A/N: So, I'm going to try to follow some vague storyline with these stories. I know it's taken a really long time for me to get another story up, but life's been hectic lately and, frankly, I haven't had time for fanfiction. If you'll notice, my last post on this site was sometime in October; right around when things started to get crazy.
That being said, for those of you whom have just clicked and saw that bit about a storyline, this is still very useful as a stand-alone story. There's no particular order in which they need to be read. I'm not even sure I'm going to be publishing them in order, as I'm quite sure I want to do a Viking storyline, but I'm not quite sure how to go about it yet. If you want to, you can to read Tavastland, but it's not required to understand this story, by any means.
I will be at Shutocon 2011, hosting a fanfiction panel. If you're planning on coming to Shutocon 2011, please consider coming to my panel, titled Fanfiction: 101. I hope you won't be sorry, as my sister and I are planning on putting on quite a show. ^_^ If you would like more information about Shutocon 2011 (Lansing's premier anime convention) I highly recommend Googling it and checking out their forums.
So, I hope you enjoy this story! This section takes place somewhere between 1520 and 1523, otherwise known as, "That period in time where Sweden and Denmark did everything they could to wipe each other off the map." Seeing as the Kalmar Union was a series of smaller unions—Sweden-Finland (This is actually a controversial term but it serves the purpose of the story and I'm not a historian anyway.) Denmark-Norway (Norway, whom brought to the table Iceland and other overseas territories) and others—I feel it safe to say that Sweden already sees Finland as her wife.
Disclaimer: I (Katlynn888) do not own Hetalia. Sweden, Finland, and all other characters and contents of the aforementioned manga/anime/webcomic belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, Funimation Entertainment, TokyoPop Publishing, and their associates.
All Together, Now
At night, Finland sometimes sat with Norway and Iceland. Norway was a bit younger than her, at that time, and Iceland was only a little girl. The three young women, the oldest of them only looking to be barely out of childhood, would sit curled on Norway's bed, absolutely silent, and listen to the sounds of their entire world coming down around their ears.
Finland cringed as she heard the shriek of a particular Swede, as Denmark performed any number of painful attacks on her. Perhaps, she'd just pulled her long blonde ponytail backwards so hard that dozens of hairs had uprooted themselves. Or, perhaps she'd finally landed a blow somewhere that really hurt.
Norway gritted her teeth to keep from uttering out in worry as she heard Denmark screaming in angry Danish. Finland couldn't understand the language; it was too dissimilar from Finnish, and she didn't know Swedish enough to do the comparison. But Norway could understand it with a certain amount of ease. Whatever Denmark was bellowing, it wasn't good.
Iceland was more bothered by the worry of the women around her, than the yelps and screeches from downstairs. Her face was against Norway's waist, and she stared uneasily at Finland, who was on her knees in front of the door. Her hair, which she'd been plaiting when the fight broke out and as such, was loose and hanging down her back, was pulled away from her ear. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. Sweden's quarterstaff had found its way into the fight, if the sound of metal hitting walls was any indication.
At this point, what was to keep Denmark from bringing her battle ax in? If she did, Sweden wouldn't stand a chance. She'd be dealt some fatal blow and Finland would sit by her lifeless side tonight, or tomorrow if she hadn't regained life and consciousness by then.
"Denmark's drunk," Finland mumbled, so quietly the others almost couldn't hear her. She saw Norway's jaw tighten, and Iceland's brows furrow. "It's probably why they're fighting."
"Someone's gotta tell them to stop, or they'll kill each other," Norway muttered. The way she held Iceland, she obviously meant to say that it wouldn't be her.
"Don't you mean I should?" Finland muttered, turning her head back to the door to take another listen. "Besides, it won't work. It never does." Even if Sweden stopped at the very sight of her partner, Denmark would only take this as an opening and inflict the final blow. Finland didn't want this. Nor did she want to repeat the experience of a month ago, where she'd tried to force her way in-between both women and ended up on the wrong side of Denmark's ax.
It was the first time Finland had experienced death since the thirteen hundreds.
Norway sighed. "This is ridiculous. I want to go to bed." She took Iceland's long, flaxen hair into her hands and began to braid it. It would keep Iceland calm. "Those two are complete idiots."
Finland shot a glare over her shoulder. A retort was at the tip of her tongue ("You don't care about your wife but I sure as hell care about mine!") but she bit it back and instead opened the door a crack. The sounds of fighting became five times louder, and with one last glance at Norway and Iceland, she slowly crawled out the door, closing it behind her with a small snap.
