#Iron Blooded || Gilbert Beilschmidt

[mauerfrau]

It had been a long day at work, and Lily was looking forward to sitting down to some good Currywurst and some trash tv to take her mind off things. She had just sat on her couch when her phone rang with an old military march. She felt her stomach clench as she reached for it. She didn't need to see the caller ID to know who it was.

"Hello, Dr. Liliane Beilschmidt speaking," she said, even though they both knew he knew who she was. But he expected to be answered properly each time.

"Hello, Liliane, this is Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt. I am calling in regards to our upcoming hunting trip."

"Oh, yes, sir. Is everything alright with it?"

"Well, it would seem your brother isn't interested in coming." He said, "your brother," as if it were her fault somehow.

She frowned. Alex hadn't come on a hunting trip in years. That shouldn't be news to either of them. After a few seconds, it clicked. "Oh, you mean Ludwig, sir?"

"Yes, girl. That's what I said. Apparently, he would rather stay in Canada with the Canadian, than spend time with his family."

Liliane literally bit her lip to avoid saying anything rash. She couldn't exactly blame Ludwig for his choice, even if it was now causing her grief.

"I see," she said, calculating each word, "and he didn't offer any kind of alternative?"

"No, of course not."

"I see." She took a bite of a fry as quietly as she could. She could feel his seething from the other end. After she swallowed, she spoke. "Why don't...why don't I call him and see if I can change his mind. Maybe a little...gentler, womanly touch will help. Would that be acceptable, sir?"

There was a pause, and she could just picture him narrowing his eyes and tapping his finger as he did when in thought. "Hmph. Very well. You may try. But I will not be surprised if you fail."

"Ah, yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Is there anything I should know before I call him?"

She could hear him sigh before saying, "No, no there isn't. Just report back to me as soon as you are done."

"Yes, sir. Ah, goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye, child."

Liliane hung up and then let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. She set her phone down and stared up at the ceiling. This was no easy task. She hadn't planned on mediating between two grown men in her off hours today. She took a few more bites of Currywurst, and then called Ludwig.

When she was done talking to her brother, she set the phone down again. She wasn't quite ready to call Herr Beilschmidt back, but she knew that the longer she waited, the harder it would be. And the more impatient he would grow. After taking a bite of sausage, she picked up her phone again, stared at his contact for a moment, and then hit the call button.

"Hello, Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt speaking."

"Yes, sir, ahm...Dr. Liliane Beilschmidt speaking. I have news from Ludwig."

He didn't answer right away. Then, he said, "Go on."

"Yes, well, he told me that he'll be in Germany from June 9th through the 15th for his exams and some meetings. But he can arrange to go hunting then. Would that be...acceptable to you?" She almost squeaked the last part out.

There was a tense moment of silence. She barely dared to breathe. And then...

"Yes, that would be acceptable."

She breathed out in relief. She smiled. She felt some hope grow in her. And then, he spoke again.

"Will he be prepared? I believe he has most of his supplies in Canada, does he not?"

"Ah...um, yeah, about that. He said he won't be able to bring his own guns. Or his dogs."

"I see," came the cold reply. After a moment of silence, he continued, "Well, I should have expected him to slack off. He still relies on me, but what is an older brother for, if not that, hmm? At least you can be counted on to be prepared."

Liliane smiled, but then felt guilty for it. At least no one was around to see it. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she said.

"Very well. I will provide the guns for him and myself, and the dogs if I decide we need them. We'll go deer hunting. I have it on good authority that the bucks are large this year."

"That sounds perfect, sir."

"Of course. Oh, and, child? You and I will still be going boar hunting on our regular date. You will come with the boy and I to go deer hunting too, won't you?"

"O-oh, yes, sir. I...I didn't know I was invited to that too. Thank you."

"Hmm, well, it would be good to have a good example of a respectful child along. Perhaps he will learn to emulate you, if it can be drilled through his thick skull."

Once again, she had a guilt-heavy smile on her face.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, again, sir."

"Hmm, well, if that's all. You may call him back and tell him of my approval. I will make the arrangements shortly."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Goodbye, my dear."

"Goodbye, sir."

[mauerfrau]

A merciless fire was sparked behind those red eyes. White knuckles on the cane became even whiter. Nostrils flared. He took a few steps closer. It was clear he was envisioning himself slashing Frederick Wilhelm's throat with the sword hidden in his cane. Alas, they were in public, and his influence was not the same as it once had been.

"How dare you," he hissed, "How dare you say such things to me, boy. After all the centuries I spent raising you. After all the centuries I spent allowing your existence when no one in Europe wanted you. I could have left you for dead, forgotten to the history books. I should have. With all your debauchery, you're a stain on this fine continent, a stain we should have wiped out for good."

He straightened his back, after having leaned in towards Frederick Wilhelm. He stared down at him, as though he were a disgusting bug in his path. "Tsk. You'll never be a real man like this. A real man would take responsibility. You'll be nothing more than a sniveling child, whining about how life is unfair, for the rest of your days."

His part said and done, he turned on his heels and marched towards the door, not giving the boy in the bed a chance to think of anything to say to him. He only paused to look back and say, "There's a reason they don't respect you like they do me. Think on it." And then he was gone.

"if you were a decent guardian, you wouldn't have to worry about everyone you touch ending up desperate for attention," he shot back. "I don't interfere in their sex lives AND I don't see why I should"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he had fucked up.

Sitting up straighter didn't help any matters but it made him feel a little braver and he could at least face the coming verbal beat down with bravado.

