Axis Powers Hetalia fic
Jul. 18th, 2009 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
transemacabreBeware! Because these entries were written for the Kink Meme, there may be questionable or disturbing content. There will assuredly be ADULT content. Use your best discretion. Consider this a blanket disclaimer for this entire post.
Title: Untitled
Pairing/Characters: Chibimerica, Russia, England, Chibicanada
Prompt: anon wants country A and country B interacting when country A is a child. country A, being young and naive, declares that "when i grow up i'm going to marry country B". country B can be sort of uncomfortable or amused, depending on your interpretation. later, when both are adults, country B brings up that country A proposed to him/her all those years ago.
Rating: T for Teen
When Russia arrived at England's house, his clothes still smelled of soot, and his left eye was still swollen and purple. He could see England was a little taken aback by how bad he still looked, but he welcomed him in and went about the usual diplomacy without saying anything. They were relaxing over cups of tea when the door burst open, and two little boys ran in.
"Matthew! Alfred!" England hissed, setting down his teacup. "That's enough, now -- stop pulling your brother's hair --"
Russia looked on curiously as England chased tiny Canada around the room, trying to put his shoes back on. A tug at his shirt sleeve drew his attention to Canada's twin, a very young little boy with a beaming smile. "Hi!" he said brightly, "I'm America! Who are you?"
Russia rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. "My name is Ivan."
America climbed into his lap, standing on his knees and touching Russia's face with his hands. Russia was too startled by the child's fearless behavior to be angry; children were usually intimidated by his bulk and demeanor. America gingerly touched around the sensitive, bruised skin around his eye.
"What happened? Did you fall down?"
Russia struggled for an answer that was neither a lie nor would terrify the child. "No, I -- I was hurt."
America's mouth fell open in shock. "Did someone hurt you?" he cried.
Russia settled for telling him, "I will be all right." America seemed to accept this, because he began playing with Russia's scarf.
"Why do you wear this?" asked America, who was clearly full of questions. "Are you cold?" His blue eyes were wide with concern. He had learned not long ago that there were people who suffered and were cold and hungry all the time, which made him so upset he wanted to shout, or to cry, or both.
"It is very cold in my country, yes," Russia told him, fascinated by how America's eyebrows quirked at this, how he clutched at Russia's scarf. "It is very cold, and very lonely."
"No no no!" America said, putting his hands over Russia's mouth. "I don't want you to be cold and lonesome!"
England, who had succeeded in wrangling a wailing Canada into his shoes once more, looked up and snapped, "That's enough, Alfred, stop bothering him --"
Russia gently picked up America and sat him on the floor. America stared up at him and reached for his hand. "When I get big," he told Russia, "you can come live with me. I'll make sure you're never hungry or cold ever again!"
"Oh, will you?" asked Russia, his own massive paw swallowing the boy's tiny hand.
"Yes! I'll marry you and we'll be happy forever and ever!" America had recently learned that you married someone that you loved so that you'd never have to be apart, and he'd spent some time pondering over who he was going to marry. England and France had each other, and Matthew was a crybaby, so he didn't want to marry him. Ivan needed him, though. "I'll be everyone's best friend, so no one else will ever be hungry or cold, either! But you can be my best best friend!"
Russia smiled down at him. "I'm honored."
Many years later, when America had grown tall, but not so tall as Russia, and they faced each other down, hands on the trigger, each contemplating ending the world to spite the other, Russia said, "You promised me once you would never let me go hungry or cold. You asked me to marry you."
America called him an "asshole", but Ivan could see in Alfred's eyes that he remembered, too.
+++
Historical note: This is set somewhere during the first decade of the 1600s, when Russia was recovering from the Time of Troubles and when America was a very young colony.
Title: Vision at Maciejowice
Pairings/Characters: Poland
Prompt: A soldier fought for his country and is now on his deathbed. He gets the honor of meeting his country. Expecting a beautiful young woman (how they're usually portrayed), he is disappointed to find his country is a man.
Rating: T for Teen
His knees gave out under him, and he collapsed into a puddle of his own blood. Laying there, gagging, he could look into the lifeless faces of his own comrades. A few hours ago they had been patriots, soldiers, taking blessings from priests on the roadside. Now they were painfully young, maimed, and dead.
As his vision blurred, a face appeared above him. Green eyes, pale hair. Jadwiga, he thought, and his lips mimed the thought. His beautiful Jadwiga, waiting patiently at home for him, all of seventeen. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Even if he lived, would she want him, a broken man?
