{fanfic} The World, Piece By Piece (7, 8, 9/64) {Hetalia}
Title: Opposite
Rating: G
Character(s): Germany, North Italy.
Pairing(s): N/A
Warning(s): N/A
Summary: Germany was certain Italy was put on this earth to confuse him.
Author's Note: There are sources saying Opposite Day is always in January, saying it is always in April, and saying it is just whenever someone declares it. It is not confusing. I hear crafty children say it will be Opposite Day tomorrow.
"I hate you Germany!" Italy said happily. Germany choked on air before turning to look at the shorter of the pair.
"You what?" he questioned, wondering whether he had suddenly lost it. He was certain hate was not in the Italian's vocabulary. Scary, yes. Tall, another one. But hate? Not remotely.
"It's Opposite Day!" Italy blinked at him. "So you say the opposite of what you mean! So, I hate you!"
Germany was certain he would have to get some alcohol inside him before he tried to think this one out.
"Everything is the opposite," Germany repeated. Italy nodded, paused, thought about it, then shook his head.
"No," Italy agreed with him.
"So, therefore, your claim of it being Opposite Day means it is not Opposite Day," Germany drawled, wondering why he was even going to bother. Italy stared at him in confusion.
"No..." he whined. "It is!"
"But that means it's not."
"It's not then! It's not Opposite Day!"
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"Germany!" Italy protested, hitting his head into the German's chest. "Stop that!"
"So you want me to continue?"
"No! Um, wait. I mean yes!"
"Then I'll keep going."
"Germany!"
Germany felt somewhat proud of himself, until he remembered he simply confused an Italian. And that simply was not much of an accomplishment.
Title: Passions Run
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): France, England.
Pairing(s): FrUK
Warning(s): Well, France.
Summary: A confrontation gone wrong.
Author's Note: Saying it was a crime of passion was a valid defense, in France. Was. Thank goodness.
"It was a crime of passion," was his excuse. Arthur felt like shoving his excuse so far up his ass he would wish he had never thought of it.
"And that gives you an excuse?" Arthur snapped. That seemed simply stupid.
"Oh yes, in my country it was a valid defense," came with a smile. Arthur was going to do something, wipe that stupid smile off of his face, and fix the problem.
"'Oh yes'?" Arthur mocked. That seemed entirely a sentence in past tense and not an excuse for now.
He did not have time for anything else other than that as the other's mouth was on his neck and his hands were... Arthur could not think.
"Oh yes," Francis' tongue ran down past his collar.
That seemed to decide it for Arthur. He would get his lawnmower back later.
Title: Connections
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): America, France, Germany, and Canada.
Pairing(s): N/A
Warning(s): Drunk Nations?
Summary: There is nothing better than a drinking game. An undercover drinking game.
Author's Note: Connection is a drinking game played with three or more people. Needed materials: a pack of regular playing cards and alcohol. And the preceding thing will happen. Well, if you are playing with France, Germany, and America, that is. Basically whenever a card matches one of the last cards played, number or suit, each player drinks as many as the number on their card. I suppose you win if you are the last one to pass out, or something like that.
I based this on the Yogurt Connection, which was a drug smuggling ring in the United States, started by a mother and her two boys. The people involved got caught eventually in Austria after they moved there to get out of dodge and another person involved was caught for murder in Canada and he hung himself.
They had told the others they were discussing some sort of health-food distribution. And they had, at first. Then America had started complaining about the marijuana stints which were growing in his country. At least he was now doing it while high, this time. America could be such a hypocrite.
The cards were on the table and their drinks were topped in front of them.
America would be drinking his whisky. Or whiskey, as he preferred it. France had his Armagnac, look on his face saying he would rather be sipping at it then waiting for the cards. And set in front of Germany was his Himbeergeist.
America's top card was an eight of hearts. France's was a three of spades. Germany's was a nine of hearts.
"Good luck," France giggled. They began refilling their glasses as they took each shot.
There was a four of clubs, ten of diamonds, ace of diamonds. Germany downed fourteen of them faster than France went through his ten.
"Lightweight," America snorted. France was rather offended.
"I am enjoying myself," he defended smoothly. "And it's not like I'm drinking some raspberry excuse for alcohol."
"What was that?" Germany frowned. Not that he ever did otherwise.
"You think England will be offended we didn't invite him?" America asked, two of diamonds causing France to be unable to answer for a few moments.
"Who cares," Germany grumbled. "He fell after two aces in a row."
"He didn't even get through all twenty eight drinks he should have had! One would have thought the deck was stacked," France grinned at America.
Germany drew another two and he and America downed theirs quickly.
France had a Jack of clubs and Germany flipped up another ace.
"Talk about stacked," America snorted, after Germany pulled out a King to America's three.
"Wha yer talkin' 'bout?" Germany somehow managed. Maybe the larger glasses had been a bad idea. Of course, Germany was the only who was thinking that. And he really was not thinking it as he was beyond buzzing.
France began giggling like crazy when Germany could not even pick up his glass and America was downing eleven.
"Fuck you," America flipped him off as France flipped over his card. "Take your seven and stuff it."
"Where, my dear America?" France asked lewdly as America downed another eleven.
"You're askin' for it," the first sign of America's lack of sobriety raised its head.
So did Canada.
"What are you three doing down here, eh?" he questioned, turning on the main lights. America swore. France covered his eyes. Germany was still trying to pick up his glass from the time he had flipped over a six.
He was still trying to by the time France and America had made a break for it. Canada sighed.
"Really, one would think you guys are starting a drug ring, being as secretive as you try and make yourselves," Canada shook his head, trying to get Germany up the stairs.
"D'n w'n' 'K ruinin' th'n'..." Germany lied. He just did not want Italy to want to join in. Or any of the other countries saying he was an alcoholic. Or other stuff.
France and America went to Austria's place and convinced him to play a game.