#will i ever tire of prussia in glasses? not likely.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hi again! Yes that was the post I was thinking of ^ ^

But I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to write a fic about it, it was really sweet and I would love to see you expand on the concept (*^▽^*)

Hello, Lovely~!

I believe this is a follow-up to this ask, and I thank you for your patience as I finally fleshed out the story I was thinking about.

Hope you enjoy!

​​The sun had long since set, hours having passed since night had settled quietly over the city.  She had crept into every alley, embraced every insomniac, whispered quietly on the warm breeze. The evening hung heavily on the air, beckoning gently to anyone who tried to defy sleep’s sirenous song.

Everyone, except you.

You had exhausted every remedy you could think of, even those sillier ones you would have mocked in the daylight. But Sleep continued to evade you, repeatedly teasing you, but never truly offering satisfaction.

You could already hear a certain someone's voice tauntingly saying: "Told ya so."

Asshole.

Resigned to your fate, every attempt to court Slumber only driving her further from your embrace, you decided to vacate your chambers, bound for the library; maybe Monika had left one of her stuffy physics books behind.

You were less than surprised to find someone else already in the room, hunched over the great oak desk, piles of paperwork organised into tidy stacks around him. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, luring you forward from the dark corridor.

You were relieved, more than you'd admit, that you weren't the only one dancing with Insomnia, but then again Gil was practically married to his sleepless nights.

You lingered just inside the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame, watching as he worked. His eyes darted from one page to the next, the scratching of his pen against the paper pleasantly comforting in the late hour.

The whole scene was comforting really: the soft scents of old books and woodsmoke (beech or ash probably, given his preferences), the golden glow of flame reflecting off the cream colored walls, the scratch of Gil's pen and his occasional muttering-

It filled you with a warmth that was all-encompassing, irresistibly inviting.

You lingered there for a few moments, a smile creasing your features, a familiar fondness settling in your chest. His forehead was resting on his right hand, his elbow supporting the whole affair from atop the desk.

Between the soft blue glow of his laptop screen and the gentle golden corona provided by his lamp, he almost looked like he was swathed in sunlight, pale features even more pronounced against the darkness of his hoodie.

You felt your smile grow bigger when you recognized the detailing, remembering just how excited he had been when you first gave it to him.

A good memory- his joy had been infectious, grin almost blindingly bright for the rest of the day.

Your thoughts returned to the present as you heard him sigh tiredly, mumbling again to himself, a yawn escaping not even two breaths later. He shook himself out of it with a stretch and a groan, offering you a glimpse of his mussed hair and favorite purple glasses.

He hadn't seen you, even as he cracked his neck, his focus drawn instead to the hand-crafted clock Ludvig had gifted him back in the '90s. (Which '90s your precious Liebhaber apparently couldn't be bothered to ever confirm for you.)

"Scheiße; es ist spät." He sounded surprised, his eyes widening in realization. He turned back to his work, a pensive look crossing his features, and you slipped further into the room, sensing your opening.

"Later than I'd like," you exhaled, just loud enough for him to hear you. His attention turned to you for a moment and away again, before he was offering a double-take, expression morphing into seemingly exaggerated surprise.

"Liebe? It's almost 4; what are you doing up?"

You sighed in defeat, shuffling over to sit on his desktop beside him. "Can't sleep," you admitted begrudgingly, his small snicker only making that confession all the more bitter. "And I swear if you say 'I told you so-'"

"Which I did," he crowed, though quieter than normal.

"You're such an ass," you protested with a small whine, moving your hand to halfheartedly smack his shoulder, though he easily caught it, taking you captive.

His smile was less teasing, revealing more of that soft, sleepy Gilbert only you were truly privy to. The firelight danced in his eyes, and sparks tingled across your wrist as his thumb drifted across the skin. "Tired?"

"Exhausted," you confirmed with a languid sigh. "But my mind's too awake for my body to sleep."

"Have you tried-"

"I've tried everything, babe," you almost whined. Almost.

He said nothing for a while, the silence between you comfortable in its familiarity, a light, gentle presence. These moments were more frequent as of late, and you couldn't help thinking of his mumbling to himself earlier, an idea starting to take shape.

"Hey, Schöner?"

"Leibchen?"

"Could you read to me?"

He stilled, the sudden loss of his drifting thumb all too obvious, your skin chilling at the loss of movement. You watched his eyes narrow, brows drawing together as he studied you, confusion clear in his eyes. "Read to you?"

"Yeah?" Suddenly bashful, you looked away from him. "I like your voice; it's really soothing."

The silence shifted, suddenly a new sensation, something indecipherable and uncomfortable.

He still hadn't moved, his thumb lingering above your pulse, fingers still carefully circling your wrist.

He was probably still trying to process your confession; you knew many had told Prussia throughout the centuries that he was too loud, his voice too rough- each and every insult growing more colorful as time passed. And recently, incomprehensible to you, came a strange stigma against Germanic accents entirely.

It would be a lie to claim you hadn't been a bit put off by his voice back in the beginning, a bit of an adjustment period needed as you grew familiar with it. But you lived by that voice now, recognized its inflections, cherished its novelty. His voice had become Home in its own way, and nothing brought you more peace than the moments when you could completely let it wash over you.

Confessing that to him though? Embarrassing. And really, you wouldn't know how to say it.

Yet, that was the thing with him; he had always been a bit more clever than he let on, at least when it came to the people he loved.

Especially when it came to you.

His thumb shifted, reclaimed your attention faster than his words. "Say I agreed... What would you want?"

You turned back to meet his eyes again, surprised and relieved by the softness of his expression, your heart lightened at the sight of it. "Friedy once told me about this story you read to him? Something about a knight?"

He silently repeated your words to himself, brows furrowing in thought. Suddenly aware of how little you had narrowed down his options, you added further clarification. "He said you started reading it to him after 'The Rapunzel Incident,'" you finished with an air quote.

When the middle Beilschmidt Brother had first told you the story of Gilbert having a meltdown over a Grimm's Fairy Tale, you had only half-believed him, knowing the man had picked up a tiny bit of Gil's habits of over-exaggeration.

Yet the expression that crossed your lover's face- mortified, frustrated, amused, defeated, annoyed- confirmed the validity of Friedrich's claims; you couldn't repress your grin as Gil groaned, his head falling back against his chair. "I can't believe that little hellion told you about that."

You shifted the leg closest to his, lightly bumping his thigh with your foot. "But 's cute."

He huffed, unconvinced, before he was raising his head again, slanting a glance your way. "I never translated it from German; you sure?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed in confirmation, tugging your wrist closer so you could press a quick kiss to his hand. "Pretty please?"

Somehow, you had had convinced him, and a few minutes later he had dug out his collection of journals from the 1810s, a well-loved leather-bound tome left sitting on the couch. While Gil painstakingly sorted his collection back into its proper place, you couldn't help but flip carefully through the book left beside you.

Every few pages bore a new date, this one far more inconsistent than his others.

Not a daily project, then.

You let the scent of the old paper surround you, marveling at his manuscript. Gil claimed constantly that he had horrible handwriting, yet you were always in awe by how formal it was, even hoarding some of the sticky notes and grocery lists he "scribbled." There was a definitive slant to his words in this edition, an angle that hinted that he had actually written this one left-handed, as opposed to the right he usually he favored for his record-keeping.

You felt a soft smile, even if it went unnoticed until Gilbert was pointing it out to you. "What's with the face?"

"Nothin," you chirped, a hint of your sleep deprivation playing a role in the sudden volume.

With a doubtful expression, he moved to sit beside you, taking a position against the arm of the couch, soon beckoning you to join him.

A flutter of happy energy propelled you forward, and you instinctively cuddled into his side. He chuckled at your behavior, in a way that you knew included a fond roll of the eyes, before he dropped his face into your hair, humming quietly. "Seriously, Liebchen. I could read you anything else."

His warmth was already weaving into your bones, already guiding Sleep back to your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, the soft smile only growing warmer, gentler. "Ja, but you're already got this one out. And I'm comfy," you impishly added on, earning an equally quiet, playful grunt in reply.

His thumb was tracing circles, shivers left in the wake of each repetition. The tingling traveled all the way to your toes, only aiding your descent into Dreamland. "You won't understand a word of it. You do realize that, right?"

He had a point there.

But there was...

There was something...

You let out a small yawn, fighting to open your eyes, almost pouting as you tried to formulate your thoughts into something coherent. After a moment it came to you, and you leaned further into him, your ear coming to rest over his heartbeat. "I don't need to know what you're sayin' to hear the love behind it."

"Gott, du bist niedlich."

You never got a chance to ask him to confirm what he had just whispered, too distracted by the kiss he immediately pressed to your crown. He lingered there, his breath evening enough to almost convince you that he had fallen asleep beneath you.

But you knew his heartbeat just as you knew his voice, as you knew your own heart and your own thoughts. Lightly moving your arm, you grumbled out a complaint. "You promised to read to me."

You could feel the smile in your hair. "I don't remember making any 'promises,' Schatz," he observed, the lightness of words showing he was teasing you again.

"Gil..." You pleaded, too tired to continue this back-and-forth.

"Ja, ja; okay," he conceded, gently taking the book from your hands. "Any place special you want me to start?"

An old memory came to mind at his wording, your reply coming out in a light sing-song. "'Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.'"

He scoffed, unconsciously humming along as he turned to the first page. "Here we go. 'Es was einmal-'"

Gilbert was a natural storyteller, so it wasn't a surprise that he was also gifted when it came to reading aloud, his words soon picking up a steady rhythm. His intonation rose and fell with different sentences; his voice changing whenever he came across a piece of dialogue. You weren't entirely sure of the story, but he had at least three different characters in play, and despite your nescience, you could almost imagine the action.

You had relaxed fully into him, were certain that you were drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

The world was heavy, and his words were a gentle embrace, his voice a warm anchor. You were tethered to it, letting it guide you throw each wave of wakefulness and slumber, thoughts dancing precariously on the boundary between whim and reverie.

A disgruntled growl kept you grounded in reality however, irritation scraping across the canvas your imagination had been conjuring.

Your eyes slowly opened, and you turned your attention to Gil's voice, frowning at the frustration in his words.

"Und den Ritte-? Nein. Was ist..? Dem...? Nein; das ist... Was zum Teufel?"

You barely repressed a giggle as you finally caught a glimpse of his expression, the exasperation all the more amusing from your current position. He had lifted the journal closer to his face, eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled as he tried making out his own handwriting.

"Was ist- Oh."

His eyes closed, and his head drooped in defeat, features creased in bewilderment. "Ich bin ein Idiot," he muttered, before his eyes reopened, a wince soon marring his features when as he noticed your staring. "Ah, fich."

You offered a bemused expression, eyes shivering shut as he pressed a small kiss to your crown, breathing out his apology in a rush of syllables. "Es tut mir lied."

Barely a beat had passed before he shifted back into storyteller mode, picking up the tale from the place he had left off. "Und der Ritter-" he over-enunciated, letting out a small chuckle (triggering your own giggle) as he successfully translated his own penmanship, carefully continuing in the quiet, gentle voice from earlier.

Despite the temporary pull back into the land of waking, it wasn't long until Gilbert's voice once more had you entranced, the continued dance of his thumb following the rise and fall of each syllable, each sound elongated and subdued, a drowsy, hypnotic serenade that was greedily pulling you under its spell.

"Sleep, Liebe," you heard, felt, all around you, a warm, gentle command that tugged you further into the depths. Whether it was real or imagined didn't matter; between the crackling flames, the warmth of his embrace, and the steady rise-and-fall of Gil's voice, it wasn't long until you were finally succumbing to Sleep's soft embrace.​

Thanks for reading!

[rein-ette]

I wanna give you some tasty prompts for drabbles to pick from:

1) Engportfra + wine/blood stains

2) Any character and England + Fae contracts

3) Prussia and France + hiding

I'll do no.1 for now (though I may consider the others for another day)!

Warnings: description of PTSD and associated symptoms/illnesses such as anxiety and depression

Arthur escapes as soon as there is a lull in the conversation, pleading a headache. It’s not a lie — the incessant pain in his front temple is incredibly distracting — but more so is the exhaustion that weighs heavy on every limb like a bank of fresh fallen snow. He feels periodically as if he is floating away from himself, skin crawling with a chill no amount of throw blankets could stifle. And he had tried: it had been so long since they could get together for a simple night in, he had missed the easy banter and the flowing conversation of old friends. By the time everyone had moved into Francis’ living room, however, Arthur was fighting back periods of nausea — so he gently transfers Bella’s sleepy head onto her brother’s shoulder and makes a discrete exit.

Francis’ bedroom is blessedly cool and dark. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he strips off his clothes and crawls under the sheets, enjoying the soft fabric against his aching limbs with a low groan. His head still pounds to each beat of his heart, but he cannot muster the will to move. Burying his face into his pillow, soothed by the familiar scent, he watches the curtains flutter in the evening breeze, the spill of street lights onto the floorboards. The laughter from the living room reaches him distant and muted, and listening to it Arthur feels a familiar despair seize him in its dead grip.

The last few days — weeks, if he’s really being honest with himself — have worn him thin. Daylight was one kind of torture: long hours pouring over dense documents and repetitive meetings that went nowhere frayed his nerves and shortened his temper. But it was really the nights that had pushed him to a breaking point. He had always had nightmares ever since he was a child, and though they had taken a sharp turn for the worse after the wars he had learned to live with that too. A few sleepless nights a month, an hour here and there spent retching into the toilet while he waited for the awful, awful howling in his head to quiet — those were now routine. Even the occasional day where he just could not bear to go out he could manage, spending hours in his garden until he felt human again.

But the past few weeks had not been like that. The dreams came every night, a mix of the strange, modern anxieties woven into a fabric of old terrors. Even when he managed a few hours of sleep he felt as if he had spent it worrying instead, the stresses of the day churning constantly through his mind like a washing machine. He couldn’t make himself go on runs in the morning anymore. He couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. To escape himself he spent longer and longer hours in his office — it made his body feel like shit, but at the very least working temporarily soothed the incessant muttering of his heart and made him feel, with a vicious satisfaction, like he was still worth something. Like he could still do something right, even when everything else was decaying around him.

That was what it all came down to, in the end. Arthur revelled in control, in combat, in the delicious strain of responsibility. Stress that made him feel useful made him feel alive. But there was no war on, and the problems that accumulated on his desk every morning had no simple solutions. There was a threat, but he could not face it. There were worries, but he could not resolve them.

The helplessness aggravated old wounds, and it made him feel like he was rotting, disintegrating.

His friends are in the living room, but he cannot face them. He closes his eyes against a wave of self-disgust, and prays for a few hours of quiet from his own mind.

---

When his brother leans over to give Bella a sloppy kiss and sloshes half a glass of wine down the front of Gabriel’s shirt, Gabriel is almost relieved. He had enjoyed the conversation and the dinner, but now that Gil and his brother were getting increasingly rowdy the more they drank, Gabriel really had no desire to stick around and see where the night would end. Maarten, too, had lulled by the alcohol become increasingly monosyllabic, so taking the proffered excuse of raiding Francis’ wardrobe for a new shirt Gabriel made his way to the bedroom. It’s only as he opens the door that he remembers Arthur had also skulked away to some corner earlier that night, and quickly stops himself from flipping on the lights.

Arthur is a dark shape on the bed, curled near the edge closest to the window. As Gabriel’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he makes out the sheets tangled half-off around his legs, the small frown that graces his lips as he breathes softly. Making his way to the balcony, Gabriel quietly shuts the doors — it far too cold to be sleeping as Arthur is with them still open — and then slips into Francis’ walk-in closet. He turns the light on low even though Arthur probably can’t see it and changes quickly into the first sweater he finds that fits him. He had planned to stay in Francis’ bedroom for a while, maybe read a book, but he couldn’t well do that with Arthur here anymore. As he's still debating what to do he slips back out into the bedroom and is greeted with mild surprise at the sight of Arthur awake and scrolling through his phone.

An apology for waking him up dies on his lips as he lets his eyes rove over Arthur's expression, illuminated by the blue light of his screen. Gabriel tosses his stained shirt into the hamper and goes to him, watching Arthur put his phone down when he approaches and rolling half over onto his back. He looks up at Gabriel with silent eyes, the shadows and lines of his pale face pronounced like the valleys of the moon. Gabriel brushes a thumb over his cheek. He can see without asking that Arthur’s head still hurts — his lips are drawn and thin, neck held a little stiffly against the pillow. He looks up at Gabriel with those tired, tired eyes, and Gabriel feels his heart clench as he marks each sign of exhaustion on that face he loves, catalogues each tiny signal he had missed in the glow and chatter of the party they left behind. Arthur rarely lets Gabriel look at him for so long, but he does now, begging with his gaze for a relief he cannot ask for in words.

Gabriel strips off his newly acquired clothes and joins Arthur in the bed, tucking one arm around his waist and a nose in his hair. The pillow is a little too low for his tastes and the fabric of the sheets a little too slippery, but from the little shuffle Arthur does to get close Gabriel knows he’s comfortable here. So he nuzzles the back of Arthur’s neck affectionately and settles down to sleep, feeling the expansive rise and fall of Arthur’s rib-cage against his arm.

If he could whisk Arthur away he would; if he could get between him and the thoughts that clung to him like shadows he would scare them all off. But the suffering plain on his face is just as much a plea for Gabriel to pay attention as it is a reminder that there are burdens they can only carry alone, terrors that can only exist inside their own minds and no one else's. So Gabriel holds Arthur a little tighter, closes his eyes, and prays for them both that tomorrow will be better — that what little warmth he can provide is enough to gain Arthur a short respite from the relentless onslaught of the night.

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Hi! Could you make a soul mate to you? Like when you find your soul mate, the countries become human but they are still the representation of their country and when they die they continue to exist but spiritually. How do you react to being the first among all countries to find your soul mate?

*wheeze* I can just imagine Russia going around his bosses office and just knocking things over for all the dumb paperwork they made him do!

Countries reaction to being the first to finding their Soulmate! (Then haunting their country)

Axis:

America:

He was absolutely floored when he found his Soulmate!

The only way (rumor has it) a country can tell they found their Soulmate is when they start to notice their bodies aging!

It started out with his hair going gray, and England pointed it out.

When it dawned on him the person he has been seeing was his soulmate, he immediately ran to them, holding them, and giving them kiss after kiss!

Is happy he gets to grow old with his lover!

Him and England have the world's biggest cry session over it by the way.

Jokes on the rest of the countries Because once Alfred realizes he can still pop on down to earth as America it's game over.

He likes to scare England until he finally catches him!

As for the rest, he really only talks to Japan, China and Russia. Sometimes France but American somehow manages to catch France whenever he's naked.

France:

He's on his knees crying as soon as he sees the faint line of a wrinkle.

It literally takes both England and China to inform him it's not a basic imperfection, and he's found his Soulmate.

Then France has existed the building, not caring if it's a meeting, and finds his S/O to tell them the news.

Both of which breakdown and cry over their new found reasons to live!

He literally quits his country duties just to spend more time with his Sunshine!

