#but you sure are the only continent who gets this pissy when people make fun of it lmao

[warriorcatsofficialfacts]

"the europeans" did you know that most of the world uses kg and meters including south America. unitedstatians are not beating the uneducated idiot burger allegations.

all these anons are doing is proving america truly is the greatest nation in the world, as it is becoming more and more apparent that we are in fact the only nation where people make jokes! god bless

#i'm sorry to all the followers i get like five of these a week and i delete them but like #the sheer dumbass condescension of europeans (because it is damn near universally europeans who make these comments) is so funny #you may not be the only continent who uses the metric system #but you sure are the only continent who gets this pissy when people make fun of it lmao

[nvvermore]

Things My Heart Used to Know

Amaryllis arrives at—or perhaps, returns to—the palace

[part three of Come What May]

words: 2.3k

cw: memory loss, mentions of headaches/migraines

accompaniment

-☽☼☾-

Amaryllis doesn’t rest at all. Instead of even attempting to, they stay up for the remainder of the night, trying to recreate the song from their dreams. It’s what they do most nights lately, when Asra is gone and Ophélie is out and about. They hear the music so clearly every time they close their eyes, know that there's some sort of enchantment buried into the notes. But there’s still something missing from this version, and they haven't been able to figure out exactly what that thing is.

Amaryllis gives up with the rise of the sun, hiding the staff paper away as the morning light flits through the gaps in the curtains. They go through the motions of getting ready for the day ahead of them; dressing, brushing out their hair, applying their makeup.

Deep down, all of this unnerves them. The dreams, the song, the strangers appearing in the middle of the night that give them their telltale headaches. More pieces of their past life are unfolding in front of them now, more answers than Asra has ever bothered to give them in the last three years.

But, it's not the time to come to too many conclusions just yet, so Amaryllis shoves down their concerns as they make their way downstairs and into the kitchen.

They’re surprised to find Vesper sitting at the table, sipping on coffee, shoulders slumped and makeup smudged. He must have returned at some point in the early morning.

“Nice of you to show yourself,” Amaryllis greets him briskly, scooping up Styx from his perch and tucking him into the sling fastened to their chest.

“Isn’t it?” He grins, leaning back in his chair. He nods over to the coffee press on the counter. “You look like you could use some.”

Amaryllis sits down across from him. “I’m fine.” Vesper looks them over for a moment, squinting at them. Helios pops up then, wrapping himself around Vesper’s shoulders, joining him in staring them down. “Your phony divination tactics aren’t going to work on me.”

“Well good thing I don’t need any to tell when you’re in a pissy mood.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “It would probably help if you ate something, you know.”

“That isn’t an issue, I’m sure they’ll stuff me full at the palace.”

Vesper puts down his mug and frowns. “The what?”

With a long sigh, Amaryllis gives him the cliffnotes from last night. Briefly touching on Asra and Ophélie’s departure, before explaining that not only the countess showed up on their doorstep, but also the city’s most wanted criminal broke in.

“That’s really bad,” Vesper says once Amaryllis is finished explaining. “Like. I’d leave the city—no, the continent—bad. You’re really just going to go do the countess’s bidding for her? We don’t know anything about her. For all you know, she could be just as bad as the rest of the scum you work hard to fuck over.” He giggles. “Literally.”

Amaryllis rolls their eyes. “Would you be serious for once?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Whatever, I’ll be on my way now.” They rise from the table, but Vesper quickly calls after them.

“Amie, wait. I’m sorry, I just—“ He sighs, rubbing at his wrists. “Listen, I don’t know much more than you do. Asra knows I have a big mouth, and I’ve told him he needs to keep me in the dark because I can’t keep these things straight. But, I mean, you got your headaches when you saw these people? That’s gotta mean something.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” they explain. Amaryllis walks out of the kitchen and into the shop proper, Vesper standing to follow them.

“And that’s why you’re planning on seeing this through.” His tone makes him sound disappointed, but Amaryllis knows he’s just feeling helpless.

“You could come with me, you know,” they suggest, despite the hunch it likely isn’t a good idea. Vesper is someone who is certain to cause problems at the palace, and as amusing as it’d be, they clearly can’t afford such antics right now.

