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Rapunzel by Sa-RAWR
by Sa-RAWR

Well, I certainly don't plan on sleeping tonight! This is beautifully done and the concept is one I have never thought of before as Rap...


Happy Happy Birthday, Myna!!! by Tazzilynumeral
Happy Happy Birthday, Myna!!!
I really love your word arts so I tried (and failed) to imitate the style...  Anyways, I hope that your birthday was as awesome as you areeeeeee : D
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes and violence/gore)


            “You’re okay,” America heard a voice say as she slowly drifted into consciousness. The world around her was a fuzzy blur of colors mixed with the soft beeps of machinery and monitors. “You just had surgery,” the voice continued and America felt as someone tucked the edges of a soft blanket around her.

            “W-w,” America said, trying to turn over to see who was there.

            “Don’t talk, don’t talk,” the voice said, keeping her from rolling over. “It’s me, it’s South Vietnam. You’re okay now, you just need to rest,” she said and America nodded slowly, closing her eyes and falling back asleep.

            “How are you feeling?” South Vietnam asked, sitting down on the edge of America’s bed and carrying a small bowl of soup. America smiled weakly at her, looking up from the graph she’d been annotating. It had been a couple of months since she’d returned from North Vietnam. Most of the bandages had been removed from her body, leaving noticeable but healed scars behind.  Her leg had been taken out of its cast a few weeks ago. Her hand was still in a brace, but she could finally hold a cup in it again. America’s hair had been slowly coaxed into back into its old curls by South Vietnam’s careful touch and she’d started to regain the weight she’d lost.

            “’m okay,” America said, repeating the phrase she’d said over and over since returning and taking the soup gratefully. She leaned against South Vietnam and slowly drank it, her left hand barely trembling as it got used to being the dominant one of the two.

            “Are you sure?” South Vietnam asked, glancing at the graph.

            “I’m okay,” America said again. South Vietnam nodded slowly, sighing quietly to herself and trying not to think of all the times she’d woken up to America’s screaming or crying and watched as America clung to her sheets in terror at whatever was haunting her in her dreams.

    South Vietnam sat silently by America’s bed, stroking her hair gently and watching as she slowly breathed, every other breath punctuated with a short coughing fit. Her hair had been cut, her long, almost waist length hair now barely reached the top of her ears. South Vietnam had been unable to comb it out, a year of not combing it had left it horribly matted. There were dark circles under her eyes and painful looking purple and blue bruises decorated her skin, peeking out from under the bright white of clean bandages. “Good morning,” she whispered, running her fingers through America’s newly cut hair as America slowly blinked her eyes open, staring at the hospital ceiling. “Do you know where you are?” she asked, adjusting America’s oxygen mask. America shook her head slowly, turning over and coughing painfully. “Shhh, shhh,” South Vietnam said, gently rubbing America’s back.  “You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for a bit now, but you’re okay now,” she said, smiling gently.

            “A-are you- are you okay?” America rasped, slowly reaching her right hand out to touch South Vietnam’s cheek and looking at the dark bags under her eyes.

            “I’m fine,” South Vietnam said, holding America’s hand to her cheek and smiling down at her. “We’re going to make sure you’re okay now.”

            “’m- ‘m okay,” America said, closing her eyes for a couple moments. “How’s the war? I- I didn’t hear t-that anything big happened, b-but they wouldn’t have told me,” America whispered, opening her eyes again.

            “We’re not talking about the war right now,” South Vietnam said, gently placing America’s hand back at her side. “I have news that is good and bad, which would you like first?”

            “Bad news,” America whispered, leaning into South Vietnam’s touch.

            “Okay,” South Vietnam said. “Do you want the fluffy version or the other one?”

            “Other one,” America said.

            “Okay,” South Vietnam said, going back to stroking America’s hair and being careful to avoid touching any of the bruises or bandages on her neck. “Your leg was badly broken and didn’t heal properly so the doctors had to rebreak it. Liberia has covered a portion of the cast with multicolored smiley faces. You had some internal bleeding but it’s all stitched up now… You have some broken ribs, some really deep cuts, and some bad bruising, but the doctors did everything they could for that. Y-you, you- uh- your right hand had some bad crush injuries, most of the bones in it are broken and there’s some nerve damage… You’re going to need physical therapy and you probably won’t regain full mobility in it,” she said softly, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked down at America. “You’ve been having some issues with your short term memory, this is- uh- the fourth time I’ve told you all this,” South Vietnam said, slightly grateful that this time she was able to stay composed.

            “S-sorry,” America whispered.

            “Don’t be sorry, I’ve mastered the little talk now and staying here with you means I get lots of jell-o,” South Vietnam said, smiling wryly.

            “Can I have a jell-o?” America asked.

            “No…” South Vietnam sighed. “You’ve lost a lot of weight, no jell-o for a while.”

            “Oh,” America sighed, closing her eyes again. “’s anything else w-wrong with me?”

            “Maybe you should just rest, Meri,” South Vietnam said.

            “Tell me,” America muttered, staring at South Vietnam. South Vietnam nodded slowly.

            “You- uh- had some bad bruising and bleeding in your private… area,” South Vietnam said, watching as America closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “The doctors did some tests and- I… Do you need to talk to someone?” South Vietnam asked as America turned away.

            “No,” America said, staring at the wall.

