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drcalvinTitle: To love, to hold, to fuck things up
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drcalvin
Pairing: Italy/Germany/Prussia
Rating: Goes up to NC-17 in later chapters
Warning: Threesome, incest
Notes: Written for the kink meme ages time ago, finally proofed and greatly re-written.
Length: Roughly 22 000 words split over three chapters.
Comments & concrit: Yes please, very welcome!
Thanks to:arnold_grove and strawberryburst for betaing, advice and massive help!
Summary: After Italy realizes two important facts: (1) that good things only come to those that dare grab them and (2) that Prussia wants the same thing he does – namely Germany – the pair of them embark on the epic journey to make their love known.
Chapter 1
In the end, Italy thought, it always came back to that disastrous Valentine's Day dinner. The beginning and immediate end of his and Germany's romance.
He hadn't understood what Germany wanted back then. He wasn't sure Germany fully understood what he'd wanted either. These days, he refused to touch upon the subject, hiding behind work or chores if Italy ever dared to bring it up.
Though in all fairness, things hadn't gone too well after that date either...
Shortly before Italy turned down his proposal, Germany's boss had decided it would be a great idea to turn on Russia. Germany, being who he was, ignored any personal concerns and obeyed.
Everything escalated, as wars had a horrible habit to do. The knotty problem grew into a strangling noose around the Axis, until even Italy realized what a mess they were in. In the the end, the German nations stood alone against the entire world, too far gone to realise what they had let themselves become.
Looking back, Italy couldn't be sad that they had lost. Those years had cost them all, though, and among his personal losses he counted the severe fracture in Germany's hard-won trust.
Always, he'd been quick to pick up the white flag and go with the flow. So, once the boss told him that they were switching sides, he smiled and nodded. They were losing, ve, why hang around? Romano went ecstatic at the mere idea. Which, all things considered, ought to have made Italy more suspicious.
Certainly, he'd wanted to say goodbye to Germany, but he accepted that the timing might be sensitive. Still sneaked a wire up north, promising Germany that they'd always be friends, and giving him permission to eat the pasta Italy had left at his house. No use in wasting good food, right?
From Italy's perspective, it was obvious that he didn't mean the whole side-switching personally. Therefore, nothing prepared him for Germany's reaction, his hurt and anger. Nor the harsh revenge he'd taken on Italy's lands and his children.
He hadn't exactly doubted Germany's friendship, but those days had scared and confused him, badly! Why, Italy had fought almost every one of his friends! France, Austria, even his own brother... Frequently, he'd been the beaten one too. What did a few wars matter between friends?
That's what they did, after all. Fought, betrayed, reconciled. Following the wishes of their bosses, the wills of their people. Nations learned to forgive – or at least to lick their wounded hearts in silence.
These arguments mattered not one iota to the furious Germany and only served to drive home how very young his friend was, as nations counted the years. The bitter-sweet realization of just how few times Germany's heart must have been broken by politics and strife, was countered by the despair Italy felt at thinking that they had lost their friendship forever.
In the end, out of all nations, it had been Prussia who pushed them towards reconciliation. A drunken argument between the brothers (which, or so the rumour went, included a table applied to Germany's head) finally convinced the younger nation to at least hear the other side of the tale. Austria, who had overheard, seemed oddly proud when he told Italy of Prussia's words: "If we all hold on to personal grudges over international politics, we might as well skip world war three and go directly to the 'everyone fucking dies'-part!"
Things didn't go back to normal just for that, of course, but Germany finally agreed to communicate by something other than official dispatches.
One day, over two decades later, the wounds at last seemed to have fully healed. They'd been at an United Nations meeting and for once, Italy had wanted to contribute with something more serious than a request for lunch. Nobody had listened, as usual.
Not until Germany's stern voice broke through the din, bringing a moment's silence to the room. For the first time since Italy had sent that wire, their eyes met for longer than a moment and then Germany nodded, all very proper and formal.
Of course, seconds later America yelled back and the entire meeting descended into chaos. But the very next day, Italy knocked on Germany's door. On his arm hung a basket full of fresh pasta, his best wine and a brand-new football.
Now, well into the new millennium, they were close friends again. The only thing that spoiled his complete happiness was that he'd quite like something more than friendship, actually.
For so long, Italy's heart fluttered faster if the other nation's gaze lingered and his cheeks took on a hint of red. But every time, Germany's brow furrowed and his voice became stiff and distant. Still, hope refused to die, as years turned to decades and Germany continued to sneak glances, fidget, and deny it all.
Italy valiantly ignored the denial, as he ignored the hurt that filled him if someone joked about them being together. Without fail, Germany scoffed at the suggestion with what looked as true revulsion.
The comments that least amused Germany on that topic were usually his brother's. Shortly after Prussia moved back home, he'd happen to surprised Italy in the kitchen one morning, where he had been making a surprise breakfast to celebrate the reunited family.
Italy felt someone looming behind him – not Germany, because he recognized that loom perfectly – and the sensation startled him rather badly. Unfortunately, the bowl of polenta he was holding turned out to be the slippery kind.
To his credit, Prussia tried to save the polenta. Unfortunately, the reason Prussia was up at such an early hour was that he hadn't actually gone to bed yet. And, since the reason he hadn't gone to bed yet was that he had been sampling the beers of former West Germany (all of them), his co-ordination wasn't quite there. So when Italy shrieked, Prussia flailed and the polenta ended up all over the floor.
Both Italy and Prussia knew exactly how Germany would react to such a scene in his pristine kitchen and so were more than a little frazzled, when that grumpy and still tousle-haired nation stomped in to ask what the racket was all about.
Perhaps as a means of distraction, Prussia began talking loudly about what an adorable couple sweet Italy and his little brother made together. And by the way, he continued, oblivious to Italy's panicked gestures, would West mind terribly if Prussia pinched Italy's butt now and then? Brothers ought to share, after all, and the only butt he'd have to pinch lately was Russia's. Which wasn't near as awesome as either of the butts in this fine kitchen, hah!
Once Germany recovered from the shock of hearing Prussia discuss butts and the pinching thereof before breakfast, he practically threw him out of the house. Then Germany too made scarce, mumbling something about an emergency at the office. In fact, he barely took the time to throw on a suit before he drove off towards the sanctity of his paperwork and even left the mess behind! It was enough to make an Italian despair that he'd ever have a chance.
