A/N: Eeeee, it's been a little while, hasn't it? XDD Yet again I'm still trying to stick to my self-imposed "10-stories-per-chapter" rule, and I think this is the only instance so far where I actually abided by that rule XDD I'm about to break it reaaal soon though XD The first three stories are made of suck, but they get better as you progress downwards.

Btw, I am calling the first three prompts the Bastard Prompts because they did NOT want to work with me. Especially Beta. Oh Beta you little bitch. C (I'm also sorry in advance if there's any formatting problems. FF's really screwing with me.)


Pizza

The sound of singing woke him up. He was sprawled across the couch with his arm over his eyes and Aster lying on top of him. For one blurry moment he was confused because he knew that West would never in a million years sing in the kitchen (unless he was in a really good mood and thought he was alone) so the singer obviously couldn't be him. A second later his brain registered the voice that was two octaves higher than his own and the stream of Italian that it was singing and a huge smile split his face. "Off, Aster," he ordered, pushing the sleepy retriever away. He managed to crawl off the couch and hit the floor on unsteady, sleep-fogged feet. Gilbird gave a half-hearted cheep from his hair.

His shoulder popped as he stretched languidly, standing on the tips of his toes and bending his back into a perfect curve. He straightened out and headed over to the kitchen, smiling even wider when he peeked inside. Of course little Veneziano hadn't noticed a single thing, always wrapped up in his own little blissful world. The young Italian was bustling about the kitchen, kneading a lump of dough on the counter and occasionally checking on a pot of bubbling tomato sauce. He must have snuck into the house again, because Prussia knew from personal experience that West was far to OCD to let others use the kitchen, except Japan.

"Hey Feli!" He said as he stepped into the kitchen, still smiling because damn it that kid may be older now but he was still so innocent and cute! Sometimes he wondered if Feli had grown up at all since the last time he saw him.

Veneziano jumped in surprise and whirled around in shock. "Oh, Gil!" he chirped when he saw who it was and immediately ran over for a hug. Prussia easily gave it to him and laughed as Veneziano pecked him on the cheek. He, unlike West, was used to the Italian's overly-affectionate way of expressing himself and simply went with it. "Did I wake you Gil?" Feliciano asked when he pulled away. He was the only one who was allowed to call him Gil without being punched. "I saw that you were sleeping when I came in so I tried to be extra quiet. Ve~ I'm so sorry! I promise that I'll be quieter!"

Gilbert just laughed and ruffled his hair, carefully avoiding that one particular curl. "Aw shucks, don't be sorry. It was time for me to get up anyway!" Actually it was the first nap he had gotten in two days, but he hated seeing North Italy being anything other than his usually jubilant self. He turned to look at the various ingredients that were scattered around the kitchen. "Whatcha making? Pizza?" He grinned, immediately recognizing the circular shape of the dough.

Just like he expected, Veneziano immediately brightened up as if he had just flipped a switch. "Sì!" he said, all but bouncing back to his place. "I haven't visited Germany in quite a while, and I thought that he must be making himself sick from all of that weird food he eats, so I thought I'd make him a pizza!" As he spoke he started to toss the dough up and down, making Gilbert wonder how he managed to talk at the same time.

He let the jibe against his food slide, mainly because he knew that Feliciano never insulted anything on purpose. He was just far too honest about his own opinion. "And how's that going?" he asked, sitting on top of the counter so he could watch more comfortably. He heard another cheep and Gilbird flew down from his head and onto his knee, examining the kitchen curiously.

Feli frowned, scrunching his face up in the most adorable way. It reminded Gilbert of West when he had been younger. "Fine, I suppose. I brought most of my ingredients with me, but there aren't that many things that are useful for making pizza at your house." He turned and examined the tomato sauce closely before giving it a small taste test. Judging it to be sufficient, he picked up the entire pot and carried it to the counter.

Prussia tried not to laugh and fed his bird a few pieces of shredded mozzarella that Veneziano was keeping in a bowl. "Well, we don't eat pizza, so we don't keep things around that make it," he replied mildly. Gilbird cheeped in agreement.

"Ve~! Please stay out of the cheese, I need that!" Veneziano exclaimed, rushing over and grabbing the bowl before the two of them could stuff themselves on it.

"But it tastes good," Gilbert complained, slowly following Veneziano until he was right beside the Italian. He felt Gilbird land on his shoulder. He watched as the younger of the Italy brothers started spreading his tomato sauce and cheese all over the dough, his red eyes never missing a single detail. "Hey, why don't you put some wurst on it?" He asked when he saw Feliciano slicing thin pieces of pepperoni and placing them over the cheese.

The chef froze when he heard those words. He frowned again in confusion. "Why?" He asked, tilting his head to one side like a confused dog.

So cute! Prussia rubbed his hair again and smiled. "Why not? Come on, you like wurst, right? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Hmm," Veneziano replied, tapping his chin and staring off into space as if he were trying to do advanced calculus in his head. "Your wurst does taste pretty good, but only sometimes. I've never tried it on pizza before though…"

That surprised him. "Why not?" he asked, immediately going to the fridge for some of the wurst that he and Germany always kept in store. "I thought that was a pretty common thing over at your place."

"It is, but fratello doesn't like wurst."

Oh, that explained a lot. "Your brother doesn't like anything…except perhaps Spain." He snickered at that and slammed the fridge door.

"Ve~? I don't get it."

"I didn't expect you to," Gilbert answered. "These are leftover from last night, if that's fine with you."

Feli's smile returned. "Oh, that's alright! In the old days pizza was a way to get rid of leftovers!" He still looked doubtful but started chopping the meat up regardless.

Prussia stole a piece of pepperoni and nibbled on it. "Interesting," he murmured, offering a bit to Gilbird.

Veneziano nodded enthusiastically, excited over any opportunity to talk about his culture, although pizza was technically not his. "Oh yes! It's funny how many people love it now, when it was originally a dish for the poor. Whenever they had any leftover food they would—"

Suddenly the front door slammed open unceremoniously, making the both of them jump. "FELI! Where the hell are you?" Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Ve~! Big brother, please don't slam doors like that! It's scary!" Veneziano called back, trembling a little.

Footsteps stomped over to the kitchen. "Of course I'd find you over at the potato bastard's house! Do you know how long I've been looking for you? You could have at least left me a damn note or—" a brown haired head poked itself around the corner and Romano's already dour expression dropped even more. "Oh, it's you," he said, glaring at Prussia in an attempt to show that he presence was neither welcome nor appreciated. Which was really quite unfair because it wasn't even Romano's house to begin with.

"Yes, me," Gilbert replied, giving the older Italian a sharp smile. He knew that he freaked Romano out and loved to mess with him.

Romano's eyes widened and he quickly stomped into the kitchen. "What are you doing with the older potato bastard?" he demanded, grabbing his brother by the elbow and glaring warningly at Prussia. "You know he's almost as bad as his brother, no come on bef—"

"No!" Veneziano whined, digging his heels into the floor like a child. "Big brother, I'm making a pizza! I'm not done with it yet!" He gestured frantically to the pizza still sitting innocently on the counter.

Lovino immediately rolled his eyes. "Feli, how many damn times do I have to tell you to stop making my cuisine? It was invented by my people and only I know how t—" he stopped when his eyes fell upon their creation. "What the FUCK is that?" He screeched, pointing at the newest topping.

Oblivious as usual, Feliciano just looked confused. "It's some wurst, fratello. Gil had this idea that if we put wurst on pizza then it might—"

"Oh hell no!" Romano yelled, making a grab for the thing, but Prussia quickly captured him in a half nelson and pinned his free hand behind his back. "Let me go! Fucking potato bastard I swear to god I will kick your ass up and down your damn Brandenburg Gate—"

"Put it in the oven!" Prussia ordered, laughing at Romano's futile attempts to break his grip. "It'll be awesome, trust me!"

The younger of the brothers looked a little worried, with Romano's screeching and fighting, but he didn't seem to be in pain so Feliciano somewhat warily did what Prussia said. This is just increased Lovino's yelling until it echoed through every corner of the house; not that either of them minded, Feli was used to it and Gilbert had heard Ludwig yell a lot louder.

