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I’m Here, My Son (Fic)

“AMERICA!” That was one of the screams the American heard, not from one of his soldiers, but from his father. He was on the ground, writhing in pain as he held his side, blood staining his hands. “Shit…!” America cursed in pain, suddenly noticing his father next to him. “America, I need to see the wound,” the Brit said, keeping his voice firm. He took his son’s hands away and froze a little. The bullet was inside America’s abdomen; a deadly shot. “Alright, we’ll get you to the med tent, okay? You’ll be alright,” Britain said softly, holding his son’s hand in his. “Pa… Pa, it hurts so much…” America whispered in pain, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Shh, I know, I know,” Britain replied gently, wiping away America’s tears with his thumb, “rest…” “B-But I don’t wa-want to-” “Please, my son… It’ll do you good…” “Will I di-die…?” Britain hesitated a little. He knew the time was running short, but he had to reassure his son until his last breath. “No… I’ll make sure of it, okay? You’re okay, I’m here…” He sat down and gently pulled America onto his lap, letting him rest his head on his lap. “Okay… Good night, Pa…” “Sleep well, my son…” Britain stroked America’s hair lightly, not realising the tears filling his eyes as he watched his own son - his own child - take his last breath. The Brit made no noise; no talking, no sobs, no whimpers - nothing. Instead, Britain quietly picked his son up and took him inside the med tent, here France was. “Bretag-!” “He’s dead.” France froze. She quietly let Britain set America down on one of the beds, his hands shaking as he stared at the blood on them. The Frenchwoman went to her husband, sitting next to him. She quietly handed him a cloth to clean his hands. “Darling, I… I’m sorry…” “An apology won’t bring him back. It won’t bring my son back, France. My own child is dead because I couldn't protect him!” Britain was getting angrier, but the grief was getting stronger as well. France softly hugged her lover before he did something irrational, like yell or fight someone. The Brit froze. He quietly hugged his wife back, tears starting to fall down his face. Without even realising, Britain started sobbing into France’s chest, shaking violently and unable to calm down, let alone speak. The Frenchwoman simply rubbed circles around the Brit’s back in an attempt to calm him, letting him cry it all out. “Why wasn’t it me? Why him? He was so young…”

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Chamomile - Origin I

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of child endangerment/abuse/abandonment/childhood trauma, swearing, sickness, and possible mentions of death. Long post as well.

Do not read if any of these trigger you.

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“What would your mother think of your actions? How you truly turned out after all of these years? I bet she would be really disappointed in you.”

Those words echoed inside the small boy’s head. He had been caught stealing a loaf of bread from a stall since he couldn’t afford anything himself. Britain already knew his mother would punish him for this, just like the last time. “I’m so sorry, sir,” Britain said quietly, bowing apologetically at the man. He was escorted home by Roman guards, freezing a little at the sight of his mother: Britannia. Britannia eyed her son down. “What the hell did you do now?” She asked rather bitterly.  “I-” “He stole from a nearby stall; a loaf of bread,” a guard next to the boy’s right said. Britain swallowed nervously as Britannia nodded. “He will be punished and learn not to do this again, thank you for bringing him home,” she said calmly. She grabbed Britain by the wrist and closed the front door, smacking him immediately. “Now, what have I told you about fucking stealing?!” Britannia shouted angrily. “I-I’m sorry, mater, I-” Britain said through whimpers, trying not to cry. “You keep doing this. You clearly need to learn in a different way.” She got up and grabbed one of Britain’s plushies. “No! No! Mater, please! I’ve learned my lesson!” Britain begged, grabbing his mother’s leg. Britannia kicked her son away. “Do not disobey! Stay in your room!” She turned and walked outside, throwing the plushie into a fire. “No dinner for you tonight either.” Britain was dragged by his wrist, being thrown into his room and locked in. He shakily grabbed one of the few plushies he had left, hugging it tightly and keeping it close. The boy crawled underneath his covers, his entire body trembling as he already felt the bruises and marks forming on his body from where his mother hit him. Being the only child meant you couldn’t go to anyone for protection nor comfort; not even the neighbours trust you because of your stealing habits to feed yourself when your mother wouldn’t. This was an endless cycle Britain had endured ever since he was old enough to walk. It left him terrified of his mother and anyone who tried to touch him. There was hope for the small boy in the future, even if he couldn’t see it now. So much hope and joy, even if he couldn’t see it now. So, so much.