"Don't start anything," he warned. "we're in a hospital and you can't bribe a doctor to give you drugs anymore"

[imagine-hetalia-countries]

Ships but its pirate ships 🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️

The names of the pirate nations’ ships and some general thoughts I have on them as pirates.

SPAIN

His ship was La Mariposa De La Espania, La Mariposa for short. The Spanish Butterfly.

He could flip between being a sweet and gentle captain to being your worst nightmare depending on how you spoke to him.

He spoke only Spanish on the ship.

His quarters were well decorated but pretty small. He had a mural over his bed that he would work on while the waters were calm.

Romano was his ship’s chef. He’d pretend not to understand anyone unless they spoke Italian.

He still has the flag from the ship. It’s tattered and faded but the butterfly is still prominent. It’s pinned to one of the walls in his study.

FRANCE

His ship was called Diamant Rouge, Red Diamond.

Capitaine Bonnefoy would speak only French and some English on his ship, even to people who clearly didn’t understand him. He found it fun to watch them try to understand.

He doubled as the ship’s chef when he could. He still enjoyed cooking, even while plundering and murdering.

He enjoyed only the finest things inside his quarters, if it wasn’t to his liking, he’d leave it to his crew.

Despite that, he didn’t really like to share with them. He’s their country, they should be happy to leave their share to him!

His quarters were filled with the finest silks and arts taken from other ships. There was almost always a woman or two in the room as well, though rarely ever the same twice.

He kept the flag but has long since lost most of it. The blazon is the only thing he kept, it’s pinned to the wall in his studio.

ENGLAND

His ship was the Iron Lion, formally known as The Iron Lion of Her Majesty’s Royal Privateer.

He was not a ship captain to mess with. He didn’t have mercy to people who attacked him.

He would see ocean combat as a game. He’s fire a shot as a “Hey wanna play?” And if the other ship returned fire, the game was on.

There was a watery lion’s head painted on the door to his quarters. They were lavishly decorated and well sized.

Every single member of his crew was an Englishman. They were those still training to be part of the Royal Navy. Arthur could put them on a fast track if his recommendations were high enough.

He never attacked British ships, and they never attacked him. The Lion was under the protection of the Royal Navy. On the contrary, French ships were his favorite prey, and they would always either attack or try to flee. He’d often sail in to help British ships when he saw them under attack by Diamant Rouge or Crown of Blood.

He has the flag from the ship, but doesn’t exactly know where exactly it is. It’s stuffed somewhere in the storage room, probably near his old pirate uniform. He hasn’t pulled it out in a long time, so he’s not sure how well it’s stood against time.

PRUSSIA

His ship was known to English ships as the Crown of Blood, though he never seemed to address it in his own language.

Of the nations, Captain Beilschmidt was the most ruthless. While Kirkland might fire a warning shot, the very first shot from the Crown would almost always it its target.

Gilbert almost sank the Iron Lion at least five times. Every time, Kirkland just barely managed to escape.

The Crown is believed to have been stolen from the Dutch or a gift from the French. No one was ever sure which story was true.

He was also very selfish, taking as much as he could for himself to decorate his cabin. He’d change out the draped silks every now and again and would often wear the finer jewels he stole. He used some of the ones he had the longest to try to pay the Allies after WWII.

The flag was given to West right before the Berlin Wall was constructed. Gilbert wanted his brother to have something to symbolize that they were still family. Ludwig still has it, he’s refused to accept it back from him.

[inkstaineddove]

Strange Bedfellows

Ship: AusPru

Characters: Austria, Prussia; mentioned Germany, Britain, France, Poland, Czech, Slovakia

Summary:  March 13, 1938. Austria becomes swallowed by the machine tearing through Germany. Rather than be resigned to their fates as subordinate entities, Austria and Prussia agree to work together in another war, this time for the right cause.

March 13, 1938. Berlin, Germany The air between the two nations - former nations? They were no longer sure exactly - was thick. Prussia had his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a cigarette in his teeth. Austria was tightly gripping a glass of wine, his knuckles white and hands shaking. Prussia sighed out a puff of smoke. "Well, ain't this hell?" Austria shook his head. "To think we wasted those weeks in 1866 on whether I'd be apart of this state. We killed those men for nothing. All for our governments to be seized and our people to look like fools to later generations." He took a long sip from his glass. "It's ironic. All the citizen's except my own in the empire wanted independence. I'm relieved for the divorce. If Erzsébet and any of the others got dragged into this with me, I wouldn't be able to cope with the guilt." "They'll be dragged into it. This guy's an animal. All of Europe will feel his wrath."

