hetalia_kink | Hetalia kink meme part 27

Omegaverse fic where only a few nations are ever Alpha or Omega and no one can tell if another nation has a type outside of heats. 1920s era.

Alpha!Lithuania is very startled when an Omega!America comes home early with an unexpected (and rare) heat. America is expecting to get through the next day or two alone until Alpha!Canada can arrive (he called his brother before leaving work). Eventually culminations with America being tag teamed/shared by Canada and Lithuania.

Bonus if America's Omega status is virtually unknown and no one else has been with America since the early 1800s (meaning Possessive!Canada).

I don't see how Omegaverse fits in with a Canonfest unless Hima has suddenly changed everything to fit this fan AU

I actually thought this request was fairly interesting, but I agree it may have been better suited to being posted after the canonverse fest.

Although they're nations it's still technically an AU.

I agree that this may have been better suited to after the canonfest (though they are technically countries in the request), but perhaps we could be slightly nicer about it? It is an interesting request.

No one's really being rude tho??? People have pointed out that it's not supposed to be posted after the canonfest and that it's really obnoxious to post it now when everyone else is making the effort to post canonverse requests.

Also, whether they're countries or no, last I checked Hima didn't have mpreg and people acting like animals in his canon. I could request a post-apocalyptic gore fest and specify that I want Nations only but that doesn't mean it's canon because canon has no hints for a post apocalyptic gore fest.

It is rude though. Not pointing out that they should have waited, but the automatic disgust and distress used to point it out. A simple 'op, this counts as an AU, you should have waited' would have sufficed, instead of the immediate annoyance people responded with instead.

Maybe they did think as long as the characters were still nations it counted as canonverse enough to be okay here.

What disgust? People pointed out that omegaverse is not canon, which is, you know, true. People sre annoyed because they are either waiting to post their request or because they've gone through the effort to rework their requests to fit canonverse.

But if they read the guidelines they would know that's not the case. It's nations as they are in canon, not just being nations.

You know what else isn't canon? Pretty much every fucking pairing. Which, you know, is true. Sweden is the only one with a confirmed sexuality. If we were to stay to true canon, a lot of this would be thrown out as well. There was no need to say that the request was stale or obnoxious. A simple 'please wait until after the canonverse fest' would've sufficed.

I agree they should have waited to post an omegaverse request, but distinguishing canon from fan creativity is difficult. Are we going to ban all alternate history and future based fics too? I think the whole point of fanfiction is to diverge slightly from the original, otherwise we would literally be re-writing the web comic.

Considering that it was a complaint over way too much fucking omegaverse that spawned the canonverse fest to begin with, saying it's simply obnoxious or stale IS being nice.

No one said it was because of omegaverse that the canonverse fest took place. Granted, the mod suggested the idea on the thread with the omegaverse discussion, but it was just the overall staleness of the prompts and the slowness of the meme that spurred the canonverse fest.

What's omega verse ?

Your mom's butt

http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega

Lmfaoooo, thank you, you beautiful soul
*Tips hat*

Hi, guys: I'm not the mod who planned the canonverse fest, so I'm sorry that I can't speak to whether or not this prompt is within the original vision for it. But some of the replies here were getting pretty aggressive. Either way, let's try to avoid insults and namecalling. Thanks!

Amen.

All of the above nations with the exception from Iceland are considered to be amongst the richest countries in the world, they are also small and might not have all that much saying in the big questions of politics.

So these nations end up hanging out like some sort of high class club.
Enter Iceland who's a good friend to one or more of them but doesn't feel that he fits in, mainly due to being poorer and not having the same kind of lifestyle.

Pairings, if any, is up to the author.

Bonus 1: Some mention about Norway being just as rich as the others but having a more modest lifestyle.
Bonus 2: Smut. I need more smut with any of these characters.

seconded!

In which America is ecstatic about a new game he got from Japan, and England dislikes being ignored. And so he starts with a few sensual touches, and teases him while giving him a handjob, but Alfred holds on, trying his best to ignore him and finish his game. So Arthur fucks him /while/ he's playing the game, and in the end Alfred couldn't take it anymore, so he drops the controller and begs him to fuck him hard and fast.

Bonus:
1- It can also be a little bit humorous or fluffy afterwards.

Human names are preferred. 6w6
Thank you! ☆

Based on an anon's comment about the meme being an America bottoming fuck-fest, here America gets to give a little of what he's received.

America fucking your choice of nation(s) silly. Rough or gentle. Kinky or vanilla. Your choice. It just has to be 100% consensual and 100% enjoyable on both ends.

Bonus: Historical significance to this "meeting".
Super bonus: NOT the usual suspects (e.g. no England, Russia, Canada...)

Seconded!

Anon feels honored. ;D Thirded!

I have a serious need for this. 4th-ing! XD

How does anon feel about 1920s AmeIta? I might be able to fill this!

Yes yes yes! That would be amazing!

Oooh! I'm so very excited to fill this, I have a lot of emotions about AmeIta in the 1920s era. I'll get started right away!

Is that okay with the Canon fest though ?

Why wouldn't it be?

Update! Sorry for the long wait, things have been hectic because it's the Christmas season. ;u; But things are going smoothly, it's about half-done! So I hope to post the finish product soon, all at once. Just letting you know I haven't vanished~

No rush, anon! I know it'll be totally worth the wait. :D

1920s AmeIta here! I hope OP enjoys it! (Man, was 1920s slang both strange and adorable-sounding. Especially with Al speaking it.)

/

Everything about it was intoxicating.

Alfred had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and spoken in soft tones into his ear as he pulled him close, telling him, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of joints to have a good time at my place.”

In the same hushed tones, Alfred had spoken to a shopkeeper, who had looked around cautiously before leading them to a hidden door, one that opened up into what was undoubtedly-

“This is one of my favorite speakeasies,” Alfred said with a proud grin, pulling Feliciano in and gesturing to the broad, lively room, with a flourish. The room was lit in reds and yellows and oranges, creating a warm-looking environment in the busy chatter of the soundproofed room, and Feliciano turned to look at Alfred in awe. Hidden bars, flourishing parties, laughing and dancing people…

“Why is it called a speakeasy?” came the curious question, and Alfred grinned and laughed.

“You gotta ‘speak easy’ to get in,” was Alfred’s glib reply, eyes twinkling with mischief and playful pride.

Feliciano took another look around, and was stunned. The rich, dark stained oak tables and the beautifully carved, well-stocked bar, the well-dressed people, the warm lights and the comfortable, lively atmosphere… Even the music was foreign and new. There was a big band up on stage playing only the best kind of jazzy swing, music that Feliciano had never heard- but it was incredible.

It was intoxicating.

The music was meant to make you want to dance, to make you take your partners by the hands and hips and swing them about the dance floor in light-footed steps and clever acrobatics. Men in suits with their suit jackets discarded to the back of their chairs or atop their barstools, ties undone a little as they danced with the women, so beautifully dressed in flouncing, flowing dresses and fashionable scarves, cute and colorful pumps on their feet, such careful makeup on their faces.

Friends and lovers and businessmen all gathered together around the bar and tables, toasting each other with moonshine and wine and beer, all manner of booze being taken out from behind the bar counters, stirred up and served as if there wasn’t a Prohibition at all.

Literally intoxicating.

Feliciano had three glasses before Alfred finally coaxed him into dancing.

“I don’t know this kind of dance!” Feliciano had protested, laughing as Alfred hauled him along to the dance floor, the eager young blond so very determined to show Feliciano a wonderful night out. Alfred was dressed sharply, in a dark pinstripe suit with a matching stylish hat on his head- one that he’d quickly set down on the table upon entering the speakeasy. He shed his coat, leaving it on the back of his chair, and had just as easily gotten Feliciano out of his.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! I’ll teach ya, it’s not hard at all, pal,” Alfred encouraged, reassuring him with another pat on the back and a great laugh. “Come on, loosen up that tie and collar a little. We’ll be dancin’ a good while before we head back.”

“Won’t people stare?” Feliciano asked on the way to the floor.

“Nah, everyone’s out to have a good time. No one will mind,” Alfred says, and his eyes are warm, such a warm deep blue, and Feliciano believes him.

Alfred’s hand is on his waist and the other is lacing his fingers together with Feliciano’s, and Feliciano knows he’s done for. Alfred grinning at him, speaking to him, lifting him up so easily and guiding him through the steps, the jumps and leaps and swings-

He was intoxicating.

He was strong and young and full of energy and vigor and potential, the land of opportunity in all his glory- in a Golden Era of prosperity. His words were sweet promises to those seeking freedom and second chances, his hands strong like the protection and safety his harbors could become, his heart beating strong with the work and spirits of millions bustling in the great expanse of his land.

Feliciano knew he was failing his people, god knows he’d tried, tried so hard to keep them, to better things, to make them stay. But it was too late, his country was broken and plagued with economic spirals and crashes and no money or opportunity to escape, and so his people were leaving him. Not just him, but him and his brother alike, both of them felt the loss, their people moving to America in hopes of a better life, in hopes that they would be able to get here what they could not in Italy.

But when Alfred’s hands held strong and fast to his, easily swinging him through the complicated dances and never letting him fall, never once betraying Feliciano’s trust- with laughter in his eyes and encouragement on his lips…

Feliciano knew they would be safe with Alfred.

Alfred’s hands were young, but larger than his, strong and firm, and they held him so gently.

“Dance with me more,” Feliciano said with a smile, trust in his eyes, warmth in his touch. He leaned into Alfred and was shameless, unafraid of the people around them. He asked Alfred to dance with him.

So Alfred did.

The night was young.

/

Maybe the booze loosened them up more than expected; maybe the jazzy music in Alfred’s penthouse just set the right mood. Maybe they’d stayed out too late and gotten drunk on the energy of the nightlife around them, maybe they’d been a little too close, touched each other just the right ways while they danced to get each other fired up.

Regardless of how they ended up there, the pair were near-naked in Alfred’s bed, Alfred pinning Feliciano right down onto the mattress while he kissed him, passionate and wanting and taking, his guest moaning into his lips as Alfred rolled their hips together.

Even through the fabric of their boxers, Alfred could feel so very easily how hard Feliciano had gotten, feel the heat burning between them as he ground his hips right onto Feliciano’s, rubbing their cloth-covered cocks together for some extra heat and friction. Alfred pulled his mouth away from Feliciano’s, instead mouthing and sucking kisses down Feliciano’s neck. The Italian was more than willing to accommodate him, tilting his head aside to expose more of his skin to Alfred’s mouth, shivering and panting beneath him in pleasured bliss.

Alfred’s glasses had already been set aside on the nightstand, their clothes on the floor, and soon Alfred was tugging at Feliciano’s boxers, lifting his head to meet Feliciano’s gaze.

Can I? was the silent question that Alfred asked through his eyes, and Feliciano smiled so sweetly at him and pulled him down into a kiss.

Yes, si, si, the kiss said, and Feliciano lifted his hips and let Alfred pull the fabric down and off of him, leaving Feliciano a beautiful, naked mess beneath him. Alfred was breathless for a moment, near reverently looking his guest over. Feliciano’s skin was light but still sun-kissed, now peppered and marked up thoroughly with little pink and purple love bites (from his neck down to his thighs, courtesy of one Alfred F. Jones), his face was red and his eyes half-lidded with arousal and contentment, his swollen cock flushed a deep pink as it stood proud and hard, curving towards his stomach.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Alfred breathed before kissing down his chest again, pausing at a perked pink nipple and wrapping his lips around it, sucking and pulling and teasing it with his tongue and lips, sometimes even gently nibbling it between his teeth. Feliciano’s hands were busy, one tangling into Alfred’s hair, the other resting on his shoulder.

“Ahh- oddio, si, Alfred, please…” Feliciano sighed in contented bliss, eyes shutting as he squirmed and arched, his cock throbbing in response to all the wonderful stimulation. The tip was dripping with precum, the shaft twitching, and he was so very obviously desperate for a release- but Alfred wasn’t going to let him have it, not just yet.

“So beautiful, how did I get so lucky? Neckin’, kissing a shiek like you, taking you to bed,” Alfred hums after he pulls his lips away from Feliciano’s chest, smiling up at him. “You always a pushover like this, or do you fancy me this much?” he teased, a bright grin on his face.

Feliciano only laughed and playfully pushed his face away. “Sciocco. You know I ‘fancy’ you more than enough, so come kiss me more,” Feliciano purred, tugging him up- and Alfred complied, eagerly settling atop him again to kiss him, hold him, touch him all over. When they broke for air, Feliciano murmured, “And use words I know, you have so many strange slang words I don’t understand.” He was pouting a little.

Alfred only laughed and nuzzled him, rubbing their noses together playfully, before replying, “Alright, doll. I will. Shiek just means you’re an attractive fella, y’know?” Feliciano turned red at that, flattered, already won over all over again. Alfred kissed him again, before he reached for a little bottle of lubricant on the bedside, and then stripped himself of his boxers too. “Ready, babe?”

Feliciano was distracted a moment, completely focused on Alfred’s now completely bare body. He was well built, not too bulky- but with clear muscle definition, his youth and strength shown off by his physique. But Feliciano’s attention was focused more on Alfred’s cock, hard and wonderfully big, already dripping precum in anticipation of being buried inside a tight heat.

“Si, I’m ready. Don’t hold back,” Feliciano purred, relaxed and content. He was no stranger to sex- Italians had their reputation for being good lovers, and Feliciano lived right up to it. “You said you’d show me a good time, right~?”

Alfred smirked at him then, a new expression Feliciano hadn’t seen on his features yet, and the sight of it made Feliciano go scarlet and shiver in anticipation. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to make you see stars,” Alfred said next, in a low tone, accompanied by a nibble to Feliciano’s ear and a kiss to his neck. Feliciano held him, kissing along Alfred’s shoulder and neck in return, only for Alfred to pull away and slick his fingers with lube, before lowering them to Feliciano’s entrance and spreading his legs. “Just relax for me, alright?”

Feliciano was cooperative as ever, relaxing himself and giving a soft gasp as he felt Alfred’s fingers slipping into him, only two at first, but slowly and gently scissoring and stretching and spreading him open, preparing him for something much thicker and bigger than just fingers. He shut his eyes and moaned, wiggling slightly on the bed- and Alfred had to pin his hips down with a firm hand to keep him still. “Easy there, Feli,” Alfred teased, grinning at him again. “If you keep squirming like that, I won’t be able to do my job, right?”

Feliciano pouted and huffed but tried his best to settle down, the muscles of his marked-up thighs starting to quiver once Alfred curled his fingers inside him. Alfred’s fingers started to rub and thrust against the upper wall, searching for his prostate- and it didn’t take long to find it. Feliciano made it easy to tell, with how he arched and cried out, his dripping cock spurting a little burst of precum onto his abdomen, his body trying to writhe on the sheets even with how Alfred’s other hand was still holding his hips down.

“A-Alfred!” came Feliciano’s pleasured gasp, and Alfred knew he’d found it, starting to relentlessly strike the spot with firm and determined thrusts of his fingers. Feliciano looked so cute, so gorgeous, like this: falling apart on his bed, spread wide open for him, entirely trusting and wanting and eager. Alfred loved this, loved making his partners go to pieces, loved giving them pleasure and making them feel wonderful. Feliciano was so cutely responsive, too, making it easy for Alfred to tell just how well he was doing.