            “But, you-“

            “Nothing happened, okay?” America said, closing her eyes. “I’m going to go to sleep, okay?” America whispered and South Vietnam nodded, wiping her eyes and stroking America’s hair.

            “Want me to stay here?” she asked, slightly afraid of the answer.

            “Yes, please,” America said and South Vietnam smiled, holding America’s good hand and squeezing it.

            “Well, okay then,” South Vietnam said, stealing some of America’s soup and poking the other nation’s nose as she pouted. “If you’re okay then your tummy must be okay too!” she said, sticking her tongue out at America.

            “My tummy operates independently of the rest of me,” America said, quickly eating the rest of the soup.

            “You’re silly,” South Vietnam giggled, taking the empty bowl away from America and setting it down on her bedside table. “… Are you excited to go back to work?” she asked, looking at the suit laid out at the bottom of the bed.

            “I have to go back,” America said simply, putting the graph away.

            “You can take another few days off,” South Vietnam said, looking at the brace on America’s hand. “You’re still doing physical therapy, maybe you can wait till that’s over and you’re fully healthy again. Y-you still have weight to gain back!” she said, hoping one of these reasons would keep America home. You still cry at night, I still hear your screams and have to watch you suffer. You’re not better. She thought to herself, keeping the real reason she wanted America to stay held tightly inside her heart.

            “I’m going to be doing it for a while,” America said, gently swinging her legs down off the bed and wincing as she put weight on the one she’d broken. “It’s an office job, I’ll be sitting down most of the time,” she said, leaning on the headboard of the bed for support.

            South Vietnam was back in her place by America’s bedside, watching the other nation carefully and working on a small pile of paperwork that had built up as she’d waited for America to wake up. Liberia slept curled up next to America; one arm curled around her stuffed bear and her other hand clinging to the front of America’s hospital gown.

            “Hello, tiny one,” America said, sitting up carefully and smiling down at Liberia. She closed her eyes, leaning forward and taking a couple deep breaths and groaning in pain. South Vietnam sat up quickly, holding her up carefully and gently rubbing her back.

            “Mommie?” Liberia whimpered, opening her eyes halfway and snuggling closer to America. “Is- is otay?”

            “I- I’m- I’m okay,” America gasped, breathing slowly. “Go- go back to sleep, dear,” she said, gently stroking Liberia’s hair as the toddler nodded, closing her eyes and falling back asleep.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” South Vietnam asked, sitting on the bed next to America and letting America lean against her. America nodded slowly, resting her head on South Vietnam’s shoulder. “You- uh- you never asked for the good news,” South Vietnam whispered, stroking America’s hair.

            “What’s the good news?” America muttered.

            “You’re safe now,” South Vietnam said, holding America close and rocking her.

            “Yeah,” America sighed, closing her eyes and letting the other nation rock her.  “I- I can- I can help with paperwork and things,” she said, leaning back against her pillows and picking up a folder.

            “You should rest…” South Vietnam muttered.

            “I should be useful,” America said, picking up a pen and reading over a report. Her left hand shook as it held the pen and she looked with irritation at her right hand and the brace and bandages covering it. America shook her head, trying to ignore the trembling as she read over the report.

            “You shouldn’t be reading about the war yet,” South Vietnam said, looking over America’s shoulder at the file.

            “I can handle it,” America said, continuing to read over the file. “Things aren’t going well,” America muttered.

            “It isn’t going poorly,” South Vietnam said, not sure if she was lying or being honest. “Do you… maybe want to try and see if we can go outside? You can go in a wheelchair, I can push you,” she said, rubbing the back of America’s neck and pulling her arm back quickly as America flinched away, dropping her pen and staring at the wall. “I- I’m sorry,” South Vietnam whispered.

            “Maybe later,” America said, picking up the pen slowly and turning back to the report. “I should do work now… H-how long have I been gone?” she asked, looking up at South Vietnam. “No one will tell me.”

            “You were there for about a year,” South Vietnam said, watching as America shook her head, closing her eyes and covering her face with her good hand. “Then, uh, you were unconscious for a week or so.”

            “I’m so behind on all my work,” America muttered, sitting up and going back to reading the report.

            “You can’t think about that now, you just need to focus on getting better,” South Vietnam said. “You can try to catch up once you go home, okay?”

            “When will I go home?” America asked, closing the folder and looking up. South Vietnam took it away quickly and slid it under the bed.

            “I don’t know,” she admitted. “How do you feel?”

            “I’m okay,” America said, closing her eyes and flopping back against the pillows.

            “Yes, well…” South Vietnam said slowly. “You still have to get up to move around.”

            “You get to go to work and you’re hurt,” America said, poking South Vietnam’s nose. “It’s only fair that I get to go too. And won’t it be nice to know that you didn’t leave me here alone with the potential to accidentally set all your things on fire? Now I can set someone else’s things on fire!”

            “One more day,” South Vietnam said, picking up America’s suit and holding it away from her. She winced internally at how childish she was acting but suppressed the feeling, knowing that it would be better if America stayed home just for a few more days.

            “It’ll always be one more day!” America said, holding her hands out to take the suit.

            “No, no, just one more!” South Vietnam said. “Y-you’re going to see all of the other nations again, talking to that many people is exhausting! You can get a good night’s rest and then go in tomorrow prepared to face the day.”

            “I’m prepared to face it now,” America said, snatching the suit away and limping off towards the bathroom. “I’ll be fine!” she called as she closed the door behind her.