They let that hang. Both of them found this situation to be absurd. Since 1740 they'd been trying to destroy each other, trying to beat the other down for power among the German states and all of Europe. Now, here they were, beaten down by a younger nation both of them had dreamed up, controlled by a leader perverting both their histories. Prussia thought about that. It was something that bothered him deeply. The pictures of him with Bismarck and Frederick made Gilbert nauseous. Neither man would be pleased with a commoner taking their positions, of trying to undo what they did while saying it was a tribute. "He's obsessed with Fritz. When he told me what he planned to do to you, he smiled and said it's what Frederick would've wanted." He scoffed. "If he actually admired him, he would let the people be." "To be fair, he did plan to march on Vienna in every war." Gilbert shot him a look. Roderich shrugged. "I did say I was being fair, not that he has an accurate understanding of your dear king. It's unfortunate that his grave is being dug up for propaganda again. I thought he'd get a rest after Bismarck was done uniting." Another sip, another beat drummed on silently between the two. "You don't think he'll defile Maria Theresa?" That made Gilbert laugh. The action sent relief throughout Roderich. At least his queen would be safe. Prussia leaned down, grabbing his briefcase and throwing it up on the table. He opened it and began handing papers to Austria. "Here. Keep these close. It's a passport, birth certificate, all that shit you need. We've got three Herr Beilschmidts in the house now." "We've been hiding our relation for centuries and now you want us to be family? My apologies, but I'm rather fond of the name Edelstein." He huffed and slipped the papers in his pocket. Prussia suddenly rose and began going inside. Austria hurried after him. "What's your problem? It's simply the truth! Are you not paying me any attention?" Roderich continued his complaining as he followed Gilbert upstairs and into a dimly lit room. Prussia flicked the light on, revealing stacks of books and paper. Mementos of Prussia's long past hung on the walls - including a sword Austria was intimately acquainted with - besides portraits of beloved leaders. Gilbert went through the drawers, grabbing and stacking documents before handing them to Austria. "Read and I'll explain." The Austrian felt compelled to comply, sitting himself comfortably on the couch. His eyes skimmed the pages. It was letters and books, policies enacted and those yet to be introduced. Internal memos detailing beliefs and ideals Gilbert had somehow swiped off desks and in homes. It painted a sickening picture. Prussia watched tentatively. He'd locked the door and turned on a record so their conversation wouldn't be heard. His hands fiddled with his lighter, that being the only thing he could get a grip on. He took a deep breath. "I sued Ludwig. About six years ago. I was standing strong against these fucking nationalists. I know I've played nice with them before, but these guys are violent. I didn't want that. So my kid brother and his fucking puppets come along and kick me and my guys out of power." His blood was beginning to boil. "So I get the Nazis. And I'm expected to play nice with the Nazis and respect them and I am continuously reminded of how I'm now subordinate by him and his new boss." Gilbert smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "That's how I wound up in this wonderful situation." Austria frowned and set the papers related to Gilbert's case aside. "And why would they do this? You can't tell me the country that you created, that you raised and are the heart of, is conspiring against you and you expect me to believe it? I'm not an idiot, Gilbert." "The kids got a completely different personality. It's like Versailles broke something inside of him. He's angry and vengeful. It was my king who led him into failure and my nobility that directed everything. And my stupid fucking free state was doing better than the rest of the nation. He wants to consolidate power under his name, not mine, and I'm apparently too good at the game for him." Prussia shrugged. "You can psychoanalyze that later. This all deals with you too, of course." Roderich's interest was rekindled. He leaned forward, gripping the paperwork in his hand tighter. "My last name? Tell me why you changed that." Prussia sat down and nodded. "Edelstein. It's a Jewish last name. I know you've never had troubles with it before - and why would you? It was your country - but these aren't times we've been in before." He laughed bitterly. "I mean, you could keep it. But that would mean you'd be looking at me from the other side of the camps when I'm forced to inspect them - and you'll be doing that with me so we're reminded that we're inferior and he has no problems sending us there." Austria followed along, reading quickly. Prussia continued speaking, on and on in a more impassioned tone, but Austria had stopped listening. The words shocked him in their cruelty. He'd never before seen his native language as cold and angry as the other nations did, but now he couldn't see it as anything but. The laws, the permits for camps, all the speeches. He couldn't stop reading. Soon, Gilbert had given up. He sat down in his seat, fiddling with a rifle from the Seven Year's War. He'd let Roderich continue until he was done. The only noise between them was the sound of American jazz filling the room, another small act of rebellion they'd grow to cherish more and more. Finally, Austria unburied his head and met Prussia's gaze. He dropped the papers to the floor. "What do we do?" "I'm sending messages to Feliks and those two kids, the Czech and the Slovak, to warn them about what's coming. They're next on the hit list. I've been sending telegrams to Francis and Arthur, begging them to declare war while we're not ready and promising them I'll blow the German plans. All I hear back is from the news. All it is talk of appeasing him." Prussia leaned back in his chair, feeling every year of his age. "My nobility doesn't care. They want war. They want Alsace-Lorraine, Silesia, Eastern Prussia, all the territory I lost. I tell them I don't want to be whole again, that I miss competent leadership and they tell me I've grown soft." A feeling of defeat hung between them. Clear German military aggression and the world for the first time in centuries doesn't care. It felt like being stuck on an island, like being Cassandra shouting her prophecies. They would be forced to ride the tide of history and hope to not be overtaken. But, when had they ever done that? Austria looked up as Prussia spoke again, his voice growing more determined. "We'll do what we can. Maybe not as nations, but as Roderich and Gilbert, the only sane men left in the Austrian and Prussian nobility, we can create some impact. We'll go to these camps, follow orders, and we'll help people. Whatever the cost. We can't die, they can't starve us and torture only gets them so far. We lose hope, we lose our people and, more importantly, we'll lose our humanity." Prussia grinned, the first genuine smile he'd had in months, and Austria returned it. Roderich ran his hands through his hair before laughing. "For anyone else this would be a suicide mission. For us, it feels poetic." Mischief glinted in his violet eyes. "The two of us, taking down the nation we fought so hard to create. Oh, the irony." Gilbert opened his mouth, but shut it when he heard someone downstairs. He frowned and shut off the jazz. "Speaking of said nation, he's back home from the Chancellery early. This is between the two of us. If he finds out..." His face grew pale and he swallowed sharply. "I'm not sure what he'd do." He opened the door and ushered his cousin out. "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're insinuating." Austria sniffed, throwing his nose up in the air and walking out the door. "I've been known to be completely loyal to my government. Doubting my loyalty to the Hapsburgs is insulting." He stalked down the stairs, asking Ludwig about the new state of his government. Gilbert chuckled, trying to keep his voice controlled so Germany wouldn't hear. "And I'll be loyal to the Hohenzollerns till my dying breath. You know firsthand that my obedience has never been in doubt." He gave himself a once over in the mirror and, deciding he looked how he was expected to, went downstairs ready to play his part in this horror.

