and England has finally returned to the Continent after a long stint in North America.

They haven't seen each other for a long time, pined for each other like a freaking forest, and when they're finally reunited, they have romantic sex with lots of "I missed you so much" and "don't ever leave me like that again," etc.

Bonus: They never say "I love you" during the sex, but they don't need to.

Re: England/Belgium, reunion sex

(Anonymous) 2013-01-04 11:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Ooh, I've got this one, give me some time.

OP

(Anonymous) 2013-01-15 03:48 am (UTC)(link)
How exciting! Take as long as you need, kind anon :)

Re: OP

(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Life got in the way and I completely forgot I'd promised to fill this. I hope you can forgive me! Here, have a peace offering:

It had been four years since England had last set eyes on Belgium.

He drank her in as thoroughly as his brain could process as she led him up the narrow stairwell to her apartment, the noise from outside still audible through the walls. In the streets of Brussels, he knew, the celebrations would last for days. In the streets of Brussels, his soldiers were being cheered and hugged and laiden with gifts by thousands of newly-liberated Belgians, but there was only one that England's eyes raked the crowd for. And when he had finally seen her blonde head fighting to the front of the crowd, nothing else mattered. The war could wait. Everything could wait. All he cared about was holding her tight enough to reassure himself that it was truly her.

The weather was as beautiful as the day, but neither of them wanted to spend more than a few hours outdoors even with the celebrations going on around them. There were more important things to do, in places where they could have a proper conversation with only the two of them, alone, uninterrupted and unobserved.

She shut the door and crossed the room to pull the windows closed, and suddenly everything was plunged into near-silence. The screaming and cheering of the crowds below was reduced to nothing more than a faint buzz, ringing quiet and distant in his ears. He looked at her and she shrugged. "It's soundproofed."

"Soundproofed? Why?"

"Because when you host meetings between members of the Resistance on a more or less weekly basis I imagine it would get annoying to have to spend the whole time whispering in each other's ears. Anyone listening at the keyhole now wouldn't hear a thing. I have opaque window blinds, escape tunnels, hidden cupboards... They use - well, used - this place as a weapons and information depot as well. I had to keep it safe."

England stared at the pale flower-print wallpaper, the china plates and the quaint little flowers hanging from the windowsill and smiled. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her. His eyes moved to her face and a tiny jolt went down his spine. For the thousandth time, her beauty caught him off guard and wiped his brain clean of anything he had been about to say. He couldn't have told you precisely what caused it - her soft features, the way her hair reflected golden in the sunlight from the window, her casual expression as she described how she'd endangered her life almost constantly to fight for her freedom when everything had to have seemed hopeless - but before he knew what he was doing he had completely lost control of himself. It barely even sounded like his voice that growled, "God, I missed you," as he strode up to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.

She melted into his arms, clinging to his shoulders to stay upright, and her weight was comforting, reassuring him that she was there, finally she was really there, and he she would never have to leave again. When they finally came up for air, both pink and breathless, he ran his thumbs over her cheeks and relished the feel of her skin on his, a feeling that was a thousand times better than how he remembered it. He'd missed the way her breath caught like that, the specks of brown in her blue eyes, the way her nose curved, her smell, her taste, everything. "You're amazing. You know that, right?"

She went to nod, but he caught her lips again before she could move her head. She held him against her as tightly as she could as he pressed quick, closed-mouth kisses around her cheeks, her mouth, her eyes. "I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..."

Belgium pulled away, leaning back in his arms. She held a finger up to his lips, her expression serious, and said, "England?"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

Re: OP

(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)
She was kissing him again before he could nod. He closed his eyes and kissed her back, their lips moving against each other in perfect asynchronicity. They sucked in quick breaths, each one nothing more than an unwelcome distraction keeping them from making up for lost time. His hands trailed from her jaw to her neck, her shoulders, then they were remembering her waist, her breasts, the curve of her hips. He hardly noticed they were moving until the wall was firm and solid against his back and Belgium was pressing him into it, fingers playing with the neck of his collar. "I missed you... you so much, I- oh," she gasped, forcing the words out as he kissed a frantic, desperate path down her neck to her collarbone, where she was, his memory prompted, particularly sensitive. He nipped and sucked at pale skin stretched over bone as she gripped his uniform like a safety railing, moaning in a way that made his heart ache with fullness. He didn't stop until he was sure he'd left a mark - something that would last, if only for a few days, as a reminder that she was finally his again.