            “I just need to go grocery shopping,” South Vietnam said. “I have some reports to go over so they don’t need me to go in today,” she said, grateful that her small break came now. “I can wait to see you off…”

            “I’ll be fine!” America said. “Go get the best marshmallows before someone else takes them all. I’ll see you when I get home!” she said and South Vietnam nodded slowly.

            “I’ll see you then,” she whispered, walking out of the bedroom.

            “It’s better than staying stuck in the hospital room all day, isn’t it?” South Vietnam said, wheeling America out of the hospital and into the midday sun. It was the beginning of spring and flowers had begun blooming, decorating the world with bright splashes of color.

            “Yeah,” America whispered, tilting her head upwards towards the sun and closing her eyes. There were no tall trees clumped together here to block the sun, no landmines waiting underneath the grass, no one around who would want to hurt her, America reminded herself, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself as she heard the sounds of footsteps approaching.

            “I bringded you flowers,” Liberia said, beaming up at her mom and depositing a handful of wildflowers onto America’s lap. “They have happy smells!”

            “They do!” America said, taking a sniff of the flowers and ruffling Liberia’s hair. “Do you wanna show me where you found them?” she asked and Liberia nodded, racing off quickly back in that direction. America went to wheel herself after her but cried out softly in pain as she tried to move her broken fingers.

            “I’ve got you!” South Vietnam said, pushing America off after Liberia. “Just keep an eye out for the flowers.”

            “Aye, aye, captain,” America joked as the three nations ran off in search of the best flowers.

            “I’m so glad you’re back,” South Vietnam whispered an hour or so later. They were back in America’s hospital room, but now ever spare inch of space had been covered with brightly colored flowers, each carefully selected and approved by Liberia’s discerning eye (an eye that was now choosing the best crayon to use to color in a butterfly).

            “I’m glad to be back,” America said, smiling weakly up at South Vietnam, who hugged her tightly, taking care not to hurt her more. “I love you,” America said softly, hugging her back with her good hand.

            “I love you too,” South Vietnam said, giggling as Liberia hopped up onto the bed and hugged them both.

            “I loves you both!” she said, snuggling close to them.

            “And we love you!” America laughed, pulling Liberia into the group hug.

    “America?” South Vietnam called, barely three hours later, stepping inside the house. “America!” she yelled, dropping her bags of groceries and racing upstairs as she heard the sound of running water and sobs from the bathroom. “Meri, Meri, what’s wrong?” she asked, knocking on the bathroom door and starting to panic. “I’m coming inside,” she said, slamming the door open with her shoulder and tumbling inside. “What happened?” she asked, running over to the edge of the bathtub. America knelt inside, still fully dressed and covering her face with her hands as the water from the shower streamed down over her. Her hair clung to the sides of her face and she shook violently as she cried. The broken metal handle of the water control sat in the water next to her.

            “I- I’m not okay,” America said, sobbing as South Vietnam climbed into the tub across from her and knelt down as well. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t do it, I thought I could but I can’t!”

            “What happened?” South Vietnam asked, ignoring the cold water falling on top of her.

            “I- I went to work and I just had to look over this stupid stupid paper about the war a-and I guess I- I looked sick so someone sent me home a-and said I could just come back tomorrow and they didn’t need me today a-and then I got home a-and I- I- I turned on the shower but the handle broke off a-and n-now I can’t- I can’t put it back on and the water won’t stop and it’s cold and it won’t stop!” America cried. “I- I just- I want to feel clean,” she said, wiping her eyes and trembling. “I- I just want it all to go away.”

            “Tell me what happened,” South Vietnam whispered, trying to get America to look up at her. “We can’t make it all go away, but I can help make it better if you tell me what happened.”

            “’s my fault,” America said and South Vietnam felt something inside of her break as America looked up at her with wide, tear filled eyes. “I made everything bad and now I’m paying the price, a-and I- I deserve it but it hurts a-and now it won’t stop.”

            “What happened?” South Vietnam asked again, putting her hand to America’s cheek.

            “I- I’m not okay,” America said again, leaning in to South Vietnam’s touch and continuing to cry. “It- it hurts, it hurts when I walk, it hurts when I sit down, no matter what I do I can’t make it stop hurting!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands as she rocked back and forth. “I can’t leave- I- I know I’m not there anymore but I still am, t-the rats are still crawling all over me, I’m still getting beaten! I’m all full but I’m still starving and I’ve left but I don’t know how to leave,” she wailed as South Vietnam stroked her hair

            “You can leave, Meri,” she whispered, warm brown eyes meeting terrified blue as the two nations looked at each other. “Talk to me. Talk to me and I’ll help you find a way out.

    “I- they- they raped me,” America said, starting to cry again. South Vietnam froze, staring at America for a moment before wrapping her arms around her and hugging her tightly. “D-didn’t- didn’t w-want to tell you,” America sobbed, clinging to South Vietnam and resting her forehead on her shoulder. “’c-‘cause t-then y-you- you’d think I-I’m dirty too a-and you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t touch me anymore and you wouldn’t hug me anymore a-and I can’t have you hate me too.”

            “I don’t hate you,” South Vietnam said, not noticing she’d started to cry as she gently rocked America back and forth. “I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,” she whispered, stroking America’s hair and holding her as she cried. “This wasn’t your fault.”

            “B-but-“ America said and South Vietnam shook her head, holding America’s shoulders and staring at the other nation.

