[Fanfic] How To Get Your Awesome Back. The Hooligan Way.
Title: How To Get Your Awesome Back. The Hooligan Way.
Author: alchemistofbing
Genre: Humor and crack
Characters/Pairings: Germany, Prussia; will be Prussia/South Italy later on
Summary: Prussia lost his awesome! How in the seven circles of hell can he get it back? ... how can he lose his awesome in the first place?
Warnings: profanity thanks to Gilbert's mouth
A/N: This was lying around on my journal for a while under 'Private', so I decided to fix it up and set it off the ground :D And when will I stop buttraeping the characters? NEVAR!! >:D
There are certain instances when people, or nations (in our case), would keep in character whenever they meet a situation that borders beyond their comprehension. They would end up believing what they want to believe, while digging their own graves with grinning faces full of denial - as if that would change anything really- instead of facing what must be solved in the first place. All for the sake of their pride. Call it defense mechanism if you will. Gilbert called it being a chickenshit.
Unfortunately for him, this particular story features Prussia as the chickenshit, much to his denial.
... not that anything was wrong with being a chickenshit, of course.
***
It begins at four o'clock in the morning, when Gilbert Beilschmidt had a Realization.
Now if one would think about it in a Chaos Theory sort of way, you could say that realizations were dangerous. Very dangerous, especially if they were from insanely arrogant nations who had a pet chick practically glued to their head. One thing was certain, though: Gilbert was not some giant butterfly who flapped his wings whenever he felt like destroying the opposite side of the world. 'Flapping' was a bit too subtle for someone like Prussia, in fact a couple of tornadoes grouped together came close to describing him very well.
Setting our 'chaos' in motion, just mere seconds after he woke up with his bedraggled bed head and a side of drool pooling near his cheek, Gilbert sensed something missing. It was as if someone, or something, had scratched out a primary ingredient of the Awesome Gilbert Cake recipe everyone knew and loved, and as he sat up from his bed sheets numbly, mouth set in a thin line - he honestly didn’t know what the hell 'this' was. It was like a random feeling, one that could be compared to being bitten by a hidden spider in your shoe. Difference was that he didn't feel like hopping around and calling the doctor.
One could almost imagine his distress. The silent sort of distress where Gilbert just sat there and looked, his face blank, at nothing in particular. He tucked his feet in his yellow slippers and walked away like an upright zombie.
Usually he would spend his first waking hour looking at the mirror chanting - with a bright bellowing voice - how awesome, handsome, awesome, and especially awesome he was while doing various poses that could put Elvis Presley to shame. He would even break into song and dance around the room before Ludwig called him for breakfast. But this time he just stared at the mirror like a little boy who had just lost his bright blue balloon, saying ‘I’m awesome’ in a monotone repeat that briefly reminded him of those Chinese monks’ own mantras. Or those priest dudes in the movies who had those smoky lamps and cool robes that might make them trip if they weren’t careful.
“I’m awesome.”
He was just not feeling it. Strange. He had never felt like this before.
“I’m… totally… awesome.” Gilbert nodded to himself, giving his mirror image a shaky grin, “Yep. Awesome. Who is awesome? I am awesome. The awesomness that is me. I am Awesome Man. Of the planet awesome with awesome powers and... oh fuck it.”
He dressed himself at a dead snail’s pace, but he finished earlier than usual since he didn't spend an extra thirty minutes with his awesome daily ritual of kissing his biceps and mooning the school children from out his window. Gilbert looked at himself in the mirror again, sighed, and went down to the kitchen where he found Ludwig flipping pancakes on a skillet, and was humming something that made him sound like a lovesick feminine woman (which did not suit his deep voice at all). He flopped down on the breakfast table and stared at the empty coffee mug before him.
Empty. Just like him.
And he didn’t know when the hell he started waxing poetic about mugs being empty. Or even comparing himself to emptiness. Or mugs. Or being uselessly repetitive about emptiness and mugs.
Ooh - apple juice! He liked apple juice!
Meanwhile, during his coffee mug contemplation, Ludwig piled the last fluffy pancake on the dull gray serving plate and took the platter with his strong hands, he started at the sight of Gilbert and sighed when he recognized him, “Gilbert? You’re up early toda-" his stare fixed on Gilbert’s blank face as if he had noticed something was amiss, "You’re quiet.” he turned off the stove with his other hand, Ludwig's face suspicious.
