So umm yea... not entirely dead so apologies for disappearing for no reason at all. I just kinda went grey for a few months and it made everything difficult, actually impossible. Everything became much harder than it should have been and it wasn't fun. Well after a lot of fixing things and figuring shit out things aren't as bad now so that's the only reason I started writing again :/
Well enough of that. I'm back and other fics should be updated soon! :D *queue AC DC's Back in Black at full blast*

Ok so this is a one shot I had an idea for for a long time. It's set around the famine and from Ireland's point of view. It gets very dark at one point and kinda violent. Also I am not very nice to England in this, so if that's not your piece of cake then don't read it. I'm setting this from Ireland's view during the famine, a time when there was A LOT of hatred towards the English, so I'm gonna disregard anything said in argument cause history. So yea... England is not a nice guy in this, he's mid Empirical Britain and just bat shit crazy, basically not someone you ever want to meet.

Enough of that and hopefully it didn't put you off reading, enjoy! ^_^

Hunger. Hunger rules this world I live in.

Many have been driven from my small village in the search of food. In hopes that somehow they could survive the long journey to a better place. I doubt they did though. They were too weak to walk, too crippled to make it a few feet down the only road out of my village without tripping. That never stopped them though. They kept pushing themselves to a new life. Or at least that's what they wanted. A new life for themselves and their families. So they kept walking; whether that was to their deaths or not I don't know. Everyone feels hollow to me now.

It was tragic, heartbreaking and crushing to watch them leave. How I wanted to join them but I could never leave my home. Even if it was destroyed and no help is given to my people, I couldn't leave. How I have begged, pleaded for relief from this ever present and gnawing hunger. None came, none ever came. If help was given it was never to me or my people. It was to his people living in my lands. Any who dared to take what was needed to survive was imprisoned and criminalised. There was no winning. If you were caught you were destined for a cage here or on a prison that would take you over the oceans.

With each passing day I can feel my life force wilt. I can feel it drain away with each passing person. This feeling, it's torture. I want to reach out and save them but I can't. My body is barely holding together and feels like it will fall apart everytime I move. So I don't. Instead I huddle further into the straw bed I fashioned myself in the corner of an abandoned cottage. The fire in the fireplace being the only thing to keep me from closing my eyes until this whole thing is over.

My only salvation is the children who haven't lost hope. They run past my cottage every morning on their way out to scavenge. Their sweet innocent laughter and joy is music to this worn down village. How they keep it up, I don't know. All I know is that without them the village would have already been abandoned and left to decay. I think they know this as well. So they keep smiling, even if it hurts them. I can feel it when I talk to them. Their eyes betraying a hidden sadness the same depth of the adults around them.

It was one bright December morning when something finally happened. We had barely been surviving and the boy with bright blue eyes and black hair had fallen ill. The remaining villagers had pulled together to help ease the boy's suffering. I, along with the boy's grandmother knew there was nothing we could do. Then there was a knock on the decaying door and a man saying my name.

Everyone turned to see two tall blond haired blue eyed men standing at the entrance. Spectacles shielded the eyes of one and long golden hair covered the other's. Their faces were riddled with horror and I knew they were trying their best to hide what they wanted to say, but it was hard. Their postures betrayed their anger and every other emotion that riddled their bodies. Slowly I lifted myself to my feet and pulled my ragged jacket close to my now painfully thin frame. I almost fell but they caught me, preventing more pain from ripping through my body.

They took me back to my cottage after a few directions from other villagers. Once inside they looked around the single room with pity. The small fireplace only held ashes that fell onto the dirt floor. The small worn wooden table only had one chair accompanying it, the others lost weeks before to a fire I desperately needed. The bed... it wasn't a bed but a pile of straw with a blanket thrown over the top. The blanket however, was worn and holes riddled it allowing straw to poke through. Another heavier blanket lay in a bundle near the straw that I instantly reached for to pull around me.

"Irlande," the man with the shoulder long hair he kept tied back into a relaxed bun started, "why did you not contact us?" His accent played heavily on every word, making it like honey to my ears.

"Yea," the other man with the glasses agreed, "Ireland you should have come to one of us, we would have done something to stop him."

