Nebbles can write! [Fanfiction thread]

[Nebbles]

Yep. I write fanfiction because I'm cool like that >3> For starters, I'm putting up my most recent fic. It's Hetalia, but I think it's really good. Regardless, I hope you enjoy anything I post here! [Each fic gets its own post to be fair]

This story is related to the dissolution of Prussia in 1945, just as a quick background. In Hetalia, Gilbert is the representation of Prussia.

What had happened to him? Where did it all go â€" why did it all go?

Such things were hard to consider when like this, but in reality, he didn't give two craps right now. Perhaps binge drinking was therapeutic to him. Perhaps it was some odd source of comfort, something to just distract him from everything. Which is really what he needed. His mind was fuzzy, head pounding wildly, eyes blurred from tears.

Crying. He hated the feeling. Crying was a form of weakness. Strong people never cried â€" they held back their tears and carried on. It was just a sign of how pathetic he was now.

Despite the nausea building in his stomach, Gilbert went for another bottle of beer, having little thought before chugging it down. Sick? So what if he felt sick? What was there he had to be well for?

Nothing. Free states weren't anything. They were just there, forgotten by others in a course of a few years. Who knew if people would care for his history in the future? Would he even be remembered?

"Crap…" He hissed, nausea spiking once again. Shakily, he rose, vomiting in the sink, coughing, more tears springing into his eyes. He knew better, so much better.

But after today, he just couldn't give a care anymore. He'd lost his country. So who cared what he did? Gilbert could continue to drink himself sick and no one would care. No one relied on him anymore. No one needed him, looked up to him. He was a nothing at this point.

Gilbert was shaking, gripping the counter with his empty hand. A wave of anger passed, causing him to smash the half empty beer bottle against the counter. The bottle shattered - and oh god, that noise. It made his head even worse- glass scraped and poked his skin, small cuts opening in his hand. Blood oozed onto the wet counter, the alcohol stinging his hand.

But, again, who cared?

No one. He'd probably fade, wouldn't he? Like Rome, Germania and all the others. Only spoken about in history books. Only known as a country where ancestors had come from. Only remembered as an empire that had crumbled away and torn into pieces.

He opened his mouth to give another curse, but resulted in being sick once again. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, his head aching even more.

'What are you doing to yourself?' His mind spoke. 'Gilbert, everyone would be so disappointed in you.'

And he replied, in a hoarse whisper, "There is no one to be disappointed in."

That was the truth, plain as day. He just knew all the other nations would shift into a happy post-war era, on the road to recovery. And what would he do? If he lived, he'd just remain here forever, watching the world prosper around him.

And if he faded away â€" which should happen soon, shouldn't it? â€" well, that was that. He'd die off and no one would pay any attention.

Another round of sickness passed â€" he wasn't sure why, though. Maybe it was from all this horrible, crushing realization. The fear of just going to sleep and never waking up.

Old Fritz. He'd be ashamed. So, so ashamed that Gilbert couldn't keep Prussia strong. That Gilbert let the country slip through his fingers and crumble into millions of little pieces.

Gilbert slipped back against the wall, leaning his head backward. Time slowly passed, and he could only focus on the clock. Minutes turned into hours, and he knew that he wouldn't fade away. If he were going to, Gilbert would be gone right now.

As much as he despised it, and really, he did, Gilbert hung his head and let out a painful, long awaited sob. For the rest of his life, his long, long life, he would forever be haunted by this day. The day Prussia dissolved.

The day he lost all his power.

The day he became nothing.

EDIT: Took out the swears so I wouldn't break any rules. Doesn't change the fic.

[Bespinben]

Even though I know nothing about Hetalia, I still felt like I could follow along perfectly! That was a very, very good one-shot (is it a one-shot?) I really liked all the intricate details that you focused on: the sweat on Gilbert's forehead, the development of his growing despair. Very good job.

[Nebbles]

Thank you! And yes, it's a one-shot. I'm too lazy for chapter fics. xD I loooove writing emotionally charged stories like this. You have NO idea.

[Clanker37]

Its rather good! Except did you look here? I don't think you did...

[Nebbles]

No swearing? Crud! DX Should I go and fix that or...?

[Clanker37]

Bit late now...I think that we should ah...turn a blind eye to this, but next time not be so nice

[Nebbles]

>_< It's one word.. I can fix that. I feel bad now.

[triforced1]

It's very good. I used to watch Hetalia a bunch, but now...eh. Still, a very good piece of work.

[Nebbles]

Thanks!

Also, I figured about once a week I'll update this thread with a new fic. Sound good?

[SlowPokemon]

Cool!

[triforced1]

Sounds good!

[Nebbles]

I'll update every Friday.

Fanfic Friday~

[Nebbles]

[Happy fanfic Friday! Here's the fic I wrote yesterday (or early this morning, I guess?). It's another Hetalia fic and it's the one I striving for a title. So enjoy!]

Every day, it was the same thing. His nails would rake into the hard cement of the wall, trying desperately to see the other side. The side he wished to be on, the side that everyone was yearning for. Freedom. Away from this horrid place. A pathetic excuse of a nation.

He hated the Soviet Union. He hated being restricted, being told what to do. He would live his life the way he wanted, because that's what he was told, and raised Ludwig on that same policy.

"It's always the same thing with Ivan," he continued clawing at the stone, leaving bloody streaks. Bah, that always happened. His fingers would bleed and tear. But what would that matter? If he could get back home, all the pain would be well worth it. "You can't escape! This is your home! It will always be your home!" One hand turned into a fist, banging against the wall.

The Berlin Wall. It made him sick to look at it. On the other side was his home! His and Ludwig's home! It's where he belonged. This place was no good for him.

And every night, it was the same thing was well. Ivan would drag him back, throw him into his room and hit him. Gilbert did nothing to fight against it. The more he took, the stronger it made his will to escape. Even if his fingers were worn raw, numbed with pain, it wouldn't matter at all. After all, Ludwig was worth it.

He missed his brother so much. Ludwig had tried so hard to keep him home. But no, of course, Ivan just had to have his sick little way. Gilbert laughed to himself one day on his way back to the wall. He must look like such a mess! Bruises littered all over his body, a black eye, and fingers stained crimson.

'I must look like a psychopath to these people.'

But he wasn't. Ivan was. Ivan was making him do this, tear and tear at the wall. No progress was ever made, and it was impossible for one person to tear through pure stone. But that didn't stop him. Nothing really would, Gilbert supposed. His love for his brother was too strong for trivial things like that to get in the way.

He faced the wall again, engulfed by its shadow. Looking at the marks all over his hands, he sighed, bringing his fingernails up to the wall yet again.

Sure, it stung.

But once he got to see Ludwig again, all of the pain would be worth it.

[SlowPokemon]

That made me wince...you know it's amazing writing that can provoke unpleasant images.

I really liked it, it's short length is misleading of all the cool story inside.

[Nebbles]

Just curious, what made you in wince in particular?