The Rape of Finland
Title: The Rape of Finland
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
- Characters: Sweden, Finland, Russia
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Contrary to implications, said rape is metaphorical. Sweden tried to keep Finland from Russia during the Finnish War. He fails.
Notes: Finnish War, fun times. History, not my thing. Worked it, I tried. Sequel, might do. Norway, he's cunning.
Sweden's been battered before. Even before the age of the Nordic Vikings, he'd been pushed around and got into scuffles with people out of his league. Stronger than some, weaker than others, he took what he could, learned from when he messed up. Being collected under Denmark's pressured rule had, lo as he was to admit it, probably been the best thing that ever happened to him (in hindsight only; living it was a royal hell he'd only love to put Denmark through). If you were strong enough to be independent, you were strong enough to expand and be your own land. You fight for freedom, and if you can obtain that, you're stronger than your captives...and who would be stronger than they?
He had left, with Finland on his heels and more to join his household later. Built himself a military and a kingdom, and then made himself a neutral power. Denmark would have clobbered him (if he could) for not continuing his conquests of the northern land (as long as they were east and not into Norway), but Sweden was more than happy to make sure that Finland was well cared for above needing to stretch his legs even further. He did what he could to keep Fin content, if not happy, and yes, most of the time that backfired, but Sweden kept trying. And he could protect Finland, if he wasn't away so much, so home it was, even if it meant Finland's discomfort.
Sweden thought he was strong. The Viking in him, predating the great Northern Lion, still sang songs in his veins, deep in his blood. He relied on that blood, when modern combat and strategy failed.
But....
Even Sweden was sent into shock realizing there was the very large tip (decoratively barbed, in this case) of a Russian onion dome protruding from his chest, through and through. Hard to miss, even with his grey, overcast-and-snowy world fuzzy from a missing pair of glasses. He tentatively touched it as he gasped-gasped and gasped-with leather-gloved fingers and it was so impossible to consider real. It shook him, it scared him. After being a world power-an empire-he was finally crushed?
By Russia? At Napoleon's say-so?
"Sve-san!!"
Finland's knees hit the snow beside him, and his hands were on Sweden's shoulder and under Sweden's head. Might be a sight then, to strike the fear of God into Finland; shitty eyesight be damned, Finland was close enough that he could see how pale and frightened he looked, on top of his cuts and bruises, and Sweden shuddered at the cold numbing him.
But where his eyes failed him, his ears didn't. The snow was crunching at a steady rhythm, and it wasn't from either of their shifting weight. Fighting to raise his head on his own, the camouflaged silhouette of Russia was approaching them. Sweden could only imagine that Russia's smile was still in place, unmoved.
Finland looked over, too, and threw himself over the injured nation, shielding him. With every bit of pride he had as a warrior-and Sweden's heart always swelled when Finland showed his prowess on the battlefield-Finland bellowed, "Stay away from him!"
Russia simpered, stopping just feet from them. "Will you come with me, then, Suómi?"
"Go to hell, you bastard!"
"Fin. Fin." Was that his voice? The whisper was not going to do at all. Sweden's trembling hand reached up, but Finland grabbed it before it could touch him. "Fin."
"Sve-san." With a shaky look back to Russia, Finland allowed himself to lean closer. "Don't worry. Just...don't worry. We're--"
"Fin," Sweden interrupted, quietly and painfully so. "S'all righ'. C'nna...C'nna figh' an'm're. D'n't wann' leave ya, but.... T'ke...t'ke Han't'mago and p'rt'f Lapl'nd wit' ya. D'n't go th're alone, Fin."
Finland, strong as he was, wouldn't survive fighting Russia on his own. Bless he would try, but it would not be pretty. Keeping him safe is all that Sweden strived for now. If that meant sacrificing Finland's happiness (who knew what Russia would do), may demons haunt him forever, but a dead Finland was not worth the defiance it took to accomplish. Take those things, he prayed. For God's sake and my peace of mind, take them.
"Nonononono." Gloved hands left his to fall, and Finland cupped the sides of Sweden's jaw and shook his head rapidly. "You've no idea what you're saying. Please, don't make me go with him, Sve-san. Hana's not going to like it! She likes you better she won't want to leave you please Sve-san please!"
"I like what he's saying." Suddenly, Finland was ripped away from Sweden by the collar, tossed behind Russia to land hard in the snow, and a boot was planted precariously on Sweden's shoulder, rocking him gently back and forth. "You on my side now, Švécija? Couldn't we have avoided this in the first place if you had simply said that at the start, instead of put up this farce? You were so unhelpful, too. You hardly tried. Doesn't a husband support his wife?"
Gustav IV was so easy to blame, but it hadn't just been their incompetent king. It was equally easy to blame himself for not being more forceful with his boss. Go burn, Sweden wanted to say to Russia. Perhaps, however, his thoughts were made clear on his face, because that boot was tipping him back off his side, which jarred the spike as it levered itself against the ground, and it further ripped his flesh and bones as slowly as Russia pushed.
