It’s not a huge secret that South Korea loves flowers. It’s one of the things he’s extremely knowledgable about. He can name every flower and plant in China’s garden which is no small feat considering the vastness of it (over 200 plants). However, the only people who know that South Korea has a garden are China and Canada.
South Korea will often sneak away at night and disappear for hours. No one ever finds him and not many people really go looking either, however one night China did go looking. He found him tending to a garden he built himself. It wasn’t as big as his own garden, but it was rather large and had a colorful assortment of flowers. China would compare the garden to Hong Kong’s butterfly collection…in meticulousness, not creepiness. Despite everyone knowing of South Korea’s love of flowers he still and always will keep his garden a secret. He has no desire to show off or brag about his flowers. He just enjoys their beauty and only shares that beauty with a select few.
As much as South Korea loves flowers he doesn’t often give them as presents. He reserves them for the people he cares about the most. If he notices the flowers he gave (or any flowers that might be in someone else’s home) aren’t being taken care of properly he’ll start crying and do whatever he can to help them. If they’re already dead then he may even start to try and resuscitate them (which has yet to work).
He doesn’t think one flower is better than another, however he can’t help but feel a strong attachment to Snapdragons. He loves their colors and how they look like actual dragons. He once mentioned to Canada how he loves Snapdragons and ever since then he would find Snapdragons on his pillow a few times a month. Though he appears to not know that it’s Canada leaving him the flowers, he tends to give Canada lilacs anytime he receives the anonymous Snapdragons.
30 DAY LETTERS CHALLENGE [MOBIVERSE STYLE]
Day Three: To Atlantis’ Parents Mentor
There are certain things I will never be sorry for.
You have raised me since I was an islet, barely old enough to walk on my own and always tripping over the grass. I was lost. I needed direction. And you gave that to me. I know that it must have been difficult for you. You needed to leave Avalon for months, even years at a time to watch over me. You imparted your knowledge of the world to me and taught me things I would never have been able to learn on my own. I never had that drive, Mentor, but you did. You and everyone else. Aside from Ciro, that is. I would never have learned my way without you.
I’m not sorry for pursuing what I did, either. I did love magic. I loved the way it made me feel. I loved the way that you could wrap the soul of the world up in your hand and release it in a completely different form. I loved the way it made you look; regal and godlike and every bit as amazing as I had ever pictured you to be. But you know, Mentor, I had a few tricks up my sleeve, as well. I learned from my people and I know you disapproved, but the things that we created — that El Dorado and I dreamed of — were magical in their own right. They were created by and for the people, and look — even now, the humans cannot match our superior intellect or our cutting-edge designs. They were such simplistic machines, but even so; would you not be proud of something that no one else has been able to replicate after two thousand years?
Nor am I sorry for annoying you or embarrassing you in public while we were together romantically. Regardless of our situation or statuses as Nations, I loved you, Avalon. I loved you so much and I wanted the world to know it. I realize that this mentality caused its fair share of arguments, but I have never (And probably will never) come to regret it. Never. Do you understand?
But I am sorry for leaving.
I’m sorry that I failed to take your words to heart, that I was unable to build the rapport with my people as you had with your kind. Oh, yes, they did adore me, and yes, they did love their country. But they did not care for me as Avalon cares for you. In these terms, you and I are a study in contrasts. It is no one’s fault but my own that I was completely and utterly decimated. I should have listened to you. I should have been more strict. Paid more attention. Paid myself more respect.
I’m sorry for breaking your heart so completely. I put those ideas of marriage and togetherness and forever in your head; you would never have thought of them otherwise, I know, for you have always been more sensible than I. If I had never said anything, perhaps you would have been spared such heartbreak. Perhaps I would not have to watch you shudder and convulse and lock yourself away from the world. Perhaps you would be the man you used to be if we had never cast that spell.
Above all, though, Mentor, I am sorry that history seems to be repeating itself.
I will try to steer him in the proper direction. I will try to guide him. I will try to assist him in finding solace in humility. I will try for you, Mentor, because I see in your eyes the worry and the fear that — just like Atlantis — America will collapse under the weight of his own power. You were never an empire, Avalon, but England was. England was, and I know that you have felt his pain a thousandfold. Because you both know how it feels to fall to your knees.
