Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and was in the mood for some crack. Although, isn't Hetalia pretty much history on crack, anyway? Hrm…
It was funny, Matthew noted as he doodled a robotic polar bear with swords for front legs biting off the head of a blazing velociraptor piloted by a condom-headed superhero on the sheet of paper of which he was supposed to be jotting down notes on the current world meeting, how some siblings could be so similar in appearance and yet have almost completely different personalities.
Take him and Alfred for example. Whereas Matthew himself was quiet, introverted, bookish, almost exceedingly polite, and could go unnoticed even if he were to jump on top of a table in the middle of a crowded Denny's while wearing lingerie and announcing himself the Colonel Mortimer Mustard, Alfred was…Alfred. Or Lovino and Feliciano; the abrasive, foul-mouthed, insecure Southern Italian was the polar opposite of his happy-go-lucky, sociable, not particularly bright younger brother, and yet their physical similarities were evident to anyone with eyes. Hell, even Gilbert rather resembled a shorter, less muscular, less hair gel-addicted, and less pigmented version of his younger brother Ludwig, and damn if those two weren't like night and day.
Violet eyes shifting to the two nations sitting parallel to him, Matthew repressed the urge to shake his head upon seeing that the two of them once again had identical expressions of seething irritation affixed towards his brother. And herein lays the reverse, he thought wryly.
At first glance, Juan and Camila didn't bear much of a resemblance to one another. Whereas Juan was tall, barrel-chested with a tendency towards a bit of excess weight around the middle and swarthy of complexion with dark hair pulled back into dreadlocks, his sister was diminutive, slim but curvy, and quite fair for someone who lived on a tropical island, with smooth, russet-coloured hair. However, what the two lacked in physical similarity they more than made up for in shared personality traits.
As if to prove his point, Juan and Camila both held up one end of a picture of an exceedingly large, veiny penis about to enter a wrinkled anus along with the caption 'This=You' scrawled above it, practically shoving the drawing into Alfred's face.
Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose as the room dissolved into raucous laughter, with the exception of Ludwig, who immediately began to shout for order, and Alfred, who scratched his head bemusedly.
"Are you calling me an assfuck or a fuckass? Either way, you guys suck like a hooker in a wind tunnel."
Meanwhile, a red-faced Ludwig turned his attention towards the two Caribbean countries, glaring at them. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.
Juan yawned and scratched the back of his neck. "Just showing Alfred what I really think about him," he replied carelessly. "And no, that doesn't mean that I wanna fuck him in the ass; I was calling him an ass fuck."
"I was overcome by the Imp of the Perverse," Camila chimed in. "He tells me to draw dicks on everything. Especially faces," she added.
Ludwig palmed his forehead, apparently struck by the migraine devil and not in the mood to yell any more than he had to. Truly a miracle of God. "Just apologize to Alfred," he sighed.
Juan raised his eyebrows so that they disappeared into his hairline. "Unless 'apologize' is synonymous with 'shank with a rusty screwdriver' I'm not doing it. If it is, then I'll apologize. I'll apologize to him like he's never been apologized to before."
While her older brother was busy with his mini soliloquy, Camila had taken the time to fold a piece of paper into an elaborately decorated whirlybird, which was rather bizarre seeing as how she'd managed to draw the sort of curlicues and birds in flight generally reserved for the borders of ostentatious wedding invitations all over the sides in a manner of seconds. Lifting up one of the corners of the whirlybird, Camila let out a low whistle. "Ooh, that's just dirty."
"…Do I even want to know?" Ludwig asked wearily.
Camila shrugged. "Probably not." She glanced down at the whirlybird clutched in her hand once again. "It says here that you're going to make a Portuguese breakfast."
"…What in the nine hells is a Portuguese breakfast?"
"Well, since you asked...First, you need a willing or hell; an unwilling participant will do if you've got some halothane on hand. That or start a gas leak, that always knocks people out after a while. Anyway, you crack some eggs against the other person's ass, beat the eggs along with whatever omelette accompaniments you desire in a bowl, stick a funnel up their ass, pour the egg mixture down their poop chute, and wait for the naturally warmer temperature of the rectal cavity to cook it up. After a few minutes, you've got your Portuguese breakfast," Camila explained calmly, as though she were discussing the weather.
Her explanation was met with a blank silence that was mercifully cut short by Juan before it could become anymore awkward.
"Why do you know that?" He asked in a strangled voice.
"You know how I sometimes rent out the third level of my house to tourists?" Camila asked him. Juan nodded. "Well, last month I was delivering a couple some fresh baked brownies. You know, that complimentary whatever bullshit like hotels do. Anyway, I walk in and find them in the middle of that very act; turns out they were into some really kinky shit."