"Venäjä!" The pressure spiked before relenting as Finland grabbed Russia around the neck from behind, managing to drag the taller nation down and back with a few stumbled steps of grappling. But Sweden's assessment was right: Finland couldn't hang on long and he was wrestled again back into the snow.
"All I want is you, Suómi," Russia said, and there was no lightness coating his words anymore. This was a conviction. "Force my hand and you'll regret it." The snow crunched, and now Russia was behind him, on his knees by the back of his head. And the hands that touched him went for his neck, squeezing and pushing him backward again, suffocating him on pain and a well-placed thumb. "See?" he called, and it wasn't for Sweden's attention he was meant to gain. "You're the prize. Your master Švécija is in my way. And I will tear him apart if you don't come with me willingly. Do you want that, Suómi? I will not just conquer Švécija's lands, but I will make sure to wipe the entire Swedish culture off the maps. History will not remember him! He will die like this, and it will be your fault!"
Go with him, just go. But it wasn't his own safety Sweden was concerned with. Charles probably wouldn't like Sweden rolling over for Finland-those were personal feelings, not national ones-but if Finland didn't go willingly, how would Russia treat him for his defiance? Don't get swallowed by him.
Over the rush of his own blood in his ears, he heard a voice that broke his heart faster than Russia was collapsing his throat: "All right, all right! I'll go! J-just let Sve-san go!"
It was like 'open sesame'. Frigid cold air sank into his lungs in labored bursts as Russia released his hold. But Russia didn't leave him without tousling his hair first, as if affectionate. "No worries, Švécija," he murmured, with a spark of delight. "I'll treat him better than you ever did. Meet us in Hamina when you can. Oh apologies, you call it Fredrikshamn."
Getting up, going after him, and trying to retaliate against that comment-it hit his pride and his devotion-was impossible. Russia rose back to full height and was quick to put himself between Finland and his former ruler. Finland stared at Sweden, and maybe it was a blessing Sweden couldn't see Fin's face. Who knows what was there. Helplessness, fear, betrayal, sadness, anger. Each one would have been an arrow finding its target, striking Sweden down even further.
But Russia finally reached Finland, tugged his shoulders to turn him around, and swept Finland away.
Sweden exhaled wetly, watching the pair disappear into the snow. His vision was tunneling around them, and once they were gone, his eyes turned to the pure white ground. Pure, except for an exposed patch of hibernating grass and the pool of brilliant red creeping towards it. Ah, thought Sweden. That's where my blood went.
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
- Characters: Sweden, Finland, Russia
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Contrary to implications, said rape is metaphorical. Sweden tried to keep Finland from Russia during the Finnish War. He fails.
Notes: Finnish War, fun times. History, not my thing. Worked it, I tried. Sequel, might do. Norway, he's cunning.
Sweden's been battered before. Even before the age of the Nordic Vikings, he'd been pushed around and got into scuffles with people out of his league. Stronger than some, weaker than others, he took what he could, learned from when he messed up. Being collected under Denmark's pressured rule had, lo as he was to admit it, probably been the best thing that ever happened to him (in hindsight only; living it was a royal hell he'd only love to put Denmark through). If you were strong enough to be independent, you were strong enough to expand and be your own land. You fight for freedom, and if you can obtain that, you're stronger than your captives...and who would be stronger than they?
He had left, with Finland on his heels and more to join his household later. Built himself a military and a kingdom, and then made himself a neutral power. Denmark would have clobbered him (if he could) for not continuing his conquests of the northern land (as long as they were east and not into Norway), but Sweden was more than happy to make sure that Finland was well cared for above needing to stretch his legs even further. He did what he could to keep Fin content, if not happy, and yes, most of the time that backfired, but Sweden kept trying. And he could protect Finland, if he wasn't away so much, so home it was, even if it meant Finland's discomfort.
Sweden thought he was strong. The Viking in him, predating the great Northern Lion, still sang songs in his veins, deep in his blood. He relied on that blood, when modern combat and strategy failed.
But....
Even Sweden was sent into shock realizing there was the very large tip (decoratively barbed, in this case) of a Russian onion dome protruding from his chest, through and through. Hard to miss, even with his grey, overcast-and-snowy world fuzzy from a missing pair of glasses. He tentatively touched it as he gasped-gasped and gasped-with leather-gloved fingers and it was so impossible to consider real. It shook him, it scared him. After being a world power-an empire-he was finally crushed?
By Russia? At Napoleon's say-so?
"Sve-san!!"
Finland's knees hit the snow beside him, and his hands were on Sweden's shoulder and under Sweden's head. Might be a sight then, to strike the fear of God into Finland; shitty eyesight be damned, Finland was close enough that he could see how pale and frightened he looked, on top of his cuts and bruises, and Sweden shuddered at the cold numbing him.