Although, considering Prussia... He was the one who had known Germany longest. Perhaps, Italy thought with dawning hope, perhaps he might convince Prussia that after hesitating for over fifty years, Italy was finally ready to confess his love for Germany. And he'd quite like some help to make sure the other nation stood still long enough to hear this confession, ve!
Couldn't hurt to try, right? If nothing else, Hungary would protect him if Prussia decided he needed to guard his brother's virtue.
While watching Prussia lounge on his old couch, Italy realized that he had forgotten one important fact. Some time during the last hundred-something years, Prussia probably forgot how to spell virtue.
"Soooo," Prussia drawled after he'd listen to Italy's rambling confession. "So, basically, you want to fuck West?"
"Ve? I, er, that's not really..."
Italy lived by the motto that the way to a nation's heart was through the stomach. As such, he had outdone himself in the kitchen and then invited Prussia over.
Since even Italy, once sufficiently motivated, could be sneaky, he'd bribed France to book a dinner-meeting with Germany and their respective bosses a few days ago and then feigned great sorrow that his other friend couldn't come.
Prussia, however, never turned down free food. Happily throwing himself over the delicacies, he'd spent most of the meal praising the cooking, the lovely house, Italy's cuteness and, naturally, his own overall greatness. As the evening proceeded pleasantly, Italy found he needed less liquid courage than he'd anticipated. A good thing that, since Prussia had happily downed about half the alcohol available by the time they reached the entrée.
"I'm in love," Italy managed to say, voice barely shaking. He'd waited past the dessert and coffee, until he couldn't put things off any longer. Now, he would not allow himself to back down, he wouldn't!
"Yeah, got it, you want the whole romantic schmoop too," Prussia sneered. "Pfah. Both you and West, always making such a big issue of everything. I say, if you wanna fuck, just do it." He punctuated his statement with a very expressive gesture.
Italy wasn't the most easily embarrassed nation in the world, but there was something about Prussia, sometimes... Perhaps because the other nation wasn't only aware of his own vulgarity, but because he took such obvious pleasure in acting as bad as possible.
Italy swallowed and reminded himself that faint hearts did not win fair... Germans.
"I do want to. I do- Have sex with Germany," he whispered. "I just... I want something more, too."
Prussia chuckled, a raspy little sound which made Italy squirm uncomfortably. He usually didn't mind being dismissed, but this time he really was serious!
Perhaps Prussia realized this. Or the alcohol put him in a merciful mood. Either way, he soon fell silent, staring up at the roof with an odd twist to his lips. It was a rare stillness, far removed from usual cocksure bravado Italy knew. Nervously waiting for whatever would come, he began to feel the first butterflies of hope tickling him inside.
"Hn. At least you're honest. I mean, it's not-" Prussia's grin showed more teeth, although it rather brought to mind a great angry dog than an actual smile. "Not that bad of an idea, ya know? Hell, maybe West would get ridda that stick up his ass if you stuck something else there instead."
When he glanced back over at Italy, some odd trick of the light made his eyes look like fresh wounds, in the moment just before the blood welled over and escaped. It was unnerving. The too sharp grin plastered on his face didn't help and Italy found himself scooting backwards. Not subtly enough, apparently, because suddenly Prussia's hand shot out, stopping just before his fright-wide eyes.
For a moment, they both waited, unmoving, before Prussia snapped his fingers once, making Italy jump with fright. At that, he sank back onto the couch, crowing with triumphant laughter.
"Oh, kiddo, you're so... Only you, Italy!!"
He laughed again, louder. He often did that, Prussia. Laughing, crowing and cackling. Only a few years ago did it dawn on Italy that this may not always mean that his best friend's brother was happy.
Once, Germany had left him alone to go with Italy to a concert. He didn't even acknowledge Prussia's cheerful "have fun and do everything I would! Kessehehehe! " but something made Italy turn around for a moment. The cracked grin he'd glanced made him wonder, silently, if that loud cackle mightn't mean the very opposite of joy.
"Go ahead!" Prussia's voice in the present broke into Italy's thoughts. "But you gotta do it on your own, cause I'm the least likely guy in the world West would listen to about emotions and shit. If he even possesses any, hmpf. Ask that sissy Austrian, why don't you?"
Here, at least, Italy was on firm ground. "Absolutely not!"
It may have taken an embarrassing amount of time, but finally, Italy figured out who had given Germany all that awful advice on how to approach a potential lover. Who knew it was a blessing in disguise that Austria never actually needed to woo his bride, but was presented with the marriage more or less fait accompli by his boss?
"That's my man!" This time, Prussia's smirk was completely honest. "The fop's always been to convinced of his own superiority anyway!"
"But Prussia, you're his big brother!" Italy wheedled. "He listens- I mean, you know him, don't you?"
He moved closer to Prussia to employ his famed puppy-eyes, feared all over the Mediterranean and in many parts of Germany.
"Don't you think Germany and I would be happy together?" he said, allowing a tremble into his voice.
Taking the other nation's hand in his own, Italy looked up at him with the most adorably pathetic look on his face, ignoring the slight panic which crept over Prussia at the possibility of soppy, emotional discussions in the near future.
"Happy? What's that gotta do with the price of beer?"
Italy let his lower lip wobble slightly, knowing Prussia's not-so-hidden weakness for cute and helpless things.
"Vee~ If someone asked me, how to make my brother fall in love with him so they could move to a nice farm and grow tomatoes for the rest of their lives, I'd help them! Especially if I thought he was nice and could dance and cook really well!"
Only he still hadn't asked for any advice yet and Italy was beginning to despair that he ever would. Spain's passivity in the area had actually been one of the things which spurred him into taking this step. He certainly didn't want to spend another hundred years pining!
"Wait, what?" Prussia glared down at Italy with a great deal of suspicion. "Where do tomatoes figure into all this?"
Uh-oh. "Nowhere!" If Prussia connected those dots, Romano would be very upset with him.
"And have you ever seen West dance? Practically a crime against humanity!" Prussia continued, somewhat laying Italy's worries to rest.
"Never mind that, Prussia," he said, waving his hands to dismiss the irrelevant, if fascinating, mental image of Germany dancing.