"Get up!" cried the vision above him, and dimly he realized that the voice was masculine. Not Jadwiga at all. Somehow he was pulled to his knees. "You have to move!" the young man said, clutching at his tattered uniform, frantically trying to pull him to his feet. "They'll kill you if you don't move!"
The Russians. The Russians had crushed them. "I-I can't," he said, tears streaming down his face. He had not even the strength to stand. "I can't run -- they've taken Kościuszko -- our hero --" His voice broke.
Gunshots roared overhead, and the young man pushed him back down, covered his body with his own. "You should run," he whispered into the shell of the stranger's ear. "Don't stay here with me. Run -- and -- live."
The stranger caressed his face with heartbreaking tenderness. "Without you, I'll die no matter what," he told him softly. "You and your brothers are, like, my lifeblood. You're the only ones who keep me alive. The only ones who remember my name."
The stranger linked his hands. He trembled; he felt very cold. "What's -- your -- name?" he gritted out between chattering teeth. The world blurred around him again.
He could hear the other man telling him, "Feliks," and he gasped and said, "That's my name, too," and then the world went black, and there was no pain, and no screaming.
Titles: Sacred Darling and My Strange uncles From Abroad, both available on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
breeding_world
Pairings/Characters: America/Russia, England, Alaska, Ukraine
Warnings: Mpreg. Hey, they're anthropomorphic representations of nations. Who says they breed like normal humans?
Prompt: Russia/America - Alaska as their illegitimate child
Rating: M for Mature Content
Title: now i bleed roses
Pairings/Characters: America/Japan
Prompt: US and Japan falling in love during the occupation after the end of WWII.
Rating: G for General
America dearly wished the radio was playing, blaring boogie-woogie, anything but the sound of the wind blowing, branches scraping the side of the house, and the slow breathing of the man sitting across the room.
Japan sat upright on the futon as though braced for execution. He kept one hand pressed against the bandages wound around his chest. Looking into his face, America was reminded of those wretched blank-eyed statues England and France loved so much. "I'm going to make coffee," America told him. "You be sure and tell me when you're hungry, okay?"
Japan looked right through him. America shrugged and walked into the kitchen. He returned with two steaming cups of coffee. He placed one in front of Japan and then sat down across from him, sprawling across the futon. No sooner had he taken a sip of the coffee than he bolted upright, sputtering. "Kiku! You're bleeding through!"
When he reached for Japan, the other nation flinched away. America was taken aback; did Kiku think he was going to hurt him again? "It's okay," he said, crouching on the floor next to him. "I'm going to change your bandages."
This time Japan allowed himself to be touched, but wouldn't make eye contact as America cut off the blood-soaked bandages and carefully wrapped him in fresh ones. "Hey, I know it hurts," America said, gently resting a hand on Japan's shoulder. "But soon you'll be good as new, Kiku." He smiled brightly.
Japan turned away from him. Hurt, America got to his feet and hastily threw away the old bandages. When he came back, Japan was precisely as he'd left him. "Are you hungry? Do you want food?" America asked. It'd been almost two days; if Japan was ever going to get better, he had to eat.
Japan made a little sound that wasn't quite a word, or a grunt. "A little," he said finally.
Well, at least I got him to say something, America thought as he made rice, which was all he could find in Kiku's house. That's some kind of progress.
***
A week into it, America decided that Kiku's house made him nervous. Everything was paper and straw -- he felt like he would rip a hole in the wall if he leaned against it. And as for that weird futon thing Kiku slept on, America felt sure that Kiku would be more comfortable in a big, comfy four-poster bed, but when he said so all Kiku would say was, "That will not be necessary, America."
Japan was laying in bed one night pretending to sleep when America crept in. "Are you awake?" he hissed into the darkness.
Japan sighed. "I am not asleep."
"Great!" America flopped down on the floor next to him. "It's creepy sleeping on my own. If you don't mind, I'll sleep next to you tonight -- just don't fall asleep first, okay?"
Japan could feel the body heat America was giving off -- he was like a furnace. He didn't reply; he had no choice in the matter, anyway. Soon enough America fell asleep, snoring softly now and then. Japan stared into the blackness and resolved to recite Buddhist prayers and the numbers to man. He felt sure that he made it to roku but couldn't remember any further than that when he woke the next morning, curled against America's larger, warmer bulk. He rolled over onto his back, and didn't betray his feelings in his voice when America yawned and told him good morning.