Something primal shot through him like a spasm, something harsh and gentle at the same time and she shrieked in surprise as he grabbed the backs of her thighs and hoisted her off the floor. The shriek turned into laughter and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, clinging to his shoulders, and he tried to search through the burning fog his mind had become to remember where the bed was.

Their lips barely broke contact as they fell onto the mattress, wholly tangled up in each other. England would've been surprised at the ease with which he ripped off her blouse, not even bothering with the buttons, if he hadn't been too busy drowning in her newfound sweet reality to care. He kissed her jaw, her neck, her lips, everywhere he could reach as her fingers worked frantically at his shirt. It came free, finally, and he shivered as she ran her hands over his chest.
And stopped.

She unwrapped her legs from around his waist and sat up, kneeling on the mattress in front of him in her skirt and bra, her eyes suddenly dark with concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.

She didn't speak. Just pushed apart the two halves of his shirt front that were hanging down, untucked from his trousers, and traced a finger across his skin. "Oh, England..."

He looked down, following her gaze, and said nothing. His scars. He'd forgotten she hadn't seen them yet. So many endless nights of bombing and fire and death had left their mark in the form of burns that covered the skin across his heart like spiderwebs. They had healed over, were no longer painful, but the sensation of her fingertip sent tingling sensations across his whole body.

She raised her eyes to his, the space between her eyebrows creased with worry, and he said, "It's nothing."

"You're hurt."

"Not any more. I'm fine."

But she was shaking her head now, sitting back on her heels and clasping her fingers on her lap as though trying to restrain them. "You're always getting hurt because of me."

"Because of you? This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything to provoke Germany. He would've come for me whether you surrendered or not. And don't look at me like that, it took America, Russia, France and I combined to bring him down. If you'd tried to fight for any longer than you did he would've wiped you off the map."

Before he could resist, she'd grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled it off his left shoulder. "Here," she said, running a fingertip over the discolouration that webbed out just below his collar. "I know that one. It's from the Somme."

He sighed. "Bela..."

"It was because of me that you got yourself tangled up in that!" She stared down at her hands clenching themselves into fists on her lap. "Don't try to deny it just to make me feel better!"

Re: OP

(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
"Listen." He lifted her chin up until she was looking at him properly, her eyes just a little too bright. "You didn't drag me into the Great War. Lots people were against me involving myself at all. Ignoring my promises and watching you burn was always an option. It was, Belgium. It would've been easy. But I chose not to. I chose to defend you. And yes, it hurt me. A great deal, in fact. But you didn't do that to me. I did it to myself and I'd do it again, because I'd rather die than watch you get killed."

She blinked up at him, the beginnings of tears still welling in her eyes, then before he could say another word she'd thrown herself on top of him and her lips were on his again. He tangled his fingers into her hair, pushing aside that ribbon of hers, and pulled her closer, harder against him, desperate for her scent, her taste, her heat, her friction, her. Somehow his shirt ended up discarded on the floor along with the rest of his uniform and his hands were working blindly, unhooking her bra, tugging her skirt and knickers from her hips until they lay flush against each other, skin on skin, and all he could think of was how he could possibly have survived those four years without her.

It was fast, frantic, both of them desperate for each other. England flipped her onto her back and traced declarations of love across her body with his lips and his tongue, trying to rediscover every sound she could make for him. Those moans from the back of her throat, the high-pitched gasps when he does something she didn't expect, the pants and the whimpers and say my name, say it like you're mine again until he covers her lips with his own and kisses them away. He could feel himself getting close, so close, but he'd made his mind up not to come until she did. He wanted to show her how much he'd missed her.

"England," she breathed, "England, now, don't make... don't make me wait again..."

