Happy Holidays! I really hope this is readable, I didn’t think about how tumblr only lets you submit one image so I had to combine everything in a huge file OTL
Ahh I’m a little nervous to post this! I tried to make them behave as closely to how I think they behave in the series since you stated that you didn’t like something headcanon related. I’m not good with creating content for historical hetalia so I went with the paperwork prompt!
I hope that’s fine for you ;v;
MERRY LIETPOL @stereohz i watched el dorado like 3 times for ideas BUT IN THE END I RAN OUT OF TIME, I HOPE THIS DOODLE IS OKAY BUT maybe in the future there will be more draws for this au, whether it be from me or any of the other wonderful lietpoles in the neighborhood :’3c I’M GLAD I GOT TO BE YOUR SECRET SANTA I LOVE U
Title: Na Żywo
Pairing: Lithuania/Poland
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Temporary character deaths, blood, homophobic terminology
Word Count: 5,610
Summary: Lithuania becomes impulsive when Poland’s life is on the line.
Notes: This is my atrociously late @lietpolsecretsanta for @eternal-night-owl I will give the prompt at the end of the fic because it really gives the plot away. Hope you like it!
Milk swirled into the bowl filled with chocolate cereal, quickly turning from white to a light brown.
The sky just changed color in the east with most of the sky above Warsaw still dark. Poland groaned and lowered the top of his French press. He added milk and sugar to his coffee. It was getting harder and harder to wake up every morning, a combination of everything going on in the country and the shorter daylight hours.
He sat down at his small kitchen table and dipped his spoon into his cereal. Something seemed out of place.
Kurwa.
Poland shuffled to this door, picked up the morning newspaper from his welcome mat, and plopped back down at the table with a frown on his face at both the morning and the headline. His cereal turned too soggy for his liking.
His phone buzzed, and his heart jumped at the thought of going into work early again.
Thank God, it wasn’t his work phone. It was his personal.
He picked up and turned on the speaker. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Poland!” said Lithuania. “Is everything alright?”
“Liet…!” Poland rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Morning.”
“I had to be the one to call you. Are you tired?”
“Yeah.” Poland sat down at the table and opened the newspaper. “You sound happy.”
“It’s my turn to bring Monday coffee.”
“I wish I had a latte,” Poland groaned. “My cereal is inedible.”
“Did you pour the milk before you got the paper again?”
“Mmhmm.” Poland ate a spoonful of the soggy cereal and cringed. “You used to get the paper. That’s why my milk never got soggy.”
“And I’ve been living in Vilnius for almost two years.”
“You know that you can still—”
“Poland—”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me to move back.”
Poland rubbed his forehead. “It’s too early to argue.” And I’m too tired. Poland sipped his coffee and read a column on the first page. “Ugh, this group is at it again.”
“Which one?”
“PP.” Suspect in Newspaper Firebomb Is a Member of Poland First. Suspect Monika P. was arrested at her home in Legionowo.
“Why won’t the government do anything about them?”
“They have friends in high places.”
Poland turned the page and read, The president of Poland First, Marcin Szymczak, strongly condemned the actions of the suspect.
“They sound like they’re dangerous,” said Lithuania. Poland heard the faint ticking of a car blinker in the background. “And with their membership increasing…Whatever, I technically shouldn’t have opinions on your domestic issues.”
“I know.” Poland reached across the table for his planner and looked at his schedule. “Maybe the Internal Security Agency will have something to say. I’m going into their offices a little bit before noon.”
“That’s a coincidence. I’m doing work for the State Security Department today.”
“Really?”
“Yes, just analyzation work as usual.”
“Oh I sometimes do that.”
The only sound heard was the blinkers and occasional car horn coming from Lithuania’s side. Poland shoved some of the cereal into his mouth and sipped more of his coffee. Lithuania should be the one talking, right? He was the one who called…
“So…”
“I’ll be in the parking garage soon, so I’m sorry if I cut out.”
“Th-That’s okay. I was about to head off.”
“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“That sounds good.”
“Okay…Bye.”
“Bye.”
Poland hung up and pursed his lips. And he thought the conversation they had last week was awkward.
His work phone vibrated in his bag, blessedly distracting him from his thoughts.
“Hey, boss.”
“Łukasiewicz, are you awake?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“This isn’t a game. Your meeting with the ISA’s been pushed up.”
Poland set his dishes in the sink and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Pushed up? To when?”
“As soon as possible.”
Poland blinked. “As soon as possible? Is something up?”
“The message only said to head to Rakowiecka as soon as possible.”
Lithuania’s coworker took one sip of the coffee and grimaced. “I asked for soy, Laurinaitis.”
“S-Sorry, Arlauskas!” Lithuania said. “A latte for you, Nekrusienė.” He put a latte on a woman’s desk, one of the last of many.
“Thanks, Laurinaitis,” she said with a smile.
“Oh, Laurinaitis, Butkus wants to see you in his office,” Arlauskas barked from across the room.
“He does?” Lithuania set down the last coffee with a, “Here’s yours, Vilkas,” and threw out the coffee holder in the trash. “Any reason why?”
“Didn’t say.”
Upstairs, Lithuania knocked on the door of his supervisor for the day.
“Come in. Oh, close the door, Laurinaitis.”
Butkus had been working in the intelligence services since the 90s and had known Lithuania since then.
“Arlauskas said you wanted to see me,” Lithuania said.
“Yes. It’s a serious situation.”
Lithuania’s breathing grew faster, and he sat down. He had felt nothing off in his interior all weekend. “What happened?”
“We’ve received intelligence reports about that Polish extremist group in the past.”
“PP?” Lithuania said.
“Yes.” Butkus slid a manila folder across his desk. “We received a report from the ISA in Poland stating that some of their intelligence has been compromised. A hacker from PP is a suspect.”
Lithuania opened the folder. The ISA’s symbol headed the top of the paper. “That is serious—”
“And more concerning you, it’s possible that they came into contact with files about Poland.”
“About Poland?” Lithuania gasped. Only select members of the intelligence community, the head of state, and the head of government knew about the nature of nations.
“Yes, about him. We’re overhauling the security system surrounding files about you. Have you logged on today?”
“N-No, I just finished giving out coffee when I came up here.”
“You won’t be able to log on. We’ve disconnected your computer from the network until we update its security. What’s your phone’s operating system?”
“Operating system?” Lithuania pulled out his personal phone from his pocket. “I’m not sure. It’s an iPhone 3.”
Butkus raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, an iPhone what?”
“This sucks.”
Poland threw some socks and shirts into a suitcase and pressed the send button on his work phone. “This flight just set me back 1000 złoty. Stupid WizzAir.”
“The government should pay for that, right?” Hungary’s voice cracked through Poland’s personal phone.
“Yeah, but it’s still a lot.” Poland went into his study and pulled out his passport from his desk. “Anyway, thanks a lot for letting me stay over. I hope this doesn’t last too long.”
“Anytime. How are you feeling?”
“I probably should be scared, but this is so annoying. It’s Christmas.”
“You can spend Christmas here. I eat carp on Christmas too, you know—”
Poland rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same.”
“I know. I know.”
Poland looked at his open suitcase with his clothes haphazardly piled to the brim. “…I think I’m ready.”
“When’s your flight?”
Poland checked his work phone. “In two hours.”
“Should you be—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Poland zipped up his suitcase and pulled it upright. “I’m calling a taxi. They told me I was at risk traveling publicly, so I can’t take the train to Chopin.”
“Have you talked to Lithuania?”
Poland bit his lip. “He called me earlier today, and oh God, it was so awkward—”
“It’s been two years—”
“I know. It’s just….I don’t know. We have nothing in common anymore.” Poland turned off the light in his living room and looked outside at the rain pattering on the window outside. Warsaw had a wet winter.
“That’s impossible. You’ve known each other for 700 years. I only asked because I wondered if he knows about this.”
“State Security Services probably know. He said he worked with them today.” Poland grabbed his keys off the counter. “Anyway, I’m leaving now. I’ll text you in the taxi.”
“Be careful, Poland. I know they’re your citizens, but these people are lunatics.”
“I mean, if they love Poland as much as they say they do, I doubt they’ll try to kill me or anything. Anyway talk to you soon.”
Lithuania’s computer screen was split into two documents. On the left side was an official Russian document several pages long. On the right was a Word document growing in length. Lithuania took a few seconds to read lines in Russian before typing the same text in Lithuanian on the other one. The rest of his coworkers in the office did something similar.
Lithuania normally did not check his personal phone while at work unless the meeting was excruciatingly boring or Poland kept blowing up his messages and he had to put his entire phone on silent.
However, this time in the corner of his desk, his phone lit up with a text message from someone else: Hungary.
Hey, has Poland texted or called you recently?
Intrigued, Lithuania responded. I called him this morning. Why?
He booked a plane to Budapest but he hasn’t messaged me at all since he left his apartment.
Budapest, but not Vilnius? When did he leave his apartment?
About an hour ago.
Lithuania looked at the clock. And you said he took a taxi there? Have you tried calling?
His phone’s off. It’s going straight to voicemail.
Impossible. Poland would never allow his phone to die during the day.
I’m taking the rest of the day off, Lithuania responded. I’ll drive to Warsaw.
The speedometer on Lithuania’s car read no lower than 140 kilometers an hour, as fast as Lithuania’s heart went. The dark woodlands of northeastern Poland flew by on either side of him. Hoping his new cars stereo system worked, Lithuania scrolled up on his center display and pressed a contact.
Please work. Please work. Please work.
“Hello?”
“Hungary! Oh thank God, you responded.”
“Lithuania? Have you left work yet?”
