Re: Tis the Witching Hour
anonymous
September 5 2009, 05:26:03 UTC
“So, America, exactly what are your reasons for being here?”
America gulped staring at the woman, with hair of fire and eyes of steel, addressing that question. Not only was this woman intimidating, but her two companions beside her were as well, especially the bearded guy in the skirt. They all were equally glaring at him as if they could make his head explode with their minds. Currently, America was defenseless against this trio; since, he was tied tightly down to a wobbly wooden chair.
America almost sighed in relief over the fact that his brother, Canada, had separated from him before getting caught up in this interrogation.
Little did America know that his brother had already been caught by someone far more dangerous.
--
Canada’s breaths were ragged and his cheeks flushed. Wisps of smoke surrounded his body and his arms were left immobile in the air, as if they were tied by some invisible force. His shirt was unbuttoning itself and he felt no human contact, yet a wisp of smoke went between his legs rubbing it to the state of arousal.
The moan from his lips was joined with a sultry laugh.
She couldn’t help, but be pleased by his expressions and reactions. Humans, after all, were so easy to toy around with.
Canada couldn’t take it anymore and whimpered unable to voice his needs.
“Now, don’t be impatient. Patience is a virtue, after all.”
She couldn’t help but smirk when she brought in virtue into it because a certain Ireland heard she would voice out that England didn’t know the meaning of the word. Oh course, England never took what Ireland said to heart. After all, like the rest of the foolish mortals that surrounded her Ireland had her needs and was just bitter that England had yet to satisfy them.
England shook her head to rid her head of thoughts of a panty less Ireland pleasuring herself. At the moment, she had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Now, Canada, about this brother of yours, you said his name was America?”
Re: Tis the Witching Hour 1b/?
anonymous
September 5 2009, 05:29:58 UTC
(sorry first time kink writer failing to learn how to use livejournal the post above is part 1a/?)
The interrogation between America and the trio was coming to the close.
The woman, who he later found out was named Ireland, was now smiling at him.
“So, you’re a hunter, that’s perfect! You see, we’ve been plague by this witchy hag, England, and a hunter is just what we need to get rid of that bitch once and for all.”
Scotland, the skirt wearer, sighed, “Um, Ireland you sure this guy is telling the true about being a hunter? This guy looks too scrawny and girly to be a hunter.”
Wales, the youngest and shortest of the trio just finished untying America’s ropes. America shook his arms amazed that he could still move them from having his circulation cut off for so long.
"I’m an awesome hunter, but I don’t think a guy wearing a skirt would know anything about manliness.”
Ireland had to hold Scotland back as Wales jumped in front of America as some sort of shield. Scotland yelled out, “How many times do I have to tell you it’s a kilt? Aye, I outta…”
Ireland’s grip loosened when it became clear that Scotland wasn’t going to attack America and just continued cursing at him until he was out of breath.
Technically, Scotland was right about America not being a hunter. If Canada was here, he’d point out to America, for the hundredth time, that killing a bunch of cockroaches with his shoe and chasing rats out of the house with a broom did not qualify him as a hunter.
The brothers were only merchants to America’s disappointment. After all, America wanted action and adventure and in his heart he truly believed he was a hunter.
Scotland now approached America and America tensed expecting a fight.
Oh, how wrong he was.
For it wasn’t a fight that Scotland had to offer, but the kilt he wore. America stared, wide eyed and mouth opened, at the kilt that used to be on Scotland no longer covering his bagpipe themed boxers that he wore.
“Even though you aren’t a hunter-” Scotland continued not allowing America to retort that he indeed was a hunter, “wear this kilt for it contains a chastity belt. When you meet the witch you’ll understand why.”
America just stared. He didn’t even blink or move an inch for that matter.
Scotland brief moment of calmness passed when he barked out, “Well, what are you waiting for? Put it on!”
America was still too much in shock to argue and just did as he was told.
Next, came Ireland who pulled out a four leaf clover from her bag and stuck it behind America’s ear. “For luck, don’t lose it. Succeed and there will be a pot of gold over the rainbow for you.”
Without a word Wales removed his hat and stuck it onto America’s head. Without his hat Wales looked to be at least five inches shorter.
“Um, so this hat does it have any special powers like the other items?”
Wales titled his head, “It’s really hot outside. This hat will prevent you from getting heatstroke. It’s also a really cool hat. Don’t you think so?”
“Um, yea… so you guys have any weapons that I can borrow you know for the witch?”
Ireland frowned, “You’re a hunter shouldn’t you have weapons of your own? Besides, I doubt your weapons would do much damage against the witch.”
