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hetalia2009-05-09 12:45 am
nike2422.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-05-09 12:45 am
Entry tags:
[fanfic]The Patriot War 1837-1838: Part the first, or, just being a “helpful” neighbor
Title: The Patriot War 1837-1838: Part the first, or, just being a “helpful” neighbor
Author/Artist: me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Canada, plenty of badmouthing England
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: You know England, kids learn that dirty language at home first
Summary: Canada experiences some unpleasant growing pains, and as usual America reads the whole situation wrong.
"The experiment of keeping colonies and governing them well ought at least, to have a trial." Lord Durham, 1838
He never knocked when he came to visit; he always walked right through the door, or even climbed through a window, depending on which allowed the shortest route indoors. Canada quickly wiped his eyes and blew his nose before America found him, not that he ever noticed what mood Canada was in when he was around, but it still wouldn’t do to let America see him blubbering. It didn’t take long for him to find Canada sitting in one of the chairs in the dining room, an untouched cold cup of tea on the table next to an equally untouched plate of lemon biscuits.
“Hey Canada! Wonderful autumn we’re having, I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to come to my house for Thanksgiving this year? Three kinds of pie!”
Canada rolled his eyes, “You’re only a month late.”*
America’s puzzled look made Canada’s mood darker, but as always his southern neighbor either didn’t care or didn’t seem to notice. “Say, there’s something else I wanted to bring up. We’ve recently had quite a few people coming across the border asking for asylum. Something about rebellion and England having a fit. I dunno, they kept yelling in some foreign gibberis-“
Canada’s fist came down hard on the table, making the tea slosh over the rim of the cup and one of the biscuits jump off the plate and break in two. “FRENCH YOU TWIT! IT’S CALLED FRENCH!” Canada cursed under his breath as his face grew hot and he felt fresh tears well up in his eyes.
America crouched down next to Canada and put his arm across his shoulders “Hey hey hey there big guy, I didn’t mean to insult you. Hell, French, German, Chinese, it’s all Greek to me!” Canada answered with a thunderous snort and more drying his eyes on his sleeve, then jerked his shoulders away from America’s arm.
“The French living here are having a hard time of it with their English neighbors.” Canada made an attempt to explain, “Some of them have been here since the days of Champlain for God’s sake, but England doesn’t care! England does nothing! England never does anything! So a group of them became fed up enough they decided to fight for independence.” Canada had risen from his seat and stood with fists clenched. “And then all of a sudden England cared and screamed and carried on like I have never seen! He was a complete bastard!”
The room was silent, and Canada looked over at America expecting a word of sympathy or encouragement. After all, he had suffered for years under England’s cruelty when he decided to fight for independence, and Canada had always believed then that America had it coming. But now that Canada had endured a small taste of it surely America had some level of empathy he could express? The next thing he heard America say however made his shoulders slump and despair return, because out of that entire speech he only heard one word …
“Independence? Canada is … fighting … for independence?”
Canada didn’t like the gleam that suddenly appeared in America’s eyes, like he was demon-possessed, and the grin that grew across his face gave the northern country chills.
“Oh FUCK YEAH!!! I knew this day would come!” America rushed forward and swept Canada up into a bone-crushing bear hug. “Congratulations!” He released Canada just as quickly and stood with his arms akimbo, fists resting on his hips. “Oh yeah, England can be a real bastard, I know all too well. The trick is, you have to be an even bigger bastard and wear him down. It’s also a good idea to get some outside help.”
America smiled at Canada, who had picked himself up off the floor after being dropped by the other country. His back hurt and he had some difficulty standing up straight. “And brother, help has arrived! This is going to be great!”
Canada raised both hands and began gesturing frantically as though trying to stop a speeding locomotive. “Nonono! That won’t be necessary, you see … it’s already over! Once again America you’re about a month late. The rebellion is done and over with there’s no need for any of this-“
“What?” America shouted, “Are you kidding? Over? No way this is just the beginning! Sure, lay low for a while, make preparations, spread propaganda stockpile guns and ammunition, set up secret meetings and establish communication lines. Damn this feels good! Nothing better than giving England a good ole ass whoopin to raise your spirits!” Canada could only stare at America, horrified and mouth agape.
“Well, I better be going then, places to go, people to see!” America turned and walked to the doorway, then looked back at Canada and gave him a wink. “I’ll be ‘getting in touch’ with you soon, if you know what I mean. Oh, don’t forget, next Thursday, three kinds of pie!” and he left the house whistling “Yankee Doodle.”**
Canada slumped back into the empty chair and stared down at the dining room table. This nightmare couldn’t be real. Kumajirou waddled into the room just then, looked around and asked, “Did someone say there was pie?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*America didn’t set a permanent date for Thanksgiving until 1863, when President Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday in November would be the official date to celebrate the holiday. Canada’s parliament declared the second Monday in October would be the official date for Thanksgiving in 1957. This is my fiction and I take artistic license where and when I want. :D
**American school children are taught the song “Yankee Doodle “ as a patriotic song sung during the American Revolution. The song actually is about a particular wig style worn during the time that resembled the curly pasta we call macaroni today. The men who wore this style were called a “macaroni” due to their tendency to dress and behave in a very effeminate manner. Another term for this fashion sense is ‘dandy’.
