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{TL;DR VERSION}- Going on a Hiatus means you KNOW you won't be able to post ANYTHING for a week plus and it will interfere with your ability to do an activity check, meaning ONE POST PER CHARACTER, 300 WORDS.

- Hiatuses are now going to be recorded. You can't just say "I'm going on a hiatus" and then not show up ever for months. Now you have to pop back by a promised date and tell us so we're sure you are still interested.

- You have to send staff members a letter about why you're leaving, when you're leaving, and when you're coming back. It has to be a reasonable excuse, anywhere from exams to family business and even to 'not feeling very much into hetalia'. You can't say, "I don't have anyone to rp with", or "idk I don't feel like it".

- You have to come back by the date you promised or else there will be consequences. Talk to staff if you want to extend your hiatus or if your hiatus is over.

- Under most circumstances, we will drop you if you don't return. I am serious.

- If your hiatus is going to be longer than two months, tell us on the end date. Then submit another letter anytime from the beginning of next month within the time frame of 17 days.

- Going on hiatus too many times consecutively gives us the right to question your position in the board.

- PLEASE talk to staff if you need anything regarding hiatuses or if you're afraid or anxious about anything. Staff members are humans with feelings and we can adjust. On the same coin, we also have brains, so don't abuse this system.

- After you are accepted, you're free to post up your hiatus.

{THE EPIC}

{A lifetime}There was a shock of a gunshot, a twisted scream, and a fury of events. When the silence heralded, Heracles rushed to her limp body that squirmed and rested in a growing pool of red. When he held her, he saw that the damage was done, and there was no probably way of getting her to her original form.

“I had a dream,” she whispered in a dying hush, “that we were together. Married, can you believe that?”

She pressed her hand against the blood that was seeping through the black fabric of her dress. The pain was blossoming, the blood dripped from her hand like tendrils.

“You gave me a ring and I laughed so hard. It was tiny, but cute.”

Despite all of his prior achievements, all of his accomplishments that exalted his character as a walking piece of importance on this earth, Heracles could do nothing. His hand glided over her bloodstained one to clasp it to give her whatever strength he had. He had been a man, assertive and strong, but here he was nothing but a fleck of dust on the the pathway paved by her imminent mortality. And so he listened, still in denial, he listened.

“Then we had a son and he looked like you,” Nicoleta continued, chuckling dryly, “Curly brown hair, hazel eyes. He smiled a lot. Imagine me though, a fucking mother—”

“Nico,” Heracles interrupted in a stifled breath, “Stay with me. Nicoleta.”

He shook her once, firmly, in desperation to bring her back to the vigor she used to have. Her face was pale and placid, and the only color was the brush of rose on her parted lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, pretty boy,” Nicoleta teased. “Don’t cry until ‘m dead.”

“You can’t do this, for God’s fucking sake—”

“Maybe in another world, it really happened.” She paused and scoffed, a smirk forming on those wine-stained lips. “It was you and me against the world, Herc. Except, in this one, I… lost.”

The passing of her name merely became a shudder and a rustle of the wind on the earth's surface. In just one moment, nearly three decades of memories disappeared.

“I…” his shoulders relaxed, his arms became weak, and the tears finally obeyed. Heracles hunched over her corpse, his forehead against hers. “Damn it.”

There was so much he did not understand, but what he could understand was grief for a dear friend. Whoever she was, it came and took her and he was too slow to save her. Suddenly, it dawned on him that she had loved him--why else did she say that? He had been a fool, he should not have pushed away his suspicions.

Heracles only felt regret that he did not fully acknowledge that he had felt the same. Yet the truly horrifying pain stumbled upon him, when he realized that he could never have a chance to return her feelings. At least, not in this lifetime.

{Eternity }“Everything’ll be all right, Lils,” Donald reassured with a genial smile. “I know yer scared. Fer God’s sake, I’m scared meself but…”

“Just promise me you’ll be back safe,” Lili interjected as she held his arm securely.

