Goggle-Face
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I need to post my real stories.
It's fanfiction, but I hope no one minds?
----
“Well, you’ve gone awfully quiet.”
“Bastard.”
Their voices was the only sounds in the deathly stale room, besides their own breathing. The whole room around them stunk of dead bodies and blood -- both were wondering why flies hadn’t gathered already. They were also wondering why their arms hadn’t fallen off from keeping them in the same position, and holding their guns in the same position.
“Say something, then,” Gilbert said, “Because this is why we started this in the first place.”
“Started?” Romano asked sourly, “Started? I’m sorry, the proper phrase should be “This is how we got into this mess in the first place”.”
Gilbert glared at Romano. “Mess? I like to find it you added to it.”
“You started it, though.” The Italian snapped back.
Gilbert’s finger was starting to lightly twitch; a dying urge to just pull the trigger and shut this airhead up for good. But, in all honesty, Romano was right. It was all Gilbert’s fault. This who situation was at the fault of the albino man, causing the Italian enough misery to do it to him, too. But… god, Feliciano had it coming, alright? Messing with the German during one of his stressed phases was not a smart idea.
He regretted it, yes, he did. Romano had to walk in on it, too. His brother, hanging from a rope attached to the ceiling, being hit with a metal bat as if he was a piñata…
… Feliciano was still hanging there, actually. In the other room, but… still there. It was disturbing Romano hadn’t gotten him down and gave his brother a burial… but then again, no one was getting that.
There was chaos outside of this house, outside of Italy. All of Europe, all of Asia, all of the world, utter chaos. Arthur was dead. Feliks was dead. Ivan was dead. Yao and Kiku had both died from hunger. Alfred and Matthew killed themselves. Eduard was dead. Mathias was dead. Tino was dead. It was easy to say these two might be the only ones not fighting, hungry, paranoid or suicidal. But, the ‘suicidal’ part might be an understatement, what with the two of them holding guns to the others head.
That was the bet. If you couldn’t stand the other, you shot them. Why neither of them shot each other at the start? They had dignity.
Besides, Gilbert wasn’t the only person who deserved to die.
In an act of revenge, you could say, Romano did the exact same. Only not just to Ludwig. Gilbert walked into the very same room they were in, to find Romano putting the finishing touches on his murder scene. Gilbert's brother, the rest of his little trio, and Roderich all lay on the floor -- the same room now, mind you, so those four were still here -- dead; clubbed and shot to death.
The world was fading around them.
“So, Lovi,” Prussia started -- oh, how he hated that odd nickname. “Why haven’t you shot me yet?”
“Why haven’t you shot me yet?” He mocked.
A chuckle. “You’re cute.”
The German got an unamused and somewhat confused stare. “The hell, Gil. We're sitting in a room where your best friends are lying dead in, guns to our heads, and you're tying to get some `ss.”
“You are, Romeo.” A false affectionate purr rolled with the beginning of “Romeo”, Gilbert sounding somewhat ‘Spanish’ that way.
“Well, I’m cute? You’re useless.”
“Now now, Lovi--”
“You are, you f`cking b`stard. Your about as useless as an appendix. A stupid thing to say, but d`mn it, I’m right.”
Gilbert glared over to Romano, not moving his head, just his eyes. Those red eyes shot knives into amber. “Shut up, Italian.”
A response. Good. A smug smile pasted itself onto Romano’s face. “You are. You’re a third wheel to every being, giving them no help and only pain if you’re being a bother. And then, when they get you away, where do you go? You die. You die, you’re thrown out, you’re--”
Nothing left his mouth after. A loud bang, something like lightning snapping, erupted from the gun, causing Gilbert to scream at it’s sudden noise. The bullet crashed through Romano’s skull and knocked him over, the boy hit the ground with a loud thud, the bullet thrashing around in his brain before it stopped. Romano was dead.
There was nothing glamorous about it. No slow motion, no final breath, no Hollywood ending. Romano was shot in the head, he fell over. He was dead, no happy ending would bring him back. Gilbert stared at his hand, the one with the pistol in it, mortified at what he done. He was terrified of himself with Feliciano’s death, but… Romano’s was even worse. This was the final blow. Feliciano was long dead before he started beating him.
There was nothing left in the gun. Panicking, Gilbert grabbed Romano’s gun and put it to his own head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
Slowly, he pulled the barrel away, staring at the weapon the whole time. He shook it around, hearing absolutely nothing.
Romano… Romano wasn’t even going to do it.
But, although mortified, terrified, scared, Gilbert dug into Romano’s pockets. He had to have another… he knew the Italian too well, Romano wasn’t going to leave him hanging…
Another bullet. Gilbert loaded it up, put it to his head, staring down at Romano. Those once bright, although annoyed, still adorable amber eyes were dull, a bullet hole in the side of his head. Gilbert bent over and gave a kiss to his forehead, and pulled the trigger. His own body fell down onto Lovino’s, dropping dead right on him.