[mauerfrau]

The older boy--nay, young man--pulled his cloak a bit closer to him to ward off the cold. He did subtly of course, for he did not want the other men at his table to see. He was on his path to knighthood, after all! And the big, strong knights sitting by him never seemed to mind the cold if they could help it. Perhaps he just needed more food to fuel his inner warmth. Alas, their table had been the first to be cleared, and as he sat an looked around at the others, he couldn't help but long for just a little bit more.

Laughter suddenly burst out from the men sitting around him, and he realized he had just missed a joke that the burliest one had told. He laughed anyway, to avoid looking like a silly daydreamer. It was probably one that he had heard before anyway, or one that he would hear again. He almost didn't notice the servant appearing at his side, saying his name.

When he registered that he was being spoken to, he turned his head and blinked at the man. After he received his message, he turned again and looked up at the main table. His eyes met hers. A sudden thrill burst in his chest. He was being summoned by her? By the wife of the First Stewart of the Emperor? He grinned cockily as he stood.

He walked behind the cup bearer, looking proud, but not smug. He was careful to keep his pride in check, when he remembered to. As they reached the table, he bowed to the one who had summoned him. "Lady Viola. It's such an honor to meet you." He glanced at the chair she was indicating with some surprise. He looked between it and her a few times, just to be sure this wasn't a cruel joke. Then, he sat down in it. He smiled as charmingly as a teenage boy could. "How can I be of service?"

During a dreary breakfast, when all the knights and servants of Hohenstaufen castle had grown unbearably weary and restless with useless waiting, the wife of the First Stewart to the Emperor leaned over to her cup bearer, whispered in his ear, and gestured at a young knight sitting at the edge of his table.

It was a cold morning in February in the year 1228, and the Main Hall's hearth fires roared and crackled, blisteringly hot to ward off the cold of winter. As frost melted off stone walls, it became vapor and mingled with the castle's natural smells and with the musk from hay used in bed pallets. The yellow fire cast long shadows which the scant bit of bright morning light passing through the high windows could not banish, and those shadows hung heavy on the chattering, animate faces lined up at the long tables. Many of those faces were the household's staff: cooks, laundresses, weavers, money counters, groomsmen, physicians, beekeepers, attendants, administrators, so on and so forth. Others were of secular knights: the household knights, a few penitents passing through on their way to the Holy Land, the personal retinues of a handful of guests; a few of these still slept on the table closest to the fire. They'd arrived late last night and had to stand in the freezing air until the night guard opened the gate, and thus were permitted to sleep in late. Food already trickled down from the main table to those staff and knights, but the table furthest from the fire (at which sat a number of holy knights, clergymen, pilgrims, and monks) had already been fed and cleared.

Viola of Sicily--the wife of the First Stewart to the Emperor--watched her cup bearer circle the room from her vantage point at the mostly-empty main table. She'd arrived to breakfast a bit late--understandable, given how late she'd arrived at the Hohenstaufen Castle last night, and how long she'd spent waiting out in the cold--and found herself in want of company. Luckily, her husband already told her that another immortal was staying in the castle--a young man named Gilbert who had taken holy orders with the Teutonic Knights. She watched the boy closely as her cup bearer lead him back to the main table, and smiled when he was presented.

"Hello, young Master Gilbert," Viola said, gesturing to the seat beside her. "As my servant here told you, I am Viola of Sicily. My Husband--Heinrich of Frankfurt--told me about you. Would you sit with me a while? I'd like to get to know you."

@mauerfrau

[ofchargers]

WORLD WAR ONE .  THE WESTERN FRONT .

feat .  @osterreiich  and  @rexblut .

Ludwig had practically begged for them all to let him go to the front.

He remembers first going to Gilbert.  Neat, tidy uniform, adjustments made in the final moments before he enters the room with an air of confidence.  The stern gaze he forced himself to maintain as he explained his reasons to go to the front, to follow in Gilbert’s footsteps, to prove to him that he could handle it like Gilbert had done for centuries before now.  The firm no he’d received in return that stunned him.  And nervous, Ludwig fixed his fringe, gently brushing it back with a gloved hand, stuttering over his first few words before finally starting to form coherent, persuasive arguments.  Ludwig wanted to win over Gilbert’s favour first…  Relying on Gilbert’s tendency for war and glory to tilt the argument.

It took him a bit longer than he expected, but eventually, he got an answer.

“Fine.  You want to go to the front.  And I’m proud of you for wanting to do that, and I guess I didn’t teach you all that strategy for nothing.  But I’m stationed elsewhere on the front with my troops…  So, you’ll have to ask Johan.  And you know what?  Roderich too.”

Roderich was next, he determined.  Ludwig had mustered all his confidence to convince Roderich to let him out on the front, seeking the desperate approval of entering the war on his own volition.  He’d even taken the chance to ask during a piano lesson with the other nation, taking the opportunity of a calmer environment to persuade him;  keys playing a magnificent tune as they play, a duet unheard by all but the two, something the two could share compared to Gilbert’s strategizing and Johan’s survival skills.  At first, it was an even stronger no than he’d received from Gilbert, but regardless of the initial answer, he did his best to convince his uncle to let him go.  He was determined.