But being dead, and getting to ghost around? Oh la la.

Just kidding, now that he's a ghost, more or less, he has his lover for eternity, and doesn't bother going back to earth as much. He likes to take his S/O down to Paris at night, the cold chilly air never reaching them like it use to.

England:

He realizes it rather quickly.

It started with a receding hairline, and then the grays and he knew what was happening, and immediately showed it to his S/O.

Or shall he say Soulmate?

They go out to celebrate, not giving a care in the world to how loud, or drunk, or childish they were.

England has found the one and only.

This was his permanent fairytale.

Being a ghost was also the best Because he can talk to his magical friends like never before!

They feel so much more real now!

He certainly keeps a close eye on American now. And he sometimes tucks him in, and takes his glasses off when he passes out at his desk.

As for his country, he is now a ghostly legend to them.

China:

The words "I'm", "Not", "That" And "Old." Where the only things his S/O could hear from inside the bathroom.

He immediately rushed out and ran into his soulmate, his mind immediately filling in the blanks.

When it dawned on him, he couldn't hold back the tears that feel.

He had a Soulmate, and he didn't have to suffer being a country anymore?

Though, when his time came he was a little upset he was still china, but just a ghost. Was fairly happy he didn't have to be on earth, and only checked in every few years.

He accidentally earned the reputation of the "500 Year red ghost!"

Russia:

He was trying to figure out why his back was hurting so much.

His boss became concerned and forced him to see a doctor.

The fractures from him breaking his back were acting like they didn't fully heal, which was bizarre since they were?

He was sent to rest in bed, and that's when things got... Worse.

A lot of his permanent scaring started opening up, as if they couldn't heal.

The frustration and confusion was the only things he could feel.

His S/O was very good at picking up on this, and immediately went to see him.

Under their care, he was fully healed again, but he was feeling aches he never felt before, and he felt... Weak?

Only when a small joke about him turning into an old, did he realize what was happening.

He froze, staring at his... Soulmate?

He teared up, and if his S/O wasn't there he'd have gotten drunk over it.

The end he was waiting for all these years, was finally coming, and what was better, he was going to be able to see his S/O.

Oh but his fun only just began.

He is now being the most obnoxious person to his Bosses. If he sees anything he feels would harm his beloved country, He'd burn it, hide it, corrupt it.

Anything to help his citizens get ahead of their troubles.

That and he Pretty much becomes a petty cat to anyone who dare lives in his old home. No glassware is safe!

Axis:

Germany:

He was probably one of the few who wasn't ready to die just yet.

At the same time, he was more than excited to have a Soulmate.

This was his fate, and he was more than happy to join them in growing together.

He was also happy to learn that Prussia (after hundreds of years of retirement) was seemingly getting his break as well too! Seems they really were inseparable after all.

Speaking of which, he noticed he was getting older when he hear Prussia mocking him for taking his look. Then the both of them stood there in silence, slowly realizing what was going on.

Gilbert had a break down, ecstatic for his little brother!

He would always be there for his country though, and guided those who needed him, and would also behave like Russia in ways.

If he spotted something he was not a fan of, he'd find a way to change it.

In other words, being a ghost did not stop him from being Germany.

After all he has an eternity to fix what was broken, and make his country stronger, together.

Japan:

When his back really started hurting, he went to get checked out ASAP.

Was diagnosed with arthritis. Not really happy about it either.

This also forced his to start slouching and he immediately knew what was going on.

Despite any pains he ran full force at his S/O.

Hugs, kisses, and maybe a few hours of 'alone time' was necessary.

He could put all his walls down. This was his Soulmate, he didn't have to hide, or feel uncomfortable.

He loved everything about what was happening, and was fully prepared for the afterlife. And made sure his Soulmate was ready as well.

Being dead also had its perks.

No one will ever catch him and his S/O sneakily reading the latest Manga, or watching anime on a stores security monitors at some stores.

He still loves his country, but he has decided they never needed him then, and won't need him now.

But should anything arise to cause any more pain to his nation, his spirit might rival Russia's furry.

Those involved should find the smallest hole to live in for the rest of their lives.

Italy:

He was scared, but excited.

Sad, but overwhelmed with happiness.

He didn't want to leave his friends behind, but seeing his hair turn gray signaled he had found the one and only person who would love him for eternity.

He immediately told his S/O what was happening, and the both of them spent a week or so, talking things out, putting money away for family and Friends, and planning a future.

That was something that caught Italy off guard as well. He has never had to plan a future before.

It was still scary, but exciting! He was ready, no matter what.

When he realized he can go back to earth and still care for his nation, he was overjoyed.

"Just like Papa Rome- wait-"

He literally spent so much time worrying about never seeing his friends again he completely forgot this is a thing countries can do when they die...

And HIS SOULMATE CAN TOO!

He likes pulling small pranks on bullies when the two of them go for walks, not even caring if other people felt them literally go through them.

He takes his Soulmate to all the best places in Italy, and the fact neither of them will ever get tired or bored of each other?

It was the only thing he wanted, but never knew he could have.

[anarchyduck]

[appear] “ i need help. please. ” gerfra

So sorry this took for-freaking-ever OTL ---------------------

Takes place: 1942, Paris

  Germany does not find sleep easily anymore. The wheels in his head continue turning, agonizing over battle plans and strategies, over conversations he held with subordinates and superiors. He thinks about the paperwork that sits untouched on his desk, in untidy piles that would usually dive him made. A half empty bottle of brandy sits in the middle of it all, a glass of it in his hand as he stares out the window to the Parisian streets.

 A rapid knock breaks through his thoughts and he stills, waiting. It is late and he is not expecting company at this hour. Another knock pushes him to move. He sets the glass down on the desk as he crosses the room, hand on his pistol as he nears the door. Thoughts filter through one by one, all with the touch of paranoia as he wonders who it could be.

 “I know you’re there.” A voice, tired and strained, and slightly muffled through the wooden door. “Don’t be rude.”

 A moment of shock stills his actions but then Germany opens the door. France stands before him, his clothes shuffled and worn. His face is narrower than last time Germany saw him, and he looks in need of a shave. More alarming than that is the blood that covers the side of his face.

 “I need your help.” He says before Germany can ask. Tired blue eyes fix on him. “Please.”

 He should not. He knows he should not. The last time he saw France was nearly two years ago after taking Paris. How tall and mighty France stood high even after being defeated. He was bloody then too. Though he was hurting, he walked with his head held high and greeted him with the same grace and charm Germany remembered him for. He came willingly and there was no need for shackles. Few days later, France was gone. Now here he stands, dressed in dirty clothes at his door.

 Germany pulls him inside, closes and locks the door behind them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 France laughs dryly. “I could say the same about you.” He stumbles in his step before sitting down heavily in the closest chair. He groans as he leans his head back, his eyes falling close as he rests.

 Germany realizes the strange situation he has found himself in. His enemy enters his living quarters in the dead of night, wounded and exhausted. He doubts France has the strength to fight back. The thought of radioing it in snakes into his mind. He should call it in. France would be arrested, placed into the cuffs that he avoided before. It would certainly resolve some problems. His superiors would congratulate him for the capture. Something about it does not sit well. The mental image of France being carried away to execution makes his stomach churn.

 He finds himself walking to the bathroom to retrieve a first aid kid and wet washcloth. France is still in the same position when he returns and, were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Germany might have suspected him to be dead.

 A chair scraps across the wood floor as Germany pulls it around the coffee table to France's side. He sets the kit down and, with the cloth, begins to carefully wipe the blood from the man’s face. “What happened?” he asks.

 “Just a touch of carelessness on my part.” France replies. His eyes are still closed, though his brows twitch together every so often.

 “Thought you had gone south.”

 “I did, for a time. But I missed my city.”

 Germany continues cleaning the blood away and finally finds a wound at France's hairline. It is clotted and closed now, though he wonders if it needs stitching. His brows pull together, and he moves the cloth away with a frown. The thought from before resurfaces once again, gnawing at his mind. A little voice tells him to call for reinforcements and another tells him to take care of it himself. Other questions came to mind, the top of them being why was France back in Paris?

 France's eyes open and he tilts his head to look at him. He looks awful, Germany thinks. Cheeks are hollower than he remembers. Dark circles beneath his eyes and a day-old bruise on his jaw. A still healing scrape blemishes his cheek and he looks tired. Worn thin. “So?” he asks, drawing Germany from his observations. “How bad is it?”

 “It’s fine. You’ll live.”

 “What wonderful news.” France says and Germany cannot discern if it was sarcasm or not.

 He stands and takes the bloodied cloth to wash in the sink. When he returns, France is helping himself to the brandy at his desk. Germany stills a moment and thinks of the many secret documents laying open on his desk. The paranoid voice hisses in the forefront of his mind and he chooses not to pay mind to it. Instead, he looks at the man standing by the window that overlooks the city. How delicately he holds the glass as he drinks, the moonlight in his hair.

 “Quiet night.” France says. “Never could stand the quiet when I was younger and now, I don’t mind it much. This industrial age is so noisy that I almost wish for quiet nights again.” He takes a sip then looks to Germany. “Suppose you wouldn’t know much about those nights, would you? Long before the wonders of electricity and automobiles.”

 “Why are you here, France?”

 “This is yours, yes?” France picks up the other glass of brandy Germany left on his desk and holds it out to him. “Drink with me. And do not worry, I didn’t poison it.”

 “I wasn’t thinking that.” Germany retorts as he takes the offered glass and, if to prove his point, takes a sip. France smiles lightly in approval.

 “We both know it would take more than poison to harm you.” he says calmly. “It is exhilarating, no?”

 Germany frowns, mind scrambling to catch up. “What?”

 “Conquering. The rush of new territory folded into you. Better than any drug in the world. Better than sex.” France chuckles lightly as Germany’s cheeks color red. “Once you have that first taste, you only crave it more. Don’t you, Germany?”

 “I don’t believe that’s an accurate description.”

 “But you do understand, don’t you? The good and the bad of it.” France swirls the liquor around in his glass. “All that territory, it doesn’t belong to you. Your body becomes a war within itself and you crave more in hopes it will satisfy the ache.”

 “Why are you here?” Germany asks again.

 France exhales a sigh and, for a moment, stares into the swirling brandy. Then he takes a drink and says, “Wonder if I could take a bath while I’m here?”

 Just how long does France intend to stay, he wonders. His mind wars with itself, frustrated he cannot gauge a proper read off the Frenchman. A thought that sounds awfully like his brother tells him to not to trust France. Do not turn your back, it says. Then again, Gilbert said that about many other nations. His chest tightens slightly at the thought of his brother and quickly pushes it out of his mind.

 “Yes, of course.” he replies, and France smiles again.

 “Thank you, my dear.” He finishes his glass in one swallow then sets it down onto the desk. Germany watches him go down the hallway and hears a door close. He drums his fingers around the glass in hand and looks to the empty one on the table. Pipes rattle in the apartment walls as he faintly hears the rush of water and he wonders how he has fallen into playing host to his enemy. He knows the trouble they will both be in if someone caught them.

 If.

 Germany’s mind falls back on France’s hollow cheeks and before he realizes it, he is in the kitchen preparing to reheat soup from earlier.

 France emerges sometime later. In the time spent, Germany has cleared his desk and consumed another glass of brandy. It is enough to finally take the edge off and silence the whispers that slither in his mind. Soup is sitting warm on the kitchen stove, its smell taking over the small apartment. He wonders if it will be enough. If France will take it alone or if he will distrust a meal from his enemy. He looks up as his new guest enters the kitchen and frowns lightly.

 “Are those my clothes?”

 “Found them in the wardrobe. Hope you don’t mind.” France finishes buttoning the cream-colored shirt, leaving the last few buttons at the top undone. It hangs from his body though not in the same way it does to Italy. Though he is broader and taller than France, Germany cannot help thinking the clothes should not hang off that much. “God, I remember when you were smaller.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “You used to be this cute little darling that Prussia adored showing off. And now look at you, all grown up.” France exhales a sigh as he ties back his still damp hair. Few stands escape to frame his face and it's then Germany notices he has shaved. The shadows beneath his eyes remain, as does the bruise on his jaw. His eyes drift upward to the cut on his forehead and feels relief when he sees it is nearly healed. His gaze catches France’s and he sees the man smirking at him. “See something you like, Germany?”

 Germany’s face warms and he hastily turns away towards the stove to lift the pot and stir the soup. Behind, France chuckles lightly and he wonders how much of this the man enjoys. All of it, he realizes. Would it be too late now to throw him out of the apartment? His jaw tightens for a second as he ladles some soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table.

 “Thought you would be hungry so I…” he trails off awkwardly as he catches France’s still smiling at him. He is not sure what about this time.

 “How kind.” France muses. He takes the seat and stirs the contents around in the bowl with his spoon. Faintly, Germany wonders if the man will take food from him. Would he think it was poisoned? But then the worries fade as France begins to eat.

 “Entire city is rationing and here you are with real meat.” he comments between bites. “I thought all resources were going to the front.”

 Germany’s jaw tightens as he frowns. “They are,” he replies.

 “Don’t suppose you have cigarettes on hand, do you?”

 “I don’t smoke.”

 France raises a brow at him and puts his spoon down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin metal container from his pocket. “Then what’s this?”

 “Gift.” Germany replies. “But I don’t smoke.”

“Hm. Mind if I do?” France asks as he pulls out one of the cigarettes from the box. He quickly lights it and inhales deep, holds it, then exhales. Germany waves off the smoke that wafts in his direction and moves to take the other seat at the table. They sit in relative silence. While France smokes and eats, Germany once again attempts to figure out the situation he has found himself in.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes twice as France lights his second cigarette. “Does it ever stop?” he asks suddenly.

Germany frowns. “Does what stop?”

“Those gears in your mind.” France leans back into his chair, cigarette between two fingers as he looks at him. “They have been excessively turning since I arrived. You’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I am curious, yes.”

France hums in his throat and brings the cigarette to his lips. Smoke curls in the light as it floats about the room. “You wonder if I am here to steal your precious plans. Stuff papers and secret documents into my trousers and carry them off to my leaders.” He takes another drag, the end lighting on the inhale. “Or perhaps I sneak into your bed and slit your throat while you sleep.”

 Germany’s brow furrows. “The thought crossed my mind, yes.” he says tensely. “Why else would you come back, knowing the danger.”

 He laughs and flicks ash into the empty soup bowl. “My dear, I’m not crude like Arthur.” he says. “Besides, in my current state, I could not hurt you even if I wanted to.” 

“Then what do you want?” Smoke swirls around France and it reminds him of Bismarck. When Prussia brought him to Versailles to be crowned as the new German Empire. He had his first cigar then and found it distasteful. It made his eyes water and the smell clung to his clothes for days. France had been there too. Silent and seething from across the room when Wilhelm was proclaimed emperor.

“What I want,” The memory fades as France begins to speak. “I cannot have.” He takes another long drag and Germany wonders if he intends smoking it down to the end as he did the first one. “Least not immediately, so I will settle for second.” 

“Which is?” 

 “A soft bed to start,” France’s lips curl into a smile. “And perhaps your warm company.”

“No.” Germany says immediately and leaves the table, ears growing warm as France’s laughter trails behind him.

[thetreeturnedoff]

alright! hyperfocus was on my side tonight so i compiled a list of all the caretakers from @hetalia-caretakers for them since people were asking for a list and one hadn’t been made yet (also side note y’all should totally go check out that blog, it’s amazing). i’m planning on updating this list as more people are added, too, and if anyone spots any mistakes here please let me know so i can fix them!

first, here’s the list of the caretakers with names and pronouns:

america - jerry (he/him), madeline/maddie (she/her)

china - zhang huijiong (they/them)

cuba - maria elena (that’s just a first name) (she/her)

england - bruce (he/him), alicia (she/her)

finland - adelaide (she/her)

france - michel (they/them)

germany & prussia - edith (she/her)

iceland - gabriel (he/him)

japan - naomi (she/her), hotaru (she/her)

latvia - agnese (she/her), twins aivars (he/him) and anita (she/her)

liechtenstein - ana (she/her)

n. italy - dante (he/him)

norway - eleanor (she/her)

romania - alina (she/her)

russia - maeve/maeves (she/her), irene (she/her)

sealand - harold (he/him)

s. italy - juno (she/her)

s. korea - jin ae (she/her)

spain - santiago (he/him)

switzerland - leila (she/her)

next, countries with unnamed caretakers:

all the micronations - (he/him)

belarus

denmark

greece - (she/her)

greece & turkey - (they/them)

sweden - (he/him)

ukraine

and for fun, some honorable mentions:

alina’s dog - anghel (she/her)

bruce’s mom who sends bruce off with cookies to give to england

jin’s cat - gilmack (he/him)

jerry’s cat - sugar (she/her)

below this i’m also putting the appearance and personality descriptions that we have because i’ve seen people talk about that before. i’m really just taking quotes and sometimes rephrasing them to make more sense here, but i’m also providing a link to the post it’s coming from so you can see the original context. because this is coming from multiple anon messages, it’s entirely possible that i’ve gotten things wrong, so if anyone (especially the creators) find anything i did get wrong i’d appreciate being corrected.

first, appearances:

adelaide (finland)

taller than finland, standing at around 5′8; hair is shoulder length and curly, and brown with blonde highlights; eyes are hazel [x]

eleanor (norway)

much shorter than norway [x]

5′9; dirty blonde hair and brown eyes [x]

gabriel (iceland)

around the same height as iceland, give or take an inch or two [x]

roughly 5′4; brunette hair and hazel eyes [x]

gilmack (jin)

fattest boy [x]

harold (sealand)

a “middle aged dude” [x]

redheaded with a relatively short style; average height, around 5′9; brown eyes; wears glasses even with decent vision to prevent his vision from deteriorating; a bit thin and lanky, but with a little muscle; visible signs of not sleeping [x]

jerry (america)

5′7.5, or roughly 172cm [x]

argentinian, but born and raised in new york; has brown eyes, black hair, and tan skin; wears glasses and has a “typical cute, tired nerd look”; very skinny and pretty underweight, but he’s just naturally like that, it has nothing to do with him not eating [x] [x]

jin ae (south korea)

short and brunette [x]

maddie (america)

young and 5′ [x]

filipino [x]

maeve (russia)

“has a death glare that makes flowers wilt” [x]

somewhere around 4′11 [x]

sugar (jerry)

grey with green eyes [x]

drawings of caretakers:

jerry

maeve, michel, jeremy, naomi, irene, and maddie

jerry and maddie (and alfred)

michel

maeve and irene

maeve and maddie

and now personalities (and some other facts):

adelaide (finland)

probably scared of finland because he sleepwalks with a gun or something [x]

"helps Finny with his Santa job every year and loves it" [x]

agnese (latvia)

started out sweet and outgoing, and now she and latvia are drinking buddies; keeps trying to keep up with drinking with latvia, despite him being immortal [x]

alina (romania)

"absolutely the snarkiest person you will ever meet"; "will absolutely bully romania into behaving, too varying degrees of effectiveness" [x]

ana (liechtenstein)