“I’m in Poland. Where are you?”
“Poland! How fast are you driving?”
“Um…” Lithuania looked at the speedometer. “Fast. I should be in Warsaw in a few hours.”
“Wow. I’m at the airport. My flight’s in an hour.”
“Y-You’re flying?” Lithuania couldn’t see himself taking a plane to Warsaw. He would have frantically paced back and forth in the terminal until his flight was called.
“It’s a lot faster than driving.”
Lithuania swallowed. “I know.” The next questioned bothered him for hours. S-So Poland was going to Budapest?”
“Well, yes, he called me right after his meeting with the ISA. He said he had to leave the country, and he wanted to come to Budapest.”
“To Budapest?” Lithuania’s heart deflated, but he knew that he shouldn’t whine to Hungary. Poland didn’t even message him after his meeting. “My supervisor mentioned that we have the ISA involved.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it. They might be formulating a plan as we speak. I’m just…” Lithuania sighed. “I’m scared for Poland. He must be so scared. You know how shy he is.”
“You sons of bitches, let me go!”
When Poland came to, he found himself in—presumably—an apartment in Warsaw with a blindfold over his eyes. No one had bothered to remove the jacket and scarf he wore outside and sweat dripped down his forehead as a result. His hands were tied up in duct tape; he could easily wrest himself free, but if he did, then he might get stabbed or shot. In other words, not get very far.
“The paperwork never mentioned he had a temper.” Poland recognized the soft voice—one of PP’s representative he’d heard on TV. Marcin Szymczak?
“Personality doesn’t matter,” a harsher voice responded to Szymczak. “His actions are a disgrace to the nation.”
Poland rolled his eyes. “You’re a disgrace. Why are you doing this?”
“Shut up, you—”
“Quiet,” Szymczak said. “Go call Tomek in the other room.”
The other man grumbled and left, slamming the door behind him. Szymczak sighed.
“Pawel can be a bit zealous,” he told Poland. “He wanted to hurt you when you first arrived, but I still respect you as the Polish nation.”
“Kidnapping me isn’t respect,” Poland snapped.
“You don’t agree with our methods. That’s to be expected.”
Poland stiffened as Szymczak stepped forward and touched the back of his head. “Wh-Wha—” Poland’s blindfold came off. Szymczak looked as well-groomed and well-dressed as he appeared in front of the cameras. A smart shirt and pants, his light brown hair slick backed—it must’ve been his outfit when he worked as a financial analyst in London.
“What’s the point of kidnapping me? You know intelligence agencies are onto you.”
“Nothing’s happened to groups like ours for a while.” Szymczak sat in a leather chair across the room from Poland.
Poland took one look around the room—at the bookshelves, oak desk, and the iMac. “Is this your home office?” he asked.
“Yes,” Szymczak said. “Most of our supporters don’t know that we have you. Only our computer experts and other higher-ups know of your existence.”
“Then what’s the damn point of keeping me if your followers don’t know about it?” Poland said.
“We don’t just want our followers to know about it. If we told our followers about you, they would rip you apart. No, we want the entire country to know about you.”
Shocked, Poland blurted out the most obvious thing. “That’s classified information!”
“We are aware of this. However, we find it imperative that the country knows you and your actions, which in my opinion do not befit the Polish nation.”
Poland blinked slowly. “…What?”
“We read your file. Your actions towards other nations in the past have been…inappropriate.”
“Oh. My. God.” Poland rolled his eyes for the second time in the room. “I already explained this to my boss.”
“Your friendliness towards Lithuania and Ukraine in light of their treatment of our countrymen, your…relationship with Lithuania. Although, he doesn’t live with you anymore so that’s a plus—”
Poland had explained this so many times that he felt nothing when a government official or someone else expressed concern about his sex life.
“You know, it’s funny that you’re what…thirty?” said Poland. “And you’re bringing up historical problems that you haven’t even lived through. Do you even remember communism? I do, and I remember World War II and the partitions and Grunwald. I knew Pilsudski and Mickiewicz and Jagiello. I’m over a thousand years old. I know more about myself than you and anyone else alive. And by the way, who I fuck is no one’s business.”
Szymczak was silent for a few moments before responding, “It’s a shame we don’t see eye to eye. It seems that you’re quite eloquent, not that I should be surprised. But unfortunately, your actions are still not appropriate. We cannot have someone like you representing the nation. In conclusion, a new Poland, other than you, must be reborn.”
But that’s not how it—Wait a minute…Poland opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. They hadn’t stolen all of his information then. He could use this to his advantage.
“I-I must be reborn?” Poland said, feigning fear.
“For the good of Poland,” Szymczak said. “You know our motto.”
“Dla lepszego narodu.” For a better nation. “So…I must die for the good of Poland?”
“That is what we believe, yes. I know that it’s harsh for you, considering you’ve lived for over 1000 years. But your sacrifice would be for the good of the country and the good of Europe.”
Poland pretended to look shocked.
“If…I have to die for the good of Poland…then…” He closed his eyes. “So be it.”
“So be it,” Szymczak repeated and put the blindfold back on Poland.
The green sign on the side of the road read Warszawa. He had slowed down significantly a few hundred miles ago, as the sun set and Lithuania felt uncomfortable driving so fast in the dark.
“I’m finally in Warsaw,” he told Hungary over the phone.
“Finally.” She had arrived in Poland three hours before. “I spoke with an ISA officer when I arrived. They have a plan to rescue Poland.”
“Alright.” Lithuania looked at the clock in his car. “Where do you want us to meet? Rakowiecka?”
“No, there’s a safe apartment in Śródmieście. A few blocks away on Chmielna. I’ll text you the address.”
Lithuania calculated how long it would take from across the river to one of Warsaw’s most southern districts. “I’ll catch you there. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Now that he was in Poland, Lithuania’s car picked up Polish radio show. Currently, it had automatically switched to Polskie Radio.
At this hour, the Vistula was pitch-black as Lithuania drove over the river, lights from the businesses on the riverfront reflecting across the water.
Compared to earlier (and partially because he slowed down the car), Lithuania’s breathing significantly slowed down. Calm down, Lithuania thought. You’re in Warsaw. Poland will be safe. He breathed out. Everything is going to be alright.
The radio blathered on and on about domestic Polish politics.
“We interrupt our daily broadcast for an emergency announcement.”
Lithuania passed through Nowe Bemowo. He turned up the volume.
“It appears that our colleagues at Wiadomośći TVP have been displaced from the newsroom a few minutes before their nine o’clock broadcast.”
“Displaced?” Lithuania asked out loud.
“They are currently safe in their offices. A group has taken control of the newsroom. We do not know if they will make an announcement.”
Lithuania wanted to call Hungary, but he didn’t want to lose the announcement on the radio either. He reached across the car to grab his phone and call—
“Because TVP is our television branch, we have now information about the—”
Something large crashed into the recording studio.
“PUT YOUR ARMS UP AND LEAVE IMMEDIATELY.”
Some yelling and more crashing sounded from the radio. People on the sidewalk checked their phones in confusion, no doubt receiving notifications as a news headline.
The noise from the radio studio ceased, and instead, a calm voice flowed from Lithuania’s stereo.
“We apologize for the interruption to our regularly scheduled program. Please stand by for an important announcement.” The radio station played an instrumental version of the Polish national anthem.
Pulling up to a red light, Lithuania took out his phone from his center console and called Hungary.
“Hello?”
“Are you hearing this?” Lithuania said.
“It might have to do with Feliks,” said Hungary.
“What?”
“I can’t say more. I’m in a meeting. I’m sorry. Just meet us three blocks away from the TVP studio where Poland is being held.”
“Where’s that? Aren’t they in Mokotów?”
Hungary asked someone else in Polish. “Not the studio for Wiadomośći. Plac Powstańców Warszawy. It’s in Śródmieście. You can’t miss it. We’ll meet you there.” Hungary ended the call.
Śródmieście! Lithuania pressed his foot to the gas. That was a twenty-minute drive with the current traffic, from the north to downtown Warsaw.
Forget about the police. Warsaw was bright enough anyway so at least Lithuania could see.
Poland, like Hungary and Lithuania, was a nation. He could not die, at least, not permanently unless the Polish nation and its people was erased from existence. He could be stabbed, shot, drowned, tortured, and somehow be revived as fit and healthy as before.
Still, as someone who had experienced all of that during his life, Lithuania found it deeply unpleasant. Despite immortality, nations did not seek pain.
Which made the thought of Poland being threatened or tortured worse to Lithuania. He may never die but Lithuania did not want to see him hurt either.
On the third loop of Mazurek Dabrowskiego, the song stopped in the middle of the third verse.
“My fellow Poles.”
Lithuania turned up the volume to its highest setting.
“We believe that today is a day to begin a new Poland. As such, one of our own has uncovered a government secret that will change how you view the country forever—”
Oh no.
A sea of news vehicles and cameras from private Polish media organizations and foreign news organizations crowded a few blocks away from TVP studios.
Lithuania shut off the car and entered the apartment complex.
“Laurinaitis is here!” Hungary exclaimed, pulling Lithuania into a massive hug. Unlike the others in the room, she wore no protective armor nor even carried a weapon.
“Toris! You finally came.” She disengaged from the hug. “This is Baranowski,” she said, gesturing to a man with a bulletproof vest in the middle of the room.
“You must be Lithuania,” said Baranowski, going over to him. He shook Lithuania’s hand. “Rafał Baranowski. I’ll be leading the mission. I trust you’ll be staying here.”
“No!” Lithuania said. “I want to be involved in the raid.”