“I will,” he replied affirmatively, “Seamus won’t know what’ll hit him, I can assure ye that. I know him, he’s like a kin—blood te blood. Whatever he does, I’ll know. He can’t beat me.”

She smiled at his courage weakly but could not shake off the surfacing doubt. He noticed and gave her a crooked grin, lifting her chin to have a better look at her expression.

“All I want is fer you te be safe. And yer not safe around me, so I have te go out and get rid of the pest meself,” He paused for a second, “Not entirely meself but meself fer the most part.”

“Just let me help, if there is any way,” she pleaded.

“Help me by stayin’ alive.”

“But who will help you if you are battling to stay alive alone?” she asked calmly with silent fierceness.

Donald sighed and ruffled her hair, which almost immediately made her look sheepish. There was still a spark in her eyes. He made sure to not overstep his boundaries.

“Trust me, I'm not alone. An' I’ll only be out tenight with a few boys. I’ll be back by morning.”

She frowned at him slightly, hesitantly choosing her next set of words in response.

“I’ll be back,” he repeated with solidity. A smile returned on his lips as he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. “Tomorrow. I won’t be in any danger. There’s a higher chance of me gettin’ lucky at winning the lottery than gettin’ inte any roughhousing. Really.”

“Really.” She sighed. “Alright.”

“I love you.” He grinned. “And after this, I swear I’ll marry ye once this shite’s over.”

Lili laughed, knowing that it was a joke. “I love you too. Don’t keep me waiting.”

A kiss, and that was it.

He turned away, with a coat over his shoulder, and walked out the door. Lili formed a smile as she watched him enter a black, all tinted car from the doorway. She closed the door, her fingers feeling the smooth gold of the promise ring he had given her. A circle, for eternity. The hours slaved on, pulling the minutes and seconds by the strands. Morning came and passed, and a night later, she received a phonecall.

All it took was a breath shy of three seconds for her to realize that she had lost someone for an eternity.

{Comme il faut; Francis and his mother in an AU}The pale-faced governess from Nantes stands by my brother’s daughter as she plays a sweet song that is too jovial and celebratory to appease my dampered spirit. My sister-in-law, stout and distastefully vain, sits up and gives me a side smile once the tunes fade. From the corner of my eye, I see the young lady look at up me expectantly, eager for praise.

“Isn’t my Estelle lovely? She is to go to Paris in a week from now. There is a suitor for her, you see, the Duke of Montmorency, Nicholas de Bourbon." She places a powdered hand on her rosen cheeks. "We are to see the arrangements when we get there after the gala. Isn't it so, Lydia?”

The governess, youthful and astute in stature, makes a small courtesy smile and replies, "Oui madame."

My sister-in-law's bosom swelled with so much pride, I feared that she was going to ruin her bodice.

“She is lovely indeed,” I reply. I attempt to make a smile but she sees right through my facade.

“You must be stressed, dear Marie. Since your lord husband, God bless him, passed away, I hardly hear your laugh.” She waves a fat finger at her daughter. “Play another song, girl, for your dear, sweet aunt.”

“Merci, I am grateful,” I reply stiffly. It has been months since my stubborn husband passed away from a fever. I have exercised my smile or my tears to no one, and now I almost fear that I have forgotten.

With a grin like her mother’s, the fox-faced girl plays a song at once. The governess besides her nods at the precision of Estelle’s crescendo.

I notice the eagerness in Lady Colette's expression. How can it be that she wants her daughter to leave, her own flesh and blood, to the arms of a stranger? Is there any remorse at all?

It is for money, I answer myself quietly, for riches, honor, and titles that can be bought with a life. How can I be so foolish as to forget the binds of society!

I finally recline back against the cushion of my seat to think about my own child, my boy, my Francis. He used to play the piano all the time for me. I almost drown my musings in the song when someone enters loudly.

