Hello everyone! Alexi here! My friend Alaska and I really wanted to make a fantasy/steam punk/adventure fic of Hetalia so we finally made it! Whew! I hope you all like it!
Pairings: We'll see. I might like a little bit of everything...
Disclaimer: We do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. I sure wish I do though...war.....blood....conspiracy.....how....fun....
[Chapter one~ Conflicts, Fights, and a Grumpy 'Old' Man]
It was almost noon in the room of scriptures & records, a man carefully unwrapped the ancient cloth containing the parchment. Then he meticulously untied the string, and rolled out the script.
It read:
"The ballad of Vir"
Dark clouds covered the sky,
Lightning flashed,
Followed by thunder
Shortly
The battered, brave man
Sword by his side
Now calling for help
Feebly
That never came
The lonely feeling
Betrayal, guilt, hatred
Stirring inside
Forced to confront
The monster inside
Face of two
Unyielding battle
Two sides
Like oil and water
Wanted dominance
Greedily
Light fought the dark,
They collided
One fell, one rose
Light prevailing
Dark befallen, envied
Dragged the light
Into death
Battle hindered
Alfred F. Jones gently rolled up the parchment. "What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway?"
Since Alfred was a child he wanted to be a knight, more specifically, one that saved the damsel in distress, or defeated the villain. He wanted...sought to be a hero remembered for all his courageous deeds. A man loved by his people and adorned with the highest of honors. He has been chasing this dream since.
His childhood was reasonable. He could remember that he was taken cared of fairly well. Those strong hands that picked him up, the soft voice that sung him to sleep.
Even if he tried to think back...there was always a barrier in his mind suppressing those memories. He remembered seeing a bright light...but... Then that's been it ended. His parents, if they were his parents, were now gone.
They were sent into an orphanage, where they sat longingly waiting, for eight months. The orphanage wasn't bad, the people who worked there were all very caring and nice, but it was just...was just...lonely...depressing.
Matthew, his brother, was the first to go. A famous professor who was also a magnificent chef adopted him. His name is Francis Bonnefoy.
The professor needed a successor. He needed a boy with an intelligent mind, a taste for food, and that he would be interested in (Francis, well, of course). When he laid eyes on the boy (Matthew), he knew he found his apprentice, and so, he took the boy in.
Alfred was by himself. His twin was gone. The parting was difficult, with many tears shed. (Mostly on his and Matthew's part...)'Matthew...is gone?' His toddler mind couldn't wrap around the fact. He was alone now...of course he couldn't play with the other orphans...they'll just bully him again or hit him. So, who was his friend now?
Some numerous days later, a person finally came and adopted Alfred. Sir Jones was the man who adopted Al. Alfred is now four, he was already over Matthew and overjoyed to have a companion. Even though the man who adopted him was somewhat strict and proper, in time, he began to see him as a father.
Al was always hard working, quite rambunctious indeed. He worked hard with reading and writing, Germanic history, arithmetic, and alchemy. Though he was a diligant worker, his behavior stated otherwise.
Alfred is now a young man, aged nineteen years. He is quite an obnoxious and loud guy with a hero complex the size of the universe. (Which is probably why he doesn't have any friends...unless if you include Matthew, that is.) Though he is an obnoxious idiot, he also has some good qualities, like: bravery, punctuality (rarely), and kindness. His taste in food is questionable though.
"Ugh.... What a waste of time... It didn't make any sense...Dammit, I don't understand..." Alfred rubbed his head. Then he pushed his short golden-brown hair out of his face. He had been reading this poem along with many others a multiple of times.
Alfred struggled to read some more, but the words just didn't quite click. He furrowed his eyebrows at the frustration of it all, and his kind, sky-blue eyes had a red angry flash to it.
"Dammit!!!" He cried, as his cowlick stood right up. "This is just too hard to get!!"
With that he almost ripped the ancient poem in a fit of rage.
"What are you doing, Alfred?" the voice asked. Alfred recognized it instantly.