“Do you have any military experience?” a blond agent asked scornfully.
“Do you remember the Battle of Vienna?” Lithuania snapped. The other agent gave him an incredulous look in response.
“Laurinaitis’ position is similar to Hedervary and Łukasiewicz’s,” Baranowski explained. “He’s been here for a while. Give him a vest, Taser, and gun. Now remember, this is a rescue situation, not a hostage one. We don’t know how many TVP workers are trapped inside, but PP has not made any indication that they are hostages nor have they entered into negotiations with us. Łukasiewicz should be in the studio for Wiadomośći in the TVP building.” The scornful agent handed Lithuania a Taser. “The fortunate part is that the members of PP involved is so small that we should be able to enter the building with ease. The priority is to get him off of television. If he gets shot, so be it.”
Lithuania flinched at the idea of Poland getting hurt, but it was true. Poland could survive a bullet to the head.
“We want him alive or dead?” asked another agent.
“Yes, because…wait, what level clearance do you have?”
As Lithuania threw on the bulletproof vest and body armor, Baranowski explained the plan. Baranowski, Lithuania, and the others would conduct a straight-up rescue mission through the headquarters. Snipers would be set up on the roofs of nearby buildings in case of emergencies. The fact that it was dark outside worked to their advantage.
As they moved to leave, Lithuania looked over at Hungary, who was still sitting on a chair without a vest or weapon. “You’re not going?”
Hungary shook her head. “I didn’t get approval from my boss to go on this raid.”
Lithuania gulped. “O-Oh…”
“Did…you not ask for your boss’ approval?”
Lithuania blushed and felt idiotic. “I...never thought of that…” He got permission to go to Warsaw and ran out of the office as quick as he could.
“I know you want to save Poland, but should you be getting involved in this without permission?”
Lithuania gestured at his bullet-proof vest and the weapons on his belt. “I think it’s a little too late to turn back now.”
Hungary stared at him oddly. “Huh…” she said. “If I remember correctly, you’ve almost always followed rules to a T, especially if it comes to your boss.”
She had a point. After all, he even made dinner for his President the night France hosted a massive Halloween party.
“But…” Lithuania said the first thing that popped into his head. “Poland isn’t my boss.”
“Everyone, out!” Baranowski yelled. “We’re heading to the main building. Our target is the studio for Wiadomośći.”
The studio that held Poland was, thankfully, much smaller than the monstrous TVP building in Mokotow Lithuania had seen on occasion. It stood in a non-descript white building in a square. Snipers crouched on the nearby bank building and helicopters buzzed overhead.
After entering the building through a side entrance, their group of ten split off into groups of five. The scornful agent who asked about Lithuania, named Karnowski, led Lithuania’s group.
They silently paced through the pale hallways, the only sound coming from their shoes and gripping their weapons. Fluorescent lights flickered above them.
It was deserted.
“Clear,” said Karnowski, closing the door on the fifth room they came across on the second floor.
“We’ve confirmed that they’re in this complex, right?” another agent in their group said. His name was Lewicki.
“We’ve confirmed that they’re clearly broadcasting from the Wiadomośći studio,” Karnowski said. “Now the only question is where the—”
Bang! Bang! Bang! from the floor below.
“Sudas!”
“Live fire!
“One of us is down!” Baranowski said over the various shots in the room. “All of the workers were taken here. PP is returning live ammu—”
His radio cut out.
“Kurwa, kurwa,” muttered Karnowski, his eyes wide in concern. “They need our help.”
“Laurinaitis! We’ll reinforce them. You, head to Studio Wiadomośći.”
As quickly as Lithuania nodded, the other four fled down the hallway and left.
Studio Wiadomośći.
The first thing Lithuania tried to find was the staircase going up. The notes they went over aid that the studio was on the third floor of the complex. He found a stairwell and pulled out his Taser.
Lithuania stopped and heard footsteps outside of the door leading to the third floor.
“So do you really think that Szymczak managed to get the actual personification of the country?” one of them asked.
He must have been talking through a radio because the next thing Lithuania heard was, “I know. This sounds idiotic.”
He stopped outside of the door.
“Geez, I hope no one’s dead—”
Lithuania threw open the door.
“Hey—!”
Lithuania fired the Taser, and the man screamed before dropping to the floor.
Shit.
Lithuania bolted down the hallway, hoping and praying that he headed in the right direction to the studio. The man’s scream should have alerted other guards in the building.
His feet pounded the floor. His eyes scanned every door he passed by just in case it led to the studio. Footsteps
Wiadomośći…Wiadomośći…Wiado—Oh that’s TVP Info.
He turned a corner and saw the sign on the door.
Studio Wiadomośći.
He opened the studio door just a crack, and then wider and wider. Szymczak sat at the presenter’s table, still continuing with his speech. In the seat next to him sat Poland with his arms tied behind his back.
“By eliminating this man, we are ushering in the era of a new Poland. The new Poland will represent Polish interests everywhere, stand up against nations who have wronged us, and…”
But something was off. There was a certain coyness to Poland’s expression underneath that fear. Lithuania had seen Poland truly terrified in the past. What was he playing at?”
“It is time for this news Poland to be born.” Szymczak then pulled out a pistol and laid it on the table. Poland gulped but otherwise made no other motion.
Forgetting all years of training, Lithuania slammed the door open. “FELIKS!”
Everyone, from the crew to Szymczak and Poland, snapped their attention Lithuania. Poland’s face shocked Lithuania most of all. It was a combination of shock and…a hint of anger, like Lithuania had ruined some grand plan of his.
Szymczak put the gun to Poland’s head and pulled the trigger.
“NO!” screamed Lithuania. “POLAND, NO—”
A stinging sensation landed in Lithuania’s head as all sound stopped. ISA agents poured into the room from all sides, and the room went dark.
“S-Sir, he’s breathing again—”
Lithuania’s eyesight fell in and out of focus, staring up at the ceiling.
“Wh-What…”
Out of the corner of Lithuania’s vision, two armed men tackled Szymczak and others to the ground.
“Can someone check on Łukasiewicz?”
An agent stepped behind the news podium to look at Poland’s body. “He’ll take some time.”
“Ugh…agh!” A sharp pain jolted through Lithuania’s skull; his body rejected the bullet. It fell with a small clatter onto the floor.
“How do you feel, Laurinaitis?” asked the agent
“Like I got shot in the head.” Lithuania managed to send his body into a sitting position. Blood splattered on his face, helmet, and the front of his bulletproof vest.
“He’s moving again!”
With groans, the gory figure stood up behind the podium, his once-honey blond hair caked with red.
“Wh-Where am…Liet?” Poland squinted, whether from the pain or surprise. “What’re you doing here?”
“Poland…” Lithuania forced himself onto his knees, holding one side of his head.
With his body still gripping the podium, Poland staggered around to the other side. “L-Liet…Liet!” As if realizing the fact that Lithuania had been shot, he stumbled in Lithuania’s direction. “You’re hurt!”
“I-I’m fine. Don’t hurt yourself, Po!”
Poland crawled on his hands and knees to Lithuania. “You came all the way here…?”
“Y-Yeah…”
Poland stopped in front of Lithuania. “Liet.” He put his hand on the side of Lithuania’s head. “Liet, you’re hurt.”
“It was just a flesh wound for us. Po…” Like Poland, Lithuania rested his hand on Poland’s cheek.
“I…You ruined my plan!”
“What?!”
“You weren’t supposed to save me! I wanted to get shot!”
Lithuania stared at him. “What?”
“Szymczak doesn’t know that we revive! I was gonna play dead until the cameras stopped rolling and I’d scare the shit out of him!”
“You’re still alive?!” Szymczak yelled from across the room. He had his wrists in handcuffs. “I shot you in the head.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” Poland snapped.
After millions in Poland and abroad witnessed Poland (or in their eyes, an innocent man) being murdered on national television, public opinion quickly turned against Poland First. The organization headquarters had been raided by the ISA, the most prominent members arrested, and the organization forcibly disbanded.
The fire crackled in the electric fireplace as Hungary, Poland, and Lithuania sat in chairs around it. Poland had given each of them a bottle of Żywiec that he had in the fridge. After Hungary bombarded Poland with hugs and cries of “I saw the whole thing!” they decided to stay inside Poland’s apartment as it seemed all of Warsaw was turned upside down.
“How long do you two have to stay here?” asked Hungary.
“At least a day,” said Lithuania. “They want to check for footage of me being shot or recorded.”
Hungary frowned. “That’s understandable.” She turned to Poland. “How about you?”
Poland sighed. “A week. I’m basically under house arrest while the investigation is ongoing.”
Lithuania turned to Poland. “What will you do?”
Poland shrugged. “I dunno. Play piano. Watch the news. Read.”
“Well,” Hungary set down her empty bottle, “I’m out.”
“Hungary!”
Hungary stood up. “You two. Make up. Now.”
Poland looked like he had seen a ghost. “Wh-Where’re you going?”
“I have a flight to Vienna.” Hungary gathered her bags. “And please only message me when you’re done.” She left the room.
“Well…”
Poland looked at the ceiling.
“So uhh…you weren’t acting like yourself.”
“Hungary made that remark earlier too!” Lithuania said. “What’s so hard to believe about that?”
“I dunno. The Liet I know would risk life and limb to save me from terrorists. But without getting permission from his boss?”
“Did Hungary tell you that?”
Lithuania checked his phone for the first time in hours, His boss left no less than thirty messages. “Oh…”
“Well…thanks,” Poland said. “For saving me. Even if you did ruin my plan.”
“Ah yes…your plan.” Lithuania chuckled. “And that was…?”
“To let him shoot me.”
