Author's Notes: Based on the prompt: "Anon's headcanon is that micronations, due to their small territories/populations, are a lot weaker than normal nations.
Somebody decides to take advantage of this. The attacker could be a nation or it could be a human who found out about nations and gets off on the idea of forcing such a powerful entity. The attack is extremely brutal, and after it's happened, the attacker tells the micronation that nobody will believe them if they tell. The micronation believes them, and in any case they're too ashamed to admit to anyone that it happened.
Whether the truth comes out in the end or not -and whether the other nations do listen, or treat it as just a cry for attention - is up to anon, but a semi-happy ending would be preferred."
Warning - non-con, be very careful.
"...What are you doing?"
No words. The paint flings forward, blue splattering everywhere.
Austria sighs and kneels next to him. "I didn't know that was your style. I know one of America's painters..."
"It's art," he says and throws his paintbrush to the side, listening to it crash into the window.
Austria winces. "That was probably unnecessary. You should be lucky you didn't break that window; weren't you running a little low on funds recently?"
He doesn't answer. Takes another paintbrush, thicker. Covers it in red.
("You're a mess," the man growls. "You're blood's getting all over me. Fuck, that's disgusting." Kugel whimpers into his gag.)
He frowns, and dips the red in the yellow. Orange. Orange and blue work well together.
He huffs and frustration and begins to stab the artwork, leaving orange where he goes. The runs the brush over, tangerine bruises and the blue mixes in and it's all brown. Everything ends up brown eventually.
"Be careful, you don't want to damage the canvas," Austria reminds him. He humphs in annoyance.
"It's art. Not like music. You wouldn't understand."
"Hmph." Austria's getting annoyed, he's clearly getting annoyed, but Kugelmugel sees him force himself to let it go. Oh no. "...Well, I'm not sure I understand this work. What is it about?" A pause. "I know you think my views are old-fashioned, but my thoughts about art were always that it was... more aesthetically pleasing, than anything else..."
("Stupid pretty-boy. Fuck, like you even count as a boy." The man pulls on his braids, and Kugelmugel cries out. "Useless. Pathetic. Why do they even keep you around?")
He aims his paintbrush at Austria, like a dagger. Austria just blinks. "...Art," he says, turning back to the canvas. He closes his eyes.
("Look at me, you little coward!" He forces his eyes open, even as the man spits in his face. "Fucking piece of shit! You can't ignore me! You're not gonna forget who did this to you; you're not gonna forget this face!")
Open again. He doesn't know where to take the painting from here.
"I see." Austria frowns, removes his glasses. "Well, you always wish your works to communicate something, don't you? What does this communicate?"
He pauses. He doesn't know.
("Would you shut the fuck up?" the man shouts. "Fuck, what did I even bring the fucking gag for then? Just stopped me having a go on your mouth. There's no-one here and who'd even fucking bother saving someone like you, so stop it. I might let you out early; how 'bout that, kid?")
Austria puts his glasses back on. "Kugelmugel, will you please look at me?"
"I'll lose my muse. I won't finish the work."
"You're not exactly finishing it right now."
("Look around, brat." He's too frightened to refuse. Portraits, landscapes; abstract, realistic – they all lash out at him. "This is what you spend all day doing. And you still think you're important somehow?")
He doesn't respond. He doesn't move his brush. He doesn't know what to do.
("Will this kill you?" the man asks, smirking. "I like to think this'll kill you. What's this mean, someone's robbing the house? That big ball thing. Huh. Funny.")
"Look at me."
("Don't you try and beg me," the man snarls. It was a last resort anyway. "Who would listen to you?")
Another sigh. "Please, don't do this," says Austria, trying to turn Kugelmugel by the shoulder. The boy flinches and shies away.
A pause. Austria begins to shuffle forward, awkwardly while he's kneeling, getting grime and paint on that nice suit.
Dirt on rich fabric. Desecration of something beautiful. There's a theme there.
("Pretty. Useless. What, you whoring yourself out to the real country, just to stay alive?" He shakes his head furiously, and is spat at for his efforts. "Don't answer me. I'll think what I wanna think, thanks.")
He says nothing. Slowly, he drops his paintbrush, and runs the hand over the side of Austria's face. Brown gets everywhere, but Austria doesn't even seem to notice. It's all so strange, given how he's usually so picky, so neat, so aloof.
The change that comes in desperate situations. That could be a theme too.
("Don't you think you can go crying to anyone," the man warns. "Someone like you... Bet they wouldn't even listen. Some kind of flimsy attempt to become a real boy, right? 'Sides... second you ask for help you lose a little bit of that independence. And you haven't got enough of that to start with.")
"You're frightening me."
He sounds so very honest.
"...Art is frightening. It pushes boundaries. Art... Art is..."
("That's all you fucking have. A few pretty pictures." The man grins like the wolf; there is symbolism. "Why do you think you're better than me?")
"...What is it? What is this?" He gestures at the painting once more. Kugelmugel stares.
("Look at you. You're a fucking mess," the man says as he composes himself, puts things back in their appropriate place. Dishonest. That's not art. "Do you think – the real countries. Bet they've been through this a million times before, what with those wars and the looting and shit. But you – you can't handle it." He laughs quietly. "You know, it's kind of a let down. I was hoping at least to get some kind of power trip out of this.")
Slowly, he bends down and picks up his paintbrush once more.
He stabs it through the canvas.
"Kugelmugel!" Austria seems shocked that he'd do such a thing. Austria's ideas have always been narrow.
Kugelmugel just stares at the painting. It's so brown. It's messy. Dirty. Ugly. Broken.
("All you're good for is a few pretty pictures...")
"...It hurts," he says, facing Austria again. The man doesn't understand a word he says. "That's how you know it's art."