Disclaimer: Nope :(

A/N: GOD, LONG A/N IS LONG.

So ja, I started writing this before I uploaded ch6, and was done before I started the omake xD

It's kind of short compared to the 6000 word monsters I've had the last few times, this one is only 4000 words or so. BUT THERE'S SO MUCH FLUFF YOU'LL GET DIABETES

Here, more story and Spamano. We get Romano's life story (TEEHEE), Spain bullying Romano into doing the tarantella with him, and PRUSSIAAAARGH /shot

The necrophiliac joke is credited to I am a purple crayon, btw :)

And pi-or-pie said something in a review that made me feel the need to clarify: SMeyer never went into epic detail about Edward's powers, so I just assumed that he read minds like, he heard everyone's but could focus on just one or two - as though he were standing in a room with a bunch of people that voiced their every random thought. Just in case y'all were wondering!

Finally: the pairings! I sometimes get reviews asking about who's with who and whatnot, so I thought I'll just save y'all some worry. Alice/Jasper = Hungary/Austria; Carlise/Esme (or in this case, Esme/Carlisle) = UK/France; and Rosalie/Emmett = Belarus/Prussia.

Then, guys, there's something important I gotta ask you about. Please check the endnote, because I gotta tell you some stuff and inform you of other thingies important to the story, okay? ^.^

Hope you enjoy!

Oh. And Prussia is POPE AWESOME /shot


Chapter 7 - damn, are all pedophiles this cheesy?

"So, how'd you end up here?" Antonio asked me during lunch. We were sitting at the empty table again, and Antonio had insisted on feeding me. I let him only because I'm nice, not because his pout made me wanna cry and beg forgiveness, okay? Bitch.

That wasn't even the creepy part; I could feel his jean-clothed legs rubbing against mine. Part of me wanted to whack him for public indecency. Especially as he wrapped his legs around mine and twisted them so that if I tried to stand I'd fall right over.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Why'd you move to Forks?"

Shrugging, I said, "Mom."

Antonio looked enthralled as he popped another forkful of pasta into my mouth (with an annoying-as-fuck HERE COMES THE TRAIN! face, might I add). "Tell me, please?"

I sighed. It wasn't like I could say no. What if he got mad and killed me or something? I quite like being alive, thank you very much.

"Well, my parents are divorced," I said with a shrug. "But you know that. I lived in Phoenix most my life -"

"How come you're so pale, then?" he interrupted, reaching out to stroke my cheek. "You're so fair, like a woman."

"WHAT?"

Antonio laughed and motioned for me to continue.

I scowled at him. "While you might not burn in the sun, I do," I deadpanned. Antonio blinked and laughed. "I burn like a bitch, so I try to avoid going outside on hot and sunny days because then I can't even wear long-sleeved shirts. Everyone thought I was a cutter until we went to a water park for a sophomore trip and I ended up burnt all over."

Antonio laughed again, so I threw a piece of tomato at his face. He dodged, of course, but didn't stop laughing. "Asshole! Finding fun in other people's pain!" I snapped.

He grinned cheekily at me. "Well, I was a conquistador."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, bastard. If it makes you happy, the burns I'd get were agonizing and wouldn't fade for weeks. But otherwise, I loved Phoenix. Mom made pasta all the time and he was more prone to random siestas than me. I swear, every afternoon at 2 o'clock sharp, Mom would just fall to the floor and sleep for an hour or two, no matter what he was doing."

Antonio looked a little confused. "Wait, your mom's a man?"

I scowled. "Don't judge, bastard."

"How'd they have you then?"

"At a clinic, dumbass." I was shocked; this guy'd been alive for a hell of a long time and he was still a total idiot. Just my luck.

He looked like he didn't even know there were clinics for that sort of thing.

"Isn't your dad a doctor?" I asked dryly.

Antonio nodded. "But I never listen to him!" he chirped.

I rolled my eyes again. "Whatever, you're just an idiot. But they got me at a clinic. I look almost exactly like my mom, except that he has much lighter hair and skin and his eyes are brown."

"But I like Lovi's hair," he interrupted yet again, and for a second I thought he was going to try and touch my eyeballs or something. "It's as beautiful as your eyes." At least this time it was a compliment.

And no, my stomach did not flip because of it!

"Can you stop interrupting?" I scowled. "I can't exactly relate why I'm here if you don't shut up long enough for me to explain."

