[Axis Powers Hetalia] Croatoan (England/America)
Title: Croatoan
Author/Artist: halflight007/lenarix_klinde (beta by konishii)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America/England, mentions of Greece/Japan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mild crossover (I try not to make it too obvious)
Summary: On a crisp Halloween night, America disappears into the forests with no warning, and England will have to fight his way through a corrupted world to save him.
Disclaimer: Himayura-sensei lets me play with them as long as I clean ‘em off before I give them back. The quote at the beginning is from “How to Make an American Quilt” by Whitney Otto.
Author’s Notes: Yeah. I’m that writernon. I’m…a bit nervous posting this here, but I did promise. And I’m going to be editing and polishing parts of this and fixing up my continuity, and I have plans to rewrite two entire sections. So even if you’ve read this before, maybe it’ll be worth a re-read…? It’s your call, really. This is easy enough to find on the Kink Meme. But if you’re reading it for the first time, then I encourage you to read this version. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
___
“The Roanoke Island Company, founded by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1585, completely disappeared - all 117 men, women, and children - by 1590 with no one knowing exactly what took place during the five-year period, and a single word carved into a tree the only viable clue: CROATOAN. No historian has figured out what that means. This you will find as the genesis and recurring theme in America as founded by the English: that we are a people fraught with mysteries and clues; there are things that cannot be fathomed.”
- Whitney Otto, How to Make an American Quilt
Halloween, 2007
Alfred watches Arthur as they walk through the woods on Roanoke Island.
It’s dark out, the employees and tourists waiting for trick-or-treaters and hosting Halloween parties. They have the whole place to themselves until tomorrow, and Alfred reflects on how awesome he is for being a Nation. That he is part of this land means they can walk along the paths and enjoy the forest, free from the limitations set on humans.
He watches Arthur smile and laugh. “Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, it’s nothing…just a funny joke I heard,” he murmurs.
Arthur’s probably talking to his imaginary friends, so Alfred lets it slide. It’s Halloween, after all, and magic hangs in the air so thick that even Alfred can smell it like ozone lingering after a storm.
The moon is round and full that night, and Alfred can make out Arthur’s face. His cheeks are flushed with red, his breath curling from his lips into the air. Arthur’s smiling, and his eyes are bright.
Beautiful, Alfred thinks. For a minute, he considers saying it out loud.
“Seems funny that you’d want to come to Roanoke Island tonight, of all times,” is what he says instead.
Arthur frowns, tilting his head down to the dirt path beneath their feet. “I just want to remember,” he says.
“Remember what?”
“A friend of mine.” Arthur sighs, looks up again. “It’s…not really something I’m comfortable talking about, Alfred.”
“But -”
“Just drop it,” Arthur huffs, picking up his pace. “You’re always probing into things that aren’t any of your business.”
Yeah, I love you too, old man. Alfred scowls at his back, annoyed. “Excuse me for trying to -”
“Do you have a loo anywhere out here?” Arthur asks. Asshole, Alfred thinks back, that’s right. Time your question so that you don’t actually have to answer anything.
“Porta-Johns are a little up ahead. You’ll see - there’s the fork in the road. Just follow that to the end.”
“Thank God,” Arthur walks a little faster, “I need to make a stop.”
“I’ll wait here for you.”
Arthur turns his head and crooks an eyebrow at Arthur over his shoulder. “You’re not coming?”
“What’s the point? We’re not actually talking, anyway.” Alfred scowls back at him. “Go on. Maybe talk to the fairies that you say are always keeping you company.” Stop being sad. Smile for me, like you smile for them. Stop being so goddamn sad.
Arthur’s face flushes red, and for a second Alfred thinks he will yell. And then he just snorts, turns, and walks away, not even looking back as he walks out of the flashlight’s range, as his footsteps trail off into silence.
Water closet, my ass, Alfred thinks. Arthur’s planning something. He’s probably going to dress in some ridiculous outfit to try and scare him. Well, Alfred’s not going to fall for it this year, and not just because he’s not in the mood anymore; this time, he has something to ward off the darkness and warn him what’s coming.
His flashlight beam starts to flicker and fade.
“Crap,” he mutters. “Please, come on, not now.” When whining at it ceases to work, Alfred hits it against his palm a few times.
His flashlight sputters, dies, and leaves him in a forest with only moonlight for company.
“Shit,” he says, for good measure. A minute passes, then two. Alfred feels his heart speed up, his hands sweat, and where the hell is Arthur?
