MAD World ;; chapter o2
Title: Chapter 2 ;; Pool Party
Rating: M
Warnings: Exaggerated personalities and exaggerated. Also, expect some OOC Canada! Aside from that, heavy sexual humor and also profanity included. (There are F bombs)
Summary: All of the Hetalia characters decide to throw a late-night pool party. Imagine a bunch of hot guys running around topless, trying to dance, getting drunk, fighting with each and doing plenty of other silly things. Yeah, that’s what it’s like.
This is a continuation from the first chapter, posted earlier in the week. However, you don't have to read chapter one to understand what is going on in this chapter. Actually, I prefer people read this chapter first since it's funnier than chapter one, but whatever floats you boat, I guess. =)
A/N: I guess I should do some explaining so I can be all Himaruya-like? In the first chapter of MAD World, I named Austria’s piano ‘Franz.’ That’s because Archduke Franz Ferdinand ( who was heir to the Austrian-Hungarian throne) was assassinated in 1914 and his assassination sort of was a huge factor in the start of WWI. (Though, I’m sure everyone knew that already….)
Well, it isn’t so bad.
The music-- loud, booming and energetic-could be heard through deep, thunderous reverberations. Flashing, colorful lights ignited the dark sky. Laughing, talking, and yelling could all be heard. Excitement and energy practically oozed out of the backyard, creating a thick, heavy atmosphere that could easily entice anyone.
No, Canada had lied to himself. It was damn horrible.
Behind the privacy fence was a world. A world filled with booming music, strobe lights, failed attempts at dancing, enough alcohol to fill multiple tubs, girls in bikinis, topless guys-many, many topless guys, kinky little pool games, drunk karaoke singing and probably anything and everything else that normally goes on during a party filled with hormonal young adults.
“I got it! Hell yeah!!”
That was Turkey. It seemed like his Internet connection, which was actually a connection he stole from England’s router, had improved so now a jpeg took only two minutes to load instead of five. Amazing.
Vrooooom
“Shit.”
And that was Egypt. Why he was standing on the edge of the sidewalk with his thumb out trying to hitchhike, no one knew. He had big dreams to make it to the city and live the better life. Sadly, his dreams were always crushed because even though he spent every waking hour standing on the sidewalk, none of the cars stopped for him.
“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..”
Guess who that was. No, really. Guess.
So there sat the four of them. Turkey with a laptop on his well, lap, Egypt at the road side, Greece sprawled out on the grass in an eternal slumber and Canada, legs crossed and sitting on a metal bench.
Then Canadian expelled a sigh. “I’m too good for them. Yes, that’s it.”
And that was what he thought. He had voluntarily left the mansion because he had been fed up with everyone’s shit, after all. So for the longest time, he was happy he didn’t have to hear everyone ask him who he was, or listen to America babble about useless asshattery or put up with Cuba’s accidental insults. Yes, for the longest time he didn’t miss those people at all. That’s why he had joined the “Homeless Crew” because being homeless was so much cooler than living with a bunch of crack heads. (Although Turkey, Greece and Egypt were practically crack heads too.)
But the hype exploding from the backyard sure made his chest feel empty.
“W-”
Before Kumajiro could even pronounce another letter, Canada snapped, “Shut up Kumajiro. I know what you’re going to say and I’m sick of it. Who, you ask? You know who? CANADA! The one who feeds you, the one who cleans up after you piss on your potty mat, the one who shoves you in the washer and laughs while you spin around and around, the one who reads you bedtime stories at one in the damn morning! I’m HIM. The guy that takes care of you!”
Obviously, Canada was prone to random outbursts of anger.
Kumajiro blinked. “Would you like to touch my tra la la? My ding ding dong?”
Well, that was new.
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Of course, England refused the alcohol at first. He knew what that devilish beverage did to him, but then...
America did something very, very evil. Of course, America’s wickedness began earlier that night. How about a flashback?
Why hadn’t England had spotted that tattoo before? It was so obviously etched into a noticeable spot on America’s chest, but…could he really not have seen that before? All those centuries of hot, angry sex and he hadn’t even noticed it on the younger nation?
The horror only continued from then on.
“Heeey, England. Like my ink?”
“Oh, yes. Say, is that…is that recent?”
If America grinned any wider, his face would crack. His mouth would probably fall off and hit the floor, than start spouting lots and lots of nonsense about how having a jacked up face made him oh so epic.
“What? Are you kidding? England, come on.”
“W-what do you mean?” The now blushing nation sputtered. “I asked you a simple question…”
“Geez, England, I really didn’t know you were this clueless!”
America was sure one to talk, wasn’t he? Of course, England’s personality had completely changed now and instead of chewing the annoying blond out, he only blushed a bit harder and wanted even more desperately to get to the bottom of this mindfucking puzzle.
“Clueless?! If anyone’s clueless it’s you…! S-so what are you saying? It is new or not?” England was dreading that America might say it wasn’t new, or try to trick him into thinking it wasn’t new when it was. Oh, then England would end up looking so stupid and it would be all America’s fault, again.
“I’m hurt, England.” Of course, America knew he could only keep the act up so long before England flipped his little tea pot-like lid. So he gave in, having gained satisfaction from seeing England all flustered. “Nah, I just found the tattoo in a pack of really cheap gum and decided to wear it for the big party. Preeety cool, huh?”
That was heavenly compared to the next malevolent thing America did.
England expelled a sigh of relief. So, he hadn’t missed it for all those years.
‘Of course America would never get a real tattoo!’ He laughed inwardly. He’d start tearing up like a silly child, whimpering sad little things about being dust irritating his eyes, before the needle even touched him.
“Ah, just as I thought,” England replied smugly.
“Oh, but I’ve got another one I wanted to wear around. Want to see it?”
“Honestly, America, I don’t want to waste my time looking at your retarded ta--”
“It’s right down there on my waaaaay lower back…”
“--ttoo….Well, I suppose a quick look wouldn’t hurt….but be quick about it.”
