any nation - a human lifetime after the "end" of the world
anonymous
June 30 2009, 02:14:11 UTC
Here's the set-up: The apocalypse has come and gone, leaving the world profoundly changed. Please note that Anon is not looking for a traditional post-apocalyptic story where the survivors of a great disaster are struggling for survival; Anon subscribes to the "velvet apocalypse" theory, which supposes a much more gentle turn of events that nonetheless effects dramatic change.
One of these changes is that nations as we know them no longer exist. Consequently, the Nation-tans we have come to know and love no longer have a role to fulfill--but they aren't obliterated. They're granted the length of a human lifetime. Anon would really like to see what a former Nation-tan or two (or more) chooses to do with that lifetime. Anon imagines each Nation-tan being given the choice of whether or not to retain memories of their former existence, but leaves that entirely up to any author!anon kind enough to take this on.
Anon kind of desperately wants to see Alfred with Matthew, Arthur, Ivan, or Kiku involved in some way, but to save comment
( ... )
They call it vintage
anonymous
July 1 2009, 01:49:25 UTC
Quick fill is quick. Different anon from the one who offered. Just something that passed my mind when I saw this. Lacks Alfred, also.
His name is Arthur Kirkland.
He lives in one of those snazzy Victorian houses with prize-winning lawns at the front and exotic gardens at the back.
He is, oddly enough, a man who attends the neighborhood (elderly) women's Sunday meetings, yet the women will tell anyone that he's perfectly straight, just nicely in touch with his feminine side and not afraid to show it.
He hosts tea parties every Tuesday. He has ancient tea sets that everyone surmises to cost more than the lot of his house.
And every now and then, the prime minister, wearing a casual sweater and an ironed pair of slacks, will ring his doorbell and exchange pleasantries with him.
The neighborhood suspects that Arthur Kirkland really isn't Arthur's name, but he's a pleasant enough man so they don't question it. However, there is a particularly curious little boy that just can't help but wonder. So one day, this little boy comes to
( ... )
This, dear author!anon, is pitch perfect. OP could not possibly ask for more. When I made the request, I thought about suggesting that two nations might be drawn to each other and one or both of them wouldn't know why, but then I thought that might be too specific or too much of a dictation and that I'd rather read what others came up with.
This is so full of emotion and yet so understated, and I think that only highlights the emotions more for me. When I tell you this made me cry, I hope you will take that as the compliment it's meant to be and not feel you need to apologize. When it comes to storytelling, there's little I love as much as cathartic tears.
Momentary Life [1/2]
anonymous
July 1 2009, 11:41:45 UTC
Since the first filler!Anon has done such a wonderful job, I hope this too rises to the occasion.
I want to remember.
There are no borders anymore. There is no need for them. His children are so few and scattered now that he can no longer feel their life in him. That sense of belonging that had shaped and reshaped him over the centuries is gone. Ludwig, who was once Germany, rebuilds his house. He does it by himself, takes his time to lay every brick with care and reverence, because with each one, he lays down a memory. Good and bad. They are the mortar that will hold his walls together. And he will live among them, for such time as he is permitted to.
I want to forget.He rests his head against the gravestone, and brushes hesitant fingers over the name carved there. This place seems oddly untouched by the decay of time and the horrors of war. That name still resonates in his bones with the greatest and most terrible lessons it had taught him long ago
( ... )
Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 1 2009, 11:57:02 UTC
I want nothing.
If he closes his eyes, he can pretend the earth has spun back to those days when history had not yet caught up with him. He finds a mountain retreat, an old derelict shrine in a forest, and decides to settle there. But first, he cuts his hair and shaves his skull carefully. He dresses in simple, humble clothes and chooses a few meagre belongings. He carries nothing of value, save for a stack of square papers, neatly packed - the last worldly whim has allowed himself to fall victim to. In the silence of his new home, Kiku, who was once Japan, born from the sea and forged into fire, folds the first crane and waits.
I want to live.The least he can say is that he is grateful to the water for not taking his beloved city
( ... )
Re: Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 1 2009, 13:20:21 UTC
Oh, this.
All of this.
It's just... Incredibly lovely. And finishing it with China? he returns to his home, lays his head down with ease and gratitude, and learns something new... Perfect. ♥
Uhh, yeah, incidentally...
anonymous
July 1 2009, 13:36:25 UTC
Anon forgot to mention she's not the same anon with the original fill offer above. I just read the comment now and realized the fill sounds kind of similar to the other anon's suggestion. Sorry about that :(
Re: Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 1 2009, 14:14:51 UTC
First filler just dropping by and saying that this is beautiful and. Anon. There's totally no worry. First fill shames -- pretty sure I got the wrong word here -- in comparison to this. ♥
Re: Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 6 2009, 03:52:08 UTC
This... was incredible. Absolutely breathtaking.