The albino laughed again, both at Romano's flailing limbs and Gilbird flying around their heads avoiding said limbs. "Oh, don't get all pissy about it," he said, his voice barely audible over the furious cries in Italian that were probably insulting everything he could think of.

"Fratello, I don't think it will be that bad," Veneziano added in an attempt to please his brother.

"Don't talk to me about what you think! It's the culture of my people and you are ruining it—" he went on until Prussia got tired of hearing him yell and carried him into the living room and then threw him on the couch, facedown. Prussia quickly sat on his before he could get up and effectively pinned the southern nation down so his voice was muffled by the pillows.

And truly, it was the best pizza Gilbert had ever eaten. It was totally worth sitting on top of a writhing, kicking, screeching Italian for nearly a quarter of an hour.

Mafia

Really, all of this over a pizza? Romano took the meaning of "overreacting" to a new level. But Gilbert had to admit, this was way more fun than he thought it would be.

He thought it was rather cute that they were dressed in nice suits, but then again they always dressed in suits. It wasn't like he was one to talk though, since he was in uniform. West would have a heart attack if he saw him now, all dressed up in his SS outfit with the swastika strapped across his arm. Hey, if the mafia was going to overplay their role with their striped suits then he was allowed to play Nazi for a while.

"Ja?" he asked when he opened the door to their constant knocking. He knew that he surprised them, but he kept his amusement down. They looked very young, perhaps they were new.

In all honesty, they didn't look like they wanted to be there. Prussia wasn't really surprised. With a boss like Romano they must have been ordered to do all sorts of weird stuff. They even accepted the cigarettes he offered them. The joke was on them though. He had found those cigarettes in one of his pockets and they were probably older than the both of them.

So he stood in the doorway with a serene smile of his face, blowing smoke in their faces, and listened to the stammered explanation he was given. Damn, they really looked out of their depth. It must have been too odd for them to see a victim that wasn't terrified of them, and dressed like a Nazi no less. It was the uniform. He knew he looked awesome in it. That was a good thing too, because he knew that he was outgunned so the only leverage he had was his experience and their fear of him. "So, let me get this straight," he said, taking a huge puff of his cigarette and flicking the stump away. "You're here to 'hit' me," he made quotation marks with his fingers, "for making a pizza?"

One of them looked rather sympathetic and the other had no clue what to do. A few choice comments later and they were both arguing over how ridiculous their mission was. He simply leaned back and watched the chaos unfold until he saw a third figure approaching. "Sirs," he said, interrupting them. "Can I ask you to go now? You seem to be pretty good people and I don't want to see you get hurt." That was an outright lie, but the punchline (literally) would be all worth it.

One of the men rolled his eyes. "And what are you going to do?" he demanded, hefting his gun into view.

He widened his eyes, filled with childlike innocence. "What I'm going to do?" he repeated, laughing. "No, no, you should be worried about what he's going to do." He pointed to the man behind them.

They both turned and one of them managed to catch a glimpse of Ludwig's fist before it slammed into his face and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. The other swore and raised his gun, but Ludwig grabbed his wrist and broke it in one smooth movement. Then he easily slammed the man into the ground, knocking him out instantly. The younger nation wiped the blood from his knuckles and looked back and forth between the unconscious men. "What happened here?" he asked very calmly.

"Romano," Gilbert replied, grinning widely.

Germany sighed, and then his expression darkened. "Take that off," he growled, obviously noticing the outfit. "Right now."

"Alright, alright," Prussia replied, going back inside. He knew that his brother didn't like to joke around with relics of his past, especially the particular era that he was wearing. "Thanks West, love ya!" he called over his shoulder. An irritated grumble was his answer.

Beta

Alpha came before beta. Alpha was the highest rank, the dominant one. Alpha was first, beta was second.

Prussia could remember when he was the alpha. He had been the strongest of Europe, and the thundering steps of his soldiers had made the ground quake beneath them. There had been a time where no one had dared raise a fist against him and he sat comfortably in his throne, laughing at the nations below him. Dear little Ludwig sat in his lap, nestled in his arms, his head resting against his throat. His beta.

"Ich bin ein Preuße, kennt ihr meine Farben?" The Iron Kingdom sang, marching under the banner of black and white with the ebony eagle flying over his path. His blood burned and the taste of victory was on his tongue as his boots trampled his enemy, those who dared to tear him down and throw him the dirt. Did they not know that he was the best? He was not on top for nothing. He had everything, and no one could take that from him.

But he could not stay up there forever. He knew that as well as anyone, but he preferred not think about it. Instead he crafted another throne beside his own and placed his little brother in it so they ruled side by side. There had been no beta then, just two alphas. They had been two suns which the others revolved around; they changed the world. And then, he had cruelly been kicked out of his throne and found himself kneeling at the boots of his brother, who had no longer seemed so little. The balance between them had changed, and now he had been reduced to the beta.

Which was not how it was supposed to be. He was the oldest and the strongest and did not deserve to be kicked around by the little runt that he raised! A deep part of him was proud, despite himself. This was just what he wanted to see: that little child grow up to be a ruler, even if that meant ruling him as well. He may have been angry, but he accepted him new position reluctantly. Until another alpha came and claimed him and tried to crush him. He had fought him in the past, as an alpha, as two major powers colliding. The past was the past though, and being just a second place shell of a nation that everyone carelessly threw aside, he had no power left. His enemy laughed and laughed at him, It's funny how things work out, da~? The chain around his throat tightened, cutting off his air. The rising star of Europe, now sitting at my feet like a dog. It's like the wolves of Siberia, where the omega male is crushed beneath the alpha. But he was not beaten, and he never bowed willingly. Through snow and blood and stone he survived, because he was still the best. He may have been an "omega", but he knew how to live through torture.

It was kind of funny, in hindsight. He had stronger and more powerful people trying to destroy him, and yet despite his lower position he still won in the end. The brother who he thought had betrayed him so harshly helped him regain his life. Finally, he was the one laughing at his foes while they stare back in envious disbelief. Why did he still live? He was nothing. He had nothing to call his own except his name. He was an omega, a pitiful loser that had to step aside for the alphas, so why was he around?

He laughed whenever someone asked him that. "Because I'm too awesome to die, that's why," he answered with his usual cocky grin.

Sight

He gasped as the explosion rocked through his body and sent him flying backwards into the dirt. Bright flashes of pain sliced across his view and then gradually faded away. But something was wrong, he could not see the shapes of his men marching across the battlefield or the terrain or the Austrians. In fact he could not see anything at all. He tried to blink in an attempt to chase away the darkness and yelled as a sudden spasm of pain drilled through his skull. He clawed the ground and drew his knees up as if to curl in on himself, panting harshly as he waited for the pain to end. The battle was still going on, he could clearly hear the fire of artillery and the shouting of his men and he could feel his people being wounded, but he could not see anything. In a sudden grip of panic he ripped off one of his gloves and felt around his eyes with a shaking hand.

He winced as more pain came from his head, but under his questing fingers he could feel hot, sticky blood and sharp fragments—bone and wood and pieces of his goddamn skullembedded in his flesh. Another cry was torn out of his throat as he felt the gory mess of meat and blood that were once his eyes. I can't see, he thought, the realization crashing over him like a bucket of cold water. I can't see Ican'tsee Ican'tseeIcan'tseeIcan'tseeICAN'TFUCKINGSEE— he whimpered deep in his throat and clawed at the ground like a newborn, choking down the sobs that threatened to escape his body. The enemy was approaching, he could feel it, and he had to get out of there.

Easier said than done. He sat up on his knees and was immediately knocked back down as one of his soldiers tripped over him. An unseen foot stepped on his hand and invisible troops made the ground tremble beneath him. He was afraid to get up again because he had no idea where to go or how to avoid whatever dangers lay ahead. Again he threw out his arm and felt around him, searching for something the only way a blind person could: through touch. He wrist clumsily bumped against something solid and he grabbed it. A closer examination revealed it to be a rifle, with a bayonet attached no less. Well, at least he wasn't totally defenseless. He didn't need to see in order to fight.