But instead of Gilbert laughing at his face like he expected, his older brother just looked at him and hummed, shrugging his shoulders.
“But... but you’re never quiet.”
“I dunno.” Gilbert sniffed. He poked a butter knife with a disinterested finger, “Wow - can you kill someone with this thing?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Ludwig sat down next to him, propped the plate on the table next to Gilbert's mug, and brought a hand on his forehead, “You're not hot.” ("Hey! I... pht. Whatever...") He cupped both Gilbert's cheeks with his hands, a worried frown etched on his face since he really was expecting his brother to set up a fight, and shook his head, “You seem fine to me. Is something bothering you?”
“Hum.”
“Gilbert.” Ludwig said in a warning tone.
“Yep?”
The younger nation leaned back on his chair, a shocked expression on his face. Ludwig looked around the kitchen cautiously and noted that, no, he was not in an alternate dimension; no, he was not in the twilight zone; no, he was definitely not being punked by America again, not since he left all those bruises on his face. And nipples.
Gilbert without his outspoken and aggressive attitude was deafening, he thought, trying to wrap the logic around it. Ludwig looked back at his brother who was now chewing a fluffy pancake roll with interest, fumbling at the lint on his blue muscle shirt. He didn’t seem depressed, Ludwig noted. Just… really weird. No, not weird, he could say that he was too normal.
And the strangest thing here is that -
“Gilbert, tell me you’re awesome.”
“I’m awesome.” the other said as if he had just noted that they had a really nice weather today, "Hey, you got any maple syrup or something?"
Ludwig inhaled sharply and grabbed the hand that held his pancake roll, “I’ll ask you again: what's wrong?”
“What are you talking about, West~?” Gilbert smirked that he almost looked like his old self, “I feel fine.”
“Well you don’t look fine to me.”
“Whaat?” he scoffed, “Naw- I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine. Except for that security guy at the mall yesterday. And Russia. Not sexy at all.”
“Gilbert, please.”
"I feel cool. All right. Smoking hot, or whatever! Jeez."
Gilbert stuffed the last bite of his pancake viciously, "Mm ymr imfomshn - mmphm mphm."
"All right, fine. If you say so."
Shit, he hated it when Ludwig went all motherly like this with all his emotional sharingness and how important it was for them to communicate blah blah blah. Albeit that only happened one time, which was right now. Gilbert presumed that he might have looked a bit too weird for Ludwig to act like this, though, and -
"Mph-" He spat pancake mulch out his mouth, spraying spittle and dubious pieces of pancake matter all over the table. Gilbert ignored Ludwig’s scream of horror (he was tempted to laugh at him) and stared at the table. He blinked, “Wait a second…” he slapped Ludwig’s face absently, mouthing lost words in his lips.
It was at the tip of Gilbert's tongue… it was just like fishing for a pot of gold… or just a pot. Whatever.
But when nothing came out of the albino's outburst, Ludwig sighed and began to stand up from his seat. That was it. His brother was a lost cause, “I’ll go get a tow -”
“HOLY SHIT I LOST MY AWESOME.”
“Um… what?”
Lost cause indeed.
“Think about it, West! Think!" Gilbert's face darkened when the realization quickly sunk in, "People feel lousy after getting up on the wrong side of the bed, right? But I just happened to lose my fucking awesome.”
Ludwig leaned away from his brother as if Gilbert had something contagious, “How can you possibly treat your awesome in an objective manner? It doesn't make sense.”
Gilbert paused mid-conniption. A wheelbarrow rolled in his subconscious, “The only words I understood from that sentence were ‘awesome’ and ‘manner’.”
“Well - maybe something out of place happened that you’d feel this way?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?" Gilbert stood up and paced, "I just did all the other things that I used to do every other day: I woke up, told myself I was awesome, updated my morning blog... stalked Austria, got hit by Hungary a couple of times, stalked Austria, told them I was awesome... had a lap dance performance from a drunken England, told him I was awesome... visited Italy, ate some of his cooking, tried to grope him but failed, told him I was awesome... went back home, updated my evening blog and my journal, uploaded pictures of England naked - and then I went to sleep.” he paused, "After telling myself I was awesome."
Nothing out of place there, they both decided.
