*Sooooo, my first ever Hetalia fic? Okay. Well, I'm a huge history buff, so I did as much research as possible into this. I love the idea of a historically accurate Hetalia. Unfortunately, this is a pipe-dream. But, as I've been doing the research, I have come to realize just how difficult this is. Like, you have an idea, but then you find out that some minor details like exact dates or who attended what conference totally conflict with what you had in mind for the story, thus making it historically inaccurate. So, I give Himaruya all the credit for trying. Anyway, so I've got some ideas for Hetalia fics based in actual historical events (which if I'm lucky, will be both accurate, and inoffensive). This fic is about the very end of WWII/ the beginning of the Cold War, which I'm very knowledgeable in, but I'm no scholar. The devil is in the details, and I can't figure out why the Big Three had a conference BEFORE Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but didn't bother having one AFTER. You'd think that'd be an important enough development to discuss, right?! I looked all over trying to figure this out, but from what I can gather there was NEVER a conference between Stalin and Truman post Japan's surrender. Seriously! Can you believe this? Maybe I'm nuts. Maybe I just haven't researched correctly, but the next time an U.S.-Soviet conference happened was in 1953. Eight years later. So, for this fic, I can't have Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt like I originally wanted because the Yalta Conference was six months before the bombings, and I can't have Stalin, Truman, and Attlee for the Potsdam Conference, because that was literally a week before Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I ended up having this take place in January of 1946 during one of the first U.N. meetings. Hopefully this is both enjoyable and accurate because I worked my butt off to make it so! Anyway, enjoy!
America's Super Weapon Part I:
Arthur sighed tiredly, tipping his head back. He rubbed at his bright green eyes furiously with the heels of his hands, trying to divest himself of the sheer exhaustion that came from being in this place. It was January 1946, and the nations of the world were trying to clean up after the mess that was World War II. No, mess was too kind a word. Clusterfuck was more like it. One of the first ever meetings of the United Nations had just taken place, the General Assembly had just passed their very first resolution, and Arthur had the biggest migraine of his life. Sure, part of that had to do with the state the war left him and his country in, but the nation was convinced that it was mostly due to the long tedious process that is getting anything done in this world.
Arthur shook his head. No, he didn't want to think about diplomacy or politics anymore. He didn't want to think about the resolution itself and its implications for atomic warfare (1), and most of all, he did not want to think about the horrible look on America's face when the words "atomic bomb" came up. That deer-caught-in-headlights expression followed by such terrible guilt, remorse, and sorrow in those deep blue eyes. A look that even England had never seen before. Then, there were the other countries and diplomats. The way their eyes trailed over to him, expressions with equal parts hatred, fear, and disgust, and America, with countenance shaken and complexion pale, had gazed over at Kiku's empty seat. Japan had been the only nation unable to make it to the meeting (2). He was far too sick.
England was reminded of when the news had broken back home about Pearl Harbor. As if the attack itself wasn't damaging enough, the American people were soon swept into a sea of paranoia and panic. This miasma of hysteria combined with his injuries from the attack had been enough to put Alfred out for days. When England and Churchill had received the call, describing the events, Arthur had asked to speak to Alfred. He was told that the nation was "indisposed."
When Alfred and Arthur next met, the former told a tale of Roosevelt sitting next to his bed when he came to. The president had said though the events were tragic, this was their chance to finally, finally enter the war. No more aiding Britain and France in secret, now they could fight.
Arthur sighed again. He'd done enough dwelling on the war for one day. Now more than anything he wanted to get himself back to his hotel room and settle down with a cup of tea.
Unfortunately, it looked as though that would have to wait a bit longer as he could hear the familiar, irritating laugh of a certain Frenchman coming his way.
"Go away, froggy. I have a massive headache and no patience for your stupidity." This did literally nothing to stop France as he took a seat on the table England was using.
"Honestly, Arthur," Francis responded in his thick accent, "iz zat any way to treat an old friend?" England glared at France.
"Believe me, Francis, if you don't get away from me this very second, Nazi occupation will have been a picnic compared to five minutes with me...and this pencil." (3) He held up said writing utensil for emphasis. The threat had no effect on the intended target, but a few nearby nations scurried away in terror. England may not have been the empire he once was, but he was still one of the Big Three, and it was good to see that his fellow nations respected that.
France was quiet for a moment, as he seemed to be deep in thought. Then, he uttered, "Ah, we are quite worried about America, aren't we?"
