Hello, and welcome to an obvious fail at writing humor, as you will soon find out. I've been out of sorts the past several months, and have had quite a few problems with my health and finances, among other things. My apologies to all of you waiting for updates to my ongoing fics. I'm trying to reclaim my drive to write, this fic probably being one of several I will be doing to do just that. Once I'm warmed back up, I'll get back on the others.
This story was supposed to be a drabble for the 365 usuk a day calendar thingie over on Tumblr, but it kind of got out of hand. It's supposed to be funny, but I doubt you'll be very amused. It might give you a giggle, if you look hard enough. I giggled the whole time writing it, but I was tired as crap. So, here you go. Have fun, I hope.
I do not own Hetalia. I make no profits other than lulz from this fic. It is for the lulz only, nothing more.
Reviews are appreciated.
"Doughnuts"
The plan was perfect.
After consulting various charts, schedules, and surveillance videos, America and England had managed to pinpoint the exact day and time to seize their target. It was so very important that they didn't screw this up. They only had one shot a year at this, and they had to make it count. Failure was not an option.
The time to strike was almost upon them. They set up surveillance within the thick cover of the bushes surrounding the enemy's lair, having been there since before dawn that morning. They watched, and they waited. Soon, so very soon, they would be in possession of the thing that had tortured them in their dreams for months.
Right on time, a seemingly young looking man came out of the lair.
America nudged England, gesturing towards him. England only nodded, adjusting his pack so it wouldn't slip and throw him off balance when they made their move.
The young man, dressed in a smart business suit, made his way to his recently purchased vehicle, and climbed inside.
Yes, climbed. 4x4 quad-cab trucks seemed to be getting higher and higher off the ground as time passed. Like a proper truck should be.
The enemy's vehicle cranked up, backed out into the road, and drove away, heading to a weekly government meeting. The ones watching, dressed in full body camouflage, waited until it was out of sight, then slunk across the back yard. Keeping low to the ground, their feet carried them swiftly to the back entrance. Once there, they sat down with their backs to the door.
"You got the lock pick?", America whispered to England.
"Right here," whispered the other, his thick and unruly eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he dug through his pack.
In a moment, two thin pieces of metal were handed over, and with a few quick flicks of the blue-eyed boy's hands, the door was open. Careful, lest they make a sound to alert the guard of the enemy's domain, they crept inside. Creeping around a corner, then under a table, their target was soon in sight. On a pristine countertop, under a beautifully rendered glass dome, lay the one thing that could reduce the usually half-way dignified and somewhat contained intruders from expert infiltrators to drooling idiots.
"Oh my god, there they are!" America wiggled in place with utter joy, his eyes shining with the soul-encompassing need to possess that which sat before them. "I can already taste them..."
England glared at him, shushing him with a wave of his hand. "Keep it down, or the bear will hear us!" He fixed his gaze on the dome once more, doing his best to compose himself, but unable to resist a little wiggle of his own. "They look so delicious. Perfectly made, just right for afternoon tea."
"Or a midnight snack."
"They make for an excellent breakfast on the go..."
"Or a great finisher for lunch!"
"Anytime one is feeling peckish..."
"Even after sex! Hell yeah."
After a pause to digest that last line, they looked at each other and nodded once. Both pulled out of their respective packs large Tupperware containers, took a deep breath, and braced themselves for the next-to-last part of their mission: acquiring the stash.
"You ready, Iggy?"
"Yes, I've been ready. Now, MOVE!"
Acting as one, England and America scrambled out from underneath the table, making quick work of the dome cover and Tupperware lids. As fast as humanly possible (or in-humanly, whatever you choose), they began loading their bowls.
The target was, in fact, a batch of homemade doughnuts.
But not just any doughnuts, oh no no! Allow me to explain.
These particular confections were double-chocolate dipped, maple cream filled doughnuts. The long, rectangular kind. The ingredients were of the highest quality, and the freshest possible to obtain, costing a pretty penny to make.
About 600 bucks worth of pennies, to be exact. And that's CAD, not USD.
In other words, these doughnuts were expensive as fuck to make.
The doughnuts were carefully crafted with loving hands that paid close attention to symmetry and thickness to ensure optimum storage and geometry. Then they were fried to golden perfection in grade A corn oil. After that they were carefully stuffed to almost bursting with rich, creamy, buttery maple cream. The maple syrup used was harvested by the chef himself. The butter was churned by the Land O Lakes chick herself.
You know, the one on the front of the label? Yeah, her.
Finally, they were dipped once, left to set, then dipped again in the finest chocolate available. An imported kind of chocolate, because Hershey's or Nestle` just wouldn't cut it. Godiva and Ferrero Rocher had nothing on this chocolate, no siree! This particular chocolate was so special, so rare, that it had to be smuggled in due to it's addictive qualities likened to that of the product of the plant whose name it sometimes got confused with. You know the one.
Canada doesn't play around, okay?
These fatty delights were irresistible. No man, or nation, who had partaken of their heavenly delights could resist them. Even if they were artery-clogging, heart attack inducing, and guaranteed to make you gain at least three pounds a serving. They were that good. Seriously. Even England was hooked, having been gifted with a dozen some years back. Of course, that was pretty obvious seeing as Operation Grab and Dash had been his idea. The name wasn't.
America doesn't need an explanation. Everyone knows the cheery glutton of a nation wouldn't be able to resist such temptation.
