He had always wanted to be a soldier. As a child he had often been sickly, coming close to death more than once, but now he was a man, and had worked hard to become strong. As the youngest in his family, he knew all too well of the sacrifices his brothers had made so that he could have the chance to grow and live up to the legacy of his father and grandfathers before him, all decorated soldiers and honorable officials throughout history. It was the least he could do, no matter how small his accomplishments might be in comparison to theirs.
In the time leading up to the war, every wall in his neighborhood had been emblazoned with posters showcasing the virile bodies of warriors for everyone to see, of Siegfried and Siegmund, the great mythical Nordic heroes, off to slay dragons and rescue demigoddesses from giant rings of fire. He, however, harbored no illusions about the life he had chosen for himself. There would be no instant glory in the dirt and sweat of the battlefield; the most valuable prize for him would be proving that he had the mettle to defend his nation and his people, the same way that his brothers had always stood up for him back when he was too weak to protect himself.
Now that the long-awaited war had started and he finally was a soldier, the days blended together in a monotony of endless routine, a mix of minuscule, stagnant gestures that piled upon each other until he couldn’t even remember the number of days he had been gone. As the armies progressed slowly into enemy territory, he allowed himself to wonder, briefly–why was he doing this? He tried to recall the various reasons his superiors had explained to him in the meetings before. It had all made so much sense, with the maps laid out across the chalkboards and tables, demarcated neatly with spots of red and blue dotted lines, but the snippets of political ideology he had eagerly digested before dissolved like whiffs of fresh air amongst the pervasive damp stench of the battlefield.
No one spoke to him in those times, except for the general giving out orders and the occasional grunting complaint from his compatriots, and that was to him sometimes worse than the actual combat part. Between the short letters his brothers sent him at staggered intervals, he would start to wonder if he had actually lived his entire life on the barren battlefield, his interactions with them simply inventions he had made up to pass the time, and if they were real, and in the same position as himself, if had they already forgotten about him as well. Even if he didn’t admit it to himself, the idea scared him. He loved his family, but had never been good at making friends. If his brothers were killed in the war, or forgot all about him–who would he have left? Who would he protect, and be protected by? He knew many soldiers carried small, crumpled photographs of their ladyloves waiting for them back at home, but unlike them he had no such ties to a peaceful life.
Sometimes he thought about the enemy, faceless and elusive, identified only by the color of their uniforms and the shapes of their helmets against the gray skies. To them, he probably was also just another dusty silhouette, just another soldier in the Kaiser’s army, shouting orders and threats in a harsh, unintelligible language. He wondered what kind of people lay beyond the front, if they had brothers and sisters and sweethearts as well, and what things they might talk about and share with him, if he could speak their language and they could understand his. The leaders had all promised that after this war, there would be no need for any more wars. If that were true, then maybe he would be able to approach the former enemy, not as the soldier he had always wanted to be, but as just another man, another citizen, trying to make his own place in the legacy of the world.
2014 marks the 100th year anniversary of the unofficial Christmas Truces between the British and German soldiers during WWI. And so this happened. idk what it is; I was basically scribbling everywhere and hoping for the best. it was 2 in the morning ok?
Italy can lift heavy weights between rushes of adrenaline, so basically in drastic moments he can force himself to carry nearly twice his weight
So when Germany fainted in Hetalia World Twinkle episode 6, Italy completely panicked and knew he had to get Germany out of his clothes and into the shade fast and literally lifted Germany on to his back and dragged him through the dessert
Another situation happened when Germany was shot in No man’s land in WWI, Italy dragged him out of No man’s land, through the trenches, and to the ambulance car when they ran out of stretchers.
He completely strained his legs after carrying Germany’s unconscious body so many miles and he couldn’t walk for days, Germany ended up feeling bad since Italy injured himself saving him so when he recovered faster than Italy he would carry Italy places until he could stand up on his own again
“His pain-filled eyes slid open and found Arthur above him, expression wider, more alert, and more shaken then he’d ever seen it. The Englishman’s helmet was drawn back, his wild hair was plastered to his forehead and face, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more prominent than ever against his pale skin. There was a red and orange glow around him and Alfred smelled smoke. He guessed the train was on fire…but he wasn’t sure how far away it was.”
Sooooo I got my tablet back yesterday! And the first thing I drew this morning was this XD
I always really liked this scene from the story, although I can’t really place why. This really sucks, because I haven’t drawn with my tablet in a really really long time–so I’m sorry for making this look so bad ;_; but I got really excited. As I said before, the only way I express my love for this wonderful story is through fan art.