Alfred kept spreading him, adding a third finger soon enough, before he finally pulled his fingers out completely and used the lube to slick up his own cock. Feliciano managed to lift his head after all the dizzying pleasure of being fingered, only to purr and watch in excited and eager approval as his lover stroked himself, pumping his cock and then lining himself up between Feliciano’s legs. Alfred held Feliciano’s hips firmly, and then started to push himself in, giving a low groan and gasp as he felt Feliciano’s body taking him in, tight around his cock.

“Nngh… oh fuck,” Alfred panted. “God, you’re so much better than I could’ve imagined…”

Feliciano wrapped his legs around Alfred’s hips, wanting to keep him close, his arms coming up next to wrap around Alfred’s shoulders and hold onto him desperately as Alfred pushed in deeper, deeper, filling him, stretching him, claiming him. He was a happy, squirming mess, gasping and shivering as he felt his lover filling him so wonderful, gently and slowly, treating him like a prince. “Dio… Alfred… more, please…” he panted softly, nuzzling into Alfred’s neck affectionately, before pulling back to rest against the sheets and giving Alfred a coy, inviting gaze.

An act of trust, an act of affection and goodwill. This is what their lovemaking would be, Alfred knew now.

“Don’t worry, Feliciano. I’ll take care of you, of them,” Alfred murmured into Feliciano’s ear before he kissed him sweetly, a deep but gentle kiss. Feliciano met him and held on tight, held him close, and nuzzled him when their lips broke apart.

Feliciano smiled gently at him, and Alfred smiled back, before he started to thrust. It was slow, gentle at first, letting Feliciano ease into it and adjust to him. Feliciano was panting and giving soft moans at those slow thrusts, feeling Alfred pushing and pulling in and out of him, his cock throbbing inside him and filling him, making him shiver between his moans. Feliciano’s own cock was dripping, pressed between their bodies where Alfred pinned him down with his weight. Each press of their bodies gave his trapped cock a little squeeze and some friction, only adding to Feliciano’s bliss. Their hips rocked and bucked together, in a steady rhythm, one that made Feliciano arch and shiver and beg wantonly for him, unafraid to be honest with Alfred.

“Si, oddio, more, caro, ti prego, faster…” Feliciano murmured, hips tingling, a heat steadily pooling inside him deep at the base of his hips, a burning, swelling heat. But upon hearing that, Alfred pulled back to smile at him, and pulled out entirely, leaving Feliciano confused, whining in protest. “Alfred- what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, babe, I’m not gonna leave you hanging. Hands and knees for me, alright?” Alfred said, before sucking and nipping a new mark onto Feliciano’s neck, making his lover melt and moan.

Feliciano was all too eager to comply, once he saw where this was going, and got onto his arms and knees, legs spread. Alfred grabbed his hips again and lined himself up, pushing in just the tip- and then he slammed in hard, fast, angling his hips to try and find Feliciano’s prostate. When Feliciano clutched at the sheets, crying out for him, begging for more, Alfred didn’t hold back.

The pace had been gentle before, but now Alfred was holding him firm, his hips powerfully pounding into Feliciano’s with angled, forceful thrusts, striking Feliciano’s prostate again and again. Alfred was panting, catching for breath as he continued to pleasure his lover, driving him up the wall with bliss, making Feliciano scream and moan and cry out for him desperately, pulling mewls of ecstasy from the Italian’s lips with every thrust. Again, again, again, he thrust in, rough and powerful and utterly dominating, and Feliciano adored every second, every inch.

After all, sex could still be a very fun act of passion, and Alfred had promised Feliciano a good time…

Alfred leaned over as he kept bucking, slamming into Feliciano’s tight heat, his hands going to work. One reached around Feliciano’s body to toy with Feliciano’s nipple, teasing and tweaking it, rolling it between his fingers and rubbing it firmly. His other hand wrapped around Feliciano’s throbbing cock and squeezed firm, before starting to pump along it, stroking from base to tip in a steady rhythm, making Feliciano buck forward into his hand and then back into Alfred’s hips out of desperate want.

“How’s that, babe? Feelin’ good?” Alfred teased, nibbling a new mark into Feliciano’s neck from behind, still thrusting into him so powerfully, with no signs of slowing or halting just yet. “So tight, cutie, and god you feel like you’re about to spill a mess into my hand, aren’t you?” he hummed next, thoroughly thrilled with how wet Feliciano was making his hand with his precum. “I want to make you cum again and again and again…” he groaned next, suddenly speeding up his thrusts, relishing in the way Feliciano’s cries of ecstasy got more intense, higher, thinner.

“Fuck…! Nngh- think I’m about to lose it, Feli,” Alfred panted, his breath hot on Feliciano’s ear as he sped up his hand, his hips. His bucks made his own swollen and heavy balls bump hard against Feliciano’s, and each thrust made Feliciano squeeze so wonderfully around him, making him add, “It’s like you’re trying to milk me dry. Is that what you want, Feli?”

Feliciano was still clawing and grasping at the sheets, struggling to hold on to any scrap of coherence, gasping and crying out into the sheets, his cries now slightly muffled into the mattress as Alfred essentially fucked him into it. But he didn’t even get a chance to reply before he suddenly screamed and bucked, his cock twitching hard in Alfred’s hand before he spilled a thick white mess all over it and the sheets below, his orgasm only further drawn out by the way Alfred’s bucks kept striking at his prostate to prolong his bliss.

Feliciano was getting dizzy, vision going white as his orgasm burst so heavily from him, in such a crashing rush that Alfred just kept heightening and heightening. His body bucked and his cock throbbed and pulsed with orgasm, balls pulled up taut to force out his seed, his entire body shuddering and quivering as he screamed into the blankets, his body clenching tight around Alfred’s cock.

Alfred’s thrusts quickly because stuttered and erratic, the American barely able to last even a few moments longer with how Feliciano was squeezing so tight around him, pulling and forcing his orgasm out of him. With a loud call of Feliciano’s name, Alfred used one hand to grip Feliciano’s hip tight, slamming himself in to the hilt one last time as his own orgasm burst from him, thick heat pouring into his lover and filling him.

Feliciano moaned, breathless and quaking, feeling the heat of Alfred’s seed rushing into him. But he was so very blissful, eyes shut in exhausted, sated pleasure as he let himself wind down into a wonderful afterglow, just enjoying Alfred inside him, his touch and the sound of his breathing.

“That was fantastic,” Alfred panted, leaning over Feliciano again, this time to kiss gently along his shoulder and upper back, hugging Feliciano around the waist and gently guiding Feliciano to lie down, so they could both rest on their sides, spooning and joined together. Feliciano went down as he was guided, practically purring still in delight as he cuddled back against Alfred, not letting his lover pull out of him just yet.

“You were incredible, tesoro,” Feliciano praised breathlessly, cheeks still burning a bright red from the rush of pleasure they’d both gotten to experience. He was delighted, so very happy to be held tight back against Alfred’s body, warm and secure and wanted, with Alfred still kissing at his neck and hair and ears. “I never expected a night out quite like this…”

“Hey, hey, I’m not outta the game yet,” Alfred laughed, nuzzling against Feliciano’s skin. “The night’s young… how about we rest easy a little bit and then go for round two?” Feliciano could easily hear the eager grin in Alfred’s voice, and it made Feliciano give a breathy laugh, cheeks going pink again.

“Round two? Nn, I like the sound of that, amore…” Feliciano hummed, his hand resting atop Alfred’s on his stomach. He was content to cuddle for now, to catch their breath and relax, bask in the warm afterglow and trust himself further to Alfred Jones.

“Swell,” Alfred said next, before kissing Feliciano’s shoulder again. “I’ll take it slower next time. I wanna spoil you rotten, y’know. You’re absolutely adorable when you’re making all those cute noises!” he teased with a grin and a playful poke to Feliciano’s stomach, making his lover squeak and blush.

“Alfred…!”

“Just teasin’, babe,” Alfred laughed, nuzzling him again, affectionate and gentle.

“If you keep up with me like this, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow…” Feliciano whined, but the words were drawn out a little too long, as if tempting Alfred. Alfred blinked, catching the hint, and then laughed.

“Is that so… well, I guess I’ll just have to spoil you rotten like a prince while you rest in bed,” Alfred hummed, and Feliciano smiled and relaxed, cuddling back against him more. “I’ll bring you plenty of sweets, and wine, and caviar, and all the finest foods of the city, and I’ll massage you and kiss you… And maybe go for another round.”

“You’re such a good host, caro,” Feliciano laughed softly, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to do all that,” he hummed, although he secretly was looking very forward to it.

“ ‘Course I do,” Alfred replied confidently, before his voice got softer. “You’re trusting me with a lot, even I can tell that. So let me thank you properly…” He pressed his palm flat to Feliciano’s stomach and slowly started to rub down in little circles, inching closer to Feliciano’s cock and then past it, cupping and rolling Feliciano’s balls in his hand. Feliciano was surprised by the touch, a warm tingling spreading through him, before he shivered and looked back at Alfred.

“Again, tesoro?” Feliciano purred and gave a slow roll of his hips, pushing into Alfred’s hand and then back onto his cock, taking back the few inches that had pulled out when he pushed forward.

“Yeah- the night’s young, remember?” Alfred hummed as reminder into Feliciano’s ear, making his lover shiver and give a breathy laugh.

“Then, let’s make the most of it~!”

/

And there it is! I hope it was enjoyable ;u; I’ll probably end up using part of this in a bigger de-anoned multichapter fic later on, because goodness I am having a lot of plot bunnies now. Thanks for waiting so patiently, OP!

THIS IS LITERALLY THE ERA THAT I LOVE MOST WITH THESE TWO AND THEY'RE ALREADY SO ADORABLE HHHH YOU JUST MADE ME LOVE THIS SHIP EVEN MORE THANK YOU SO MUCH PLEASE WRITE MORE OF THESE TWO CUTIES SOMETIME
I'LL JUST BE HERE
ON THE AMEITA SHIP
FO REVER

Very cute... and sexy! I love when people do rarepairs justice, these two deserve more love! Wonderful fic

Oh, this is delicious. I would love if you would continue to pet your plot bunnies and allow them to do what bunnies do. I would love to read more of this. Please?

Wow, love the setting and the smut itself very hot!

Het is fine too? Or straight yaoi?

Het is very welcome, too!

((Hello all! I simply could not get this prompt out of my head. Forgive me for tweaking history to fit my needs, but I hope this fits OP’s tastes. It’s a little rough, but it will improve as the story progresses. I've always seen the years after WWII to be such a strange time of victory and rebuilding. I hope that came across in Alfred's mood, especially with the uncertainty of Communism overhead the American. Besides, a historical America-fuckfest sounds delightful. Let me know if anyone has any questions or comments! Enjoy!))

The United States of America sat on the balcony of the newly remodeled hotel room with a smoldering cigarette dangling from his fingers. Frustrated, he stubbed the end out in the ashtray and flicked the half-smoked cigarette off the balcony. He’d given up enjoying the Virginia tobacco hours ago, too hyper-focused on the task at hand. A paper sat in his lap, listing the name of each nation that would visit him over the next few days to receive their ‘economic aid’. It seemed silly and childish to think of fucking another nation as ‘economic aid’, but that was the way of nations. Such an intimate act sealed the deal in a way a handshake or a treaty could not and this deal between the United States and Europe needed to be sealed before their economy crashed.

The war was finally over, but Europe lay broken at America’s feet. Their children starved and their homes turned to rubble, even the hardened soldier returned home to death, disease, and destruction that was nearly too much to handle. The United States of America could not let his fellow nations remain in such a state, especially since he was relatively untouched by the war. They ached and burned even though the war was long over. Alfred slept well at night and his children were even off rations, he couldn’t say the same for most of Europe. He needed to help or he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. If he was already helping his former enemy recover from the atomic bomb drop, then he could help the victims of Germany’s power lust. His people could develop something to save their economies and rebuild their democratic institutions. He could really be a hero this time around without needing to rely on ammunition and bombs. No one would have to die while he fixed this mess and he might even be able to stop the spread of nasty Communism.

So, Alfred worked closely with his Secretary of State, George C. Marshall, and watched with pride as the man developed a brilliant plan to stabilize the European economy. Of course, America would need to finance it, but it would mean Europe could be rehabilitated. The European economy would be saved (and maybe his own as well)! In a great show of camaraderie, Alfred even offered the Marshall Plan to Ivan and the Soviet Block. The offer was denied, of course, but America felt confident that he could help the 17 countries that met the terms.

The wind blew the paper in his lap, making the American grab it quickly least it fly away. Not like he needed it, after all. He’d memorized those 17 names. He knew them forwards and backwards. Alfred knew his duty, but fuck, he was nervous. This was his big debut, especially after a word like ‘superpower’ was getting thrown around. Who didn’t want to be a superpower? Alfred certainly did, even if he did have to share it with the Soviet Union.

Grunting, Alfred stood up and walked to the table in his hotel room, fishing through the tubes of lube in his suitcase until he found a small box with the number one written on the tag. There were 17 boxes, one for every nation he would see. Inside each box was a set of special items to make whatever nation walked through that hotel door feel at home. Alfred might be fucking them, but he certainly wasn’t going to make them feel dirty or uncared for. Alfred would take care of them. He’d already made that promise and he would see it through.

Alfred opened the lid of the first box, lifting a small music box from the depths. He’d never cared much for the thing, but he knew his first partner would enjoy it. He turned the box over just a little to crank the hand crank, smiling fondly as the melody of a piano filled the relatively silent hotel room. The American stood there listening to the tune, until a soft knock sounded upon his door. Alfred closed his suitcase and walked to the door to open it.

