Well, it's 4th July yet again - and my fourth one in the Hetalia fandom, where it's more or less mandatory to write a fic about America on this day.

Some people like to write about Revolutionary feels; some people like to write about epic birthday sex; and me, well, I just like to write something horrendous and/or inappropriate and call it a day. Shota, mpreg, England shooting America in the face, I've done it all. XD

This year is, of course, no exception. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA, HAHAHA.

(Cardverse without cardverse? Who ever heard of such a thing?!)

Paper Crown Kings and Pinwheel Queens

Part I

1740

What it came down to was that England took delight in winning.

"And I trust that you would not want me to let you win," he said, resting his chin in his hands. "Not out of pity."

"No, I wouldn't," America replied sullenly, surveying the board, going back over his motions; England had likely had him cornered twenty moves ago, for he commanded his pieces with a general's eye, something that could only be learnt.

America, conversely, was young and new to the game, recklessly short-sighted.

"I know you're only a child-" England went on.

"I said I wouldn't," America interrupted sharply, meeting England's gaze across the board. "I'll learn." He grinned. "I'll learn how to beat you, England."

"I daresay." England raised his eyebrows. "You are good, you know."

"One day I'll be the best." Leaning over, America began to put the pieces back into place on the board, neat lines of black and white-

England, however, was holding the black queen, one of America's last losses; he turned her this way and that, admiring her marble gloss by the candlelight.

"Such bold talk from someone so young," he said. "America... I do hope you're willing to pay the price."

1783

"D is for Diamonds," England sighed, looking tiredly at France. "That's the nice way of putting it."

"And S is for Spades," France replied sharply. "...Or would you prefer Sadistic?"

"Supremacy, you stupid prick." In spite of himself, England smirked. "Besides, we all know that D is for Desperation." His gaze fell on America, hanging back behind France. "And good god, boy, you were desperate, weren't you?"

"Desperate to get away from you," America said petulantly.

"Amerique, go outside," France ordered, not looking at him. "Angleterre and I will settle up. This is a matter best discussed... between kings."

America, still so childish in face and in manner, frowned at France. There wasn't much room in England's tent, it was true, but all the same he seemed hurt.

"This is about my freedom!" he said angrily. "France, I might be only your queen but I-"

"Amerique, out." France turned his back on him. "One day it will be your turn."

"But I-"

"I regret that you won't see me ripped to pieces," England interrupted coldly. "Won't you leave us? There's no place for you here."

America rubbed angrily at his cheek; beneath his right eye, just on the boyish bloom of his cheek, was the telltale 'Q', punctuated by a tiny diamond. He ran his nails over it as though trying to claw it out from beneath his skin, perhaps with jealous regard of the 'K' adorning both men before him. He stalked out of the tent without another word, his battered blue coat flapping after him.

"What have you created?" England asked, watching him go.

"Angleterre, the blame lies with you, I expect. I did not make him what he is."

"Except your ruddy queen."

France snorted.

"The queen is but the secondary holder of the power," he said airily; he looked sidelong at England. "Not that you would know that, Angleterre, given that you never share."

"Supremacy is not for sharing," England replied icily. "Desperation so often is."

"And longer-lasting, do not forget that." France grinned. "Do you think I am stupid? You need to bring this war to a close because you cannot go much longer without the Power of Spades devouring you." He shook his head. "Had you perhaps had a queen to share the burden-"

"I hardly think that's any of your concern," England snapped, standing up. "I haven't the time to waste on you or that brat, frankly, and I'm beginning to lose my patience. If he wants to be his own nation, fine, let's see just how long he lasts."

"Those are fine words," France replied carefully, "given that you cried on your knees before him."

England paused, glancing at him; at the 'K' on his skin, just like the one he wore himself.

"I am glad that I was able to," he said.

1917

"I'm jealous," America announced.

"Of what, precisely?" England asked, checking his rifle. "You're not concentrating. Again, Bf4. You're the one that wanted to play. You said you were bored."

"Kh1," America responded idly. "I am bored. This is dumb. All we do is sit about and occasionally send a bunch of men over the top to get shot to pieces."

"Kd5." England glanced at him. "You know that's nothing to do with me."

"Both kings in play, huh?" America met his gaze, grinning. "That's precisely it. This whole thing could be over if you'd just-"

"This isn't the place," England interrupted. "This sort of war isn't right for it. It's... it's too new."

America snorted.