To help stave off fear, Alfred puckers his lips and starts to whistle. It is a spontaneous song, and as such reflects his feelings. Alfred tries not to think about how lonely and loud it is in the dark silence.
Alfred jumps and cuts off when something echoes back in response. Even when Alfred stops whistling, the song continues. It’s female, ethereal-sounding, and it sets him on edge
Alfred swallows, the action difficult because his mouth is dry. “Wh-who’s there?” he calls. “I’ll have you know th-that I’m a hero, and heroes -”
Something glows at him through the tree-trunks, too defined to be moonlight but too far away to be completely visible.
Alfred cuts off abruptly, stares at it. Then he snorts and chuckles a little. “Okay, Arthur,” he says, and starts walking toward the light, brushing pine boughs out of the way. “This was cute when I was still a colony, but I’m older now and that sort of stuff doesn’t work on me anymore, so -”
Alfred takes one more step, and it’s as if someone flicked a light switch.
The air around him turns golden and soft, as though he’s walked into a world lit by twilight. She stands in the middle of the clearing, dark and beautiful, her back to him.
Alfred feels his wits falling rapidly from his mind. He shakes his head in an attempt to keep them and calls out once more. “Who…who are you?” He waits, watches her back a moment more while she seems to debate turning around.
When she does decide to face him, all awareness catches fire and blows away as ash when he meets her eyes.
She stands out against the world, her dark hair wavy and down to her waist. She’s pale and slender, and Alfred thinks he might be imagining the butterfly wings on her back, black and enormous.
He can’t look away from her eyes. They are vibrant and alive and a shade of green he’s never seen before. Her thick eyelashes catch Alfred and hem him in. He is powerless to move, to even think.
She lifts a hand (it looks so soft and kissable - that thought makes him shiver). She extends one long, slender finger and beckons to him.
His flashlight slips from numb fingertips. He never hears it hit the ground as he walks towards her like a man asleep.
He stops when at an arm’s length away from her, and she smiles, a simple upward tuck of her red lips.
“Who are you?” he murmurs. He doesn’t really care if she answers. (It doesn’t occur to him that maybe he should.)
She takes a step toward him, and he feels his breath quicken. She reaches up with her hands, places her fingertips on his face. He shudders as his eyes slide shut, shivering at the pure good he feels at that touch.
“So beautiful,” she whispers, and Alfred forgets to breathe for a moment.
(“That’s much better. Now then, Alfred, if you’d please - Alfred?”)
“Do you have a name?” she asks.
He reacts in a second, opening his eyes to look back into her face. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I do.” The words feel heavy and numb in his mouth.
(“Alfred, this is NOT funny - Alfred, please! I give up, you win, I’m sorry. Now can we bloody get the hell out of here, I - Alfred!”)
She chuckles, and he senses her draw close underneath his eyelids. Her breath is warm on his lips, and she smells like autumn leaves, sweet and smoky and wet. There’s a word for it (decay), but he can’t seem to recall anything beyond the two of them, where his body connects with her fingers.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Then I shall give you one.” She leans forward and presses her soft palm to his cheek. “My dear Caliban.”
She kisses him, and his mind implodes.
(“ALFRE-”)
Alfred falls down, down, down into the darkness, and he relishes the oblivion.
___
The next morning, the employees do a sweep of the park and find Arthur curled against a tree, a flashlight held tightly in his hands. It is almost heartbreaking how he begs them to let him stay in a quiet, broken voice until the police come to take him away.
Arthur clasps the flashlight so hard that his hand seems almost fused to the plastic. He calls out to his fairy friends - Mab, Mustardseed, Titania, anyone - but none answer his call. He is abandoned by his fairy friends; he is alone with his grief.
He is so distressed that he does not feel the cruel, subtle power saturating the island, creeping outwards into both Fey and mortal realms with a terrifying slowness.
___
Endnotes: Well, that’s your prologue. I’ll begin with Chapter One on Saturday, then I plan to do updates every Saturday after that on a weekly basis. So you’ll be getting two chapters this week, and one every week after this one. I’ll also get started on the sequel sometime tonight or in the next few days - I’m afraid my Fri. is rather busy.
I encourage old readers to try not to spoil the new readers in the comments, but then again, they can just go read the KM fill, so it’s really your call. Also, thank you to the Art!anon who did such beautiful work! If you don’t mind, could I post a link to your pictures in this chapter?