Please do not concern yourself with our welfare. America is young, but he has an old soul. He has experience that he has yet to realize; it’s all in his head, if he would simply slow down and take the time to look. Then, Mentor, then I will make you proud. I will not have America be swept away by pride and power and avarice. Not this time, Avalon.
I’ll stay with you this time.
——-
England set down the letter and laughed, green eyes lifting to look his lover in the eye.
“You aren’t honestly worried about this, are you?” The older Nation reached up to cup America’s cheek and stroke it in comfort. ”The story of Atlantis is just that — an old story. Ask Greece; he’ll tell you all about it.”
“But come on, Art. I mean look. Where would I even obtain the knowledge to write about Atlantis like this?” America quirked a brow down at him and scrunched the paper in his hand. This letter-writing business had been getting too out of hand. England would catch him scribbling on errant pieces of paper, his hand tearing across the surface as if possessed. When he wrote, he always felt as if he needed to get something deep, something heavy, something world-shattering off of his chest. Lately, it very nearly felt as if the world was collapsing in on his shoulders. ”I don’t even know the whole story. I mean it sank, right? That’s all I know. I don’t know shit about how their technology worked or… Or its relationship to… I don’t even know, England. I thought you said Avalon was just a story too, but…”
“It is.” England insisted, though he immediately grabbed his cup of tea and downed it all in two swallows. America recognized that tic as ‘There’s-Something-I’m-Not-Ready-to-Tell-You’, but let matters lie. Right now, anything was a comfort. ”It is, America, and you would do well to remember it. Maybe you should stop watching so many animated movies before bedtime.”
“This wasn’t because I watched Atlantis: The Lost Empire last night!” Protested the younger, his arms raised high in exasperation. ”Come on England, the Wall is overflowing with these by now. There’s something up and I want to study it. Just let me grab a team; maybe even just Japan and Canada and we’ll figure this all out — “
“America.” England reached up once again, this time laying two fingers upon the taller man’s lips. ”No. This is not something I want to bring up with the others, especially not with the world in the state it’s in. We don’t want to worry them with silly things like make-believe stories and… And letters of… I don’t know what these are. But darling,” A slight bounce; he lifted, and their lips met in a soft, loving kiss. ”I don’t think that we need to concern ourselves with it right now, all right? Just put it up and meet me downstairs. We’ll have takeout tonight.”
Alfred watched his husband go and bit the inside of his cheek. He was right, of course. Logically there was no reason to raise his hackles at what was essentially a bunch of roleplay. But… Something felt off about it. It felt as though they were brushing off something important. Something absolutely momentous.
He turned and approached the Wall.
It had started out as a bulletin board. They had each written a letter and had tacked it up alongside their work memos and silly notes and grocery lists. Neither of them had thought too much of it then, had in fact read over each other’s work and had a good laugh over it. But now… Now it took up their entire left wall. There was barely a space that wasn’t covered by a hastily scrawled letter.
America took them all in and tacked up his letter next to one that England had written — one concerning the legendary Phoenix. Then he turned away and walked down the stairs, toward his kitchen.
He didn’t want to live his life wondering about the past. Not when he had a loving husband, a good life and a proud country to look after. Not when he had such a bright, promising future.
——-
Written for “The Mobius Chronicles: Death”
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8044242/1/The_Mobius_Chronicles_Death
Mobiverse letter challenge: Day 8 - El Dorado’s favorite…internet…friend? (To make this work I changed it to his favorite of Spain’s friends…actually…his least favorite really….)
I tried to like you. I really did. I tried so hard you would not even believe it! I was forcing myself to enjoy your company and it plain just wasn’t working. I’m sorry. I did my best, but the fact of the matter is I find you annoying, intolerable, egotistical, obnoxious, loud, disturbing, destructive-
Stop right now! Do not speak of him that way!Oh…it seems like my host doesn’t enjoy me speaking ill of you. Well, he probably just doesn’t want to admit that I’m right. You are a complete idiot that just goes around shouting “I’M AWESOME! NO ONE CAN BEAT ME! I’M SO AWESOME!” Whoever invented that word needs to die….
He has a right to brag! He is-Oh no, no, no! My other self is trying to defend you, but it simply can’t work. Okay fine! I actually liked your history, Prussia. I found it most interesting! Okay? There, I said it! However…it still doesn’t change the fact that your personality disgusts me. You have no right to brag about anything. And the fact of the matter is, Prussia…you are no longer a-
Don’t say it! Stop it!That is so amusing. My host here doesn’t want to admit how pathetic you really are.