When America had said ‘way lower back’, he wasn’t messing around. He had to pull the brim of his swim trunks down (more than) a tad to reveal the second tattoo.
England could have died. No, he did. His soul had surely left his body for a second, and not in a good way. Not in a good way at all.
There, on America’s enticing, exposed flesh was a horrible, disgusting sight. The very thing England could have repulsive nightmares about, the very thing that had tormented him for centuries.
France’s face.
Oh, yes. England was sure he had died for a second.
The alcohol thing? Right. Well, America’s desire to sin was obviously very strong that night. Just when England thought the other nation couldn’t sink any lower, he had.
Whether anybody wanted to believe it or not, growing up with British and French influence had obviously affected not only America’s childhood, but his mind and his well being. How could one not be mentally corrupted by two sexually perverted countries? It’s just that England didn’t want to believe the effects of such perversion would carry onto America’s adulthood.
Then there came the barely audible, “Oh…bollocks…”
Face red with anger, England skittered off, too stunned to bite America’s head off for the vile image on his body. Never had England expected America to do something so cruel and naughty!
England had sought refuge at the bar. And it was there at the bar that America preformed his most evil of deeds.
Why had he gone to the bar? So he could slowly drown himself in the desire to drink rather than drown himself in the desire to kill America. And France, for that matter. Mostly France.
He had told himself, multiple times over, that he wouldn’t drink. He knew what would happen and he knew it would end horribly.
“Hey, England, why’d you run away like that?”
“Bloody hell!” The frustrated blond exclaimed as he turned to the young man who had taken a seat beside him. “Can’t you run off and do something else besides bother me? Perhaps, jump into the pool and drown?
While England continued to fuss, America searched around the cooler. There were German beers and vodka and Sunny D. The Sunny D was mostly for Sealand, but Italy enjoyed them too.
Humming to himself and utterly ignoring whatever England was ranting, America pulled out a beer (he had been hesitant to choose the vodka, knowing it was Russia’s and fearing his hand would start melting if he touched it) and set it down on the bar counter.
“-and damnit, I have feelings too!”
“Want a drink? They’re still pretty cold,” America suggested innocently.
“Bugger off!”
America started on opening the bottle. “You knooow~ I bet I could drink more than you.”
Those words would royally mess up England’s world.
England froze. His body stiffened and he lost his train of thought.
“N-no, I’m not falling for that.”
America shrugged, but still had a silly grin on his face. “You’re just going to give up like that?”
England could feel his face start to burn again. His strength was being questioned, by America no less! The last he wanted to do was refuse a challenge by the younger nation. The other last thing he wanted to do was get drunk as shit.
“How can I give up if I haven’t even begun anything? H-honestly America, you’re as stupid as ever-”
“I dare you~”
“…Dare me to do what?”
“Have a drinking contest with me!”
“I said no!”
“You’re too afraid to lose to me again, aren’t you?”
“A-again?!”
Once more, America grinned too widely for it to be healthy. “I guess your last defeat was just too much for you to handle. I don’t blame you. I kicked your ass pretty bad--”
“Give me the bottle!” England snarled and grabbed the beer, chugging it furiously.
America really knew what made England tick.
And that was the tale of America’s wickedness and why England was on his fourth bottle, his mind quickly leaving him.
America was only on his second bottle, and he was taking his precious time sipping, because he knew England would be drunk as hell in a second and there was really no need to rush. After all, once the older nation went through one bottle, he kept going and going so the contest was pretty much won. (Not that America planned to actually have a contest in the first place; he just needed to convince England to drink.)
It didn’t take much longer before England’s sanity finally left him.
He slammed the bottle on the counter and turned to America , who was expecting to soon be rolf’ing at whatever silly insults were going to come out of England’s intoxicated mouth.
“AMERICA, GIVE MOMMY SOME LOVE.”
Not as planned!!
America laughed nervously. “Well, uh….”
“G-get on your knees and…and give Sir Willy a proper mouth-to-mouth!!” At this, England did a little pelvic thrust at America who scooted towards the edge of his seat.
“Not now,” he said quietly, as if someone would hear over the thundering music. As if everyone didn’t already know that they were butt buddies.
“OH?! Giving up already?! You fat, sad little wanker! The joke is on YOU now, isn’t it, America?!”
America hopped off the bar stool, for England was slowly closing the distance between them.
“S-sooo, what’d you think of my…my earlier demand? How’s your Congress going to-hic-going to settle that one?!”
“We can….get it on later?” America suggested, making his way to the edge of the pool.
“Later? Always p-putting things off, are you?! Is that why you ejaculate at the last second? You…you selfish bastard…!”
Before America could protest at all, a desperate cry was heard.
“Flee, aru!!”
That would be none other than China, who was frantically running around the pool with Korea hot on his tail, large paddle in his hands.
“Aniki! This is for rowing purposes only! Didn’t you know that rowing originated from Korea?!”
Japan, who was following close behind, facepalm’d.
Wait a second….
America was too busy watching the Azn trio to notice England literally jump him. They both crashed into the water.
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Canada looked up at the stars. You could see so many of them, living all the way in the middle of nowhere and all.
Oh, they were probably all having so much damn fun. So much fun without Canada. And did any of them miss him? No, of course they didn’t. They couldn’t even remember his name. At least the Homeless Crew knew him and respected him.
A fire burning inside of him, possibly from rage, possibly from arousal, possibly from sheer insanity, Canada decided that him and his friend might as well party it up.
“Turkey, break out the alcohol.”
“Who the hell said that?”
Egypt shrugged. “Maybe…Greece.”
“The bastard woke up?” Turkey set his laptop down and crawled over to Greece. “Hey! You’re finally awake? Where’s the blowjob I paid for, huh?” With that, he began slapping Greece, to make sure he was really awake, of course.
