It’s after WW2 and the Berlin wall has been constructed. Germany has no clue if his brother is alive or not, all he knows is that his brother was no longer a nation. He is angry. He is frustrated. His blood is running cold and he is desperate to know if Prussia is alive, desperate to know if he could tell his brother he loved him again. He blamed Russia and America for his problem, he blamed them for not being able to get along, for being so immature that Russia had to construct a wall.
He slammed his fist on his desk, staring out the window, his mind in a rage. Germany knew he was just as much at fault, that he wasn’t one to talk, but in his own defense he wasn’t even aware of just how terrible people were being slaughtered in those concentration camps and god. God he didn’t know! He didn’t know and his name, his people, his country will forever and always be stained with that name and with their blood. He will always be a Nazi, history had written him to be so.
Even now, in his despair, he didn’t have his brother at his side. He didn’t have Prussia to proclaim his awesomeness, he didn’t have Prussia to console with. He hadn’t seen Italy in months, locked away in the American embassy with the loud mouth American running around his nation doing god knows what and… and Ludwig just wanted his brother by his side.
He didn’t give a damn about America, not anymore. He didn’t care that such a young country had delivered the final blow, good for him. This obnoxious personification, sorry excuse of a nation, was getting on his last nerve.
And it wasn’t because he was arrogant.
It wasn’t because he was cruel.
It wasn’t because he was torturing Germany.
America was getting on Germany’s last nerve because he was being kind. He wasn’t displaying anger whenever he talked to Germany, he would smile and laugh besides the German man. He showed no fear, he showed no pity. America would put his hand on Germany’s arm and even show him developed photographs from people back on home. America would grab Germany’s hands and force him to dance in the study when one of his ‘absolute favoritest song in the history of EVER’ played on the American made radio he brought.
It infuriated Germany. It infuriated him because America wasn’t supposed to be kind, America wasn’t supposed to dance with him, America wasn’t supposed to laugh with him. America was supposed to fear him. To hate him. To give him the glare that could kill a thousand men. Germany wanted America to hate him like he hated himself.
The wind blew past his window. The silence took him over. The pen snapped in his hands. His eyes were back on the steel wall and his heart pounded loudly.
“Damn him…” Germany cursed. “Damn him!!”
He slammed his fist down on the desk again and he heard it crack under his flesh. The silence, once filled by his brother, over took him once more. That was, until a soft knock came and keys jiggled inside a lock. The door swung open and just by the footsteps Germany could tell it was America. He tensed, more so then he already was. He didn’t even bother to look back at the blue eyed self proclaimed freedom fighting hero.
“Heyo Ludwig!!” The American cheered, kicking the door closed with his shiny black healed shoe. His chest was decorated with ribbons devoted to his bravery, his medals clanged against his chest with every step.
Germany couldn’t resist to growl out loud. Who gave this damn American the right to behave so cheerfully? Who gave this damn American the right to smile around despair?
“I tried making you some wurst!” Alfred said, his voice getting closer and a plate was gently placed on the table in front of the fireplace. Germany still didn’t turn, he had no interest. “I mean… It might not be good but it was kind of fun and I know for a fact that it is better then whatever England would have made! The little kitchen girl you have helped me, she was really swe-”
“Shut up.” Germany hissed. “Keep your damn food.”
Ludwig could feel the hesitance in Alfred’s presence, could practically imagine the American staring at him with bright blue eyes and looking down at the probably burnt wurst he had made. He heard the American take a deep breath before words came from his lips once more,
“You really should eat some-”
“I do not want to hear your voice.”
“I know your mad Germany but I think you should get some food in your syst-”
“Do you not hear me you ignorant powerhouse!! I do not want to indulge in anything you could possibly give me!!” Germany shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the room and directing itself at the younger nation. Ludwig had stood, kicking his chair back and turning to the American, his icy blue eyes blazing with anger and irritation.
