[Fanfic] - Snowblinder
Title: Snowblinder
Characters: Netherlands, Russia
Location: Hortus Botanicus, Amsterdam, summer 1697
Rating: PG
Summary: Peter the I of Russia wants to catch butterflies with the mayor of Amsterdam and one of Netherlands’ prominent scientists. The boys are forced along for the ride.
Warnings: I thought this was gonna be complete crack but then it went all srs bzns on me at the end. Netherlands bitching about France and fancy attire. Russia being a cute awkward teenager creeper. Both of them trying to catch butterflies. Me being a giant derp about Russian history.
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Okay, okay, I was doing research about Peter the Great and his Grand Embassy for my France/Russia thing and ran into some cracky history that demanded to be ficced.
In this time period Russia’s an awkward, backwards teenager - he’s trolling Europe, trying to get him some ~culture~ and ~alliances~ - and Netherlands is just now starting to come back down from the top of the world.
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“I like your country, very much.”
Netherlands flicked his eyes to Russia, who was standing beside him with an earnest smile, cheery in the sun, looking at him expectantly. He nodded, brought his pipe to his mouth, and returned to watching Nicolaas Witsen and Pyotr Mikhailov - Mikhailov, he snorted in a plume of smoke, right - flitting around the flowers of the Hortus with Frederik Ruysch, nets waving through the air.
This was moronic. Their leaders, in more than one sense - frolicking around rows of flowers and herbs and grass, catching butterflies. Netherlands used his next exhale to sigh. He wouldn’t even be here if Witsen hadn’t forced him to.
How he, himself, ended up with a butterfly net in his other hand. That was anyone’s guess.
“It's warm,” Russia continued, stepping closer. As in, way too fucking close.
“Stop that looming shit,” Netherlands muttered around his pipe. Was everyone from Russia this tall? Goddamn. Being around Russia and his ruler made Netherlands feel positively short, and he wasn’t a short guy.
Russia cocked his head to the side, still with that dumb, slightly distrubing smile, and stepped back. Then he caught sight of a butterfly spinning through the air, fluttering near enough, and hopped over, quick - with the jumpy grace a rabbit would have. Well. That wasn’t right. There was more power than that to it - huh, fuck it. Netherlands let his thoughts go elsewhere.
“Oh,” Russia quipped, and loped back to him, face to the air, looking around, like he was trying to take in everything at once. He’d been like that ever since he’d arrived - observing everything, asking weird questions, wide-eyed and smiling and not getting when he was acting creepy and suffocating. Kid.
“This is much harder than it looks...” Russia trailed off when it didn’t seem like Netherlands was going to respond, and shifted around before suddenly turning and striding off for another.
Netherlands watched him fail once more and adjusted his cravat with one hand, bored and hot, pipe wedged between his teeth. Fuck but it was miserable outside. Witsen had tried to force him to wear a wig - a damn wig, in this heat - but Netherlands did the Russian thing and went without. He definitely appreciated their backwardness when it came to fashion.
“Why is your cravat so strange?” Russia called to him, over the bed between them and blunt as always. Netherlands couldn’t care less for it, but the kid sure was gonna offend some people later on in his travels. Not that he warned him. Best learning was from experience, all that Greek shit.
Still, he turned his head and turned the question over, before deciding one of his own was the best answer. “What do y’mean?”
“It is - in your jacket?”
“Waistcoat.”
Russia’s smile did an odd twitch.
“The cravat,” Netherlands clarified with a raised eyebrow, “it’s tucked into my waistcoat.”
“Ah. Prussia had one like that... very skinny, it was strange. His was not tucked, though,” Russia mused, eyes distant.
Yup, the kid was definitely gonna offend some people. Then Netherlands thought of Prussia and rolled his eyes. “Don’t take your fashion cues from Prussia. And y'sure as hell wanna know the right word for ‘waistcoat’ before you meet that gaudy bitch, France,” he muttered. Huh, maybe he shouldn’t have said that last part - imagining that goddamned-“divine right of kings”-Catholic’s face upon meeting Russia was priceless.
“Nah, I take that back,” Netherlands nodded with a small smirk; Russia perked up. “France knows he most about fashion right now - wait t'ask him. Learn from the master, or whatever.”
Russia nodded and smiled brightly, canines flashing - why was this kid so chipper, it was weirding Netherlands out a little - then spun around on his heel, surprisingly fast for his size, and tried to catch a butterfly he’d seen out of the corner of his eye.
No good.
He turned back around to Netherlands and brought the net to his face, looking at it with a small, twisted frown. “You should try,” he remarked, still looking for holes in his net.
Netherlands made some noncommittal noise and glanced over at him. “I’m just here because the boss made me. I don’t care 'bout catching bugs.”