She crept across the floor, making sure not to let it creak (Although she was entirely sure they wouldn't have been able to hear her) and crawled down three steps until she could just see the living room.
Denmark had Sweden face-down on the floor, a knee in the small of her back. Both were in various states of dishevelment; Denmark's blouse was ripped down the middle, almost exposing her, and Sweden's hair had become a rat's nest in the back from being yanked out of its tie and tangled by Denmark's hands.
She leaned over a little too far, and ended up tumbling down the stairs. The yelps she gave made the two women pause and Denmark glance at her. She ended up a crumpled mass at the bottom of the stairs, with Sweden's gasp of, "Finn!" filling her ears.
"Your wifey's here," Denmark said, rather unnecessarily, and tilted her head to the side. Finland looked up, gritting her teeth, and sat up. Her arm was aching, and there was a bruise on her cheek that might or might not have actually been a black eye, but for the most part she was okay.
She grunted, "Would you two stop it? You're scaring Iceland and Norway's getting pissed. Fight in the morning." Then she added, "And I'm tired of mending your clothing." Just to appeal to Sweden's guilt complex as well. If it was the only way to stop the fighting, she'd make both of them feel like dirt. She just wanted one night where she didn't have to clean someone's wounds, or lay by her partner's lifeless body.
"Go back upstairs," Denmark muttered, rolling her eyes. "Tell Nor that she can be pissed."
Sweden kept her face buried in the floor, either too ashamed to look Finland in the eye, or physically incapable of turning her head that way at the moment. But Finland thought she heard her voice murmur, "Please, Finn."
"Why do you always tell me to go back upstairs?" Finland muttered, raising an eyebrow. By now, she'd leaned back against the wall. One knee was against her chest, curling her arm towards herself, and the other was akimbo out to the side. In short, she'd made herself comfortable. "Can't fight with an audience?"
"Sverige, make her leave," Denmark demanded. Her other leg, the one that Finland couldn't see, lifted slightly and Finland realized that she'd had Sweden's hair pinned under her knee.
Sweden turned her head, to reveal a maze of scratches on her cheek, and mumbled, "Please, Finland. I don't want ya t'see this…"
With a small shake of her head, Finland mumbled, "No, Ruotsi."
"She even supposed to be speaking Finnish?" Denmark muttered, furrowing her brows.
"Shut up," Finland snapped, balling her fists up. "Are you gonna fight or what? Go ahead, Denmark, kill my partner in front of my eyes." She crossed her arms, glaring and ready to watch it go down. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would show Denmark that she wasn't afraid. Of death, of her.
There were a few moments of pregnant silence. Sweden's eyes met Finland's. Then Denmark sighed in annoyance and stood up. "Whatever, Finland. Just go ruining my fun. You win, go get cleaned up, Sverige. God."
Finland stood up immediately, intent on going to her partner's side and helping her up gently. Sweden refused help, and refused eye contact as well. Instead, she walked upstairs and into the bathroom, limping the entire way, and left Finland confused, worried, and angry. She glanced at Denmark. "Tomorrow, I'm throwing all the liquor out of the house."
Denmark snorted. "Go ahead."
"And everything else that finds its way into the cabinet, downstairs, and under that floorboard in your bedroom."
Denmark's eyes widened. "How did you…?"
"I'm the one who cleans this house top to bottom," Finland replied, spun on her heal, and stomped upstairs. She flopped onto the bed she shared with Sweden, buried her face in a pillow, and left if there until it became distinctly uncomfortable to breathe. By that time, Sweden had come back in. She frowned slightly and muttered, "Are you pissed I interrupted your squabble?"
Sweden looked shocked, and shook her head. "No…No, it's…"
"Because I'm terribly sorry," Finland growled. "But we could hear you screaming from Norway's room. I thought I should help." Then she flopped onto the bed and turned away from Sweden.
She waited. Waited for the Sweden to carefully crawl into bed and turn off the light, leaving two feet of space between them that night. Waited for the telltale sign that Sweden was angry, and would spend the night brooding on the back porch. Waited for something to happen, other than deafening silence, and suffocating stillness.
When Sweden did move, and did get in bed, she placed her hand in the small of Finland's back. Finland was surprised, and glanced over her shoulder at the Swede. The hand felt warm and comforting against her back; it was a familiar weight. Sweden said, "I guess…'m a bit 'mbarassed."