"But... I do love Germany. Like, really love him! As much as my art or my pasta." He frowned. "Although, I don't want to make love to my pasta. Hardly ever. I mean, what I want to say is that it's different with Germany, but it's just as deep as all the other things I love in my life!"
A large, calloused hand suddenly descended to stroke his hair.
"Italy," his voice was uncharacteristically soft, "if you want my brother, go for him. You're an adorable little guy. And, sure, he ought to let someone in." Prussia's hand tightened painfully in Italy's hair. "Only, don't ask me for advice in this matter. 'Cuz I... I'm really not the man to give it. Especially not about West."
Slowly, Italy was released, though Prussia let his hand rest there. For once, he felt no need to babble excessively, choosing instead to listen for a little while longer.
"I can't help you."
The odd-coloured eyes stared through the ceiling and into some part of Prussia's - and, he realized with a small pang, probably Germany's - past that he had no access to.
"Probably everyone in the entire bloody world can help you more than I can," he said. "Hah, this is something even France or specs would manage better! Kesehehe-" The laughter cut off, as if Prussia had suddenly choked on something. He sprang to his feet, face aglow with something more turbulent than just intoxication.
"Man, fuck this crap, Italy! Got any more booze round here?" Then he stomped off towards the kitchen without even a look at the nation kneeling by the couch.
Several images from the past swirled in Italy's head then, fitting together like when a handful of unassuming herbs and pungent spices melded to create a delicious dish.
He remembered...
Italy and Germany, celebrating Christmas together. Just the two of them this year, with a only slightly protesting Romano safely ensconced at Spain's.
Germany pulling Italy's ass from the fire, saving him again and again. First aid-kit always near, even the hand-made white flag hidden at the bottom of his bag. And after the usual scolding, a fond smile to spare every time.
Prussia, bursting into the room, burbling happily and proudly showing off his most recent souvenir from some odd corner of the world. So glad that another nation had time over to spend with him.
When he looked a little deeper, this dish seemed a lot less savoury than the usual fair in Italy's house.
Who had Prussia been with? They'd left him in an empty home when heading out for the Christmas market.
When Germany returned from the eastern front, he was usually more disappointed than concerned. Why couldn't his big brother manage something this simple, he complained. The Soviet was under-equipped and weak, couldn't he try a little harder?
Prussia laugh stayed was full of arrogance and he went back and fought and fought, fighting until he fell apart. Italy kept running, hiding – and Germany scolded them both.
He remembered how Germany rolled his eyes, stuffed the new acquisition deep inside a storage room with a frustrated sigh. What seemed such a treasure when Prussia first showed it to them, that Italy was almost tempted to get one of his own, now lay there, so much rubbish-to-be.
Prussia's grin twisted a bit more, perhaps he punched Germany's shoulder a little harder than was proper, before he left to read his diaries again.
And Italy? Stood smiling obliviously beside them both.
Unusually deep in thought, he followed the other nation towards the kitchen. There he found Prussia having just found the very last liquor in the house. In his baggy hoodie and torn jeans he looked out of place, his pale colouring clashing with the warmth of terracotta tiles and fresh green basil plants. The strain of his back broke the harmony of room, the polished pots and chipped jars no longer part of a comfortable jumble, but a mess without coherence. While everything else radiated familiarity, Prussia was foreign, almost threatening, where he stood knocking back Amaretto as if it were water.
Without really knowing where he found the courage, Italy slipped close and carefully wrapped his arms around Prussia's middle. The other nation stiffened in his arms, stopping with the bottle just touching his lips.
"I'm sorry," Italy said.
"Wha- what're you talking about?" Somehow, Prussia tilted the drink a smidgeon too much and some liquor escaped, staining his sweater.
"Ah, y'mean this shite booze? Certainly deserves plenty of excuses, it does." Prussia quickly gulped down more of the almond liquor, though he made no move to escape the soft embrace.
Italy pressed his face against the back that was almost as broad as Germany's but nevertheless seemed so much less solid. The smell of alcohol and nervous sweat filled his nose, but Italy couldn't shake the thought that beneath it all, a hint of iron still lingered. Weapons and steel and blood; once Prussia's constant companions, until the weight of them forced his name off the map.
"I think, perhaps," Italy began, "that Germany isn't the only one who proposed and was turned down. Maybe Prussia thinks Germany has special reasons not to listen to him in matters of love?"
A heartbeat. Two.
"What the fuck are you talking about, you cowardly little asswipe?" Prussia shoved him away with impressive force.
Italy cried out as his back made painful contact with the kitchen bench. He had no time to gather himself before he was lifted up, until Prussia's liquor-laced breath was on his face, hot and erratic.
"Are you saying that I tried to molest my little brother, huh? If- If you even think for a moment!"
He was shaking him, sharp teeth so close that Italy almost feared that they would tear into him, a furious wolf defending his honour.
"Noo!" Italy wailed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. "Help! Ahh, Prussia, put me down!"
He was dropped immediately.
"Fuck this, 'm going home."
At least, that brought him his wits back and Italy was spurred into action. Once, he'd allowed one of the Germans to leave, his voice full of hurt and back stiff with pride masking pain, and he was still trying to fix that! Not again. Not when he could picture a gently smiling Germany reaching for his hand, that rare softness in him as they went together into the future.
No. Italy had decided now. He wouldn't mess up again.
They went down in a rather painful tangle when Italy slammed into Prussia's legs. Some of Germany's diligent training must have stuck, because he managed to move out of the way just before an elbow tried to slam into his face.
Though he didn't aim more punches after that, Prussia kept twisting, trying to shake Italy off his back while the slighter nation clung to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle.
"Listen," Italy yelled, "ve, please, Prussia, listen to me!"
"Lemme go!"
Feeling his fingers slip, Italy tried desperately to find the right words. "I know I'm stupid, but please! I'm lazy and stupid and slow. But Germany, he is even worse sometimes! Well, not lazy, and not really slow he just doesn't realize..." No, he told himself, bad Italy. Focus!
"Germany cares a lot," he continued, "he's just really, really bad at showing that. And I think," oh dear, he'd better be right or he'd be beaten black and blue, "that even if he's very different, Prussia is a little bit the same. But you both care. I care!"
"Goddammit! All the world knows you care about Germany," Prussia muttered, his struggle subsiding as he twisted his head around to glower at Italy.