I couldn't answer. I could only stare at them numbly. Some part of my mind was convinced this was an illusion, that it wasn't real and that maybe that man had finally gotten rid of me. That this was my final dream. That wasn't the case. The man with the glasses rushed forward as I suddenly forgot gravity weighed so heavily on me and blackness threatened to overcome me. The collision of my body into his chest and the pain of it jolting my bones forced me back to reality. This was real and these men, these nations were real.

"No," I said quietly. My voice had become raspy from misuse and felt like it was ripping my throat apart.

The man with the glasses I finally recognised as the boy I helped raise named America rushed forward with a flask of water, desperately pressing it to my lips. I didn't have the heart to push it away and tell the worried nation that I had too much water, so I carefully sipped enough to convince him I didn't need any. Despite my mental objection the water did help ease the pain in my throat.

"Now please tell us why you didn't come to us for help," he urged, his azure eyes lined with tears. I wanted nothing more than to stop his worrying but I doubted that was possible.

"I couldn't," I answered simply.

"Irlande, why not? We could have helped you, stopped it getting this bad. Instead you send your people to America without a word. Do you have any idea how worried that made him?" the other man, France, exclaimed angrily. He was shaking now. It was obvious from his near shouting he was angry, but something else lay under that, something I couldn't place. It was only when he choked back a sob I realised how upset he was. "Irlande... you have no idea how much we would have done to stop this."

I was dumbfounded. These two suddenly show up demanding answers, then one breaks down crying. This was too much. However it wasn't affecting me in the way they thought it would. They didn't know I was already dead inside. It was over a year since the start of the hunger, nothing else existed in my world aside from that and the suffering of my people.

"Ireland, please let us help you," America begged. He reached out and gripped my hands. It was only then I noticed how different they looked in America's tanned strong ones. Whatever flesh that clung to my bones had melted away leaving just skin hanging off my frame. My normally freckled skin had turned a pasty ashen white. I dreaded to see what the rest of my body looked like. "Ireland please let me take you back home until we can find out how to feed your people."

He was desperate. Tears lined his eyes and a few stray ones fell onto his cheek, but unlike France he didn't break down.

"America, I can't leave."

"Yes, yes you can!" France interjected wildly swinging his arms in denial. "We'll distract England and sneak you onto a ship to America. He won't find you there."

"He will, he has guards everywhere and they check everyone getting onto every single ship leaving here." I countered quietly. I didn't see a reason in raising my voice, there was no way to leave the country undetected and aside from that, I couldn't leave my people to suffer on their own. Here I could help provide in whatever way I could. I didn't need to eat, so with me here I helped feed my people whatever I could scavenge.

"No he won't," America insisted, "how do you think we got here? You know England would never let us set foot on your land."

My thoughts stopped for a second. He was right. No-one could get in or out of the country without having England's express permission or knowledge of their presence being known to England.

"We have our own ship down at the bay," he explained quickly. "It's stocked with plenty of food so we can take as many people with us as possible and still give some to whoever is left." Suddenly his eyes were as bright as I remembered them. Hope fuelling his every word.

I couldn't help a smile creep onto my lips. It felt strange, alien like but in a good way.

"You promise to help my people?" I asked cautiously. I couldn't put too much hope in other people now, not after everything.

"Oui of course we do, now let us help you," France begged.

I let the information sink in. I wasn't in a hurry to answer them, even if they looked so desperate for my answer they had to wait. I didn't have the energy to decide on something so important quickly, something this life changing needed time.

"Tomorrow," I said eventually, "I'll let you know tomorrow, I need time to think about this."

I could see them physically deflate at the news but a little hope remained in their eyes.

"Ok... yea let us know tomorrow, until then though is there anything we can help with?" America asked hopefully. As if trying to prove how much they could help already.

"The boy, Tommy needs something to eat otherwise his fever won't go down," I informed them. "That and anything you can do for the people here would be greatly appreciated."

They nodded and America made his way to the door before stopping. "Ummm they can speak English right? Cause there were a few people who came to my land and only spoke Irish," he questioned.

"Some of them do, the younger ones, not the older ones. So try and talk to them."

America once again nodded before disappearing out the door.

Silence fell over the cottage in America's absence. I could see France still wiping some errant tears from his eyes when he pull a bag from his back and tossed it towards me.

"I knew that things were bad so I brought you some things. I just didn't know they were this bad," he mumbled, his eyes firmly set on the bag.