Austria had arrived.

~~~~~
Notes:

* The Marshall Plan was the economic plan of the Secretary of State, George C. Marshall, developed in 1948. The United States gave nearly 17 billion dollars (nearly 160 billion today) to rebuild European economies after WWII. Their goals included: rebuilding, modernize industry, remove trade barriers, and make Europe prosperous.
* The Soviet Union refused negotiations with the United States over the Marshall Plan, but getting into that opens up a whole can of worms I’d rather not focus on.
* Rationing in the United States ended in 1946, but rationing in the United Kingdom did not end until 1954.
*Underneath General Douglas MacArthur, the United States worked at rehabilitating Japan after their surrender. Their goals: to reform Japan, revive Japanese economy and develop a formal peace treaty and alliance.
*The 17 countries included in the Marshall Plan: Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey, the United Kingdom, and western Germany.

I am looking forward to reading more of this. Good start, Authornon.

Thank you so much!

The high pitched shriek of joy you may have heard was me.

I'm so glad to see a fill! And even happier to see that you went with the historical route. I loved the line about America making sure they're taken care of and comfortable. Ah, be still my heart.

Are you going to write about all 17 getting fucked? (I-I hope so?) That will just make my life forever. I'm glad to see at least one lovely lady on there (depending on your headcanons for Ireland and Portugal), as well as some rare pairs. Wonderful.

Thank you, anon! I'll be watching excitedly, but patiently for more!

OP, your comment made me curious! Does that mean you disregard the canon male Portugal and prefer a female one? :o

Uh...no, I just genuinely didn't know Hima made an official Portugal yet. I'm not "disregarding" anything.

ah sorry! I didn't mean to come off rudely, but it's hard to convey stuff through just text OTL

If you're interested, this is what he looks like! http://media.tumblr.com/ebc39f6beb21786d4e3be76e9675fdfa/tumblr_inline_nfa8a48hml1qf6zr1.jpg

Oh sorry! People get weird about things here so it's hard to tell sometimes. I'm sorry!

Thanks for the link, I don't know how I missed that update!

Oh, OP! I'm thrilled to hear you enjoy this! I couldn't resist after I saw the prompt of putting historical themes inside it. This time period is my favorite and is what I'm going to school for.

All 17 will be fucked. :D I wasn't aware Portugal was a man, so originally I had for that nation to be female. Now I'm just going to do some switching. Ireland is going to be female, though! Can't leave the ladies out!

So Alfred is gonna do all 17? I'm sold ;)

:D He's going to do all 17, plus one more. I'm counting both Lovino and Feliciano as Italy. So The Italy chapter will be two.

((I'm so glad the reception on this one is so great! I hope everyone enjoys this next installment, but I forgive for Austria. He's difficult for me to write. I hope he's not too much out of character. Warning for smut. Enjoy!))

Austria arrived prepared, (in more ways than one, Alfred would soon find out). He was all business, giving Alfred a simple nod before disappearing into the bathroom to strip from his long coat and trousers into a set of nightclothes. America was left standing near the bed, awkwardly trying to decide if he should remain standing or climb into bed. Austria didn’t give him a chance to decide, because he slipped out of the bathroom and stood before the American in a long, white nightgown.

“You’re still dressed.” The Austrian observed as he pushed his glasses back up his nose, motioning for Alfred to undress. “Honestly, you act like you’ve never done this before.” Roderich’s frown deepened as he peered at the American over the top of his glasses. “I suppose you haven’t, have you? This,” he motioned between the two of them, “is a very old world notion.”

“I didn’t want to just be sittin’ here naked, that wouldn’t be very…proper.” Alfred shrugged, awkwardly trying to give Roderich a smile, only for it not to be returned. He’d been warned about that. The Austrian didn’t smile much, nor did he seem very interested in pretending to smile. It threw Alfred off and made him feel unbalanced. He reached up to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one. His cheeks flooded with heat as he dropped his shirt to the ground, reaching down to work on his trousers. “They said this was the best way to implement aid the fastest. I want you to feel better, Roderich.”

The Austrian’s cheeks turned pink, but he busied himself with snatching Alfred’s shirt off the floor and folding it to hide his blushing face. He placed the folded shirt on the table, holding his hand out as Alfred stepped out of his trousers. “Might as well give me those too.” He gave Alfred an appreciative glance down his torso, stopping at his boxers as he placed Alfred’s folded trousers on top of the shirt.

Alfred jerked his head down, hoping he hadn’t accidentally worn old underwear. He couldn’t meet with a classy guy like Austria with old underwear. He didn’t want to come off as slovenly. “What’s wrong?” He asked curiously, after finding his new boxers a pristine white color.

“Nothing.” Austria answered quickly before walking over and popping the elastic band of Alfred’s boxers. Roderich inhaled slowly, ignoring the American’s gasp of surprise, and pushing them down Alfred’s thick thighs. “It’s been years since I’ve seen boxers without a button.” Violet eyes flicked up to lock with vibrant blue ones. “Victory has done well for you, Alfred. I suppose your people were right, to the victor belong the spoils.”

It was such a sweet moment, because the thought of victory always made Alfred a little weak-kneed and sentimental. He reached down to tilt Roderich’s chin up and placed the lightest of kisses along his jawline. “Then allow me to spread the spoils.” He wrapped an arm around Austria’s waist, pulling them both down to the bed. The stiff binding of Roderich’s corset startled the American, but once he realized what it was he gently rubbed his fingertips along the intricate bindings. “Isn’t this uncomfortable?”

“No. I’ve become used to the tightness,” the Austrian answered, squirming underneath the weight of the American above him, “I’ve spent too many years sitting at my piano. Old age has made me grow fat.”

“You’re not fat.” Alfred insisted as he hesitantly reached up to comb his fingers through the Austrian’s chocolate colored hair. In the moment of quiet, America listened to the music box play another song before dissipating into complete silence. His fingers didn’t stay idle, they disappeared down Roderich’s sides and stroked over his hips. He mapped out the nation’s body, calming him with those soft touches.

Roderich sighed softly, tossing his arm over his eyes as he squirmed with the sweet touches. His cheeks heated and his lips a bright red as he bit them to keep from making too much noise. “This isn’t..ahh..what I expected from you.”

“What did you expect?” America asked as he tilted his head to the side and pulled the nightgown up Roderich’s thighs. He blinked as he realized the Austrian wasn’t wearing underwear. His soft cock and round ass were completely bare to the American. It was an unexpected, but welcomed sight. There was something else catching his eye. There was a slight glimmer on Roderich’s ass. Alfred had always been much too curious for his own good and he reached forward to drag his index finger through the slick substance. It was lube, Alfred realized with a furrow brow. “Roderich?”

Roderich grunted as goose bumps raced down his thighs at the touches to his sensitive ass, “I expected youthful exuberance.”

“You prepared yourself.” Alfred stated, using his thumbs to spread Austria’s ass cheeks. He was stuffed full of slick. The slippery liquid clung to his skin and the excess slick dribbled down to splatter against the sheets of the bed. “Fuck.” It was one of the hottest things the American had seen in a long time. His cock throbbed against his thigh, protesting the neglect.

“Don’t act surprised!” Austria scolded, peeking from underneath his arm to glare at the grinning American. “I wanted to be prepared for anything.” Definitely, he snapped his legs together as a pout settled upon his face. “Your teasing is not helping.”

Alfred just chuckled as he massaged a set of small circles on Roderich’s fleshy ass, coaxing those legs apart once more. “I’m sorry, hon.” Dropping the pet name in hopes of getting back on his sweet side. “Just relax and I’ll take good care of you.” He coaxed Roderich to sit up just a bit, using the time to completely pulling the nightgown over the nation’s head. This he tossed onto the floor despite an indignant squawk from the smaller man.

“You’re picking that up.” The Austrian snapped, only to be cut off as Alfred pressed their lips together once more. The kiss was a distraction for the American’s thick fingers to press inside Roderich’s welcoming, tight hole. He wasn’t lying when he said he prepared himself. Alfred’s fingers twisted and stretched the muscles and they yielded easily to his efforts.

Alfred pulled his lips away, panting softly as he watched Roderich’s chest heave as he gasped for air. “Relax, hon.” He whispered softly, grinning as Austria’s blush threatened to trail all the way down his torso, stopping at the top of the black corset. Alfred traced the top of the corset, enjoying the way Austria shivered with each stroke. “Just like that,” he purred, letting his free hand inch towards the tube of lube sitting on the bedside table. Roderich might have prepared himself, but Alfred was a firm believer in you could never use enough slick. He certainly didn’t want friction burn on his or Austria’s dick. With his hand slick, he reached down to stroke his partner, feeling the shaft plump and lengthen in his hand. Mostly Alfred enjoyed watching Austria writhe, twisting and whining as the American alternated between soft, slow strokes and hard, fast ones.

Alfred admired how pretty Austria was when he lost himself in his pleasure. The low arousal that had been growing in the America’s stomach flared to life, igniting a yearning inside him. “Fuck.” He cursed as he took his hand away just as Roderich was to cum. It was an asshole move, but Alfred didn’t want him too sensitive. He used the hand slick with lube and Austria’s pre-cum to stroke his own half-hard cock until the organ as hard and pulsing with life.

Austria gave a choked groan as Alfred spread his ass cheeks again, pressing the bulbous head of his cock into the tight channel. Constricting heat and undeniable pleasure shot through the American’s body, his hips twitching desperately to sink deeper into Roderich. It had been a while for Alfred. The war years didn’t give him more time for baser needs, but his body didn’t forget the joy of a good fuck.

Roderich was undeniably impatient once Alfred was pressed inside him, the American’s cock nudging just right against his prostate for a teasing pleasure. His arms were wrapped around the American’s neck and his fingernails were digging groves into his back. They stung painfully, but it sent another thrill down Alfred’s spine. The mix of pleasure and pain pushed heat into the American’s veins. He rocked into Roderich, listening to the moans and whimpers of the man underneath him, turning his attention to any part of the nation that was lacking in affection.

They moved together, Alfred pressing open-mouthed kisses to Roderich’s neck, never quite marking the soft skin there. Austria groaned, reaching down to stroke himself as Alfred increased the speed of his thrusts. His actions sent shivers through his body making him tighten around the American’s cock. Alfred wasn’t one to be a selfish lover. His hand joined Roderich’s own and stroked him in quick, rough strokes. As the Austrian’s prostate was assaulted along with his cock, he found himself drowning in pleasure. He came with a soft gasp, arching into Alfred’s hand and sending shocks through his body. Alfred became lost in that pleasure, rutting into Austria until his thighs trembled and his vision flashed white. He pressed once more into Austria, spilling his seed deep into the nation.

Panting softly, Alfred pulled his spent cock out of Austria, collapsing to lie on his side. Roderich trembled in the aftershocks of his own climax, twitching as the American pressed his fingers back into his spent hole, keeping his seed from leaking out. Roderich moaned at the sensitivity of his puckered entrance, closing his eyes but not fighting the motion. The entire point was to keep Alfred inside the Austrian for as long as possible.

Alfred reached down to the mess of sheets at the end of the bed, tugging them up to cover Roderich. He wanted to make sure the other man was taken care of in all ways. As he settled down for a quick nap beside his bed partner, Roderich stopped him with a soft kiss to the forehead. “Thank you, Alfred, for everything.”

The smile Alfred gave the Austrian in return was blinding.

~~~~~~~~

Notes
* In the United States (and I’m sure other countries) elastic was rationed for other uses. World War II saw many men’s underwear being made with button snaps instead of elastic. Also, stockings were rationed as well.
* Austria was difficult to write, but I tried to include many of the character traits that I’ve researched. Hopefully he’s close enough.
* Austria (the country) was the first country to join into a union with Germany during World War II. The famous Anschluss was the joining of ethnic Germans.
* 'To the victor belongs the spoils' originated in the United States during the 1800s, from what my research tells me anyway.

Author-non, I think you did a great job. Austria seemed in character to me. I like his character, but it doesn't seem a very easy one to work with. More power to you. I was writing in thinking this would be good from that first part, you definitely do NOT disappoint. I liked the little touches that made it more than just plot with porn. You're really thinking things out. Can't wait for the next bit!

Oh, hot damn, my favorite rare pair! This was a wonderful job, author!anon. I've trying to write America/Austria sex scene forever, and you used some of the same tricks (pre-preparing himself, bitching about cleanliness during the damn sex) I did, so I think you did the characterization right. I'll be bookmarking this.

A!Anon!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!! CANNOT WAIT FOR some of the nations to get fucked. OMG!!! Please tell me your continuing this!

This anon is looking for slow, sensual RusLiet smut where Russia pays special attention to the scars on Lithuania's back. And it turns Lithuania on like no tomorrow. Preferably consensual, though slight dubcon elements are fine. No straight out non-con though, please.

Bonus 1: Most of Liet's scars were inflicted by Russia himself, and he remembers every single incident. He is extremely jealous about the scars made by other nations.
Bonus 2: The scars are linked to historical events

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, scars, slight dubcon elements at the beginning(?), mentions of real historic events, smut

Ship: Lithuania / Russia

“You got a lovely house Lithuania!”

Lithuania nodded and muttered a thank you to the other man, he wasn’t entirely sure letting Russia into his home was a good idea, but he was still a little too intimidated by him to outright ask him to leave when he was being harmless. So, Lithuania let him in. It had gone well so far, and he had calmed himself down with reassuring thoughts that if Russia did something, then it would be different than all the other times, that this time Lithuania would be able to contact America or any other country for help. He wasn’t under the same influence or oppression that he had been before, not to mention the ease in modern communication and media.

There was still a part of him that had him worried though, even during his Commonwealth, his strongest point in history, Russia had managed to conquer him. - And Russia has made it disturbingly clear that he liked owning him.

But the man seemed friendly enough right now, but Lithuania knew that it could be deceiving, he did not trust Russia. Russia had brought some pastries for Lithuania to enjoy later - practically barged in once Lithuania opened the door. He had looked around, commenting that he didn’t think he had ever actually been in Lithuania’s new home so the Lithuanian had politely offered to give him a small house tour. They have reached the end now, his bedroom.

Ivan began looking through the bedroom, taking note of the history books on the shelves. He grabbed one, The Northern Crusades.

“Ah, the Teutonic Knights. They really were a pain in the ass back in the day. Weren’t they?”

“Well, they did like to wage war a lot.”

Russia looked briefly through the book, not being particularly interested in trying to read the Lithuanian text that summarized a history they both lived through.

“I’m curious, why would you have history books like this? Don’t you remember your own history?”

“It’s good to refresh sometimes, as someone that has been around for a while, - one can’t remember everything.”

“Hmm…”

Russia put the book back neatly where it belongs. “You are right.” He thought for a moment, then turned to face Lithuania.

“Hey you have a lot of old scars right?”

Toris got a bit startled by that question, not expecting it. Russia knew damn well that his back was all messed up, why on earth would he ask him about that?

“Well, yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Russia took a few steps forward to be right next to Lithuania, he smiled cheerily and not in a creepy way either, but the response after made Lithuania shiver.

“Take off your clothes.”

“WHAT?”

Russia leaned in closer, he looked really creepy now.

“Take off your clothes.”

Ivan began to unbutton Toris shirt, Lithuania was in such disbelief so he didn’t even know what to say or how to react, he just shook his head and slapped the hands away. He took a few steps back which earned him a confused expression from Russia.

After a few moments of staring at each other Russia decided to advance forward to capture Lithuania, this was successful, and even though Toris kicked and pushed in Ivan’s grasp Ivan knew from past experiences that one should hold tightly. He laid the Lithuanian down onto his bed and straddled him so that he wouldn’t get away. Then Russia continued to unbutton Toris' shirt. Lithuania tried in vain to push Russia off of him.

“No, Russia, get off of me!”

It didn’t take long for Ivan to undress Toris upper half, he took Lithuania's arm and began to examine it, his expression was similar to that of a curious child.

“You have been through a lot haven’t you Toris?”

He began to gently trace some scars Lithuania had on his shoulder with his finger.

“What are you doing?”

Russia put the arm down to let it rest as he traced his finger over to the scars on Lithuania’s chest and collarbone.

“Refreshing memory, one can not remember everything but I’m sure you remember the history behind these Да?” (Yes?)

Lithuania felt shivers down his spine as Russia gently traced his fingers across his scars, he was confused. Was Russia just asking for some history lessons and a trip through memory lane? Lithuania was sure just a second ago that Ivan was going to do something very awful and sinister to him, but…Maybe not? He can’t be sure though, the man on top of him was known to be unpredictable. ‘Or maybe he just wants to try and get me an anxiety attack by reminiscing about bad memories, it would've worked a few years ago.’

“Well, yes, it’s a bit hard to forget something like that.”

Russia stopped the touches and very shyly asked:

“Could you maybe talk to me about them?

~Timeskip~

Lithuania sat comfortably in his bed as Russia traced the scars again, Russia had let him go soon after he agreed to talk about his scars. He didn’t expect Russia’s sudden interest in his scars, and what was even stranger was that he seemed genuinely interested in hearing Lithuania telling him about the history behind every one. Even the scars that were made by Russia himself.

“- And where is this from?”

“That would be from 1812 when you punished me for taking part in helping the French invasion.”

“Ah I remember that! General Winter helped me greatly in dealing with France and his men.”

Ivan’s words were a lot more cheery than what they should have been considering the subject of conversation, but that’s how the entire conversation had gone yet so far and Lithuania was no longer as disturbed by it as he was initially, besides, his mind was elsewhere. He tried to steady his breathing as Russia traced his fingers over the old remnants of an injury to the next.

“- And this one? Where was this one from?”

