hetalia oneshot || monster;
title: Monster
pairings: Russia X Germany, implied Germany X Italy
rating: Uhm. PG, I think? But thematically PG-13.
summary: Germany and Russia meet up in Moscow to discuss an alliance between them; but even for the political pleasantries, Russia notices with some annoyance that Germany refuses to look at him.
MONSTER
Moscow; August 23rd, 1939
The air was clear but so many things were hidden between the lines- there was so much dust that floated by unresolved, threatened to choke...what seemed empty was probably only a mask. Yeah, they met and formalities were passed- got that "play nice" look from the bosses, then were left to papers, antiquities, manufactured pleasantries.
Only, this wasn’t strictly a Western affair, and the blood that ran between Germany and Russia couldn’t be effaced with a handshake or a smile. Russia figured maybe that was why Germany was standing, posture rigid, hovering over a map of Eastern Europe with his mouth straightened. Of course, Russia wasn’t naive; he had fully expected this hostility, but there was something else...Germany’s eyes were blinded to him, he noticed as he sat down. How odd.
"Here- as of now German influence extends a little upwards of Poland- to Lithuania, I’d say," Germany said, voice cool and not extending past professionalism. He pushed the map over towards Russia, but Russia noticed again that Germany wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were set determinedly on some apparition in the room- even when their bosses had escorted them in, there’d been nothing but a flicker of a glance from Germany- bullet blue barely acknowledging Russia, and it puzzled him.
"Ah, I see," Russia said with a smile, looking down at the map.
There was a pause- dust and sunlight; gunpowder between the lines. Germany made a strange gesture. "Go on," Germany said- and though his voice was soft Russia could feel the snap of impatience in its currents.
Russia looked over the map slimly, but Germany knew that wasn’t necessary- Russia always knew what he wanted, despite appearances. Russia seemed to consider things; then pushed the map back to Germany. "I’d like Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia," he said, smiling simply, words sweet black honey off his tongue. He looked up to Germany, but again, their eyes didn’t meet. "And Finland, if you don’t mind; he’s good, too."
The hollow look on Germany’s face made it seem as though he hadn’t heard Russia at all- he looked over the map, weighing his time, trying to discern what waiting would allow him. He could see what Russia was doing: trying to create a barrier between himself and the West. He couldn’t see why- there were many reasons behind thought-clouds of smoke and jewels, but they were vague, oblique.
But it didn’t exactly matter- if it was going to be him against Russia, he had no doubt who would fold, no doubt who would collapse first. His resources were superior to Russia’s in many ways; and sooner or later, as the plan went, his influence would actually extend into Russia. He marked Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania with measured movements- red across the land. "That’s fine, then. I understand you need to consolidate your borders; and it’s wise that I don’t overextend myself, so you may take control of East Poland, as well," Germany went on, and oh- the way he talked to Russia, it was as though he was barely taking notice of him. He watched as Germany drew a thin red line across the middle of Poland- he did it slowly, as though it was something he had to endure. Germany capped the marker, stood straight; fixed his cap and, turning his eyes toward the window, seemed to be looking to some hazy tomorrow. Russia watched Germany with an almost parental patience as Germany continued to speak; "That is, if there is mutual cooperation, I’m sure that we can both secure our positions in Eastern Europe." His eyes were made of ice; Russia paused.
"Hmm, I agree," Russia said, the note of his voice like laughter, "But won’t you look at me?"
Silence; fugitive electricity. "I won’t," Germany responded, mouth tentative, formal and polite, as if he was turning down some invitation- as if he was disagreeing with something very simple.
Russia laughed. "And why not, Germany?" he asked, dust crossing his eyes.
And there the air fell back into sunlit repose, and Germany didn’t answer. It didn’t seem like he was going to answer; he went about fixing things on the table, rolling up the map, putting writing utensils in their proper places. Something in Russia curled like cooked blood, and he felt irritation spark into his fingers. But then Germany said through the silence, "Because I’m choosing to trust you." Russia eyed him curiously, wondering what exactly those words meant. Germany let off a short exhalation. "If I look at you, I know whatever trust I’ve-...fabricated will break. So I won’t look at you."
Russia made a soft sound- between a child’s laughter and the coo of a dove, Orthodox lace- winter storms. He didn’t bother to get up to help Germany because now there was no semblance of cooperation. The word "mutual" was just a shattered facet of the minutes that passed. Russia just settled himself back into his chair, watched Germany and measured- well, those things that Russia was wont to measure: how much blood there was to plunder, how many dreams or memories he could twist in his favor. "You’re the type who does what he’s told, aren’t you?" he said with a smile, and the words had an acid bite to them.
