The following Monday:
She was stunning. She was absolutely stunning.
Her hair shone in the warm grace of the firelight, a gorgeous honey hue, coated in a veil of netting and snow-white roses. She almost appeared to be floating in her ballgown, her angelic figure bathed in purest white satin with a belt of sequins around her waist. Her smile shone brighter than the sunset that beamed though the opulent church windows as she gazed adoringly at the groom that awaited her.
She was perfect. She was an absolute dream.
On a slightly more worrying note, the priest had showed up in a grey tweed jacket and a tie the colour of mustard that had been in Chernobyl for a bit too long. And the groom should know.
As the bride finally reached the altar and the gentle piano music ceased, the doting adoration of the guests blanketed the gorgeous cathedral, with every single nation's eyes fixated on the bride's elegance and the groom's chestnut-brown hair which most of them had no idea even existed below his ushanka (which had been unceremoniously shoved into the pocket of the side of the jacket the audience couldn't see). Oh, and they supposed he looked rather dashing in his medieval-style long coat and ruffled shirt too.
"Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," the priest smiled at the groom, smiling and twiddling his thumbs while wiping his sweaty palms behind the podium. "Um... Say your vows, I suppose..."
"....You're definitely a priest, да?"
"Vatican sent me, yes," he nodded.
"And you are?"
"The name's San Marino. Father San Marino." He declared, summoning all the James Bond gusto he could. "Now, your vows, Sir?"
Nodding irritably at San Marino and gazing deeply into Britain's peaceful, galactic eyes, the USSR began, "United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, I love you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you at the Olympics of 1936, I knew there was something different about you. What I didn't know then was that you would be the most brave, humorous, eccentric, stubborn person I would ever meet and that you would be the one to provide such brightness in the darkest point of my life. I am honoured to have you here today as my bride, an honour that I never dreamed would belong to me."
The audience let out a gasp and a collective 'awh' as he finished, getting the sense that Soviet had spent hours rehearsing for this moment, improving his English and searching for words gorgeous enough to describe his British sweetheart.
Tears of joy glistening in her opalescent eyes, the UK began to recite her vows, entranced by the warmth of Soviet's words and the pure love illuminating his amber eye: "Union of Soviet Socialist Republics... I honestly have no idea now to describe how I feel about you. You're so much more brave, caring and strong than anyone I've ever met, and your loyalty to me and to your family warms my heart every single day. Though most people have never had the pleasure of seeing it, your smile is the brightest, most beautiful thing in my life and I'd be lost without your solidarity and fearless resolve, but also without your caring nature and gentle, loving embrace. I'm overjoyed to be here, to be marrying you, and I'll always adore you, no matter what may come our way."
Tears were slipping down Britain's cheeks by now, and Soviet's heart was racing beyond belief, but the adoration in each other's eyes mesmerised them, melting away everything in the universe except each other.
"Well that was cute!" San Marino squeaked, giggling and rocking backwards and forwards on his heels with excitement, "Are you going to love and.... Um... Love each other for as long as you both shall exist?"
"I do."
"Да."
"...That's not the line, Sovi-"
"Ah well, at least I'm doing better than Ripoff Italy."
"HEY!" Anyway, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!"
As the couple kissed, the room burst into applause, with even America smiling at the joy radiating from the couple. Both Britain and Soviet were crying unashamedly and uncontrollably, though they were the happiest, most optimistic they'd ever been. The only sadness that plagued them was of Soviet's impending departure, which was to be at midnight that night, but both pushed their sorrow out of their minds, choosing instead to dream of their future children ("I'm sure it's twins, I can feel it!" Britain had declared the previous morning),of the peace that they would hold close and of the love they would hold for each other and for their soon-to-be-born children.
That night, music swirled around them, singing songs of love and hope, and telling tales of their unity and loyalty, accompanied by the hypnotic movements of the dancing guests, who were content loving one another and congratulating the newly-wed couple, until...
11:55 pm.
"Великобритания We have to go..." Soviet whispered to his darling, a hint of mourning in his eyes as he gazed at his wife. Nodding, Britain followed him outside into the regal courtyard beside the venue, eventually finding a loveseat to perch on.
11:56 pm.
"I don't want you to go!" The UK sobbed, clinging to Soviet and shaking uncontrollably.
"I don't want to go either... But you'll see me again..." Soviet sniffed, slipping his ushanka out of his pocket and onto Britain's head.
11:57 pm.
"Look after the children, my love... Tell them about me, tell them their Папа loves them..."
"Of c-course..."
11:58 pm.
"Father, it's time," The Afterlife whispered, emerging from the greenery behind them, a mournful shadow as she offered him her hand.
11:59 pm.
"Goodbye, Великобритания I love you, my little Spitfire..."
"Goodbye Soviet... I love you too, my precious Red..."
And with one last tearful embrace, the USSR was gone forever.
Only one more chapter to go! I hope you've enjoyed this so far...
The end is almost upon us, comrades.
YOU ARE READING
Operation Amerika || BritSov
FanfictionHello reader, ever thought to yourself 'hey, what if an extremely drunk America broke into Germany's house at 3am with his pants on his head?' I'm guessing you probably haven't, for reasons I can't quite explain, I have..! :') Why? Who knows! Am I i...
