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HETALIA KINK MEME PART 3
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(Anonymous)

2009-03-05 09:00 pm (UTC) (Link)

America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. No rape, if possible.

Bonus if we see America going through self-hate (and maybe for the first time in his life yandere?). For he had always been thinking of himself as the Noble Heroic Liberator of Awesome, but...
(Frozen) (Thread)

America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (1/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 02:23 am (UTC) (Link)

I've had this scene with Truman in my head for awhile now, and it seemed to fit. America isn't yandere, or even really deep into self-loathing, but he's definitely more aware of his own moral ambivalence than usual, so I hope you like it, OP.

~*~

"Oh, there you are, Alfred."

America dumps his pack on the previously pristine rug of the oval office and slumps in a chair, his bedraggled uniform still drenched in sweat and blood and the ground-in mud of Okinawa.

"Yes, sir," he replies.

Truman fidgets in his chair, his hands moving restlessly on his desk.

"Have you. Have you been briefed about...?"

"The Manhattan project. Yes, sir."

Truman scowls and rubs his forhead. "Oh, stop 'yessir'-ing me, Alfred. It's weird enough knowing you're almost two hundred years old."

"You are my boss, sir," America points out, smiling wanly. "And you're stalling."

"This bomb - no one's ever seen anything like it."

America nods.

"It's your call, sir."

Truman grimaces.

"You think I don't know that? But if there were ever a time to accept guidance from my country..." He trails off. "Just. Tell me what you think."

America sighs.

"I think I'm tired, sir. And I'll keep this up as long as I have to, but. I'm tired. Kiku is fucking stubborn and this island-hopping deal is killing everybody by inches. Really nasty inches." He closes his eyes, wincing against the flood of gaunt, skeletal cheeks and air thick with ashes he'd left behind in Europe. "But. But I've just seen what serious civilian mass murder looks like, worse than Dresden or Tokyo or London or any of the bombings, and. And it was fucking awful and I really don't want to be like that. But I want to come home." He opens his eyes and meets Truman's troubled gaze.

"So. It's still your call, sir. We're at war, and. And I will accept your decision."

"Whatever I choose, is going to be on your hands forever," Truman murmurs. America snorts.

"Yours too, sir. If you don't mind my saying." Truman barks out one rough laugh.

"Eventually I'll die," he counters amiably. America smiles grimly back.

"If we do our jobs right, I won't."

Truman holds his eyes for a long, taut moment.

"The target committee recommends Hiroshima."

America stands shakily, salutes, and walks out.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 02:26 am (UTC) (Link)

Kiku is screaming. Kiku is fucking stubborn, because even though Alfred can hear him screaming, he is still standing there calmly with burns searing through tears in his white outfit and blood dripping and crusting on his katana and telling Alfred that no, he still has conditions. Alfred wants to tear his hair out.

That's not what surrender is. And if Alfred has to break Kiku completely to get it, he will. He’ll do it if it damns the both of them.

"You do realize," he growls through gritted teeth, "that it's going to happen again?"

Kiku's face breaks into a snarl halfway through the recitation of his diplomats' official line.

"You're bluffing." He sounds like a dying animal. "You only had one."

"Lying to yourself won't save your people from dying," Alfred warns him, pamphlets falling from his fingers, and he feels something old and beautiful die inside him, elegant words inked out on brittle parchment in an earlier era, but the paper curls and blackens, and he can't tell anymore what exactly it said.

Kiku doesn’t answer.

~*~

So Alfred does it again.

~*~

Kiku isn’t screaming, anymore.

He’s sobbing, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as his Emperor’s announcement crackles across the airwaves.

He turns to his side and vomits, shivering and shaking with the sickness that is the particular signature of the bombs. He glares at Alfred, his eyes seething with vast swathes of flattened buildings, skin blazoned with burns, and acres of scorched bones. He drags a hand across his mouth and spits on the earth, breath rattling in his throat.

“They were civilians, you bastard,” he hisses. Alfred holds himself still through the impulse to flinch, bites back everything he wants to say about industrial cities supporting the war effort and total warfare and also Nanjing, and waits in silence.

Kiku’s head falls, his usually silky black hair hanging limp and dirty, obscuring his face.

“You have. You have my unconditional surrender,” he whispers.

Alfred lets himself approach.

“Can you stand?” he asks softly.