“That would be from Prussia during the occupation in world war 2. 1941 to be precise.”

“Ah yes, he treated you quite unwell if I recall, you must have been very sad and scared when I no longer could stay with you.”

Lithuania held his tongue in correcting Russia, the fact was that when the germans came to occupy Lithuania, they were welcomed. The Lithuanian people saw them as liberators, as saviors from the soviet tyranny. Toris himself was a fool to believe that he would be met with a lot more understanding and kind treatment once he was forced to live with the Germanic brothers. He learned quickly though, that the Germans were indeed no saviors. Their harsh actions and demands as well as treatment only sparked despair, anger and fear in Lithuania. Instead of the hope and triumph he had wished for.

Russia rubbed the scar a bit harsher, the man didn’t seem to be as happy with this one. Though nowhere near the ones he had from Russia he could admit that this was a pretty nasty scar. Toris hitched his breath. It didn’t hurt when Russia touched him, not in a way that Lithuania minded anyway, but there was just this one thing that bothered Toris an incredibly lot caused by Russia’s touches. You see, a while ago, Lithuania found out that touching his scars was an incredible turn on.

Lithuania was incredibly turned on right now.

He had done his best not to show it, having a pillow in his lap and trying to get his voice steady by focusing on their conversation topic and his breathing. But man did it hurt. He needed attention so badly right now, but he figured that asking Russia would be weird and probably just responded with some insulting comment and threats of blackmail.

“Hmm, and where is this one from?”

“That one would be from 1944 when you recaptured me.”

“Mhm, I really took out the corruption those fascists put inside you! You must’ve been so relieved.”

Russia leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the scar, Lithuania couldn’t help but moan.

“Hah..!”

Russia leaned back and looked at Toris in concern.

“Lithuania? Are you okay?”

“Yes yes I am fine I just - Ah!”

Lithuania bent forward and held his blushing face in his hands. Russia rubbed where he had kissed, he tried to go gently about it, confused as to why Lithuania was acting this way. He had taken a guess that maybe Lithuania was just getting emotional over the memories. So he decided to try and reassure him.

“I know the germans were very bad to your people, that Prussia and Germany where very harsh and cruel, I understand if you are still upset and scared if it were to happen again - even by some other country -but I assure you,”

He turned the Lithuanian, taking his hands in his own. The movement caused the pillow to fall from Toris lap down to the floor. Russia looked intently into Lithuania’s eyes, he had a dark aura and a cruel smile on his lips.

“If anyone ever were to hurt you, I will chase them down with my pipe until they can run no longer.”

They stared at each other for a while, Lithuania did not know how to respond, and Russia was mostly waiting for a response. After some time Russia decided to continue to caress the scars Lithuania’s body held. Lithuania let out a small groan again and Russia looked down, still confused. But then he noticed the tent in the other’s pants. As well as how Toris was looking down and blushing, clearly bothered. Ivan decided to test something, he reached to gently rub the deep scars on Lithuania’s back while he observed the flustered man's reaction.

“Hmpf!”

“Fufufu! Does touching your scars turn you on?”

Lithuania trembled, both in excitement and nervosity, not sure how to appropriately respond to the question. Russia took matters in his own hands before Lithuania had responded though. He took his hand and firmly gripped Toris shoulder to look at him. The big man was now as flustered and shy as a schoolgirl asking their crush out on a date.

“If you would like me to, I could help you.”

Russia's smile faded to get a more serious expression even though his flustered demeanor was still obvious enough as he added:

“If you would like me to leave that’s okay too, I don’t mean to disturb you if you would rather take care of it yourself.”

Lithuania blinked, he didn’t expect this from Russia, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he really should accept the offer, considering their troubling relations that still need a lot more time and working on to heal.

But he wanted a relief of the pain his erection caused him and seemingly Russia willingly offered him that.

“Okay.”

Russia’s face lit up.

“But please, be careful with me.”

“Да of course!” (Yes)

Ivan turned Toris around so that he had access to the other’s back, he trailed careful kisses and licks to the scars as he unfastened Lithuania’s belt and undid his pants. Lithuania let the other do as he wished, liking the feeling yet so far, moaning breathy moans in response. He could feel Ivans smile against his back.

The moment Lithuania’s pants and underwear were off Russia went to rub a finger by Lithuania’s entrance, right before he was about to push it in he was stopped.

“Wait!”

Russia took his hands closely to himself and leaned back a little to give the other man a little space. Concerned that he hurt the other.

“What, did I do something wrong?”

Lithuania reached to his nightstand and took out a tube of lube and handed it to Russia before settling himself to stand on his arms and knees to make it easier for the man behind him to get access.

“No, but if you’re going to put something in me, at least use lubricant. And be generous.”

Russia chuckled, feeling a little dumb.

“Fufu, sorry, all this history talk made me forget that we have this now!”

He proceeded to put some on his fingers, being generous as asked, when he was done he traced his finger around Toris entrance a bit before he pushed it in. Toris moaned, being nowhere near satisfied but liking where this was going. Ivan felt around inside Toris, amused by the situation. After some time he decided to flip Lithuania around so that he was laying on his back, he had temporarily taken out his finger when he did this and decided to add a second one once he pushed inside again. Breathy moans could be heard from the lithuanian.

“You’re okay?”

“Don’t stop.”

“Fufufu!”

Russia felt inside the Lithuanian, pulling his fingers in and out, scissoring the man. He kissed, licked and sucked the inside of Toris thighs. Earning even more moans. Once Ivan thought that Toris was ready he decided to lean up to suck, kiss and lick Lithuania's cock as he added a third finger. This time the groan was louder. Russia did not deepthroat Lithuania’s dick, but he did press his lips and tongue against one side of it and pumped up and down as he searched for a special spot in Lithuania’s ass that he hadn’t found just yet. On occasion he would also give the tip a good suck and kiss to have a taste at the precum.

After some time, Russia decided to take out his fingers and sit up, then flipping Lithuania over again to lay on his stomach. Russia unfastened his own belt.

“All good?”

“Yes, God yes, please don’t stop now!”

“Fufu!”

He took out his dick and put some lubricant on it, stroking it a few times to spread it around, he didn’t bother to take off his other clothes and positioned himself behind Lithuania, then pushed himself in, trying to go slow about it though not really succeeding.

“Aahh! Hah…!”

When he was all the way in he decided to look at Lithuania’s face and wait for the man to adjust. ‘Such pretty expressions!’ After half a minute he grew a bit bored and opted to please the Lithuanian by sucking, licking and kissing the deep scars on his back.

“P-please!”

Russia took that moan as a hint and began to move out and in, carefully and slow in case the other was still adjusting.

“H-harder p-please Ivan..!”

Russia chuckled and complied, speeding up to a faster pace. The Lithuanian under him had lost his composure and was just indulged in pleasure and lusting desire. It was a wonderful sight in Ivan’s eyes. He continued to lick, suck and kiss, managing to cause hickeys across Toris back, discoloring the scars. ‘More markings on the masterpiece that is Toris back.’

“Yes! Yes..! Just like that! Right there please Ivan please!”

It didn’t take long for Ivan to figure out where Toris' prostate was located, Toris was being rather loud about his pleasure - which Ivan found amusing. Not to say that Ivan wasn’t moaning as well during this ordeal, he wasn’t as pleading and moany as the man under him, but he too was indeed groaning and breathily moaning in pleasure.

“I-Ivan I’m going to- I-I’m going to-!”

“Да, Литва! Cum with me!” (Yes, Lithuania!)

Lithuania came with a loud scream of a moan, Russia continued to thrust during Lithuania’s orgasm, almost overstimulating the man, but then Russia pulled out, stroked himself a few times and came, cum spilling out onto Lithuania’s back, decorating it even more.

‘Beautiful.’

Russia put his now flaccid cock into his pants again, he was tired and he could tell that Lithuania was too, but he couldn’t stay as he didn’t bring new clothes or anything in preparation to such an event. He found that to be disappointing and vowed to himself that he would come back sometime.

“This was fun, Toris, I’d love to stay-”

He leaned forward and gave a kiss on top of the naked man's head.

“-But I have to go now before my boss gets worried.”

He stood up and walked over to the bedroom door, glancing back.

“I enjoyed my visit greatly, I hope that we’ll have just as much fun next time I come over Да?”

Toris didn’t get the time to respond as Ivan left very soon after, leaving the other to gather himself in peace.

‘Just what have I gotten myself into?’

A nation of the author's choosing is talking about a historical event pertaining to South Italy, or any part of Italy really, and is doing a horrible job of it. Romano listens in out of curiosity, and gets super pissed by the inaccuracy. The other nation then asks him to tell them how it really went. He does so, in his own special way. I'm looking for something humorous. No pairings/smut please.

Bonus: The other nation isn't America, Italy, or Spain. But if that is how you need to write it, then that's fine.

Prompt: Remember that time Estonia went to Mochi-land and wanted to take home Mochi Liechtenstein? Perhaps there's some underlying feelings there?
I just want to see Estonia being nervous around Liechtenstein and perhaps trying to make a move on her. Up to writer!anon if they get together or not.

Bonus: Latvia letting something slip about Estonia's feelings to Liechtenstein.
Bonus 2: Someone else also having a secret crush on Liechtenstein and (I nominate Iceland)

Because I totally need to see America going through a hippie phase. America gets frustrated at the little victories of the Cold War, especially just after Vietnam, and jumps on the counterculture bandwagon. He shows up at world meetings like this and I would love to see other nations' reactions.

Bonus one - He's high at one point

Bonus two - "The man can't tell me what to do!" when basically he is the man.

Bonus three - He places sunflowers in Russia's hair , which actually scares the other nation more than their usual threat-fest.

Seconded!

Are you looking for something serious or crack?

Whatever works! I could see it as either one, so whatever choice fits the style I guess! :)

[i]World Conference, 1967[/i]

"Where the hell is he? The meeting has already been delayed half an hour!" Arthur huffed, arms folded across his chest and a deep scowl on his face as he glanced around.

Receiving no response besides a half-shrug from his former colony, Canada, Arthur released another heavy sigh and pushed his chair out from the large, round table. He stood, straightened his tie, and swept his shaggy blond hair away from his eyes, attempting to fix the few people who were paying any attention to him with a steely glare. After all, everyone was being completely unhelpful, and some were even taking advantage of the delay; several of the nations had taken to moving seats and starting conversations with their friends while they awaited the loud-mouthed American's arrival.

"Well, I'll go use the telephone and attempt to find him." The Brit announced, and earned a slight wave from Canada for his efforts.

He'd gotten almost all the way to the heavy double doors that led into the hallway when the doors abruptly slammed open, revealing none other than America.

Arthur immediately opened his mouth, fully intending to issue a an angry speech on the importance of punctuality, only to stop with his mouth hanging agape.

Over the years, Arthur had seen Alfred dress in many a ridiculous manner; from the time he was a child, he'd hated the confining nature of proper dress. Arthur had been lax with his usually strict dress code due to his fondness for the boy, but he had still upheld isome/i rules. However, after the man had gained his independence, he'd pointedly disregarded all the rules of proper dress into the late 1800's. He'd mellowed out a bit afterwards, but still seemed to dress a bit oddly and with a lack of refinement. Nothing he usually wore, however, could compare to ithis/i.

Alfred stepped into the room in a pair of moccasins, muddy and worn, with small, multicolored beads strung onto the laces. For pants, he wore a pair of denim bell bottoms, fitted to his long, toned legs. His loose, tye-dyed shirt was cut in jagged lines at the bottom, but it didn't take long to figure out where the missing part of his shirt had gone; Alfred had tied the ripped material around his head in a makeshift headband. A ragged messenger bag with covered in patches was slung over the American's shoulder.

"Hey, man," Alfred said, shooting Arthur a lopsided grin as he pushed his hair over one shoulder.

Arthur struggled to compose himself, absolutely in awe of Alfred's appearance. He hadn't seen the man in over a year, and in that time he'd completely changed the way he looked. He'd grown his hair out to his shoulders, tucking one side behind his ear and leaving the other side loose. Hell, he'd even changed his glasses from their signature rectangular shape to a pair of completely circular ones!

"Wh-Where have you been, git? We've all been waiting!" The Brit huffed, hurriedly regaining his composure.

"Chill, man. The taxi I was in ran outta gas so I had to push it," the American explained with a nonchalant shrug, moving past the Brit and toward his seat.

"A-Alfred-kun, are those daisies in your hair?" Kiku asked, stopping the man a few feet from his chair.

The American nodded, beaming excitedly as he brushed one over his shoulder to display to his friend.

"Yeah! My friend Jehne picked them for me yesterday. She found this meadow out in the woods when we were walkin' around tryin' to get back into the flow. Here," the American reached up, plucking one from his hair. With a soft smile, he tucked it behind his friend's ear and patted his head.

"The flow?" The Japanese man echoed, raising a brow.

"Yeah, 's what I call it when ya go and get back in touch with the world. Y'know, like the natural world." The American smiled.

"Ah, I see." Kiku nodded, considering this.

"Excuse me, but can we please start? We're already forty-five minutes late due to your irresponsibility, and now you put us further off schedule because you fancy annoying poor Japan? I hope you've got presentation notes in that sack of yours, because you're the first presenter on the agenda!"

"Dude, don't flip your wig. The establishment is always tellin' us what to do! You're just like the man, all up in my face trying to control everything! So what if I was late?"

Arthur simply stared, dumbfounded, for a moment. Then, his brows furrowed and he threw his hands into the air. "What in God's name are you talking about?! Just—Just go to your seat! You're presenting after France."

"The man can't tell me what to do!" Alfred huffed. "I'm sittin' cause I wanna, not cause society tells me to." He flipped his hair and turned, starting toward his seat.

He was halfway there when he froze, furrowing his brows for a second as he approached his assigned chair, where Russia was currently sat, leering at Canada.

"Russia, man. You took my spot?" Alfred asked, raising a brow.

Russia turned, smiling widely at the American. "Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that, America?"

"Nah, 's cool. I'll just sit next to ya, man." The American shrugged and plopped into the seat beside the Russian, smiling pleasantly at him.

Oblivious to the shocked stares of everyone else in the room, Alfred ducked his head down and began to rummage around in his messenger bag, unearthing several papers.

"...Right." Arthur gulped, a bit uneasy as he straightened his papers, his eyes never leaving Alfred. "France, you're up. Try to sound intelligent."

"Of course, of course, I'll simply do the exact opposite of what you do!" The Frenchman shot back distractedly, the majority of his attention focused on the American nation currently braiding his golden hair.

"Alright... To begin, I'd like to..." Francis' voice floated around the room, fading into background noise for most of the nations.

After all, the majority of them were gazing at Alfred in various states of shock, wonder, and disgust. His dress was ridiculous, but for some not entirely out of the norm for him; Japan and Canada had kept in touch relatively well since they'd last seen him, and had been at least somewhat aware of Alfred's rapidly changing worldview. Although neither were are of the extent of his changes, it wasn't a complete surprise that he spoke of 'the man' and societal repression. For some, however, it was completely brand new, and extremely odd. They'd seen the American counterculture movement, of course, but they'd never thought Alfred would take a liking to it.

As Francis continued to speak, Alfred leaned closer, smiling at Russia.

"Pssst, Ivan." He whispered, leaning toward the man.

The elder glanced over, raising a brow. The American raised a hand, holding up two fingers.

"Peace, man." Alfred beamed.

Ivan shivered, turning back to Francis. However, he wasn't able to ignore Alfred for long. Within ten minutes, he began to feel the American's fingers in his hair and he bristled, sitting ramrod straight in his chair as the American fiddled with his pale blond locks. After a moment, he realized that the American was calmly tying flower stems to his short locks, a sweet, content smile on his face as he did so.

