
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1507064.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Hetalia:_Axis_Powers
  Relationship:
      America_(Hetalia)/England_(Hetalia)
  Character:
      America_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), England_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), France_
      (Hetalia:_Axis_Powers)
  Additional Tags:
      Intersex, USUK_-_Freeform, Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-
      Fantasy, Smut, In_later_chapters_-_Freeform, the_non-con_part_isnt
      francis, its_random_ocs, its_not_really_anything--but_i_wanted_to_be
      sure, and_that_no_one_would_stumble_on_it_and_frown, yknow, anyway,
      Intersex!England
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-22 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1687
****** Luck & Unlock ******
by Al_D_Baran
Summary
     The son of the witch is rumoured to be a monster--in reality, he is
     intersex. Pretended to be the fruit of a curse from stationed
     soldiers from another nation, when the war break out between two
     empires, Arthur must flee from his house. Picked up by a young farmer
     named Alfred, and having to hide who he is, there might be more than
     meets the eye here.
Notes
     I had such a huuuuuuuge scenario planned out for this with multiple
     ideas for what road that could be taken and then... I forgot as I was
     writing the summary. Haha. I suck dont I ? Anyway--yes this will
     probably be UsUk, yet, it will include Francis. And as we all know,
     it's probably gonna turn out to be pretty pro-France too, since I
     love this guy so much. I plan on doing something pretty vanilla aside
     from the obviously epic scenario ahead u wu
See the end of the work for more notes
 
Arthur’s mother had always fiercely hid him. The woman was rumoured by the
villagers to be witch, and that because of her affiliation with the dark, she
had been cursed, leading to deformity on the body of her child. If only anyone
knew they were right ! While it had only happened through bad luck, the
“deformity” as he loved to call it, wasn’t something as bad as they said. While
they would be talking about a third eye, a third arm or simply that he would be
a melon head, this wasn’t nothing so evident—the poor teen was in fact,
stricken with hermaphroditism. Yes, it could be seen right away that Arthur
wasn’t the most large man. Or even with other standards, he was rather small
and lean. At first view, he could be questioned to be a boy or a girl, but his
features were more the ones of an androgynous boy than a girl. For a sheltered
child like he was, he wasn’t even aware he was intersex. All he knew was
himself and his mother, who he looked after. She was beautiful while he was…
well, what he was, a clumsy caricature that didn’t really know of what kind of
human was drawn on the paper. Sometimes he wished to have larger breasts like
she did, and not to have to hide his own under layers of bandages; not like
they would have been seen anyway. And other times he wondered why he had a
penis and that there was another thing between his legs, behind it… But mother
would never answer any questions he had.
One day, a war broke out. The country of Archadia against the Empire of
Haren'dal, and the small, rural country of Viwandyr stuck between the fire of
both, forced to take alliances. Archadia had always been a trading partner. It
would lose the war. Stuck between Charybde and Scylla, they were doomed. Time
were peaceful for a while. Soldiers went around the country. Reaching the
remote, unnamed villaged the witch had chosen to stay to raise her son, they
heard about a monster and a witch. If farmers and fishermen of the village had
other things to do with their days than to care about an enchanteress who
stayed in her home, and would nurse wounds and heal the sick with no other
payment than to leave as soon as they were done, stationned men had nothing to
do. In their towns and the capital, witchcraft that wasn't financed by the
governmnent was punishable by death. Bored, and hearing only good things about
her cleavage and face, and curious about the so-called monster, they waited.
Two men recruited some. Only a handful of them were Archadian; those accepted
to go, as the men of Viwandyr cared little about a witch, as most of them
sympathized with the villagers of such a remote village, understanding they
needed a doctor—or someone to act as such. Archadians descended from
barbarians, and hated magic. The six men who accepted to come were eager.
Sunet came. It was the time now. Febrile, they waited outside, hearing the
woman talk with what seemed to be a child. The brat was young; just a teen. If
he was a boy, his voice wasn't very cracket yet; but for a girl, perhaps that
was a deep voice. Breaking in with a crash, they had only a little bit of time
to witness a small human—or humanoid—run toward another room. The woman seemed
to be a born fighter, and watched them with a snarl. Compared to usally tanned
and blond, exotic, ripped and strong workers of Viwandyr, she was a petite
woman of Haren blood, and her fists balled as she saw them. The black-haired,
dark-skinned men or Archadia. Magic was a thing of distance, and even as the
light seeped from her palms, a soldier tackled her to the ground. Even pinned,
she fought and screamed. In her tongues, evil tongues, she cursed them to have
their first-borns die, their hair fall before Eros would rise again, and their
nails and teeth to begone before the moon would meet their eyes. Unable to
understand, they laughed, and ripped her clothes, exposing her. “Yer a poor
girl, witch. We'll burn ye before your moon god comes to help you, cunt.” They
had to be four to hold her, but they laughed. She never stopped fighting. It
was a dishonour to a Haren to stop fighting before death would come.
