In order to celebrate HETALIA'S anime adaptation. AXIS POWERS HETALIA KINK MEME
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hetalia kink meme
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Okay, let's make history and be more epic than these people, shall we?
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Really, he’d meant to give the rosary back, the last time he saw Lithuania. But, by then, Lithuania had been sitting in Estonia’s house, trying to help him through the worst of it, and even Poland thought it would be in bad taste to return a gift then.
“Toras,” Poland whispers, running his thumb over the crucifix. His eyes feel hot and itchy, and he’s no longer sure if that’s his sorrow, his fatigue, or the plague that’s been brought upon his people. The same goes for the pathetic sniffle he gives.
The light cuts through one of the windows, and splashes colors on the pews. Through a missing pane in the stained glass, Poland can smell burning in the streets of Karków, and can no longer discern if that’s pillaging, or people dealing with the bodies like they did during the Bubonic Plague.
Everything feels slow and peaceful on Wawel Hill, though. Even though the rest of Europe is dead around them, the Poles march on.
Poland doesn’t think they’re much like a phoenix any more, though. He sits in the pews, feeling how weak his body is, and thinks his people are more like cockroaches.
He’s never cared for bugs before.
Flin Flon, Manitoba Province, Canada
Sitting in the little house, outside the city limits, Canada straddles the provinces of Manitoba and Saskatchewan-the two most pointless provinces on the planet, America once told him, and then took great offense when Canada told him they were just like his Midwest states.
He hasn’t eaten or slept in days, and is starting to feel the effects.
For one, Alfred is sitting beside him on the couch, leaned back into the cushions, whistling the Canadian national anthem.
“You’re dead,” Canada keeps telling America, and America keeps whistling the national anthem.
O Canada, our home and native land
“The last of your citizens finally passed on six weeks ago,” Canada whispers into the air between his knees, and America keeps whistling.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise, the True North strong and free!
“You were standing right there, in my kitchen,” Canada says, and is hysterical now. “You were standing in the kitchen, and you started coughing, and-I haven’t gotten the blood out of the grout yet. You said you didn’t want to go like Arthur did.”
God keep our land glorious and free! O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
“Cut it out!”
The phone rings. Canada falls off the couch, and America stops whistling to stare at him as he scrambles across the room for the phone. Then, as Canada picks up the phone and stares at it, America starts whistling again.
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“Yo, Canad-I mean, uh. Matthew, right?”
Canada barely recognizes the voice. He stares at America, and wonders if this is all some very elaborate, very unfunny joke.
“Hello? Are you, like, there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Hi, Feliks.”
“Have you been, like, watching the news? And stuff?”
“Uh, yeah, a little.” America has given up whistling the national anthem. Now he is just staring at Canada, and Canada knows that something terrible is about to happen in this hunger and sleep endued vision, but he can’t look away.
“Yeah,” Poland sighs over the phone. “Pretty heavy stuff.”
“Yeah,” Canada agrees. America opens his mouth like he’s going to start talking, and sand starts leaking out his ears. Canada can’t look away from him. “Um, is-is there a reason you called?”
“Oh,” Poland chirps, like nothing at all is the matter, like America’s eyes didn’t just sink into his skull and like there isn’t all the sand in the world pouring out of his mouth. “I just wanted to, you know, be, like, talkin’ to someone. While I was dying and all.”
“Yeah,” Canada mutters, noncommittal now, because America has started to convulse on his couch, throwing the sand everywhere in huge arches.
“How’s that goin’ for you, huh?”
“I’m hallucinating right now.”
“Really?” Poland sounds far too amused. Canada wonders how he can’t hear America screaming. “What’s that like?”
“It sucks.”
“Yeah, I’d, like, figure and stuff.”
And then America is normal again, like he was an hour ago, leaning back on the couch, whistling the national anthem like he didn’t just dissolve into dust or anything. Canada stares at him a moment, and then says into the phone, “Do you want to die together, Feliks? I think Honda Kiku is still sticking around, too.”
“That’d be pretty awesome, gotta say.” Poland’s laugh is husky and dark and broken. “Better than dying alone.”
“Where would we go?”
Poland is very quiet, and Canada pulls the phone away from his ear to make sure the connection is still on. When he looks back, America is standing in front of him, taking off his shirt.
Well, that’s new.
“The rye fields.”
“At your place?”