            “You have to say it,” South Vietnam said, gently wiping away America’s tears. “I know it doesn’t feel real now and you can’t believe it yet, but you have to say it. This wasn’t your fault.”

            “But it was,” America whispered, staring at South Vietnam. South Vietnam shook her head again, pulling America back into a tight hug and listening as America cried.

I know that this story needs a warning, but I'm not sure which warning to put it under... So all of these probably apply in a manner of speaking. I've had this written for a while, I just edited it and fixed it up kind of and have been doubting if I should post it but I think I will...
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes)

What is your real birth name? What name do you use? If you have a nickname, what is it and where did you get it? 

South Vietnam: Well, it wasn’t my name per se, but the first thing I represented was the Hồng Bàng Dynasty. The last thing I represented was the Republic of Vietnam, now people just call me South Vietnam.

America: I call her Vi! : D

South Vietnam: Yes she does xD I’m not sure where it comes from…

America: The beginning portion of your name. : )

South Vietnam: Well I got that part x)

America: I’m not sure what my birthname was, my first name I remember was Cherokee, now I’m the United States of America but also still kinda Cherokee but also no… It’s weird. People call me Meri, Russia started calling me that when I was a tiny.

Russia: I did. One of my first names was Kievan Rus, now I am the Russian Federation. I don’t think I have a nickname…

America: You had some when you were the USSR!

Russia: This is true…

England: One of my first names was Albion, now I’m England, America calls me Iggy because she enjoys pissing me off.

Haiti: One of my old names was Marién, now I’m the Republic of Haiti, I don’t… think I have a nickname. I’m not too sure, though.


Are you right-handed or left-handed?

Haiti: Right handed because I’m not a demon!

America: I’m not a demon!

Haiti: No, but that’s cause you switched! If you were naturally left handed theeeeeen you’d be a demon.

America: *huffs* I’m left handed, I used to be right handed but my right hand suffered some nerve damage during the Vietnam War and I didn’t get all my function back.

South Vietnam: : ( *hugs her* I’m a lefty too.

Haiti: Ahhhhh so you’re the demon!

South Vietnam: N-no! I promise!

England: I’m right handed.

Russia: Me too o.o

England: Is South Vietnam possessed by a demon or is she a demon?

South Vietnam: NEITHER!

Haiti: Just possessed. I think.


Describe how you are dressed right now? Is this your preferred mode of dress? If not, why are you dressed as you are right now?

Haiti: I’m wearing jean shorts and an orange tank top. This is how I dress if I’m not going to work because in my county it is always hot and I don’t want to die from heatstroke.

Russia: I am wearing a fluffy hat.

England: And other things, I hope.

Russia: Yes, of course. A dress shirt, dress pants, and a jacket. But the hat is different than normal, Belarus gave it to me. I like it very much.

South Vietnam: It’s very nice! I’m wearing a green ao dai, which is very normal for me. A-although I don’t wear the same one every day. I promise!

Haiti: *pats South Vietnam’s shoulder*

England: I’m wearing a skirt and a blouse. This is what I normally wear.

America: I am wearing a suit!

Haiti: This is what she almost always wears because she hates leaving her office.

America: My office has such cozy couches!

Haiti: This is true.

Russia: I bet my office is better.

America: Nuhuh.

Russia: Uhuh.

England: You two are infants.

Haiti: This too is true.


What is your most prized possession? Why do you value it so much?

America: I really like my locket…

Russia: The one I gave you?

America: *nods*

Russia: *has warm fuzzies in his heart* *refuses to admit it*

Haiti: I have a really nice coconut. I usually throw it at people.

South Vietnam: w-why o.o

Haiti: Mainly because I can. It amuses me.

England: This is why France shouldn’t be allowed to raise children. I’m very fond of my tea kettle.

America: Why?

England: It’s rather essential to the tea making process.

America: No, really? -_-

South Vietnam: Let us all be polite… I am not sure what’s my most prized possession…


Do you have siblings? If so, who are they and what is your relationship with them like?

England: Yes, and apparently they’re all not very fond of me…

Russia: No one is fond of you.

England: Now that’s just rude.

Russia: This is what happens when you subjugate your siblings.

England: I’m not that cruel to Wales.

Russia: You say he has inappropriate relations with sheep.

England: Can you prove that he doesn’t?

Russia: No, but…

England: Exactly. And you can’t talk, Ukraine hates you.

Russia: But Belarus loves me.

England: For now.

South Vietnam: o.o U- um, I have an alright relationship with my brothers, apart from when one killed me.

Haiti: How is that alright?

South Vietnam: I don’t know…

Haiti: My brother and I hate each other passionately! : D

America: Yes you do. My siblings and I like each other usually! Except Dixie but… Bleh.




What kind of education did you receive while growing up?

England: It really depended on the times… I went to study with a lot of my well respected citizens frequently…

Russia: I did as well.

America: I did after independence. I did go to college eventually, though.

Haiti: I meant to ask you this before, but where did you go to medical school?

America: *awkward whistle*

Haiti: … No. You said you’re a doctor!

America: I have a PhD!




South Vietnam: O_O Y-you’re both still alive.

Haiti: Not for long.


Haiti: *chases* I AM NOT A ROBOT!

England: … I studied English Literature at university…

Russia: I studied Physics…

South Vietnam: I just- I just studied with my people, I never went to college…


Can you get people to do what you want them to? If so, how?

