Have Some Feels.

The Decline of the Prussian Empire.

"YOU'RE OFF THE TEAM, FAGGOT!"

The voice ricocheted through Gilbert's mind, screaming. Their laughter, shouts, and hollers of cruelty never left his mind as he stumbled into the men's restroom, clutching his stomach. His mind spun, racing like a train that was falling off the tracks and into an abyss. His heart sputtered unevenly and his vision grew dark and blurry as he clung to a porcelain sink, legs desperately trying to hold up the suddenly overbearing weight. He leaned over and choked, wrenching as acid boiled in the back of his throat. His body heaved as he wretched again, a cruel taste coating his tongue as the insides of his stomach poured from his throat and sloshed into the sink. He wretched again, eyes squeezed shut as hot tears poured down his cheeks, but no more came out from his stomach. The albino coughed a few times and spat into the sink before shakily grasping one of the handles, turning on the water to filter the wretch from the sink.

There was a moment as the water ran before the Prussian weakly opened his eyes, and looked up into the mirror. Disgusting. Not the vomit, but himself. He was weak, unnaturally pale, and gay. The very word made his skin crawl. It was true: Gilbert Beilschmidt, ex-famous fútbol star, ex-most popular kid in school, and the ex- most awesome person in the entire world... Was gay.

Now Gilbert's whole future was gone. His grades had been flushed down the toilet, he'd been kicked off the team, and the school had revoked him of his scholarship. All because of one choice. It would be the choice that he'd regret for the rest of his life. It hadn't even felt like a choice, for him to be the way that he was. But to everyone else, it was; and it was the wrong choice.

It wasn't right. He didn't feel different. It didn't feel wrong to like other guys. What felt wrong was trying so hard, for so long, to act as though he liked women. It had always been that way. It had never changed. Why did they judge him for it so? All he did was love another man. It's not like he'd killed someone. Why did they-?

"Привет."

Gilbert jumped, whirling around to see none other than Ivan Braginski. He was known for being quiet, a gentle giant. However, the look in his eye now was far from this description. He looked... Murderous.

"W-What do you want, Ivan?" Gilbert stammered, wiping his mouth shakily with the back of his hand.

A harmless smile spread over the Russian's face, but it morphed into a sadistic grin as he spoke, "Vhat? I do not even get a hello from our school's infamous faggot, Gilbert Beilschmidt? Zhat hurts me." He chuckled, "I merely heard of your little... Problem... And vished to help a friend. Zhat is not a crime, da?"

The Prussian blinked back his tears, brow narrowing slightly, "What problem?"

In a millisecond, everything changed. Ivan snatched Gilbert's shirt in his fists, turned, and slammed him into the tiled wall, "The fact zhat you're a fucking homosexual, you sick fuck." He spat.

The albino gasped as the air was compressed from his lungs and renewed tears stung his eyes, "Ivan, please, leave me-."

"GIVE ME VONE REASON AS TO VHY I SHOULD NOT BEAT ZHE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU RIGHT NOW, FAGGOT.", The other barked, "You're not fucking natural. You're a spawn from Hell, damned by Lucifer himself to be actually want something shoved up your ass!"

Gilbert winced at the others words, but said nothing. He was too weak to fight. He was too tired.

"Pathetic." The Russian snarled and released a hand from the others shirt. Drawing it back, he grinned, "Maybe I can beat it out of you, da?"


It felt like hours. Pain flared through every muscle in his body. It had began with a simple punch to the fast to re-shatter his nose, and had ended with the Prussian curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach as he coughed and sputtered out blood while Ivan slammed his foot against his abdomen. Three times. Four. Five. The Prussian's tears flowed freely now as a cry of agony was torn from his throat with the final kick.

"Why don't you just do zhe vorld a favor, Gilbert, und kill yourself?"

Kill yourself.

That was it. The solution to end it all.

Those few words had gotten Gilbert to where he was now, alone in his room, loading his handgun. The magazine slipped into the handle with ease, and the albino pulled it back to load it. This was it.

As the clock struck midnight, he placed the weapon to his temple, and smiled with relief. There was a scream that was not his own as he whispered his final words, "Auf wiedersehen.", and pulled the trigger.


The shot rang out louder than anything Ludwig had ever heard in his entire life, even louder than his scream of desperation as he had walked into the room.

It was too late.

He was too late.

The Prussian Empire was dead.