America was standing by the table, illuminated by the fireplace, frozen in his position with a plate of wurst in his hands that he was preparing to carry to Germany. The German country had turned quick enough to see the American flinch at the howl of his voice. Wait, flinch? Why on earth was such a powerful nation as Alfred flinching at the sound of Germany’s voice? It was then that Germany actually stepped back to look at Alfred for the first time in the months he had been in the embassy.The boy was running ragged, in charge of healing the mess of the world that Germany had created. Upon closer inspection, some of the ribbons of his uniform were out of order, his ranks were backwards, his shoes were scuffed and dirty, and the bottom of his pants were filthy with mud from running around the nations. The way his hands and knees shook were he stood, showed that he was battling the overwhelming anxiety that came with the world being on his shoulders. Not only was he effortlessly confronting other nations, but America was sure to have problems of his own.
“No no no,” America said, shutting him down quickly and pulling the plate closer to his chest. ‘You’re right I’m sorry, I’ll make another plate.”
It frightened Germany, to see America so doubtful like this. This isn’t how a victor should be behaving, if anything their roles should be reversed, America should be the one yelling and Germany should be the one writhing before them.
“America, I’ll eat it just sit dow-”
“Ludwig really!” America smiled at him, his grin as charming as ever. “Don’t worry about it! I know… You’re stressed out about loosing your brother and you’re… you’re angry at me because of it.”
American looked down, kicking the ground with his foot, looking at everything but Germany.
“I… I would be the same way if someone took me from my brother. So I’ll get him back! I promise I’ll get your brother back for you and some more wurst that isn’t burnt!!” America cheered, looking back up at Germany.
America’s brother. Canada wasn’t it? That’s right, Germany had seen him a few times throughout the war, but other than that had rarely made an acquaintance with him. He wondered how long it’s been since America was able to see Canada, what with his constant running around the world.
Germany quickly hurried to block America’s path, standing in front of the door. The bespectacled country raised a curious eyebrow up at Germany and Ludwig felt the guilt continue to eat at his stomach as he noticed the stars that were usually so prominent in the blue eyed nation.
“I’m trying to get out of your hair Ludwig,” He muttered, now clearly becoming irritated. His mood swings were impeccable, Germany had noted. From smiling to grumbling like a dejected child. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Germany rolled his eyes before grabbing Alfred by the wrist and pulling him to the couch and pushing him down onto the chair. Alfred pouted up at him but didn’t protest, just crossed his arms.
“Listen,” Ludwig started, being careful with his words. “I’m sorry for having been difficult for you… You have only showed me kindness during this time of hardship for me and I have only made your life more difficult. You do not have to do this and I… I appreciate it.”
America only stared up at Germany for a while, and Germany began to wonder if he had done the right thing. He wasn’t very good at the compassionate things, he tended to have difficulty with his words and he knew he wasn’t exactly the most comforting figure. But he hoped, kneeling in front of the American in comfortable clothes, his hair loose in front of his face and his hand resting on the uniformed knee, that Alfred F. Jones would see the sincerity in his words.
Alfred continue to stare at him, the dark shadows circling his eyes only making those azure blue eyes brighter then what they already were. They continued on in silence for a few minutes, longer then Germany wanted. The seconds ached in his core, his hand gently tightening around the American knee in hope of some kind of sign of acceptance. Germany was almost, he hated to admit, desperate for it. Desperate for the acceptance, desperate for someone to tell him that his violent actions were not entirely his to bear, that his slaughter would not haunt him forever. Germany thought of all the people, burning in those camps and all his soldiers, dying without knowing what they were really dying for and he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, he couldn’t stop his emotions so he looked away from America and he dropped his head in shame. It was then where he felt smooth skin touch the underside of his chin and lift his head, Alfred’s hand guiding Germany to look up at him and America smiled and with his other hand the land of the free held out his plate of wurst he had made for the German and Ludwig wanted to cry again.
It was acceptance.
America would not judge him for his actions where the other nations would.
