#i have so many thoughts on veneziano and romano's childhood

[the-phoenix-heart]

Please do spill some of your Mama Greece hcs sometime if you feel comfortable because I love your thoughts on her

You have unleashed a beast Grammy. Here's a brief life history of my Mama Greece. (I can say so much more)

Human Name: Helene (also Lavinia, we'll get to it)

Her father was Mycenae (Mycenaean Greece). She looked up to him greatly as a child.

I headcanon that the City-States of Greece were also personified, and that Helene represented the Greek World as a whole, the one that followed after Mycenae Greece. The City-States aren't really related to her, I kind of characterize them as a cousins.

The City-States don't have much personality that I've decided, but Sparta was a women and a badass, and Athens was a philosophizing misogynist.

For a long time, because Helene represented the Greek World as a whole and the City-States were in charge of themselves she mostly got to spend her time doing whatever the hell she wanted. Disguising herself as a man often, and becoming a genius in mathematics and philosophy. She wasn't so much bothered with war and work for a long time, though she was was a skilled sword woman. She spent much of her time in this period in a hedonistic lifestyle (and I like to think she was involved with the Cult of Dionysus)

And then there was Persia. Their relationship was one you could call enemies with benefits. Vitriolic, Helene didn't much like him, but he was a good fuck. Their relationship got worse overtime, though there was a mutual respect between the two. Basically the France and England of the Ancient times.

When Macedonia began to conquer Greece, I characterize this as him killing off the City-States. Now obviously these places lived on, but it was still a turning point in Greek history, and I think eventually Macedonia would go after Helene - to become the "true" Greek World - and Helene would kill him in turn.

This is when Helene takes on a lot more responsibility. She becomes more a warrior and get into politics. This is also around the time where she and Persia have their final match and she kills him.

Greece is born around this time. Either he pops out of the ground and she finds him, or she actually gives birth to him. I headcanon he comes out of the ground. Either way, he is her and Persia's son and is born during the Hellenistic Period. (What will eventually become Iran is also born of this union and Idk if Helene had any contact with her at this time)

Gonna skip forward a bit to her relationship with Rome. Rome is a complex relationship. They did deeply love each other, Rome more so. He would call her the Venus to his Mars. That said, he still cheated on her frequently, and she could never truly forgive him for taking over her. Still, they were married. They were a devoted, loving couple. She was a vital part of him and his muse in many respects. And she helped raise his children. Romano was her son with Rome, and she was one of Veneziano's mothers (Vene has two mothers, her and Gaul, and Rome is obviously his father.)

(Rome tried to bring Gaul back home once and Helene shut that shit down quickly.)

She lived off and on between her house in her homelands and Rome's villa. I don't know where Greece was at the time, although a part of me wants to say Greece was not allowed to be raised in Rome's home with his sons. So possibly Greece spent most of his time when he and his Mama would visit Rome living with the servants and Helene would be sure to visit him throughout the day and make sure he was doing alright. When they would return to her home she would make sure she could be as openly affectionate with him as possible.

The "Divorce" happens when she becomes the Eastern Roman Empire, which Rome wasn't exactly a fan of. She moved to Constantinople with Greece, though she and Rome may have sometimes had secret trysts.

I have this imagine in my head that when he died she found his body and slipped his bloody helmet off of his head and placed it on her own. She renamed herself the Byzantine Empire and took on a new human name, Lavinia. The ancient of wife of Aeneas.

Also, as Byzantine she marries Kievan Rus (Olga) or at least they become a couple for a while, which makes her technically Ukraine, Russia, and Belarus's other mother. There was some love there, but their relationship was strained. She was not much of a mother to Rus's kids as well, though Ukraine has memories of Mama Byzantine and how powerful and glorious she was.

As for Romano and Veneziano, both were territories for her at a time, but I think she would have left them in their respective territories to be educated/raised by their people in charge. They are just a reminder of their father and what he did to her, though she does miss them and sometimes visit them. I think losing Romano would've been harder on her than losing Veneziano. Romano was always her favorite of the two, plus the loss of Southern Italy was different than the loss of Venice. She willingly gave Veneziano indepdence. Romano she held onto for a long time but eventually lost.