That was all she needed to say. He sank into her, sighing as the memory of how she felt washed back over him, and began to move. She moved with him, the two of them in rhythmic synchronisation, and moaned incomprehensible, loving nonsense into his ear as she gripped his back with her fingernails. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothing but noise and pleasure and her, everything about her, from her legs tightening around his waist to the scent of her skin to the feeling of her breath panting against him. He could feel the heat inside him building, growing, cresting, and redoubles his efforts because he knows he can't physically hold out any longer, not with her of all people in his eyes and his mouth and his skin.

She came mere seconds before him. He felt her muscles tense just before her nails dug into his skin and her back arched up off the mattress, her eyes rolling back into her head. And then he followed her over the edge, his entire body simultaneously expanding and contracting in ecstasy. He moaned her name over and over against her pulse as the universe tore itself apart and everything winked out of existence, as the civilians and the soldiers and the tanks and the war outside their window disappeared and all that was left was her, flushed pink and smiling, pushing his hair back from his forehead and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly on the mouth.

"Don't ever leave me again," she smiled against his lips.

He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her sweat-tangled hair. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They fell asleep there like that, at four o'clock in the afternoon as the celebrations barrelled raucously on outside the window, still wrapped tightly around each other, unwilling to let go. Belgium buried her head in his shoulder and shut her eyes almost instantly, sleeping as though she hadn't since the day he'd left Dunkirk. England followed not long after, grateful for every curve and contour of her body pressed against his, every movement of her chest as she breathed slowly, peacefully in and out. In the morning he would have to unwrap his arms from around her and they would have to separate - they still had a war to fight, even if right then it seemed very far away - but for now, just for these blessed hours, he could make himself believe that he would never have to leave her again.

Re: OP

(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
asdskfsgijrfigojhsuofijaifodjs

A!A I AM SPEECHLESS OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG

THIS IS LOVING AND HOT AND GORGEOUSLY EMOTIONAL AND SENSUAL AND I THINK IT IS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS I HAVE READ EVER

Seriously though, this is beautiful. Just the characterization of the two of them and the way their feelings for each other shone through the whole fic, and the way the sex wasn't overly explicit but it wasn't just alluded to either really suited the tone of the fic. This is overall a lovely thing to behold.

I am a little pile of feel-sy goo and I may be shipping EngBel just a little bit right now.

Re: OP

(Anonymous) 2013-03-29 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
This is beautiful. Poetic. The dynamic the two of them have together is wonderful. I love this.

OP here

(Anonymous) 2013-04-01 10:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Aw, anon, thank you so much for this wonderful fill! And please don't worry, life happens. This was worth the wait!

I loved so many things about this fill. I love the sweetness and the obvious way they not only love each other, but also care about each other. It's such a sweet relationship, I really wish it was more popular. I love the "God, I missed you" and him going up to kiss her, how he missed the curve of her nose - such an intimate little detail!

"I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..." Ahhhhhh I think that was my favorite part of all. Or this: say my name, say it like you're mine again.

I just really loved this fill, it made my heart melt for both of them. Thank you so much! <3

Any/Any pet play

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:11 am (UTC)(link)
Any two nations in a relationship involving consensual pet play. Here's a link describing it

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_roleplay#BDSM_Puppy_Play.

Non-sexual is preferred but either is fine

US/UK- Clown sex to cure fear of clowns

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
Alfred finds out that Arthur fears clowns, and decides to dress up as a clown for sex in hopes to cure his fear.

Bonus for having Alfred honk his nose or use it in kinky ways, or bringing out kinky clown toys!

Re: US/UK- Clown sex to cure fear of clowns

(Anonymous) 2013-03-11 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)
I could probably pull this off... >w> I'm going to try it. Do you prefer AU? Or whatevs~...?

England - unknowing size kink

(Anonymous) 2012-11-21 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
Basically what is says on the tin. England has a size kink that he doesn't know he has but becomes increasingly obvious to a few random partners he sleeps with. Whether random partners ahare that kink, take advantage or whether it makes them insecure or whatever else is up to you. Who his partners are are up to you as well (but if you can squeeze in Germany/England there and maybe random Russia/England, that would be awesome)!