Britain's eyes widened. "What! No—! That's not—! That has nothing to do with—! You're making assumptions!"
Francis raised an eyebrow at his flustered companion. "Oui," he said, nodding to himself, "zat iz definitely it." At the sight of several veins popping in Arthur's head, France couldn't help but smirk smugly. "Well zen," he continued, "let us go find our precious America and cheer you up, non?" England's glare intensified tenfold.
"Like I want you go come with me to go get him…er—not that I was planning on looking for him or anything!" Francis still had that smirk on his face. If Arthur were not so tired, he would have punched it off him. "Oh, sod off, you wanker." (4)
France helped a grumbling England out of his seat as the two went off to look for America. "Come on. Allons-y, Angleterre."
They scanned the room for the familiar sight of Texas or Nantucket and listened hard for America's indistinguishable laugh, but found nothing. France shrugged, but England was starting to worry. They went over to America's seat only to find it empty of all his belongings. No doubt about it; Alfred had left for the night. They went over to Austria who had been sitting next to America during the meeting.
England rudely interrupted Austria's conversation with Hungary, and the two countries glared at each other.
"What?" said Austria, clearly short on patience.
"Pardon, mais (5) have you seen America?" asked France, putting himself between the two hostile nations.
Austria blinked, "Oh him? He went off with Russia somewhere." France just nodded, but England's eyes widened.
"What?" he shouted. "And you just let him go off with Russia?" Austria was clearly taken aback.
"Well, yes, it's not like it's any of my business—" At this, England lost it, grabbing the other nation by the lapels and shaking him.
"Where did they go?! What did Russia say to him?!"
"I don't know! Russia just invited him somewhere for drinks I think—"
"Where?!"
"His hotel room I think—"
"Which hotel!?"
"I don't know! He didn't say—hey!" England didn't wait any longer. He roughly pushed Austria out of the way and ran towards the exit. France, confused as hell, ran after.
"Arthur, what iz ze matter with you! So Russia offered America a drink. What's ze big deal?" Arthur was frantic as he turned towards Francis to respond.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! We don't have time for this! We need to find out what hotel they're in now!" Francis couldn't take this anymore. He forcefully grabbed England, shoving him against the nearby wall.
"Arthur, calm down! I know we're not on ze best terms with Russia, but zere iz no reason for you to act like zis!" Arthur shook his head, eyes wrought with panic.
"No, Francis, you don't understand." Just the fact that England had used his real name without any insults made France worry. "You weren't at Potsdam with us. You didn't see the look in Stalin's eyes when Truman brought up their 'new weapon.' And now that the world knows what that weapon is, Russia will do anything, anything to get it. We can not leave Alfred alone with him." France just stared at England, eyes equally wide.
"Let's go find that hotel."
America was drunk, no question about it. He knew he shouldn't trust Russia, not right now, not after everything that's happened, but when Ivan offered him a drink and a friendly ear, he couldn't help but accept. I mean, things were tense between the two of them, but they were still allies, right?
"Another drink, comrade?" Ivan offered with his usual, secretive smile, holding up the bottle of Smirnoff temptingly. Alfred looked up at him, expression simply distraught and lost, and nodded. He knew he had had too much already, but he would do anything to get the image of Kiku's empty seat out of his head.
Russia stood up and poured another glass for him. "You are very tense, America. What troubles you?" Alfred knew that he should leave, that he shouldn't say anything. But then, Ivan began massaging his shoulders, expertly kneading the stiff flesh, coaxing him to relax. Alfred knew something was very wrong about this, but he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He was too guilty, too drunk, and too caught up in his own self-loathing to do anything but give in to Ivan.
"I don't know, Russia," he slurred, eyes half closed. "It's…everything. The war, the meeting, everything at home…" he trailed off as his chest began to tighten and he felt close, far too close, to tears.
"Nyet, please, go on. This is why I invite you for drink, da?" Alfred let out a soft moan as Ivan's hands moved to a particularly nasty knot just above his shoulder blade.
