Auferstanden aus Ruinen (2/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 10:00:34 UTC
“We are one again,” Russia says jubilantly at the dinner table, while Ukraine and Latvia nod uncertainly. Belarus simply glowers- that’s one girl that Prussia will avoid, as much as he likes her fine cheekbones.
Gilbert’s not a child and he won’t delude himself. He’s seen countries join- he’s seen Baden and Saxony and Thuringen and Hamburg simply fade into comfortable togetherness, leaving behind a brat of a kid with blond hair, blue eyes and a serious look. Prussia was part of the Holy Roman Empire. He knows.
His new, motley collection of a family will never join, in matrimony or otherwise. As long as they keep fighting and quailing and talking to Poland, they will never become one with Ivan. For that fact, Prussia is glad.
-
It’s what comes after that unsettles Gilbert. He still dreams of scenery and food and money and glory that used to be his, but now he sees Ludwig out there too. Sometimes, Ludwig is a child again, crying and trying to find his brother but not ever seeing him; sometimes they just stand and stare at each other across Checkpoint Charlie with no words to say. They drink together and share lewd jokes at Austria’s expense. And sometimes-
Prussia opens his eyes and sees only the ceiling. He is painfully aroused, groin throbbing in waves that make his abdomen tremble and his breath come in rapid gasps. Shit. There’s no way he can go back to sleep like this. Not when his mind is filled with his brother’s hands and tongue and whispered words against his neck, pleas panted against his mouth as he writhes beneath him-
-but he is not alone, he realises with a thrill of fear.
“Prussia. Little DDR.” Ivan’s voice comes floating through the darkness from beside him. Gilbert is big, but the Soviet is bigger. “P-russia. You are awake?” A hand reaches for him, but Gilbert grabs it and twists to face the other country lying in his bed. He bares his teeth in a grin and a snarl.
“Momochyka,” he hisses, oozing sarcasm. “How you care for me. But your son is fine.”
Russia just looks at him, still reaching for his hair (Or his eye sockets, Gilbert thinks. Probably the eye sockets. Soviet bastard.). And Gilbert realises, with a sickening jolt, that Russia’s irises are blue. His grip on Ivan’s wrist slackens, for just a moment; it is all Ivan needs, and suddenly there is hand clamped against his mouth and nose before he knows it.
As Gilbert thrashes and bites at his fingers, trying to get those digits out of his airways, Russia leans over him and presses his nose up against the other’s cheek. The hand is snatched away.
“You are…different than the others,” Russia muses, a child standing despot over a Lego set. “You still bite.”
He pants at the Bear in the corner of his vision. “Fuck yes- I’m a damn High German and you’re never going to change that, you prick.” Breaths, hot and slow, wash over his neck as Russia watches him with sapphire eyes and sunflower hair. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Prussia can still hear his challenge.
Yes I will, his hands say as he runs them down Gilbert’s neck. You will become one with me, his thighs whisper into the sheets as that great hulking mass of muscle and bone slides across the bed. Ivan forces his doctrine down Prussia’s throat along with his tongue whether he likes it or not.
Fingers shaking, he grabs Ivan’s head by his tresses. He smooths the hair back away from his face and gives in.
Somewhere in his mind, Prussia kisses Germany and feels himself at home again.
-
His boss tells him firmly that he’s being watched. They’re all being watched, Gilbert thinks. Russia doesn’t sleep. But his boss doesn’t lower his eyes. “They’re leaving, Prussia. They’re leaving the DDR.” He rubs his eyes, seeming helpless. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
So Prussia builds the Wall. He does it with his own two hands and rusty iron tools and an AK-47 to his head, but nothing cuts more than the looks his people give him as he stands there. It’s Russia’s fault. It’s Ludwig’s fault- Ludwig who makes him have those dreams about him in his sleep.
Actually, scratch that. It’s all Russia’s fault. He never used to be this paranoid.
Auferstanden aus Ruinen (3/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 10:05:32 UTC
On the other side of the Brandenburg Gate there are thousands of thousands of people calling out to them, cheering as the first stones of the wall come down. Lost in the crowd, Gilbert feels the pull on his chest as he can finally see the rest of Berlin illuminated through the night sky. Then, the gate is open, and the crowd rushes forward as one. Muscles burning, Prussia runs with them, eyes darting through the people, here, here, no, here-
They see each other at the same time. There. Nondescript in a brown jacket and modern clothes, military uniform gone, stands Germany. They both freeze, then take steps towards each other.