No. Stop. Prussia is just as awesome as he was back then! He is amazing and a great friend to France and me!You are weak, Prussia. You were worthless to the point they abolished you as a nation and you were absorbed by your brother. You are not “awesome” as they say nowadays. In all technicalities…you are dead.
NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! How dare you say that! How dare you! Leave him alone!Shut up! Prussia is a stupid, destructive idiot!
Actually…in all honesty he reminds me of Atlantis in some ways. They are both loud. They’re both prideful, almost to the point of arrogance. They both get excited easily. Yes, there are indeed a few qualities in him that I also see in Atlantis. However, the differences between the two are substantial. For one, Atlantis was actually smart and never sat on his ass all day drinking beer.
You don’t give him enough credit! He is loud and a bit arrogant, but he is a wonderful friend. He listens to me and gives me advice when I need it! He-Oh, Atlantis was a great listener. It’s one of the reasons we worked so well together. He too gave me advice if I ever came asking for it. Ideas would bounce between us like rubber and we could create the most spectacular things. Prussia…he’s really just an idiot. I could never rely on him for anything.
Shut up! Shut up now! Shut up!I actually feel bad even comparing the two. Comparing Prussia to Atlantis is like…comparing dirt to gold. One far outdoes the other to the point that it’s simply unfair to put them in the same category. All I really wanted to do was write about how annoying Prussia is, but along comes Spain, getting all defensive and sensitive.
I stand up for my friends! You are the one who is obnoxious and arrogant! You wouldn’t know what a good friend was even if you did have a heart! I despise you! Don’t you ever insult my friends again!I’ll insult Prussia, France, Romano…anyone I want to. However, you shouldn’t say such horrible things about me either. After all, I think you’re starting to become aware of the fact that I am you and there’s nothing you can do to change-
Spain threw his pen to the wall, not realizing he almost hit Romano in the process.
“What is your problem? What the hell was that about?”
“I…I’m sorry, Romano. I just…I….”
Romano stared intently at Spain. Something was wrong. He wasn’t his normal happy, stupid self. In fact Romano knew him well enough to know that even when he did seem fine, he really wasn’t. He could tell there was something bothering him, pecking at him in the back of his mind.
And these letters seemed to be part of the problem.
Romano shook his head and roughly snatched away Spain’s letter. He expected the other to put up a bit of a fight, but Spain didn’t even so much as move. He just glanced at Romano, a sad and worrisome look, before casting his eyes away again.
Was there something shameful in the letter? Something Spain didn’t want Romano to see, but knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it forever? The only way to find out was to read.
The already confused Romano only became even more confused as he read the letter. Spain was…fighting with himself? As if he was two people? It didn’t make any sense. And even so…why would a part of him hate Prussia? They were best friends. So many questions were running through Romano’s mind.
“Spain….”
A small tear slid down Spain’s face and he shook his head slowly, still refusing to look anywhere but the ground. He tried speaking but only stutters and short words would come out of his mouth.
“Come on.”
Finally, Spain looked up only to see Romano standing over him, his hand outstretched. Romano had put the letter in his pocket and was impatiently waiting for Spain to grab his hand and stand with him. He had to help the other man steady himself, but when they were situated he slowly led him away, making sure not to let him go even for a second.
“Let’s visit the church.”
30 DAY LETTERS CHALLENGE [MOBIVERSE STYLE]
Day Nineteen: To Someone that Pesters Shambhala’s Mind
You’ve gone and died and now look how you’ve left us. Broken. A sham. Heedless of the world around us. We are a shell of the man that I once was, and we (Rather, I) place the blame solely on your shoulders.
And now you won’t leave us alone.
I made myself forget for a reason, my love. It was painful. That day was painful. That week was painful. I spent decades just trying to forget the way that I found you, my proud, resilient, glamorous Ker-Ys lying dead and gone on a beach. No proper burial, no sendoff… No one to tell you goodbye or to see you on until the next life. No one but decapitated corpses.
I tried, though, Ys, to give you what you deserved. I always tried for you.