Germany stiffened. "I don’t know what that even means, so I have no answer for you," he replied, the rhythm of his words impatient and short, although flushed with irritation (and Russia was glad to at least get some reaction).
Russia giggled in reply, standing up from his place- standing straight, standing tall, and Germany immediately felt on the defensive; Russia was, at this point, the only power who could challenge him, and it came across in every inflection, in every smile, in every word sharp with ice. "You only think of duty," Russia chirped, leaning down- closer- but Germany's eyes were still turned obstinately away- Russia smiled. "You think of your people, of responsibility, of honesty. Don’t you ever think of- possibilities?"
Russia’s breathing a snowstorm- the small space between them seemed larger, for the resentment, the agendas, that seemed to surface like a dirge. The proximity was irritating, and Germany was unsure of whether or not he could continue to be- civil. "Russia, your definition of ‘possibilities’ seems to differ greatly from mine," Germany said.
Russia watched his eyes the way a cat watches a bird- biding time. He laughed. "Of course, that always seems to be the case," he said, with an imperceptible leaning in his posture; he paused. "Germany," he continued, with a strange friendliness, familiarity, in the way he addressed him that made the soldier’s instinct rise in Germany, "Did you ever think of the possibility that your truths just add up to a very large lie?"
"Don’t say nonsensical things," Germany started to say, voice snapping, but he was interrupted when Russia moved- time seemed to shift abruptly from placid air to sudden violence. Russia’s hand on his shoulder, and the feeling of fabric- his hand under his chin, lifting his head just so. The movement was gentle, but with that thin kind of gentleness that only betrays how easily something can be broken.
"But you really should look at me," Russia said, almost snarled, "Because now, we both know, there is no trust between us."
Hazy blue and violet- electric: Germany’s eyes snapped up to Russia’s, not so much with defiance, but- with something calm. His eyes seemed to level the distance between them, and Russia realized then that it wasn’t so simple as trust and distrust. It lay more in the creation of trust: in that, now that he could see Germany’s eyes, he could see that he was planning the same things as himself. Domination- a tearing fire; it was that Germany needed the military support of Russia for as long as there was the threat of the West, before he would ultimately stand against him.
Eyes, not like his other states’- no malaise, no weakness, no fear or alarm- cool and hidden. "Don’t touch me," Germany commanded, surprising even himself a little with the authoritarian bark of his voice. His eyes said- I can destroy you, and Russia was loathe to accept that.
But Russia always kept face, so he smiled and, tracing Germany’s jawline, lowered his hand; slid his arm off Germany’s shoulder- with that strange slow sweetness of spinning a web.
Germany stepped back; cleared his throat, and donned the mask of diplomacy again, forcing himself to disregard what had just happened because he needed to complete his work here. "Like I said, mutual cooperation is the best option we have," he said, touching the folded map again tentatively.
"For now," Russia rejoined, with a laugh, the words like a jab.
But Germany didn’t have the same mirth that other nations had- that accepting, cynical humor. "For now," he repeated, stolidly.
Their work was done; the sun was lazily floating downward, becoming heavy- illuminating the empty space in the room. Germany and Russia waited for their bosses to finish up the formalities of their meeting- Germany continuously checking the clock (for some weird reason) and Russia singing folk songs with a child’s sweetness.
Handshakes, smiles; their bosses were better at hiding their agendas, their animosity, than they themselves were. They stepped out of the room, through the halls, through the hollow light- and out the door, two on two, into the thick August air. Seemed weird, for Moscow to be warm, even at this time of year. Something about warmth in Russia was- strange, inhuman.
Germany’s boss went ahead, through a side exit, got into a car; Germany stayed behind, and recognition passed over his eyes, so Russia followed his gaze. By the fencing stood a familiar figure, wrapped in sunshine, looking rather like a lost puppy. He turned around- "Germany!" Italy exclaimed, and did a weird half-skip half-jog over to the fence- leaning on it rather crudely, causing the guards to look at him with puzzlement.
Russia watched as red crept over Germany’s face; he let out a small laugh, and the red deepened. He looked back to Russia and his boss, and with a grim expression saluted them; then ran over to meet Italy at the fencing. Russia’s boss talked about something, but the words were ghostlike, immaterial- he was intent on watching Germany and Italy. "Ve, ve! How’d it go? Was it good? Huh?" Italy piped excitedly, and Germany just patted him on the shoulder rather calmly- "Yes, yes, come on, let’s go." He watched them disappear down the street, almost past his vision. Russia thought vaguely that Italy’s house was rather warm; he wondered why he smiled when he thought it.
