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Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (1/6)


2009-07-22 01:26 pm (UTC) (Link) -Prussia loses his memory

It had, strangely, begun the precise moment that it had all ended.

Der Mauerfall. 1989. But perhaps it had begun even before then, back in the height of die Nazizeit. Who knew?

Prussia certainly didn’t. He didn’t have time for reminiscing. He held a predatory sort of intelligence along with his diligence. Gilbert was smart- in a way that didn’t really encourage self-reflection except on the battlefield.

This sort of awareness filled him. Prussia, a country born to fight hard and fight further, always somehow more alive the worse the circumstances. He thrived on misfortune. War was his lifeblood, conquest his code of chivalry; when chained and in starched grey uniform this manifested itself as revenge and anger and hate. He was alive then. Anger was life, in the hot, pounding blood-like way it made his ears ring. Life.

Without this, Gilbert had very little. He had beer and women and Hungary and occasionally Austria. He had Germany- Ludwig, his other half. Not Half. More a third or two-sevenths to the West. But without the stress, the War, the bars of his prison like a concrete wall, Prussia had nothing really. He had red eyes and white-blond hair and a head filled with memories, but Berlin was not his. Capitalism was not his. Dresden was not his. It was party where he knew no one, but sang the songs all the same. Even the joy in the streets when the Wall fell, the smile on his brother’s face as they embraced at Brandenburg for the first time in 40 years- they weren’t his, fake song songbird.

In this way, what Gilbert had, unknowingly, was something a little like loneliness.

Loneliness, in this story, is both a beginning and an end.


(Ostalgie; noun: a yearning for pre-unification East Germany, the life in the DDR or for items which typified the time)

It’s only a decade after the wall comes down that Ludwig realises that something’s wrong with East Germany. Prussia, rather. Gilbert in any case.

Ludwig has never really liked to reminisce. He can understand the allure, because Italy’s eyes glaze over in a fond way when he thinks of his Grandfather. But he’s not sure that the clutter that fills Prussia’s half of the house is anything at all. It’s Trabis and Ampelmänner, and old currency left on kitchen tables 15 years after the fact.

“Hey,” Prussia says through a mouthful of popcorn as he watches Goodbye Lenin. “It wasn’t so bad, you know. Dunno what you were so wound up ‘bout.”

It’s the Stasi uniform that Prussia puts on when he’s not thinking clearly. He’s just doing it to annoy him, Germany knows. But sometimes, in the way that Prussia looks surprised and puzzled when he sees his image in the mirror-

-sometimes Ludwig wonders if his brother remembers what the uniforms were for.


In early December, Prussia sneezes at the dinner table. Italy, stirring the gnocchi as it boils, almost drops the wooden spoon and turns to stare.

“What?” he bites, amused. “Something on my face?”

North Italy continues to look at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting about his beloved pasta. He lets out an alarmed Ve. “Recession! Big Brother Prussia has the Recession?”

Gilbert snorts and wipes his nose on his sleeve, but Ludwig comes in with the newspaper in one hand and uses to other to catch his wrist in one fluid motion. “Funny,” he mutters, scanning the business news. “Nothing in die Zeit about East German trouble.” He resolutely presses his palm against Gilbert’s forehead despite his loud protests, then compares it with his own.

“No news?” Italy fusses. Recession is, after all, contagious. “Do you feel bad, Prussia?”

“Fine,” he barely coughs out.

But for countries sneezes mean Recession, or occasionally freak snowstorms. So Ludwig, like a muscled, giant mother hen, bustles him into bed and lectures him on irresponsible spending at the state level. “I’ll talk to the chancellor about some cash injection to the area.” He sighs, then smiles fondly. “You Ossies.”

Germany smooths back his hair from his brow. Gilbert closes his eyes, feeling faint. The places where Ludwig touches him burn slowly outwards, and he remembers war and concrete walls and desperate skin on skin.

(Frozen) (Thread)

Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (2/6)


2009-07-22 01:29 pm (UTC) (Link)

In the DDR, Prussia had dreamed.

