British!Anon apologises in advance for this. It's quite a strangely written story. Also, I got really frustrated with it because I only noticed after writing a page that I'd been spelling Lithuania, Lithwania and Russia, Rwsia. njefjnfjsdjkk
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“Did you hear about Lithuania?” “Lithuania?” “His economy collapsed.” “Fucking hell. Poor guy. He’s never had it easy.” “No, he hasn’t, has he? I could pity him, he’ll probably have to go to Russia for help again.” “Russia? May God have mercy on his soul.”
Lithuania hesitated, his hand resting lightly on the frozen wood of the door. He looked back the way he’d came longingly, wishing he had the choice to trek back across the icy tundra to his own home. Slowly, he brought his hand back and knocked hesitantly. Once, twice. On the third knock, the door opened silently and Lithuania had to stop his hand abruptly for fear of hitting Russia in the face. He heard his heart wildly pumping in his ears, and felt a large lump of fear rise high in his throat. Slowly, he swallowed the old fear, and stood as high and as proud as he could. “Russia. I have come t-“ “I know why you have come, comrade.” The word ‘comrade’, tossed carelessly from Russia’s cold lips froze him for a second. It brought back old, painful memories. The Soviet Union.
“Give me back my people.” “Your people? Whatever do you mean?” Lithuania felt the anger fire in his chest, heating him from the inside even as he shivered from the intense cold that gripped him. He temporarily forgot his fear of the large nation, forgot his ingrained manners. Forgot everything but the thought of thousands and thousands of his people dieing of hypothermia in the frozen wastes of Siberia. The hundreds being killed without fair trial or jury. “MY PEOPLE RUSSIA. MY FUCKING PEOPLE. WHAT RIGHTS DO YOU HAVE TO SEND THEM AWAY FROM ME?! WHAT GIVES YOU THE FUCKI-“ He hit the floor, hard. Russia stood over him, his smile gone and his cold, violet eyes hard. “I had every right to do it Comrade. Don’t you dare, ever forget my authority.” His voice was even, quiet, but all the more terrifying for it. Lithuania’s old fear came back, his anger deserting him in the face on the demon in front of him. “B-but they were never tried. There was no justice, the-“ “I did what I needed to do. Unless you wish to join them, I suggest you keep your little mouth shut, no?” Lithuania’s mouth opened, and shut again. His head nodded slightly, his tears freezing solid as they ran down his face.
I'm Home [Part 2]
anonymous
January 16 2009, 23:35:27 UTC
“Come in, come in. My house is always open to you Lithuania.” Casting one longing glance back the way he came, Lithuania stepped into the gloom. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the dim light, but the sight of Russia’s once grand home was enough to make him wish he could not see at all. The room was dark, the white walls painted sloppily with splatters of thick black paint. On the floor lay sheets upon sheets of grubby grey paper, covered with scrawled Cyrillic letters. Water puddles soaked the darkened wood, piles of melting snow laying haphazardly, white powder stark against the murky room. The once grand, expensive furniture was useless now. Broken and tattered beyond recognition. He jumped as Russia’s hand landed on his shoulder. Stale, alcohol stained breath whispered gently in his ear. “Do you want a drink? I’m afraid I only have vodka.” He giggled then, and Lithuania shuddered slightly. When exactly had Russia’s voice become so dead? When had his violet eyes become so empty? When had he become like this? Who, from all the world’s nations, really knew who Russia was?
A clear glass bottle pressed to his lips. The sharp sting and burn of the alcohol clouding his confused mind. “We are one again Lithuania.” He nodded, clutching the vodka bottle like a lifeline. The darkness pressed upon him like a living entity, terrible apathy scratching slowly away at his soul. A thin, humourless smile stretched across his pale, cold lips. “I’m home.” The broken shards of mirror glass reflected the sadness and pain of his face. Water dripped to the floor and he chose to believe it was from the dripping ceiling. They washed down melancholy with vodka, drowning it with sweet oblivion. The sad, lonely pair. Misery loves company, don’t you know?
