So here we are at the start of a new story! I've had this idea stirring around for a while now, and I wanted to try this format of quote then story. The chapters are linked to each other but explore separate ideas. At this point I have no idea how long it's going to be, although as of 20/06/18 I've written 6 chapters... IDK if there will be a real plot, I just wanted to see more mother!England with Russia. Please favourite and follow, and comment!

'You never give up motherhood. Once you are a mother, you never stop being one, no matter what.'

It started with a blanket.

The night was cold and windy, and in the hotel rooms, many nations slept peacefully, or worked quietly. England was not one of these nations, instead slipping silently through the corridors, pausing every so often and peeking through one of the doors. He would nod, satisfied, or frown and enter, leaving a few minutes later, but his routine didn't change. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders as he padded around quietly, checking in on his former colonies.

Not that they knew of this, of course. The blanket or pillow that mysteriously appeared under tired heads and heavy arms were dismissed or forgotten quite easily, the steaming cup of coffee/tea waiting on the counter of the meeting room was the work of the organisers. And still England walked, last to go to bed, first to rise in the morning, never complaining, silently serving and caring for his colonies - his children, because that's what they were - without a hint of resentment or bitterness.

He finished his daily rounds, ending with America. The boy still had his headphones plugged in, blasting out Beyoncé as he slept, a tangle of limbs and blankets on the bed. England gently removed the headphones, earning him a sleepy grumble, plugging his phone into the charger and tucking in the arm that was out of the covers. After making sure America was comfortable one last time, he slipped out - seeing France across the hall, stepping out of Seychelles's room. For once, no insults were thrown, no baguettes either. Instead the other nation winked at his long-time friend and partner, then continued down the hall. England scoffed, then turned to do the same.

A faint light made him draw up short. He turned, seeing a glow from one of the doors, automatically going towards it, hand on the door, ready to push it wide open when he stopped. Through the crack in the door, he could see Russia, head on his laptop and the desk lamp still on, very much asleep. He moved away, but his maternal instincts screamed as he did, and hoping that Russia wouldn't wake up and clobber him, he took a step into the room.

He approached a little warily, well aware that the giant nation could wake up any moment. Slowly, he slipped the blanket off his shoulders and around Russia, expertly lifting his head long enough to push the laptop away and slip a pillow retrieved from the bed underneath it. That would help the ache he would have from such a bad sleeping position, England thought, unconsciously tucking the blanket around Russia's arms. He drew away, shutting the door with a soft click, going back to his own rooms.

In the morning, while the other nations cast off their blankets carelessly to the floor as they woke, Russia would draw his in a little closer, still feeling the faint warmth of England's body, and wondering who would do such a thing for him.