"[liechtenstein's] easy to lose due to both of them being easily distracted, so Ana's life is a constant game of hide and seek" [x]

anghel (alina)

"[alina's] main method of tracking romania" [x]

belarus’ unnamed caretaker

"flips between "oh you're angry don't worry I'll leave you alone for a bit" & "drop the knife belarus, don't play that shit with me"" [x]

denmark’s unnamed caretaker

“just as chaotic as Denmark himself” [x]

edith (germany and prussia)

super lax, and lets germany and prussia do whatever; gets into frequent trouble for not doing her job [x]

while supposedly watching prussia, she plays on her phone the whole time, loses track of him, or “helps him with whatever crime he’s trying to commit”; is definitely addicted to candy crush [x]

eleanor (norway)

"carry a spray bottle of water for when [norway] gets sassy with her"; "essentially “screw the rules you’re gonna do it no matter what I say”" [x]

gabriel (iceland)

he and eleanor are enemies because she feels like he’s too strict with iceland; he refuses to relax the rules he has for iceland [x]

"has threatened to quit because of how whiny Ice gets" [x]

has a long list of rules from both iceland’s government and norway that he enforces with iceland [x]

gilmack (jin)

laziest boy; “lives up to his name [name means roadblock]”; “will always be in front of your feet, or in the way, or be a bed hog” [x]

hotaru (japan)

actually enjoys her job, for the most part; “internally screams” around other nations because she only knows how to handle japan [x]

irene (russia)

“just rather confused” [x]

jerry (america)

probably has ptsd [x] [x]

has hit a point where he just kinda goes along with everything [x]

is aroace; is good at playing classical piano; "anxiety is through the roof, as are his caffeine levels"; "most unlucky guy in the world" [x]

gets random instances of super strength on occasion [x]

jin ae (south korea)

headstrong; “will thwap South Korea with a newspaper if he acts out“ [x]

leila (switzerland)

"sort of a pushover, but can be an amazing older sister figure when [switzerland] needs one" [x]

“not the interrupting type” [x]

maddie (america)

"made [america] back down with a single glance" [x]

is probably a black belt [x]

maeve (russia)

russia is the one scared of her; she doesn’t take russia’s shit [x]

“terrifying” [x]

“would just generally do questionable things, such as eating red red meat at 3 am with all the lights off”; actually volunteered for the job [x]

“small feral woman [who] can and will climb onto everything to get what she needs” [x]

maria elena (cuba)

"super chill, but super strong"; "Whenever Cuba and America get into a fight, she's usually the one to hold back America"; "She's a combo of the mom friend and the wine aunt" [x]

naomi (japan)

seems lazy or like she doesn’t care but actually just constantly gets lost; is always losing track of japan or getting turned around or distracted; probably pretty anxious too [x]

santiago (spain)

“stressed 24/7″; can’t really be upset with spain though [x]

really relaxed with spain as long as he’s alone, but things can get out of hand when he’s with portugal [x]

sugar (jerry)

mean to everyone but jerry; anything but sweet; also basically jerry’s emotional support animal [x]

sweden’s unnamed caretaker

can find sweden in ikea when sweden’s in there [x]

ukraine’s unnamed caretaker

just as emotional as ukraine is [x]

[aphspain-pure]

Spanish Gold in Moscow

@hetaliamondaychallenge September 28: “Chaos isn’t meant to be understood”. 

Category: Fanfic. 

Pair: RusSpa (Russia x Spain).

Words: 2.073.

Genre: Historical, Drama, angst, shounen-ai. 

Note(s): During the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) the Sencond Spanish Republic was completely ignored by Europe, while the fascist that had rebealed were helped by some militar forces. Spain was basically used as a test game of the military armament and strategy before the 2WW. The only country that gave real help to the Republic was the USSR. To finance the war, the government spent all the Spanish gold. 

1938

With an absolute ill look in his face, Spain, who still liked to considerate himself as the Second Spanish Republic, moved his gaze to the door that opened a few seconds before.

Nations could perceive other nations in a certain rate, so he wasn’t really surprised when the other entered the room; he had sensed him from far away, knowing he was leading to his position. Weary eyes without the so-called typical Spanish shine looked at the other, a little smile crossing his feverish face.

- Buenos días, Rusia.

Right in front of him, heavy, enormous and clearly powerful, the actual leader of the giant Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, Russia, stared back at him with his famous sweet smile. Spain didn’t have known him till a pair of centuries ago, but he knew about this certain characteristic even before personally meeting him. He heard from France, England, Prussia, Austria and even Denmark about this “gentle look monster” that was so big and terrifying in the east.

Anyway, Spain didn’t have really hated this guy even once; he was actually grateful for his performance during the Napoleonic wars, though. If it wouldn’t have been for the Russian forces, France’s troops wouldn’t have retired from his vital territory and he wouldn’t have regained his independence. He sighed, trying to get rid of the thoughts of the past.

He was now, currently, going to lose his independence against his own people, in the middle of the worst civil war he had ever have –and Spain was certainly a country that had endured quite some civil wars-.

A strong ache tortured his mind while he suffered a new wave of deaths. Every time his people died, his body would burn and a painful sensation split him in two. They were dying at that very moment, out there, in the valley of the Ebro, killing each other in a battle that had been going on for months. He nearly cried, but couldn’t afford doing it in front of the power that was standing over there, staring at him with a complicated look in his eyes.

After a few moments, Russia, still smiling even if Spain’s looks were terrible, spoke with a calmed voice. – How are your wounds? –he had asked.

A quick smile was formed in the Spaniard’s mouth, quite ironic.

- Well, my right arm has grown up again, so I can’t complain.

Russia stared at the renewed arm, where a few days ago only a stump could have been appreciated. They, nations, received wounds just like humans but their bodies weren’t actually the same. If they were cut, they would recover; if they lost blood, after resting for a while they’d be up again; if they were burn till ashes, they would start to be reborn just like a Fenix. If they were killed, they wouldn’t die.

Only another nation could kill one.

Even if Spain had lately started to question if a nation could kill itself, just like how he was feeling during these days in which he thought he was actually going to be destroyed by his own people.

Russia’s hand reached him and touched his back. He jumped for a moment, sored. He then relaxed, looking far away and not giving attention to the hands that touched his still bleeding injuries. 

When a certain happening was so bad, so traumatic, that it gave the nations nearly-coma state, the injuries would still remain bleeding some time. Sometimes it lasted days, sometimes centuries. Those were produced by the bombing, the Biltz, in Guernica, and they still bleed after a year.

He trembled, just by remembering it. The hand in his back made him shiver in pain, but it was the most comforting thing he could afford to have those days, so he didn’t say anything.

Then, he gained composure and faced the other.  - What are you doin’ here, anyway? I thought you were going back at your place for some bureaucracy stuff.

Russia remained silent.

That silence made Spain worry.

He didn’t hate Russia at all. He was nice to him, and every time they had met he could only see a true innocence behind the brute and scary dude everyone saw. He liked him quite a bit, and he lately, during his few peaceful years with a Republic, found out that he was such an intelligent and interesting chat partner. Thanks to the leftist ideology of his government the relations with the Soviet Union had been pretty good, so they had become nearly friends at this point.

He even had became the only nation helping him in this suicidal situation.

During civil wars Spain, normally, stayed apart and watched his people decide his fate. He disliked choosing between his beloved people, so que stayed aside.

This time, he couldn’t.

He had seen what happened with Italy after the Great War. The fascism grow up and ate Ita-chan and Romano completely. The brutality that came with it made Spain shiver from his position in the neighbour peninsula. He didn’t recognise his cute Italian brothers with those black shirts and that dark look in their face. Then it expanded to Germany and developed into the National Socialism, which happened to be even worse. A virus was expanding all over Europe and even reached his brother, Portugal.

Spain could have seen it coming. He even spoke with a few general of the army and old requetés, he tried to create a flexible government just to evade the incoming clash. But it was all in vain.

The military coup happened, and while it wasn’t effective, war broke out.

It may be pathetic coming from a country that used to be a world power but, this time, Spain feared his people. That’s why he stayed with the republicans. That’s why he suddenly started dying from the insides.

And while Spain was in that desperate situation, Europe didn’t mind at all and, trying to avoid a Second World War, signed a No Intervention Pact in which 27 countries swore not to intervene in his civil war. That had broken Spain’s heart, who found himself suddenly isolated and left apart, left to die alone. It was even worse when, even if knowing it, the United Kingdom looked away while the Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy broke that pact and helped the rebels. He couldn’t believe England’s coward attitude.

But it was kinda worst when he watched his closest friends actually attack him, help the fascist rebels.

First, the Italian brothers; then, Germany, Austria and Prussia under the name of the Third Reich. Portugal also attacked the Republic by sending his Viriatos and even the American self-proclaimed Hero’s Ford Company sent help to destroy him. All his old friends were against him. He, on the other hand, only received some fusils from Mexico and a few airplanes from a very scared France, who refused to send more help. The only one who lent him it’s power was the Soviet Union, or preferably Russia.

He still remembered when he had met Romano in the site of Toledo. Romano had been excited, he spoke about autarchy, about having a great colonial empire, and about things such as war being the way through the future. His golden eyes sparkled when he had, for the first time in centuries, hugged Spain.

If you join us I promise we’ll bring this to an end.  –he had whispered, while speaking about how great it was being a fascist country.

He had been then, suddenly, pulled apart by a giant body that happened to be his ally, Russia, who looked at Romano with electric violet cruel eyes. Spain could have said something to stop a conflict, but, when he looked at Roma, he couldn’t longer see his cute tomato-like crybaby. In the past Romano would have cried and call him to save him but, then, he held his gaze prideful, strong and dangerous in front of the terrible Russia.

A bombing had made them react and, when he came to himself, he was with the International Brigades heading to Madrid.

Remembering all of that made him feel sick and hided half of his face while looking at the floor with a tired smile.  

He suddenly had an urge to vomit, but he managed to stay calm and recover a moment later. – Sorry, I beg you excuse me. My house is total chaos now, no, wait… EUROPE is a total chaos now, haha…! I don’t understand how or why, but it makes me think things a way too much.

- Chaos isn’t meant to be understood.

That statement made Spain stay quiet and, then, he looked with his nearly dead green eyes at the other.

- I’m going to ask again, Russia. –he said, this time, cautious-. Why are you here?  

- You haven’t paid me to help you lately.

And if he had frozen before, this time Spain had lost all the blood of his veins.

He started sweating. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t.

- Y-yeah, I-I know… It’s just that all the gold that I’ve been keeping in my reserves has been already taken to Moscow, so I-I…

Russia’s voice was sweet but cold as ice. – You’re not going to pay for my services.

The Spaniard’s eyes opened at his full.

- No! Don’t even think ‘bout that! I’ll pay, I swear it! It’s just that, right now, my people are starving, we don’t have armament and the industry it’s all stopped. I can’t now but, when we win, I’ll return what I owe! A-and I’ll even make it double…! I’ll work hard, I swear. But, now, with all my old gold gone, I…

- So you’re not paying.

The calmed voice made Spain feel like if he were to hyperventilate. He felt like crashing. Like glass about to break.

- I’m not. –he confirmed then.

The taller man stood up, and Spain followed him, clearly desperate.

- Y-you can’t leave me, Russia! If I don’t have your help I’m lost! –after hearing those words the Slavic turned around and faced him, with his so-typical smile in his face.

- So you’ll pay me?

The brunette looked away, clearly ashamed. – I have… nothing to pay you with. B-but I promise..!

- Нет. You can pay me. –response that took an ¿hah..? out of Spain. Russia laughed in a calmed way and then, explained. – Even if you don’t have anything you still possess your body, da?

And Spain’s eyes darkened.

Ah, true. Nation prostitution.

It had been a while.

It used to be so common in the past that he didn’t know why he felt so surprised when Russia suggested it. It may have been ‘cause Russia is fairly younger than himself, or ‘cause the times have changed. He had been so accustomed to it even when he was a child that it wasn’t so much of a surprise finding out that some new power wanted to take advantage of his position to appeal to this. Spain could easily remember when he was forced to be Rome’s or the Islamic Empire’s sex-boy, or even Turkey’s or France’s. Well, he had also been like that with some nations; but, well, let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and he was also a sinner after all.  

He looked back at Russia and sighed. – Is this old damaged body worth all the gold I could have had afford to pay you weeks before? –and Russia’s aura became surprisingly pink, just like a happy kid’s.

- And much more! I’m happy so I’ll help you.

And leaned forward to kiss Spain’s forehead. Spain rised an eyebrow, but let him be, anyway. He needed help and Russia was eager to help him only receiving some affectionate touches here and there in return. There were worst things he could have had to do.

Another wave of pain drove him crazy sored and let himself drown in the straw bed he had been using before. He took a deep breath. 

Then, when the fever started to be stable again, spoke directly to Russia.

- Well, then, how about a quickie? I have to go back to the battlefield in 30 minutes and I think I could come back quite worse than now, ha ha. –he had laughed, with his shiny –and now tiny- smile.

Russia smiled back, getting rid of his Soviet general military hat while getting closer to the sun-burned skinned nation. He sat, and grabbed the other’s cheeks with a gloved strong hand. That tranquil smile crossed his happy face.

- Let me tell you this is going to be a payment in instalments.

[allthingshetalia]

Hi, can i have axis and allies reaction to his wife dad guilt tripping her even though she already left him due to him being violent and manipulative.. i just need some assurance during guarantine.. thx

I’m sorry bby

America

“What the fuck?” Your husband asked taking out all of the clothes you had just packed. 

“Alfred stop!” You screeched ripping his tanned arm away from the suitcase. He gripped both of your hands tightly in his own and tugged you so your chest was against his. He looked down at you murderously and while deep down you knew he would never lay a hand on you it still freaked you out. 

“Baby I love you so much but you are being stupid.” He stated. His hands squeezed around your wrists softly like he was trying to comfort you. Your eyes stung and you felt heavy tears push their way down your cheeks. He used the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist to wipe them away. 

“He’s my father.” You mumbled pitifully. He nodded his head in understanding and let go of your wrists. He sat down on the bed and gently pulled you down so you were sitting on his lap with your back against his chest. 

“He’s also a man who has beaten you.” He sighed. “Do you remember how long it took you to stop flinching every time I moved. We would be cuddled up on the couch and I would move to get comfortable and you would jump 10 feet in the air.” He said. You felt his arm muscles bulge as he remembered how messed up you were after living with your father. “And if you think I’m going to let you go back to that shithole you are absolutely insane.”

England

As soon as he saw the caller ID on your phone he quickly snatched it out of your hands and pressed the decline button.

“He’s been calling you again?” His green eyes were on fire and he shut off the TV so he could turn and look at you. You nodded your head and looked at Arthur with worried eyes. He groaned in annoyance and softly pulled your form against his side kissing the top of your head tenderly. “Don’t listen to anything he has ever told you or anything he could possibly say to you in the future. Know your worth my love.” 

France

“He scares me.” You mumbled. Your lover nodded and tucked your head under his chin. His broad shoulders and thick arms reminding you that you were safe and protected. 

“Has he been calling you? Texting you?” He asked. You nodded your head and reached over to the nightstand and pulled out your phone handing it to him. 

“12 missed calls and 42 messages.” He read aloud. You didn’t dare to look at the messages. Francis stared at your phone for a minute and brought his index finger to tap the screen. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him handle the phone like an old man. “He’s blocked. If you ever for some odd reason need to get in contact with him I know I have the number written down in my office somewhere.” He soothed. He looked down at your sleepy form on his chest and shot you a tired, loving smile. 

Russia

“I can handle this two ways”-

“The one where he doesn’t get hurt.” You stated quickly cutting your husband off. You paced back and fourth in your big cozy bedroom while your husband watched you with worried eyes. Nodding his head he reached out his arm and wrapped it around you stopping your pacing. Picking you up he set you on his lap. 

“As you wish my little flower.” He grumbled playfully. His lips pressed themselves tightly to the top of your head. “I’ll keep an eye out for him- more than I usually do. I know you don’t want to completely cut off contact but if he starts pulling that same crap again he’s gonna get blocked.” He stated. You could hear his heart rate pick up as you pressed your head against his chest. You hummed in agreement. 

China

“Whatever you want to do I support you.” He soothed. His long fingers massaged at your head that way in his lap. 

“I think I should just cut of contact with him.” You mumbled. A hot tear ran down your cheek causing a small wet spot on his thigh. 

“I think that’s for the best. Grab your phone, We’ll do it together.” He shushed running a hand up and down your back. You sat up and gripped your phone with shaky hands. Leaning back against him you quickly typed in your password and went to your settings, going under messages and pressing block. Clicking add new you hastily searched through your contacts and found your dads number. “You sure you want to do this.” Yao asked leaning his head against yours. 

Without hesitating you pressed the block button and enjoyed the feeling of the weight leaving your shoulder. 

Canada

Honestly same as France

 Italy 

Same as China

Japan

Hands gently pressed your head against his chest as he rocked you back and fourth. 

“It feels so good to actually cut off contact with him but  can’t help but feel sad. Why am  so sad?” You ached out  nuzzling deeper into your husbands chest. His shirt was now fully soaked with tears but he could care less. 

“Because It’s almost like a death. Actually It can be worse than a death. You lost someone who caused you so much pain but also was close to you.” He reasoned. Your sobs slowly died down as you nodded your head against him. 

“That makes sense.” You mumbled grabbing a tissue. You face and throat was sore and your head throbbed in your chest. 

“Now It’s time to get some sleep and when we wake up in the morning You’ll feel better. I promise.” 

Germany

“I don’t like this.” He mumbled. He took off his glasses and set your phone down next to him. You were sitting on the floor in front of him. Putting his elbows against his knees he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. Leaning forward he planted a soft gentle kiss against your forehead. While he was at a meeting you had a conversation with your father over text and as soon as Ludwig got home you threw you phone at him with a tear stained face.  

“What should I do?” You asked resting your chin on his knee. You needed to feel safe and cared for. Your head has just been through a whirlwind and the harsh pounding made it practically impossible for your to come up with a thought. He grabbed your face your both of his hands and pressed your forehead against his. 

“I won’t let things go back the the way they were before me. I made a vow to protect you. I made that vow in front of a whole audience wedding and to myself.  And if I let him creep back in I wouldn’t be doing that.” The look in his eye and his words made more tears fall from your sore eyes. “How about we cut of contact with him for a couple of days and see how you feel and we can go from there?” he asked. You sighed in relief and nodded grabbing your phone from beside him. 

Prussia 

same as Germany 

Romano 

“DON’T YOU EVER CALL HER AGAIN!” Lovino shouted. His voice boomed down the hallways and you had to cover your ears. You vaguely heard the sound of your father shouting back before Lovino pressed the end call button. You closed your eyes and clenched them just wanting to fall into a sleep. Arms wrapped themselves around you and you sank to the floor with him. Light sobs wracked your body and his hands ran over your trying to soothe what heartache he could. 

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 5

Because I’m an insomniac fool and because you’re all beautiful and deserve it, here’s chapter 5 featuring the gang and Reckless references so blatant even I caught them. Enjoy the love, everyone!