“Love?” Gilbert takes another swig of alcohol and nods. This probably isn’t the kind of topic he should be thinking about. It’s just not manly. Not Prussian. “Ve~ why not? It’s a good feeling, always.”

In the DDR, Prussia had dreamed about the land beyond the Iron-Curtain, everything that had once been his. Gilbert had loved his empire that he had fought so desperately to obtain- and why not? Tooth and nail, every inch of dirt was beloved to him.

Then, it had been taken away from him. Bastards.

Watching a bar-maid stir a wooden spoon on Austria’s orders, he wonders why Ludwig isn’t here with them. But Ludwig’s busy- always busy. The bar-maid seductively stirs the pasta. “Where’s my brother?”

“With me, of course.” Italy rolls his eyes, grin is stretched beyond normal dimensions. Austria, on the other side of the table, listens to his iPod. “Silly Prussia. I still exist.”

Love. Prussia had loved it, the land under his feet. Patriotic. It follows in conclusion that he had loved the indent of his own spine, the lowlands grazing his abdomen, his eyes, his cities. Everything. He had been pretty fucking damn awesome.

“But…but we had an alliance. We had fucking Deutschland.”

Roderich just looks at him. “It isn’t the same. Love can be manufactured. Alliances, campaigns, invasions. War is the same as lust, I would imagine. For you. In the Seven Years War.”

The Seven Years War.

“Why, you had me up against the wall countless times. And you made a few passes at Hungary. Insufferable, that’s what you are, Prussia.”

How can Roderich be lecturing him about love, when he’s just…he’s not…


Austria straightens his glasses, an expression of reproach in his eyes. “You do remember the Seven Years War, don’t you?”

-And suddenly, Gilbert’s awake, aware that he’s sitting up in bed and that Italy had just knocked on his door. Feliciano sets a tray down on his bed and gives him a warm smile. Warm like soup, with plenty of potatoes and cabbage, just the way Prussia likes it, and is he feeling any better now?

Prussia has been dreaming.

That night, while West is out with Feliciano buying pine branches for the Christmas wreathes, Prussia creeps into Ludwig’s study. He tries one book, then another. Tries a different shelf. His fever is making it hard to read, the shivers making his fingers tremble at page corners. Maybe the next encyclopaedia, he tells himself. West kept the room far too neat for a real person to study in, anyway. A few historical journals on the carpet would cosy the place up nicely.

He’d find it, read it and get back to bed. Drink a beer and then go to bed. Listen to Ludwig for once, because he was starting to feel a little dizzy- and surely the economy in the East wasn’t this bad-

Germany returns to find his brother strewn over his study floor like his history books. His head is cradled between two volumes: the Seven Years War and the Fall of the Berlin Wall.

Back then, Prussia had burned with an all consuming, violent, desperate, national obsession for Germany. For himself. For what he’d lost, the land. A geographic love (that’s all countries are capable of) for the west. Prussia had been in love with his brother.

He’s just forgotten.


Heiligabend morning should be spent at early religious services, or at least curled up under the blankets with a grudgingly warm Italian. This year, though, the phone rings, impossibly, at 6 in the morning. Groaning, Germany lifts the receiver from the nightstand.

“-just wait Liet, I’m gonna- GERMANY! LIKE, NOT COOL! TOTALLY NOT COOL! What are you Germans doing, huh? My boss is like, totally off the hook and spazzing and everything- YOU GET HERE RIGHT NOW! OR I’LL KICK YOUR BROTHER’S ASS INTO LIKE…NEXT WEEK!”

Germany hangs up and tries to beat himself back unconscious with the pillow, but then he freezes.

“…mmmph. Germany?” Italy rubs one eye.

“Prussia,” Germany whispers. “…He went to Poland.”

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (3/6)


2009-07-22 01:31 pm (UTC) (Link)

It’s not a simple thing for a country to visit another, despite the illusion of ease it gives. That’s the strange in-between world that entities like Poland and France and Germany have to tread. It’s a world where they eat and have sex and watch TV, but where earthquakes cause broken bones and treaties make new friendships. Where your opinion is decided by a vote; where love begins personally but ends in free-trade agreements. A country’s emotions and visits coincided with state movements. Aside from Italy (who made no sense anyway), a visit was boss-to-boss and mutually agreed.