“Anyway?! Why?”
Lithuania sighed. “I didn’t come in time.”
Poland chuckled. “Not every life and death situation has to be a repeat of Grunwald.”
“You were still shot.”
“We were both shot. That also wasn’t a part of my plan” Poland took a sip of his beer. “Hungary also said that…” His hands flexed around the glass. “…You acted a little funny when she mentioned that I was on my way to Budapest.”
Lithuania blushed, whether from the alcohol or embarrassment. “…Yes. I mean.” He sighed. “I tried not to show it.”
“What was that about?” Poland asked.
“Err…” Lithuania watched the beer swirl in his glass. “You didn’t talk to me after you found out. I would have offered you a place to stay.”
“You could’ve called me yourself,” said Poland.
“That…” Lithuania wanted to kick himself; it took hours for Poland to tell him the most obvious solution. How stupid. Even if Poland’s life wasn’t at risk, his hostile countrymen found out his existence. “…Makes sense.”
Poland bit his lip. “You called me earlier today, but that conversation was…”
“Not good.”
“So what are we?” Poland blurted out. “We’ve been talking like that for the past few months.”
“Friends,” Lithuania said immediately.
Poland felt like rolling his eyes. Friends would be a massive understatement for what they went through—and had done, to put it lightly—together.
“Do friends have awkward conversations like four times a week?”
“I am not moving back in with you,” said Lithuania.
“I never said you should move back in.” Poland hated it when Lithuania moved out, but he wondered why Lithuania made that assumption.
“You keep alluding to it,” Lithuania said.
“Because I miss you,” Poland said.
He blushed. He shouldn’t be blushing. “I don’t want you to move back with me, but can’t I be allowed to miss you?”
The fire continued to crackle as Lithuania took a large gulp of his beer.
“I’m sorry, Poland.
Poland checked his watch. “Well, it’s getting late. I think I’ll be heading to bed.”
“Thank you for the drink.” Lithuania set his glass down. He froze, his expression like a deer in the headlights. “Was my car impounded?”
“You can stay here,” Poland said. “Your spare bedroom is still here.”
“Thank you.” Lithuania stood up. “I think I’ll go to bed now too. I’ll see wherever my car is tomorrow. Are you going to your bedroom?”
Poland nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ll stay in my bedroom tonight.”
By the time morning dawned, Poland had curled up in Lithuania’s chest.
Prompt: A terrorist group with a grudge against nations kidnaps Poland and wants to shoot him on live TV. Lithuania goes to save him and they get shot together.
I had to go with the high school au, even though all your prompts were really good, I just love the idea of them being high school sweethearts. So here you go, I hope you like it! (also hi, Toris is both a nerd and listens to emo music, no one is able to tell me otherwise)
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: nyo!lithuania, nyo!poland (nyo!france and a couple others mentioned)
NOTES: @kyuhu Merry Christmas!!!! I was so thrilled to be your @lietpolsecretsanta! I loved all your prompts, so I tried to put in a tiny references at least to all of them. The main one started from was art/painting: how they feel about old paintings, and attempting to draw each other. And then I just ran with it and took off on a bunch of tangents about intimacy and identity and bodies and gender expression and That Time in the 1800s they Sad Hugged all the night through, and That Time in the 1980s when Poland took a private road trip to Norway by herself and threw up after drinking too many fizzy drinks…… It’s quite a lot longer than I’d planned! You always draw nyo!lietpol in such beautiful distinctive clothes – and what have I gone and done but make them try to draw each other naked ;; The idea just would not leave me alone.
CONTAINS: really really non explicit nudity, non explicit sexual content.
There was a painting, one of a hundred portraits in Warsaw Castle, of Lithuania as a young man. No one had apparently bothered to make a careful enough note of her elaborately crafted alias at the time, so “Young Man” was all it said on the painting’s description. It wasn’t an official portrait. The artist had just painted her the way she appeared at the Polish Court in the 1700s: a young nobleman working on state business and dancing with a certain young-despite-her-years blonde countess of indeterminate rank. Around that time, the two of them tended to change identity with each incoming monarch or three, and it was simply more convenient to be a man, for dancing with Poland, and for other reasons.
There were a few other representations of Lithuania in the Castle, and Poland too, but metaphorical ones. Like the one where their union was represented by two men passionately embracing in full armour. In reality, fully armoured embraces were challenging. Or, was that supposed to be some altogether more depressing and depressingly accurate metaphor in itself? So much for two souls one body; had they always been guarding their hearts so diligently?
There were no from-life portraits of Poland. “Not distinctive enough,” was her explanation, “I’d just be archetypal Blonde Woman, only,” she clapped her hands over her barely-there breasts, “lacking a couple of the main like cultural signifiers.” Which wasn’t fishing for a compliment: Poland was quite happy being out of step with the cultural signifiers of womanhood. “And who’d want to paint me as a boy when they had you around?” Which was fishing; most of the time if you wanted to flatter Poland you called her handsome rather than pretty.
The real reason was probably just her shyness, or the fact that she couldn’t sit still, but anyway, there was no extant portrait of Poland herself.
This was about to change.
***
“Naked?” Lithuania repeated.
“Yes! The book says it’s a totally intimacy-increasing experience.”
The Book said a lot of things. The book was the reason the two of them had date nights these days, despite being officially together for over twenty years, and unofficially together for several hundred. Lithuania liked the book, but this seemed… Extreme.
“And, come on, it’ll just be fun.”
Lithuania laughed. “Funny for sure… Since when have either of us been visual artists?”
Poland waved this away. “I can’t draw for toffee, I know, but I expect if I concentrated… Anyway, the picture isn’t the point, it’s the experience not the outcome. The sexy sexy experience.”
“I’m not sure life drawing is actually as sexy as people think…”
“It could be!”
“You just want to recreate that scene from Titanic, don’t you?”
Poland beamed. “You’re right, I so do, how did you know?”
“Well, you’ve been draping yourself over the furniture and saying draw me like one of your French girls ever since we watched the DVD.”
“Do you really actually not want to do it?” Poland asked, glancing up between her legs from her position draped over the arm of a sofa. “We don’t have to if you don’t actually want to.”
Maybe that was the relationship book talking but however Poland seemed to have internalised that little thoughtfulness, Lithuania appreciated it.
“Sweetheart,” she said, walking round to sit down beside her, “no, I um… I don’t think it’s necessarily a terrible idea. I’m just thinking about it.”
“Okay!” said Poland brightly, still upside down. “Mm, yes just think about it, think about, you know… The nudity. The bosoms. Both of them. Wait, do I have two bosoms or is it like a collective noun of breasts, we have one bosom each…?”
Poland’s sexy talk could go from sixty to zero in two seconds flat. It was adorable.
But Lithuania was now, nevertheless, thinking of it. Of Poland lounging like she was now, but naked, kicking her bare legs up in the air because as Lithuania imagined her she was silly with giggles again, trying to gaze all sultry through her lashes and sneezing as hair got in her face. She was so beautiful like that, or calmer, as in Lithuania’s other imagining, with her expression both vague and intent. And all the shape and solidity and slenderness and softness of her body in repose, and the invitation - the request - for Lithuania to stare. And Poland staring back at her, giving her her full attention in order to draw her…
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, what the hell, let’s try that for our next date.”
“Eee!” Poland squealed. “I’m going to practise so your picture isn’t actually awful. Baby, thank you.”
***
Poland said: “Is that a wolf pelt??”
They were back at Lithuania’s house, two weeks later. The night of the big date.
“No, noo it’s very fake,” Lithuania reassured her. “America got it for me recently, to watch Game of Thrones with she said.”
“You’ve got just loads of blankets and stuff here!”
“Yes – well I know you feel the cold. I’ve turned up the heating as well so you should be comfortable for our artistic endeavours.”
“Aw, Liet! That’s so nice. I love you.”
They could say now over something as casual as blankets.
Poland had claimed the bed and Lithuania the sofa opposite.
“So… do we…” Poland began.
It was feeling almost as awkward as undressing in front of each other for the first time. Perhaps awkwardness wasn’t the word. More like some combination of shortness of breath and reverential awe.
Poland pulled off her sweatshirt and t-shirt in one go.
“You’re wearing a bra!!” Lithuania exclaimed. Poland didn’t wear bras. She quoted scientific research on their inefficacy at dinner parties.
But today she was wearing one and it was red, and lacy.
“Like it? It’s pretty uncomfortable.”
“You can get bras fitted you know,” Lithuania said automatically.
Poland glared at her. “YOU only know that cos I told you, and have you ever?”
“Well…”
"I don’t need to because I only wear them for Aesthetic and Sex purposes.”
“I like you whatever underwear you wear,” Lithuania assured her. “This is certainly… aesthetic.”
“And?”
“Sexy. Obviously.”
Poland cooed, pleased. “Okay but. It feels totally weird to be taking off my own clothes at a time like this. Hint HINT.”
“Oh,” said Lithuania, “in that case…”
She hopped across and wrapped her arms around Poland, who fairly purred. Poland was always complaining of feeling cold but just then Lithuania could have sworn she felt warmth radiating from the soft skin of her arms and back and shoulders. She loved touching her so much.
Poland had just time to say, You’re allowed to kiss me too, you know…
***
“I thought we were just taking your clothes off…”
“Mmm. Yours seemed kind of indicated, you know? Anyway, you helped.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lithuania agreed. “I am quite happy with this state of affairs.”
“You could draw me naked. I mean, you could draw me naked while you’re naked.”
Lithuania rolled onto her side on the bed and leaned up on one elbow. “I suppose we couldn’t just draw each other at the same time?”
