Hetalia kink meme part 22
axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 22
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Bonus: I'm the writer of this fill (warning for rape, torture, and death): http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20706.html?thread=87776226#t87776226 I'd be pleased if the mentioned attack is the scenario he's recovering from. Don't go into too much detail about the actual attack if you do use that - I'm cool with simply mentioning such things, but fetishising the direct events of a real and comparatively recent massacre creeps me out. Focus on the recovery, not the infliction. Also, Japan-the-character didn't know about it, but China probably doesn't know that yet.
Bonus #2: while delirious, China calls the dragon "Mama"/"Daddy" (anyone know the dragon's gender?) and the dragon doesn't ask if he remembers when he's lucid.
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It had been said before; bosses and their nations had a special connection, for better or worse. There were few things a nation could refuse their boss, and in turn, there were few times a boss did not feel the pain of a nation by proxy.
Of course, this was more of an emotional thing normally; however, Lóng Lǎobǎn had gotten close to China in the many years they had worked together, and now, in these dark days, there was rarely a time he didn’t know where China was and what was going on.
It was tearing him apart, he knew, this constant warfare, from between his own people, to the Japanese invading and treating the population like dogs in the street, to be shot for fun or leisure. But China was a strong nation, and he refused to admit it; he also refused to hole up somewhere safe, commanding troops like the proud general he had always been.
Physically speaking, he and his army were weaker than the Japanese and their nation, but that hadn’t stopped him from fighting tooth and nail to protect himself and his people. It was something that made Lóng Lǎobǎn proud to be the leader of China, to see the desperate courage in his eyes. China was not someone who could be pushed the edge and destroyed; he would always come back.
In times like these, however, there were grave moments where he doubted China’s ability to continue existing; this was one of these moments.
The sharp pain he’d felt, a definite gloom hanging over his head, had given him warning that something had gone horribly wrong. It was a sixth sense he knew by now, not by frequency of appearance, but by the severity of the situation every time he’d felt it.
The last time had been when he’d found China, after feeling that something had gone wrong, where had been executed in the Communist massacre near Changsha. Someone had decided that his political leanings were too Communist, and not knowing who he was, had made him one of the 10,000 or so murdered. It had been a scary time; Nations can survive a lot, but Lóng Lǎobǎn had never seen a nation survive a beheading.
But China had, with much anxiety once his neck and head were knit back together and he awoke. The scar, amazingly enough, was barely visible now, a pale, thin line encircling his neck.
Lóng Lǎobǎn didn’t go out in public often, and not for just anyone; but this feeling was stronger than he had ever feared, and he knew he had to find China.
He could sense where the nation currently was, and he followed that sense all the way to Nanjing, a city which he knew was overrun with the enemy, a cruel bunch with a penchant for rape. A growl made its way up his throat, from deep in his chest. The thought of his people, being slaughtered for sport and pleasure, made his blood boil.
Urgency seemed to thrum throughout his mind suddenly, and he knew he was close, and there could only be a sad sight awaiting him…
Lóng Lǎobǎn burst into a small house, knocking aside the door. Nothing jumped at his arrival, which only set the dread deep into his gut. China was here; but he wasn’t making a sound.
It didn’t take long to sniff him out; if there was any scent Lóng Lǎobǎn was familiar with, it was China’s. He swept over broken pottery and the spilled remains of a meal to the back room, and a horrible sight awaited him.
There, in the middle of the floor, lay a mess of human flesh and blood, strips of cloth still hanging off of it. Lóng Lǎobǎn was beside it instantly, recognizing both the smell and the clothes; it was China.
“China? Are you alive? Can you hear me?” He gently put his claw on China’s intact head, rolling it a bit to try and get a response. Nothing. The soft hair slipped around under his claw, undone and spread across the floor.
Lóng Lǎobǎn gave a great sigh. There were few things more terrifying and traumatizing to a nation than dying; coming back to life was one of them. He would have to move China back and get him comfortable for the inevitable.
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It wasn’t hard to get back; when one could fly, it made a world of difference in travel. The only thing he worried about was getting China back before he started the awakening process. That was not something he wanted happening mid-air; it would be freaky enough without China close to what he termed, safe, sweet earth.
It was just as he landed that there was the slightest twitch, and he had to rush to get him inside before his mind caught up with his nervous system. Settling him on a bed (a Western one, it was the best he had for these cases), he propped pillows around him, and then watched.
Very suddenly, a huge gasp of air filled China’s lungs, and his whole body began to shake violently, as though every muscle were spasming at the same time, fighting each other to move. As more gasps of air came, China’s eyelids began blinking rapidly, and his eyes were darting about beneath them, no doubt not at a state of comprehension quite yet.