“Gilbert,” he says, taking in his antiquated Russian clothes, his thinned out appearance. “I…I never…”
Prussia’s skin is on fire and his throat is tight. Germany is simultaneously smaller and greater than his dreams of the last 40 years. He feels like he’s floating and his words come out clumsily. “Long…Long time no see, West.”
Ludwig pulls him into an embrace so tight that Gilbert thinks he might not be able to breathe, but who needs to breathe when the air around them is filled with cries of joy and the tears of both of his people?
“I…I worried about you for so long, Oh Gott, and the wall-“
“…didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to build…didn’t…” But Germany doesn’t let him explain, instead takes him by the hand and leads him away from East Berlin and into the West, where everything is better and faster and more frightening that he could have imagined.
Prussia’s money is worth nothing. His people are not educated in capitalist ways anymore. He runs the streets with his brother in rags and wearing a long, tattered red scarf, but when Ludwig turns and grins at him, hand on his own sending electricity through his skin, Prussia wouldn’t have it any other way.
-
Years pass.
“Gilbert? What are you staring at?”
“…there’s tomato paste on our carpet.”
Germany brings his hand up to face and curses under his breath. “Those damn Italians. I keep telling them. I keep telling him,” he grumbles darkly.
“…what about the white shit?”
Ludwig stiffens, then relaxes as he eyes off the stain. “I think that’s just sauce. You know, from the Döner.”
Turks, Gilbert thinks as he makes the connection. The old guy in the mask. “You have a lot of them.” Ludwig turns back to him with an odd expression.
“Do you mean stains?” There’s no answer. “I don’t think there’s that many.”
“You have more than I have Ampelmänner. Trust me, you have a lot.”
Somehow Germany gets the feeling they aren’t talking about dirty carpets anymore. “I don’t think they can help it. I’ll clean it up if it bothers you.”
“Do it.” Gilbert traipses over to his bed and flops down on it. Screw the Italian Gelato sellers who come for work every summer. “I don’t like…I don’t like them.” Germany talks to too many countries; he invites them over and hands them Kaffee und Kuchen and gets cosy in his half of the house, and as lonely as he sometimes feels, Prussia doesn’t want foreigners stamping on his carpets. He has pride.
“You’re acting odd, Prussia.”
“Shut up, West.”
Ludwig looks at him for a moment, then lets out a small snort. Twitches his mouth into a smile. “…Ampelmänner? Why must you bring this up every time we speak?” Prussia turns on his side to catch his eye and cock a white blond eyebrow.
“Because they’re fucking awesome.” Germany rolls his eyes, but Gilbert nonetheless can’t help but feel triumphant. “You wish you had Ampelmänner, but I guess you’re just not as mind-blowingly brilliant as I am.”
“You’ll be talking about Trabis next.” Germany shakes out a laugh and reaches out his hand to take his brother’s. Their hands are warm together. Gilbert can feel it, the connection between them, and it makes his heart thump and his neck prickle. He strokes a thumb over their knuckles. Germany lets him.
“Gilbert?” Prussia makes a vague sound, tracing eyes over Ludwig’s upper arm as he wonders when his little brother had grown into a man. “I want you to do a favour for me.”
He flicks his sharp gaze upward. Ludwig is as serious as ever, but his pale skin has always made his slight blushes evident. “…what?”
Auferstanden aus Ruinen (4/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 10:14:36 UTC
“Come with me to Italy.”
Gilbert snarls like an animal. “Fuck, no. Why the hell should I?” he snaps, grip on his brother now almost painful. Ludwig takes a slow breath, ever composed.
“Feliciano wants to meet you.” Feliciano, the noisy Italian. “I want…I want you to make this trip. It will do you good.”
“Like a brick to the face it will,” he spits before he winds his fingers deep into Ludwig’s sleeve. “We’re staying here. We’ll go to the Ostsee and get a Strandkorb and watch some naked girls on the FKK beach. That’s a billion times better thanfucking Italy.”
Germany tries to pull away, but Prussia’s not going to let him leave that easily. Germany raises his voice slightly. “…It’s not. Please.”
Prussia imitates him, mouth twisted in sarcasm. Even he knows this is rapidly descending into childishness, but Gilbert likes the sound of that, because when they were children he always got his way.
