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Ludwig used to always wonder why Feliciano smiled.
A lot of the time he was carefree, happy, joyful, sweet, caring, and considerate. He was bubby and kind, and always had a smile on his face. He was bouncy and energetic, and acted as if there was nothing to ever fear or to be hurt over.
Ludwig wondered how he could be like that.
Feliciano had grown up in an abusive household in a little place just outside of Florence, Italy. He was the younger brother of a set of twins, with a superstitious mother who insisted that the twins were a bad omen, two demons that would ultimately bring about her demise. She insisted they be sent away, and when their father didn't comply, she would recklessly try to harm them. Feliciano and his twin brother still both have many scars from what had happened, scars that were always in plain sight.
One specifically, across his left cheek.
It was faded, yes, a vague trace of what it once was. Tanned, almost non-existent it was. But it was there. And Ludwig always saw it.
He knew Feliciano saw it too.
It was one of those things. Whenever he saw himself in a mirror, it was so brief that Ludwig hadn't noticed it a lot, but he would stop and stare. Sometimes, if given more time, he would trace a finger along side of it, as if remembering the blood that spilled from it. He looked at if as if it were a sin, a marking of his regrettable birth. It always marked his near smooth complexion, standing out ever so slightly in its own, odd way. If you weren't focusing hard then you'd never see it, but if you did it was there. And once you saw it, you never stopped.
Ludwig wondered how he could smile after his own mother tried to murder him.
The scar was a reminder, a memoir of what has long since passed. Ludwig always tried to figure out how, just how he could smile after seeing it, every, single, time.
But he never got an answer.
He didn't want to press.
He didn't want to hurt him anymore than he'd already been hurt.
He never got an answer because he never asked.
Feliciano smiled always, talking, laughing, waving his hands like there wasn't a care in the world. He spoke fluently, carefully, not an ounce of sadness inside of his heart.
Or at least, as far as Ludwig could tell.
Ludwig loved Feliciano.
He wanted him to be happy.
Truly happy.
But Ludwig didn't know how to let him.
Feliciano acted as if he never noticed the way Ludwig worried, but he always did. He always noticed the strained gazes, and his icy blue eyes locked on that simple scar marking his left cheek. What Ludwig didn't know, was that it bothered Feliciano more when he looked.
Feliciano pretended it wasn't there, because he was happy. Feliciano pretended it didn't exist because he was already truly happy. Ludwig had made that all possible for him.
Ludwig helped him forget the painful memories.
Ludwig did more for Feliciano than he ever realized.
The reason Feliciano could still smile was because Ludwig had picked up the pieces and put it all back together. When he was down, he picked him up, when he fell, he caught him, when all hope seemed lost, he restored it.
So even though the scars remained, he could still smile. He could still act as if it was never there. He could still be happy, truly happy, because of what he'd done.
Ludwig Beilschmidt was the only one who could find all of the pieces, and close the wound.
Ludwig was the only one who could heal his broken smile, and scars.
And he'd done just that, in the most beautiful way.
Love.
A lot of the time he was carefree, happy, joyful, sweet, caring, and considerate. He was bubby and kind, and always had a smile on his face. He was bouncy and energetic, and acted as if there was nothing to ever fear or to be hurt over.
Ludwig wondered how he could be like that.
Feliciano had grown up in an abusive household in a little place just outside of Florence, Italy. He was the younger brother of a set of twins, with a superstitious mother who insisted that the twins were a bad omen, two demons that would ultimately bring about her demise. She insisted they be sent away, and when their father didn't comply, she would recklessly try to harm them. Feliciano and his twin brother still both have many scars from what had happened, scars that were always in plain sight.
One specifically, across his left cheek.
It was faded, yes, a vague trace of what it once was. Tanned, almost non-existent it was. But it was there. And Ludwig always saw it.
He knew Feliciano saw it too.
It was one of those things. Whenever he saw himself in a mirror, it was so brief that Ludwig hadn't noticed it a lot, but he would stop and stare. Sometimes, if given more time, he would trace a finger along side of it, as if remembering the blood that spilled from it. He looked at if as if it were a sin, a marking of his regrettable birth. It always marked his near smooth complexion, standing out ever so slightly in its own, odd way. If you weren't focusing hard then you'd never see it, but if you did it was there. And once you saw it, you never stopped.