Lóng Lǎobǎn stroked his head, and finally, as more breaths came, terrified, short cries escaped from China’s throat, as his abdomen tried to contract and only made the bayonet wounds worse. His eyes opened, no longer erratically twitching, and they stared into the ceiling, as though he were unable to see anything else.
Humming an old Chinese song, Lóng Lǎobǎn continued to stroke China’s head, trying to calm the muscles and relax him, as much as could be done in this circumstance. Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly the best choice for massage, but he was the only one China who could be trusted with China at this critical hour in their history.
The cries had morphed into high-pitched, desperate whimpers, as the muscles calmed, but the pain did not go away. China was not capable of more at this point, Lóng Lǎobǎn knew; his brain would take some time to catch back up, and even then, his mind could shattered by this.
Reaching for a small box, concealed behind a beautiful vase, he knew he had to quiet China’s suffering, as the poor nation shook violently under the force of his body trying to heal while under horrible pain.
“I’m sorry about this,” Lóng Lǎobǎn murmured, as he got out a long unused bong, and set it alight. The white substance was added, and pretty soon a smell that was heavily familiar to both him and China filled the room.
China had never wanted to touch it again, he knew; opium had ruined things for him. It had taken years to break the addiction, and even now, he was sure there were moments when China wanted it. But he had no better way to take away the pain; the medical supplies were being used for the troops. So, without dwelling on further, he pinched China’s nose, and shoved the mouth-end of the pipe into his open mouth.
Fighting him, China’s head weakly tried to break free of his clawed grip, so much so that he was afraid he would accidently hurt him, but then… China took in a massive breath, still whimpering and trying to somehow move away from the pain.
That was enough. Lóng Lǎobǎn took away the bong, and blew out the fire. Then his claw returned to rest on China’s forehead, as the nation continued to stare unseeingly at the ceiling and whimper in pain. He liked to think the touch imparted some sort of courage, or comfort, to China, moving his calm, healthy essence to the battered nation’s body.
It took a few minutes, but China’s breathing began to slow, and his eyelids drooped a bit. The whimpers came to a slow halt, and Lóng Lǎobǎn let out a sigh of relief. Now he could get to work on getting him healed up faster.
He had what he needed to sew up his gaping bayonet wounds, and so set about that. He knew if he had been a human, especially an inexperienced one, he would not have been able to stomach working with the torn flesh.
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China responded to this by fighting further, little pained gasps escaping as he tried to twist his wrists free. “No, no, no…”
The wriggling made Lóng Lǎobǎn miss with his needle, jabbing the delicate inside of the wound. China let out a shriek, screaming, “Mama! Mama, please, Mama…” and burst into tears.
Lóng Lǎobǎn was quick to stroke his head again, feeling the twisting anger at the men who did this to him. His emotional awareness had caught up now, but his comprehension was hardly there; he would continue to fight if Lóng Lǎobǎn did not stop him from hurting himself.
It made him feel sick to think China was so messed up, he thought he was a child again, safe in his mother’s home. It was too long ago for Lóng Lǎobǎn to have known her, but he got the impression she must have been a good mother; China was a well-behaved nation, most of the time.
Lóng Lǎobǎn pressed something of a kiss against the side of China’s face; it was the closest to one a dragon could do, anyway. Puckering was a rather ape thing.
China had just settled for whimpering and trying to get up, unable to understand what was going on other than the fact he was afraid and in pain, and he wanted comfort.
Lóng Lǎobǎn wrapped him up in the blanket, reasoning that his wounds would not kill him, and would heal on their own eventually; he had just hoped to hurry it along. Then he curled around him, as tight as he could without being suffocating or painful.
Dragon skin was not soft, but he blanket was a good buffer, and his heat still radiated through. China seemed to calm, eyes settling on his face, wide and rather teary.
“You’re safe here, I promise,” Lóng Lǎobǎn said softly, tip of his tail flicking up to wipe at China’s face. It was a mess, honestly, with both blood and the effects of crying muddying his features. He looked like a grubby-faced human child, honestly, and Lóng Lǎobǎn could hardly refrain from treating him as such.
China’s breathing was frightened, a quick tempo; but it seemed to be calming down, and he wasn’t struggling. His hair fanned out behind him in a tangled mess on the curl of Lóng Lǎobǎn’s body; had Lóng Lǎobǎn been a more sensitive creature, he was sure he would be very tickled by it.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, Lóng Lǎobǎn feeling every breath and small movement China made, as he seemed to be trying to understand what was going on. “It will alright,” he promised from time to time, usually adding, “You’re safe.”