...Plus little Veneziano would eventually take the attitude of "Fuck You This Is Mine Now" and played a part in her weakening when he not only funded a trip to reinstate a deposed Byzantine prince but then looted and pillaged Constantinople when he didn't get his money back and took some more of her lands. Bad Veneziano. Sit in your corner and think about what you've done (I genuinely don't know how this works with his canon personality but this did all happen irl) (also yes I see Veneziano as Venice because I find that to make the most sense and be coolest for his character)

And then we fast forward to her eventual death at the hands of Turkey. Do I think he loved her? ...I think he was in awe of her. I think he loved the idea of her. I think he looked at her history and I think he wished that he could be like her or wished that he could be with her. But also, he did kill her. In my imagery laden mind he finds her under an olive tree and killed her there. Maybe there was a fight. Maybe she finally accepted it.

tl;dr: Helene starts as the heir to a power vacuum after the death of her father, but instead of taking charge and responsibility she spends her time doing as she pleases and learning while the city-states handle things. Until Macedonia roles up and she kills him before he can kill her and she takes charge, she kills her rival and sometimes lover Persia and he gives her her greatest treasure Herakles, her son. And also has a daughter that she doesn't interact with much. She marries Rome to survive and forms a loving, if dysfunctional marriage and has another son Romano, and there's also Veneziano who is her son with Rome but also Gaul. When Rome is killed she takes her place as the Byzantine empire and spends years just trying to survive and adapt and persevere until finally she accepts her death at the hands of Turkey.

For personality headcanons: I characterize her being motivated by a fear of death to collect as many skills as possible and adapt to her surroundings. The Greeks HATED talking about death and I think that would bleed over into her actual beliefs. I think she rarely, if ever, let herself die, because she was always afraid that she would die for the final time.

By the end of her life she is a full on genius. Math, language, astronomy, art, philosophy, even music and theatre. She had this insatiable curiosity and need to learn that sometimes overtook her best instincts of survival.

Physical Headcanons: 6'0'' because I can. Her body fluctuates between incredibly muscular, on the thicker side, and thin from weakness over her many years of life. For some basic ages: By the the she kills Persia she is physically in her early twenties. Late twenties when she marries Rome. Early thirties when she takes over as Byzanties. Early-Mid forties at her death (Turkey is into Milfs).

This is what I think she would have looked like probably around the time she married Rome. It is missing a few details. She's not as tanned as I imagine her, she doesn't have the moles I imagine her having, and I couldn't get her nose right-I imagine she has a hooked nose.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hello! I hope you are having a good day/night. May I ask for axis and allies plus spain, romano and prussia speaking to their s/o in their native language? Thank you very much! -Humble Anon💕

A very good morning/afternoon/evening to you as well, lovely!

When I began brainstorming these, I kept approaching this ask with the thought in mind that the S/O's first language is not the same as that of the Nation's, and aren't quite completely fluent as of yet. It made it a little bit easier for me to write, and offered me just a little more leeway to daydream. ^_^;

America:

Alfred really only does so when he's super tired, stumbling into the kitchen with bedhead to grab his first five cups of coffee, half-flopping on you as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek- ruined by his yawn- accent stronger than normal as he rumbles out a good morning, asks how you slept. He rambles lightly about his weird-ass dreams, making you smile just from his annunciations. At some point, he remembers to start translating, swapping over to the dialect you're most familiar with mid-sentence.

Canada:

Oddly enough, Matthew plays Language Tag more frequently than Al, but more often than not, it's usually an unrefined Franglish that has always irritated Francis and Arthur. (He enjoys this fact, just a little.) Around you, however, it really only flares up in moments where he's just so overwhelmed and in awe, taken aback by how much he's in love with you. Most of his petnames for you are in English, but those moments where you're both spending a lazy evening in bed, he'll happily shower you with all kinds of cheesey compliments in French, teasingly poking your nose every time you try to get him to translate.

China:

Yao has a habit of slipping back to Chinese on a whim, honestly oblivious to the fact most of the time. You've noticed it gets significantly worse whenever he's stressed, and you've learnt some very colourful nicknames for the Others over the years because of it. Despite his seemingly incessant need to pace while venting, you always manage to coax him into your arms, steadily working your fingers across his back, easy out the knots that had been plaguing him. Meetings always brought him stress, but after a good rant and a few moments of your grounding touch, he's sighing away all remaining agitation, slowly bringing himself back to you and apologising for the slip.

