I suck. I royally suck. Maybe one of these days I'll set a deadline I can actually make. /OTL
That being said, I think this is one of my longer chapters, so hopefully that makes up for the wait.
(Also, another reason this update took so freaking long was that I recently acquired a new headcanon involving Prussia and Germany and have started production on a historical drama based on it. You'll get snipets of my new headcanon in this chapter, and probably more in the next chapter. Enjoy!)
Disclaimer: ...After 9 chapters of this, you think people would get the idea that I don't own Hetalia.
(Also, side note: I set this chapter to take place roughly around 1660.)
Venetia held no love for Brandenburg. Holy Rome's northern sister was harsh and pushy, far too sly and manipulative for Venetia's comfort. He didn't so much mind her constant flirting with Protestant nations (Saxony was scary, but he had always treated him with a sort of kindness, but Palatine was just insane) as he did her seemingly endless struggle with Holy Rome. The two always found something to bicker about, be it Brandenburg's foreign policy or her complete lack of social grace. (The woman had never once worn a dress. Not once in her centuries of life.) The latest argument, however, was taking place over Brandenburg's sudden (and quite frankly alarming) decision to marry a Protestant fief of Poland's.
"For the last time, Ludwig, this is not some poorly thought-out decision made in the heat of the moment! What do you really think my Electors were after with their plans and carefully executed marriages? I've been practically engaged for decades now!"
"But with Prussia? Sister, you can do so much better than some Baltic duchy!"
"Oh, is that so? Well that's funny, considering I've been Europe's whore my entire life! I'm nothing to anyone unless it entails a way to strike at you. Well, I'm tired of being raped to death by Swedes and Danes! This marriage means everything to me, and you're still insisting on interfering! I thought you, of all people save perhaps that stuck-up bastard Austria, would be over the goddamned moon that I'm finally starting to act like a woman."
He could definitely see Brandenburg's side of the story, knowing the feeling of being trampled on by everybody. He had never been raped to death, though, and for a brief, morbid moment pondered what that would feel like. Coming up with less-than-pleasant images, Venetia shooed the thoughts from his mind and returned his attention to eavesdropping on the pair. Apparently Holy Rome had already answered, because the next thing the Italian state heard was Brandenburg's sharp voice brutally chastising her younger brother.
"Oh, and who is the one acting like a petulant child now? You're absolutely right, though: I have no idea what it's like to be an unstable empire completely at the mercy of those you rule. I only know what it's like to be a worthless German backwater completely at the mercy of whatever army is marching through my lands. You sit here and embarrass yourself with this silly crush of yours, innocent to the concept that the world beyond Austria's estate is far colder and immeasurably crueler than anything you've experienced."
Venetia barely had time to hide before the door opened all the way and Brandenburg exited the room, dressed plainly in earthen tones. She shut the door and sighed, leaning against the heavy wood and taking a moment to recompose herself.
"You know, little Venetia, it isn't polite to eavesdrop on the conversations of others."
The young Italian squeaked a bit in surprise, thinking he had hidden himself before she noticed him.
"You're better than sneaking around," Brandenburg said, pushing herself off the door. "You have wealth, good land, and coasts. Don't throw it all to waste by sneaking around like some pathetic little street urchin."
Venetia watched as the northern woman strode away, her thick cloak dancing behind her as it caught the invisible drafts of the castle. She still wore breeches and tunics, but her hair was now almost to her mid-back, tied in a low ponytail. It wouldn't be long before she would be found wearing dresses and performing the duties of a proper wife.
…For some reason, that made Venetia feel sad.
Things could always be worse. That was Naples's mental mantra as he continued on with life.
He bore the indignity of wearing dresses, dealing with that eerie look in Spain's eyes whenever the older nation saw him. (Sometimes he swore Spain snuck into his room at night, eyeing him up like some piece of meat to be prepared for dinner. Naples would discretely bit his pillow, trying to suppress his shudders until the larger man left.)
He forced himself to speak Spain's language, spending nights muttering to himself in desperate Italian. (He had it down to a science, now; able to stop his muttering before Spain arrived for his nightly creeping. Spain didn't like hearing Naples speak Italian.)
He did his chores, often fumbling under Spain's scrutinizing gaze. (The bastard just thought he was clumsy and lazy. Naples didn't challenge this; he would rather have Spain think that he wasn't worth his time instead of having the other doing all of the things the darkness in his eyes imagined.)
