Preface/Really long author's note: This is my very first Hetalia Fanfiction (yay!), and I think I am going to be daring, and make this a really long writing project. This story is, as mentioned in the description, an overview of the tales behind our favourite Hetalia characters (mostly the Allies). The time period extends from around 1000-1100 to 3000-3100 A.D.

I will not, in my story, be re-writing the plot of Hetalia. That would be redundant, and boring! xD I will cover some historical events which the creators of Hetalia may have overlooked, or have not covered in much detail. Additionally, I will, at times, skip over to the canon plot, and add my own little twists. I will try to write said "twists" in a tasteful manner, to not insult the makers of Hetalia and my readers. I will not be skipping over large events like WWII. In fact, it will be a huge turning point in my story. Also, from what I know, the creators have not covered much of the Cold War, nor the period which came afterwards. But, I will be happy to write about them! :D

There are a few warnings that I must give before I begin telling this story. This is so that my beloved readers won't get confused, offended, nor spontaneously combust in anger and go off kicking the first cute puppy she sees.

1. I am not advocating my own political beliefs through "Lotophagi". It is not my mission to indoctrinate anyone, as this is purely a creative endeavor. That being said, I will try my best to stay politically neutral.
2. Since I will be writing about personified countries, which is a long stretch to begin with, I hope that you guys will read "Lotophagi" with an open mind. While this story is inspired by history, I will not be bound to it. This is about the personal lives of Ivan, Alfred, Yao, Francis, etc. I will try to incorporate a strong sense of humanism in these characters.
3. I am sorry, if my interpretation of history is not 100% accurate. While I try my best to be well-informed of the issues I write about, my field of discipline in school is not history. It's far from it, in fact. But, since I have already thought of the plot in my head, the show must go on.
4. I may have made your country a bad guy, but I need bad guys in my story to keep it moving... So... Yeah. But, I truly love all the characters that I am writing about equally, if that is any consolation. :D
5. Though this story has Rochu as the main pairing, their romance will come a little later, since I am starting from the beginning. I will try my best to stay loyal to this main pairing, and give you guys updates on them as the story moves along. Though, there are chapters where our heroes don't play a big role, or a role at all. Also, just as a warning, I think I may have had a little too much fun with China's personality. I think he will fit the story better if he is like this, and not how he is in the actual anime. Give him a chance, even if he may scare you off at first... You may end up liking him, since he will change. :) Also, I have marked the Ro, Chu, and Rochu chapters with a comma (,) before the chapter titles.

That being said, I hope you enjoy Lotophagi. I am very pleased to present this to you, as I have worked on it for a long time! I hope you guys will give me feedback, even just to say, "You suck ass and I hope you get molested by France and fall off a cliff." (Never said I wouldn't like that, even if I do fall off a cliff... :3)

Cheers,
Salty Peanuts

Oh, and by the way, I don't own Hetalia, and this applies to all chapters of this Fanfiction.


The sun had finally ascended upon its eastern throne, showering the lands below with radiance. Its reign was eternal; its power, unyielding; much unlike all of the late emperors of the middle kingdom, who seemed to change as often as Wang Yao changed his clothes.

For this dynasty, he was going to wear red. He had always loved the colour for its rich, daunting, commanding hue. He took the robe out of his closet gingerly, draped it over his naked shoulders, and carefully weaved his arms into the sleeves. This had been given to him by his late husband who had gone through great, perilous lengths in its acquisition, or so he had been told. Their marriage had shattered long ago, and his husband was long dead, leaving nothing behind but another addition to his wardrobe. Running long, slim fingers down the plane of flawless silk, Yao couldn't help but feel inadequate about himself. He looked to the mirror in front of him and frowned, slightly. It seemed as if his own body was fading into thin air, dissolving into the robe's crimson glory.

Yao sat down in front of his vanity desk upon which laid, in a row, seven pieces of hair jewelry. Grabbing the comb from the drawer, he began to relieve his hair. The jade felt cool against his skull, as he combed through the long, charcoal-black tresses that poured into his lap. Every last tangle, bump, must be smoothed out before the hairpins went in.

He didn't know why he spent so much time on vanity. His lover was going to come soon, which meant, all of this would be torn into shreds anyway.

During his grooming sessions, Yao often found himself staring into his own reflection in the mirror. Sometimes blankly, and sometimes intently, as if his own face was an inscrutable riddle. He didn't know what the fuss was; his face had looked the same for thousands of years. He had large, smoky eyes, a creamy complexion, modest nose, and soft lips. Nothing more than that. Putting in the final hairpin in its place, he decided that his current reflection was as good as he was ever going to look. Running his fingertips down the long golden beads which dangled from the side of his head, he smiled thinly.

In many ways, Wang Yao was a doll that never left its display shelf.

Becoming bored again, he walked to his work desk to finish a painting that he had been working on for the past few days. Though he usually did flowers, fish, or scenery, this one was of a full figured man. He had already drawn the bare outline, but had yet to give him any colour. He wore a long coat that went down to his knees, which Yao was beginning to paint beige. It must be really cold where he lived, since he had decided to give him boots and gloves. He might as well grant him a long scarf too, one which wrapped around his neck, and seemed to billow with the wind. The man had a slightly plump face, and due to a slip of his brush, his nose arched a little more broadly than Yao had intended. His hair was unusually short, with matted bangs, and Yao decided that his hair was just going to be left a light, off-gray colour. It looked nicer that way. Though there was no way to show this on paper, Yao had always imagined him to be taller and bulkier than a normal human. Taking a step back, he frowned scrupulously at his painting, batting his eyelashes. He couldn't help but think that he was painting an alien.