Chapter 5: An Engagement in Ombra

They had all come. By the time the church bells signaled noon the house that everyone in Ombra knew only as the Bluejay’s workshop was already full. Resa had even opened her chamber of wonders for the special occasion, a little room right behind Mo’s workshop where she displayed truly wonderful things.

Scales of nymphs and water-sprites that she had collected at the nearby riverbank could be found there, two honeycombs made by fire-elves (a gift from Dustfinger) and a strand of hair taken from a glass woman. Bowls of healing herbs and dried flowers, tree bark that could dye clothes, but also the page with Fenoglio’s handwritten words that had brought Cosimo the Fair back from the dead – and the book that had killed the Adderhead, bound by her husband.

Meggie was sure that any guest who wandered into her mother’s treasure chamber would immediately forget that they had actually come to celebrate the engagement of her daughter.

Resa’s chamber of wonders also contained two of the flying machine models that Doria had built. Meggie’s mother treated him like a second son by now, but Mo made no secret of his disapproval of Meggie’s and Doria’s plan to move out into their own quarters.

“Don’t be angry with him. Fathers don’t like anyone who outranks them in their daughter’s favor,” Resa had whispered to Meggie when Mo had asked her just a few days ago if she wasn’t a bit too young to be engaged.

Too young… Meggie didn’t feel young. Sometimes she felt so old as if she had lived a dozen lives already. She remembered so many Meggies�� The one who had lived alone with Mo in the old drafty house, the prisoner in Capricorn’s village, or the Meggie who had crossed worlds and who had been in love with Farid.

They all seemed to have lived their very own lives. Sometimes Meggie imagined them as little figurines standing in one of Resa’s treasure chests. She remembered each one of those Meggies fondly, but she wouldn’t have traded any of them for the version of herself who was by Doria’s side.

The love he filled her heart with was like a coat she felt around her shoulders. A warm blanket in a cold winter night. She had always believed that no one would ever know her better than Mo did. But Doria saw so effortlessly into the most hidden corners of her heart as if he had always lived there. Some she hadn’t even known herself until he showed them to her.

It was easy to fight with him, to laugh or to sit in silence, and every day he surprised Meggie with a new outlandish thought or plan and lured her deeper and deeper into this world with his insatiable curiosity. Sometimes they would borrow Fenoglio’s stubborn horse and ride for days into some faraway village because Doria had heard of a blacksmith who created wings of gold or a cobbler who could sew seven-league-boots.

“Nonsense!“ Fenoglio shouted any time Doria spoke of such wonders. “There is no magic in my-, I mean, in this world!” he corrected when Rosenquartz shot him a warning look.

But there was. Doria found it every day. And so Meggie wanted to spend all her days with him, even though they had both only just turned 18. Even Dante loved Doria. Wasn’t that proof enough that she was choosing the right one?

“Do you need proof, Meggie?“ she asked herself while accepting another engagement gift. She knew exactly why she was asking herself this question. Before Dustfinger had disappeared to join Mo in his workshop, he had mentioned that the Strong Man had told Farid about her engagement to his younger brother.

What if he showed up?

Meggie hadn’t seen Farid since he’d left for Lorraine two years ago, after the jugglers of the Prince told him about the pathetic fire-breathers who performed at those distant courts.

Did love ever really disappear? Or did it leave its seeds like a flower which would bloom anew once she saw him again?

Meggie’s heart gave her the answer an hour later when Farid suddenly appeared next to Elinor. He had a beard and she barely recognized him at first, but then he looked over at her and -

No.

Her heart did not beat any faster. It filled up with warmth, familiarity and loving derision when Farid pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face – shoulder-length like Dustfinger’s hair.

Meggie was sure that despite all those princesses, Farid still loved his teacher more than any other person. And he was still vain and eager to be loved and admired. He needed that admiration like the air he breathed.

As he stepped towards Meggie he wore the half-mocking half-enticing smile on his lips that she remembered so well. A fiery rose grew in the hand he held out to her. It left a heart of ash on his skin when it disappeared.

“Engaged?“ he whispered in her ear as he kissed her on the cheek. “Have you lost your mind? The same meal for the rest of your life?”

“This meal tastes different every single day,“ she whispered back, but of course Farid didn’t believe that. He would never believe her that she loved anyone more than him. But his eyes were already searching for Dustfinger. The one love he would never betray.

“Dustfinger is with Mo in his workshop,“ Meggie said.

“Ah, good. How is he?“ Farid turned to look at a girl who had pushed herself past them. Lucinda, the daughter of the miller who helped Mo make paper.

“A sheep loses all its skin and its life for just six pages!“ her father had said to her and Resa one day. “I’m tired of working with parchment. I’m going to accelerate progress a little bit – after all, it’s said that there are already paper mills in Spain and farther north.”

“He’s doing very well,“ Meggie said. “The whole city loves him and he has two new students.”

Farid frowned.

“They’re probably not half as good as I am, right?“

He was hopeless.

“Come on,“ he said and took Meggie’s hand. “I have to have a serious talk with your fiancé. He should know the risk he’s taking. If he makes you unhappy just once, I will turn him into the finest gray ash that this and any other world has ever seen.”

He probably would.

 They couldn’t find Doria anywhere and the house was still so full that they barely made it up the stairs. Meggie and Dante had their chambers on the second floor and there was one bigger room that they all called the “living room”, even though the word came from another world. Mo’s and Resa’s books were kept there, very few compared to their collection in the other world. They cost a fortune in this one, but luckily Mo was able to fill the shelves himself.

Doria stood at the window – with a girl. Farid still knew Meggie well enough that he could feel her antipathy towards this girl. Doria bought the wood for his flying machine models from Filippa’s father and she usually brought it to him. Meggie had walked in on them once, just as Filippa had asked Doria why he hadn’t chosen a girl from Ombra instead of a stranger whose past was unknown.

No, she didn’t like Filippa Bafone. The fact that she was considered the most beautiful girl in Ombra didn’t help matters.

“Ah, the bride!“ she exclaimed when she saw Meggie and Farid standing in the door. “I just showed Doria my gift for you two.”

She shot Farid an appraising look and offered Meggie a bracelet. It was beautiful. Black, painted with tiny flowers. Doria held the matching one in his hand. He smiled at Meggie and pulled her at his side, not without a cautious glance towards Farid.

The glance that Filippa gave Farid was an invitation and Farid was happy to accept. But before he followed Ombra’s most beautiful girl, he whispered something to Meggie.

“You shouldn’t wear those bracelets. Witchcraft,” he added when he saw Meggie’s confused face. Then he and Filippa disappeared in the crowd. Meggie stared after him in disbelief but Doria had already pulled his knife and scratched the paint off of his bracelet.

“He’s right,“ he said. “I’ve heard whispers that Filippa doesn’t just rely on her beauty. I should probably feel flattered.“

He took the other bracelet out of Meggie’s hand and threw them both out of the window.

“Witches?“ Meggie looked down at the street where the bracelets rolled across the pavement.

“Oh yes.“ Doria took her hand and touched the ring he had put on her finger that morning.

“Not here. A few years ago the light witches fought so fiercely with the dark ones that they all disappeared. But farther north there’s still a lot of them, even though the priests of the new religions really hate them. Here in Ombra there are two merchants who sell their items. They say it’s only light magic but everyone knows that’s a lie.”

Witches… Meggie shivered. They were something that belonged only in storybooks. She laughed at herself a moment later – she lived in a book! At least Fenoglio still liked to see it that way. Did he know anything about witches in this world?

“Eastwards there’s said to be a country where princes ride silver dragons,“ Doria whispered to her. “The women in Lorraine turn into foxes. And up in Prussia, an uncle of mine saw people who have skin made of stone. This world is way bigger than just Ombra, Meggie.”

“I know,“ she replied – but what did she know? In all those years during which Fenoglio’s world had become her home (yes, she admitted, she still called it that), she had barely travelled 50 miles from Ombra. Travelling was arduous and she was so happy here in the city! Doria was here, and Dante and Mo and Resa, Elinor and Darius, Dustfinger, Roxane, Brianna and Jehan. What else did she need?

“Do you know what the Black Prince likes to say?“ Doria fed her one of the tiny cakes that Rosenquartz had bought for them from a bakery that specialized in such delicacies made for glass men.

“‘If you try to hide away from the world, it will come to find you one day.‘ I’ve told you so many times: We should travel! Samarkand, Constantinople, Edo – doesn’t that all sound wonderful?”

He started spinning with Meggie. The guests made room and clapped in time with the beat. Two more couples started dancing and Meggie forgot about witches and Filippa’s bracelets. Yes, they would travel! It was time to explore this world outside of books. She twirled in Doria’s arms and couldn’t tell what made her dizzier: Being in love or dancing.

(Next chapter)

[things-can-be-seen-here]

Oh! That uh. Headcanon thing??? Is that ok? If it was the Germany Bros and Denmark with zzz, pda, and built?? I dunno if your still doing this or not. But thank you anyways!! You're writing is good!!! And remember to take care of yourself.

I didn’t know if you wanted Germany Bros as a ship or as separated characters so I did them separately, but I think you’ll have the image to how it would look like in their relationship :D I hope you’ll like it! Im very glad that you like my writing! 

Enjoy!!

Affection = How affectionate are they? How do they show it?

Germany - He tries his best to show affection in any possible way. He just has no idea how to do it and that makes him a bit unsure of himself. He uses gifts and dates as a form of showing affection, he even writes love letters. But he is always unsure about whether it’s good enough or not.

Prussia - Not very affectionate. Gilbert likes to assure and be assured of their love by words, not actions. He knows it might seem stupid, but he can read honesty in the other’s voice, so he knows if they mean it or if there’s something wrong.

Built = How did their relationship begin? Who took the first step?

Germany - Ludwig had never started a relationship before. He tries to show his love and he tries to read the other person, to see if he is not getting mixed signals or something like that.

Prussia - Prussia is being all touchy and laughy with the other, bumping into them playfully and asking them out for ice cream, coffee, to see a movie and so on. It comes to the point when he assumes the other loves him too, even to the point when he assumes that they are dating. Just when he leans for a kiss, he realizes that “No, I should have say something” and his s/o thinks “Oh, I should have known!”. It usually ends up in a relationship, so he doesn’t mind the awkward minute between them when they pull away after the kiss.

Denmark - No Matter how old Matthias is, or how many relationships he had, he is always very ashamed when asking somebody out. He is blushing, stuttering, he is fidgeting his fingers and he always, always end up asking “So... Can I kiss you?” and then “And... Could I kiss you again?”. His partner finds that funny, Matthias not so much.

Care = Do they take care of each other - mentally and physically? Are they usually interested in how the other’s day was?

Germany - He does not want to talk about his day. It gets tiring doing it for the first half of a day, he does not want to talk about it for the rest of it. But he is interested in how the other’s day was or how the project ended or if they felt happy... As for physical care, Ludwig likes to give massages. With fancy oils and candles. He thinks it’s a nice way to relax after a long day.

Prussia - he doesn’t like talking. He keeps his problems for himself and he assumes people want to do the same. So if his partner wants to talk about their day, they are welcome. But he won’t share how his day went. He prefers watching a movie and relaxing while cuddling, or just napping together. He feels much better after that. He believes that thing helps his partner as well.

Dates = How often do they go on dates? How do they look?

Germany - For important dates, Ludwig likes to go on fancy lunches and dinners. He likes long walks and alcohol tasting. If it’s just spending free time together, he likes to go hiking, he likes to visit museums and generally just travel to see new things.

Prussia - Is more of a lazy dater. He prefers staying home or somewhere close, like on a nearest beach or in nearest bar. Gilbert isn’t fan of fancy places if he doesn’t have the reason for it. But once there is a special occasion or his partner and him get to be together after a long time, he’s the one to chose a theater play or a restaurant.

Exceptions = What do they do, to make their partner happy (even if they don't enjoy it?)

Germany - Sings or reads to his partner in the bed. He really prefers not to do so, but once his partner asks him to, he can’t say no.

Prussia - Cleaning. If he’s partner is away, he takes care of the house, of the backyard, he goes shopping, does laundry, he will change sheets and clean the windows. He hates it, it takes whole day (maybe two) but the look on his s/o’s face is always worth it.

Future = Do they think about it? How does it look?

Germany - He’s a week in a relationship but he already knows how their wedding will look like and what will they kid name’s be. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he always feels like his partner is the one for him.

Prussia - Gilbert knows better than to give himself a hope of any kind. He is open to talks about future and he takes them seriously, but he doesn’t think of it much. He would be happy to make his dream future come true one day... Lots of kids and animals in big house - that’s what he wants the most.

Gifts = How often do they give the other gifts? What are the gifts?

Germany - Every anniversary, anytime they see each other after a long time, every birthday, Christmas, Easter... He uses every special occasion just to show that he loves the other person. Why? Because he can’t use his words properly. It’s always something practical and rarely it’s clothes or accessory.

Prussia - Is terrible with gifts. He is trying, he’s trying his best! But he can’t do it and he needs helps. He often asks somebody to help him and he is listening to his partner so he at least tries to buy the thing they seem to want the most.

Hiatus = Did they ever had to take a break from each other? Or is their relationship smooth?

Neither of them is fan of breaks. Whilst Ludwig believes everything can be settled after a long discussion, Gilbert knows that a break equals a break up.

Item = What belongs to the other, but they always use it?

Germany - He is usually bigger, so he can’t keep any clothes and wear them. But he really likes to borrow watch or glasses. It’s subtle, it’s elegant and no one knows.

Prussia - He goes with the saying “What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine”. (He borrows shoes a lot.)

Jealousy = Are they jealous? Does it show?

Germany - Not without a proper reason. He is trying to let everything slide and make himself believe, that there is no reason he should be jealous. So he does not show it either.

Prussia -  He hates being jealous, but he is afraid that somebody might be better. He thinks he is good enough, but there is always someone who can be a better match for his partner. He does show it in a strange way - he si trying to please his partner and make himself look better, just to show his partner how good their relationship is and why they should stay together.

Kitchen = Who owns it?

As for Germany and Prussia, they both have their way around the kitchen. But the can’t work together, they are very different types of cooks, so the switch. (Ludwig end up cleaning after Gilbert most of the time.)

Likes and dislikes = What is the best and the worst thing about their partner?

Germany - Ludwig really likes when his partner is honest. At any cost. On the other hand, being lazy is a big no-no in a relationship.

Prussia - Gilbert appreciates if his partner is laughing at his jokes. However terrible they are, he just wants to make his partner smile. What he doesn’t like is being lectured by the other. He can stand it in private, but once it happens on a public place, that’s it for him. Gilbert knows he has many flaws, but he knows his worth and he won’t let anyone scold him in front of other people.

Mistake = What did they do and how did the situation ended?

Germany - Time is always a problem. He hates to admit it, but he could give his partner more attention and spend more time with him. As an apology, he buys something that his s/o wanted for a longer time and leaves his phone at home, spending as much time with his partner as possible.

Prussia - He does a lot of mistakes, but he never admits it to himself. So he is ignoring it, hoping his partner isn’t hurt in any way. They both end up forgetting about it in few days.

Nicknames = How do they call each other?

Germany - He doesn’t like nicknames, he never uses them. It feels weird for some reason. But when he uses any other name than his partner’s given name, he says it with the softest tone possible.

Prussia - Gilbert is playing with names. And he uses them all at the same time. (And he makes up nicknames for himself.)

Out of character = What is something nobody would believe they do in a relationship?

Germany - He is very needy cuddler. Once his job is done and he can finally rest, he prefers to have his partner near him. They don’t have to talk or kiss or anything, he just wants to be close to them and hug on the couch.

Prussia - Gilbert loves big cheesy romantic gestures. Every other anniversary he borrows a microphone and speaker and he stands under his partner’s window, singing ABBA and Bruno Mars’ old songs.

PDA = Their opinion on PDA? How does it look?

Germany - No. He knows that people don’t like seeing it and then it’s a private thing. So why would he want to show the others how much he is in love when his partner is the only one who has to know? Even when they see each other after a long time, he just hugs his partner and kisses them on both cheeks.

Prussia - It’s not like he doesn’t like PDA, he just isn’t that big of a affection-showing partner. He doesn’t need to hold the other’s hand or brush their shoulders together. He doesn’t really miss kissing anyone, he doesn’t need to be touched or touch. As long as he is sure that his love is being returned, he’s more than happy.

Denmark - Matthias is a very touchy person. He likes to hold his partner hand, he likes to hug them a lot... He enjoys those things. But he wouldn’t like them to be screaming at other people, so he is very subtle with them. There is the thing though - he can’t keep his lips away. Whether it’s pecks or just whispering, he keeps his lips close to his s/o’s body.

Quirk = What is a silly activity they really enjoy?

Germany - He loves shopping - in pet stores. He spends way too much there every now and then. But he never keeps those things (not until he goes there on purpose, for his own dogs). He is giving them to animal shelters, helping them as much as he can.

Prussia - Singing naked around the house. It starts in the shower, but it continues until he’s completely dry (without using a towel). He doesn’t need a microphone, he is just loud and he dances with his eyes closed. (Oh yes. It got awkward few times.)

Rough times = Do they argue? How often?

Germany - He can get loud if there is a problem that is ignored by his partner, but once the “debate” starts accelerating and it becomes an argument, he backs off and uses more calm, soft voice. He’s a patient man, so if he starts an argument, it’s not more often than once a month.

Prussia - He’s blunt and oblivious and even though it’s not much of a arguing problem, he often says things differently that he should and explains things to himself the wrong way. That leads to hard and dangerous conversations few times a week.

Sex = nothing too explicit, just a random headcanon

Germany - He’s very shamed of it, but when he’s the big spoon in bed, he gets a boner too often. It never happens to him, even if his partner is teasing him any other time of a day or place, he has his buddy under control. But once he is in bed, oh boy. It just keeps happening.

Prussia - He loves morning sex. Slow, relaxes, caring morning love making is the best kind of all.

Together time = How often does that happen? How are they usually spending it?

Germany - He loves his job. He knows it's bad, it's actually the worst, but his job is very important. But when Friday comes, he spends whole night planning their weekend together, making sure both of them will have something fun to do. (Unfortunately he never turns his phone off and chose his job over his partner.)

Prussia - He’s always putting work on the second place. He doesn’t care if the documents were supposed to be finished yesterday. He’s just going on a date and nothing can stop him. Does he regret his decision? Yes and no. Yes - he hated doing his job last minute. No - the date is always worth it. He prefers movie nights, cinema dates, he can even settle for operas and musicals. Anything to spend two hours quietly admiring his s/o and then having what to talk about for the rest of the evening. (He keeps all of the tickets.)

Unacceptable = What will they NEVER do in a relationship?

Germany - However jealous he might be, he never confronts his partner. Ludwig believes that trust and honesty is the most important thing in a relationship so he thinks his s/o would come to him and tell him if something was off. He is a bit worried, sure, but he would never make a scene or corner his partner. He just waits patiently, however hard it is.