Unlawful entry was an invasion. Because a country was never just a man- it was a military, a government, and they moved together, puppet and master.

Germany arrives in Warsaw a few hours later and expects to see burnt out buildings. Instead he just sees an irate Poland, a nervous Lithuania and a small crowd of onlookers around a cathedral. Feliks shoots him a dirty look. “When I find the…like, East German army, I’m so telling the EU on you.”

Prussia is sitting on the pipe-organ, eyes piecing down at them. A cascade of black and white cloth is flowing down to hang in deliberate folds, monochrome curtains, Iron Curtains. The Black Eagle is emblazoned in the white halls of marble. “West!” he cries out. “Bring up the other states! The damn Poles are declaring independence again!”

Germany doesn’t think he was even alive the last tie this statement would have made sense. Prussia eagle glares at him with raptor eyes. Germany growls. Like a bear. “Prussia! What do you think you’re doing?”

The light in his gaze is like a candle- last flicker, hope, last flash before it goes out- and it’s alive. “Crushing the resistance for the Crown, you dolt. Get your sword!”

“Go back to your own century!” Feliks boos from the stalls.

Prussia spits at him, mocking. “Come on, we’ve only treated you respectfully- and this is how you repay us? Looks like you don’t know how awe-“


The hall freezes. The people outside waiting for Christmas service are already, in the snow.

Prussia blinks, then looks down at the banner he stole from the Deutsches Histrorisches Museum. He sees Ludwig as if for the first time. “West,” he murmurs. He turns his head and sees Poland. “Where the hell is this?”

There is no international incident. The army hadn’t mobilised. Nothing had happened except from an unsettled protestor appearing in with a Prussian flag. It doesn’t make sense- if a country had invaded, if a country-

Gilbert’s not a country. Perhaps.


Prussia realises that he needs alcohol. If he’s going to forget things, he’s going to do it the old fashioned human way and do it on purpose. It’s fine when he ends up somewhere in Berlin in a gutter, half-happy, half-hysterical- until a shadow falls over him.

“…Who the hell are you?”

She looks familiar, almost. Something about the air coming off of her in waves.

“You’re one to talk,” she shoots back too casually for a young thing so late at night, looking down at him with almost amused eyes. She carries a bag of rubbish to the dumpster further down the alleyway. By the time she’s back Gilbert’s pulled himself up to his feet and he takes a proper look at her.

She’s petite. Her eyes are level with his collarbone, so that when she looks appraisingly into his eyes she tilts her head backwards at a determined sort of angle. There’s some sort of garment she’s wearing over a sensible dress, black. An apron, perhaps- domestic and forcefully feminine. She has a bandana tied around her hair, and a hair clip with a fake plastic flower.

For some reason, Gilbert is reminded of tulips. Anyway, he’s seen her before. He tells her so. At length.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (4/6)


2009-07-22 01:35 pm (UTC) (Link)

“Okay, now I know you’re drunk. That was hardly in German. You speaking some old dialect or something?” Prussia winces and falls slowly into a wobbly sit. What on Earth was he doing? He was far too awesome to vomit in front of some cute chick.

“Don’t you spew on our back door, you miscreant. My boss’ll kill me. Now scat!” The broom is brandished aggressively in one hand. She takes a few steps down to the door and they clack on the cobblestones. Then she turns and calls to him.

“You! Come into our place tomorrow. Through the front, mind. I’ll give you a coffee on the house. Looks like you’ll need it.” He groans. “What’s your name?”


She lets out a burst of air, like a laugh. “Fine. Ask for me. I’m Elizaveta.”

Gilbert stills for a moment, then raises his gaze to watch her re-enter what he now recognises to be the kitchen door of restaurant, head spinning.

He almost remembers her last name as he crawls home. But really, that’s something else entirely. He thinks.

Later, he dreams of Ludwig.


“That sounds like a bad cold.” Elizaveta fills up his coffee cup. It’s the third time in five days, and maybe he’s not here for the food anymore.

