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hetalia2010-06-15 08:58 pm
fullopuddin.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2010-06-15 08:58 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfic: The Widow Capet (France, Marie Antoinette)
Title: The Widow Capet
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fullopuddin
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France, Marie Antoinette
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some cursing, mention of sex.
Summary: "The Widow Capet," the judge Antoine - brute of a man, even the good French citizens were beginning to fear him - called out, "you are brought before the Tribunal to answer for your many crimes against the nation of France..."
Note: A short ficlet I did on request, "France at the trial of Marie Antoinette." Crossposted at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
historichetalia
His feet were aching in his shoes. The women around him, knitting constantly, were reciting a poem about the queen fucking her brother. He could feel the people, bored and spiteful that the autrichienne should keep them waiting even on the day of her trial. Trying a queen! Who would have thought... France pinched his arm. Ex-queen, he reminded himself. One must be careful throwing around the word queen, king, prince, princess. There were no such things in France anymore.
He didn't want to attend her trial - oh he did, but he didn't, but he shouldn't and he wanted to, and he couldn't quite pinpoint his feelings anymore. Things were too cloudy. He felt hatred but remorse and spite but loyalty and sometimes he missed the days when his biggest worry was stepping over a puddle of piss at Versailles.
The doors opened. The song stopped, in the middle of a thrust, and even France's heart sped up as Antoinette - pinch, she was now the Widow Capet - stepped into the room.
And oh, oh he could feel the swell of a sick mixture of pity and pure satisfaction around him as she calmly walked towards the front of the room. Her mourning dress was tattered, dragging dirt behind her; her hair grey, her face looking more like that of the poor old women in front of him than of a formerly pampered queen of thirty-eight. He hardly recognized her - if she recognized him, she did not show it. She had aged from the revolution. They both had.
He had expected the people so shout at her as they so often did, even in her absence but there was only an uneasy whisper around him. 'She looks frail,' one said, and another wondered if she could really be the Marie Antoinette, the vampiric she-devil temptress who ruined France with her feathers and diamonds.
She sat on a small stool, calm, her fingers drumming on the arm of her chair as if on her old harpsichord.
"The Widow Capet," the judge Antoine called out, "you are brought before the Tribunal to answer for your many crimes against the nation of France..."
Author/Artist:
fullopuddinCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): France, Marie Antoinette
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some cursing, mention of sex.
Summary: "The Widow Capet," the judge Antoine - brute of a man, even the good French citizens were beginning to fear him - called out, "you are brought before the Tribunal to answer for your many crimes against the nation of France..."
Note: A short ficlet I did on request, "France at the trial of Marie Antoinette." Crossposted at
historichetaliaHis feet were aching in his shoes. The women around him, knitting constantly, were reciting a poem about the queen fucking her brother. He could feel the people, bored and spiteful that the autrichienne should keep them waiting even on the day of her trial. Trying a queen! Who would have thought... France pinched his arm. Ex-queen, he reminded himself. One must be careful throwing around the word queen, king, prince, princess. There were no such things in France anymore.
He didn't want to attend her trial - oh he did, but he didn't, but he shouldn't and he wanted to, and he couldn't quite pinpoint his feelings anymore. Things were too cloudy. He felt hatred but remorse and spite but loyalty and sometimes he missed the days when his biggest worry was stepping over a puddle of piss at Versailles.
The doors opened. The song stopped, in the middle of a thrust, and even France's heart sped up as Antoinette - pinch, she was now the Widow Capet - stepped into the room.
And oh, oh he could feel the swell of a sick mixture of pity and pure satisfaction around him as she calmly walked towards the front of the room. Her mourning dress was tattered, dragging dirt behind her; her hair grey, her face looking more like that of the poor old women in front of him than of a formerly pampered queen of thirty-eight. He hardly recognized her - if she recognized him, she did not show it. She had aged from the revolution. They both had.
He had expected the people so shout at her as they so often did, even in her absence but there was only an uneasy whisper around him. 'She looks frail,' one said, and another wondered if she could really be the Marie Antoinette, the vampiric she-devil temptress who ruined France with her feathers and diamonds.
She sat on a small stool, calm, her fingers drumming on the arm of her chair as if on her old harpsichord.
"The Widow Capet," the judge Antoine called out, "you are brought before the Tribunal to answer for your many crimes against the nation of France..."
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XD
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