ChocolateTurnip

Prologue (Tsvetan- Bulgaria) He’d piloted in storms before, but never quite like this one. This one was different; the sort of storm that dominated the entire sky. Lightning tore through the thin fabric of the clouds, followed by thunderclaps so loud they rang in his ears. Against the airship’s surface, the pitter-patter of raindrops pummelled into the metal. For the first time in his life, Tsvetan’s hands shook as he managed the controls. He could hear his colleagues shout from behind- Sadik ordering Gupta to check the air pressure, Stelios yelling something about a jammed propeller- but he ignored them and focused on th

*Warning for slight sensuality, though it is mild* There had been a time when he believed that all the petty neighbourhood squabbles had resolved themselves. There had been a time when he believed that the world he lived in was a world of fairness. That was before tonight. Looking back, he still could not understand it. How could it be that nobody appreciated the gorgeous talent and subtle cleverness of his performance? His singers had not seemed to mind the results especially, and had taken their defeat in good stride. He supposed that was to be expected. They were young, after all; perhaps too young to understand the elegant art of channe

*Note: I don't think this counts as mature content as it's just kissing mostly, but just as a warning, there is a bit of sensuality, though it's quite mild* ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ There was one thing that Bulgaria was certain about; this entire predicament was Romania's fault. The trip had been his idea, after all, which is probably why it was doomed from the outset. As much as he might have tried to advocate their holiday- if you could call it that- as an opportunity to spend some much-needed 'family time' together, Bulgaria was well aware of the real reasons he was so kee

He shouldn't be shivering. It's past noon and the Italian sun is at its highest; blazing down on his bare back and legs. When they'd parked and left the car fifteen minutes ago, he found it unbearable. Yet as he shuffles closer now and the waves lap over his toes, a chill sweeps over him.   There's nothing he can do to prevent the gasp slipping out. His pulse is throbbing and urge of adrenaline in his legs is so insistent. 'Run!' it screams 'run, run, run!' He doesn't, though. She might not have voiced the desire for a beach trip while they were visiting, but he could tell that she really wanted to come, deep down. So he forces himself to s

1. I love making you smile. 2. I love your gorgeous, talented musician hands. 3. I love the little mole by your lip... and what happens when I touch it. 4. I love the way close your eyes in concentration when you play the piano. 5. I love the frills at the end of your cuffs. 6. I love celebrating our anniversary, even if it's been a century since our divorce. 7. I love your thick-framed, aesthetic glasses. 8. I love how hard you try to hide your frugality. 9. I love your serious purple eyes. 10. I love the fact that such minimal amount of physical activity exhausts you. 11. I love it when you get lost and need me to come and rescue

"Hey, China, when are we doing the eating together?" As China looked up from the pot he was cooking with, he felt nervous sweat beading on his forehead. His ally Russia was lounging against the side of the kitchen worktop, twirling a ladle absent minded in his hands. Of course, he was still smiling as pleasantly as ever, but he seemed to be getting impatient, and worst of all, bored. That was never a good sign. China mopped his face with the long sleeve of his shirt before answering. "Soon, aru. I think it is nearly ready." His words made Russia smile more widely than ever. "That's good. You know that I don't like to be kept waiting, da?"

"C'mon, West, you can't back out now!" "Just do it!" "Kiss him, kiss him!" The chorus of excited encouragement echoed around Germany's spinning head. To be honest, this whole situation was his fault; from the moment that Prussia had proposed the idea of a Christmas party he just knew that it would end up badly. Yet he'd still gone along with it in his foolishness, not to mention drinking far too many glasses of mulled wine. So really, he only had himself to blame for the fact that he and Italy were isolated in the centre of the room with a sprig of mistletoe hovering over their heads. This was one of those rare moments when Italy had his