(Many thanks to the anons who love this fill. :) And no! It's not over yet OP! There's more where the first part came from!)
All Love is Unrequited in Imaginary Love Triangles
With a long swallow of his beer, Prussia smiled. He was hanging out with his two best friends in the world, France and Spain. The three amigos were all laughing and smiling, and all three were quite thoroughly snockered. With happy grins fueled by good beer, they sang songs and told stories as was their wont during their biweekly get-togethers.
“So how are things with Belgium?” France asked Spain with a sloppy grin.
Spain dramatically slapped a hand over his heart. “Mi Corazón grows prettier with each day. Her brother is a pain in the ass, but then again what’s new?”
“Too true,” Prussia said. As the talk had turned to his friend’s budding relationship with the female Nation of the north, his mood had soured slowly.
“And you France? How is life with Eyebrows?” Spain said with mock severity.
The beautiful lady of France’s smile turned up several watts at the mention of her centuries-long lover. “Ah, as well as anything that involves my British Angel. He is in North America this weekend visiting our sons.”
Prussia tried his best to sound chipper. For some reason tonight, he just felt down. Perhaps it was because it was June 18, the anniversary of the Battle of Fehrbellin, or because he’d walked through France’s rose garden and seen Damask roses the same shade of delicate pink as the one he’d given away so long ago. He’d been able to shake the feeling when they’d been joking and laughing and making fun of their siblings and friends, but now that talk had turned to the heart, his depression came back full force. “That’s nice.”
Spain and France both gave him a look. Instead of sitting in the middle as was his wont, Prussia had taken the end seat. His face was sad, and he sipped at his beer rather than chugged. All signs of a depressed German indeed. “Come now,” France said jovially, her elegant hand patting him on the back, “There must be some pretty young lady who has captured your eye.”
“Yeah,” Spain pushed, “I know you have to be thinking of a woman. Your face screams it.”
Usually, this was the moment in a conversation they’d had several times now that he would laughingly ask why they were having such girl talk when there was good beer to be had, but this time he didn’t avoid the question. “I fell in love once.”
This admission shocked his two friends. Not that he’d fallen in love, but that he’d admitted it. Prussia’s besetting sin was pride. He generally admitted nothing that was even remotely embarrassing; not that he couldn’t talk to pretty women – France excluded -, not that he had no idea how to work the microwave at Germany’s house, nothing. Really, the only thing they knew about his love life was that he was predominately heterosexual.
There was a moment of silence before Spain waved his hand in the air. “Well! Who man?! Who?!”
“Hungary?” France guessed. “She seems right up your alley.”
“No.”
“Liechtenstein. She is a pretty little thing,” Spain tried.
“No.”
“Ukraine? You did spend way too much of last century at Russia’s house,” France said with a crinkled nose.
“No.”
“Well, what about Russia herself?” Spain asked.
“No.”
“Italy Venezia!”
“Japan!”
“No.”
France held up a hand to Spain and began to list off female Nations. “Monaco, Latvia, Lithuania, Taiwan, Australia, Vietnam, Seychelles, Mexico, Argentina, Guam, Chile, Sudan, Egypt, Greece, Ghana, Gabon, South Africa, New Zealand.”
Prussia only shook his head.
“Oh good Lord, it’s not me is it?” France snapped.
“No.”
Spain’s eyes grew huge, realizing that France had forgotten one pretty prominent female Nation of Europe. “It’s Sweden isn’t it?”
Finally, Prussia nodded. “I fell in love with her the first time I saw her during the Thirty Years War.”
Spain nodded. “She is beautiful in an Amazon warrioress kind of way.”
France cocked a brow. “Why didn’t you court her?”
Prussia glanced up at the back wall of the tavern they were sitting in and remembered the day his heart broke. “After the Great Elector had driven the Swedes from my lands in 1678, I went to Sweden’s house to court her. But I saw her with Denmark. Every time I see her, she’s with Denmark.”
Spain and France shared a look. Spain was about to tell Prussia that Denmark and Sweden were not romantically involved when France nudged him under the table. Wisely, the Spaniard interpreted that to mean he needed to keep his trap shut.
Sensing that he’d ruined all chances of spending the rest of the evening in jovial companionship, Prussia got up from his quaint barstool. The tavern the three liked to frequent was a place in a small French backwater town that was run by an old American expat. Decorated to resemble a 1930s American speakeasy, the place was a favorite because of the great beer and the atmosphere. Prussia placed his money on the bar and nodded to the bartender, the grizzled man who had told the three his story once when America had come to a night out with his mother. Taking one look at America, the old man had sworn that he had stormed the beaches of Normandy with a guy named Al who looked just like him. That’s when he’d told them he was a WWII vet who had managed to get himself enlisted by lying about his age and saying he was eighteen when he was really a kid of sixteen. He’d spent two years fighting in Europe, and met his French wife here. After the war, he had come back here to be with his wife, settling in to run this tavern and raise several children.
Prussia knew many stories, and he was glad that this man’s had ended happily. He kind of wished his own would.