All in all, Naples persevered. To his credit, Spain usually had a nice personality and was very kind. It was a lot like there were two Spains: one was a kind, loving man who treated Naples like his own flesh-and-blood; the other was a dark, ruthless conquistador who saw Naples as something to be dominated and ruled. As much as he loved the man, Naples found he wasn't entirely surprised by the conquistador. After all, Naples had nothing but what portions of inheritance his grandfather had left him. (The dark surprise at actually being remembered by the once-powerful empire was a sentiment the southern Italian refused to acknowledge.)
Things could always be worse. That was the only thing Naples allowed to go through his head as the conquistador overpowered the man and pinned him to his bed. Things could always be worse. The conquistador leaned forward, his voice low and husky. Naples's stomach lurched in fear and anxiety, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The conquistador's grip on his arm hurt, the area beginning to throb in increasing sharpness as the larger's body weight pressed against his own. Things could always be worse.
"Are you surprised at this, Lovinito? Are you surprised that I want this, after all of that horrid teasing you keep putting me through?"
"Ah! N-not te-teasing, bastard!"
The conquistador clicked his tongue and tightened his grip, causing Naples to cry out in pain. Through the pained haze of his mind, Naples becoming suddenly aware of a throbbing, hard piece of anatomy pressed against his hindquarters. His stomach dropped at the implications. He wasn't going to wake up a virgin, was he? It wasn't going to be some beautiful girl with a kind smile, or even a kind man who treasured him; no, it was going to be the conquistador who would rob him of the only thing of value he truly considered his.
"You don't realize how utterly stunning you are, do you? Every time I see you in that dress, I want to fuck you into the nearest flat surface. I want to see you squirming and writhing beneath me, flushed and sweaty and absolutely beautiful. I want to hear you moaning and screaming my name in that wondrous voice of yours, ignorant to anything but my dick up your ass. Proclaiming your debauchery to God himself."
"N-no! No, please! D-ngh-don't!"
"Hmm, I wonder if Italy would fight me so much…is your little brother as much of a teasing whore as you are?"
This could've been Veneziano, Naples realized in cold horror. This could've been Veneziano pinned under this monster, terrified and unable to do anything to defend himself. Veneziano could've been the one about to be r—hurt. That did it. There was no way in hell Naples would ever let Veneziano end up dirtied by such a horrible act. Veneziano deserved to give his virginity to someone he loved. A rare feat among nations, yes, but Naples would do anything to make it a reality. He couldn't stand the idea of Veneziano left crying and broken by the conquistador, so he did the only thing he could.
"Ah? What's this? Are you finally seeing how pointless it is to deny me?"
Naples fought back the urge to cringe, willing his body to remain completely pliant. If he could keep the conquistador sated, then at least it meant he could do something to protect his younger brother. Nausea washed over him as the conquistador ran his free hand down Naples's side, fingers sneaking under the shirt he had worn to bed. (He never slept naked nowadays; he hadn't wanted anyone to view his naked body but the one he gave himself to.) The boy cried out as the conquistador wrapped a firm hand around his young manhood.
"We're going to have a lot of fun tonight, Lovinito."
Naples's screams soon filled the night air.
Living in Lord Austria's house wasn't too bad, Venetia supposed. Sure, they didn't have pasta, but he was still well-fed and clothed and never expected do accomplish more than his tiny body could handle. Miss Hungary was very kind to him, teaching him all sorts of interesting and useful things. She taught him the proper way to sweep and mop, how to do laundry, furthered his knowledge of cooking (though he did wonder at her obsessive use of paprika…), and had also taught him how to mend his clothes. And then there was Holy Rome.
Venetia felt his face heating up at the thought of the blue-eyed empire. His body always acting so peculiar around the other boy; his palms would get sweaty, he'd become clumsier than he already was, and his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. The young Italian was thankful that his acting skills allowed him to keep his feelings toward the Holy Roman Empire hidden. Even if he wore dresses and his voice was still high pitched, that didn't change the fact that he was a boy, and so was Holy Rome. Love between two boys was not something that was looked upon with favor, no matter what Miss Hungary said.
"Venetia! A letter arrived today, from your brother!"
The tiny redhead smiled in happy surprise. "A letter? From fratello? Yay! I want to read it!"