Germany pulls his arm off of him, eyes narrowed in anger. “It’s not. You think lying around here in your house is going to help you, Gilbert? Well, it’s not. This…ghost-house is nowhere as good as ‘fucking Italy’.”
A predatory grin. “-Because you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you, Ludwig?”
Prussia almost regrets it. He almost regrets saying it when he sees his brother’s face flush in rage and embarrassment, when he grabs his older brother by the hair and shoves his face down into the pillows and storms off. Gilbert rolls onto his back again and brings his hand up to eye level.
He can still feel Germany’s warmth when he brushes it against his lips.
-
The two of them stare at each other, eyes taking in their military uniforms, the formidable difference in height and their shared perpetual scowl. It takes Prussia a whole 3 seconds to decide that he hates the man in front of him.
“Do you damn potato-bastards spawn in pond scum or something?”
Prussia grins toothily. Well, at least his hatred is mutual.
They end up eating (because it’s what all Italians do), but Gilbert sits rigidly in his seat and glowers, because even if Germany can make him come, he can’t make him enjoy himself. Instead of watching as his brother and his friend sitting side by side, he picks fights with South Italy with well placed insults. They spit and rage and give each other the cold shoulder, almost as if they’d both rather fight than sit and accept the sight before them- and when North Italy tries to feed Germany a mouthful of pasta, despite the other county’s protests, they try all the louder.
Because Gilbert knows what Ludwig has in his pocket. And although it’ll take years for Ludwig to build up the courage, he’s seen it nonetheless and Feliciano will wait for him. Gilbert can’t take that chance.
-
Lovino pours himself another glass of wine and flops down onto the couch. Feliciano stands in the light of the doorway and watches. He takes a step forward.
“Do you…I think soccer tomorrow would be fun, hmm~ Lovino? But I’m too tired today. Vee- do you think soccer’s a good ide-”
“-You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
Something between them wilts. Lovino thinks he feels it die.
“…I won’t, Lovino. You know I would never do that.”
He snorts. His brother’s voice draws closer.
“Lovino came back from Spain’s house. He loves me, and I love Lovino. You know I wouldn’t.”
South Italy drains his glass, then closes his eyes.
Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 10:43:08 UTC
Prussia wakes his brother with a hand over his mouth. Ludwig is up in a moment, eyes wild and staring, voice muffled against his hand, one arm straining to pull it off. Gilbert doesn’t wait. When his hand is gone he replaces it with his mouth and pushes down with his body as hard as he can, pressing chest against chest and tongue against teeth. He does all he can, and he bites the lips on his own, grabs Ludwig’s hips and pushes again, and the feeling is wonderful and breathtaking and hollow.
Then, there’s a fist in his stomach and he falls backwards, coughing. Neither of them says anything, but their gasps fill the darkness around them. Germany is scared stunning, and he is smaller than Ivan but still punches hard.
Finally, he takes a breath. “You really love him?” Prussia swallows his pride and looks down at his brother. He’s slightly red, hair all out of place, cross on his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’s beautiful and familiar and foreign all at once, but most of all he is beautiful. There’s an ache in his chest as he watches him, a kind of weight in his throat and in his bones. “You love that good-for-nothing pasta-eater?”
It’s funny, Prussia thinks again, that the two of them have lived together for so long and yet still are. Gilbert’s seen it happen countless times. Countries joining, breaking, rejoining. In modern Europe, everyone is someone else. It happens all the time.
Looking at Germany, Prussia needs to kiss him, to fuck him, to hold him and never let go. He needs to become one with him; Prussia doesn’t care if Germany wakes up in the morning and there is no Prussia, so long as his brother is taller and that little bit prouder and his hair is just that touch blonder. If Gilbert is somewhere inside of him. But it hasn’t happened.
“…Yes. I do.”
They’re meant to be the same fucking country, for fuck’s sake, but for some reason, somehow, Germany is still two halves of a whole, and Prussia is still the East, and Ludwig is still the West. Ludwig still has higher living standards and holidays on Italian beaches, and Gilbert still can’t find enough jobs and thinks about his Ostalgie. As much as Gilbert loves his brother, he is still not the same person.
He nods, words failing him but refusing to look away. So the two brothers stare at each other for long minutes, searching for something in their gazes and finding something else. Finally, they both lie down side by side in the bed, Ludwig on the left, Gilbert on the right, and go to sleep.