He grinned and leaned over the table, propping his head up on the back of intertwined fingers and and watching me with this disgustingly sappy look in his topaz eyes and a happy smile on his face.

"Everyone says my mom's cuter than me, but in a sort of stupid and innocent way," I continued. He looked about to interrupt, so I glared.

Antonio pressed his lips shut and made a show of not saying what he wanted to say. I had just opened my mouth to go on, and he burst out, "But nothing could be cuter than my Lovi!"

"I swear to God," I hissed, fighting the flush on my face, "that if you don't shut the fuck up -"

"Okay, okay!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "I'm sorry!"

Goddammit, man. Why were all my girlfriends and boyfriends sappier than a tree?

I waited a few moments to make sure he wasn't going to say anything more before I continued. "God. Well, I lived with Mom in Phoenix until a little while ago. But my nonno left Mom a mansion in Venice when he died, so, uh, I guess Mom wanted me to get some bonding with Ludwig - my dad - because all of a sudden, Mom's saying that he wants to go check out the estate in Italy before I move over there, and I said that I would come stay up here until he figured everything out. That sort of obligation to get off people's hands, you know? And don't interrupt me, goddammit," I added hastily. He pouted, but kept his silence and simply reached for one of my hands. "Fuck, you're cold," I muttered with a frown; the Spaniard grinned but kept stroking the back of my hand.

"So that's pretty much it. I came up and found that sparkly fucking vampires live here."

"Will you tell me about your childhood?" he asked. I scowled again, and he ran his thumb over my knuckles. "Please?"

He had this adorably pleading look on his face and I wanted to slap it off, but instead I settled for telling him the entire damn story.

"God. What the fuck do you want to know, then?"

"Everything!" he beamed. "I've told you stuff that I've never told other people, like about my sister. Can't you tell me about your childhood?"

I sighed. There was really no way out of this.

But I wanted to punch myself in the mouth, because I'd suddenly turned into some girly, wimpy, distressingly non-snappy ghost of the proud asshole I was only a few months earlier.

Fucking boyfriend.

"Man, not all of us had such good memory," I grumbled.

He looked at me expectantly, which was really more a giant =D expression than anything else, and I glared at him.

"Huh...I had choreia when I was little, and Mom thought that fast dancing would help me out. So he put me in hip hop and jazz classes, and got me an Italian dance tutor to teach me the tarantella."

"You dance?"

"One of the best," I said proudly.

"Why aren't you on the dance team?"

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "Here? That's like telling a professional to take classes with five-year-olds. But whatever, I'm a wonderful dancer because Mom thought that would help. I guess it did, because the choreia went away, but I don't know if the dance lessons did that or if it was just something else."

Antonio was grinning again, and I scowled. "What, laughing at my misery?" I grumbled. He lifted my hand and kissed the back - I absently registered the coos of delight from two certain, beautiful girls across the cafeteria and lifted my other hand to flip off that general direction.

"You've got to dance for me sometime," he said happily. "Liz says that I'm a great guitar player, so I can play and you can dance!"

"Sure," I said smugly. What was wrong with showing off my amazing skill?

Then Antonio wanted to hear all these other stories about me - travels to other countries, dance recitals, school life, my first girlfriend - before he asked me about my mafia.

"Oh, I hated them," I said offhandedly. "It's not like I could quit, because I was practically their head, but I still didn't like it. I was always worried about what might happen to Mom if they got mad at me."

"You're strange," said Antonio and I hurled my Coke at his head. He caught it in such a way that the drink remained in the can, and he set it down in front of me. "No! I don't mean that in a rude way," he said with a sheepish grin. "It's just -"

"Just what?" I snapped, crossing my arms and refusing the pasta he tried to feed me.

"Most people I know would be worried for themselves over their family!" he grinned. "You're such a darling, Lovi~"

I sputtered. A darling? Me? What the fuck kind of idiot called a guy a darling? Before I could shoot back some badass reply, the bell rang, and Antonio leaned across the table to kiss my forehead.

"Aw, you look like a tomato, mi querido!"

I scowled deeper and stood. "Asshole."


I had one of the highest grades in bio because I'm brilliant like that. Antonio, for all his stupidity, was the top grade, and I wanted to headbutt him. I would have, if he'd not had skin of stone. So I settled for giving him the silent treatment and reveling in the the fact that I was the only person whose mind he couldn't read.