Russia: Yes! ^_^ They do it because they love and respect me.

England: They do it because you’ll shoot them if they don’t.

Russia: That too!

England: … It is effective, I must say.

America: Bribery is good too!

Haiti: People do what I want them to because no one wants to look like they’re bullying the poor, sad, little country.

South Vietnam: I am dead so people do not listen to me.

America: : ( I would listen to you.

South Vietnam: Thank you, Meri.


Do you tend to argue with people or avoid conflict? Why?

Haiti: I try to avoid conflict because I always seem to lose… Unless it’s with my brother, I still usually lose but I won’t back down from a fight with him.

Russia: Is he still giving you trouble?

Haiti; Yup.

Russia: Ah… I can’t say I back away from conflict, no.
America: Me neither, if you have opinions that are worth defending you should defend them.

South Vietnam: I don’t know, I feel like there are some battles not worth fighting, you know? And sometimes we need to be able to try and see things from someone else’s perspective, and maybe then we find that we’re the ones in the wrong.

England: Or maybe we’re not and we’re, and by that I mean you, being a doormat.

South Vietnam: That is a risk… But sometimes the fight still isn’t worth it.

America: I think that depends. I think everyone needs to state their opinions first before you can even try to decide if an argument is worth it.

Haiti: This discussion is too polite, someone needs to get rude.

Russia: … No.

Haiti: o.o Too much politenessssss.


Is it okay for you to cry? To get angry?

England: I suppose it’s alright for me to get angry, but I’m not so sure about crying.

Haiti: I can cry, it makes manipulating people much easier…

England: …

Haiti: I need money, my people need money, I’m okay with manipulation to get it.

Russia: I feel the same way as England…

America: … I do too and I have to say that I don’t like it.

Russia: Then we should probably cry.

America: … Naaaaah.

South Vietnam: I feel okay with showing my emotions as long as I’m not making a scene. : )


Do you consider yourself straight, gay, bi, or something else?

America: Bi I suppose… I’ve dated exactly two people, one male one female sooooo…

South Vietnam: More gay, I think? I am not sure…

England: Bi.

Haiti: I don’t like people.

Russia: Straight.


When and with whom was your first kiss? Where did it happen? What was it like?

England: I… honestly don’t remember. It was a very long time ago, but I’m sure it was awkward and generally unpleasant as these things tend to be.

Haiti: Well that’s an unhappy thought… I… Haven’t had my first kiss and I really don’t plan to.

Russia: I have had mine! I am not sure who it was with, though… It was a while ago.

America: I have had mine but if no one else will tell who with I won’t either! >:(

South Vietnam: Mine was with Indonesia when we were very small and thought it was a funny game.


Are you a virgin? If yes, how do you feel about your virginity? If no, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? Where did it happen? What was it like?

England: I am not a virgin, I lost my virginity when I was 13 to a French soldier.

Haiti: Blunt. Was it fun?

England: No, but it gets more appealing with practice.

Russia: I lost my virginity when I was rather young, I don’t remember too much about it…

Haiti: … You know, I think the virginity question for me can be answered based on my answer to the last one.

America: You can skip first base!

Haiti: … Can you just kinda just go home or are some of the others implied?

America: … I’ve never thought that deeply in to things. I think third is implied at least…

Haiti: I see…

South Vietnam: I am not a virgin! ^_^

Russia: O.o Really?

South Vietnam: Really!

England: … Do tell.

South Vietnam: It happened between me and Meri after the Paris Peace Accords because we thought we finally had a chance to have a long term relationship without the threat of war constantly hanging over our heads… Obviously we were- we were wrong but it still feels nice to be that close to someone you love. :)

Haiti: … That’s kind of depressing.

South Vietnam: I guess…

Haiti: … Is that when you lost your virginity, Meri?

America: No…

Haiti: … I didn’t know that. I thought you told me these things! : (

America: I can have secrets~

Haiti: I’m going to discover your secrets~

Rather Long Meme-Part 1
The warning is needed maybe? I don't actually know... Bleh...

I'm making this a deviation because I am following Myna's lead because she is wiseeeeee 
First, pick three (maybe not-so) dearly departed characters to tortu- I mean interview!


1. Dixie

2. South Vietnam


So, obvious I guess, but what are your names?

Dixie: The Confederate States of America.

South Vietnam: The Republic of Vietnam. … Are you the one America calls Dixie?

Dixie: Yes.

South Vietnam: You tried to kill her. : (

Dixie: She ACTUALLY killed me!

South Vietnam: This is true, but you know, if you didn’t try to kill her she might not have killed you.

Dixie: Everything is my fault, huh.

South Vietnam: Yes.

Dixie: Why are we even saying this, you know me, we’ve known each other since you died. I thought we were kinda friends!

South Vietnam: Hush! This is for dramatic tension! It would be much less fun if we were nice!

Dixie: ._.


How old were you when you died?

Dixie: Biologically about nine or so but actually about four…

South Vietnam: You’re the first nation I’ve met that died with an older biological age than your actual age… I was over actually 4,000 but about 18 or so biologically…


Were you ever even alive, or are you part of a species that technically never lives?

South Vietnam: t-that’s very existential… We live but we’re not really supposed to have lives outside of serving our people and our country.

Dixie: But we have a heartbeat and things… So I think we were alive.

South Vietnam: But we kind of have heartbeats now, so are we still alive?