England:

One of Arthur's greater strengths comes in linguistics. While he would much rather prefer a courtship with an English speaker, he's not going to deny himself happiness just because of a silly little language barrier. He generally tries to keep everything on common ground, but his nicknames for you, and some of his more scandalising compliments, are murmurred in English. He always keeps it quiet, an intimacy reserved only for you. There's many a "dearest" and "darling" when first waking up in the morning, a languid greeting for the coming day. (Also, he swears mostly in English, so be careful if you decide to borrow any of his vocabulary.)

France:

Francis never hesitates to prattle in French; it's second nature to him. Sometimes, he'll hop between both yours and his preferred dialects several times in a single sentence. You know it's just part of who he is, and while it can be annoying some days, it is helping you improve your own fluency. There are also moments when he makes you weak, his expression uncharacteristically sincere, hands carefully clasping your own. He hums out a soft phrase, one you still haven't fully translated, leaning closer to caress your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, any number of praises passing his lips.

Germany:

Ludvig, since Day One, has tried his best to make sure you're comfortable around him, and part of that is him keeping firmly to the language you are most familiar with. When coming across words he may not be entirely familiar with, or saying a more complicated phrase, his accent may sometimes come out a bit thicker than would be normal. The only time he really slips into German is when he's on the phone with folks from his government. You don't mean to eavesdrop on the latter, but you do enjoy how much deeper his voice tends to get when he's being "professional." Secretly though, you have to admit his voice when he sleeptalks is your favourite of them all. 

Japan:

Kiku constantly, and often unnecessarily, goes out of his way to make sure that you're comfortable, and despite your arguing against it, one of his ways of trying to do so is to only stick the language you both share. Frankly, you love hearing him speak Japanese, even though you really only hear it when he's at the store, and sometimes to the servers during date night. You love how gentle his voice is, his accent adding almost a sweetness to his words. Lately, you've been debating how to tell him that you'd like to hear it more, but for now you savour the little pieces you've collected over the past few months.

Prussia:

You learnt some time ago that Gilbert quietly speaking in German actually helped you fall asleep significantly easier. For that reason, he primarily only does so while either headed to bed, or whenever you're spending an afternoon together in the library. He'll sometimes read to you, but mostly he tends to ramble. You only understand a handful of the things he's saying and assume that he's regaling you with tales of days long past. In reality, he's running through his checklist for car parts he wants to fix, complaining about something stupid Roderich did back in 1648, and most often- when you're on the cusp of sleep, breathing deep and relaxed, his hand resting on your back- he's listing off every single thing he's come to love about you, not as afraid of his vulnerability when you're hardly conscious enough to hear it.

Romano:

Lovino spent too long relearning Italian to ever abandon it, even for your sake. He casually weaves it into regular conversation, the endearments, greetings, exclamations, and nicknames fluidly blending into the ordinary. He figured out quite a while ago that you actually enjoyed his "slip ups," so he's especially generous on date nights, about half of the words he's saying falling around you in his unique dialect. He once told you that you should be grateful, that he was blessing you with "the most beautiful language in the world." And begrudgingly, lost in his smile and the way the candlelight makes his eyes spark, you have to agree.

Russia:

Over time, one of your favourite pastimes with Ivan has becoming hunkering down on a settee by the fireplace, where he'll work on his knitting. The best part of these moments, especially on particularly frigid mornings where you've no obligations, is that Ivan will start to sing to himself, always pieces in Russian. Sometimes they're lullabies he's picked up from the royal families over the years, sometimes they're peasant rhymes he's known since childhood, and on some rare occasions, he'll sing something from an opera he fell in love with back in 1872. He'll often pepper in a few casual words here and there, always with a lightness to it, but you're absolutely addicted to how full his voice sounds when he sings.

Spain:

Antonio is actually the worst of the bunch. He can and will ramble in Spanish, a lot, so much so that some of it has permanently rooted itself into your own vocabulary, some of your replies slipping out without pause these days. He tends to catch onto his slip-ups quickly at least, quickly sliding back into your shared venacular with a quick apology. Still, you'll often hear him singing in Spanish, greeting the plants in Spanish, talking to the cats in Spanish. He's particullarly bad at losing himself whenever he's invested in a football match, or if you happen to catch him irritated about politics. Tonio has taught you quite a few colourful curses over the years, smattered with some day-to-day phrases you've both come to recite by default.