“We are the lesbian ladies, dude, we totally know how to take turns!”
Lithunia laughed. Poland looked thoughtful.
“But maybe?” she said. “Actually yeah? Only, I wanted us to be lying down, like in the film. You could lie on the sofa.”
“Yeahh, they’re not going to be such great drawings if we’re drawing lying down too…”
“Yeahhhh, well not to speak for you but mine is not going to be such greatness however I do it.”
“Even after all your practising?” Lithuania couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Oh boy.” Poland rolled onto her back and told her tragic tale to the ceiling. “I looked up. All these naked people. For drawing, on the Internet, that’s thing number one, and thing number two… What’s that Simpsons quote? ‘I thought you could lip read.’ / ‘I assumed I could!’, only for lip reading take life drawing. You just draw what you see, how hard can it be? Really really hard, apparently, I apologise fulsomely in advance for the art I am about to produce.”
“Poland…”
“Yee?” Poland turned her head and winked at her, not truly upset at all.
“Shush you. Experience not outcomes. We’ll still have sexy fun.”
“Yay!”
“But!” Lithuania stirred herself and swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “If we’re both drawing lying down, we’ll need something to lean on. Just a minute.”
She strode off out of the room down the hall.
After half a minute Poland called after her, “I’m putting on clothes, but just cos I’m cold not because I’m unsexy!”
Opening the hall cupboard, Lithuania called back, “You’re never unsexy! Also it really isn’t cold now!”
“Oh yeah! Force of habit I guess.”
When she came back, in carrying two clipboards, Poland was wearing the t-shirt Lithuania had just taken off, and the wolf skin.
“This is nice and warm,” she said. “I Like it.”
“Good.”
“Whaat?”
“What what?”
“What’s your face?”
“Just… you look so precious, dear-heart. My little wolfling.”
Poland hugged the fake fur tighter and made a sound like “gnooow”.
“Here,” said Lithuania, “clipboard, and we’ve got pencils and paper.”
“Uhhh… Why do you have a clipboard from World Expo '92?” Poland asked. “You throw away everything and you keep the weirdest stuff like 90s conference freebies and this wolf thing.”
“Because they’re useful! I keep useful things, you only know about these "weird” things because they’re useful.“
"I bet you have loads of other weird stuff,” Poland continued blithely, holding to her theory. “I think it’s cute. And practically vintage.”
Lithuania sat down on her sofa and rolled her eyes. “You are hardly one to talk about hoarding!”
“This is true.” (Not that Poland had been able to hoard at all consistently throughout much of her life, but she’d been making up for lost time.) “I am judging not lest I be judged.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“What, my adherence to scriptural injunctions or my hoarding?” (Again, she’d give up flippancy when she gave up salty snacks.)
“The whole thing. Everything about you.”
“I’m very naked,” said Poland, flinging the wolf skin off one shoulder and spilling her legs wide open.
“That’s also very nice.”
“Not as naked as you though! With your naked cupboard rummaging. Hm…” She pulled the t shirt off again. “I want you draw me wearing this… beautiful fake wolf skin…”
It had taken long enough, but there was very little else they could do to put off the moment of beginning and putting pencil to paper.
“And you’ll be just… naked as the day the day you were, yeah?” Poland rattled on. “It’s definitely a good look.”
“Why, thank you…”
“Okay so let’s arrange ourselves how to be going to… Got to be slightly comfortable so we can hold the pose.”
They did so.
“And,” Poland continued, “we don’t have to draw the clipboards, right, or… Well, see how it looks?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, let’s… And it doesn’t have to be deadly silent, we can talk a bit if we want?”
“Of course!”
“Okay.”
They didn’t speak for a few minutes though, beyond “ahh that wasn’t what I meant to do” “I think I should have drawn you bigger I’m wasting this bit of the paper…” Lithuania became very aware of her own breathing as she tried to stay reasonably still, while drawing, while watching Poland. She could see how this could be something very meditative, although leaning on her arm like this probably wasn’t something that she could keep up for hours on end.
She kept getting a flash of Poland’s eyes. Bright and quick, like a watch face catching the light.
She tried to keep her breathing regular. And draw what she saw.
**
“Baby? Do that thing with your mouth again?”
“Thing?”
Poland shifted and the wolfskin moved with her and—
“Oh…”
“That thing. Liet… You’re so lovely. And I’m really sorry I’m not getting, like, any of this.”
But she chewed her lip, concentrating hard over her drawing, trying her very best.
**
“Speaking of French girls,” Poland said some time later, pausing her pencil, “did France ever write you a poem?”
“Ohhhh. Yes. A couple, I think. You?”
“Yeah. It was really sweet actually. If it was anyone else you’d think she pre-wrote and reused them, but…”
“Not she.”
“She also… shipped us pretty fanatically, didn’t she.”
“That was… yeah.”
That was… odd, and would be almost awkward if they weren’t so blisteringly grateful.
“She did all that to get us together…” Lithuania sighed. “…whatever we thought about it!”
“Do you think we were just getting so annoying she wanted both of us off her hands? I probably was.”
“Heh, maybe.”
“Would she have tried so hard if she’d really actually wanted one of us for herself? Or both I guess?”
“She…” Lithuania frowned. It was hard to tell with France. “She… might.”
“Oh geez,” said Poland. “Was she being noble?”
“PROBABLY.” Ugh. “Only she could be that smug about it!”
**
Lithuania had dimmed the lights, and the glow, and the warmth made her remember firelit chambers and candles flickering.
Poland’s skin in candlelight was like soft white gold.
**
That picture of Lithuania in the Castle is way up high. That’s okay, Lithuania thinks. She isn’t sure about looking into the eyes of the Young Man after all these years.
“They must have a big ladder around somewhere to dust the pictures,” Poland had offered, “Maybe we could borrow.”
“Noo, it’s fine.”
“I was up there when they were reconstructing, you know! On a deckchair on the scaffolding.”
“You painted a ceiling!?”
“Ohh no, just while the painter was on her break. I just like being up high.”
The face in the painting looked somehow surprisingly confident, even from ground level. Lithuania hadn’t realised - or perhaps remembered - that she came across that way back then. (Dude you did, Poland said, not to mention next in the 1800s - totally intimidating. Of course, by then she had been trying. She used to practise freezing people with a glance. What other weapons had she left?)
It was a good painting, then: and she didn’t particularly want to look at it. The young man in the picture had grown stern and cold even with those closest to him. She realised now how hard it must have been for Poland.
“I guess I look pretty nice,” she said aloud. “Still don’t know if these paintings were the best use of everyone’s time and funds.”
“Ooh,” Poland exclaimed, “are we having a debate about the utility and cost/benefit of art now?”
“No, thank you!”
And they walked through into the next room which provided a rather cynical and certain answer. It was full of intricate facing portraits of all the European monarchs just before—a mere decade before—they’d got together to break up what remained of the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth.
Poland and Lithuania looked round at their fancy faces.
“I’m not mad,” Poland told them sternly, as she always did, “just so disappointed in you guys.”
It was… something, to walk around the castle again when honest to goodness it looked very very much like it used to, except for the people, in the 1700s, that time of not unmixed blessings.
But you had to see it as a new place too, Poland said. The narrative you had to see rather was the saving and reconstruction of this place by people who were mostly were neither royal nor powerful but who were noble in the best sense.
They put it back together largely despite the governments of the time who were not… overwhelmingly helpful. That was Poland’s opinion. There was a slight edge to her voice there, or it could be just the usual sore throat she got after some sustained shouting for justice.
**
“Hey… Do you want to take a break a minute and get a drink?”
“What?” Poland seemed dazed a second. “Oh, yes, let’s.”
Drawing was thirsty work, especially with the heating. It was also intense in a way neither of them had expected, whatever the book had forewarned. Lithuania understood Poland’s dazed look, had been drinking in every look of hers hardly realising what she was doing. They were four feet apart and intimate, touching, aching to be really touching…
“There’s water…” Lithuania called from the kitchen, “blackcurrant… I don’t think we should have alcohol… Coffee?”
“Noo, hot drinks take too long!” Poland called back.
“Coca-Cola? I seem to have Coca-Cola for some reason.”
“Hahaha no, blackcurrant please!”
“Didn’t you used to like Coke?” Lithuania asked, coming back into the room, with two glasses of blackcurrant cordial and no clothes on.
“I used to try to… Thanks.” Poland took a long slow sip and set the drink down on the bedside table. “Wanted to see what it tastes like to kiss America maybe.”
“Ha ha.”
“Did I tell you, one time I drove like private road trip all the way to Norway with a boot full of fizzy drinks.”
“No?? You don’t even like to drive anymore!”
“Eh, it was the 80s, try anything once, specially if it was illegal.”
“Was it?”
“Probably not as such. I absolutely didn’t find out. Anyway yeah, I downed three cans of coke and threw up under the northern lights.”
“Why?!”
“I ate too much sugar? Oh like why why… Because I could, I guess.”
“Do you know,” Lithuania said, “only Scotland out of the whole world held out against Coca-Cola.”
“Irn Bru is like so weird, what’s even in it?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I’m going to ask next time I’m there.”
**
Break over, they repositioned themselves. Who knew it would take this long, honestly! How’s your arm? How about you baby? Not tooo much longer but I’m OK to keep going if you are…
**
“I think…” Poland announced, “that I’m kinda getting your hair anyway. Nowhere near doing it justice of course. Hey… do you remember, when we first got back together and… when we went to bed, in my crappy old apartment, you undid your hair and I said…”
“You said it was beautiful,” Lithuania finished, smiling.