This is the story of the United Kingdom.

London, Roman Empire; 14:35 P.M.

“Wow! You can wear armour?!” The English boy stared up at the older Brit, smiling excitedly. “Oh, yes. I am a warrior, after all,” Britain replied with a small smile, sitting down next to England. “It must be so cool! You get to fight bad guys! Like the Huns!” England made punching motions as he spoke, smiling bravely at the older boy. Britain let out a small chuckle before hearing the Roman Empire’s voice calling them in for dinner. As Britain reached the front door, Rome stopped him for a moment. “What is it, Pater?” The Brit asked curiously. “Britain, I know you strive to be great and powerful, but I must restrain you from fighting the invaders of the North.” “What? Why? I can handle them. I’ve fought them before with-” Rome hushed his son. “It’s for your own safety.” There were cracks forming in Rome’s face. “Oh, right-” Britain started before being stopped by Rome once more. “I know, my son. That is why I cannot allow you nor Scotland to fight; both of you are the eldest, next to Wales. I need you to protect England and your own friends as well, for I may not be around for much longer…” Britain looked at the ground, before nodding in understanding. He already had a horrible parental figure once, why did he have to lose his only good one? Why now? “Come along, then. I don’t want you starving…” Rome set his hand on Britain’s shoulder as he walked inside with him, letting him sit down next to Wales and Scotland at their table. The Brit barely touched his food before seeing Wales’s hand on his. “Britain? Is something wrong?” Wales asked softly, her eyes full of concern. “No, no… I’m alright. Just, thinking.” Britain gave Wales a small smile. “Nothing’s wrong over here, I promise.” He then went back to eating before he ended up giving his scrapes to the stray wild dogs in the alleyway outside of the home he shared. He walked back in and went down the hallway to his room, changing into a comfortable robe to sleep in as he laid down in the hay bed, staring up at the ceiling. What would he do when Rome was gone? He can only fight for so long before tiring himself out. As Britain got lost in his thoughts, he overheard knocking on the door. “You may come in,” he said calmly. Rome walked in and sat down next to the boy. “Britain, look at me…” The Brit turned to meet Rome’s eyes before suddenly being pulled into a warm and caring hug. “I know you’re wondering what you’ll do when I am gone… Do not fret about it, alright, my child? I have plans for you and your siblings, and I’ve made sure that they work out for you all,” Rome said softly. Before Britain even realised, he held onto his father a little tighter, tears filling his eyes as he let himself finally cry, whimpers and sobs escaping him. The acceptance was already rising, and yet, he still felt like he had lost one of the most important things in his life; his own fatherly figure. Rome stroked Britain’s hair softly, comforting him the best he could. “I’m not gone yet, little one… I won’t leave you just yet,” Rome said quietly, letting Britain cry it all out as he needed to. After what seemed like an eternity, Britain finally calmed down, leaning against his father. “Get some rest, my son… You need it…” Rome let Britain lay down as he tucked him in, just like he always did. He then kissed the Brit’s forehead and left the room, quietly closing the door as Britain turned over on his side, staring at the wall; the random words he carved into it when he was younger standing out more than before, especially words like “hope” and “freedom”. He knew what they meant, but he felt like they were something more unique to him - maybe the freedom from Britannia? The hope of a good future? Britain shook the thoughts away and buried his face into the rather soft pillow nearby, closing his eyes and letting the night close in on his dreams. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Hey guys! This is part one of an origin fic I’ve been working on for a while now! part two is still in the works, but it should be out soon! I hope you guys enjoy!

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Borscht (Russia’s Origin) WIP

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One Shots From Discord Requests!