“Sorry, I’ll be busy running things here, since everyone else has abandoned us.” Vesper turns to give his familiar kisses. “Right Helios?” The snake hisses softly, and Amaryllis assumes he’s agreed.

A knock sounds from the front door just as Amaryllis is gathering their things from the coat rack. “Ugh, I’ve really had it with visitors.”

When Amaryllis opens the door, a short, grinning redhead stands on the stoop. Behind her, a royal carriage parked on the street. Vesper is close on their heels, nosy as ever.

“Amaryllis Leroux?” she asks, holding out her hand in greeting. “I’m Portia, the countess’s handmaiden. I’m here to personally escort you to the palace.”

Amaryllis shakes her hand. “How considerate of the countess…”

She cranes her neck to look over Amaryllis’s shoulder, in order to address Vesper “And you must be the magician Asra?” He bursts into laughter at her question, slinging an arm around Amaryllis’s shoulder.

They roll their eyes. “No, this is my br—“

“Their brother. Vesper Leroux.” He pushes off Amaryllis to take Portia’s hand, kissing the back of it. Amaryllis side eyes him.

Since when does he share their name? 

“The magician Asra is currently off on business. I’m here to run the shop in their absences,” Vesper explains.

“I see!” Portia giggles, and winks at him as she takes back her hand. “Well, we have a busy day, and don’t want to keep milady waiting on you!” She turns back towards the carriage, clearly expecting Amaryllis to follow her.

“You know, this is a great opportunity to become the countess’s sugar baby.”

“Au revoir, Vesper.”

-☽☼☾-

Much to Amaryllis’s surprise, Portia is fairly laid back. They’d assumed that the person with the responsibility of managing all the details of the countess’s life would be more… stuffy.

“Milady is really looking forward to your arrival. She really thinks you have what it takes to help her, you know?” Portia smiles at them from the opposite seat.

“I don’t, actually. I haven’t a clue what she needs my help for.”

Portia's lips quirk into a helpless grin. “Sorry, I don’t know much more than you do, it seems. Whatever it is she needs from you, it’s not something I’ve been privy to.” She clasps her hands together.

“But you’re the countess Nadia’s personal handmaiden. Such an elusive position, hm?” Amaryllis slowly leans back against the soft plush bench, crossing their legs.

“What makes you think that?”

“The privilege of being up close and personal with the countess? I’m sure there are many who are desperate for the chance.”

“You’d think that, but it’s hard to find someone willing to put in so much work. It’s not just all tea parties in the salon.”

Amaryllis shrugs. “Well, a job is a job.”

“And what do you do?” Portia asks. “Besides the magic, of course.”

“I’m a performer. I sing all throughout Vesuvia.”

Portia’s face lights up in recognition. “Oh! You’re that Amaryllis!”

They quirk a brow. “A fan?”

“Technically, no. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the chance to see you sing.” She frowns. “Even though you’re so familiar… I’ve definitely seen you somewhere before…”

“I get around,” they tease with a wink, but it goes unnoticed by Portia.

“Oh! I know, the portrait in the—“

The carriage jolts to a sudden stop before Portia can finish her sentence.

“We’ve arrived!” Portia announces, instead of finishing what she started. Amaryllis means to ask her what she meant, but then Portia is quickly ushering them from the carriage, pausing only to thank the driver and footman.

“Amaryllis… I’m glad you’re here. The Countess could use good help,” Portia admits, just as she and Amaryllis are approaching the palace doors.

“She already has you, doesn’t she?” Amaryllis glances down at her and links their arms together, Portia too momentarily flustered to do anything but lead them through the doors.

Once they’ve stepped into the spacious, marble halls of the palace, Portia informs them that Amaryllis will be meeting with Nadia for lunch. But until then, she gets to give them the grand tour.

But Amaryllis can only find the entire experience downright nauseating.

The palace is beautiful, of course; all high ceilings and marble floors, velvet drapes and fine art. Portia eagerly leads them through the halls, showing off the ballroom, the drawing rooms, the library, dining room, and so on. But something unsettles Amaryllis intensely, and there’s the dullest throb at their temples, threatening to get stronger with each new sight. So much, that it rouses Styx from his sleep to check on them.

‘Amma?’