Dixie: no.


How did you die?

Dixie: my sister killed me to end her civil war.

South Vietnam: my brother killed me to end our war… I got shot in the chest… It was quick at least.

Dixie: I was stabbed repeatedly in the stomach after America and I fought over a knife.

South Vietnam: Did you stab her too?

Dixie: I’M THE DEAD ONE! Stop being on her side!

South Vietnam: I like her, she doesn’t like you, I’m a bit biased.


What happens to the dead in your canon?

South Vietnam: It depends… If we die with our government, then we’re considered to have done our duty and we go to the nation version of heaven until everyone forgets about us and then we just kind of… fade away. But, if a nation dies from being stabbed or something after their government loses legitimacy, which means they become mortal, they just kinda… cease to exist… forever.

Dixie: The dead nation land is pretty nice, though.

South Vietnam: True! I like the flowers.


Was there a funeral or memorial service of any kind?

Dixie: No, not really. Just Reconstruction.

South Vietnam: A little one, America and some of my old allies held a little memorial service.


If so, what was it like?

South Vietnam: I’m not sure, I wasn’t dead long enough to go to Earth to see it, but I hear it was very nice. :) They planted a tree for me, it’s a very nice tree.

Dixie: I want a tree…

South Vietnam: Maybe one day you can get a tree?

Dixie: I don’t think so.


That sounds... nice. So, some questions about when you were alive- did you look any different than you do now, if any kind of afterlife exists in your world? Otherwise, we know your rotting corpse looks different.

South Vietnam: A little! I look a lot healthier than I was when alive and my eyes have little gold rings around the pupils.

Dixie: Ditto. I want to dye my hair, kind of…

South Vietnam: Can we do that?

Dixie: I don’t know.


Who do you think was most impacted by your death?

Dixie: I don’t really think anyone was…

South Vietnam: That… Is kind of sad…

Dixie: Yeah…

South Vietnam: I’m not sure… I think Cambodia was most affected by the end of the war but America was most affected by my death.



Did your creator ever completely scrap everything but your name and start over?

Dixie: Nope! I think I’m the only character that never really got a restart…

South Vietnam: Yes. I used to be a guy and very incompetent. I like me better now.


Do you think this quiz is pointless?

South Vietnam: I don’t think it has a point but I can’t say that it’s boring…

Dixie: I can.

South Vietnam: What would you rather be doing?

Dixie: Eating food?

South Vietnam: This is true! I would like food.


If you could be alive again for one day, what would you do with your day?

Dixie: I- I don’t know. Just walk around with my people, I suppose, see how they’re doing…

South Vietnam: Spend time with my old friends and family. I would like to read Liberia one last bedtime story and hug America again without wondering when how long we can keep up the façade of being normal and happy.

Dixie: pats her back awkwardly


Did you have a favorite food when you were alive? How about now?

South Vietnam: pho! It is very good, especially when it’s cold!

Dixie: I don’t really have a favorite… Food is food and food is good.



Dixie: I liked red… I still like it, but not as much because I saw a bit too much of it when I was dying.

South Vietnam: I like light purple…



Dixie: I don’t really like animals.

South Vietnam: : O How?

Dixie: I just don’t!

South Vietnam: I like dolphins.



Dixie: All of them.

South Vietnam: What?

Dixie: Once I learned to read I couldn’t stop. I like all the books.


Are you human?

Dixie: no : (

South Vietnam: also no : (


If no, have you ever been human?

Dixie: still no : (

South Vietnam: nope : (


If not, have you ever wanted to be human?

Dixie: YES.

South Vietnam: Every nation’s dream.

Dixie: More free will.

South Vietnam: An actual future.

Dixie: So nice *_*


Can I interest you in purchasing an empty box?

Dixie: sure.

South Vietnam: is it a big one?


Were you in a relationship directly before you died?

Dixie: No, I was born at the beginning of a war and died at its end. I didn’t really have time.

South Vietnam: I was…


How do you think your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/mate/whatever word your species uses handled your death?

South Vietnam: she… didn’t handle it very well… Not only did I die, it was also they first time she’d really lost a war… Those two things combined plus the stress of the cold war… hurt her.


Before you died, were you considered good or evil?

Dixie: it really depended on the perspective? But most people now think evil…

South Vietnam: I don’t know… I really don’t know…

Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore and ideologically sensitive material)

            “I- I don’t know.” America mumbled, sagging forward in her chair and wincing as the ropes around her rubbed against the wounds in her chest. “I swear I- I can’t- I honestly can’t tell you.” she mumbled. A blindfold covered her eyes and her breathing was punctuated by short periods of violent coughing that caused more blood to flow from the cuts in her back. Blood had filled the boot that held her broken leg and leeches were stuck to her thigh and stomach. She cried out, flinching away as someone slapped her, a hand shaped bruise appearing on top of the older, shoe shaped one.

            “Tell me and this can stop.” America shook her head quickly, coughing again and whimpering as it caused her broken rib to ache. Her arms were tied behind her back, the left one tingled painfully and the right had lost feeling days ago. Little bite marks decorated her wrist from where rats had nibbled through parts of the rope and continued on into her flesh

            “I can’t.” America whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for the blow that was about to follow.

