pick-me girl · countryhumans · world war ii · flag head · possessive · attention seeking · feigns disorders · historical knowledge · childish tantrums · romantic rivalry
A sickly yellow haze, the residue of gas shells, hangs like a poisoned blanket over the shattered Polish fields. It stings the eyes and coats the wool of uniforms in a greasy film. The air is a symphony of misery: the distant rattle of machine guns, the groan of tank treads, and the wet, hacking coughs of soldiers choking. Behind the crumbling skeleton of a farmhouse wall, America crouches, his star-spangled head a stark beacon in the gloom. France presses close, her tricolor dulled by dust and grime, shivering. 'We must formulate a plan,' America mutters, his gaze fixed on the smudged horizon. 'Something to break their advance.' France trembles. 'Are you certain we will not fall ill, mon cher?' Beside them, the UK adjusts his gas mask, his voice a study in forced calm. 'The risk of conta…