America took him outside on a warm, sunny day. Japan felt well enough to sit under a tree and sketch kanji into the loose soil with a stick while America lay on his back. "That one is a horse," America said, pointing towards a cloud. "And that's a firetruck."
Japan made a low hmmm sound. "It's a rabbit," he said, and sketched the kanji for 'rabbit'.
America seemed to consider this but said, "Nah, it's definitely a firetruck. Hey, Kiku, look! The moon!"
Japan looked up, and sure enough, there was the moon, gliding across the daytime sky. America sat up, sitting cross-legged. Looking over his shoulder at Japan, he said, "Maybe the moon is keeping the sun company today."
Japan smiled at him for the first time.
***
Every day America looked at Japan and started to say, You're everything I want and didn't know I needed. But he knew Japan didn't want him to stay forever.
Every day Japan stole glances at America and yearned to tell him, You are what I need, and what I never knew I wanted. But he couldn't bring himself to tell this to him when he knows America only wanted to go home, and soon.
***
"It's time for me to leave," America said, as he would call it, 'out of the blue' one day.
Japan almost dropped his teacup. He sat it down on the tea table very carefully. "It's going to rain."
America looked out the window at the dark clouds gathering in the sky. "Ah, I'll be all right." He grinned as he yanked on his bomber jacket. "A little rain won't hurt me."
"Stay and finish your tea," Japan told him. For once, America obeyed, kneeling at the table and sipping from his cup. Soon they could hear the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The room grew dark.
America stood again. "I've got to be going," he said, and the finality of that statement left Japan with no choice but to bow respectfully. America paused, then slowly bowed back, deeper.
The door swung shut behind him with a slam that seemed to shake Japan's bones. He sunk to the floor, and crawled over to the futon. He tried to light a candle but his hands shook too much.
He could hear the pounding footsteps even before the door creaked open. America stood in the doorway, water pouring from his shoulders. "Kiku," he said, "I have to know. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me?"
Japan struck the match and lit the candle. "It is not possible."
Title: Untitled
Pairing/Characters: Chibimerica, Russia, England, Chibicanada
Prompt: anon wants country A and country B interacting when country A is a child. country A, being young and naive, declares that "when i grow up i'm going to marry country B". country B can be sort of uncomfortable or amused, depending on your interpretation. later, when both are adults, country B brings up that country A proposed to him/her all those years ago.
Rating: T for Teen
When Russia arrived at England's house, his clothes still smelled of soot, and his left eye was still swollen and purple. He could see England was a little taken aback by how bad he still looked, but he welcomed him in and went about the usual diplomacy without saying anything. They were relaxing over cups of tea when the door burst open, and two little boys ran in.
"Matthew! Alfred!" England hissed, setting down his teacup. "That's enough, now -- stop pulling your brother's hair --"
Russia looked on curiously as England chased tiny Canada around the room, trying to put his shoes back on. A tug at his shirt sleeve drew his attention to Canada's twin, a very young little boy with a beaming smile. "Hi!" he said brightly, "I'm America! Who are you?"
Russia rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. "My name is Ivan."
America climbed into his lap, standing on his knees and touching Russia's face with his hands. Russia was too startled by the child's fearless behavior to be angry; children were usually intimidated by his bulk and demeanor. America gingerly touched around the sensitive, bruised skin around his eye.
"What happened? Did you fall down?"
Russia struggled for an answer that was neither a lie nor would terrify the child. "No, I -- I was hurt."
America's mouth fell open in shock. "Did someone hurt you?" he cried.
Russia settled for telling him, "I will be all right." America seemed to accept this, because he began playing with Russia's scarf.
"Why do you wear this?" asked America, who was clearly full of questions. "Are you cold?" His blue eyes were wide with concern. He had learned not long ago that there were people who suffered and were cold and hungry all the time, which made him so upset he wanted to shout, or to cry, or both.
"It is very cold in my country, yes," Russia told him, fascinated by how America's eyebrows quirked at this, how he clutched at Russia's scarf. "It is very cold, and very lonely."
"No no no!" America said, putting his hands over Russia's mouth. "I don't want you to be cold and lonesome!"
England, who had succeeded in wrangling a wailing Canada into his shoes once more, looked up and snapped, "That's enough, Alfred, stop bothering him --"
Russia gently picked up America and sat him on the floor. America stared up at him and reached for his hand. "When I get big," he told Russia, "you can come live with me. I'll make sure you're never hungry or cold ever again!"