“Just worry about protecting your virtue!” Scotland shouted.
“Right… well I’m off to kill the witch.”
With that said America walked off with the trio cheering him luck behind him. America for lack of a better word was completely screwed.
--
After England was finished with her business with Canada he drops to the floor naked and exhausted.
England could not contain her giddy smile. This America fellow sounded much too interesting making her wet with anticipation. Without, so much, as a goodbye to Canada she hops on her broomstick and flies out in her search for America.
Hours pass and eventually Canada wakes up to see a stuffed polar bear in front of him. Canada is not given much time to inspect for long as it asks, “Who are you?”
In the future Canada would realize that this question would be repeated by this bear for many years to come.
Oh writer anon you have me all giddy and hungry for more
Very lovely start, loved how you included the other nations and their interaction with America very nice touch i shall stare eagerly and wait of what you have instore *starestare*
Tis the Witching Hour 2a/3
anonymous
September 24 2009, 23:20:25 UTC
After America left, Ireland let out a sigh of relief, “Finally, we’re going to get rid of our witch problem.”
Scotland plopped on the couch and scoffed, “How much ye wanna bet he gets lost and ends up walking in the forest till he starves to death.”
Ireland set her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, “He’s not die and he’s defiantly not going to get-,” she paused as she put her hand under her chin in perplex thought, “wait, did we even tell him how to find the witch.”
Scotland’s stammering was cut off by Wales, “England will most likely find America on her own it seems like something she would do.”
Ireland and Scotland turn their attention to Wales and instantly forgot what they planned to say when they noticed what was on top of Wales’ head.
Scotland was first to say something, “Aye, that thing on your head…”
“Oh, this,” Wales then points to the giant hat shaped glob on top of his head, “my head felt strange without something on it.”
More awkward silence followed before Ireland mumbled, “Maybe we should find America, now,” and walked towards the door with Scotland behind her.
Wales followed after them, “Good idea, I miss my hat and on my search for dust I found something more useful to give to America.
--
Even though Ireland warned that weapons would do much damage against England, he decided to go to a weapons shop anyways. Or at least he thought it was weapons shop. After all, the sign did consist of a hammer and sickle.
Also, there were two strange girls guarding the front of the door. The first girl held a pitchfork and smiled brightly as she welcomed him into the shop. America should have kept his eyes on her face, but his gave traveled a bit lower to notice her assets.
The second girl looked just like a porcelain doll, pretty and creepy. With her hands clenching a knife and her chanting about marriage and becoming one with Russia.
America thanked the first girl and walked into the shop. To his surprise, he soon realized that this weapon’s shop had no weapons, unless you counted the fork and knives that were placed on the tables.
In one of the tables, sat a blond teenager twittering with his abacus muttering something about how he wished someone would invent a machine that would do the calculations for him. America stared at him curiously, but before he could approach him he yelped when he felt something on his shoulder.
Immediately, America turned around and kept in his sigh of relief when he realized that it was another man beside him rather than a ghost.
“Um, I’m sorry for scaring you…”
“I wasn’t scared. I’m a hunter. Hunters don’t get scared. But, yea, where’s all the weapons here. You know because hunters need weapons for hunting.”
The man beside him blinked before answering, “Oh, we’re a restaurant. We don’t sell weapons here. Um, we used to, but then…”
Re: Tis the Witching Hour 2b/3
anonymous
September 24 2009, 23:22:08 UTC
The man was cut off by, “Such long time since we last have customer. You sit, eat, then become one with Mama Russia, da?”
Mama Russia was a white haired violet eyed man wearing only a scarf and pink apron with bloody letters scribbled over it that America couldn’t read. In one hand he carried a rolling pin and in the other hand a rusty pipe. For some reason both of these objects were covered with red marks.
Beside him stood shaking boy mouthing off something that resembled “run.” However, the shaking boy closed his mouth whenever Russia even so much as glanced towards his direction.
America gulped and slowly stepped away from the Russia only to have Russia step in closer to him. For a brief second, America’s ears perked out ignoring how close Mama Russia was to him by now.
A creepy smile crossed Russia’s face as America grabbed his scarf. It was smart of this new comer to be willing to become one with Mama. After all, it was only a matter of time before everyone would become a part of him.
To Russia’s disappointment America had a very different request, “Look, my hunter senses are tingling. Someone is in trouble. I need some weapons now!”
Russia’s smile only grew wider as his tone switched to resemble one of a child’s, “This here is restaurant. No weapons can be found here, but I can lend supplies if you promise to be loyal customer.”
“Okay, just hurry.”