Quickly dismissing the silly thought, he looked down at the small dishes containing his available colours, then back up to his work of art. For some reason, giving those large, kind eyes a dark brown colour just didn't seem right. Though, Yao didn't know why. Every human had dark brown eyes, and since he was painting realistically, there was no reason why he shouldn't be granted the same fate. But, then again, he was only a figment of Yao's imagination... And what bizarre imagination he had! No man in the entire kingdom would chop his hair this short, grow to be this big, nor have such an obscenely shaped nose. Therefore, Yao decided that painting his eyes the conventional colour would serve no purpose. However, it irked him that a piece of work must be left unfinished due to such a minor detail.

A pair of laden feet were making their way to his chamber door; the deep, slow thuds trembled the water in the dish. Immediately, Yao slid off his coat and placed it over his painting. Before he even had the chance to turn around, the door opened to reveal the man he had been expecting. He dashed over, and lead him into his bedroom. The man enclosed a pair of strong arms around Yao's tiny waist, spun him around, and pushed him into his chest.

Mongolia had a healthy, burly build, and was a head taller than China. He had long, wavy hair that he often wore in braids, but not today. China curled a long black strand around his finger, and smiled lazily at his lover. "You always ruin the fun," he pouted dearly, as his free hand traced, barely, the edge of the man's jawline, "Can't we at least chat a little?" Though, he already found himself fumbling with the buttons on Mongolia's jacket.

"What is there to say?" He asked, his voice thick and guttural. China felt his chest vibrating underneath his own fingertips, as they drew nonchalant lines across the sun-kissed skin.

Soon, fingertips were replaced by tongue and teeth, trailing lower and lower down his body, until China was on his knees. "Stop teasing," Mongolia growled impatiently. Pride had kept the moans from escaping from his throat, but he must admit that his lover was very good at what he did. Hell, if he weren't such a vixen, Mongolia would have crushed that pretty little neck of his ages ago.

But now, he feared that China would be the death of him. He grabbed a fistful of Yao's hair, at that thought.

The moment Mongolia began thrusting into his mouth, China pulled out.

"You know how much I hate it when you do that," China reprimanded, looking up at his defeated scowl. He put his hand down, rose, and muzzled Mongolia's anger with a darting kiss. Pushing the both of them onto his bed without breaking apart, China began frantically undressing his lover, as Mongolia, in turn, mauled China's clothes right off his back. Their hot bodies welded together in a frenzy, their limbs tangled in a knot.

This was one of the many benefits of Yao's country allying with his. He'd certainly had better. But, at least Mongolia was infatuated with him enough to be used at his disposal. All it took were some well-said lies and a little skin, and he had him wrapped around his finger.

Plus, it felt as if sex was the only thing Yao was good at anymore.


Kiku was by no means an apprentice from heaven. He lacked the inborn affinity for philosophy and literature, the nimble hands for painting and calligraphy, and not to mention, the physical breadth needed to stand against a hard punch.

"Get up," Yao commanded, towering over the fallen boy.

Kiku's skinny arms could barely support his body weight for a few seconds before losing balance once more. Yao stood where he was, looking down at him blankly. The boy needed to learn on his own, because Yao wouldn't always be there to help him.

He was short, thin, and had pale skin. His black hair was left short, framing a square-shaped face. He was no apprentice from heaven, but he was Yao's, and that was good enough.

"You can't possibly fight any worse than how you recite poetry," he taunted, sneering. But, he was met with yet another stubborn, silent reply.

When he eventually regained stance, Yao wasted no time before launching another wave of attacks at him, each punch and kick more fierce than the last. Kiku countered them with his own, moving a little more diligently than the last round, until a tree stopped him from stepping backwards. He quickly averted from another punch aimed at his jaw, and Yao's bandaged fist landed into the tree instead. Yao quickly retracted his hand; an imprint was left in the hard wood.

"Good, you have finally improved," Yao said, impressed, "But you still lack physical strength, Kiku, and that very weakness will leave you to be a lion's bait."

"Yes, sensei," Kiku replied, meekly nodding his head.

Yao looked up. It was nearing midnight now, and the full moon was hidden behind a curtain of swirling clouds. Stars, like diamonds, spilled across the sky, as if a goddess had shattered her jewelry box. A flock of geese could be heard from the distance, crying into the bone-chilling winds. A few leaves were swept across the courtyard, and Yao suddenly felt a rush of cold down his spine. It was time for them to leave.

When China tucked Japan into bed that night, he almost felt guilty that he had been so harsh on the poor child. He was so young, too young to be holding the weight of an entire nation upon his shoulders. But, if he didn't learn the true nature of the world now, he would be bound for collapse. China just hoped, prayed, that when Japan grew up some day, he wouldn't lose sight of who he was. They all would, eventually, but Yao allowed himself to give optimism one last chance.


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