"Was Russia scary? He’s usually really scary," Italy chattered beside Germany, but Germany’s mind was caught up in vague cloudy thoughts that he couldn’t get rid of. He and Russia both knew that whatever "non-aggression" existed between them existed only in the realm of possibility- their cooperation would thin as time wore on. How could he actually work with Russia, on anything? Russia was backwards, crazy- he was still caught in some strange, dark age, and he was intent on isolating himself from the rest of the world. Germany listened to Italy’s voice as though it was background music- Russia took no regard of his people. He didn’t seem to care how many died, or how much suffering was inflicted, how many were left without hope or how many were struck with the disease of poverty forever, as long as Russia himself managed to struggle to the top. Germany shuddered. Russia only existed in blood and snow. Then a summer wind came down the alleys, and Germany solidified his will- thought Russia subhuman: a monster.
And Russia stood at the fence, having only now lost sight of Germany and Italy- and as thoughts of sun faded from his mind, he mused grimly on Germany. Of course, he was inferior to Russia. Yes, Russia knew that Germany was mechanized, that he was more intact than Russia, that- most importantly- he had money to back him; but Germany’s blood was weaker than his own, that he was sure of. And sooner or later, like the rest of the world, Germany would just fall in line beneath him.
But for now, he had to keep a close watch on Germany. Because, while the rest of the world was still stuck in 1918, Germany had his tomorrow- Germany was the best in the present, was making sure with lightning machines that he would be the best in the future. Russia paused, remembered his eyes- so solid, so cold, not even realizing what a liar he was- Germany was sure to have Europe on its knees, for a little while at least. Germany was on the level of superhuman; in any case, a monster.
The number of the beast; the raging fire that passes in shadows- both looking to tomorrow, not realizing that the road to tomorrow was already slick with blood. Blue or violet- it would become red soon enough. Political genocide on the horizon and all exits closing fast, but all march on for the future, bullet blind.
NOTES;;
this comic sums up the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact:
That's Hitler on the left and Stalin on the right, and Poland lying...dead...on the floor XD
So, this was an examination on both the policy and plans of Germany and Russia for WWII, as well as the weird relationship between Germans and Russians. They both thought the other was inferior- the Russians and Germans both planned to pretty much enslave/subjugate Eastern Europe. A race of slaves and masters, I guess.
This is also sort of a prelude to the epic WWII fic I'm writing ;D
Thanks for reading!!!
pairings: Russia X Germany, implied Germany X Italy
rating: Uhm. PG, I think? But thematically PG-13.
summary: Germany and Russia meet up in Moscow to discuss an alliance between them; but even for the political pleasantries, Russia notices with some annoyance that Germany refuses to look at him.
MONSTER
Moscow; August 23rd, 1939
The air was clear but so many things were hidden between the lines- there was so much dust that floated by unresolved, threatened to choke...what seemed empty was probably only a mask. Yeah, they met and formalities were passed- got that "play nice" look from the bosses, then were left to papers, antiquities, manufactured pleasantries.
Only, this wasn’t strictly a Western affair, and the blood that ran between Germany and Russia couldn’t be effaced with a handshake or a smile. Russia figured maybe that was why Germany was standing, posture rigid, hovering over a map of Eastern Europe with his mouth straightened. Of course, Russia wasn’t naive; he had fully expected this hostility, but there was something else...Germany’s eyes were blinded to him, he noticed as he sat down. How odd.
"Here- as of now German influence extends a little upwards of Poland- to Lithuania, I’d say," Germany said, voice cool and not extending past professionalism. He pushed the map over towards Russia, but Russia noticed again that Germany wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were set determinedly on some apparition in the room- even when their bosses had escorted them in, there’d been nothing but a flicker of a glance from Germany- bullet blue barely acknowledging Russia, and it puzzled him.
"Ah, I see," Russia said with a smile, looking down at the map.
There was a pause- dust and sunlight; gunpowder between the lines. Germany made a strange gesture. "Go on," Germany said- and though his voice was soft Russia could feel the snap of impatience in its currents.
Russia looked over the map slimly, but Germany knew that wasn’t necessary- Russia always knew what he wanted, despite appearances. Russia seemed to consider things; then pushed the map back to Germany. "I’d like Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia," he said, smiling simply, words sweet black honey off his tongue. He looked up to Germany, but again, their eyes didn’t meet. "And Finland, if you don’t mind; he’s good, too."
The hollow look on Germany’s face made it seem as though he hadn’t heard Russia at all- he looked over the map, weighing his time, trying to discern what waiting would allow him. He could see what Russia was doing: trying to create a barrier between himself and the West. He couldn’t see why- there were many reasons behind thought-clouds of smoke and jewels, but they were vague, oblique.
