Author's Note:
M'kay, this is a sort of sequel to the (official) Buon San Valentin comics, in which *!SPOILER ALERT!* Germany actually proposes to Italy. That's right. So get your arse over to Google and look it up and read it if you haven't already.
I don't really ship GerIta *gets shot by fangirls*. There will be no smut in this; don't ask me no write no bloody smut or I will curse you ^^.
Also, I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes I might have. I have no spellchecker because I'm awesome.
On with the story~!
It was another lovely World Meeting, very much like any other.
England, who was busy disagreeing with America's most recent idiotic plan, insulted France, the "fucking wanker" and the fight was on.
America argued about being the hero as he ate a hamburger and France insisted his fashion sense was better. What started as a simple "limey this, wanker that" escalated to a point were everyone was shooting insults across the room.
Nothing unusual there...
But no one seemed to notice that Germany was in a bit late, or that he and Italy had come in together, walking into the room shoulder to shoulder. The countries then took their respective seats.
"Everyone, QUIET!", came Germany's deep voice. The last of the quarrels died down as the other nations turned to look at the German.
He cleared his throat, straightened his uniform, and continued. "I hafe an important announcement to make," he began, his voice somewhat lacking its usual stern tone. A soft blush spread across his pale cheeks. "I ...," there was a pause. With a sigh, Germany continued, gaze fixaded on his fellow countries, who looked right back.
It just wasn't like Germany to stammer, or to blush.
"I hafe proposed marriage to Italy. Ve vill be ved this August. Dat is all." With that, the German sat back down, trying to keep from blushing madly as he felt the flabbergasted gazes of the other countries burning into him.
Slowly but surely, the realization sunk in...
Romano began choking on thin air and broke into a series of uncontrolled coughs. Save for that, the room was entirely (and uncharacteristically) quiet. Awkward silence regined for a few more moments until Spain stood and helped Romano with his outburst.
Prussia's look of sheer surprise melted into one of amusement. The albino covered his mouth with a gloved hand, attempting to hold back his laughter (and failing miserably).
Even Sealand, who had snuck into the meeting and had been hiding under the table, couldn't suppress a gasp. But, surprisingly enough, nobody bothered to chase the micronation out of the room.
The northern part of Italy, however, was blissfully unaware of his fellow countries' reactions. He beamed brightly at eveyone. It was until then that everyone noticed the tomato-shaped ring resting on a certain finger of the Italian's left hand.
Finally, America broke the silence. "Congrats, erh... dudes!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet and pumping both fists into the air. Almost everyone joined in to congratulate Germany and Italy. Almost everyone.
Romano was not quite convinced; he gave Germany an angered glare and clenched his teeth. His lips moved to spell out ''bastard''. On the other end of the table, England quietly sipped his tea, the last traces of a once intense blush fading from the Brit's face.
"Dat concludes de Vorld Meeting," Germany announced.
"Oh, l'amour." came France's singsong voice. He held his hands over his heart and gave a dramatic expression as he continued. "That was lovely, wasn't it, Angleterre? Heartwarming, really," he gave a light laugh, quite undisturbed by the fact that Germany would soon become his brother-in-law. "Quiet, frog," came the accented reply of the Englishman. "My my, mon ami, take that scowl off your fuzzy face, will you?"
At the rude comment on his face, England rolled up his newspaper and gave the obnoxious French a good smack across the back of the head. "Wanker," he murmured under his breath as he headed off.
Germany and Italy, who had been walking hand-in-hand, parted, the latter making his way over to Japan. Just then, Prussia came over to Germany, giving his younger brother a hard slap to the back. "Bruder! Vho vould hafe guessed?" said the Prussian, chuckling and shaking his head.
The blonde German began walking away again, but stopped in his tracks when he heard an all too familiar Italian voice calling out to him. "Hey! Just what are you playing at, you damn potato bastard?" He turned and saw none other than Romano, an angry expression on his face as he pointed accusingly at Germany. Said German simply sighed and ignored the Southern Italian.
"Don't ignore me, dammit!" wailed Romno. He stomped his foot and began making his way over to Germany, only to trip and fall on his face - again.
"Hey, ya'll, should we throw these dudes a party or what?" It was America, his right hand holding a burger and his left hand up in the air. Crumbs littered his face and his cheeks were puffed up; he was talking with his mouth full.
Appearently, everyone was in for a party. A party organized by America? ... This can't end well.
Yes, the countries are all gonna organize a party for Germany and Italy. :3 We'll see how that turns out!