I know it didn’t seem like it. You thought I never spared a second for you, didn’t you? But that isn’t true, Dieudonne. Since you came to me seeking trade I… I have to admit that you have always been in the back of my mind. I don’t think I will ever pinpoint exactly what was so captivating about you; I tried to think of you as any other Westerner. Brash. Idiotic. Greedy. And it was easy, for the most part. You had no interest in me besides what I could offer you, and I could live with that, for a while.
But then you began to come see me in earnest, and I… What can I say? You were charming. You were patient. You genuinely loved spending time with me.
(So, in essence, you wouldn’t leave me alone until I accepted you into my life.)
And we did have some good times together, didn’t we? Do you remember when I taught you how to work glass, and when we brought some of my art to show your people? They absolutely loved it. I remember being shocked that Westerners had so readily accepted my products and designs, so surprised that they could appreciate the subtle nuances that separated them as art from ordinary knick knacks. Ys, yes, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you inspired me to go that extra mile. You are the reason that your people were so impressed with the things that I showed them, because the things that I showed them, I’d made for you.
I wanted you to see me as someone higher than myself. And I like to think (At least for a while) that I succeeded. You were so taken with me. Besotted, even; you began courting ladies less and less, spending less time with other people and more time trying to get me to come to bed with you. You devoted your life to trying to make me see that you loved me. By the time I realized that, however, it was far too late.
For that, I am sorry.
I’m a proud, stubborn man, but during those months of oblivion I would have given anything to hear your voice. To hear you ask that one, constant question: Do you love me? Do you care? Do you want me? You were always at the back of my mind. Questioning. Wondering. Learning. And though I would never answer, I knew that one day you’d find out for yourself. I was right.
Look at them, Ys. Can you see it? Can you see us? We — China and I — we’re two halves of the same coin. This I know to be true, but there have been some key differences in our personalities. His ability, as you might have noticed, to block out relationships and seal away the heartache as if it was nothing but an errant fly, an annoyance to be taken care of. I had that, once. You destroyed it, and I worry for China if he cannot learn to control his emotions, to let the flow be stemmed by a dam and allow a measure of love and trust seep past those cracked cement walls. If he does not, I fear not only for him, but for you as well. I can survive without love, ‘Donne, but you? You would last not five minutes. And I fear that my new “host” is fast approaching the same conclusions. After all, look at the way he acts around France.
It’s as plain as day. His breathing shortens. His heartbeat quickens. His thoughts slow and his eyes follow him. They follow you everywhere. We are old, Ys, but we are not so old that we cannot still recognize our soulmate.
And France plays his role so well. Pester, pester, pester. Ah, it is a beautiful evening, is it not, mon cher, to make love together under the stars? Come now, I know that you love me; it is written all over your face. Admit it, mon tresor. You cannot live without me. Give in to your carnal emotions.
We cannot live without you. In fact, Ys, I heartily believe that we don’t want to. Not anymore. Not when you are here. Not when your hard work has finally come to fruition.
Not when we have another chance.
So come, my love. Claim your prize. Take us. Make us yours, and make sure we never, ever leave.
Make sure that we don’t live without you. Because I only have one more life left to give.
——-
China’s quill tickled gently against his skin as he moved to set it down, stretching out upon his bed now that there was no need to use his knees as a desk. In his mouth steamed a pipe, adding to the smoky sheen of the room as the incense burned low in the candlelight. He tucked his robe around him more tightly and ran his fingers over the page in delicate, nonsensical patterns, studying his journal.
This was not the first letter he’d written.
What he was doing, he was sure America would call up a medical team for. Referring to himself in third person. Referring to himself as ‘we’. As if there was someone else there. Someone who, if the writing was to be understood correctly, had even been there before him. But the old Nation had long since chalked it up to a strange outlet that he’d developed while raising five or six very rowdy, very difficult subordinates. If there was one thing true about the letter at all, it was that he was (Or was getting) very old.
He blushed at the implications. That he and France… He and France had been, were… Could possibly…
The door creaked.
China glanced up slowly, through the lengths of his dark lashes as the breathing near the door stopped to a dead halt. He could recognize a Westerner simply from that breathing pattern. The heavy hhh-ahh, hhh-ahh that sucked in through their mouths, past their lips and down to their lungs for the proverbial manna in the desert. Conversely, he was very quiet, and his chest just barely rose, barely fell as he watched France’s eyes widen and his Adam’s Apple bob.
