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crimson-kisses · 4 months

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Hi, um, so I LOVE your writings on Prussia and Germany. Glad to know there are people out here still blessing us with yandere hetalia content. I find it interesting how you mention in Germany's oneshot that Prussia told him he should be harsher with you from day one... So, the morbid curiosity wants to know, pretty please, what that would look like in detail?

Thank you very for such lovely compliments, warms my heart, it keeps me going and pumped up for writing more! 🌻 I would love delve deeper into such concepts although it will be rather short and simple. Gilbert is a bastard when it comes to giving advices, it’s always a clean cut which he’s aiming for. 🐝✨

Warning: Contains usual yandere themes, mentions of violence and drinking.

🇩🇪

Beratung

The aroma of coffee permeates the air as he is pulled back by his shoulders, his head meeting a solid, sturdy chest while his brother playfully ruffles his hair. In that moment, he feels like a mischievous teenager caught in the act, rather than a towering young man he has become.

A small cough escapes his lips, accompanied by specks of blood staining the pristine white shirt, drawing a disapproving glance from his older brother. However, his brother remains silent for a while, taking deep drags from his cigarette as they both stand beneath the glow of a streetlight.

Ludwig winces as he wipes his bruised nose, attempting to compose himself and maintain a semblance of dignity. He is already embarrassed about being forcibly removed from the bar by his brother.

"Eine ziemliche Schlägerei, aye junge?" his brother remarks, exhaling smoke that twists and weaves into intricate patterns as it ascends, Ludwig pointedly disregards the accusatory taunt. Both of them hear a crashing sound coming from inside the bar, followed by the slamming of a door.

They catch a fleeting glimpse of Lovino supporting a drunken Florentyna, their figures visible for a moment before disappearing around a corner.

"Was it him?"

Ludwig offers a slight nod, opting not to elaborate further, although he knows his brother wasn’t known to let such incidents slide so easily. It could work in his favor or against him.

The cigarette beneath Gilbert's polished boots is crushed, his gaze scrutinizing Ludwig until their eyes finally meet.

"Well? I expect more than just a nod from you," Gilbert presses, his disappointment evident. It was far from ideal that his older brother had been urgently summoned due to a bar brawl. Damn it, that cantankerous bartender should have kept his nose out of it.

"Don't curse that old man in your thoughts," Ludwig winces audibly at the retort, confirming Gilbert's suspicion that Ludwig had indeed cursed out the elderly man for doing precisely what Gilbert had instructed him to do in such situations.

"Francis— that French Arschficker— was the one who started it all",

Ludwig's attempt to shift the blame onto Francis, earns him nothing more than an exaggerated eye roll and an indifferent look, further dampening his mood.

"I'm not here for a game of blame, Ludwig. What I witnessed was you nearly tearing Feliciano’s head off with a shard from a broken bottle."

In response, Ludwig merely huffs with pride, which promptly results in a firm smack to his head.

"Just tell me what caused all of this and who was involved. And don't you dare feed me some bullshit, you hear me, junge?" Gilbert's voice carries a stern warning.

Ludwig rubs the back of his head and his neck, his embarrassment growing by the minute. Here he is, being scolded by his brother in the dead of night. He wonders if Gilbert had been sleeping or simply lounging around, which would explain the presence of the cigarette.

When Gilbert made his entrance into the bar, there was a contemplative air about him. Swiftly, he had landed a powerful punch on Antonio, knocking him down, and forcefully slammed Francis' face against the wall. It appeared that he had been suppressing his frustrations and had finally found a way to release them.

"They were making comments about her," Ludwig admitted, studying Gilbert's expression closely. In response, Gilbert simply shrugged and let out a deep sigh.

"So what? They insulted your manhood? Is that what this was all about? Antonio is going to whine like a little bitch about his broken nose, you know."

"That would be Francis," Ludwig spat out the name as if it were burning his tongue, causing Gilbert to raise an eyebrow.

"He was... well, he kept going on about how I wasn’t experienced enough and how I couldn't handle her if it came down to it. He was insulting me, Brüder, and then he just HAD TO BRING UP SOME BURIED SHIT!! And then Lovino... that damn bitch had a lot to say about love and pleasure and shit”,

Gilbert simply let Ludwig vent out his frustrations in a stream of jumbled and incomprehensible sentences, while he attempted to wipe away the previous droplets of blood off his shirt. His efforts were futile, sadly.

"I just hate that I feel so inferior compared to them. I….. I don't know what to do anymore. Even she makes me feel that way, as if I'm just pathetic. I try to be patient, but Verdammt!"

"You let her think that, holding yourself back and all, don't you?" Gilbert interjects.

