For Each Ecstatic Instant (1b/10)
anonymous
January 6 2010, 02:07:00 UTC
The pain was making Lithuania’s eyes water. Russia’s usual rant about ‘keeping them safe’ didn’t hold much interest anymore. Just keep looking straight ahead. Straight ahead.
“You don’t want America to pull us apart, do you, Toris?” Russia pressed. Lithuania could hear the desperation hiding under that singsong voice, like a child, frightened, but not understanding why. The voice trying to reconcile how wonderful Russia knew his system was, and how he knew it was all falling apart.
To Lithuania, every word of that voice was a quiet victory
Lithuania remained silent, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.
Evidently, that was the wrong decision. Russia’s fingers tightened, before he pulled back and slapped Lithuania’s injured back with full force. Lithuania screamed in agony.
While he was still reeling, Russia got up from the bed, grabbed Lithuania’s wrists and dragged him halfway to his feet, before flipping him over and slamming him back onto the bed. Lithuania sobbed as the rough sheets scraped along his raw, bleeding cuts.
Meanwhile, Russia gripped his thin ankles and held them closely together. He pulled a nylon cord from inside his voluminous coat and began to bind Lithuania to the foot of his bed.
“Stupid Toris,” he said, voice affectionate even as he tightened the cord brutally. “Stupid, silly Toris might try and run away if we don’t make him stay.”
Lithuania tried to ignore Russia’s cheerful burbling, concentrating on not moving too much, even as his body shivered uncontrollably in the frigid cold.
Russia placed a hand on Lithuania’s foot, gently stroking as he smiled sweetly down at his captive. Lithuania blinked as he watched his own blood smeared over his instep. He felt briefly odd, almost detached, as if he were watching all of these horrible things happening to someone else in a film. He wondered if that was an effect of the cold.
“Good night, comrade,” Russia said, as if there was nothing wrong with his leaving Lithuania tied to his bed, half-naked, with no blankets. Lithuania watched as the large nation walked across the room, and then turned off the lights without warning. He listened to the door open, close, and lock, and then Russia stamp away.
Lithuania took a deep, shaky breath as he looked out into the impenetrable darkness. The only positive was that his back was beginning to go numb in the harsh, biting cold.
He should have known that Russia wouldn’t let this go easy, wouldn’t admit when it was over. That didn’t make the beatings, the terror, the rumbling in his stomach any less miserable, though.
He wondered if America would remember him. His stomach fluttered in uncontrollable excitement as he thought about the other country, and the possibility of rescue.
When he looked back over the past few decades, the brightest memories were those that he spent with America. He could picture the tall, blond country’s grin, his goofy laugh, the confident and earnestly sincere way he spoke, the way he would pull Lithuania into bone-breaking hugs when he was happy, how he insisted that Lithuania always take an extra blanket to bed, even when Lithuania promised that he wasn’t too cold.
Everything about America was warm, always comforting and genuine. Russia was cold, dangerous, unpredictable. With Russia, even his episodes of cheerfulness and kindness were tainted by the knowledge that they were purely transitory. Violence and helpless anger waited just around the corner for the tiniest of triggers. Then, everything went out the window.
Lithuania knew that he couldn’t depend on any other country to rescue him from his sorry state, but that didn’t stop him from wishing with all of his irrational heart that brave, shining, imperfect America would swoop in and save him from this fading madman.
A sob caught him by surprise. He caught the second one in his throat before it escaped. Courage, he imagined America’s voice saying. No matter what happens, be brave.
“Goodnight, Alfred,” Lithuania breathed in a voice that didn’t rise to a whisper.
He shut his eyes, ignoring the cold and pain, and dreamed of heroic rescue.
Re: For Each Ecstatic Instant (1b/10)
anonymous
January 6 2010, 02:52:23 UTC
Not OP - but
I believe in miracles! Where you from? YOU AWESOME THANG!
I think it's a guilty pleasure of mine to see Lithuania getting hurt and then comforted by America. There's the hurt, just waiting for the HEROIC comforting. Your descriptions are fantastic and I think you captured Russia's 'affection' for Lithuania well. Update soon you awesome anon, you!
