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nadiawrites14 · 4 years

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what the fuck. gay little former yugoslavians

wc: 2.6k

annnnyways ive been on a huge writing spree this entire week and have been going crazy stupid i wrote this in bed on my iphone and it is gay and stupid and i just wnat them to hold hands goodnight europe dobro vece if you will

It was Friday afternoon, and Laszlo had only one thing on his mind after the day of repetitive meetings. Some good old-fashioned research at the library. Of course, the Polish capital’s government center was fitted with a nice little media center — the Bartoszewski Center for Literature, in English, but with a long Polish buzzword written on the top. Luckily, most of it was on a single floor, and one elevator was fitted for the second level of the media center. What better way to unwind than browsing the shelves without a care in the world? Laszlo only wished he was wearing more comfortable clothes. Meh, the trip back to his dorm wasn’t quite worth it. A suit would do!

The library was clean and simple, a corporate office park of a library. The shelves were aligned in assembly rows and there were no librarians tittering about, just shelves and a few stray tables with empty chairs. Laszlo took it as an opportunity to take his time, and began on the history section. How fitting. He hummed as he ran the fingers over all the spines, varying in depth and height and texture. He wasn’t exactly certain of what he was searching for, either. Maybe just a particular topic would catch his eye or an author he knew. Scanning the shelves and peeking above the European History section, his eyes found another person’s backside, hidden in the next shelf of books. With resignation, he grabbed a copy of some loose book about Yugoslavia, placed it on his lap and turned around the corner.

Florijan Kovac was reading a book. Laszlo grinned, drumming his fingers on the cover of his book, waiting for Florijan to notice him. The Slovenian did not look up. The Macedonian took this as his cue.

“Florijan! Fancy seeing you here.”

Florijan jumped and swiveled to look at Laszlo, his face an event of red as he slammed his book shut. “President Mincef!”

“Laszlo, please,” he smiled and held the book to his chest, trying to disarm Florijan with some rather uncharacteristic friendliness. “How’s your day been, dear? This must be your first session. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be accustomed to the craziness of it soon enough.” Laszlo waved a dismissive hand, keeping a joyful look on his face.

“Thanks, um, Laszlo. Are you sure— erm — that’s okay if I call you that? I feel a little bit bad. That’s a little informal,” Florijan blinked, tightening his hold on the volume. “Izet used to go bananas when someone did that to him. It was always President Kovac with him, Mr. Kovac.”

Laszlo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I remember. He was a bit of an odd one out. See, most of us are okay with a first-name familiarity system, besides the sworn enemies and such. Or the uppity ones.” He scratched his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Oh! Well, if you feel more comfortable referring to me as President Mincef, Mr. Mincef, whatever, certainly fine. I don’t really care.” Laszlo shrugged and smiled coolly at the newcomer.

Florijan nodded, eyes wide as he took down this information like a panicked student taking notes from a professor. “Thank you, Laszlo.”

Finger guns. “No problem, Florijan. See? Easy. Most people won’t get a fit over it. ‘Sides your cousin, of course.”

The Slovene shuffled his feet and nodded, answering with a little smile.

“Your day went well?” Laszlo asked, hoping the conversation wouldn’t lose steam.

“It’s awful nerve-wracking,” Florijan replied, bobbing his head up and down. “Things are much more simpler when it’s domestic issues in a small country. You must feel the same way.”

Absolutely not. “Of course.”

“But I’m trying to get a better hang of foreign policy and things. It’s, uh, very interesting! I hadn’t realized how much importance is placed on it now. And, uh, does Prime Minister Hunter usually act—“

“Yes, yes he does. He’s like that with all of us. Condescending, right?”

“Yeah! Yeah. God, I wish Izet would have explained things to me more. This is all rapid-fire. It’s scary.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Laszlo offered with another relaxed smile. “Eventually, it’s a matter of reflex. Just educate yourself and build up policy over time. What are you reading, by the way?”

Florijan held it up with a soft, ready smile. “Italian cooking!”

“For Lorenzo?”