I think that might be it. Comments are always welcomed. Thank you for reading!
Author/Artist: halflight007/lenarix_klinde (beta by konishii)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America/England, mentions of Greece/Japan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mild crossover (I try not to make it too obvious)
Summary: On a crisp Halloween night, America disappears into the forests with no warning, and England will have to fight his way through a corrupted world to save him.
Disclaimer: Himayura-sensei lets me play with them as long as I clean ‘em off before I give them back. The quote at the beginning is from “How to Make an American Quilt” by Whitney Otto.
Author’s Notes: Yeah. I’m that writernon. I’m…a bit nervous posting this here, but I did promise. And I’m going to be editing and polishing parts of this and fixing up my continuity, and I have plans to rewrite two entire sections. So even if you’ve read this before, maybe it’ll be worth a re-read…? It’s your call, really. This is easy enough to find on the Kink Meme. But if you’re reading it for the first time, then I encourage you to read this version. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
___
“The Roanoke Island Company, founded by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1585, completely disappeared - all 117 men, women, and children - by 1590 with no one knowing exactly what took place during the five-year period, and a single word carved into a tree the only viable clue: CROATOAN. No historian has figured out what that means. This you will find as the genesis and recurring theme in America as founded by the English: that we are a people fraught with mysteries and clues; there are things that cannot be fathomed.”
- Whitney Otto, How to Make an American Quilt
Halloween, 2007
Alfred watches Arthur as they walk through the woods on Roanoke Island.
It’s dark out, the employees and tourists waiting for trick-or-treaters and hosting Halloween parties. They have the whole place to themselves until tomorrow, and Alfred reflects on how awesome he is for being a Nation. That he is part of this land means they can walk along the paths and enjoy the forest, free from the limitations set on humans.
He watches Arthur smile and laugh. “Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, it’s nothing…just a funny joke I heard,” he murmurs.
Arthur’s probably talking to his imaginary friends, so Alfred lets it slide. It’s Halloween, after all, and magic hangs in the air so thick that even Alfred can smell it like ozone lingering after a storm.
The moon is round and full that night, and Alfred can make out Arthur’s face. His cheeks are flushed with red, his breath curling from his lips into the air. Arthur’s smiling, and his eyes are bright.
Beautiful, Alfred thinks. For a minute, he considers saying it out loud.
“Seems funny that you’d want to come to Roanoke Island tonight, of all times,” is what he says instead.
Arthur frowns, tilting his head down to the dirt path beneath their feet. “I just want to remember,” he says.
“Remember what?”
“A friend of mine.” Arthur sighs, looks up again. “It’s…not really something I’m comfortable talking about, Alfred.”
“But -”
“Just drop it,” Arthur huffs, picking up his pace. “You’re always probing into things that aren’t any of your business.”
Yeah, I love you too, old man. Alfred scowls at his back, annoyed. “Excuse me for trying to -”
“Do you have a loo anywhere out here?” Arthur asks. Asshole, Alfred thinks back, that’s right. Time your question so that you don’t actually have to answer anything.
“Porta-Johns are a little up ahead. You’ll see - there’s the fork in the road. Just follow that to the end.”
“Thank God,” Arthur walks a little faster, “I need to make a stop.”
“I’ll wait here for you.”
Arthur turns his head and crooks an eyebrow at Arthur over his shoulder. “You’re not coming?”
“What’s the point? We’re not actually talking, anyway.” Alfred scowls back at him. “Go on. Maybe talk to the fairies that you say are always keeping you company.” Stop being sad. Smile for me, like you smile for them. Stop being so goddamn sad.
Arthur’s face flushes red, and for a second Alfred thinks he will yell. And then he just snorts, turns, and walks away, not even looking back as he walks out of the flashlight’s range, as his footsteps trail off into silence.
Water closet, my ass, Alfred thinks. Arthur’s planning something. He’s probably going to dress in some ridiculous outfit to try and scare him. Well, Alfred’s not going to fall for it this year, and not just because he’s not in the mood anymore; this time, he has something to ward off the darkness and warn him what’s coming.
His flashlight beam starts to flicker and fade.
“Crap,” he mutters. “Please, come on, not now.” When whining at it ceases to work, Alfred hits it against his palm a few times.
His flashlight sputters, dies, and leaves him in a forest with only moonlight for company.
“Shit,” he says, for good measure. A minute passes, then two. Alfred feels his heart speed up, his hands sweat, and where the hell is Arthur?