"...I think I can learn to care a lot about Prussia too."
Prussia finally stilled and when he made to get up this time, Italy let go. They just sat on the floor for a few moment, then, both nations weary from the weight of their thoughts.
"Well?" Prussia finally said. "Talk." The face he revealed when he turned towards him was empty, the façade of an old warrior marred only by the tiny pearls of sweat breaking free.
The lack of animation reminded Italy of the carnivals of old; every face so white and still. Surrounded by glorious colours, the empty masks kept dancing while pestilence rotted the city from within. Laugh, drink and stab each other in the back, because who knows what tomorrow may bring; so lived the Venetians of old, and perhaps a touch of their credo had survived until this day.
"I just mean... I love Germany!" It became easier to say each time and he had to say it once more, luxuriating in the feeling. "I love him, I truly do!" "I love him all the way, because he's kind to me! And strong and, and yes, really sexy!" He grinned, not caring if he looked quite the fool.
"That's what you feel for Germany, eh?"
"Yes! And I want to..." Here, his new-found courage almost abandoned him, but even Italians could fight, once they had the proper motivation.
"If you want to. I could..." Italy finally dared say the words, bring them out in the open. "Maybe learn to love you too. If you want me?."
"What about Germany? He..." The empty look twisted into a grin, but Italy now knew what he had once only suspected. Loud anger or false cheer, both expressions were the same; only masks.
"After he took over, I actually asked," Prussia said, his smile widening with every word, though his eyes were still empty. "Asked if he wanted to change things. We're not like you and the little pissed off guy." His fist tightened and Italy almost reached out to touch him, but didn't quite break the moment. "Two parts, but not... Equals. Don't quite fit."
"I know."
"We could be, I thought. It would've been natural. But, heh," Prussia shrugged, "someone like me is meant to stand alone. Splendid in solitary glory," he finished with a mocking laugh.
"Nobody is meant to be alone," Italy disagreed. "But Germany... Ve, Germany can be really stubborn."
"Hn, tell me 'bout it. Could give lessons to an ass."
"Yes. And Italy," he squirmed a little, but plunged on, "I can be really blind. That was what I was saying sorry for."
Prussia scratched his neck, fidgeted and stalled. "Not blinder than any of the others," he finally admitted, his voice finally breaking, the strain too heavy even for one so proud of his inner steel. "They still haven't..."
"I want Germany," Italy repeated. "And I think you want Germany too. Don't you?"
Looking at Prussia, he realized that without a word spoken, the other was answering. His hands, that moved nervously around where a sword had been missing for a century; the tears he quickly blinked away and the smirk that wouldn't quite stick. They all spoke so loudly, that Italy marvelled that the entire world didn't already know.
Perhaps Italy should have felt much more afraid than he did when he tugged at Prussia's sleeve and burrowed up against his side. For Prussia had made loneliness his only true companion and now, Italy threatened to take away even that trusted friend. But for all the shadowy years hidden in the man next to him, Italy was still among the oldest of them. More than that; he was a nation of love.
"You do," he said, gently. "We want him." A pause, a heartbeat, and then Italy took the last step. "We should take him."
"We...?" He was old, Prussia, but when real happiness bloomed in him, he looked quite the mischievous child. A quick bark of laughter escaped him, choked down before it turned into a sob.
They sat in silence for another while, before Prussia finally responded to his touch. His hand, stroking Italy's cheek, was gentle for all the roughness that he liked to project.
"Perhaps," he said, "there's more of your grandpa in you then we admit, little Italy."
With that, Prussia shook his head and stood, pulling Italy along. "Come on; we need to get more booze if we're going to do this. Lots and lots more. I'll even pay for some of it."
"Ve!" Italy agreed, feeling relief bubble through him. They'd do it! They really would!
"Fuck yeah!" Prussia crooned, kicking open the front door. "We gotta toast! Yeah, toast for the awesome Prussia and the cute Italy, partners in crime!"
"Noo, Prussia!" Italy protested, unable to hold back his giggle any longer. "We're partners in love!"
"Oh, for crying out loud..."
Continues in in chapter two!
Please feel free to share any comments or concrit you have about this fic!
Author:
drcalvinPairing: Italy/Germany/Prussia
Rating: Goes up to NC-17 in later chapters
Warning: Threesome, incest
Notes: Written for the kink meme ages time ago, finally proofed and greatly re-written.
Length: Roughly 22 000 words split over three chapters.
Comments & concrit: Yes please, very welcome!
Thanks to:
arnold_grove and strawberryburst for betaing, advice and massive help!Summary: After Italy realizes two important facts: (1) that good things only come to those that dare grab them and (2) that Prussia wants the same thing he does – namely Germany – the pair of them embark on the epic journey to make their love known.
Chapter 1
In the end, Italy thought, it always came back to that disastrous Valentine's Day dinner. The beginning and immediate end of his and Germany's romance.
He hadn't understood what Germany wanted back then. He wasn't sure Germany fully understood what he'd wanted either. These days, he refused to touch upon the subject, hiding behind work or chores if Italy ever dared to bring it up.
Though in all fairness, things hadn't gone too well after that date either...
Shortly before Italy turned down his proposal, Germany's boss had decided it would be a great idea to turn on Russia. Germany, being who he was, ignored any personal concerns and obeyed.
Everything escalated, as wars had a horrible habit to do. The knotty problem grew into a strangling noose around the Axis, until even Italy realized what a mess they were in. In the the end, the German nations stood alone against the entire world, too far gone to realise what they had let themselves become.
Looking back, Italy couldn't be sad that they had lost. Those years had cost them all, though, and among his personal losses he counted the severe fracture in Germany's hard-won trust.
Always, he'd been quick to pick up the white flag and go with the flow. So, once the boss told him that they were switching sides, he smiled and nodded. They were losing, ve, why hang around? Romano went ecstatic at the mere idea. Which, all things considered, ought to have made Italy more suspicious.
Certainly, he'd wanted to say goodbye to Germany, but he accepted that the timing might be sensitive. Still sneaked a wire up north, promising Germany that they'd always be friends, and giving him permission to eat the pasta Italy had left at his house. No use in wasting good food, right?
From Italy's perspective, it was obvious that he didn't mean the whole side-switching personally. Therefore, nothing prepared him for Germany's reaction, his hurt and anger. Nor the harsh revenge he'd taken on Italy's lands and his children.