“Myself,” Florijan said with an unbothered grin, his eyes gleaming as he looked over the book. “I’ve always been the baker of my family. But I would like to extend more into cooking. Izet always loved my pastries! And his cabinet, too.” His smile went a little sad, but he straightened his posture and tucked the book beneath his shoulder. “Have we ever had potlucks?”

“You can call that G20.”

“Oh, G20,” Florijan said with a nod.

“I’m not invited to those glorified potlucks, though,” Laszlo snapped his fingers and sighed. “So, I don’t know. It might be a little lame without the great country of North Macedonia coming to stir up some trouble. That’s what’s so great about these.”

“Oh, Laszlo, you’re no troublemaker!” Florijan laughed at that. He had a cute little laugh. “You’re so gentle. And kind. I don’t know why anyone would think you’re some troublemaker!”

Gentle and kind. Nice adjectives, but not ones for Laszlo’s political side, he thinks. “It would be fun if I could go to things like that. Eh, they don’t really want me there.”

Florijan’s pleasant laughter subsided. “Why not?”

Laszlo’s face betrayed a look of genial caution. “You’ll figure it out later.”

“Oh... alright,” Florijan clammed up, putting his hands behind his back. “Well, thank you, Laszlo. It was nice talking with you. Thanks for your kind words.”

“No problem, dear.” Finger guns again.

Florijan held out a single hand, a prompt.

Laszlo stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded. “I-I like your nails. Green,” he stammered, before realizing. “OH! Of course!” Laszlo nudged himself closer, taking Florijan’s hand and giving it a firm shake. He sized out the Slovene’s handshake, and nodded. Izet was definitely not the one to teach him a proper handshake. What a limp noodle he had been. “Strong handshake. They’ll like that in you,” Laszlo commented with more nodding. “It’s a good strength to have. You know, your cousin— geez. That man couldn’t hold a handshake for his life, even before he got sick! And, and, he used to do that annoying thing, where you scratch the inside of someone’s palm! It was the most infuriating thing!” He laughed at the memory and covered his mouth, letting his face slip back into indifferent compassion. “Ah, shit. Anyways, you’re a natural. You’ll be fine here. You fit in already.”

For a moment, Florijan’s smile faded, before snapping back into place as he nodded back, grinning as best he could and providing a warm thanks. And that’s when Laszlo felt that familiar pit in his chest.

Laszlo didn’t like seeing anybody sad— who does? — and he didn’t take pleasure in sadness. Despite being a dour person with a penchant for indifference and insensitivity, Laszlo was not one to delight in people’s sadness, nor was he one to invoke such a feeling. But it was something about Florijan Kovac’s tight shoulders and downcast brown eyes that got to him the most. He had always been a light in those limited interactions Laszlo had with the Slovenian government, making banter with Izet and bringing his guests cups of tea. Even when his cousin would trade in misery and corruption, always teetering on that cliff of authoritarianism, Florijan maintained a sense of infallible positivity and warmth.

Despite what everybody else felt about Izet Kovac, the whispers and the unapologetic words and subdued glee by the so-called mourners, Florijan was also infallible in his way of grieving. He was untouched by those cold words and the empty chair his cousin left for him, unprepared and inexperienced, and chose to mourn the person he knew, not the person everybody else saw.

Laszlo knew deep down that Florijan had to be aware of the true Izet. The corruption and cruelty hidden behind sly smiles and dainty cynicism. There was a reason that Izet’s short dance with terminal illness was replaced with the tango of politically charged assassination. There was a reason Izet Kovac died from a snapped neck in his office, a pen still in his hand, and not surrounded by his family in an angelic hospital room. President Kovac had not deserved an angelic death. He did not deserve to go out in peace and in happiness, knowing that his shy and unfallible cousin was prepared to inherit a country. Izet Kovac deserved to die unaware of his legacy and in absolute dread.

But it was something about Florijan’s lingering grief that created that pit in Laszlo’s stomach. He hated seeing those small gestures, those sad looks and half-hearted smiles and sagging shoulders. But he also despised the fact that Florijan would let himself mourn so sincerely such a horrible man. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and a nauseating feeling throughout. It got to him. Truly, it got to him. Nothing ever got to Laszlo Mincef, not the hatred of his cabinet nor the world’s abandonment of his country, but watching Florijan Kovac mourn in those quiet, simplistic ways, it just ate at him.