Have I been here before? You can tell me, it’ll be okay.

Amaryllis can sense the hesitation from the familiar, before he eventually answers.

‘...Yes.’

“...And this is where you’ll be staying!” Portia announces, unlocking the doors and opening them with a flourish.

Amaryllis glances around the room briefly as the tension they’re feeling gets worse. They catch glimpses of deep reds and rich golds, extravagance in every corner. “This seems… far more grand than a guest suite has any right being.”

“Oh! This isn’t the guest wing! Milady selected this room for you specifically,” Portia explains.

“This is all—“

“I hope you aren’t going to tell me it’s all too much. Because it really isn’t, milady has been looking forward to spoiling you. Take it in while you can.”

Amaryllis can’t take it in though, they can’t look too closely at the room or anything in it without it sending a jolt of pain through their skull.

“Amaryllis, are you alright? You look really pale. Here—“ Portia guides them to sit in an armchair, leaving their side to pour them a glass of water from the pitcher across the room.

“I’m alright, I often get horrible headaches.” They merely sip at the water, still slightly nauseous.

“Is there something that triggers it? Scents? Lights? It’ll be no problem to arrange for you to avoid anything it might be.”

“I suppose stress is the best way to put it,” Amaryllis explains, “There’s no need to worry too much, but if I ever do become incapacitated, Asra—or anyone back at the shop—will know what to do.”

“I understand. Perhaps you’d be able to get some relaxing done during your stay here. The baths are absolutely luxurious.”

Amaryllis musters up the best smile they can in the moment. “I think for now I simply need to rest a moment before lunch.”

“Then, I’ll leave you to it. You remember where the dining room is?” Amaryllis nods. “Wonderful! I’ll see you there, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” And with a friendly smile and small bow, Portia is gone, the door clicking softly closed behind her.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, they feel about as well as they did before they entered the room.

Styx chitters from his harness.

‘Please take it easy.’

“You know I can’t do that, ma mie. Not right now.” Amaryllis unwinds the harness from their torso, freeing the bat so he can find a comfortable resting place.

The front room is small and cozy, with bookshelves lining the walls, a hearth, and a plush sofa in the middle of it all. A closer look at the shelves reveals a collection of many books on music, magic and botany, several titles Amaryllis believes to be romance novels, and a smaller selection on history. Despite the clearly personalized selection, overall the room feels plain, impersonal.

But, there’s a specific book that suddenly catches Amaryllis’s eye; tucked away on one of the higher shelves, they’re lucky to have noticed it at all during a quick glance-over.

The word ‘Tristesse’ is embossed onto the side of it.

Amaryllis reaches up to pluck it from the shelf, and another jolt of pain hits them immediately. But they ignore how it feels like their skill is on fire to examine the front cover. Here, it reads ‘Le Comté de la Tristesse’, alongside Chevaisé. They’ve heard of Chevaisé before, a secretive city-state several hours south of Vesuvia, but they know very little.

But Tristesse is Vesper’s name. At least, the name he’s given them and has been stingy about giving to others. Is this where he’s from? And by extension them?

Amaryllis attempts to flip it open, and they’re just able to skim over the page they’ve opened it to before it all becomes too much. They slam the book shut, and part in frustration and part in order to get it away from them as quickly as possible, they hurl it across the room. It hits the wall and lands on the rug with a soft thump.

They’ll come back to it later, when they aren’t already late for lunch with the countess and they have the time to get a migraine.

Amaryllis double-takes as they pass the book still on the floor, because where it hit, there’s now a hole in the wall. They duck down to investigate, certain they didn’t throw it hard enough to do damage.

Further prodding reveals it’s not a proper hole at all, but a compartment set into the wall.

Amaryllis pulls the door off the rest of the way, and inside is… a book? They reach inside to pull it out. There’s nothing on the cover indicating what the contents might be, just well-worn black leather, embossed with crimson designs that have been rubbed away over time.

And when they go to open it, it won’t budge.

When they focus, there’s a faint thrum of magic coursing through the book—journal, perhaps? The spell might be one that’s difficult to detect, but it’s not a weak one by any means. Likely, in order to keep it from being detected in its hiding spot. It’s a complicated spell, but they reach out with their own magic. The feeling sends a shiver down their spine, the odd feeling of familiarity that they’ve felt since stepping foot into the palace increasing as they attempt to untangle the spell. But it doesn’t hurt—not yet anyways.