He hadn't exactly doubted Germany's friendship, but those days had scared and confused him, badly! Why, Italy had fought almost every one of his friends! France, Austria, even his own brother... Frequently, he'd been the beaten one too. What did a few wars matter between friends?
That's what they did, after all. Fought, betrayed, reconciled. Following the wishes of their bosses, the wills of their people. Nations learned to forgive – or at least to lick their wounded hearts in silence.
These arguments mattered not one iota to the furious Germany and only served to drive home how very young his friend was, as nations counted the years. The bitter-sweet realization of just how few times Germany's heart must have been broken by politics and strife, was countered by the despair Italy felt at thinking that they had lost their friendship forever.
In the end, out of all nations, it had been Prussia who pushed them towards reconciliation. A drunken argument between the brothers (which, or so the rumour went, included a table applied to Germany's head) finally convinced the younger nation to at least hear the other side of the tale. Austria, who had overheard, seemed oddly proud when he told Italy of Prussia's words: "If we all hold on to personal grudges over international politics, we might as well skip world war three and go directly to the 'everyone fucking dies'-part!"
Things didn't go back to normal just for that, of course, but Germany finally agreed to communicate by something other than official dispatches.
One day, over two decades later, the wounds at last seemed to have fully healed. They'd been at an United Nations meeting and for once, Italy had wanted to contribute with something more serious than a request for lunch. Nobody had listened, as usual.
Not until Germany's stern voice broke through the din, bringing a moment's silence to the room. For the first time since Italy had sent that wire, their eyes met for longer than a moment and then Germany nodded, all very proper and formal.
Of course, seconds later America yelled back and the entire meeting descended into chaos. But the very next day, Italy knocked on Germany's door. On his arm hung a basket full of fresh pasta, his best wine and a brand-new football.
Now, well into the new millennium, they were close friends again. The only thing that spoiled his complete happiness was that he'd quite like something more than friendship, actually.
For so long, Italy's heart fluttered faster if the other nation's gaze lingered and his cheeks took on a hint of red. But every time, Germany's brow furrowed and his voice became stiff and distant. Still, hope refused to die, as years turned to decades and Germany continued to sneak glances, fidget, and deny it all.
Italy valiantly ignored the denial, as he ignored the hurt that filled him if someone joked about them being together. Without fail, Germany scoffed at the suggestion with what looked as true revulsion.
The comments that least amused Germany on that topic were usually his brother's. Shortly after Prussia moved back home, he'd happen to surprised Italy in the kitchen one morning, where he had been making a surprise breakfast to celebrate the reunited family.
Italy felt someone looming behind him – not Germany, because he recognized that loom perfectly – and the sensation startled him rather badly. Unfortunately, the bowl of polenta he was holding turned out to be the slippery kind.
To his credit, Prussia tried to save the polenta. Unfortunately, the reason Prussia was up at such an early hour was that he hadn't actually gone to bed yet. And, since the reason he hadn't gone to bed yet was that he had been sampling the beers of former West Germany (all of them), his co-ordination wasn't quite there. So when Italy shrieked, Prussia flailed and the polenta ended up all over the floor.
Both Italy and Prussia knew exactly how Germany would react to such a scene in his pristine kitchen and so were more than a little frazzled, when that grumpy and still tousle-haired nation stomped in to ask what the racket was all about.
Perhaps as a means of distraction, Prussia began talking loudly about what an adorable couple sweet Italy and his little brother made together. And by the way, he continued, oblivious to Italy's panicked gestures, would West mind terribly if Prussia pinched Italy's butt now and then? Brothers ought to share, after all, and the only butt he'd have to pinch lately was Russia's. Which wasn't near as awesome as either of the butts in this fine kitchen, hah!
Once Germany recovered from the shock of hearing Prussia discuss butts and the pinching thereof before breakfast, he practically threw him out of the house. Then Germany too made scarce, mumbling something about an emergency at the office. In fact, he barely took the time to throw on a suit before he drove off towards the sanctity of his paperwork and even left the mess behind! It was enough to make an Italian despair that he'd ever have a chance.
Although, considering Prussia... He was the one who had known Germany longest. Perhaps, Italy thought with dawning hope, perhaps he might convince Prussia that after hesitating for over fifty years, Italy was finally ready to confess his love for Germany. And he'd quite like some help to make sure the other nation stood still long enough to hear this confession, ve!
Couldn't hurt to try, right? If nothing else, Hungary would protect him if Prussia decided he needed to guard his brother's virtue.
While watching Prussia lounge on his old couch, Italy realized that he had forgotten one important fact. Some time during the last hundred-something years, Prussia probably forgot how to spell virtue.
"Soooo," Prussia drawled after he'd listen to Italy's rambling confession. "So, basically, you want to fuck West?"
"Ve? I, er, that's not really..."
Italy lived by the motto that the way to a nation's heart was through the stomach. As such, he had outdone himself in the kitchen and then invited Prussia over.
Since even Italy, once sufficiently motivated, could be sneaky, he'd bribed France to book a dinner-meeting with Germany and their respective bosses a few days ago and then feigned great sorrow that his other friend couldn't come.
Prussia, however, never turned down free food. Happily throwing himself over the delicacies, he'd spent most of the meal praising the cooking, the lovely house, Italy's cuteness and, naturally, his own overall greatness. As the evening proceeded pleasantly, Italy found he needed less liquid courage than he'd anticipated. A good thing that, since Prussia had happily downed about half the alcohol available by the time they reached the entrée.
"I'm in love," Italy managed to say, voice barely shaking. He'd waited past the dessert and coffee, until he couldn't put things off any longer. Now, he would not allow himself to back down, he wouldn't!
"Yeah, got it, you want the whole romantic schmoop too," Prussia sneered. "Pfah. Both you and West, always making such a big issue of everything. I say, if you wanna fuck, just do it." He punctuated his statement with a very expressive gesture.
Italy wasn't the most easily embarrassed nation in the world, but there was something about Prussia, sometimes... Perhaps because the other nation wasn't only aware of his own vulgarity, but because he took such obvious pleasure in acting as bad as possible.
Italy swallowed and reminded himself that faint hearts did not win fair... Germans.
