Does anyone actually read Nyotalia?
Alice and Marie sat curled up on the couch together, France nuzzled her wife affectionately. The room lit in lowlight amongst darkness, the illumination of the television one of the few sources in the room. A quiet peaceful night in their shared home in England, their secondary home next to Marie's bougier flat in Paris. Enjoying the embrace and comfort of one another's company, the small moments of tenderness that meant the most. The warm glow of the fire, wrapped with blankets and cushions, mugs of hot tea beside them. A series of late night ghost stories were showing on the television, a personal favourite of Alice. Though Alice had grown up with many traditions, including magic, myths, war and a colourful history. She had always had a love of traditional, creepy stories about ghosts and the supernatural. Compared to the overdramatised chaotic and often predictability of America's media towards ghosts, it was far more frightening and even France could agree. The eeriness, the suspense, the psychological aspect and the tales of ghosts. All based in history and other forms.
A bowl of popcorn sat between them, warmed in the microwave and greedily consumed, the two of them munching away on snacks absentmindedly. Their eyes glued to the screen before them, hanging on the edge of their seats with every passing second. Date nights were hard to come across due to their responsibilities as nations and the current political climate.
Alice was the most relaxed of the two of them, a small smile on her face, her knees curled up comfortably, while she rested her hand against her face, against the arm of the sofa. Having changed from her work uniform to a comfortable hoodie, Tee shirt and jeans. She had released her blonde hair from its bunches, allowing them to be relaxed and fall down her back. The ache of having it bound up all day, the heaviness of it. She felt as though she could fall asleep on the couch without a care in the world. Her siblings being Scotland, Ireland, and Wales meant she was raised on such traditions, often learning about them when she was small. As a small girl she had sat on their laps while they told her stories of mystical creatures, great history and the dangers of magical beings that may trick her. More than once Scotland had warded off fae using iron, making sure her baby sister wasn't kidnapped.
Marie sat opposite her wife, her caramel blonde curls fell about her face, her knees curled up under her chin as she hugged herself for comfort, gripping a pillow to hide behind. Compared to the contentment of her wife, she was very on edge and very jumpy, her violet blue eyes glued to the screen before her. She could never understand how unfazed Alice was with horror content, how much it took to scare her. Wearing a cozy jumper and jeans, trying to hide the fact that she was terrified. She was used to being the brave older sister figure that people looked up to, she felt so pathetic at letting a film scare her so much.
England peered over at her wife, her green eyes gleaming with silent mischief, smirking with amusement. Marie was trembling, hiding behind a pillow like a shield, like a small child hiding under the blankets from monsters. It was like looking in a mirror, it was clear America inherited her cowardice from France, both of them were easily nervous. Neither could hide their fear of horror films, acting all brave and heroic until it came to the actual films. It was rather adorable. "Do you want me to turn the film off luv?" she asked. If France wasn't enjoying herself, she would happily turn it off in favour of something else, there was an abundance of other media to choose from. She knew Marie was a romantic at heart, she could happily change it to a romantic film instead.
France glared at her wife accusingly, scoffing at her statement, she hated how perceptive her wife could be. That knowing look on her face, that smirk that looked like a cat who got the cream. She refused to back down and admit that she was scared shitless, she would be checking the shadows tonight. Growing up she was the one who took care of Alice when she was a crybaby, now she was the one acting like an adult. "I'm not a baby Angleterre, I can handle a scary ghost story" she snapped. She didn't know how England of all people was so calm and unfazed by the premise of being haunted by the dead.
Alice gave her a knowing look, leaning against her hand, Marie couldn't hide her embarrassment at being called out. Whenever she was caught out she would get sulky and stubborn, looking for any excuse as to not be confronted. But then Marie was known for occasionally being a brat, but being the perverted ambassador, England had no issue with that. "You look like America right now" she teased. Even Maddie was better at handling horror movies, the Canadian loved them.
France scoffed, bitterness filling her, she couldn't think of any protest to give, she felt herself shrinking under the gaze of England. Like she was expecting her to cave and admit to her lies. She knew Alice was loving this, teasing her for all it was worth, but then she preferred that when it came to bedroom affairs. She would never live this down and she knew Alice would never let her forget this, teasing her for all it was worth. She would retell this story in front of their friends and allies, making sure everyone knew she was a coward. The moment she was too scared to handle ghost stories. There were times France was frustrated at the moments of maturity her wife showed, despite their age difference. Due to her experience with her "Magical friends", Alice had been exposed to so much. Very few things scared her anymore, developing a hardened shell.
Alice sighed, shifting her position to lean against the arm of the couch with her back, she knew that this would just lead to France sulking all night. The last thing she wanted was to go to bed angry, or have an argument which could be avoided. She just couldn't help herself sometimes. Opening her arms with an amused expression, silently communicating with her wife. She knew France was too stubborn to admit that she was scared shitless, that her skin was crawling and she was on the verge of crying. She wanted to act like an adult, she wanted to act like the grown up, she always had to be the responsible one.
Marie stared back at her in confusion, what was her wife up to? Was she annoyed? Did she want to talk about it? Was she expecting her to cry or hide under the blankets?
Alice reached out, gripping Marie's arm to pull her close, knowing she would only hesitate or she would sit there blank faced. Though she loved her wife she had moments of being utterly oblivious. Pressing Marie to her chest, wrapping her arms around her protectively, her head resting against Alice's chest, so Marie could hear her heartbeat. This way she wouldn't have to feel alone, she didn't have to curl up on the other side pretending to be brave. She could feel braver knowing she had someone to cuddle. "Here, you feel better now right? So stop crying" Alice grumbled, it reminded her of when America was small and had bad dreams. She would follow her around like a duckling, sulking that she wasn't scared. Until Alice told her bedtime stories, made her hot chocolate and helped soothe away her fears. Marie should just be honest and tell her, she would never know unless she communicated.
Marie's eyes welled up with tears, her eyes becoming glassy, lunging at Alice like a bullet, wrapping her arms around Alice and burying against her. Clinging to her like a scared child, instantly forgetting she was ever mad. She didn't care that she was being a crybaby or that she was soaking her wife's shirt, she just wanted some comfort. "Angleterre" she sobbed, she didn't tease her for being afraid, instead she comforted her.
Alice nearly slipped off the couch with the strength of Marie, the latter often forgetting that, they both could have been hurt. Marie still had such immature tendencies, acting as if they were both still children, balancing herself as she huffed. However, she restrained her annoyance knowing her wife was already distressed as it was "You aren't a bloody child! Stop acting like America" she groaned. She felt like she was babysitting her wife, always keeping her out of trouble and reminding her of when she was being childish. Marie batted her violet eyes at her, nuzzling her tearfully, silently apologising. Alice sighed, patting her head wearily, comforting her wife, god she was adorable simetimes.