No. 1: Norway and England (Friendship) England was sitting near the window at the coffee shop his brother ran. He had a strawberry smoothie in his hand, along with a candy bar. As he was daydreaming, he noticed someone else walk in. They had snow on their shoulders as they took off the coat and cleaned the boots. They quietly ordered a warm drink as they took off their gloves as well, their red and blue eyes darting around, as though they were searching. Then, they turned and noticed England. The eldest Nordic of them all: Norway. He gave the Englishman a small wave as he paid for his drink, then going and sitting next to England. “Greetings, England. Long time; no see,” the Norwegian said softly, his voice quiet as usual. “Hello to you, too,” England replied softly, fixing his hair a little. “Is it cold in Oslo?”  “A usual during the winter, yes. Sweden was over today, so I didn’t make it at the time I normally do.” Norway took a sip of the hot chocolate in his hands, humming quietly as a warm smile formed on his face, showing his small dimples. “Your brother always has the best hot chocolate… I wonder what the recipe is,” he murmured. England nodded. “What have you been doing with your new job?” England then asked. “Oh, it’s rather interesting. We harvest ice from the frozen lakes and use it for sculptures and other uses. I never really knew what the uses were since I mainly harvest the ice with my brothers,” Norway explained. England nodded along as Norway spoke, seeing how bright the dark red and blue eyes were as the Norwegian spoke. “You know, when you speak, your eyes always light up,” England said gently, looking at Norway. “What do you mean?” “Well, your eye colours are already dark, but when you speak, they light up; like fireflies, these bright bugs in the summer evenings. They’re very pretty, just like your eyes.” “Oh, well, thank you, dear frie-” “Please, just England is fine, Norway.” “Alright, England… I’ll see you around.” “See you soon, Norway.” No. 2: GerSpa (Relationship) Spain woke up to a sleeping German on his chest. He slowly sat up and kept Germany in his arms, kissing him awake. “Guten Morgen,” Spain said gently. He had learned German just for his husband. “Morning…” Germany cuddled back up to his lover’s chest. “Still sleepy?” Spain asked, his lover nodding gently. “Well, how about I make us some coffee… How do you like it again?” “Vanilla iced…” Spain nodded and went downstairs, pouring himself a cup of black coffee with sugar and cream, then making Germany’s. “Here you go, mi amor,” the Spaniard said to the German, looking at him. Germany thanked his lover quietly taking a sip. He then leaned against Spain as his lover started reading. “What’re you reading?” “A book about the stars. I wanna learn for Poland so he doesn’t feel so alone when he rambles about stars…” “How sweet of you… You really do care about everyone… Why is that?” “Well, mi amor, I was taught that everyone deserves to be cared about unless they hurt you personally. Nobody I know and that I’m friends with has hurt me, and I know that because, despite everything, they’re all still my family after mine passed… It’s strange, y’know? How your friends can feel like your family…” Germany smiled gently, setting his hand on Spain’s cheek. “Well, I consider you family,” he murmured.  “That’s because we’re married, darling.” “I know that, dork!” “Pfft! Dork? That’s the first time you’ve called me that, and I shall cherish it forever. Did Britain teach you that?” “Maybe he did.” “Oh, I’ll give him a piece of my Spaniard mind!” Germany and Spain broke out into a laughing fit, holding onto each other gently, smiling warmly. No. 3: GerFra (Relationship) France was in her office, playing with a Rubrics Cube. She overheard someone walk in and smiled at her boyfriend. “Bonjour, Allemagne!” She said with a bright smile. Germany smiled gently and waved. He slowly hugged his lover. “I’m sleepy…” Germany buried his face into her chest, yawning sleepily. “Did you overwork yourself again, dear?” France asked softly, kissing Germany. He nodded, leaning into the kiss a little. “It’s not my fault though. The EU piled work onto me again…” France played with Germany’s hair as he vented about his work. She noticed his hair was rather messy and grabbed a hairbrush, going through and getting the knots out. Germany seemed to enjoy this a little since a smile grew on his face.  “I’m sure tomorrow will be better - today is Friday after all, so we have tomorrow off.” “I hope so… We can sleep in, right? I don’t feel like getting up early tomorrow…” “Of course, mon amour. We can sleep until three o’clock in the afternoon if you wish!” Germany chuckled softly. “Isn’t that too long?” “Hey, if Bretagne can sleep in until four o’clock, then we can sleep in until three. Simple as that, dear.” “Fair enough. We’ll sleep in until then… Or noon, if we can’t.” France smiled and nodded gently, letting her lover ramble about things he enjoyed. “There. All finished brushing,” she then said. Germany nodded. “Danke, mein Liebe,” he said gently. He then kissed France’s cheek, making France smile warmly. “You’re such a sweetheart…” “You are too…” “You’re more of a sweetheart, mon chere.” “Heh, how so?” “Well, you always give me kisses and gifts, of