RAMAFIA

Episode 1: Pilot
(episode summary: Mob member Arthur Kirkland is saved from vengeful family members of his last hit by two young children in an alley and decides to repay them, a decision that changes the lives of his whole Mob; genre: action/drama/comedy/romance; status: new )

Arthur Kirkland was well known for having a temperamental streak. He was known for being cunning, deceitful and for all the while believing himself to be a gentleman. He was known, also, for having the mouth, and more importantly, liver of a sailor.

He reflected, after a moment of dodging behind trashcans, that doing a hit while drunk hadn't been one of his best moves. Oh, sure, he'd gotten it done, but he'd been a little messy while doing it.

Well, he was never particularly good at cleanup, so he tried to make the kill itself as clean as he could, and he'd utterly failed in this instance.

Next time he would hopefully remember that dancing naked around his victim's room shouting out last night's football (soccer, for the uninitiated) scores and trashing the home for cigarettes and more booze was a bad idea. Though, his memory while intoxicated had proven to be slightly faulty.

He could recall one time he'd sexed up a rather attractive woman once, only to wake up next to the bartender, twice his size in pink heart boxers.

He could've sworn those boxers had been black satin undies with frills.

Regardless of the reliability of his memory while intoxicated, Arthur was now quite sober. As he was quite sober, he was also aware that he did not want to be caught by the group of people chasing him.

Okay, so it was a group of three people, but one of them was carrying a lead pipe for crying out loud! Where did he even get a lead pipe in this day and age? Hadn't lead been outlawed after that one city was wiped out?

Arthur turned sharply into an alley, which may not have been yet another of his not-the-smartest moves as ever since the ground room ran out and cities began being built up any abandoned roads had been swallowed into an extensive alleyway-labyrinth.

Arthur, admittedly, did not know this labyrinth very well, and his pursuers were following him adamantly.

He dodged around corners and farther and farther into the alleys until his lungs ached and he was able to round turns without seeing them for a time. Knowing he couldn't continue running, Arthur rounded another sharp turn and quite suddenly tossed himself into an open-topped dumpster.

For a full minute, he stayed still, partially covered in trash and not daring to breath for the smell while rapid footsteps passed him by.

He held his breath a while longer until he knew they were surely gone, then let out a slow and deep exhale, relieved.

"Bloody hell…" He muttered, sitting himself up. The garbage, which probably had been there for months, shifted around him. Swatting some scrap metals out of his hair and an empty (synthetic) bag off his shoulder, he heard a small noise.

A squeak, in fact.

Looking over, he found himself face to face with a large, white rat.

Arthur restrained a shocked shout that would have sounded quite effeminate and instead of swatting it away, found himself in a stare-down with the creature.

He supposed he was in an alleyway, after all.

"Er… hello there, little rat…" His hangover must've still been affecting him, talking to a rat! "Sorry, I suppose I landed on your home? …right, I'll just… shut up and go now."

With a grunt he hoisted himself over the side of the dumpster and back onto the pavement. For a time, he simply stared left and right, knowing he had to get back out of there somehow but having no idea how to do it.

Finally, he sighed and walked the way he'd originally come, hoping there was no loop-about that would bring him face-to-face again with his pursuers.

As he walked away, his previously pressed suit now ruffled and shined shoes clicking hypnotically on the pavement, he neglected to notice the white rat had climbed out of the dumpster to the hands of two young boys behind the metal waste-collector.

Their four eyes followed him in shock until he was out of view.

000

There was a loop-about that took him face to face again with his pursuers. Well goddamn.

There were three people, a tall, strong man with the lead pipe, a middle-sized girl who looked as though she might prefer to rip his face off with her bare hands rather than use a weapon, and a midget who looked up to helping her.

Did Arthur ever mention he'd utterly hated the circus when he was younger? Because he did. He still hated it. Partially because they were chasing him with a lead pipe, but aside from that, it was a goddamn circus!

He'd tried to run again, but was still tired from the previous pursuit. The midget had tripped him and he'd rolled somewhere to the left just in time to escape a lead pipe to the ribcage. This didn't help him avoid the feet that were just as content to kick him anywhere within distance.

Arthur had probably gained a black eye (from a boot) and highly suspected he'd broken something before he managed back onto his feet, buying time from a lucky punch to the man's crotch. He felt around frantically for his gun, hoped it hadn't been kicked off somewhere and hoped also, somewhat vainly, that they wouldn't have a gun of their own.