Veneziano:

Feliciano is surprisingly good at sticking to the language you feel most comfortable with, though he's notorious at mucking up the number of syllables in certain words. You have a strong suspicion he does this intentionally, this elongation solely designed to annoy you, especially as he always seems slightly bemused each time he does it. Regardless of how annoying he can be in your language, you do love eavesdropping on his conversations with his brothers, chattering away in Italian, his words and hands moving far too quickly for you to even hope to follow along. There's something so soothing in listening to him speak, even if he is producing 500 words per minute.

Thanks for the ask, Anon! I hope you enjoyed~

[radioactivehydronerd]

A small analysis on the Italy brothers' past and how it influenced them

I don't exactly know how I came up with this, but I thought it would be fun to explore the history behind some character traits in our beloved Veneziano and Romano :) keep in mind this is just for fun, everyone has their own headcanons and interpretations and I don't claim this as the universal truth, especially since it's just a comedy show we're talking about.

Let's start with Romano. During his early days, Romano grew up being the "least favourite" child, since grandpa Rome seemed to prefer spending time with Italy rather than him. After grandpa Rome's death, most of the interactions he had were nations wanting to claim ownership of him or wanting to use him in some way, never to be friends or family. (Continues under the cut)

The only person who stayed constant throughout his life was Spain, but despite how loving and caring Spain might have been, he was still one of those who only approached Romano for "his grandfather's inheritance", so Romano still never felt 100% safe with him, which was demonstrated when Spain even dared mention trading him for his brother. You can offer Romano all the love, support and affection you want, but he'll still feel like you're only seeing him as a means to obtain money because that was the norm for him for centuries.

Italy, on the contrary, started out feeling loved and cared from his grandfather, but after Rome's death he was bullied and picked on by the other nations, either for pure mockery or to be forced to work as their "servant". In the time he spent with Austria he was punished for the smallest things and wasn't allowed to slack off for a minute, he grew up in constant fear, but at the same time, he was also sheltered from the outside world.

While most other nations grew up having to learn to fend for themselves and defend themselves during wars, Italy didn't, in his early childhood there was grandpa Rome to defend him and later on it was Austria or whatever other nation he was living with; he had a small interlude where he was free and experienced getting around on his own, and he was actually shown to be pretty badass during this brief period! He tricked a man who wanted to corrupt him and beat Turkey in a swordfight. He is not weak, he simply lacks a lot of experience compared to other nations.

Despite being very inexperienced in the matter of wars and politics, they both compensate by being very good at the arts, especially Italy. To add my own headcanon, since hws Italy never represented one whole nation, but rather a group of states that were more often than not in conflict with one other, he tended to stay away from politics, because siding with one state would mean fighting against another group of his people, and he didn't really look forward to that. Instead, he preferred spending time with his people and his artists and intellectuals.

So, want to know about war strategies? He could probably quote you something from Machiavelli and tell you war is bad. Want to know about the Divine Comedy or Michelangelo? Sit down, brace yourself for a very passionate lecture.

Romano, despite being taken over by many European powers, still represented a whole territory; apart from a few scaramouches between Sicily and the mainland, the conflicts never reached the levels they did in the Northern Italian states. He was, however, a battleground for conflicts between other nations, like Spain, France and Turkey as shown in canon. He never really had a say in these conflicts, he just had to watch and wait to see who'd be the next nation to have him.

Like his brother, he had an interlude where he lived as an independent nation, however much later in his life: while Italy's was around the Renaissance, Romano's was in the 1800s, but because it wasn't shown in canon I'm going to have to resort to my own headcanons on it. I imagine that he spent this period not much engaging in fighting, but strengthening his identity as a nation, before eventually unifying with his brother...right in the middle of getting the hang of being a nation.

Romano being Romano probably took this as the sign that no matter what, he'll never be worth as much as the rest of his fellows, and thus his cowardice is directly tied to his inferiority complex. It's understandable, after all: your whole life you're surrounded by people bigger and stronger than you, and everyone seems to prefer your brother over you. You sorta internalise the fact that you have something less than they do, so now you get trust issues and a crippling fear of not being enough.