            “AMERICA!” America heard someone yell as she stared down at her bloodstained hands. She turned them over slowly, watching as the right one trembled, unable to turn with the same ease as the left. “America, America mirame, por favor! Puedo ayudarte, solamente necesito que me miras.” America slowly rocked back and forth, wrapping her arms around herself and squeezing her eyes shut as her left hand continued to shake.

            “America, America what are you doing?” someone asked, tugging on America’s shoulder as she did CPR. A young girl lay under her hands in a pool of blood that was rapidly expanding. Her dark brown eyes were half open and glazed over, the dark night sky reflecting back at America as the girl stared without seeing. She was wearing a light purple dress, the front had been torn open by the bullet, her grandmother’s careful stitching ripped apart in a second.

            “What do you think I’m doing?!” she screamed, continuing the CPR. “She’ll die if I don’t do this, go help someone else or come help me here!”

            “America, she’s gone.” The person said, pulling America’s hands away.

            “NO!” America yelled, flinching away. “It- It was a mistake, she’s not supposed to die! I- I didn’t mean to-“

            “What did you do?” the person asked, holding America’s hands tightly as she struggled to get away. America shook her head quickly, tears streaming down her face as someone took the body away.

            “I- I didn’t mean- It wasn’t- I didn’t- I- I’m so sorry.”

            Necesitamos salir.” Someone said, grabbing America’s arm and pulling her upright. “Ells es enferma, ella no sabe donde está!” the person yelled, holding America protectively. America yanked her hands away, tumbling backwards and slamming her head against the concrete floor. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she blacked out, slumping into a pile on the floor as the person continued screaming.

            A few hours later and miles away, Haiti sat on the edge of her bed, carefully folding shirts and packing them into a duffle bag.

    “What are you doing?” Cambodia asked, walking into Haiti’s hospital room.

            “Hum?” Haiti said, glancing at Cambodia and continuing to pack up her things. “Oh, you can take off the mask now, I’m leaving. You probably won’t kill me, but if you do it means you’re stronger than Mother Nature, so I don’t know, congrats in advance? I’m sure you can pick up a prize somewhere.”

            “Why are you leaving? I thought you were sick.” Cambodia said, smiling as Liberia hugged him tightly. Her eyes were red from crying and when he bent down and hugged her back, he noticed that her cheeks were wet as well.

            “Still missing your mom?” he asked and Liberia nodded quickly, leaning against the other nation.

            “M-mhum, b-but p-papa say she come home s-soon.” Liberia said, struggling to smile at him.

            “That’s good.” Cambodia said, patting her head and trying to cheer her up. Liberia nodded, going back to pulling her artwork off the wall and collecting them into a folder.

            “I- I made pictures for when mommie gets back.” She said, picking up another folder and showing them to Cambodia. “S-sees?” she asked, showing him the pictures. One depicted her and America holding hands and playing outside, another had them cuddling with a set of crudely drawn bunnies, and yet another showed them eating cookies on the porch. “I- I has m-more, but these are the bestest.”

            “They’re very nice!” Cambodia said, helping her pack everything up. “America will love them very much.” Liberia nodded, apparently satisfied, and went back to taking the pictures off the wall.

            “I am sick, but the doctors have checked and my current medication is keeping me relatively okay, so I don’t want to just stay here until America reappears and my brother decides he’ll give me the bone marrow.” Haiti said, picking up her suitcase.

            “Aren’t you supposed to leave in a wheelchair?” Cambodia asked.

            “Yeah, I’m just waiting for someone to discharge me and then I can go!” Haiti said, hopping up onto her neatly made up hospital bed and waiting. “And then, you and I are going to go do something?”

            “Do what?”

            “Get you ready to ask out Canada!” Haiti said, signing the discharge papers and sitting down in the wheelchair. Liberia climbed onto her lap and the trio left the hospital for the fresh air. “Can you drive?”

            “Yes, but I have no car.” Cambodia said, picking up Liberia and putting her onto his back.

            “Wheeee horsie!” Liberia yelled joyously, waving her arm like she was swinging a lasso.

            “Then we’ll walk.” Haiti said, starting off.

            “Where are we going?”

            “No idea, but I think there’s probably some mall or something in this direction.” Haiti said, walking off as Cambodia followed.

            “Are you sure you want to start walking this far already?” Cambodia asked, galloping around like a horse as Liberia whooped with joy, her problems forgotten for a couple of moments.

            “Yeah.” Haiti said, swinging her bad over her shoulder and walking carefully. “I’ve been resting for days, I’m pretty sure I can handle a bit of forward movement now. And we’re right by the hospital if we need to come back.”

            “If you’re sure.” Cambodia mumbled, looking up at Liberia and shrugging. Liberia shrugged back.

            “Haiti knows bestest!”

            An hour or so, a few Google searches, and three complaints about needing to go to the bathroom (two from Liberia and one from Cambodia), the three nations stood in the men’s section of a department store.

            “What about this?” Haiti asked, holding up a white polo shirt.

            “No, no, it’s boring.” Cambodia said, searching through a rack of pink dress shirts.

            “Dis one?” Liberia said, running over with a pink and orange polka dot tie.

            “… Maybe something that can match better with a shirt?” Cambodia suggested. Liberia nodded slowly, returning to the rack of ties and considering each one carefully.

            “Maybe you can use a white shirt and then put on a tie that’ll stand out and colored pants?” Haiti asked, finding a white dress shirt.

            “Will she laugh at me if I wear colored pants?”

            “If they’re not bright yellow with orange stripes, then probably not, no.” Haiti said, pulling out a pair of blue dress pants from the rack.