“France.” he greeted, crossing one leg over the other and dragging the silk across the bed with it. France’s eyes followed the movement with upstanding attention, the only part of him that didn’t seem completely dazed and confused. China offered him a slight curl of the lip in amusement. ”Are you alright?”
“I-I-I just… I came to visit you.” France stuttered. An oddity — he was normally so calm in these situations. After all, he was the country of love; he had practically invented the idea of candle lit sensuality. ”I came to visit and the… Ah.” He gulped again. China pulled from his pipe. ”The smoke, it was… V-Very hot.”
“Mhm. Hot.”
“Y-Yes. Hot.” But his eyes were not focused on the smoke. They were not unclear, or teary, or remotely bothered at all. Their gazes bore into each other until France and his blue, blue eyes dared to swing low, shining like diamonds, where China’s fingers were deftly toying with a small ribbon sewn into the pages. ”It is… Quite hot in here. Do you not think so? I am. I’m hot.”
“I can blow out the candles.”
“…No.” Whispered the Frenchman, who somehow found it in him to reach and shut the door. China near-believed he wanted to trap the smoke inside the room. Keep the heady incense. Keep the blinding smoke. Keep the atmosphere. ”That… That is not what I want, right now.”
“Mmm.” China and his dark eyes narrowed even further, if it was at all possible. He slipped his journal closed and set it aside, the pipe slipping slowly from his lips to rest upon the sparsely populated nightstand. But France was done with distractions now; his body was tense and his eyes were alight, fierce with a passion that China had yet to catalogue, but recalled still from the old days of yore. He reached and crooked a finger out to his Frenchman, watching as he moved closer, closer, closer, and his heart beat faster, faster, faster. What was it that his letter had said?
“So,” the man intoned as the taller blonde finally joined him on the bed. Their fingers entwined together as their eyes met once more and every second France leaned closer caused his chest to constrict and pull in short, silent almost-breaths. ”What is it that you want?”
Typical France, thought China as their lips met in soft, sensual kisses. A man of language when the world relied on guns and a man of action when there was always something more to say. His lover’s hands were at his throat, in his hair, down his sides, bunched in his robe, and time passed slow, slow, slow, until China could calculate every little gesture and every little movement that the two of them made together. France and his tiny excited breaths brushed against his eyelashes as he pressed a kiss to his forehead, down his jawline and back down to his lips again, every little centimeter matched equally by the growing expanse of bare skin that the man’s hands exposed to the smoky room.
“There is something that I want from you.” whispered the Asian, low and sultry in his ear. Francis reached to brush China’s raven-locked hair behind his ear and tilted his head in query, but China wrapped his arms around France’s neck and brought him down upon him. Body to body and soul to soul.
“Take me,” he whispered, and this time — when he met France’s blue-as-diamond eyes — they blazed with the fury of a raging sea storm, crashing against China’s raw and heated gaze. He could see it now, yes. The beat, the sound, the feel of his soulmate. ”and make it so I never have to live without you again.”
——-
Written for “The Mobius Chronicles: Death”
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8044242/1/The_Mobius_Chronicles_Death
——-
Jesus Christ I didn’t know it would be this long. I’m sorry Mary LOL I just thought it was appropriate to put this scene here.
Since France was young he always had a fear of water. He hates large bodies of water and even small lakes and ponds. They disturb him to the point he can barely stand near them without starting to feel sick and shake with fear.
He never directly admitted to anyone except China that he was scared of water. At first China wasn’t too concerned about it. It wasn’t an uncommon fear and he didn’t consider it a huge deal, so they quickly dropped the topic. It was only one day when France, China and South Korea were spending time next to China’s fish pond did he realize the extent of France’s fear. China noticed France seemed a little unnerved already, but when South Korea playfully pushed France into the pond was when all hell broke loose.
France screamed hysterically, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms about. He clawed at the water, too frightened to look for the edge to climb out. China nearly panicked himself with how France was acting, but he quickly recovered and pulled him out of the water. He forced him to stand so he could get him away from the water, but afterwards they sat in his room, China cradling him until he calmed down.
From that day forward China decided to do everything in his power to keep France away from water. He promised to protect him from it and never let it hurt him. He swore to France that no matter what he would never let him drown.