"Mmm…I just felt so much more into this war than the last one. It was so different than any I've ever fought before. So much more to lose. Though I guess every war's like that…at least, the ones I've been in." Ivan's hands moved to Alfred's neck, the Russian's smile never faltering. America let his eyes fall closed. "But…the things I've seen. I don't know if you had to…liberate any of those camps…" Ivan stopped. For a second neither of them even breathed as they thought about those camps. Those people. Stripped of their humanity, starving to death, sick and dying, with eyes so very hollow as if there was nothing left in them. Then the moment passed, and the two countries continued where they left off. Alfred took another gulp of vodka. "I have nothing against Germany. I always thought he was just misunderstood. That really he was a good person underneath it all, but the things I saw there…in Auschwitz…in Dachau…I can't…I can't…"
Hands returned to knead shoulders. Another large gulp of vodka. "And today…I saw the way Germany and Italy looked at me because of…because of," Alfred's breath hitched. A single tear dropped into the glass of vodka. "Because of Japan. Germany…I never saw him so angry. He wanted to rip me to shreds. He didn't look at anyone else. Not you or England, or France, or China…just me. Like I was some kind of monster. And Italy! Oh God, he wasn't angry. Not like Germany, but he had this look in his eyes that just seemed to ask 'Why? Why, America? How could you do something so horrible? Why?'" America couldn't hold it back anymore and began to weep. "I didn't mean to," he sobbed, "I didn't mean to…"
As America broke down Russia scooped the drunken nation out of his chair and moved to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, America in his lap. Russia held the other country close, rocking him slowly and methodically back and forth like a child. Alfred buried his face in Russia's shoulder, wetting it with his many tears. Ivan, however, didn't seem to mind as he removed Texas and stroked his hair, whispering soothing things in soft Russian.
Alfred's mind seemed only to get fuzzier as that last glass of vodka hit him hard. In the back of his mind, he was sure that this was wrong—terrible even—and he had to get away while he still could. Something deep down reminded him that he shouldn't be here because Russia always, always had an ulterior motive, but Ivan was warm and comforting and here. And he needed to cry, had needed to let it all out for so long. He couldn't help himself anymore. All he could think was how the last person to hold him and coddle him like this had been Roosevelt when he first arrived in office.
Alfred had been so sick. His country in shambles around him, while people starved out on the streets. In those times, he was always hungry, always cold, so sad and despondent. Alfred reflected the land and its people and both these things were falling apart. Alfred, under Hoover's care, began to get sicker and sicker. He begged Hoover to do something, but Herbert couldn't without compromising the Constitution and everything the Founding Father's worked for. Alfred knew he was right, but he also knew the Founding Fathers, and not even crotchety, old Hamilton would have chosen the Constitution over his country. Alfred respected Herbert for standing by his principles even while the world crumbled around him, but he also knew they needed something more. Something different. (6)
Industry failed and with it went Alfred's limbs. Social order crumbled and so did Alfred's stomach. Morale was so low. It felt as though everything was gone. He couldn't eat, he couldn't move, and he couldn't even smile anymore. The last blow came with the drought. The Dust Bowl they called it. Alfred couldn't breathe anymore.
There he lay, in an iron lung, barely able to stay awake. He had blurred memories of Herbert by his bedside, begging him to stay alive just a little longer, that he would do anything to keep the country alive. Alfred smiled for the first time in a long, long while. Then he fell asleep, and didn't wake up for many months.
It was 1933, Inauguration day, when he next came to. A man in a wheelchair was sitting by his side. He introduced himself as Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and he was proud to have been entrusted with Alfred's safekeeping. Alfred wasn't sure why, but he trusted this man with his lands and his people and would follow him no matter what. However, at the time, he was barely able to speak. He did manage to wheeze out that he was happy to have another Roosevelt in the White House, before fainting again.
From there on, Roosevelt immediately got Congress in session and began passing bills. Just one hundred days later, Alfred found himself able to stay awake longer. He could breathe easier and move a little bit. Just one hundred days. It was then that Alfred realized that he was right to trust this man.
And as Alfred, now sobbing into Russia's jacket, remembered all that Roosevelt had done for him, he couldn't help but cry more. The man had done so much for him, and now he was dead. Dead because of this damn war. It had taken so much out of Roosevelt, so much. The stress was insurmountable. If the stress of the war hadn't come, Alfred was certain that Roosevelt would've lived longer. Maybe even served a fifth term.