"Oh, will you?" asked Russia, his own massive paw swallowing the boy's tiny hand.
"Yes! I'll marry you and we'll be happy forever and ever!" America had recently learned that you married someone that you loved so that you'd never have to be apart, and he'd spent some time pondering over who he was going to marry. England and France had each other, and Matthew was a crybaby, so he didn't want to marry him. Ivan needed him, though. "I'll be everyone's best friend, so no one else will ever be hungry or cold, either! But you can be my best best friend!"
Russia smiled down at him. "I'm honored."
Many years later, when America had grown tall, but not so tall as Russia, and they faced each other down, hands on the trigger, each contemplating ending the world to spite the other, Russia said, "You promised me once you would never let me go hungry or cold. You asked me to marry you."
America called him an "asshole", but Ivan could see in Alfred's eyes that he remembered, too.
+++
Historical note: This is set somewhere during the first decade of the 1600s, when Russia was recovering from the Time of Troubles and when America was a very young colony.
Title: Vision at Maciejowice
Pairings/Characters: Poland
Prompt: A soldier fought for his country and is now on his deathbed. He gets the honor of meeting his country. Expecting a beautiful young woman (how they're usually portrayed), he is disappointed to find his country is a man.
Rating: T for Teen
His knees gave out under him, and he collapsed into a puddle of his own blood. Laying there, gagging, he could look into the lifeless faces of his own comrades. A few hours ago they had been patriots, soldiers, taking blessings from priests on the roadside. Now they were painfully young, maimed, and dead.
As his vision blurred, a face appeared above him. Green eyes, pale hair. Jadwiga, he thought, and his lips mimed the thought. His beautiful Jadwiga, waiting patiently at home for him, all of seventeen. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Even if he lived, would she want him, a broken man?
"Get up!" cried the vision above him, and dimly he realized that the voice was masculine. Not Jadwiga at all. Somehow he was pulled to his knees. "You have to move!" the young man said, clutching at his tattered uniform, frantically trying to pull him to his feet. "They'll kill you if you don't move!"
The Russians. The Russians had crushed them. "I-I can't," he said, tears streaming down his face. He had not even the strength to stand. "I can't run -- they've taken Kościuszko -- our hero --" His voice broke.
Gunshots roared overhead, and the young man pushed him back down, covered his body with his own. "You should run," he whispered into the shell of the stranger's ear. "Don't stay here with me. Run -- and -- live."
The stranger caressed his face with heartbreaking tenderness. "Without you, I'll die no matter what," he told him softly. "You and your brothers are, like, my lifeblood. You're the only ones who keep me alive. The only ones who remember my name."
The stranger linked his hands. He trembled; he felt very cold. "What's -- your -- name?" he gritted out between chattering teeth. The world blurred around him again.
He could hear the other man telling him, "Feliks," and he gasped and said, "That's my name, too," and then the world went black, and there was no pain, and no screaming.
Titles: Sacred Darling and My Strange uncles From Abroad, both available on
breeding_worldPairings/Characters: America/Russia, England, Alaska, Ukraine
Warnings: Mpreg. Hey, they're anthropomorphic representations of nations. Who says they breed like normal humans?
Prompt: Russia/America - Alaska as their illegitimate child
Rating: M for Mature Content
Title: now i bleed roses
Pairings/Characters: America/Japan
Prompt: US and Japan falling in love during the occupation after the end of WWII.
Rating: G for General
America dearly wished the radio was playing, blaring boogie-woogie, anything but the sound of the wind blowing, branches scraping the side of the house, and the slow breathing of the man sitting across the room.
Japan sat upright on the futon as though braced for execution. He kept one hand pressed against the bandages wound around his chest. Looking into his face, America was reminded of those wretched blank-eyed statues England and France loved so much. "I'm going to make coffee," America told him. "You be sure and tell me when you're hungry, okay?"
Japan looked right through him. America shrugged and walked into the kitchen. He returned with two steaming cups of coffee. He placed one in front of Japan and then sat down across from him, sprawling across the futon. No sooner had he taken a sip of the coffee than he bolted upright, sputtering. "Kiku! You're bleeding through!"
When he reached for Japan, the other nation flinched away. America was taken aback; did Kiku think he was going to hurt him again? "It's okay," he said, crouching on the floor next to him. "I'm going to change your bandages."