To help stave off fear, Alfred puckers his lips and starts to whistle. It is a spontaneous song, and as such reflects his feelings. Alfred tries not to think about how lonely and loud it is in the dark silence.
Alfred jumps and cuts off when something echoes back in response. Even when Alfred stops whistling, the song continues. It’s female, ethereal-sounding, and it sets him on edge
Alfred swallows, the action difficult because his mouth is dry. “Wh-who’s there?” he calls. “I’ll have you know th-that I’m a hero, and heroes -”
Something glows at him through the tree-trunks, too defined to be moonlight but too far away to be completely visible.
Alfred cuts off abruptly, stares at it. Then he snorts and chuckles a little. “Okay, Arthur,” he says, and starts walking toward the light, brushing pine boughs out of the way. “This was cute when I was still a colony, but I’m older now and that sort of stuff doesn’t work on me anymore, so -”
Alfred takes one more step, and it’s as if someone flicked a light switch.
The air around him turns golden and soft, as though he’s walked into a world lit by twilight. She stands in the middle of the clearing, dark and beautiful, her back to him.
Alfred feels his wits falling rapidly from his mind. He shakes his head in an attempt to keep them and calls out once more. “Who…who are you?” He waits, watches her back a moment more while she seems to debate turning around.
When she does decide to face him, all awareness catches fire and blows away as ash when he meets her eyes.
She stands out against the world, her dark hair wavy and down to her waist. She’s pale and slender, and Alfred thinks he might be imagining the butterfly wings on her back, black and enormous.
He can’t look away from her eyes. They are vibrant and alive and a shade of green he’s never seen before. Her thick eyelashes catch Alfred and hem him in. He is powerless to move, to even think.
She lifts a hand (it looks so soft and kissable - that thought makes him shiver). She extends one long, slender finger and beckons to him.
His flashlight slips from numb fingertips. He never hears it hit the ground as he walks towards her like a man asleep.
He stops when at an arm’s length away from her, and she smiles, a simple upward tuck of her red lips.
“Who are you?” he murmurs. He doesn’t really care if she answers. (It doesn’t occur to him that maybe he should.)
She takes a step toward him, and he feels his breath quicken. She reaches up with her hands, places her fingertips on his face. He shudders as his eyes slide shut, shivering at the pure good he feels at that touch.
“So beautiful,” she whispers, and Alfred forgets to breathe for a moment.
(“That’s much better. Now then, Alfred, if you’d please - Alfred?”)
“Do you have a name?” she asks.
He reacts in a second, opening his eyes to look back into her face. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I do.” The words feel heavy and numb in his mouth.
(“Alfred, this is NOT funny - Alfred, please! I give up, you win, I’m sorry. Now can we bloody get the hell out of here, I - Alfred!”)
She chuckles, and he senses her draw close underneath his eyelids. Her breath is warm on his lips, and she smells like autumn leaves, sweet and smoky and wet. There’s a word for it (decay), but he can’t seem to recall anything beyond the two of them, where his body connects with her fingers.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Then I shall give you one.” She leans forward and presses her soft palm to his cheek. “My dear Caliban.”
She kisses him, and his mind implodes.
(“ALFRE-”)
Alfred falls down, down, down into the darkness, and he relishes the oblivion.
___
The next morning, the employees do a sweep of the park and find Arthur curled against a tree, a flashlight held tightly in his hands. It is almost heartbreaking how he begs them to let him stay in a quiet, broken voice until the police come to take him away.
Arthur clasps the flashlight so hard that his hand seems almost fused to the plastic. He calls out to his fairy friends - Mab, Mustardseed, Titania, anyone - but none answer his call. He is abandoned by his fairy friends; he is alone with his grief.
He is so distressed that he does not feel the cruel, subtle power saturating the island, creeping outwards into both Fey and mortal realms with a terrifying slowness.
___
Endnotes: Well, that’s your prologue. I’ll begin with Chapter One on Saturday, then I plan to do updates every Saturday after that on a weekly basis. So you’ll be getting two chapters this week, and one every week after this one. I’ll also get started on the sequel sometime tonight or in the next few days - I’m afraid my Fri. is rather busy.
I encourage old readers to try not to spoil the new readers in the comments, but then again, they can just go read the KM fill, so it’s really your call. Also, thank you to the Art!anon who did such beautiful work! If you don’t mind, could I post a link to your pictures in this chapter?
I think that might be it. Comments are always welcomed. Thank you for reading!