A/N: First story! Warning—past mpreg, cross-dressing (because I want to), and yaoi. No gender bending here! The uke nations just have an uncanny ability to look like girls without people suspecting them to be guys. That's why I'm referring to them as 'her' for now, since their kids don't know yet.
Blame all mistranslations on Babylon 8. Heheh.
And I am only writing for fun, so please don't bombard me with 'That's so OOC!11111"
They're OOC because they are fanservice for me…yep.
Disclaimer: I don't Hetalia.
Their private meeting had begun with an unusual start: for instance, Germany wasn't yelling his lungs out, and England and France weren't beating each other senseless. America was not glaring at Russia and Russia had long stopped terrorizing random people. There were only France, England, Italy, Romano, Spain, Russia, America, and Germany in the room.
It was uncomfortably quiet…
The other difference was that the meeting chairs were all replaced by plushy couches in which several nations were lounging on.
Italy had his head tucked under Germany's chin, and America had curled next to Russia in a fetal position. France had his arm around England who didn't utter a single obscenity. Spain held Romano carefully, as if he might break if pressed upon too hard.
"Is this the only option?" England quietly asked. Several heads turned to look at Germany, whose face was set like stone.
"It is the wisest choice. We've all talked to our bosses about this," Germany confirmed. England nodded. "We can't put our identities at risk. We will separate and not have contact with each other until our children are old enough to know about this."
"And when will that be, mon ami?"
"Until they are in high school. That is the time that they will have to make the choice of whether they will stay human or become one of us."
"How are we going to bloody separate? We're nations. We can't just move countries apart."
"As countries we can't. But as our human selves, we can."
"So let me get this straight." America coughed. "You want us to live like humans, get regular jobs, and build our family."
Italy jumped in. "And to make it seem normal-er, Ludwig decided to make all the expecting nations dress like girls, ve~! But I already do that, so I guess it doesn't apply to me."
Ludwig clapped his hands over Italy's mouth and blushed.
England had to push France off him, for the latter had jumped him and was imagining England in a miniskirt. Spain got a heavy nosebleed while using his pedo-vision to see his Romano in Ita-chan's old maid uniform. Russia…he tried to look away from America, for his lover was glaring at him as a warning; ever since America had gotten pregnant, his McDonalds intake had been drastically lowered (for his standards, which still amounted to three burgers a day), and he was prone to beat up anyone who got him pissed, even the Russian monster of the world.
But eventually the chorus died down to grumblings of agreement, since the idea does seem to make some sense. After all, the nations could, in fact, look like girls if they wanted t—WAIT, scratch that!
Italy sighed and removed the hand pressed to his mouth. "Ludwig…you're telling us to not see each other for fourteen years at least. What will Romano do without me, ve~"
"I can manage well enough without you, bastardo!" But even Romano felt his eyes stinging.
"This is going to be our last meeting for now. Unless our bosses order us to have contact, we will do so, but not face to face." Germany paused. "We will live like our people so as to not arouse suspicion. And our children will not know a thing about this until they are of age…"
"If the humans were to know about us, it would be a complete disaster, da? Our ребенок will not live a normal life either. We will try to live as normally as possible. But they will have to know someday. What will we do then, on that next world meeting?"
America shifted a bit. He tried not to make sudden outbursts nowadays, just in case he'd have to make a run for the toilet. Throwing up not just in the morning, but at random times, was really starting to irk him. It's like he lived in the bathroom, with Tony watching him puke and Russia rubbing his back. God, he'd even given up McDonalds. He was getting cranky.
"We can have the meeting at my place," America offered. "But I think I'm going to stay at Ivan's house just a little while longer." England rolled his eyes, but Germany smiled slightly.
"What is it, Feliciano?"
"I got a great idea for the name! We can name her Aloisa."
Romano groaned. "You are not giving the kid a potato name!"
"How do you know that it's going to be a girl, Ita-chan?" Italy giggled.
"Mama's intuition." He slowly got up. "Fourteen years isn't really long…we've already been through centuries anyways. These years will pass like fourteen seconds!"
Italy turned to leave, but as if deciding on the last minute, he whipped around and hugged Romano fiercely. "See you soon, fratello."
"And that's all I remember, Mama," Felicita finished. "Really, what's so special about this one that you needed to hear it twice?"
Her mama's mouth was open and she could see unchewed tomato chunks and omelet in her mouth. Her papa turned around from the stove with a bewildered expression.
"Nothing," Lovino said lamely. "What a vivid imagination my bambina has!" she said to Antonio, who grinned.
Lovino had been trying to tone her cussing down to a minimum ever Felicita entered school. No, it wouldn't do to have phone calls everyday from the teacher about the interesting vocabulary she'd picked up from her Mama. But hell, Felicita swore on a daily basis at school now, listening to all those late-night conversations (it's not what you think!) her Mama had with her Papa.
"Alright, Feli-chan, let's get you to school before you get a late pass. Don't want to start off the first day of high school like that, would we?" Antonio opened the door and kissed goodbye to his wife. Lovino blushed heavily and shoved (more like smacked) Antonio away.
Felicita shuffled slowly out of the door.
"Papa, but I don't want to go to school! There's this mean bitc—I mean girl, who's always picking on me! She says I'm ugly and all the boys hate me."
"That's not true, Feli! Dios mio, you are the pride of Italy and Spain!" Felicita rolled her eyes; he used that phrase everyday. "How come I've never heard you say anything about it bef—"
But before Antonio could say more, Lovino whacked the poor door open and it sent Antonio flying off.
"WHO'S BEEN BULLYING MY DAUGHTER?" Her red dress fluttered faintly and her face seemed close to bursting. "I'LL CRACK THAT MOTHERFU—"
"That's why, Papa."
Antonio jumped right in from wherever he got thrown to, for the sake of his daughter. "Ahahaha…! Lovi, there's no need to do that, is there? Cracking stuff is really unnecessary in school these days. I'm sure Feli can deal with it on her own, isn't that right? And if she can't, then we'll step in, mm?"
"NO UNDERDEVELOPED BRAT IS GOING TO PICK ON MY—"
"Yes, that's right, Lovi! Now let's go back in the house before all the neighbors come outside again…" Antonio steered his wife back inside, Lovino still steaming and muttering swears under her breath. "Feli, can you walk to school today? Papa thinks that he'll stay with Mama just a little longer today. Just in case she decides to follow you to school with a knife. HAHA..! Ha…ha…" He falters as his mind registers the huge possibility of that happening.
"Vaffanculo Spagna! Lasci andare me!" Felicita heard her Mama shout some more.
"Alright, Papa. See you."
Felicita waved halfheartedly. Her Mama turned from peaceful to murderous in less than 15 seconds. She knew she should've kept it to herself, like she's done in middle school.
Felicita stopped for a moment. What did 'Spagna' mean? This was a new insult. Her Italian was even worse than her Spanish, so most of the time she had no idea what her parents were talking about. Maybe her Mama never used it because it meant something really, really bad. To her it sounded like some special spaghetti dish. She shrugged it off. She had bigger problems to worry about: Angelina was going to throw insults at her again, like she'd done every other day in junior high.
Why does she have to pick on me? She thought. What's wrong with me?
High school was not going to start well.