This time Japan allowed himself to be touched, but wouldn't make eye contact as America cut off the blood-soaked bandages and carefully wrapped him in fresh ones. "Hey, I know it hurts," America said, gently resting a hand on Japan's shoulder. "But soon you'll be good as new, Kiku." He smiled brightly.
Japan turned away from him. Hurt, America got to his feet and hastily threw away the old bandages. When he came back, Japan was precisely as he'd left him. "Are you hungry? Do you want food?" America asked. It'd been almost two days; if Japan was ever going to get better, he had to eat.
Japan made a little sound that wasn't quite a word, or a grunt. "A little," he said finally.
Well, at least I got him to say something, America thought as he made rice, which was all he could find in Kiku's house. That's some kind of progress.
***
A week into it, America decided that Kiku's house made him nervous. Everything was paper and straw -- he felt like he would rip a hole in the wall if he leaned against it. And as for that weird futon thing Kiku slept on, America felt sure that Kiku would be more comfortable in a big, comfy four-poster bed, but when he said so all Kiku would say was, "That will not be necessary, America."
Japan was laying in bed one night pretending to sleep when America crept in. "Are you awake?" he hissed into the darkness.
Japan sighed. "I am not asleep."
"Great!" America flopped down on the floor next to him. "It's creepy sleeping on my own. If you don't mind, I'll sleep next to you tonight -- just don't fall asleep first, okay?"
Japan could feel the body heat America was giving off -- he was like a furnace. He didn't reply; he had no choice in the matter, anyway. Soon enough America fell asleep, snoring softly now and then. Japan stared into the blackness and resolved to recite Buddhist prayers and the numbers to man. He felt sure that he made it to roku but couldn't remember any further than that when he woke the next morning, curled against America's larger, warmer bulk. He rolled over onto his back, and didn't betray his feelings in his voice when America yawned and told him good morning.
America took him outside on a warm, sunny day. Japan felt well enough to sit under a tree and sketch kanji into the loose soil with a stick while America lay on his back. "That one is a horse," America said, pointing towards a cloud. "And that's a firetruck."
Japan made a low hmmm sound. "It's a rabbit," he said, and sketched the kanji for 'rabbit'.
America seemed to consider this but said, "Nah, it's definitely a firetruck. Hey, Kiku, look! The moon!"
Japan looked up, and sure enough, there was the moon, gliding across the daytime sky. America sat up, sitting cross-legged. Looking over his shoulder at Japan, he said, "Maybe the moon is keeping the sun company today."
Japan smiled at him for the first time.
***
Every day America looked at Japan and started to say, You're everything I want and didn't know I needed. But he knew Japan didn't want him to stay forever.
Every day Japan stole glances at America and yearned to tell him, You are what I need, and what I never knew I wanted. But he couldn't bring himself to tell this to him when he knows America only wanted to go home, and soon.
***
"It's time for me to leave," America said, as he would call it, 'out of the blue' one day.
Japan almost dropped his teacup. He sat it down on the tea table very carefully. "It's going to rain."
America looked out the window at the dark clouds gathering in the sky. "Ah, I'll be all right." He grinned as he yanked on his bomber jacket. "A little rain won't hurt me."
"Stay and finish your tea," Japan told him. For once, America obeyed, kneeling at the table and sipping from his cup. Soon they could hear the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The room grew dark.
America stood again. "I've got to be going," he said, and the finality of that statement left Japan with no choice but to bow respectfully. America paused, then slowly bowed back, deeper.
The door swung shut behind him with a slam that seemed to shake Japan's bones. He sunk to the floor, and crawled over to the futon. He tried to light a candle but his hands shook too much.
He could hear the pounding footsteps even before the door creaked open. America stood in the doorway, water pouring from his shoulders. "Kiku," he said, "I have to know. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me?"
Japan struck the match and lit the candle. "It is not possible."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 03:27 pm (UTC)*coughs* But I SWEAR I didn't come here to plug the comm. I wandered over in search of fics and found some great ones! ChibiAmerica proposing to Russia was very cute, but really, it was the one with Japan and America that got me.
You're everything I want and didn't know I needed.
You are what I need, and what I never knew I wanted.
This bit just about killed me. And then Japan saying "It is not possible", which isn't an answer to Alfred's question at all, and is just so Japan, utterly and perfectly in keeping with the character and the nation. Amazing piece!