Laszlo’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he shook his head, trying to steady himself. “How about you take a walk with me?”

Florijan perked up, eyes sparkling. “I would love to!”

***

Laszlo had placed the books in his messenger bag, charmingly draped across one of his wheelchair’s handles. Florijan was a polite, understanding man. He didn’t force himself upon Laszlo, and waited until he got complete confirmation before Laszlo allowed him to push his chair. Laszlo was happy with Florijan and Florijan was happy with Laszlo, happy that such a cool and friendly guy would graciously offer him a walk through the government center.

“If you have any questions, you know, don’t be afraid to shoot,” Laszlo offered.

“What’s Gustava’s deal?”

“Oh,” Laszlo snorted, covering his face as he giggled. “Oh, Gustava’s a nice lady. She’s a little misled. But a nice lady once you get to know her. Or, if she wants something from you. Then she’s a very nice lady.”

Florijan seemed nonplussed. “I didn’t know so many of the people here were so… absurd. Izet was always so serious about how he presented himself, but it was like a circus back there. It was exhausting. How are you so calm?”

“Practice, dear. It’s all in the look. See?” Laszlo raised his eyebrows as he turned to face Florijan, then let his expression melt into his usual look of tranquil disinterest. “You just gotta look… exhausted… and intimidating…”

Florijan mirrored Laszlo’s dour expression, wearing a pout and heavy eyelids. Laszlo snapped his fingers and nodded. “You’ve got it! Exhausted and intimidating, remember that.”

As the pair neared the dorms, Laszlo perked up at a familiar set of voices in the hall. Florijan stopped, too, flashing a concerned look. “Is that…?”

“Arpad,” Laszlo mouthed. “And Fyodor.”

“I thought it was Fedy—“

“Don’t call him Fyodor, he’ll maul you, my bad. It’s Fedya,” Laszlo backtracked, nodding “I can take it from here. Why don’t you take these?” he said, plucking the bag from his chair and handing it to Florijan.

“Your book…?”

“Hold onto it for now. Give it a good look, too, might be helpful to you. I’ll be right back. Oh, but not as a guidebook. Okay, see you!” Shifting into place, Laszlo started down the hallway, humming as he followed the growing volume of the voices.

“You’re ruining everything, why can’t you just follow directions?” Arpad demanded, Fedya pinned to the wall beside him. Well, generously so, as he still towered over Arpad by nearly a whole foot. Fedya caught the movement in the hall first, and swiveled to stare blankly at Laszlo.

Laszlo stared blankly back, studying his nails as he waited for Arpad’s attention to land on him. “You’re being unusually nasty today, Bornemisza,” he threw out. Arpad turned to him, an event of embarrassed red.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was going back to my room?” Laszlo said, cocking an eyebrow. “And you’re just here, verbally assaulting poor President Vranchev, for everyone and their mother to see. I could hear you two hallways over. You best quiet down before Ben and Gustava get involved. Keep it in the bedroom, if you will?”

Arpad grabbed Fedya’s wrist like a posh parent lugging around an unresponsive toddler who’s more interested in any other task. “Anything you’d like to say, asshole?” he spat to Fedya. Jesus, Laszlo thought, he is a fucking parent.

“I, uh, I just thought— Hi, Mincef.” He offered a small wave and Arpad began to fume. Suddenly, out of thin air, Laszlo felt a presence behind him and turned to look at Florijan, holding the books and bag in his hand. Laszlo hadn’t even heard the footsteps.

“Hi, Kovac,” Fedya peeped.

“I just thought— it was taking a while,” Florijan stuttered, studying the two other men with bated suspicion. “President Valentine. President Vranchev,” he acknowledged.

“I didn’t know he could talk!” Arpad declared, tightening his grip on Fedya’s wrist and pulling him aside. “Now, if you two’ll excuse us, we have some personal matters to discuss and would appreciate a degree of privacy. Laszlo.”

Laszlo surrendered with a nod, and put his hand in Florijan’s. “Arpad. Have a good one, pal.”