But it didn’t exactly matter- if it was going to be him against Russia, he had no doubt who would fold, no doubt who would collapse first. His resources were superior to Russia’s in many ways; and sooner or later, as the plan went, his influence would actually extend into Russia. He marked Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania with measured movements- red across the land. "That’s fine, then. I understand you need to consolidate your borders; and it’s wise that I don’t overextend myself, so you may take control of East Poland, as well," Germany went on, and oh- the way he talked to Russia, it was as though he was barely taking notice of him. He watched as Germany drew a thin red line across the middle of Poland- he did it slowly, as though it was something he had to endure. Germany capped the marker, stood straight; fixed his cap and, turning his eyes toward the window, seemed to be looking to some hazy tomorrow. Russia watched Germany with an almost parental patience as Germany continued to speak; "That is, if there is mutual cooperation, I’m sure that we can both secure our positions in Eastern Europe." His eyes were made of ice; Russia paused.
"Hmm, I agree," Russia said, the note of his voice like laughter, "But won’t you look at me?"
Silence; fugitive electricity. "I won’t," Germany responded, mouth tentative, formal and polite, as if he was turning down some invitation- as if he was disagreeing with something very simple.
Russia laughed. "And why not, Germany?" he asked, dust crossing his eyes.
And there the air fell back into sunlit repose, and Germany didn’t answer. It didn’t seem like he was going to answer; he went about fixing things on the table, rolling up the map, putting writing utensils in their proper places. Something in Russia curled like cooked blood, and he felt irritation spark into his fingers. But then Germany said through the silence, "Because I’m choosing to trust you." Russia eyed him curiously, wondering what exactly those words meant. Germany let off a short exhalation. "If I look at you, I know whatever trust I’ve-...fabricated will break. So I won’t look at you."
Russia made a soft sound- between a child’s laughter and the coo of a dove, Orthodox lace- winter storms. He didn’t bother to get up to help Germany because now there was no semblance of cooperation. The word "mutual" was just a shattered facet of the minutes that passed. Russia just settled himself back into his chair, watched Germany and measured- well, those things that Russia was wont to measure: how much blood there was to plunder, how many dreams or memories he could twist in his favor. "You’re the type who does what he’s told, aren’t you?" he said with a smile, and the words had an acid bite to them.
Germany stiffened. "I don’t know what that even means, so I have no answer for you," he replied, the rhythm of his words impatient and short, although flushed with irritation (and Russia was glad to at least get some reaction).
Russia giggled in reply, standing up from his place- standing straight, standing tall, and Germany immediately felt on the defensive; Russia was, at this point, the only power who could challenge him, and it came across in every inflection, in every smile, in every word sharp with ice. "You only think of duty," Russia chirped, leaning down- closer- but Germany's eyes were still turned obstinately away- Russia smiled. "You think of your people, of responsibility, of honesty. Don’t you ever think of- possibilities?"
Russia’s breathing a snowstorm- the small space between them seemed larger, for the resentment, the agendas, that seemed to surface like a dirge. The proximity was irritating, and Germany was unsure of whether or not he could continue to be- civil. "Russia, your definition of ‘possibilities’ seems to differ greatly from mine," Germany said.
Russia watched his eyes the way a cat watches a bird- biding time. He laughed. "Of course, that always seems to be the case," he said, with an imperceptible leaning in his posture; he paused. "Germany," he continued, with a strange friendliness, familiarity, in the way he addressed him that made the soldier’s instinct rise in Germany, "Did you ever think of the possibility that your truths just add up to a very large lie?"
"Don’t say nonsensical things," Germany started to say, voice snapping, but he was interrupted when Russia moved- time seemed to shift abruptly from placid air to sudden violence. Russia’s hand on his shoulder, and the feeling of fabric- his hand under his chin, lifting his head just so. The movement was gentle, but with that thin kind of gentleness that only betrays how easily something can be broken.
"But you really should look at me," Russia said, almost snarled, "Because now, we both know, there is no trust between us."
Hazy blue and violet- electric: Germany’s eyes snapped up to Russia’s, not so much with defiance, but- with something calm. His eyes seemed to level the distance between them, and Russia realized then that it wasn’t so simple as trust and distrust. It lay more in the creation of trust: in that, now that he could see Germany’s eyes, he could see that he was planning the same things as himself. Domination- a tearing fire; it was that Germany needed the military support of Russia for as long as there was the threat of the West, before he would ultimately stand against him.
Eyes, not like his other states’- no malaise, no weakness, no fear or alarm- cool and hidden. "Don’t touch me," Germany commanded, surprising even himself a little with the authoritarian bark of his voice. His eyes said- I can destroy you, and Russia was loathe to accept that.