Heh.

By the end of class, Antonio looked close to tears. From one class of me ignoring him? Damn, I needed to do this for a week. The result would be freaking hilarious.

He drove me home, like he had for the past few days, and when we reached my place he pinned me against his car and practically ate my face off. I half-heartedly whacked my fists at his chest until he let go, probably realizing that I needed air. I guess a thousand and a half years of not breathing could mess with someone's brains, and it wasn't like Antonio had much of them to start with.

"I'll never get enough of that!" he practically squealed, hugging me in a way that would have hurt even if he were human.

Since he was a vampire, I choked and thought I heard a rib crack before he let go.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, kissing my nose.

I swatted him away and pulled my house key out. He reached a hand out and covered mine, eyes alight with some new idea that I was already fearing, and said, "Hey, I want to take you to meet my family."

I arched a brow. "Your violent, sparkly, bloodsucking family?"

"That's the one!"

So I thought, Why not? "...let me call Ludwig." Before I'd even finished, Antonio had whipped out his cell phone and dialed Ludwig's number, handing the already-calling phone to me and looking about to explode with gay happiness.

Ten minutes of speeding and winding driveways later, Antonio pulled the car up in front of a lovely house in the mountains. I don't think that it was in Forks, so to speak, because there were like five miles of fucking driveway into the mountains first. Weird.

But it was a really pretty house - big and open with lots of glass windows and a pale color scheme. I guess the lack of protection was because it'd probably be more than a little hard to either kill or sneak up on a vampire - if not impossible.

"Wow," I breathed; he grinned, wrapping an arm around my waist after he opened the car door for me. "It's pretty."

"Arthur and Francis designed it," he said, and I frowned.

"The doc doesn't come off as very artistic."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Antonio with another dazzling grin. "I think he's already got the plans for our wedding done."

I turned red. "Gay marriage is illegal."

He grinned. "There's always Vegas!" I scoffed and started walking towards the door.

Inside, I was immediately assaulted by the smell of Italian food, and I couldn't help but smile happily. I hadn't had proper Italian food since I came up here; Mom usually cooked the long recipes. Antonio frowned. "Oh, I told them not to do this..."

I could hear the kitchen television and the clinking of crockery and knives from the hall as Antonio led me to the kitchen entrance. It was a nice kitchen. There were huge windows all around the walls that showed the painfully green outdoors, and it smelled delicious; more interesting were the people in the kitchen - four painfully beautiful people of various ethnicities (if their features said anything). Two of them - the doctor and the albino - were sitting sullenly at the table, one flipping through a magazine and the other leaning his chair back and forth in boredom.

"Ah, mon chéri!" said one of them, a blonde with a strange beard that was more like blonde stubble, and wavy hair, who was wearing a blue shirt hanging half open to show off his ample chest hair. He turned to the other person in the kitchen section - the platinum-haired girl, who shrugged and strode over to grab the pan. That didn't seem good, and I tensed as Frenchie vanished and reappeared in my face. "You are just as cute as Antoine says!" He reached out and probably meant to grope me, but Antonio stuck a hand in the way and smiled at Frenchie, who backed off with a pout. Then he flipped his hair (and I swear sparkles flew out the at ends), and said, "Je m'appelle Francis. C'est bon de vous rencontrer."*

I twitched. "We're in America. Speak English, dammit." Yeah, sure, I could translate half of it because of the similarities to Italian, but still.

Frenchie frowned again, and the others in the room burst out laughing.

"Suck it, Francis!" said the albino, grinning at me. The doctor came off as a stuffy old man, because he immediately "composed" himself and acted as though he'd never found it funny. Francis sighed dramatically and slunk back to the stove, to take one of the pans that the blonde girl was minding.

Antonio had wrapped an arm around me again, and said, "Okay, this is Lovino!" I rolled my eyes. As if they all didn't know who I was.

The albino twisted in his chair and shot a two-finger salute at me. "I'm the totally awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, but you can just call me 'Your Awesomeness'," he declared with a smug grin. He was the only one in the room with red eyes, and his shirt was red enough to match. Eerie. I wondered why his eyes were such a vivid crimson when all the others had eyes of varying shades of gold.

"Don't get your hopes up," I said dryly, and Arthur snorted. Gilbert shot him a sour look.