Suddenly the ground next to him exploded again and he felt dirt and grass sting the raw flesh of his face. The enemy artillery must be getting closer. One of their shrapnel bombs had already taken out his eyes and another well-placed shot could take him out for good. He stumbled to his feet and almost instantly tripped over a dead body that had been lying in his path, and only fortune stopped him from impaling himself on his own weapon. A hopeless cry tore itself out of his throat. How in the world was he supposed to move when he couldn't even walk two paces? He felt tears building up where his eyes used to be and they burned and itched like fire and he wanted to claw at his eyes. Out, vile jelly, he thought sourly as he contemplated it.

"Preußen!" he heard someone call over the noise. He frowned to himself. Was that Schwerin?

He heard hoofbeats nearby and felt the ground rumble. He sat up in alarm and tried to stand. Was that the Austrians or his own people? Even though he was still blind he tried to look around, as if that might help him. Smoke sung his sensitive eyes and he doubted he would have been able to see much of anything anyways. The hoofs stopped right beside him and a horse snorted frighteningly close to his ear. "Gilbert!" Fritz shouted clearly, and there was a thud as feet hit the ground. Then two arms were around him and helping him up. He knew those hands and that voice, and he gripped the arms around him and buried his face into Fritz's coat. "Gilbert, what's wrong?" Frederick asked, trying to pry him away. "Please, you need to get up. You'll be trampled out here!"

He shook his head miserably. More warmth trickled down his face and into his collar, more blood and tears and sticky fluid, hell maybe his brains were dripping out of his head. "I can't," he sobbed, clinging to Fritz like a child. "I'm blind." Something in him broke to say those words out loud.

"What?"

"I can't see!" he howled. "I can't see! They took my eyes, Fritz, my eyes. . ." His voice trailed off into a whimper. He wanted to just curl into Fritz's arms and hide from the world. Then suddenly there were hands on his face, trying to turn him upward. "Nooo," he moaned, but despite his protests he felt cold air on his face and knew that his face was exposed.

Silence. And then: "Oh my god. . ." Fritz breathed, his voice barely audible over the sound of gunfire. But Prussia heard it and he wanted to cringe and hide himself away from the absolute horror he heard in that tone. "Schwerin!"

More horses pounded up. "Yes, Your Majesty?" Schwerin said, his voice tinged with anxiety.

He felt his arms being tugged gently, guiding him across the field. "Take Gilbert to the doctors immediately," he ordered, bring them up beside a horse.

He heard gasps from all around him. "Merciful God," Schwerin said, "what happened to him?"

"I don't know," Frederick replied, giving Gilbert's arm a light squeeze.

"Strauss, give him your horse," came Schwerin's voice.

You do realize that I can't ride a horse because I'm blind? Prussia wanted to say. All of a sudden Fritz's hands left him and were replaced by another, unfamiliar pair. His fear came rushing back and closed his throat, causing him to choke on his monarch's name. He reached out for his king, but could not feel him. Fritz, Fritz! Please don't leave me, please. I can't see, don't leave me alone! Please, don't leave. Ignoring his cries, those foreign hands dragged him away, propelling him back into the world of confusion and darkness.

Carnival

"Come on, admit it. My parties are like, totally the best thing ever."

The best thing ever would be like, totally punching you in the face. Prussia thought in reply to Feliks, sipping his wine in order to keep his face blank. He was a guest here, and he had to be respectful to his host, even if that host was one of the most damnably infuriating men he had ever met. "It's. . . interesting," he said at last, trying to find a suitable word for the spectacle he was trying to describe. "Very colorful." Hah, colorful. What a laugh. It looked like God had just barfed a rainbow all over the place.

Poland laughed good-naturedly and resting his hand on his fist. "Yeah, I know. It's so boring to have everything all one color, so I had to liven it up some!" He laughed again, looking so smug and self-important that Prussia wanted to hit him. He wondered how in the world Saxony could stand it. "My King actually gave me full reign this time and let me plan everything!"

That explains why everything is so mind-numbingly gaudy. Prussia thought sourly. Being stuck with a king like Frederick William for so long had dulled some of his extravagant tastes, and he found himself somewhat annoyed at the great Dresden carnival. Or maybe that was just because he was spending so much time with Feliks. Where the hell was Saxony anyway? He might have been a complete knucklehead but at least he wasn't Feliks.

"Hey, Gil, do you—"

"Do not call me that," he growled out, gripping his cup tightly. No one was allowed to call him that except his Bad Friends and Italy.

Feliks huffed, puffing his cheeks out childishly. "Okay, chill out," he said with a sly smile. "But, as I was saying, do you think your royals are enjoying themselves?" Despite their history of being sworn enemies, Poland still had a very tiny shred of concern for his guest. At least, he did with his royal family.

Gilbert tapped his fingers in thought. A few hundred feet away, King August was showing off his strength by doing his usual trick of snapping horseshoes with one hand. Even as a nation Prussia had to admit that was pretty damn awesome. Frederick William seemed to be pretty impressed as well, watching the display with a thinly veiled respect. He couldn't see Fritz anywhere, but he had no doubt that the boy was off somewhere trying to soak up the lively atmosphere. "I think they are enjoying themselves very much," he said. Another bit of an understatement, since the cheerful Saxon court was like a breath of fresh air compared to the militant and almost oppressive Berlin court he was used to. He knew that Frederick would not be wanting to leave any time soon.

"Totally great," Feliks said with a wide, satisfied smile. A band of musicians came tumbling by, dressed in red and gold and playing a lively tune that had many dancers all but flying over the ground as they tried to keep up. When they had passed by the blond nation turned to his neighbor. "Hey, you've got to see this," he said, a sudden excitement coming over him. He knew better than to grab Prussia's hand or wrist, but he sorely wanted to.

"See what?" Gilbert demanded, narrowing his eyes. Seeing Feliks so hyper was usually not a good thing.

"Something totally awes—" he qualied under Gilbert's malicious glare. "Cool. Something totally cool."

"I don't believe you," Prussia replied flatly, then he noticed that August seemed to be talking to Frederick William. The soldier-king suddenly turned and gestured to Frederick, who somewhat reluctantly came to his father's side. "What are they doing?"

The grin Poland was wearing sent alarm bells off in his head. "Come on, I'll show you." With that he set off at a brisk pace, forcing him to finish the rest of his wine in one gulp and almost jog to catch up with him. Feliks of course knew the palace like the back of his hand and led him through hallways, rooms, and little hidden shortcuts, all of which were decorated with elegant tapestries and paintings set in gold frames; crystal chandeliers glittered overhead like captured stars and silver and gold platters lay on the dining tables that they passed, all of the utensils polished until they were like mirrors. Even Frederick I, the most spendthrift man that Gilbert had ever known, would have gone pale at the thought of how much money all of the lavish decorations had cost. They arrived at a handsomely fashioned oakwood door and at the exact same moment King August came into view with Frederick William and Fritz.

"Ah, Feliks! It's good to see that you brought your friend," the cheerful king said.

Now where in the hell did he get the impression that they were friends?

Even Feliks look a little comfortable at the implication. "Yeah, I did," he muttered, trying not to scuffle his feet.

King August didn't seem to notice. "Come, this way," he said, opening the door and gesturing the inside. Frederick William gave him an odd look, but complied. For a moment Fritz hesitated and looked to Prussia as if asking him if it was alright. As a reply the kingdom shrugged, telling the prince that he was just as clueless as the rest of them. Fritz cautiously stepped inside. The moment he was gone Prussia saw the Polish king give his country a conspiratorial wink, which immediately made the alarm bells start clanging again.

"Hey, Prussia, wanna see what's inside?" Feliks asked, a positively wolfish grin spreading across his features.

Not on your life, Prussia wanted to say. He opened his mouth to tell him that and remembered that August was still in front of them and anything rude to come from his lips would have repercussions later. "If you insist," was what he said, although he did not move.