Prussia - He can't break up with his partner. He knows it's bad and that it's terrible thing but he can't make himself break someone's heart. So he is bad boyfriend, he is making scenes, he is doing that typical "What's wrong? Nothing!" thing and finds as much excuses as he can, to be away from his partner. He just doesn't want to hurt the other, he knows just as much or a pain it is.

View worth millions = What is the part of their partners body they admire the most?

Germany - For Ludwig it's definitely hands. Not nails, he doesn't care about those at all. They can be long, short, acrylic or they can have dirt behind them. Whatever. But hands, fingers, skin... He likes to touch his partners hands a lot and caress them. Hard to tell which he likes more - if small or big hands, if soft skin or hard skin of hands that worked a lot. He just adores hands and palms.

Prussia - Gilbert is a simple man. He really is. But no so simple that he would settle for round butts and big breasts (not that he doesn't like those). Or for big muscles. But he's a hair man. He likes to play with them, caress them, smell them... He even braids them, even though he is terrible at it. He's just having fun.

When separated =  Are they calling each other? Missing each other much? What happens when they see each other after a loner while?

Germany - He doesn’t want to be needy or annoying, so he is never the one to call and he’s texting the other just occasionally. It’s always a short, direct text, such as “Miss you.” “Love you.”  “Hope you will come back soon.” but he answers every call or text in a minute, trying to make the conversation as long as possible.

The reunion is his favourite part. He buys one flower and big chocolate box and cooks lunch. In the evening, he and his s/o go to a restaurant for a fancy dinner, which always ends up in them talking until the late night, and then going home and cuddling in the bed.

Prussia - Doesn't care if he's annoying. It's the opposite, actually. He uses "one word - one text bubble" style of texting. Not that he wants to, he just uses it as a way of reminding his s/o that he is alive and they are still dating... (And that he misses his s/on a lot). He's the king of emojis too. He uses them much more than it's necessary and he actually thinks a lot about which he will chose.

As for reunion, he's always asking one question over and over again to the point when he annoys himself. "Missed me much?". To which is s/o answers "No, not at all." just because they want to mess with him. But once they say "Yes, very much." he is the happiest man in the world, he jumps around and laughs loudly, hugging the other tightly.

Xtra = extra headcanon

Germany - Ludwig loves to play RPG games. He won’t tell anyone, he could never tell anyone. But he secretly loves them. He got so mad the other time, he scared Gilbert to death with how angry he was and how much he was cursing.

Prussia - He is watching cartoons. Not anime - cartoons. My little pony, Miss Mallard Mystery, Totally spies, Avatar, Gravity Falls, Phineas & Ferb... you name it, he knows it.

Yours only = marriage headcanon

Germany - Ludwig cried. He cried at every single wedding he had attended and he cried at his own wedding. His s/o though it was cute, but Ludwig couldn’t look into anyone’s eyes until he started drinking. It felt a bit awkward... But he couldn’t help it. His s/o was just the most beautiful person in the world and now they were only his.

Prussia - Was looking just stunning. He was nice, he was smiling, he was thanking everybody... Gilbert was a changed man on his wedding day. He was taking a lot of pictures (even though he had the best and most expensive photographers around him) and selfies. And then dancing - Gilbert had danced with everyone who was invited. Twice. He gave his soul and heart to every dance and for the first time they all had to admit that the Prussian looked hot.

Zzz = sleep headcanon

Germany - Some might think that Ludwig is a heavy sleeper. That he goes to bed and won’t wake up until the alarm goes off. The opposite is the truth - Ludwig reacts to every sound, every smell... He knows when his s/o moves. That’s actually the reason why he doesn’t need an alarm. He keeps waking up on the sound of the clock in the kitchen (which is on the other side of the house).

Prussia - Gilbert sleeps with his door open. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Haha, sorry... But he really does! And his windows open too. He likes night breeze. Why, you might ask, won’t he just close the door? He’s too lazy. When he goes to bed (which isn’t sooner than 2AM) he just wants to sleep. He can’t be bothered to do anything anymore.

Denmark - It doesn’t matter how long his sleep or nap is (it can be five minutes or five hours) but he always wakes up with pink cheeks. Rest of the Nordic is making fun of him, but just because they don’t want to admit that Matthias looks... kind of cute.

The thing that Denmark, Prussia and America have in common is, that they once made a pact and swore they will never ever wear pajamas again. Nightgown is cool, but they prefer to sleep in boxers or sweatpants (commando).

[inkstaineddove]

Fall Together

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary

Summary: After putting the brakes on their relationship after her divorce, Erzsébet visits Gilbert and he has no idea what to make of it. Sequel to Till We Meet Again.

Potsdam, 1921.

Gilbert sat alone in his study, a leatherbound book in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. The room was filled by the sounds of Edwin Edwards’ sliding trombone and Larry Shields’ shrieking clarinet. It was a record he’d played many times before, one that he rushed to get after hearing the damn Amis playing it often on their side of the trenches. It was different and, every time he listened, he was always tickled to think of how much Fritz would hate it, a memory of simpler times.

Through the noise, he managed to hear knocking at the front door. He remained seated for a second before jumping up to answer it. As he walked, he again considered the idea of hiring on a skeleton staff to do all the little things he had gotten so accustomed to ignoring. As always, he imagined the lecture he would receive from Ludwig for his supposed opulence and decided against it once more. Indulgence could wait.

“Hi,” Erzsébet said with a little smile, as if she were unsure herself of why she was there. She scrunched her nose up at the smell of the cigar that he still carried. “Do you have to smoke those awful things around me? Death smells better.”

“Well how could I have known you were coming over?” Always one to please despite his protestations, Gilbert stamped it out on the door frame. He then rubbed the wood in concern. “That wasn’t smart of me, was it? Well, no fire. That’s the main thing.”

Thankfully, she laughed at his mindlessness. All wasn’t lost right away. While he was caught up in staring at her, she cleared her throat. “Are you going to let me in or are we going to stand here forever? I know we have all the time in the world, but…”

“Right, shit, sorry! Come in, you know where everything is.” He beckoned her inside. Once behind her, he checked his appearance in the hallway mirror, disheveling his hair a bit to give himself that boyish look she used to compliment him on. Feeling sufficiently attractive, he followed her into the living room.

Gilbert never felt so self-conscious as she watched him. She had this little smile on her face, as if she were silently laughing at him. Was that why she was here? She travelled all this way to mock him? Fine. If that was what this was all about, then he’d give her no reason to laugh. He’d prove to her just how perfectly well-adjusted he was.

Her voice roused him out of his thoughts. “Gil, are you even listening? I’m here two minutes and you’re already tuning me out.” Where Erzsébet would have normally been annoyed, she instead chuckled. “I didn’t think it was that personal of a question.”

He silently berated himself. Staying in his head would do him no favors. And, while she knew him like nobody else did, he didn’t think she’d suddenly become a mind reader in two years. “I’m sorry I’m…drunk.” Why was that his excuse? And now she was staring at him as if he belonged in the asylum and everything was ruined before it started. “Did I say drunk? I meant in a funk! No, that’s even worse! Forget all that, forget I said anything at all. I’m listening now.”

“O-okay. I just wanted to know how you’ve been?” She eyed him up and down. “Though now you’ve got me worried about the answer.”

“Me? I’ve been great! Don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life!” He leaned against the fireplace, hoping to seem suave and unaffected. “So what that things have been a bit of a mess and the kid blames me for everything that went wrong during the war? I go to a bar and every woman wants me and I don’t have to turn them down! Every night I’ve got another date with a total babe and I never see them afterwards! What more could any bachelor want?” He was lying through his teeth but needed to sell it. He smirked and shrugged, feigning indifference. “Who needs the old ball and chain when you’ve got such unbridled freedom?”

“What a Hengst,” Erzsébet snickered before giving him a knowing smile. “Well, I’d hate to intrude on you and all your fun. If I’m such a burden, I’ve got no problem visiting Ludwig instead.” She pretended to get up from the sofa.

For a millisecond, his façade slipped into genuine panic. “No, don’t be like that! You know, I’ve got reservations tonight for this fancy little restaurant. I was going to go alone – which is so much fun to do too! – but, since you’re here, it would be romant- I mean, it would be so nice to go. If you want, of course, it’s all up to you.”

“What a coincidence. Are there really reservations?” She hid her mouth behind her hand, knowing that if she kept laughing at him, his floundering would increase. “It seems too perfect to be true.”

Gilbert let out a strange little laugh, one that didn’t quite sound natural. “There could be reservations if you wanted there to be. I could call in a few favors, bribe some people if needed, whatever you want and the night’s yours.”

Erzsébet didn’t know whether to be embarrassed on his behalf or flattered that he was this anxious. She settled on both being the appropriate response. “I was hoping to stay in tonight. I’m a little tired from the journey. Surprising how quickly you stop being used to things. Tomorrow, though, if you could call in those favors and make those bribes, then I’d be very interested.” She smirked, a devilish look in her eyes. “Don’t feel the need to stay in because of me though. I don’t want to deprive the women of Berlin their favorite.”

“What other women? Those other women! They’ll be fine! If they could take a century, they can take a night. Two nights, actually, since tomorrow’s our date. Not a date! Shit, it’s a saying.” Dear god, he needed to relax. Out of habit, he sat down beside her and, once he realized how close he was, scooted to the end of the couch. He could feel himself blushing and see her biting her lip to stop herself from laughing and all he longed for was death. “Does that mean you’re staying somewhere in town?” There, travel accommodations. A topic so dull he would be able to compose himself again.

“I figured I would be staying with you, Gil. Is that alright? I don’t want to impose.” She gave him the big eyes that they both knew he always succumbed to and he wanted to curse her for knowing all the right buttons in every situation. “Far be it from me to ruin the bachelor life you’re enjoying so much.”

He batted away her concerns, as feeble as they were, with a flick of his wrist. “Please, why would I want you elsewhere? You’ll be much happier here.” Gilbert exhaled slowly through his nose. He would have the same results if he grabbed his pistol and began literally shooting himself in the foot. “I can get you set up in a guest room.”

The way she stared at him caused him to worry that he had said something incredibly stupid. “Why would I be in a guest room? You know which bed I want to sleep in.” The little smirk Erzsébet had was enough to drive him completely insane. Before he could process everything, she was suddenly much closer than before. She was merciful enough to leave some space, but the lack of it was what drew his attention.

“M-Mine?” As she nodded her head, he took in a deep breath. “That’s fine. I’ll sleep in the guest room…and you’re shaking your head, so I’ll sleep with you. Fuck. Like in a platonic way? Erzsi, can’t you show a man some mercy? I’m drowning here.”

She patted his thigh affectionately. “If I did that, then how would I have my fun? Look at you, you’re paler than you normally are. Let me get you a drink. That’ll put you at ease.” She rose and walked over to the bar that was part of the room.

With distance came peace. Gilbert touched a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat decrease steadily. He watched her move around the bar with expert confidence, not pausing for a moment to ask him where things were. If he thought about it, he was almost insulted that she was so sure he hadn’t changed the layout. “You know, the host is supposed to do all that.”

“My home too, isn’t it?” Though he couldn’t see her face as she knelt behind the bar, he could hear the coyness in her voice. She hummed to herself as she poured them each a glass of wine and beer, respectively. Once done, she returned to him and offered him his drink like a peace offering. “Here. Maybe this’ll knock some sense back into you.”

Greedily, he drank from it. The beer brought no clarity, but the familiar crutch did something to calm his nerves. He swirled it around in his glass, watching the little whirlpool at the center. Anything was better than looking at Erzsébet and risk losing all rational thoughts. “I have to say, barging into my home, calling it yours and then calling me an idiot in the same breath is a gutsy move. Then again, why would I think you’d show up just to be sweet?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her roll her eyes and throw her head back. “Poor, Gilbert. Always carrying the heaviest cross. As soon as you saw me, you thought you knew exactly what I was here to do. You never even asked! You just saw me and went into one your spirals, thinking you had it all figured out!”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. He appreciated that she was now comfortable enough to insult him outright. Her honesty deserved his own. “That’s bullshit and you know it. What was I to think? The only reason you’d come here is to gloat that you’re so much happier now and everything in life is so wonderful and that you’re just here to cut off the last loose end to your old, miserable life. Which is fine by me, I wouldn’t care as long as you made sure to plunge the scissors deep enough into my heart.”

Erzsébet snorted. “Way to prove me wrong. You go through all this trouble to make up some ridiculous little fairy tale that has no basis in reality when it would’ve been easier to just ask me outright. But no! Gilbert and his insecurities have to try and sell me on the fact that he’s supposedly been fucking half of Berlin!” Pausing to sip her wine, she shook her head. “I love you, but you’re pathetic.”

All riled up and ready to go, he’d completely ignored the last bit of what she said. “What else could there be? I know what you’d do, you’d throw out the fact that you’ve got someone else waiting for you back- wait what did you say at the end?”

“Now you want to listen! For anyone with a working brain, it would’ve been obvious to them. How do I always forget that you’re a complete and utter moron?” Needing to calm down, she finished what was left of her wine and got up to refill her glass. “I’m not even going to repeat myself. I’m too annoyed with you.”

Gilbert sat there silently for a minute. He’d felt like an ass many times throughout his life – he supposed that was the price of arrogance – but never had it been so strong. He sighed, deciding now was as good a time as ever to start over. “How’ve you been these past two years?”

“Now you’re going to be normal?” She shook her head. Snapping at him didn’t feel as good as she’d hoped it would. Thankfully, he didn’t seem too surprised or bothered. “I’ve been good. I’ve been spending more time with Feliks again. There’s something to be said about independence and not having to ask permission to travel.” She shrugged, a content smile on her face. “But more so I’ve been spending time at home with my people and enjoying not having to speak in German all the time.”

“We don’t have to speak in German,” with ease, Gilbert switched to Hungarian. “Though I’m probably rusty.” It was an attempt to kiss up, but he was being earnest.

“Isn’t that better? So much prettier too! I’d say ‘no offense,’ but I know you’re used to it.” Erzsébet giggled at his nonchalant shrug and goofy expression. She retook her seat besides him and was pleased that he didn’t run away this time. “I’ve really been doing what I told you I would do, just enjoying that my time is now my own. I’d forgotten what that was like.”

He leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up onto the table. “That was all your great journey of self-discovery was? Shooting the shit with Feliks and random strangers?” He couldn’t prevent skepticism from seeping into his voice.

“I did more than that, don’t be so rude.” Her tone now as she chastised him was far more playful than before. “Without…him breathing down my neck, it’s been much easier to get back into my old hobbies. I got a nice stallion for a good price, found a cabin near the Mátra for a better price, and hid out there for a few months each spring. The game is just as good as when we used to hunt there as kids, maybe even better. It would’ve been perfect, but it was missing something.”

“What?”

“You.” Erzsébet chuckled at his embarrassment as he looked away. “Each time I was there, I would catch myself thinking about you or wishing you were there so I could show you whatever I’d found. Or just to have someone to race.” She sighed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “It happened even when I was back home. I’d see something and want to get it for you or would meet someone who reminded me of you and then it made the whole day feel bittersweet. Two years I spent only to figure out what I’ve always known: I’m my own woman and life’s better when you’re in it.”

When Gilbert at last looked at her again, he donned a sheepish expression. “Should I apologize now or later?”

She nuzzled into his chest and all was right in the world again. “Normally, I would want you to now, but you gave me plenty to laugh at and that’s apologies enough.” He felt the vibrations of her giggling into his chest. “Though why you thought I’d ever believe you’d been out sowing your wild oats is beyond me.”

He rubbed his free hand behind the back of his neck. “I thought it sounded pretty believable.” Her muffled scoff was all the answer he needed. “Fine, so it wasn’t. Maybe I panicked a little. I missed you and I didn’t want to be too obvious about it.”

She cupped his cheek and stroked it with her thumb. Her eyes shone with mischief. “You were painfully obvious about it.” He rolled his eyes and she snickered. “We used to go years without seeing each other, sometimes decades! And now you become a mess after a measly two? What happened to you, kedvesem?”

“Calling me ‘a mess’ might be an exaggeration.” Gilbert leaned his head into her hand. He noticed that it was more calloused than before. There would be more to explore and learn about her and he was eager to discover it all. “That is a question I’ve been asking myself for a couple centuries now. One I think you have the answer to.”

At last, Erzsébet provided him with a mercy and closed the distance between them. Her lips had the bitter taste of the red wines she preferred, but how could he mind the flavor? In his desperation, everything about them was as thrilling as their first kiss. It had been too long and he felt a need to make up for lost time, to convince her to never stay away for that long again. With little urging, she was in his lap and her hands were twisted in his hair and he knew that all of heaven’s riches were worth nothing compared to this.

In between each kiss he gave her neck, he whispered, “I missed you.” By the fourth one, she was laughing with her head collapsed in his chest.

“I get it, Gil. Believe me, I won’t be doing that again.” He hardly felt her lips against his jawline. “Now more than before, you’re stuck with me.”

If that was a threat, it was one he was happy to live with. To be hers again was more than enough for him.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3

Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.

Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.

A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.

So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention. 

It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.

Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.

He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.

You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.

It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.

You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat. 

The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.

In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.

It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.

"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.

It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"

Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.

He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-

But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.

For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it. 

But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.

"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."

But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps? 

Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-

He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.

"You know it's a two-way street, right?"

As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.

What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"

You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"

By all accounts, yes. Yes he could. 

His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-

"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"

You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."

He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."

He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."

For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.

But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations- 

"I'm only human, Gil."

"I know," he murmured.

"I could still get sick-"

"I know," he sighed.

"Or hurt-"

"I know," he growled.

"Or di-"

"I know!"

His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed. 

But no- 

Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception. 

In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.

He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"

You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.

Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"

There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.

You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.

Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.

Thanks for reading!

[katemarley]

fanfiction: crossing the distance

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: PruAus (Austria/Prussia) Characters: Austria, Prussia Rating: E

Summary: It’s 1938 and Austria is living at Germany’s place, if you can call that a life. Prussia and him have come closer to each other since, but there are still many obstacles to overcome on the path to a relationship … most of all, the difficult parts of their past and their own insecurities.

Happy Birthday, @damnprussia! This is for you, Steph! ❤︎

Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

--

Prussia was watching Austria over the rim of his newspaper. From his position on the couch, he could see him at the kitchen counter, pouring tea from Germany’s brass kettle into a mug. Austria was wearing a white shirt—no jabot—and grey, pin-striped trousers that showed the shape of his butt so very nicely.

Prussia could have written a hymn of praise to these trousers. They were elegant and conservative enough for Austria to wear them at least once a week, and whenever he did, Prussia couldn’t keep himself from staring.

Sometimes, he fantasised about stepping behind Austria while he made tea, rubbing his crotch against…

No.

He could feel his face flush and hid behind the newspaper.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to do something so crude. Not with Austria.

Prussia had been feeling confused ever since Austria had come to live with them. At first, he had thought: What a wimp, why does he give in just like that? Why doesn’t he fight, go underground—anything? Anything that would have shown Prussia that Austria hadn’t just given up or, worse, actually believed in the shit one of his own children was pulling.

Then he had started to notice how Austria acted around Germany—or, rather, how he didn’t react to some things Germany said. How he excused himself with being tired or unwell every single time he learned of some bigwig’s visit.