China and France have very different opinions on how to take care of their wedding rings. China never seems to clean his; he dislikes the smell of the oils and the way it feels on his finger — as if someone had tried to take it away from him. He keeps his ring on his finger at all times, never taking it out and allowing the ring to fade and warp as time takes her course His ring is now a glazed-over silver with burnished rose gold highlights. Though, Yao does tend to toy with the gems using his sleeves, so the sapphire-diamond-ruby set into the ring shine like they had on his wedding.
France, on the other hand, will polish his ring at the slightest sign of disuse. His ring shines so brightly that it nearly blinds anyone who looks at it (Much the same way as they go deaf when they listen to him prattle on and on about the jewelry). Both his wedding and engagement rings consistently look like new, and sometimes he likes to pester China into having his professionally cleaned. China doesn’t mind so much; he knows France simply likes showing off how proud he is of their marriage, but he refuses nevertheless.
Regardless of who uses what method, neither of them take off the rings if they can help it. China almost literally, with no known exceptions to date, and France only if he’s polishing the ring (Which he does at China’s house, since he doesn’t exactly trust anyone else near the thing.)
THE MOBIVERSE LETTERS: An Index
THE CHALLENGE: Write a letter to the following people:
-
Your best friend
-
Your boyfriend
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To Ciro (Ker-Ys’ Sibling)
-
Atlantis’ Dreams
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To: A Stranger, from Cuccagna
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To El Dorado’s Ex-“Love”
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Someone Shambhala Doesn’t Talk to as Much as He’d Like to
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Someone Cuccagna Wishes He Could Forgive
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Someone Shambhala has Drifted Away From
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The person you miss the most
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Someone That’s Not In Cuccagna’s State/Country
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The person that you wish you could be
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The one that broke your heart the hardest
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Someone Atlantis Wants to Give a Second Chance to
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To The Friendliest Person Avalon Knew for One Day
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To Someone that Changed Shambhala’s Life
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To the Person Shambhala Wants to Tell Everything to (But is Too Afraid)
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To Atlantis’ Reflection in the Mirror
Mobiverse letter challenge: Day 21 - Someone Ker-Ys judged by their first impression:
As much as I hate to admit it, I didn’t like you when I first met you. We are all prideful and strong, but you…you seemed to have a different air about you. I felt like when we first spoke you thought you were better than me, than the rest of us all. I thought to myself “No, it’s just a difference in cultures.” but I couldn’t shake that you honestly were arrogant and had just a bit too much pride.
I had always heard a lot about you, the Great Shambala. When I finally visited the land I was overwhelmed with the magnificence of it. It reminded me of my own land! It was so colorful and vibrant and rich and lovely. Yet, there were so many differences. There were fabrics, spices, foods I never even fathomed could exist. I knew I couldn’t leave without some of these items.
And…that was the start of it. The first time we met was to discuss trade. You were indeed welcoming, Mengyao, however you were still…cold. I felt like you didn’t want to speak with me at all. I really tried to think of excuses for you. “He’s nervous around new people. He’s just being serious because we’re talking business. He’s always focused on his prophecy so he may not know exactly how to socialize. Maybe he’s just…untrusting.”
After that first initial trade I only spoke with you when it came to business. I tried to avoid you at all other costs and trust me, it wasn’t hard. You weren’t exactly a social butterfly to begin with. After a while I started to wonder what the others thought about you. When I asked Avalon he just smiled at me and asked if I didn’t like you. I didn’t answer, but you know what they say…silence speaks volumes. He told me not to judge and I just stayed silent.
“Shambala is different than us. He comes off as a certain way, but…why don’t you try to speak with him?”
Speak with you? You barely talked as it was! As I left Avalon called out to me once more.
“Don’t judge him prematurely,” he said. “Get to know him. Give him a chance.”
Why should I give you chance? What could you possibly add to my personal life? I had no idea and I knew Avalon didn’t know either. However, his words rang in my head. Don’t judge him. Speak with him. Get to know him. Give him a chance.
Give him a chance.
Why? Why? Why? Why? I don’t know. I don’t know why after that conversation I was suddenly so interested in you. I don’t know why I wanted to know everything there was to know about you. I don’t know why I reached out to you and asked you to spend time with me. And I never will.
I think you were just as shocked as I was when I invited you out. Yet, we wound up spending the whole day together. It was a little difficult to get you to open up, to relax, but once you did it was almost as if you were a completely different person.
Avalon was right.
I had completely misjudged you.
You spent a lot of time on your own. You were focused on your prophecy and everything that was going on in your home. You weren’t used to us westerners and frankly we weren’t used to you either.