"I do," Feliks said, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him inside.

The room turned out to be a luxuriously decorated private salon, only natural for a man of August's tastes. Candlelight gave a soft, diffused look to everything and made the rich color seem warm and inviting. Frederick William was examining a tapestry, his back facing them. His son was looking around the room as if he expected something to jump out, which turned out to be a wise move. Poland led him to stand just beside the door and he caught a flash of movement as King August made a gesture. Then, just like that, he turned and swiftly vanished without so much as a sound. What in the world?

He turned to give Feliks a questioning glance, but the shorter man wordlessly shushed him and pointed to a corner of the room. He saw a servant suddenly appear from a hidden doorway, rolling an elegant velvet couch into the room. Lying on the cushions was an even more elegant woman, stark naked and reclining against the armrest in the most obvious "come hither" position the Gilbert had ever seen. He thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head and he saw the same expression mirrored on Fritz's face. Oh dear gods what was August thinking? Normally he would not have cared one whit about what was happening (actually he would have enjoyed it) but he knew exactly how his king would react. Sure enough the moment Frederick William turned around he sputtered in shock, the blood draining from his face. Then a moment later he seemed to realize that his son was still in the room and didn't seem as shocked as he had a second ago. Quick as a flash, the king rudely pushed Fritz through the door, ignoring the prince's protests, and rounded upon the terrified servant and started up his infamous yelling.

Prussia couldn't help it. He started to laugh and bit down on his hand to quiet himself, but Frederick William had already heard him. He saw a death glare thrown at him but the king never once stopped his tirade. Even Feliks was laughing, but it was more of a giggle than anything. It was just too funny! Not to mention he had to appreciate the boldness of the move, but he should have expected nothing less from the ever flamboyant king and his country. Hell, the girl was still sitting there and had not put on any clothes or made any attempt to cover herself!

Now he was pretty glad that they accepted the invitation to Dresden. If anything else, this was worth it.

Circle

One stroke. Just one, simple stroke and there it was. Prussia tapped his stick in the dirt, staring pensively at the perfect circle he had just drawn into it. Such a simple shape. And yet it was so important, so vast. How such a "simple" shape could affect all of the nations in the world!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth.
Draw a circle, that's the Earth.
Draw a circle, that's the Earth.
I am Prussia.

"What's that?" Fritz's voice came from right behind him, causing him to jump. He whirled around in alarm, shocked that someone had managed to sneak up on him. "Forgive me," Fritz apologized with a smile, coming to sit on his heels beside him. "I just heard you humming and I became curious."

"Oh?" he replied, raising his eyebrows. He had not been aware that he was humming.

Fritz merely nodded and then noticed what he had drawn on the ground. "What is that?" he asked again, pointing. "And don't try to be cute and say that it's a circle."

He laughed, because that was exactly what he had been planning to do. "It's the Earth," he said, tapping it.

"I see," Fritz said. "And the song?"

He rolled his eyes. "So questioning! So prying! Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes."

"But I am not a cat. And you're avoiding the question."

Dammit. He hated it when Fritz called him out on that. "It was a song that my parents taught me," he admitted after a small silence where Fritz patiently waited for him to talk. "I mean Aestii and Germania, they both knew it. It had been taught to them by their parents. . . All of the countries know it."

Fritz looked intrigued. "How does it go?" he asked, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them.

Gilbert shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Most of it's just drivel. Many of the actual words have been lost over time, since the song is very old. Hell, I was told that it's the oldest song in the world." Frederick did not answer him, but waited expectantly. He sighed. "Must I?"

"You don't have to," Fritz said, "but I would very much enjoy it if you did."

Oh no, not that ploy. He knew exactly what his king was up to. Of course he liked to please his king, but there were some things that he would not do. He never sang for anyone, never in his entire life. He didn't like an audience, so he would never—"Alright, fine. I tell you the few lines that don't change." He took a deep breath. "Draw a circle, that's the Earth~" He drew another circle for emphasis. "You say that three times, then you say what country you are. Then it goes: Ah, with a single swipe of a brush, a wonderful world can be seen! Something's supposed to come after that, but no one knows what."

"I see," Fritz said again, trying to bring his thoughts back into some semblance of order. Hearing Prussia sing in that deep, riveting voice was...was..."Is that the only part you know?"

Prussia shook his head. "No, but it's the part that shows up in every song. Minus my awesome name of course." He saw his leader's look and tried to explain. "All of us know the song, us countries I mean. However we all have our own different words for it, but those few lines always remain the same. It's the only part of the original song, the one that was invented by the very first countries, that survived."

Frederick tapped his chin thoughtfully, mulling over something. "So you countries knew that the world was round even before the scientists discovered it?"

Gilbert looked amused by this. "Yes, we always did. We can feel our lands, and we could feel that they were. . .curved, I guess." He ran his hand along the air, making a sphere. "Ach, I'm not making any sense. We've just known that the Earth is round, the same way that you know that the sky is blue and the sun is bright." He paused for a minute, still thinking, and then suddenly threw the stick away and stood up.

"We can learn a lot from our countries," Fritz said, letting Gilbert help him to his feet.

Our countries. Not you countries, as if saying that they were different from humans. Prussia did notice his king's rather possessive tone, though. "No one remembers us," he said, linking his arm through Fritz's. "We're supposed to remain in obscurity, as a rule."

The arm around his tightened. "Not with me, you won't," Fritz promised, leading them away from the twin circles in the earth.

Manipulation

"Oi, what the hell's all this?" Gilbert demanded, indicating to the freshly dug garden in the palace grounds. The earth was still loose and soft. But there were no plants in it as far as Gilbert could tell.

Fritz watched him with that smug little smile on his face that he always wore when he knew more than someone else. "That's my new garden," he said, coming to stand beside him. "A little small compared to the others, I will admit, but I don't intend for it to be that big." He tapped his fingers on his cane and watched the guards that he ordered to stand around the garden. They looked very stoic and professional, and they were in plain view. Both onlookers and passersby gawked as they passed. He knew the question that was on everyone's mind: Why was the king ordering guards to be placed around his new garden? What was so important that they had to protect?

"Stop being so vague and tell me what it is," Prussia said, crossing his arms and almost pouting. That was a trait that the both of them shared: they hated it when one of them kept secrets from the other.

He stopped his laugh before it could begin. He loved it when Gilbert pouted and whined; it was adorable. Scanning the area, he already saw that people were starting to stare, both noticing their King and wondering who the pale man standing beside him was. "Come, this place is far too public." He turned and walked away. He didn't even dare link their arms together or grab his hand, because that would only start rumors.

The hedges that lined the garden paths closed around them, shielding them from prying eyes. All at once the sounds seemed muffled as well and birdsong could be heard over the murmurings of the city. "I assume you know about my recent failures in getting the peasant stock to implement potatoes into their diet," he began, keeping his voice in a low, conversational tone. It wasn't quite a whisper, but it was just quiet enough to let others know that it would have been terribly rude to eavesdrop.

Prussia snorted with laughter. "Of course I know it, everyone does." He said, smiling a little. "Honestly, did you really think that threatening to cut off everyone's ears and noses would actually work?"

Fritz whacked his cane against the country's knee. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to let him know that the comment was unappreciated. "Oh hush. Might I remind you that it was your suggestion?"

Because he was so pale, it was easy to tell when the blood was rushing to Gilbert's face. "I didn't mean for you to take it seriously," he said rather lamely.

"You didn't tell me not to. Nonetheless, it didn't work." They came across a bend and the interlocking yew branches overhead came the path a little shade. Two other gentlemen passed both of them and bowed to the king as he went by. When he was certain they were out of earshot Fritz continued. "So I decided to go for a less direct approach. I can't do a repeat of what I did with you, so I'm letting rumors do the work for me."

Prussia nodded in reply, remembering how Fritz had gone to rather dramatic measures to show him that potatoes were in fact edible. He still got chills thinking about it; he had been terrified when he saw Fritz eat what he thought had been deadly poison at the time. "I'm assuming your new garden is filled with potatoes, then?"