"Y'look better like this," Alfred decided after a moment, beaming.

Russia's bottom lip trembled and he nodded stiffly, eyes as wide as saucers. Despite the fact that Alfred was actually being sincerely friendly, his sweet actions were even more intimidating than the threats Ivan was used to. With the tension between them growing every day, it wasn't unusual for dark threats, insults, and the occasional physical violence, to transpire between them. But this? This idea of 'peace', of putting flowers in the enemy's hair? It was absolutely terrifying. Alfred hadn't been so much as civil towards him in years, let alone outright kind.

"Alfred, it's your turn to present," Arthur said hurriedly, gulping.

"Oh! Alright, dude." Alfred grinned as he stood up, smiling happily at every incredulous nation in the room. "'Kay, so hear me out on this. Mary Jane. It's natural, it's good, and it could totally help with a bunch of stuff!"

Although the speech was utterly ridiculous as per usual, everyone let Alfred finish it, thanking all that was holy that it was short. Although many in the room had tried drugs and were known to use them quite frequently, Alfred's new 'hippie' persona was creating an atmosphere of collective shock within the room.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom for a few," Alfred said, flashing a peace sign as he dismissed himself from the room.

Speeches carried on as usual, the group managing to get through three presentations, though all were distracted by the sudden disappearance of Alfred. He'd been in the bathroom for forty five minutes when Arthur stood up during the break between Ludwig and Feliks' presentations. The Brit hurriedly dismissed himself, explaining that he was going to go and find Alfred before he swiftly left the room, heading toward the bathroom.

On the way, his eyes caught on a few wisps of smoke slipping through the cracks of a maintenance closet door. Frowning, the Brit approached the closet and opened the door, only to take a step back as the pungent, somewhat familiar aroma of marijuana enveloped him.

Alfred, perched on an empty crate and pinching a small amount of the drug, rolled up in brown paper, between his fingers, looked up and smiled dopily at Arthur.

"Heeeeeey, man." He grinned.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The Brit cried. "You should be saving the few brain cells you have left!"

Alfred chuckled a bit and slowly extended his arm, holding the blunt out to Arthur. "Hey, man, I can share. C'mon, lets fry our brain cells together."

Arthur looked down at his hand for a moment, frowning harshly. Alfred continued to stare, calm and unyielding, until Arthur gave in and accepted the drug.

"Eh, why not? These are boring as shite." He said, sitting daintily on the crate beside his former colony before taking a hit.

[b]A/N: A!A is sorry for crappy fill, but I found this prompt so delightful that I had to write something.[/b]

Ivan and Ludwig have been secret lovers for several centuries, and while having a secret couples weekend, they end up caught in a hotel room alternately reminiscing and enjoying each other's company. Focusing on their meeting and the beginning of their relationship, as well as their personal comfort with each other in the present.

Bonuses:
- Their relationship actually is a secret that they're keeping, because while they're romantically involved as people their nations have long and tense histories.
- AU where Germany started out as the state of Hesse and they met when Russia hired Hessian mercenaries.
-Ludwig bottoming

As a historical/character note: Addressing the German States' history of being the battleground of the Holy Roman Empire, as well as extreme infighting between the German Princes during the HRE, much less any battles between France and the Austrian Hapsburgs, and the resultant effect on Ludwig's view of this time and of his mercenary work.

Anon would like some SpainxPortugal set during a world meeting with one giving the other a discrete handjob under the table. No preference on who the receiver is, as long he struggles to keep quiet. The giver should not make it easy on him and in fact try to get as much noise out of him as possible.

Bonus 1: Germany (or any other 'strict' nation) keeps telling them to be quiet without realising what's really going on
Bonus 2: They leave the meeting and finish up in the supply room next door. Loudly.

I forgot to add, nation names preferred!

Seconded

I liked this prompt a lot, so I tried to fill it. I tried to include the bonuses too, keyword tried.

------

The meetings this week had been so boring, Spain was sure he was going to lose his mind. He wouldn't have minded it so much if they didn't give every single nation an hour long time slot for their presentations and reports. Most didn't use that much time, some only using a few minutes to give the necessary reports and then sit back down, but some of the more uptight nations felt that they had to use all of the time given to them for some reason. Which was why his stomach was growling and his water cup was already empty again, Germany had been speaking of his country's affairs for nearly the entire hour. And then England would present, who of course wouldn't allow even a fifteen minute break between his and Germany's presentations for everyone to relax a little and stretch.

Spain sighed softly and rested his head on the table, folding his arms under his head. Normally he'd be holding his brother's hand under the table, which was why they always sat with their chairs right up against each other, but last night when they got back to their hotel room, which was technically Spain's room but Germany realized it was just a waste of money to give Portugal a room too since it was never used, he fell asleep immediately instead of having sex to wind down after the meeting. He noticed that Portugal was still annoyed at him for it in the morning, as was obvious because the other left without talking to him. Or even waking him up, for that matter, and he had to run into the meeting late with his clothes wrinkled from being slept in and his hair a mess as usual. He figured Portugal was still angry at him, so when he took his seat right next to him, he made no move to grab his hand.
Unfortunately this only made his brother even more annoyed, and he used the noise caused by a brief intermission of small talk and shuffling papers as Germany finished his lecture and everyone waited for England to get his presentation and papers ready to his advantage. He kept nonchalantly scribbling down things as end notes for the last presentation as his other hand slid under the table to tug on Spain's belt to figure out where the buckle was. The younger sat up and looked at him confused, moving to grab his hand, since he figured that it was just a way to get his attention. His expression turned even more confused when his hand was slapped away, though his face lit up when his belt was easily undone, his pants button soon following.

"What are you doing?" he whispered to him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Payback," Portugal replied simply with a smirk, putting a finger over his lips to shush him, the gesture not really going noticed by anyone else because England was starting to get everyone to shut up anyways and those who saw passed it off as Portugal wanting Spain to be courteous to his friend. As England started to give his presentation, Portugal carefully unzipped his pants and dipped his hand into Spain's boxers to grab his length, making the other bite his lip to try and keep any noise from escaping. The older chuckled softly and started to slowly pump him, noticing how Spain's grip on his pen tightened and he started to shake a little, his handwriting getting more sloppy with each stroke as he felt him get hard. He rested his head on his free hand as he kept subtly jerking him off, wanting to see how far he could push him before he got dragged off. Hopefully none of the others would pay it much mind, since Spain storming out during one of England's reports wasn't exactly uncommon. Especially when he talked about how much better his economy was doing.

After a few minutes passed of muffled grunts and moans England finally got fed up with it and glared at him. "Spain, I'd appreciate it if you would shut up and let me do my presentation," he said bluntly, crossing his arms. Spain whined and gripped the edge of the table, blushing in embarrassment.

"L-Lo sient-oh," he gasped, feeling Portugal swipe his thumb over the slit and give him a small squeeze right as he was talking. He looked at his brother pleadingly to try and get him to stop, but he only got a shrug in response.

"I'm not keeping him from telling you to shut up when you shouldn't be making any noise in the first place," he said simply, grinning a little. England thanked him for taking his side and continued on, unaware like everyone else of Spain's troubles. Though he did get a small curious side glance from France next to him, the blond didn't say anything and kept writing down notes.

After the small slip up, Spain was determined now not to make any more noise and draw attention to himself. Portugal frowned when he realized this, lightly running his nails along his cock briefly before pulling his hand away. This earned him a desperate look from his brother, though that look quickly turned into dread when he realized Portugal was resting his chin on his other hand now, holding it over his mouth to look like he was watching England intently though in reality he was getting his hand wet with spit. He tried to get his belt and pants fixed again, though that earned him a swift kick to the shin before Portugal grabbed his cock again and continued to stroke him, though the pleasure was heightened from the spit that covered his palm. He snuck his hand under the table, only to be confirmed that he wasn't the only one suffering, judging by the tent he could feel. His mind was wiped blank as Portugal twisted his hand just right, making him nearly lose himself.

He was slowly coming undone from his brother's hand, and he let out a small mewl when he felt his fingers slide down to cup and squeeze at his balls. "Dios, ayudame," he panted softly, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles were white. France shot him another curious look and looked at Portugal for an answer, only to get a grin from the other. England snapped at Spain to be quiet again, and the blond stood up and stretched.

"What are you doing?! Sit back down, I'm not finished!" the Brit said, glaring at him.

"To tell the truth, we're all tired and hungry. Look at poor Spain, he's about to waste away here!" France replied, gesturing to his friend, who now had his head down and was whining pitifully. "I think we should take a small break, no?" he grinned, glancing at Portugal and winking as some of the countries softly agreed with him. The other shot him a slightly annoyed look back, irritated that he wouldn't be able to get Spain to come during the meeting, but he didn't have much time to sulk over it as his hand was yanked away and Spain quickly and subtly pulled up his pants and redid his belt.

"S-Si! A break sounds nice!" he said quickly, standing up so fast his chair nearly fell over. He grabbed Portugal's arm and bolted out of the room with him, turning and running away with him so fast that thankfully the other countries didn't notice their erections straining against their pants.

Spain tugged him out of the room and past the micronations, who always sat outside the meeting room and waited for their siblings to finish or go on break. He pushed him into the nearest room, which happened to be just a supply closet, but it seemed like a godsend for him. He pinned Portugal against the wall the moment he shut and locked the door and smashed their lips together in a heated kiss, though they were quickly flipped around and his brother made quick work of pulling his pants and boxers down again and undoing his own slacks. They were both too impatient for preparation, and Spain pulled one foot out of his pants and boxers that had pooled on the floor so he could wrap his legs around Portugal's waist when he was lifted up and all but slammed into the wall.

Those that hung around in the meeting room looked over at the wall curiously when they heard the loud thud, but shrugged it off. However Portugal suddenly rammed into Spain's, making him scream out loudly in pleasure, and that made them quickly cover the ears of the micronations, despite the confused protests. They were ushered out, and Romano for good measure kicked the supply room door on his way past with Seborga, though it went unnoticed by the two since their panting and moaning covered up the sound.

Spain whimpered and clung to Portugal tightly, unable to keep his moans in anymore. His voice cracked a little as the other bit and sucked feverishly at his neck as a way to try and keep his own moans muffled. He left several bright red marks over the tanned skin as he kept pounding him into the wall, accidentally making something fall over. They couldn't be bothered to see what it was though, too far gone in their pleasure to pay much mind to anything else except each other.
Several times they tried to exchange kisses, though they ended up sloppy and desperate. Portugal's hair was nearly out of its neat ponytail and Spain tangled his fingers in the long curls to tug it free, leaning back against the wall as he begged in several languages for more. He felt so close, and he was quickly knocked off the edge as Portugal reached down and gave him a small squeeze just as he hit a spot that made him see stars. Screaming out in pleasure, he came over their shirts, a small part in the back of his mind realizing that he would get grief for that later. He couldn't be minded with that though, especially since Portugal didn't ease up on his thrusts, instead putting the last of his energy into pounding into him as fast as he could. He whimpered as the pleasure kept rolling through him in waves while his orgasm ebbed away, feeling a little painful as the other kept moving.

He opened his eyes and looked at him, about to suggest that he just finish him off some other way, though he was stopped by a low groan as his brother pulled him close and emptied himself into him, his body shaking. He slowly sank down until he was sitting on the floor with Spain in his lap, trying to regain his breath. Spain pulled himself up on shaky legs, helping Portugal up before pulling on his pants and boxers again. Portugal buttoned up his pants again and smiled, pulling him in for a small kiss. He noticed the younger seemed ready to fall asleep on his feet and chuckled, kneeling down a little so he could climb onto his back. He casually walked out of the supply closet and back in the meeting room, where everyone else was again, giving them weird looks. He simply gathered up his and Antonio's notes and briefcases and carried them back out with one hand as the other kept the sleeping Spaniard up on his back.

Sneaky Portugal! I like!

Requesting!Anon here! Thank you so much for filling this, I loved every minute of it ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

I really enjoyed poor Spain's plight and just how teasing Portugal was being. Spain's desperation really came through and I couldn't help but smile all the way reading it.

"I'm not keeping him from telling you to shut up when you shouldn't be making any noise in the first place," really made me laugh. Everything did (except the closet scene, which was everything I could have hoped for *p*), you really captured my intention with the prompt.

The ending was very cute, I loved everything! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Mm nice and hot, and the ending was cute~

I love it! ♥

Since America doesn't have official religion by the government. America decide to travel around the world to speak to nations about there county chosen faith.
My idea is hetialia meets religion history and numerous nations pressuring America to convert to particular one.

Bonus: tony has space religion
Bonus: France talks about the wonderful confession booth
Bonus: America + mediation= fail

IDK, it's kind of a cool idea... but the point of America is freedom of the people to choose that sort of thing. Separation of church and state and all that?

Technically, the law is that people have freedom from religion, meaning that America/Alfred cannot enforce a religion on Americans. However, Alfred/America himself can have a religion. If you think about it, a lot of our laws stem from Protestant Christianity. So maybe it's just America/Alfred looking for religion for himself, so he goes anand sees what the other countries believe so he can choose, but the others pressure him to choose for more than just himself?

That is exactly what I had in bison when I was trying write the prompt; you said it perfect.

Alfred walks into Church of Happyology

Sees them insulting an old friend of his during their talks about how psychiatry is bad.

Starts screaming at them, throws things.

Alright, rude, but its funny to think about.

Prussia holding down a world/Europeans meeting while his brother is away (attending to a last-minute crisis, overworked to exhaustion, anything). This anon really just wants to see happy, competent modern Prussia who's still capable of keeping everybody in line through sheer experience and willpower, non-nation status be damned.

No Germancest, please, though any other pairs are totally fine!

Bonus 1: Germany does it partly because he doesn't want Prussia to feel useless.
Bonus 2: The others are respectful enough or at least take him seriously and don't make fun of what he is now, if only because he's temporarily representing Germany.

Oh, sounds amazing, seconded!

Author isn't sure this is quite what original-anon wanted, but we can hope

England hated meetings with all the heat and venom an old pirate could muster – which was rather a lot. When the meeting in question was the regular European Union gathering, he was even less happy: at least at the world meetings and the G8 and its overgrown cousin the G whatever the hell it was these days (he thought 20, but it seemed to expand every year or so) he could be reasonably sure of interacting with his former colonies rather than having to fight his old instincts and try not to start a war with the rest of Europe.

These days, there was entirely too high a chance he wouldn't win.

He scowled at France when the frog tried to cop a feel, glared so fiercely at Spain that Italy Romano paled, and was hardly any less irritable towards any of the other nations attending. It didn't help that neither Germany nor Italy Veneziano were here – and Germany was never late. Veneziano, well... the Italies split their meeting duties often enough, and while England had no doubt Veneziano would cheerfully skip the meetings to stay with his 'dear friend', Germany would never tolerate slacking.

That was a man who ate, slept, and breathed doing things by the book.

Which made his absence even more peculiar.

France – of course – had taken advantage of the German's absence and was greeting (read: feeling up) all of the Eurozone members. Since the Frog referred to that abomination as a group marriage, he probably thought it was justified.

The door slammed open exactly as the clock on the wall ticked over to 9 am.

Like everyone else in the room, England turned to stare.

Prussia – in a suit and tie for once – paused to let everyone admire his so-called awesomeness before strolling to Germany's seat.

England wasn't the only nation to draw in a sharp breath.

