Author's Notes: Written for this prompt on hetalia_kink: After seeing this picture (.), I wanted to request some yandere!Korea, but now I'd rather see any (unexpected) country go yandere or just plain possessive. And by unexpected, I mean anyone other than Russia, Belarus and Latvia. Maybe Poland, Spain, France, or god forbid, North Italy. But Korea's still an option of course. This fic is kind of gratuitously historical and at the same time probably kind of historically inaccurate. Further historical notes will be at the end, but basically - Australia did not really want its independence; Britain kind of made it go away, and this is the premise. Additional historical notes are down the bottom.
The year is 1901. The documents are signed; the people have their own name now. Australia finds he can't stop holding England's hand, but he's hardly gonna draw attention to it, is he?
"So, Commonwealth, huh?" he says, squeezing the hand a little tighter. "Feels... nice, I guess. Weird."
"Indeed," says England, his hand pulling back slightly. Australia grips tighter without thinking about it. "But you already have a measure of independence about you; you've never been good with authority figures..."
Australia frowns. "I'm not gonna just abandon you like... I actually appreciate what you've done for me 'n all."
"You're not America. I know that."
You made me five bloody years after that bastard through his hissy fit; not another America my arse. "But you're not gonna just run out on me either, right? I'm making you fuckin' pamper me, mate."
"You still need me," England says with that calm smirk of his. Australia finds he can't be pissed off about it – he does need the old bastard. "I wouldn't expect you to admit that."
"A great man 'fesses up to his faults," he says. "Seriously though – nothing's really gonna change, right? We've still got old George; you're still doing all the defense shit for me; you can screw with any of my legal stuff if I fuck it up – really, you could bugger me senseless if you wanted to, right Artie?"
Australia grins, but England looks distinctly uncomfortable. "You shouldn't talk like that, you realize?" he says. "I am still your father. Legally, in any case."
England shrugs and snorts. "Cheer up old man. You know me; can't take a fucking thing seriously."
"I know," says England. He's quiet now, and his palm feels tense and sweaty. "You can let go of my hand now."
"I could, but I don't wanna."
How the fuck did his land wind up full o' Chinese?
Right. Bloody gold rush. Not that he minds the gold – it's fucking gold – but he wishes those damn orientals had their own thing to want or something. He's not a chinaman.
He stops anymore coming in, but that only does him so much good. He wants to keep his country fucking white. British. He's England's boy through and through; he just wants to stay that way. He doesn't need fucking aliens screwing it up.
So he stops them. Says it plain and clear – slide past the paper bag, come back where you came from. He feels good and strong and English. But with less rain.
And fucking England himself doesn't get it.
"I need you to change this," he says with that serious look of his. "I have colonies in India and Japan is our ally – Do you want to offend them? I need this changed."
And of course, Bruce could never deny him anything. He cuts the wording out, technically letting chinks and niggers and wogs and whatnot in – but he has to get around it. It's not that hard – no-one can speak every language in Europe; that Kitsch bloke came damn close, but Australia managed it in the end. He could bloody kiss Scotland for that.
A Chinese sheila looks at him scornfully after he knocks her back; she'd actually learnt her English, but not her Dutch. "Why do you do this?" she asks. "Why not have equality of man?"
Australia snorts. "Love, equality of man didn't mean between the Englishman and the Chinaman." He's an Englishman, through and through. "Now get the fuck out of my country."
England actually seems surprised to see him. "Australia? When did you become part of the war?"
"When you did," he says casually. "I mean, I am the bloody British Empire – I go where you go, right?"
England still appears a bit confused. "...Alright," he says. "But did you ever even make a declaration?"
Australia shrugs. "Nah. You know me mate; ain't much for fancy speeches. I'll just follow your lead and bob's your uncle. Promise. I mean, don't you want all the men you can?"
"...Yes," England says. "Thank you."
"Beauty." He claps England on the shoulder. "Ain't gonna just abandon ya."
"You fucking abandoned me," Aus groans, beer in his hand. He's not looking at England now, because if he did he'd probably smash his bottle in Iggy's fucking face and...