'Eh? Oh Shit.... I think I can somehow.... I don't know? Make up something quick Alfred!!' He thought panicky.
"I-I was reading.... Er...reciting...yes...reciting this awesome poem a hundred times!" Alfred gave an innocent smile.
"Uh-huh. Yes...and while you're at it, please copy that poem a hundred and fifty times before reciting it a hundred more times." Sir Jones paced around the room, and then gave Al a great stern look. "Oh, Alfred, you sound rather like Lord Bellischmidt when you said that."
Al gulped. "..."
'Dammit...shit...screw the world...and Alfred Fucking Jones sounds nothing like that over egotistical bastard!' He thought inwardly.
"I would suggest you start now, Alfred, otherwise you'll have to clean the stalls. By God, those stalls haven't been clean for months..." Sir Jones chuckled.
Alfred grumbled a bit, then got on with his work.
------------------------------------ Matthew -----------------------------------
In the vast, gigantic dining room of Francis Bonnefoy, Matthew Williams sat eating his breakfast while reading the new laws the King of Romania posted for his citizens.
There was a chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, held up by strong iron chains. Ribbons of red, pink, decorate them, embroidered with white from the finest silk.
The lighting, however, was not by candles or torches. Instead, it was glowing spheres of energy, which are held in that form by a non-matter named triparanormium. This substance conducts this force called aphylum[1], or magic as many of it's users commonly call it.
Consequently, that is why humans, animals, and other living organisms tend to stay far away from these materials. Although, in some cases that have been reported that humans have gone in contact with wide abundances of the substance and lived. Some say that they even gain abilities from it.
If you look at Matthew you could easily mistake him to be Alfred, for he has an indistinguishable face. But if you look closer you could see that his eyes have a more violet tone to it and his hair is longer. (Not to mention that little piece of hair longer than the others and it springs from his head.)
Matthew Williams sipped his tea continually, and rubbed at his temples. 'Ugh...why did he drink so much...' Matthew thought. 'Besides...It's not like Francis can hold it in anyway..."
Yesterday his 'papa' Francis decided to invite him and Lord Beilschmidt with his 'friends' to a party. They were giving Francis a Have-A-Good-Trip kind of party.
'Francis and his trio...' Matt rolled his eyes. 'Why did he have to compete in that drinking contest, and have me carry his drunk self back...Oh wait, it's Francis... No wonder...'
Matt thought that his tea wasn't sweet enough. He made a face of disdain then poured a syrupy liquid into it. This natural sweetener was made from the sap of the maple trees, quite common in their region.
Matthew Williams's thought, 'Come to think about it, why was he calling me Mon Cher...?'
Matt blushed. " I don't want to know."
"Yes, Mon Cher, what do you not want to know...?" A voice smoothly inquired.
Arms looped around Matthew's shoulder, and a highly seductive voice demanded to know. "Was it you, Canada, who brought me home yesterday?"
"...Um...uh," Matt desperately hoped he was not blushing. "...Yes...it was me, France."
Francis looks at him. His eyes are half-opened, his eyebrow are relaxed, and his mouth was put in a very sexy smug. He shook his head full of luscious golden curls and there was a mischievous glint in his half-opened eyes. Then he whispers softly to Matthew, his voice relaxed but thick, "Does this mean that, Mon cher petit Mathieu , this is l'amour?"
Matthew's eyes widened. "N-no! T-that is, just-" Matthew turns his head, he hopes to God that he wasn't blushing. But God must have been ignoring his plea, as he could feel the heat forming in his cheeks. He could feel it spread all over his face.
The door burst open before Matthew could give a proper reply to Francis, who still had his arms around the younger boy. They both looked in shock as the SLAM vibrated across the dining room. The chandelier rocked back and forth with unease, while the globes of light floating around bounced into each other.
"Kesesesesese! You should all be grateful! ONE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL IN THE PRESENCE OF MIGHTY PRUSSIA AND GILBIRD!!! AHAHAHAHHA! .......Why am I here in Francis's house?" A figure could be seen in the midst of all this chaos.