“What do you think?” Kiku snarls.

“Let me help you up,” Alfred replies, kneeling and sliding Kiku’s arm gingerly around his shoulder. “Let’s find you something to eat.” Kiku turns his head to stare at him, frowning in confusion.

“But. Why would you - I surrendered to you. You beat me. You won.”

“Yeah,” says Alfred, as they struggle haltingly to their feet. “Isn’t it great? I mean, getting here was awful, yeah, but the war is over.”

He knows he sounds like a naïve idiot. He knows it isn’t really over, not where it matters, not for people. He knows Kiku is near starving, and that it will a lot more than optimism to fix it. He knows there have been atrocities, and there will mostly likely be atrocities yet, but –

But they can start fixing things. And when Kiku slumps against him, letting Alfred carry a little more of his weight, and takes a few hesitant steps with him, he knows this is going to work out alright.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Notes, Historical and otherwise

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 02:36 am (UTC) (Link)

Historical notes:

The battle of Okinawa ended in June, 1945, and lasted for 82 days of some of the toughest fighting in the war.

In May of 1945, the Target Committee at Los Alamos recommended Kyoto, Hiroshima, Kokura, and Yokohama as targets, but Secretary of War Henry Stimson had honeymooned in Kyoto, and prevented it from being chosen.

On July 26, Truman issued the Potsdam declaration, requiring Japan’s unconditional surrender and threatening “the inevitable and complete destruction of the Japanese armed forces and just as inevitably the utter devastation of the Japanese homeland,” but without mentioning the bomb.

The first nuclear bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. On August 8, leaflets warning of further destruction were dropped over the country.

The Japanese government still did not respond to the Potsdam declaration. Emperor Hirohito, the government and the War council were considering four conditions for surrender: the preservation of the kokutai (Imperial institution and national polity), assumption by the Imperial Headquarters of responsibility for disarmament and demobilization, no occupation, and delegation to the Japanese government of the punishment of war criminals.

On August 9, the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, because cloud cover prevented visual aiming at the original target of Kokura.

On August 14, the Japanese government initially surrendered to the allies, and Emperor Hirohito made a radio broadcast to his people, explaining that “the enemy now possesses a new and terrible weapon with the power to destroy many innocent lives and do incalculable damage. Should we continue to fight, not only would it result in an ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation, but also it would lead to the total extinction of human civilization. Such being the case, how are We to save the millions of Our subjects, or to atone Ourselves before the hallowed spirits of Our Imperial Ancestors? This is the reason why We have ordered the acceptance of the provisions of the Joint Declaration of the Powers.”

MacArthur arrived in Tokyo on August 30, and immediately decreed several laws: No Allied personnel were to assault Japanese people. No Allied personnel were to eat the scarce Japanese food.

On September 2, Japan formally surrendered with the signing of the Japanese Instrument of Surrender.

MacArthur's first priority was to set up a food distribution network; following the collapse of the ruling government and the wholesale destruction of most major cities, virtually everyone was starving. Even with these measures, millions of people were still on the brink of starvation for several years after the surrender. As expressed by Kawai Kazuo, "Democracy cannot be taught to a starving people,” and while the US government encouraged democratic reform in Japan, it also sent billions of dollars in aid.

All of the above lifted from Wikipedia.


Other Notes: Anon is not the same as the possible author-anon upthread. I tried to write this in a sensitive way, but it's still a very American perspective, and I really hope the other anon fills this too - it's such a tragic propmt with so much potential for good emotional ficcing, I hope it gets filled from all the angles it deserves.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 02:59 am (UTC) (Link)

Thank you for writing it! I liked your America and and how subtle but clear his thoughts were. And how you interpreted the effects of atrocities on Japan himself.


"Lying to yourself won't save your people from dying," Alfred warns him, pamphlets falling from his fingers, and he feels something old and beautiful die inside him, elegant words inked out on brittle parchment in an earlier era, but the paper curls and blackens, and he can't tell anymore what exactly it said.

This was beautiful.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-10 03:33 am (UTC) (Link)

Seconding this. That one line, straight to the heart.

I love how stripped down to the bones this fic is; no excess, nothing. Thank you for this, authornon. I'll join you in hoping for fic with more perspectives on this, because I agree that in the end, it is a very American point of view.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 04:16 am (UTC) (Link)

Oh God, this broke my heart. I applaude your skills and guts, writer!anon. Oh God, Kiku...