"It's war. There are casualties," Arthur says stiffly. Bruce is going to smash his bottle in the guy's fucking face.
"You used me."
"You offered yourself to be used."
"Australia, when you say that I actually have no idea what your emotions towards me are."
And he's up off the floor, pinning England against the wall and waving a broken bottle in his face. There's beer on the wall and it will have to be cleaned up. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You betrayed me; now fucking act like–"
"I know, Australia, please calm down." He fucking doesn't, but he – pauses. "I'm sorry. I know how this feels for you."
"Fuck you," Australia spits at him. "Your – your fucking generals, who think they know what to fucking do, but then my men are dying and – I did it for you, you bastard! Everything I fucking do is for you!"
And they're kissing; hard and rough Australia has his mouth up against England's and their bodies pressed together, and cold, he's – cold. Ish. That damn English weather, he guesses? It makes him feel better, safer, because – it's England. He loves England; would do fucking anything for him, because – it's what he does. There's no point to him without England. England got his men killed and Australia fucking hates it and he would do it again in a heartbeat because England. England England England. He bites through his motherland's lip and he tastes himself in the blood; yeah, that's right, this is where he belongs.
Okay, maybe he does realize England isn't kissing him back. But he'll deal with it later. For now, he needs to be close to the man, and – he can be selfish, right?
"What the fuck?" Arthur snaps, pushing him away. Blood oozes down his lip. Australia just leans back in, trying to get another taste of – what he is. England is. One and the same, really.
And Arthur pushes still, like he doesn't get it. "What is wrong with you – have you completely lost your sodding mind?"
"I love you," he says, because – doesn't England get it? "Always fucking will. And you owe me for that."
"Australia, stop–" but Bruce completely fucking ignores him, because he needs this, he deserves this. England'll see that some day. "You're scaring me."
That stops him. Because – he wants to hurt England, but at the same time it tears him apart. Because he is England, after all. "Why? I know you love me back. Don't you?" You've got to fucking love me like you loved America; it's not fair if you don't love me like you loved America...
"...Yes, but not like – you can't touch me like that; Bruce, mate–"
Mate. That was England's word until it was his; the cockneys and all that, the – that's what Australia is, really. England stripped of everything that makes him a nasty bugger. And Australia needs to be whole; it's like – like a calling.
"Shuddup," he says, finger over Arthur's lips. "Just lemme–"
But Arthur shoves him away, snarling "I won't let you do anything." There's a pause where Australia wonders what the fuck he's going to do now, because...
Arthur sighs. "Come on, Bruce. You're – drunk and upset, and just... go to bed?"
"Go with me?" And he laughs at Arthur's look; not even just a glare, but something like – he's scared. "Stuffy old bastard," he chuckles to himself.
England seems a little more composed now. "You sound like Alfred," he mumbles.
Something white and hot, burning–
He slams England back and brandishes the broken bottle in his face, almost fucking screaming "I'm not fucking America, you son of a bitch; I wouldn't leave you, you arsehole; I fucking love you I fucking am you!"
"Bloody Jesus fucking Christ–"
"Say it, England!"
"You're not bloody America! You're better! Holy fuck..."
...And it all seems out of Australia; England just tells him and he's okay again. "Damn right," he says, bottle dropping to the floor and him dropping into England's arms, head against his shoulder. "I – I fucking hate you right now; I..."
"I know," says England, quiet and hurt – Australia thinks he's ashamed. Good. "I would completely understand if you never wanted to see me again."
"Wouldn't fucking leave. Need you." He's starting to fall asleep on England's shoulder, like – like he's a kid again.
He wakes up to green eyes watching over him. "...You still here?"
Arthur shuffles on the spot. "I could hardly leave you with a hangover that would cause a natural disaster, could I? You have enough of those as is."
He didn't leave. Bruce pushes himself up into a sitting position. "Thanks mate," he says, wincing as the light hits his eyes. "Goddamnit, why do I live in a country with so much fucking sun?"
"It was the best place we could find," says England. "Besides, you have always been proud of the climate here."
"That was when I was sober."
"...Have you ever been sober?"
There's an easy silence, and – Bruce can't believe how quickly he's been forgiven. England cares for him, but... "Er... 'bout last night; I pretty much lost my head, huh?"