One day, he had followed Austria up to his room and had seen him with his ear at the flue. He hadn’t known what to do then—whether to walk away quietly or to announce his presence and risk scaring Austria. But then, Austria had straightened up, had locked eyes with him—and had leaned down in order to press his ear against the flue again.

That incident had shaken Prussia more than he had let on.

He trusts me. He trusts me not to betray him.

Not so wimpish then, eh? Or maybe just a good judge of character, because Prussia had indeed had no intention to betray Austria.

And then there had been the flute incident—the moment when Austria had caught him playing the flute and had said something about feelings.

He was glad he had hidden behind the newspaper. Talk—even thought—about feelings was something he couldn’t handle well, not in relation to Austria.

They had even made out after that—kissed and fumbled … until Prussia had ruined it.

He had seen Austria’s hand wrapped around his cock—Austria’s perfectly manicured hand, softened from regular use of hand lotion, around his crude, red thing—and suddenly, he had remembered how he had jerked off to the thought of subduing Austria for two centuries; to the thought of taking him down until he begged—as if Austria would ever beg for mercy; he knew that now.

And he had gone soft.

And Austria had blinked in surprise.

And he had been mortified.

He had fled after that, too embarrassed to stay in the room with Austria. To his surprise, Austria hadn’t come after him; hadn’t even raised the topic since then.

And now here he was, watching Austria out of the corner of his eye—and what a fine figure of a man he was!—but not daring to make another move. He didn’t even want to think what Austria might think of him now … and even if they tried again, what if he couldn’t stay hard for another time?

Austria sat down on an armchair opposite of him, cradling the mug in his arms and watching him over the rim of his glasses. Prussia raised the newspaper higher.

“I’m not stupid, Prussia. I see how you look at me.”

Yes, that’s what I feared.

Prussia said nothing.

He could hear Austria place the mug on the table and get up. He didn’t think he had ever been so nervous.

Austria sat down on the rim of the couch and pushed Prussia’s newspaper aside.

“I think it’s about time we talk about…”

“No!” Prussia yelped. He rumpled the paper in an attempt to build a defence with it again, but Austria could be surprisingly strong when he wanted to. Holding Prussia by the wrist, he pushed the newspaper out of the way.

Prussia looked down. He knew his face was flushed and he also knew what an ugly contrast it made with his pale skin.

“Prussia…” Austria eased his grip. “I’m confused. The way you look at me tells me you still want to sleep with me, but…”

“Look,” Prussia interrupted him hastily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”

“Really?” He didn’t even have to see Austria’s face to know he had raised an eyebrow. “Then why can’t you look into my eyes?”

Prussia said nothing.

Austria lifted his chin, giving him a piercing stare.

Prussia’s eyes flitted to the side.

“If this has anything to do with pushing me against a wall about a century ago…”

Prussia froze.

“I thought as much.” Austria sighed. “You see … did you really think I couldn’t have pushed you away if I hadn’t wanted to kiss you, too?”

“Well, maybe, but…” Prussia took a deep breath. “That’s not all there was. I had—”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Austria interrupted him. “That was then, and now is different. I just don’t want our past to get in the way of what we might have now.”

“But I even—” Prussia didn’t know how to continue.

“Let me get this straight,” Austria said, taking his hand. “You remembered that you had fantasised about forcing yourself upon me—and suddenly, you weren’t in the mood for sex anymore?”

Prussia sat stiff and mute as a brick.

“So that means you were ashamed of yourself?”

More silence.

“You were horrified that you had ever thought that way?”

Unable to look anywhere that wasn’t Austria, Prussia closed his eyes.

The hand that had been under his chin moved to his cheek, and Austria gave him a quick kiss.

“Stop beating yourself up about this. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is how you think now.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Prussia whispered.

“And what about me?” Austria snorted. “Do I deserve not to be with you?” He gave a bitter laugh. “You know, I probably do. But I want to be with you, and if you do that, too…”

Prussia wrapped his arms around him, pulling Austria on top of him for a desperate hug.

“I do,” he choked out.

Austria hugged him back, letting his knees slip to either side of Prussia’s legs as he drew him in for a deeper kiss.

Prussia raked his hands over Austria’s shoulders and back—man, that shirt even felt nice, like silk or very soft cotton…

Austria locked his hands behind Prussia’s neck, stroking up to the soft hair at its nape with one hand before the other moved to Prussia’s collar, opening it with experienced fingers.

Prussia gasped. His whole body thrummed and he felt the heat pool in its middle. His hands found their way to Austria’s lower back almost on their own, holding Austria on top of him.

Austria kissed the corner of his mouth, peppered kisses from his chin to the dip beneath his Adam’s apple and further down to where he had opened Prussia’s collar. He rolled his hips against Prussia’s, making him realise that they were both achingly hard.

Prussia wanted to grab Austria’s perfect butt and thrust up; wanted to press a finger between those two perfect orbs of flesh … but that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? He didn’t dare to do more than arch into Austria’s movements, and he didn’t even know how much of that was a conscious action and how much of it was the doing of his body seeking pleasure.

Again, it was Austria who made the next step, kneeling on top of him as he unbuttoned Prussia’s trousers. When he wrapped his hand around Prussia’s cock this time, it remained hard.

Prussia thrust up into Austria’s hand, arching his back in a way he would probably regret later. He was suffering from occasional bouts of lower back pain ever since the Great War.

As soon as it had occurred to Prussia that he might as well come like this, Austria took his hand away and got up, stepping out of his boots and trousers. Prussia was staring at every inch of skin that was revealed, especially at the skin between Austria’s legs.

Austria watched him and raised an eyebrow.

Spell broken, Prussia stood as well, getting rid of his clothes as swiftly as he could. Then he stepped towards Austria, opening the buttons of his shirt until he could brush it off his shoulders. Austria helped him take off his undershirt as well, and Prussia gently placed his hands on Austria’s almost hairless chest, brushed down to where he was sure he would have found a pouch some thirty years ago. Now Austria’s frame was almost skinny, with jutting hip bones.

Prussia went to his knees, massaging the soft flesh to the sides of Austria’s legs before he leaned forward to take the tip of Austria’s cock in his mouth.

“Let me sit down,” Austria said in a surprisingly gentle tone, brushing strands of hair out of Prussia’s face. “I feel too old to do this standing.”

Then he leaned back on the couch, opening his legs so Prussia could sit between them.

Prussia licked from the underside of Austria’s cock to its base, brushing gently over Austria’s balls. They were shaved—who even did that?—but he had to admit that it felt nice.

Then he leaned forward, taking as much of Austria’s cock in his mouth as he could.

Austria gasped, tangling a hand in Prussia’s hair as he shuddered in the attempt not to thrust his hips.

Prussia held them down, bobbing his head as he continued to stroke between Austria’s legs with his fingers, covertly brushing a finger along Austria’s perineum.

Or perhaps not so covertly, for Austria gently pulled him back and said:

“Do you want to be inside of me?”

“What?” He blushed.

“You understood me perfectly well.”

Austria reached down to the crumpled heap of his trousers, pulled out a little flask and put it in Prussia’s hands.

Prussia stared at it.

“I don’t have to explain what this is or what I expect you to do with it, do I?” There was a hint of annoyance in Austria’s voice.

“No, but…” Prussia trailed off.

“But what?” Austria didn’t let him get away that easily. “‘But I thought you wouldn’t want this’, or ‘but I thought you wouldn’t let me’?”

“Both, I think,” Prussia said sheepishly.

“Well, both assumptions are wrong,” Austria said. “Maybe you should ask the next time you assume.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries.” Austria sighed and put a cushion under his loins before he turned on his stomach and laid back on the couch. “Before you make the next false assumption, allow me to point out that I was expecting for us to have sex ever since it didn’t work out the last time. I don’t think much preparation will be necessary.”

“…Oh.” If Prussia hadn’t been fully hard already, he would have been now. Then a nasty voice inside his head asked him, …but do you think it was you Austria was thinking about when he did that? He tried to push it to the back of his mind.

Prussia opened the bottle and spread the oil over his cock until it was slick. Then he took the globes of Austria’s arse in his hands and started to knead them. They weren’t as soft as he had imagined, but felt just as nice. When he squeezed them, Austria arched up with a groan.

Unable to wait any longer, Prussia held Austria’s thighs as he positioned himself behind him. After aligning his cock with Austria’s hole, he started to push gently … and the tip of his cock went inside. Austria hadn’t boasted when he had said he had prepared himself.

When he was about halfway in, the base of his cock started to tingle. Prussia needed to take a break, holding Austria down until the sensation of an impending orgasm passed. He really didn’t need to approach sex with Austria from both ends of the embarrassment spectrum.

Austria didn’t move. If he had realised what was going on, at least he didn’t comment on it. At this point, Prussia was grateful for small mercies.

After he had caught himself, Prussia pushed inside. He needed to hold still for a moment—not for Austria to accommodate him but rather for his own sake, for coming to terms with the fact that he was actually having sex with Austria who was also letting him top.

He ran his hands over Austria’s back, caressing the beautiful shape of his body and admiring the tiny moles on it with his fingertips.

Then he started to move—gently, carefully—not that Austria was fragile, but the moment was; something he wanted to hold and write about in his diary…

“Can you turn around?” he asked nervously. “I want to see your face.”

“What a soppy thing to say,” Austria teased, but when he turned on his back, Prussia saw he was smiling. “Good thing you said it, or I would have needed to do that myself.”

Prussia couldn’t help it. He kissed him.

Austria held him close and kissed back, caressing Prussia’s neck with his fingertips.

Their bodies joined again almost naturally, as if they weren’t doing this for the first time together. It was what Prussia would have described as “making love” in his diary—their bodies gently rocking together, almost an afterthought to their kisses and caresses.

Then Austria angled their bodies in a different way. When Prussia rocked into him this time, a tremor went through Austria’s whole body, and Prussia knew what he had done. It was a bit embarrassing that he hadn’t found Austria’s sweet spot on his own, but seeing Austria come undone under him more than made up for that. It didn’t leave him unaffected. Watching Austria in extasy scored pretty high on the sexiest things he had ever seen, and he felt his orgasm build up again, this time with the inevitability of a natural force.

Austria seemed to feel it too. He reached between them and touched himself, making sure he reached his climax at the very moment when Prussia couldn’t hold it together anymore. Prussia’s orgasm overtook him, making his body jerk until all energy left him and he slumped down.

“Right,” said Austria after a moment, sounding far less affected than Prussia felt. “It seems there is something we need to work on.” He pushed Prussia’s body to the side, which slid from Austria to the couch like a rag doll. “Try not to fall down on me with your full weight. It’s pretty uncomfortable.”

“Sorry,” murmured Prussia with closed eyes. “I didn’t mean to; it just—happened.”

“It’s alright.” Austria’s tone softened. “Just try not to do it the next time.”

Prussia felt him get up, but he couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes in order to see where he was going. When Austria returned, it was with a wet cloth and a towel. He cleaned them before dumping both towel and cloth next to his trousers. Then he came back on the couch, gently pulling Prussia into his arms.

Prussia hugged him back, burying his face in the crook of Austria’s neck.

“So there will be a next time?” he asked uncertainly.

“If you want to.” He could feel Austria’s smile in the way the skin on his cheek tensed.

“It’s just … I don’t feel very … adequate as a lover,” he confessed. “It’s not only how I used to think about you. It’s also … you know exactly what you want and how you want it, and I…” He trailed off. “I just don’t think I can satisfy you very well.”

“So you think it’s better for me not to get satisfied at all?” Austria’s tone was gentle. He cupped Prussia’s head in his hands and leaned his front against Prussia’s. It was a position that made it impossible for them not to look at each other—except if Prussia closed his eyes, and he had done that one too many times already.

“Obviously not, but … Well, I just don’t know what you want with me.” He heard it himself how snotty he sounded.

“Hey.” Austria caressed his hair. “Sex isn’t just about the physical act—well, at least for me, it isn’t. It’s about being with someone you care for and about making them feel good.” He kissed Prussia on the lips. “You make me feel good, and I want you to feel good as well.”

Prussia was still sceptical, but he decided not to harp on about it.

“Speaking of making you feel good…” Now it was Austria who sounded a little embarrassed. “You know, I’m actually not set in the position I take…”

“Oh.” Prussia blushed as he realised what Austria was implying. “I … don’t know…”

“I know there are a lot of assumptions about men who prefer to take the so-called ‘female position’…” 

“That you don’t seem to care about,” Prussia pointed out.

“That I manage to ignore for most of the time,” Austria corrected him. “In any case, I realise that it may be difficult for you to take this into consideration, especially with me.”

“Been there, done that?” It was a shot in the dark, but Prussia could tell from the contrite smile on Austria’s face that he had hit the mark.

“I believe,” Austria said thoughtfully, “that if we want to make this relationship work, the both of us will need to bite the proverbial bullet in some respects.”

“So you just decided you would do that first?” Prussia was confused. “As … I don’t know, a sign of goodwill?”

“Did the sex we just had feel like a sign of goodwill to you?” Austria’s tone was sharp again.

“No,” Prussia mumbled. “It was bloody amazing. At least for me.”

“Not just for you.” Austria hesitated. “It was the way I hoped it would be. Gentle … and loving.” He blushed. Prussia realised he wasn’t the only one for whom it was difficult to talk about feelings, only Austria seemed to have more practice.

Alright, he thought. Bite the bullet. How hard could it be?

“I … can’t promise anything…” His courage faltered. “ButImightwanttotry.”

“Hmm?” There was a sly, private smile on Austria’s face. Prussia just knew he was teasing him now.

“I said I’ll try,” he blurted out.

Austria smiled some more and kissed him.

[pancake-man]

PRUMANO SECRET VALENTINES

Hey @anamelodemelo! I’m a little(almost two months) late, but I was your prumano secret valentine! Big thanks to @prumano-week for organising this whole thing and @snowywolff for kicking my butt into gear to finish this. 

Your prompts were  Kiss, Funny, Fancy, Date, Nyotalia and I tried to cover all of them! I used fannames because I couldn’t find any good names for the Nyo!s, so Nyo!Prussia is Zoe and Nyo!Romano is Elena!  I hope you enjoy it!

Kissing + Mishaps = Kisshaps

They’ve been doing the same thing for years, curled up in blankets and surrounded by junk food, a cheesy movie neither of them has ever heard of blaring on the screen across the room. The same thing, except it’s changed. Both of them have grown, but not much, perpetually stuck below 5’4. Elena’s room has gone from pink hues and stuffed animals to reds and greens and potted succulents on the windowsill. Zoe cut off most of her long hair and Elena wears makeup now. But they’re still the same kids who met years ago on a playground. 

So now it’s Elena with her back against the mattress, sitting on the floor because she’s too lazy to get her glasses and she wants to see, dammit, and Zoe up on the bed, laying on her back with an entire bowl of chips balanced on her stomach.

The actor in the film has lost his shirt, again, and Zoe is laughing her ass off making fun of the script and costume department and everything else, really. Elena isn’t sure what about the plot requires the hero to be shirtless, but she’s not paying attention anyways. The flashing lights of cheap CGI reflect on Zoe’s face, making her stand out in the dark room. 

Zoe bites her lip and sucks in a breath as the scene shifts. It’s the hero’s younger sister, and the villain(Elena thinks, she’s still not sure what the plot is) They’re fighting, knives out and teeth bared until the sister has the other woman pinned to the ground. The actresses are panting, and Elena feels her own heart beat badump, badump, badump. 

The women on screen press their lips together, cheesy and dramatic. “What does that feel like?” She asks, blurts out, because Zoe has experience and she doesn’t. Elena asks because she’s curious, because she’s never kissed a boy, let alone a girl, and what’s on screen is never like in real life.

Zoe hums, sticks her tongue between her teeth like she’s always done. “Just like kissing a boy, I guess.” 

Elena’s nails dig into her palm. “Never done that.”

Zoe doesn’t respond for a moment. Then Elena hears the rustle of blankets as her friend rolls over. “Oh. It’s- um. It’s like there’s this space in your chest that you never knew was there, and then it’s just-” She pops her lips. “Filled.”

Elena hums. Her face feels on fire. “I get it,” she says, even though she doesn’t. The movie has moved onto another fight scene, this time with more men and explosions. Neither of them are interested anymore.

Again the sound of blankets, then Elena feels breath on the back of her neck. She turns around and Zoe is right there, so close. “I didn’t explain very well, did I?” Zoe’s lips move around the words, and Elena can’t decide whether to look at them or Zoe’s eyes.

“No, it’s- fine. It’s fine.” 

“I could just show you.” 

“Don’t be a fucking weirdo,” Elena laughs, but it sounds fake and hollow. She leans forward.

It’s nothing like how Zoe described. It’s actually kinda terrible. Elena goes in with her lips puckered like a blowfish and Zoe goes straight for a French. Zoe groans and Elena can feel the vibrations go straight through her. Zoe pulls away, taking all of her warmth and too-much-ness with her.

“What the fuck was that shitty excuse for a first kiss, asshole?” Elena begins, but then Zoe smushes her cheeks between her hands and guides her up onto the bed. She’s sitting between Zoe’s legs now, and Zoe uses her hands to move Elena’s head around like a doll, tilting it just so that when they meet again, it’s a thousand times better than the first. 

Gasps are quickly swallowed up by hungry lips as eyes close and hands move around each other. Zoe is still tangled in pillows and fluff, leaving a barrier between them that feels like miles of distance. Fingers are running through Elena’s hair, pulling at the tangled curls until she whines and retaliates by digging her nails into Zoe’s shoulders.

Elena feels- wait, is that teeth? Something sharp hits her lip and she yelps, jumping back and hitting Zoe square in the face with her head. Elena looks up to see an awful fountain of blood burst forth from Zoe’s nose- all over her clean bedsheets. Goddammit.

“Shit I’m sorry-” She starts to say, but Zoe cuts her off with a wheeze. 

“No! No it’s fine, I’m just gonna-” Zoe starts to stand up, but their cocoon of blankets is still wrapped around her legs and she falls backwards. Elena reaches out for her and insead falls right on top of her, wedged between the wall and the bed. 

“Oh, MOTHER-”

---

“Seriously I’m so sorry that probably hurt like a son of a b-”

“Dude you’ve already apologised like, a billion times. It’s no sweat.”

“Zoe. Your arm is literally broken.”

“Yeah but it’s fine, see?” Zoe lifts up her arm, twisted at a horrible angle, and waves. “Can’t feel a thing.”

“I’m pretty sure not being able to feel your arm is really fucking bad! As in very not good! Kaput, nicht so gut.”

“Dude your accent is terrible,” Zoe laughs, with a loud snort at the end that nearly makes Elena swerve off the road. Driving with Zoe was usually distracting, let alone in the middle of the night when she had a broken arm. The arm that broke after they made out. That arm.

“Why are you still calling me dude? I feel like we’ve passed that point,” Elena rolls her eyes. But really… Maybe that kiss hadn’t meant anything to Zoe. Maybe Elena was just another girl. Maybe they really were just on ‘dude’ terms. 