What about why Italy is more friendly while Romano hates people? Well, that's a matter of personality, they are still individuals after all :)

Did I just write a whole ass essay? I can't believe I actually spent energy for this look what isolation does to a woman

[atlasuncomfy]

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 01

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: Mild, infrequent language

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

He would never admit this aloud, not even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded he do so. But among the many things he missed dearly about living with Spain, the one Romano Vargas longed for the most would be the quiet of the Spanish countryside. Now more than ever, not for the first time, with the drum of machine gun rounds and the moan of fighter planes overhead filling his ears—as well as his trauma-laced nightmares—he wished he could return to the days of his childhood and continue to live in total, uninterrupted silence. Things were simpler then: wake up to the sun warming his chubby face, eat chocolate con churros for breakfast, work in the tomato fields, and so on. (And, when Spain taught him about siestas, a few of those were thrown into the mix, as well.) He learned to value the easy-going lifestyle of the Spanish and doing things at one's own pace.

Thus, the ringing of his phone on this, or any, morning was entirely unwelcome.

Romano groaned, clearly annoyed by the unwanted sound invading an otherwise peaceful slumber. For a moment, confusion reigned as the temptation to slip back into sleep gently coaxed him along. His bleary vision faded in and out of darkness, yet the incessant ringing danced at the edge of his subconscious, only just keeping him away from tantalizing sleep. In a feeble attempt to ignore such noisy intrusion-and so early in the morning! -he pulled the covers over his head. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize this was one war he would not win (and he knew quite a bit about those sorts of losses). Ever reluctantly, Romano Vargas rolled out of bed and began the dreaded quest for silence, dutifully uttering curses along the way. Oh, how sleep loved to tease him, and oh how the caller would pay dearly for interrupting their ritual time alone.

The source of the sound—a clearly aging rotary phone whose darkened hues of gold still reflected every bit of the shine and brilliance of the man who gifted it to him—sat seemingly innocent atop his deep mahogany desk. Strewn about it were various war-laden documents, stressfully scribbled notes, and of course: his beloved photo of a family from long ago. A family that would never again be. He gave pause, regarding the tattered still of memory as he did many a time before, before shaking himself. Clearly, someone needed his attention; these days no one bothered to call unless someone wanted something from him, anyway.

For a moment, Romano considered the other body he shared the meager bedroom with: Feliciano. A glance backward, and he fondly noted his younger brother's sleeping form curled up and burrowed in an impressive mountain of covers. The sound of soft snoring and steady breathing made its way into his ears; all was still calm. He debated taking the call here, as sudden conversation posed a risk to waking the resting man. Although, he knew with absolute certainty that the harsh ringing would eventually wake even Feliciano Vargas, a god among even the heaviest of sleepers. On a whim, Romano's fingers wrapped around the device's familiar neck, and with the choice made he allowed his own croaky voice to join the morning's sounds. "Pronto," he muttered, warily eyeing any sign of stirring from his brother. "What do you want so early in the goddamn morning?"

"That's certainly no way to greet your commanding officer, Herr Vargas," came the sharp reply, coated with an unmistakable, gruff German accent. "Especially after trying my patience and making me wait so long. You would do well to remember holding your tongue, lest you find yourself losing it—do I make myself clear?"

Despite contrary belief, Romano was no fool. He knew full well what Ludwig and his superiors were capable of should he mouth off a step too far from usual. Such came the horrors of war and being forced to align with such monstrosity. Unfortunately for his German associate, who he knew for a fact was chasing after Feliciano, Romano also was no coward. "My apologies, commandante," he allowed, sarcasm lazily dripping from his tongue, though with notably less malice than before. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of this phone at such a delightful time of day?" It wasn't lost on the Southern Italian just how important this conversation was. Communication between national bodies during times of war was exceedingly rare, especially unencrypted. There simply was no need; anything of importance that needed to be said could be passed along via their respective leaders.

Unless, of course, it was an emergency. So, if Ludwig was calling him now…

"Forget it; it doesn't matter. Time is of the essence."

"Well then, with all due respect, just spit it out already—"

"British forces have begun invading Sicily, you fool!" There was a beat of stunned silence—then two, then three—and the snapped response all but hung densely in the air, threatening to suffocate them both. Before a word of apology could even begin to form on Romano's tongue, however, Ludwig continued. "Italy informed me some time ago that his Southern half would be staying with him for a few weeks—are you still there?"