England stiffens and looks away. "You could say that."
"Sorry mate. You know how I get when I drink."
"You were upset," England says, but he still won't meet Australia's eyes.
"Hey." He grabs England by the wrist, forcing the man to look at him (and ignoring the look he gets). "I'm still – I'll be there when you need me, okay mate? I mean, you're an arsehole... but I'm your empire and everything. Always be there."
The silence this time isn't easy, and Arthur still looks – he's frightened. Fucking hell, why can't he just get it? He knows he was nuts yesterday, but he meant what he said – he loves England; would do anything for him.
"...Indeed," says Arthur, quiet and cautious. "Could you please let go of my wrist?"
Bruce does it this time, falling back in bed with a sigh.
"But nothing's going to change, right?"
England sighs, brushing his hand away. "Australia, this conference means that you are autonomous within the Empire; free and equal, willingly associated with us all..."
"Well, yeah. You could never handle me. And like I'd stick around if I didn't want to." Why would I ever want to leave? "...But seriously though, mate – this is just names and shit, right? Nothing's really changed."
And Arthur sighs sadly, gently running a hand through Australia's hair. "I still have all sorts of power over you," he muses. "It's must be rather scary."
I trust you. "You're an empire, mate; having power over us all is kind of the whole bloody point."
England laughs, sharp and brisk. "Yes. Well..." he looks thoughtful again, staring off into the distance. "You could leave if you wanted to."
"Nah. What would you do without me?"
And maybe he notices England's flinch, but he ignores it under but I'll never want to leave.
He resists the legislation to start, but – England tells him to, and of course Australia can never defy him like that.
"You're leaving me," he says though, even while going through the paperwork.
"No I am not," snaps Arthur, clearly annoyed with him. "I am simply giving you independence. You do need to become your own nation someday."
"Because I am not invincible," Arthur says. "You and I – I cannot simply take care of you forever. My empire is not what it was. I am losing territory and I know it; the peoples of my lands – they are not always so eager to be completely under the thumb of the Englishman."
"But I am," says Australia – doesn't England get it. "I'm you but with warmth, remember? You can't just leave me, mate."
"I am not leaving you; dear god you cling!" Arthur runs his hair through his hands in frustration, but Australia doesn't mind – it shows he's getting to England. And if he's getting to England, he might just have a chance. There's a sigh. "...Look, you are still part of the British Commonwealth–"
"But not the Empire."
"No. But I still do have some power... I can still make laws for you. I just need you to ask for it, and agree with my decisions."
What wouldn't I agree to? thinks Australia, but he doesn't say it out loud. "I still don't understand why you're doing this."
England sighs and rises from his seat. "Because I need to change."
"No you don't. You're bloody perfect, you fucking cliche."
England looks away. "Australia – you need to change too," he says. "Didn't you see that after the war? – You are not just me with sun. You have your own country and people to be proud of.
But it's your country; your people. "I did that for you."
"And it wasn't a good idea. But you came back with heroes to be proud of." There's a pause. "Australia, you are my son and I shall always love you. But the status quo cannot continue."
England leans in and kisses him on the forehead. It is warm and comforting, and for a second Australia loses himself – he can just stay with England, warm and protected like this. Like he has always been.
But England pulls back and takes it away, the bastard.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" he says and he heads for the door. Australia panics.
"But what if I can't, huh? What if I make a mistake?"
England looks back at him. "Then you shall simply have to fix it."
He exits with a slam of the door, and Australia – he's not going to cry. But fuck, it hurts. He's alone.
England doesn't need him, after all. Not like he needs England.
"I need you."
Australia blinks. "...The Great British Empire needs my troops?" It doesn't seem possible.
"Commonwealth, now. And I just need... troops." There's a pause. "We need to win."
Australia sighs – maybe he shouldn't; he was scared of Japan even before this whole war thing started, but... England needs him, and what could possibly matter more than that?
"Of course," he says. "Whatever you need."
He drags the child away by the ear, as she wails and he can hear her mother sobbing in the background; her cousins screaming. Goddammit, why can't they all just make this simple?
