AI see and love so many headcanons about dating/living with Kurt, and man those are all so good, but I’ve got some ideas in my head that I gotta get out, and hopefully someone else will enjoy them. These should work with all versions of Kurt, from the comics to the movies to the cartoons, minus maybe Kurt Darkholme and the Kurt from Earth-597 because screw that.
Everybody knows the exact minute that figured out he had a thing for you.
Like he wasn’t even subtle about it, didn’t try to be subtle. He’d stop dead in his tracks, just staring at you, before grabbing whoever happened to be standing closest to him- or just walking by-, to ask if they know your name.
If asked why, you can be damn sure he responds with something so cheesy that it makes everyone around him groan, like “I vant to know zhe name zhat’s vritten on mein heart.” Because he is a cheeseball. An adorable, fuzzy, sweet blue cheeseball.
He introduces himself to you buy giving you a bouquet of flowers, and when you take them, happy to have the pretty, obviously hand picked little things, but mostly confused about why this very cute, very blue man was giving them to you, he explained that he could only give those flowers to the most beautiful woman in the world.
He says something similar whenever he gives you flowers, which is a lot because nothing makes him feel better then when you look up at him with big ol’ eyes and a shy little smile on your face.
Sometimes he’ll tuck flowers in your hair, behind your ears, and will sigh about how he kind of feels bad about doing it, because putting such pretty flowers next to such a gorgeous face just makes them seem so plain in comparison.
He makes sure that you are very much aware of the fact that he was an acrobat in a circus.
About twenty percent of the time you saw him, he was walking around on his hands. Another twenty percent was him hanging upside down from basically anything attached to a ceiling. Forty percent of the time you found him flipping and swinging over/around/in front of you before he landed on his feet and would then proceed to act totally natural.
You’re legitimately not sure that it’s not just a thing that he does like, all the time, because he can.
Frankly, you don’t really care either way, because Kurt’s really impressive honestly. You can appreciate some flippy-dos, and you can damn sure appreciate the sight of him standing on his hands and doing the splits.
One time he decided that he was going to show off by showing you his one man trapeze act. A one man trapeze act that involved you.
You were just walking, minding your own business, and the next thing you know someone is grabbing your beneath your arms, picking you up, and tossing you forward. You’re so surprised, you can’t even scream, can’t really react, you just think about how much it’s going to hurt when you land, only suddenly there’s a loud noise and purple smoke and there Kurt is, swinging by his tail, giving you a wide grin, arms out to grab you, probably sneaks in a quick peck of a kiss to the tip of your nose before he tosses you again, and continues to rinse and repeat for a while.
One of two things happen then: Either, once you see it’s Kurt, you relax and laugh because him tossing you around feels like going on a carnival ride, and you completely and utterly trust him to make sure you don’t fall or get hurt in any way; or You end up not talking to Kurt for like, an entire week because wow, no, doesn’t matter how cute you are you can’t just pick me up and throw me around like a sack of beans, no, bringing me my favorite candy is not going to make me forgive you quicker.
And speaking of food, Kurt just really likes feeding you?
He takes you out for breakfast, for brunch, for lunch, for supper and dinner. He once came knocking on your door to ask if you’d like to join him for a midnight snack.
Like he tries to feed you so much that you have to ask him if he’s really German, or if he’s actually secretly an overprotective Italian mother.
He starts bringing you slices of pizza and cans of Spaghetti-O’s and you try really hard not to laugh and encourage him because no, Kurt, that is not Italian food.
Nine out of Ten times when he goes out on a mission he comes back with some form of sweet for you, normally chocolate.
Good lord, when he comes back from Europe he gives you Kindereggs like he’s making a drug deal or something.
You always tell him you hope the prize inside is worth it when the feds come to take him to jail for bringing something that illegal into the States.
The little toy inside never is, but you still have a collection of the lame little prizes that you treasure, and you tell Kurt he’s shit out of luck if someone ever does come to arrest him, because you aren’t going to hide them from anyone.
Kurt does especially like feeding you some German food, though.
You eat so much sausage around Kurt.
You ask him once if there was any reason in particular that he kept feeding you weisswurst, but instead of some kind of innuendo like you were expecting, he just explains that he makes some damn good ‘wurst. And you can’t argue with him about it.
You also eat a lot of potatoes
Kurt makes the best potato pancakes you’d ever tried, and introduces you to potato dumplings?
Dampfnudel is also a thing. You never thought you’d be into eating bread as dessert, and yet…
Not exactly food, but he also tries to introduce you to “Proper German Beer”.
It goes about as well as you’d expect.
Do you like to dance? Kurt likes to dance.
If you can’t dance, Kurt is more then happy to teach you. You have no rhythm? That’s fine, he’ll do all the work. You don’t want to stand on his feet while he shows you the steps? He’s fine with just holding you close and swaying in time to whatever music.
You can dance? Well, you just found a brand new dance partner
Swing Dancing is definitely his favorite. He loves the fast pace, swinging and twirling you around.
He will also legit waltz with you
Dude does goofy dances like no one’s business. You have never seen, nor will you ever see, the Macarena done more beautifully then by Kurt Wagner. Even if you can hardly see it because you’re laughing so hard you’re crying.
Salsa is fun for the both of you, where you both get to see each other smile and laugh and be energetic, although them hip wiggles can also be a form of torture.
Kurt pulled you into a tango once, and while everything else you could theoretically push aside as just having some friendly-friend fun, that dance, where he held you so close and moved the two of you so smoothly, the act ridiculously sensual, was so obviously him showing you what he wanted with you, giving a sneak peek at what you could have, that you really couldn’t call it anything else but a flat out seduction.
And all that is before the boy even starts dating you. That just him trying to butter you up to the idea of dating him. Then he starts the process all frigging over again when he wants to convince you to marry him.
