Look at the pictures. I know that's what you do. You look at the pictures, and you squeal, and you jump around from place to place. Heaven knows why. Elizaveta has the same problem.

But anyway. That's not the point of me writing this. I mean, sure, I could rant to you for downright goddam ages and my list of complaints wouldn't end. Wanna try me? Fine then. Do you know what I've seen? I know what you write about us, I've seen the drawings, the fanarts, and- no, shut UP dammit I do not enjoy seeing them nor do I use up all my spare time browsing and- oh whatever.

Back to the point. The reason I'm writing this goddam letter. Or something. I don't even fucking know.

Yesterday, I was approached by Feli. No, I'm not going to cleverly introduce my younger brother, if you don't know who he is then fuck off and stop reading this.

No, seriously.

Anyway, as I was saying, Feli came up to me with some paper. He told me that he wanted to write a book. Yes, that's right, a fucking book. Only this couldn't be just any fucking book. This was to be a fucking history book. He figured that it'd be a genius idea to have all the nations write down one thing about their lives they remember the best, and then compile it all into a super-dooper overly filled with sentimental fucking shit and stuff and create a book.

Which actually might not have been too bad of an idea. The only problem is: there are limited amounts of people who will accept the goddam fact that the country they're living in is a fucking person. So brilliant idea gone, right?

Wrong. My dear, kind, fucking potato-bastard had the brilliant idea of publishing it as a fiction book. With "pretend" personifications of countries. The fuck?

Feli had no idea how close he came to losing a boyfriend right then. Seriously.

So Feli decided to continue with his goddam plan and give every nation a "chapter". And, annoying whiney bastard though he can be, I really do fucking hate to see Feli bawl his eyes out, so I might as well write.

So, here's my little memory. Enjoy.

España. The world's first true colonial power, holding at his peak over half the world quite literally in his hands. Yours truly included. Of course, way back then I was still a child, in both appearance and temperament. Over time, the Country of Passion has truly become more than just a Boss to me BUT that is NOT the fucking point. Back to the story.

Me, little kid. Part of the glorious and mighty Spanish Empire, the empire on which the sun never set. It was…

…terrifying.

You cannot imagine anything similar. Imagine the scariest thing you can. Multiplied by ten. I fucking dare you.

Why was he so scary?

Simple. Or, not really, but just keep reading, dammit.

Antonio at that time was still young. He couldn't have been more than 17, 18 at most. But he was strong. And he knew it. For years, whatever he wished just up and landed at his feet. The fact that Roderich let him walk all over him didn't help much. He was, in short, an empire.

A fucking bloodthirsty one.

I was never allowed with him into the New World, but I heard stories. I heard his stories too, of course. I heard tell of the horrible pagans, and how Antonio was doing the world good by bringing God to their side. He was enlightening them. I might have been young, but I was no fucking idiot. Even I could see he was bluffing, that this was just an excuse.

And he might have tricked me, pulled the bluff over my eyes, had he not been suck a fucking idiot. Not that he's changed much, now. He's just a tad more bearable. But anyway.

The reason I knew was because he would never change when he got home. His first priority was me. He would burst into my room, fresh off the ship, carrying tomatoes and little wooden horses and whatever else I desired.

He would also be covered in blood.

I don't know how much you know about the state of things back then, but bringing just a full set of armor and clothing and a horse with tack and everything was considered enough, even for the personification of the country. Antonio brought with him one pair of clothes, his full set of armor and range of weapons, and a giant chestnut stallion. Whatever he spilled on his clothes stayed until he was back on his own land.

It scared me. To see the blood on his clothes. To know that- despite all the fucking fairy tells he told me to comfort me, of the Aztecs and how he was searching for El Dorado, the City of Gold, of the Incas and how silver flowed off their mountains like water- to know that he killed. Not even just killed. Murdered. Massacred. I found out later that, when he was through with carving out a bloody scythe in the Americas, less than a third of the original population remained.

My boss was a fucking bloodthirsty monster, with, as Cortez put it, "a disease of the heart, curable only by gold". Gold, and blood.