"Hello, Lord Beilschmidt." Matthew politely greets.
Gilbert Beilschmidt is a young man in his twenties. He is albino, as such he despises the burning sun. He has white, silver-tinted hair, and red eyes. Currently, he is wearing a dark blue uniform with a cross necklace underneath his collar.
He always has a chick up on his head or on his shoulder; the chick's name is Gilbird. It looks basically like a yellow fluff ball with a hot pink ribbon. Yes, it is a boy chick.
Gilbert looked over and saw Francis putting his arms around Matthew. Matthew didn't know why, but he saw Gilbert have a flash of...jealousy was it? Show across his face. Lord Beilschmidt marched up to Francis and pulled him off of Matthew.
"Eh?" Matthew stared with widened eyes.
"Merde! What are you doing, Gilbo?" Francis Bonnefoy asked. His voice filled with shock.
"..." Gilbert looked at Francis intensely then took off his cross necklace.
"What are you doing Gilbo? Oh.... Aha...l'amour at work now is it?" Francis leaned closer to Gilbert. "Do you lov-"
Gilbert swung the black cross necklace and hit Francis squarely in the jaw. "Don't infect Matthew with your UN-AWESOMENESS!!! SERIOUSLY, AREN'T YOU HIS FATHER OR SOMETHING?"
"Eh? Mon dieu, Gilbo have you ever heard of a father merely showing his affection to his son?" Francis retorted.
"FATHERLY AFFECTION MY ASS! YOU WERE TOUCHING HIM. IT WAS SO NOT AWESOME! I'VE KNOW YOU SO LONG... I SWEAR YOU ARE SUCH A-!" Gilbert mumbles off the last part.
"But Lord Beilschmidt, France isn't my father, he adopted me from an orphanage." Matthew said in his meekly, soft voice.
As usual no one paid any awareness to poor Matthew, and the fight has progressed from an exchange of harsh words to slapping each other silly. Matthew sighed in exasperation. They never listen to him, so why do they listen to him now... Matthew tried to stop the fight, but he turned invisible as usual.
...So he sipped his drink and went back to reading the paper. He was trying to focus on something to drone out all the Bangs, Booms, and other wonderfully happy noises that occurred during the fight.
------------------------------------ Arthur -----------------------------------
'What the bloody hell am I doing?!' Arthur Kirkland shouted in his mind. He was the most fearsome, the most blood-thirsty, and the wittiest pirate of them all. Although for now, Arthur Kirkland was not in his blood-stained pirate outfit, but rather in a 'waiter's' uniform. This 'uniform' was nothing like anyone would expect a pirate to wear. Hell, it was the last thing people expected ANYONE to wear. He was naked if not for the black apron that covered his privates, and the white cuffs on his wrist complete with a black necktie. Oh he remembered, he remembered everything: the bet, what they made him do, and how he got so bloody pissed. Arthur Kirkland was not pleased...if anything, he was in a NARKY mood.
He held a bet with France, the professor, to see how many citizens they could scrump from without noticing. Then the winner tells the loser to do one thing, whatever it is, and the loser must comply.
'But that fuckin' cheat had to go and use his fuckin' flirting and used that to his fucking advantage! That fucking wanker, but being the pirate I am I saw him scrumping the money from those nitwits. Technically he wasn't even scrumping! Those bastards were basically giving it to him! He fucking paid then and they KNEW!!! They fucking knew about the bet!!' Arthur scowled, his pride deflating at the second. 'Though being the gentleman I am, I confessed being buggered, and complied. As to that, he made me wear this, simply stated.' He tried to calm his furious self.
It didn't work.
"Damn him! Damn that bloody frog to hell! That fucking Nancy boy bastard!" The pirate roared in absolute fury. Some people stared at him with disgusted looks on their faces. Arthur gave each a cold hard stare, as they quickly turned away. Arthur cursed at himself inside. How could be so ignorant to let that bugger cheat himself out of the bet. He should have confronted that...that horrendous frog!