Author/Artist: me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Canada, plenty of badmouthing England
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: You know England, kids learn that dirty language at home first
Summary: Canada experiences some unpleasant growing pains, and as usual America reads the whole situation wrong.
"The experiment of keeping colonies and governing them well ought at least, to have a trial." Lord Durham, 1838
He never knocked when he came to visit; he always walked right through the door, or even climbed through a window, depending on which allowed the shortest route indoors. Canada quickly wiped his eyes and blew his nose before America found him, not that he ever noticed what mood Canada was in when he was around, but it still wouldn’t do to let America see him blubbering. It didn’t take long for him to find Canada sitting in one of the chairs in the dining room, an untouched cold cup of tea on the table next to an equally untouched plate of lemon biscuits.
“Hey Canada! Wonderful autumn we’re having, I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to come to my house for Thanksgiving this year? Three kinds of pie!”
Canada rolled his eyes, “You’re only a month late.”*
America’s puzzled look made Canada’s mood darker, but as always his southern neighbor either didn’t care or didn’t seem to notice. “Say, there’s something else I wanted to bring up. We’ve recently had quite a few people coming across the border asking for asylum. Something about rebellion and England having a fit. I dunno, they kept yelling in some foreign gibberis-“
Canada’s fist came down hard on the table, making the tea slosh over the rim of the cup and one of the biscuits jump off the plate and break in two. “FRENCH YOU TWIT! IT’S CALLED FRENCH!” Canada cursed under his breath as his face grew hot and he felt fresh tears well up in his eyes.
America crouched down next to Canada and put his arm across his shoulders “Hey hey hey there big guy, I didn’t mean to insult you. Hell, French, German, Chinese, it’s all Greek to me!” Canada answered with a thunderous snort and more drying his eyes on his sleeve, then jerked his shoulders away from America’s arm.
“The French living here are having a hard time of it with their English neighbors.” Canada made an attempt to explain, “Some of them have been here since the days of Champlain for God’s sake, but England doesn’t care! England does nothing! England never does anything! So a group of them became fed up enough they decided to fight for independence.” Canada had risen from his seat and stood with fists clenched. “And then all of a sudden England cared and screamed and carried on like I have never seen! He was a complete bastard!”
The room was silent, and Canada looked over at America expecting a word of sympathy or encouragement. After all, he had suffered for years under England’s cruelty when he decided to fight for independence, and Canada had always believed then that America had it coming. But now that Canada had endured a small taste of it surely America had some level of empathy he could express? The next thing he heard America say however made his shoulders slump and despair return, because out of that entire speech he only heard one word …
“Independence? Canada is … fighting … for independence?”
Canada didn’t like the gleam that suddenly appeared in America’s eyes, like he was demon-possessed, and the grin that grew across his face gave the northern country chills.
“Oh FUCK YEAH!!! I knew this day would come!” America rushed forward and swept Canada up into a bone-crushing bear hug. “Congratulations!” He released Canada just as quickly and stood with his arms akimbo, fists resting on his hips. “Oh yeah, England can be a real bastard, I know all too well. The trick is, you have to be an even bigger bastard and wear him down. It’s also a good idea to get some outside help.”
America smiled at Canada, who had picked himself up off the floor after being dropped by the other country. His back hurt and he had some difficulty standing up straight. “And brother, help has arrived! This is going to be great!”
Canada raised both hands and began gesturing frantically as though trying to stop a speeding locomotive. “Nonono! That won’t be necessary, you see … it’s already over! Once again America you’re about a month late. The rebellion is done and over with there’s no need for any of this-“
“What?” America shouted, “Are you kidding? Over? No way this is just the beginning! Sure, lay low for a while, make preparations, spread propaganda stockpile guns and ammunition, set up secret meetings and establish communication lines. Damn this feels good! Nothing better than giving England a good ole ass whoopin to raise your spirits!” Canada could only stare at America, horrified and mouth agape.
“Well, I better be going then, places to go, people to see!” America turned and walked to the doorway, then looked back at Canada and gave him a wink. “I’ll be ‘getting in touch’ with you soon, if you know what I mean. Oh, don’t forget, next Thursday, three kinds of pie!” and he left the house whistling “Yankee Doodle.”**
Canada slumped back into the empty chair and stared down at the dining room table. This nightmare couldn’t be real. Kumajirou waddled into the room just then, looked around and asked, “Did someone say there was pie?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*America didn’t set a permanent date for Thanksgiving until 1863, when President Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday in November would be the official date to celebrate the holiday. Canada’s parliament declared the second Monday in October would be the official date for Thanksgiving in 1957. This is my fiction and I take artistic license where and when I want. :D
**American school children are taught the song “Yankee Doodle “ as a patriotic song sung during the American Revolution. The song actually is about a particular wig style worn during the time that resembled the curly pasta we call macaroni today. The men who wore this style were called a “macaroni” due to their tendency to dress and behave in a very effeminate manner. Another term for this fashion sense is ‘dandy’.
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Nice fic! c: and thanks for the cultural notes o:
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:)
Re: :)
thanks!
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Can't wait to see more of it!!!!
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Here you go! ^^
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