whatthefluffproject

Title: Once, Always (Love Across Time part 1) Author: Ofelia (unshakespearean) Fandom: Torchwood Ship(s): Harcooper Rating: K Warnings: None! Jack’s POV It is a truth universally acknowledged that Gwen Cooper is the most beautiful and incredible woman ever to grace the planet, and any other that she might someday grace. But there’s something else about her, something I can’t quite place. Somehow, I feel like I’ve seen her before, loved her before, as though she existed long before that rainy night. What is it? I’ve been asking myself for the past week, the best seven days I’ve ever had. It was a week ago to

Germany sat up straight in bed, his heart racing about as fast as America’s mouth when spouting out idiocy. Images of Italy dying in a thousand ways flooded his mind. He just couldn’t shake them. The nightmare wouldn’t stop coming; every time he closed his eyes he could hear that high-pitched scream of pain, smell blood and see the light leave his only friend’s bright eyes. It was never an arbitrary scream of pain, either. No, it was always a cry of Germany, help me! Sometimes there was a please thrown in there, always drenched in tears. “Germany?” He turned to see Italy looking up at him with curiosity. &

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Ludwig muttered as Feliciano dragged him into -- ugh -- Build-A-Bear Workshop. Ah, well, it was worth watching. He secretly enjoyed his friend’s childlike excitement and infectious smile. In moderation, of course. Wait… what exactly do you mean by moderation? “Look, Ludwig! There are sooooo many… I want them all! They all need a home!” “Feliciano. They are inanimate pieces of fabric. They aren’t even stuffed. I can promise you that they couldn’t care less about having a home.” But he was drowned out by Feliciano&#

“You want to, um, swing dance?” “Ve, yeah! This music is really popular right now. Do you know how?” “I guess...” It was true, Gilbert had shown him how to lead, but he just wasn’t musically inclined and had two left feet at that. “Hooray!” Italy grabbed Germany’s hands and as the saxophone jazz began to play through the speakers of the dance hall. Germany did his best to ignore his pounding heart and dry throat as he and Italy performed the basic steps. He was going to look anywhere but those large, sweet, beautiful hazel eyes – nope, stop looking. He had some recollection of

“Feli… Feli, wake up…” As per usual, Feliciano didn’t move an inch. “My arm’s falling asleep; move…” Nope. Nothing. “OH MY GOD WOULD YOU PLEASE MOVE!” “Uhhhhhh…” “Feliciano?” “Uhhhhhhhhh…” “Oh, stop moaning and move.” Ludwig tried to push the as-usual-reluctant-to-move Italian off of him. “Oh… oh, God, you’re sick!” Indeed, the reluctant-to-move Italian was also a clearly sick one. Like, holy-crap-you’re-going-to-set-the-freaking-house-on-fire-with-your-fever sick. “You think?”

Germany slowly woke up to Italy's shuddering in the middle of the night.  He drowsily opened his eyes and saw the corner of Italy's lips twitching as he dreamed, the full moon shone through their window providing only pale light to see.  Italy soon began talking in his sleep, something about an alien, pasta, and a psychotic France.  Germany smiled to himself as he listened to Italy talk; it was funny, some nice entertainment to wake up to.  He looked down and noticed his arm was wrapped protectively around Italy's chest, 'Every single time I wake up at night I'm holding him…' he thought to himself.  Germany knew he loved Italy, but he wa

 It had taken all day (or rather all evening, since they had not begun their trek until well into the afternoon) to work their way through the forest trail. The way the warm sun dappled the greenery around them with spots of light as it slowly set over the horizon was stunning— —that is, would have been stunning, if there wasn't an exhausted and fidgety Italian latched onto Ludwig's arm (and one that was very vocal about his condition, no less). "Ludwig, are we there yet? I'm tired and my feet hurt!" It was safe to say that such statements had become a mantra for the Italian, considering he wouldn't go more than three minutes