The pirate stared daggers at anyone who looked his way along with giving them a threat to kill them if they said anything. He held a whisky bottle in his hand still wearing that ridiculous outfit in the cold, frosty weather.
"Now...shit... I'm still not drunk enough." Arthur Kirkland put the bottle to his lips-
A strong force pushed the bottle from his hand, making it land on the ground with a bang. The liquid sprinkled out and the bottle broke into sharp tiny shards.
"Now captain England," A voice stated, "Don't we have duties other than keeping you from being a drunkard?"[2]
This man had straight blond hair down to his chin, and bangs to his eyebrows. He had a gun strapped to the side, and a stern, serious look on his face. A girl was beside him; she was meek and shy. She blushed a deep red when she saw Arthur in his mostly-naked outfit. The blond man quickly went to the girl's side and covered her eyes. He spoke a few words to her then she walked away.
"Here." The stern man replied, while throwing him a bag. "At least show some courtesy with my sister here."
"Ah.....V-" Arthur was about to reply.
"Don't you dare say it out in public or I'll shoot you." A gun was pointed at Arthur's face. "You may have accidentally learned it, but even if you are my captain, don't think I won't trust you."
Although Arthur was pretty much drunk he still had enough sensibility to let his brain sink in to what he just heard. The he opened the bag and saw fairly decent clothes.
"Thank you," Arthur muttered, "I...appreciate...the clothes..."
"You're welcome." He showed no emotion on his face. "Be sure to return to the ship in those clothes, because pirate captain or not, you will be dead if Liechtenstein sees you again in that...that apron."
He turned as if to leave, then turned back to look at England. "I may not let you call me by my true name, but you may call me Switzerland." With that Switzerland turned to leave, grabbed Liechtenstein, and walked away.
Arthur got his drunk ass up and grabbed his bag. He went to the shadiest part of town, bombarded a restroom, and changed in there. After, he sobered himself up and started to walking towards his ship.
------------------------------------ Matthew -----------------------------------
Matthew was sick of the fighting. He sighed and rolled his violet-blue eyes. He put the paper he was reading down. This had been the third time he read it, and now, it bored him. He stared at the two who were 'fighting'.
It was a fight though not one you would read in heroic stories or hear in poems. This was because; sadly, the fight was just...ridiculous. They were slapping each other crazy, while Prussia pulled continually on France's hair, and France would keep kicking Prussia in his crotch. Not that there was anything there by now.[3]
"YOU! WHAT THE HELL?!! I KNEW YOU WERE LEWD BUT I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A PEDOPHILE 'TIL NOW YOU ARSCHLOCH!!!" Gilbert tried to wack Francis on the head with his necklace, but luckily for France, he dodged.
"Je suis...desole que je fait mal putain!" Francis exclaimed and grabbed Gilbert's shirt. Then Francis tore Gilbert's silk sleeve shirt.
Gilbert gawked at France. "D-Du!" He pointed his finger at the smirking Francis. "You fucking ruined my shirt!!!"
"Maintenant, vous savez a mess jamais avec la France!" France smirked.
"I-Ich werde dich toten!!!" Gilbert shouted and immediately aimed to grab France's neck.
Prussia would then try to kick France on his privates, but France pushed him down before he could do anything. An hour or two later, both opponents were fatigued. Both of whom had ripped expensive clothes, bruises on places they repeatedly slapped one another, and their hair was an absolute mess. Especially Gilbert's whose platinum-blond hair looked exactly like a bird's nest.
Now instead of slapping each other silly, they were exhaustively pushing each other. Though you might not call it a push, the force they put on it would more likely be called a poke.
"Ich......Hasse du.......you....bastard..." Prussia tiredly swiped his hand across Francis face.
"Moi.....aussi.....je vous....deteste...." France tried to push Prussia's hand away.