Re: I'm Home [Part 2]
anonymous
March 8 2009, 03:17:35 UTC
I LOVE YOU. I've loved you ever since the 900's I started reading this fic. Take my internets and my heart<3. This....This is exactly what Russia/Lithuania is, truly and without a doubt.
njefjnfjsdjkk
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“Did you hear about Lithuania?”
“Lithuania?”
“His economy collapsed.”
“Fucking hell. Poor guy. He’s never had it easy.”
“No, he hasn’t, has he? I could pity him, he’ll probably have to go to Russia for help again.”
“Russia? May God have mercy on his soul.”
Lithuania hesitated, his hand resting lightly on the frozen wood of the door. He looked back the way he’d came longingly, wishing he had the choice to trek back across the icy tundra to his own home. Slowly, he brought his hand back and knocked hesitantly. Once, twice. On the third knock, the door opened silently and Lithuania had to stop his hand abruptly for fear of hitting Russia in the face. He heard his heart wildly pumping in his ears, and felt a large lump of fear rise high in his throat. Slowly, he swallowed the old fear, and stood as high and as proud as he could.
“Russia. I have come t-“
“I know why you have come, comrade.”
The word ‘comrade’, tossed carelessly from Russia’s cold lips froze him for a second. It brought back old, painful memories. The Soviet Union.
“Give me back my people.”
“Your people? Whatever do you mean?”
Lithuania felt the anger fire in his chest, heating him from the inside even as he shivered from the intense cold that gripped him. He temporarily forgot his fear of the large nation, forgot his ingrained manners. Forgot everything but the thought of thousands and thousands of his people dieing of hypothermia in the frozen wastes of Siberia. The hundreds being killed without fair trial or jury.
“MY PEOPLE RUSSIA. MY FUCKING PEOPLE. WHAT RIGHTS DO YOU HAVE TO SEND THEM AWAY FROM ME?! WHAT GIVES YOU THE FUCKI-“
He hit the floor, hard. Russia stood over him, his smile gone and his cold, violet eyes hard.
“I had every right to do it Comrade. Don’t you dare, ever forget my authority.”
His voice was even, quiet, but all the more terrifying for it. Lithuania’s old fear came back, his anger deserting him in the face on the demon in front of him.
“B-but they were never tried. There was no justice, the-“
“I did what I needed to do. Unless you wish to join them, I suggest you keep your little mouth shut, no?”
Lithuania’s mouth opened, and shut again. His head nodded slightly, his tears freezing solid as they ran down his face.
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Casting one longing glance back the way he came, Lithuania stepped into the gloom.
It took him a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the dim light, but the sight of Russia’s once grand home was enough to make him wish he could not see at all.
The room was dark, the white walls painted sloppily with splatters of thick black paint. On the floor lay sheets upon sheets of grubby grey paper, covered with scrawled Cyrillic letters. Water puddles soaked the darkened wood, piles of melting snow laying haphazardly, white powder stark against the murky room. The once grand, expensive furniture was useless now. Broken and tattered beyond recognition.
He jumped as Russia’s hand landed on his shoulder. Stale, alcohol stained breath whispered gently in his ear.
“Do you want a drink? I’m afraid I only have vodka.” He giggled then, and Lithuania shuddered slightly.
When exactly had Russia’s voice become so dead? When had his violet eyes become so empty? When had he become like this?
Who, from all the world’s nations, really knew who Russia was?
A clear glass bottle pressed to his lips. The sharp sting and burn of the alcohol clouding his confused mind.
“We are one again Lithuania.”
He nodded, clutching the vodka bottle like a lifeline. The darkness pressed upon him like a living entity, terrible apathy scratching slowly away at his soul. A thin, humourless smile stretched across his pale, cold lips.
“I’m home.”
The broken shards of mirror glass reflected the sadness and pain of his face. Water dripped to the floor and he chose to believe it was from the dripping ceiling.
They washed down melancholy with vodka, drowning it with sweet oblivion. The sad, lonely pair.
Misery loves company, don’t you know?
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