Hoist the Colours
Pairings: Spain/Fem!Romano, Prussia/Fem!Canada, France/England, Germany/Fem!Italy, Romano/MOC, Italy/MOC
Warnings: arranged marriages, abduction, torture, probable sexual content, gender bending, slash
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, not even a little, nor do I own Nyotalia
A/N: So, first thing; Welcome! I wanted to do a pirate AU, but I didn't want to research all the ins and outs of legit pirates so I cheated and decided to explore a dystopia where the government, post WW3, destroyed everything from before the war and the world regressed to the societal structure of 16/17nth centuries while retaining modern language. It makes it easier on me. P:
A/N 2: More warnings and chapters will be added as they become relevant.
X
"My lord, our countries financial situation is grows more dire by the day. We must find a way to explain the loss of tax payers dollars immediately, before the decline is noticed."
Arrigo hummed thoughtfully, stroking the days worth of patchy stubble covering his lower face. The honourifics his people used were a whim of the government, a mocking nod to history books long destroyed. Some kingdoms were more liberal, less strict with the enforcement of proper titles, but not him. King Arrigo Messina would allow no peasant nor servant to address him any less than what his station demanded.
"Sire?"
"Pirates, Rossi," Arrigo interrupted, raising one hand for silence before pointing to a large vessel anchored a few hundred yards from the docks. A life boat full of crewmates made its slow way towards mainland. "Pirates provide the perfect scapegoats. Low lives and thieves, the lot of them. Just waiting for an innocent to kidnap and ransom. And it just so happens that I have the perfect person in mind."
***
"M'Lady, please!" A frantic maid lunged to catch a falling vase. "If the king sees you-"
"Fuck that bastard," Lovina spat, angrily swiping her dusting rag over the stand the case used to be on, scrubbing the already immaculate surface. "He's useless anyways. Honestly, what does that pig do for our country?"
"Please, highness, he's your husband!" She gently replaced the pottery and ran after the rampaging queen.
"All the more reason for me to call him out on his faults! He's a worthless, money grubbing tyrant with no sense of morality and an ego the size of Italy herself!" Lovina whirled about to face her handmaiden, the skirts of her borrowed dress fanning out around her and nearly upsetting te vase again. She crossed her arms and frowned, ignoring the other woman's grimace. " And I told you not to call me that. Such pompous titles make me uncomfortable."
"Apologies M- ah, Lovina."
"Thank you Isabelle. Just because I was forced into union with a despicable, piggish old pervert doesn't mean I'm better than any of Italy's citizens. I grew up in a station lower than yours, and I'm not ashamed to say it."
"I know, Roma." Isabelle smiled and rubbed a smudge of dirt from Lovina's nose. "But you must bathe and dress. Your Lord husband is expecting you for dinner in 20 minutes."
Lovina deflated and her frown softened into a pout. "Fuck."
"Come, I'll help you with your dress."
"I hate dresses," Lovina grumbled, allowing Isabelle to tug her down the hall and into her rooms.
***
"My dear," Arrigo said, smile tight and false on his lips and his voice sickly sweet. He stood for his queen, bending to press a wet kiss to the back of her hand. "You're late. Everything all right?"
"Fine," Lovina replied tersely, pulling her hand from his clammy grip and dropping into the chair the man servant had pulled out for her, corset forcing her back straight and crushing her ribs. The nobles Arrigo had invited to dine with them looked on awkwardly before one brave soul cleared his throat and engaged the irate king in a conversation Lovina ignored. She remained silent until the main course, snippets of corruption and greed filtering into her ears.
Already flushed and shaking with anger, she nearly exploded when they set potatoes in front of her. The tantalizing scent of pasta wafted from all around her, soaked in bolognese sauce and piled with tomatoes.
Lovina stopped the servant.
"Would you mind telling me why, exactly, I was served a different meal than everyone else?" She fought to keep the anger from her voice, and did a passable job. It would've been easier had her airflow not already been restricted, but she kept her hand gentle where it rested on his forearm, eyes locked on Arrigo's stupid smirking face.
"I'm sorry, my Lady, but we ran out of the entree and this was the fastest alternative." The flustered man bowed and apologized once more before Lovina released him and motioned for him to take his leave.
"If you'll excuse me, I believe I'm quite finished." She nodded in her husbands direction and moved to leave the hall. Arrigo caught her hand before she could.