The mid-sized girl was the one who decided to crush that little dream, stepping over her curled-up male comrade and pulling a gun out of the side of her coat.

She opened her mouth to say something, most likely along the lines of 'we've got you now', when a pearl necklace out of nowhere wrapped around her neck and began choking her.

The midget, who had been to Arthur's right, was distracted at his comrades choking sounds and paid for it with the gun Arthur discovered to have been kicked off him to several feet behind himself.

The pearl necklace which had been turning the woman's face red released at the sound of the gunshot as though shocked at the noise, and the woman turned round to wrap her own hands around the neck of a child.

Arthur blinked, raised his gun without a second thought and fired.

The boy fell back and held his own throat, taking deep breaths. Arthur approached him, slowly, as he recalled, getting a feeling slightly akin to that of approaching a wild animal and wondered vaguely if this was what it was like staring down a baby wild boar.

He'd either still had that hangover or had read far too many old adventure books as a child.

The child was blond with short, matted hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a tattered brown jacket and a scrap of cloth wrapped around his neck, which he was still holding in his hands, and he thought it looked suspiciously like a replacement for a scarf, despite winter having passed already.

The boy was on his knees, looking up at him as he came closer. The blood of the woman had splattered on him. There were bruises on his face.

Out of nowhere, a second child seemed to spring out and grabbed the first one, hauling him to his feet and helping him run in the opposite direction.

"Hey, wait!" Arthur yelled when the tall man, whom he'd temporarily (temporarily!) forgotten about returned to his feet, came up behind him and attempted to squeeze him to death.

Arthur wasted another bullet before racing after the children who'd caused the distraction that saved his life.

In his defense, in addition to his tempter, potty mouth and worse liver, Arthur considered himself a gentleman of the highest caliber. Unbeknownst to him, this was hardly true, but he felt he had an obligation to thank people who aided him, regardless of status or youth.

He wasn't quite sure why he was running even deeper into the allies to do it, but he was.

000

Alfred had thought he was going to die.

No, he actually hadn't. He knew he'd be perfectly fine the whole time. He was invincible, Mattie had told him himself!

…denial was obviously his strong point, as he had been utterly petrified of the tall stranger who he'd saved on a whim. The man had not swiped at or yelled at Kuma, but apologized and then spoken to him (though not for very long) just as he and Mattie did.

No one who spoke to Kuma like that could be bad, right?

But people with the metal machines that made the loud noises that made heads explode were always bad. No one could be both.

Mattie still led him by the hand as they raced through the allies of their home, despite that he'd regained himself enough to run without a guide. That didn't stop his other from holding his hand in a death grip.

"W-where are we goin'?" He panted out.

"I 'unno," Mattie replied, "'M followin' Kuma!"

Alfred craned his head to see the little white rat was indeed running not even a foot in front of Mattie, looking just as panicked and confused as they were. Alfred swallowed nervously, gripped Mattie's hand and took the lead.

"W-where are we goin'!" Mattie shrieked as Alfred suddenly began to almost tow him along. He almost couldn't lean down and grab Kuma without being dragged over the ground.

"Out!" Alfred responded.

"We'll ge' lost!"

"But 'e might leave!"

This hopeful thought lodged in his mind, Alfred pulled his brother, crisscrossing, zigging in and out of the allies, their home, slowing just enough to know the man could follow them but dashing around corners so quickly he couldn't raise his machine to make the bang.

They reached the mouth of the ally, a place they'd seen but never ventured too close to. Out of it, they could see people walking by, shops with all sorts of strange things it'd become common truth they'd never possess. They both knew they had only a short bit of time before the man rounded the final corner and saw the way out.

Mattie, who stood beside Alfred, panting, noticed something.

"A-Al?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Where'd we 'ide?"

Al paled and the man rounded the corner.

With a sudden movement, Al slammed Mattie behind him and against the wall in an attempt to hide or at least somewhat protect him. The blood of the lady was still on his face, and he shuddered. The man still clutched the machine in his hand.

The man turned to stare at them, but did not raise it. Al took a deep breath and tried to hide the odd accent that had popped up from conversing only with Mattie and Kuma for who-knew how long.