I bent down to pry open the brown leather and carefully pulled out a bundle of dark fabric. Unfolding it I almost gasped to see a pair of heavy trousers that I placed on the straw beside me. Reaching back into the back I pull out a dark green tweed jacket I knew he would have had tailored just for me. The rest of the bag's contents consisted of a pair of black riding boots, other clothing items and food. I almost dropped the bag at the sight of so much food. It had been over a year since I saw so much that was actually edible. There was no way I could eat any of that, I wanted to run to the other villagers and share it but France stopped me with a firm stare that was unlike him.

"You're eating some of that," France informed me as if reading my mind.

"I can't..."

"Non," he cut me off swiftly. "You are eating some of that now and you are not leaving until then."

After a tense minute or so passed I eventually conceded and pulled a small piece of bread from the bag. It felt like wool in my mouth, but I forced it down followed by water. It was only when I realised how strange eating had become to me that suddenly the hunger overcame me. It was no time until the bag was empty of food. However in place of the comforting feeling I expected from having eaten I still felt hungry, like the feeling was embedded into my soul and the food just sat like a stone in my stomach begging me to vomit.

What happened next I wasn't expecting. France rushed forward and wrapped his arms around me, forcing me into a tight hug. I couldn't do anything but stand there awkwardly as he finally broke down. Apparently my current state was unforgivable and that is scared him. In those moments I couldn't figure out why it scared him. My people were suffering and I wasn't able to get them help, it was simply something I as a nation had to deal with.

"Ma chérie I should have sent more men, I should have done more then you wouldn't be facing this," he cried into my shoulder. That was when it hit me. He felt guilty that he couldn't help me win my freedom all those years ago. "I should have stopped that bastard in his place."

"It's ok," I mumbled and pushed on his shoulders weakly to get free of his suffocating grip. "You had your own stuff to deal with, things happen." I didn't want to upset him any more than necessary. Yes things were bad, but I didn't need to deal with a crying Frenchman as well.

"But I could have done something, I could have forced him to stop exporting your..."

"No, you couldn't have. We both know how stubborn that man can be," I interjected.

"But..."

"No, you're here now and that's what matters."

He stared at me in silence for a few minutes before gathering his thoughts together and starting to talk again. This time thankfully, a lighter subject. "I suppose I should also let you know that other relief efforts are underway in some countries to help you."

I stared at him dumbfounded.

"It seems after India sent you money, other nations have decided to help as well. America being one."

"I... this is..." I was completely lost for words. The relief effort to begin with was a shock to begin with, but to think more was coming was too much. I fell back onto the straw and leant forward to cradle my head as the information sank in. Other nations were trying to help me. It was too much to bear.

"Ireland this is a good thing," France reassured me. A small smile playing on his face which was a long time overdue, seeing the man without a smile of some sort was disconcerting. "Hopefully this will force England to see sense and help."

I could only nod, every word seemed to abandon my head as I scrambled to give some sort of feedback. It was then when America decided to burst into the cottage.

"So I helped the kid and gave the rest of the villagers something to eat, man, it was sad to see them all like that," America mused sadly as he sat himself on the chair. "I see you got the clothes and food," he commented after deeming that enough time had passed from when he spoke last.

"Aye," was my only response. I was once again numb. Too much had happened in such a short period of time.

"Ok, so I talked to the villagers and they want to come with me back home. We were discussing when to leave and I think the end of the week seems to work. I mean it gives enough time to contact some of the other villages nearby and get as many people onboard," America informed us.

He waited patiently for an answer which was both comforting and disturbing given his usual impatience and need to talk.

"I suppose that works, mon ami," came France's answer for me. He sent me a comforting smile in an attempt to reassure me that things would be ok. The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise.

"Awesome, so I was thinking that we get a fire going in here cause it's a bit cold," America chirped happily and jumped from the seat. "Then we can sort out this place and make it a bit more homely. I mean, Ireland it's nice that you gave everything to your people but you gotta look out for yourself you know."

With a wink and a smile he ran out the door into the cold December day. France only chuckled at his exuberance, leaving me utterly confused.

"He is right, ma chérie, you do need to look out for yourself a bit. That and we're staying here tonight so we need somewhere to sleep as well, that is unless you want us sleeping beside you," France continued with what I assumed was a cheeky smirk, then again I have been wrong when it comes to reading his expressions. So I let it go, but I couldn't help the shiver that ran up my spine at the thought.
"Go talk to some of the villagers and see if there's any spare furniture. There should be considering everything..." I informed him shortly. If they really were staying here then they needed somewhere to sleep and my meagre furnishings were not enough.

