I wrote this fanfic for my own literary enjoyment and wish to share it with other APH fans. The chapters I post here are not to be taken seriously and I apologize if I offend anyone. Also, I do not support or condone any of the themes I use here. Thank you.
MAJOR WARNING: dark themes (blood, gore, violence, death, cannibalism, etc); implied rape and necrophilia; explicit language and sex scenes; inaccurate historical references; slight OOC; NSFW & R-18
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the APH characters or the franchise; Axis Powers Hetalia rightfully belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.
~ Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité ~
~ Liberty, Equality, Fraternity ~
He observes with unrestrained and vicious glee as his guards drag yet another poor victim up the platform. Revolution surges through his veins, eradicating the remaining innocence from his body. The populace screams for blood, for change, and he delivers. He can never deny his people the proof of his love for them.
The nation happily listens to the condemned man shout while he is strapped down, pleading and crying. Despite the frigid weather coiling around him, his body heats up at the prospect of seeing the prisoner's head roll to his feet. What a sight that will be! The look of fright eternally frozen on their pale faces sends shivers down his spine. Oh how he loves to gaze into those glassy oculars and see nothing but death and emptiness stare back. Sometimes he would kiss their chapped lips for the sake of his own enjoyment, sparking a perverse lust in his loins. If the deceased are women, he would take their cooling bodies, strip them, and just run his hands over the once supple tissue until bored; he even went as far as raping them. No one dare question his motives out of fear of a beheading; being a nation certainly has its upside.
Prostitutes are his finest quarry. He often visits the prisons before scheduled showings, sniffing out the most desirable ones and promises them freedom in exchange for sex. He whispers little lies in their ears as he savagely takes them on their cell's floor. Once morning comes, he vanishes before first light, taking his silver-tongued words with him. The nation even has the gall to laugh as he sees the confused and terrified expressions the women get when they find him standing on the platform, waiting to drop the blade upon their necks. The mouths that had moaned and pleasured his body spit vulgarities at him until Madame Guillotine's sharp sting curses them with everlasting silence.
A loud thunk of metal meeting wood brings the nation's attention back to the public execution. The crowds around him cheer, easily sedating their thirst for blood for the day. He looks down at the head lumbering off the platform and toward his feet.
France bends down and picks up the offending body part by its greased hair. Pity it was a man this time. Maybe he should ask the tribunal to choose a woman next. It has been a while since his last romp.