'This is probably going to go on for a long time...I wonder...I'll just slip away...surely they won't do anything worse...' Matthew thought to himself. He took a sip of his tea, then walked out of the door. It seemed Gilbert and Francis were too engaged in their 'fight' to notice anyone, more specifically the person whom they were fighting over, about to step out the door and leave them to their quarrel.
They still didn't seem to notice him, he figured as much. Matthew grabbed his coat then walked out into the virtually cloudless day. A breeze flew pass him and sent a shiver across his body. He pulled the coat more tightly around him. 'Damn.....if only France and Prussia would stop fighting...' Matthew concluded.
"Ahh! Good day, Mr. Williams!" A voice greeted him. "How are you?"
"EH?!" Matthew spun around. The polite voice belonged to a man with shoulder-length brown hair and bright green eyes. "How do you know...me..?"
"Well excuse me, Mr. Williams, but everyone of this town knows who you are. You are the son of Mr. Bonnefoy...correct?" The man looked at Matthew, but opened his mouth as if to apologize.
"Adoptive son, I'm adopted by him." Matthew pressed.
"Oh...um...I'm sorry...i-if I well...got...um..-" The man stuttered, a slight pink tinge formed on his cheeks, probably from embarrassment.
"Eh?" At first, Matthew didn't get what he was saying. Then it clicked. "Oh! It's um...ok! I..uh never really got your name..."
"My name is...T-.....Lithuania...you can call me that." Matthew understood, with what was going on the world presently, you can't seem to trust anyone.
"So..Um...er...what do you do...er...what is your career?" Matthew inquired.
"I....um...I am a tailor." Lithuania explained. "I work over there." He pointed to a corner. "Around that corner and there is my..um..uh..shop. It is run by me and F-Poland. Some say we are the best of the best and should expand...but um....I think that it's pretty good, the way it is."
"Really?! Wow... Oh um..I..uh..have to go now.....Good talking with you Lithuania...and good-bye." In truth, Matthew really didn't have to go. He just didn't want France or Prussia to find him gone, and catch up to him.
"Ok..Well good-bye Mr. Williams." Lithuania waved to Matthew. "And please do come visit Poland and me."
"I'll..uh...try to." Matthew waved back. "And it's not Mr. Williams, it's Canada." Then Matthew left.
------------------------------------ Alfred -----------------------------------
Alfred was busy writing down all of the dumb poem that damn Sir Jones gave him. Who did he think he was....HIS FATHER... Never mind that, Sir Jones made him show him his work every few seconds. It was nerve-wrenching. He was such a....such an ass. Plus, when his feather pen broke...did Alfred FUCKING JONES GET ANOTHER ONE? NO! Instead, he had to make due with a piece of splinter-full wood piece dipped in ink. Apparently he heard it from a Lord that it was a pretty good punishment ideal. WHO THE HELL THOUGHT OF SUCH AN IDIOTIC IDEAL LIKE THAT?! DAMN that BASTARD!!!
'Damn him....Damn him....' Alfred thought repeatedly. "Damn him..."
"Damn who?" Sir Jones raised an eyebrow.
'You.' That was what impulse told him to say, instead he said as he stood up and was about to leave: "Damn flies. Look, their buzzing everywhere! So...I'll guess I'll go out and-"
"Alfred F. Jones. You will stay here." He sat on his seat. His mind wanted to leave, but his body would not. Such was the power of aphylum or magic.
'Damn that bastard!' Alfred stared at Sir Jones' eyes, and looked venomously at his necklace filled with that damn magic fucking crap.
"Now I guess you just don't want to copy anymore." Sir Jones stated.
Alfred nodded, since indeed, this was right. 'Yes....' He thought.
"So I guess you won't have to do it-" Sir Jones started.
Alfred led out a loud whoop.
"-So I guess you would just have to learn discipline by another way instead." He continued.
Alfred was celebrating in his mind, until he heard that awful statement. "...Wait...WHAT?"
And that's when Sir Jones drew out his cursed blade.
