Hello readers and writers of this place called Fanfiction dot net~

I'm new to writing fanfiction, but I've had some experience reading it. So, I'm sorry if you find my word choice or writing style odd. I'm a strange person who writes strangely. I admit that. I'm also sorry if my quality of writing sucks. Like I've said, I'm new to writing fanfiction, so please don't metaphorically kill me with words. I'm trying my best.

Anyway, here I am. I'm eager to meet all of you. \(=u=)/ If you'd like to read the rest of my introductional tangent, then go to my profile. Otherwise, I don't want to bore you.

This story is ONLY rated M for language! There will be NO smut scenes.
I don't own Hetalia.

So onto the story~

England walked briskly down the crowded London streets, intent on making his way home. He desperately wanted a cup, no, needed a cup of tea, preferably Earl Grey.

He weaved his way through the random passers by, trying to put some distance between himself and America. All England wanted to think about was getting to his home, making some tea, and trying to cool off.

"Artie, please!" America said exasperatedly from about ten feet behind England, his bigger, more muscular build making it harder to gain any distance in toward England in the crowd.

England walked on wordlessly, plastering on a scowl that portrayed the notion of I-don't-know-him-so-he's-not-talking-to-me to anyone who looked at him questioningly.

"C'mon! Artie wait up, please!" America pleaded, starting to lag behind even more.

This only made England walk faster, but the American kept a sharp gaze on him. The last thing he needed was to lose England when he was mad. Who knows what he'd go and do? America had to admit though, the grumpy Brit was pretty good at making himself scarce when he wanted to.

Despite his efforts to lose America, England retained his persistent stalker, Why can't he just bloody leave me alone?

By this time, they were now on a less populated street, and England had to fight the urge to bolt when he heard heavy footsteps catching up to him. America grabbed him by he left shoulder and turned England around to face him. England promptly tried to continue walking, but America wouldn't have that, and stopped the attempt with a hand on his right shoulder. He gripped England's shoulders gently, trying not to underestimate his strength.

"Artie, I'm sorry." America tried to reason with him in vain.

"Bugger off." England said, avoiding America's eyes.

"Artie, c'mon! Please, I'm sorry."

"FOR THE LAST TIME! My name is Arthur! ARTHUR!" England shouted, causing the few people around them to stare and walk faster. England briskly shook America's hands from his shoulders, much to America's surprise, and started to walk away.

America quickly caught up with him and blocked his path, much to England's displeasure.

"Get out of my bloody way!" The latter said only a bit softer than before, a real scowl forming on his face.

"Not until you listen to me!" America retorted.

"Alfred," England was visibly pissed of. Shit, America cursed mentally, seeing one of England's gigantic eyebrows twitch in anger, "get out of my fucking way before I decide to shove my foot up your arse."

"Dude, I'm really sorry! Please, just calm down." That was the worst thing that you could say in this situation, well... not the worst, but pretty close.

"'Calm down'? 'Calm down'!? Don't you dare tell me to calm down when you insult my cooking, my eyebrows, my country, my culture, and my history all at once!" England had counted on his fingers as he spoke. He had to admit, though, if he hadn't been so offended, he would have been impressed that America was able to do so all in one shot.

"Arthur, I'm sorry!" America practically begged, his hands mimicking his frustration in gestures.

Once again ignoring America, England started walking in the direction of his home.

"En-" America stopped himself, referring to nations by their official names in public raised too many eyebrows for their or their government's comfort. "Arthur, please dude!"

America proceeded to follow England through London and into his home. England immediately went into his kitchen, much to the displeasure of the American who stayed in the doorway. An angry Brit was trouble enough, but an angry Brit in a kitchen... well, let's just say that the last time that happened, America had gotten an angry call from France about his house burning down.

England scoffed as he pulled a kettle out of a cupboard and began to fill it with water, Honestly. I've never been so offended in my life! In the middle of world meeting in front of the whole G8 too!

The fuming Brit had just stormed out of the meeting, not caring that he would be missing the remainder of it. They probably wouldn't get anything accomplished anyway, most of the meetings just ended in petty bickering amongst long-time rival nations with no real reason for the arguments in the first place.

After he left, America had followed in a futile effort to calm England down. Canada could always tell him what he missed, in the unlikelihood that something had gotten accomplished.

"England, what do I have to do to make it up to you?" America asked exasperatedly, out of options.