"C'mon," he grunts, tugging her along. She sobs and yells and tries to run back to her mother – the fucking girl doesn't know what's good for her.
"Come. On." He pushes her into the car, still crying her eyes out. "Stop fucking crying. I'm trying to help you, you know."
She can't understand a word he says, of course. Those mongrels didn't let her learn a word of English.
"Shut up," he snarls at her anyway, gesturing wildly with her hands. "Those fucking – people like that can't take care of you! You're half fucking white! You should become white; your kids and grandkids should after awhile anyway. C'mon, I'm trying to help you. Don't you want a better life?"
He thinks of England, you brought him her and made him into this man. Who made him a white nation, and English nation. And isn't he better for it? He thinks so. He has a culture, he has – he has England in his history, supporting him. He wants to share that with children who can have it – the half-castes who got fucking stolen by those dark sides of the family. He's helping them. Saving them.
"Come on. I promise, you'll be happy." How could they not be happy English?
"Australia? What are you doing here?"
Australia shrugs and walks towards him. "I wanted to see you."
England appears uncomfortable. "This is my room. How did you even get in?"
"Mate, I'm a country that came from your bloody criminals; you think I can't pick a damn lock?" he says. "Come on. Come give me a hug, you bastard."
England does so, arms around him. "Is there something wrong?" he asks. Australia can't help but like it when England is concerned about him like that.
"Nah. Relax, worrywart." Although really he's still shit-scared of Japan invading and all that, but he's not going to bring it up.
England pulls back. "Then... why are you here? And breaking in for it?"
"I. Wanted. To. See. You. Already said that," Australia says, sitting down in the closest chair. "Say, got beer?"
"You and your bloody beer," Arthur says, and then he walks out.
"Where do you think your going?"
"To get you your beer?"
"...Oh." Australia thinks this over. "Yeah, that wasn't one o' my brightest moments, was it?"
"Not really." England passes him the beer. "But neither was breaking into my house just because you're bored, so maybe you're just not doing well today overall."
Australia frowns. "Sort of sound like you ain't happy to see me, mate." He means it to come out cheerful, but something happens and it's almost – threatening. Well, fuck.
England looks kind of uncomfortable. "I didn't say that," he says. "You just took me by surprise."
Bruce shrugs as he takes another gulp of his beer. "Well, I ain't one for following the rules."
"So... how are you? War n' all that."
England sighs. "War is war. What do you expect?"
Australia nods. "True," he says. He drinks more beer. "And how are my boys? You not getting them all killed?"
"Not all of them," says England stiffly. "There are casualties."
"I know. Fuck it hurts when I feel them..."
"Of course it hurts. They are your people and they're dying." England looks kind of uncomfortable again. "I should truly be more grateful, that you let me..."
"I'm still part of the British Empire, mate. Ain't nothing I wouldn't let you have."
"It's not an empire anymore, Bruce."
"It is to me."
England sighs sadly, like he does when Australia's said something that's screwing with his head. "You need to stop this," he mutters.
"...You realize you are obsessed with me?" asks England. "You follow me. You do whatever I say. You try your hardest to make your country as much like me as possible, no matter what it takes. This isn't okay."
Australia's not happy. He has done everything to show how he feels about England, and this is... "Hey. You. You're the British Empire. You made me. And... what? Am I meant to just forget about that?"
"No. But I cannot make you now. You have to be your own country," England implores him, like–
"No!" Australia shouts, because he needs England to understand. "I need you. I have always needed you. I'm – I'm the southern outpost of the British Empire, remember? My whole fucking point. I love you so much, you ungrateful piece of shit; why can't you just let me–"
"Because there are people there. People in your land suffering and dying because you're obsessed with being my lapdog. Well, I refuse."
"Fuck you!" and he stands up again, spinning England around and slamming him up against the wall.
"Shut the fuck up. You self-righteous son of a bitch, you're always..." and he leans in, kissing along England's bare neck. He has one wrist in each hand, and his skin is so cool to the touch – sea and wind and rain, and Australia's hot, painfully so like a bushfire about to break out, and he needs to cool down so he presses against England's cold skin, and he just wants to feel safe and calm like he always did when he was England's little runt.