I seriously cried, it was that beautiful. I loved it, and it really captures each and every nation's personalities and desires. With every single part, it just became more and more breathtaking.
I can't even choose a favorite part, and I feel incredibly incoherent. But, thank you so much for writing this. It was wonderful. <3
super late op is super late
anonymous
July 7 2009, 20:40:40 UTC
I must apologize for the lateness of this response, dear author!anon. I first read this a day or so after you posted, but I was so overcome that I couldn't find the words to express myself. I think I still don't have the words, but I know I need and want to say something.
I love so much the little glimpses into so many of their lives, how some make me sigh (Kiku, Ivan) and some make me smile (Feliciano, Alfred and Matthew, Tino and Berwald) and some make me want to cry--but not with tragedy, with the strange beauty of the human condition and all it entails (Yao). There's a profound humanity throughout this, and if I didn't mention some of them by name it's not because I loved them less but because it was harder to put a name to how I felt.
Beautiful, author!anon. My most sincere apologies for not mustering something to say earlier; you have left me somewhat speechless, as you can probably see by my poor comments here. Thank you so much for this.
Re: Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 31 2011, 07:13:17 UTC
I loved this fill. It's so beautiful. Sad, but beautiful in it's simplicity and conciseness. Author Anon did a wonderful job filling it and addressing the possible choices of each of the different characters, offering us a little slice of their last time on this earth. I think the choices matched each one perfectly and captured all that is human about them while acknowledging what once made them a nation. It makes me want to cry when I read it, but I don't because it also reminds me that life goes on, and it can be what you make it, and our eventual death is simply another step in the journey, that bit of wisdom, makes me smile.
Re: Momentary Life [2/2]
anonymous
July 31 2011, 07:28:33 UTC
Oh! I wish someone would do an artfill for this. Just a sketch of the moment mentioned in the story. I would love an Artist!Anon forever if they did one.
wait damn it this isn't what you asked for. at all. sorry, my brain took a slightly different direction here. b-but I just wanted to write and this is what came out.
----
Forty. Forty years.
Today couldn't be his fortieth birthday.
The notion was... ludicrous. And terrifying.
And anyhow, it was probably inaccurate, because Alfred hadn't been absolutely sure what age he'd been when he'd started to age again. Really, he'd been aging all along... just so much more slowly. He hadn't really been aging. Not like this. Not like his people. Only, they weren't exactly 'his' people anymore, were they? They were just people. And he was one of them. He was actually one of them.
But anyhow, back to the nightmare at hand- he was forty years old, at least in appearance, and he might have been older because sometimes it was so easy to forget to add on a year every Forth of July, but at least Canada- no, no, Matthew- had been keeping track because he'd called him up earlier that morning to wish him a happy fortieth and his brother was
( ... )
Re: Forty [2/2]
anonymous
July 1 2009, 21:07:35 UTC
So. Forty years older, forty years gone by, and there had been some change, just not much. And what about him? What did Alfred have to show for himself for these past forty years- years that went by slowly enough that he had to stop and think again and judge how best to spend the remaining amount of time he had on earth? Years that left their mark on his mortality in the form of scars and lightening hair and wrinkling skin? And...rising cholesterol levels? And besides having dedicated himself to a steady exercise routine, had he changed at all?
Maybe he had. At least now, he was able to recognize some of those things that Arthur had been trying to show him for years. Things like the fact that, sometimes, it was just easier to 'act his age', so to speak. To simply lie back and reminisce and take a backstage role to the chaotic motion picture known as life.
...Yeah.
SometimesAlfred snorted as he yanked his right arm through the sleeve of his bomber, jerked the woolly collar straight in the mirror. He flashed his reflection a
( ... )
One of these changes is that nations as we know them no longer exist. Consequently, the Nation-tans we have come to know and love no longer have a role to fulfill--but they aren't obliterated. They're granted the length of a human lifetime. Anon would really like to see what a former Nation-tan or two (or more) chooses to do with that lifetime. Anon imagines each Nation-tan being given the choice of whether or not to retain memories of their former existence, but leaves that entirely up to any author!anon kind enough to take this on.
Anon kind of desperately wants to see Alfred with Matthew, Arthur, Ivan, or Kiku involved in some way, but to save comment ( ... )
Reply
His name is Arthur Kirkland.
He lives in one of those snazzy Victorian houses with prize-winning lawns at the front and exotic gardens at the back.
He is, oddly enough, a man who attends the neighborhood (elderly) women's Sunday meetings, yet the women will tell anyone that he's perfectly straight, just nicely in touch with his feminine side and not afraid to show it.