I wish I have a happier-sounding review for you, but... brb crying

(No, really, this is brilliant. Thank you, anon.)
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 04:44 am (UTC) (Link)

B'AWWWW. This - I really like how you portrayed this. Japan's spirit still fighting after the first bomb, and Truman. Straight out broke my heart.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-07 12:29 pm (UTC) (Link)

*whimpers*

Nicely written - the moral ambiguity is really appreciated.

Anon would like to add that she actually went to the Hiroshima Peace Museum this afternoon. Intense and emotionally draining....
I didn't cry through the whole exhibit - which surprised me, since I felt the sting of would-be tears several times. It was when I saw the hundreds upon hundreds of guestbooks at the end, filled with notes from visitors all over the world that I broke down bawling.
no more Hiroshimas
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: America/Japan, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (2/2)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-23 09:54 pm (UTC) (Link)

Oh, ouch, anon. Hurty and wonderful-- I love the awareness of doing something terrible being filtered through America's perspective. And I loved the conversation with Truman, especially.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Pika-Don (1/3)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 06:57 am (UTC) (Link)

The first thing that Japan learns about the Pika-don is that it lives up to its name. One moment he is fighting Alfred deep in the tropics, hopping from muddy island to muddy island; the next moment, when he finally sees the damned figure of America in the middle-distance, everything goes white. White. Not grey, or red, or the black of unconsciousness. The abrupt flash that assaults his eyes from the inside is white, and suddenly, Japan is struck blind.

Then, he screams.

Japan has never felt such a pain. There is blast of heat and fire as everything fresh and living and good is burnt away in a wave of nausea and a city is wiped off the map; Japan bleeds, and through the fever heat that scorches him inside out, the pain tells him that the junction between his lower back and his left hip has been ripped away, tendons, skin, muscles and all, and that’s wrong. Wrong, because countries don’t bleed and tremble from shock. Especially not Japan. The very idea is absurd, but here he stands, falls, screams again as the edges of his perfect, circular wound blacken and curl in invisible heat.

How dare he, he thinks, followed closely by How could he?

A shadow falls over him. “We warned you,” Alfred chokes out, gun shaking in his hand, still pointed at his head. “The Potsdam declaration. We warned you.”

Kiku can’t hear him. Deaf from the explosion, flesh melted from his legs, twitching and sightless in the damp of a tropic rainstorm, Kiku can’t hear anything America says. He hates. Hiroshima had been wide blue skies and a slow, cool river, and now it is gone. He hates, but more than that, he hurts.

Leave me alone, he tries to yell, not sure whether he still has a voice. I surrender. Just leave me alone, and don’t stand there gloating like a coward.

Japan can deal with death. Death is elegant and clean and noble. A warrior’s death is one slice from his own blade. Kamikaze is death and destruction weaved together into an art form. This is not death. This is humiliation to the greatest degree.

Alfred’s gun clicks. Pika. Don. Nagasaki burns.

After Fat Man, humiliation does not matter any more.

-

Kiku is a ghost in a surgical robe, cheeks hollow, skin falling off of him in dank sheets. Alfred thinks he might be sick as he approaches. Japan smells like rotting flesh and vomit and his wrists are stick thin because if his people have nothing to eat, then he must bare their burden with them. There is still not enough.

America sits next to him in greeting, unsure of what to say or how to begin.

“I have food.” There’s no response. He takes a slow breath. “I have...a man named MacArthur. We’ll rebuild. But your people need you. You need to eat.”

He doesn’t raise his eyes from his lap. At first America think he hasn’t heard him, but then Kiku nods without meeting his gaze. He wets his lips with a blackened tongue, no longer silver, not forked.

“Cranes,” he manages to say, croaking out in a small, tired voice. Alfred looks. There is a golden bird made out of folded paper in Kiku’s red-raw hands, cradled like an inch-tall child. “There is a girl, in my hospital. She folds…cranes.”

Alfred doesn’t speak, his words caught in his throat. Kiku continues regardless, weak voice as lifeless as his eyes.

“Cranes live a thousand years, Mr. Alfred. If you fold a thousand of them, you are granted a wish.”

“…What is her wish?”