"H-here's how you get out," He said slowly. The man simply stared at him. Behind him, he could feel Mattie shaking, and Kuma climbed onto his shoulder and cleaned some of the blood off his cheek. "S-so don't…" What was it called? "sh-shoot us."

The man blinked and seemed to realize he was holding the machine for the first time, glanced at the exit and hastily shoved it somewhere in his clothes. Alfred held his breath and waited to see if the man would simply walk by and leave them be or if he was one of the ones who passed by who simply couldn't stand things like them.

"Er," The man said, and Alfred braced himself to grab Mattie from behind him and flee, "thank you."

Alfred blinked and turned his head to Kuma and partway to Mattie.

Oh yes, he was stumped.

"'Scuse m'?" He asked before he could even think of taming his accent.

"Pardon?" The man asked, looking equally stumped at his accent before seeming to have some sort of realization. "Ah, the gun, yes, sorry. I probably shouldn't have… with you right there… slightly shocking… indeed."

Al turned to Kuma and Mattie again. "Yeah, 'm stumped," Mattie shrugged and gave him a helpless look, as he had no idea what they were supposed to do either.

He squeezed Alfred's hand and they waited for the man to make the first move.

The man looked incredibly uncomfortable with them, for some reason, and it was not soothing their nerves at all. He took several steps towards them slowly, the machine nowhere to be seen.

Alfred stood stock still, arms spread to protect Mattie as the man came closer. Kuma squeaked and hid behind him again.

Either the man had very noisy footsteps or something inside him was pounding very loudly.

Finally, the man was only a couple feet away from them, and he was so tall Alfred couldn't help but shrink down slightly, completely ignoring Mattie's small hiss of "Al, you're crushing me!"

The height and intimidating presence lessened quite suddenly, as the man had bent down, onto his knees, bringing him almost below their level.

He held out a hand and Alfred tried not to flinch at it, waiting for a blow and was halfway stunned when none came.

"I'm Arthur," The man said, "Now, could you tell me your names and what are two kids doing out here with no one to take care of them?"

000

Somehow, a purely innocent question had landed Arthur with two street kids clinging onto him (where in the world did all that near-petrified shyness go?) as he brought them to his apartment for a decent meal. In his defense, it looked like they hadn't had one for years and were about to tumble over dead where they stood.

He wondered very much just how long they had been hiding in that alley, as almost everything seemed to startle them. He was surprised there hadn't been a huge scene when he first tried to get the children into his car— he was frankly amazed they hadn't fainted when he'd turned it on and begun driving.

When they'd just sat in the back seat practically glued to each other, Arthur felt the need to crack a rather pathetic joke.

"You realize you're driving away in a car with a man you hardly know, correct?" He started. "Didn't your mother teach you better?"

"Who?"

That put an end to any bad jokes he had been thinking of, and Arthur drove to his apartment in silence, occasionally glancing back to see the children gazing out the windows like they'd seen nothing like a city before.

He took the stairs up when they reached his current hotel room, five floors up, simply because after the car ride, Arthur wasn't quite sure how they'd react to an elevator. Well, that and there'd likely be less people on the stairs.

The followed him, almost glued to the back of his legs, until he finally reached his temporary lodgings and opened the door. The two children filed in after him, warily looking around with wide eyes.

There was a squeak and the rat made a reappearance. Arthur stared at it a moment, realizing that whether he'd be here long or not, he didn't want a rat in his temporary home.

"Wouldn't you rather leave the rat outside?" He asked one of the boys who was holding the white thing. Both of them quite suddenly shifted their wary gaze on him, as though he'd said some vial swear. Were they already forgetting he'd been perfectly courteous to them thus far and hadn't so much as twitched in a way that might lose someone's trust?

Ah, it must've been the rat remark. Who the hell got attached to a rat?

"Er… of course, you don't have to."

They seemed to relax, but still regarded him with much more suspicion than he'd seen on the way over.

So it was the rat.

Not trusting himself to speak just yet without destroying the fragile trust he'd managed to hold onto with the boys, Arthur turned and made his way to the kitchen. He wasn't quite comfortable leaving the boys alone long enough for him to cook an actual meal, so the two would have to deal with some reheated leftovers from a restaurant he'd visited the other night.