You don’t even realize why he’s suddenly going back to the lengths he’d gone to get you to like him when you first met. Like he never stopped bringing you flowers and food and quoting your favorite movies and bringing you little gifts, but suddenly he’s really stepping it up.
He’s buying you jewelry? Like, fine jewelry, which is beautiful and it’s not that you don’t appreciate it but also you don’t know why all of a sudden?
He buys you a couple of exceedingly nice new dresses, would probably buy more except that you put a stop to it and ask what exactly it was he did that he felt he needed to apologize for.
Kurt gets kind of huffy because when has he ever tried to bribe his way out of making you not be mad at him?
He also quickly tells you not to actually answer that, and that he’s not trying anything, he just wants to give you stuff that’ll make you happy, because you being happy makes him happy.
You don’t entirely believe him, mostly because he’s an awful liar.
He tries to show you how reliable he can be by trying to fix any thing mechanical or electronic that might go on the fritz.
And by fix, I mean he takes them to someone else who can properly fix them up.
You catch him coming back from Kitty’s with your suddenly very much improved communicator, and joking call him out on it.
Kurt just kind of shrugs, but is a lot happier when you tell him that knowing how and when to use outside resources is a far more attractive trait then watching him attempt to fix, and ultimately end up making a problem worse because he can’t admit when he’s out of his depth.
On the other hand, there’s one time he insists on trying to tune up your old junker of a car, and it takes him a hell of a long time and a lot of phonecalls, but you enjoyed every minute of watching him get all sweaty and dirty under the hood.
If you have a good relationship with your family, Kurt is suddenly very eager to go to your family home for any and all upcoming holidays so that he can try and solidify the idea to your family that he’s the best person for you to spend the rest of your life with.
He knows that they don’t really have a say at all in who you marry, but he wants to make sure that there isn’t any kind of strain there.
He doesn’t just ask your Dad if he may have his blessing to ask for your hand in marriage, but he’d also ask your Mom, and any siblings you have. Hell, if given half the chance, he’d ask you grandparents, your aunts and uncles, and your third cousins.
Your whole family either gets giggly or misty-eyed whenever they see you for a while, and you have no idea why. It kind of weirds you out, but any time you start to ask, Kurt just shhhses you.
If you’re not close with your blood family, Kurt seeks the blessings of the people you actually care about, and who care about you.
Your friends all seem to be in either one of two categories. They either explain to Kurt all the various ways they’ll murderize him if he ever breaks your heart, or whenever you come around they sigh and look all moonstruck and when you ask what’s up they give vague answers about how lucky you are to be with Kurt.
Eventually you come to the conclusion that Kurt is planning on throwing some kind of big surprise party for you, for some reason, so when he actually proposes to you, it completely blindsides you.
He’d would definitely cut a deal with a traveling circus that comes around. They’re so rare, that he tells you that the two of you have to go, but when a sudden “mission” means he’s going to miss it, he convinces you to go instead with one of your friends. You agree, just because you’ve never been to one before, but you don’t tell him that you’re sure that you won’t have nearly as much fun without him.
Which is basically the case, you go, and while you’re enjoying yourself you can’t help but think ‘Kurt would love this so much,’ or ‘I’m really glad Kurt doesn’t take his contortionist thing that far,’ and basically you’re just non-stop thinking about your boyfriend, to the point that, when you’re watching the trapeze act, you think, for a second, that you’re hallucinating the familiar blue figure swinging around up there.
You are not. It’s Kurt. And you don’t know whether to be pissed off about him lying about being called out on a mission, or just thoroughly impressed because you’ve never really seen him in his element like this, in the spotlight, with the crowd screaming for him in admiration.
Then he bamfs in front of you in the front row- and suddenly you understand how you got front row seats to begin with, you thought you’d just been lucky but now you understand that he set the whole thing up- and you’re the only one who doesn’t flinch away from his sudden appearance.
Then he reaches into the sinfully tight getup he was wearing, where you notice for the first time a weird, oddly shaped protrusion under there when he pulls out a little black, velvet box.
The entire inside of the tent goes quiet as he as he tells you how much he loves you, how he’d loved you from the first moment he saw you, how you’ve made him a better man, and he wants you to keep making him a better man, for the rest of your lives. That he wants to honor and protect you, provide for you, make you laugh and smile and roll your eyes at his cheesy lines. That he wants to make sure that you never go a single day without knowing that you are completely and utterly loved.
You’re trying real hard not to cry, but you can’t keep from tearing up. And when he asks if you’ll do him the honor of being his wife, you’re so choked up that you can’t even answer, you just hold your left hand out to him.
The crowd goes fucking crazy when he slips the ring on your finger, and then pulls you into him to kiss you senseless.
There’s a very high possibility that you punch him in the gut for making you the literal center of attention like that.
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.
-Wind machine -Mid-song costume
change (2 drinks if the contestant dramatically tears away their
clothes to reveal something different underneath) - Pyrotechnics - Song about peace
or love - The hosts flirt
with each other - Graham Norton is absolutely savage about the contestants - The background
dancers are better than the actual singer - Anyone wears any
sort of traditional ethnic dress - Someone
dramatically falls to their knees - Language changes
midway through the song - Confetti, glitter or feathers - You see Verka Seduchka or Conchita Wurst on your dash - Technical
difficulties during voting
Finish your drink
- Someone is in a
hamster wheel or any sort of large, rotating device - Something catches
fire that was not supposed to - You lose a follower for reblogging too much Eurovision - You enjoy a ballad (then get a drink of water and put yourself to bed because you, my friend, are wasted) - Someone gives the
UK 12 points
Finish the fucking
bottle and ride away on your unicorn because you’re obviously in
some sort of magical alternative reality if: