Author's Note!
Hello, everyone! This will be my first story/fanfiction…ever. This will also be my first Hetalia fanfic….So I hope you guys will enjoy it. This won't be the perfect story, but I'll try my best!
***Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Hetalia in any way. I wish I did, but I don't. All characters/countries used in this fanfic belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Credits to The Tomato Bomb for the idea of this fanfiction! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be posting this fanfic, nor thought of something like this. Thank you! :)
England devilishly smirked as he threw into a large, brass pot a variety of weird, strange ingredients- wait, is that thing moving!? He loomed over the pot being heated by the open fire. The Briton stirred the suspicious, disgusting liquid with a large wooden spoon whilst chanting words of a forgotten, ancient language. The viridian colored, lumpy substance began to boil, excreting a rancid odor and changing into a colorless, runny liquid.
Leaving the concoction to settle down, he walked over to a basket of assorted fruits and vegetables. Picking one up, he cleaned it with a nearby rag of cloth. "Yes, it's getting to be very nice…very nice indeed."
Why was he doing this? Well, to turn back the hands of time, using magic in the process, and turn America back into his younger, much smaller self. Oh how he yearned for the golden days, especially back when he still had his sweet, little colony beside him. England smiled, remembering the old days. It pained him to remember the war that had created a riff between him and America. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to just re-live those days, even if it was just for a week or two! Maybe even a month? The Briton grew even more excited.
He walked back to the concoction, scooped up a sample and used it to fill a food syringe. Now what was he supposed to do? England looked around the little "witchcraft room," as America had dubbed it, a round ball of red had catching his eye. "I should probably test it out first…see if anything goes wrong." He smirked and picked up the tomato, injecting it with the runny liquid.
.
"Spain," Romano hollered, "someone's at the door!" The obnoxious ringing of the door bell was this close to bringing Romano out of his comfy spot on the couch and over to whoever was there to go and kick their sorry ass. The feisty Italian was fed up with the annoying chime. He walked up the stairs, went over to the Spaniard's room, and kicked the door open. "Get up, you bastard!" Spain rubbed his eyes, blinking several times to adjust them to the blinding sunlight. "Lovi~" the Spaniard cooed, "come into bed with boss!" He held out his arms like the dumb, handsome fool he was. Romano blushed, stammering as his cheeks were slowly devoured of its fair color and replaced with a bright, burning red.
"Y-You- Bastard, you don't even know what you're fucking saying!"
"Lovi, you're as red a tomato! Ah, mi Lovinito is so cute~!" Spain cooed.
"Fuck it, I'll get it myself!" The feisty Italian stomped off, slightly swaying his hips as he exited the room.
.
"Lazy-ass bastard…" He muttered, kicking the door closed. Romano carried the box inside, into the kitchen, and ripped it open, literally, exposing a lovely, somehow unharmed, basket of tomatoes. "Who sends a basket of tomatoes in fucking a box? If anything, screw the box and just send the basket." He grumbled, carefully choosing a tomato. He examined its skin, eventually spotting a tiny puncture wound on the side. "Merda! Poor pomodoro, punctured by the shitty-ass material this basket's made of." Romano bit into the juicy, crimson colored fruit, flavor exploding in his mouth. Jesus Christ, it was good! Not as good as Spain's, but you get what you get. He finished the tomato in a minute, gobbling it up as if he were the tomato equivalent of the Cookie Monster from that show America broadcasts.
"Lovi~" Spain called. He stepped into the kitchen, still yawning. "So who was at the-" Spain paused, ignoring the basket of tomatoes and the shredded up box; he couldn't believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. "L-lovino, uh…"
"What the fuck do you want, bastard?" Romano glared at him, picking up another tomato. His body glowed; it looked as if a blanket of white light had been wrapped around him. "Y-You're… uh-" Romano looked down at his shoes, staring at them; they were shinier than usual, his hands too…Shit! "W-What the fuck?!" A bright white light engulfed the room, blinding the Spaniard and the Italian. It flashed for a brief moment before being replaced by a cloud of smoke. Both he and Spain spent the next several minutes coughing and waving away the smoke.
Eventually, the smoke cleared. Romano rubbed his eyes and coughed one last time. He looked around, astonished by how tall everything else had gotten. "What the fuck? How did you get so tall Spa-" Mio dio, his voice. "My voice! " Romano squeaked, "Why the fucking hell is it so high?! What the fuck is going on?!" He looked down at his shoes; they hardly fit anymore. He clutched the t-shirt he was wearing, now a baggy, make-shift dress of sorts on his tiny body. "L-Lovino…" Spain managed to utter out, paralyzed and shocked at what was standing before him. "Mi little tomate has turned into a child!"
Note*
Italian = English
Pomodoro = tomato
Merda = Shit
This chapter is short, I know. Sorry, sorry! Please do review, because it helps both me and the story! I know it sounded a bit stupid, cheesy, corny, etc. in this chapter. Sorry, sorry!
If there are any errors, especially grammatical or spelling errors, please do mention them to me! It helps a lot. Erm, there's not much else to say…I hope you enjoyed this story. You can expect the next chapter to appear soon, maybe?
There's nothing really T rated about this fanfic except for (Romano's) language and some kissing…somewhere in the future.
Thank you so much!