Ludwig wondered how he could smile after his own mother tried to murder him.
The scar was a reminder, a memoir of what has long since passed. Ludwig always tried to figure out how, just how he could smile after seeing it, every, single, time.
But he never got an answer.
He didn't want to press.
He didn't want to hurt him anymore than he'd already been hurt.
He never got an answer because he never asked.
Feliciano smiled always, talking, laughing, waving his hands like there wasn't a care in the world. He spoke fluently, carefully, not an ounce of sadness inside of his heart.
Or at least, as far as Ludwig could tell.
Ludwig loved Feliciano.
He wanted him to be happy.
Truly happy.
But Ludwig didn't know how to let him.
Feliciano acted as if he never noticed the way Ludwig worried, but he always did. He always noticed the strained gazes, and his icy blue eyes locked on that simple scar marking his left cheek. What Ludwig didn't know, was that it bothered Feliciano more when he looked.
Feliciano pretended it wasn't there, because he was happy. Feliciano pretended it didn't exist because he was already truly happy. Ludwig had made that all possible for him.
Ludwig helped him forget the painful memories.
Ludwig did more for Feliciano than he ever realized.
The reason Feliciano could still smile was because Ludwig had picked up the pieces and put it all back together. When he was down, he picked him up, when he fell, he caught him, when all hope seemed lost, he restored it.
So even though the scars remained, he could still smile. He could still act as if it was never there. He could still be happy, truly happy, because of what he'd done.
Ludwig Beilschmidt was the only one who could find all of the pieces, and close the wound.
Ludwig was the only one who could heal his broken smile, and scars.
And he'd done just that, in the most beautiful way.
Love.
Literature
APH Scars
Italy simply stared at Germany in the rapidly fading moonlight. It was a worm summer night, or rather morning since the sun was starting to rise, so he wasn't wearing a shirt to bed, just boxers.
Italy reached out and gently slid his fingers over Germany's skin. He lightly traced Germany's lips.
He was sleeping on his stomach and he looked peaceful. A stressful week has gone by thankfully and with it a weekend where Germany can relax alongside Italy.
Their covers were on his lower back showing the bare skin.
And all the scars.
Germany's body was covered in scars he realized. On the front of him and the back. Even the sides.
How many war
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It Hurt
Summary: Italy turns his back on Germany after the invasion. Germany just does what he thinks is necessary. Some historical basis.
Pairing: Pre-GerIta if you squint and tilt your head.
The slap echoed off the walls mockingly as the nations stood in a shocked silence.
"You bastard."
They were riveted to the scene in front of them. Never, never had they seen Italy as angry as he was now. Cheeks flushing an angry red, hands clenched at his sides, eyes fully open and glaring poisoned daggers at the blond holding a hand to his red cheek.
"You bastard. How could you?"
Germany backed up a step, hand still pressed to the darkening mark on his c
Literature
Smile For Me- USUK
Alfred had done it again. Once again, he pushed Arthur to a point where the only things he would manage to spit out would be curse words. As far as he was concerned, Alfred shouldn't be allowed to be at world meetings. All he did was come up with ridiculous ideas that everyone, including Italy, could reject to. If that wasn't enough, he constantly annoyed Arthur.
What annoyed Arthur the most though, is that even though Alfred did these things, He still couldn't deny the fact he still loved the younger nation. His heart had taken the greatest beating from it, but he couldn't let go of the boy. His golden hair that reminded him of wheat fei
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GerIta...<3
I'm not entirely happy with this one, but ah well. Might as well post it anyway~ <333 I really am loving this 'No Dialogue' style of writing XDDD
There. Happy :I
So, enjoy everyone!
Type 'Heal' if you read the Author's Note!~
Hetalia is (c) Hidekaz Himaruya
I'm not entirely happy with this one, but ah well. Might as well post it anyway~ <333 I really am loving this 'No Dialogue' style of writing XDDD
There. Happy :I
So, enjoy everyone!
Type 'Heal' if you read the Author's Note!~
Hetalia is (c) Hidekaz Himaruya
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Awwwwwwwww >3< So sweet!