Hetalia oneshots

deal with all my drafts 🌈🌏

Germany's so-called "erogenous zone" wasn't something he liked to draw attention to. He knew from being around the other nations that having one was unique to the personifications' existence; no human being had such a thing. This troubled him; it was important to keep such obvious identity markers hidden for his overall welfare. Since the nature of one was that it was so sensitive, it would be pretty much akin to leaving his whole head exposed in the grueling reality of battle. Something like that Germany couldn't very well trust in the open. So he gelled his hair down every morning; routinely, without fail. The nation even went so far as to keep a small bottle of the stuff on him at all times, in case of an unexpected wet dunking. (With Italy constantly around, this happened to him more often than Germany thought possible.) It was control bordering on obsessiveness, but he didn't care.

Germany could even vaguely recall devoting such care to this matter in a time before hair gels and the like were even invented. In his history he had slathered quite a fair amount of bear grease into his hair to keep it as tame as possible. Before that... Well, Germany never really remembered his earliest years that well, to be honest. Hadn't he worn some sort of largish hat to cover it...?

Either way, it became the necessary norm of his daily routine. Later on, he noticed that the overall accumulation of gel in his hair was enough to force it down completely, even at night when the surface layer had been combed out. This was all well and good; for it simply made his life easier sporting a plain gelled crew cut instead of a messier hairstyle. (Germany quite frankly had no idea how France could stand such frivolity.)

But sometimes, late at night when he was still lying wide awake and Italy somehow sleeping beside him, Germany would tug out the little offending curl and smile softly at the irony. For his erogenous zone was shaped and curled exactly the same as Italy's.

~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~

It was a generally well-known fact that England had always prided himself on his exceptionally large eyebrows. No matter how much teasing or insulting advice he got, he never bothered to change the way they looked, despite sporting the odd style for over a millennium. Besides, he preferred to meet those snide comments with his own sharp comebacks in turn. This was a rather common occurrence with the likes of France. By then, the usual jibes would end up being replaced by the harsher (but no less immature) acts of face-slapping or hair-pulling. Many a World Meeting had been disrupted by such an argument breaking out in the process, much to the annoyance of the other countries. It was a dependable tradition, if not a very civilized one, and one that England didn't mind continuing in the least. (Well, somebody had to keep that frog in line.)

But what England had never bothered to mention to anyone (other than his brothers, who had the same,) was that his bushy eyebrows were, in fact, his fabled "erogenous zone." Everyone knew it indicated a particularly sensitive part of their country, but for the life of him England couldn't figure out what it was. His awesome six-string guitar tattoo, on the other hand, he knew it represented Liverpool and England's world-famous rock 'n' roll industry in that era.

Of course, his erogenous zone wasn't made up of all his eyebrows. England still trimmed them every morning, trying to tame them into relative submission. This was opposed to his brother Scotland, who let them grow to almost absurdly large levels. (England liked to think he had more class than that.) Every once in a while he would get a comment that stuck a bit, but he would chuckle inwardly and ignore their taunts; for they remained harmless and no big deal to his life.

One thing he remained infinitely grateful for was that France has yet to figure out where his erogenous zone really was. That flamboyant frog had been bugging, groping and annoying him for centuries to try and find out where it was, and still didn't realize that "those fuzzy caterpillars" were his goal all along. Quite frankly, England preferred to let the frog have his fun; rather than to spoil a perfectly good joke that's been going on for centuries. It was more entertaining that way.