Bajuba365

"V-ve! Germany~!!!" Italy flinched as another flash of lightning illuminated the room through his curtained window. Another second passed and the deep roll of thunder was heard around the house. Italy whimpered and called out again. Usually by this time he would have sprung out of bed and rushed to Germany's room. Except Germany had asked Italy not to disturb him because he was working… and he was too frightened to move. Again the clouds roared and grumbled angrily. Italy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and retreated back under the covers, clamping his hands over his ears. He continued to whimper as the rain beat down on the windows, wi

Sitting in his German class, Feliciano winced slightly as something hit the back of his head. Turning around, he noticed a scrunched up piece of paper on the floor just behind his chair. Picking up the paper, he turned back around in his seat, unfurled it, and began to read; Hey Vargas, Stop talking so loud when we have to recite the German numbers. It's a complete embarrassment to think that the person, who can be clearly heard above the rest because of his voice-that-refuses-to-break, is a boy. Just because you're a poof, doesn't mean you should drag the rest of the men in the room down with you. Feliciano sniffled slightly as he heard

Indulgence The churning sensation of severe starvation in Italy's stomach was beginning to agitate him. How long is a nation expected to wait for a simple order of pasta?! The parmesan cheese shaker sat precariously stacked upon a set of red and white checkered napkins, mocking him. Italy could almost hear the little pasta-duster speaking to him, as if saying "I bet he's in there right now, eating your precious pasta…he doesn't want you to have any…he's going to eat it all himselfffff…kolkolkol…" Italy shook that thought away. "Man, I must reeeeeally be hungry to be imagining a talking container of Russian parmesan, ve~

Some days I just can't help it. My mind drifts off, even during training, getting lectured by my boss. It always wanders to the Italian. The happy, go-lucky Italian. He's useless, loves pasta, but I can't help but love it. It's practically impossible to live without him. His hapiness makes me happy. I've never admitted it, but I love him. Sure, we're only supposed to be allies, but I think there is something more. And sure, his brother, Romano, wouldn't agree, but hey, it's a choice I have to make. Feliciano... It's a breath of fresh air. He brings joy to even the most depressing day. Useless, useless Italy... Here, I sigh, wondering how I ev