Looking into his refrigerator, he searched for anything light enough for the two to eat without causing them to throw up. He wasn't sure how long it had been since they'd eaten, but they looked thin enough that he knew it would be unwise to give them a heavy meal.

A sudden thought hit him as he pulled out a decent bowl of broth soup and set to heating it up.

Was he going to give them a meal, drive them back to that alley and just leave them?

That seemed rather… pointless and anticlimactic were the words he was going for, he believed.

A bell sounded the broth finishing heating up, so Arthur slipped on oven mitts and poured them into two bowls and set them on the table before walking out to see if the two boys had run off or stolen from his apartment yet. When he returned to the main room, it turned out that they hadn't, much to Arthur's surprise, but were standing where he had left them and looking around anxiously. He didn't even have to call for them before they bolted over and glued themselves to him again.

Apparently a few minutes of being alone in an unfamiliar place was too much for them; he'd have to keep that in mind.

He somehow managed to communicate to them that they were to sit in the chairs and eat some broth— though one of them, the one with the many bruises and woman's blood on his face, burnt his tongue. After that it took five minutes to convince them they merely had to blow on it to cool it down. And then they'd tried to lap it up instead of using spoons.

Arthur was near appalled. Anticlimactic or not, they weren't staying with him.

An orphanage. There had to be one nearby, he'd just drop them off in the morning after they'd gotten cleaned up and rested. There must have been an inch of dirt on their faces each.

He watched them eat, and was frankly surprised at how slowly they were sipping off the spoons. Arthur was quite sure if he hadn't eaten in long enough to look so thin, he would have been shoveling down anything in front of him.

It was then he realized that both the children were sacrificing eating quickly to watch him.

They were looking at him through their hair, which was rather long and shaggy, coming almost close to blond dreadlocks. Arthur wouldn't have noticed the blue eyes that peered out, sneakily watching him, if the boy with the bruised and bloodied face hadn't accidentally inclined his head just enough to allow Arthur to see his face for a brief instant and find the eyes perfectly focused on him. Wary, unwavering like a nervous animal.

For this, he couldn't exactly blame them. In fact, he was rather relieved that, despite that the children had been daft-brained enough to follow an utter stranger into his home and eat food he'd given them, they were at least sensible enough to remain somewhat alert for a physical assault.

There was a small squeak and the rat was licking some of the broth off the other boy's hand. Arthur made a face. Charming.

He cleared his throat rather loudly. Both the boy's attentions were instantly fully on him, their shoulders tensed, ready to spring away at the slightest movement.

So, where had that adhesive clinginess gone?

"As I said before, my name is Arthur," Arthur said, "Now, do you two have names and can you tell me them? I'd rather not have to call you Thing 1 and Thing 2," He again tried to make a bad joke, and if the shared look between the boys was enough to go on, they had absolutely no idea who Dr. Seuss was.

Wow, they had been in those allies for a long time.

The first boy with the bruised face and blood splattered on his face licked his lips nervously and shared another glance with the other before speaking in a surprisingly loud voice. "…'M Alfred. He's Mattie and Kuma."

Arthur blinked. Huh. Well, he was rather impressed they actually had names. If he were feeling a little less tactful he might've asked them if they were named or had made those up themselves.

"Fine names," He said once he was sure he wouldn't say something else that would have been insulting to all of them. He turned to the other boy, who appeared considerably healthier than Alfred. "Is it Mattie as in Matthew?"

Mattie stiffened as he was addressed, looked to the rat as though it would give him advice on how to answer and finally came up with nothing more affirming than a shrug.

"You won't mind if I call you that, then, I suppose?" The boy gave another hurried shrug, looking desperately at the other, who shrugged as well. Both looked utterly bemused, as though he'd passed all the knowledge they held of Basic English. "…you do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"Yeh," Alfred confirmed. Arthur took in a deep breath and decided he might as well just stop talking if it was going to cause so many awkward pauses.

"Alright, you can stop staring at me like I'm some sort of… bloody alien," He could have sworn Matthew giggled and looked at Alfred, "Keep eating. I'll get you some new clothes and a washrag."

He turned and left the room, and as he did, was absolutely certain he heard one of the two let out a soft "What's a washrag?"

000

Alfred found out what a washrag was and decided quickly he didn't like it all that much. He hadn't taken his clothes off in a very long time and it had never been with the help of someone else with a hot cloth trying to burn his face off.