course. You’re just a really sweet person in general.” Germany blushed at that, smiling happily. “Aw, Danke fur alles, mein Frankreich…” “Not a problem, dear… Je t’aime…” “Ich liebe dich…” No. 4: ItaAme (Relationship) “You can’t miss the sunrise again because you slept in, Ame! Come on!” Italy kept making the American walk up to the roof with her. She wanted him to see how beautiful the sunset was. “Fine, fine,” America replied sleepily, rubbing his eyes a little. He went up the ladder, Italy following afterwards. She ran up to the near edge, being careful to not slip. She sat down and let America sit next to her. “Isn’t it so beautiful, Ame?” Italy asked, hoping he’d agree. “It is, darling. Not as beautiful as you, though…” America kissed Italy after that, chuckling as he knew his wife’s cheeks were hot with blush. He gently pulled Italy closer to his chest, letting the Italian rest her head there. “You’re such a charmer…” “Heh, well, runs in the family!” Italy giggled softly at that, looking at America with gentle, green eyes. America smiled at her, continuing to watch the sunrise. “I’m glad you woke me up to see this, darling,” the American said softly, looking at his lover. “It’s rather beautiful…” Italy just smiled brightly and listened to her husband talk. She really enjoyed hearing his voice more than anyone else’s; always been that way since they met back in 1919. Italy noticed the sun was far up in the sky when America stopped talking. She smiled and stood up, taking America’s hand in hers. “Let’s go back in. What did you want for breakfast?” Italy asked. “Anything that you make, darling~!” “I appreciate it, Ame, but I need to know. You’re a picky eater when it comes to food.” “Fine… I’ll take some eggs, cutie pie.” “Alright, love. How do you want them?” “As cute as you are~!” “...Ame, I swear-”  “What? It’s how I want them!” “Might as well just have me for breakfast then!” “Maybe I wi-” “HAHAHA NO, YOU’RE NOT-” “Aw, come on!” “Still a no!” No. 5: ScotFra (Relationship) Scotland sat down after the recent battle, sighing from exhaustion. He winced a little in pain at the wounds he received, seeing France walk in with a med-kit. “Bonjour,” France softly greeted, sitting next to Scotland. “Hey,” Scotland simply replied. He let France started patching up the wounds on his arm and face. She seemed heavily focused on that, but still wished to peak with Scotland. “You should be a little more careful, especially with your face in battles. You could go blind if you’re reckless enough.” Scotland just nodded, too tired to make a big deal out of that. “You should rest after I’m done patching you up. It’s better for you to sleep than to stay up all night,” France then added. She noticed the Scotsman was too tired to even answer her. She simply kept patching up his wounds before being pulled into a soft kiss. “I know this, darling,” Scotland finally said, his voice quiet and gentle, as usual. France simply smiled, setting her hands on Scotland’s waist. “Just making sure…” “You always make sure.” “Because I love you that much, Scott.” “I know that, darling.” Scotland kissed France’s cheek as she cuddled up to him, her arms wrapped around him. She let Scotland kiss her forehead as she buried her face into his chest. “I love you, dear,” the Frenchwoman murmured. “I love you more,” Scotland replied gently, looking at her. France lightly blushed as Scotland set his hand on his lover’s cheek. “Shall we go stargaze?” “I was hoping to nap, honestly.” “Let’s nap then!” France said with a happy smile. Her lover simply smiled as he laid down in her lap, letting France stroke his hair gently as he fell asleep. “Sleep well, darling…” France kissed him goodnight as he fell asleep. No. 6: GerEng (Relationship) England was sitting at the bar, holding a fruity drink. He didn’t notice Germany sitting next to him, who seemed to be much happier than him at the moment. The German did notice the Englishman, however. “Hallo, England!” Germany said happily, his hand on England’s shoulder. “Hey, Ger,” England simply said in response, looking at Germany with his tired eyes. “Have you slept lately? You look exhausted.” “Sleep is for the weak, Ger. I’ve taught you this for years now.” “I know, but you still should sleep. It’s good for your health.” England just sighed softly and took another drink of the beverage he had. Germany sat down next to him. “Eng, I’m worried about you. You only stay awake when something is bothering you… Do you wanna tell me what it is?” “Nothing is bothering me, Ger. I just have insomnia.” England smiled at the German, getting a soft smile in return. “Well, aren’t ya gonna order?” the Englishman then asked.  “Oh right! What did you order exactly? I’d like to try it.”  “I dunno. Shirley Temple, I think.” England shrugged. “Nonetheless, try it anyway. It’s not half bad for a bar like this.” Germany chuckled softly. He subconsciously grabbed England’s hand as he ordered the drink. Of course, they were a couple. Not just friends. They’d been dating for a near year now, and Germany was always the more sensible of the two, especially when it came to physical and mental health. This was just another regular Friday with these two. They loved each other, of course. It’ll hopefully be that way forever.