"You've got no adventure," he muttered. "That's why I'm jealous. All you old guys, you know how to dig up the Suits - but no-one will tell me."

"You're too young." England frowned. "You're too new. It's not a game, America; or a costume for you to wear."

"Now who isn't concentrating?" America rolled over on the bunk, facing the damp earthen wall of their dugout. "Come on, England: Kd5."

"Oh, Ne7," England sighed. "Careful how you go, you're going to end up in check."

"Haha. Kc4." America lazily flapped his hand at him. "If I win, will you tell me?"

"No." England leaned his head back against the bunk.

"I just want to be a king," America groaned. "What's so wrong with that? It's like how it was okay for you to have an empire - but now that Ludwig wants one, you have to have a war about it."

"If the time comes, it will come." England paused. "You're in check, love."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are. Kc4. You moved into check yourself."

America was quiet for a moment, lying on his back, staring at the earth ceiling; deep in thought as he ran over the board in his head.

"Well, damn," he sighed at length. "Let me think a second."

England snorted.

"Take all the time you need," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I'm certainly not going anywhere."

1945

"I knew you wouldn't listen to me," England sighed, putting his head on America's chest; curling miserably into broad muscle and musky scent.

"You said the time would come," America replied sleepily, "and it did."

"I wish it hadn't," England said ruefully, looking up towards America's face; shining with sweat, the black weeping on his cheek like a new tattoo. There could be no mistaking that crisp 'K'. "You're only a baby-"

"I'm old enough to be screwing you," America snapped. "You're always like this; double-standards isn't the word for it. Besides, it's me or Russia. You know that, England."

"I confess that things are beginning to look ugly around Berlin," England agreed softly, trailing his fingertips over America's bare chest; the crickets were singing in the night outside their tent. "...And the likelihood of us getting there before the Russians is slim. But all the same-"

"And there's Japan," America interrupted cheerfully, his skin prickling. "Don't forget about Japan. Gotta sort him out."

"America." England hesitated; for it would fall only on deaf ears, he knew. "...Just... don't do anything idiotic-"

"I'll do what I want. Spades is Supremacy, after all."

"It could very well be Stupidity," England sighed.

"Desperation, Cold-heartedness, Hatred." America walked his fingers up England's spine. "I still don't think I got a bad lot. Maybe it's about time someone did something stupid, huh?" He smiled. "Wasn't I stupid in 1775, taking you on? You, the British Empire, the King of Spades - it wasn't even desperate, it was downright moronic. ...And yet I won."

"You won only with France's help," England sniffed, "and that besides, I had my reasons for backing down. If you don't want to find out what they were, I suggest you do whatever it is you're going to do and be done with it. The Suits weaponry isn't a toy."

"Oh, god, England," America moaned, pulling him close, "you're so boring. I'm really starting to think it's because you like to fight wars the way the humans do."

England nuzzled against him, settling.

"You'd be surprised at how much smaller the price is," he replied.

[1957]

["I don't know," England said dazedly, halfway struggling between the officials tugging at his clothing. He was drenched in blood, stiff and sharp and copper. "I-I don't know what happened, I-"

"This is America's blood."

"Yes," England agreed in confusion, "but I don't remember how-"

"It's too far gone now; he and Russia both. I don't think there's anything we can do for them now."

"O-oh." Someone cut away his sleeve, tearing the stiff material from his skin; and, indeed, the familiar sight came through, clear for all to see:

His flesh near black with hundreds of small spades, deep beneath the layers; raw from where he had been clawing at them these past few weeks. The 'Q' on his cheek was crusted with blood.

"I warned him," he said weakly, rubbing his hand over his arm. He was surrounded by officials, Americans from the White House, the people in charge of him. "I've been warning him since he was a child b-but... what can you do if he doesn't want his humanity?"

One of the men snorted.

"What is a nation without humanity?"

"I don't know," England said flatly. "Spades. Supremacy. Sickness." He shrugged, looking at the bloodied blue bathroom tiles. "...The thing that ate him."]

SO THIS FIC WILL BE IN TWO PARTS AND IS SLIGHTLY NON-LINEAR. JUST BTW.

I thought "Cardverse" as a weapon/concept instead of a place was a neat idea! Sort of a different take on it, idk...

Also I've had a mental image of England and America playing chess in their heads for AGES and I really like it. :3

Hope to get the second part done soon! Happy 4th July!