“Francis,” I stand up hastily. “You are home!”

My heart spills out happiness at his arrival. The first impulse is to run and embrace him, but I am held back by my own judgment. I am the lady and household of this estate, not a brazen river girl. So I stand there, a hand over the other, prim and proper.

“Mama—I hope I did not catch you at a time of inconvenience, madams,” Francis makes a slight nod at the other women, who reciprocate the gesture. “I wish to speak to my mother, if I may have your consents."

“How can I refuse my handsome nephew!” My sister-in-law stands at once and waves the two to follow the suit. “I will be in the garden. We women, like flowers, need air and sunlight.”

She saunters off like a mother goose, the goslings buoyantly trailing behind her. When the door is promptly shut, the silence and privacy instantly relaxes me.

Suddenly, a big smile is plastered on his lips. I almost wept as I beam back at him, feeling renewed and reinvigorated. His blue eyes twinkle like starlight as he strides over to me and held my arms. He towers over me now, his constitution strong but slender. On his chin and jawline is a light pepper of stubble, something I have not seen the last time I saw him.

“Mama, did you hear the news?” He asks excitedly. Even the timbre of his voice sounds much like a man. He is becoming more and more like his father. I sigh with my own pride, now understanding of why my sister-in-law adores her daughter.

“Napoleon has escaped Elba and plans to take his march.”

I look at him, nonplussed as my smile freezes. “He… escaped?”

“Yes. He is rallying an army, and I shall join to stand beside him in arms,” he tells me with a hearty laugh, “I want your blessing before I take my leave.”

I examine his expression for any sign of a ruse, feeling knots that takes my heart by the noose. My voice comes out as a whisper. “No, no, no Francis.”

I immediately see his excitement melt away as his grip weakens. I move away to refuse myself the look of his face.

“You are not to go to war. I will not permit it.”

“You do not understand me,” He replies calmly, staying his distance, “I must fight.”

“Your place is here!” I affirm indignantly. “What of the estate, your bride, your family. You want to gamble this and your safety for what?"

Then he dares to say, “I do this for honor.”

“There is no honor in war, you foolish boy!" I snap at him, "They don’t care if you are a son of a viscount or a hero or a husband or a pastor. They do not care if you are a son of a widowed mother or if you are to be a father. They will kill you like a hound!”

My cheeks blaze, almost ashamed of the truth.

I turn around to face my boy, my child, who looks at me with such loathing, it looks surreal. I want to say more, but then I find myself cumbered and tongue-tied. This restraint is a natural reflex to me, for it is what women are taught to do. Even in front of my own son, I fear the sin of saying more than I must.

There is nothing but muteness. The last time I endured this kind of antagonizing silence was when I was with my husband, holding onto his hand as he breathed his last. He really is like my husband.

“I’d rather die on the battlefield than die on my bed, weak and without aspiration," he says at once, his tone as sharp as and acidic as daggers. "That is what father would have wanted.”

He marches off and closes the door with a cruel gentleness upon his exit. I already knew it is too late.

I sink onto the piano stool, breathless and hollow. Rubbing my temples, I begin to remember moment he was born, small and red-faced, eyes clamped shut as he wailed for the heavens to hear. He had been so alive when I first held him in my arms. Though he had a heart beating on his own, I still thought it was in tune with mine.

It is cruel, I realize, how quickly children ripen to relentlessly be plucked away from their vines without a care for the stem that had nursed them. What am I to do? How can I stop him? I choke at the thought of barring him away. All is lost. He will adhere to his resolve over mine. A voice takes over in the midst of my grief.

"Honor and pride is not our place," reminds the golden voice of my own mother. "Men wage their wars and fight their battles. Women stay at home to pray and wait. Comme il faut, that is what is meant to be."

A surge takes me from within and I begin to sob against the frame of the piano, my tears blemishing the placid ivory keys.

Then I began to wish, for just a little bit, that if I cry loud enough, someone will finally listen.