“You should try,” Russia repeated, but this time sharp - the air practically snapped at the change in atmosphere.
Whoa. Ooo-kay then. Netherlands decided to revise his opinion of Russia. Maybe not quite as much of a weird-but-harmless kid as he seemed.
“Hold this then,” he gruffly replied, handing his pipe to Russia. Then he sighed and looked around, turning - there. One lazy swipe through the air and there was a butterfly struggling in the bottom of the net.
“Oh!” And all of a sudden Russia was way too close again, blocking out the sun and nearly crashing into Netherlands in his excitement to see.
Netherlands stepped back and held his net out with a frown. “Y'want it? Take it. Just don’t run inta me like that.”
Russia reached into the net and plucked the butterfly by the wing between his huge fingers; lifted it up, intrigue written all over his face. Netherlands asked for his pipe back and Russia handed it to him without even looking, caught up in the creature beating its wings against his hand, futilely. Lifted it up to see it better, up toward the sun.
Netherlands rolled his eyes and re-lit his pipe - and choked on the first inhale when Russia brought his other hand up and slowly, reverently, ripped the wing in two - with the same fucking curious expression.
“What the hell -” Netherlands choked out between coughs “- what - what're you doin'?”
Russia paused and looked at Netherlands, eyebrows raised in question, totally ignoring the wildly flailing butterfly between his hands.
“Ya just ripped the fuckin' thing in half.”
Russia tilted his head and looked at it, smiled, and turned that smile right back to Netherlands, brighter and sharper than a mirror ever could hope for. “It makes a strange noise - and I thought it would feel like a leaf. It doesn't! Want to try?” He held out the damaged butterfly between the tips of his fingers, like it was some goddamn champagne glass.
“No. Rippin' apart butterflies ain't really my thing,” Netherlands flatly replied.
The hand and its captive were drawn back. “You're sure?”
Netherlands just stared for a moment - nothing happened, just hot sunshine and a little breeze and Russia’s continued concerned expression - he sighed and abandoned that line of reasoning. “We’re s'posed to be collecting these so that we can learn how to preserve them, y’know.”
Russia’s mouth made an “o” and he bent down, gently sat the butterfly in the grass, and patted it with a wide smile before drawing back up. Then he looked over at their bosses, little blurs across the garden that they were, and frowned.
“What’s with the face,” Netherlands asked with a huff. Had he seen Russia frown? Like, full-on frown? It was Russia’s first trip to Western Europe, so it wasn’t like he’d known him long or anything, but still - so far the kid had given the impression that his mouth was just stuck that way, perpetually reaching for the stars or some shit.
Russia was silent for a minute before a tiny smile returned, a twisted quirk of the lips. “I like this trip, I like learning so many things. There's much in Europe for us to take back to Russia...”
Netherlands raised an eyebrow - an indication to continue, because so far that wasn’t an answer.
Russia shifted to his other foot. “Pyotr thinks so too.” The smile warped a little - and that was a little scary, Netherlands was man enough to admit it. “Other members in the party do not. They would like to return home.”
“Mm,” Netherlands nodded, puffing on his pipe. He followed Russia’s gaze; Pyotr was interrogating Ruysch about the uses of various herbs, from the looks of things. He turned his gaze back to Russia. The kid was more similar to his leader than he was to the other Russians that Netherlands had (unfortunately) run into. Well... yeah. They were both stupidly tall, hardworking, almost naively, laughably curious about the world, and somewhat preoccupied with the idea of power - but hell, who wasn’t these days.
“I would like to be...” Russia fumbled for the words. “Recognized? Russia is a good place. I am seeing that it could be better.” He frowned again, but it was fierce. Determined, a twist of the jaw that foretold far more than words could ever hope. The air was icy, sunlight brittle - if only for a moment. And then the deceptive child-smile returned.
Netherlands saw, blew out a cloud of smoke, long and hard - and offered the pipe to Russia. “Think you’ll be okay, kid.”
More than okay. The world needed to keep an eye on this one.
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So yeah. Peter returned to Russia, laid the smackdown on some rebels, and got to reforming like a mofo - in 1721 the Russian Empire was formed. By 1796 Russia was a major power.
Peter the Great was 6’7” or 6’8” O.o He, like Russia, also had a pretty cruel streak - for instance, a rebellion broke out when he was on this tour and he had them all tortured, killed, and publicly displayed once he got home.
I really just want to fic the entire Grand Embassy thing - Russia learns about cannons and guns in Prussia, shipbuilding and modern fire hoses and anatomy and painting in Holland, city planning and how to run a navy in England, Austria pretty much blows him off (no, not like that, unfortunately), he’s wowed by Versailles in France - all while making a terrible, drunken, boorish impression on all of Europe! XD Out of everyone, the Prussians and the Dutch seemed to like him the most surprise surprise.