Prussia's red eyes gleamed, and a hint of his obnoxious smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning. My brother is unable to attend today: our Chancellor required his personal involvement.” He set his attache case on the chair and extracted a laptop. “If it makes you feel better, for the purposes of this meeting, I am Germany.”

France shook his head while Prussia was opening the laptop. “Non. Why would you take on another's name even for a day?”

For once, England couldn't fault the blasted frog. All of them were exquisitely sensitive to who they were, and their names were the most important part of that. Hell, Prussia himself refused to answer to anything other than his old name, even more than sixty years after Prussia had ceased to exist anywhere except in history books – and not often in those either, with the name of Germany being used instead.

Prussia raised one white eyebrow. “I'm here representing Germany.”

England wondered what else Prussia was doing: this wasn't his normal manner. Usually Prussia was loud, obnoxious, and had even less ability to read the atmosphere than America – which was saying something. This rather sober, serious Prussia was something odd and it made England's skin crawl.

“I believe everyone is here?” Prussia wasn't really asking. “Belgium, you are secretary for the meeting this round, correct.”

Belgium nodded, biting her lip as though she expected an insult or mockery.

She didn't get it from Prussia: Austria demanded, “What gives you the right to run this?” The unspoken addition that Prussia wasn't even a nation hung in the air.

England tensed, ready for the inevitable brawl.

Prussia only smiled, his eyes narrowing a little. “As I said, I represent Germany. If you have any problems with that I invite you to take it up with me personally after the meeting.” His tone said clearly that he wouldn't hold back if anyone was foolish enough to object.

Since when has that git had that kind of charisma? England wondered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the Teutonic twat practically glowing with controlled power, his eyes gleaming with an inner fire that England hadn't seen in, oh... years. More than a century, even.

After a short silence, Prussia said, “Let us open the meeting then. I think we can take the formal acknowledgments and so forth as read, since we're already late and we have a full agenda.”

“I had no idea he knew so many long words,” France murmured.

“Belt up, frog.” England kept his reply soft. There was something familiar about this Prussia, but he wasn't sure what it was. The memories teased odd corners of his mind.

“Greece,” Prussia said in a sharp, brisk tone. “Your report on your new boss's intentions and likely direction, if you would.”

Greece started a little, and rose to his feet, eyelids drooping and a cat in his arms. “He doesn't like the terms your banks are dictating. They're too harsh. You're asking too much.”

England winced at the explosion of shouting from the Eurozone nations. He'd never been so thankful he'd refused to join back when the shared currency had been created. It might be more difficult maintaining his own currency, but at least he wasn't bound to the other gits the way the Eurozone wankers were.

“ENOUGH!” Prussia's battlefield roar cut through the babble. France and Spain sank back into their seats, both wearing identical expressions of shock, expressions England saw echoed around the rest of the conference room. “Tell me, Greece, is it reasonable to expect you to support Germany's finances?”

What the...Before England could finish the thought, Greece's vehement “No!” echoed in the hush.

“Then why do you demand that Germany support you?” Prussia asked in a silky voice. “Why do you demand that Germany, and France, and Belgium, and the rest of us continue to support your government's irresponsible spending habits?”

Greece blinked. Petted the cat in his arms. “You're just trying to take over through the banks.”

Several of the nations with troubled economies nodded. Germany's position as the powerhouse and linchpin of the EU was one that generated a lot of resentment from the others, even those who'd been German allies in the last war.

When Germany was faced with that accusation he usually went even more stone-faced than usual and shouted a lot. Prussia laughed, mocking laughter that England never wanted turned in his direction. Then he smiled, which was arguably worse. England remembered now when he'd last seen Prussia like this: at Waterloo, badly wounded but still holding his battered army together by sheer force of will and refusing to accept anything less than victory or annihilation.

“Greece, really,” Prussia said in a gentle tone. “If my brother wanted to take over, the army would have marched. He doesn't do subtle. And if I wanted to take over, you'd already be Prussian territory.” He said something then, in Greek, which made Greece blanch and sit down hard enough to make his chair roll back.

Given the way Cyprus looked about to faint, Prussia had said something bad.

Not that England was going to ask. There were times when discretion was a better choice.

#

Awesome :D

I may be a sucker for England's POV but damn, if it works, right? His uncomfortable ohshitirememberwhenPrussiawaslastlikethis is hilarious and a great reminder that yes, Prussia was a bit scary back in the day. And after all, they do call it Prussian efficiency. Really looking forward to more!

To put it simply, this is amazing.

And the only think I can say is... more! Please :)
Prussia is so sexy here and I like it how he's a bit scary too, I think it suits his personality and history very well.

This is unbelievably amazing! Awesome job so far, anon!

By the time the meeting adjourned to allow the various smaller groupings to gather: the Nordic Council, the Baltic Assembly, the Benelux Group, and the Visegrad Group, England was quite thankful both that he hadn't joined the Eurozone, and that he wasn't involved with any of the other groupings. He didn't need to discuss the common travel area with Ireland, and he wasn't part of any other multinational EU group – unless one counted his own union, which England didn't.

The United Kingdom did not need rest of Europe poking their sticky noses into internal matters. He might not be on the best of terms with his brothers, but they managed well enough – as witnessed by Scotland voting to stay.

During the break, England avoided the other nations: the various formal groups were getting food to take to their gatherings, while those without a meeting mostly clustered around the tables near the bar. Greece sat with Cyprus and Malta, Spain and Portugal had commandeered a table and convinced France and Italy Romano to join them, while Austria and Slovenia sat nearby and pretended they weren't part of the somewhat rowdy grouping.

The question of where Prussia had got to was answered by the man himself pulling a chair over to England's solitary table. “You look like you ate something bad.”

At least it wasn't a comment about his cooking: England was beyond tired of those. He shrugged. “The meal suffices.” He wasn't going to give Prussia the satisfaction of looking at him.

Prussia's odd, hissing laugh was followed by a bar of chocolate sliding over to his side of the table. Belgian chocolate, too.

England turned just enough to allow Prussia to see his raised eyebrow. “Courting, Prussia?”

He heard the chair creak as the other man leaned back – and probably looked smug, too, the git. “Me? I wouldn't know how.” The sarcasm in that comment forced England to suppress a wince. “It's just a thank you for you not making this morning any more of a mess than it had to be.”

Damn. Prussia won that one: England knew damn well he looked gobsmacked. “What are you on about, wanker?”

“Oh, please.” Once again, Prussia spoke with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “You could have joined the argument. You didn't.”

England wondered what he could possibly say in reply that wouldn't reveal anything he preferred the other not to know – which was just about everything. Annoying as the Teutonic twat might be in his usual “I am awesome” mode, it was still better than the sober, serious and far too bloody efficient for anyone's good ersatz Germany he was being today. He settled for a one-shouldered shrug and a non-committal, “I was enjoying the show.”

Prussia made a sound in the back of his throat that could have been a cough and could have been a suppressed laugh. “Waiting for the rest of us to wear ourselves out so you could have the pickings, you old pirate?” He sounded amused, even indulgent.

“Why not?” England retorted. “It's a sound strategy.” And whatever else he was Prussia would recognize good strategy even when he failed to practice it.

“If you've no objections to the destruction that happens along the way, yes.” There was nothing in the light, almost whimsical comment to suggest whether Prussia thought what he said was a good thing or not.

England wondered at that. The Prussia he remembered from their alliances before the disaster of the twentieth centuries would have it thought that he didn't care what was broken in pursuit of his victories, but there'd been hints otherwise... the way he'd protected his brother even before the child was a nation of his own, the same fierce protectiveness towards his troops, always spearheading the lines, always at the center of the bloodiest fighting no matter the cost to his own body. “When it's inevitable, why not?”

Prussia didn't reply for a moment, and when he did, he said softly, “Do you really think this is all going to collapse?”

“Of course.” England didn't hesitate. “Nothing is eternal.”

“That's not an answer.” Prussia's voice was flat, hard.

England didn't look at him. He preferred not to see whatever expressions might be passing across the other man's face. “It will fall, Prussia,” he said softly. “Maybe not this year, or next, but it will fall. There are too many differences, too many old hatreds.” He should have added something about bloody Germany and that madman Hitler destroying any hope Europe might have had of forging a lasting peace. He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't.

Prussia's response wasn't anything he'd expected to hear. “So I'm not the only one who sees it.” His voice was barely audible, a murmur that hung beneath the general noise of the restaurant.

When England turned to stare at the other man and demand to know what he meant by that, Prussia had risen to his feet and was walking away.

#

(new commenter)
I'm really enjoying this fill, A!A. I like the serious, but still in character side of Prussia. Very believable.

So awesome! And yeah, anything never lasts forever...But you're awesome for writing this! I'm sick reading Prussia only as a noisy drunkard, even though he is wise, discipline, etc!

After the various sessions with the smaller groups were done, the entire EU gathered for a final session in the main conference room. Instead of the usual atmosphere of barely undeclared war, there was a sharp tension to the air, a taste of fear that England wished he'd inspired.

Alas, his glory days were long past. He was, like most of Europe, a fading power who let his politicians make their idiotic mistakes and amused himself by stirring trouble amongst his old rivals.

Prussia was even less than that, but he could terrorize Europe without trying.

England squashed a surge of jealousy as the man himself strode in – exactly on time – getting a sharp hush which proved that the whispers England hadn't heard clearly were indeed about Prussia.

Reports from the smaller groups were first: England didn't pay much attention to those, preferring to watch as Prussia took notes, quick and precise, although why he'd take written notes rather than use the laptop was something England couldn't help wondering about.

The man's eyes sharpened, glittering a deeper, bloodier shade of red as he pointed out assumptions in the reports – Sweden and Denmark both flushed when Prussia observed that their economic plans relied on Russia's goodwill, something that was a little less secure than it had been a few years ago – and more than a few other flaws. None of them escaped that scrutiny.

If Prussia saw the resentment building he ignored it, at least until little Latvia – of all people to speak up – burst out, “Like you've got anything to say! Your government was even worse!”

Prussia pinned the smallest of the Baltics with a glare that should have caused Latvia to spontaneously combust on the spot. “I'm not representing them.”

England did his best to look bored. If the damned Frog noticed his interest, he'd have to fend the wretched creature off and might miss something interesting.

“You shouldn't be criticizing us.” Latvia's stout defense was made less effective by the way he was wringing his hands.

Prussia chuckled softly, not his maddening hiss-snicker-thing, but a real laugh, soft and menacing. “Latvia, I'm not one for fancy words or dancing around a topic like some here. If you object to a straightforward assessment, perhaps you should be speaking to someone else.”

That had to hurt, England mused. It wasn't that Prussia was wrong, either – obviously the man had lost none of the sharpness that had taken him from a Polish vassal-state to a power to rival France and Austria within a hundred years. The question at hand was whether Prussia intended to use that edge to reclaim the land he'd once owned.

Poland certainly looked like he considered it a possibility, as did Lithuania. That or there'd been a meal of live eels that they'd mysteriously failed to notice.

It was Spain – usually clueless and cheerful to the point of inanity – who asked the obvious. “Prussia, what are you trying to prove here? You know your brother would have had no objections.” The former Empire still sounded as cheerful and clueless as ever, but England doubted it was genuine. All of them had their little acts, their games they played to avoid showing their true selves to other nations.

Prussia smiled, as innocent an expression as he could produce – which wasn't very. “I'm representing my brother, of course.”

“Enough with the games,” Poland snapped. “Who did you plan to take first?”

The sudden hush said everything: all of them had reached the same conclusion, that Prussia was planning to reclaim his old place.

England would swear he saw a flash of pain in the former nation's expression before Prussia spread his hands and shook his head. “First? I don't plan to 'take' any of you. I've had my fill of bosses treating me like shit and thinking I'm just a pretty little soldier toy to take out for a war.” The venom in that comment should have killed someone. “I'm simply helping out my awesome little brother.”

With a change of mood so quick it left England wondering which mood he was faking, Prussia turned back to his notes. “Now, the final item on the agenda. Belgium, if you'd be kind enough to give the presentation on the Union finances?”

Belgium did, shooting nervous little glances Prussia's way the whole time she outlined the current assets and monetary policy of the European Union.

He simply listened and took notes, waiting until she was done before he asked, “How much reserve are the central banks maintaining?”

England hadn't realized Prussia followed finance, but his response to Belgium's startled answer proved that he not only followed financial matters, he understood them better than most of the other nations. Which made a certain amount of sense, England supposed. Prussia did have a lot more free time than the rest of them. Time enough to familiarize himself with international finance and... well...

England swallowed. The European Union wasn't an empire, nor was it the kind of organization that could support a personification. There was no way Prussia could be sidling into that role unnoticed. None. It was impossible.

He hoped.

Haha. I love the conceit.

The remainder of the meeting did little to calm England's fears. Prussia was far, far too competent. That this was the only EU meeting he'd ever attended that hadn't collapsed into chaos didn't help. Germany tried, but as soon as someone accused him of trying to take over – or worse, called him a Nazi – the whole thing would devolve into angry shouting and nothing more would be accomplished.

Prussia just laughed at the accusation. “Me? A Nazi?” He indicated his eyes and silver-white hair. “A fucking untermensch? I'm lucky I only spent half the fucking war in fucking Mengele's tender care.” He hadn't given anyone time to recover from that little shock: just went right back to the meeting agenda.

Now, as the rest of them hurried to get out of the conference room and Prussia packed his briefcase, England wondered how accurate that comment was. Prussia was far from the Nazi ideal, certainly, but he was also Prussia. Incarnation of war, lover of battle, and all that.

Before England could say anything, Prussia's phone rang – the bloody Preussenlied, of course. Git.

“Prussia.” Naturally, the man answered in German – England was thankful he knew the language.

After a moment, Prussia said, “It went well enough, brother. We got through the agenda. I'll -” He winced and held the phone away from his ear.

England wasn't entirely sure, but he thought Germany was shouting something along the lines of “What do you mean, you got through the agenda? That never happens.”

Prussia let the shouting trail off before he laughed that damned hissing thing of his. “You wound me, brother. Of course I'm awesome enough to handle those arseholes. I expect they'll be begging you never to let me do this again.”

Since England had intended to demand that his boss send Germany's boss a strongly worded protest about Prussia – who, after all, was not a nation – leading the meeting, he had to admit Prussia was right about that.

Prussia laughed again. “Not my fault our dear Chancellor doesn't think I can handle riots without breaking heads, brother dear.” He sighed in a way that England was almost certain was exaggerated. “Not that I wouldn't mind breaking a few heads.”

An angry roar from the phone was followed by, “Yes, yes, I know we don't do that kind of thing anymore. Honestly, we've let our bosses turn us into pansies. Wah, wah, someone might be offended or have their feelings hurt.”

England stifled a snicker. It wouldn't do to have Prussia realize he was listening and understood every word.

“Tch.” Despite Germany not being able to see him, Prussia waggled a hand. “You know I'm teasing, brother. I should be home in an hour or so, depending on whether anyone wants to shout at me first.”

England didn't hear what Germany said in reply to that, but after a little while, Prussia farewelled his brother and put his phone back into standby.

“You always made a lousy spy, England,” Prussia said when he picked up his briefcase.

Rather than give the man any more ammunition, England just said, “I wasn't spying. I just wanted to ask you something, so I waited.” It was a strain not to add any insults.

Prussia raised one white eyebrow, but all he said was, “Ask away, then.”

England sighed under his breath. “What you said about the war.” There was no need to specify which war, not when only one had been mentioned in the meeting. “Was it accurate?” Not 'true' – that would bring out the worst in Prussia. Accurate implied he was being basically honest but exaggerating for some purpose or other.