Several times while he was home, especially in the later years, Netherlands showed up often, constantly picking fights with Antonio. I would see it then.

The change in his eyes. One moment he would be smiling as me like the fucking bastard he is, and then when he'd notice who was at the door, the smile was gone. It was replaced by a sneer, and his eyes turned dark and hard and sharp and… well, I would run the hell away from wherever Antonio was going with those eyes. He wasn't even Antonio anymore. He was a completely different person.

For years, those memories haunted me. I could never truly be happy when he was around. The only upside was that I was growing rapidly. By the late 1500s, I looked only a few years younger than the tomato bastard himself did. And then he and his most Great and Fortunate Armada went off and got their asses fucking deep-fried and served to then on a platter by stuck-up Arthur.

You think I'm kidding? 10,000 men survived. Out of a force of over 20,000. And the English bastard… well let's not go talking about what he did to Antonio now.

But here's the part where I remember most vividly. He'd been gone for almost a year, just me and Bella in the house together. Might as well have been just Bella, for all the help I was. I was never as good as Feli. At anything. But anyway. Antonio's been gone for a reaaaally long time. Bella just keeps quietly tending to the house, never sharing anything. I for my part, had given up hope. There had been no news; I was sure Antonio had died. And left me.

So one day, I'm sitting outside in the garden, tending to some tomatoes, when I see somebody walking down the road to ou- Antonio's house. Nobody has come to visit us except Bella's brother since Antonio left. But here is this guy, kinda stumbling rather than walking down the dirt path to the house. His clothes are brown, like his hair, and everything about him is scruffy and tattered. So what do I do? The natural thing.

I run up to him and give him a good headbutt in the stomach. It sends him sprawling on the ground. Only, there was a smile on his face. A kid just headbutted him in the stomach, and he's fucking smiling. That's when I realized who he was. So I immediately left him on the road, ran inside, got Bella, dragged her out, and then waited by Antonio as Bella rushed back inside to get medical supplies. Apparently the reason the bastard's clothes were brown was from blood.

For what seemed like the longest fucking time, I waited next to the stupid bastard. I will admit, I was scared. It was just like before- covered in blood once again. I didn't know what to expect.

Then, just before Bella came back, Antonio smiled softly and beckoned me closer.

"Hey, Lovi," he said. "I missed you." I blushed, which was really fucking embarrassing because he called me a tomato.

But nonetheless, I replied, "I missed you too." And, in hindsight, I guess it had been true. I'd maybe kinda even missed the fucking bastard's idiot face. Maybe.

His smile, though weak, grew larger. "I love you, Lovi," he muttered, so soft I could barely hear. I remember perfectly the pure green color of his half-lidded eyes in that moment, as he smiled and me and told me, for the first time since he had become my Boss, that he loved me. Then Bella arrived.

As much as I tried for years to return that sentiment, I never could.

But… Antonio, if you're reading this (and don't like to me I fucking know you will), know two things.

One, that I was fucking LYING about all the sentimental mushy-gushy crap up there, godammit.

And second… so maybe I love you too.

And now the gushiness is going to kill me. I'm going to go give this to Feli now, God knows why and I'll never hear the end of it…

Fuck my brother, he wants me to sign this. As a country. FUCK YOU, FELI. You and your goddam potato-bastard boyfriend who'd beat me up if I didn't do exactly what you said. Fuck.

Signed,

Lovino Vargas

Italia Romano

Like you didn't already fucking know who I was.

AHHHHHHH! Author note time! So it's like 2 am but I got hit pretty badly by DEH PLOT BUNNEH OF DOOOOOOM and so I had to absolutely write this… expect changes later. Probably. Of course, I'm lazy so that might not ever happen. Originally this was just a spamano fic for one of my friend who really is unhealthily in love with spamano (you know who you are) and it was supposed to be cutesy and fluffy but.. um… yeah. Anyways….

Gah my comments are getting overly long. I was gonna say something else….

Oh yeah! So I might write more stories like this, I'm just working around with trying to get into different characters and improve my writing and whatnot. Any suggestions? They shall all be greatly appreciated :D

I'm done now. BYE! *is hyper on sleeplessness*