It doesn’t take Amaryllis much longer to realize their magic is of no use here. This spell is designed to open for only one person in particular, and it clearly isn’t them. In theory, it could be broken, but certainly not by them. It is, however, likely something Asra could accomplish.

Amaryllis runs their fingers over the cover once more, and then places it back into its hiding place and replaces the door. The other book is placed on the coffee table—gently this time— for later.

They’ll come back to this after they know what it is Nadia even needs them for. They shouldn’t be any later than they already are for their meeting with the countess.

#the arcana #the arcana game #apprentice amaryllis #amaryllis leroux #vesper tristesse #portia devorak #amie fic #vesper fic #come what may #my fic

[inkstaineddove]

The Difference Between Nations

Pairing: USUK, GerAme. Background Spamano, Franada, PruHun

Characters: America, Germany, Britain. Brief appearances by Romano, Spain, Canada, France, Prussia, and Hungary

Summary: America's been noticing Germany's rise back to the forefront of Europe and the power it holds over the continent. He decides to try and relate to a nation who he sees as very similar to himself.

Alfred sighed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "Do we really have to go to this? It sounds so lame, dude." He adjusted his bowtie and attempted to flatten down his cowlick. He rolled his eyes, frustrated at its persistence to defy gravity. "A ball sounds really old and stuffy and like something that should've been left in the eighteen hundreds." Arthur stood at the sink, putting on some cologne. "We don't have to, but I'd prefer we're not the only two nations that skipped. People are talking about us enough between Trump and Brexit. We don't need any more bad press." He straightened up and put on his diamond cuff links. "It's a good opportunity to warm up to all the European countries again so I get a better deal once the divorce is finalized." He winked at the American. "If it helps, you look dead sexy in a suit. Almost makes me want to blow the party early to start one of our own." America smiled and wrapped his arms around the Briton's hips, pulling him closer to him. "You think flattery's gonna work on me? Because it totally will, please keep going." Alfred kissed the nape of the other man's neck, moving up towards his lips. "Why not have a pre-party before?" 

Britain pushed him off and started moving for the door. "As enticing as that idea may be, we have to go. If we show up too late, the frog will be all over us and insinuating a lot of things that he doesn't need to know about."