“I just don’t get it.” Gilbert scratched his head.
“Gilbert?”
“Hm?”
“Where’s your chick?”
The chick? Well he was just. Oh. Gilbert’s eyes widened, and he looked around him… behind him… under the table… inside the sugar jar… under the syrup bottle… his movements bordering manic.
He let out a tormented squealing sound and looked at Ludwig with an alarmed expression on his face, “Where’s my birdie?”
“Calm down, Gilbert.”
Gilbert started to hyperventilate, “I think that bird has my awesome.” He grabbed the table and leaned against it, his legs slanting like jelly. Ludwig finally recovered from his shock and stood up from his seat. He rubbed Gilbert’s back in a comforting manner - but what would you honestly say to a guy who had just lost his pet? “Holy shit, I think my lost birdie’s with my fucking AWESOME.”
… or to a guy who lost his awesome through his pet?
“Gilbert... Gilbert you need to relax, your bird does not have your awesome and will you stop breathing that way? You're scaring me~”
“Well how can you explain it? I woke up this morning feeling like this, and then I’d just realized that my birdie just ran off on me.”
He almost sounded like a spurned lover.
Ludwig sighed. He honestly didn’t know how to make of this. The situation was making him feel powerless. How could he gain an upper hand on something that was so asinine and so purely ‘Gilbert’, that no matter how many mazes he completed, how many times he jumped on his head, he would never understand the haystack that was his brother’s brain, “Look, I think that you’ve become dependent -”
Said brother ran out of the kitchen with fumbling legs, and sped into the hallway, “I need to find my birdie! The birdie has my awesome and I need to get the little shit back, goddammit.”
“… on your pet bird for compan -”
Gilbert slammed the door, screaming bloody murder, and left Ludwig hanging on his words...
"- ion... ship” Ludwig stared at the spot where Gilbert had been before he had stormed out like a madman. He sat back down on his chair, dazed and beyond confused.
This had just been an example of Chaos Theory. At its finest.
He needed a drink.
Fixed! Thanks Lupi :DD
Edited: Whaaat were those paragraphs??? :| *faiiloftheepickind* And again - some awkward sentences :|
Edited again! :D How's that?
Editedd... doo dee doo
Author: alchemistofbing
Genre: Humor and crack
Characters/Pairings: Germany, Prussia; will be Prussia/South Italy later on
Summary: Prussia lost his awesome! How in the seven circles of hell can he get it back? ... how can he lose his awesome in the first place?
Warnings: profanity thanks to Gilbert's mouth
A/N: This was lying around on my journal for a while under 'Private', so I decided to fix it up and set it off the ground :D And when will I stop buttraeping the characters? NEVAR!! >:D
There are certain instances when people, or nations (in our case), would keep in character whenever they meet a situation that borders beyond their comprehension. They would end up believing what they want to believe, while digging their own graves with grinning faces full of denial - as if that would change anything really- instead of facing what must be solved in the first place. All for the sake of their pride. Call it defense mechanism if you will. Gilbert called it being a chickenshit.
Unfortunately for him, this particular story features Prussia as the chickenshit, much to his denial.
... not that anything was wrong with being a chickenshit, of course.
***
It begins at four o'clock in the morning, when Gilbert Beilschmidt had a Realization.
Now if one would think about it in a Chaos Theory sort of way, you could say that realizations were dangerous. Very dangerous, especially if they were from insanely arrogant nations who had a pet chick practically glued to their head. One thing was certain, though: Gilbert was not some giant butterfly who flapped his wings whenever he felt like destroying the opposite side of the world. 'Flapping' was a bit too subtle for someone like Prussia, in fact a couple of tornadoes grouped together came close to describing him very well.
Setting our 'chaos' in motion, just mere seconds after he woke up with his bedraggled bed head and a side of drool pooling near his cheek, Gilbert sensed something missing. It was as if someone, or something, had scratched out a primary ingredient of the Awesome Gilbert Cake recipe everyone knew and loved, and as he sat up from his bed sheets numbly, mouth set in a thin line - he honestly didn’t know what the hell 'this' was. It was like a random feeling, one that could be compared to being bitten by a hidden spider in your shoe. Difference was that he didn't feel like hopping around and calling the doctor.