"Exactly," Frederick replied, delighted that he had made the connection. "And I've told people to say that my guards are watching over my potatoes. I want the word out as quickly as possible."

"Why?" Prussia asked, tilting his head to one side like a confused dog.

"Because that will make people curious," Fritz explained, smirking deviously. "They will want to come and see it. They will wonder why I, the King, want to have something as foreign as potatoes in my garden and why I have soldiers guarding them."

An understanding of what his king was trying to do flickered in his brain. "You don't put guards around something unless it is precious in some way," he said slowly.

Fritz smiled brilliantly at him. "Again, you are correct. People will wonder what makes these potatoes so precious, and they will want them for their own." Unable to help himself, he barked out a laugh. "And they will think that it is entirely their own idea as well! Unbeknownst to them that this is exactly what I want them to do!"

Gilbert laughed with him, then paused. "Wait, what do you mean by that? Are you going to let people break into the palace and steal right out of the gardens?"

"That is exactly what I intend to let them do. It won't work as well unless they think that they have ultimately outwitted me." He fiddled with the buttons on his cuff. "Do not fret, there will be guards watching the rest of the grounds to make sure that they don't go any further." The trees ended, bringing them back into the sunlight. "And once they realize that the stolen potatoes are edible, it might finally get through their deplorably stubborn skulls that potatoes are food." His long suffering tone made Prussia laugh as they strolled through the grounds. It didn't take them long to start betting on how long it would take for the citizens to finally crack and become bold enough to sneak into the palace gardens and steal the potatoes.

It took five days. Prussia knew his people well (as a nation should) and predicted that the potatoes would be gone within a week. Fritz thought that the people had more respect for his guards and would therefore hesitate longer, and he was quite amazed when he found that to be false. Despite that, he still smiled and praised his soldiers for following orders and deliberately looking in the other direction whenever they noticed someone climbing over the walls. They simply ignored the thieves to the best of their ability and let them run off, carrying the King's potatoes with all the glee of children who had just snuck sweets from the sugar bowl.

Fourth of July

This was absolutely amazing. No, not amazing. Awesome. This was awesome and Prussia knew without a single shred of doubt that the title was well-earned. He actually felt privileged to have been a part of it. Then again, if his awesome self had not been here then it would not have been nearly as awesome.

Cannons fired everywhere and the cheers of people sent his heart racing. He wasn't even a part of these people and he could still feel them! It was so odd, Baron von Steuben was the only one of his citizens in this country, and yet there was still a faint connection with these people. He laughed with all of the others and clapped them on the back, shouting greetings and praise. A sea of people passed him by and somehow, over the great roar of noise, he heard his name being called.

"Prussia! Prussia!" A young man was pushing through the crowd, his dirty blond hair in disarray and his blue eyes wide and bright in excitement. If the situation had been any different he would have yelled at the lad for having his uniform so sloppy. "Gil!" the lad finally resorted to shouting.

"I told you not to call me that!" Gilbert yelled back, shaking his fist for emphasis. He knew that he was grinning like an idiot though so his words lacked their usual effect. Seconds later the boy careened into him and latched his arms around him in a crushing hug. Damn, he kept forgetting how strong the kid really was! "You break my ribs and I'll break you!" Prussia swore, but he returned the hug anyway.

America just laughed loudly and eased his grip a little bit. "Cheer up some! Doesn't this feel awesome?" He gestured to everyone around him.

The older country narrowed his crimson eyes, but didn't say anything. He'd let the kid get away with using his word. Just this once. Next time earned him a good punch. "Yeah, it does," he said, letting him go. "I outta tell you, your people sure as hell know how to party!" As he finished another round of cannonfire went off, which just made everyone cheer louder. All that was needed now were a load of fireworks and the whole pomp would have been taken care of.

Alfred blushed with pleasure. "Thanks, we have people from all nations here so we kinda mix the way they party."

Hmm, that didn't sound like a bad idea. However, there was one problem. "Where's all the beer?" he demanded, glancing around. He saw neither food nor alcohol, which was unforgiveable. How the hell were you supposed to thrown a decent party without beer?

America blinked, suddenly looking every bit the kid that he was. "What, are you planning to drink?"

He rolled his eyes so hard that it actually hurt. "Naw, I just want to collect a shitload and play chess with them. Beer are pawns, wine is bishop, brandy equals king." In case Alfred wasn't catching his sarcasm (and he really could be dense sometimes) he smacked him over the back of his head like he always did when he heard the new nation blurt out something stupid.

The blond winced and rubbed his head. "Alright, alright. But we're not supposed to drink on duty."

"Good thing we're not on duty," Gilbert replied impudently. He gave Alfred a light slap on the shoulder. "Now, take me to the nearest tavern. Consider that an order, soldier."

In response the blond also rolled his eyes and, uncharacteristically, gave up. "Fine then, but you pay," he said, starting to weave through the crowd like a fish through water. The people around him parted instinctively to let their country through and forgot him almost as soon as they saw him.

Prussia laughed that brash laugh of his. It was a laugh that could always, without a doubt, make someone feel as if they were being insulted. "Fuck you. It's your goddamn holiday, you pay for it."

"That's not fair!" Alfred yelled, turning to look at him in shock.

"Life's not fair kid. Deal with it."

"Gilbert! Alfred!" An accented voice called to them and France seemed to materialize out of nowhere, feather-trimmed hat and lace cravat and all. "Mes amis, where do you think you're going without me, hmm?" The dashingly handsome blond asked, one hand quickly grabbing each of their asses. Francis was a person who did not believe in simply walking up to someone without touching them. Despite the groping, he had a hurt and abandoned expression on his face, like an orphaned child. Gilbert knew his friend well enough to tell when he was acting.

Unfortunately America did not. Not only that, but his entire face turned red and he jumped back when France touched him. "Oh, jeez, Francis, I'm so sorry about that, I—I would have gotten you but—"

"Stop blubbering," Prussia interrupted him, grinning at his expression. "And Francis, it's your own damn fault for not finding us sooner."

Francis put a hand over his heart as if he had just been wounded, but the beginnings of a smile were tracing his lips. "But, I am here now. And I ask again: where are we going?"

"Drinking," Gilbert replied, turning his grin onto his old friend. Spain wasn't around, so they couldn't do their usual bar-hopping, getting-pissed-off-your-face drinking, but they did have the kid with them. . .

Francis saw his look and understood it at once. "Amérique," he all but purred, leaning closer to Alfred and making him quite uncomfortable. "This is your town, is it not? I'm sure you know where a good tavern is, and I'm sure that the three of us can handle a few drinks together. Would you mind leading us there?"

"Sure thing," Alfred replied, and then he frowned as France's words sunk in. "Hey wait, the 'three' of us? I wasn't planning on drinking, I mean we're—"

"No," Gilbert interrupted again, grabbing his protégé by the arm. "It's terribly rude to turn down an invitation, Alfred. Besides, if you want to get anywhere in the world then you need to learn how to handle your damn alcohol. Luckily for you, you've got us." He turned the younger country around and pushed him a little. "Now, take us somewhere before I get mad."

"Oh don't listen to him," Francis said in honey-sweet words, smoothly butting him aside. "He's a rough, uncultured soul." He ignored the punch to his ribs. "If anything we would very much enjoy your company Alfred."

He could see the kid's resolution wavering by the second. "Okay, I guess hanging out for a little while won't hurt," he said at last, still looking a bit uneasy.

"Of course it won't," Francis assured him, patting him on the head. "You are quite safe with us." Well that was true, in a sense.

America nodded and smiled. "Alright then, follow me." He started walking away again, and he missed the devious looks that Gilbert and Francis shared behind his back. They both knew that the night was going to be quite memorable in a few hours.

Own Holiday

"This day is waaaay too awesome to be contained in one little span of twenty-four hours. Seriously Fritz, it was absolutely fucking awesome." Prussia leaned even further back in his chair and now it was in serious danger of falling over.

