8

IN LOVE AND WAR

The Proman Chronicle

Dedicated to

"Die Politik ist keine Wissenschaft, wie viele der Herren Proffessoren sich einbilden, sondern eine Kunst."

~ Otto von Bismarck

Foreword

When I opened Archive of Our Own to find that 'In Love and War' had been deleted, I felt like Leon Trotsky must have felt in 1926, the year of his expulsion from the Politburo; a life's work, made alongside beloved friends, suddenly taken from my arms — a revolution betrayed. And why? My friends, regressive in their tendencies after a brief flowering of artistic sentiment, conservative in their progressiveness, were not friends at all. At the crucial moment of my artistic triumph, they stabbed me in the back.

Much work was put into recovering this work. It is a testament of a better time for artistic expression, and I feel the need to describe at some length its execution, effect and subsequent burning. Myself, my sister, a friend and the fiend, who I will call Roman Polanski, were responsible for its inception. Upon the first realisation of the ship's potential as an absurdist masterpiece, we celebrated with art, edits and discussion, and then finally, a triumph in the form of the work you will soon read. Roman was allowed to publish it, for he was the only one with the means, an AO3 account. A second part was gleefully planned and awaited. However, a series of events, alongside the creation of a puritanical faction of Southern fiends within the friend group, a trifecta of vipers, led to Roman suddenly leaving and deleting all his work. I would be described as "fucking insane", by one of the co-conspirators, and Roman would call us "really weird", ignoring all of the artistic fervour we all put into this masterpiece.

All of my artistic work, my entire life, still finds itself in this piece. It motivated me to actually learn German History, which has led to my acceptance to one of the best universities in the world for the subject. Anyone who has played the Friedrichverse Dating Sim or read anything related to A Thing Accursed can see how this work is the forefather of that, my piece de resistance. Therefore, I earnestly hope that you all enjoy it, a work presented in the face of a difficult history, of suppression and of betrayal – like any work that is truly revolutionary.

IN LOVE AND WAR

What a fucking way to start a presidency. At least it could've been a cool, sexy crisis like with Clinton, or like, we could do something less boring than trying to negotiate like a bunch of sissies. Like, we could turn this into a who-can-fuck-Europe-the-fastest competition, but when I bought it up to Mencken, he started talking about Realpolitik or some lame shit, at least be a real fascist launch a meth-fueled rave-of-an-invasion of France. I mean, we can at least take Luxembourg.

He's kinda infatuated with this guy, Königreich Preußen, and I haven't been through enough of /pol/ to understand why yet. But I know what it means, I have to act like a total cuckold in front of him, "Oh, yes - Gilbert, oh no, don't take Alaska from us! At least take fucking Ohio or Michigan off our hands! Oh, do you want some more tea or sauerkraut or sausages or whatever?"

At least their Alaska base isn't as ass as ours, but I think it's pompous and European to the level of being kind of gay. I think, for a moment, is God really this bored or this drunk off His balls that this is happening? Like, how does a whole-ass 19th century empire just come back? Now that I think of it, I kinda wish I worked for them, so I could whip peasants and eat children or whatever the hell else they did with their power. I guess I should be grateful; being a chair member for the McEmpire isn't bad, it's just still too fucking democratic and everyone stares at me like I just killed their pet dog whenever I bring that up in our little war-room meetings. I walk in and I'm hit with the most garrish, fruity, widowed-grandma-like Roccoco ever; it feels like fucking Bach could start playing, I thought this guy would be practical. Some guy directs me to another room, and I meet the guy who runs this Renaissance-vomit wake. He looks like a fucking Gilbert; he's short and not really that muscular or intimidating or sexy and he looks kind of insane. "Ah, Herr Roy, I suppose you are the one America has sent to negotiate with us?"

Before I can say, "Like, obviously I am," I start laughing at his Doofenschmirtzy accent, and he laughs back, for some reason. "Yeah, um, so like, can you not invade Alaska or something?"

"Roman," are we on a first name basis now? "Do you know your history?"

"The one where you guys sucked on our balls so hard you bleeped out of existence? Yeah."