Countries and people? It’s not how its done- it’s not actually possible. They’re not on the same plane. Gilbert looks down at his half finished waffles. “Nah- it’s Recession. West said- my brother.”

She mouths the words, confused, then leans down no-nonsense to feel his forehead. “No, that’s a cold alright.” She smiles.

It’s been bugging him, and he can almost remember why, but it comes out. Prussia has never thought first. “…Are you Hungar…ian?”

“No,” she laughs. Of course. Different planes- same in only 3 dimensions. “Why do you call your brother West?”

He stops chewing. “I… I don’t really remember,” he finally answers.

Different planes.


Stars burn more brightly just before they burn out. Feelings too.

Gilbert glides through the house, not aware of anything except the numbing pulse of blood through his veins (do countries bleed?). In the darkness his gaze, red like sword tips, sees his brother between the sheets.

He sees a teenager, afraid but more afraid to show it, holding a sword as if he has before. He sees a child, azure eyes unseeing, amnesiac, not knowing, afraid of the blank that swallows his past- he sees a man with fingers and shoulders and a jawline and hair swept back with sleep. The country left in him wants to find…find something. Fuck- does it matter anymore?

He pulls Ludwig up violently, and presses his lips against his forcefully. Germany is up in an instant and he freezes. So Prussia keeps kissing him, licking, nipping, sighing, trying. He’s there, the Rhine and something like a body (soil or flesh- sing, fake song songbird) and Prussia darts his hands lower, right there-

He reels from a punch to his temple. Germany’s fist trembles between them, still raised. His brother’s face is red and terrified, and it triggers a switch in him, in Prussia’s brain, death throes.

“How dare you,” he hisses, oozing hate. There’s blood running down his cheek (do countries bleed?). “How dare you, you fascist dog. You betrayed me. You betrayed me- I’m no Nazi, how dare you kill me!” Before they can answer he’s flown out the door into the night.

Later, Prussia sits by himself on the steps of the restaurant off Unter den Linden.

The rain has turned his white hair to grey and made his uniform sag like old rags.

They’d been arguing. About…about betrayal.

When had Ludwig ever betrayed him?

A hand lands on his shoulder. It’s Liza, and it’s only then that Gilbert realises that he’s crying, under all that rain. He’s only human, and he’s forgotten what they were angry at in the first place.

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (5/6)


2009-07-22 01:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

In the dark, Gilbert traces fingers softly over the planes of his chest, eyes closed. He’s absent, somewhere else: nowhere here in Germany at least. His muscles are just muscles, his arteries not underground aquifers.

He pokes himself, and it hurts. Only flesh deep.

He’s disappearing. Otto and Frederick and the Teutons- he can’t remember them clearly anymore. It’s not usually a problem. Nations know their own history as intimately as their bodies, their mountains and cities. Records and history books are for human memories, short, fragile things. A land remembers forever. A land doesn’t need to look things up on the Internet because the past is their life story.

Prussia knows he’s disappearing along with his history.

Elizaveta sits up, sheets falling over her curves, resting a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “No you’re not. You’re right here. You’re right here. With me.” Her touch is warm, welcoming. Worried.

It’s winter in Hungary.

He thinks he might be warm too.


It’s a form of love that makes Ludwig bring his brother here. Feliciano tags along, of course, flaunting all the rules of diplomacy and country-to-country relations, but he’s always acted more like an adolescent human girl than a Republic, and Ludwig doesn’t expect anything different.

Prussia has always acted like an arrogant child with a hand-half-sword, but more importantly, has always been Prussia. Ludwig doesn’t want that to change either, though he doesn’t say this.

“But Ludwig,” Gilbert whines in the entrance hall. “I’ve been here a million times. It’s just history.”

That, Germany grinds out, is the point. The point, like how Prussia has some-when stopped calling him West and started calling him Ludwig. Like how Germany has stopped calling him Prussia. This is the absence of history- Country memories built up by human ones. He hopes that here Gilbert might find that something that is plaguing him, because he has no other ideas.