But where his eyes failed him, his ears didn't. The snow was crunching at a steady rhythm, and it wasn't from either of their shifting weight. Fighting to raise his head on his own, the camouflaged silhouette of Russia was approaching them. Sweden could only imagine that Russia's smile was still in place, unmoved.
Finland looked over, too, and threw himself over the injured nation, shielding him. With every bit of pride he had as a warrior-and Sweden's heart always swelled when Finland showed his prowess on the battlefield-Finland bellowed, "Stay away from him!"
Russia simpered, stopping just feet from them. "Will you come with me, then, Suómi?"
"Go to hell, you bastard!"
"Fin. Fin." Was that his voice? The whisper was not going to do at all. Sweden's trembling hand reached up, but Finland grabbed it before it could touch him. "Fin."
"Sve-san." With a shaky look back to Russia, Finland allowed himself to lean closer. "Don't worry. Just...don't worry. We're--"
"Fin," Sweden interrupted, quietly and painfully so. "S'all righ'. C'nna...C'nna figh' an'm're. D'n't wann' leave ya, but.... T'ke...t'ke Han't'mago and p'rt'f Lapl'nd wit' ya. D'n't go th're alone, Fin."
Finland, strong as he was, wouldn't survive fighting Russia on his own. Bless he would try, but it would not be pretty. Keeping him safe is all that Sweden strived for now. If that meant sacrificing Finland's happiness (who knew what Russia would do), may demons haunt him forever, but a dead Finland was not worth the defiance it took to accomplish. Take those things, he prayed. For God's sake and my peace of mind, take them.
"Nonononono." Gloved hands left his to fall, and Finland cupped the sides of Sweden's jaw and shook his head rapidly. "You've no idea what you're saying. Please, don't make me go with him, Sve-san. Hana's not going to like it! She likes you better she won't want to leave you please Sve-san please!"
"I like what he's saying." Suddenly, Finland was ripped away from Sweden by the collar, tossed behind Russia to land hard in the snow, and a boot was planted precariously on Sweden's shoulder, rocking him gently back and forth. "You on my side now, Švécija? Couldn't we have avoided this in the first place if you had simply said that at the start, instead of put up this farce? You were so unhelpful, too. You hardly tried. Doesn't a husband support his wife?"
Gustav IV was so easy to blame, but it hadn't just been their incompetent king. It was equally easy to blame himself for not being more forceful with his boss. Go burn, Sweden wanted to say to Russia. Perhaps, however, his thoughts were made clear on his face, because that boot was tipping him back off his side, which jarred the spike as it levered itself against the ground, and it further ripped his flesh and bones as slowly as Russia pushed.
"Venäjä!" The pressure spiked before relenting as Finland grabbed Russia around the neck from behind, managing to drag the taller nation down and back with a few stumbled steps of grappling. But Sweden's assessment was right: Finland couldn't hang on long and he was wrestled again back into the snow.
"All I want is you, Suómi," Russia said, and there was no lightness coating his words anymore. This was a conviction. "Force my hand and you'll regret it." The snow crunched, and now Russia was behind him, on his knees by the back of his head. And the hands that touched him went for his neck, squeezing and pushing him backward again, suffocating him on pain and a well-placed thumb. "See?" he called, and it wasn't for Sweden's attention he was meant to gain. "You're the prize. Your master Švécija is in my way. And I will tear him apart if you don't come with me willingly. Do you want that, Suómi? I will not just conquer Švécija's lands, but I will make sure to wipe the entire Swedish culture off the maps. History will not remember him! He will die like this, and it will be your fault!"
Go with him, just go. But it wasn't his own safety Sweden was concerned with. Charles probably wouldn't like Sweden rolling over for Finland-those were personal feelings, not national ones-but if Finland didn't go willingly, how would Russia treat him for his defiance? Don't get swallowed by him.
Over the rush of his own blood in his ears, he heard a voice that broke his heart faster than Russia was collapsing his throat: "All right, all right! I'll go! J-just let Sve-san go!"
It was like 'open sesame'. Frigid cold air sank into his lungs in labored bursts as Russia released his hold. But Russia didn't leave him without tousling his hair first, as if affectionate. "No worries, Švécija," he murmured, with a spark of delight. "I'll treat him better than you ever did. Meet us in Hamina when you can. Oh apologies, you call it Fredrikshamn."
Getting up, going after him, and trying to retaliate against that comment-it hit his pride and his devotion-was impossible. Russia rose back to full height and was quick to put himself between Finland and his former ruler. Finland stared at Sweden, and maybe it was a blessing Sweden couldn't see Fin's face. Who knows what was there. Helplessness, fear, betrayal, sadness, anger. Each one would have been an arrow finding its target, striking Sweden down even further.
But Russia finally reached Finland, tugged his shoulders to turn him around, and swept Finland away.
Sweden exhaled wetly, watching the pair disappear into the snow. His vision was tunneling around them, and once they were gone, his eyes turned to the pure white ground. Pure, except for an exposed patch of hibernating grass and the pool of brilliant red creeping towards it. Ah, thought Sweden. That's where my blood went.