He didn't expect the answer he got: Prussia set the briefcase down, shed his jacket, then rolled up his left sleeve. Old, purple-blue numbers marched up his left arm.

England's mouth fell open.

Prussia had his shirt sleeve buttoned again and his jacket on before England managed to collect his jaw. “I take it that's sufficient answer.”

England didn't trust himself to speak: he just nodded.

There wasn't any hint of the usual bluster and nonsense in Prussia's red eyes. “I'll thank you to keep that to yourself.”

Even though there was no overt threat, England could feel the chill crawling down his spine.

“I don't want anyone's fucking pity,” Prussia added before turning on his heel and walking out, briefcase in hand and trademark grin on his face.

Pity? England didn't think there'd be any of that. Not that he was going to say a word. Let the other bloody tossers figure it out for themselves: he had some research to do. Whatever Prussia was up to, he wanted be the man's ally, not his enemy.

And that was not fear speaking, thank you very much.

Oh Prussia, you can't claim you want no attention after announcing it in front of the world meeting. This reminds me of a fic where Germany also had a blue number on his arm because there were Germans suffering in those places too.

Boy, Germany was so angry...Does everyone get so used to yelling at Prussia they forget when there's no reason to be angry?

I have a *really* hard time picturing Prussia becoming the persona of the EU haha. Their personalities! Does not compute!

Author-anon here.

Attention, sure, Prussia will take any amount of that - but pity? No.

I think yell at Prussia is the default, and Germany DID spend the day talking down rioters so he's not in the best of moods, and of course, they never get through the whole agenda so he freaks.

Prussia becoming the persona of the EU is a hilarious prospect. I'm half tempted to write that just to write the various EU members reacting to the reveal.

HA! Prussia would never take shit from any of the nations, when he was one himself and now. He has been alive through so much shit and proved so many people wrong. It would jet never happen. It would be awesome to just have a glimpse of how the EU members would react to just even the IDEA of him becoming the EU.

I'd really like to see a fill about America becoming England's colony again, but with a twist that surprises everyone. America suddenly becomes a child again due to hisold-new status. I can't really think of any bonuses, maybe Ameica being all frustrated and furious about the situation. Thanks to whever will fill it ^^

Of course we've all seen this at the start of the list. But it's always frozen and it's just an example. So what I'm asking is for basically that, please no bestiality. No preference on smut, though I'd prefer that not be the focus of the fill.
Because, of course, the more I see it the more I realize I want it.

Ha ha yes. It would be great to see this filled.

This has already been actually requested, and filled too. You might want to check the indexes. There also might be a pimp post on it.

idk about OP, but I'm not going to search through 26 parts for it. It's not in the ancients index and there is no pimp post.

So you could have just as easily posted the link to it.

Here it is

LJ: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=16974552#t16974552
DW: http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/73066.html?thread=429976170#cmt429976170

Good thing I had this bookmarked from way back when it was first posted. Would never have found it otherwise. Yes, old anon is old.

Thanks! :)

No need to get snappy. I didn't post a link because I never bookmarked it.
Also, I just checked the pimp page, and it's literally the fifth reply to the first comment. Kind of makes it look like you never bothered to look for it.

Sorry, op's kind of new to the kink meme... I tried to find it but I don't know what the "pimp page" is... I did my best to look but couldn't find it. My bad, I guess...

I did, actually, do my best to see if it had been filled, but because you can't reply to those and I couldn't see any in a past parts fill... Whoops. I guess. No need to get snappy at me/us.

You were the one who rudely came in and said to go look for it without any actual help. There still is no pimp post or is it too hard to link to that too?

I never heard about the pimp post until now, but I just went to google, typed in 'Hetalia pimp post', and clicked the first link. Links can be helpful, but you don't have to attack people for not feeding everything to you.

If you could stop saying everyone who doesn't sprinkle their post with sugar plum fairies is rude, that would be great.

I apologize for how rude I was in that reply. It was a kneejerk reaction to anon's comment about not even trying to find it. I did. Really. The indexes aren't that helpful anymore because no one updates them and the pimp post isn't advertised anywhere it could be found easily.

Being told I didn't try made me mad. So sorry.

Can I get a link to the pimp page please? A little new here ^_^;;

The pimp post:
http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/77272.html

The Rome/Germania actual fill:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=16974552#t16974552

At the end of the second Denmark-Norway union, a volcano (Laki) erupted in Iceland and caused a ton of chaos all across the world. I'd like to see Colony!Iceland coping with this eruption while Denmark and Norway are fighting.
When they find out...? Cue Anko-Family Fluff.

Preferably no Nordic pairings--They are fighting right, sooo...

Bonus: None of the other Nordics know what's going until their countries gets all smokey
Bonus 2: Fluffy ending

I'm confused about the time period. I checked the dates for the eruption, and it says this happened in the early 1780s. Denmark-Norway wasn't in any major conflicts at that time that I can remember. And this is also several decades from the end of the Denmark-Norway union.

Help? Are you talking about a different Laki eruption?

Haah, confusing!op is confusing

Yeah, I'm referencing the 1783 eruption~ It wasn't really a major conflict, but I feel this would've been around the time they started fighting--not to mention Sweden and then Finland with Russia.

Meep, sorry for being so confusing~ This is my first time with a prompt--!

Posting to remind myself that I want to fill this once my finals are over~

Finals took longer than I thought. But here we are. (: I don't know if you'll still want this a year after your original post, but hey. Here's an early Christmas present.

Notes for this part: the eldmessa, or fire sermon, was a sermon delivered by Jón Steingrímsson, a priest living near Kirkjubæjarklaustur, during the eruption while the lava was approaching the town. The sermon supposedly stopped the lava flow and saved the townspeople from certain death.

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It's quiet in the room but loud in his head: he can hear the rumblings of his land in his brittle bones, beneath his ashen skin. Another bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck, but the cool moisture hardly alleviates the fire he feels inching closer and closer, an inexorable fate.

He would kill for a drink of water right now.

He drifts in and out of sleep, slipping into imaginary lava flows one moment and waking to real ones burning in his spine the next. The wind begins to howl. He kicks this way and that, flailing his bony arms around, trying to free himself from his smothering sweat-soaked blankets, but he's too weak to escape.

He wonders how many days have gone past now—how many nights, how many weeks, how many months. He feels as though he's been in bed without food, without water, for years now, but feverish dreams and ash-clouded skies are poor clocks.

He folds his hands, chipped yellow fingernails meeting knotted knuckles, and tries to pray. The eldmessa saved Kirkjubæjarklaustur; maybe he can muster an Our Father. He can't make it past the first three words: his head swims too much and the asthmatic voices of his people echoing in his mind are too loud for him to think.

He smiles in spite of himself. He's not sure what he's waiting for anymore, or even if he is waiting. Waiting means he expects something to change, and right now, it feels as though everything will remain the same, neither improving nor worsening.

He is Iceland.

He is dying.

Notes for this part: Copenhagen was the capital of Denmark-Norway. Bergen was, however, very wealthy itself because of trade. Poor Copenhagen lost about a third of its population to plague in 1711. The survivors didn't fare much better, with an enormous fire in 1728.

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He's fighting with Denmark again and nothing is new.

Norway sits on a bench beside a maroon gabled customs house on the quay. The summer air is thick with the smell of the fish the merchants are selling and the salt dripping off the sailors' sweaty bodies and wet hair. His stockinged feet are unusually warm in his polished black boots. He adjusts his hair clip a little.

Bergen is a fragmented city on the water, surrounded by mountains reaching into the sky and ships sailing across the world and back. Back into his land, his city, bringing merchandise to his port, wealth to his people. Norway is half-surprised Denmark hasn't tried to find some way to redirect the cash pipeline to himself. Yet.

All for the common good of the union, he'd say, as he always does. A strong capital makes a strong country. And if Norway points out that Denmark made Copenhagen their capital on purpose, Denmark gets this look in his eyes and shrugs his friend off.

Bergen has as much money as Copenhagen and easily as many people. Norway knows this, but he bites his tongue.

He prefers not to remember the hungry fires and the festering plague.

So he crosses his arms and leans back into the bench by the harbor, wipes away a droplet of sweat crawling down his forehead, and closes his eyes. It's a toss-up whether he'll dream of freedom or the slow ravaging of Copenhagen.

Maybe they mean the same thing.

He tries to push the thought out of his mind.

The cloud covers the city overnight. When Norway wanders back to the harbor in the morning, ignoring the stack of papers from Denmark on his desk, he finds all the tall, proud merchant ships anchored, empty, at the port. The sun casts a faint rusty glow through the haze on the calm surface of the sea. The cheerful chatter of couples gazing in shop windows and rough barking of commands from captains is gone.

Instead, Norway hears deep guttural coughs in the streets and confused gasps from second-story windows.

The air is heavy, hot and dry. Norway can hardly stand to breathe it in. He places a hand over his mouth and nose, but he can't keep himself from coughing every few moments.

He squints. He can only see a few meters into the distance, but his imagination has overtaken his sight all in a rush.

He doesn't run often, but he sets off away the harbor and back home at a good clip, hand still over his mouth and lungs beginning to burn.

Notes for this part: I forgot to mention in the first part that Iceland is not really little here, but he's still a kid. I imagine he went through a growth spurt during the rise of Icelandic nationalism in the 19th century, and then again in the 20th century when he was granted independence.

Also, the effects of the eruption in England were particularly nasty.

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

His tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth. Everything tastes like ash and sulfur and bile. Iceland tries to suck on his fingers, but he has no saliva left in his mouth.

Maybe he should try to get that glass of water. Maybe walking won't be so bad.

He should be used to this. He's lived his whole life with volcanoes. An eruption shouldn't be enough to keep him down.

Iceland stares at his checkered red quilt. The crimson squares look like the lava flows he feels oozing across his land, swallowing up the livestock and starving his people. He can only imagine the effects the eruption must be having on the other nations. He can hear them storming toward him now, screaming about the burning in their mouths and the smell of death in their fields, about the famines, the fears, about the full cemeteries and the poisonous frost. He can see Sweden demanding Denmark and Norway take responsibility for the eruption—Iceland is their colony, after all, and they've got to do something now that half of Europe is starving and the peasants are trying to revolt and do they want a war because who knows what the hell England is going to do now that America's revolution has succeeded and his people are dying because of poison smoke from thousands of kilometers away—

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

Twin red teeth marks mar both of his knuckles.

"How do you know it's Iceland?"

Norway takes a deep breath and exhales with a sharp sigh.

"You tell me what else it could be."

Denmark plucks at the hem of his tattered left glove. Norway's noticed that he's developed a lot of nervous tics since the first fires.

It isn't like him to be so on-edge. They aren't at war. Not now, anyway. The last time they boarded their warships was in Scania 100 years ago, and that hadn't even been a major conflict. No, they hadn't gotten the Scanian territories back. No, Sweden's ego hadn't been quite as devastated as Denmark had hoped. Still, Norway hardly blinks when he remembers the war now.

He does clench his jaw the slightest bit when he remembers that his constant fights with Denmark probably aren't talking him down very efficiently.

"If you're going, I'm coming along."

"No."

"Why?"

Norway taps his foot and crosses his arms, frowns and looks over his shoulder. Even inside, the air is warm and smothering, almost like ashy syrup. He's sure his lungs are coated with the stuff now.

"C'mon, Norway. You gotta talk to me. You don't talk to me anymore."

He doesn't have to talk to anyone.

"Please, Nor."

Especially someone who keeps him down on purpose.

"He's our colony, you know. Yours and mine. Ours."

Norway thinks about how to reply. Nothing good comes to mind immediately, so he keeps walking away, his shoes clacking on the tile floor. The sound echoes in the silence between Denmark's pleas and his own stifled coughs.

"Look, if it's this bad here—he'll be in pretty bad shape." Norway stops and glances over his shoulder at Denmark, who's biting his chapped bottom lip. He coughs once, twice, before starting again: "He'll need a lot of looking after, and I don't want you to have to take care of him alone there. It'll be dangerous and you're—well, you're—"

"Weak?"

"I mean—think about it like this, Norway—"

"You're not in the best shape yourself, you know."

"We've done a lot in Copenhagen. You should come see for yourself how much effort I've put in—we've been working double time since the fire to get everything twice as good as it was before." Denmark looks at his gloves again. "Y'know. Since it's our capital."

Norway scratches his knuckle. He's not sure if he wants an "our" anymore. Hell, he's not even sure he wanted an "our" in the first place.

All the same, he knows every moment he spends fighting with Denmark is a moment with Iceland wasted. He needs to hurry. Sharp pains shoot up his fingers and his stomach turns a little at the thought of the small country on the other side of the sea. He's just a child. He still lets Norway tuck him in at night, and he lets Norway hold his hand when they go for walks on the shore in the summer.

He can't just leave him there.

He's about to grumble at Denmark to go away and let him take care of Iceland alone—someone has to stay back and govern, and it might as well be him, since he's guarded his strength and superiority throughout the union as carefully as a bird watching its nest—when he sees that look in his eyes again. The look that usually makes him roll his eyes but that now makes him pause and stand still in the silence.

Denmark still hasn't forgotten those long months.

Denmark may never forget those days of holding sweaty hands and singing away fever dreams.

Norway can still hear his friend's lullabies in his ears.

For just a second, he imagines himself crying and giving in. But he doesn't like crying—it's such a bother—and if he doesn't do something, Denmark's going to fizzle into a puddle of tears and make a mess of himself and the whole matter, and he's got bigger things to worry about, like his baby brother and volcanoes and fuck it all, fine, Denmark can come if he wants, but he'd better not make a big mess of everything as he always does, okay?

Iceland can't remember the feeling of cold water on his tongue anymore, nor the feeling of comfort and cool sleep and sweet dreams that keep him safe as he dozes late into the summer morning. He's long since stopped missing Norway and Denmark. Missing is a feeling, and his mind and heart are too heavy, too dull, to feel.

He breathes hot smoke and stinging ash. Sometimes he thinks he's just crawled on the beach after a swim in the hot springs, but attempts to bury his hands in the warm sand remind him that he's still stuck in bed, slick with sweat and wrapped in disheveled sheets and burning deep in his bones.

He dozes a little, as much as he can. He dreams of winter, of perfect snowflakes falling and sticking, one by one, to his window. He dreams of holding Norway's hand outside and sticking his tongue out to catch the falling crystals on his tongue. He blinks and then there are orange-yellow fireworks in the sky and ash, not snow, falling in his mouth. The earth wobbles and sinks beneath him, and he awakes to his bedroom door squealing on its hinges and someone sitting down on his bed beside him.

Rough, strong hands cup his face and brush his forehead and cheeks. Someone whispers his name in a smooth but shaking voice.

"Ice, hey, Ice."

An arm supports his shoulders and helps him sit upright. And then—water. Sweet, cold water. He drinks so much so fast that he almost chokes. Someone rubs his back as he coughs and hacks up ash and phlegm.
Then he is breathing again. He holds out his arms and whines for more water. Within moments he has a second glass held to his lips, and he slurps down every last drop. Someone picks him up, then, and a few blinks later, he is in Denmark's arms.

"Heya, Icey," Denmark says with a smile. "Sh, just be quiet. Norway's here, too. He's gonna remake your bed and then we're gonna get you settled again, okay?"

Iceland doesn't understand, but he nuzzles his head into Denmark's shoulder and clings to his shirt anyway. His body aches, but Denmark's large hands rubbing his back take the edge off the pain, and his thick arms are cool against Iceland's burning skin.

"I'll take him now."