Watching Prussia walk out, Spain looked over at France. “Why did you stop me?”
France frowned, her pretty face distorting into an expression of annoyance. “How much do you want to bet that that imbecile did something to show his interest, somehow botched it, Denmark got wind, and you know that those blasted Vikings are extremely protective of Sweden even though I’m rather sure she could utterly destroy all of them?”
“So, you think Denmark is deliberately giving off the illusion that he and Sweden are involved?”
France made a moue with her lips. “It wouldn’t be all that difficult. Sweden is a stoic. She won’t show much of her emotion on her face unless it’s extreme annoyance. Think Germany in that respect. And you know that Denmark is so naturally demonstrative and cuddly that she probably doesn’t even notice when others take his brotherly love for romantic love. He must encourage the reaction.”
He took a sip of his beer. “How do you get all that?”
Her brow cocked and her expression became amused. “China tried to do the same thing to America to keep him away from Japan. Maybe Denmark really does have deeper feelings for Sweden, but you and I both know that they are not a couple. For one thing, Denmark would have been screaming it from the rooftops if they were.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
France’s face grew devious. “We’re going to prevent the Scandinavians from keeping Sweden and Prussia apart. Think about it, they’re perfect for each other!”
“You’re right about that,” Spain agreed. “She is so much like Germany, and Germany is one of the few Nations other than us who can tolerate Prussia’s bullshit.”
“Here-here!” France agreed. “Now, all we need to do is decide how we’re going to go about doing it.”
Spain screwed his face up in thought. “Well, we need a venue where all of us will be together.”
“World Meeting, Olympics . . .” France mused aloud. “What about this week’s EU summit? We’ll all be there. You and I could distract the Nordics while Prussia gets a chance to talk to Sweden.”
“Perfect! But how are we going to pull it off?”
The lady laughed heartily. “The meeting is being hosted by Germany this week. We simply ask Prussia to fetch Sweden tea or something and keep her overprotective brothers busy while he chats her up!”
Spain – ever the most sane of the trio (though this author admits that isn’t particularly saying much) – pointed out the one flaw. “Okay, but are you sure he’s not going to do something ridiculous like throw the tea at her in nervousness? I mean, you and I both know that Prussia can’t talk to women to save his life. That whole starting life as a warrior-monk thing.”
His companion had nothing to say to that. “Okay, we make sure it’s cake or something that will be an inconvenience but won’t scald her.”
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Love Tropes 3: The Adventure Begins
(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:01 am (UTC)(link)All Love is Unrequited in Imaginary Love Triangles
With a long swallow of his beer, Prussia smiled. He was hanging out with his two best friends in the world, France and Spain. The three amigos were all laughing and smiling, and all three were quite thoroughly snockered. With happy grins fueled by good beer, they sang songs and told stories as was their wont during their biweekly get-togethers.
“So how are things with Belgium?” France asked Spain with a sloppy grin.
Spain dramatically slapped a hand over his heart. “Mi Corazón grows prettier with each day. Her brother is a pain in the ass, but then again what’s new?”
“Too true,” Prussia said. As the talk had turned to his friend’s budding relationship with the female Nation of the north, his mood had soured slowly.
“And you France? How is life with Eyebrows?” Spain said with mock severity.
The beautiful lady of France’s smile turned up several watts at the mention of her centuries-long lover. “Ah, as well as anything that involves my British Angel. He is in North America this weekend visiting our sons.”
Prussia tried his best to sound chipper. For some reason tonight, he just felt down. Perhaps it was because it was June 18, the anniversary of the Battle of Fehrbellin, or because he’d walked through France’s rose garden and seen Damask roses the same shade of delicate pink as the one he’d given away so long ago. He’d been able to shake the feeling when they’d been joking and laughing and making fun of their siblings and friends, but now that talk had turned to the heart, his depression came back full force. “That’s nice.”
Spain and France both gave him a look. Instead of sitting in the middle as was his wont, Prussia had taken the end seat. His face was sad, and he sipped at his beer rather than chugged. All signs of a depressed German indeed. “Come now,” France said jovially, her elegant hand patting him on the back, “There must be some pretty young lady who has captured your eye.”
“Yeah,” Spain pushed, “I know you have to be thinking of a woman. Your face screams it.”
Usually, this was the moment in a conversation they’d had several times now that he would laughingly ask why they were having such girl talk when there was good beer to be had, but this time he didn’t avoid the question. “I fell in love once.”
This admission shocked his two friends. Not that he’d fallen in love, but that he’d admitted it. Prussia’s besetting sin was pride. He generally admitted nothing that was even remotely embarrassing; not that he couldn’t talk to pretty women – France excluded -, not that he had no idea how to work the microwave at Germany’s house, nothing. Really, the only thing they knew about his love life was that he was predominately heterosexual.
There was a moment of silence before Spain waved his hand in the air. “Well! Who man?! Who?!”
Love Tropes 3: The Adventure Begins Again
(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:02 am (UTC)(link)“No.”