“Many people here wish they were dead.” He doesn’t even pretend that it’s anything close to an answer. A nurse bustles past and says something in English to Alfred, but Kiku doesn’t listen. It is something he wouldn’t be able to understand, and he is fine with that. He understands very little of anything in his own country anymore, where foreign soldiers and doctors bring him medicines with labels he can’t read.

America sends the nurse away. Blinking, he turns back to him and swallows. “You need to take these pills, Kiku. Your white blood cell count is down, and I know that’s not good…please-”

“That girl,” he begins in a broken whisper.

America misunderstands. “We’ll look after her, just-”

“-She died today.”

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Pika-Don (2/3)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 07:15 am (UTC) (Link)

Something in America seems to wilt. He has bags under his eyes. For the first time since the last bomb, Japan remembers just how young America is. Japan has lived through many crane’s lives; America fewer than 300 years.

And yet, here he sits in his mercy.

“You won’t die.” Alfred leans in desperate next to him, appeals to him with his eyes. “I won’t let you.”

-

There's a man in the ward next to him who had been delivering milk bottles when it happened. His hand is a melted, fused mess of glass and bone and flesh become one in the unbelievable heat.

The woman down the hall looks slightly pregnant but isn’t. Her pancreas has ballooned to five times its normal size and she vomits blood in radiation morning sickness.

It as at this point that Japan realises that he is lucky. Alfred is right. Countries can’t die.

Not in a physical sense, at least.

-

He sits at his writing desk and stares at the photo for long minutes. It is the front page of the newspaper where, resplendent in black and white, MacArthur and Emperor Hirohito stand side by side.

His insides roil as he looks. They are standing together. As equals. Not even equals, because Macarthur is a Gaijin and a soldier first and foremost. Kiku wonders how his ruler could look so small and utterly dominated.

Later, Japan sits in on the meeting. Sometimes Alfred is there as well, and they sit together and Kiku feels a little more welcome. Other times, like today, he is alone with big foreign men in uniform and smaller Japanese who sit before them and the radiation sickness creeps up inside him. When someone asks him his approval he signs using America’s blue fountain pen, not entirely sure of what the English says. He doubts the translators understand the documents either, but MacArthur tells him it is for the good of his people.

So he signs.

One member of the council arrives late, stamping snow from his boots. It’s Shirase, dressed in a sharp brown suit; a high ranked progressive. He speaks perfect English, and proceeds to wish them a very Merry Christmas.

Christmas. What a novel concept. Kiku considers the word to himself for a moment.

Shirase leaves a small package on the table on top of MacArthur’s papers as he sits. A gift from the Emperor, no less, he mentions nonchalantly as every Japanese in the room takes a common breath in awe.

The American gives a warm smile, then tells a soldier to put it away somewhere.

Such a small gesture, but Japan stiffens. The men on his side of the room stay silent. So this is what has become of us, Kiku thinks in a flash.

“Excuse me?”

Shirase has risen to his feet, face livid. “Excuse me?” he repeats. “What gives you the right to ‘put this gift away’?” He strides over, grabs the gift from the startled man halfway across the room and drops it back to where it had been. “Last time I checked, a gift from a head of state meant something, especially when none of us celebrate Christmas.”

The man darts his eyes to his figure sitting in the shadowed corner of the room. He stares. Then, he narrows his eyes and twitches his mouth and shoots a parting sentence in angry Japanese before he marches out the door.

“We may have lost the war, but I do not remember us becoming slaves to American etiquette.”

Japan cringes. For the rest of the meeting he cannot raise his eyes from the floor. The warrior in him demands that he too stands tall and tell this loud American on his soil that the Japanese don’t eat bread, that the emperor is meant to be respected, that his people are proud and so is he, dammit. But Kiku is getting good at swallowing his arrogance.

He knows America can’t help it. MacArthur can’t help that he is taller and bigger than the Japanese Emperor, can’t help it that the only food available is musty powdered milk and bread rolls. When he calls Japan ‘children’ he means it as a compliment of their character, not an insult about their powerlessness. He can’t help it any more than Alfred can help expressing himself by shaking his hand and patting his back, even though Kiku’s skin is still painful scabs and pockmarks.

Japan is only now beginning to understand how the West operates. He prays his people will forgive him for taking so long.