"W-WAIT....What?!!! ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!!!! DID YOU FUCKING SNAP? Wait, don't answer that, you probably snapped a long time ago." Alfred held his hands in front of him, in a non-threatening notion. "Seriously...don't point sharp things at me old man!"
"Oh this?! This isn't sharp...not sharp at...all." There was a dark shimmer in the man's eyes. He started to walk towards Alfred.
"Uh...Sir..Jones..are you alright?" Alfred laughed nervously.
"Quite alright, actually-" Sir Jones began saying.
"That's good! 'Cause for a minute or two I swear you were going crazy-" Alfred intermitted.
"I WAS THINKING-!" Sir Jones bellowed. "Good, seems I got your attention now, we will have a test. Alfred, let us hope you were not slacking off with you studies now would you?"
"...." No answer.
"Would you?" Sir Jones pointed the weapon at Alfred.
"Er...Sure...Um. Yes! I practiced my ass off for you physical exams and such... so uh...stop pointing that thing at me." Alfred gulped.
"Since you...how did you put it? 'Practiced your ass off', then why don't you show me the skills you so 'greatly' improved in a fight with me." His voice was layered deep with sarcasm.
[1]Without triparanormium, aphylum cannot be conducted, and therefore no person may be able to use it. Aphylum is used to distort matter or to convert matter into a specific type of matter. Since it can distort matter, matter can also distort it. Matter could easily absorb Triparanormium. In large amounts it is still a danger to many living things. [It doesn't give off radiation; it's just a hazard if it comes in contact with living things.] (Names of the substances and other things related to it are truly made up.)
[2]England is the name they call him as well as France is what many people call him. People go by nicknames they made up or ones given by their parents. It is kind of like a second name to them, just one they use more often than their real one. Only do trusted friends, lovers, and family know their real names. It seems if you know their real name (first name) then you could basically control the person. Magic is dangerous in these times, furthermore, people are paranoid these days. Hence my pen name...I'll go to shut up now.
[3]Yes. Slap me. I just dissed the AWESOME Prussia....
French
Mon Cher - My Dear
Mon cher petit Mathieu - My dear little Matthew
Merde - Crap; Oh shit
Mon dieu - My God
Je suis desole que je fait mal putain! - I'm sorry for hurting you, bitch!
Maintenant, vous savez a mess jamais avec la France! - Now you know to never mess with France!
Moi aussi. je vous deteste - Me too. I hate you
German
Du - You
Ich werde dich toten - I'll see you dead
Ich Hasse du - I hate you
Alexi's notes : This is Alexi, the writer of this great fan-fic, also called the GREAT MISTAKE MAKER! I can't tell you how many times I've tripped, broke something, and forgot to turn in my homework. Now on grammar...eh-heh..it's like the whole story is infected with grammar mistakes...That is why my BEST FRIEND EVER(( Alaska )), is making a fanfic with me. Alaska is the best idealistic, creative person I've ever met! Thank you for coping with me!!
A brainless 'poem' my sister and I wrote after I forced her to watch Hetalia...tell me what you think...
Totally for sure, I just got a hamburger.
The wind, I swear, is messing up my perfect hair.
My ketchup is smearing, the ghost are what I'm fearing.
Thirty-six to twenty-four, that's what I got on my test score...
Go-go Fight-Fight!! Behold my AWEOSOME hero might!
Go-go win win! Time to bother Iggy again!
Alaska's notes: This is Alaska, the Beta of this wonderful and enchanting project. Alexi and I have spent hours over the phone working out details and plots, although she does all the work I'm ashamed to admit. Please tell me if I messed up translating or if we used the wrong word, neither of us are fluent in french nor german. And please oh please tell me if I missed something! Every correction makes this story better, if we don't know the problem how are we supposed to fix it?
Please review on pairings you would like to see [ex. USxUK, FrancexCanada just to name a few]. The story is still young so we can change the plot to sustain pairings. Thanks for reading and please review!