Canada wanted to rip something up. He wanted to perhaps tear someone’s face off and shove it down Kumajiro’s throat. But no. He was the better person, and no matter how many assholes would forget his name, he’d stay perfectly calm about it.
“Ah, damn! It bit me!!” Turkey shouted.
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Dark, cold and eerie, the room was vacant of any life. A spine chilling aura seemed to intoxicate the space. The only sound that could be heard was creeping death. Life, death, matter, time, none of it existed in that room after sunset.
Then the sound of a coffin door flying open. A deep, horrible wheezing sound. A body rising from its resting place. Groans of sexual frustration.
It was time.
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After America and England had left, the bar didn’t stay vacant for too much longer.
After making sure Italy put on his floaties before jumping into the deep end of the pool, Germany decided he deserved a beer. Or two. Or three.
“Germany, Germany, look at me!” He heard Italy shout gleefully as the Italian splashed about.
Germany gave him a nod and hoped that he wouldn’t somehow pop the float tubes and end up drowning, because if it was Italy in question, anything could happen.
“This is a disaster.”
Germany turned to find Austria kneeling over the cooler with thermometer in hand.
“The ice is entirely 1.754 degrees too warm for my personal tastes. Now all the drinks will be ruined. What a shame.”
Germany started to wonder how a man like Austria managed to live in a mansion of chaos. Then again, he shut himself up in his room all day and had wonderful adventures with Franz, but Germany still couldn’t help but thinking that’d die if he was as OCD as the Austrian was.
“You’re too freakin’ serious, that’s what your problem is,” Prussia, who was known to randomly pop out of bushes and such, diagnosed.
Austria only grimaced at the sound of his voice and pretended to ignore him.
“Flippin’ a shit over every little thing will make your asshole tighter, which means it’ll just hurt more.” Prussia grabbed a handful of ice, wincing at the cold but still grinning as wide as ever. “You should seriously chill out!” With that, he dumped the handful of ice down Austria’s swim trunks.
That caused Austria and fall to the ground as if he was going to have a seizure. He might very well have been, actually.
Then Prussia laughed maniacally at the silly pun simply because he, the most fucking amazing guy in the whole damn world, had said it.
Cue Germany chugging the last of his beer then running to Austria’s side in attempts to stop the man from hyperventilating.
“Austria, hang in there!” Germany cried.
“He sounds like he’s freakin’ having a baby!” Prussia laughed. He got on his knees next to Germany and faked the best compassionate tone he could, “It’s okay, baby. Just keeping breathing like they taught you in class! Oh, and if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Frederick Gilbert the Great II.”
Germany grabbed another beer. He was going to need it.
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“Did he wink at you?” S. Italy hissed, floating over to the other.
N. Italy looked to his brother blankly. “Germany doesn’t wink, silly-”
“He definitely winked at you. Do you what that means?”
“Hmmmmmm~”
“It means that the potato bastard wants to get in your pants, that’s what.”
Italy smiled, “How can he get into my pants? I don’t think he would fit! Macho Germany~ Besides, I almost always keep my pants off when I hang out with him.”
S. Italy’s face went red. Of all the horrible, disgusting things in this world…!
“I’m not done! Listen carefully, he’s wants to get you in bed and then, when you least expect it, TEAR YOU TO PIECES.”
N. Italy simply cocked his head to the side in confusion. “But, Brother, I already sleep with Germany!” He dunked his head underwater and pulled up, shaking it back and forth and drizzling water all over his brother. Accidently, of course. “Rain~ rain~” he chanted.
“You do?!” S. Italy gasped, becoming very, very horrified at all the things he was hearing his beloved brother say. “I bet he’s rough and violent and careless. I bet he doesn’t even give you a decent reach around, does he?”
“Look, Brother! When the light hits the water, it looks really pretty!”
“I bet he gets off on seeing you cower before his bulky mass of muscles, the damn villain….!”
“I want to dance later,” N. Italy said. “Big Brother France was doing it earlier, and it looked fun!” Italy smiled,not caring if France had been banned from the backyard or not.
“France was not dancing! He was taking his clothes off to music!” The paranoid of the two hissed again., too angry to remember that France wasn’t allowed anywhere near the house.
It wasn’t until then that he realized his brother and he were surrounded by freaks. Terrible, mind warping freaks.
“It looked fun.”
S. Italy pushed his brother’s head under water. “BE CLEAN! These bastards have fucked up your mind, but there’s still time to reverse the effects!! PURFICATION. PURIFICATION!”
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From the window she saw him. His pale body called to her, tempted her. She could see the desire in his deep, violet eyes. His smile couldn’t fool her. Already she could taste him on her tongue. How soft and sweet his cold body would feel beneath hers. Arousal was coming on thick.
She let out a heavy sigh and ran her hand down the window. She would anything just to taste him. She would have even given her soul, had she still had one.
“Big brother…” she moaned hungry and needy, desire thick on her words.
After touching herself, she descended.
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After a while, the pool games commenced. It started with a party favorite, Marco Polo. When playing with a least forty people, the game was damn crazy.
Germany was the only one man enough to volunteer to be Marco for the first turn. He counted to zehn and began to blindly move about the pool.
There were so many people shouting polo at once that Germany was turning and moving around in so many different direction, he was getting dizzy. He stood still, and just like a radio, began to signal in on certain voices.
Grunting.
“You like this, you dirty little trollap?”
Gasping.
“Yeah! Hell yeah I do!”
“Who’s your fucking daddy, America?”
“You are! You are!”
Moaning.
Right. Next station.
“NO LONGER WILL YOUR MIND BE CORRUPTED!!”
“Brother--gasp-I can’t-gasp--breathe!!”
Oh shit.
“Oh my gawd, he was like, a total dick about it. I was like, ‘well if you’re gonna tell me that the skirt makes my ass look big, you can just, totally not come over and play dress up with me anymore.’ And he was getting like, soooo mad! Totally NOT hot. Geez.”
No, not that one either.
