I really enjoyed writing this. Hopefully, you enjoy reading it just as much!

PM me with a word, preferably with a scientific, artistic, or mythological undertone or meaning - and I'll write a drabble centered around that word, with the pairing of your choice, or if left unstated, a pairing of my own choosing (most likely PruCan or UKUS)

Reviews are appreciated.


Lycaenidae

n. The second largest family of butterflies, also known as "gossamer-winged butterflies."

Canada was beautiful. He was utterly stunning. Prussia knew this well. And yet, he was like gossamer – fragile, breakable, beautiful. Prussia felt that with a single touch, he could rip the wings off of his angel, rip them off and corrupt him – because that was the only thing that he could do – corrupt. Canada would look completely natural, drifting away in the wind like a bit of silk, perhaps, or cobweb. It would be so easy to snatch it out of the air, to crumple it in his hand and break it to ensure that it never left again. It would be so easy – so tempting. And yet, Prussia knew he couldn't – it was Canada. And Prussia loved Canada, with all of his black, scarred, sinful heart – and therein was where the problem lay. He loved him – but he could never have him, no matter how much he tried. Because, Prussia knew, if he ever dared to reach out a trembling hand and catch the drifting strand of gossamer, he would utterly destroy it, breaking it and hurting it. Prussia couldn't do that to Canada – he wasn't that far gone yet. But the option was there, it was always there, hanging there like a forbidden fruit. Prussia longed to touch him, to kiss him – but he couldn't. Because with a simple caress, the fruit would fall, and split itself open on the ground – and Prussia would be left, broken-hearted and alone again. And whatever happy ending that could possibly write itself into existence was not worth the chance of rejection – right? As Prussia shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts, he didn't notice the small violet butterfly that flew away from its perch over his heart – its wings glimmering in the setting sun like a bit of silk, perhaps, or cobweb – or gossamer.