Ivan clearly felt Alfred's sobs worsen, as he pulled the other nation closer, gently pressing America's face into his neck. Ivan smelled like the brisk cold air of a snowy day, like the vodka they were drinking, like steel and oil and industry. He smelled like blood and isolation and terror (7), and it was wrong, all wrong. America remembered being held like this before, but it was so warm and natural, comforting and perfect. He remembered the sun on his face in a musty, old house as large, warm arms pulled him against a warmer chest, protecting him from anything, everything. He remembered soft hymns and nursery rhymes sung in old English as someone kissed his hair and assured him that everything would be all right because he was there. He remembered the wonderful smell of tea, scones, and spices, rain, wind, and the sea, the smell of might and adventure and home.
Arthur.
As he imagined England's smell and warmth, and his soft, loving voice whispering fondly, "Don't cry, love. Heroes aren't supposed to cry, right, dear heart?" Alfred was finally able to calm down, his sobs becoming hiccups and soft sniffles and his tears drying. Russia wrapped his jacket around Alfred who didn't like the smell, but was happy to be enveloped by the warmth. Finally, America willed himself to look up at Russia, his bright blue eyes now red-rimmed and glassy, lids half-closed from the exhaustion that came with crying one's eyes out. Ivan still had his usual smile on his face. He began to stroke Alfred's flushed cheek, still damp from tears.
Alfred's mind was so hazy from fatigue and drink. He sighed and leaned into the touch, eyes closing. Ivan's smile widened as he bent down and whispered in Alfred's ear, "It is lonely at top, da?" Alfred's eyes opened again, letting a few more tears escape at the thought. Ivan held Alfred a bit tighter as he continued, "America must carry large burden. To be only country with such power. To annihilate cities with only press of button, cause such destruction." Alfred flinched at the reminder. "Other nations fear and scorn." Alfred clenched his eyes shut, trying so hard not to think of Japan and the meeting today. Ivan pressed a soft kiss to the smaller nation's cheek. "But Russia understands. Russia will always understand." Silent tears continued streaming down Alfred's face. Ivan lovingly brushed them away, but only more replaced them. He kissed Alfred again, this time just above his ear. "It is all right now, Comrade. America no longer has to cry. America no longer has to be lonely and bear burden by self. Russia is now here." Ivan's voice lowered as he uttered, "Become one with Russia, da?"
Alfred's eyes snapped open, as he immediately tried to escape, but Ivan's grip on him was tight, and he was too drunk, too tired, and too sad to really fight it. Russia pulled him back against his chest, leaning his chin on America's shoulder. He continued to whisper softly, soothingly, into Alfred's ear, "America is so tired. Becoming one with Russia is good thing. America no longer has to think anymore. Russia will make all big decisions. Russia will let America sleep, will let America finally relax." Alfred found himself sighing at the thought. "No more getting sick from unstable capitalist economy. No more countries hating for no reason. Russia will take care of everything. Make America very happy. No countries blame America anymore. They blame Russia now. Russia will protect you." Alfred relaxed against Ivan, letting his eyes fall blissfully closed. Ivan began stroking his cheek again. "No more wars. No more destruction and horror. No more making impossible decisions. No more nightmares. Russia will take all away."
America turned to Russia, blue eyes begging and pleading, "Please take it all away. Please. Please. Please!" Those cerulean pools asked Russia to continue, to tell him wonderful things, and assure him that it was all possible. His eyes were so innocent, so honest, so completely trusting. Russia's grin widened as kissed America's forehead and coaxed the blonde to lay his head on Ivan's shoulder again.
"We all go to my house, da? We bring Britain and France," Ivan smiled broadly at the thought, "They cannot refuse you. All of us live together in my house." Ivan looked Alfred in the eye as he assured, "You see Litva again, too." America sighed. He had really missed Lithuania. "We become one big family, and America will never worry about anything ever again. You will relax. You will finally sleep, Comrade." Alfred never realized how tired he really was until Ivan spoke of sleep like that. "And Russia will take care of you forever." That was it for Alfred. He finally let it all go, relaxing completely. He curled up in Ivan's lap, nuzzling into his chest. Ivan continued to smile, brushing his fingers through Alfred's soft, blond hair. "Da," he soothed, "America is good boy. Such good boy."
Alfred's breath hitched in his throat. How long had he been waiting for those words? Acknowledgement. Being reassured that he wasn't evil. Wasn't a monster. That he was doing good in the world. That he was doing the right thing. How long had he waited?
"I just need one thing to make plan work," Russia continued in that soft tone. "Just one thing and America will finally be free of suffering."
