Ordinary Humans and their Countries [hurt/comfort]
anonymous
January 11 2010, 15:02:00 UTC
Anon would like to see fic about normal humans helping their countries during a crisis. For example, let's see people doing stuff like:
- nursing a country back to health during a plague - giving them food during a famine - protecting them or taking care of their injuries during a war - letting them sleep in their house when they have nowhere else to go - just simply comforting them during a hard time
The catch is that they have no idea that the person they're helping is their country; they might have a feeling that they know this person, but really they think they're just taking care of another human. They can figure out the truth later though, if you like.
Any country is fine here, but I especially like Russia, America, France and England.
Re: The Troubles [3/4] MISSING PART
anonymous
January 16 2010, 22:26:02 UTC
Damnit! I need to stop doing this! This piece goes between 3 and 4.
Seamus washed dishes in relative silence, until he started sobbing. Shannon was surprised she had heard it, given how quiet it was. But as soon as she was sure of what she was hearing, she got to her feet, and was at his side in a flash.
A Wind in the Door [Part 2 ; (1/2)]
anonymous
January 16 2010, 22:36:56 UTC
[ E N G L A N D ] September 4, 1666 ; during the Great Fire of LondonThe fire had begun a few days ago, and had burned steadily and fearsomely since then. All of Pudding Lane was now destroyed, including Tom’s father’s bakery. They’d been even more alarmed when the Cathedral had begun to burn; at the last word, it was reduced to smoke and ash. Tom’s father had joined the efforts to help evacuate the people; he had told Tom and his mother to take the younger children and get out of the city
( ... )
Re: A Wind in the Door [Part 2 ; (2/2)]
anonymous
January 16 2010, 22:37:56 UTC
“If you’ll stay, you’ll die,” he said flatly. “Come on, there’s my Ma. I bet you can stay with us, until the fires die down. We’re going to stay on her cousin Aggy’s farm
( ... )
A Wind in the Door [Part 3 ; (1/2)]
anonymous
January 17 2010, 23:53:18 UTC
[ A M E R I C A ] October 29, 1929 ; Black ThursdayIf nothing else had told Evelyn that it was going to be a horrible day, people falling from the sky might’ve clued her in. The upper windows of the corporate buildings were opening, and men were literally slipping right out of them, clenching their eyes shut as they fell to their deaths. Evelyn stopped in the middle of the street and craned her neck to see high above her; had she looked around she would have realized that others were following suit
( ... )
Re: A Wind in the Door [Part 3 ; (2/2)]
anonymous
January 17 2010, 23:54:01 UTC
“You can’t just lie here,” Evelyn insisted. “You should see a doctor, or something.”
“And who’ll pay that doctor?” the boy asked with a rueful smile. “No one…does anything…unless it’s for money.”
“That’s not true!” Evelyn insisted.
“It isn’t…Miss?” the boy grimaced. He glanced at the apron in her hands. “So you’re going to work…or coming from it…cause you just enjoy…waiting on people?”
Her cheeks turned red. “I don’t enjoy it, per say. But it’s what I have to do
( ... )
(This'll be a double comment for both the England and America fills.)
I love everything. You've got such a great voice, and I love the events you chose to look at too! Especially England and America's; they're certainly powerful, painful times, but they aren't ones I've seen very often in this fandom. Wonderful stuff!
A Wind in the Door [Part 4 ; (1/2)]
anonymous
January 18 2010, 19:23:02 UTC
[ R U S S I A ] Circa 1603 ; during the Time of TroublesThe bodies were piled high in the big grave outside the village, too many too count. The young men began to cover the blank, wasted faces and forms of their loved ones over with dirt, their faces set into hard lines and their eyes cold. Their task took less time than one might have expected, given that two thirds of the able-bodied men, those usually in charge of these burials, were themselves lying in the grave
( ... )
A Wind in the Door [Part 4 ; (2/2)]
anonymous
January 18 2010, 19:25:05 UTC
“Let go of me, or you’ll be sorry!” he said, his voice striking a high note with the last word. Pale, matted hair fell over his improbably violet eyes, and a pudgy, rose-bud mouth was hidden beneath his bulbous nose. “I mean it!”