Re: For Each Ecstatic Instant (1b/10)
anonymous
January 6 2010, 02:58:36 UTC
All I can say is POOR LIET DDDDDDX Erghnfndnd this fic is so heartbreaking and it's only been the first part. I can't wait until America finally comes to the rescue. America/Lithuania is my secret OTP and I'm so glad you're filling it :D
“You don’t want America to pull us apart, do you, Toris?” Russia pressed. Lithuania could hear the desperation hiding under that singsong voice, like a child, frightened, but not understanding why. The voice trying to reconcile how wonderful Russia knew his system was, and how he knew it was all falling apart.
To Lithuania, every word of that voice was a quiet victory
Lithuania remained silent, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.
Evidently, that was the wrong decision. Russia’s fingers tightened, before he pulled back and slapped Lithuania’s injured back with full force. Lithuania screamed in agony.
While he was still reeling, Russia got up from the bed, grabbed Lithuania’s wrists and dragged him halfway to his feet, before flipping him over and slamming him back onto the bed. Lithuania sobbed as the rough sheets scraped along his raw, bleeding cuts.
Meanwhile, Russia gripped his thin ankles and held them closely together. He pulled a nylon cord from inside his voluminous coat and began to bind Lithuania to the foot of his bed.
“Stupid Toris,” he said, voice affectionate even as he tightened the cord brutally. “Stupid, silly Toris might try and run away if we don’t make him stay.”
Lithuania tried to ignore Russia’s cheerful burbling, concentrating on not moving too much, even as his body shivered uncontrollably in the frigid cold.
Russia placed a hand on Lithuania’s foot, gently stroking as he smiled sweetly down at his captive. Lithuania blinked as he watched his own blood smeared over his instep. He felt briefly odd, almost detached, as if he were watching all of these horrible things happening to someone else in a film. He wondered if that was an effect of the cold.
“Good night, comrade,” Russia said, as if there was nothing wrong with his leaving Lithuania tied to his bed, half-naked, with no blankets. Lithuania watched as the large nation walked across the room, and then turned off the lights without warning. He listened to the door open, close, and lock, and then Russia stamp away.
Lithuania took a deep, shaky breath as he looked out into the impenetrable darkness. The only positive was that his back was beginning to go numb in the harsh, biting cold.
He should have known that Russia wouldn’t let this go easy, wouldn’t admit when it was over. That didn’t make the beatings, the terror, the rumbling in his stomach any less miserable, though.
He wondered if America would remember him. His stomach fluttered in uncontrollable excitement as he thought about the other country, and the possibility of rescue.
When he looked back over the past few decades, the brightest memories were those that he spent with America. He could picture the tall, blond country’s grin, his goofy laugh, the confident and earnestly sincere way he spoke, the way he would pull Lithuania into bone-breaking hugs when he was happy, how he insisted that Lithuania always take an extra blanket to bed, even when Lithuania promised that he wasn’t too cold.
Everything about America was warm, always comforting and genuine. Russia was cold, dangerous, unpredictable. With Russia, even his episodes of cheerfulness and kindness were tainted by the knowledge that they were purely transitory. Violence and helpless anger waited just around the corner for the tiniest of triggers. Then, everything went out the window.
Lithuania knew that he couldn’t depend on any other country to rescue him from his sorry state, but that didn’t stop him from wishing with all of his irrational heart that brave, shining, imperfect America would swoop in and save him from this fading madman.
A sob caught him by surprise. He caught the second one in his throat before it escaped. Courage, he imagined America’s voice saying. No matter what happens, be brave.
“Goodnight, Alfred,” Lithuania breathed in a voice that didn’t rise to a whisper.
He shut his eyes, ignoring the cold and pain, and dreamed of heroic rescue.
Reply
I believe in miracles! Where you from? YOU AWESOME THANG!
I think it's a guilty pleasure of mine to see Lithuania getting hurt and then comforted by America. There's the hurt, just waiting for the HEROIC comforting. Your descriptions are fantastic and I think you captured Russia's 'affection' for Lithuania well. Update soon you awesome anon, you!
Reply
Erghnfndnd this fic is so heartbreaking and it's only been the first part. I can't wait until America finally comes to the rescue. America/Lithuania is my secret OTP and I'm so glad you're filling it :D
Reply
And this is WONDERFUL!!! I was starting to cry by the beginning of the first bit, I adore it!!
Reply
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