He never forgets the distance between them tonight.
-
Germany, Russia, Italy and the concept of togetherness.
Did you know?
The Russian occupation zone was north-west Germany, almost perfectly coinciding with the state of former Prussia.
Dresden, bombed in war, was considered one of the most beautiful cities in Germany Under the Soviet rule Germany's architecture suffered from lack of upkeep and dirty industrial practices.
In 1948, Russia left the rest of the Allied Forces due to differences in policy regarding the reconstruction of Germany. The Deutsche Demokratische Republik was formed.
In the DDR the Stasi secret police would bug the houses of possible insurgents and could detain citizens. Under German rule psychological torture was mainstream.
The Berlin Wall was begun in 1961. It was torn down in 1989. In 1991 the DDR was absolved.
After the reunification 'Prussia' suffered economically and the quality of living is still lower in these regions. Ostalgie, a nostalia for the good old East times, has a bit of a cult movement, not least visible in Ampelmanner shops in Berlin.
Turks represent the largest ethnic minority in Germany. There are also many Italian workers who come to Germany for the summer.
Ampelmanner are the DDR style pedestrian traffic lights. Google for more details: much cuter than normal ones, and sort of cult figure.
Kraut- cabbage momochyka- russian for "Mummy" Doner- Turkish kebabs, now a common snack food in Germany due to immigrant influence. Kaffe und Kuchen- coffee and cake Ostsee- Germany's eastern coastline Strandkorb- like a deckchair FKK- a German nudist movement
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 11:18:42 UTC
Oh, oh, oh. This, God, THIS. So while Germany/Italy is my OTP and I love those two to bits, and yet, Prussia/Germany is my guilty pleasure. Wrote it once as well.
I love your Prussia and Romano. Just, they are so wonderfully foul-tempered and love their brothers (even if they will never admit it) and while Romano has Spain, Prussia has...practically nothing. Not territory or a name, just a relic of the past. ;_;
The first part is chilling, the Baltic brothers, Belarus--just being there, Russia and the comparison to a mother, and Prussia's wangst. And then the reunion scene which breaks heart--just as the Berlin Wall building one. The beauty perhaps lies in the fact that...Germany probably doesn't even realize it. He's always been a rather one-track mind guy with a very uncomplicated thought-process. The extent of Prussia's...what to call it, heartache, perhaps. Or unrequited love, maybe? Or the fear of being forgotten by his precious brother.
The last line is a killer, dear anon. *faps* I enjoyed it very, very much. This meme needs more Gilbert and more Gilbert/Ludwig!
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 12:26:01 UTC
That was spectacular and heartbreakingly bitter-sweet, anon. ♥ Usually in fics, Prussia tries to retain his 'self' and not be absorbed by Germany, which, judging from his character, would be the obvious choice, but I just love how he desperately tries to be one with Ludwig here in the end and can't.
Also, the "I don't like them" bit - wow. It is said that anti-foreign sentiments are stronger in the East, and I loved how you incorporated this in this fic (the "stain" imagery is both wonderfully provoking and dangerous).
Long story short, it's high-quality fic like this that keeps me addicted to this meme. *pulls hat*
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 16:21:56 UTC
Fuck. That was mindblowingly gorgeous, anon, both the writing and the execution and the characterization. I agree with the folks upthread that it was refreshing and interesting to see a Prussia willing to give up his individuality--I really enjoyed how you showed his development during and through the years of Soviet occupation. Not enough fics touch on that period of time.
And his relationships with the Baltics! I especially loved the rationale for why they hadn't been outright absorbed. Talking to Poland, indeed. XD His interactions with Germany were amazing, and the Italy brothers. ;;; Lovino. D: Lovino and Prussia fighting to keep from having to notice the Germany/Italy going on under their noses was also awesome, because they so would.
I was so happy to see another Germanycest fic, but there really needs to be more Germany brothers on this meme period. D: <3 Thanks for giving us such a great piece, writernon. (And I looked up Ampelmanner and LMFAO THEY'RE ADORABLE)
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 16:25:03 UTC
*bawls her fucking eyes out*
Oh, anon, this is so terribly heartbreaking. The scenes with Russia were so eerie and horrifying and perfect - so often in this meme Russia just turns sort of generic brutal and boring but this had chills running up my spine and me whimpering for fucked-up lost defiant Prussia. I love him so much and he's so wonderful and pained here, oh god this is gorgeous.