But Russia always kept face, so he smiled and, tracing Germany’s jawline, lowered his hand; slid his arm off Germany’s shoulder- with that strange slow sweetness of spinning a web.
Germany stepped back; cleared his throat, and donned the mask of diplomacy again, forcing himself to disregard what had just happened because he needed to complete his work here. "Like I said, mutual cooperation is the best option we have," he said, touching the folded map again tentatively.
"For now," Russia rejoined, with a laugh, the words like a jab.
But Germany didn’t have the same mirth that other nations had- that accepting, cynical humor. "For now," he repeated, stolidly.
Their work was done; the sun was lazily floating downward, becoming heavy- illuminating the empty space in the room. Germany and Russia waited for their bosses to finish up the formalities of their meeting- Germany continuously checking the clock (for some weird reason) and Russia singing folk songs with a child’s sweetness.
Handshakes, smiles; their bosses were better at hiding their agendas, their animosity, than they themselves were. They stepped out of the room, through the halls, through the hollow light- and out the door, two on two, into the thick August air. Seemed weird, for Moscow to be warm, even at this time of year. Something about warmth in Russia was- strange, inhuman.
Germany’s boss went ahead, through a side exit, got into a car; Germany stayed behind, and recognition passed over his eyes, so Russia followed his gaze. By the fencing stood a familiar figure, wrapped in sunshine, looking rather like a lost puppy. He turned around- "Germany!" Italy exclaimed, and did a weird half-skip half-jog over to the fence- leaning on it rather crudely, causing the guards to look at him with puzzlement.
Russia watched as red crept over Germany’s face; he let out a small laugh, and the red deepened. He looked back to Russia and his boss, and with a grim expression saluted them; then ran over to meet Italy at the fencing. Russia’s boss talked about something, but the words were ghostlike, immaterial- he was intent on watching Germany and Italy. "Ve, ve! How’d it go? Was it good? Huh?" Italy piped excitedly, and Germany just patted him on the shoulder rather calmly- "Yes, yes, come on, let’s go." He watched them disappear down the street, almost past his vision. Russia thought vaguely that Italy’s house was rather warm; he wondered why he smiled when he thought it.
"Was Russia scary? He’s usually really scary," Italy chattered beside Germany, but Germany’s mind was caught up in vague cloudy thoughts that he couldn’t get rid of. He and Russia both knew that whatever "non-aggression" existed between them existed only in the realm of possibility- their cooperation would thin as time wore on. How could he actually work with Russia, on anything? Russia was backwards, crazy- he was still caught in some strange, dark age, and he was intent on isolating himself from the rest of the world. Germany listened to Italy’s voice as though it was background music- Russia took no regard of his people. He didn’t seem to care how many died, or how much suffering was inflicted, how many were left without hope or how many were struck with the disease of poverty forever, as long as Russia himself managed to struggle to the top. Germany shuddered. Russia only existed in blood and snow. Then a summer wind came down the alleys, and Germany solidified his will- thought Russia subhuman: a monster.
And Russia stood at the fence, having only now lost sight of Germany and Italy- and as thoughts of sun faded from his mind, he mused grimly on Germany. Of course, he was inferior to Russia. Yes, Russia knew that Germany was mechanized, that he was more intact than Russia, that- most importantly- he had money to back him; but Germany’s blood was weaker than his own, that he was sure of. And sooner or later, like the rest of the world, Germany would just fall in line beneath him.
But for now, he had to keep a close watch on Germany. Because, while the rest of the world was still stuck in 1918, Germany had his tomorrow- Germany was the best in the present, was making sure with lightning machines that he would be the best in the future. Russia paused, remembered his eyes- so solid, so cold, not even realizing what a liar he was- Germany was sure to have Europe on its knees, for a little while at least. Germany was on the level of superhuman; in any case, a monster.
The number of the beast; the raging fire that passes in shadows- both looking to tomorrow, not realizing that the road to tomorrow was already slick with blood. Blue or violet- it would become red soon enough. Political genocide on the horizon and all exits closing fast, but all march on for the future, bullet blind.
NOTES;;
this comic sums up the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact:
That's Hitler on the left and Stalin on the right, and Poland lying...dead...on the floor XD
So, this was an examination on both the policy and plans of Germany and Russia for WWII, as well as the weird relationship between Germans and Russians. They both thought the other was inferior- the Russians and Germans both planned to pretty much enslave/subjugate Eastern Europe. A race of slaves and masters, I guess.
This is also sort of a prelude to the epic WWII fic I'm writing ;D
Thanks for reading!!!