“Big brother….I have come for you.”
Screaming.
“Run Forest, run!”
More screaming.
Okay….
And meanwhile, France, who was stark naked, was accidently bumping into everybody, but they were all having too much fun to notice him.
While everyone was having a blast playing Marco Polo, Sealand was chillin’ on his island. Yes, he had been given a little ghetto island in the back of the pool where he lived in his ghetto little house.
Sipping on hard core orange juice drink, he bobbed his head to the music, feeling very adult and all. He plotted on how he’d try to lose his virginity that night. What? It was practically mandatory for one to lose his virginity at a wild adult party! Perhaps he should look to his older brother, who was slamming America up against the pool and fondling the hell out of him, as an example.
Cuba was also watching England viciously express his love, only Cuba didn’t know exactly what England was doing. See, he thought England was trying to kill America.
“Woot! Go England! Bite his mouth off, that’s the spirit!! Not so tough now, are you, fat ass?!”
“Eh,” Sealand, who is surprisingly gangster in this fanfiction, said. “They aint fightin’. They’z havin water sex.”
“That’s right! Suck his brains out through his mouth!!”
“HEY! I said, they is havin’ SEX.”
“Rip his dick off! Go go go!!” Cuba busted out a tub of ice cream and broke it open. This was real entertainment.
“Want me to bust a sea shell up yo ass? ‘Cause I’a do it.”
Back to the game.
Finally, Germany ended up tagging someone.
The game carried on for multiple rounds, each round including everyone pushing each other, getting frisky and trying to trick whoever was trying to tag them.
More games followed, such as that one where someone sat on someone’s shoulder and had a little fight with another pair of people doing the same thing. The Southern Italian refused to let his northern brother play, saying that North Italy’s balls couldn’t be within five feet of someone’s face.
Russia, Belarus, China, Korea and Japan also could not participate in the games because Russia was too busy fleeing from his horny sister, China was too busy running from Korea and Japan was too busy trying to stop Korea from spanking China with that paddle, not to mention he was quite busy protecting his own breasts.
“Okay Aniki, now bend over…”
“Once we’re married, no one can get me in trouble for molesting you in your sleep.”
The insanity pretty much continued from then on with those five.
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After the silly pool games, everyone decided to grab an alcoholic beverage or two, get drunk and start dancing.
By then, Austria had recovered and his cock had properly defrosted so he decided to join in on the dancing. Naturally, Prussia wanted to show off his uber dance moves.
So, with everyone drunk and wild, the dancing began.
Sealand picked himself to be DJ, and that was highly appreciated since he somehow happened to know all of the hottest hip hop, techno and dance tracks ever.
He was so damn proud to see Mama and Papa dry humping to the rhythms of the songs. One day, he’d be just like that.
“I want to dance!!” The poor Italian whined.
“No. Those horny bastards will eat you up. I can see the damn potato eyeing you right now. He probably can’t wait to tear your swim shorts off…”
“Oh, you mean this?” N. Italy held up his bottom for his brother to see.
His brother grimaced. Oh, the dismay!
“Put that back on!!”
Somewhere in the process of DJing and beat boxing, Sealand spilled an entire bottle of Sunny D on the speakers. They fizzled, crackled, sparked and caught fire and caused even more sparks to fly off all the other equipment.
“Fireworks!” N. Italy exclaimed.
Everyone just cheered as Sealand turned the strobe lights back on.
Meanwhile, Seychelles rode around on a big ass fish.
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France collapsed on his couch. He had managed to narrowly escape in time to stop himself from passing out on the deck like everyone else had. Sighing happily, he pulled out his collection of photos he had taken that night.
America having an underwater orgasm, Ukraine bending down to pick up Russia’s fallen scarf, Sweden and Finland getting freaky on the dance floor, Poland with his bikini bottom off, Austria getting ice down his pants, Switzerland in a maid outfit during his nightly cleaning of the Mansion (Sure, France’s camera now had a bullet hole in it, but the shot was worth it!), Estonia and Latvia trying to pull Lithuania’s shirt off, Latvia falling into the pool in the process, Estonia and Lithuania screaming “LATVIAAA!”, Seychelles falling off the fish, China getting spanked, Japan facepalm’ing, Japan drowning by getting stuck under Sealand’s island, Russia giving Japan CPR, Japan getting molested by Korea-damn, there were a lot of Japan-Prussia doing the splits and breaking his swim shorts, Hungary taking a picture of France taking a pictures-wait, how did that work?-and various other naughty things.
France could die happy.
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“Is he really going to do it?” Egypt cautiously looked at Turkey.
“Oh yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely.”
“ZzzzzZZzzzzz….”
“Hey you, wake up and give me that blow job!!”
On top of the roof was Canada, three stories up in the air. With a hammer in his hand. Drunk, angry and wild.
“Should we….” Egypt’s voice trailed off.
“Nah. Not yet.”
Canada lifted the hammer over his head and brought it harshly down on the roof, creating quite a large, nasty hole.
“Guess who’s busting up your freakin’ roof?! THAT’S RIGHT. YOUR DAMN HAT!”
Another swig, then another, and another….
“You’ve screwed me over long enough you American moose head…! I’m sick of your messed up mind games! Revenge has never been sweeter!!”
Smash! Smash! Smash!!
“Yeaaah! How da hell you like this NOW? Hahahahaha…! Your hat. Don’t make me sick!! Pffffffft. I’ll h-have you weeping!! I’ll be dumping searing hot maple syrup in your EYES when you least expect it!!”
Canada continued his smashing spree until it was dangerous to stand up there any longer.
“Now?”
Turkey cleared his throat and shouted, “Hey, Canada, that’s Poland’s room!”
Canada dropped the hammer.
“Damn.”