"You should be," Finland breathed into her shoulder. "Fighting all the time like that is ridiculous. I'm tired of it. Do you know how worried I get? How much it scares me?" she turned over and rose to her knees, sitting back on them. "I sit up here, and listen to you fight, and hope to God that you win because the alternative…" she sighed and shook her head, angrily wiping away tears.
Sweden now had that look on her face. The one that said, "I want to say something to you so badly, but I don't know how." It was a look that came onto her face all the time, because the Swede was so bad at words. She never knew how to vocalize half the words that she wanted to. Eventually, she said, "'m sorry, Finn."
"I know," whispered Finland, looking down. Sweden's knee was close to hers, and she rested her hand on it. "I just don't think you know how…awful it is."
"Yer right," Sweden replied. "I don't."
"I know it's not entirely your fault," Finland assured, running her hand over Sweden's cheek. She was quick to forgive, especially when it came to Sweden, and her anger was more a version of warped worry anyway. At the moment, she was more preoccupied with confirming that Sweden was alright. "Denmark's not an innocent; far from it. And I'm getting rid of the alcohol. It's for her own good." Secretly, Finland admitted to herself that Denmark probably had a lot more hiding places than that one floorboard. People with issues that deep had four or five backup plans. But it would be a start.
Sweden placed her hand against Finland's head, running her fingers through the flaxen hair she loved so much. She murmured, "Want me t'plait it fer ya?"
It was a sweet offer, but Finland shook her head. Partially because it would have just come undone anyway, and partially because Sweden always did them too tightly. She was a sweet woman, that Swede, but the tightness she liked to keep her own ponytails at were almost unbearable for Finland's sensitive scalp. "No, Ruotsi. It's okay."
"Ya know…," Sweden mumbled, with utmost apology in her voice, as she continued to run her fingers through Finland's hair. Finland laid down, taking Sweden with her and settling comfortably underneath her. "'m not really supposed to let you speak Finnish."
"I know," Finland sighed, biting her lip and dropping a kiss upon Sweden's jawbone. "I'm sorry. It's just habit." She smiled slightly and whispered, "You won't tell on me though, will you? You let me sing in Finnish."
"Law d'sn't say 'nything about singing, does it?" Sweden murmured with a rare smile, and her hand slipping down over Finland's hip, to her thigh. She rested her lips against Finland's collarbone. "'m really sorry, Finn…" Her long-fingered hands began inching Finland's night shift up her hip. Finland hummed and moved so Sweden could do this more easily.
"I know," Finland whispered, closing her eyes. Sweden missed their violet depths, but knew this was a positive reaction, so didn't really mind. "And I'm sorry for getting angry and overreacting."
"Ya didn't ov'rreact," Sweden mumbled. Finland sighed at her sweetness. She wanted so badly to be good to Finland, and little did she know that she was treating Finland better than she probably deserved. If Sweden thought she hadn't overreacted, then she'd let the Swede go on thinking that, even though the Finn herself knew she had.
"Okay," Finland mumbled. Sweden's hand had pushed her shift up above her hip, revealing her white lace undergarment. Finland moved slightly, so Sweden's hand was over her protruding hipbone. She glanced up and mumbled, "Are you still hurting?"
Sweden shook her head, and Finland had no choice to believe her. Until the Sweden revealed more of her body, there was no way of telling what the extent of the damage was. As far as Finland could see, the only major injuries were the scratches on her cheek, which were already scabbing over and would probably be gone by morning. Finland knew there had to be more damage than that (Denmark was far from merciful) but without evidence, Sweden wouldn't willingly be looked over.
Under the guise of doing something else entirely, Finland grasped the fabric over Sweden's shoulder and pulled down slightly. There was a bruise there, but no gash, which was good. The first place Denmark went for was the shoulder.
"Finn?" Sweden questioned quietly. Her hand moved to Finland's stomach, the fingers splayed and laying gently upon her abdomen. Finland looked up, question in her eyes, as she covered the pause of her hand by quickly moving it over Sweden's collarbone. Sweden relaxed.
"My hands are cold, aren't they?" Finland mumbled, noticing the tremors Sweden gave when the tips of her fingers touched the dip below her throat.
"Not too much." Sweden sat up and brought both of Finland's hands into her own, rubbing them gently.
"Sweden?" whispered Finland after a moment. The blonde looked up from their clasped hands, and Finland said, "I'm about to say something that might sound crazy to you, okay? But just bear with me for a while."