America looked up at him with dazed, sleepy eyes that showed nothing but absolute devotion. The will to do anything, anything Ivan needed from him. "We return to my house after summit," Ivan assured, "but I just need information on atom bomb, da? Nothing else. Just information."
Then, something in America changed, and whatever Russia was expecting him to do, it wasn't this.
After hours of searching, Britain and France finally found the hotel Russia was staying at. It would, of course, have to be the last hotel in town, the one that France happened to be staying at.
"I can't believe it was your bloody hotel, the whole bloody time," Arthur snarled, running at full speed. Sweat beaded down his forehead, ruining his suit, and he was out of breath, but with America in danger, he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he focused all of his anger on France. "If we had the time, I'd kill you right now, Frenchy!"
"For God's sake, Arthur, he kept to himself. I did not see him at all during my stay!" he shouted back defensively. "We both made ze same assumption when we started searching hotels, right?"
England spat out a morbid chuckle, "Well unlike you, my so-called 'assumption' that he wasn't in my hotel happened to be right!"
The two countries entered the hotel. France immediately ran to the front desk, asking for Russia's (or rather Ivan Braginski's) room number. However, not thirty seconds after they had entered the building, a scream rang out that caused Arthur's blood to run cold.
"Alfred!" he shouted, running up the stairs towards the direction of the shouting. Francis cursed in French and quickly dashed after him. Arthur was certain it came from the first floor, but he couldn't pinpoint which room the scream had come from. He began yelling out Alfred's name frantically, kicking down doors without any consideration for the other guests. Finally, England kicked down the last door on the hall, but what he saw wasn't at all what he expected.
"Al…fred…?" When England had heard America's scream, he expected to find his younger brother being tortured by Russia for information, but not this…
Russia was the one on the ground, and for the first time since England met him, Ivan looked absolutely shocked as he stared up at America. America was livid. He was panting, face red with rage. He held the hotel's lamp over his head, brandishing it at Russia like a weapon. England had known America since he was a small child, but never, never had Arthur seen his brother so angry. "Alfred…" he called again, too shocked to raise his voice much. Alfred didn't respond. In fact, he didn't seem to even notice that Arthur was there. England turned to France, but the other nation also seemed to be at a loss.
America let out another scream, but Arthur realized that the one they had heard in the lobby was not a scream of terror or pain as he had so feared, but rather one of pure, unadulterated rage. "You," he seethed, teeth barred at Ivan. "You sick, sadistic son of a bitch…This whole time, all those things you said…you just wanted the bomb?!" Alfred took a step forward. "I trusted you! And you tricked me…" Then Alfred laughed. It was a cold, horrible chuckled that made Arthur shiver where he stood. "I guess I should've expected this." America's face changed again, his cold smile twisting back into the vengeful snarl of before. "Well, guess what Russia? You don't know anything. You said you understood. That you were the only one who understood. You're wrong. No one understands! To know that hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians died at your hands because you gave an order. To know that you developed a weapon of such caliber that no one, no one can stand in your way." Alfred began to cry again. "I could do anything now. No one would be able to stop me. I could…I could become like you, so twisted and jaded that I could crush anyone without remorse. I'm a monster now. Oppenheimer was right. I've become death, destroyer of worlds!" (8) Alfred was now laughing and crying at the same time. It hurt Arthur so much to see his once-beloved America so very broken.
"So you want the bomb, Russia? Do you want to know what this feels like? Too bad! You can't have it. No one can have it. No one should have it! Oh god, I'm a monster! I'm a monster. I'm a monster…" America was now openly sobbing, but he still refused to sit or even put down the lamp. "Oh God, Kiku! I'm so sorry. Franklin, I'm so sorry! George, Thom, Ben…John…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've become what you hated. I've become everything you broke away from Britain for!" (9) Alfred began whimpering as he thought of everything the Founding Fathers…his friends…worked for.
Russia finally found the strength to speak. "A…America…" Fury returned to Alfred's eyes, overtaking the sorrow.
"Shut up," he snarled, voice raw from all the screaming, "shut up, shut up, shut up! I don't want to hear anything you have to say anymore. I…I…" America couldn't find words anymore. Instead, he screamed a final time, running at Russia with the lamp. England knew it was time to step in, lest they have another war on their hands.