Despite the dire situation at hand, Romano couldn't help but bristle at being referred to as a southern half, effectively demonstrating the lack of autonomy he seemed to have over his own person. I'm a personification, he thought bitterly, a pawn in a game. The least you could do it acknowledge the one moving the piece, potato bastard. "Yes," he murmured nonetheless, barely able to register the question with all the deafening thoughts racing through his mind. "Yes, I'm still in Florence, with Feliciano. What do you want me to do, commandante?"

"Protect Feliciano with your life. Flee Italy as soon as possible."

"Scusa?"

"Do not argue with me, Vargas," came the sharp reply. "There is no time for it."

Any ounce of subordinate fear Romano had abandoned him in favour of protective instinct. "Make time, then! I can't just tell my brother we're leaving without a good explanation, testa di cazzo!"

"Du hältst jetzt die Klappe! You are a macroregion: a subdivision defined only by traditional politics, globalization, and leading a legacy only comprised of tasteless Americanized film caricatures. Whether or not you are taken by the Allies holds little bearing, save wartime formality, as you hold virtually no worth in terms of political bargaining."

"But Feli does."

"Exactly. Mussolini will be forced to bend at Allied will, as he would need to quickly regain Italy by any means possible—including surrender."

Romano sighed, casting an accusatory glare toward the heavens. For all our country's legacy of dutiful worship, he thought, you really enjoy shitting in my dinner, eh? His earlier fatigue returned to his bones tenfold, this time joined by a faint migraine and an ache marching down his spine. "Message received, commandante. I mean nothing; Italy means everything."

"Indeed. I'm glad you finally seem to understand the severity of the situation." Upon only receiving a half-hearted hum in affirmative, Ludwig continued. "Even if it costs you your life, you must not allow Italy to fall into enemy hands. He is far too valuable to our cause, to his country…" To the heart of Germany himself, although both men knew better than to voice it. "Once Southern Italy has fallen, it will only be a matter of time before they begin heading North. Fortunately, you will have a four-day head start to find somewhere safe for him until the Allied forces are driven out."

If they can be driven out, with the way this hopeless war is going. "Capisco, commandante. We'll leave tonight at dusk. Was there anything else…?"

A pause. "Would it be possible—I only wish to speak privately with Feliciano. It may be some time before I can talk to him again. If this is to be the end of our communication, I want it to be on good terms."

It took everything Romano had not to scoff at that. Even in the depths of cruelty and madness, it seemed only his dear young brother could surface any microscopic amount of humanity Ludwig had left. And, of course, his gut instinct was to end the call right then and there. But he knew how it would break Feliciano if something were to happen and he couldn't properly say goodbye. With Nonnuccio and Holy Rome gone—well, the younger man wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak a third time. "Let me go wake him," he ceded, feeling every bit like some faceless courier sent between Romeo and Julian. Then again, what else was new? Setting the phone to the side, without bothering to wait for a response from the German, Romano stilled, trying to relish the few seconds of quiet he had left before the weeks of uncertainty ahead.

"Lovi?"

Startled, Romano whirled around; it seemed despite his best efforts, his little brother finally awoke. "Damn it, Veneziano, don't you know not to scare me like that? We're at fucking war, for Christ's sake."

Feliciano, in his infinite sainthood and for all the hostility thrown toward him, only smiled. "Well, good morning to you to! I'm glad to see you up so early with so much energy, fratellone!"

Ignoring the playful ribbing, Romano handed his younger brother the telephone's neck. "Make it quick. We've got somewhere to be soon, so come find me whenever you lovebirds are done." He didn't wait around for a response, hastily moving to dress himself and begin packing. On his way out of the small bedroom, he could hear Feliciano's soft murmuring, no doubt using what little time the duo had left together to tell the German everything and anything. They both knew that this war was coming to an end—a bad one. The Allies made very clear that they were not interested anymore in negotiations or mercy of any kind, especially now that American was eagerly joining in. For all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they ever spoke to each other.

As he closed the door, there was a twisted part of Romano that rejoiced at the thought of his Northern half finally getting to experience a taste of his entire lost childhood. You can't have everything, Vene, he thought. The journey ahead would prove to be tense, indeed.

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