And can't even express my love for this properly, for the hotness (and sweetness) of Gil's dreams and the terrible pangs of his reminiscences and Lovino's worries too and Prussia seeing everything that's going to happen, eventually, and not wanting to believe it, the subtle reflections how countries merge (and don't) -
God, every single thing about this is just wonderful and heartwrenching and perfect, oh my god.
I wanted something like this so badly but this is so much better than I imagined it. *worships you*
OP wants to marry you
anonymous
March 18 2009, 19:37:57 UTC
Wow... just wow. I don't know what to say that hadn't already been said by others. >.< Curse you, school! I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for filling my request. This was much better than I thought it would be. You did a wonderful job. :3
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 18 2009, 21:52:55 UTC
Anon, this was...fuck. I loved it. I think I'd never read a characterization of Prussia I could say with all honesty that I felt was this great. Heck, everything about this was great. You did great job, as the other anons have already said in better ways.
Re: Auferstanden aus Ruinen (5/5)
anonymous
March 19 2009, 02:26:02 UTC
Oh, ouch-- that was simply fantastic. As all the others above have said, your characterization of Prussia here is simply fantastic. I love the way you managed to treat all these different time periods-- there's a lovely sense of breadth here.
Gilbert’s not a child and he won’t delude himself. He’s seen countries join- he’s seen Baden and Saxony and Thuringen and Hamburg simply fade into comfortable togetherness, leaving behind a brat of a kid with blond hair, blue eyes and a serious look. Prussia was part of the Holy Roman Empire. He knows.
His new, motley collection of a family will never join, in matrimony or otherwise. As long as they keep fighting and quailing and talking to Poland, they will never become one with Ivan. For that fact, Prussia is glad.
-
It’s what comes after that unsettles Gilbert. He still dreams of scenery and food and money and glory that used to be his, but now he sees Ludwig out there too. Sometimes, Ludwig is a child again, crying and trying to find his brother but not ever seeing him; sometimes they just stand and stare at each other across Checkpoint Charlie with no words to say. They drink together and share lewd jokes at Austria’s expense. And sometimes-
Prussia opens his eyes and sees only the ceiling. He is painfully aroused, groin throbbing in waves that make his abdomen tremble and his breath come in rapid gasps. Shit. There’s no way he can go back to sleep like this. Not when his mind is filled with his brother’s hands and tongue and whispered words against his neck, pleas panted against his mouth as he writhes beneath him-
-but he is not alone, he realises with a thrill of fear.
“Prussia. Little DDR.” Ivan’s voice comes floating through the darkness from beside him. Gilbert is big, but the Soviet is bigger. “P-russia. You are awake?” A hand reaches for him, but Gilbert grabs it and twists to face the other country lying in his bed. He bares his teeth in a grin and a snarl.
“Momochyka,” he hisses, oozing sarcasm. “How you care for me. But your son is fine.”
Russia just looks at him, still reaching for his hair (Or his eye sockets, Gilbert thinks. Probably the eye sockets. Soviet bastard.). And Gilbert realises, with a sickening jolt, that Russia’s irises are blue. His grip on Ivan’s wrist slackens, for just a moment; it is all Ivan needs, and suddenly there is hand clamped against his mouth and nose before he knows it.
As Gilbert thrashes and bites at his fingers, trying to get those digits out of his airways, Russia leans over him and presses his nose up against the other’s cheek. The hand is snatched away.
“You are…different than the others,” Russia muses, a child standing despot over a Lego set. “You still bite.”
He pants at the Bear in the corner of his vision. “Fuck yes- I’m a damn High German and you’re never going to change that, you prick.” Breaths, hot and slow, wash over his neck as Russia watches him with sapphire eyes and sunflower hair. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Prussia can still hear his challenge.
Yes I will, his hands say as he runs them down Gilbert’s neck. You will become one with me, his thighs whisper into the sheets as that great hulking mass of muscle and bone slides across the bed. Ivan forces his doctrine down Prussia’s throat along with his tongue whether he likes it or not.
Fingers shaking, he grabs Ivan’s head by his tresses. He smooths the hair back away from his face and gives in.
Somewhere in his mind, Prussia kisses Germany and feels himself at home again.