I realized you weren’t cold. You were caring. You cared about your home and your friends. You were smart and quite friendly when you open up. I had a lot of fun with you, Mengyao. You enjoyed the company of another person; I could see it on your face. You enjoyed talking about yourself and hearing about all the differences in our cultures. I remember thinking to myself, “This man isn’t so bad. I could definitely be friends with him.”
As time went on we became closer and closer. I got comfortable to the point that I could tease you and you wouldn’t mind or you would tease me back. I could touch you and you wouldn’t swat my hand away. I could whisper in your ear and instead of pushing me away you would listen and blush…sometimes yell at me, but that was so endearing.
I had fallen in love with you, Shambala, Mengyao.
And to think I was so ignorant with how I perceived you when we first met.
I misjudged you and for that, Mengyao, I apologize.
France stared longingly at the letter in front of him. He was shocked at what appeared on the paper, but as he wrote he grew happier and happier. Whoever or whatever possessed his hand to write this letter reminded him so much of himself.
“This is just like the first time I met mon Chine. My feelings for him in the beginning were just like this…and now…now I love him.”
The letter warmed his heart so much that he didn’t question who had written it. Who was he to stand in the way of a ghost or spirit needing to get their emotions out? He kept the letter next to a picture of China and hoped the person the letter was for, Shambala or Mengyao, would somehow receive it.
Mobiverse letter challenge: Day 9 - Someone Avalon wishes he could meet:
My land held the most marvelous things. The wonders of my land could only be dreamt of by others. Atlantis was one of the few who had seen a glimpse of things that some say should never exist in the first place. I have seen fairies, unicorns, elves, creatures whose names simply don’t have a word in the human language. However, there is one creature which I longed to see.
The great and mighty Phoenix.
I craved to see this bird more than anything. My reasons for wanting to see it were simple. It was a spectacular bird and also…I had hoped to maybe retrieve a feather from it and give it to Atlantis. I tried summoning it, but it would never come. I tried getting some other creatures to help me find it, but they couldn’t locate it either. I didn’t understand why this bird always continued to evade me.
I searched for years. Centuries. The Phoenix never came.
I started to think that maybe if someone truly important died, someone whose death would have devastating effects on the world, then the bird would come. That was a silly idea though. The Phoenix is a bird that represents rebirth, renewal, and immortality. Why would it come when someone was losing their life?
Besides…it didn’t appear when I lost my Atlantis.
After I lost Atlantis I completely gave up searching for the Phoenix. It’s not because I wanted to give up…I just lost the will to do anything.
However, when my body finally left this earth, my soul did not. It was reborn in another man…Arthur Kirkland, England, Britain, United Kingdom, he has many names but it matters not. When I was reborn inside of him I felt this wonderful fire all around me. It frightened me at first, but it did not burn me. It was warm and welcoming. It enveloped me and made me feel at peace. I was lulled to sleep by the dull sounds of the flames crackling and the beautiful colors of the blue and orange fire.
When I awoke I was in the body of the man I spoke of before, England. I knew he was me right from the very beginning. He could see things others could not and he could spellcast in ways that reminded me of myself. He also…has him. America, Alfred…Atlantis.
He is me in every sense, from my looks, to my magic, to my once lover. It’s because he is me that I believe I somehow did see the Phoenix. The experience I had when I was reborn was most likely similar to the experience a Phoenix has when it is reborn. I think perhaps the Phoenix came to me without my knowing. Though I’ve never seen the bird I know it helped me and perhaps…perhaps someday it will show itself to me.
England looked at his letter, unsure of what he had just written. It was true that he had always wanted to see a Phoenix, but had yet to have the opportunity, however…this letter was definitely not written by him.
His fairies danced around him and laughed at the confused look on his face. He thought about asking them if they knew anything about Atlantis or the person who actually wrote the letter, but he didn’t bother. Even if they did know they wouldn’t tell him. Instead he stood while folding the letter in half. He slow walked to his room and found an empty journal. The letter would remain hidden there until England decided when the right time would be to bring it back out again.
30 DAY LETTERS CHALLENGE [MOBIVERSE STYLE]
Day Twenty Six: To the Person Who Last Made a Pinky Promise with Cuccagna
If a person is to make an oath using a part of their body, should they not use their blood as we used to do? Perhaps even a variant with their arms or even just their index fingers. Why use the weakest link plausible to bind each other to their word? Modern humans make no sense to me.