The aura around Russia just turned darker and the creepy smile remained plastered on his face. America followed after him as he skipped to the kitchen and let America raid his kitchen before rushing out the door.
Russia stared at his retreating figure anticipating yet another slave worker for his restaurant. Though until that time he would just have to find some other way to occupy his time, with that thought in mind he turned to the Baltic Brothers.
The Baltic Brothers were reduced to a shivering clump underneath that stare.
--
“Angleterre, where are you mon cherie? Playing hard to get, I see?”
France did a little twirl and woo-hoo’d as he continued his search for England. He had searched high and low, crawled through every nook and cranny naked, and yet still he could find no England.
He was about to give up his search for her, but then he heard some noises coming from the basement, “Hohoho, Angleterre, mon cherie, be lonely no more Papa France will be here with you soon!”
With that said he made his way to the basement as petals flew from his rose.
To his surprise, it was not England he saw in the basement, but rather a naked blond shaking a bear.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m Canada?” “Who?”
While Canada was preoccupied with the bear, France took his chance to sneak behind him. His finger curled around Canada’s stray strand. Canada, in turn, dropped the bear and moaned out maple.
A smirk came about France’s face, “Hoho, much fun will be had between the two of us, oui?”
Re: Tis the Witching Hour 2c/3
anonymous
September 24 2009, 23:24:53 UTC
America was now deep in the forest, yet still he ran. He had to find the source of that yell. His running stopped when he encountered a cloak figure. The figure turned to face America and immediately he was mesmerized by her green eyes.
America finished his hubalahubala and wiped off a stream of drool from the corner of his mouth, “I’m a hunter what can I do for you, pretty lady?”
The cloaked figure raised one of her eyebrows, “Wow, you actually heard me. I got some mud on my cloak, but I fixed that with a spell. Your brother was certainly right, you do have a hero complex.”
Rather than be suspicious, at the mention his brother, he smiled, “Oh, cool, you know Canada? Uh, we sort of got separated and…”
Whatever America was about to say was cut off when the clocked woman snapped her fingers. A tree turned into a string of rope and wrapped itself around America. Before America even had a chance to blink, she hopped on her broomstick and flew away taking him with her.
--
The trio had arrived too late. England had already kidnapped America.
“Ha, I told you he wasn’t a hunter!” exclaimed Scotland. “You still don’t know that. For all we know this is all part of his plan and once England takes him to her hiding spot, then he’ll strike,” rebuked Ireland.
In the midst of their argument, they paid no attention to Wales who was fighting off his tears. The dust he had previously collected and shaped into a hat, was no more and now he head felt cold and bare.
“My hat! You can’t be gone so soon I haven’t even named you yet,” with that said Wales chased after England and America.
It took a few moments for Ireland and Scotland to notice Wales’ chase, but when they did they followed after him as well.
America gulped staring at the woman, with hair of fire and eyes of steel, addressing that question. Not only was this woman intimidating, but her two companions beside her were as well, especially the bearded guy in the skirt. They all were equally glaring at him as if they could make his head explode with their minds. Currently, America was defenseless against this trio; since, he was tied tightly down to a wobbly wooden chair.
America almost sighed in relief over the fact that his brother, Canada, had separated from him before getting caught up in this interrogation.
Little did America know that his brother had already been caught by someone far more dangerous.
--
Canada’s breaths were ragged and his cheeks flushed. Wisps of smoke surrounded his body and his arms were left immobile in the air, as if they were tied by some invisible force. His shirt was unbuttoning itself and he felt no human contact, yet a wisp of smoke went between his legs rubbing it to the state of arousal.
The moan from his lips was joined with a sultry laugh.
She couldn’t help, but be pleased by his expressions and reactions. Humans, after all, were so easy to toy around with.
Canada couldn’t take it anymore and whimpered unable to voice his needs.
“Now, don’t be impatient. Patience is a virtue, after all.”
She couldn’t help but smirk when she brought in virtue into it because a certain Ireland heard she would voice out that England didn’t know the meaning of the word. Oh course, England never took what Ireland said to heart. After all, like the rest of the foolish mortals that surrounded her Ireland had her needs and was just bitter that England had yet to satisfy them.
England shook her head to rid her head of thoughts of a panty less Ireland pleasuring herself. At the moment, she had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Now, Canada, about this brother of yours, you said his name was America?”
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The interrogation between America and the trio was coming to the close.
The woman, who he later found out was named Ireland, was now smiling at him.
“So, you’re a hunter, that’s perfect! You see, we’ve been plague by this witchy hag, England, and a hunter is just what we need to get rid of that bitch once and for all.”