"Alfred, no!" Arthur ran in between the two fighting nations, kicking the lamp out of America's hands. It crashed against the wall behind them, shattering into pieces. America raged, unable to tell friend from foe, punching England as hard as he could. It was only as Arthur slumped to the ground, France kneeling worriedly beside him that Alfred realized what he had just done.
"E-E-England…but…no…I…I…I didn't mean to—but I—it's…England?" America fell to his knees, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh God. Oh God!" It was suddenly far too much. Alfred crawled over to the trashcan and vomited. Tears streaming down his face, he emptied his stomach of all the liquor he had just drank. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He had punched England. England! The nation closest to him, the nation that had always been there for him, even during their rough patches. The thought only made him retch again.
Then, as he leaned over the can, panting heavily, he felt warm arms encircle him, pressing him against an even warmer chest. He stiffened, thinking it could be Russia trying to trick him again, but then he smelled rolling hills and pastures, old castles and courts, rum and Yorkshire pudding, and tea, most of all tea. America knew he was safe. "England…"
"Shhhh, pet, it's all right. Everything's better now. You're safe, love. You're not a monster or a bringer of death. You're my poppet, and you're safe now."
England smiled sadly as America relaxed in his arms. The younger nation gripped his shirt tightly, seeking comfort, which for once, England was happy to give. His eye stung something awful, and he knew, he'd have quite the shiner in the morning, but he had bigger things to worry about right now. He rubbed America's back, whispering soothing nonsense. He smelled vodka on America's breath and knew he had to get the other to bed to sleep it off. He made sure to glare menacingly at Russia, before standing, helping America up.
"Come on, love, let's get you to bed." He let America lean most of his weight onto him. It was awkward to move, what with the other nation being bigger than himself, but England managed (though, he longed for the days when Alfred was tiny enough for him to pick up). Arthur grabbed Texas and America's favorite jacket and headed towards the hallway. There, he saw France leaning on the doorway, smugly. England glared. "What?"
France grinned. "Oh nothing, nothing at all." He held out a set of keys. "Take my room key. My room iz much closer than yours." Arthur snatched the keys and frowned. Looks like he would actually have to thank France tomorrow. What a travesty! He entered the hallway. "Oh," continued Francis, "and don't worry about me. I will stay with mon cher, Canada ce soir."
"I don't care," England called back.
Francis smiled at the retreating backs of the two nations. America was in bad shape, but he was sure with England there, he would be all right. As much as he hated to admit it, England had always been a better parent than him. As for France? Well, now he could relax.
*And there you have it! Part one of "America's Super-Weapon." This will be a two-shot, so one more chapter to go. I'll update as soon as I finish it. For now, have some footnotes:
1- The first ever resolution passed by the U.N. took place on January 24, 1946. It concerned the new issues raised by the discovery of atomic energy. For more information, check out the U.N.'s website.
2- Though Kiku himself wasn't at the meeting in my story, Japan still sent a diplomat.
3- I can't take credit for this quote. It comes from Blackadder. Blackadder is a British sitcom from the 80s, and it's hysterical. I definitely recommend it. Especially for fans of Hugh Laurie and Rowan Atkinson (better known for their respective roles as Gregory House and Mr. Bean).
4- Also known as, the most British thing said in this entire fanfic.
5- "Mais" is French for "but," it just seemed to flow better than the English term.
6- I took a college class on the Depression. Hoover wasn't a bad president. He just wasn't the right president. He really doesn't deserve the reputation he got. Everything in that paragraph is absolutely true by the way. Hoover really avoided big government because he didn't want to disrespect the Constitution. Basically everything Roosevelt ever did was unconstitutional XD
7- I imagine that Russia under Stalin's rule would smell like blood, isolation, and terror. I mean, it's Stalin. Though, I'm sure Russia started smelling less like terror and blood once Khrushchev took over.
8- For those who don't know J. Robert Oppenheimer was a physicist for the Manhattan Project, or the development of the atom bomb. Oppenheimer was quoted once as saying "I am become death, destroyer of worlds"
9- I assume all Americans know who I'm talking about, but for those who haven't taken American history because, honestly why would you? (Jk, I actually enjoyed U.S. history the many times I had to take it). Anyway, for those who aren't sure, George, Thom, Ben, and John refer to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, and John Adams. There were a lot more Founding Fathers, but those four are key, along with Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison.
Anyway, that's it! I hope everyone enjoyed so far, and hopefully part two will be up soon!