Characters: Netherlands, Russia
Location: Hortus Botanicus, Amsterdam, summer 1697
Rating: PG
Summary: Peter the I of Russia wants to catch butterflies with the mayor of Amsterdam and one of Netherlands’ prominent scientists. The boys are forced along for the ride.
Warnings: I thought this was gonna be complete crack but then it went all srs bzns on me at the end. Netherlands bitching about France and fancy attire. Russia being a cute awkward teenager creeper. Both of them trying to catch butterflies. Me being a giant derp about Russian history.
---
Okay, okay, I was doing research about Peter the Great and his Grand Embassy for my France/Russia thing and ran into some cracky history that demanded to be ficced.
In this time period Russia’s an awkward, backwards teenager - he’s trolling Europe, trying to get him some ~culture~ and ~alliances~ - and Netherlands is just now starting to come back down from the top of the world.
---
-
---
“I like your country, very much.”
Netherlands flicked his eyes to Russia, who was standing beside him with an earnest smile, cheery in the sun, looking at him expectantly. He nodded, brought his pipe to his mouth, and returned to watching Nicolaas Witsen and Pyotr Mikhailov - Mikhailov, he snorted in a plume of smoke, right - flitting around the flowers of the Hortus with Frederik Ruysch, nets waving through the air.
This was moronic. Their leaders, in more than one sense - frolicking around rows of flowers and herbs and grass, catching butterflies. Netherlands used his next exhale to sigh. He wouldn’t even be here if Witsen hadn’t forced him to.
How he, himself, ended up with a butterfly net in his other hand. That was anyone’s guess.
“It's warm,” Russia continued, stepping closer. As in, way too fucking close.
“Stop that looming shit,” Netherlands muttered around his pipe. Was everyone from Russia this tall? Goddamn. Being around Russia and his ruler made Netherlands feel positively short, and he wasn’t a short guy.
Russia cocked his head to the side, still with that dumb, slightly distrubing smile, and stepped back. Then he caught sight of a butterfly spinning through the air, fluttering near enough, and hopped over, quick - with the jumpy grace a rabbit would have. Well. That wasn’t right. There was more power than that to it - huh, fuck it. Netherlands let his thoughts go elsewhere.
“Oh,” Russia quipped, and loped back to him, face to the air, looking around, like he was trying to take in everything at once. He’d been like that ever since he’d arrived - observing everything, asking weird questions, wide-eyed and smiling and not getting when he was acting creepy and suffocating. Kid.
“This is much harder than it looks...” Russia trailed off when it didn’t seem like Netherlands was going to respond, and shifted around before suddenly turning and striding off for another.
Netherlands watched him fail once more and adjusted his cravat with one hand, bored and hot, pipe wedged between his teeth. Fuck but it was miserable outside. Witsen had tried to force him to wear a wig - a damn wig, in this heat - but Netherlands did the Russian thing and went without. He definitely appreciated their backwardness when it came to fashion.
“Why is your cravat so strange?” Russia called to him, over the bed between them and blunt as always. Netherlands couldn’t care less for it, but the kid sure was gonna offend some people later on in his travels. Not that he warned him. Best learning was from experience, all that Greek shit.
Still, he turned his head and turned the question over, before deciding one of his own was the best answer. “What do y’mean?”
“It is - in your jacket?”
“Waistcoat.”
Russia’s smile did an odd twitch.
“The cravat,” Netherlands clarified with a raised eyebrow, “it’s tucked into my waistcoat.”
“Ah. Prussia had one like that... very skinny, it was strange. His was not tucked, though,” Russia mused, eyes distant.
Yup, the kid was definitely gonna offend some people. Then Netherlands thought of Prussia and rolled his eyes. “Don’t take your fashion cues from Prussia. And y'sure as hell wanna know the right word for ‘waistcoat’ before you meet that gaudy bitch, France,” he muttered. Huh, maybe he shouldn’t have said that last part - imagining that goddamned-“divine right of kings”-Catholic’s face upon meeting Russia was priceless.
“Nah, I take that back,” Netherlands nodded with a small smirk; Russia perked up. “France knows he most about fashion right now - wait t'ask him. Learn from the master, or whatever.”
Russia nodded and smiled brightly, canines flashing - why was this kid so chipper, it was weirding Netherlands out a little - then spun around on his heel, surprisingly fast for his size, and tried to catch a butterfly he’d seen out of the corner of his eye.
No good.
He turned back around to Netherlands and brought the net to his face, looking at it with a small, twisted frown. “You should try,” he remarked, still looking for holes in his net.
Netherlands made some noncommittal noise and glanced over at him. “I’m just here because the boss made me. I don’t care 'bout catching bugs.”
“You should try,” Russia repeated, but this time sharp - the air practically snapped at the change in atmosphere.