Zoe shuts up for once, which normally would be great but now it just makes Elena more nervous, and she blows through a red light. “Jesus fucked a cow on a whole wheat bun, Elena! Keep your eyes on the road!”

“I’m sorry!” Elena blurts again, for the billion-and-first time. “You’re really distracting!”

“What?” 

“Don’t be an asshole, you know what I mean!”

“No seriously, what? I’m just me.”

Elena groans. She wishes she could pull over and have a proper conversation, but no, she needs to get Zoe to the hospital before she bleeds out or something. “You know, like, everytime you do stuff I just can’t focus.”

“Oh?” Elena is keeping her eyes on the road like a good driver, but she can hear the stupid smirk in Zoe’s voice. “Like what?”

“Like! I don’t know! Fuck!” 

Zoe snorts.

“Not like that!” Elena bites her lip and tries to find the words. “Like that right there! When you snort! It’s really fucking cute! And I liked your long hair but now that it’s short I mean- shit, have you ever looked in a mirror? You’re hot! Really hot! And I’ve known you my whole life so you’re kinda like my sister but not because that would be weird, you’re so much better and… fuck!” She didn’t mean to ramble that long. She glances over at Zoe, quickly, just to see her reaction.

Zoe is quiet. She’s holding her arm close to her chest, so it must actually hurt, and she’s just being a bitch about it. 

“Sorry, I know I’m not your type-”

“Dude, I thought you were straight.” Zoe moves her good hand over Elena’s. It’s awkward reaching over her seatbelt and broken arm, and Elena’s hands are still on the wheel so it probably isn’t safe, but Elena’s heart does flip-flops anyways.

“I mean… I don’t know what I am. I’ve never… liked anyone else.” Elena takes a deep breath. “Just you.”

Silence from Zoe again. Then- another snort. She starts laughing. “Dude! I thought you were straight!”

Angry tears prick Elena’s eyes. “Fuck off, bastard! I’m driving you to the hospital, don’t be a dick about my feelings!”

“No! No no no.” Zoe pulls her hand away and holds it up in surrender. Elena’s hand feels cold. “I meant, If I knew you were into- well, into me, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Now Elena does slam on the breaks and pull over. There’s nobody behind them, thank god, but Zoe is still thrown forward and it jars her arm. She cries out and curls into herself. 

“Fuck! Sorry, I just- what?” Elena unbuckles her seatbelt and tries to help Zoe back up. She’s crying- no, wait, she’s just laughing again. Zoe unfurls and launches herself at Elena’s face, slamming their lips together in a way that’s definitely painful. Just another bruise to add to the growing list. 

Zoe pulls away with that cute smirk of hers. “I like you too, dumbass.” 

Elena gasps in offense and punches her. In the arm. Which is broken. Zoe crumples again. “Right! Fuck! Hospital! Sorry!” She rebuckles and starts the car again.

Emergency room staff are the best. They’ve seen so much weird shit that they don’t blink at two teenage girls stumbling in at three in the morning, covered in blood and attached at the mouth. They barely notice at all, actually, and Elena has to fight to get any kind of immediate attention. She stays in the room through the whole ordeal(almost puking at the sight of Zoe’s arm being set into place) and peppers many more apologies throughout the night(Apparently Zoe’s nose is broken too. Elena peppers in kisses for good measure). 

The adrenaline of driving your friend(?) to the hospital in the middle of the night is finally leaving her body when the nurse finally leaves the room, and from the looks of it Zoe is just as tired. She’s all wrapped up in bandages, just like the blankets they’d left at home. The hospital chair Elena was given feels about as comfy as Zoe’s bed looks.

“Mmf mhm hh meh?” Zoe says eloquently.

“What?” Elena replies in kind.

���Bunch of fuckin’ messes aren’t we?”

“Ha. Yeah. You look worse than me.”

Zoe snorts, smirks. “You’re just as covered in blood.”

Elena’s eyes widen. “No way,” she retorts as she fumbles for her phone. Sure enough, when she opens her camera she can see her face is smeared with blood, especially around her lips. From Zoe’s bloody nose. “Oh, GROSS!” She gags and grabs some of Zoe’s bandages to wipe the rapidly-drying mess off. Zoe only laughs harder, wheezing an ‘ow’ between each snort.

“Did you mean it?” Elena asks, cutting off Zoe’s laughing fit. 

“All of it.”

“So, uh, wanna go to prom?”

“Sure, fuck it.”

“Fuck you.”

“On the first date? Elena, you foxy little-” 

“Fuck you!”

Prom is two weeks later. Zoe’s cast is covered in black lace to match her dress. They look baller. There’s a lot of making out after. And this time, nobody ends up in the ER.

[noxxy-boxxy]

Hetabang time!

So, it’s finally te time to upload this! I’ve been waiting for this moment lmao

I wrote this and my amazing partner did a drawing of the last scene, but they haven’t posted it yet so imma wait till they do and tag them! 

Edit: Here is the artwork! 

https://aph-florida-shitposts.tumblr.com/post/616694960857710592/they-my-peice-for-the-hetabang-art-thing It’s made by @aph-florida-shitposts The artis amazing and everyone should go and check it out, period.

The meeting ended sooner that day. Thank God. 

Gilbert grabbed his laptop and his briefcase, stretching his neck until it popped. It was Friday, finally, and that meant a lot of things. It meant beer, a nice dinner, some of that leftover cake, and the best part:

"Gilbert! Buongiorno!" 

He could invite him for dinner. He could finally invite Italy for dinner and ask him that thing. 

"Hey, little Italy! Guten morgen!" He smiled, his heart almost doing a cartwheel when Feliciano kissed his cheeks. "What are you doing here? You're going to miss your flight." Even after saying that, Feliciano sat on the table, and Gilbert did the same, not interested If he missed his own. 

"I was looking for you." Said the Italian, and God, if he didn't die at that moment, he really had to be a tough one. His pale face took a very slight shade of pink, invisible to Italy. 

"Oh, so you were searching for me?" Gilbert said, his speech still perfect, his tone normal, but his face warming. Slow but steady. 

"Yes, I wanted to ask you something." Gilbert arched an eyebrow, blinking once or twice. 

«Keep it cool.» He thought, panicking internally. "Oh, yeah, whatever you want, little Italy. I'm all ears." And, to be honest, he didn't expect that much, but surely he didn't see that one coming.

"Can you help me with my paperwork?" 

Oh God, Italy was lucky he liked him. He wouldn't waste his weekend explaining paperwork to anybody, but him. He was the only exception. 

But now, he surely was going to be talking about boring numbers, when they could be having a delicious dinner and a delicious dessert. Amazing. 

Unless. 

"Come with me. We can stay together at my house and I can explain to you how I do my paperwork." He smiled, petting the Italian's head. "Then, we can have dinner together. I'll make some homemade pasta for you and we can have cake at the end." And that was the exact way to convince Italy. Gilbert smiled softly, seeing Italy jump from one place to another while he sang some song. "Okay, okay. Chill, Kleine. Don't hurt yourself." Italy stopped and grabbed his hand, tangling his fingers with his own. 

"I would love that, Gilbert!" He smiled widely, so beautifully. "Oh, Gil, you're red. Is something wrong?" 

"Uh, nothing..."

They were kneading the dough, and Gilbert was amazed at the way Italy did it. His movements were perfectly fluent, his voice hummed a soft song, his eyes half-open. He stopped for a second, pinching the dough slightly. 

"It's ready to stretch and cut." Prussia nodded, and then, they began to stretch the dough, making it thinner. Over, and over, and over again, until Feliciano felt like it was perfect. Then, they passed it through the cutter, making perfect spaghetti. 

"Perfect." Said Prussia, bringing a tray with flour. "It's ready to cook." Italy nodded, looking incredibly happy. They both went to the kitchen, where the water in the pot was already boiling. Italy added some salt, and then, the pasta. 

"It should be ready in two or three minutes. Could you check the sauce?" Gilbert nodded, and went to another pot, opening it and grabbing some sauce with a spoon. He tasted it, the flavor lingering in his mouth. It was absolutely... 

"Delicious." He said, smiling widely. "It's delicious." Feliciano smiled, looking at him, small little face so adorable. He wanted to take a picture, no jokes. Gilbert covered the pot, seeing how his hand trembled, feeling his throat tightening. «Everything is going to be okay.» He had to say to himself. 

And he really hoped it would be. 

"Well, I think it's ready to drain." He nodded, getting closer. Italy was holding a fork, where one string of pasta sat. "Could you taste it, Gil?" And he extended his hand, offering him not the fork, but the food. He had to stop a second, trying to gain control of his face, to avoid that God damned red. He got even closer, eating the spaghetti from his hand. 

"It's ready." He said, tasting it. It had the right amount of salt, and it wasn't incredibly soft, but a little bit chewy. It was perfect.

Italy drained it and put it in the same pot with the sauce. he moved it around with a pair of tweezers, and then, it was perfectly ready to eat. 

"Let's go. I'm hungry." Italy smiled, grabbing a bottle of wine and a bottle of beer. Prussia nodded, grabbing the pot. 

"So, did you understand that thing about your paperwork?" Italy nodded, smiling and grabbing his glass of wine. 

"Yes, thanks." He smiled, taking a sip of wine. "You're a very good teacher, Gil." 

"Oh, ask West or America, they'll probably have something else to say." He laughed. "I am a good teacher, indeed," he started, grabbing his bottle. "but I am not going soft on anyone. You're just a special case. Usually, I would be more strict and rude with any other. Only for you." And Gilbert smiled softly, booping the Italian's nose, making him laugh.

"I like you a lot, Gil!" He smiled, and Gilbert definitely felt something jump in his chest. 

"Ah, yea, ja." He mumbled, looking away. "Actually, little Italy... Feliciano" He whispered, taking a big breath. "I like you too. I like you a lot." And Italy didn't even flinch. 

"Yeah! Me too, Gil! You're an amazing friend!" Oh, no. 

"No, dearest. I mean, uh, I like you, like, more than a friend. I like you a lot more." 

"Like a best friend, then! You're my best friend!" And Gilbert rolled his eyes, but Italy kept talking before he could explain himself. "I wouldn't change you as my best friend for anything in the world! You'll always be the best friend I could ever have, and I hope nothing ruins our friendship!" For God's sake, Gilbert thought, almost speaking again. 

Unless... 

"You... Wouldn't want me to be anything more than... Your best friend? Only... That?" He said, his voice normal, but something was cracking. "Not even-"

"Always friends!" Italy interrupted him. 

Then, he understood. Italy was understanding what he really wanted to say, but he surely didn't want to reject him. He just wanted him to... Catch the cue. He only wanted him as a friend. 

He only wanted him as a friend. 

"O-oh, yeah. Always... F-friends." He whispered, forcing that painful sensation at the back of his throat. Not yet. "I should take you to the airport so you can go back, Italy. You're going to miss your flight." He said, getting up and grabbing his keys and his helmet. He went to the garage, putting the key at the contact on his motorcycle. "Move, Italy! We don't have all the time in the world!" His words sounded a lot ruder and mean, like if he was tired or angry. Obviously, Italy got scared, and just followed the orders. The garage door opened with the controller, and they went out. Suddenly, Italy had to hold himself again Gilbert, because hell, they were going 100 kph, and it was just rising. They arrived at the airport in 3 minutes, when usually it would take 15. 

"Let’s go." And as soon as they were on the ground they were running. Or well, he was almost running. Gilbert was just walking. Incredibly quickly. Gilbert had to buy the tickets for him because obviously, the people spoke German.

"Here. Have this." Italy grabbed the tickets with one hand, while he grabbed his document and passport from his briefcase with the other. 

"Is everything alright, Gil?" He literally had to take a step back when Prussia looked at him. His eyes were glowing. 

"I don't allow my own brother to call me by my name, Italy. You don't have that privilege either." He deadpanned. 

But... Italy wasn't dumb. At least, not when it came to feelings. Even if Prussia was "angry", he saw sadness. In his face, those eyes were not glowing, they were shining.

"Gilbert..." He whispered, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, but at that second, his flight was announced. Prussia didn't even say goodbye, he just left. 

His eyes were shining, yes. And he swore, he saw a tear leaving his left eye. 

«Is he sad?"

Gilbert went back to his house calmly. He entered and started washing the dishes. The leftover spaghetti was poured in a container and stored in the fridge, with the forgotten cake. Then, he went to the table, grabbing his bottle of beer. It was half full, but in a second, he drank the rest. The wine was stored in the fridge, and the glass... He literally spent half an hour looking at it, trying to go back in time, when he bought that glassware, the moment when he grabbed it from the counter, just some hours ago. That moment, when they were still friends. 

His knuckles turned white, and in a quick movement, he threw the glass against the floor, turning it to just useless shards. Panting, he kneeled at its side, slowly picking up the pieces, just hissing when one of them cut his finger. 

Wine stung, but the tears falling were even more painful. 

The meeting was in Berlin that day. Ironically.

"He didn't come today..." Whispered Italy, looking at the German's seat, unoccupied. In his place, Germany entered, even when he was, technically, on vacation. Apparently, though, he was not there for the meeting, because he wore just civilian clothes. 

"Italy." He said, looking at him. "Can we talk? Please?" Italy nodded, concerned. He looked slightly sad but he looked mad too. Something surely had to be going around the Germanic countries. "What happened last Sunday, Italy? When I came back, Prussia was devastated. And I mean, really, sad."

"I knew he was sad. We were just talking, and in a second he was suddenly really mad but really sad. I swear I saw him crying."

"What were you two talking about? Do you remember what you said or what he said the moment when he changed?" 

"We were talking about our friendship! I told him I liked him, and he told me he liked me too, but, like, more than a friend! Then I thought, well he wants to be my best friend, and then it went down really quick and he was like that in a second." 

Germany observed him for a second, and then he arched an eyebrow. 

I mean. He thought he was the clueless one, but even he would have understood that. 

"So. Let's set things clear. You said something like 'I like you', then he said 'I like you too.' Then you started talking about friends, but he said 'I like you more than a friend.' Then you started talking about best friends. Then, he was suddenly angry. Is that what happened?”

"¡Si Capitano!" Said Italy, smiling widely. And oh God, he thought he was the clueless one. 

"Italy, my dear friend." He started, taking a deep breath. He needed France. "Let's say, a man and a woman are together. And he says 'I like you more than a friend.' What would you think he's meaning?"

"He loves her!" Italy said, smiling. And he smiled and smiled until he didn't. "He... He loves... Her." Slowly, he whispered. 

"And what if he does things for her he wouldn't do in normal situations? Like, cooking for her, or allowing her to call him by his name, or taking the time to explain to her something slowly, when everyone would say he's a devil when he's teaching. Or calling her with endearments, when he doesn't do that. What would you think? Does he want to be her friend?" And Italy slowly came into realization. 

"Oh my God, I messed it up. I ruined everything. I wasted his time. I fell really low. I-" And Germany had to touch his arm, to prevent him from missing the line. "I have to go and talk to him." And he almost ran away, just in the for Ludwig to grab him and bring him back. 

"Do you have any idea of what you’re going to say, at least?" Italy arched his eyebrow, opening his mouth, but Ludwig spoke first. "He liked you even when we were dating, but he never said anything. He liked you since the beginning. And I can't risk you going there and messing it up even more because I haven't seen him this sad since 1945. He doesn't deserve so much pain, and I won't let you go there unless you know exactly what to say." He took a deep breath. "Do you like him? Not like a friend. Not like a best friend." And Italy, slowly, nodded, making him smile. "Give me a pen. I have to give you the address. He's not in Berlin, so you'll have to go now unless you want to miss the train that goes to Hamburg." Italy grabbed a pen, and Germany didn't even waste time on paper, writing it directly onto his skin. "Do you understand it?" Italy nodded, and flew, running to the train station, buying a ticket to Hamburg, and getting on the train in record time. He just hoped that there was still time for him.

He made it to Hamburg, and then, he started going around, trying to remember each street. He reached a big building of apartments and looked at the key in his hand. The door opened, incredibly, and then he started walking, trying to reach the apartment number 19. The door made a little sound when unlocked, and then he went in. 

��It has to be Ludwig's private department.» He thought to himself. Some books were easy to recognize for him because he saw them in his library. A jacket was on the sofa, he recognized it as Gilbert's. And there was a bed for a dog on the floor. 

He walked to the bedroom, and entered, finding him sleeping peacefully. 

«He's here...» He thought, slowly getting closer to him. He sat down on the bed, and at that moment, he woke up.

"What the fuck, Italy?" He almost screamed, going back. "What are you doing here? Get out!" Now he was screaming. 

"No!" Italy responded, but Gilbert didn't listen. He grabbed his arm, dragging him to the door, without paying attention to anything he would say. And when they were almost out, he stopped for a second. 

"What did you said?" 

"I'm sorry," Italy whispered, squirming in his place. "Prussia, my hand hurts..." And he left him to go. He dragged some tears left In his eyes, saying that again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know, I didn't understand at that moment. Please, forgive me." And his face was suddenly red, his eyes shiny again. 

"It's not fair, I try to get out, and you drag me back, you probably don't even mean what I think you're meaning. And I thought West was bad when it came to feelings." Italy grabbed his hand, pressing it. 

"I like you too." He said, feeling Prussia's hand tremble. "I like you. Not like a friend. Not like a best friend. I like you a lot. I just thought you weren't meaning it like that, or I was just a little tipsy and I wasn't thinking, but I'm sorry. For making you cry and for hurting you." And when he looked at his face, he was crying. "I'm sorry..." He whispered one last time, slowly touching his nose, and kissing him. 

It was something slow. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring him. He was suddenly so weak, so small. For a second he was a child again.

His hands just hung at his sides at the beginning, but then he slid them, right to his shoulders. They separated, looking at each other for a second. Then, Gilbert spoke. 

"I like you, Feliciano." 

"Me too, Prussia." Italy smiled. 

"Call me by my name. Please." But Italy didn't, because, of course, he had to kiss him again.

[pandoraships]

1 through 20. I wantto know ALL

Okay let’s see tw: abuse, low self esteem.

1. Describe yourself how you would describe a character you’re introducing.

Fairly tall, pear shaped and broad faced she stares out the window of the cafe. Blue grey eyes dart from behind glasses that are so smudged they almost hide the deep circles under her eyes. She seems to be searching the air for words to type with her nail bitten finger nails. Frizzy brown hair rumpled from one to many hands being pushed through it hangs limp to her shoulders, which slump slightly as if hiding from some all seeing eye. Her expression is cold, tired, and done with the world, but When she sees you staring she smiles, and you see hope behind her eyes.

2. Is there any specific ritual you go through while/before/after your writing?

I do have a few. I cue up my music, settle in, and just reread my last chapter. It helps me work up to the next set of scenes. I also try to take a hot shower before hand , as water seems to energize me.

As for while writing I will often act out the scenes verbally and physically , or something close to them, to judge reactions. My so has walked in on that shit more than once.

After writing I go back and just change things around until I can’t recognize what I’ve written at which point I panic, quickly edit and pray I have done well. I also take forever to post because I have to convince my low self esteem I’m not hurting anyone by posting or being a crappy writer.