Germany got into bed and was just about to fall asleep when a familiar warmth filled up the bed next to him.  He flipped onto his other side and, not surprisingly, found Italy laying next him.  He watched as Italy performed his nightly ritual of starting on his right side, then changing to the left, then laying on his stomach, then his back, then finally deciding that the best place to sleep was snuggled up next to Germany with his head buried in Germany's chest.  Germany naturally rested his arm across Italy's back and started to fall back asleep, until Italy spoke up. "Vee~ Germany?" "Hm?" he grunted slightly annoyed. "Why does your hear

Warning: Slash pairing. Italy didn't consider himself a slave to routine. Even though Germany would get upset and yell at him whenever he showed up late or skipped out on training altogether, the auburn-haired nation couldn't bring himself to care. He liked sometimes staying in for breakfast or skipping down to the coffee shop; he liked sometimes stopping to pick flowers or chat with pretty girls; he liked sometimes taking a siesta or going into town for the afternoon. Every day was a little bit different, and Italy was happy to have variety. But even amongst the random variables of his day, one aspect never changed – that Germany woul

     He sat there in the corner of the room, huddling his knees into his thin body. It was no use. No use for the Italian who shivered, letting out dry sobs. He wasn't loved, never was and never will be. He knew that the one he loved hated him, wanted nothing to do with him. Who had feigned affection all this time, not caring for his emotions. Who backed away at Italy's touch, who shouted at him, always angry. He didn't care, he never did and never will. Romano was right. Romano was always right.   There was a knock at the door the door. The brunette looked up to hear a voice:     "Italia? Italia are you there?"   The tears fell harder

 "Your eyes." The hand over the German's face was placed in vain; nothing could hide the deep blush that spread all the way from his cheeks to his ears, as much as Germany wished to sink into the shadows and just be free of this embarrassment. "We…we are not discussing this, Feliciano." "Why not?" His head lifted slightly from the German's chest, the ever-present smile gracing his lips. Italy reached up to tug at the blond's wrists, bringing his hands away from his face with an amused giggle. Germany could be so silly, sometimes! "It's something nice to talk about!" Germany gave no resistance to the Italian's grip, fighting back a

"V-ve! Germany~!!!" Italy flinched as another flash of lightning illuminated the room through his curtained window. Another second passed and the deep roll of thunder was heard around the house. Italy whimpered and called out again. Usually by this time he would have sprung out of bed and rushed to Germany's room. Except Germany had asked Italy not to disturb him because he was working… and he was too frightened to move. Again the clouds roared and grumbled angrily. Italy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and retreated back under the covers, clamping his hands over his ears. He continued to whimper as the rain beat down on the windows, wi

Warning: Follows the HRE = Germany theory. Don't like, don't read. ------ For Ludwig, this was increasingly obnoxious. No - not just obnoxious. Obnoxious and unsettling. Disconcerting. And awfully god damn confusing. It seemed to defy every aspect of Feliciano's apparent personality and to have no underlying cause, that Ludwig could see. But there had to be one. Why couldn't he see it? As Ludwig's colleague, Feliciano had always been a bit... clingy. He'd hang off of him and hide behind him, pick him flowers, joke around, and attempt to have a good time, especially when trying to blow off work. This was both annoying and subtly endeari

"  Veeee Germany look at my skirt!" Germany turned around to see Italy wearing a white, button down shirt, and a plaid, knee lengh, skirt with high heel black boots. Oh Mien Gott "What ze hell are you wearing!!!!???" He shouted. "Poland lent me some clothes, so I thought I might try them on," Italy excitedly waved his arms about. "Is it cool Germany? What do you think?" The blonde nation felt himself blush. Yes, the Italian did look incredibly ridiculous in women's attire but at the same time, it wasn't. There was something about that skirt, that made those boyish hips seem smooth, that made those thin legs looked shaped to perfection, t

Sitting in his German class, Feliciano winced slightly as something hit the back of his head. Turning around, he noticed a scrunched up piece of paper on the floor just behind his chair. Picking up the paper, he turned back around in his seat, unfurled it, and began to read; Hey Vargas, Stop talking so loud when we have to recite the German numbers. It's a complete embarrassment to think that the person, who can be clearly heard above the rest because of his voice-that-refuses-to-break, is a boy. Just because you're a poof, doesn't mean you should drag the rest of the men in the room down with you. Feliciano sniffled slightly as he heard