“No,” Poland says. “At Lithuania’s. His were always, like, way nicer than mine. And besides,”-he laughs again, and ends up coughing. America touches Canada’s chest-“all mine are, like, burned down.”
“Okay,” Canada says, and isn’t sure if he’s saying it to Poland, or the hallucination of his brother. “Sure. Let’s do that.”
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The phone goes dead, and America kisses him with a mouth that tastes like acid and blood and death.
At least it doesn’t taste like sand.
Lithuania
Canada is the first one to arrive, but Poland isn’t far behind. Japan arrives, using a crutch and holding a handkerchief to his nose.
“That bad, huh?” Poland asks. Japan sniffles and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. One is milky with cataracts. Canada takes the crutch, and offers his arm inside. Japan grabs Canada’s shoulder and hobbles like a proper soldier.
They walk through the field until they can’t see the road. Poland runs his fingers over the stalks and hums under his breath. Canada doesn’t know the tune. When they stop, Japan slips to his knees, and then lets himself fall back on his rump. He is unmoving from his spot.
Canada sits beside him, and watches Poland. Thankfully, the hallucinations are at bay for now. Japan leans against him, and Poland sings with a pleasant tenor:
“Marsz, marsz, Dąbrowski, z ziemi włoskiej do Polski. Za twoim przewodem złączym się z narodem.”
Japan hums next to Canada, and after a moment, his voice creaks and he murmurs, “Kimi ga Yo wa Chiyo ni Yachiyo ni Sazare-Ishi no Iwao to Nari-te Koke no Musu made.” He sighs heavily when the words leave him. Poland is still singing, voice straining now, louder than he was before, but no longer in his own language:
“Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų, tu didvyrių žeme, iš praeities Tavo sūnūs te stiprybę semia!”
Canada feels the laughter bubbling in him, as hysterical as the first time he turned around and saw America sitting on his couch. He can’t bring himself to sing his own anthem-that has become the thing of his nightmares and daydreams-but he stumbles out what he knows of America’s:
“Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?”
Beside him, Japan’s English is no better than his own Japanese, but he still manages to croak out with Canada, “Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, o’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?”
Poland’s harmony isn’t unexpected, but still makes Canada jump a little, jostle Japan against his side and set the smaller nation to coughing terribly as Poland and Canada continue on, “And the rockets glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.”
The coughing against Canada’s side gives to rattling breathing, and Canada holds Japan’s body and sobs through America’s song, feeling like he might be ill soon.
“Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave.”
Poland comes to sit by Canada then, coughing into his elbow as he goes. Canada repeats the words over and over under his breath as Poland sits beside him.
“Thanks for, like, coming out here, Matthew,” Poland whispers, leaning against Canada’s shoulder. “Was real nice and all.”
“O’er the land of the free,” Canada whispers brokenly as Poland slowly slips down his side, until his head is pillowed on Canada’s leg and it looks like he’s completely asleep, completely at peace.
The voice behind him is deep and melodic and welcoming, murmuring, “And the home of the brave.” Canada knows it is not America’s voice, but it is one he’s never heard before. He stares at Poland, sleeping on his lap, and then Japan, curled against his side. Then, slowly, he turns to look over his shoulder.
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And then the last paragraph. I liked it a lot. Thanks Anon!
I was a little disappointed that Poland sang the refrain of the Dabrowski March and not the actual beginning, though. "Poland has not perished yet/So long as we still live" is kind of a perfect fit, isn't it? Or, wait, did Poland omit it because he actually didn't feel that way at all at the moment?..
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And, uh, Poland doesn't sing the opening verse because he's been humming the rest of it. Unlike with Japan's and Lithuania's and America's, Poland is already going through his anthem. Sort of like how Canada just kept tuning in and knowing the lyrics when America was whistling "O Canada".
Again, I'm really glad you liked this ^L^
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Just... you. And this. You break my heart. ;_____;
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HERE, HAVE SOME DUCTTAPE FOR YOUR HEEEEEEEEEEART, ANON!
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Amazing. Simply amazing.
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I still feel bad about giving Canada a HUGE ROLE...
RECAPTCHA: traveled circular. An analogy of time and the evolution of the planet yeah, I'm not as deep as I think I am
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CanadAnon appreciates it.
(And teared up because sad Armageddon is very very sad.)
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I loved this story~ *re-read it twice*
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♥♥♥♥♥
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I'm really glad other people have played Pandemic and get the pseudo-joke!
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