"Australia, stop," says England, but Australia fucking ignores him because he needs England and he's not losing him to anyone, not even England himself.
"Love you," he mutters, sucking on the skin so he can leave a hickey – just some sort of mark, showing how much he matters to England. "Love you so fucking much, Arthur; you can't stop me–"
"No! Christ, you're bloody insane!" calls out Arthur as he struggles, and Australia moves his mouth up, trying to kiss him.
"C'mon, you old bastard," he mutters as Arthur's head twists and turns, arching his mouth away. "Kiss me. Fuckin' need you. Fucking am you, remember? British to my bootstraps, me."
England manages to break from his grasp, pushing Australia away. For a second, Australia lets himself think England might come down there and do him right on the floor – fuck yes finally. Of course, it doesn't happen.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" shouts England, voice creaky and sore like – like he has the right to be hurt.
Australia just laughs. "I'm the bloody British Empire mate; what's wrong with me is what's wrong with you. C'mon, come down here and kiss me."
"No. You are fucking insane, and we don't – we shouldn't need each other like you say. Why can't you understand that?"
"You need my troops just fine," says Australia.
England goes white.
"...You wouldn't... are you trying to threaten me? Take them away? You couldn't even..."
"I wouldn't do that. Do you think that little of me?" Australia says as he pushes himself off the floor. England seems confused. "Just sayin' – you can pretend you ain't who you were as much as you like. But you're not going to let all that power go any time soon."
England hesitates, and Australia takes advantage to give him a rough, dry, searing kiss. "You don't deserve the way I feel about you," he says. "But you got it anyway."
He starts heading for the door, pain in his arse – he did land on it, after all – and smile on his face. Because he needs England and England needs him.
Australia was federated in 1901, 26th of January. We became known as the Commonwealth of Australia. This is when we are officially regarded to have become a nation (or at least, that's when Australia Day is). However, the UK was still in charge of our defence and foreign relations.
The White Australia policy was one of the first policies Australia instituted, essentially to make the entire country white and British and discourage other migration. The original version of Australian migration policy explicitly forbid non-white immigrants; however, England feared upsetting its Indian colonies and Japanese allies, and told us to change it. The dictation test was introduced; a test that involved potential immigrants having to copy out a passage of text in any European language - not necessarily English. This was used as a method of excluding non-white immigrants without explicitly saying so. Ergon Kisch, a Jewish immigrant exiled from Germany, was given the test many times as he was fluent in many, many languages. Eventually, he failed the test when it was given in Scots Gaelic. "The doctrine of the equality of man was never intended to apply to the equality of the Englishman and the Chinaman," is an actual quote from Australia's first prime minister, Edmund Barton.
Australia never formally issued a declaration of war before entering WWI; it was taken for granted that, as Britain was at war, so were we.
The Battle of Gallipoli was a crushing defeat for ANZAC (Australian and New Zealander) forces, largely due to the incompetend British commanders. There was a great sense in betrayal in Australia after that, but we went with Britain in to WWII and gave them our troops anyway.
The Imperial Conference of 1926 recognised that 'self-governing communities comprised of Great Britain and the dominions' were 'autonomous ... within the British Empire, equal in status, in no way subordinate to another in any aspect of their domestic or external affairs ...'. Subsequently, in 1931 the Stature of Westminster implemented restrictions on Britain's power to enact legislation outside its territory, the overriding force of existing British law, further British legislation, unless requested by, and consented to, in Australia. However, Britain could still legislate for the Commonwealth, though only following the Commonwealth's 'request and consent' for it to do so. Australia resisted the implementation of this legislation.
We went to war with Germany and everyone in WWII, and gave Britain out troops for that fight. Later, that became a problem after we came under attack from Japan and Britain wouldn't give our troops back, but that's not really relevant.
Another part of the White Australia policy was the Stolen Generation - part aboriginal, part white children living with aboriginal family were taken away by the government, allegedly "protecting" them, and immersed placed in 'white' living conditions to make them grow up in European Australian culture. Most of these children became wards of the state, and many were mistreated and abused in the new living situations.