Predictably, however, this little excursion rapidly falls apart. As adamant as Germany is to start at the start and end at the finish, Prussia crows and heads straight off to look at WWII artillery. While he chases after him, Italy loses his hand and Ludwig wanders the corridors, cursing, taking a breather at the Roman History section.

The coffee and cake deal at the museum café tempts him for a moment, before he finally catches sight of Feliciano in the Renaissance exhibition, unusually quiet and attentive, listening to an audio guide. Sighing, he turns the corner, leaving Italy to ogle the paintings.

He’s not prepared to almost run into Gilbert. He’s standing statue-still staring at the beginnings and ends of history on the wall. When Ludwig follows his gaze his insides freeze.

Gilbert swallows, and when he speaks it’s small and puzzled and maybe a little bit afraid. “Ludwig,” he begins.


“What is that?”

A pause. Germany’s tongue is swollen thick, awkward, pounding in the quiet under museum disaster spotlights. “…The crest of the Prussian Empire.”

Something ends in Gilbert’s stare- something dies in the realisation. “Prussia?” he rasps, legs unsteady. The silence permeates liquid-viscous between them. Germany feels like he’s going to be sick. “…Prussia?”


“…Yeah. ‘Course. I… Fuck. Yeah, I … remember. Now.” Prussia, I’m Prussia. Prussia. I’m a god-damn fucking country. Please, I’m Prussia, I’m still Prussia-

The black and white banner is repined back onto the wall, fluttering as if in the dust laden halls of Polish cathedrals. As if in history. In Gilbert’s memories.

Puff. Dust. Gone.

“…I’m Prussia,” he says, reassuring Germany. It’s a question.

Ludwig turns away, choked. “Yes, Gilbert. You are.”

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Wir leben noch in Geisterhäuser (6/6)


2009-07-22 01:39 pm (UTC) (Link)

“Ludwig?” His voice is small in the night air. Germany rubs his eyes and finds his brother is a slumped shape draped in shadow-blankets.


“…How old am I?”

Something feels like it’s dropped from Germany’s insides. He’s filled with a crawling trapdoor feeling where his stomach is meant to be. This isn’t right.

“…I’m not sure.”

A tight, frustrated sound from Gilbert’s throat. This isn’t right. “Don’t lie to me, Ludwig. You fucking well know.”

He doesn’t know, because none of them do. Sure, the history books say 300 years. But these are human years. Like human bodies, human names, human faces, the human guises they all take. Fake song songbird. In bodies made of soil and living human flesh, where does country end and human being begin? Without memories, Gilbert is no more three centuries old than Prussia is in its mid twenties.

Germany is no more Gilbert’s brother than Prussia is Ludwig’s.

In the end, Germany chooses not to answer. Silent, he turns over in his bed and holds the pillow over his head and wishes that somehow Gilbert could be right, and that he could go back to being the fledgling nation that he had been, and that he couldn’t hear what sounded like Prussia crying, alone, in the dark.


The next morning, Gilbert Beilschmidt wakes up to light coming in from the window. Dazed, he stares up at ceiling for a while, counting empty minutes.

It only gradually comes to him that he doesn’t know where he is. He frowns.

How odd.

Oh well, he thinks. People are like that.

Yawning, he starts making breakfast.

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Epilogue: We still live (in ghost houses)


2009-07-22 01:43 pm (UTC) (Link)

“Hello, Gilbert.”

“What are you doing here, brother? Wait. You need me to talk to that waitress down on Schiller again.”

“No, I-“

“Ludwig, I swear, if I weren’t so awesome with the chicks, you’d be in a hell lot more trouble. Jeez. Fine, I’ll go talk to the wench.”

“No, Gilbert-“

A savage grin, sharpened swords and an older brother’s wit. “I know- Feliciano can’t hear about this. Not his fault his boyfriend turns straight after a few beers-“

“Gilbert. I didn’t molest that bar maid.” He didn’t. Because, well, Ludwig can’t. “I just…came to call.”

“Oh.” He makes a painfully normal, human face. “But you visit every morning.”