Ludwig runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it down after nearly tearing it out in frustration. He closes his eyes, admitting that yes, he does let her think that way. He holds himself back, afraid of scaring her or confirming the doubts others have about him. He nods in agreement.

"Well, then you're a dumbfuck. Stop caring about what others say and handle her directly. Put your foot down instead of tiptoeing around like an uncertain school kid," Gilbert asserts.

Ludwig groans in response, ignoring the intense stare from Gilbert. He knows deep down that it shouldn't matter what others say, but he can't help replaying their demeaning words in his mind. It becomes too much, especially when they start speaking about you, insinuating that he can't please you or even handle you. That's when he lost control.

When they began to critique your relationship with him.

"Lutz, it's not going to be easy to handle a fully grown woman if you continue down this path," Ludwig's hand descends slightly to his cheek as he attentively listens to Gilbert's words. "You have to be tough, be patient if you want that, but if you fold so easily, then you're in for a difficult time."

"It's not about them demeaning or underestimating you, shit."

Gilbert's lips purse as he opens a soda can with a resounding clang, swiftly followed by a massive gulp. His gaze fixates on the empty streets ahead, his eyes narrowing as he mutters, "It's you belittling and underestimating yourself."

Ludwig raises a brow as Gilbert grabs him by the shoulders again, both of them stumbling along the sidewalk. A couple of minutes pass as Gilbert empties the soda can and effortlessly crushes it in his fist.

"Some women require a bit of building, some require a bit of molding, and others a bit of breaking. Not everyone is made the same."

"I'm not... uh, I'm not quite sure about that," Ludwig responds, voicing his uncertainty.

Gilbert pays no heed to his comment as he continues, seemingly pondering how to ensure his brother doesn't mess things up too badly, or else he would have to intervene himself.

"That's the issue, you're not sure about yourself in the first place. Buckle up, Bruder. Your woman isn't going to be a walk in the park. She's bursting with passionate fire, and she'll end up stinging your ass if you don't get yourself together."

Ludwig remained silent for a while, his brows furrowing slightly as he walked alongside his brother. Gilbert's gaze was fixed on the moon, which hung in the sky above them.

"We don't get to love so easily, Ludwig," Gilbert spoke softly, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "We never had that privilege. For beings like us, humans have always been transient beings, fleeting like dust that settles for a few brief years."

Ludwig's gaze shifted to his brother, his features reflecting a mix of understanding and sadness. He knew that all too well.

"You remember your pretty little Snow White?" Gilbert's voice took on a nostalgic tone, breaking the previous melancholy atmosphere. Ludwig turned to him with a bewildered expression, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic.

"Bruder! That was different. I was a child!" Ludwig replied, his tone laced with exasperation.

"Well, you sucked at wooing a lady back then, and it seems you haven't improved much, maybe those cunts do have a point" Gilbert remarked, his words laced with a hint of mockery. Ludwig shot him an offended glare, but Gilbert responded with a half-hearted smirk.

"If I hadn't caught you being so captivated by that young Mädchen, I wouldn't have even known she was your type," Gilbert continued. Ludwig let out a frustrated sigh,

"Okay, that's enough," he interjected, his voice firm. "Let's just go home."

"I even considered arranging a marriage between the two of you, you know, get you a wife," Gilbert added, his tone filled with reminiscence. "Do you have any idea how proud this old man was? to see his young boy finally muster some manly balls?"

Ludwig stared at him with a nonchalant expression, a look of surprise on his face.

"What?"

His confusion is ignored once again.

Gilbert's grip only tightened on Ludwig's forearm, who had a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. "My point is, it's alright to chase your romantic dreams and indulge in all that teenage shenanigan bullshit," he began, his voice tinged with sarcasm and sincerity.

"But now you're dealing with a strong-headed woman, not some delicate Victorian-era Snow White. It's okay to have lovey dovey expectations, but as a man, you need to stand your ground and make your intentions clear," Gilbert continued, his tone firm. "Don't play around or mess things up, Ludwig. Tread carefully, or you'll end up with a tangled mess of threads."

Ludwig hummed, his expression growing more grounded as he narrowed his eyes in deep thought. He absorbed Gilbert's words, carefully considering their implications.

"So, you're suggesting that I should be more assertive and dominant," Ludwig started with a thoughtful tone.

“I am suggesting that you don’t fuck around too much, don’t be too arrogant-minded or violent like that Danish imbecile or that Russian brute”.

The blond shifted awkwardly with his boots, gaze fixated on the beer stains which he grimaced at. His brother better not see that unless he wanted to hear another lecture.