The last promise we made had been a blood promise. Remember? Under the light of the full moon, we met between our borders and sliced our palms open for each other. You promised to protect me, and I promised to look after you.
I didn’t do such a good job. I’m sorry, Nordemann. Mengyao told me what happened and I… I just… I’m sorry.
In watching Italy, the one thing that I can say about us is that we both love food. Other than that…
Nordemann, was I this weak?
Did I always come to you for everything, forcing you to help me? Did I whine because the food you presented me with was unsatisfactory? How did you keep up with all of my ridiculous habits? After all, at least Italy can usually keep up his part of the bargain with Germany. Germany protects him and Italy protects Germany (Sort of. Germany doesn’t know it, but, I can see it in his face. Just like you, Nordemann, he has skeletons in his closet. And just like me, Italy drew them out.)
I hope that I was a good lover to you. Watching Germany makes me realize just how stressful it must have been to watch over me all the time, even though I know that you would deny it (Yes, even now). I promise I’ll be stronger for you, Nordemann. Next time you see me, I won’t need any help. In fact, I’ll be so strong I’ll even be able to help you! We’ll stand side by side and take on the world together.
Until then, I’ll keep watching over Italy. Over Germany. Over both of us. I know it isn’t normally in my nature, but I don’t want this new me to grow up with nothing to be proud of. Gods forbid something terrible happen to this newly formed world, I want him and his brother to be prepared.
So you promise me something, okay? Watch over me while I prepare them. Make sure Italy doesn’t hurt himself because you know I don’t know anything about first aid. And I promise you that by the time the next war rolls around, Italy and I will need to rely on no one. We will be fighters. We will be champions of his people. We will make you proud, Pilatusstadt.
Pinky Index Blood Promise.
——-
Italy blinked at his letter and smiled. He ought to show this to Germany; it was proof that he was ready to stand on his own two feet without the other man’s help. Proof that all of Germany’s work had not been in vain after all.
“Germany! Germany! Look at this!”
“Mm?” Mumbled the bigger man, far too used to indulging Feliciano by now.
A piece of paper was shoved in his face, which he scanned disinterestedly until a name caught his attention.
“Feliciano…” Ludwig glanced up at him, choosing his words carefully. “Where did you learn this word?”
“I didn’t.” Grinned the younger man, “I was hoping you would explain to me what it was.”
“Are you sure you didn’t go through my books again?”
“No! I swear I didn’t. I’ve never seen the name. Never even heard it.”
The blonde licked his lips and set the paper down, studying its characters for a long while. Finally, he expounded, “Pilatusstadt is… Er, was… A legendary city built by Pontius Pilate. It was a great city, a marvelous kingdom… But the instant he condemned Jesus Christ, the entire place was swallowed up by the earth.”
“All of it?” Italy gasped, his eyes (For once) open wide.
“All of it.” Germany confirmed with a slightly twisted grin. ”It is said that a rooster will dig out the tip of a tower belonging to Pilatusstadt, and then the whole city will rise again. But this is merely old folklore, Feliciano. Nothing you really need to be worried about. Especially when you’re developing so much flab.” He poked a pen straight into his lover’s stomach, making the excitable Italian exhale a puff of air.
“I’m not developing flab!” Feliciano moaned, pouting. ”It’s a muffin top. It’s cute.”
“Hnn.” Germany wasn’t about to argue this point (Mostly because, well, he didn’t want to upset Italy by saying that he was fat.) Instead, he used a different tactic, and shot his lover a smile as he nodded to the kitchen. ”Why don’t you go make us some dinner?”
“Okay!” perked the boy, and he ran to prepare yet another plate of (Very good) pasta and (Very bad) wurst.
The German steepled his fingers as he balanced his elbows upon the desk, chin resting delicately atop his sharply trimmed, perfectly uniform nails. The story of Pilatusstadt was an old wive’s tale that he had never given any credit to and had never felt important enough to regale to anyone, least of all the excitable, easily distracted Italy.
He glanced at the note once more, bit his lip, and reached into a drawer, pulling out a book of old German fairytales.
It couldn’t hurt to brush up on his history a little.
——-
Written for “The Mobius Chronicles: Death”
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8044242/1/The_Mobius_Chronicles_Death