Ludwig doesn’t speak for a while. In the silence of the morning, there’s a distance between them. Perhaps. His eyes are trying to tell him something, desperately, trying so hard, waiting-

“…I just miss you. That’s all.”

“I’m right here, Ludwig.” Gone, Gilbert laughs like a carefree man in his twenties. “I’m not going anywhere.”


Gilbert has a pet canary and a trendy apartment and a job at the museum caring for the weaponry. He has, according to the Head-caretaker, an unnatural touch for razor-steel and WWII cannons.

His brother Ludwig works with the government, something top secret and high paying. He’s certainly boring enough for it, Gilbert drawls one night over Bavarian Beer. Ludwig laughs. It’s shallow, oil on water. Deep. Fucking deep, and sometimes it unsettles him the way his blue eyes seem to go on forever when he looks. Like history. The big bang, right there behind his brother’s eyelids, just endless blue. When Gilbert looks in the mirror- sure, his eyes are red, but they’re normal. It’s not like he expects anything different.

Elizaveta says the man doesn’t have a start or a finish, but it’s probably just Ludwig’s knack for monotony and the predictable making what he says last forever (Boring, because some things aren’t for sharing). His Italian toy boy, though, he finds kind of sweet. Elizaveta agrees with him, and gives the two of them a hard time, camera in one hand and Gilbert in the other.

He has the same fucking eyes though. Sometimes, Gilbert can’t sleep and he thinks of them, seeing a different world to theirs.

(Not good enough? What would you like to hear? Would you have preferred an eventful life, an Emperor with a flute in one hand, seized vital regions, Jewish genocide and unrequited brotherly love separated by steel and concrete and-

-maybe just loneliness?)

Right now, Gilbert sits on the balcony of his East-Berlin town house with his canary, arms behind him and lazing like something leonine. His hand reaches into his breast pocket for birdseed. Then he stops.

Something metal pings onto the concrete. Funny- he doesn’t remember ever putting it in his pocket. He kneels down to picks it up, but he catches Elizaveta’s sneaking up behind him. He grins, whips around and grabs her (vital regions?) buttocks with both hands, pulling her into him.

“Hah! Look who the awesome Gilbert has captured!” She sighs but not-so-secretly loves his theatrics. “Now, fair maiden- will you fight a knight for your freedom?”

“I’m no so sure, my Lord,” she laughs, sarcasm suppressed by joy. She flashes him a piece of paper, a test of sorts. The strip has changed colour, and well, even Gilbert knows that means-

-wait. He…She…

Oh God. He whips her up into his arms, kissing her with all he has, feeling something growing inside him, like her. They fall onto the sunchair, in love, amazed at each other, what they’ve done.

“We’ll name him Friedrich,” he laughs triumphantly. Elizaveta slaps his arse and clambers onto him and they go, right there over the East-Berlin skyline. The air around them is warm with promise and wet kisses and raucous giggles.

It’s life, perhaps. New life in her belly, a part of him, the man that he his, the human that he is (has become).

Outside the Iron Cross rusts, but Gilbert Beilschmidt? He has a life. A damn good one. A story worth living.

This is but the beginning.


“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a part of a continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were . . .”
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

author's note


2009-07-22 01:59 pm (UTC) (Link)

No man is an island. Gilbert is not (used to be) a country.

Did you know?

Berlin Wall fell in 1989. Conditions in east and West Germany are still not even- East Germany is economically worse off.

Ostalgie is a nostalgia for the DDR times, currently trendy in the east.

The Prussian Kingdom had stretched over much of the northern part of Germany and further east into current Poland and Czech Republic.

In 1871, approx. 2.4 million Poles lived in Prussia.

Countries catch Recession. Humans? Catch colds.

'Prussia' was dissolved by the Nazi rule in 1934 and officially closed by the allies in 1947. Since then, Prussia has not appeared in German geography.

The Iron Cross was a military decoration which became a national symbol of the Prussian Empire.

“A land without ruins is a land without memories - a land without memories is a land without history”

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-22 04:09 pm (UTC) (Link)

this was beautiful. absolutely breathtaking. watching gilbert go through all those stages and ending up happy and human--i feel happy for him. and sad for him. overall, this was simply amazing.

thank you, dear anon. this has made my day.