3. What is your absolute favorite kind of fic to write?

Slow, in-depth and epic aus. I figure the writers of the actual series have a good plan, so I try not to write in canon or at least in current canon, so I can be more inventive and leave their property in their version of the story.

4. Are there any other fic writers you admire? If so, who and why?

A ton actually. anyone who tries really. I know how tough it can be to put yourself out there. That being said I’m a fan of @arxaris and also Let_me-wander on ao3. But for me any good work will earn my respect.

As to why those two specifically? They have the chemistry down pat for my head canon kirishima and bakugo. Also I’m a sucker for just fluff slice of life stories .

5. How many words can you write if you sit down and concentrate intensely for an hour?

5000? Assuming I break to pace wildly and mutter at my cats. 7000 if I’m just really absorbed.

6. First fic/pairing you wrote for? (If no pairing, describe the plot)

ahaha okay so actually if anyone can find it I have a Naruto/ gaara Drabble floating around on fanfiction.net. It’s not even a real fiction , and you can only see the pairing if you squint, but it was there . The rest on that site are collabs which wasn’t mine.

I wrote others but the “first” real paring I wrote for was an angel fanfiction from an anonymous axis powers hetalia that had Germany and italia and involved Prussia falling and ... well life got in the way of that one, but it’s out there, half written.

7. Inspiration, time, or motivation. Choose two.

Motivation and inspiration because you make time for writing. It’s a disciplined art.

8. Why do you choose to write?

I get depressed or overly emotional when I don’t. It makes me feel bland to focus on this world all the time. I like creating and being able to share that with others.

9. Do you ever have plans to write anything other than fic?

I have a couple of books in the works but it’s mostly getting the esteem up to even try.

10. What inspires you the most?

Ahah attention. I kid. It’s mostly the world around us, small moments that allow me to take them and riff on them.

11. Weirdest thing you’ve ever written/thought about writing/etc.?

Uhhh home stuck mage the awakening picture web comic spin off.Primarly because I can’t fucking draw. Pure writing? I have a set up where a guy dies and goes to heaven and becomes the destined one to destroy the machine of the long absent god. But he’s like several kinds of dumb.

12. A fix you wish you had written better, and why?

Ahahaha uh I’m not sure I could have but I did a trading Christmas thing and I just phoned it in. I was having a lot of home trouble at the time but i was a gift. I could have done better.

13. Favorite fic from another author?

Nope, that is like asking a favorite child or your drink of choice. It differs depending on what mood I am in.

14. Your favorite side pairings to put in?i actually sneak in Crowley and his angel from good omens into almost every fic. If it’s not them it’s my first actual concious ship, Kurama and Hiei fromyuyu hakusho. I also add in my favorite player characters from my role playing games and their boyfriends.

15. Your guilty writing pleasure?

Supernatural. Soulmates . Reincarnation, time travel.

16. Do you have structured ideas of how your story is supposed to go, or make it up as you write?

Half and half. I do write out the plots but about half way through a given story I have to stop and like... rewrite .

17. Would yo describe yourself as a fast writer?

Hmmmm?

18. How old were you when you started writing?

11.

19. Why did you start writing?

I was an emotionally and sexually abused child locked in her own mind by a toxic mix of anxiety , slight social delays and having been forced to grow up and use my mind to avoid danger. I didn’t have friends, I didn’t talk , I spent all my days locked in my own head trying desperately to express feelings I didn’t have words for. I had been abandoned on an uncaring relatives door step by a mother who was escaping her own abuse at the hands of said relatives. I was numb, tired and at the same time hated the world. My only comfort were books , manga , anime, video games. My relatives hated all of those but books. So I was given only those.

One day I just... started writing. And suddenly I could process the storm in my mind. It didn’t make it hurt less but I could tell stories to understand my pain from a safe distance. And it saved me.

20. 4 sentences from your work that you’re proud of

Its movement seemed strange, too slow, and too fast at the same time. The purple-green slime that made up the body roiled and morphed over the cement, collecting debris like an abyssal lint roller. As its front came into view, Izuku could see the face swimming about its exterior, like a sick Mr. Potato head. Each bubble that formed in its surface displaced the features, and with each pop, they shuddered violently back to their original locations, like ping pong balls in ooze.

[turn-your-gaze-on-this-dumptruck]

His Past, His Present, His Future - Chapter 3: Prussia

After Italy leaves to confront France about what happened, Germany returns to his home to pack for a week-long stay at Italy's house. While there, Prussia gives him some... brotherly advice.

Ao3

Fanfiction.net

Just so you guys know, I’m making a tag list. Anyone who wants updates on when the fic is being posted, please let me know! Also, feedback is a freaking blessing. This is my first fanfic ever, so any constructive criticism would be epic!

**************

The evening before, Germany had offered Japan the guest bedroom so he could have a good night’s rest before the next day’s travels. As a result, Germany was camped out on the couch. He set an alarm on his phone for 6:30 the next morning. He would have normally gotten up an hour before for his morning jog, but he had not packed for an overnight stay. Before he had gone to bed, he stripped off his button-down shirt for the wide-strapped white undershirt he had worn underneath it. He had a rough night’s sleep, but he got up without complaint and started rummaging around the kitchen.

He filled a glass with water and swished it around his mouth in a vain attempt to get rid of the morning taste in his mouth. The water took care of some of it, but he reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of spearmint gum to pop a strip in his mouth. He started a pot of coffee and got out some eggs, deciding to make a nice, healthy breakfast for the day. He ignored the crick in his neck as he started chopping vegetables and mixing eggs. He heard quiet footsteps behind him. 

“Guten Morgen, Japan. You won’t be scaring me this morning, I’m afraid. I’m making eggs with sautéed vegetables this morning, unless you would like something different.”

“That sounds delicious, actually.” Italy’s voice said. 

Germany turned around, his eyes wide with surprise. Indeed, it was Italy standing behind him. He was wearing a button-down shirt, and he had slung a pair of skinny jeans over his arm as he was buttoning said shirt. His hair was tousled and he had grey shadows under each of his eyes. Regardless, he looked much better in comparison to how he looked the night before.

“Italy.” Germany said.

“Germany.” Italy returned with a hint of a smile. He pulled on the skinny jeans, apparently in no hurry.

“I didn’t expect you to be out of bed so soon.”

Italy hummed in agreement, straightening. “Neither did I.” His voice sounded slightly gravelly from sleep – or lack of it. Germany was still unsure. “But I have plans today.” His voice didn’t have the usual bubbly quality it possessed.

Germany’s eyebrows were raised up high. He raked his eyes up and down Italy’s form, quite taken aback by how good he looked in those skinny jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that it would somehow stay back. “So soon?”

Italy nodded, brushing past Germany to get to the coffee pot. He reached up to the cupboards to grab a coffee mug, filling it to the brim. “Yes. I’m going to visit France.”

“France?” Germany asked, suddenly angry. “Why him?”

Italy took a sip of coffee and sat at the barstool across from him. “He was going to give his side of the story yesterday, but I never gave him a chance. I owe it to him, I think. The sooner I hear it the better.”

Germany leaned forward on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms. He looked at Italy, and Italy looked back at him. He failed to understand how Italy could be giving France a chance to be forgiven so quickly. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”

Italy nodded. “You’re not the first person to have told me that.”

“Do you want me to come with you? Japan has to go home this morning, but I can come along if you want.”

Italy took another sip, humming with satisfaction. “No, I can go on my own. But I would like you to stay for a little while longer, if you can.”

Germany nodded. It was the answer he was hoping for. “Of course. I already have permission, I’ll just need to get some clothes from my house.”

“You slept in your clothes last night?” Italy asked.

Germany frowned. “What do you think? I’m wearing my clothes right now.”

Italy gave a sheepish smile. “Right. Sorry.

Germany’s frown softened as he was filled with regret. Why couldn’t he control his damned temper? “It’s fine. I snapped.”

Germany heard a yawn behind them. “Guten morgen, Japan.”

Japan offered no response as he shuffled past Germany, clad in his pants from yesterday and his open button-down shirt over a white tank top. He shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug, standing and facing the wall as he took a few sips.

Germany looked over to Italy and they shared a small, if not tentative smile. They were well-accustomed to the fact that Japan had a very difficult time waking up without coffee, often not noticing things until he was through at least half a cup. He continued his shuffle over to the bar stools, stopping as he noticed Italy sitting there.

“Italy. Good morning.” He said, as if it were just another normal day.

“Good morning, Japan.” Italy returned with a close-mouthed smile.

Japan sat and took another sip. Germany had just finished chopping up the vegetables when Japan looked back over to Italy as he began to remember what happened the day before. “Italy, how are you feeling?” He asked.

Italy smiled once again at his friend. “Much better. Thank you, Japan. Thank you both for helping me yesterday.”

“It was our pleasure.” Japan answered.

Germany nodded.

“I didn’t expect you to be up this early, Italy.”

Italy nodded. “I have plans to go over to France’s after breakfast.”

“Hm.” Japan hummed. He took another sip of coffee. “That is probably a good idea.”

The three enjoyed breakfast together, discussing Japan’s travels and what was likely to be expected of him whenever he got home.

“I imagine my boss will want to know what kept me from going home yesterday.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Italy asked nervously.

Japan shook his head. “No. There is no reason to cause tension between everyone. I will just say the truth: I wanted to see my friends.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, Japan!” Italy cooed.

Germany allowed a small smile at two nations. Despite Italy’s semi-normal attitude, there was no denying he was tired. It was obvious that he was still stressed. He was glad he could still stick around with Italy, even if it was just to keep him a little bit of company.

As breakfast finished and Japan downed the dregs of his second cup of coffee, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to get going. He stood up and bowed to Italy. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Italy.”

Used to his formality, Italy gave him a close-mouthed smile and bowed his head. “You should really be thanking Germany for it. I really didn’t do much,”

“It was nothing.” Germany said.

“Actually, it was quite delicious!” Italy said as Japan left to grab his things. “I’m impressed you figured out the coffee machine!”

“I must admit, Italy, I never took you to be a coffee snob. Grinding your own beans every morning?” Germany said with a hint of a smile.

Italy shrugged. “What can I say? I have an expensive taste.” He took another sip of his coffee as Japan returned with his jacket. “You ready to go?”

Japan nodded, shrugging on his jacket. “Unfortunately. My car is still in the garage, I think.”

“Should be,” Italy confirmed. “You know the way there and how to open the garage door?”

“Yes. Again, thank you two for the bed and food. I’ll call soon, Italy.” Japan offered, resting a hand on Italy’s shoulder as he walked away.

“I’ll hold you to that, Japan!” Italy called back before the door shut.

Germany looked over at Italy, his heart feeling lighter as Italy’s gleaming amber eyes met his. The two were looking at each other for a moment. Germany’s face was expressionless, and yet his heart quite full.

“You okay, Germany?” Italy asked.

Germany looked away, dismayed to feel his cheeks heating up. “Fine. It’s just good to see you feeling better.”

Italy looked down into his coffee, almost as if he were willing it to refill itself. “I’m feeling a little better. I mean… it’s not like I’m getting over his death for the first time. I think that the shock of finding out France did it kind of opened that wound for a moment.”

“Will you be okay?” Germany asked, hoping that this was all just temporary. More than anything, he wanted Italy to be fully and completely happy again.

Italy looked back up to Germany. “It’s as I said yesterday. It’s complicated, but… the complications in this case make it a little easier. I suppose. I’ll be okay, though. I promise. Especially after I talk to France.”

Germany nodded. “Good. When do you plan on leaving?”

Italy hummed. “After I finish my coffee.”

“I can use my key to get back in here after I bring my stuff.”

“Great! Do you want me to drop you off on my way to France’s?”

Germany blanched. “Why on earth would I-?” He stopped as he noticed Italy’s expression of mirth. “Oh, you’re joking.”

Italy laughed into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. “Yes, I am. I know my driving is a little too fast for you.”

“Well, yes.” Germany said.

“After all, it’s not my fault that you’re too boring to enjoy it,” Italy added with a grin.

“Boring?” The corners of Germany’s mouth lifted at Italy’s remark. “I’m not boring.”

“You iron your socks!” Italy laughed.

Germany smiled at the sound, relieved. “I see no reason why socks should be wrinkled.”

Italy put down his mug and shifted forward in his seat. “Okay, maybe, but then you roll them into little… snail shells before you put them away and they get wrinkled all over again! There’s no point in ironing them!”

“You mean spirals?” Germany corrected.

“Don’t change the subject!”

Germany chuckled.

“Am I wrong? Don’t they wrinkle?”

Germany leaned on the table, shaking his head. “Now that I think on it, I suppose they do.”

“Exactly! Do you know what you should do?”

Germany smoothed his hair back, wondering what his disorganized friend had to tell him. “What should I do?” He asked with a smile.

“You need to- hold on.” He bent down under the edge of the table.

“What are you-?”

Italy sat back up, holding a sock patterned with avocados. “Here, let me show you.” He placed it on the table.

“Is that a sock you were wearing?” Germany asked.

“I didn’t wear it long,” Italy batted his hand.

“Don’t put it on the table! It’s disgusting.” Germany slid his coffee mug away from the pair of socks.

“You fold them like this.” Italy said, ignoring Germany’s last remark. He folded the end with the toes halfway up the sock before he pulled the end with the foot hole to meet the toes halfway. “Then you fold them up like a book.” He concluded, doing so. “Then you can stack them a few pairs high, and there are no wrinkles!”

Germany raised his eyebrows. “I will admit, I didn’t expect you to say something that actually made sense.”

Italy pulled his socks off the table. “Well, us Italians take fashion very seriously.”

“With avocado socks.”

“Oh, yes. Can’t afford for your avocado socks to get wrinkled.”

“Now who’s boring?” Germany asked with a smile.

Italy laughed, taking a final sip of his coffee. “I really have to get going.”

Germany nodded, disappointed that the lighthearted moment had passed. “Okay. Good luck,”

“Thanks.” He stood and pulled his ring of keys out of the key bowl on the counter. “Thanks for breakfast, Germany! Don’t let the coffee go to waste!”

“What coffee? You drank it all.” Germany answered as Italy went out the hallway. He heard Italy’s faint laugh trail behind him before he closed the door and left the house quiet.

Germany let out a content sigh, draining the last of his cup of coffee. He looked around the kitchen, noticing he still had to clean.

By the time he finished and got in the car, he didn’t feel like going through all the trouble of buttoning up his shirt and tying his tie for a five-minute drive to his place. He enjoyed the Italian sunshine as he drove his car out, rolling down the windows. It was autumn, so by the time he was back in Germany it would be chilly again. As he turned the radio on, he pondered that it would be nice to take a couple days’ vacation. He hadn’t spent more than a weekend there since the late 70’s, and even then he just stayed at Italy’s house. Not that it was a bad thing, he just enjoyed the architecture and culture of the country and scarcely had the opportunity to explore it.

Perhaps he could visit Rome again. Maybe Italy would come with him. It would be a good time. They could get some pasta, check out a few botanical gardens… his musings were interrupted as the air turned chilly, prompting him to roll up the windows. He saw his house in the distance. Unlike Italy’s house, it had been updated quite a bit with the modern times. He suspected that the reason Italy’s house was still rather old-fashioned was because of the older culture and landmarks of the past that still remained.

Germany’s house featured a glass front with smooth grey sides and black slate roof that banked to the house’s left side. It had a modern looking garden, with perfectly cubed and rectangular hedges. There were no flowers or fruits in his garden. He got out of his car and walked up to his door past the brown shrubs, wondering if he could get a couple flowering bushes. He stopped at the door and unlocked it, musing that Italy must have been rubbing off on him more than he initially suspected.

He opened the door, shutting it behind him. “Blackie, Berlitz, Aster! I’m home!!” He shouted in German, delighted as he heard the barks from his three beloved dogs, their toenails scratching on the dark hardwood floor as they bolted toward him. “Did you miss me?” He asked, kneeling and petting them all in turn. They weaved around his legs and torso, almost nudging him over as he vied for his attention. “I missed you three. It’s good to see you.”

“Wow, Ludwig, greeting the dogs before saying ‘hello’ to your own brother?”

Germany looked up as Prussia rounded the corner. Though he had his usual smirk, there was an air of anxiousness. A silent question if all was well.

“Hello, Gilbert.” He stood and offered out a hand to shake.

Prussia gripped it and pulled his younger brother into a hug. Germany returned it after a slight pause, not realizing how much he needed it until then.

“How’s Italy doing?” Prussia asked.

Germany pulled away. “Better. Last night he was…”

“Heartbroken?” Prussia offered.

Germany nodded. There weren’t many other ways to describe it. “Today he’s going to see France. Talk things out.” He made his way back to his room.

“I know.” Prussia followed him, his chicken slippers sliding on the wood of the floor. “He called me earlier and told me. It was a pain in the ass to be woken up by a phone call at 6 in the morning, but whatever.”

Germany grunted, pulling his suitcase out of the closet.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m staying at Italy’s house for a couple weeks. Helping him out.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows floated up to his hairline. “Boss let you?”

“For whatever reason, yes.” Germany answered. “I have to get my paperwork done there, but I was allowed.”

“On vacation?”

Germany shrugged as he pulled out several shirts. He went through them, choosing the ones he knew he looked best in. He wasn’t doing it for Italy, of course, he was doing it to make a good impression on the people of his country… obviously. “We’re nations. Vacation is never truly vacation.”

“Ooh, you’re packing your best shirts.”

“No,” Germany turned away as he felt his ears and cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, you are!” Prussia strode forward and pointed to each of them in turn. “These three make your biceps stand out, this one makes your skin look tan, and France once told you that this one looked hot on you. At first I was like: ‘gross, France, that’s my brother’, but I mean a compliment is a compliment. Especially from France.”

Germany’s neck was growing hot at this point. Prussia had hit a bulls-eye on every guess. “Yes, well… I’m trying to make a good impression on the Italians. For whatever reason, whenever I go there they seem scared of me.” This was perfectly true, in his defense. Not exactly a lie.

Prussia sat on his bed, studying him for a moment with a mischievous smile. “Mm-hmm… don’t worry about the paperwork. I’ll call the boss, tell him that the better brother is taking care of it.”

Germany looked up from the shirts at Prussia. “What?”

Prussia shrugged. “How could I call myself an awesome brother if I didn’t take your work from you? After all, you can’t pursue Italy’s sweet ass while trying to do all that boring shit.”

Germany’s blush returned full force. “What do you mean?!” He asked, his voice far too loud from embarrassment.

“West, I need you to listen to me.” Prussia put his hands on Germany’s shoulders. “The only person who can’t see you have a giant crush on Italy is Italy himself. Everyone else knows.”

“What…?” Germany’s voice was remarkably quiet.

Prussia stepped away toward the dresser. “Yes, everyone knows! America and France have started a betting pool. And I owe Spain 50 euros if you don’t get laid in the next three months, so you better hop to it and get your awesome brother some cash!” He pulled out a pair of jeans that Germany seldom wore. “And make sure to wear these, they make your ass look good.”