He had heard Mathias bragging about his darling, apparently a daring young woman herself. Although his comments were, uh, quite something.

“And also, don’t think too much with your dick”,

Ludwig roughly choked on his own spit, taken aback by the unexpected comment.

Gilbert, however, responded with a dismissive eye roll. He casually took out the car keys from his pocket and opened the passenger door, signaling for Ludwig to get in, even though it was Ludwig's own car. Reluctantly, he made his way to the passenger seat.

With a smooth purr, the car’s engine roared to life and soon they were on their way to wherever Gilbert wanted to go.

“You gotta wait for the right moment to strike, bide your time patiently, you would be surprised what France goes through with his Dame or any other nation”,

“What did she do?”

Ludwig's curiosity got the better of him and couldn't help but ask eagerly, for someone who was commenting on his lack of experiences, it was amusing to know the Frenchman had issues of his own when it came to his darling.

Gilbert smirked, his eyes glimmering with amusement. "Turns out she's quite the escape artist. She's resourceful and has a way with words and her cunning mind."

Ludwig raised a brow in interest as his brother continued,

"The last I heard, she caused the poor man to have flashbacks when she decided to reenact the events of the French Revolution using a butcher knife."

The blond snorted, well that’s what he gets, as he turned on the radio to some shitty pop song.

“Really?”,

“Ja”.

The romantic man had gone on and on about how to treat a woman, wooing them and intending to jab at Ludwig's lack of experience when it came to such things.

That’s where the Italian brothers had joined in, with their unwanted advices which turned into passive insults. Soon enough, Antonio retorted how Lovino was like a neutered cat when it came to his bella. Which resulted in a furious bar fight which others joined in.

It hadn’t taken long after that, when Feliciano in his drunken confidence commented on Ludwig's misfortune with women. And how his darling would be better off with someone else.

This led to Ludwig's attempt to send him to the heaven above using a piece of broken glass shard, after punching the shit out of him.

A serene atmosphere filled the car as both brothers listened to the radio, only one of them was cringing with disdain at some of the lyrics. After a while, Gilbert started again, turning down the volume of the radio.

“That’s the issue with these so-called romantic nations, they don’t think critically when they need to. Diving head first into situations with a bleeding heart only leaves you vulnerable and not to mention, with a fucking mess to clean up after”.

“You gotta be careful and tactical, don’t let emotions and feelings cloud your judgment and think with a straight mind about how to tackle the situation”.

He gets a firm nod with a determined resolve.

The radio's volume increased again. Neither Ludwig nor Gilbert had spoken for a while, and the world seemed to be at a standstill in the late hours of the night.

As the car slows down to a crawl, Ludwig blinks in confusion, taken aback by the sudden change in pace.

Then, an overwhelming surge of boiling anger courses through Ludwig's veins, threatening to consume him.

The frustration within him intensifies, and he clenches his fist tightly, wanting to shatter the noisy radio into pieces.

Ludwig quickly realizes that his dear older brother had carefully arranged for someone to monitor her every action, collecting any possible information and meticulously organizing every aspect beforehand.

“Consider this a tutorial, huh?”,

Even though it is late, he observes that you radiate a lively energy, your laughter echoing loudly. A rosy hue adorns your cheeks, overflowing with an infectious joy that fills his heart with warmth, you looked so beautiful, even with tired eyes and wild, messy hair.

He doesn’t register his brother’s words. No, his eyes are on you. And some piece of swine who’s holding you so intimately, brown hair and judging by the light, he had gray eyes. Both of you looked like a youthful couple after a casual date. He didn’t know who he was, was he your date or just some random cousin?

Nonetheless, he had to go. Cut out of the picture, burnt, for all he cared.

“Was für eine Schönheit”

Ludwig’s eye twitches with barely contained jealousy.

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monologe030 · 2 days

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kiffen (1)

ich bin kiffer.

...

poah, alter.. wie schwer das ist, darüber zu schreiben. grad hatte ich doch diesen übelst krassen gedanken.. der irgendwas.. mit dem kiffen zu tun hatte.