Frederick tried to hide his grin by sipping his wine. "You've said that seventeen times already," he pointed out, although he didn't really care. He just needed something to say.

"It's just that awesome," Prussia replied, putting his feet up on the table. If he had been back at the palace the Dowager Queen would have thrown a fit at his lack of manners, so he was obviously taking advantage at being out on a campaign. "I mean, I'm the embodiment of awesome so I can tell when something is awesome."

"Well then, what would you do to commemorate this awesome day?" Fritz asked, leaning his head on his fist and staring at his half-filled cup. He was trying not to drink too much this time, since he needed to be sober for tomorrow. On the other hand, Gilbert had gone through enough wine for the both of them and he wasn't even slurring his words yet. It made him just a little envious.

The albino pursed his lips in thought, mulling the question over as if it was one of the great mysteries of the universe. His chair came back to the ground with a muffled thump and he pushed it back again, repeating the cycle until Fritz glared at him to stop. "I know what we should do," he said, pushing the chair again but keeping it on two legs. He quaffed his wine and then slammed the empty cup on the table. "We should make this day a holiday. Every year we should have people celebrate this day for our awesomeness."

Fritz choked down a laugh. "That's preposterous. No one makes holidays after their military victories."

"The Romans did."

"But this is not Rome."

"Says the 'Marcus Aurelius' of Germany." Prussia grinned, sharp and wide, and poured himself more wine. "Anyways, we'll call it 'Awesome Day,' naturally."

Naturally. "Would it not be more prudent to name it something that has more relevance to the actual events of the day you're celebrating?" he asked. Not that he was actual going along with the idea, but he was going to let his love indulge.

Gilbert looked at him as if he had just spoken in Russian. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, pushing his chair further back. "It's relevant to everything! All day we were awesome! Besides, do you want to go around all day saying 'Happy Hohenfriedberg Day' to everyone?" He raised his eyebrows, showing him that the question was purely rhetorical.

"I see your point," he conceded with a smile. "We'll have to think of something properly presumptuous later."

"I already said Awesome Day," Prussia pouted, starting to think that his king was ignoring him on purpose.

"That you did," Fritz said, gliding the bottle over to him. After all, he wasn't going to drink anymore. He needed to lead an army tomorrow. "But I said 'properly' presumptuous. Make it sound like we paid some pompous ass to sit around all day to think of a title."

Gilbert nearly snorted into his drink. "Oh, that'll twist the aristocrat's nose real good," he murmured. He stopped as an idea came to him. "Ha! And every day it comes around I'll go to Austria's house and punch him right in the face."

Fritz raised his eyebrows, suspecting that alcohol was doing most of the talking now. "Why?"

"We beat the hell out of him today, didn't we? Gotta keep the tradition alive." He seemed to melt into his chair and stared off into space, once again seeming thoughtful. "But then Hungary'll get all pissed," he went as an afterthought, the words tumbling from him without restraint. "Swear to gods that woman's always pissed, like she's a having a permanent peri–Oh FUCK!" His chair finally fell backwards, finally unable to hold itself up from all of his pushing, and sent him sprawling across the ground.

"It's a long journey to Austria anyways," Fritz said mildly, leaning to the side so he could look at Gilbert. "I say you should think about it in the morning."

"I say think about it now," Prussia retorted, although his eyes were glazed. He kept rubbing his head as if expecting to feel pain, but from his vaguely puzzled expression it was clear that he wasn't feeling much of anything at the moment.

He stood up and finally offered his hand to his nation. "And knock the rest of your brains out?" he teased, helping Gilbert to his feet. "You won't have two thoughts to put together by sunrise."

"Oh be quiet," Gilbert mumbled, allowing himself to be dragged into a chair.

Want

The most sought-after monarch in all of Europe. An apt description, to say the least.

Prussia watched his king through half-lidded eyes, seeing him a totally different light than he ever had before. Frederick was hunched over a map of Silesia, studying the little lines and figurines scattered across it, planning some other new detail of their conquest. He was so caught up in his map that he didn't even seem to notice that some strands of his hair had come loose and were now hanging by his face, somewhat tarnishing that upright and perfect image he wore in front of his troops. His hands were splayed flat on the table, holding the paper down. Usually those hands seemed good for nothing but holding a quill or playing his flute, but Gilbert had seen them grasp a sword with the utmost confidence as his king rode among his troops, shouting orders. Recently he had seen a new side of Frederick, one that he had glimpsed when they had been making preparations to invade Silesia. Apparently he was a lot more bellicose than everyone believed and his harsher, more warlike side had reared its head at Mollwitz. It didn't matter that Fritz fled at the end (although Fritz didn't think so) Prussia was still proud of his ruler and his army.

He tapped his fingers against his flask contemplatively before taking another swig. He had taken a bullet to the leg during the battle and it still ached, but that was mainly because he refused to sit still like the doctors had ordered him to and he had spent all day marching and riding. Good old brandy did wonders for pain, and not even Fritz knew that he had an entire bottle of it hidden in his packs. However, combined with the candlelight it made the tent they were in terribly hot, despite the biting cold outside. He muttered a curse and undid the first few buttons on his shirt, freeing his collar and neck and letting the slight breeze from outside wash over him. Someone had left a loaf of bread on the table, and he tore into it greedily, never taking his eyes off of Fritz. The man hadn't even looked up in the past five minutes. "Would you mind sharing your interest of that map with me?" he suddenly asked.

Fritz looked up in surprise, blinking like an owl awoken in the daytime. His eyes widened as he noticed Prussia's unbuttoned collar that displayed his neck and just a teasing hint of his chest. Gilbert would have laughed, but his mouth was too full. Fritz's head quickly dropped back down. "I was thinking about Neisse, actually," he admitted to the table. "I wish we could have captured it. Things would have been so much easier."

Prussia smiled and finished his meal. "Well, things can't be perfect all the time. At least we won this round." He sipped his flask again to wash down the remnants of bread.

Fritz didn't look at him. "Yes, we should count the blessings we have." His voice lifted a little, and whatever gloom he had seemed to be chased away. "Pass me that chocolate, will you?"

He reached for the cup across the table and handed it over. Fritz accepted it with a murmur of thanks and met his eyes for the barest second before turning away. He sipped his drink and tapped his fingers against the table in an absent manner.

At once Gilbert knew that something else was bothering him. "Do you have any plans?" he prompted gently.

There was a beat of silence. "I'm not sure yet," Frederick replied. "I should like to wait for the foreign envoys to arrive first."

He waved his hand, bringing Fritz's attention on him. "You know I hate it when you don't look at me when you speak," he chided him.

Something flashed across Fritz's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Prussia had no idea what it was. "I know," Fritz replied, a smile finally stretching across his face. It was a magnificent sight and made him look so much younger. Prussia wondered why he didn't smile all the time.

"Then why do you do it?" the nation asked, smiling back.

Fritz merely shrugged in answer and lowered his eyes. He wasn't looking away from his charge, but he wasn't meeting his eyes either. Almost as soon as he broke his gaze his smile faded and his brooding descended on him once more. It was driving Gilbert absolutely insane and he wanted to reach out and grab his face and tell his king to look at him and nothing else.

…Huh. Now where did that come from? He sounded like a jealous housewife all of a sudden.

Wife. . . he recognized the expression on Fritz's face now. It was that daydreaming look he had been seeing for quite a while now. Years actually, on and off. "Mooning for your ladylove again?" he asked, wondering why he felt strangely hurt by the idea.

"It's not a lady, Gilbert." Fritz snapped at him. Then he stiffened as he realized that he let something slip and shook his head as if to physically wrench the thoughts from it.

Gilbert laughed in a low voice and edged forward. "So, your man then," he said, trying not to grin. "I envy him. He must be really special to capture your attention for so long." And why should he envy him? It wasn't like he cared about who his king liked or wanted…right?

For a moment it looked as if Fritz would say something, then he shut his mouth. Gilbert couldn't see his face very well because he was still looking down, but he was certain that he was torn between telling him and keeping silent. The silence stretched on, getting heavier and more awkward with each passing second. Finally Fritz sighed and said, "He is special. Very much so." He even sounded wistful.