"I do want to. I do- Have sex with Germany," he whispered. "I just... I want something more, too."
Prussia chuckled, a raspy little sound which made Italy squirm uncomfortably. He usually didn't mind being dismissed, but this time he really was serious!
Perhaps Prussia realized this. Or the alcohol put him in a merciful mood. Either way, he soon fell silent, staring up at the roof with an odd twist to his lips. It was a rare stillness, far removed from usual cocksure bravado Italy knew. Nervously waiting for whatever would come, he began to feel the first butterflies of hope tickling him inside.
"Hn. At least you're honest. I mean, it's not-" Prussia's grin showed more teeth, although it rather brought to mind a great angry dog than an actual smile. "Not that bad of an idea, ya know? Hell, maybe West would get ridda that stick up his ass if you stuck something else there instead."
When he glanced back over at Italy, some odd trick of the light made his eyes look like fresh wounds, in the moment just before the blood welled over and escaped. It was unnerving. The too sharp grin plastered on his face didn't help and Italy found himself scooting backwards. Not subtly enough, apparently, because suddenly Prussia's hand shot out, stopping just before his fright-wide eyes.
For a moment, they both waited, unmoving, before Prussia snapped his fingers once, making Italy jump with fright. At that, he sank back onto the couch, crowing with triumphant laughter.
"Oh, kiddo, you're so... Only you, Italy!!"
He laughed again, louder. He often did that, Prussia. Laughing, crowing and cackling. Only a few years ago did it dawn on Italy that this may not always mean that his best friend's brother was happy.
Once, Germany had left him alone to go with Italy to a concert. He didn't even acknowledge Prussia's cheerful "have fun and do everything I would! Kessehehehe! " but something made Italy turn around for a moment. The cracked grin he'd glanced made him wonder, silently, if that loud cackle mightn't mean the very opposite of joy.
"Go ahead!" Prussia's voice in the present broke into Italy's thoughts. "But you gotta do it on your own, cause I'm the least likely guy in the world West would listen to about emotions and shit. If he even possesses any, hmpf. Ask that sissy Austrian, why don't you?"
Here, at least, Italy was on firm ground. "Absolutely not!"
It may have taken an embarrassing amount of time, but finally, Italy figured out who had given Germany all that awful advice on how to approach a potential lover. Who knew it was a blessing in disguise that Austria never actually needed to woo his bride, but was presented with the marriage more or less fait accompli by his boss?
"That's my man!" This time, Prussia's smirk was completely honest. "The fop's always been to convinced of his own superiority anyway!"
"But Prussia, you're his big brother!" Italy wheedled. "He listens- I mean, you know him, don't you?"
He moved closer to Prussia to employ his famed puppy-eyes, feared all over the Mediterranean and in many parts of Germany.
"Don't you think Germany and I would be happy together?" he said, allowing a tremble into his voice.
Taking the other nation's hand in his own, Italy looked up at him with the most adorably pathetic look on his face, ignoring the slight panic which crept over Prussia at the possibility of soppy, emotional discussions in the near future.
"Happy? What's that gotta do with the price of beer?"
Italy let his lower lip wobble slightly, knowing Prussia's not-so-hidden weakness for cute and helpless things.
"Vee~ If someone asked me, how to make my brother fall in love with him so they could move to a nice farm and grow tomatoes for the rest of their lives, I'd help them! Especially if I thought he was nice and could dance and cook really well!"
Only he still hadn't asked for any advice yet and Italy was beginning to despair that he ever would. Spain's passivity in the area had actually been one of the things which spurred him into taking this step. He certainly didn't want to spend another hundred years pining!
"Wait, what?" Prussia glared down at Italy with a great deal of suspicion. "Where do tomatoes figure into all this?"
Uh-oh. "Nowhere!" If Prussia connected those dots, Romano would be very upset with him.
"And have you ever seen West dance? Practically a crime against humanity!" Prussia continued, somewhat laying Italy's worries to rest.
"Never mind that, Prussia," he said, waving his hands to dismiss the irrelevant, if fascinating, mental image of Germany dancing.
"But... I do love Germany. Like, really love him! As much as my art or my pasta." He frowned. "Although, I don't want to make love to my pasta. Hardly ever. I mean, what I want to say is that it's different with Germany, but it's just as deep as all the other things I love in my life!"
A large, calloused hand suddenly descended to stroke his hair.
"Italy," his voice was uncharacteristically soft, "if you want my brother, go for him. You're an adorable little guy. And, sure, he ought to let someone in." Prussia's hand tightened painfully in Italy's hair. "Only, don't ask me for advice in this matter. 'Cuz I... I'm really not the man to give it. Especially not about West."
Slowly, Italy was released, though Prussia let his hand rest there. For once, he felt no need to babble excessively, choosing instead to listen for a little while longer.
"I can't help you."
The odd-coloured eyes stared through the ceiling and into some part of Prussia's - and, he realized with a small pang, probably Germany's - past that he had no access to.
"Probably everyone in the entire bloody world can help you more than I can," he said. "Hah, this is something even France or specs would manage better! Kesehehe-" The laughter cut off, as if Prussia had suddenly choked on something. He sprang to his feet, face aglow with something more turbulent than just intoxication.
"Man, fuck this crap, Italy! Got any more booze round here?" Then he stomped off towards the kitchen without even a look at the nation kneeling by the couch.
Several images from the past swirled in Italy's head then, fitting together like when a handful of unassuming herbs and pungent spices melded to create a delicious dish.
He remembered...
Italy and Germany, celebrating Christmas together. Just the two of them this year, with a only slightly protesting Romano safely ensconced at Spain's.
Germany pulling Italy's ass from the fire, saving him again and again. First aid-kit always near, even the hand-made white flag hidden at the bottom of his bag. And after the usual scolding, a fond smile to spare every time.
Prussia, bursting into the room, burbling happily and proudly showing off his most recent souvenir from some odd corner of the world. So glad that another nation had time over to spend with him.
When he looked a little deeper, this dish seemed a lot less savoury than the usual fair in Italy's house.
Who had Prussia been with? They'd left him in an empty home when heading out for the Christmas market.
When Germany returned from the eastern front, he was usually more disappointed than concerned. Why couldn't his big brother manage something this simple, he complained. The Soviet was under-equipped and weak, couldn't he try a little harder?