“Wh…What… L-L-Lóng… I…” China’s lower lip began violently trembling, as memories and comprehension were coming back. His eyes were welling up, and they locked with Lóng Lǎobǎn’s, and they were filled with confusion, horror, deep betrayal and fear. He started to move, hands slipping out the blanket and trying to push out of the coils he was safely entrapped in.
Lóng Lǎobǎn gently pushed down on China’s head with his chin, making him stay. “Sh… Just calm down. Something bad happened to you, but you’re safe now. You’re going to be alright; you just need to stay here, and stay with me. Do you understand?”
“But… but why? Why?” It wasn’t a question of why he had to stay here; from the utterly shattered expression, Lóng Lǎobǎn could tell this was a deeper question. And honestly, he couldn’t answer, despite being as old as he was. Why did a nation of people, or at least their army, come to hate another group so much, enough to mutilate and kill its defenseless members?
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In any case, those feelings were spilling over now, as the tears began to fall. Lóng Lǎobǎn just shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
China just seemed to break apart in front of him, head dipping down and sobs becoming audible. Lóng Lǎobǎn twisted a bit, and rested one of his claws on China’s shoulder, gently rubbing his back with the other. He was fortunate to be such a long dragon, rather than a stubby European one.
People were insane, he had deduced long ago, willing to do things to each other in the name of power that should shock them to their senses. These Japanese soldiers were high on power, and the belief that they were inherently better than their Chinese peers, or pretty much anyone else.
China had had his moments too; It was only so long ago that the queue was the style of hair, upon pain of death, as the Manchu lorded their power over the Han.
But nothing was quite so cruel as this continued, unprovoked attack, from a brother that China had once loved so much.
China had buried his face in the blanket, shaking with sobs and probably with the pain too. But there was something relaxed about his posture, despite it, and Lóng Lǎobǎn knew that the opium coursing through his system would mean he would cry himself out in a short amount of time.
And he did, eventually slumping back against Lóng Lǎobǎn and staring rather dully at the ceiling. It was almost as though he had forgotten his sorrow, as the practically serene expression spread across his face.
Lóng Lǎobǎn carefully uncoiled, murmuring to him, “I’m going to sew up your wounds, alright?”
He got a minimal response, the slightest of nods. As he laid out China once again, the nation didn’t fight, and sewing up the huge gashes was simple enough work; he could only hope the organs underneath would heal up nicely.
A shudder went through China every so often, and Lóng Lǎobǎn knew then when he was hitting particularly sensitive spots, but otherwise China lay like the dead, as though he couldn’t bear anything else.
And sometimes, Lóng Lǎobǎn feared that was the case. China was over 4,000 years old; could he survive this new war, with these factions within him so bitterly opposed to each other? Would he split, and become a new country, if he survived all this? Or would he just disappear?
Lóng Lǎobǎn stroked back China’s hair, promising him, “It will get better.”
However, as the nation lay there, caught within a drug’s embrace and effectively shredded below the shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would.
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As for the Changsha reference, in that area around 1927, there was a massacre of Communists, as there also was in a lot of other areas. All of this was kicked off by Chiang Kai Shek's Shanghai Massacre, where he had about 300 Communists executed. Many more went missing. It basically started the split in the Kuomintang.
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So far this sounds really promising, Anon. I hope to read more soon ^^
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I couldn't resist. Hope you like it! (Still wondering if there's an update in the offing, I admit.)
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Lóng Lǎobǎn put a new cool compress on China’s forehead, even as he reached up and tried to brush it off.
“Cold,” China whispered, a discomforted expression on his face. His fingers fumbled for the cool compress, intent on relieving the newest discomfort forced on him.
Catching his hands, Lóng Lǎobǎn said softly, “I know it’s cold; we have to bring your temperature down. You’re burning up.”
Seeming to not understand, China made another noise, and Lóng Lǎobǎn was afraid he would see him break into tears once more, considering how delirious he had been of late. “No, I’m too cold, it’s too cold!” And a shudder went through him, as if to prove his point, and he let out a pained moan through gritted teeth.
Lóng Lǎobǎn tried to soothe him, still keeping both his wrists trapped in his claw as he stroked back his long hair. “It will get better, I promise. You have to endure for now.”
China’s face began to crinkle, flushing up further as the tears started to slip out once more. “P-please, I’m cold…” His voice quavered, as his lower lip trembled violently and another shudder went through him.
An anger tightened in Lóng Lǎobǎn’s heart; Japan shouldn’t have caused this. China shouldn’t have to suffer, he should be strong and tall and proud, as he always had been.
Then Lóng Lǎobǎn chided himself; China wouldn’t have blamed Japan personally for this. He’d say that a nation couldn’t always control their people, and that the black sheep aren’t representative of the whole flock.