-
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Pika-Don (3/3)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 08:08 am (UTC) (Link)

Japan is rebuilt, but he is confused as to who he really is in this strange new world of suits and ties and Baby Boom culture. His children listen to American records and chew out English words with varying accuracy. One thing is for sure, though. Japan is stronger than he had been. And he thanks America for that.

As Alfred expands his arsenal of Flashes and Bangs, eyeing off Ivan across the Pacific, he lowers his head and says nothing.

-

“Show me the scars,” they say, sixty years after it happened. Kiku has always been uncomfortable about nudity, but progressive about customer service. Instead of slipping off his white silks, he gives them his shrouded smile and a photo of his back, and directs them to the understated memorial sites which stand in monument.

Germany hangs back, and does not take a brochure.

“Do they still hurt?” he asks gruffly. They meet each other’s eyes and Kiku knows they look the same, in the same way he knows how to construct cultured conversation and write poetry, although he spends more time drawing comics now. Germany stands before him, a bizarre mix of East and West in his own right, ill at ease in his own clothes.

“Yes,” Japan replies softly. “It twinges sometimes.” More from guilt than anything else. It is his own fault that he received these scars, and it is Alfred who taught him how to recover. He is ashamed, and he will never bring this hell upon his people ever again.

The two warriors turned businessmen and pacifists stare at each other for a while, sizing each other up. They are simultaneously less and more than what they were when they first met. Something is missing, because Kiku still lowers his eyes when in the company of Haku-jin, and Germany has lost his Grossmansucht.

“He…They mean well.” Ludwig bites out the words, looking to the side and blushing. “They want to understand, I think.” Japan smiles. Even if the words sound more like mantra to himself, it is just so like Germany to try to reassure him like this.

“I know.” His eyes wander to the group standing under Sadako’s arch, to the hundreds of thousands of paper cranes in glass boxes from all around the world. He swallows the lump in his throat and lets out a breath. “It is funny though. This was…built for me. To remind me. It is funny that so many would…”

“Ah.” Germany gently rests a hand on his shoulder, eyes vacant. “As were mine. We never let ourselves forget, do we?”

A pause. “Do they still hurt, Germany?”

They both watch Alfred standing amongst his countrymen, camera around his neck forgotten as he stares up at the bronze figure of a little girl, arms thrown up to support a paper crane.

“…Yes. But not physically.”

-

That night, he sets his futon out on the tatami mats and sits on cushioned zabuton as the serving girl brings in his meal. Rice, a little fish, pickled vegetables and some crunchy fried roots, all in a bowl topped up with green tea. A Hiroshima specialty, one he hasn’t had in a while. It’s good, he tells her, and she bows her head.

He is out on the engawa, watching the sun set slowly in the west, when he brings out the book. He flips through it, page by page, reading every last message, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, mouth rounding off English syllables and Mandarin Pinyin. He will decipher the meaning of the words the foreigners and his people leave behind, and learn the lesson that is concealed within them.

On the last page, however, Kiku’s fingers stop on blue ink and familiar handwriting. He reads once, twice, three times.

I’ll never let it happen to anyone again. We won’t. I promise.

He runs his fingers over the English and wordlessly, lost, looks out into the garden. Suddenly, Kiku realises that the moon is out, and that he foolishly had been reading in the dark. The visitor’s book is promptly closed and put away, the sliding screens closed against the chill, and he lies down in his futon and stares out at the silhouettes of fireflies dancing outside in the summer air.

America, England, Russia, France, China, India, Pakistan, South Africa and North Korea.

Japan thinks about all his friends with their armies and atomic playthings, closes his eyes, and hopes that Alfred can keep his promises.

-
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 08:42 am (UTC) (Link)


Anon thinks that her half-Japanese, half German background has made her a little biased in the opposite direction to previous Author!Anon. ^^; Sorry bout that.

Did you know?

Pika-Don is the Japanese onomatopoeia for Flash-Bang. Survivors of the atomic bombs describe the bombs as first a sudden flash, then a bang as the explosion hit; the term is a Japanese colloquialism for the bombs.

Hiroshima's main river, the Oota, is considered to be one of the most beautiful in Japan, and one of the defining features of the city.

Nagasaki, southwest of Hiroshima on the Kyuushuu Island, was Japan's centre of cultural exchange after it opened itself to other nations. As a result, it has the highest proportion of Christians of any city and around 130 churches. Other major foreign influences to land there include Holland, America, England and Germany.