Alfred F. Jones would not look or treat him any differently.
America would not shrink away like Britain had, would not hiss like France had, would not look at him in pity as Canada did, would not laugh mockingly in his face as the Soviet Union had, would not… fear him… as Italy did.
America would take his hand and smile at him, greet him as a friend, treat him as a partner.
It took Germany this long to figure out that America had been treating him as such the entire time. When Alfred had grabbed Ludwig’s hands to dance, his intentions were geniuen, when he made Ludwig food he really did try his hardest, and when he showed Ludwig various forms of entertainment he really was just trying to cheer him up.
It was the compassion that Germany had longed for, but because it wasn’t from Prussia he pushed it aside and labeled it as a lie. Like America was making fun of him when he wasn’t.
He also realized that America would attempt to keep his promise, he would get Gilbert back.
So yes the tears came and he knew it wasn’t like himself but god damn it he couldn’t help it. Months of sterilizing his emotions poured out of him and he wrapped his arms around the soldier in front of him and buried his face in the American, soaking his uniform with tears he had been holding since the beginning. Tears he had been burying in anger and frustration.
He felt the body he was holding onto tremble slightly in what was probably a chuckle before he felt soft fingers running through his hair and another hand rubbing his back. Alfred was muttering incoherent things, he had a problem with keeping his mouth shut, but they were comforting notions and it was a soft and reassuring noise that Ludwig knew he needed to hear.
Had they told anyone else, nobody would have believed them. A rare site to see two who behaved so contrasting to one another so dependent on the others presence. Alfred, needing to know that he wasn’t the only one struggling to handle the pressures of being a young nation and Ludwig, desperate for the compassion that only America was so determined to give him.
I realized I lacked of these so if you post any of them please reblog and I’ll check out your blog
- Doctor Who (pleaaaase)
- DOCTOR WHOOOOO
- Harry Potter
- Fruits Basket
- Unusual Hetalia pairs
- Unusual Homestuck pairs
- Fullmetal Alchemist
- Attack On Titan
- LEVI x HANJI (I don’t mind Eruri but Ereri is just nope sorry)
- Funny stuff
- Did I mention Fruits Basket and Doctor Who?
- Art too
- Pastel aesthetics
- Pretty clothes
Hello and welcome to the Hetalia Rare Pair Central, a blog dedicated to the lesser known ships in Hetalia. The point of this blog is to create a place where creators or rare pair related content can get the exposure they need and deserve, and create a tag and blog where people can browse through ships many didn’t know existed.
If you want a post reblogged here, please put ‘hetaliararepaircentral’ in the first five tags for me to reblog, as I cannot possibly visit every rarepair tag. Pretty much everything is allowed with some exceptions.
The winner of the poll for ARS’ next ship week was KorBela! The week will be held from August 21st - August 27th, but in order to compensate for school, late entries will be accepted for a week afterwards - until September 3rd.
Entries should be tagged as #arskorbelaweek and the day of the prompt (eg, #day 2), and possibly tagged with @aphrareships!
You are not required to participate in each day! You may combine days.
Your entry does not have to be romantic. You may have platonic KorBela as well.
You are allowed to do nyo!KorBela, 2P!KorBela, or any combination like Nyo!South Korea x Belarus or so on!
Any sort of creation is accepted, from art, to cosplay, to writing or edits, so long as all credit is given where it’s due!
NSFW is allowed, but make sure everything is tagged. Any trigger warnings must be tagged as well, including any sort of violence or other things that are potential triggers. We want everyone to have a safe, fun time!
The Fossegrim is a water spirit from Norse Mythology who sits under waterfalls, playing the fiddle. He is the source of the music of nature itself, and is said to teach humans how to play if they secretly bring him a stolen piece of meat.
I think we can all agree that Romania is exactly the kind of guy to go wandering through the woods in search of such creatures.
This was drawn for Day Five of the Hetalia Rare Pair week 2017: Mythology!