"Stop wiggling," Arthur kept telling him while holding onto his wrists with one hand and rubbing the hot, wet cloth over his face at the same time, "I'm just trying to clean you up."

Alfred wasn't quite sure what cleaning him off was supposed to do, but he didn't like it. He turned his head and saw Mattie pressed up against the big, bulky piece of hard cloth (Arthur had told him to wait on it while he tried to clean Alfred off. He'd called it a couch) watching with wide eyes as Arthur and he struggled. This time though, he made no move to help Alfred.

Alfred couldn't blame him, even though Alfred would certainly have tried to do something if Mattie were in his position. But both of them had seen Arthur take the metal head-exploding thing out of his clothes and set it not too far away from where they were now.

In some sick irony, Arthur was at that moment scrubbing the remnants of that metal thing off his face. Alfred had never scrubbed anything off his face before, merely wiping or smearing it with his sleeve.

It was as though his face were coming off on the hot cloth that was rapidly turning brown as his face got progressively whiter, though Alfred couldn't see it.

Mattie certainly could see Alfred's face becoming lighter and lighter. It was like watching something he'd known for years suddenly melt in front of him. Alfred was undoubtedly not enjoying it, tugging on Arthur's grip savagely and saying bad things so quickly that even Mattie was having a bit of trouble understanding him. He couldn't imagine Arthur recognizing a single word out of the mess. It wasn't putting the man from the outside off, though.

It was then the man attempted to undress Alfred, pulling off his jacket and shirt in swift, jerky movements. "For christssake, if you'd just cooperate, this would be a lot more pleasant for both of us!" He snarled.

Alfred thrashed a bit more and Mattie desperately wanted to run over to him and help him out of the man's grip, but every time he worked up the courage, he caught a glimpse of the metal object behind them on a small table and found himself unable to move.

Alfred's coat and shirt came off and the man stopped trying to scrub at his face and instead scrubbed off the layer of muck that had built up on the boy's chest and back.

The cloth was disgusting by the time Arthur stopped. Alfred flopped out of his grip and scurried over to Mattie and clung to him, shivering from the unfamiliar dampness on his skin. Arthur tossed him a large, white shirt and it landed on Alfred's head. He wrapped it around himself like a blanket until Arthur stood up and slid it over his head.

"My clothes are too big for you, but they're better than those rags, at least," The man mumbled as he buttoned up the front. The sleeves came over Alfred's hands and the shirt ended far below Alfred's waist, but he snuggled into it anyway, trying to warm himself up. Arthur turned to Mattie.

"Tell me you'll cooperate better than he did," Mattie nodded quickly. Alfred glared at the man. "Good, now, come over, please?"

Mattie gave Alfred's hand (covered entirely by the sleeve) a quick squeeze and a frightened look before getting up and following Arthur.

Needless to say, Mattie's scrub was a bit more enjoyable than Alfred's had been, as Arthur didn't have the need to protect his crotch from flailing fists or worry about the water bowl splashing all over him again. Enjoyable might not have been the right word, but he fought the man's scrubbing much less. It wasn't because Mattie trusted the man, far from it.

He just didn't want to get on the bad side of that gun. The first washrag that had been used on Alfred had small red splotches on it to remind him of that.

A shirt was pulled over his head and his pants were pulled down (Arthur let out a groan and mumbled something about 'needs boxers', whatever those were) and a fresh pair replaced them.

They were ushered into a room the man muttering 'goodnight.' They had never heard the two words put together in such a way, but before they could ask what he meant by it, the door was shut behind them.

000

"Hello? Yes, this is, er, Timothy Berns. I found two children, can you…. Oh, you're full? Well, thanks anyway. Yes, goodnight."

"Hello, this is Gregory Timms, I recently found two children and I was wondering if… ah, you're full? Right, thanks for your time. Goodnight."

"Hello, this is Oliver Greggs, I have two children… let me guess, you're full? Oh, oh, you're not? … The Black Plague? Really? Well, good luck dealing with that, good night."

Arthur hung up the phone. "Fuck, I'm out of aliases and phone numbers…"

000

The next morning, Arthur opened the doors to the room he'd haphazardly shoved the children into last night and found one of them awake and the other asleep. The sleeping one was curled up on the carpet with the rat while the awake one loomed over both of them, immediately shaking them awake when Arthur opened the door.