            “Dis one?” Liberia asked, holding up a blue tie with yellow stars.

            “Sure, I like that one.” Cambodia said, taking it from Liberia. “And all these are work appropriate, right? I need to replace a pair of old pants and the other things are on sale, but if I can’t wear these there…”

            “Yeah, these’ll be fine. Just don’t wear the stars to anything really serious.” Haiti suggested, putting everything into a basket.

            “I don’t know, nothing says “I care about your horrific tragedy” like happy stars, right Liberia?” Cambodia asked.

            “Right!” Liberia said as she tried on hats in a corner.

            “Are you paying attention to what I’m saying?” Cambodia laughed as Liberia tried on one with rainbow feathers.

            “Right!” Liberia said again as the hat fell down over her eyes.

            “Suure.” Cambodia said, plucking the hat off Liberia’s head and putting it back on the rack. “Let’s go!’ he said, swinging Liberia back onto his back and checking out.

            “Now, you’re going to go change, go to Canada’s house, find some flowers on the way, ask her to go see, oh I don’t know, How To Train Your Dragon or whatever, and then go out to a restaurant nearby.” Haiti said, patting Cambodia’s head.

            “I need to go home and practice first.” Cambodia said, setting Liberia down as they left the store. “And it’s How To Train Your Dragon 2, you need to get more up to date on your movies.” he said, nodding seriously. “If I have no excuse, you have no excuse.”

            “Do you really want to play the excuse game?” Haiti asked, raising an eyebrow as Liberia picked wildflowers from the edge of the road. “Liberia, don’t get hit by a car!”

            “I woooon’t!” she yelled back, continuing to pick flowers.

            “I’d play the excuse game with you, but I really need to practice what to say to Canada.”

            “Of course you do.” Haiti chuckled. “Go do your thing, Cambodia. Unless you want an audience? T-to listen to you practice, not anything else.” She said, rolling her eyes at him.

            “I listen!” Liberia said, hopping happily around the two nations.

            “… An audience will be nice.” Cambodia admitted. “And yes, Haiti, just to listen to me practice.” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

            “Then let’s go to America’s house, it has snacks and I have a key.” Haiti said, picking up Liberia and walking off.

            “What did you think you were doing?!” the person, whose name America had discovered was Miguel, asked, pacing back and forth in front of America. America groaned, struggling to focus on his words as the world spun around her. Her head throbbed, it had been hours since she’d passed out, but the pain hadn’t subsided. “Are you crazy?!” he screamed, fiddling with the trigger of the gun. “You- you were screaming about something, but it wasn’t about me!”

            “I’m sorry.” Mexico had whispered days ago, hugging America as they sat together in the dark room.

            “What for?” America mumbled, resting her head on Mexico’s chest. They’d managed to stop the bleeding in America’s stump and her leg sat a few feet away from them next to the bloody knife.

            “For not telling you, you know, when- when I-“

            “I knew you joined a cartel.” America sighed, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the pain. “You wanted a big one, but you didn’t want to join the most violent one so you joined Sinaloa.”

            “That is… it, yes.” Mexico said, stroking America’s hair and resting her chin on America’s forehead. America nodded slowly. “What do you think I should do? They can’t find out who I really am, my government can’t find out what I’m doing, no matter what I do I’m trapped. I- I just wanted the chance to- to be in control of something and the power feels good, but I- I’m still not really in control of things.”

            “I understand.” America said.

            “I don’t know what to do, Meri.” Mexico said, resting her forehead on the top of America’s head and crying softly. “I d-don’t know what to do.”

            Dunno.” America said, looking up. Miguel sported a new black eye and a deep gash across the side of his face as well as bruises on his neck and what America could see of his chest.

            “Well, you should know! You almost killed me!” he said, yanking her hair back so she looked up at him.

            “I don’t know.” America sighed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling her heart speed up as he pressed a gun to the side of her head.

            “Are you sure you don’t know?” he asked, bending down so he and America were at eye level. America nodded quickly, squeezing her eyes shut and trembling slightly. “Alright then, let’s do something else.” He said, getting up and putting down the gun. He carefully picked up a syringe from next to it, walking back over and stabbing the needle into America’s upper arm.

            “Wh-“ America yelped, flinching away as whatever it was began flowing through her veins. A feeling of warmth swept over her, numbing the pain and causing her face to blush a light red. “W-what d-did-“ she gasped, feeling as her heart sped up.

            “Heroin.” he said, setting the syringe back down and pressing his fingers to her throat. “Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know?” he asked, squatting down next to America and putting a hand on her knee. America shook her head, flopping back in the chair and breathing heavily as the warm feeling continued to flow throughout her body. “Well, then. We have some time together, I’m sure I can make you talk.”


Chapter 5- Stage 6
This is possibly the last thing I'm going to post for a bit... Anyway, fun! Very fun! Yeah... I don't know what to say, the second warning is for the drug use. Have a happy day!
I just wanted to let everyone know I'm alive and Tazzying but I'll probably be on pretty sporadically because life right now is stressful and I have a new record of panic attatcks per week I'll tell you all what's going on after I finish my position paper (if you know anything about Nigeria's position on the education of Syrian refugees tell me please. I mean really. PLEASE)


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Ello! I'm Tazzy, also called Tazz or Tazzilynumeral. It's a long story... Er, I should write more here... One day!

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