Hello!
It's story time!
I'm sorry to say any headcanons submitted will be ignored. What can I say? I have two pages of reviews waiting for me.
Hetalia isn't mine, but that ball I found on the roof is.
All right, Guest, here it is:
Everytime it rains in England, Arthur is crying.
It's hard.
Being resented by most of the world, yes, it's hard!
Keeping the emotions in, so they don't think I'm weak, that's literally the only defense I have left. No longer an empire am I, but instead, a tiny island nation- wait, not even that- a tiny little nation living in a house with three resentful older brothers.
And when Scotland tried to leave, I knew what would happen, that it was probably better for him to stay and yet- I wanted him to go, because he is stronger physically than I am.
My defense is gone, with him.
Not a lot of people have forgiven me. Colonies and those I warred against alike.
America has forgiven me, but I haven't forgiven him, or at least I can't stand the images that flash in my eyes- my younger brother, the one I raised and tried to take care of, deciding I was horrible and he'd be best on his own and suddenly I'm not a powerful empire anymore: I got beaten by my little brother, a group of men in ragged clothes and no shoes.
And the rain comes down, and they complain about the weather, and joke about how England is dreary all the time but I don't shed a tear, but it's because they can't see the rain for what it is. My tears don't fall down my face and on my clothes, but instead splashing on the English pavement and umbrellas and raincoats and closed-door shops spattered in the towns-
I'm crying and they can't see, but it's better this way, because I'll fall before their resentment if they know I'm weak.
The End.
Sorry, it was really sad! I don't like writing sad things but it had to be that way.
I hope you liked it, Guest!
~EverythingMath