"He'll survive if you call him Gil," supplied the girl at the stove as she carried a sizzling pan towards the table. Scraping what looked like fettuccine onto a waiting plate, she smiled at me and said, "I'm Nataliya, but Nat will do."

"Like a bug!" snickered Gilbert. Nat shot him a death glare and he added hastily, "But a really awesome bug!"

I'd kind of stopped breathing for a second, because she was so lovely - but in a strange way. Like, I felt as though I should sacrifice myself to protect her, even though she would no doubt survive anything thrown at her. "And by the way, you really do smell good," she said offhandedly, grinning at Antonio. "Like tomatoes and rain."

Francis laughed, some weird, vibrating sound that grated on my ears. "My, Nat, turning on your charm already?"

The girl had an expression that was probably either embarrassment or fury, but still managing to appear completely blank; I was sure that, if she could, she would have flushed in one of those two emotions. She settled for the prettiest scowl I'd ever seen, and throwing the now-empty frying pan at Francis (but in a sort of aloofness that looked as though she had simply chucked it over her shoulder and accidentally lobbed it at the Frenchman).

How violent.

Ignore the fact that I would do the same thing.

"But I smell more awesome, right, baby?" Gilbert asked hopefully from the table.

Nat stared at him blankly and turned back to her pan.

Gilbert slammed his fist on the table and dropped his head down in dejection.

"You know who I am, lad," said the doctor, not looking up from his magazine. I had the feeling that the prior event was very common in this dysfunctional household.

"We made Italiano for you," said Francis with a smile. "I hope you're hungry."

"I'm sorry, but I already ate," I said with an apologetic smile before scowling at the man next to me. "Antonio here told me you guys didn't eat, so I ate in the car."

Nat had just handed Gilbert a glass bowl, and the albino frowned and gripped the bowl so tightly it shattered. "Oops," he said, though he didn't look at the mess. Nat whacked him upside the head, and I winced at the dull thud that echoed in the room.

"Don't be a prick, Gil," said Arthur. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"What? We spend all this time cooking and it turns out the guy's already -"

"Hey, hey," I intervened, sneering and crossing my arms. "Blame this idiot, not me."

Antonio beamed happily. "It's not like you had anything else to do," he laughed.

"It's not like you even cooked," corrected Nat, sighing and kneeling to scoop up the shards of glass still at Gilbert's feet. "You're just as bad as Arthur, I swear." Gilbert smirked and she punched his leg hard enough for me to hear a crack.

Damn, they really were violent.

Gilbert was pouting as he clutched his injured leg. "We could have fit in a quickie or two."

I mimed gagging. "Totally did not need that mental image." I then looked around, and wondered aloud, "Don't you have two other sparkle-pires hanging around here somewhere?"

The albino cackled at the word. Arthur looked a bit mortified, but didn't say anything in favor of glancing towards the window.

As if on cue, there was a slight snapping outside and I glanced at one of the windows to see two slim, high-heeled feet stepping lightly on the tree branch right next to the glass. I felt my stomach drop as Liz leaned down to slip right through the open window, landing gracefully on the tile floor and bounding towards me for a hug. I tensed; would she try to kill me again?

She didn't, thankfully, settling instead to just wrap her arms around me tightly and squeeze once before letting go.

Damn. Even her boobs were hard. How'd I not noticed before?

"It's nice to see you again!" she said cheerfully. "And don't let Gil bully you. He's just bitching because Nat's banished him to the sofa." The light-haired girl across the kitchen grinned and shared a knowing look with Liz. "But that's Gil's fault for not meeting the quota, so..."

"Please refrain from bringing that up in public, Liz," Arthur said with a grimace.

"Yes, please do," sniffed a new voice, soft and rather prissy sounding; another man in dark slacks and a grey sweater had entered the room the same way Liz had, and now stood next to the brown-haired girl. Oh, hey, it was Constipated. Remember him?

"You're such a girl, Roddy," snickered Gilbert rudely. The brunet scoffed and pushed his glasses back up his nose, glancing at me.

"He smells good, doesn't he?" Liz jabbed him in the gut. "And isn't he cute?"

Antonio frowned. "Please don't think like that, Liz." The girl in question giggled sheepishly.

"Oh, this is Roderich," She added. "We all call him Roddy though."

"As long as you guys don't call me Lovi," I bit out.

"Yeah, because that's my nickname for him!"

"Exac - what? No!" Everyone else in the kitchen snickered.