"Of course, I'll be back in a bit," he told me quickly and like America, vanished through the door.

Finally alone I picked up the clothing France gave me and analysed them. Each piece seemed made for my winters, warm yet functional. Exactly what I needed if I was completely honest. Despite the nauseous feeling that grew in my stomach with every move, I forced myself to change and afterwards couldn't help but admire how well the clothes fit. Although yes, they were loose they still clung better to my body than my old rags. Added to that, I finally felt come semblance of warmth. Something I had given up on feeling until summer finally came around again.

Once done inspecting the clothes, I pulled on the boots and made my way outside. The atmosphere had greatly improved and I even saw some of the villagers smile. It was heartbreaking to see after so much suffering, but it made me glad to see something had finally changed. They were trying to offer help to America in moving a large bed and straw filled mattress into my cottage, but could only marvel at how he was able to carry such a heavy item by himself when he refused them.

It took almost an hour of navigating the village and scrounging what was available before they had a setup they were comfortable with. So by the time they were finished, my cottage suddenly felt much smaller than it had previously. The floor was hidden by mattresses and a few blankets they had somehow found along with the materials they themselves brought. As dusk approached they huddled into the brick enclosure that would be their home for the next few nights and set about lighting the fire to make dinner.

Once again I was stunned to see how prepared they were. Along with some basic vegetables, they had a few pieces of meat they threw into a large pot for stew. I couldn't do anything but sit back and marvel at how efficiently they worked and how swiftly France had measured out just enough to share amongst the remaining villagers. They didn't see the tears that streaked my cheeks as I shrank back into the darkness.

The following morning came my decision. It was far from easy but I needed to do more for my people. After putting a lot of thought into it, I decided to leave with America but return with more ships to help more people escape, or give as many people as much food as I could. America overjoyed at the prospect, convinced my people to send someone to the neighbouring villagers, begging them to join us on a ship to America. It was as if by magic that everyone had decided to leave at once. That the people who had clung so desperately to their heritage and family homes, were now willing to risk it all on one boat ride that promised a better life. For the first time in forever I felt a smile grace my lips.

The days passed in a blur. Catching up with my friends was wonderful and seeing people roll in from neighbouring villages to escape helped. However something told me it was all becoming too good to be true.

The morning we were due to leave arrived and with the help of America and France the people were transported to the coast, leaving me and a few stragglers who were helping devise a plan to deter any British soldiers who came along. We knew that they would show up eventually, we needed to find a way to prevent them from following us. To ensure our safety.

We were ripping up the thatched roofs and throwing straw over any equipment left when I heard him.

"Good morning, poppet," the voice purred into my ear.

I instantly froze at recognising it. Fear shot through my spin and I was unable to move.

"So what is it we have here?" the man continued, "don't answer that love. After all, we wouldn't want you straining yourself, now would we?"

I could hear the man starting to walk behind me and the struggles of my few remaining people as they were wrestled to the ground. However, despite the obvious danger and confrontation, only he spoke.

"Now dear, would you mind telling me where everyone from this area has gone? I don't see any new graves and they haven't attempted to board any ships. So I can't even imagine as to where they are."

He was mocking me now. I could almost hear the smirk he wore and knew that somehow he had found out about the plan. However he would never admit it and now he was waiting on confirmation of what he already knew. Waiting for me to reveal the plan and sell them out. That wasn't going to happen.

"London," I told him quietly.

"What was that?"

"London, they went to your cesspool to fuck all your women and kill your men," I spat at him, loud enough that my men and the soldiers could hear me and cringe at what was to come.

I didn't get the slap I was expecting, I didn't even get shouted at. What he did was something unexpected.

"Now love, why in the blazes would they do that to a nation as glorious as me?" He finally stepped around to face me as he spoke and despite the smile on his lips, his emerald eyes were ablaze in anger. "On another note, do tell me where you got those awful clothes from. I really must find you something more appropriate."

I just glared at him in response as he stared me down from under his larger than life and darker than death eyebrows. His pale wheaten hair tossed mournfully in the slight breeze and I could tell the pristine commander's uniform was not enough to shield him from the wind's cutting effect.