And this, in fact , is the reason why the doughnuts had became a rarity, made only one time a year by Canada, who refused to go bankrupt because his brother didn't know what the meaning of the phrase 'Stop eating all my fucking doughnuts asshole' meant, resorting to making them in secret when he knew everyone would be too busy to drop by.
Because no one else understood that phrase either, apparently.
This was also why America and England had to stoop to such levels as sneaking in the Canadian's house just to obtain the priceless treasures. They wanted those doughnuts, and by god they would have them. They had not a lick of shame between the pair of them, not a one! Not even for playing hooky from their jobs for the past month. Nope, not these two. No fucks were given at this moment, nor had there been any given for quite some time.
But now back to the mission.
England and America loaded their containers down, unable to resist licking their sticky fingers and moaning in sexual-like ecstasy. Sealing the lids on their bowls, they had been nice enough to leave a few for Canada. A few literally meaning three. They had secured the rest, forty to be exact, splitting them evenly between them, the greedy bastards.
America arched an eyebrow as he did some quick mental math, sliding his bowl back into his pack for safety. "Wow, he's already ate five. And they call me a pig. Sheesh!"
England rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't eat that many at once, git! The bear probably had a couple as well."
"Why would he even DO that?! Such a waste..." America bowed his head, a single tear escaping his eye in mourning of the lost doughnuts.
England nodded sagely. "Yes, truly a great loss. They will be missed." He sniffled, and placed his hand over his aching heart.
As the two wept openly over the fallen heroes of doughy delight, they forgot two kind of important things.
One, there was a guard bear guarding the lair.
Two, they needed to be quiet. Which they were not being.
So, just like with any predictable story such as this one, they drew the attention of the guard bear. Curious as to who was making such sad sounds in the kitchen when no one was supposed to be in the kitchen to begin with, the cute and snuggly ted- uhm, polar bear, made his way to the doorway. He was shocked and enraged to discover the food-giver's idiot brother and father-figure.
In front of the counter.
In front of the now almost-empty dome.
And the one growing a national forest on his forehead was still holding a full container of his all-time favorite dessert! This would not do.
"Those doughnuts are special, you know."
Both nations froze at hearing the child-like voice. Slowly, they turned their heads and spotted the furry creature in the doorway.
Welp, there goes that plan, yup yup.
"This year's batch are especially good. He used extra chocolate for the topping."
He began to make his way slowly towards the guilty parties.
They began to make their way slowly away from the guard bear.
Kumajiro's adorable, kissable, loveable phiz slowly morphed into that of a ravenous beast. His whole body seemed to triple in size.
"But not as good as you're going to be..."
A moment later came the screams and howls of rage as the bear earned his keep by punishing the almost pastry thieves.
Canada came home from his meeting later that afternoon, happy that he had been able to tie up the loose ends that had been bothering the prime minister. He slipped off his suit jacket and shoes, hung his things up, and began to make his way to the kitchen. Man, he could really use a snack! And he knew what would hit the spot.
"Kumabama, I'm home! Want to share a few doughnuts?" The cheerful nation made his way to the kitchen, stopping mid-step when his eyes locked on to the scene in front of him.
Never in a million years would he have expected to find his brother and former guardian in his kitchen, cornered by Kumajiro. That's if you want to call what he was seeing cornered. Because they weren't exactly in a corner.
"What... the actual fuck... is going on here? Eh?" All Canada could do was stare. He didn't know whether he should laugh or not.
America was hugged up to the ceiling fan over the table sobbing for his mommy, the bolts used to hold it to the ceiling creaking ominously.
"Mommy" had somehow wedged himself between the top of the china cabinet and the ceiling, whispering prayers in old English for someone up there to save his limey ass from rabid fluff on the floor.
Both nations looked like they had been worked over by Sharkeshia and a wood chipper.
Kumajiro sat between the two on the floor, fur bushed out, emitting a steady stream of growls.
He looked kind of pissed off, buddy.
Looking around, he spied his cake dome and it's severe lack of doughnuts.
"HEY! WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY HIGH PRICED MUNCHIES?!"
He then took in the high-grade camo the other two wore. Add that to the still-open back door, the lack of doughnuts, the other two's ass beaten appearance, and his pissed off guard dog..er, bear, and he easily figured out what was up.
He was about to launch into an extremely passive-aggressive lecture of why stealing was wrong and what he should do to them when a light bulb went off in his head. It took a moment, but he got there.
Smoking that whacky weed will do that to you, ya know.
He looked down at Kumajuku. "Hey, you know what this means, right?"
The bear looked up at his master. "We're grilling out tonight?"
"Hmm, maybe. But first..." Canada whipped out his phone. "Time to steal the spotlight, heh heh."
Ol' Canuckie-nookie took his sweet time taking pictures of his uninvited guests, prompting the bear to lunge and swipe at the two so he could get as many priceless shots as he could. Kodak would have been so proud of him, if they even mattered anymore.
The pictures quickly found their way onto various social media sites for the world to enjoy as well. For a moment, Canada would enjoy some recognition via internet stardom. And boy howdy, he was going to enjoy it.
That evening, nations all over could be found howling with mirth at the sight of the world's superpower and the usually dignified Englishman being hemmed up by a adorable and venomous ball of cute.
Prussia even pissed himself a bit.
But it was an awesome bit, okay?
Okay.
End.