"Well, we're going to go now!" chirped Antonio, wrapping cold arms loosely around my neck and resting his head on my shoulder. Liz squealed and in some creepy twist of fate, Nat did as well. Somehow, the two girls had moved right next to each other in the second it took Antonio to move, and had their hands clasped as they jumped in joy. Liz made a sort of pleading sound at Antonio, who laughed huskily and pressed a kiss to the side of my throat. The two girls squealed again, while I batted the fiend off, blushing (and scowling at Antonio's trademark, "You look like a TOMATO!1!one! -squeal-")

Faghags. A sense of their "quota" - which involved at least the straight couples, if the others' grimaces and/or apologetic looks were anything to go by - made itself known in my mind, and I shuddered in fear.

Before I could worry any more, Antonio had taken my hand and dragged me away.

On one of the walls of the halls was this giant...picture frame, I think it was, except that it was filled with row upon row of graduation hats, organized by scaling colors from bright red to deep violet. I stared in open shock.

"Wow."

Antonio laughed. "We've graduated hundreds of times, from colleges and high schools and even universities along the way."

"That's horrible," I grimaced. "Going through high school and college so many times?" I frowned. "How do people even believe that you're in high school?"

"Most of the time, people are too dazzled to notice that I look like I'm in my twenties!"

That was...kind of creepy.

"You're even more of a pedophile now." Wait...I scowled again in realization. "You're technically dead, right?"

"Yep!" He had a humorous grin on his face, as though he'd already considered what I was going to say. "That makes me a pedophile and you a necrophiliac!"

"...well, to each their own, I guess."

Antonio's room was large and furnished with only a long, bright red sofa that had tomato pillows and a tall black cabinet whose racks were stuffed with CDs. There was a collection of guitars in cases over by the far wall, and I couldn't hold back the smile upon realizing that it wasn't just red polka dot print on the walls, but tomatoes of various shapes and sizes scattered all over.

The brunet had flitted to the guitars, and selected a deep brown acoustic, dropping onto the sofa and tuning it quickly. Then he looked up at me expectantly.

I stared at him and made a rolling gesture with my hands, telling him to explain.

He responding by strumming a few notes for the tarantella. I grinned and picked up the tambourine on his table.

I'm good at most types of dance, but tarantella is my specialty. A few minutes later, Antonio stopped playing and clapped wildly.

I scowled. "Bah, you've been alive so long that I bet you could do it better than me."

He shrugged, but stood and put a CD into the stereo before turning back and extending a hand to me. I stared at it dubiously, especially as tango music - tango music, dammit! - began playing.

"Fuck, man! You're the cheesiest person I've ever dated."

Antonio brightened. "We're dating?"

Oh, fuck it.

I shrugged and took the hand still hovering in the air.


A/N: YAY SPAMANO FLUFFFFFFFF :DDDDDD

Okay, this was basically just a filler, but...well, it was a fast update, right? I had it done the evening of ch6's upload, but then I wanted to quadruple-check it because last time, I didn't get to have it beta-read and one of the scenes was originally written for Romano's bedroom, but I shifted it to the clearing - a big thanks to Lumoa, for pointing that out! Then I got the req for the omake, and this got a bit more put off, but still. /shot

This chapter question is - guess the quota. You don't have to get it all, but I'm asking you who the characters involved are and what the quota itself is, not the number of whatever needed to fill it. Also! You guys, thank you so much :'D I get to give out the 200th reviewer prizefic, now. As for the other prizes! I've got two of those fics done, I'm hoping to upload them all quickly after I finish Flashlight - unless you'd prefer them later this week?

THANK YOU SO MUCH, LILY 333

AND NAO, THE IMPORTANT THINGY.

I've got FOUR in-plot chapters left for this story, and it's all planned out. So I've got to ask you - should I make a sequel? A sequel would be like a Romano-ized version of New Moon, with some cracky title I'll spend a while on, and will be up maybe two or three weeks after I post the last chapter of this fic.

So basically? If I make a sequel, I'll end up Hetalia-fying the entire Twilight series. I've got lots of faithful followers, all of whom I love so much and would hug if I could; if I did the next three books, would you read them?

I'll put the poll up on my profile page. If you guys could vote, I would love you forever because I need to read through New Moon again and make my notes and plan out a sequel before school gets too intense.

Okay, that's it. Thank you so much for reading!

Notes:

*French - My name is Francis. It's great to finally meet you!