Aaaand if you can somehow put wallsex, tree-sex, and/or sex against whatever variety of flat (or non flat) surfaces that would otherwise not be used as a bed-replacement for the bonus, that would be grand, that would.

Re: England - unknowing size kink

(Anonymous) 2012-11-22 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
Seconding! This fits very nicely with my headcanon for England :) (Also, it would be hell hot).

Re: England - unknowing size kink

(Anonymous) 2012-11-22 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Hmmm...going by the usual "Canada and Russia are the biggest countries in the world in terms of landmass= biggest packages in the world/very well endowed" logic, would you be interested in a fic where England is very small, then?

OP

(Anonymous) 2012-11-22 06:08 pm (UTC)(link)
You can go ahead with anything, anon! As long as England is unaware of his size kink (and some of his partners are without telling him about it), I don't mind what form the size kink entails. =)

Never Enough 1a/?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
It was a simple fact, England had managed to go years without allowing anybody to lay with him. He had kept his anal virginity in tact throughout his life, throughout the years that he had been recognised as a country, through the years of rumours that had been spread about him. The case of Arthur's virginity was a mystery, a topic to be explored even, for many of the nations. Sure, England had had sex before, he had been the one to fuck certain male nations, but... Never had he been on the receiving end of this.

England is unable to remember how he had ended up on the ground of a forest after a particularly harsh St George's day. All he could remember was the drinking, the drinking and the company he had invited, and the next thing he knew, he was writhing underneath China's slim body. His movements gentle, barely moving England over the dirt that had been clinging onto the sweat soaked body of the younger nation. It was pleasurable, to say the least, but from that moment on, the feeling of a orifice of his body that was never meant to be breached being stretched, he craved. Surely, when he had recovered from the initial shock of China above him, he had enjoyed it.

The fingernails acting like claws down the mans back, both grunting their own languages, but knowing in some way what each was saying... It was an intoxicating feeling. A feeling that he had never felt before, and he knew now why other nations never put up that much of a fight when he had told them that the only way he would be on his back is if they were riding him.

But something China had done that night (or, early morn, if one is to get specific), it was almost as if his cock was the key to awaken some kind of predator deep within him. Not a noticeable change, of course not, just in the boredom of world meetings, he would look around the nations, wondering. Simply wondering. The change was not that of a 'sex addict' just wondering if the girth of China, the length of China was not enough.

His thoughts got the best of him just over two years after he had lost his virginity, after a meeting when he found himself under the table with France's watchful eye. It was not a secret around the nations that he and France had had sexual encounters before, it was just this was the first time that England was licking at the others penis. The taste was at the back of his mind as he took in the length the best he could, his mouth stretching around the girth that he never noticed before, and loving the way he struggled with the last inch or two, the small gagging sounds he made were not only making France twitch.

A part of England was surprised to find himself allowing the Frenchman to push him up against the window, his naked back being pressed against the one way window; they could see all of the people that walked past, while no one could see what was happening inside. A once strong empire trying his hardest to crane his neck to watch as it went in, as it stretched his hole to make sure the girth would fit. He went with the next bed thing, as he let go of one of Francis' shoulders, to feel around where the puckered skin embraced the member tightly, sucked the other nation inside and seemed to do the best to keep it there forever.

Still, there was not enough stretching. Not enough of that feeling of being full, even as his body was rocked against the window, finding out that everything that anybody had said about the French stereotype was true. The love making (dare he even call it that) was more than outstanding, each kiss that trailed down his body leaving a burn that would last in his memory, dark purple marks that stood out on his pale skin. Nothing about the way the Frenchman moved and moved him was flawed, he was impeccable.

But still, there was something missing. There was always something missing.

Never Enough 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 12:45 am (UTC)(link)
America was the next one. They had entered a relationship, and waited a while for the sex to come naturally. They stayed clothed throughout each others visits, and it amused England how relatively childlike the relationship for people who are centuries old. And as he lays in the dark of night in the cold bed in which two people lie, clad in only their underwear, he wonders how much longer it is going to be until he gets to push his hand underneath the elastic and feel the member that seems to lie dormant.