Juan, along with everyone else in the room, blinked. "And you let them stay in your house?"
"Hey, what folks cook their eggs in is none of my business so long as they clean up after themselves. And leave me a good gratuity," Camila said as an afterthought. Sliding off her chair, she began to amble towards the door. "Welp, time for us to get going, bro; happy hour starts in ten minutes and I owe you a drink due to that little fiasco last week that we promised to never mention."
"Actually, you owe me five drinks, which is no big deal. So long as I get them, in which case, it's a big deal," Juan said as he followed after her.
As the polished wooden door swung shut with a tone of finality, everyone else in the room stared uncomfortably at one another for a long moment before Matthew finally deigned to point out what they'd all been thinking. Much to his surprise and gratification, they actually heard him for a change.
"…Isn't the meeting for another hour?" He asked.
"Yes, yes it is-Ludwig began, only to be cut short by the re-entrance of the Cuban and Puerto Rican nations…Via the window.
Brushing shards of glass off his shoulder, Juan gave a careless grin as he strode over to his desk. "Forgot my jacket," he said casually. Grabbing the aforementioned jacket, he slung it over his shoulder, walked towards the massive hole in the window that he and his sister had created, and leapt out of it with all of the nonchalance of someone who's long accustomed to entering and exiting places using closed windows.
"I just wanted to jump in through the window," Camila offered before strolling over towards a flowerpot resting atop a plant stand in the corner, knocking it to the ground with a swipe of her hand, where it promptly shattered, and leaping out of the window as well.
Everyone stared for a bit, and then-
"Why are they so needlessly destructive? I didn't raise them to behave like this!" Wailed Antonio, who had apparently gotten a bit into his cups and become sentimental as a result.
"Anyone raised by you is bound to have a few screws loose. Everyone knows that you're a terrible father," Arthur muttered, causing Antonio to sob harder.
"That's not true!"
"Oh yes it is, bastardo. You're the fucking worst," Lovino agreed. "Why else do you think I'm so angry all of the time?"
"I honestly thought that maybe you suffered from constant haemorrhoids or something," Antonio admitted, which earned him a dirty look and a one-finger salute.
"I second that everything and anything Antonio does is made of fail," Lars added, only to be slapped upside the head by his sister.
"Stop being so mean to Antonio," Emma snapped, hand raised threateningly for another slap.
Lars rolled his eyes. "At the risk of being slapped again, I will now say that Antonio is such a pussy that not only does he need his girlfriend to fight for him, but her rubbing his back is legally certified as a lesbian fisting scene." A loud thwack could be heard echoing around the room as Emma's hand connected once again with his head. "Worth it," Lars declared even as he rubbed the sorely abused back of his head. "Oh yeah, and he also gets charged for a bikini wax whenever he gets a haircut."
"I never understood the appeal of fisting. It seems so…Gauche," Francis said, earning him some confused glances. "What?"
"Just surprised that there's a type of sex act that you're not a fan of, Francy pants," Alfred told him. "I always sorta figured that everything gave you a boner. Like jelly doughnuts and hardwood floors, y'know?" He raised his hand, waving it in the air like a pedantic schoolboy for good measure. "By the way, anyone else wondering by the hell it's called the Portuguese breakfast?"
Immediately, everyone's eyes swung onto Abrahan, who shrunk beneath their curious gazes. "I didn't invent it!" He cried. "Do I look like I'd be into freaky shit like that?!"
Alfred shook his head fervently. "Nah, you're way too vanilla. Maybe it was invented in Brazil…"
"Hey, fuck you, twat bucket," Joana shouted at him. "I am sick to the back teeth of everyone thinking I'm some sort of freak ever since one of my citizens produced that 2 Girls 1 Cup Video!"
"…That was you?" Alfred asked, flabbergasted.
Joana dropped her head down onto her desk. "Dammit, I've said too much…"
"Ugh, that video was fucking sick…"
"I dunno. I heard that there's a sequel that's the mental equivalent of watching your grandma drown in a vat of diarrhoea…"
"Is it weird that I found 2 Girls 1 Cup sort of hot?"
"…If that's true, please do the world a favour and go swallow a knife…"
"I, uh, meant that metaphorically...Totally metaphorically…"
Shaking his head, Matthew added a shark riding a rocket-powered surfboard into his doodle and wondered how his musing on the similarities of siblings had gone so far astray.
Disclaimer: I don't know how this happened. My train of thought tends to go in strange directions.