It's fanfiction, but I hope no one minds?
----
“Well, you’ve gone awfully quiet.”
“Bastard.”
Their voices was the only sounds in the deathly stale room, besides their own breathing. The whole room around them stunk of dead bodies and blood -- both were wondering why flies hadn’t gathered already. They were also wondering why their arms hadn’t fallen off from keeping them in the same position, and holding their guns in the same position.
“Say something, then,” Gilbert said, “Because this is why we started this in the first place.”
“Started?” Romano asked sourly, “Started? I’m sorry, the proper phrase should be “This is how we got into this mess in the first place”.”
Gilbert glared at Romano. “Mess? I like to find it you added to it.”
“You started it, though.” The Italian snapped back.
Gilbert’s finger was starting to lightly twitch; a dying urge to just pull the trigger and shut this airhead up for good. But, in all honesty, Romano was right. It was all Gilbert’s fault. This who situation was at the fault of the albino man, causing the Italian enough misery to do it to him, too. But… god, Feliciano had it coming, alright? Messing with the German during one of his stressed phases was not a smart idea.
He regretted it, yes, he did. Romano had to walk in on it, too. His brother, hanging from a rope attached to the ceiling, being hit with a metal bat as if he was a piñata…
… Feliciano was still hanging there, actually. In the other room, but… still there. It was disturbing Romano hadn’t gotten him down and gave his brother a burial… but then again, no one was getting that.
There was chaos outside of this house, outside of Italy. All of Europe, all of Asia, all of the world, utter chaos. Arthur was dead. Feliks was dead. Ivan was dead. Yao and Kiku had both died from hunger. Alfred and Matthew killed themselves. Eduard was dead. Mathias was dead. Tino was dead. It was easy to say these two might be the only ones not fighting, hungry, paranoid or suicidal. But, the ‘suicidal’ part might be an understatement, what with the two of them holding guns to the others head.
That was the bet. If you couldn’t stand the other, you shot them. Why neither of them shot each other at the start? They had dignity.
Besides, Gilbert wasn’t the only person who deserved to die.
In an act of revenge, you could say, Romano did the exact same. Only not just to Ludwig. Gilbert walked into the very same room they were in, to find Romano putting the finishing touches on his murder scene. Gilbert's brother, the rest of his little trio, and Roderich all lay on the floor -- the same room now, mind you, so those four were still here -- dead; clubbed and shot to death.
The world was fading around them.
“So, Lovi,” Prussia started -- oh, how he hated that odd nickname. “Why haven’t you shot me yet?”
“Why haven’t you shot me yet?” He mocked.
A chuckle. “You’re cute.”
The German got an unamused and somewhat confused stare. “The hell, Gil. We're sitting in a room where your best friends are lying dead in, guns to our heads, and you're tying to get some `ss.”
“You are, Romeo.” A false affectionate purr rolled with the beginning of “Romeo”, Gilbert sounding somewhat ‘Spanish’ that way.
“Well, I’m cute? You’re useless.”
“Now now, Lovi--”
“You are, you f`cking b`stard. Your about as useless as an appendix. A stupid thing to say, but d`mn it, I’m right.”
Gilbert glared over to Romano, not moving his head, just his eyes. Those red eyes shot knives into amber. “Shut up, Italian.”
A response. Good. A smug smile pasted itself onto Romano’s face. “You are. You’re a third wheel to every being, giving them no help and only pain if you’re being a bother. And then, when they get you away, where do you go? You die. You die, you’re thrown out, you’re--”
Nothing left his mouth after. A loud bang, something like lightning snapping, erupted from the gun, causing Gilbert to scream at it’s sudden noise. The bullet crashed through Romano’s skull and knocked him over, the boy hit the ground with a loud thud, the bullet thrashing around in his brain before it stopped. Romano was dead.
There was nothing glamorous about it. No slow motion, no final breath, no Hollywood ending. Romano was shot in the head, he fell over. He was dead, no happy ending would bring him back. Gilbert stared at his hand, the one with the pistol in it, mortified at what he done. He was terrified of himself with Feliciano’s death, but… Romano’s was even worse. This was the final blow. Feliciano was long dead before he started beating him.
There was nothing left in the gun. Panicking, Gilbert grabbed Romano’s gun and put it to his own head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
Slowly, he pulled the barrel away, staring at the weapon the whole time. He shook it around, hearing absolutely nothing.
Romano… Romano wasn’t even going to do it.
But, although mortified, terrified, scared, Gilbert dug into Romano’s pockets. He had to have another… he knew the Italian too well, Romano wasn’t going to leave him hanging…
Another bullet. Gilbert loaded it up, put it to his head, staring down at Romano. Those once bright, although annoyed, still adorable amber eyes were dull, a bullet hole in the side of his head. Gilbert bent over and gave a kiss to his forehead, and pulled the trigger. His own body fell down onto Lovino’s, dropping dead right on him.
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