“Have fun with Izet’s little minion,” Arpad snapped back, dragging Fedya down the hall and disappearing down a corner.

They stood in silence for a moment before Laszlo pulled his clammy hand away from Florijan’s, laughing to himself. “Wow, those two are a joy, aren’t they?”

Florijan looked confused, and his silent sadness had returned. “I’m not Izet’s minion, am I?” he asked.

Laszlo blinked, and began to lead himself from the hallway. Florijan followed suit. “No, no, you’re not. Arpad’s mean. He doesn’t know anything. Don’t get worked up over it.”

“They— they don’t view me bad, do they?” Florijan shuffled his feet. “I haven’t done anything wrong. At least, I hope I haven’t…”

“You have done nothing to earn anybody’s malice,” Laszlo reassured, facing Florijan as they reached the threshold back into the building’s vital organ. “You know more about politics than the two of them combined. Trust me, Florijan, you’re fine.” He shifted in his seat and looked out into the drab grayness of the building. “Besides, I’ll be here for you. If you need anything, just ask. Komnena, Jelka, Svetlana, hell, even Adriano and Agim? They’ll do the same for you. We’re a family. A very divided family, but a family with historical and cultural ties and a shared language and shared struggles. Don’t be afraid of a few fools. You have more friends than you know.” Laszlo turned back, providing a compassionate smile. “You’re not alone in this. If you ever need a hand, I’m here, we’re here. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” Florijan replied, nodding, his cheeks turning pink. “Okay. Thank you, Laszlo, it means a lot. I’m very grateful for all the advice.”

“No problem, dear.”

Florijan tried to hand him his book. Laszlo waved his hand. “Keep it. Read it. It may help you out sometime.”

“Okay.” Florijan smiled. The lines of his face still spelled sadness, anxiety, but Laszlo hoped his support had marred it just the slightest.

“Of course. Anytime.”

Florijan bent to Laszlo’s height, taking his hand and giving him two kisses on his cheeks. “Dobro veçe, president!” he said, smiling as he disappeared back into the hallway, the two books tucked underneath his arm.

“Veçe i tebi…” Laszlo replied, turning to watch Florijan go.

Florijan looked back and waved again.

Laszlo smiled and waved back.

#yes kissing on the cheeks is tradition #yes its very cute here #yes i love them #God bless #laszlo mincef #florijan kovac #fedya vranchev #arpad valentine #my writes #liaisons #writeblr #go crazy go former yugoslavia

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nadiawrites14 · 4 years

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i LIVED BITCH. with an overly detailed backstory under the cut

the presidential race — well, if you could even call it such — in 2030 was clean cut and dry. everyone in macedonia was certain that the previous president, pavle bozinovski, would find himself swiftly reelected by his constituents. of course, nothing ever goes correctly here, and 2 months before the ballot, bozinovski’s secretary entered his office to find the sitting president’s blood and brains splattered from the ceiling to the floor.

this, of course, complicated things.

bozinovski’s legislative cabinet pair were opponents of his leftist party — stark conservatives. prime minister stamen mladenov was too busy soothing the legislature to undertake a presidential seat, and the deputy was unfit and unloved by the people. for 2 months, the country was stagnant, as people looked to the two opponents of bozinovski to figure out who would reclaim the title. on one side was a level-headed conservative, a bit overzealous and years older than the second contestant, one laszlo mincef.

mincef, born lupcho mincefski to a romani-hungarian father and a macedonian mother, was the opposite of the stagnating set of beliefs at hand. a self proclaimed socialist who debated eagerly and ran on an independent platform. a platform grown mostly from his large and attractive social media presence, mind you.

the race seemed a bit muddled, sure, and political analysts had their hands full trying to check and recheck voting behaviors, figuring out whether a radical leftist would trump a safe conservative. the latter seemed like the most comfortable choice after a brutal assassination and spiraling political scene, and as april neared, it the verdict was almost certain. laszlo would lose in a devastating defeat to his opponent.

that is, until april 20th, whereafter 5 days of counting and recounting beneath the watchful gazes of ben hunter and gustava nielsen, laszlo mincef secured a presidential seat by a generous margin.

