Warning: mention of abuse, bully, violence, mention of incest, cannibalism, offensive humour,
"Oh mein Gott, wings!? Finally, Deutschland!" You had always known you were different, but it hadn’t truly mattered until you started school. Born with wings, a rare gift passed down from your great-great-grandfather Prussia, you were the first to inherit them in generations. The news had made him ecstatic. He’d longed for a sign that his family’s blood still ran strong.
From the moment you celebrated your first birthday, Prussia took it upon himself to train you. “A wing that can’t fly is just a burden,” he often muttered, as if reminding himself more than you. With every passing day, he pushed you harder, whispering stories of glory and conquest in your ears. He worried you weren’t pure enough, like your father who had dared to love a human.
"Die Frau hat Glück, dich zur Welt zu bringen... oder sie ist inzwischen tot," he mumbled once, holding you with a peculiar smile.
"Gott sei Dan, at least your boy is pure." One of your Opa snarled at your father. When your father is dating a human, his family warns him not to get serious. But your father didn't listen, and right after you were born, not only did your father have to make a birth certificate but also an NDA contract.
Your Uropa, the German Empire, and Opa Reich cared less about your purity, so long as you resembled the family’s ideals— or his ideology, blonde hair and blue eyes. But when your wings began to grow, white as snow, unlike Prussia’s black as coal, even they took notice. Opa Weimar would murmur, "Sie sind wie die Flügel eines alten Freundes..."
Your father, Germany, loved you unconditionally, regardless of your wings or your looks. To your father, you were perfect. He would brush your wings each evening after his work, his hands gentle but firm. Making up for the hours he wasn’t there, for the moments you spent alone or with Prussia and Weimar.
So, when the time came for school, he fought for you, volunteering to send you and pick you up daily. He wanted you to have friends, though most of the family disagreed.
They said it's better if you stay home with family. Easier for them to look after you if anything happened like when one time accidentally sprained your wing. They have a hell of a fight before Germany use 'I am his vater, so I knows what's good for mein sohn' and they all shut up.
And so, off you went, wide-eyed with hope. Yet, school was cruel. Where you hoped for friends, you found whispers. The other children at school saw only your wings, some were fascinated— but some too consume with stories of wars, power, and pain passed down from their parents. So the whispers began, then the sneers, and eventually, the bullying started in earnest.