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A/N: I don’t know how people will take OOC and Canada and OOC Sealand. This is all in good humor so please don’t get offended! D;
A/N: Also, writing the Belarus parts made me feel gross. BAD did not enjoy. >3<
Rating: M
Warnings: Exaggerated personalities and exaggerated. Also, expect some OOC Canada! Aside from that, heavy sexual humor and also profanity included. (There are F bombs)
Summary: All of the Hetalia characters decide to throw a late-night pool party. Imagine a bunch of hot guys running around topless, trying to dance, getting drunk, fighting with each and doing plenty of other silly things. Yeah, that’s what it’s like.
This is a continuation from the first chapter, posted earlier in the week. However, you don't have to read chapter one to understand what is going on in this chapter. Actually, I prefer people read this chapter first since it's funnier than chapter one, but whatever floats you boat, I guess. =)
A/N: I guess I should do some explaining so I can be all Himaruya-like? In the first chapter of MAD World, I named Austria’s piano ‘Franz.’ That’s because Archduke Franz Ferdinand ( who was heir to the Austrian-Hungarian throne) was assassinated in 1914 and his assassination sort of was a huge factor in the start of WWI. (Though, I’m sure everyone knew that already….)
Well, it isn’t so bad.
The music-- loud, booming and energetic-could be heard through deep, thunderous reverberations. Flashing, colorful lights ignited the dark sky. Laughing, talking, and yelling could all be heard. Excitement and energy practically oozed out of the backyard, creating a thick, heavy atmosphere that could easily entice anyone.
No, Canada had lied to himself. It was damn horrible.
Behind the privacy fence was a world. A world filled with booming music, strobe lights, failed attempts at dancing, enough alcohol to fill multiple tubs, girls in bikinis, topless guys-many, many topless guys, kinky little pool games, drunk karaoke singing and probably anything and everything else that normally goes on during a party filled with hormonal young adults.
“I got it! Hell yeah!!”
That was Turkey. It seemed like his Internet connection, which was actually a connection he stole from England’s router, had improved so now a jpeg took only two minutes to load instead of five. Amazing.
Vrooooom
“Shit.”
And that was Egypt. Why he was standing on the edge of the sidewalk with his thumb out trying to hitchhike, no one knew. He had big dreams to make it to the city and live the better life. Sadly, his dreams were always crushed because even though he spent every waking hour standing on the sidewalk, none of the cars stopped for him.
“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..”
Guess who that was. No, really. Guess.
So there sat the four of them. Turkey with a laptop on his well, lap, Egypt at the road side, Greece sprawled out on the grass in an eternal slumber and Canada, legs crossed and sitting on a metal bench.
Then Canadian expelled a sigh. “I’m too good for them. Yes, that’s it.”
And that was what he thought. He had voluntarily left the mansion because he had been fed up with everyone’s shit, after all. So for the longest time, he was happy he didn’t have to hear everyone ask him who he was, or listen to America babble about useless asshattery or put up with Cuba’s accidental insults. Yes, for the longest time he didn’t miss those people at all. That’s why he had joined the “Homeless Crew” because being homeless was so much cooler than living with a bunch of crack heads. (Although Turkey, Greece and Egypt were practically crack heads too.)
But the hype exploding from the backyard sure made his chest feel empty.
“W-”
Before Kumajiro could even pronounce another letter, Canada snapped, “Shut up Kumajiro. I know what you’re going to say and I’m sick of it. Who, you ask? You know who? CANADA! The one who feeds you, the one who cleans up after you piss on your potty mat, the one who shoves you in the washer and laughs while you spin around and around, the one who reads you bedtime stories at one in the damn morning! I’m HIM. The guy that takes care of you!”
Obviously, Canada was prone to random outbursts of anger.
Kumajiro blinked. “Would you like to touch my tra la la? My ding ding dong?”
Well, that was new.
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Of course, England refused the alcohol at first. He knew what that devilish beverage did to him, but then...
America did something very, very evil. Of course, America’s wickedness began earlier that night. How about a flashback?
Why hadn’t England had spotted that tattoo before? It was so obviously etched into a noticeable spot on America’s chest, but…could he really not have seen that before? All those centuries of hot, angry sex and he hadn’t even noticed it on the younger nation?
The horror only continued from then on.
“Heeey, England. Like my ink?”
“Oh, yes. Say, is that…is that recent?”
If America grinned any wider, his face would crack. His mouth would probably fall off and hit the floor, than start spouting lots and lots of nonsense about how having a jacked up face made him oh so epic.
“What? Are you kidding? England, come on.”
“W-what do you mean?” The now blushing nation sputtered. “I asked you a simple question…”
“Geez, England, I really didn’t know you were this clueless!”
America was sure one to talk, wasn’t he? Of course, England’s personality had completely changed now and instead of chewing the annoying blond out, he only blushed a bit harder and wanted even more desperately to get to the bottom of this mindfucking puzzle.
“Clueless?! If anyone’s clueless it’s you…! S-so what are you saying? It is new or not?” England was dreading that America might say it wasn’t new, or try to trick him into thinking it wasn’t new when it was. Oh, then England would end up looking so stupid and it would be all America’s fault, again.
“I’m hurt, England.” Of course, America knew he could only keep the act up so long before England flipped his little tea pot-like lid. So he gave in, having gained satisfaction from seeing England all flustered. “Nah, I just found the tattoo in a pack of really cheap gum and decided to wear it for the big party. Preeety cool, huh?”
That was heavenly compared to the next malevolent thing America did.
England expelled a sigh of relief. So, he hadn’t missed it for all those years.
‘Of course America would never get a real tattoo!’ He laughed inwardly. He’d start tearing up like a silly child, whimpering sad little things about being dust irritating his eyes, before the needle even touched him.
“Ah, just as I thought,” England replied smugly.
“Oh, but I’ve got another one I wanted to wear around. Want to see it?”
“Honestly, America, I don’t want to waste my time looking at your retarded ta--”
“It’s right down there on my waaaaay lower back…”
“--ttoo….Well, I suppose a quick look wouldn’t hurt….but be quick about it.”