That didn't tell him anything, but at least it was an honest-to-gods response. "Do I know him?" Prussia went on.

"Why do you want to know?" Fritz asked defensively. Dammit, he was back to avoiding questions. "It's none of your business."

Truly it wasn't, but Prussia didn't care. He wanted to know who in the world was keeping his Fritz's attention off of him. A bit miffed, are we? A snide little voice in his head asked. He ignored it. "It's my business when my King is distracted and unable to do any work because of it." He knew that Frederick hated it when he invaded his personal space—it made him uncomfortable—so he stood up went sidled up to him, just inches away from his side. Fritz turned his head just the barest degree in his direction. "Besides, you know that I'm a nosy bastard."

Fritz laughed, sounding a little out of breath. "I do know that," he agreed, trying to edge away from him. Prussia just stepped closer. "Gilbert, I—"

"Look at me when you speak!" Prussia finally snapped, reaching out and grabbing is leader's chin and turning it towards him.

His move was so sudden and unexpected that Fritz simply gasped in shock, but then he smacked the offending hand away angrily. His eyes, almost on their own accord, dropped down to his open shirt and the powder-white skin that it revealed. Only a moment too late he realized that his emotions must have been written all over his face, but Prussia had already seen everything; the lust and desire he saw in those blue eyes floored him completely, and the blush that rose to his leader's ears only confirmed his suspicions. For a moment he wondered why in the world Frederick was looking at him like that, but then it hit him like a gunshot.

Oh. . . oh.

Well now, this was certainly an interesting twist to things.

Suddenly Frederick backed up as if trying desperately to put some space in between them. He only took a step before his back hit the table. "Gilbert, I—I—" he stammered guiltily, for once his words failing him.

His expression went right through Gilbert's heart, and he wanted to wipe it away. Fritz hadn't looked this ashamed over something in a very long time, and he realized that the look did not suit him very well. "My King," he said, a grin stretching across his features. "I'm flattered." Something in the back of his mind told him that he should be alarmed, that this was bad, but the sudden joy that swept through him silenced that voice.

Fritz frowned in puzzlement, but the odd mix of guilt and desire was still there. "You're not. . . mad?" he asked as if he feared the answer.

"Why would I be mad?" Gilbert asked in genuine surprise. "If anything I'm quite pleased to be the object of your affections." He took a bold step forward and once again planted himself in front of his king.

"Because I've known you since I was a child," Fritz replied, sounding confused. As if he couldn't imagine a world where Prussia would not be mad at him. "And to think of you in such a way—"

"Ah, but then who would be better than me?" Gilbert interrupted him. "After all, I know you better than anyone else. And if you haven't noticed by now, you are not a child anymore Fritz." He watched Fritz slump in relief and smiled widely. "Besides, I've seen a lot weirder things in my life."

"I suppose you're going to tell me how silly I've been acting?" Fritz murmured, a teasing gleam coming into his eyes. Prussia noticed that once all of his fears were banished he was remarkably quick at finding his balance again.

Prussia shook his head. "Not at all. It just means that your morals are higher than my own." He inched forward a little as he said this, forcing Fritz to look up at him. And look he did, with such an unveiled want in his eyes that it made the albino's heart quicken. Those beautiful blue eyes, usually so cold and distant, were all but smoldering like coals, all for him. He noticed, not for the first time, what amazing eyes his dear Frederick had. They stared at him so intensely that he wondered what it would be like having those eyes watch him as he sucked his king off.

Wait, what?

His thoughts were running away from him again. But then again, he certainly liked the direction they were taking. As if Frederick read the lewd expression on his face (and he had, since he had been staring at it) he leaned back. "We can't," he said, sounding as if he were forcing the words out.

Gilbert stopped and looked at him as if he had just lost his mind. "Aren't you the one who started this?" he asked, his irritation rising. What the hell was Fritz playing at?

"I know," Fritz said ruefully. "But we cannot touch, not during a war. Not when one of us could be killed." He almost stumbled over the last word, but he managed to keep his voice even.

The pale man sighed and shook his head. "Being pessimistic again? I told you to stop doing that at Mollwitz. I can't die, and I will never let anything happen to you. It's my duty to protect you."

"Regardless, I would not be very happy if a relationship between us started in the middle of a war."

Gilbert chuckled. "What better way to start one?" he asked, but he could tell by his king's face and tone that he would not be moved from his decision. He sighed in annoyance, but then an idea came to him that could only be described as pure evil. "Fine, no touching." He removed one of his gloves and leaned forward until he had Fritz right against the table. Honestly, any farther back and Fritz would have to crawl across the table in order to escape...actually that didn't sound like a bad idea.

"What are you doing?" Fritz demanded, suspicion rising in his voice.

Prussia grinned at him, that malicious grin that promised nothing good. "You said no touching. I will obey my King, and I will not touch you. However, if I was allowed to then this is exactly how I would do so." He placed both of his hand on the table so Fritz was caged between them, but he carefully avoided any contact. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he lifted his ungloved hand and trailed it upwards, stopping to hover right above Fritz's cheek. He saw his monarch's eyes widen as he realized what his nation was doing. "See? No touching, just like you said," he said, running his thumb along the air beside his skin.

Oh this was absolute torture. If Frederick's attention had not been so focused on that hand or Gilbert's face then he would have without a doubt hit him. As it was, he was more concentrated on those long, thin fingers which did not seem very suited for a soldier at all. He was quite aware of that thumb that mock-traced the contours of his face, of the fingers that so gently skimmed over his hair. They were so close that all Fritz had to do was straighten up and Gilbert's hand would have been on his head. Even so he could feel the heat from his body and he griped the table hard, imagining that he was grabbing Gilbert and pulling him closer.

That teasing limb came down, following the line of his nose and tracing his lip. Even though it hadn't touched him his skin tingled as if it had been. Gilbert abruptly brought his face closer and allowed his lips to follow the same path as his fingers. His lips caressed the air above his cheek while his hand moved lower, lingering for a moment on his neck before sweeping aback down and resting on the table. The table creaked as Prussia shifted his weight so he could rest his mouth inches away from Frederick's own. Fritz had no idea how agonizing it could be to just stand still like he was doing right now. Before, whenever Gilbert touched him his thoughts scattered like frightened birds, but having the albino stand there and pretend to touch him made him want to tear his hair out in frustration.

"By this time I would kiss you," Prussia murmured, his warm breath tickling Fritz's face. "But, unfortunately, that is another form of touching."

Fritz was very close to not giving a damn. Inches, just a few scant inches separated them. All he had to do was lean forward the tiniest bit and he could kiss him. He had dreamed of it for so long, had craved it, and now it was finally in his grasp. It was all he could do to resist the impulse to flick out his tongue and taste the lips that hovered a hairsbreadth away from him. He was seriously considering it when he noticed the challenging, almost mocking grin on Prussia face, and in an instant he knew what his nation was trying to do. This wasn't just playful teasing, it was a battle of willpower, a struggle to see who would be the first to relinquish dominancy over the other. If he went back on his word now, then that meant that Gilbert could get him to submit to his will and he would be wrapped around the devious man's fingers. Well Gilbert was about to see how well he could play that game! He saw with a twisted satisfaction that Gilbert was trembling ever-so-slightly; his little game was just as torturous to him as it was to Fritz. This king smiled his own bold challenge and pushed himself away from the table. "Yes, how unfortunate," he murmured back, practically tasting Gilbert on his tongue as they were suspended in a moment just before the kiss. Then he did the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life: stand still.

One long, agonizing minute passed. And then another. Prussia swallowed thickly and forced himself not to move, despite the blood pounding in his ears. He could sense people passing by outside the tent, oblivious to the miniature war being waged between them. He could smell his king, taste him, and almost, almost touch him. Gottverdammt if he could just close that gap between them. . . he gripped the table harder, feeling his nails dig deep into the wood. Any more pressure and he might have ripped the table apart. He could clearly see his own desires reflected in Frederick face but he would not—do—anything—and it was about to drive him mad.