They were still filthy. Filthy children with unruly long hair and wearing his clothes that draped off their bodies like dresses. How could his life become so stressful in a matter of hours?

Oooh, the others were going to have a field day when they found out. There was nothing more infuriating than having both Ivan and Feliks laughing at you for something.

He looked at the children, now sitting bolt up and alert, staring at him as though he were some sort of strange, deranged monster.

"Stop it," Arthur snapped, "And get up," They did, apparently realizing he hadn't gotten nearly his desired sleep level last night.

Arthur turned to leave the room and start breakfast. Instead, he walked into the doorframe.

The two behind him giggled as he swore and held his nose. In a cinematic, sweeping gesture, Arthur turned and glared at them. They shut up immediately. He turned away again and marched forward.

"Fuck it," He groaned, turning and making it past the doorframe this time. "I'm ordering Chinese."

000

Two days later, he made for his home base, sneaking the children into his section of the building and telling them they were under no circumstance to come out of his private area.

This was all a vain, obvious attempt to keep the children hidden until he could find a different home for them. If this dragged on for too long, he would simply place them in an orphanage and be done with it.

"Arthur?" They had begun to trust him much more, at least.

"Yes, er…" Arthur turned to one of the two. He couldn't see a rat, but that didn't mean it wasn't hiding.

"'M Al," Alfred said. Arthur nodded.

"Of course you are. I knew that," Alfred made a face, "A-anyway, what was it you wanted?"

"Can you order th' food t'night?"

"Why?" Arthur snapped, instantly on the defensive now that food had been brought up. "Why, what's wrong with my cooking?"

Alfred looked at him confusedly. "…it's bad?"

Arthur smacked himself. He needed to find an orphanage or foster care that would take them fast.

Until the end of the month, that was how long he'd let them stay. After that, fuck it.

He had work to do.

Next Time on RAMAFIA:
Er, well, Hello. I'm Arthur Kirkland and I suppose I should say it's an honor introducing this series (despite how utterly pointless and foolish it may turn out to be…) Back to point, taking care of near-retar— I mean, special— children and trying to keep a working job turns out to be a bit harder than I thought, so I'm going to attempt to take a break… Oooh, now there's a fine pair of legs… what do you mean they're French?

…hey. So, after a bit of motivation YTing, I decided to, as Art says, "f'ck it" and post this.

So yes. I'm officially declaring my jump onto the HetaBus.

Warnings about this fic:
It will have minor sexual content, gender bending, MINOR yaoi, MINOR het (Christ, people, you know I don't like romance stories, stop worrying! ) violence, descriptions of young children being badly injured, sad backstories and my attempts to make stuff up about the mafia, because I know virtually nothing about them and I'm not dumb enough to google the mafia, got it?

It's meant to be read sort of like a TV show, but if those top and bottom parts annoy you, just skip them. It's not like they're important, after all.

I'm not sure when the next chapters will come out. I'll try to update once a month or something. Get on a schedule and all… it might help. I have ch 2 mostly written out already, but it might take me a bit to fill in the rest of the gaps, so please, be don't let your patience (or lack there-of) kill me D8

'Gnome hasn't proof-read the entire thing yet. Any problems are because she couldn't help me write it.

…also,

I'm going to finish CoinBoy. If none of the other DGM fanfics are going to be finished, I'm going to at least finish that one. I SWEAR IT BY LEVIRRIER'S HITLERSTACHE.

[EDIT/] 'Gnome's A/N is now up.
'Gnome:

Hey, 'Gnome here. I am the co-author of this story so I hope you lot enjoy it! This one has been in the works for a while so it's nice to finally have it published. You won't be recieving any guarantees about when this will be updated from me, but I think the second chapter is not too far in the future. I'm proof reading, citiquing and co-writing and fast as I can (otherwise known as slow), but please blame Draw for long periods of nothing because I would much prefer to sit back with my cup of tea and laugh at her misfortune. One last thing, thank ME for getting Draw into Hetalia. It was my doing. One more one last thing, if there are any words such as "colour" or "favourite" that are missing their u's I am gravely sorry, I have a hard time correcting Draw's American spelling

Akky/Draw:
F U 'Gnome D8

Characters © Hetalia: Axis Powers
Plot © Gnome&Draw