Prussia laugh stayed was full of arrogance and he went back and fought and fought, fighting until he fell apart. Italy kept running, hiding – and Germany scolded them both.
He remembered how Germany rolled his eyes, stuffed the new acquisition deep inside a storage room with a frustrated sigh. What seemed such a treasure when Prussia first showed it to them, that Italy was almost tempted to get one of his own, now lay there, so much rubbish-to-be.
Prussia's grin twisted a bit more, perhaps he punched Germany's shoulder a little harder than was proper, before he left to read his diaries again.
And Italy? Stood smiling obliviously beside them both.
Unusually deep in thought, he followed the other nation towards the kitchen. There he found Prussia having just found the very last liquor in the house. In his baggy hoodie and torn jeans he looked out of place, his pale colouring clashing with the warmth of terracotta tiles and fresh green basil plants. The strain of his back broke the harmony of room, the polished pots and chipped jars no longer part of a comfortable jumble, but a mess without coherence. While everything else radiated familiarity, Prussia was foreign, almost threatening, where he stood knocking back Amaretto as if it were water.
Without really knowing where he found the courage, Italy slipped close and carefully wrapped his arms around Prussia's middle. The other nation stiffened in his arms, stopping with the bottle just touching his lips.
"I'm sorry," Italy said.
"Wha- what're you talking about?" Somehow, Prussia tilted the drink a smidgeon too much and some liquor escaped, staining his sweater.
"Ah, y'mean this shite booze? Certainly deserves plenty of excuses, it does." Prussia quickly gulped down more of the almond liquor, though he made no move to escape the soft embrace.
Italy pressed his face against the back that was almost as broad as Germany's but nevertheless seemed so much less solid. The smell of alcohol and nervous sweat filled his nose, but Italy couldn't shake the thought that beneath it all, a hint of iron still lingered. Weapons and steel and blood; once Prussia's constant companions, until the weight of them forced his name off the map.
"I think, perhaps," Italy began, "that Germany isn't the only one who proposed and was turned down. Maybe Prussia thinks Germany has special reasons not to listen to him in matters of love?"
A heartbeat. Two.
"What the fuck are you talking about, you cowardly little asswipe?" Prussia shoved him away with impressive force.
Italy cried out as his back made painful contact with the kitchen bench. He had no time to gather himself before he was lifted up, until Prussia's liquor-laced breath was on his face, hot and erratic.
"Are you saying that I tried to molest my little brother, huh? If- If you even think for a moment!"
He was shaking him, sharp teeth so close that Italy almost feared that they would tear into him, a furious wolf defending his honour.
"Noo!" Italy wailed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. "Help! Ahh, Prussia, put me down!"
He was dropped immediately.
"Fuck this, 'm going home."
At least, that brought him his wits back and Italy was spurred into action. Once, he'd allowed one of the Germans to leave, his voice full of hurt and back stiff with pride masking pain, and he was still trying to fix that! Not again. Not when he could picture a gently smiling Germany reaching for his hand, that rare softness in him as they went together into the future.
No. Italy had decided now. He wouldn't mess up again.
They went down in a rather painful tangle when Italy slammed into Prussia's legs. Some of Germany's diligent training must have stuck, because he managed to move out of the way just before an elbow tried to slam into his face.
Though he didn't aim more punches after that, Prussia kept twisting, trying to shake Italy off his back while the slighter nation clung to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle.
"Listen," Italy yelled, "ve, please, Prussia, listen to me!"
"Lemme go!"
Feeling his fingers slip, Italy tried desperately to find the right words. "I know I'm stupid, but please! I'm lazy and stupid and slow. But Germany, he is even worse sometimes! Well, not lazy, and not really slow he just doesn't realize..." No, he told himself, bad Italy. Focus!
"Germany cares a lot," he continued, "he's just really, really bad at showing that. And I think," oh dear, he'd better be right or he'd be beaten black and blue, "that even if he's very different, Prussia is a little bit the same. But you both care. I care!"
"Goddammit! All the world knows you care about Germany," Prussia muttered, his struggle subsiding as he twisted his head around to glower at Italy.
"...I think I can learn to care a lot about Prussia too."
Prussia finally stilled and when he made to get up this time, Italy let go. They just sat on the floor for a few moment, then, both nations weary from the weight of their thoughts.
"Well?" Prussia finally said. "Talk." The face he revealed when he turned towards him was empty, the façade of an old warrior marred only by the tiny pearls of sweat breaking free.
The lack of animation reminded Italy of the carnivals of old; every face so white and still. Surrounded by glorious colours, the empty masks kept dancing while pestilence rotted the city from within. Laugh, drink and stab each other in the back, because who knows what tomorrow may bring; so lived the Venetians of old, and perhaps a touch of their credo had survived until this day.
"I just mean... I love Germany!" It became easier to say each time and he had to say it once more, luxuriating in the feeling. "I love him, I truly do!" "I love him all the way, because he's kind to me! And strong and, and yes, really sexy!" He grinned, not caring if he looked quite the fool.
"That's what you feel for Germany, eh?"
"Yes! And I want to..." Here, his new-found courage almost abandoned him, but even Italians could fight, once they had the proper motivation.
"If you want to. I could..." Italy finally dared say the words, bring them out in the open. "Maybe learn to love you too. If you want me?."
"What about Germany? He..." The empty look twisted into a grin, but Italy now knew what he had once only suspected. Loud anger or false cheer, both expressions were the same; only masks.
"After he took over, I actually asked," Prussia said, his smile widening with every word, though his eyes were still empty. "Asked if he wanted to change things. We're not like you and the little pissed off guy." His fist tightened and Italy almost reached out to touch him, but didn't quite break the moment. "Two parts, but not... Equals. Don't quite fit."
"I know."
"We could be, I thought. It would've been natural. But, heh," Prussia shrugged, "someone like me is meant to stand alone. Splendid in solitary glory," he finished with a mocking laugh.
"Nobody is meant to be alone," Italy disagreed. "But Germany... Ve, Germany can be really stubborn."
"Hn, tell me 'bout it. Could give lessons to an ass."
"Yes. And Italy," he squirmed a little, but plunged on, "I can be really blind. That was what I was saying sorry for."