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RusCan Dialogue

“Russ, it’s two o’clock in the morning... Why are you still up?” “Couldn’t sleep. You?” Russia fixed his hair a little. “Nightmares... Again. Not surprising, to be honest.”  “I see...” Russia went over and pulled Canada into a gentle hug. “Maybe we can cuddle until we fall asleep?” He then suggested. Canada simply smiled. “I’d like that... A lot, actually...” He cuddled up to the Russian, smiling warmly. “Heh... Good night, my love...” “Night, night, darling... I’ll see you in the morning...” “You too, love... Have better dreams for me, alright? You know I don’t like seeing my lover upset...” Canada chuckled. “Of course... I’ll dream about you, darling...” He giggled when he saw the faint blush on his lover’s face, kissing Russia softly as he finally dozed off with his husband, smiling gently.

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Dialogue #2

“Every single time I hear his name, I still remember how much I really did love him. He always made my days so much brighter with that cute smile and that small giggle... And now, Spain gets to cherish those memories, while I’m left all alone here, watching the sun set with nobody to hold in my arms... I’ve never felt so many emotions in one sitting; anger, sadness... I don’t know what it is, but it’s something, and I still love Germany too... I can’t get his smile out of my head, nor his laugh, his voice, the feeling of his embrace- ...I should go to sleep. Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning.”

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Dialogue #1

“None of this wouldn’t happened if you had just learned to calm down and control yourself!” “Tch. Sure. I couldn’t care less about that shit, Британия.” “Soviet, this is why your kids cannot learn to care about you or anyone else! This is why people say you’re a horrible father! You have to under-” “Say one more word, and I will break your spine in half before you can even blink.” “...I thought I could gain your alliance and grow closer; guess you’re just too dense for that, huh?”

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Could I get some GerSpa?

“Ale, it’s 5AM... What’s so speci—“

“Come on, Spainen! Trust me!”

Germany dragged his husband up to the roof, sitting down with him as Spain rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. He saw the sunrise and smiled.

“It is beautiful,” Spain admitted, slowly feeling Germany kiss the neck tattoo. “Almost as beauitful as you, no?”

The German blushed. “Well, if that makes me beautiful, then that makes you handsome,” he replied, kissing Spain’s lip lightly as the slight taste of cherry chapstick stayed on Germany’s own lips.

Spain smiled warmly, leaning into the kiss. “I suppose so...” He and Germany fell silent, admiring the sunrise. After a while, Germany broke the silence.

“Ich liebe dich, mein Spanien...”