"He's gonna insinuate anyway!" Alfred grumbled, but followed his lover despite his objections. He kept complaining the whole drive from London to Vienna. Alfred rolled his eyes when Roderich's house was in sight. "Ya'know what's bullshit? Homeboy's owned this place for centuries and it must cost a fuckton of Euros, but he still needed loans after both wars. I should've refused." "Ah, yes. You could've refused after the Great War and brought the second one upon us sooner or refused after the second and have him be a satellite state for the USSR. That would've been so much better for Austria, Europe, and the world as a whole. Dammit, Alfred, why don't you make even more brash decisions?" America flipped him the bird. "I hate you so much." Britain handed the keys to the valet. "Then get out of my car." The two walked up and into the house. Before stepping into the main ballroom, Alfred offered Arthur his arm. That elicited an eye roll and blush from Arthur. Nonetheless, he gratefully took it. The ballroom was an explosion of color and sound. Vibrant paintings were hanging throughout, surrounded by jeweled frames that sparkled in the bright lights of the various chandeliers. Above the hum of the other nation's voices, a full orchestra could be heard playing a variety of classical pieces - both contemporary and from centuries past. Arthur shook his head. "This takes you back to the Enlightenment." Alfred shrugged. "Needs more revolution to fit my memory of the time." His partner elbowed him as France, Canada, Spain, and Romano walked up to them. "Matthew, Lovino, great to see you," Arthur then groaned in response to the sight of their dates. "Great, the three musketeers are here. Wait, where's the third? How are you not lost without your frightful leader?" Francis took Arthur's hand and kissed it. "Angleterre, you look as dreadful as always. Your eyes, the shade of fresh vomit. Your complexion, that of a ghost. Your voice sends a shiver up my spine like one, yet you are about as threatening as Casper." He smiled genuinely at Alfred. "Amèrique, so good to see you again. How's your country going? When should I expect the announcement of a union between you and Ivan?" Matthew sighed. "Do you have to start a fight? We're all supposed to be friends..." He was so tired. He wished everyone would grow up and find peace within themselves to not be petty all the time. "I'd give you a proper response, but I heard you're on strike from all common sense so I won't waste my breath. Though you're awfully mean tonight. Who spiked your wine? Normally you're funnier than this. Where's my comedy?" Arthur sighed. "He's pissy 'cause that piano bastard rejected his wine. I don't blame him, French wine tastes like piss," Lovino shrugged. Antonio gave him a look. "He rejected yours as well." Lovino took a sip from a bottle of red wine. "The bastard's loss is my gain. I'm happy I was smart enough to bring two." He pointed with the un-open bottle. "The albino bastard was helping Elizaveta help the piano fuck with something." He turned around and started walking away. "I'm gonna get hammered. I hate these things." America saluted him as he walked away. "Godspeed, dude." Gilbert came sauntering up to them with Erzsébet. His shirt was a bit untucked in a way that was meant to look effortless, but he'd spent at least ten minutes working on and his tie was loosened. Erzsébet's usual flower had been replaced with one matching her green dress. "Alright! Now the party can actually start! Francis, 'Tonio, Al, and we'll get ol' Artie a little drunk so he can relax and have some fun. Matty, are you in or are you in? I saw Lovino had already started so we gotta start catching up to him." Prussia grinned wickedly. "Either that or we can take Silesia for old time's sake. It's not too far from here. I remember the route." Hungary hit his arm. "You're not getting shit faced here! If you do, I won't hear the end of it from Roderich or Feliks! You'll also embarrass your brother-" "I embarrass him all the time. But, if it means so much to you, I'll be sober enough to function throughout this whole boring thing." Gilbert kissed her cheek. He then turned his attention back to the group. "So what's up?" Arthur and Francis had been glaring at each other throughout the whole ordeal. Alfred and Matthew were sharing apologetic looks. Antonio was rocking back and forth on his heels, feeling out of place. Gilbert and Erzsébet looked at each other. "I'll catch up with you guys later. We're gonna not be here." He pointed some finger guns at them and the couple left as quickly as possible. Antonio saw that the deadlock remained between the two rivals. He figured they weren't even paying attention and slipped away to find Lovino so they could dance. Meanwhile, Britain and France had come up with more insults to hurl at each other. Canada and America sighed. "You think they'll ever grow up?" Canada asked, not caring if they heard. He knew they wouldn't though. They were too absorbed in themselves. "At their old age? Hell no, bro. We're stuck with them like this. Forever." They both groaned at that prospect. Out of the corner of his eye, America saw Germany by himself, going out onto the balcony. He remembered the mental note he'd made to talk to the other nation at this thing. Alfred patted his brother on the arm. "Hey, I gotta talk to Germany real quick about something. Make sure they don't start a brawl." The American swiftly moved between the sea of nations, apologizing whenever he bumped into someone. He paused before the entrance to the balcony and fixed his jacket and bowtie. He put on his most winning smile and stepped outside. He found Germany with his back to the entrance, staring out over the horizon. The German stood tall and erect