-
His boss tells him firmly that he’s being watched. They’re all being watched, Gilbert thinks. Russia doesn’t sleep. But his boss doesn’t lower his eyes. “They’re leaving, Prussia. They’re leaving the DDR.” He rubs his eyes, seeming helpless. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
So Prussia builds the Wall. He does it with his own two hands and rusty iron tools and an AK-47 to his head, but nothing cuts more than the looks his people give him as he stands there. It’s Russia’s fault. It’s Ludwig’s fault- Ludwig who makes him have those dreams about him in his sleep.
Actually, scratch that. It’s all Russia’s fault. He never used to be this paranoid.
He still dreams of Ludwig and concrete.
-
Reply
They see each other at the same time. There. Nondescript in a brown jacket and modern clothes, military uniform gone, stands Germany. They both freeze, then take steps towards each other.
“Gilbert,” he says, taking in his antiquated Russian clothes, his thinned out appearance. “I…I never…”
Prussia’s skin is on fire and his throat is tight. Germany is simultaneously smaller and greater than his dreams of the last 40 years. He feels like he’s floating and his words come out clumsily. “Long…Long time no see, West.”
Ludwig pulls him into an embrace so tight that Gilbert thinks he might not be able to breathe, but who needs to breathe when the air around them is filled with cries of joy and the tears of both of his people?
“I…I worried about you for so long, Oh Gott, and the wall-“
“…didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to build…didn’t…” But Germany doesn’t let him explain, instead takes him by the hand and leads him away from East Berlin and into the West, where everything is better and faster and more frightening that he could have imagined.
Prussia’s money is worth nothing. His people are not educated in capitalist ways anymore. He runs the streets with his brother in rags and wearing a long, tattered red scarf, but when Ludwig turns and grins at him, hand on his own sending electricity through his skin, Prussia wouldn’t have it any other way.
-
Years pass.
“Gilbert? What are you staring at?”
“…there’s tomato paste on our carpet.”
Germany brings his hand up to face and curses under his breath. “Those damn Italians. I keep telling them. I keep telling him,” he grumbles darkly.
“…what about the white shit?”
Ludwig stiffens, then relaxes as he eyes off the stain. “I think that’s just sauce. You know, from the Döner.”
Turks, Gilbert thinks as he makes the connection. The old guy in the mask. “You have a lot of them.” Ludwig turns back to him with an odd expression.
“Do you mean stains?” There’s no answer. “I don’t think there’s that many.”
“You have more than I have Ampelmänner. Trust me, you have a lot.”
Somehow Germany gets the feeling they aren’t talking about dirty carpets anymore. “I don’t think they can help it. I’ll clean it up if it bothers you.”
“Do it.” Gilbert traipses over to his bed and flops down on it. Screw the Italian Gelato sellers who come for work every summer. “I don’t like…I don’t like them.” Germany talks to too many countries; he invites them over and hands them Kaffee und Kuchen and gets cosy in his half of the house, and as lonely as he sometimes feels, Prussia doesn’t want foreigners stamping on his carpets. He has pride.
“You’re acting odd, Prussia.”
“Shut up, West.”
Ludwig looks at him for a moment, then lets out a small snort. Twitches his mouth into a smile. “…Ampelmänner? Why must you bring this up every time we speak?” Prussia turns on his side to catch his eye and cock a white blond eyebrow.
“Because they’re fucking awesome.” Germany rolls his eyes, but Gilbert nonetheless can’t help but feel triumphant. “You wish you had Ampelmänner, but I guess you’re just not as mind-blowingly brilliant as I am.”
“You’ll be talking about Trabis next.” Germany shakes out a laugh and reaches out his hand to take his brother’s. Their hands are warm together. Gilbert can feel it, the connection between them, and it makes his heart thump and his neck prickle. He strokes a thumb over their knuckles. Germany lets him.
“Gilbert?” Prussia makes a vague sound, tracing eyes over Ludwig’s upper arm as he wonders when his little brother had grown into a man. “I want you to do a favour for me.”
He flicks his sharp gaze upward. Ludwig is as serious as ever, but his pale skin has always made his slight blushes evident. “…what?”
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Gilbert snarls like an animal. “Fuck, no. Why the hell should I?” he snaps, grip on his brother now almost painful. Ludwig takes a slow breath, ever composed.