Scotland, the skirt wearer, sighed, “Um, Ireland you sure this guy is telling the true about being a hunter? This guy looks too scrawny and girly to be a hunter.”
Wales, the youngest and shortest of the trio just finished untying America’s ropes. America shook his arms amazed that he could still move them from having his circulation cut off for so long.
"I’m an awesome hunter, but I don’t think a guy wearing a skirt would know anything about manliness.”
Ireland had to hold Scotland back as Wales jumped in front of America as some sort of shield. Scotland yelled out, “How many times do I have to tell you it’s a kilt? Aye, I outta…”
Ireland’s grip loosened when it became clear that Scotland wasn’t going to attack America and just continued cursing at him until he was out of breath.
Technically, Scotland was right about America not being a hunter. If Canada was here, he’d point out to America, for the hundredth time, that killing a bunch of cockroaches with his shoe and chasing rats out of the house with a broom did not qualify him as a hunter.
The brothers were only merchants to America’s disappointment. After all, America wanted action and adventure and in his heart he truly believed he was a hunter.
Scotland now approached America and America tensed expecting a fight.
Oh, how wrong he was.
For it wasn’t a fight that Scotland had to offer, but the kilt he wore. America stared, wide eyed and mouth opened, at the kilt that used to be on Scotland no longer covering his bagpipe themed boxers that he wore.
“Even though you aren’t a hunter-” Scotland continued not allowing America to retort that he indeed was a hunter, “wear this kilt for it contains a chastity belt. When you meet the witch you’ll understand why.”
America just stared. He didn’t even blink or move an inch for that matter.
Scotland brief moment of calmness passed when he barked out, “Well, what are you waiting for? Put it on!”
America was still too much in shock to argue and just did as he was told.
Next, came Ireland who pulled out a four leaf clover from her bag and stuck it behind America’s ear. “For luck, don’t lose it. Succeed and there will be a pot of gold over the rainbow for you.”
Without a word Wales removed his hat and stuck it onto America’s head. Without his hat Wales looked to be at least five inches shorter.
“Um, so this hat does it have any special powers like the other items?”
Wales titled his head, “It’s really hot outside. This hat will prevent you from getting heatstroke. It’s also a really cool hat. Don’t you think so?”
“Um, yea… so you guys have any weapons that I can borrow you know for the witch?”
Ireland frowned, “You’re a hunter shouldn’t you have weapons of your own? Besides, I doubt your weapons would do much damage against the witch.”
“Just worry about protecting your virtue!” Scotland shouted.
“Right… well I’m off to kill the witch.”
With that said America walked off with the trio cheering him luck behind him. America for lack of a better word was completely screwed.
--
After England was finished with her business with Canada he drops to the floor naked and exhausted.
England could not contain her giddy smile. This America fellow sounded much too interesting making her wet with anticipation. Without, so much, as a goodbye to Canada she hops on her broomstick and flies out in her search for America.
Hours pass and eventually Canada wakes up to see a stuffed polar bear in front of him. Canada is not given much time to inspect for long as it asks, “Who are you?”
In the future Canada would realize that this question would be repeated by this bear for many years to come.
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Very lovely start, loved how you included the other nations and their interaction with America very nice touch i shall stare eagerly and wait of what you have instore *starestare*
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Scotland plopped on the couch and scoffed, “How much ye wanna bet he gets lost and ends up walking in the forest till he starves to death.”
Ireland set her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, “He’s not die and he’s defiantly not going to get-,” she paused as she put her hand under her chin in perplex thought, “wait, did we even tell him how to find the witch.”
Scotland’s stammering was cut off by Wales, “England will most likely find America on her own it seems like something she would do.”
Ireland and Scotland turn their attention to Wales and instantly forgot what they planned to say when they noticed what was on top of Wales’ head.
Scotland was first to say something, “Aye, that thing on your head…”
“Oh, this,” Wales then points to the giant hat shaped glob on top of his head, “my head felt strange without something on it.”
More awkward silence followed before Ireland mumbled, “Maybe we should find America, now,” and walked towards the door with Scotland behind her.
Wales followed after them, “Good idea, I miss my hat and on my search for dust I found something more useful to give to America.
--
Even though Ireland warned that weapons would do much damage against England, he decided to go to a weapons shop anyways. Or at least he thought it was weapons shop. After all, the sign did consist of a hammer and sickle.
Also, there were two strange girls guarding the front of the door. The first girl held a pitchfork and smiled brightly as she welcomed him into the shop. America should have kept his eyes on her face, but his gave traveled a bit lower to notice her assets.