He hosts tea parties every Tuesday. He has ancient tea sets that everyone surmises to cost more than the lot of his house.
And every now and then, the prime minister, wearing a casual sweater and an ironed pair of slacks, will ring his doorbell and exchange pleasantries with him.
The neighborhood suspects that Arthur Kirkland really isn't Arthur's name, but he's a pleasant enough man so they don't question it. However, there is a particularly curious little boy that just can't help but wonder. So one day, this little boy comes to ( ... )
Reply
This is so full of emotion and yet so understated, and I think that only highlights the emotions more for me. When I tell you this made me cry, I hope you will take that as the compliment it's meant to be and not feel you need to apologize. When it comes to storytelling, there's little I love as much as cathartic tears.
Beautiful. Thank you so much!
Reply
Reply
I want to remember.
There are no borders anymore. There is no need for them. His children are so few and scattered now that he can no longer feel their life in him. That sense of belonging that had shaped and reshaped him over the centuries is gone.
Ludwig, who was once Germany, rebuilds his house. He does it by himself, takes his time to lay every brick with care and reverence, because with each one, he lays down a memory. Good and bad. They are the mortar that will hold his walls together. And he will live among them, for such time as he is permitted to.
I want to forget.He rests his head against the gravestone, and brushes hesitant fingers over the name carved there. This place seems oddly untouched by the decay of time and the horrors of war. That name still resonates in his bones with the greatest and most terrible lessons it had taught him long ago ( ... )
Reply
If he closes his eyes, he can pretend the earth has spun back to those days when history had not yet caught up with him. He finds a mountain retreat, an old derelict shrine in a forest, and decides to settle there. But first, he cuts his hair and shaves his skull carefully. He dresses in simple, humble clothes and chooses a few meagre belongings. He carries nothing of value, save for a stack of square papers, neatly packed - the last worldly whim has allowed himself to fall victim to.
In the silence of his new home, Kiku, who was once Japan, born from the sea and forged into fire, folds the first crane and waits.
I want to live.The least he can say is that he is grateful to the water for not taking his beloved city ( ... )
Reply
All of this.
It's just... Incredibly lovely. And finishing it with China? he returns to his home, lays his head down with ease and gratitude, and learns something new... Perfect. ♥
Reply
Reply
Reply
*cries*
This is utterly beautiful and sad but so... so peaceful-ish. I love each and every part of it. It's just so... how do you say, serene. Yea.
Gah, I can't find words to describe how wonderful this fic is! '~'
<33333333333
Reply
I seriously cried, it was that beautiful. I loved it, and it really captures each and every nation's personalities and desires. With every single part, it just became more and more breathtaking.
I can't even choose a favorite part, and I feel incredibly incoherent. But, thank you so much for writing this. It was wonderful. <3
Reply
I love so much the little glimpses into so many of their lives, how some make me sigh (Kiku, Ivan) and some make me smile (Feliciano, Alfred and Matthew, Tino and Berwald) and some make me want to cry--but not with tragedy, with the strange beauty of the human condition and all it entails (Yao). There's a profound humanity throughout this, and if I didn't mention some of them by name it's not because I loved them less but because it was harder to put a name to how I felt.
Beautiful, author!anon. My most sincere apologies for not mustering something to say earlier; you have left me somewhat speechless, as you can probably see by my poor comments here. Thank you so much for this.
Reply
It makes me want to cry when I read it, but I don't because it also reminds me that life goes on, and it can be what you make it, and our eventual death is simply another step in the journey, that bit of wisdom, makes me smile.
Thank you Author Anon.
Reply
Reply
----
Forty. Forty years.
Today couldn't be his fortieth birthday.
The notion was... ludicrous. And terrifying.
And anyhow, it was probably inaccurate, because Alfred hadn't been absolutely sure what age he'd been when he'd started to age again. Really, he'd been aging all along... just so much more slowly. He hadn't really been aging. Not like this. Not like his people. Only, they weren't exactly 'his' people anymore, were they? They were just people. And he was one of them. He was actually one of them.
But anyhow, back to the nightmare at hand- he was forty years old, at least in appearance, and he might have been older because sometimes it was so easy to forget to add on a year every Forth of July, but at least Canada- no, no, Matthew- had been keeping track because he'd called him up earlier that morning to wish him a happy fortieth and his brother was ( ... )
Reply
Maybe he had. At least now, he was able to recognize some of those things that Arthur had been trying to show him for years. Things like the fact that, sometimes, it was just easier to 'act his age', so to speak. To simply lie back and reminisce and take a backstage role to the chaotic motion picture known as life.
...Yeah.
SometimesAlfred snorted as he yanked his right arm through the sleeve of his bomber, jerked the woolly collar straight in the mirror. He flashed his reflection a ( ... )
Reply
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