“I want to protect you, Roderich,”  Ludwig would say;  the nickname Roddy remains a decade unused, but he considers using it in his favour.  Gentle coercion, he calls it.  “Please, let me go to the front.  You can’t stop me, realistically, but…  I just want your approval.”

He still doesn’t know if he got a yes or no.

And last was Johan.  Oh, Johan, even more insistent than Gilbert and Roderich combined that his no was the hardest to convince into a yes.  He didn’t bother with formalities, only taking the chance to seek an answer during a friendly spar, a quiet moment between clashing steel against each other.  They’d then spent the next few hours debating the point, with Ludwig wanting to fight and protect his people;  Johan would argue that war is not glorious.  Dear Ludwig would retort that it wasn’t glory he was seeking, merely protection for the people he’d sent to war.  Was he guilt tripping?  Well…

“I sent the blank cheque, Jo Jo.  Please, this is my fault.  I have to do something.”

“No!  You have never been to war before, Ludwig.  You--  have you seen my scars?  Have you forgotten I’ve lived for thousands and thousands of years longer than you?  I would not wish this upon anyone, least of all you.”

Their argument carries on through to dusk.  The tense silence that follows is overbearing.  But finally, an hour after the sun fully sets, Johan relents.

However, it isn’t without terms.

“You will be stationed with me.  I will be in direct contact with Roderich and Gilbert the entire time we’re on the front.  And if you die out there, or if you are severely injured, you will not be returning on any circumstances whatsoever.  Understood?”

His enthusiastic nod is followed with a, “yes sir”.

…

Ludwig was not prepared for the horrors of the Great War.

Icy blue irises widen at the sight of bullets whistling past the top of their trench, colliding with whatever they could find beyond that, the ground flattened and muddy and bloody.  Ludwig scrunches up his nose when he smells the terrible stench;  an unbearable stench, of iron and rot and earth, of gunpowder and smoke, filling his lungs and threatening to make him cough in disgust.  That same smell leaves a lingering taste on his tongue, followed by grains of dirt that he begrudgingly swallowed with his saliva.  He feels so dirty.  No matter how much the rain they got washed over him, it never scrubbed away the dirt on his uniform, the mud splatters on his face;  and now that he looks at his uniform, it’s starting to fall apart, damage evident in the seams around his shoulders.

He glances upwards at the ever-growing height of their trench.  So far, it’s dirt and mud held by wood, further protected by sandbags and set mud and--  Ludwig turns his gaze away.

Instead, Ludwig looks to the boy on his left.  Younger, but not by much;  old enough to convince someone that he’s 18, old enough to fight in the war.  His green eyes are wide and his pale lips are chafed, mud and blood splattered and smudged across his face.  The tale in those eyes says he’s seen thousands of lifetimes.  Ludwig frowns.  How could a human endure the pain and sorrow that comes with such a terrible war, how could anyone handle the pain and sorrow that comes with comrades dying around them?  He could see it in the young boy’s face;  he’s afraid to look up above that trench, to cross No Man’s Land.  Ludwig asks him, “Geht’s dir gut?”, and he gets an unconvincing nod in return.

(A blatant lie, even now?)

Ludwig then turns to the other man on his right.  An older man, in his 30s perhaps.  Stare is steady and breathing is methodical, even;  but Ludwig can see the fear in this man’s eyes, the determination dancing with the other emotion.  He can’t help but ask if the man has a family waiting for him at home.  “Ja…  Berlin.  Mein Frau und mein Sohn leben dort.”  Ludwig only offers his prayer for him to return home to them in the end.  The man gives a smile.

A deep breath.  Silence.  He remembers what Gilbert told him;  silence means the enemy is up to something.  It means they’re planning one of two things.

Silence is deadly.

The men wait in anticipation.  He feels the tension rising as they all glance at one another, all wondering when the mortar fire will rain down on them once again, when the rifle shots will fly by the trench at the smallest hint of movement.  Ludwig can hear his heartbeat in his ears with a steady rising heart-rate  --  it’s terrifying.  There hasn’t been a break in the war so far.  There’s been constant sound and rapid fire and everything was wrong, so wrong, where was the mortar fire?  Where are the shells?

Ludwig turns to the boy who’s entire body was shaking like a leaf, the fear so obvious, so evident;  he reaches a hand to that boy’s shoulder with caution.  He sees the boy flinch but calm.

And then he hears a whistling sound.

Ludwig shoots both his hands up to his ears but they ring with an agonisingly high-pitched sound, staggering to the ground as fast as he can.  Blond strands of slicked back hair fall down to his face as his pike helmet finds its way onto the ground, with him throwing it off with such force;  he can’t hear.  He can’t fucking hear his pike helmet collide with the mud.  He can’t hear the young boy on his left or the father of a young son on his right.  Icy irises stare at the ground wide, trying to focus, trying to see straight, trying to gather himself enough to just kneel down and pick up his rifle, pick up that damned rifle, dammit Beilschmidt if you could just grab it and get back up-- !

He feels a pair of hands pick him up and shake him.  Ludwig feels himself wince but focuses in on the person shaking him;  Johan.

Weary hands reach up to brush his rogue strands out of his face, eyes darting around Johan’s face to find a focus, find out what he’s saying, trying to read his lips and gather what in the hell just happened. A hand reaches to Johan’s face.

Breathe.  In…  And out.

