Pasta Piece - Italy

You felt round, before your hand brushed over something hard… and curly?

“Huh?” you pulled the object out, only to find – a, a pasta piece?

“Pasta… Italy!” The large German said.

“Is it-a me? Yay! I can-a cook her pasta and tell her stories about-a Grandpa Rome!” The bubbly Italian rushed over, scooping you into his arms and spinning round. You gave a squeal, throwing your arms round his neck.

“Vell, let us go home. Ve shall get novhere now.” Germany sighted.

“Agreed. We shall meet again in London.” Sighed England, picking his scone out the hat and nibbling on it whilst he packed his brief case up.

Italy had chosen to skip out the meeting hall, still holding you.

“OI, IDIOTA!”

At the yell, you gave a whimper, before hiding your face in Italy’s shoulder.

“Huh?” he turned to find Romano marching towards him, “oh! Fratello, I guess this-a makes you a Zio now!”

“Si, si, it does…” The other Italian murmured, fixing his gaze onto you.

“Huh? Zio…” you repeated.

“Si! It-a means ‘Uncle’ in Italian! We shall be sure to teach you some! And you can spend time with Big Brother France and Big Brother Spain!”

“Does she even have a name, idiota?”

“Huh? Oh! Do you have-a name, bella?”

“Girl.” You replied.

“Huh? No! That cannot be-a right! How about… [Name]?”

You thought, and then nodded.

“Si!”


Upon arriving back home, Italy had run straight into the kitchen, placed you on the countertop and had started to make you pasta. You tilted your head as you watched him. Within minuets, he had finished.

“There! One plate of-a pasta for you!” He placed the bowl in front of you, and you looked down in surprise.

“A-All for me?” you asked.

“Si! I hope you like it!”

You picked up the fork and stuck it in, taking a big forkful and biting. You beamed – it tasted wonderful.

“It’s amazing!” you chimed, beginning to eat the rest.

“I’m-a so glad you like it!” he smiled.

Upon finishing, he took away the bowl, before asking “do you want-a some gelato?”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“You don’t-a know what gelato is, I need to fix this!” He rushed through another door, and was back a moment later with a tub, the contents of which he proceeded to scoop into a bowl.

“It’s-a strawberry flavour!”

You scooped some up and put it on your mouth, eyes widening.

“It’s cold! But super yummy! Thank you, papa!”


Time had soon passed, and it wasn’t long before Italy had started teaching you Italian with France and Spain teaching you French and Spanish respectively. Italy had also taught you how to draw, and Romano had eventually warmed up to you, and was teaching you how to curse in Italian, much to Italy’s dismay.

Before too long, the meeting had come around, and you were heading over. You were excited to see everyone again, although both your father and uncle were a little uneasy about being in the UK.

“Papà, Zio, come on!” you chimed, rushing through the airport, dragging your little Italian flag suitcase behind you.

“Wait-a up, [Name]!” Italy called.

“[Name], you should really listen to your Papa.”

“Oncle France! Tío Spain!” you cried gleefully, as France scooped you up, having just come off his own plane.

“Thank-a God you caught her, I don’t-a know what I would have-a done if she had got-a lost!” Italy had caught up, and took you back off France, heading towards the meeting.

“We would have found ‘er, we would just ‘ave to listen for the yelling when she saw Angleterre and the white flag.” France shrugged.

“Speak of the diablo…” Spain muttered as they enetered the hall.

“AHH! ENGLAND!”

Italy ran to hid behind France, with Romano behind Italy. You looked at your dad before wiggling out his arms and standing in front of France.

“Ma chere, what are you doing?” France asked, amused.

“I will protect Papà! Stay away, England!”