Sweden looked apprehensive (And, honestly, who wouldn't when a sentence started like that?) but nodded and let Finland have her hands back. Finland moved, pushed Sweden back onto her heals, and crawled atop her lap. "Sverige, our people are revolting."
"…Hmm," Sweden agreed, furrowing her brows.
"Pretty soon, there's going to be a revolution, or a dissolution, or something," Finland continued, running her fingers through Sweden's blonde hair. "They're getting tired of being under Denmark's rule. There's going to be war. We need to get out of this house before that happens." Sweden looked about to protest, and Finland rested her fingers over her lips. "I know what you're going to say. It's dangerous. But so is staying here. And at least we'll have a chance to fight back, if we're off Danish land. We need to get back to Stockholm. Or even Helsinki. Our own land, Sverige."
Sweden thought for a moment, her hands locked behind Finland's back. She closed her eyes and pressed her head against Finland's chest, listening to her heart beat. A strong heartbeat that she had to protect. Denmark would not accept this well. If they left, they'd be declaring war. Sweden whispered, "D'nmark…needs h'lp."
"I know," Finland mumbled. "But I can't figure out what's causing her problems, and she won't tell me either. This is the best thing we can do for her. Make her realize how much she's hurting people she cares about. She's getting duty confused with loyalty. Your countries and governments are butting heads, but you two shouldn't fight. She can't see that."
"Wh't if…she looses it?" Sweden mumbled, staring up at Finland.
"Denmark's stronger than that," Finland mumbled. "And she'll still have Norway. Sometimes, I think she cares about Norway more than she does anything else on the planet. She won't loose it as long as she's got Norway." Finland left the unacknowledged question hanging in the air, and so did Sweden. Neither wanted to think what would happen to the Dane if (when) Norway decided to leave and take Iceland with her.
"Ya think we c'n do this?" Sweden remarked pensively. She inhaled greatly. Finland smelled like Lily of the Valley and snow.
"Yes," Finland whispered. "You're strong, Sweden. And…" she smiled slightly and nuzzled Sweden's cheek with her nose. "I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, Ruotsi."
"Why?" Sweden whispered against her neck. How in the world did she deserve this beautiful angel? How had she been entrusted with her life? A life that was so precious, it seemed to Sweden to be almost a privilege, rather than a burden to protect it.
There wasn't anything she could have done, in a thousand lifetimes, to deserve Finland.
"Because," Finland mumbled into her hair. "Even though I'm weak, and I know I am…I know you'll catch me when I fall. That's more than I can say about so many people." She would say I love you, and all kinds of things. But the times they lived in were not accepting to it, and Finland could not make the words come out.
And at any given moment, this union could be ripped apart as easily as the one between the five Nordic states were about to be. Finland knew the day was coming. She could taste it every time she flicked her tongue into the air. So she kept it to herself, because it would break Sweden apart if she knew.
Sweden kissed her. Finland feared, for a moment, that the other woman could taste her unspoken words on her tongue.
Finland could surely taste them on Sweden's.
But even if she did, she didn't mention it. Finland's nightshift was slipped off her head, and not long after the room was hot, and smelled tangy. Sweden rested her head against Finland's breast, both shaking and sweating and panting.
Suomi ran her fingers through dirty blonde hair. "We're doing this, then?"
Sverige nodded. "Yeah."
A/N: WTF IS THIS I DON'T EVEN…! That ending was odd. I'm not sure why I did that. At some point, I decided I didn't want it to be M. Not particular reason…it's just I wanted people to be able to see it…Heh.
PG14 ratings FTW.
Anyway, I guess the reason I wrote this is because I wanted to ask your opinions on something. I really want to start a Hetalia RP. But so far, I only have, like, two people whom would be even vaguely interested. My old RP kind of went down the toilet because not enough people were interested, and I'd already created it. So please tell me if you'd like to participate.
If I'm going to do this, I need a few awesome people to work with me as Mods/Admins. I'd like to talk to you, get to know you. Basically, this is a way to get to know other people in the fandom and RP as our favorite characters. I hope you're interested!
Introducing, the cookie game!
I give Yaoi Sakka credit for coming up with it, named The Cookie Thing. Basically, you get one cookie per chapter which you can give to any character of your choosing. (For example: "(Random review stuff) And I would like to give a cookie to _ because _!") There are a few rules, however:
1.) One cookie per review.
2.) You can split the cookie between however many characters you like (Like half to Sweden, half to Finland, or a third each to Finland, Sweden, and Denmark, whatever.)
I think that's it. Heh, this note is practically longer than the story…heh.