China’s hands twitched in Lóng Lǎobǎn’s claws, as he continued to cry like a child, unable to understand why he was in such unbearable pain and chills that could rival the tundra of Russia. “Please… please…”
As if Lóng Lǎobǎn could end it. He gave a great sigh, and wished he could help China further. “You’re alright; it’s going to be fine. Once your fever breaks, you’ll be warm again…” It was hardly a good consolation, but he had nothing else to offer him; the war ravaging the country had deprived him of many supplies.
Maybe he should take him to one of the Western hospitals, however long a trip that might be; but news of China, the nation himself, being in such weak condition, could invite further meddling, and not for the better.
There was a knock at the door, and Lóng Lǎobǎn would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. And a little angered. He’d told the scattered officials not to bother him! The thought of biting the intruder’s head off was very comforting, as he slid across the room and to the door.
“What could possibly be so… What are you doing here?”
Japan’s smooth, neatly cut hair bobbed down, in a small bow. “I am here to discuss important matters with China; he does not seem to be at his home.”
Maybe for a moment, Lóng Lǎobǎn had wanted to snarl out that it was the uniform-clad nation’s fault; but the genuinely curious, and possibly miffed, look in Japan’s eyes told him he had no idea what had gone down. “He’s not available right now.”
Japan’s brow creased slightly, as he said, “I was hoping he would be. You see, I must talk with him about the issue of his troops hiding among the civilians; it’s hardly a civilized way to fight a war, and I don’t want the civilians to be confused for soldiers.”
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A confused expression flitted across Japan’s face. “I was just in Nanking; it seemed lovely. What are you going on about?”
A pained groan and gasp interrupted them, and Lóng Lǎobǎn turned back to China. “I think we’ve talked enough. Goodbye.”
Japan started to say something, but he was cut off by the door closing. And of course, he wouldn’t barge into a home that wasn’t his, regardless of how he felt about the owner.
Lóng Lǎobǎn appeared again by China’s side, putting another cold compress on his forehead; he’d already gotten rid of the other one.
China’s teeth chattered as he said, “Who was there? Who was there?” There was a fearful look in his golden eyes, with the pupils shrunk down, not wide like they tended to be.
Feeling another growl coming on, Lóng Lǎobǎn swallowed heavily. China was undoubtedly afraid of his attackers coming back; there must have been a number of them, stabbing into him and laughing at his cries…
Lóng Lǎobǎn shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell. “It was no one.”
It seemed China didn’t quite take this as truth, closing his eyes and whimpering, “Don’t let them back in, please don’t let them back in…”
“I won’t; no one’s coming to get you.” It was frustrating to watch, knowing there was only so much truth to his statement. And there was not very much he could do about it; he was only one dragon. Lóng Lǎobǎn pulled the covers tighter around China, hoping that would make him feel more secure.
Those golden eyes seemed to frantically search his face, as though trying to determine the truth. After a couple moments, he relaxed, to one degree or another.
Lóng Lǎobǎn sighed, stroking China’s tangled hair and taking care not to pull it. What was he going to do? China was recovering all right physically, though he had a fever and it looked as though he would have a mass of scars on his abdomen; however, his mind didn’t seem all put together quite yet.
If he stayed that way, there could only be problems for their land. Lóng Lǎobǎn foresaw a split, a horrible fight that was only halted by this war, and therein was another problem; what would happen to China if he were conquered? It was always said that China was too big to take down, but what had these past years been but a brutal humbling?
Carefully wiping the nation’s feverish brow, Lóng Lǎobǎn growled to himself that China didn’t deserve it. He didn’t care what he had done in the past; no one deserved to be humiliated and manipulated the way China had been.
His family had been taken, he was insulted at every turn by the Western devils, and now there was this bloodbath on his lands. What could be coming after this? Only worse things?
“Lóng Lǎobǎn,” China said, eyes fluttering open, “where is Hong Kong? Where is Taiwan? They miss me, they’re little, I need to… need to go and get them…” And he started to force himself up off the bed, maneuverability clearly affected by the fever.
Lóng Lǎobǎn gently took him by the shoulders, reassuring him, “They’re not here right now, but they’re all right. You’ll see them later.” Then he tried to force him back down.
China resisted, insisting, “I need to see them! They’re hurt, I know they are!” He struggled, as much as his condition allowed, and there was certainly reason to worry that he would tear his stitches and cause himself more pain.
“They are fine. Stay down, please.” Lóng Lǎobǎn didn’t know what to do next. It was then that there was a knocking on the door…
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Also, college ate up my time. Sorry OP!
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*reads* ... *sniffle* Waaah, poor things! I admit it, I adore fic in which humans fuck things up behind their nations' backs. Going to be interesting when Japan finds out ...
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