with his hands behind his back, showing all his years of military training. America chuckled. "Ya'know, you remind me of what I imagine Jay Gatsby to look like." Germany turned around. He had heard the other’s footsteps so he wasn't surprised at his sudden company. "Hallo, Amerika," he smiled. "I hope I'm not wrong in taking that as a compliment." America walked up besides him. He leaned against the railing. "You're not. Fitzgerald wrote him with sexy in mind. You're not my type, but you're definitely a New York nine." Ludwig raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. He wasn't foolish enough to reject a compliment, even if he didn't believe it's validity. He watched his companion fish for a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pockets. "What's your motive?" Alfred almost dropped the cigarette out of his mouth. He lit it before speaking. "And they say I don't have tact. Dude, what are you talking about?" "We're not friends. Our alliance is one of mutual beneficence. We only talk at meetings or when we have cause due to work. The most I've said to you in a casual setting was thanking you for inviting me to your Christmas party and hoping you had a happy holiday season. You saw me out here alone and came out here alone when you could've easily brought along Britain or Canada to get either away from France." He smirked at the American's shocked expression. "Ja, I saw. The three of you are rather loud. I feel bad for your neighbors." America blinked for a few seconds. "Ok, a lot of questions. First, you actually made a sexual innuendo? Second, why do you always call us by our nation's names? I've got no problem with you calling me Al or Alfred, but I do reject Alfie." "It's not professional. We're nations. Those names are a guise for our people and to make our bosses more comfortable when they're with us." He scoffed. "You act like I have no sense of humor. You know who my brother is. But we're sidetracked. What do you need? Whatever it is, I'll do my best to help you." "Honestly, it was nothing serious. Kinda just wanted to get to know you better. And make up for the bad taste my new boss may have left in your mouth." He smiled sheepishly. Germany laughed softly, unable to help himself at that fresh memory. "I appreciate that. It was quite a bitter one. Frau's worried, but I'm not. We can survive four years." He led America to a bench that was on the other side of the balcony. "If we're going to be here for awhile, may as well be comfortable. Why stand when you can sit?" America leaned back against it. "That's weird coming from you. I thought you were all anal about exercise." "I am, but standing isn't exercise. Also, it's foolish to waste any resources you have readily at your disposal." The two sat in silence. Germany sat expectantly, waiting for America's line of questioning to begin. It took Alfred awhile, but he finally figured out where he wanted to start. "You've been doing real well lately. You're the golden boy of Europe, holding everyone up." "I have to. Your boyfriend leaving the EU makes me the only one with a strong enough economy to help the others. Not like he was always much help anyways, but I can handle it. France will have to pick up some slack though." Ludwig paused and thought for a second. "Schiessen. This better not be some sort of pep talk. Gilbert's given me plenty and Russia tried giving me one a few weeks ago and it was the worst thing I've endured in a long time." Alfred laughed. "For real? Like hell I'd do that. I ain't much older than you. It'd be weird to put you through that. I'd only ever give you advice if you asked and I don't think you would. The only thing I could tell you how to do is win a world war, but you seem to be done with those." "Nein, I've had plenty of time to figure that out as well. Don't back the wrong horse and don't invade other countries under false pretenses then break your treaty with the country that will crush you. It's shockingly simple, but hindsight is twenty-twenty." He joked, but there wasn't a hint of amusement in his voice. America ignored it. "Seriously, dude. I don't get how you do it. If I had that many countries I was responsible for, I think I'd kill myself." Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "You are responsible for more nations than I am. The difference is I do my job better." "Technically I am, but no one realizes unless they have to. Listen to the news, you hear about something in Europe, you're gonna be involved in someway. It's always positive too. That's what blows my mind. None of them hate you-" "Practically all of them hate me." "But they work with you! They'll talk shit about you, complain about you, make some pretty good jokes, but you get stuff done! They don't like you, but they trust you. How?" "You're not at the EU meetings. A lot of the times, stuff doesn't get done that was on the docket. It's the G7, G20, NATO, and UN meetings on a much smaller scale. You're hyping up headlines." The German glanced at the American's cigarette. He had kicked the habit years ago, but this conversation was making him want to pick it back up. America shook his head. "Whatever dude. You know what I'm trying to say. All the others listen to you and you don't even have nukes! I don't get shit done anymore. It's like I'm past my prime. I gotta go into retirement, hang up my jersey." Germany rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If the whole purpose of this was for you to try to get me to reject football and embrace baseball, I'm throwing you off the balcony." "I used to hear all this talk from my old boss about how you kept moving up and moving up," Alfred ignored what the other had said, too lost in his own thoughts. "Even on the news and in some of my