“Liechtenstein. She is a pretty little thing,” Spain tried.
“No.”
“Ukraine? You did spend way too much of last century at Russia’s house,” France said with a crinkled nose.
“No.”
“Well, what about Russia herself?” Spain asked.
“No.”
“Italy Venezia!”
“Japan!”
“No.”
France held up a hand to Spain and began to list off female Nations. “Monaco, Latvia, Lithuania, Taiwan, Australia, Vietnam, Seychelles, Mexico, Argentina, Guam, Chile, Sudan, Egypt, Greece, Ghana, Gabon, South Africa, New Zealand.”
Prussia only shook his head.
“Oh good Lord, it’s not me is it?” France snapped.
“No.”
Spain’s eyes grew huge, realizing that France had forgotten one pretty prominent female Nation of Europe. “It’s Sweden isn’t it?”
Finally, Prussia nodded. “I fell in love with her the first time I saw her during the Thirty Years War.”
Spain nodded. “She is beautiful in an Amazon warrioress kind of way.”
France cocked a brow. “Why didn’t you court her?”
Prussia glanced up at the back wall of the tavern they were sitting in and remembered the day his heart broke. “After the Great Elector had driven the Swedes from my lands in 1678, I went to Sweden’s house to court her. But I saw her with Denmark. Every time I see her, she’s with Denmark.”
Spain and France shared a look. Spain was about to tell Prussia that Denmark and Sweden were not romantically involved when France nudged him under the table. Wisely, the Spaniard interpreted that to mean he needed to keep his trap shut.
Sensing that he’d ruined all chances of spending the rest of the evening in jovial companionship, Prussia got up from his quaint barstool. The tavern the three liked to frequent was a place in a small French backwater town that was run by an old American expat. Decorated to resemble a 1930s American speakeasy, the place was a favorite because of the great beer and the atmosphere. Prussia placed his money on the bar and nodded to the bartender, the grizzled man who had told the three his story once when America had come to a night out with his mother. Taking one look at America, the old man had sworn that he had stormed the beaches of Normandy with a guy named Al who looked just like him. That’s when he’d told them he was a WWII vet who had managed to get himself enlisted by lying about his age and saying he was eighteen when he was really a kid of sixteen. He’d spent two years fighting in Europe, and met his French wife here. After the war, he had come back here to be with his wife, settling in to run this tavern and raise several children.
Prussia knew many stories, and he was glad that this man’s had ended happily. He kind of wished his own would.
Love Tropes 4: Electric Bungaloo
(Anonymous) 2013-02-08 03:01 am (UTC)(link)France and Spain’s Matchmaker Quest
Watching Prussia walk out, Spain looked over at France. “Why did you stop me?”
France frowned, her pretty face distorting into an expression of annoyance. “How much do you want to bet that that imbecile did something to show his interest, somehow botched it, Denmark got wind, and you know that those blasted Vikings are extremely protective of Sweden even though I’m rather sure she could utterly destroy all of them?”
“So, you think Denmark is deliberately giving off the illusion that he and Sweden are involved?”
France made a moue with her lips. “It wouldn’t be all that difficult. Sweden is a stoic. She won’t show much of her emotion on her face unless it’s extreme annoyance. Think Germany in that respect. And you know that Denmark is so naturally demonstrative and cuddly that she probably doesn’t even notice when others take his brotherly love for romantic love. He must encourage the reaction.”
He took a sip of his beer. “How do you get all that?”
Her brow cocked and her expression became amused. “China tried to do the same thing to America to keep him away from Japan. Maybe Denmark really does have deeper feelings for Sweden, but you and I both know that they are not a couple. For one thing, Denmark would have been screaming it from the rooftops if they were.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
France’s face grew devious. “We’re going to prevent the Scandinavians from keeping Sweden and Prussia apart. Think about it, they’re perfect for each other!”
“You’re right about that,” Spain agreed. “She is so much like Germany, and Germany is one of the few Nations other than us who can tolerate Prussia’s bullshit.”
“Here-here!” France agreed. “Now, all we need to do is decide how we’re going to go about doing it.”
Spain screwed his face up in thought. “Well, we need a venue where all of us will be together.”
“World Meeting, Olympics . . .” France mused aloud. “What about this week’s EU summit? We’ll all be there. You and I could distract the Nordics while Prussia gets a chance to talk to Sweden.”
“Perfect! But how are we going to pull it off?”
The lady laughed heartily. “The meeting is being hosted by Germany this week. We simply ask Prussia to fetch Sweden tea or something and keep her overprotective brothers busy while he chats her up!”
Spain – ever the most sane of the trio (though this author admits that isn’t particularly saying much) – pointed out the one flaw. “Okay, but are you sure he’s not going to do something ridiculous like throw the tea at her in nervousness? I mean, you and I both know that Prussia can’t talk to women to save his life. That whole starting life as a warrior-monk thing.”
His companion had nothing to say to that. “Okay, we make sure it’s cake or something that will be an inconvenience but won’t scald her.”