“You can’t steal our grain!” Misha said, his voice spiking. How many times had he thought of stealing grain, to feed to his mother and sisters? How many times had he resisted that urge, knowing that one ounce of stolen grain could have spelled someone’s death? And now this child would dare commit the act without a second thought?
“But-I’m-hungry!” The boy cried out, kicking out at Misha. The elder boy dodged, still holding him by his shirt.
“No one cares! Everyone’s hungry! But if you steal that grain, people will die. And I won’t let you do that!” As though to underscore the point, Misha’s stomach let out an immense growl
( ... )
- nursing a country back to health during a plague
- giving them food during a famine
- protecting them or taking care of their injuries during a war
- letting them sleep in their house when they have nowhere else to go
- just simply comforting them during a hard time
The catch is that they have no idea that the person they're helping is their country; they might have a feeling that they know this person, but really they think they're just taking care of another human. They can figure out the truth later though, if you like.
Any country is fine here, but I especially like Russia, America, France and England.
Reply
That was so bittersweet, anon. I like how you wrote Seamus' reaction to Arthur's involvement and so on.
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Seamus washed dishes in relative silence, until he started sobbing. Shannon was surprised she had heard it, given how quiet it was. But as soon as she was sure of what she was hearing, she got to her feet, and was at his side in a flash.
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September 4, 1666 ; during the Great Fire of LondonThe fire had begun a few days ago, and had burned steadily and fearsomely since then. All of Pudding Lane was now destroyed, including Tom’s father’s bakery. They’d been even more alarmed when the Cathedral had begun to burn; at the last word, it was reduced to smoke and ash. Tom’s father had joined the efforts to help evacuate the people; he had told Tom and his mother to take the younger children and get out of the city ( ... )
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Aww Artie...you don't want to leave your people, do you? Good boy, Tom.
I can't wait for more! ;P
*Totally doesn't care her own fill is now overshadowed*
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Adored this anon! Something about England being dragged to safety by a stubborn child is a wonderful image.
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October 29, 1929 ; Black ThursdayIf nothing else had told Evelyn that it was going to be a horrible day, people falling from the sky might’ve clued her in. The upper windows of the corporate buildings were opening, and men were literally slipping right out of them, clenching their eyes shut as they fell to their deaths. Evelyn stopped in the middle of the street and craned her neck to see high above her; had she looked around she would have realized that others were following suit ( ... )
Reply
“And who’ll pay that doctor?” the boy asked with a rueful smile. “No one…does anything…unless it’s for money.”
“That’s not true!” Evelyn insisted.
“It isn’t…Miss?” the boy grimaced. He glanced at the apron in her hands. “So you’re going to work…or coming from it…cause you just enjoy…waiting on people?”
Her cheeks turned red. “I don’t enjoy it, per say. But it’s what I have to do ( ... )
Reply
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I love everything. You've got such a great voice, and I love the events you chose to look at too! Especially England and America's; they're certainly powerful, painful times, but they aren't ones I've seen very often in this fandom. Wonderful stuff!
Reply
Circa 1603 ; during the Time of TroublesThe bodies were piled high in the big grave outside the village, too many too count. The young men began to cover the blank, wasted faces and forms of their loved ones over with dirt, their faces set into hard lines and their eyes cold. Their task took less time than one might have expected, given that two thirds of the able-bodied men, those usually in charge of these burials, were themselves lying in the grave ( ... )
Reply
“You can’t steal our grain!” Misha said, his voice spiking. How many times had he thought of stealing grain, to feed to his mother and sisters? How many times had he resisted that urge, knowing that one ounce of stolen grain could have spelled someone’s death? And now this child would dare commit the act without a second thought?
“But-I’m-hungry!” The boy cried out, kicking out at Misha. The elder boy dodged, still holding him by his shirt.
“No one cares! Everyone’s hungry! But if you steal that grain, people will die. And I won’t let you do that!” As though to underscore the point, Misha’s stomach let out an immense growl ( ... )
Reply
Oh Misha, oh Russia.
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