“Yeah. It’s so beautiful, Liet. Was that okay? I kinda thought… you looked like it wasn’t quite.”
“Oh…” Lithuania considered.
“Hey, don’t move your pose!”
“Sorry. But yes, back then… I don’t know. I have actually gotten a lot more relaxed with that sort of thing.”
“Mm, the most relaxed person I know… Nah, I’m kidding. I can kind of tell.”
“You’ve helped with that, you know.”
Poland blinked, genuinely surprised. “Me help you with body confidence stuff? Wow, who’da thunk.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well just… uh. You know, you do know how much trouble I used to have with stuff before you?”
“Po. Sweetheart.”
“Ahh.” Po scratched frustratedly at her paper. “Okay nope this isn’t working. Hey so, what if we scratch this and take photos?”
"Noo.”
“No, yeah.”
“It wouldn’t look good anyway and…”
“I know, who do you trust, right?”
“—you.”
Poland caught her breath. “B-but very few others.”
“Certainly not the phone people!!” Lithuania declared.
“Maybe we could get like studio shots done? Not naked. I mean like you used to get miniatures painted. Why’d we never do that? I dunno what we’d do with pictures though…”
“Put them in lockets?”
“Aww. Yeah maybe! I just always think it’s a bit weird when people have like pictures of themselves on the wall. Except wedding photos. I guess that’s okay.”
“Well we could get a print of that Bacciarelli,” Lithuania suggested innocently.
Poland guffawed. “What, 'Two Knights Embracing’? Yeah that’d certainly cheer up an entire side of the house! Come to think of it why don’t we just move back into Warsaw Castle, I’m sure no one could possibly object!”
They didn’t, and hadn’t ever, carried each other’s photo in their wallets. It was, basically, some kind of security risk. (Of course, technically so was just about everything these days: if anyone got hold of their text messages things would get extremely awkward extremely fast for all sorts of people.)
**
For the longest time, Poland hadn’t had any sort of photo of Lithuania. At one point she’d assumed she could at least pick up a postcard of that portrait, but apparently not. Anyway it seemed… not quite right to buy that image in a gift shop with out Liet’s knowing.
She could have carried that in her wallet though, and no one would even ask, “Who’s your young man?” because oils weren’t the medium of choice these days. Even if young men were still the socially acceptable gender of choice, if anyone was to ask. Still.
The fact that the artist, drawing from life, thought he was painting a young man and… therefore on some level chose to, what did that mean? Probably nothing. It’s a PAINTING, people don’t know who it is but they look at it and name it Young Man—basically because of the clothes.
They’d had that talk, walking back to her house in Warsaw. Do you think olden days people would even… what would they think? I mean would they be confused about EVERYONE’S gender - would trousers just throw them a blinder? Like the ‘What is this strange foreign garb’ bit from time travel movies? Probably not medieval people: we all wore the gnarliest dresses we could afford back then. Maybe later with the more Structured styles of dress…
But I mean. They must have known women had LEGS. Come on.
It’s a Different Worldview though, you know…
Like… the former acceptability of passionate Romantic Friendships between friends of the same sex, you mean?
Like the permeability of reality and metaphor?
**
Hugging with armour on. For Heaven’s sake, how ridiculous.
The knights in the painting though—you had to admit they were trying their damnedest even so.
**
You can’t live like that though. Try though you might.
What, years apart [trying to/pretending to] [hate you/be over you] interspersed with one night of sad hugging in the City of Lights? No not really.
This is much better.
**
Poland chewed the end of her pencil and applied herself to studying the shadow cast by Liet’s right nipple.
**
Lithuania’s pencil hung in the air.
“Alright, I’m thinking about the hair thing,” she said.
“Ah?”
“The last time I wore it down a lot was way back then, in the 1700s.”
“When you sat for that portrait.”
“Yeah. Can I ask you something?”
“Oh? Yes?”
“Um. Was it because of me getting… distant, before the partitions, that you starting wearing men’s clothes too?”
Poland felt her pulse high and fast in her throat. Why did this always happen. She wanted to have these serious talks. But this… hadn’t been what she was expecting. “N-no. No, not really. That was to join the legions and… I mean I’ve been doing that for… longer than you probably…” She trailed off.
“I know!” said Lithuania hurriedly. “I guess I thought that was more… for fun, dressing up. You always seem to… enjoy the fancy aspect.”
“Just because it was frivolous,” Poland managed, “doesn’t mean I wasn’t also really serious about it. And, really confused, for ages.”
“Honey!” Lithuania leaned forward, almost breaking her pose again. “Hey, I’m so sorry.”
Poland felt a rush of affection, sweet and heady as blackcurrant cordial. “It’s okay.” It was. “I was all over the place, but I am basically fine about it now, now it is fun. I wanted to hear about you!”
“I’m also basically fine!”
“Liiiet…”
“I feel silly. But… Well, I was just thinking what you were saying about hair. Because I remember it sort of sat oddly with me at the time. ‘Beautiful’, you said. But it seems I’m okay with it now. More than okay. I suppose I’ve stopped worrying about it, so much. My, uh, image.”
“I’m glad,” said Poland, “but just know you can talk to me this time round if there’s anything. I’ll be your new image consultant, or whatever.”
**
Of course, image perhaps wasn’t quite the word. Anyway it was hard to define accurately the borders between that term and identity.
They had been Unofficially Together, but less so in the 1700s. It went sour. Poland wondered: you said you dressed as a man to be with me in a sociably acceptable way, but you weren’t with me. Not really.
They had danced together, but that was about it. Dancing while the world fell apart around them – yet another picture of the era.
And those splendid smart outfits Poland could now not wear were suddenly like a barrier between them.
It didn’t matter to her if Lithuania had wanted to or needed to wear these clothes and play this role for some other, inside reason! Poland, Poland of all people, understood that! But because they had agreed this was for social acceptability, Poland had to keep up her end of the bargain and so she was trapped in skirts and dresses through one of the suckiest periods of her entire life.
Not of course that it would have made any difference. She didn’t really act differently. Lithuania may well have felt trapped too by then. Neither of them would have been any more effective and powerful by [presenting / pretending / feeling / being] another gender…
Still. It had made her feel her powerlessness particularly hard.
She could hardly express the relief when she got her hands on a lancer’s uniform, and not just because it was objectively speaking the best, most envied and most copied military uniform of the age.
Poland shook herself out of this gloomy train of thought. Yeah, okay, so maybe ABSOLUTELY ATROCIOUS external circumstances did have quite a lot to do with the breakdown of our relationship. Fair enough. We needn’t be too hard on ourselves.
I guess, she thought, I’d just like to make sure that now, the world being what it is… we could survive even that together.
**
“I suppose,” Lithuania said, “I’ve just gotten more used to being loved.”
And Poland’s heart squeezed.
“Po… I think after all this, we must be meant. Isn’t it crazy—I’ve pretty much stopped worrying about that too. I’m…” – it’s a big word, brace for it – “secure?” She laughed a little nervously. “Anyway, we’re doing the book, so we should be okay.”
“Yes!!”
“And we were terrible at not being together. We said we were broken up in the 1800s,” (I said that, she thought, I did) “but first chance we get we’re—”
“–clutching each other the whole night through and crying into each other’s pillows,” finished Poland. Yes, she remembered that; how could she forget?
**
Maybe if I like shade in some more, Poland thought, this will look elegant and refined, the shapes merely suggested but with perfect ease… Oooor maybe it will look like a smudgy mess. Damn.
What I’ve done is I’ve basically drawn her face in much more detail and darker pencil than the rest of her, thought Lithuania, deciding to firmly re-outline the rest of the picture. Which would be alright if the face actually looked like Poland’s face which it… apart from something about the eyebrows… sadly did not.
Hey ho! Experience not outcome. Nearly done, anyway.
**
The silence was stretching out and Poland wasn’t sure if she wanted to break it. The way they looked at each had changed. They weren’t glancing up and down and awkward from face to paper any more. In fact neither of them had drawn a stroke in good minute. They were just looking at each other, at each familiar, lovely inch, and smiling. She felt drained, but good.
“Is this what you thought it would feel like?” Lithuania asked softly, as if reading her mind.
“It is kinda full-on. The book said it would be, but wow. I can see… Maybe it’s like when you’re in a play. You don’t really get confused who you are unless you want to, but you might fall in love with your love interest a small bit.”
“Hn, do you speak from experience?”
“There may have been some silly revue for the troops with England right at the end of the war then…”
“Let me guess. You were the dashing Polish airman?”
“No actually! I was the blushing British plucky WAAF girl! My accent was totally that good—and she was the gorgeous American GI! We weren’t main roles but even so. We did have to kiss and like… yeah. I thought about her a lot more after that.”
“How was England’s American performance?” asked Lithuania, sidetracked.
“Surprisingly good! Though I think it was like… her playing America playing a man…”
“Wheels within wheels…!” Lithuania laughed softly.
“Anyway… what was it like for you, sitting for your portrait?”
“Hmm… Some boring, definitely, and you get very stiff holding it—he was a bit stricter than you about that! It’s probably different if you sit for a lot of paintings, I hadn’t. For me it… slowed things down, definitely. I got used to looking straight at him. I saw his face and hands in this intimate detail. I didn’t know him well, so it was more… thinking about closeness and knowledge in the abstract, in the general. Thinking about openness and vulnerability and trust. Without knowing it I was probably thinking about you.”
