Kay, listen up. This is my first reader insert, and it is seriously long. Seriously, it's twenty three pages (one wasted weekend). So I'm going to post the firstish part, and see how it goes over. If no one responds whatsoever, I'll just go sit in my emo corner and draw instead. But if at least one person would ask for more, I would oblige.
Don't mind me... just Bleeding Out Colours.
You were cold.
So very cold.
There was a light before you.
Were your people dying? Or was it just you?
"Hey!" his stern voice penetrated through the fog. "Vhat the hell are you doing?"
Oh, was it his stoop you had crashed on?
"Move along, you filth." He had such a heavy German accent. Was that really where you were?
Filth. That's all you were anymore.
He nudged you with his foot, "Can you hear me?"
Your hat fell off your face. "Sorry, man. Just a little frozen. Physically and mentally." you mutter the last part. His blue eyes registered the femininity in your (s/c) face. "I'll get out of your hair." Your perfect blond hair. Glowing on your head like a halo, just like...
"Aren't you _____?" he asked.
You look up at Germany, pleased he recognized you. "Yeah," you stood in your small, threadbare jacket, quivering in the breeze, "it's nice to see you again." He ignored your niceties.
"I thought you vere dead." he said, confusion in his face.
You smiled, scratching your head, "Most people do."
"Vhy aren't you at home?" he asked you. God, he's adorable. Crap. Don't think like that, he's horrible, he basically just called you scum. If he hadn't recognized you, you would just be another stranger, wandering the streets. Like all your proud people. You wanted to leave so bad, but...
"I-" you never knew how to say this, "I don't have one."
He stared back at you incredulously. You felt a little guilty, as he talked to you heat flowed out of his house and into your face, probably racking up his oil bill. But it was so warm, you couldn't stand to move, despite your pride. "Vhat do you mean? If you no longer have a house, how are you alive?"
"My people are born wanderers. Nomads really. My land disappeared slowly, consumed by all the bigger countries, but they lived on. They're still my people." you explain quietly. "Well," you said reluctantly, "I'd better go find somewhere else to sleep. Sorry to bother you." You shook the warmth off you, trying to clear your head. He was nothing. And everything. You waved back at him with your small fingerless gloves, and trying not to shake like a leaf in the rising storm, put on some wool mittens as well.
You heard that he called something out to you as you walked off, but in the swirl of the storm you thought Germany was just wishing you a farewell. If it was anything else, well, you didn't need his pity. Tucking your hair back into your old hat you took the storm head on, trying to find a bus stop or something. The wind blew harshly into your face, stinging your eyes and making them water. You went off into the swirling night. After all, it wasn't the first time someone had kicked you off their stoop.
"Vait! _____!" he yelled out after her. It killed him to see _____ walk off alone into the storm. Ludwig also felt bad for calling her filth. Really bad.
He had know her in her prime. She had been a smiling, happy country, filling the world meetings with light and hope. _____ was the perfect example of a prosperous peaceful country, and was what Germany had wished for the whole world. But she didn't have any way to fight back against the rest of the world, and was slowly consumed. He had thought this light had been extinguished.
He laid down to sleep, but couldn't stop thinking about _____. The way she quivered in the breeze, her tattered old army coat that no longer fit on her body, her hat askew on her head, shielding her dirty face from the world. How thin she looked when she wrapped the coat around her. How the storm pounded against his house. How she used to be... The way she had just smiled at him and didn't fight when he called her filth. "Crap." he said, getting back up. Ludwig couldn't live with himself knowing he had turned her away. Isn't this like beauty and the beast? The homely beggar at the door, the stuck up rich guy answering, kicking her out, unaware... and the curse? Guilt.
Germany slipped on a pair of pants thinking about what to do. He couldn't offer her money, _____ wouldn't take it. She was far too proud. What the hell could he possibly do?
First thing's first.
I have to find her.