One could almost imagine his distress. The silent sort of distress where Gilbert just sat there and looked, his face blank, at nothing in particular. He tucked his feet in his yellow slippers and walked away like an upright zombie.
Usually he would spend his first waking hour looking at the mirror chanting - with a bright bellowing voice - how awesome, handsome, awesome, and especially awesome he was while doing various poses that could put Elvis Presley to shame. He would even break into song and dance around the room before Ludwig called him for breakfast. But this time he just stared at the mirror like a little boy who had just lost his bright blue balloon, saying ‘I’m awesome’ in a monotone repeat that briefly reminded him of those Chinese monks’ own mantras. Or those priest dudes in the movies who had those smoky lamps and cool robes that might make them trip if they weren’t careful.
“I’m awesome.”
He was just not feeling it. Strange. He had never felt like this before.
“I’m… totally… awesome.” Gilbert nodded to himself, giving his mirror image a shaky grin, “Yep. Awesome. Who is awesome? I am awesome. The awesomness that is me. I am Awesome Man. Of the planet awesome with awesome powers and... oh fuck it.”
He dressed himself at a dead snail’s pace, but he finished earlier than usual since he didn't spend an extra thirty minutes with his awesome daily ritual of kissing his biceps and mooning the school children from out his window. Gilbert looked at himself in the mirror again, sighed, and went down to the kitchen where he found Ludwig flipping pancakes on a skillet, and was humming something that made him sound like a lovesick feminine woman (which did not suit his deep voice at all). He flopped down on the breakfast table and stared at the empty coffee mug before him.
Empty. Just like him.
And he didn’t know when the hell he started waxing poetic about mugs being empty. Or even comparing himself to emptiness. Or mugs. Or being uselessly repetitive about emptiness and mugs.
Ooh - apple juice! He liked apple juice!
Meanwhile, during his coffee mug contemplation, Ludwig piled the last fluffy pancake on the dull gray serving plate and took the platter with his strong hands, he started at the sight of Gilbert and sighed when he recognized him, “Gilbert? You’re up early toda-" his stare fixed on Gilbert’s blank face as if he had noticed something was amiss, "You’re quiet.” he turned off the stove with his other hand, Ludwig's face suspicious.
But instead of Gilbert laughing at his face like he expected, his older brother just looked at him and hummed, shrugging his shoulders.
“But... but you’re never quiet.”
“I dunno.” Gilbert sniffed. He poked a butter knife with a disinterested finger, “Wow - can you kill someone with this thing?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Ludwig sat down next to him, propped the plate on the table next to Gilbert's mug, and brought a hand on his forehead, “You're not hot.” ("Hey! I... pht. Whatever...") He cupped both Gilbert's cheeks with his hands, a worried frown etched on his face since he really was expecting his brother to set up a fight, and shook his head, “You seem fine to me. Is something bothering you?”
“Hum.”
“Gilbert.” Ludwig said in a warning tone.
“Yep?”
The younger nation leaned back on his chair, a shocked expression on his face. Ludwig looked around the kitchen cautiously and noted that, no, he was not in an alternate dimension; no, he was not in the twilight zone; no, he was definitely not being punked by America again, not since he left all those bruises on his face. And nipples.
Gilbert without his outspoken and aggressive attitude was deafening, he thought, trying to wrap the logic around it. Ludwig looked back at his brother who was now chewing a fluffy pancake roll with interest, fumbling at the lint on his blue muscle shirt. He didn’t seem depressed, Ludwig noted. Just… really weird. No, not weird, he could say that he was too normal.
And the strangest thing here is that -
“Gilbert, tell me you’re awesome.”
“I’m awesome.” the other said as if he had just noted that they had a really nice weather today, "Hey, you got any maple syrup or something?"
Ludwig inhaled sharply and grabbed the hand that held his pancake roll, “I’ll ask you again: what's wrong?”
“What are you talking about, West~?” Gilbert smirked that he almost looked like his old self, “I feel fine.”
“Well you don’t look fine to me.”
“Whaat?” he scoffed, “Naw- I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine. Except for that security guy at the mall yesterday. And Russia. Not sexy at all.”
“Gilbert, please.”
"I feel cool. All right. Smoking hot, or whatever! Jeez."
Gilbert stuffed the last bite of his pancake viciously, "Mm ymr imfomshn - mmphm mphm."