When America had said ‘way lower back’, he wasn’t messing around. He had to pull the brim of his swim trunks down (more than) a tad to reveal the second tattoo.
England could have died. No, he did. His soul had surely left his body for a second, and not in a good way. Not in a good way at all.
There, on America’s enticing, exposed flesh was a horrible, disgusting sight. The very thing England could have repulsive nightmares about, the very thing that had tormented him for centuries.
France’s face.
Oh, yes. England was sure he had died for a second.
The alcohol thing? Right. Well, America’s desire to sin was obviously very strong that night. Just when England thought the other nation couldn’t sink any lower, he had.
Whether anybody wanted to believe it or not, growing up with British and French influence had obviously affected not only America’s childhood, but his mind and his well being. How could one not be mentally corrupted by two sexually perverted countries? It’s just that England didn’t want to believe the effects of such perversion would carry onto America’s adulthood.
Then there came the barely audible, “Oh…bollocks…”
Face red with anger, England skittered off, too stunned to bite America’s head off for the vile image on his body. Never had England expected America to do something so cruel and naughty!
England had sought refuge at the bar. And it was there at the bar that America preformed his most evil of deeds.
Why had he gone to the bar? So he could slowly drown himself in the desire to drink rather than drown himself in the desire to kill America. And France, for that matter. Mostly France.
He had told himself, multiple times over, that he wouldn’t drink. He knew what would happen and he knew it would end horribly.
“Hey, England, why’d you run away like that?”
“Bloody hell!” The frustrated blond exclaimed as he turned to the young man who had taken a seat beside him. “Can’t you run off and do something else besides bother me? Perhaps, jump into the pool and drown?
While England continued to fuss, America searched around the cooler. There were German beers and vodka and Sunny D. The Sunny D was mostly for Sealand, but Italy enjoyed them too.
Humming to himself and utterly ignoring whatever England was ranting, America pulled out a beer (he had been hesitant to choose the vodka, knowing it was Russia’s and fearing his hand would start melting if he touched it) and set it down on the bar counter.
“-and damnit, I have feelings too!”
“Want a drink? They’re still pretty cold,” America suggested innocently.
“Bugger off!”
America started on opening the bottle. “You knooow~ I bet I could drink more than you.”
Those words would royally mess up England’s world.
England froze. His body stiffened and he lost his train of thought.
“N-no, I’m not falling for that.”
America shrugged, but still had a silly grin on his face. “You’re just going to give up like that?”
England could feel his face start to burn again. His strength was being questioned, by America no less! The last he wanted to do was refuse a challenge by the younger nation. The other last thing he wanted to do was get drunk as shit.
“How can I give up if I haven’t even begun anything? H-honestly America, you’re as stupid as ever-”
“I dare you~”
“…Dare me to do what?”
“Have a drinking contest with me!”
“I said no!”
“You’re too afraid to lose to me again, aren’t you?”
“A-again?!”
Once more, America grinned too widely for it to be healthy. “I guess your last defeat was just too much for you to handle. I don’t blame you. I kicked your ass pretty bad--”
“Give me the bottle!” England snarled and grabbed the beer, chugging it furiously.
America really knew what made England tick.
And that was the tale of America’s wickedness and why England was on his fourth bottle, his mind quickly leaving him.
America was only on his second bottle, and he was taking his precious time sipping, because he knew England would be drunk as hell in a second and there was really no need to rush. After all, once the older nation went through one bottle, he kept going and going so the contest was pretty much won. (Not that America planned to actually have a contest in the first place; he just needed to convince England to drink.)
It didn’t take much longer before England’s sanity finally left him.
He slammed the bottle on the counter and turned to America , who was expecting to soon be rolf’ing at whatever silly insults were going to come out of England’s intoxicated mouth.
“AMERICA, GIVE MOMMY SOME LOVE.”
Not as planned!!
America laughed nervously. “Well, uh….”
“G-get on your knees and…and give Sir Willy a proper mouth-to-mouth!!” At this, England did a little pelvic thrust at America who scooted towards the edge of his seat.
“Not now,” he said quietly, as if someone would hear over the thundering music. As if everyone didn’t already know that they were butt buddies.
“OH?! Giving up already?! You fat, sad little wanker! The joke is on YOU now, isn’t it, America?!”
America hopped off the bar stool, for England was slowly closing the distance between them.
“S-sooo, what’d you think of my…my earlier demand? How’s your Congress going to-hic-going to settle that one?!”
“We can….get it on later?” America suggested, making his way to the edge of the pool.
“Later? Always p-putting things off, are you?! Is that why you ejaculate at the last second? You…you selfish bastard…!”
Before America could protest at all, a desperate cry was heard.
“Flee, aru!!”
That would be none other than China, who was frantically running around the pool with Korea hot on his tail, large paddle in his hands.
“Aniki! This is for rowing purposes only! Didn’t you know that rowing originated from Korea?!”
Japan, who was following close behind, facepalm’d.
Wait a second….
America was too busy watching the Azn trio to notice England literally jump him. They both crashed into the water.
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Canada looked up at the stars. You could see so many of them, living all the way in the middle of nowhere and all.
Oh, they were probably all having so much damn fun. So much fun without Canada. And did any of them miss him? No, of course they didn’t. They couldn’t even remember his name. At least the Homeless Crew knew him and respected him.
A fire burning inside of him, possibly from rage, possibly from arousal, possibly from sheer insanity, Canada decided that him and his friend might as well party it up.
“Turkey, break out the alcohol.”
“Who the hell said that?”
Egypt shrugged. “Maybe…Greece.”
“The bastard woke up?” Turkey set his laptop down and crawled over to Greece. “Hey! You’re finally awake? Where’s the blowjob I paid for, huh?” With that, he began slapping Greece, to make sure he was really awake, of course.