In…

“I’m fine,”  he manages, hearing finally coming back.  His voice cracks and it wavers with just the two words, and it betrays what he’s trying to say to his brother, but he strengthens his resolve and tries it again.  His voice doesn’t waver so much this time when he manages to speak with a clear and concise voice, “I’m fine.”

A glance to his left.  The boy is screaming… But he seems to have no evident injury.  No wounds anywhere. Ludwig looks at him with surprise when it finally registers;  he’s heard plenty about shell shock, the horrible circumstance some men find themselves in when they fight in this dreaded war, and a shell explodes right next to them, loud and ringing and un-apologetically dangerous.  It forced normal men to their knees. It made those same men change so that they’d never be the same again. He just… Never thought he’d ever see it. He never thought he’d find someone suffering from it so much that some might consider the point of no return, this poor kid lost but not dead.  The boy was so young.

How was this fair?

When he turns to his right, he sees the man;  shaken, but still standing, pike helmet re-fixed onto his head as he turns his gaze to the blond next to him, looking him over.  The man seems more concerned about those around him than himself.  He sees the boy on the ground and immediately rushes to his aid, there to try and support him, to try and bring him back to reality;  he remembers that this man is a father.

Ludwig wipes the dirt off his face to the best of his ability.  He reaches for his helmet and brushes off the mud where he can, putting it back on his head with a slow uncertainty, eyes glancing over to Johan--  ah, General Lindemann.  He’s nervous.  Ludwig doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as the mortar fire continues.

Icy irises gaze absentmindedly in the distance, listening out for the shells, waiting for the silence to consume the battlefield once again.  Cacophonous screams carry through the air from both sides of him, mud and dirt splattering down from the collision of shell against ground, threatening to blind anyone that dares look up while the symphony of fire and destruction.  All the disturbance of earth raises the terrible smell from earlier;  the dust and iron and rot and smoke fill his lungs enough to make him cough.  He hates this more than he can care to imagine...  The boy and man stick beside each other, the father using his paternal instincts to keep him calm enough to handle this constant horror.

Ludwig had never seen the horrors of war until now.

And now that he’s on the Western Front, facing the worst of wars, the war to end all wars, only a few words manage to leave his mouth in the silence that comes.

“Möge Gott uns beistehen.”

[inkstaineddove]

The Final Bow

Characters: Prussia, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Spain, France

Pairing: GerPru (familial, not romantic), implied PruHun

Summary: The truth of the matter is that Gilbert Beilschmidt was dying. Over the years, he'd wanted to say so much to all the nations, but knew it wasn't in anyone's best interest to. Now he could finally set free all that truthful shit inside to the ones who matter most.

The truth of the matter was that Gilbert Beilschmidt was dying. The strange thing was, this no longer terrified him. He'd had years to come to terms with his newfound mortality. He used to fear death, but now the thought of it was comforting like an old friend. There was no point in fighting against it or trying to run. The Grim Reaper got us all in the end. Not even his weird quasi-nation status had exempted him like Germany and Prussia had previously believed. If Prussia was being honest, he thought it sucked. Finding that out had sent him into a rage. Glasses were shattered, items were thrown across the room. Material objects could be destroyed because what use would he have for them if he was to die in a matter of decades? He had turned into a giant toddler - screaming and throwing fits at anyone who dared mention it to him, who tried to remind him of his own weakness. He hadn't even sparred his best friends and brother. In fact, they had enraged him so much over it that he'd physically assaulted them on a few occasions. 

Of course he eventually felt guilty. And once it hit him, he never stopped apologizing for it. He would try and try to make it up to them, but Gilbert knew they all chalked it up to his mental state. And thus, the cycle continued. It took three decades for his self-diagnosis to become accepted. Gilbert knew it was a strange morning from the outset. For an hour, he laid on his back staring at the ceiling, contemplating on his entire existence. He felt a weight in the middle of his stomach drag all his innards down. 'I don't have much time left. I can either man up or I can continue to act childishly.' The weight, the weight he had been feeling for years, vanished. That day was his new beginning, his second chance to make things right. Prussia could finally look at the world again with his usual optimistic outlook. He didn't feel the deep-rooted hatred for the living like he had before. He felt peace and serenity finally washing over him. He set himself on his new goal in life - redemption and honesty. He had been no stranger to wars. As a result, every nation had a bit of beef with him. There had been so many things he'd hungered for years to say to them all, but knew it was never in anyone's best interest to. Now he could finally set the truth free. Ivan needed to know exactly how much he hated him. Arthur needed to know that Gilbert didn't actually want bad things to happen to the Briton, it was only because he was so amusing when he was angry he caused the other so much havoc. Mathias needed to finally realize that he was nothing more than a second rate drinking buddy. He continued down the line. No one stopped him once he started. They didn't believe the majority of what he was saying. In fact, most of the nations believed Prussia was finally losing it. They warned the others to take what he said with a grain of salt. They continued about their lives, only replaying what Gilbert had said to chuckle about it. 

If he still had a chance at living, perhaps Gilbert would be mad. This was his blunt opinion on them all after all. But it wasn't worth the fight. They could take it or leave it for all he gave a damn about. This was for him, not them. Only a few actually believed what he had said to be true. Of course, those were the only ones who really knew him. And those were the only ones that Gilbert had wanted to take him seriously. While he wouldn't go so far as to say that all of their opinions mattered to him, he would say that he did want them to finally know the truth.