Norway's smooth voice drifts into Iceland's mind, and then his arms are pulling him away from Denmark and into his chest. He smiles and wipes sweaty grey curls away from Iceland's forehead, then sets him down on his bed, on a blue blanket instead of a red checkered one. Norway wrings out a wet cloth and brushes it against Iceland's arm.

When he gasps at the cold water running down his skin, something flickers in Norway's eyes.

"Does that hurt?"

Iceland shakes his head. Denmark kneels down beside him, puts a hand on his head.

"Norway's just going to get you cooled off, okay, little guy?"

Iceland nods. Norway gently strokes his burning skin with the soft cloth, and slowly, slowly, Iceland begins to fall asleep, limp against Denmark's arm keeping him upright. But he wakes up in time to ask Norway to tuck him in.

Norway chuckles, a faint smile softening his face, and obliges, pulling the thin blue blanket up to Iceland's chin and giving him a little kiss on the forehead. Iceland reaches for his hand, his bony fingers wrapping around Norway's thumb, and asks him if he'll stay.

"Yes," Norway says as he sits down on Iceland's bed, Denmark kneeling beside him. He doesn't pry Iceland's fingers off his hand, and Iceland falls asleep to the soft sound of Norway's humming and the feel of his large hand cupping Iceland's small one.

Notes for this part: I'm sorry this isn't quite as fluffy as you might have wanted, OP. >.< I just couldn't force lots of cuteness into this; it didn't feel right.

Also, yep, this part is referencing the Black Death in Norway in the 14th century and then the outbreak in Oslo in the 17th century. The plague hit Norway particularly hard, setting the stage for the union with Denmark--in which Norway was the weaker of the two countries, although it did enjoy a period of prosperity in the union.

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When Denmark starts crying, Norway sighs and sits down outside Iceland's bedroom door next to him, not sure what he should say. He knows what he wants to say—be quiet, you're going to wake him up, he'll be fine, he's technically my colony and not yours—but none of his snark moves past his imagination into words. He knows why Denmark is crying, and it's not because of Iceland. Mostly.

The wind howls outside. Rain begins to pelt the window, but Norway knows the insistent pitter-patter against the glass is not water but acid. Each breath fills his lungs with the sulfurous mixture of ash and smoke that has replaced seemingly all the air in the land. If it all feels like a bad dream to him, he can only imagine how his little brother feels. The thought makes him want to hold Iceland close and carry him away to safety—out of the country, across the sea. Denmark said that was their best option for taking care of the little nation.

But Norway doesn't know where safety is anymore. Bergen is probably smothered in sulfur and blanketed in ashy frost by now, and Copenhagen can't be better. He wonders how much ash the volcano has belched out. The memory of Iceland limp in Denmark's arms and choking from greedily gulping down all the water he can assures him that probably most of Europe will see at least a little acid rain before the end of the year.

Denmark coughs. Norway hands him a glass of water.

"I'm sorry, Norway."

"I know."

The last drop of water rolls down the side of the glass onto Denmark's lower lip, where it hangs for a moment before slipping down his chin and falling onto the floor.

"He just looks so much like you back when—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You never want to talk about anything." Denmark slams the glass onto the ground. Norway raises an eyebrow when it doesn't shatter. "What the hell have I done wrong? You're my best friend. I've taken care of you. We've worked together. We've kicked Sweden's ass and gotten super rich. Sure, Copenhagen's had a couple of fires here and there, and the harvest isn't always what we'd like it to be, but it's been good. What do you want, Norway? What more can you want?"

Denmark grits his teeth as another tear falls. Norway draws his knees up to his chest, his bare feet stinging from rubbing against the harsh carpet. Denmark, as usual, has gotten his facts wrong: they haven't exactly been kicking Swedish ass lately, and they aren't the wealthiest nations in the world. Of course, they aren't poor, either, and most other nations would be happy in his position. Content, at least. Living a life of a status quo that's good enough, and maybe even better than what they could've hoped for.

Norway has never taken much time to pause and wonder if he's all that happy, though his frequent fights with Denmark don't exactly seem to indicate perfect bliss. He knows that much, if only subconsciously.

Denmark is his friend. He's always been there. He was there for the early Viking days, for the Kalmar Union and its dissolution, for all the wars they'd fought and all the famines they'd suffered and yes, he'd been there in the 14th century and again 100 years ago when the plague had killed half of Norway's people and torn his land to pieces. He'd been there for every burning fever spike and every clear and cool morning, for every moment they feared the worst and every one of Norway's shaky first steps after healing. He's always been there.

But the pity has never left his eyes.

And Norway wants to be free from that pity, from that forced weakness and from everything it stands for and from everything it's done to him.

He just doesn't know how to break free. Especially when doing so would break Denmark's heart every bit as much as watching him almost die during the plague did.

And so he stands up, putting a hand on Denmark's shoulder, and opens the door to Iceland's room to check on him. He's stirring in his sleep, probably about to wake up and definitely ready for more water.

Norway glances down at Denmark.

"I want him to be okay," Norway says.

And so Denmark picks up the glass of water and goes to refill it while Norway kneels down beside Iceland's bed, ready to give him whatever he needs. When the child awakens, Norway and Denmark are both there beside him, Denmark smiling despite the tears still in his eyes and Norway stroking his little bony knuckles with one finger.

They take care of him.

They give him as much water as he asks for and feed him when his stomach has settled enough. They sit with him whenever his fever spikes during the night and whenever it breaks in the morning. Denmark holds him when he's in pain, and Norway tucks him in and hums him to sleep. When Iceland is settled and snug in his bed and in his dreams, Norway and Denmark sleep beside each other on the floor.

Denmark snores, splayed out with one arm on Norway's stomach. Norway is too deep in thought to sleep well.

Iceland is all that matters right now.

But right now will pass by faster than he realizes, and Norway will have to do something soon.

And yet right now—right now, with Iceland beginning to recover and Denmark grumbling in his sleep—he's just content enough enough to last another day.

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

Hope you liked it, OP. (:

1 year and a bit more after this was filled, this hidden gem has a comment!
This is sooooo nice; this fill has a very peaceful but bittersweet fill about it.
Bookmarking this for future rereading!

With winter in full swing and snow blanketing parts of the world, I would like to see a story full of the warmth of summer. This anon is looking for a riveting tale of America's summer road trip and the many characters and events that happen along the way.

Bonus: If America travels his own country, he sees all those hokey little places like the 'World's Largest Ball of Twine'.

Bonus 2: Instead of inviting another nation, his road trip partner is a beloved pet.

Rather than this being England actively remaining a virgin because he's afraid sex will make him lose the ability to see them, England has remained a virgin because his friends are always around.

Understandably, he is quite sexually frustrated after all this time.

Prompt: England desperately trying to have sex that is constantly interrupted by meddling unicorns, fairies and other fantastical creatures. Keep it light-hearted/silly, please. Bottom England, if the sex is pulled off, too.

I'm partial to America, Prussia or Spain as his partner, but I won't complain if it's someone else!

Seconded

Ooooo sounds fun.. *desperately wishes I could write this (my mum is sitting right beside me and if I dare to write gay smut... XoX)

Any type of historical war or battle with the genderbent Bad Touch Trio, be it one where they are fighting on the same side or against each other. I want to see the same dynamics and power struggles, only now with them all female.

Shipping is fine, but if there are any ships within the trio, I'd like all three of them to be romantically involved.

(Alternate history works, too!)

Bonus: Betrayal of any type; angst.

seconds

England killed America's mother. America sometimes looks into the past and mourns.

Bonus: Canada
Bonus: America doesn't actually know if it was England or not. It could have been France. He doesn't ask (because he secretly wants to keep their first meeting sweet and innocent and not nightmare fuel) but he suspects.

((Hopefully this works; I hope you like it.))

There was something that most countries didn't recognize, and that included the fluctuating Continents.

The Continents seemed to change from one week to the next, as their inhabitants changed. Europe, for example, had once had the thickest, darkest black hair; now, he had dirty blonde in waves. Asia had ambiguously darkish skin, but her fur-and-felt clothes were long since exchanged for a t-shirt and jeans.

They said that Continents were so fluid because their people were so varied. They were older than anything around, older than China, older than the Roman Empire or Carthage.

But they didn't talk about the way that a Continent could be killed.

Canada told him Australia still woke up in a sweat since his displacement of the original Continent; this was a step down from his screams, in languages that neither Canada nor New Zealand knew. It sounded like begging, though whether for forgiveness or for the original to come back, no one knew, since Australia didn't talk about it.

America could still remember his first encounter with his Continent. A deep hue to her skin, long, straight black hair; animal skin clothes. When he had been a tiny one, she had carried him around with her.

He liked her smell, though he could never recreate it. North America smelled earthy, and she never seemed to stink, not like the pale people he came to know as his own.

She was warm, too. He remembered resting his head on her breast, tiny fingers finding handholds in the fringes on her clothes.

But even then, he reflected, as he sat in the modern day in his two-story home and on his big recliner, she was already getting sick.

Bags appeared under her eyes, and she had a persistent cough. He went looking for things to make her feel better, as a tiny toddler would. He brought back berries, twigs, corn... anything he could think of.

Nothing worked. One day, when he was out and about, still looking for the cure, and he came back to her home to see she was not there.

He stayed there for days, until the hunger was too much and he had to move on. That was when he met France and England.

He still didn't know what had killed North America, and replaced her with the current North America, a tan-skinned brunet with blue eyes.

And, with the look on England's face whenever he brought her up, he was sure he didn't want to know.

This is exactly what I wanted. Whenever I make a prompt I leave it short as can be in order to give the writer the chance to take bits and spread their wings in any which direction. I keep running into the most amazing fills that take a prompt and run with it in completely the opposite direction or in a similar direction as the OP wanted but with a nice twist to it. :)

I really really love when people bring in other personifications besides just the countries we know. I don't think I've seen one like this in a while (but then I suck at searching). The ending was grand. And so so sad.

So during the Halloween event this year India suggested that they'd go back to his place to keep the party going, someone pointing out that they were surprised how India could keep it up.
Now I'd like to see this in a more sexual context. Anyone is really fine but if potential authors need some inspiration I'd like to see either England, Prussia or Seychelles. Writing them as nyo!talia is fine too.

Bonus 1: Multiple rounds
Bonus 2: Multiple partners
Bonus 3: Nice and calm foreplay for everyone.

Seconded!

America suffers from chronic migraines due to the political factions within his government.

During a gathering or a meeting of some kind, Latvia and Liechtenstein slip away from everyone else to get some peace and quiet plus some alone time together without the hassle of everyone else.

I just need sweet, fluffy moe couple dates, ok?

Sputnik II carried the first living being to space- or, rather, held a living dog for a short amount of time and then carried the body through space. The Soviet Union was desperate to win the Space Race, and sent Laika up fully knowing that she was going to die. There were no preparations to retrieve Sputnik II.

As I like to think, Russia was probably scarred from doing so. Sure, he'd killed people in war, but this was different. And so, because of this, Russia has not been able to have a pet since, because whenever he looks at any animal, let alone a dog, he feels like they just know what he did and look at him in disapproval.

I want to see Ivan trying to have a pet again. Trying to get over his complex about animals. Maybe Alfred is pushing Ivan to forgive himself. Human names preferred, but oobviously still nations.

Bonus: he gets a dog, and because of someone's logic (his or a Baltic's or Alfred or whoever) the dog is the same breed mix as Laika.

(screened comment)

Please always post your comments here anonymously! If you're new, you may find the Welcome post helpful.

Since I've screened it, I'll repost the question for the prompter:

"Hey! I am very interested in this prompt, and have a few ideas! Still, I wanted to ask: are you okay with me also having RusAme as a pairing in the story? If so this will be my first prompt filled out for the forum!"

(And to the potential author anon, I'd like to say that since this prompt is nearly a year old it's possible the OP won't see your question soon - if that happens I encourage you to go ahead and write the fic anyway, and be sure to list it on the Fills post for other anons besides OP to enjoy it too!)

I'd like some talks about the future! It may be America in the sixties talking about his ideas on space exploration in the 2000s, or Grandpa Rome in his prime wondering how the world will look in two hundred years. Actually, it can also be a human talking to the nation about what they think is going to happen to the world. Anything with this theme will be cool, as long as the future in question is, well, our past (or present).

I'm seriously second-ing this

I would also love to write this but it all depends on how much time I have
If so, I was sort of thinking Medieval!Europe thinking about the future. OP like?

This week NASA launched their newest space vehicle, Orion. It was a wonderful success. This is the beginning of a new era in NASA history and will (hopefully) lead to putting humans on Mars. This anon would love to see something about this event, especially after the difficulties of having funding cut for NASA during the last few years. I want to see America being a total nerd and enjoying this accomplishment.

Bonus 1: He personally worked on Orion.

Bonus 2: If there are other nations involved, it is Germany instead of Russia. Many of those scientists who worked on the original Apollo mission were German scientists snatched after WWII.

Bonus 3: Flashbacks to the Apollo missions

Impress me anons!

seconds..
may just feel
I'm a space race historian, so space geek America is what I live for

Hetalia kink meme part 27

1920s Omega!America with Lithuania and Canada

Re: 1920s Omega!America with Lithuania and Canada

Re: 1920s Omega!America with Lithuania and Canada

Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

+1

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

Re: Guys

no subject

no subject

Lichtenstein/Luxemburg/Monaco/Hong Kong/Macau + Iceland - High class club.

Re: Lichtenstein/Luxemburg/Monaco/Hong Kong/Macau + Iceland - High class club.

UK/US: Video Game Smut

America/(any/multiple) - America topping fuck-fest

Re: America/(any/multiple) - America topping fuck-fest

Re: America/(any/multiple) - America topping fuck-fest

Re: America/(any/multiple) - America topping fuck-fest

possible A!A

OP

A!A

Re: A!A

Re: A!A

A!A again

OP

They Say America is Beautiful (Part 1)

They Say America is Beautiful (Part 2)

thIS IS BEAUTIFUL

Re: They Say America is Beautiful (Part 2)

Re: They Say America is Beautiful (Part 2)

Re: They Say America is Beautiful (Part 2)

Second possible A!A

OP!

Rebuilding the Broken Roads (1/?)

Re: Rebuilding the Broken Roads (1/?)

A!Anon

OP

curious anon

Re: curious anon

Re: curious anon

Re: curious anon

A!Anon

Re: Rebuilding the Broken Roads (1/?)

A!Anon

Rebuilding the Broken Roads (2/?)

Re: Rebuilding the Broken Roads (2/?)

Re: Rebuilding the Broken Roads (2/?)

Re: Rebuilding the Broken Roads (2/?)

Russia/Lithuania - Scar Worship

You were condemned by my lashes, when others burned you to ashes

Romano + Any - Tell Me A Story

Estonia/Liechtenstein - Secret Crush

America & Ensemble - Trust no one over 30(0)!

Re: America & Ensemble - Trust no one over 30(0)!

Re: America & Ensemble - Trust no one over 30(0)!

Re: America & Ensemble - Trust no one over 30(0)!

Trust no one over 30(0)!

Russia/Germany -- Secret Lovers/Reminicing

Spain/Portugal - handjob

OP

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Re: Spain/Portugal - handjob

Ensemble America trying to found regilion

Re: Ensemble America trying to found regilion

Re: Ensemble America trying to found regilion

Op, exactly!

Re: Ensemble America trying to found regilion

Prussia filling in for Germany at meetings

Re: Prussia filling in for Germany at meetings

Re: Prussia filling in for Germany at meetings - Awesome Union 1 of ?