Hetalia - Songfics, Diary Entries, Oneshots & More! | Taking Requests~

The History In Nicknames | Part I

I'd love if you made requests, but I have a few guidelines.

-I rarely do smut, so pick a pairing that's easy to write about.

-No offense, but I don't like either AusHun or PruHun. Why? Because my Austria OTP is AusSwiss, and my Prussia OTP is PruRus or PruMano.

Anyway, take this! A nice little nickname fanfic!

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America asks everybody to write down a list of nicknames so they can bond closer in person. Some interesting (and weird) nicknames are written and America asks them to explain how they got them.

There are many things they don't know.

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"Okay, dudes!" America said happily as he threw paper in everybody's face. "So that we can bond more as the G... Whatever number, I want you all to write nicknames you've been called."

He then placed a jar of pencils in the middle of the table and got to work writing his. For the next 20 minutes, all you heard was pencil scratching and a few people whispering to themselves. They finished, and didn't know what to do.

"I want you to swap your paper with the person in front of you!" America explained, and literally walked on the table to reach the other person on the other end of the table, who was France. America smacked it on his smirking face, and grabbed his. He skipped back, and began reading as the others swapped.

'Secousse, Frog, Bizarre, Petale De Rosa, Big brother, Secousse, Imbecile... He keeps on repeating Secousse, which means jerk!' America thought as he read.

Switzerland swapped with Italy.

'Amore molesto, Douchebag, Tireur, Frere Grincheux, Bicho Raro, El pistolero loco. Why are these French and Spanish?' Italy thought.

'Feli, Feliciano, Ita, Italy, Italiano, Idiota fratello, Just normal stuff we call him every day.' Switzerland said in his bored mind.

"Hey, France?" America walked up to France and asked him. "Si? Eh, I meant Oui..." France said in Spanish, distracted by what he was reading. "Dude, why do you keep repeating Secousse? How is it that 'jerk' is your nickname?"

France smirked. "I see, you know a bit of French. Good." He complimented (?), still distracted. "See, my mother, Gaul, made amore with Rome, so I'm Italy's half-brother. I'm also Switzerland's half-brother, and we used to live in one house. Needless to say, Vash's nickname for me was Seccouse, jerk. Summers were fun, but I guess that nickname just stuck with me. After all, Vash rarely spends time with me anymore, nor do the rest of my half-siblings." He explained.

America blinked his eyes a few times, letting that info sink in. And once he fully grasped what France just said, he yelled, jumping in shock. "Why have I never known about that?! You, the country of love and sappiness, is brothers with that neutral gun-loving cheapskate!?" Switzerland heard that, and may or may not got out his gun and pointed it at the Frenchman, who's forehead was littered with beads of sweat.

"Secousse. You swore you'd never tell. Either I shoot myself, or I shoot you." He stated plainly, holding tightly the paper with Italy's nicknames. Others watched with shocked or amused faces, not saying a word. France ran for the hills. And Switzerland ran after him. They ran of to the beach right in front of America's house, where this informal meeting was held. You could hear distant screaming, but it wasn't what you expected.

"H-Hey! You would have told too!"

"Imbecile! Stop moving so I can land a headshot!"

"Fine, kill me!"

Silence, before Switzerland yelled again, voice a little more emotional.

"Secousse! Your just the same as you were before!"

"Uh-huh. Where's the headshot?!"

"Jerk, Idiota, Bastard! I hate it when you think I'll actually kill you!"
"Y-You won't?"

"Of course not, imbecile! Why do you keep believing that, Abruti! Jerk d'un frere!"

"Seltsamer Bruder! You scared me!"

"Das musstest du nicht glauben!"

"Je te deteste!"

"Ich hasse dich mehr!"

"Idiot, Je t'aime!"

"Ihr Verwirrend!"

"Aber du liebst mich, fröhlich!"

Suddenly, loud laughing was heard, as in the kind when you realize how idiotic your fight was with your friend. In this case, your half-brother. Belgium smiled. "They never change." Most of them looked at her, confused. She chuckled, explaining further.

"Switzerland always tested him before. Every time, France would chose for Vash to kill him, not himself. Before, Switzerland was more emotional. He'd break down in tears and curse at France for saying that. Francis, in turn, would cook Rosti, Vash's favorite dish and Vash would calm down. We had our other relatives with us too, like Spain, Austria, the annoying Prussia, Italy -both brothers- and Germany sometimes stayed with us. One big happy family, of mixed heritage. That's what we were before."

Others fainted at the idea of Switzerland crying, and the fact that he would get along with France. They came back, quite, but still smiling. Veneziano spoke up, jumping up and down.

"I have a question, ve~! I think I'm correct but, I'm probably wrong~. So your mixed family was made up of... France, Luxembourg, Belgium, Switzerland, Me and Romano, Netherlands, Germany, Prussia, Austria and Spain! Am I correct?" He asked innocently.

"Did he actually say something smart?" America asked, breaking the shocked silence.

Romano hit him with a tree branch. "Idiota! Feli is smart, even if he's ditzy, stupid, foolish, etcetera!"

Liechtenstein raised her hand, and Germany nodded to her. She smiled, clearing her throat. "I have a question too. I swapped papers with Mr. Austria, and there are some things I need explaining to. First, why is it that he has a nickname in Luxembourgish. More importantly, it means 'The Pianist I Hate.' Please explain, Mr. Austria."

Luxembourg gulped.

Austria looked away.

Belgium laughed maniacally.

What's the explanation, boys?

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Part II coming soon! Probably by next Sunday EST time!