Roderich was the first one Gilbert had turned to. What relief came to Gilbert for finally saying all that had been on his mind! His words tasted acidic in his mouth as he flung them at his cousin. He had been through torturous centuries with that prissy boy - that aristocrat who knew nothing of Gilbert's own struggles for survival, yet judged him just the same and continuously one-upped him in all the little ways. All the ways that went beyond simple battles for war and land. Marrying his childhood love, forming alliances with his best friends to go to war against him. The things that had made the Prussian's blood boil and wish to kill the Austrian with his own hands. Eventually though, his words turned tender. The war years, when they were forced to live together because of Germany, had caused Prussia to understand Austria in ways he never thought possible. He no longer knew only what made him tick, but the reasons why. He saw his cousin go through a divorce that cut him like a knife and left him physically ill. Through some of the worst atrocities man has ever seen, but staring at them stoically and trying to tackle them with as much poise as one could muster. Gilbert had developed a subtle appreciation for the other man. He no longer hesitated to call Roderich his family and, on rare occasions, he even said so with pride. He wouldn't go so far as to say he felt love for him, but Gilbert certainly didn't despise Austria like he had once done with such ease. 

It made sense for Gilbert to address Francis and Antonio together. After all, they were a trio, a band of brothers. If they couldn't go out of this world together like they once believed, then they could at least bid adieu together. He minced no words in going through the betrayal he had so recently felt. The death sentence, delivered to him on a silver platter by France and defended by Spain, was the worst thing that either of them had done to him since killing Holy Rome. He decided to spare them the rant they've heard before about how Austria or Germany should've been dissolved, not he who was dragged along for the ride. Instead, after kissing perfidy one last time, he reflected on the good times. Tears began welling in Gilbert's eyes as he spoke about all the joy his closest friends has brought him. No matter what they had gone through, what two had done to the other one, at the end of the day he'd miss them. He'd miss getting into trouble with them and irritating their neighbors in any way possible. How could Francis and Antonio continue to be a public nuisance without the loudest, most obnoxious of the group? He begged them to continue all pranks and schemes they had had planned. The Prussian wanted them to continue to harass the world in his honor while he watched, laughing and smiling in the next life. None of the three left that day with a dry eye after that sentiment was heard. 

Erzsébet  was easier and harder to speak to than all the rest. They had been many things to one another. Friends, partners in crime, lovers, enemies. Where could Gilbert even begin? The truth. "I hated Roderich because of you. I won wars because of you. I built palaces and composed concertos for you." The tears for her came soon. He disapproved of this, but kept going. There was no point in sugarcoating things to ease any guilt or longing she may have towards him. He'd be gone in a matter of weeks anyways and he knew she'd get over it all in time. Hungary was strong like that. He loved her for it. He spilled his heart out. He told her when he loved her, why, how he always imagined she'd run away from Austria to be with him. How they could both leave their duties behind as nations and live together, wild and free like the humans do. In jest, he asked her if she would do so now and wasn't surprised when she denied. It would mean certain death for her as well. He smiled weakly and told her how she had made being one of Russia's puppets worthwhile. The only thing that had kept him sane behind the Iron Curtain was being able to see her. How they were both able to find comfort in the other's arms and bed once more, but how it felt like a slap whenever she denied there could ever be anything more between them. He didn't cry, but Erzsébet sobbed and reached for him. "It's amazing how you can be here for me when I'm dying, but when I'm alive you run towards Austria." The truthfulness of what he had said stung them both. Gilbert hadn't realized what he had said until it was out into the air. He quickly recanted as best as he could and allowed himself a final chance to sleep with her. 

Germany was the worst of all. If Gilbert could have it his way, he wouldn't speak to his brother at all. It would've been perfect if he could've gone without ever having this conversation with Ludwig. But the Prussian had always prided himself on being able to do the toughest jobs and this could be no exception. The two hardly spoke. They sat for the longest time in mutual silence, each knowing what was on the other's mind thanks to the special bond siblings share. They only began to talk when Ludwig broke down. He had never been this distraught, not even as a small child. He clung to his brother and begged Gilbert to live, to live for the German's sake. He needed his older brother. There was so much he didn't know about being a nation and look at what he had already done! He'd almost destroyed the world with his very hands and would've been happy to see it submerged in a sea of white, black, and red. Gilbert had to find a loophole, a way to cheat death. The Prussian held Ludwig close. He didn't talk until Germany had let it all out. There wasn't any point in trying to speak over his brother while he was irrational since the younger nation wouldn't be able to comprehend it. "West, you'll be fine without me. You've always been fine. You've always thought you needed me more than you actually do." They both hoped he was right. 

The strange thing about life is that it always finds a way to kick you on the way out. For Gilbert, that was no different. He died on July seventeenth. A Tuesday. The same day of the week and exactly a month before Old Fritz had passed. 

Of course, Gilbert was wide awake for his death. To go in his sleep would be too kind for a nation that's legacy was being a militaristic state that caused petty wars only for expansion and power grabs. He was lying in bed, knowing that the time was coming. He saw the peculiar chick that was always present change into Fritz with his hand extended towards Prussia. 

"Gilbert, I've missed you so much." Prussia smiled and took the hand of his former ruler, boss, and father figure. Feelings of love and safety surrounded him as the world got a little brighter. "Old Fritz, I hope I made you proud."

[mauerfrau]

@paperworkanddogs

The sound of a cane tapping the hard tiles echoed down the hospital hall. It moved to a steady beat, as though it were marching. It approached the room that Ludwig was staying in. Within a minute, the cane, and its owner, appeared in the door frame. In walked the pale man, his back as straight as the eagle-headed cane he had in his left hand.