He tries to cheat, tries to get a glimpse. Accidentally walking in when America is showering, when he is getting changed, but he knows that it is not the flaccid state he would find it in that he wants, and it is when he changes his tactics he realises that America beats all of his expectations in terms of when he wakes in the morning. England curses his luck, and continues to try and change when he would wake up, on the off-chance that the teenage-like nation sleeping beside him would wake with an erection, but he had been so far unlucky. Maybe America was more sexually mature than England gave him for granted...

It is early spring, a few months after their relationship begins, that England finally gives up his restraint and pushes America against the door. He is visiting the bigger nation, trying to keep their long distance relationship going, but even kissing makes England rut his growing need against America, and for the first time, he feels a response. He feels their clothed cocks together, and England cannot lie; he is impressed. Never expecting his ex-colony to be how he would say... Packin' (it has been a while since England had caught up with the lexis of the new generation)?

They do not make it to the bedroom, and the first time England gets a glimpse of what America is hiding, it is still at the front door of the house. The Briton simply drops to his knees without a word, pulls the trousers and underwear down and takes it in his hand. He inspects it, looks for any flaws; visually, he seems perfect. The taste as he licks the vein on the underside is still the same, but the way he reacts to each breath on the muscle sends delighted shivers down England's spine. But as he finishes teasing America with his mouth, they find their way to his dining room table.

They first make love on the top of the table. America standing before it, England on his back once more. He tries to grip onto the material, but he simply cannot. He moves more than he remembered, becoming almost a doll for America to use, for America to move how he wants, and although he is being forced to draw out moans and cries of pleasure, he is able to hit the spot deep within England that makes him raise his back of the table and scratch at the smooth material that is waxed wood; something is just not enough.

At the next meeting, England looks to America, wondering what is missing. The sex satisfies him, by the end of his visits after the initial session, England is basically sucked dry of any bodily fluid that he can produce. They end up single two springs after, however, and France becomes aware with his talks with America that something has changed. The England that he had once had a casual fling with every once in a while, who refused to allow anybody inside him, was gone. Now replaced by a insatiable desire, and he knew there was never going to be anyone alive to fill that.

Whatever England got, there was never going to be enough.

So next time we'll be going to Canada, Russia and Germany... In more detail! Any suggestions for improvement?

OP

(Anonymous) 2012-12-03 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)


Oh, writer!anon you make me so happy~ Let me stroke and caress this fic to pieces! I haven't actually read it yet but I WILL and then I will leave a more coherent response because I am just too happy right now~ I've been without internet for a week and this is what I see the first day I have it. All my love for yooooouuuuu ♡♡♡

/off to read

OP

(Anonymous) 2012-12-03 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Anon, thank you so much for writing this! I am pleasantly surprised at the pairings (I know USUK and FrUK are common, but that China/England was excellent especially considering China was the first) and can't wait for what you have in store for Canada, Russia and Germany. And I can't tell you how happy and excited I am that you're writing for the pairings I asked for! I kept thinking they weren't really popular pairings and writer!anons might find it too challenging, but there you go tackling it head on. ♡

As for suggestion. Uh... unfortunately, I don't write and don't know what to say to help you improve, but hmm. Just for my whimsy, perhaps some outside England-POV? I don't know what your strengths in writing are but I think it'll be interesting to see those three realizing what it is exactly that England's looking for and any internal conflict that might arise because of that. I'd also love some domesticity in Germany/England (and quiet, calm days with Canada/England) but those are whims of mine and you can just go to where you want to take this. =)

Thanks again~ And I hope you find the time and inspiration to continue it soon!

Re: Never Enough 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2012-12-13 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
I agree with the OP. It's good, but some more outside-of-England dialogue would provide a better picture.

Re: Never Enough 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-15 06:50 am (UTC)(link)
Oh anon, that was wonderful. I love the descriptions of the size kink, it was great. I can't wait for more.

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