"Get the bloody fuck out of my house." England angrily replied, pouring the, now boiling and steeped, water into a teacup.

America looked at England sadly, and in realizing that he wouldn't accept his apology, left his home with a quiet, "I'm sorry..."

Upon hearing the American leave, England sighed and fixed his tea, adding the precise amount of milk and sugar for earl grey.

He sat down at the island table, sipping aforementioned tea, and finally getting a chance to relax.

But no.

"Hey, Arrtie!" Bellowed a certain brother of his at the door.

England put down his tea and pinched the bridge of his nose as aforementioned brother let himself in and barged into the room, "Scotland, I'm not in the mood to tolerate you right now."

"Ack, Arrtie. Lighten up!" Scotland smiled as he draped an arm over his brother's shoulder.

"Scottie, please leave, I'm not in the mood." England looked up to meet his brother's gaze, not bothering to try and move his arm, he would probably just put it back there.

"Aw, but Arrtie, I just want t' spent a wee bit of time with ya." Scotland shifted to give England a brotherly punch on the arm with his free hand, and unknown to England, spike his tea with the other.

"Now, I know that's not true," England sighed, his anger now less present, "please get out of my house. I'll 'spend a wee bit of time with ya' later." England said, quoting his brother in a convincible Scottish accent.

"Ach, fiiiine." Scotland ran a hand through his fiery ginger hair, "See ya 'rround, brrother."

England watched as Scotland left his home, sure to pay close attention to him. He didn't need anything stolen from him, again. England took another sip of tea, which was now cold. The tea tasted odd for some reason, but he shrugged it off, and finished the tea.

Putting the cup in the sink, finding the forgotten saucer next to the hot water, and putting it in the sink as well, England sighed. He would wash them later, right now, he wanted a little revenge on America.

England walked quickly down the stairs, and into his basement that served as a magic room. Aforementioned room also housed his extensive collection of magical tomes, scrolls, books, and ingredients for spells. Half of it looked like a library, but the other half was more similar to an office, if offices had flasks, papers, and miscellaneous things lying about.

England smirked as he dawned his infamous black, hooded cape.

He walked up to his, also infamous, summoning circle, which was carved into the floor in the center of the room, careful not to set a foot within it's boundaries. Instead, he stood a few feet away from it and thought about which spell to use.

He walked around carefully, lighting the seven candles on the perimeter of the summoning circle, and took his place at one end. England didn't need his usual spell book because he knew the spell from memory.

"Santra ba~dra winza~ na~ Wonpa~ to rana~ interacantera~"

The circle began to glow a bright light green colour.

England chanted the final phrase, "incomprehensibiliter premix!"

He threw out his open palm toward the glowing circle, and concentrated his magical energy to do as he wished, "Ame-" He was cut off as he suddenly felt dizzy, incredibly so.

England moved his hand from the circle to his forehead in a futile effort to steady himself. His legs quivered and gave out beneath him, and he fell face first into the circle. It's bright green glow darkened slightly upon England entering the circle, morphing from green to indigo and back again.

He tried to gather the strength to stop the spell, forget sitting up, but "Ego imperium... haec... precanta-..." was all England could manage before he lost consciousness.

A/N
Ah~ Cliffhangers~ I hope you like this story so far, and if you did, or didn't, or want to suggest anything, feel free to tell me in a review.

Note: THIS IS NOT HOW I THINK OF SCOTLAND! I'm extremely sorry if I've offended anyone. The original scene was inconceivably more offensive, but I couldn't take it out of the story because it's so important to the plot. AKA Someone needed to drug England, and the first person who came to my head at whatever wee hour of the morning I wrote it was Scotland. Sorry...

Anyway, if you were curious what the spells were:
== "Santra ba~dra winza~ na~ Wonpa~ to rana~ interacantera~" - A spell used in episode 13 of Axis Powers, and as far as I know has no translation.
== "incomprehensibiliter premix!" - 'Incomprehensibly random', Latin.
== "Ego imperium... haec... precanta-..." - The full scentence is 'Ego imperium haec precantatio ut finis as samel.' (Which I had gotten from another fanfiction called 'Magical Mischief' by Cherry82 on DeviantART. All credit for hat statement goes to him/her!), 'I order this magic to stop at once!', Latin.

Thank you for reading~~ \(uUu)/