A girl named Sadako Sasaki in Hiroshima, aged two when the bomb hit, began to fold 1000 paper cranes while afflicted by radiation sickness, believing in their power to grant wishes. She unfortunately died from Leukemia after folding only 644. She was buried with 1000 paper cranes, which her friends had completed for her.

Both people mentioned as patients are inspired by real people and their symptoms; these cases are shown in the display at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial.

The newspaper photo and the fiasco with the Christmas gift are both trufax. The photo apparently sparked muted outrage, simply because MacArthur was so big and foreign and stood next to the Emperor.

Jirou Shirase was a real person. After MacArthur tried to put the present away, he became outraged and tried to take it home with him. MacArthur apologized and accepted the gift with more appreciation.

MacArthur meant well and did well. Understandably, however, Japanese pride after the war was, and still is, a confusing thing.

Visiting Germany's Gedankstatte at Dachau (the first concentration camp) and Sachsenhausen (the biggest in the vicinity of Berlin), I was struck by the similarity in approach that Japan and Germany have in building memorials. They are all understated, quiet, and horribly moving.

Gaijin- foreigner
Hakujin- "white-man"; anglo-saxon
Grossmansucht- German for the 'desire to show oneself as a man, or to be a man'.
zabuton- kneeling cusion
engawa- sort of a balcony in trad. Japanese houses
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Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 09:32 am (UTC) (Link)

First of all, no apologies about coming from an alternative perspective, because that's exactly what this prompt needs--it needs to be written and interpreted in as many ways as possible, because imo it's a prompt that deserves to be properly explored. So thank you--for coming at it from someplace different.

This was beautiful, anon. Your descriptions are short but incredibly vivid; lines like

There is a golden bird made out of folded paper in Kiku’s red-raw hands, cradled like an inch-tall child.

gave me the good and bad kind of chills. I loved how subdued it was while still marching forward and moving on at the same time. Honestly... I'm not sure whether I can say anything of substance in response (it's a selective kind of awed speechless). This is just... I'll be rereading it for a while to come. Please keep writing for us. (:
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 02:25 pm (UTC) (Link)

;_; I cried.

Brilliant stuff, man. Brilliant.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 02:26 pm (UTC) (Link)

Oh God, anon, I have no words for this. Just... keep doing what you're doing, because seriously, I'll be thinking about this fic for a long time. This is bloody brilliant in every way.

And like the other anon said, DON'T YOU DARE APOLOGIZE FOR THIS. This difference in perspectives is something we all need, or at least, it's something we should not ignore - and my God, you do it so well.

Thank you so much for this!
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 05:30 pm (UTC) (Link)

Why is this so awesome?

I love you portrayed Alfred here and Kiku (don't see many good fics with them)
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-12 10:56 pm (UTC) (Link)

OP here, I agree with everyone, don't apologize for using a certain point of view! And despite that, you didn't demonize America, it was very balanced.

Damn this was just brill.
Thank you anons who filled this.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-03-20 04:06 am (UTC) (Link)

I... I'm speechless anon. This was so beautifully written... and... oh God... I want to cry now.

I loved the Sadako reference, the story was read to me when I was younger. I've been trying to find it again, but it's been deemed nearly impossible, orz.

And... the Pika. Don. part... it made me shudder.

Wow, just... wow.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2009-06-26 04:09 am (UTC) (Link)

This is one of my favorite fills in the entire meme. I have read and reread it and every time it makes something in me clench painfully. Gorgeous and haunting. This was perfect.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don- Author's comments

(Anonymous)

2012-11-26 09:21 am (UTC) (Link)

This is beautifully written. The simplicity plays up the emotional aspect, and makes it a very powerful, moving piece. The reference to Sadako (and by proxy, the crane legend), and the ending were beautiful and made me cry.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Pika-Don (3/3)

(Anonymous)

2009-03-13 01:37 am (UTC) (Link)

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

I started tearing up at the bit near the end, with the memorial and England. When I visited Hiroshima that's how I felt. Just... wanting to understand, even though I know I (and anyone who went through it) can never truly do.

"Japan thinks about all his friends with their armies and atomic playthings, closes his eyes, and hopes that Alfred can keep his promises."

And there's where I lost it and sobbed.
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