France and Germany were preparing their wedding~! It would have decorations like streamers and fairy lights ad pinwheels and pinatas and pincushions and with goodies like sugar cubes and sugar canes and sundaes and sunbeams and sarsaparilla~!
'NO,' Germany said, setting fire to France's list of wedding things. 'I DO NOT WANT OUR WEDDING TO BE DUMM UND SCHLECHT.'
'But GERMANY!' France whined. 'I WANT THESE THINGS HON HON!' He put on his best cute uke face and looked at Germany with sparkling eyes (that were probably the result of some STD or something. IT'S FRANCE, OKAY?).
How could Germany say no to that face? HOW?
Germany stared blankly at him. 'NO.'
'PWEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSSE?'
Deutschland sighed. 'Okay, but only because you're SO SÜSS!' And he began a tickle fight with France.
Just then, Italy walked in. Everyone immediately STOPPED. 'Oh, um, France. I-I didn't know you would be here with... Germany...'
'Italy, I-' Germany began.
'No,' Italy interrupted. 'I understand.' He left, crying little pasta bits.
'Italy, what is wrong, kolkol?' Russia asked.
Itaria sniffled. 'I s-saw Germany w-with FRANCE!' His tears were now a river of pasta.
'There there,' Russia said. 'Germany isn't worth it if he doesn't see how precious you are, da?'
Italy smiled. 'R-Really?'
Russia smiled, and it, for some reason, was not all creepy and shit. 'Really.'
And they fucked. The end.