“Feliciano wants to meet you.” Feliciano, the noisy Italian. “I want…I want you to make this trip. It will do you good.”
“Like a brick to the face it will,” he spits before he winds his fingers deep into Ludwig’s sleeve. “We’re staying here. We’ll go to the Ostsee and get a Strandkorb and watch some naked girls on the FKK beach. That’s a billion times better thanfucking Italy.”
Germany tries to pull away, but Prussia’s not going to let him leave that easily. Germany raises his voice slightly. “…It’s not. Please.”
Prussia imitates him, mouth twisted in sarcasm. Even he knows this is rapidly descending into childishness, but Gilbert likes the sound of that, because when they were children he always got his way.
Germany pulls his arm off of him, eyes narrowed in anger. “It’s not. You think lying around here in your house is going to help you, Gilbert? Well, it’s not. This…ghost-house is nowhere as good as ‘fucking Italy’.”
A predatory grin. “-Because you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you, Ludwig?”
Prussia almost regrets it. He almost regrets saying it when he sees his brother’s face flush in rage and embarrassment, when he grabs his older brother by the hair and shoves his face down into the pillows and storms off. Gilbert rolls onto his back again and brings his hand up to eye level.
He can still feel Germany’s warmth when he brushes it against his lips.
-
The two of them stare at each other, eyes taking in their military uniforms, the formidable difference in height and their shared perpetual scowl. It takes Prussia a whole 3 seconds to decide that he hates the man in front of him.
“Do you damn potato-bastards spawn in pond scum or something?”
Prussia grins toothily. Well, at least his hatred is mutual.
They end up eating (because it’s what all Italians do), but Gilbert sits rigidly in his seat and glowers, because even if Germany can make him come, he can’t make him enjoy himself. Instead of watching as his brother and his friend sitting side by side, he picks fights with South Italy with well placed insults. They spit and rage and give each other the cold shoulder, almost as if they’d both rather fight than sit and accept the sight before them- and when North Italy tries to feed Germany a mouthful of pasta, despite the other county’s protests, they try all the louder.
Because Gilbert knows what Ludwig has in his pocket. And although it’ll take years for Ludwig to build up the courage, he’s seen it nonetheless and Feliciano will wait for him. Gilbert can’t take that chance.
-
Lovino pours himself another glass of wine and flops down onto the couch. Feliciano stands in the light of the doorway and watches. He takes a step forward.
“Do you…I think soccer tomorrow would be fun, hmm~ Lovino? But I’m too tired today. Vee- do you think soccer’s a good ide-”
“-You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
Something between them wilts. Lovino thinks he feels it die.
“…I won’t, Lovino. You know I would never do that.”
He snorts. His brother’s voice draws closer.
“Lovino came back from Spain’s house. He loves me, and I love Lovino. You know I wouldn’t.”
South Italy drains his glass, then closes his eyes.
“…Soccer sounds good.”
-
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Then, there’s a fist in his stomach and he falls backwards, coughing. Neither of them says anything, but their gasps fill the darkness around them. Germany is scared stunning, and he is smaller than Ivan but still punches hard.
Finally, he takes a breath. “You really love him?” Prussia swallows his pride and looks down at his brother. He’s slightly red, hair all out of place, cross on his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’s beautiful and familiar and foreign all at once, but most of all he is beautiful. There’s an ache in his chest as he watches him, a kind of weight in his throat and in his bones. “You love that good-for-nothing pasta-eater?”
It’s funny, Prussia thinks again, that the two of them have lived together for so long and yet still are. Gilbert’s seen it happen countless times. Countries joining, breaking, rejoining. In modern Europe, everyone is someone else. It happens all the time.
Looking at Germany, Prussia needs to kiss him, to fuck him, to hold him and never let go. He needs to become one with him; Prussia doesn’t care if Germany wakes up in the morning and there is no Prussia, so long as his brother is taller and that little bit prouder and his hair is just that touch blonder. If Gilbert is somewhere inside of him. But it hasn’t happened.
“…Yes. I do.”
They’re meant to be the same fucking country, for fuck’s sake, but for some reason, somehow, Germany is still two halves of a whole, and Prussia is still the East, and Ludwig is still the West. Ludwig still has higher living standards and holidays on Italian beaches, and Gilbert still can’t find enough jobs and thinks about his Ostalgie. As much as Gilbert loves his brother, he is still not the same person.