“Huh…” Poland breathed. “You know what that does sound like. I was playing piano for Estonia singing. It was a love song, some dumb thing from a musical… We were watching each off and on to keep in time and she was smiling and I was too, to encourage her and, I dunno, maybe even mouthing the words for her if she forgot. And I remember—watching the shape of her lips on all the vowels. How the corners of her mouth went. Her cheeks, like–cheekbones, how she moved her eyebrows. When she was looking up and away or closing her eyes. And like. The song got straight through to me. I’m not in love with Estonia or anything, but yeah, like you said. All those abstract things, and like, love. It was a good thing I didn’t have to sing too or I would probably have started crying.”
**
“Are we… Are we all done now?”
Once that was voiced they felt unbearably far apart. How could they not be in each other’s arms.
**
It felt so good to kiss and hold each other again.
“So… was that sexy?”
“Mmm… maybe… a bit? But. But this is…”
They pressed close together, skin to skin, both now wrapped in Poland’s wolf blanket. They felt at once both that they didn’t want to waste any more time talking and that they still had so much to say.
“It’s been so… it’s like we were so close looking at each other but we couldn’t touch…” Poland tried to explain.
“I know. And… that was all lovely! But kind of… because now we can be like this—”
Poland’s lips were soft and gentle and she gave kisses like flowers dropping petals and she hummed happily, stopped, catching herself, and then giggled, did it again exaggeratedly…
“I feel so dramatic,” she mumbled, “I feel like: don’t leave me, I need more kisses.”
The pictures were put aside for objective viewing later. The experience had certainly been the main thing, but they weren’t terrible. Lithuania thought they were well worth keeping.
**
Later, they sat together in bed in pyjamas and looked over the drawings one more time.
“I think you look best… upside down.”
“Interesting. Maybe we could set up some whole decorating concept with upside down pictures.”
“Totally postmodern.” Poland yawned. The she said, “Liet, I do wish we could live together properly like we used to.”
“So do I, Po…”
“Mmm—but, I know why we can’t.”
Lithuania squeezed her hand under the covers.
“But all this got me thinking. All those years—we wouldn’t have believed our luck to think we could hang out like this. Just spend the night together whenever we want. 1800s us wouldn’t know how to cope.”
“1800s us absolutely and demonstrably did not know how to cope.”
“I’m still… I’m still glad that happened, too, though.”
“So am I.”
**
(18xx)
“She’s here?”
“Yes.” France beamed. “She’s what you’re fighting for after all…”
“Excuse you I’m fighting for my independence—my existence!”
“Ah, but what is life without love?” She was infuriating! Criminally flagrant and romantic, flinging these phrases out without thinking through anything!!
“You can’t just say that and go over my head life this, France!!”
The door opened.
“Pol—“
“Liet.”
France briskly shoved her into the room.
The door closed.
“Restez, mon enfants!” France trilled from without. “You’ve everything you need. Now, get some sleep, and stay put. Not a peep out of the two of you all night, understand?”
They stared at each other.
“Just what does she expect us to do?” Lithuania said, trying to sound lightly disgusted and not really interested at all but by then Poland had made her mental calculations and run at her with just enough force to knock her back onto bed when Lithuania let her.
They found each other and clung. It was a long time before they could even pull apart enough to look at each other’s faces.
There was so much to say they didn’t need to say. They didn’t say, Yes I’m here because France seduced me, but you see she had to put in some much effort, and you never even had to try. They didn’t say, Oh I know, me too, France is great but she’s not you, not in a million years.
There was nothing to do but stay there and rest. France had them provided with night things and wash things and supper, and all by servants who knew to knock and when to do so discreetly.
Nothing to do but go to bed.
And very quickly it was all they wanted to do.
Not even kiss, but to hold.
To share the closeness and softness of soldiers brothers sisters lovers, like they’d always been. To be unclothed, unranked, together unknown to anyone else. Together for the first time in an age. Allowing themselves to be – not feminine because that word doesn’t mean open and vulnerable. Not feminine and not unfeminine, no kind of presentation at all, only themselves, only two women holding each other in the dark.
I don’t want to sleep because I don’t want to leave you.
You won’t. Stay with me. Dream me into your dreams.
Don’t cry…
I’m not…
They did.
Eventually, they slipped into sleep, and when they awoke, they parted, and when they met again, they fought.
Even though they kept the image of each other in their dreams. Even though they tried.
**
You can’t live like that forever. Thank God, thank God you don’t have to.
In the end there was no point to regrets. No need. They were apart, and they were together, and this was better. This was better. Date nights. Pencil drawings. Kissing naked on a sofa, wrapped in fake fur. Better better better.
**
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I may add a few of these!? Thanks to @lithuanias for an imagine I stole, Warsaw Castle for some beautiful pictures (here’s the LietPol), the show Bubble Revolution for the inspiration for the Northern Lights story iirc….. Oh and - this is my usual Christmas fic approach so– although I kinda reference a few things, it is not meticulously fact/history checked, just decorative mostly!!
Happy Holidays! This is my secret santa gift for aph-stress. I decided to go with your prompts “Historical Hetalia” and “Reunion.” I hope you enjoy!
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Lithuania/Poland
Rated: T
Summary: Twenty years after the Polish-Lithuanian war, Poland is ready to make amends with his ex husband. But can Lithuania say the same?
Read on: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12773741/1/Of-Anger-and-Forgiveness
or http://archiveofourown.org/works/13149045
Knock, Knock, Knock.
Lithuania almost dropped the vase he was dusting when he heard the banging on the door. With shaking hands, he put it back on the shelf while he looked nervously at the source of the sound. It has been a while since anyone had come over to his house for a friendly chat.
What if it's Russia or Germany? The weight in his stomach asked him. He knew they were both trying to take him over again; they had been trying ever since he gained his independence.
I'm not prepared for a fight! They're going to ambush me and take me away and I will never be free again-
A second set of impatient knocking made him snap back to attention, and as much as he tried to quell his nerves, he had no luck.
Slowly, as though his feet were lead, he went to the kitchen and pulled out the largest, sharpest knife he could find. Gathering his courage, he made his way to the door.
Looking out the peephole, he expected the worst: Germany, with hundreds of soldiers prepared to rip the door off its hinges and drag him away kicking and screaming; or Russia, with his cold, cruel smile and even crueler boss, asking him in a sickly sweet tone, "Won't you come with me, so we can be one? It would make me very happy, da!"
As if he had a choice…
However, when Lithuania looked outside, he found someone he wouldn't have expected in a million years.
"Poland!" Lithuania whispered. He cursed under his breath. Why the hell would he come here?
"Like, open the door, Liet," came Poland's valley girl accent, the same as ever. "I totally know you're in there."
Annoyed, Lithuania swung the door open, glaring at his ex husband.
"What the hell do you want, Poland? Why are you here?"
To his surprise, Poland backed away, putting his hands up in surrender. "Relax, there's, like, no need to get violent. I only want to talk."
Lithuania gave him a questioning look until he glanced down and saw the knife was still in his hand, pointed at Poland. He lowered his hand to his side but did not let go of the blade.
"You still haven't answered my question, Poland. Why are you here?"
"I think it's about time we put our differences aside and reestablish our relations to the way they were before… everything. It is now more important than ever to secure our borders to defend ourselves against Russia and Germany."
"You-you're joking?" Lithuania scoffed, incredulous. "If you think you can waltz in here and demand I let you back into my life, you can forget it. Have a nice drive back to Warsaw."
As Lithuania was about to slam his door shut, Poland caught it with his foot.
"I will give you back Vilnius," he offered, with a hint of desperation. Lithuania stopped in his tracks, and opened the door, just wide enough to give him full view of the Polish man.
"Under what conditions?" Lithuania asked, skeptical. An infuriating smirk appeared on Poland's face, and Lithuania felt the urge to slap him.
"Let me in, and I'll tell you all about it."
With a sigh, Lithuania opened the door all the way and stepped aside to let the cocky Polish man in. He made a beeline straight towards the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table like he owned the place.
"You better not try anything Poland, or I'll make you wish you never came here," Lithuania said as he shoved the Polish man's feet to the ground.
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a country. I was never 'born,'" retorted Poland as he draped his feet across Lithuania's lap, smirking at his obvious frustration. Lithuania shoved him off, harder this time.
"Either tell me about Vilnius or get out; I don't have time for this shit."
"Testy, testy," Poland tsked. Regardless, he pulled out a document from his pocket, and handed it to Lithuania. "I think you might change your tune after giving this a looksie."
Liet unfolded it and grabbed his reading glasses. As he was reading it over, Poland couldn't help but to notice how much he missed seeing Lithuania wearing them. As soon as the random thought appeared to him, he shrugged it off. After a few minutes, Lithuania rested the document on the coffee table and turned towards his former friend.
"So, what do you think?" Poland asked, unable to keep the smirk off his face.
"You're taking advantage of me," Lithuania accused. "You know my government is weak right now, that I have little help from outside countries. How dare you try to issue me an ultimatum after everything you did?"
"What are you getting so upset about? I'm giving you Vilnius back!" Poland pointed out, confused. "You should be thanking me. You've been whining about it for years, and now I'm handing it to you on a silver platter."
"You shouldn't have taken it in the first place!" Lithuania shouted. "Vilnius is mine, it always has been. You don't get to steal something, keep it for twenty years, and then give it back expecting to be hailed as a hero!"
"Oh my God, what's your problem?! I'm trying to make amends with you and all you can do is bitch. You can never let anything go!"
"That's because you hurt me!" Lithuania exclaimed. "I trusted you. I thought you would never hurt me, at least not like that. You were the one person I thought I could count on, and you betrayed me. You stole my capital right after I became independent and was trying to get myself together!"
Poland's lip quivered for a split-second before he lashed out with words once again.