despite an outpouring of support that came with the election, many were displeased. the political crop of the legislative and judicial branches especially so, unwilling to bend to the will of someone perceived as so radical. mladenov and the rest of his parliament were quick to discount and crush any attempt laslzo made at passing legislation or building a cabinet on his own terms, and he was soon surrounded on all sides by enemies, domestic and abroad. the west was politically closing in on the east, and the east was burdened with burgeoning unrest. laszlo could do nothing, even after all the hope of change and progress with a fresh set of young eyes in office. the pressure grew, and as laszlo was immolated in his own political tomb, prime minister stamen mladenov hatched a plot.

they needed a functional president. not some sitting socialist duck who was the west’s own personal court jester — a real politician (whatever that is) to pass real legislation. the plan was foolproof. with support of laszlo’s cabinet, in some caesar-like plot, mladenov was to stage a military coup who would promptly dispatch the sitting duck and leave a vacancy in the seat. a seat that was ready for mladenov, or whomever, to reclaim it. bozinovski would cry tears of joy up from the politician’s special hell. midway through laszlo’s term, in december 2032, a date is decided on — february 12th.

enter, on january 11th, to a cabinet meeting: bulgarian president fedya vranchev, with a metal baseball bat and a presidential level bounty.

exit, on january 11th, surrounded by paramedics and gaping reporters from across europe: three survivors — laszlo lupcho mincefski with blood still running down his face, and two sycophants, relieved of their duties by a blubbering laszlo.

miraculously, he survives. physically, there’s a concussion, and his left arm has been twisted to a degree that he must wear it in a splint. his paraplegic lower half is mostly untouched. his wheelchair is replaced with a newer model. mentally, his amnesia reaches back to the day of his election. the last 2 years are a mystery. emotionally, he can no longer bring himself to feel sadness or fear. he cannot remember his own trauma, but he knows how it lingers. he can only cover it up by relearning his allies and his enemies, staring blankly at the diaries and proposed legislation made by his hand, and watching the news reports that posthumously expose the planned coup.

he pieces together his presidency from his own writings, an erray of wikipedia articles and newspapers, and all that he can withdraw from his mind. he learns that his best friend and closest ally is miss komnena gecaj, president of albania, who holds his hand in the hospital bed and tells him jokes. he learns that the man who shattered his skull with a baseball bat drove himself off a cliff on january 12th, that they were not on good terms, and that, despite everything, it didn’t appear to be premeditated. a crime of passion, one article had said. arpad valentine visits him once with a snide smile, a bag of ramen noodle packets, and a scrapbook — a mishmash college photos and memories and presidential adventures. it begins to come back to him. slowly, gradually.

april is here. spring is emerging from its wintery shell. he isn’t the same person as he was before — that’s certain. he always seems slightly more cold to those who know him, and he stammers when he talks, and his light cynicism is infectious.

laszlo has a year left in office.

parliament is dissolved. the conspirators against him are (primarily) deceased. the others, deposed and haunted.

laszlo rebuilds. slowly, gradually, his efforts snowball. legislation is passed. from his hospital bed to the new office, across the street from the flattened ghost house, he manages to rejuvinate and empower his little slavic state in a year. he is beloved by his constituents, and he deserves to be so.

it is 2034. april draws near. laszlo mincef runs unopposed, the only box on the ticket. his enemies claim authoritarianism, some write it off as a mere pity vote.

laszlo mincef is reelected to another thunderous outpouring of support. vultures circle above him, parasites beneath, but he’s already prepared himself for the next four years. he’s ready as he’s ever been.