Miss Hungary smiled at him, and Veneziano had the strangest feeling that the brunette was going to tease him before giving him the letter his fratello had written for him. And knowing Miss Hungary, the teasing would involve a few promises of trying on whatever dresses she could find, or doing embarrassing things.
"I need some help with a dress I'm making; if I give you this letter, will you help me?"
Yep. More dresses. Venetia suppressed a sigh and agreed to the condition. Letters from his brother were worth the hours spent in Miss Hungary's room as the woman measured and pinned and sewed her latest creations. (Besides, he did like helping Miss Hungary; it was nice to see her smile.)
"Thank you very much, Venetia! Here you go!"
The young boy squealed in happiness as he took the letter and made a break for his room. He threw the door shut and broke the wax seal. Beautiful handwriting adorned the parchment; Naples had such wonderful handwriting, and Venetia was certain that it was better than even his own. The letter was written entirely in Italian, but some words were written in Spanish. (His grazie morphing into gracias, Spagna was now written as España, etc.) It was small, but Venetia frowned a bit at the obvious influence Spain was exerting over Naples. Austria hadn't forced Venetia to learn German—he had learned mainly for Holy Rome.
Dear Veneziano,
I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to write back. Spain's insistent that I only write in Spanish, so I had to keep reminding him that you don't speak Spanish. By the way, tell Austria I said thanks; he was the one who finally got that point through Spain's thick skull. I owe him one. Things are going well here, I guess. Spain's an idiot; but what else is new? How are things going in Austria's house? Is he being nice to you? Have you been able to get him to let you eat pasta? Hungary's not still making you wear dresses, is she? I finally got Spain to let me start dressing like a boy; Belgium knocked some sense into him.
And what about that Holy Rome kid? Has he figured out you're actually a boy? Oh, and tell Brandenburg congratulations; Spain's been acting all pissy lately because she's marrying that fief of Poland's—Prussia, was it? I don't know why he's upset about it; Brandenburg isn't exactly the most advantageous piece of land and who really cares about Prussia? But enough about that; the only thing that whole story tells you is that Spain's a thick-skulled idiot, and you already knew that.
Spain's mentioned taking me along the next time he goes to visit Austria (those two should seriously just move in together already; they've been married for what, one-hundred-and-fifty-years?) but don't hold your breath. Spain hasn't let me leave the property since that whole incident with Turkey. He's even antsy when I go outside to tend the gardens! It's smothering; at least Austria lets you go outside. He even lets you stay in your own house from time to time! You're really lucky, Veneziano. Austria doesn't treat you like some sort of breakable doll.
Still, it'd be nice to see you again. Have you heard anything from Maria or Gratiano? Spain controls everything they send me; I haven't been able to read a single letter and every time Maria visits, I'm given some sort of task and sent away. (That's the only time Spain lets me out of his sight; at least, when he's here and not off conquering the New World.) But I'd better not hear any German from you! You're Italian, and God help me, you will not corrupt our culture with their language and potatoes. You're better than that!
I should probably finish this up; Austria will be here shortly and I need to give this to him. I'll let you know if Spain actually goes through with taking me over to Austria's. Until then, stay safe, little brother! Keep eating well and for God's sake, tell Hungary that you are a boy and should therefore be dressed as such! Wearing dresses isn't manly, damnit! You're my little brother, not my little sister.
Love, Naples
There was something off about the letter. Venetia got the strangest feeling that there was something Naples was keeping from him. The tone Naples's words regarding Spain's protectiveness seemed…odd. Instead of carrying the angry feel previous letters had, this time the words seemed almost bitter and resentful. Venetia hoped nothing bad had happened.
"Venetia? May I come in?"
"Ve, you may, Miss Hungary."
The door opened and the brunette entered the room, a broom in her hand. "What did you brother have to know?"
"He says Big Brother Spain might bring him along to visit soon!"
Miss Hungary smiled. "Well that's certainly exciting! It certainly has been awhile since you've seen each other."
Venetia nodded, thinking about the scratches he had made on the wall behind his dresser. A mark for each year that passed without him seeing his older brother, totaling up to one-hundred-and-one lines. One-hundred-and-one years had gone by without the brothers seeing each other. Over a century spent in the houses of others, never allowed to be completely their own.
"You miss your brother, don't you?"
"Si," Venetia answered, hugging his knees to his chest. "I miss him lots. I miss his pizza, I miss his smiles, I even miss his angry swearing!"
"Well then, it would certainly do you both good to see each other again!"