He strode over to Ludwig's bed and peered down his crooked nose at him with red eyes. After a moment of staring, he said, "Sit up, boy. You're not dying."

[oldfritz]

thanks for this! same thought process applies. entire history of suzanne's blorbos let's go

i tag @iron--and--blood @master-of-the-opera-house @kaiserin-erzsebet and whoever's fancy is tickled by this

Five characters

Tagged by @enlitment!

"Make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. see which character is everyone's favourite!"

[mauerfrau]

"So you say. And yet, here we are, with one Berlin dating a man who doesn't love her, another killing said man over a petty grievance, and you in a hospital bed because you're too weak to handle the stress of it all. If you did your job right, we wouldn't be in this mess, now would we?"

What faith! "I won't," he grumbled, smoothing the sheets out. "You know I do my best for the family"

[mauerfrau]

Herr Beilschmidt's eyes narrowed in some sense of sick glee. "Is that right?" he muttered, more to himself than to Ludwig. "Well, we shall see what becomes of this development, won't we?" he finally said after a moment of silent thought. He stood up straight, and seemed to be smirking. "Don't fuck this up then, boy."

"You think he would want to keep going steady?" he asked rhetorically. "Don't be stupid, no one would stay after that. He wasn't even that interested in her in the first place, he was just making his wife mad because he can't communicate"

[mauerfrau]

paperworkanddogs​:

“I don’t fuck everything up,” he argued, listening to the heart monitor beeping. It was getting louder, faster.

“despite the low opinion of me,” he hissed. “I can and have been managing my life and country on my own.”

Ludwig had been managing everything on his own for long enough, and he wasn’t going to sit here and be belittled about it

“I’ll talk to him because I want to lay down rules and boundaries, since he’ll no longer be dating Lily”

“Oh yes, and a fine job you’ve been doing at that,” he sneered. “Your army is in shambles, your capital doesn’t have a functioning airport, and you can’t even make the trains run on time. Yes, what a good job you’ve been doing, boy. Do you expect a medal for your less-than-mediocre job?”

He blinked, and tilted his head up at the news. There was a slight pause before he spoke again. “And since when did they break up? I would have heard about it by now.”

[mauerfrau]

paperworkanddogs​:

“He wouldn’t be foolish enough to bring this to an international scale,” he pointed out. “If he did, he’d have to admit to being beaten by a capital. Not even an independent nation, but a capital.”

If Ludwig had been beaten up by a capital or state or any one aside from a superpower, he would have been humiliated. “it’s in his best interest to leave things alone and for him to also pretend it never happened”

“If you believe that is the case, then why are you planning on speaking to him about it? Would it not be better to leave him be?” Gilbert stood and walked over to Ludwig. He leaned over so that his eyes were nearly right above the other man’s. His gaze was cold. 

“Suppose I do give you this one chance to set things right. Will you fuck it up, like you so often do?”

[mauerfrau]

"Hmm, and yet you're clearly well enough to back talk to me," he replied, his eyes narrowing for a few seconds. He moved to a chair beside Ludwig's bed and sat down, bringing one leg up to rest on the other, while he set his cane aside. He intertwined his fingers and looked over them at the other man.

"So, Alexander decides to act like a little bitch, and you decide to send yourself to the hospital. Meanwhile, I'm left to clean up the mess we're now in, taking time out of my work day to do so. Does that seem right?"

@paperworkanddogs

The sound of a cane tapping the hard tiles echoed down the hospital hall. It moved to a steady beat, as though it were marching. It approached the room that Ludwig was staying in. Within a minute, the cane, and its owner, appeared in the door frame. In walked the pale man, his back as straight as the eagle-headed cane he had in his left hand.

He strode over to Ludwig's bed and peered down his crooked nose at him with red eyes. After a moment of staring, he said, "Sit up, boy. You're not dying."

[mauerfrau]

paperworkanddogs​:

Ludwig’s options, from his perspective, were fairly limited. He was hooked up to a monitor which would alert a nurse if his heart rate went up too much. If he took the monitor off, it would summon a nurse anyway, in case his heart gave out. If he yelled at Gilbert, she would come running. Already, he could hear the beeping increasing as he took in a deep breath.

“Talk to Jones,” he started, letting go of the sheets. Deep breaths, stay calm. He could come out of this. “See where he stands, smooth things over with him.”

Gilbert knew exactly how limited Ludwig was, and he was relishing in it, despite his cold, harsh demeanor towards the boy. It gave him a cruel pleasure to see him confined like this, unable to throw a fit or squirm his way out of this confrontation.

“Is that right? And what if he wants retribution? Are you prepared for that? Suppose he wishes to take this to an international level, rather than a personal one. What will you do then?”

[mauerfrau]

"And when were you planning to do that? After you've had a real heart attack? Or were you going to save that for after you've spoken to the American? No, I think it best that I handle him. We can't have you dying in the middle of it all and fucking us over. And God knows we can't let Liliane do it all, the foolish girl."

His eyes narrowed as he stared at Ludwig. He was pathetic, really, and that only aggravated the Prussian more. How could he have let himself come to such a state. Had he learned nothing, nothing, under his care?

@paperworkanddogs

The sound of a cane tapping the hard tiles echoed down the hospital hall. It moved to a steady beat, as though it were marching. It approached the room that Ludwig was staying in. Within a minute, the cane, and its owner, appeared in the door frame. In walked the pale man, his back as straight as the eagle-headed cane he had in his left hand.

He strode over to Ludwig's bed and peered down his crooked nose at him with red eyes. After a moment of staring, he said, "Sit up, boy. You're not dying."