Prussia scratched his neck, fidgeted and stalled. "Not blinder than any of the others," he finally admitted, his voice finally breaking, the strain too heavy even for one so proud of his inner steel. "They still haven't..."
"I want Germany," Italy repeated. "And I think you want Germany too. Don't you?"
Looking at Prussia, he realized that without a word spoken, the other was answering. His hands, that moved nervously around where a sword had been missing for a century; the tears he quickly blinked away and the smirk that wouldn't quite stick. They all spoke so loudly, that Italy marvelled that the entire world didn't already know.
Perhaps Italy should have felt much more afraid than he did when he tugged at Prussia's sleeve and burrowed up against his side. For Prussia had made loneliness his only true companion and now, Italy threatened to take away even that trusted friend. But for all the shadowy years hidden in the man next to him, Italy was still among the oldest of them. More than that; he was a nation of love.
"You do," he said, gently. "We want him." A pause, a heartbeat, and then Italy took the last step. "We should take him."
"We...?" He was old, Prussia, but when real happiness bloomed in him, he looked quite the mischievous child. A quick bark of laughter escaped him, choked down before it turned into a sob.
They sat in silence for another while, before Prussia finally responded to his touch. His hand, stroking Italy's cheek, was gentle for all the roughness that he liked to project.
"Perhaps," he said, "there's more of your grandpa in you then we admit, little Italy."
With that, Prussia shook his head and stood, pulling Italy along. "Come on; we need to get more booze if we're going to do this. Lots and lots more. I'll even pay for some of it."
"Ve!" Italy agreed, feeling relief bubble through him. They'd do it! They really would!
"Fuck yeah!" Prussia crooned, kicking open the front door. "We gotta toast! Yeah, toast for the awesome Prussia and the cute Italy, partners in crime!"
"Noo, Prussia!" Italy protested, unable to hold back his giggle any longer. "We're partners in love!"
"Oh, for crying out loud..."
Continues in in chapter two!
Please feel free to share any comments or concrit you have about this fic!
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Date: 2010-10-30 04:11 pm (UTC)On of my absolute favourite fills in the kink meme! It was amazing when it was unbeta'd and now that it is, it's even better. Hnnngh~ <3
I absolutely adore the way you write Prussia. Sometimes people write him too... 2D, if you get what I mean? But I think you cover him well! And ahgldfgfd, all the little mentions and such of his loneliness had my heart just twisting in pain along with all the other things ghkgdfgd.
Oh GermanyI'll be eagerly awaiting the next chapters ~
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Date: 2010-10-30 04:17 pm (UTC)and then I look at the meme version and want to hide under the bed for all the errorsI'm going over the chapters one last time and will post them in the coming days =)
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Date: 2010-10-30 04:32 pm (UTC)Don't worry, I'm sure most of the errors were crushed under all the amount of awesomeThat's great to hear! *U*
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Date: 2010-10-30 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 06:33 pm (UTC)Please keep this up!
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Date: 2010-10-31 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 07:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 01:44 pm (UTC)And your icon is - yum, so yummy!
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Date: 2010-10-31 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 03:52 am (UTC)ERGO, I DID NOTHING TO HELP IN ANY WAY.
I'M SO SORRYYYYYYY *sobs*
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Date: 2010-10-31 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 06:03 pm (UTC)my god, even his hair can do emo...
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Date: 2010-10-31 10:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 10:53 am (UTC)Oh goodness, I must thank you so much for this! So glad you posted here as to de-anon, or else I'd never read this beautiful story!
I remember my beginnings in Hetalia, my love-love-love-love for Germany and Prussia <3 <3 <3 Not even as a couple, you know, just as characters themselves, so great!
Then I must confess I was swept away in my also-love-love-love-love for England, and have been focused in that side of the fandom since many months ago.
BUT NOW I feel so refreshed and brought back to this other wonderful side of the fandom LOL
One of my favorite parts of your story is mentioning just how young and naive was Germany's heart during the War, and the implications of all the betrayals and battles could have had in his mind. The feeling of anger and recent he felt towards Italy was, to my reasoning, very understandable. Heck, it's my headcanon.
And now you bring this beautiful story if Italy finally *cheers* deciding to go for Germany's love, and you are such a beautiful writer and followed such nice prompt because OH YES do not leave and ignore so-devoted-so-crazy Prussia please!! <3 <3 My rationale for liking threesomes is actually the all-inclusive and encompasing feeling of love, when no one is left out XDD The fun times are a good bonus, but really, I love plot more than anything else.
So thank you my dear, I shall be following this story faithfully. Favving it since now too XDD
♥
Date: 2010-10-31 10:58 am (UTC)Not even as a couple, you know, just as characters themselves, so great!
Ahaha, that's me too. I ship them, I bromance them, I just like them both overall =)
My rationale for liking threesomes is actually the all-inclusive and encompasing feeling of love, when no one is left out
That's the best kind of OT3 love, hee
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Date: 2010-10-31 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 07:28 pm (UTC)...lol icon keywords threw me off, sorry orz
Date: 2010-10-31 04:37 pm (UTC)Re: ...lol icon keywords threw me off, sorry orz
Date: 2010-10-31 07:15 pm (UTC)about time I got around to fixing this, I am the worlds worst procrastinator...
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Date: 2010-10-31 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-31 10:09 pm (UTC)Seriously, I-I love it. Your portrayal of Prussia is so unbelievably raw and hard and sad and. And perfect. Italy too, who isn't just forced into being a complete idiot with no intelligence. I love this fic, and I love the polishing you gave it!
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Date: 2010-10-31 10:45 pm (UTC)Italy too, who isn't just forced into being a complete idiot with no intelligence.
Yes, I don't really like that portrayal. He's silly (which country in Hetalia isn't?), naive, lazy and childish... but he's not bloody retarded :/
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Date: 2010-11-01 07:32 pm (UTC)The ending reminds me of "Kidnapping Elder Brother" from Vocaloid xD
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Date: 2010-11-01 11:03 pm (UTC)The ending reminds me of "Kidnapping Elder Brother" from Vocaloid xD
Oho? A song, is it? Do you have a link, I've heard some really neat vocaloid stuff ^^
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Date: 2010-11-02 09:17 pm (UTC)I can totally see the last few pictures with Prussia and Italy (maybe Austria too?..) >3
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Date: 2010-11-01 11:04 pm (UTC)