The second girl looked just like a porcelain doll, pretty and creepy. With her hands clenching a knife and her chanting about marriage and becoming one with Russia.
America thanked the first girl and walked into the shop. To his surprise, he soon realized that this weapon’s shop had no weapons, unless you counted the fork and knives that were placed on the tables.
In one of the tables, sat a blond teenager twittering with his abacus muttering something about how he wished someone would invent a machine that would do the calculations for him. America stared at him curiously, but before he could approach him he yelped when he felt something on his shoulder.
Immediately, America turned around and kept in his sigh of relief when he realized that it was another man beside him rather than a ghost.
“Um, I’m sorry for scaring you…”
“I wasn’t scared. I’m a hunter. Hunters don’t get scared. But, yea, where’s all the weapons here. You know because hunters need weapons for hunting.”
The man beside him blinked before answering, “Oh, we’re a restaurant. We don’t sell weapons here. Um, we used to, but then…”
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Mama Russia was a white haired violet eyed man wearing only a scarf and pink apron with bloody letters scribbled over it that America couldn’t read. In one hand he carried a rolling pin and in the other hand a rusty pipe. For some reason both of these objects were covered with red marks.
Beside him stood shaking boy mouthing off something that resembled “run.” However, the shaking boy closed his mouth whenever Russia even so much as glanced towards his direction.
America gulped and slowly stepped away from the Russia only to have Russia step in closer to him. For a brief second, America’s ears perked out ignoring how close Mama Russia was to him by now.
A creepy smile crossed Russia’s face as America grabbed his scarf. It was smart of this new comer to be willing to become one with Mama. After all, it was only a matter of time before everyone would become a part of him.
To Russia’s disappointment America had a very different request, “Look, my hunter senses are tingling. Someone is in trouble. I need some weapons now!”
Russia’s smile only grew wider as his tone switched to resemble one of a child’s, “This here is restaurant. No weapons can be found here, but I can lend supplies if you promise to be loyal customer.”
“Okay, just hurry.”
The aura around Russia just turned darker and the creepy smile remained plastered on his face. America followed after him as he skipped to the kitchen and let America raid his kitchen before rushing out the door.
Russia stared at his retreating figure anticipating yet another slave worker for his restaurant. Though until that time he would just have to find some other way to occupy his time, with that thought in mind he turned to the Baltic Brothers.
The Baltic Brothers were reduced to a shivering clump underneath that stare.
--
“Angleterre, where are you mon cherie? Playing hard to get, I see?”
France did a little twirl and woo-hoo’d as he continued his search for England. He had searched high and low, crawled through every nook and cranny naked, and yet still he could find no England.
He was about to give up his search for her, but then he heard some noises coming from the basement, “Hohoho, Angleterre, mon cherie, be lonely no more Papa France will be here with you soon!”
With that said he made his way to the basement as petals flew from his rose.
To his surprise, it was not England he saw in the basement, but rather a naked blond shaking a bear.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m Canada?”
“Who?”
While Canada was preoccupied with the bear, France took his chance to sneak behind him. His finger curled around Canada’s stray strand. Canada, in turn, dropped the bear and moaned out maple.
A smirk came about France’s face, “Hoho, much fun will be had between the two of us, oui?”
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America finished his hubalahubala and wiped off a stream of drool from the corner of his mouth, “I’m a hunter what can I do for you, pretty lady?”
The cloaked figure raised one of her eyebrows, “Wow, you actually heard me. I got some mud on my cloak, but I fixed that with a spell. Your brother was certainly right, you do have a hero complex.”
Rather than be suspicious, at the mention his brother, he smiled, “Oh, cool, you know Canada? Uh, we sort of got separated and…”
Whatever America was about to say was cut off when the clocked woman snapped her fingers. A tree turned into a string of rope and wrapped itself around America. Before America even had a chance to blink, she hopped on her broomstick and flew away taking him with her.
--
The trio had arrived too late. England had already kidnapped America.
“Ha, I told you he wasn’t a hunter!” exclaimed Scotland.
“You still don’t know that. For all we know this is all part of his plan and once England takes him to her hiding spot, then he’ll strike,” rebuked Ireland.
In the midst of their argument, they paid no attention to Wales who was fighting off his tears. The dust he had previously collected and shaped into a hat, was no more and now he head felt cold and bare.
“My hat! You can’t be gone so soon I haven’t even named you yet,” with that said Wales chased after England and America.
It took a few moments for Ireland and Scotland to notice Wales’ chase, but when they did they followed after him as well.
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Uni stuff irk
Still loving the fill, hello Russia and oh lord your Wales sounds absolutely adorable.
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