"Don't be a brat. Either eat your meal or punish the cook for his insolence. Otherwise it will keep happening."
Lovina stood, watching their main chef standing frozen in the servants entrance, clutching at a steaming plate of some sort of tomato dish. Everyone knew what the king meant when he said punishment, and it was nothing good.
"No," she said easily, shaking her fingers free and returning to her seat. "It's fine. I'm only tired. I may be getting sick."
"Then food should only help," Arrigo replied, a sly grin on his face. "Eat, love. It wouldn't do for you to come down with anything."
"As you wish, my lord." Furious, but allowing only her hands to tremble, she stabbed a forkful of potatoes ruthlessly and delicately placed them on her tongue.
She was going to be sick.
Fucking potatoes.
***
"I'm leaving Isabelle," Lovina snapped, drawing out her luggage and stuffing in handfuls of clothes and toiletries.
"M'Lady, you can't," Isabelle insisted, stopping Lovina with a gentle hand around her bicep. "The people need you! You're the only one who can temper the king. Please."
"I temper him, you say, yet look how much havoc he's wreaked. I'm all but useless and besides, I can't handle that asshat anymore." She dropped down on the queen sized bed and rubbed her face against the down filled comforter.
"Are you mad because he made you eat potatoes?"
"Hah!" Lovina's laugh transformed into a snarl half way. "I wish it was! But I wouldn't leave my country to the mercy of a madman because of some rotten, disgusting potatoes. Not even I'm that big of a bitch."
Isabelle's eyes flicked down to where Lovina's skirts had ridden, revealing long, thin white scars webbing across her thighs and hips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, slowly tugging down the fabric. Lovina sighed and flopped back.
"Me too." Her eyes drifted closed and a small smile spread lazily on her lips. "But hey, at least it's my night off."
***
Ten men dressed in crudely made clothes crept down a corridor of the royal palace. Cloth covered each of their heads, scarves wound loose and tucked into the back of their linen shirts. Belts held up ill fitting pants and on them were coils of rope and tools. One had a knife tucked into his shabby leather boot. They moved together seamlessly, avoiding patches of moonlight and betraying their training. No one else traversed the halls, no one saw them as they came to a stop before the door leading to the queens chambers.
Ten men, for one woman; more a girl, teetering on the cusp of womanhood. Ricco prayed she wouldn't scream. Sandro hoped she wouldn't try to bite. Gerardo, feeling the weight of the knife against his ankle, hoped she would.
The door hinges creaked as they were eased open but the form sprawled on the bed didn't so much as twitch. They filed one by one inside, ropes slowly uncoiled, a rag and a small bottle of chloroform at the ready. Ricco peeled back the comforter, brushing back wild strands of dark auburn hair from the queens face, careful to avoid that one wayward curl. No matter ow unawares she was of you, whenever someone touched it she pitched a fit.
Hazel eyes blearily blinked open. She didn't have time to react when the soaked cloth covered her mouth and nose. Lovina's eyes dropped shut once again and didn't reopen. Sandro quickly and efficiently tied her arms and ankles and beat a hasty retreat. He wasn't willing to risk a repeat performance of her majesty's wedding night.
Gerardo grinned as he forced an improvised gag into her mouth. If he tied the cloth securing it too tight none of the others mentioned it.
When she came to Lovina was laying immobile on the hard wooden deck of a ship, the rocking waves upsetting her stomach. The ball of cloth in her mouth was pressed too far down her throat, triggering her gag reflex and distracting her from everything else. Tears sprung up in the corners of her eyes and a muffled sob escaped. She made a weak attempt to roll onto her side, shivering.
Despite her pounding, spinning head and debilitating nausea, a pair of well tailored leather boots were perfectly clear some three feat from her nose. Someone behind her loosened and removed the gag before it could cause an unhappy accident.
"If I puke of your stupid shoes I'm not apologizing," she enunciated carefully, glaring at the shiny fabric.
"Hah! Cheeky little bitch, aren't you," a german accented voice sneered behind her. "Better watch yourself little girl."
"Bite me, stronzo." Lovina wiggled against her bonds, sucking in a lungful of salty sea air. "Fucking Germans."
"Hey!"
"Gil. Enough." The shoes in her vision shifted and the man wearing them knelt down. Green eyes, muted and murky in the night stared down at her. "Whatever shall we do with you?"