...

achso. stimmt.. das mit der akzeptanz..

ich muss langsam akzeptieren, dass ich kiffer bin. anscheinend: für immer. die scham ist einfach zu überwältigend. oft kann man sie irgendwie relativieren. ignorieren. wegdenken. wegkiffen.

aber dann und wann bricht sie wieder durch. die scham. abhängig zu sein. es nicht geschafft zu haben. "psychisch krank" zu sein. "nicht normal".

in den letzten monaten kam mir meine adhs diagnose in sachen kiffen relativieren" recht gelegen.

aber heute.. heute klappt es einfach nicht.

zum glück ist mein konsum insgesamt nicht sonderlich gestiegen, sondern gleich geblieben. teilweise hat es sich sogar minimal verringert. das ist aber auch stark gefühlsabhängig. in letzter zeit hatte ich zum beispiel wieder echt einige sehr schlechte tage und mein konsum war wieder etwas erhöhter. aber wie gesagt, das bewegt sich noch in einem ansatzweise erträglichen rahmen, auch wenn es finanziell natürlich schlaucht.

aber dennoch: ich habe adhs.. und mein früherer verdacht, ohne das weed entweder heute nicht mehr am leben zu sein, oder irgendwie auf andere art und weise vollkommen durchgedreht wäre und mir selbst oder anderen menschen irgendwie körperlich oder sonstwie geschadet hätte.. kriminell geworden wäre oder sonstiges.. verhärtet sich immer weiter.

ich hatte halt adhs. als kind türkisch-kurdischer eltern im berliner ghetto. einfach absoluter kopffick. plus die ganze geisteskranke scheiße, die ich erlebt habe.

das ich lebe und unversehrt bin, ist ein fucking weltwunder.

und daran ist unter anderem das weed "schuld". auch wenn es irgendwie.. hart ist, mir das einzugestehen..

all die bücher die ich gelesen habe.. so oft, wie ich mich mit philosophie beschäftigt habe.. mit soziologischen, psychologischen themen.. und einfach nie drauf gekommen bin.. dass ich adhs habe. das kiffen hat mir dabei natürlich auch nicht geholfen aber zumindest half es dabei.. diese zustände zu ertragen.

selbstwert und selbstliebe zu empfinden.

mich selbst zu akzeptieren.

zu entspannen.

loszulassen.

ich selbst zu sein.

...

es war das einzige, das mir dabei half, mich nicht mehr zu schämen. für all die beschissene scheiße, die mir passiert ist.

...

FUUUUUUUUUUUCK, BWAHAHAHA! dikker, mein leben ist so ein ARSCHFICK! die reinkarnation des sprichworts "ironie des schicksals".

oder auch: die standard "ich nehme drogen und denk, das geht schon irgendwie gut"-geschichte.

...

wirklich, das musst du dir einfach mal geben:

da fängt der junge an, zu kiffen, um damit all seine sorgen und nöte und.. all seine scham zu vergessen und zu verdrängen.. und das KLAPPT dann sogar auch noch. zwanzig jahre später sitzt der bro so da, an seinem gottverdammten tisch, vor seinem gottverdammten pc und tippelt da irgende KAKKE in die tastatur und schämt sich gar nicht mehr soo sehr für all die sachen, für die er sich einmal geschämt hat..

außer dafür, dass er ein gottverdammter kiffer ist.

diese scham werd ich grad nicht los. sie haftet an mir. wie scheiße am schuh.

...

JA FICK DOCH DIE HENNE, und ich raff das jetzt erst.

...

ich werd auf dem gedanken jetzt erstmal ein wenig rumkauen und verdauen müssen. diese gottverdammten, pur ironischen, aber gleichzeitig irgendwie auf narrativer ebene vollkommen vorhersehbaren erlebnisse prägen mein GANZES FUCKING LEBEN, ALTER. ICH KÖNNT' SO KOTZEN!

siehste mal, was dabei rauskommt, wenn man versucht, sich selbst zu reflektieren und zu akzeptieren:

mit ewiger scham. und kotze und kakke am schuh'.

...

nein, spaß.

so. also: ich muss das mit der scham irgendwie.. akzeptieren.

einerseits die scham, kiffer zu sein und das gefühl zu haben, dass es mittlerweile jeder weiss und sieht und mich dadurch.. abwertet.. zusätzlich zu anderen, weiteren abwertungen aufgrund meines aussehens, meiner nationalität oder kulturellen, vermenitlichen hintergrundes..

und andererseits.. mit den negativen, "schamhaften" gedanken und erinnerungen noch akzeptierender umzugehen.. ohne kiffen zu müssen, um das alles zu verdrängen, wenn sich das über tage in meinem kopf anstaut und mir das alles, wie immer, zu viel wird.

...

aber wie? wie akzeptiere ich meine fehler und unzulänglichkeiten? wie.. schäme ich mich nicht mehr?

darauf hab ich grad keine antwort.

deshalb gebietet sich jetzt: zeit und geduld. und recherche.

...

tja! und? was ist das ende der geschicht'?

das leben fickt dich oder fickt dich nicht!

...

kids? dont take drugs.

#kiffen #akzeptanz #scham

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