#poorly written but i wrote it at 2am and dont wanna rewrite so forgive me <3 #stan laszlo!#i love u i love u so much #laszlo mincef #my art #ok laszloposting is done

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ivanshatov · 5 years

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explaining liaisons or my main oc thing whatever 💅

tw; terrorism, war, bombs and stuff

this is europe edition asia and africa edition coming soon to a tumblr near you

some things u need to know in advances

africa avoids serious colonialism but colonialism still happens elsewhere

sykes-picot doesnt happen so arabia is still a singular country really

austria instigated world war 2, because

germany never existed as a unified country and stayed split into kingdoms like it was before the 19th century

romania is a monarchy 💅

russia got nuked in the early 2000s by themselves and everything east of moscow is basically toxic and the gvmt is in shambles

in 2007, northern ireland recedes from the UK into ireland. the UK is lenient abt this and is just yeah yeah whatever you do you ig and no one dies. however scotland tries to declare independence about a month later and the UK immediately backtracks on what they said previously and goes to war with scotland to keep them from leaving. during this time, the monarch, a young dumbass prince, usurps the prime minister’s seat and dissolves parliament (albeit illegally) and declares martial law. he makes a lot of military decisions that a lot of english citizens feel are unnecessary, and they are kind of tired of the whole monarchy in the 21st century thing.

so in early 2010 the war ends with england winning and annexing scotland back but only after 3 major cities are completely destroyed. the english citizens the scottish the irish and the eu and basically everyone in the world ever thinks this was a really bad take so in mid 2010 a former MP named ben hunter leads a miltia mostly formed from other mps and angry citizens and essentially kills the dumbass prince and his military henchmen and then exiles the royal family. the EU, who originally supported mr. hunter is like “wait, no, don’t do THAT,” because as we all know monarchy states essentially run the show and they don’t like their whole divine right being threatened. so all the monarchy states in the EU, after some protests start up demanding an end to 21st century royalty, secede together on a single day (december 18th, 2010) and declare war on england and france. yes, another war.

the war lasts around 9 years and doesn’t really pass europe aside from some debates and revaluing of ideas in africa and asia. the war ends in a draw, with the republics creating their own union, the REU, and the monarchies creating their own union, the CMS. a handful of european states declare themselves independent from both and act as buffers (macedonia, moldova, estonia, finland, iceland, kosovo, cyprus). things are awfully tense for a while between the two especially considering they kept trying to murder each other’s leaders. things cool down after a while, until 2027, when the very gentle balance keeping the two sides from war slowly begins to crumble.

it starts when a monarch in monaco attempts to expand territory into france and italy then threatens war, obviously the madman is subdued and it doesnt happen but the REU is on edge. in late 2027, the belgian monarch and prime minister are killed by the deputy pm, ms. amelie de warlencourt, after she discovers that the two of them are having an affair. fortunately the independents are able to manage the situation so it doesn’t turn into another whole out war. unforunately the damage has already been done, the REU has gained another member state, and the CMS swears that if aggressed again they will go to war with the REU. in 2028 an REU prime minister, mr. fedya vranchev of bulgaria, goes into independent territory (macedonia) and commits a mass assassination, nearly killing the macedonian prime minister and killing his entire cabinet of 18 people. the CMS then accuses the mass murder as an act of unwarranted aggression from the REU and is tempted to declare war but is stopped by the UN assembly general.

but only three months after the murder, the serbian capital of belgrade gets totally bombed out, killing most of parliament except for like 10 people and prime minister ms. svetlana arsic and her entire cabinet, except for her finance minister/personal accountant cvetko rajkovic. cvetko is unqualified as heck but ends up getting elected in a panicked snap election facilitated by the REU. he really doesn’t want this. why? he may or may not be having a gay affair with his country’s worstest enemy, the president of kosovo. also, while the balkans are almost on the verge of another war the slovakian prime minister ms klara kollarova may or may not know about a plot to take over the continent by her hungarian and polish neighbors but refuses to tell anyone out of fear for the life of her girlfriend best friend ms. pavla klimesova the prime minister of czechia. oh, and former pm of england mr. ben hunter and his dpm lloyd fowler & former president of france ms. liv guillot-akoma and her vp angeline toussaint may or may not have started a secret surveillance agency that they didn’t tell anyone about.

so that’s liaisons (part 1: bitches in europe) and i hope it was a wild ride from start to finish. don’t worry i’ll make a character masterlist to go w this post.

#liaisons tag #my ocs #the circus itself #the entire idea of liaisons is a political satire that got out of hand #everyone is a clown #theyre good people ay heart but corrupted by the idea of government itself #and thats the plot #long post

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