(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-22 06:13 pm (UTC) (Link)

Amazing anon, amazing. It's simply amazing to see him go through this painful progress and somehow end up with his own sort of... contentment as a human. I smiled at the end but still felt sort of sad for the end. Superb job anon, this is great~
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-22 11:00 pm (UTC) (Link)

You just fucking broke my heart, anon. :(
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-22 11:53 pm (UTC) (Link)

This was fantastic! So beautiful! You really captured perfectly the transformation from country to human! I could feel my heart breaking for him a bit more at every part! But the end - ohhh, I don't know what to feel. I'm so happy for him, but at the same time... he's lost part of himself!

♥, author!anon. ♥
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

OP here


2009-07-23 02:29 am (UTC) (Link)

author!anon that was absolutely lovely. I loved every minute of it. My heart broke at the church in Poland, I love you for that. The transformation from nation to human was heart breaking, Prussia being a proud country and all.

You have made my day author!anon! it's not even midday yet so thats saying something. Excuse me while I also save this to hardrive. I love you author!anon!
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-23 04:13 am (UTC) (Link)

That...that was...I can't find the words to describe it (though "The Twilight Zone" somehow comes to mind). It reached deep into me and pulled at my heart. I could feel Gilbert/Prussia's slow and painful transition from nation to human so clearly, and the ending just slayed me - Gilbert lost something he'll never regain, and yet he finds happiness of a sort. Beautiful, beautiful piece with just the right amount of emotion in it. (Huh. I guess I did find some words to describe the fill after all, though I don't know how much sense I made.)
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-23 05:35 pm (UTC) (Link)

This was both heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time!

Heartbreaking at seeing Gilbert slowly losing his memories as a nation, as Prussia himself. Beautiful in the sense of his transition to human.

The scene at the church and at the museum standing in front of the Prussian flag was just... just... ;A;

But it was indeed breath-taking how it all slowly entwines and even if he has lose his memories, he gains another.

“…I just miss you. That’s all.”
“I’m right here, Ludwig. ... I’m not going anywhere.”

This seriously broke my heart for the both of them.

Wonderful fill anon, love it.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-23 05:45 pm (UTC) (Link)

You just shattered my heart into a million pieces. ;__;
This is like... a death fic, but even worse somehow. In any case, amazing and slightly terrifying (gradual memory/identity loss is scary as fuck) and so heartbreaking.

brb crying.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: author's note


2009-07-26 03:40 am (UTC) (Link)

That is one seriously amazing fic right there. Great writing style, love it, really showed the confusion Prussia was going through. The ending is amazing, too. He lives a happy human life, but there's he's not completely whole at the same time. Just beautiful, really, I'm glad I read this.
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Re: author's note


2009-07-28 03:00 pm (UTC) (Link)

Wow. Just, wow, anon. It takes a lot for me to comment on fan fiction, and you have more than filled the requirement for critique. I have seen some really interesting theories as to what happens to them when they stop being nations, but far and away, yours is the best.

It absolutely broke my heart to see Gilbert losing himself like that, but allowing him to find himself again was absolutely amazing. The history, the love, the heartbreak, all of it came together perfectly in this piece.

On that note, I'll be in my corner, wibbling a little.
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Re: author's note


2009-08-18 07:15 pm (UTC) (Link)

It's been a while since a fanfiction made me teary-eyed.
How beautiful this was.
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Re: author's note


2009-12-13 12:19 pm (UTC) (Link)

Author Anon, I don't know if I should hate you or love you for creating this very touching fic which almost - almost - made me shed tears (and I loathe tears, you know XD). It's so heartbreakingly beautiful it hurts (in a good way!) Prussia has ceased to live but Gilbert has started a life of his own - one can't help but mourn for the country that once was, but at least Gil didn't completely cease to exist, and the ending is so heartwarming yet so sad as well...alright, I'll stop the fan-gushing now. XD

You're awesome, author anon! I'm sure Puroisen-sama approves of you!!!
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