[fic] Defiled
Title: Defiled
Author/Artist: singing_monk
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Romano/Belgium, referenced Germany -> Belgium
Rating: PG/PG-13?
Warnings: Historically sensitive topic, implied rape.
Summary: It is World War I, and reports of German movement in Belgium has Romano worried.
The leaves were changing color and Romano couldn’t keep himself in place any longer. Rumors had been trickling into Allied camps for weeks now, horrible nasty breezes whispering about the destruction of Belgium, murmuring how the Germans were shooting the children and burning the great library in Leuven.
He’d tried to ignore them in the beginning, brush it off as propaganda meant to galvanize support for the cause and rally the soldiers. But the ghostly chatter had persisted, grown worse, and he was unable to quell the frantic worry threatening to crush him.
She could be anywhere in her land, but something instinctively led Romano to Dinant. The air stank of death and terror, almost causing him to wretch as he stepped over some rubble. Beginning his search hadn’t calmed the fears racing each other in his mind; if anything they were more agitated than ever.
A few feet from the outskirts of the city was a scraggly little birch tree, and from the angle Romano was standing he could just make out a shock of blonde hair. It had to be her, it just had to.
Disgust for the city forgotten he rushed towards the tree, throat closing up in response to the high level of emotion and refusing to let him call out to the seated figure.
Something gradually slowed his pace as he grew closer and closer to his goal. Yes, it was her, it was Belgium, but the state she was in immediately made Romano wish that he had been mistaken in his sighting.
The urge to expel every item he’d consumed this morning was rising again, rapidly and urgently. Was there even one place that she wasn’t bleeding from? Belgium was too small, too fragile to have this much blood in her. She needed every pint she had, what was she doing letting it flow so freely like that?
And suddenly he realized she was missing the pants to her uniform. Romano furrowed his eyebrows in bemusement. Fighting might damage your clothes, but it certainly didn’t remove it...
What had they called the fighting here? They’d given it a name, said it was too atrocious to call it anything less. The Rape of Belgium-
They hadn’t. That - that monster wouldn’t have-
A metallic scraping brought Romano out of his mind, back to the present. Belgium wasn’t unconscious as he’d thought, and had spotted him. Now she was struggling to stand, tugging the heavy gun in her hands to face him.
Romano dropped to his knees, gripping the other country’s shoulders to keep her down (and he was crying, dammit, but he couldn’t keep the tears away) and gently prying the weapon from her death grip.
"Hey, hey, Belgium, calm down. I-it’s not that kraut, it’s me, it’s Romano." he murmured, running his hand gently over her face, tracing the delicate jaw line. She stared at him dully, too pained to say anything.
He kept talking, so scared that his words started to run together and wander, making little sense even to him. Could she even hear him? How long had she been out here like this?
"Fuckfuckfuck, don’t you dare die on me. You leave me alone and I won’t forgive you, you hear me? You’re better than this, what kind of lameass would die out here?"
Gingerly, careful to keep her head cradled, Romano lifted his precious cargo up and sedately began to make his way back from where he came. The quiet frightened him more than the carnage now, and he continued to talk to keep the horrors away.
"You’re gonna owe me for this one, you know how long it’s gonna take to fix you up? D-dammit, you’re lucky I lo-"
He stopped there, pressed his lips tight to kill the words struggling to see the light of day. Not here, not now.
Later on, when Belgium was safe in a hospital cot and sleeping, there would be no time for fear. After he would only rage.
The Rape of Belgium; dates fudged a little bit. Dinant was marched on in late August, so I doubt the leaves were changing colors at the time.
I really don't know where this came from, but I've been wanting to write something on this for a while. Pretty happy with how it came out.
Author/Artist: singing_monk
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Romano/Belgium, referenced Germany -> Belgium
Rating: PG/PG-13?
Warnings: Historically sensitive topic, implied rape.
Summary: It is World War I, and reports of German movement in Belgium has Romano worried.
The leaves were changing color and Romano couldn’t keep himself in place any longer. Rumors had been trickling into Allied camps for weeks now, horrible nasty breezes whispering about the destruction of Belgium, murmuring how the Germans were shooting the children and burning the great library in Leuven.
He’d tried to ignore them in the beginning, brush it off as propaganda meant to galvanize support for the cause and rally the soldiers. But the ghostly chatter had persisted, grown worse, and he was unable to quell the frantic worry threatening to crush him.
She could be anywhere in her land, but something instinctively led Romano to Dinant. The air stank of death and terror, almost causing him to wretch as he stepped over some rubble. Beginning his search hadn’t calmed the fears racing each other in his mind; if anything they were more agitated than ever.
A few feet from the outskirts of the city was a scraggly little birch tree, and from the angle Romano was standing he could just make out a shock of blonde hair. It had to be her, it just had to.
Disgust for the city forgotten he rushed towards the tree, throat closing up in response to the high level of emotion and refusing to let him call out to the seated figure.
Something gradually slowed his pace as he grew closer and closer to his goal. Yes, it was her, it was Belgium, but the state she was in immediately made Romano wish that he had been mistaken in his sighting.
The urge to expel every item he’d consumed this morning was rising again, rapidly and urgently. Was there even one place that she wasn’t bleeding from? Belgium was too small, too fragile to have this much blood in her. She needed every pint she had, what was she doing letting it flow so freely like that?
And suddenly he realized she was missing the pants to her uniform. Romano furrowed his eyebrows in bemusement. Fighting might damage your clothes, but it certainly didn’t remove it...
What had they called the fighting here? They’d given it a name, said it was too atrocious to call it anything less. The Rape of Belgium-
They hadn’t. That - that monster wouldn’t have-
A metallic scraping brought Romano out of his mind, back to the present. Belgium wasn’t unconscious as he’d thought, and had spotted him. Now she was struggling to stand, tugging the heavy gun in her hands to face him.
Romano dropped to his knees, gripping the other country’s shoulders to keep her down (and he was crying, dammit, but he couldn’t keep the tears away) and gently prying the weapon from her death grip.
"Hey, hey, Belgium, calm down. I-it’s not that kraut, it’s me, it’s Romano." he murmured, running his hand gently over her face, tracing the delicate jaw line. She stared at him dully, too pained to say anything.
He kept talking, so scared that his words started to run together and wander, making little sense even to him. Could she even hear him? How long had she been out here like this?
"Fuckfuckfuck, don’t you dare die on me. You leave me alone and I won’t forgive you, you hear me? You’re better than this, what kind of lameass would die out here?"
Gingerly, careful to keep her head cradled, Romano lifted his precious cargo up and sedately began to make his way back from where he came. The quiet frightened him more than the carnage now, and he continued to talk to keep the horrors away.
"You’re gonna owe me for this one, you know how long it’s gonna take to fix you up? D-dammit, you’re lucky I lo-"
He stopped there, pressed his lips tight to kill the words struggling to see the light of day. Not here, not now.
Later on, when Belgium was safe in a hospital cot and sleeping, there would be no time for fear. After he would only rage.
The Rape of Belgium; dates fudged a little bit. Dinant was marched on in late August, so I doubt the leaves were changing colors at the time.
I really don't know where this came from, but I've been wanting to write something on this for a while. Pretty happy with how it came out.