Whoa. Ooo-kay then. Netherlands decided to revise his opinion of Russia. Maybe not quite as much of a weird-but-harmless kid as he seemed.
“Hold this then,” he gruffly replied, handing his pipe to Russia. Then he sighed and looked around, turning - there. One lazy swipe through the air and there was a butterfly struggling in the bottom of the net.
“Oh!” And all of a sudden Russia was way too close again, blocking out the sun and nearly crashing into Netherlands in his excitement to see.
Netherlands stepped back and held his net out with a frown. “Y'want it? Take it. Just don’t run inta me like that.”
Russia reached into the net and plucked the butterfly by the wing between his huge fingers; lifted it up, intrigue written all over his face. Netherlands asked for his pipe back and Russia handed it to him without even looking, caught up in the creature beating its wings against his hand, futilely. Lifted it up to see it better, up toward the sun.
Netherlands rolled his eyes and re-lit his pipe - and choked on the first inhale when Russia brought his other hand up and slowly, reverently, ripped the wing in two - with the same fucking curious expression.
“What the hell -” Netherlands choked out between coughs “- what - what're you doin'?”
Russia paused and looked at Netherlands, eyebrows raised in question, totally ignoring the wildly flailing butterfly between his hands.
“Ya just ripped the fuckin' thing in half.”
Russia tilted his head and looked at it, smiled, and turned that smile right back to Netherlands, brighter and sharper than a mirror ever could hope for. “It makes a strange noise - and I thought it would feel like a leaf. It doesn't! Want to try?” He held out the damaged butterfly between the tips of his fingers, like it was some goddamn champagne glass.
“No. Rippin' apart butterflies ain't really my thing,” Netherlands flatly replied.
The hand and its captive were drawn back. “You're sure?”
Netherlands just stared for a moment - nothing happened, just hot sunshine and a little breeze and Russia’s continued concerned expression - he sighed and abandoned that line of reasoning. “We’re s'posed to be collecting these so that we can learn how to preserve them, y’know.”
Russia’s mouth made an “o” and he bent down, gently sat the butterfly in the grass, and patted it with a wide smile before drawing back up. Then he looked over at their bosses, little blurs across the garden that they were, and frowned.
“What’s with the face,” Netherlands asked with a huff. Had he seen Russia frown? Like, full-on frown? It was Russia’s first trip to Western Europe, so it wasn’t like he’d known him long or anything, but still - so far the kid had given the impression that his mouth was just stuck that way, perpetually reaching for the stars or some shit.
Russia was silent for a minute before a tiny smile returned, a twisted quirk of the lips. “I like this trip, I like learning so many things. There's much in Europe for us to take back to Russia...”
Netherlands raised an eyebrow - an indication to continue, because so far that wasn’t an answer.
Russia shifted to his other foot. “Pyotr thinks so too.” The smile warped a little - and that was a little scary, Netherlands was man enough to admit it. “Other members in the party do not. They would like to return home.”
“Mm,” Netherlands nodded, puffing on his pipe. He followed Russia’s gaze; Pyotr was interrogating Ruysch about the uses of various herbs, from the looks of things. He turned his gaze back to Russia. The kid was more similar to his leader than he was to the other Russians that Netherlands had (unfortunately) run into. Well... yeah. They were both stupidly tall, hardworking, almost naively, laughably curious about the world, and somewhat preoccupied with the idea of power - but hell, who wasn’t these days.
“I would like to be...” Russia fumbled for the words. “Recognized? Russia is a good place. I am seeing that it could be better.” He frowned again, but it was fierce. Determined, a twist of the jaw that foretold far more than words could ever hope. The air was icy, sunlight brittle - if only for a moment. And then the deceptive child-smile returned.
Netherlands saw, blew out a cloud of smoke, long and hard - and offered the pipe to Russia. “Think you’ll be okay, kid.”
More than okay. The world needed to keep an eye on this one.
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---
So yeah. Peter returned to Russia, laid the smackdown on some rebels, and got to reforming like a mofo - in 1721 the Russian Empire was formed. By 1796 Russia was a major power.
Peter the Great was 6’7” or 6’8” O.o He, like Russia, also had a pretty cruel streak - for instance, a rebellion broke out when he was on this tour and he had them all tortured, killed, and publicly displayed once he got home.
I really just want to fic the entire Grand Embassy thing - Russia learns about cannons and guns in Prussia, shipbuilding and modern fire hoses and anatomy and painting in Holland, city planning and how to run a navy in England, Austria pretty much blows him off (no, not like that, unfortunately), he’s wowed by Versailles in France - all while making a terrible, drunken, boorish impression on all of Europe! XD Out of everyone, the Prussians and the Dutch seemed to like him the most surprise surprise.