Another minute dragged by with both of their defense crumbling. Prussia's trembling became more pronounced and Fritz's breath started to come in quicker, shorter pants. He shivered and nearly bumped into Fritz, causing them both to gasp as their breaths intermingled. He found his mouth automatically opening for a kiss and Fritz did likewise, but just at the last minute they remembered themselves and stopped. Another minute dragged on, and right when they were both about to scream in frustration there came the sound of light, hurried footsteps from outside. "Your Majesty!" an aide called like a thunderclap from reality. "Monsieur Bell-Isle is here to see you!"

The mood was abruptly shattered and the both of them were brought crashing out of whatever world they had drifted off to. Prussia swallowed again and shut his eyes, and then stepped back. He plastered a smile over his face and waved dramatically to the entrance to the tent. However, when he noticed Fritz's furious expression his smile vanished. Gods, that was something he never thought he would see again; for a moment Fritz looked almost exactly like his father when he was getting ready to cane someone. The monarch took a deep breath and wiped his countenance clean like the actor he was and half-turned. "Let him enter," he called, his voice steady and unreadable.

While Fritz's outward expression seemed calm and controlled, on the inside he was screaming. No, he had been wrong before. This is what going mad felt like.


A/N: Ahh, it's so satifying to finally see ten stories up here ^_^ Even if three of them were bastards.

Pizza: I knew immediately that these had to have the Italians in it, there was no way around it. Pizza was not in northen Europe in the 1700s and it couldn't work with Germancest XD So instead I decided to have some fluff between Prussia and the Italies. Oddly enough I like both pairings as well, especially Prumano because that it's damn hilarious. XDD
And yes pizza was invented in southern Italy and it was a food for the poor people. I remember one time in my Latin class my teacher spent ten minutes explaining the history of pizza to us. It was great XDDD
I also want to explain a headcanon of mine for North Italy: I kinda don't like his 'Ve' thing when he talks because it kinda makes no sense, but I use it anyway. I just don't slap them on every single sentence. However my headcanon says that it's a verbal tic of sorts, and whenever he's confused or scared or anxious or is feeling some other powerful emotion he'll start spewing 'Ve's all over the place.

Mafia:
If I had to choose I would say that this prompt was my favorite of the Bastards because the mental imagie of Nazi!Prussia confronting the mafia really tickles me. Although sadly this prompt kinda ran away from me and I saved it by making Ludwig show up to bail his brother out of trouble, like usual. I should have made the mafia more badass, but this is Romano we're talking about here. (Not saying that Romano and his mafia aren't badass, but he doesn't make the brightest moves sometimes.)

Beta: This was I was basically going "FFFFFUUUUUUUUUU-" the entire time I was writing this prompt because it was the first time I had absolutely no idea what the fuck to do with a prompt. Mainly because the word itself gave me no ideas, but I decided that instead of using the Internet term of 'beta' (which would involve Voltaire and I want to space out Voltaire fics as delicately as possible) I used the Greek letter and wolf terms for Beta. It...kinda failed :I Not happy with this AT ALL but I had to get it out of the way.

Sight: Ahaha, whumpage, my sweet love, we meet again. My sadist mind went completely beserk for some reason and turned a completely innocent word into...this thing. I have no idea why, but I actully kinda like writing about blindness (godspleasedon'tshootme) I find that almost weird. O_o
Yes there were actually primitive shrapnel-like explosive artillery rounds at this time, although I'm much too lazy to actually look it up and see what they were called. Ironically enough the first thing I thought about when I read them was "I wonder what happens if it gets into your eyes?" XD ...And I actually kinda want to writy a story/mini-arc of this plot, as awful as that sounds. I actually kinda want to do a seque...l/mini-arc based off of this prompt, as awful as that sounds XD

Carnival:
This actually happened. Honest to gods. I knew the very moment I saw the word 'Carnival' what I had to write XDD I saw this in my book a little while ago and I quite simply died laughing, became a ghost for a little while, and came back. It the funniest damn thing I've read in months XD
I think Fritz was about 16 at the time (I think) and his father had been reluctantly persuaded to take him along to the Dresden carnival, which King August had invited them to. Naturally he loved the place, which was very bright and cheerful compared to Berlin. Not only that, but August was also a patron of the arts and if I'm not mistaken this is where Fritz first met Johann Quantz, the man who would later become his flute teacher. There were also a large amount of *ahem* courtesans, as my book so politely phrased it, and he quite enjoyed them as well. 8D
You see, I failed to mention just why King August did what he did, because it wasn't important to the story. While in Dresden, Fritz had fallen in love with the lovely Count Orzelska, which was a bit of a problem because she was also August's favorite mistress (and his daughter, no less!) So in order to remedy this, August decided to "distract" the young prince via one naked chick on a couch. He really led them to a private salon one night after dinner, gave a signal to a hidden servant, and then disappeared as the servant rolled in a couch with said girl lying on it. Frederick William naturally flipped his shit and shoved his son out the door (which was not in the least bit appreciated) then went off on August about it. I was laughing so hard that my neighbors probably heard me XD
King August was both King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, so he was techincally the Boss of both of them which is why I mentioned both in my story. He really could snap horseshoes with his bare hands/one hand, and he was called August the Strong because of it. And he was quite, quite spendy with his money.

Circle:
I always wondered why all of the nations had their own version of the Marukaite Chikyuu, and who in the world could have taught it to them. It's not just an ending song, since Italy was actually singing it in one of the episodes, so that made me wonder how all of them knew it. So this sort of idea formed in my head that it was a song invented by the first country(ies) and it got passed on from generation to generation until we have the song we have today. Of course there are different lyrics for every version, and my explanation was of course that some of the words got lost so each country simply made up their own.
I thought it sounded cool anyway .

Manipulation: Now I'm sure everyone and their mother has heard the famous story of how Fritz tricked his peasants into eating potatoes. Naturally I had to write about it 8D Funnily enough he did say that whoever didn't eat potatoes would have their nose and ears cut off, and I thought that sounded a little bloodthirsty for him, but not for Prussia XD
Of course that didn't work, and then he used some reverse psychology. Plant some potatoes, have guards around them, let people steal said potatoes because they were obviously worth stealing, and profit.

Fourth of July: There was no way not to include America in this XD In my headcanon, America was a nice, proper young boy due to Arthur's influence, but during the Revolutionary War Prussia and France came along and completely corrupted him XDD And they weren't above dragging him to a bar and forcing him to drink with them to do it.
Not to mention some...other things went along during that time, but I won't dive into any further detail than that. Headcanon also speaking here XD I also think that Prussia was a bit hard on Alfred during those times, but he had a bit of affecton for him at the end.

Make Your Own Holiday:
Argh, story y u so short?
Since the Battle of Hohenfriedberg was basically Frederick's first Crowning Moment of Awesome I had to mention it yet again. I love writing drunk!rambling!Prussia and Fritz. Hell I just love writing their conversations in general. I could have mentioned Frederick's other victories, but many of them weren't as...well, happy as this I suppose.
Note: the 'Dowager Queen' is Sophia Dorothea, btw.

Want: I wanted to make this a oneshot, but I had nine stories so I said screw it XDD
Hehehe, you thought something was actually going to happen, didn't you? *trolololo*
Gods I loved writing this so much. I have no idea where cocktease!Gilbo came from but he is now forever a part of my headcanon. *HegetsitfromFranceXD* So, in my opinion it was shortly after the Battle of Mollwitz where Fritz and Prussia discovered their feelings for each other, but wasn't until the war actually ended when anything happened because Fritz has odd opinions XD Btw, if Fritz seems a little OOC here it's because he's still having a moral crisis like you saw in Lust. However, once he realized that it was perfectly acceptable he went with it completely xDD
In this story I really wanted to highlight a trait that both Fritz and Prussia share: their stubborness. I find that a little dominance battle wouldn't be out of character for them, since they both like to top 3 And they also like to tease.