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Prompt: Whisper This child has guts to hide on his ship - the Netherlands has to acknowledge that, as his sailors bring England’s messy-haired little colony to him. Canada - the Netherlands has never paid too much attention to this one before, he’s had his hands full. Now though, he’s forced to take notice.It’s not easy to hide this long; they take inventory often to protect the merchandise and stocks. The child wrings his hands, “I’m sorry for sneaking on board Mr Netherlands, but Mr England has not been well, and I must see him. You’re the only one skilled enough to pass his blockade. I can work for my passage! And…tell you how I've hid so you can…protect your merchandise better.”Canada’s voice is barely a whisper, but the Netherlands can’t help but regard him with more respect. A humble request, targeted compliment, and offer of service to run a more secure fleet? Is this intentional manipulation? Or is Canada just like this? The Netherlands decides he doesn't care. “Welcome aboard.”
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Honestly, what else was there to do with 7,400 cans of maple syrup? Norway is indifferent to the taste - not bad, not addictive either. It’s the gratitude that still shocks him, even though he’s currently covered in maple syrup with Canada’s tongue gratefully licking and slurping around his cock.If this is what one ski pole gets him, Canada can have all the fucking ski poles. He doesn’t even need to bring the maple syrup, just the delicious body he hides under those loose clothes and the wild hunger masked behind all those polite smiles. Norway will never be fooled by those again, not now he’s seen Canada this filthy, maple syrup smeared everywhere, stuck in his cherub hair.“Ah!” Norway grabs that sticky hair because he needs more, more. Canada moans around his cock, taking Norway in deep again and again. When he comes, toe-curling, Canada holds him down, sucking and swallowing, and all Norway can do is pant open-mouthed in the afterglow, syrup slipping into his mouth.
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“Okay, no lies, what do you honestly think about me?” Portugal wears his most charming smile. He’s taken too long to finally approach Luxembourg. This younger nation had hermited himself in the mountains, but emerged grown and gorgeous. Even his resemblance to his siblings doesn’t take away Luxembourg’s obvious charm.
Skeptical eyes and a cold, familiar smirk graces Luxembourg’s lips. “I think you have poor accounting skills.” Dear God he really was related to the Netherlands. Before Portugal can say anything, Luxembourg continues, “And I am completely uninterested in helping you fulfill whatever revenge fantasies you have with me as some replacement of my brother. Trust me, you’re not the first to try. I know he’s pissed enough people off.”
Which bastard…? Portugal shakes his head. This is different now. “Luxembourg, I know you don’t know me, but I don’t care about that past anymore. Let me make us some coffee, and we can just...chat. How’s that?” Portugal waits, nervous, until he sees the moment curiosity wins Luxembourg over.
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He can’t open his eyes, but it doesn’t scare him. Not anymore. The Netherlands is bone-weary exhausted, starved, aching, and the weakest he’s been in a long time. But, he’s finally warm - covered in blankets, slowly being fed, and he knows he’s safe with his guardian sitting by his side.Time is funny. One moment, Canada is a canny, sweet child stowing away on his ship to see England. Another moment, the Netherlands hides with South Africa in the veldt, restraining the other because Canada is a stony-faced soldier dragging Boer children into concentration camps to die of neglect. The sight was a tragedy, even though he knew blood was an inevitable fate for all nations, even earnest little ones.In this moment, Canada is his liberator: earnest soul and terrifying soldier are rolled into one. Now, he feels the overwhelming giddy love his people have for Canada, the exhilaration of freedom. And he hopes, prays, that this world will be new enough, to allow earnest souls to remain light.
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“Ja Boetie! Backwards! Yes! Good job! Aagh! You got me!” Johannes clutches the rugby ball and falls over with an exaggerated cry at little Nelson’s tackle. What are names? Johannes has had many names - Cape Colony, Boer Republics, Union of South Africa. Now he’s a nation no longer - just Johannes.
Nelson jumps up in victory - Mandla, Bukelwa, the rest cheer with him. Nelson is their future - the Republic of South Africa - the little brother they put aside their differences to create. Named in honor of the man who did the impossible - brought them all together and convinced them to do it. Peace is tenuous, sometimes they still want to kill each other - God knows Johannes has much to atone for.
In the end they always try - for Nelson. But Nelson is growing, he’s not satisfied with strained niceties, he demands better. That’s why Johannes clings to rugby days - when he knows that his little brother loves him, despite all he’s done. That despite the past, South Africa is a family.
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It’s bad. New Zealand aims his rifle carefully at South Africa, but shooting won’t diffuse this situation. They’re brothers, but Aussie is across from him, also taking aim, South’s gun points at Canada, who has the Netherlands in his arms, trapped in a hold with a knife to his throat.The Netherlands looks irritated more than concerned, and Zee feels a fury at his apathy. Still, they can’t throw knives at England, so this will have to do. South had always been paranoid, and often goes too far, even now he can’t see his fault - “You call this ‘brotherhood’?” he spits. “Ja, talk back to England and see how fast he sends your ‘brothers’ to kill you for him. Convenient.”Canada glares. “England gave us a family. The Netherlands sold you.” South laughs. “But he’s here. Tell me how quickly France would help America conquer you if you left England. That’s how much anyone values you.” Zee sighs, Canada slices, everyone shoots. Physical wounds mean nothing, but words? They fester.