He nods, words failing him but refusing to look away. So the two brothers stare at each other for long minutes, searching for something in their gazes and finding something else. Finally, they both lie down side by side in the bed, Ludwig on the left, Gilbert on the right, and go to sleep.
He never forgets the distance between them tonight.
-
Germany, Russia, Italy and the concept of togetherness.
Did you know?
The Russian occupation zone was north-west Germany, almost perfectly coinciding with the state of former Prussia.
Dresden, bombed in war, was considered one of the most beautiful cities in Germany Under the Soviet rule Germany's architecture suffered from lack of upkeep and dirty industrial practices.
In 1948, Russia left the rest of the Allied Forces due to differences in policy regarding the reconstruction of Germany. The Deutsche Demokratische Republik was formed.
In the DDR the Stasi secret police would bug the houses of possible insurgents and could detain citizens. Under German rule psychological torture was mainstream.
The Berlin Wall was begun in 1961. It was torn down in 1989. In 1991 the DDR was absolved.
After the reunification 'Prussia' suffered economically and the quality of living is still lower in these regions. Ostalgie, a nostalia for the good old East times, has a bit of a cult movement, not least visible in Ampelmanner shops in Berlin.
Turks represent the largest ethnic minority in Germany. There are also many Italian workers who come to Germany for the summer.
Ampelmanner are the DDR style pedestrian traffic lights. Google for more details: much cuter than normal ones, and sort of cult figure.
Kraut- cabbage
momochyka- russian for "Mummy"
Doner- Turkish kebabs, now a common snack food in Germany due to immigrant influence.
Kaffe und Kuchen- coffee and cake
Ostsee- Germany's eastern coastline
Strandkorb- like a deckchair
FKK- a German nudist movement
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I love your Prussia and Romano. Just, they are so wonderfully foul-tempered and love their brothers (even if they will never admit it) and while Romano has Spain, Prussia has...practically nothing. Not territory or a name, just a relic of the past. ;_;
The first part is chilling, the Baltic brothers, Belarus--just being there, Russia and the comparison to a mother, and Prussia's wangst. And then the reunion scene which breaks heart--just as the Berlin Wall building one. The beauty perhaps lies in the fact that...Germany probably doesn't even realize it. He's always been a rather one-track mind guy with a very uncomplicated thought-process. The extent of Prussia's...what to call it, heartache, perhaps. Or unrequited love, maybe? Or the fear of being forgotten by his precious brother.
The last line is a killer, dear anon. *faps* I enjoyed it very, very much. This meme needs more Gilbert and more Gilbert/Ludwig!
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Also, the "I don't like them" bit - wow. It is said that anti-foreign sentiments are stronger in the East, and I loved how you incorporated this in this fic (the "stain" imagery is both wonderfully provoking and dangerous).
Long story short, it's high-quality fic like this that keeps me addicted to this meme. *pulls hat*
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And his relationships with the Baltics! I especially loved the rationale for why they hadn't been outright absorbed. Talking to Poland, indeed. XD His interactions with Germany were amazing, and the Italy brothers. ;;; Lovino. D: Lovino and Prussia fighting to keep from having to notice the Germany/Italy going on under their noses was also awesome, because they so would.
I was so happy to see another Germanycest fic, but there really needs to be more Germany brothers on this meme period. D: <3 Thanks for giving us such a great piece, writernon. (And I looked up Ampelmanner and LMFAO THEY'RE ADORABLE)
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Oh, anon, this is so terribly heartbreaking. The scenes with Russia were so eerie and horrifying and perfect - so often in this meme Russia just turns sort of generic brutal and boring but this had chills running up my spine and me whimpering for fucked-up lost defiant Prussia. I love him so much and he's so wonderful and pained here, oh god this is gorgeous.
And can't even express my love for this properly, for the hotness (and sweetness) of Gil's dreams and the terrible pangs of his reminiscences and Lovino's worries too and Prussia seeing everything that's going to happen, eventually, and not wanting to believe it, the subtle reflections how countries merge (and don't) -
God, every single thing about this is just wonderful and heartwrenching and perfect, oh my god.
I wanted something like this so badly but this is so much better than I imagined it. *worships you*
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Thanks for the read anon
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Thanks, Anon. You made my day.
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heh
Words cannot describe how much I love this fill.
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