paper's. And shit, dude. I can't deny it. For fuck's sake, I see it first hand every month or so!" He laughed and took a drag off his cigarette. He looked up at the night sky. "Makes me think that you should've been a superpower instead of me." There was silence for a long time between them. America was happy with himself. He'd given Germany the best compliment he possibly could. Anything that may have happened between their bosses would now be smoothed over and they could continue working like they had for decades now. He silently congratulated himself on his brilliance. If America had bothered to look at the man besides him instead of at the stars, he would've noticed that he was wrong in how he thought his words would be received. Germany's body was tense and rigid. He ground his teeth together. His hands twitched to smack the proud expression off the other nation's face. He let out a shaky breath. "Go fuck yourself, Alfred." Alfred's gaze snapped at Ludwig. "Huh?" He tilted his head to the side. Germany rose and began pacing the length of the balcony. His body trembled, trying to contain all his anger. "Ja! I should be the one with the nuclear codes! The world would be so much better! I mean, I did have two shots at it. Prussia would be happy if the Hohenzollerns, a family that's slightly less inbred than the Hapsburgs, were making all the important decisions. The 1910s would've been so much better under a kaiser who would've fucked a navy vessel if he could've found an available hole!" America had his arms crossed. He rolled his eyes as the other spoke. "You're being overdramatic. It was a compliment!" "Nein! It's not. It's really not. Oh, how could I forget! The more likely outcome of me being a superpower! We'd all be fucking Nazis! Either Nazis or communists because I wasn't gonna take Russia down. Now that, that's the world I wished we lived in! Danke, Amerika. I no longer have guilt because I know that people would've preferred a genocide to never end!" He paused, finally calming down a little. He also realized he was shouting. "Do you ever think before you speak? Ever consider the meaning behind what you say?" "I thought you'd wanna hear that! I'm saying you could do my job better than me! Who wouldn't wanna hear that?" "A person who wanted your job and screwed the world over twice as a result. Maybe in your world that really means a lot. You can say that to Britain or France and they appreciate because they were good at their job. You can say that to Poland or the Italys and they feel like they're not the butt of the joke to the world. But you can't say that to me." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back more. "Danke. I work hard. I appreciate that it gets noticed. I don't want the world though. I'm not Gilbert or Roderich. I can't...I won't rule the world. I don't want to. I don't deserve to. Ja, I may do a better job of it than you or Russia or China. All three of you terrify me." America scoffed. "Come on. I'm harmless." "I fought against you in two wars and I was your buffer zone in the Cold War. You've dragged the Middle East into chaos for oil and as revenge for one terrorist attack. You have arsenals of nuclear weapons. You're the biggest threat of anyone at this unfortunate social gathering and, if it wasn't for Mutually Assured Destruction, I think you'd be blowing up nations left and right." He sighed again and shook his head, muttering curses in German. "Can you please go? Danke. I understand what you meant. Just...don't talk to me again for the rest of the night. Or unless you have to. I can't deal with this much stupidity." Germany moved back to where he was standing when America first walked out. America rose and stomped out his cigarette. He began moving towards the door. When he reached it, Germany's voice stopped him. "America, before you go. I figured I'd pay you a compliment that I know will get my message through your head. You're one fantastic empire and remind me a lot of Rome. Getting close to the same age as when he fell as well. I'd keep that in mind if I were you." Alfred's hand hovered over the door knob. All the tales he'd ever heard about Rome flashed to mind. The scarred body, the constant battles, how quickly everything crumbled once the invasions began. He then imagined the same happening to him - his states with too many rights rising up, his territories rebelling, Canadian and Mexican invasions. Shuddering, America quickly exited the balcony. He leaned against the door, closed his eyes, and sighed. Alfred decided he'd had enough of this party and quickly left with Britain, breaking up a fight about to happen. Meanwhile, Germany found himself caught up in the past. He remembered the vision Hitler had sold to him of German dominance of the globe. He saw the globe being covered in a swastika and shivered. He could taste how close he was to that vision before the image of Hitler's dead body in the rubble of the bunker flashed to his mind. He then tasted the disgust and hatred for himself as everything came to light, as he found the extent of the damage his actions had caused, that he could still taste strongly on certain days. Ludwig shook his head, freeing himself of the past. "I am not meant to rule the world," he whispered to no one in particular. "But I will make it a better one. I owe it that much. That's where you and I differ, America. You have no reason to see yourself as the villain while I have no reason to see myself as anything but." 

#aph germany #aph america #aph england #aph britain #usuk #gerame #hetalia #Axis Powers Hetalia #APH #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the dead sexy comment was a reference to 'america looks dead sexy in a miniskirt' #old hetalians and usuk shippers remember