Canada wanted to rip something up. He wanted to perhaps tear someone’s face off and shove it down Kumajiro’s throat. But no. He was the better person, and no matter how many assholes would forget his name, he’d stay perfectly calm about it.
“Ah, damn! It bit me!!” Turkey shouted.
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Dark, cold and eerie, the room was vacant of any life. A spine chilling aura seemed to intoxicate the space. The only sound that could be heard was creeping death. Life, death, matter, time, none of it existed in that room after sunset.
Then the sound of a coffin door flying open. A deep, horrible wheezing sound. A body rising from its resting place. Groans of sexual frustration.
It was time.
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After America and England had left, the bar didn’t stay vacant for too much longer.
After making sure Italy put on his floaties before jumping into the deep end of the pool, Germany decided he deserved a beer. Or two. Or three.
“Germany, Germany, look at me!” He heard Italy shout gleefully as the Italian splashed about.
Germany gave him a nod and hoped that he wouldn’t somehow pop the float tubes and end up drowning, because if it was Italy in question, anything could happen.
“This is a disaster.”
Germany turned to find Austria kneeling over the cooler with thermometer in hand.
“The ice is entirely 1.754 degrees too warm for my personal tastes. Now all the drinks will be ruined. What a shame.”
Germany started to wonder how a man like Austria managed to live in a mansion of chaos. Then again, he shut himself up in his room all day and had wonderful adventures with Franz, but Germany still couldn’t help but thinking that’d die if he was as OCD as the Austrian was.
“You’re too freakin’ serious, that’s what your problem is,” Prussia, who was known to randomly pop out of bushes and such, diagnosed.
Austria only grimaced at the sound of his voice and pretended to ignore him.
“Flippin’ a shit over every little thing will make your asshole tighter, which means it’ll just hurt more.” Prussia grabbed a handful of ice, wincing at the cold but still grinning as wide as ever. “You should seriously chill out!” With that, he dumped the handful of ice down Austria’s swim trunks.
That caused Austria and fall to the ground as if he was going to have a seizure. He might very well have been, actually.
Then Prussia laughed maniacally at the silly pun simply because he, the most fucking amazing guy in the whole damn world, had said it.
Cue Germany chugging the last of his beer then running to Austria’s side in attempts to stop the man from hyperventilating.
“Austria, hang in there!” Germany cried.
“He sounds like he’s freakin’ having a baby!” Prussia laughed. He got on his knees next to Germany and faked the best compassionate tone he could, “It’s okay, baby. Just keeping breathing like they taught you in class! Oh, and if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Frederick Gilbert the Great II.”
Germany grabbed another beer. He was going to need it.
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“Did he wink at you?” S. Italy hissed, floating over to the other.
N. Italy looked to his brother blankly. “Germany doesn’t wink, silly-”
“He definitely winked at you. Do you what that means?”
“Hmmmmmm~”
“It means that the potato bastard wants to get in your pants, that’s what.”
Italy smiled, “How can he get into my pants? I don’t think he would fit! Macho Germany~ Besides, I almost always keep my pants off when I hang out with him.”
S. Italy’s face went red. Of all the horrible, disgusting things in this world…!
“I’m not done! Listen carefully, he’s wants to get you in bed and then, when you least expect it, TEAR YOU TO PIECES.”
N. Italy simply cocked his head to the side in confusion. “But, Brother, I already sleep with Germany!” He dunked his head underwater and pulled up, shaking it back and forth and drizzling water all over his brother. Accidently, of course. “Rain~ rain~” he chanted.
“You do?!” S. Italy gasped, becoming very, very horrified at all the things he was hearing his beloved brother say. “I bet he’s rough and violent and careless. I bet he doesn’t even give you a decent reach around, does he?”
“Look, Brother! When the light hits the water, it looks really pretty!”
“I bet he gets off on seeing you cower before his bulky mass of muscles, the damn villain….!”
“I want to dance later,” N. Italy said. “Big Brother France was doing it earlier, and it looked fun!” Italy smiled,not caring if France had been banned from the backyard or not.
“France was not dancing! He was taking his clothes off to music!” The paranoid of the two hissed again., too angry to remember that France wasn’t allowed anywhere near the house.
It wasn’t until then that he realized his brother and he were surrounded by freaks. Terrible, mind warping freaks.
“It looked fun.”
S. Italy pushed his brother’s head under water. “BE CLEAN! These bastards have fucked up your mind, but there’s still time to reverse the effects!! PURFICATION. PURIFICATION!”
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From the window she saw him. His pale body called to her, tempted her. She could see the desire in his deep, violet eyes. His smile couldn’t fool her. Already she could taste him on her tongue. How soft and sweet his cold body would feel beneath hers. Arousal was coming on thick.
She let out a heavy sigh and ran her hand down the window. She would anything just to taste him. She would have even given her soul, had she still had one.
“Big brother…” she moaned hungry and needy, desire thick on her words.
After touching herself, she descended.
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After a while, the pool games commenced. It started with a party favorite, Marco Polo. When playing with a least forty people, the game was damn crazy.
Germany was the only one man enough to volunteer to be Marco for the first turn. He counted to zehn and began to blindly move about the pool.
There were so many people shouting polo at once that Germany was turning and moving around in so many different direction, he was getting dizzy. He stood still, and just like a radio, began to signal in on certain voices.
Grunting.
“You like this, you dirty little trollap?”
Gasping.
“Yeah! Hell yeah I do!”
“Who’s your fucking daddy, America?”
“You are! You are!”
Moaning.
Right. Next station.
“NO LONGER WILL YOUR MIND BE CORRUPTED!!”
“Brother--gasp-I can’t-gasp--breathe!!”
Oh shit.
“Oh my gawd, he was like, a total dick about it. I was like, ‘well if you’re gonna tell me that the skirt makes my ass look big, you can just, totally not come over and play dress up with me anymore.’ And he was getting like, soooo mad! Totally NOT hot. Geez.”
No, not that one either.
“Big brother….I have come for you.”
