Not So Sad Stories from Riga and Tallinn
by Cryptographic DeLurk
..
AN: This is a six-year-old de-anon from the Hetalia Kink Meme. I ripped it off of my old computer hard drive a while back, and have been waiting for the right moment to edit and post. But there is no right moment, so today it is.
To my best recollection, this is the first piece of fanwork I worked on. It's crude, but it got a couple disdainful chuckles from me and I wanted to post for completeness sake. What the hell were we doing back in 2010, right?
Forget about the black comedy, though. The thing that offends me about this story is my lack of nuance in the political parody of the Soviet Bloc. Not that this fic is too brutal, just too lacking in humanity. It's an okay exploration of the Hetalia characters, but not an okay exploration of the countries themselves. Hetalia canon itself isn't a very good exploration of most nation-states, as much as I find it otherwise enjoyable. And I don't think I could write Ivan, Ravis, Toris, and Eduard today without subverting their canon personalities heavily.
But, hey, if you still want to read after that author's note, go ahead! Read it! Enjoy it, even! But don't let it lead you astray! People and countries both, the world around, are not so shallow as this.
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Part One
It was early in the morning when Ravis and Eduard were shaken awake by Ivan to start the laundry as usual. One would think that he would be used to it by now, but Ravis couldn't help feel completely squicked by the sex stained sheet Ivan and Toris had used the night before. He fancied himself a fairy tale heroine in the hopes that small, furry animals might appear from the holes in the wall, offering to wash the laundry, sweep the floor, and put away the kinky sex toys Ivan left out for them to clean up. He glanced over to Eduard, who was carefully filing a coil of rope, ball gag, and some anal beads back into the bedroom closet. Eduard was currently tugging at the rope, trying to decide whether to file it under high or medium elasticity within the highly organized closet.
When it became clear that no small furry animals would come to either of their aid, Ravis turned back to his washing, now focusing intently on the underwear he was washing, which had embroidered sunflowers stitched into the cotton.
"Hey, do you remember if cock rings belong in the green or blue colour coded drawer?" Eduard asked.
"I don't remember, let me see," Latvia responded as he got up. He started walking towards the closet, tripped over a steel pipe, and subsequently lost his grip on the underwear.
The underwear flew in a beautiful arc before falling on Eduard's face, stuck to the side of his glasses.
There was silence for about two seconds before Eduard pried the garment of his face with the exclamation, "Ugh, I can smell it."
Part Two
A couple of hours later, once they had finished cleaning the bedroom, and Toris had managed to get a little sleep in his own room, the three nations studied over the note that Ivan had left. Under a small number of doodles (a heart in which "Toris and Ivan 4eva" was written, Chiburashka and Gena on a train, and a bottle of vodka) was a to-do list of the day's events:
1) Invade WITH TANKS.
2) Run away from Natalia.
3) Invade WITH TANKS.
4) Decide on new maid outfit for Ravis.
5) Lunch.
6) Invade withOUT tanks. (I kid, I kid, правда? Like I would invade without the tanks.)
7) Count mah nukes.
8) Dinner.
9) Drinking.
10) Get out the lube. ~~PSYCHE~~
In the meantime I expect you three to take care of the household chores and supervise food production, monument construction, and of course your silly little resistance factions. Эта нечего. Да? Good then. Remember, if you fail to take care of these chores, I'll have to use the magic stick. ^_^~*
P.S. I want piroshky and borsht for dinner.
...
Needless to say, Toris, Ravis, and Eduard were at least a little resentful.
Part Three
After discussing for an hour and a half the pros and cons of lace trim, Ivan settled on a long sleeved white shirt for Ravis and a simple, sleeveless black dress with lace on the bottom edge. (Although, due to his petit stature, it appeared Ravis would be spending tomorrow shortening the length of the gown.) Ravis had a black bow in his hair and, for no adequately explained reason, he was still wearing his standard issue military boots. He blushed and looked away as Eduard and Toris chuckled under their breath. He willed himself to believe it was better than wearing a naked waiter costume (well it was warmer), but couldn't manage to convince himself. After all, if he was wearing a naked waiter costume he would still look like a man.
Ivan had apparently worked out payment with the store clerk and strolled up to Ravis with a sweet smile.
"Now don't you look cute? Cute!" Ivan squealed and pulled Ravis into a hug, while simultaneously pushing down on his head.
Ravis twitched rapidly, like the energizer bunny going into epileptic shock.
"LATVVVVVIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
.
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"Yay I won again!" Ivan proclaimed as he downed his seventeenth shot of vodka.
Eduard slumped down onto the edge of the bar. He wanted to point out that, while Ivan was drinking vodka, he was forced drinking watered down, and highly alcoholic, cologne. But he couldn't bring himself to formulate the words correctly.
"I guess that means you lose another piece of clothing, eh, Eduard?" Ivan coaxed.
Eduard looked down, vaguely wondering why he wasn't wearing anything, and Ivan had on all necessary clothing plus three coats, a scarf, and a hat. He also registered Ravis and Toris situated on the other side of the bar.
"But I guess this is all you have left, so this will have to do," Ivan chided, reaching for Eduard's face and grabbing hold of his glasses.
What part of me was that again? The Baltic coast? he wondered, as his vision blurred completely and Ivan removed the glasses.
.
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"So, America sent me a new weapons report today, Toris."
"Is that so?"
"Да. But of course I've forgotten how many nuclear weapons we each have. Will you help me count Toris?"
"Of course," Toris responds, resigned. He pulls of his shirt and sits down on the bed, his back facing Russia, and revealing a messy cross-hatch of scars. Ivan traces the scars with his finger for a minute before pulling out a knife.
"Один, два, три, четыре," he counts slowly as he carves four vertical lines into Toris's back.
"Пять," he continues with a diagonal line across the other marks, and then begins more quickly, only speaking to emphasize every five marks, "Десять, пятьнадцать."
Toris is silent.