Spain chuckled and simply replied, with his voice still being soft spoken and cute as ever with his added on accent, just like Germany’s was,

“Te amo, mi belle rosa...”

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First Meeting (Fic)

Fic happily made by me and @loveallcountryhumans!

Britain was thinking out loud to himself quietly, jotting down notes in his notebook. He was always someone who thought out loud from habit and getting it from his parents. As Britain was walking, he noticed someone sitting down nearby. “Oh, hello?” Britain asked the figure.

The figure jumped and was rather surprised because nobody is usually out side at this hour. “Oh! hello,” The male voice slightly quivered. The male was shocked, to be honest, because nobody was out and about at this time. He said as his voice quivered a little bit, “Are you Britain? My father has told me about you...” He was scared because he heard the Brits were mean. “My name is France...” And France was humming a pleasant song as he was waiting for an answer; he was painting the field of lilies at that moment.

“Oh, I came out here to make notes of this meadow for later,” Britain replied with a small smile. “I tend to observe many places I visit, even if I’ve been there hundreds of times before.”

“Ah. I think, Monsieur Britain, it is more you want to get away from being a prince for a while because that is some of the reason I come out to paint the lilies. I water them and take care of them myself! But anyway, since you talked to me... Here! Have a rose!” And after he had given him the red rose, out of nowhere, he saw Britain trip and fall in his paints.

Britain caught himself before hitting the ground. “I suppose I didn’t see them there,” he chuckled, holding the rose in his hand.

France chuckled “I guess you did! I’m glad you are okay.” Those paints don’t matter as much as you do Britain—“ Then France blushed profusely after he said that. Was it just the smell of the roses, or the evening light that made Britain a little attractive to him? He did not know.

Britain blushed faintly. “What was that last part?” He asked gently, fixing his cloak as he gently put the rose in his own hair.

“Oh well Monsieur Britain... Uhm...” France blushed but he finally said it, “The paints don’t matter as much as you.” France blushed so heavily. He wanted to run off so bad, he was so embarrassed for saying that; the male hoped they could see each other again because the taller one was rather cute. Was it just him or was the moonlight shining perfectly on the Brit?

“I don’t matter that much,” Britain said quietly. “I mean, I’m just a prince on his route to being powerful,” he murmured, sitting next to France and lightly hugging his own knees.

“No, you’re much better than that. You are funny, handsome, sweet, humble, and clumsy, but you are a good person and have a great personality, you big handsome goofball.” Then France gave him light kisses on his forehead and wrapped his arms around him; it was cold that night, and also to give the Brit comfort.

Britain’s face was incredibly red with blush. He slowly wrapped his arms around the other male and very gently pressed his lips against France’s, pulling him closer to his chest.

France was embarrassed, but he finally pulled Britain slowly down to his level and finally kissed him on the lips. Maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe it was love, he thought, but now they could be something more he thought.

Britain gently set his gloved hands on France’s waist, deepening the kiss by tilting his head softly.

France felt like he was in heaven and he kept on kissing him until suddenly he stopped to get air, hugging him. He asked, “Britain, would you like to dance?” He blushed slightly, not expecting an answer.

Britain smiled gently. “Anything to see that cute smile,” he replied softly, gently taking France’s hand in his.

France got flustered and said, “thank you, lovely, tall male.”

“Britain is just fine,” Britain chuckled. “Or Brit, if you’d prefer something shorter.”

Francs danced with him until the stars fully came out, appreciating the warm body. “You’re talking to yourself again, but I find it cute, Britain...” Then he finally laid down on the ground with Britain and fell asleep on the warm body under him.

Britain smiled. He decided to let France stay with him in his cottage nearby. Collecting France’s things, along with his own and France, he went to his cottage, setting their things down gently and tucking France in the bed, kissing his cheek goodnight.

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Introduction!

Name: Theo

Speaks: English/Spanish/German

Likes: Writing/Drawing!

Requests?: Open!

Asks?: Open!

DISCLAIMER: HEAVY TOPICS (EX: Abuse) 

do not interact/follow this blog if any heavy topics trigger you.