"Fratello said not to get my hopes up," Venetia muttered. "He said Big Brother Spain hasn't given him much freedom since Turkey tried to take him away."
"I'm sure Spain wouldn't deny you two a chance to catch up. He adores you as much as he adores Naples."
Miss Hungary was leaving something out; Venetia could tell from the look on her face. She was a very expressive woman, typically wearing her heart on her sleeve, and seeing her holding something back from him unnerved the boy. The only time Miss Hungary ever made the effort to keep something from him was when it was serious. Not like with the small surprises she kept from him from time to time, she always had a teasing look on her face and a smile that could turn midnight into noon.
"…Si, I guess you're right."
"Father Luke?"
Maria—Luke now, having thrown away her feminine identity to play the man everyone expected her to be—looked over her shoulder to see Spain. The Iberian nation was soaking wet from the storm raging outside, small puddles of water forming from his cloak. Having finished lighting the candles in preparation for evening Mass, the young priest turned to face him fully.
"Spain? Is there something troubling you?"
"Is it too late for me to do a confession?"
"Well, this certainly isn't a traditional time, but a confession is always welcome in the House of the Lord. Come with me; tell me of your sins."
Luke led the Spaniard to one of the pews; unorthodox, yes, but no one would be coming in for another hour or so. The man buried his face in his hands, trying to compose himself before he began. Luke felt a twinge of worry bubble up in him; Spain was Naples's caregiver. Had something gone wrong?
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession."
Spain inhaled sharply, his shoulders jerking with the movement.
"I…I think I…I…raped…someone. Someone I care for very much."
Luke had become no stranger to confessions of horrible sins from his fellow nations. He had heard nations confessing to rape before, but few were entirely bothered by it. It was part of who they were, rape as much a part of them as their culture and language. Rape was often how their kind displayed supreme dominance, and few were free of the memory of rape in one form or another. Spain's next words, however, sent Luke's stomach plummeting.
"I raped Naples. I've done it several times now, and I'm afraid that I can't stop. It's like something takes hold of me when I'm near him, and before I know it, he's sobbing and naked on the floor with me buried inside of him. I'm a horrible person, to do such a thing to a child."
"So, you are having issues with the conquistador again," Luke managed to get out, trying to mask just how shaken he was by the confession. When he had taken Gratiano and evaded capture, Luke had been convinced that Spain and Austria would take good care of Naples and Venetia. To hear that the person he had been so sure would never hurt Naples had hurt him in one of the worst ways destroyed something in the priest.
"Yes. I go over to the New World as often as I can in order to control it somehow, but the more I think I can deal with it, the worse things get. I can't keep blacking out and waking up to find I've hurt Lovino again. He's been through enough."
"The fact that you've come to me in confession demonstrates that you have gathered the will to put an end to this," Luke said. "As per the Latin rite, I ask you to make an Act of Contrition. Bear in mind that this must be done with complete sincerity; our Father's forgiveness shines brightest on those who mean every word."
"Yes, Father."
Luke finished recommending penance, and watched as the other went to perform the tasks asked of him. Spain's confession had unnerved him, and Luke felt the strongest urge to attempt to contact his brothers. Austria hadn't done anything like that to Venetia, not that Luke knew of. Not to say that the younger brother knew no abuse; Luke had seen the marks enough to know that Venetia received quite a bit of punishment at least occasionally.
"I'll do anything to keep my brothers safe, Maria. Even if it means that I have to keep getting hurt and taking blame for things I didn't do, I'll do it. They're my little brothers; they're all I have left."
Well, I hope that wasn't as much of a pile of crap as I think it was. And to those of you still bothering to stick around and review, thanks so much. (And Romano just keeps getting shafted, doesn't he?)
A small explanation: In 1660, the Electorate of Brandenburg and the Duchy of Prussia unified to form the Kingdom of Prussia. My new headcanon has translated that into a marriage between Prussia and Brandenburg. (Ironically enough, this marriage lasted up until roughly 1932/1936-ish, when the Nazis dissolved Prussia de facto, therefore meaning that Prussia's first [and only] marriage lasted for nearly 300 years. Suck on that, Austria.)
Next chapter I think I'm going to do a precursor to the Italian War for Independence. (Which, you guessed it, means Prussia, Prussia, and more Prussia.)
As always, please leave a review! I can't grow as a writer if you don't tell my where I did well, where I screwed up, and how to improve. Thanks, and until next time!