Screaming.
“Run Forest, run!”
More screaming.
Okay….
And meanwhile, France, who was stark naked, was accidently bumping into everybody, but they were all having too much fun to notice him.
While everyone was having a blast playing Marco Polo, Sealand was chillin’ on his island. Yes, he had been given a little ghetto island in the back of the pool where he lived in his ghetto little house.
Sipping on hard core orange juice drink, he bobbed his head to the music, feeling very adult and all. He plotted on how he’d try to lose his virginity that night. What? It was practically mandatory for one to lose his virginity at a wild adult party! Perhaps he should look to his older brother, who was slamming America up against the pool and fondling the hell out of him, as an example.
Cuba was also watching England viciously express his love, only Cuba didn’t know exactly what England was doing. See, he thought England was trying to kill America.
“Woot! Go England! Bite his mouth off, that’s the spirit!! Not so tough now, are you, fat ass?!”
“Eh,” Sealand, who is surprisingly gangster in this fanfiction, said. “They aint fightin’. They’z havin water sex.”
“That’s right! Suck his brains out through his mouth!!”
“HEY! I said, they is havin’ SEX.”
“Rip his dick off! Go go go!!” Cuba busted out a tub of ice cream and broke it open. This was real entertainment.
“Want me to bust a sea shell up yo ass? ‘Cause I’a do it.”
Back to the game.
Finally, Germany ended up tagging someone.
The game carried on for multiple rounds, each round including everyone pushing each other, getting frisky and trying to trick whoever was trying to tag them.
More games followed, such as that one where someone sat on someone’s shoulder and had a little fight with another pair of people doing the same thing. The Southern Italian refused to let his northern brother play, saying that North Italy’s balls couldn’t be within five feet of someone’s face.
Russia, Belarus, China, Korea and Japan also could not participate in the games because Russia was too busy fleeing from his horny sister, China was too busy running from Korea and Japan was too busy trying to stop Korea from spanking China with that paddle, not to mention he was quite busy protecting his own breasts.
“Okay Aniki, now bend over…”
“Once we’re married, no one can get me in trouble for molesting you in your sleep.”
The insanity pretty much continued from then on with those five.
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After the silly pool games, everyone decided to grab an alcoholic beverage or two, get drunk and start dancing.
By then, Austria had recovered and his cock had properly defrosted so he decided to join in on the dancing. Naturally, Prussia wanted to show off his uber dance moves.
So, with everyone drunk and wild, the dancing began.
Sealand picked himself to be DJ, and that was highly appreciated since he somehow happened to know all of the hottest hip hop, techno and dance tracks ever.
He was so damn proud to see Mama and Papa dry humping to the rhythms of the songs. One day, he’d be just like that.
“I want to dance!!” The poor Italian whined.
“No. Those horny bastards will eat you up. I can see the damn potato eyeing you right now. He probably can’t wait to tear your swim shorts off…”
“Oh, you mean this?” N. Italy held up his bottom for his brother to see.
His brother grimaced. Oh, the dismay!
“Put that back on!!”
Somewhere in the process of DJing and beat boxing, Sealand spilled an entire bottle of Sunny D on the speakers. They fizzled, crackled, sparked and caught fire and caused even more sparks to fly off all the other equipment.
“Fireworks!” N. Italy exclaimed.
Everyone just cheered as Sealand turned the strobe lights back on.
Meanwhile, Seychelles rode around on a big ass fish.
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France collapsed on his couch. He had managed to narrowly escape in time to stop himself from passing out on the deck like everyone else had. Sighing happily, he pulled out his collection of photos he had taken that night.
America having an underwater orgasm, Ukraine bending down to pick up Russia’s fallen scarf, Sweden and Finland getting freaky on the dance floor, Poland with his bikini bottom off, Austria getting ice down his pants, Switzerland in a maid outfit during his nightly cleaning of the Mansion (Sure, France’s camera now had a bullet hole in it, but the shot was worth it!), Estonia and Latvia trying to pull Lithuania’s shirt off, Latvia falling into the pool in the process, Estonia and Lithuania screaming “LATVIAAA!”, Seychelles falling off the fish, China getting spanked, Japan facepalm’ing, Japan drowning by getting stuck under Sealand’s island, Russia giving Japan CPR, Japan getting molested by Korea-damn, there were a lot of Japan-Prussia doing the splits and breaking his swim shorts, Hungary taking a picture of France taking a pictures-wait, how did that work?-and various other naughty things.
France could die happy.
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“Is he really going to do it?” Egypt cautiously looked at Turkey.
“Oh yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely.”
“ZzzzzZZzzzzz….”
“Hey you, wake up and give me that blow job!!”
On top of the roof was Canada, three stories up in the air. With a hammer in his hand. Drunk, angry and wild.
“Should we….” Egypt’s voice trailed off.
“Nah. Not yet.”
Canada lifted the hammer over his head and brought it harshly down on the roof, creating quite a large, nasty hole.
“Guess who’s busting up your freakin’ roof?! THAT’S RIGHT. YOUR DAMN HAT!”
Another swig, then another, and another….
“You’ve screwed me over long enough you American moose head…! I’m sick of your messed up mind games! Revenge has never been sweeter!!”
Smash! Smash! Smash!!
“Yeaaah! How da hell you like this NOW? Hahahahaha…! Your hat. Don’t make me sick!! Pffffffft. I’ll h-have you weeping!! I’ll be dumping searing hot maple syrup in your EYES when you least expect it!!”
Canada continued his smashing spree until it was dangerous to stand up there any longer.
“Now?”
Turkey cleared his throat and shouted, “Hey, Canada, that’s Poland’s room!”
Canada dropped the hammer.
“Damn.”
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A/N: I don’t know how people will take OOC and Canada and OOC Sealand. This is all in good humor so please don’t get offended! D;
A/N: Also, writing the Belarus parts made me feel gross. BAD did not enjoy. >3<