"All right, fine. If you say so."
Shit, he hated it when Ludwig went all motherly like this with all his emotional sharingness and how important it was for them to communicate blah blah blah. Albeit that only happened one time, which was right now. Gilbert presumed that he might have looked a bit too weird for Ludwig to act like this, though, and -
"Mph-" He spat pancake mulch out his mouth, spraying spittle and dubious pieces of pancake matter all over the table. Gilbert ignored Ludwig’s scream of horror (he was tempted to laugh at him) and stared at the table. He blinked, “Wait a second…” he slapped Ludwig’s face absently, mouthing lost words in his lips.
It was at the tip of Gilbert's tongue… it was just like fishing for a pot of gold… or just a pot. Whatever.
But when nothing came out of the albino's outburst, Ludwig sighed and began to stand up from his seat. That was it. His brother was a lost cause, “I’ll go get a tow -”
“HOLY SHIT I LOST MY AWESOME.”
“Um… what?”
Lost cause indeed.
“Think about it, West! Think!" Gilbert's face darkened when the realization quickly sunk in, "People feel lousy after getting up on the wrong side of the bed, right? But I just happened to lose my fucking awesome.”
Ludwig leaned away from his brother as if Gilbert had something contagious, “How can you possibly treat your awesome in an objective manner? It doesn't make sense.”
Gilbert paused mid-conniption. A wheelbarrow rolled in his subconscious, “The only words I understood from that sentence were ‘awesome’ and ‘manner’.”
“Well - maybe something out of place happened that you’d feel this way?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?" Gilbert stood up and paced, "I just did all the other things that I used to do every other day: I woke up, told myself I was awesome, updated my morning blog... stalked Austria, got hit by Hungary a couple of times, stalked Austria, told them I was awesome... had a lap dance performance from a drunken England, told him I was awesome... visited Italy, ate some of his cooking, tried to grope him but failed, told him I was awesome... went back home, updated my evening blog and my journal, uploaded pictures of England naked - and then I went to sleep.” he paused, "After telling myself I was awesome."
Nothing out of place there, they both decided.
“I just don’t get it.” Gilbert scratched his head.
“Gilbert?”
“Hm?”
“Where’s your chick?”
The chick? Well he was just. Oh. Gilbert’s eyes widened, and he looked around him… behind him… under the table… inside the sugar jar… under the syrup bottle… his movements bordering manic.
He let out a tormented squealing sound and looked at Ludwig with an alarmed expression on his face, “Where’s my birdie?”
“Calm down, Gilbert.”
Gilbert started to hyperventilate, “I think that bird has my awesome.” He grabbed the table and leaned against it, his legs slanting like jelly. Ludwig finally recovered from his shock and stood up from his seat. He rubbed Gilbert’s back in a comforting manner - but what would you honestly say to a guy who had just lost his pet? “Holy shit, I think my lost birdie’s with my fucking AWESOME.”
… or to a guy who lost his awesome through his pet?
“Gilbert... Gilbert you need to relax, your bird does not have your awesome and will you stop breathing that way? You're scaring me~”
“Well how can you explain it? I woke up this morning feeling like this, and then I’d just realized that my birdie just ran off on me.”
He almost sounded like a spurned lover.
Ludwig sighed. He honestly didn’t know how to make of this. The situation was making him feel powerless. How could he gain an upper hand on something that was so asinine and so purely ‘Gilbert’, that no matter how many mazes he completed, how many times he jumped on his head, he would never understand the haystack that was his brother’s brain, “Look, I think that you’ve become dependent -”
Said brother ran out of the kitchen with fumbling legs, and sped into the hallway, “I need to find my birdie! The birdie has my awesome and I need to get the little shit back, goddammit.”
“… on your pet bird for compan -”
Gilbert slammed the door, screaming bloody murder, and left Ludwig hanging on his words...
"- ion... ship” Ludwig stared at the spot where Gilbert had been before he had stormed out like a madman. He sat back down on his chair, dazed and beyond confused.
This had just been an example of Chaos Theory. At its finest.
He needed a drink.
Fixed! Thanks Lupi :DD
Edited: Whaaat were those paragraphs??? :| *faiiloftheepickind* And again - some awkward sentences :|
Edited again! :D How's that?
Editedd... doo dee doo