"Oh, you just love playing the victim, don't you? Well, you weren't the only one hurt!" The blond cried, tears streaming down his face. "I loved you; I wanted us to be together! The thought of you was the only thing that kept me sane while I was being passed around by Russia, Prussia, and Austria." Poland dried his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"I just gained my independence from Russia then. Did you expect me to want to live under another country's rule right after everything I went through?"
"Live under another country's rule?" Poland asked, confused. "I didn't want to rule you, I wanted to rule beside you. I wanted us to be a Commonwealth, like we were in the old days."
Lithuania snorted. "Do you even remember the Commonwealth, Poland? You always told me what to do, what to wear, and how to talk. You always got the final say on all our decisions, and treated me like a second-class citizen."
"No, I didn't!" Poland protested. "We were equals, we loved each other. I wanted us to be as happy as we were back then. Just because you insist on seeing everything as my fault-"
"It is your fault!" Lithuania exclaimed. "You made me speak Polish, eat your foods, and adapt to your culture while you dismissed everything about mine! I just wanted to be on my own for a while, but you were too selfish to even allow me to do that much. You just can't stand it when everything isn't about you!"
"Well, you're a stubborn old man with a constant stick up his ass!"
"You know what? Just get out!" Lithuania exclaimed, rubbing his temples together. "I'm done with dealing with you. We will never see eye-to-eye, so this is pointless."
"What about the agreement?" Poland asked. "You can't be stupid enough to turn an offer like that down. If you refuse, not only will you lose Vilnius, but all the other countries will know how much of an unreasonable moron you are!"
Lithuania looked hesitant for a moment, but shook his head and looked Poland straight in the eye.
"I couldn't care less about what the other nations think of me... and Vilnius will always be mine, whether or not you or anyone else recognizes that."
Poland looked on in shock at the stubborn man for a moment, then balled up his fists while trying to hold back another flood of tears.
"If you hate me that much, fine! But I'm leaving the agreement here, just in case you get over yourself. You have 48 hours to decide." Poland stormed out of the tiny house, using his hair as a curtain to cover his face. The last thing he needed was for Lithuania to see him cry. Again.
As Lithuania watched Poland slam the door to his house and heard him break down into tears on his front porch, he felt his anger soften, just a little. He thought about going after him for a moment, but soon dismissed the idea.
It's his own fault for being so presumptuous! Who does he think he is?
And yet, Lithuania eyes the document on the table once again. He sighed as he walked over and read through the conditions once again.
Well, the demands aren't too out there, especially for Poland. It couldn't hurt to at least show it to my boss and see what he thinks…
Poland was sitting all alone in his bedroom in Warsaw. The 48 hours he had given Lithuania to agree to decline his ultimatum were almost up, and still he hasn't heard a word from the other nation.
Why is he being so stupid? the blond asked himself. He should jump at such an opportunity! Does he still hate me that much? As much as he didn't want to admit it, Poland still loved Lithuania and cared about what he thought of him.
Maybe I overreacted when I took Vilnius, but I'm giving it back! The least Liet could do is accept my apology…
Wait… I never apologized, did I?
...Well, it doesn't matter, anyway! This agreement would benefit us both, and if Liet is too stupid to see that…
Just then, he heard his phone ring. Startled, because no one ever called him except his boss and two other nations he would rather not think about ever again, he took a moment to answer it.
"F-Feliks Lukasiewicz, personification of the free Polish state speaking," he said, cringing at the tremble in his voice.
"Poland, it's Lithuania," the voice on the other side responded.
"Liet?" Poland asked, confused. "Why are you calling me?"
"To give you my answer regarding your ultimatum." Lithuania paused. "While a good number of my people are against it, my boss, parliament, and I have accepted your conditions. We will reestablish diplomatic connections with you."
"Y-you have?" Poland asked, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.
"Er, yes. We have decided that this will be beneficial for both our nations."
"Liet?"
"Yes?"
"... I'm sorry. About… well, you know."
Lithuania was silent for a moment before answering. "I'll see you soon to drop off the documents."
Poland felt a smile growing on his face. "See you then."
After they ended their conversation, Poland couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he and Liet could be friends once again.
So sorry this is late! I couldn't get access to my computer for a while.
This is my secret Santa for @lithuanias ! one of their prompts was ‘End of the cold war’ so this story takes place right after Lithuania gained independence from Russia in March of 1991. I really hope you enjoy this, your writing is amazing and has been a major inspiration to me!
Eliška: Aph Czech
Michal: Aph Slovakia
“Holy shit.” Shivered Elizabeta, Rubbing her frozen hands together. “I forgot how fucking cold it gets at your place.”
I grinned and mumbled a half-assed apology, offering her a latte I had gotten from across the street. It was March 27th,1990, and revolution ran fresh through our veins, and the stench of gunpowder still lingered on our clothes. I looked upon the streets of Łódź, ignited with shimmering lights combating the violet sky. It was a city that had seen golden age after golden age, recession after recession, and had never been more proud to call it mine, and mine alone.
“I had almost forgotten how beautiful your cities looked at night, Lengyelország.” she sighed, lighting up a cigarette. She claimed to have quit in the 1950s, but I knew her well enough to know that wasn't the case.
“ I almost forgot myself, if I’m being honest.” I breathed sadly. “It really was hard to walk through these streets, knowing that they...they weren't mine,y'know?”
Elizabeta wrapped her arm around me, sympathy and sadness shone through her eyes. “But You made it. You stood against the odds, and now you can look at your streets knowing that they will, and will always be, polish.”
I smiled, Elizabeta always had a way with her words.
We stood in silence, the sound of the streets somber and peaceful.
“Bratr!” a chipper voice called from behind us.I turned my head to see Eliška, my sister, cheeks flushed the slightest crimson from the crisp, cold air. We raced over to each other and embraced tightly. I kissed her cheek.
“How have you been? Hows Michal?” I asked, pulling away from the hug.
“ Things could be better, but they also could be much worse,” She sighed. “So…Things have been...good.”
That seemed to be the answer everybody gave. Things were strained, difficult, and irritating at times, but still, 1941 was but a distant memory, and I couldn't be more grateful.
“Where’s Michal?” I asked, looking around.
“He… wasn't feeling good so he stayed back at our hotel.” She answered with uncertainty.
“Oh, I see.”I could tell that she was lying, but I didn't want to press her any further. The relationship between my sibling had become more strained than ever at this point, both politically and emotionally, and I wasn't in the mood for it.
“Holy shit.”
I look over to see Elizabeta, who had turned a ghostly white, eyes widened in surprise as if she had seen a ghost. I look across the street, and my heart threatens to give way. There, standing at the bus station, was a head of chestnut hair I thought I would never see again. “Liet…” I breathed heavily.
He looked the same as he always did, it was as if the past two centuries had never existed. He was leaning against a building, beautiful, deep green eyes lost in thought. He had a dreamlike Arora around him, he almost seemed to be transparent. His face looked worn out from constant stress and worry, but also had a melancholy, somber feel.
Without even thinking, I raced across the street, blissfully unaware of the curses and horn blaring coming from cars. When my feet it the sidewalk, Toris’s eyes met mine, and the entire world seemed to shatter around him. Green eyes held green eyes as we both stood frozen in place, both of us in fear of waking up from this wonderful dream, The distance between us seeming to grow longer and longer with each passing second.
Liet's eyes began to water.“Hey, Po.”
I don't recall who moved first, the next thing I know my arms were tightly gripping his black coat as I cried into his warm chest, whispering apologies through my sobs. He nuzzled his tear-streaked face into my blonde hair and kissed the top of my head, whispering apologies of his own.
We finally pulled away after what felt like an eternity, yet, too soon. We exchanged a smile through our tear stained eyes. “ I missed you,” I said, finally.
He shook his head as tears threatened to spill all over again. “Yeah, me too.”
I wanted to ask him so many things. How his independence was going, how his brothers were doing, how his people were fairing, what he was feeling, How he wanted me to kill Russia, and if he still loved me as he did all those years ago. I had so much I wanted to tell him, so many apologies I wanted to say, so Many stories to tell him. Yet, I couldn't find the words.
Just above us, a radio begins to play the somber tune of Nie płacz Ewka. Toris, somber grin on his face, outstretched his hand to me, asking to dance. We stumbled awkwardly at first, it was as if we had never danced before. Toris stepped on my foot multiple times, and I seemed to trip with every step, but it was the best dance I had ever had. When the chorus came, he started to sing with his beautiful voice.
Żegnam was, już wiem
Nie załatwię wszystkich pilnych spraw
Idę sam, właśnie tam
Gdzie czekają mnie
Tam przyjaciół kilku mam, od lat
Dla nich zawsze śpiewam, dla nich gram
Jeszcze raz żegnam was
Nie spotkamy się
Tears began to spring from my eyes. Our Foreheads touched as we danced, as we swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the song.Whether we were crying, laughing, or a mixture of both I can't recall. We received so many questioning looks from strangers, but I couldn't seem to care less, all I could see was the glow of Toris’s eyes, and all I could hear was the sound of his voice and the taping of our feet.
When the song came to a close, his lips met my own for the first time in over a century. I felt like I was falling in love all over again.
Hello everyone! Merry Christmas xoxoxo! You might have been FOOLED @kailuabunny by my secretive disguise as @but-he-is-furansu-mother . Because in reality, I write fanfiction here.
Oh. And, by the way, here is your @lietpolsecretsanta gift!
The Piece of Coal is a bittersweet comedy featuring LietPol on December 6th, Saint Nicholas’ Day! I used the prompts “Presents” and “Hot Cocoa” for this small one-shot!
I wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy new year darling!