"Paris, I took a boat over there last week and picked these up. While I was at it I dropped off some of my people to have lunch, if you wait around they'll be back in a while," I remarked snidely. I couldn't hold myself back any longer. I knew there was no way any of us remaining in the village would be able to get on that boat, so now I needed to stall for time.

A hand was harshly swept over my face with a loud slap. The pain coursed through me but I tried not to let it show and stared defiantly back at him. At the end of the day, this wasn't the worst pain he had caused me.

"That's enough Ireland. Now tell me where they went and where the bloody hell you got those clothes from!" he demanded, his breathing harsh from hitting me.

"The bog. I found them in a bog with some fairies who whisked away my people."

He struck me again, this time forcing the wind from my lungs in surprise.

"Ireland, I will not be made a fool of," he warned in a low growl, his eyebrows furrowed dangerously as he edged nearer.

"I don't see why it's so important if my people leave, what concern is it to you if a few dying peasants vanish?" I commented. It was cold hearted and I could hear the disappointment from my men behind me. I only hoped they didn't give up hope.

"Because, poppet, it reflects badly on me. Now answer the bloody question."

"Yes, because an entire country under your charge suffering a famine you could prevent doesn't."

I was met by another slap and then thrown to the ground. As I picked myself back up he had commanded his soldiers to bring my men to face me, each one had a rifle pressed to their backs. When I finally stood I was once again reminded of how fragile human life was, and how remarkable some humans could be. Instead of cowering in fear, they glared as hard if not more at the man and refused to look defeated.

"So love, what's it going to be? Will you have your men killed to save yourself, or will you save them and tell me what I want to know?" he said with a smirk. He thought he had me cornered, oh how wrong he was.

"England, it doesn't matter what I say, everyone here knows we're as good as dead if I talk or not," I retorted. It was hard to keep a grin from my face at seeing how his distorted into rage.

"Fine!" he yelled. "If that's the way you want to play it then!" With that he turned and faced his soldiers, raising his hand in the air before letting it drop.

Gunshots rang through the air and my men fell to the ground in slumped piles. The hollow feeling returned along with a sense of dread and fear from not too far off. Someone had returned to find out why we were delayed. I needed to stall for even more time, but I didn't have any. Thankfully whoever it was that had returned had fled and was now quickly making their way back to the ship. There were times when knowing when my people were near and how they felt was a blessing.

"Now will you just tell me where everyone is and how the fuck those bastards got here," England demanded. He was done playing games.

"I thought gentlemen didn't swear? Or are you too good for that now?" I asked him, carefully ignoring the emotions welling up from seeing my own people being killed.

"I swear woman, if you knew what was actually good for you I wouldn't have had to send you off to this pit," England sneered and started pacing. "Honestly you could have had such a good life back in London, but no you had to play away instead of being a good wife."

"Yea because you're the perfect husband who would never play away, or beat his wife, or subjects, or just anyone in general."

He didn't hit me for that remark despite how low it was. Instead I found his handgun pressed to the side of my head, the trigger cocked and ready to fire. A part of me wanted him to pull it, just to end the suffering for a moment before the pain would be overbearing and make me forget all the other pain I was suffering.

"This is your last chance," he warned.

"No," the word fell from my mouth before I could even consider it. I expected blackness, emptiness and unending pain from it, but that didn't happen.

The next thing I knew England was walking away, his hand covering his face that had warped into an expression I hadn't seen from him in a very long time. Not since America finally broke free.

"Fine be like that," he choked then turned away from me and signalled something to his men.

Within seconds they had me tied up and bundled into the back of a carriage, then taken to a port in Dublin not to set foot in my home for five years. Five years I would spend in a place specified for criminals from my home, a place so warm it sometimes makes breathing impossible. But also a place with a new smaller life I could influence enough to seriously get on England's nerves. He was going to regret sending me on that prison ship.

So... that's that and I am not nice to characters .

If anyone didn't get where she was sent, it was to Australia. Where the prison ships were always sent. I threw in the last part due to how much Ireland influenced Australia and to the fact that it's still one of the go to places for Irish people. That and I thought that it would have seriously annoyed England that the criminals and refuges that were sent there would have such an effect, so I couldn't help it :P

Also there was actually an aid effort for Ireland during the famine and it was the first of its kind. I have a link up on my page if anyone's interested and trust me, it's worth reading.

Reviews are always appreciated and keep me motivated ^^
Thanks for reading!