Only the sounds came to him. Arthur had hid under the first thing he could
find, hoping no one would see him under the bed, curled on himself as he hoped
they would be gone. He wanted to fight, but Mother had told him not to… what
could he do now ? Would they kill him if Mother couldn’t fight them ? He held
his breath, his whole body shaking as he could hear screams that would haunt
him, powerless as somewhere in his mind, he understood those blood-curling
screams and death-threats would be his last memories of Mother. The Sun seemed
to set slowly, the screams receding to sobs and nothing. The men were laughing.
“Let's see how you fight when you're dead now, bitch.” They laughed again.
Arthur whined, closing his eyes tighter.
“What about the monster ?”
“Does it have a cunt ? Then I don't care.”
“You're limiting yourself. A mouth's a mouth.”
One walked in his room. There was a foul smell, and Arthur closed his eyes,
trying to keep himself from breathing. “So it’s just a kid, right ? Where do
kids hide, Aimeric ?”
Another laughed. “Kids ? Closet. Under the bed. Under the blankets. Anywhere
they fit. But… it’s a monster… same places right ?”
The man in the room scoffed, and opened the closet door with a strong kick.
Arthur couldn’t help himself and yelped, feeing his pants become wet. The shame
and embarassement from such a thing were nothing compared to the fear he felt
when the man turned around, and threw the bed with a single hit, leaving him
defenceless and out in the open. Petrified, the boy couldn’t do anything as he
was pulled up. “This ain’t a monster ! It’s a lil’ girl ! And she’s all wet !”
Wet ? A girl ? Arthur wasn’t a girl, and stayed unmoving in front of the fat,
gigantic man as the held his wrist tightly, and suddenly pulled him against his
foul-smelling, sweat-covered chest, and snaked one hand into his shirt to
fondle him, pulling the bandages away with a scoff. “What’re ye hidin’ there ?
Cute little breasts, uh ? Don't hide from me, c' mon, you lil' bawd !” The
hands were rough, hard and disgusting, and Arthur realized this was /bad/.
Mother had always said to never trust anyone. Men were bad. Men would hurt him.
They would all hurt him.
Panic rising, he cried out, fisting his hands to lunge over the hand, clawing
at it as strongly as he could. This only made the soldier yelp, and suddenly,
Arthur felt something hard hit the back of his head. Disoriented, the boy fell
to his knees, and saw dark spots cloud his vision.
“The little /bitch/ ! Yer gonna see what it is to be such a disobedient little
fuck !”
Arthur had no time to recover as the man pushed him to the ground, pulling his
pants away along with his underwear, and suddenly gasped, stopping as he
noticed that… There wasn’t only what he thought would be there. The kid
possessed both part—disgusted, the man hit him again, and stood up. Arthur
couldn’t help himself, and shook, scrambling away as soon as his mind worked,
and clung to the wall, pulling his pants as high as he could. They were torn.
Swallowing, Arthur looked back, and was now met with a sword. The shiny tip of
it was slowly coming closer, and the boy felt his knees buckle. It would be the
end ? His hand searched for the wall, and surprised, he noticed his fingers
clung to a perpendicular part. The window ! They had left it open to let the
strong scent of cleaning mixtures to leave the walls of the small home ! It was
his only chance. Not caring for his dignity—there was little else in his mind
but /survival/—, Arthur swung himself out the window at the same time he heard
a loud clang.
There was no time to turn back, hence, he didn’t, and ran as fast as he could.
The ground was covered in small pebbles. His feet hurt after less than five
meters, but Arthur couldn’t care. Below the hill, there was an immense wheat
field. His instincts told him he would be harder to see there. The men
followed, and hollered at him, their armours slowing them down enough for
Arthur to be able to get to the field. There started a game of cat and moused.
After a moment, the sky darkened. A storm was coming, and when the drizzle
transformed to an hours-long downpour, with Arthur running in the mud, chilled
to the bone, more scared than he ever had, dirtier than he’d ever witness
anyone be, they gave up. There were no shouts. Just the sound of the rain and
thunder. Unable to trust such a convenient truce, Arthur ran again, reaching
the other side of the wheat field, teeth clattering as he saw a farmer sitting
under a porch, a lantern next to him. The house was far; the ever-falling rain
kept him from seeing anything of the man’s face. A dog barked somewhere. Cows.
Perhaps sheeps. Drained, Arthur fell to his knees, his lungs raw and unsure if
he would be able to take a step more. His feets were burning, and stinging as
mud touched the many wounds he’d made on them. It was probably over now; he had
fought. There was no way to win. Falling face first in the mud, Arthur closed
his eyes, and prayed to whatever Divines would want to hear him for the
Otherworld to be better, or for anyone to come and save him…
 
End Notes
     aaaaand that's it for now. hopefully, this will be interesting enough
     ! i'll try to post the next part soon u _u
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