"Well, fuck you, too!" He replied, every single word in that sentence being fucked up by his nails-against-chalkboard voice, "the Great Prussia won't take insults from some sissy weaklings like America that were pwned by some rice farmers und some mountain-people. Also, there is no ball-sucking in our heterosexual empire; same cannot be said about you prissy little cuckhomos," he cleared his throat, it wouldn't help because his voice naturally sounds like a throat condition, "Well, there was.. The Kievan Rus. We have taken them; everything they ever had or wanted. But it was a matter of great humiliation that we lost even a tiny bit to Russia or Baltics or any of those non-Prussia countries in the thousand years of our history. Alaska was part of Russia, the last little piece we did not take from them, after we were resurrected like Christ himself from upon the cross, so it is a matter of-"

"Oh, fuck, so you're just doing this to piss off the Ruskies? We hate them more than anyone, damn commies!" I replied, with renewed enthusiasm in my voice, "But like, Alaska isn't Russia anymore, so why do you wanna fuck with America, now? We're like, the only people who love plundering and pillaging more than you, plus we have nukes, and you have like, muskets and fucking pointy hats." I wonder how Europe could let them take over, then I remember they're Europe; pansies.

"As I was saying, it is a matter of national pride. What will you Americans even do with Alaska? You have left her underdeveloped, you don't need her."

"Well, it'd be fucking nationally humiliating if we let Herr Heiny Kraut here and his merry little yodelers take over American soil. So just like, set your eyes on Africa or some shit if you don't want to be nuked back into the crusades."

"Huh? How far has the world come?! That diplomats talk like this! Von Bismarck, God bless his soul, would be appalled!"

"Well, he's dead and I'm not and you can join him in sausage-heaven if you wanna continue with your little plan instead of just being fucking normal," I replied, feeling a bit pleased with myself and my diplomacy skills; maybe I was made for this rather than corporate cocksucking, "You know, if you give up all those countries you took over, you could be in like, NATO and Eurovision and shit, that's the high life! You're allowed to colonise the Middle East or fucking Africa, have proxy governments in Nicaragua, just leave other white people alone."

"Und pretend to be on the same level as subservient little slaves to globalism und Big China? Hear their little songs, clap, and be polite? The awesome Prussia wasn't made to be some woman,; we are men! And men go to war!" he smirked and looked at the ceiling, before turning to me, "Everything manly und sexy has been destroyed by the woke mob, even Beer is transgender now. Beer!"

"Well, I agree, it's a travesty that Beer is transgender, actually, that's, like, our whole platform! Just say that without invading other countries, and it'll be fine," I tried to negotiate but I genuinely think he's fucking unhinged and I'm not really versed in Ye Olde politics, thankfully.

"Ach! Why did I even agree to this diplomacy thing? To listen to some cuck who cannot even fight, hold ihs own with a saber, tell me what to do? No one tells me what to do. I am the awesome Prussia, not some big loser diplomat."

"Well, you're being really fucking childish now. I think we should go the McArthur route and just nuke the shit out of you, then fuck all your women and open some Burger things and all those other American victory things on the corpse of your empire. Fuck, that's all I wanna do now."

"Yeah, because it is so wise to nuke all those NATO countries. You're an idiot, you are such an idiot; blinking little, short little unmanly fool," he gets up from his seat, and walks up behind me, "I cannot wait to see you on your knees, begging for mercy, to see your family again, if you even have such a thing, before you are killed on the field und left for worms to eat. You cannot even negotiate such a simple point; you are only useful to worms. Ha, ha, ha! Loser! You suckers try and take on Prussia, the Empire of all Empires, und try to win? Who has won against us? I cannot see how a country that entrusts men like you with important positions could beat anyone, even a girly-girl."

Well, that was strangely erotic. The thought of being left dead on a battlefield. I just sat there and listened, I think he perceived whatever I'm going through now as fear, and foolishly continued.

"Your life is pathetic, useless, your country is pathetic und useless, " he leans into my ear, I think he knows this getting a bit fucking sus, "You are nothing, hehehe."

Oh, fuck. I sink into my seat so he doesn't catch light of the sausage formulating between my legs. But years of observation while sniping and looking over the Elbe gave this guy a keen eyesight. "What?! Ha, look at the gay men of America. A good Preußmann would have fought me over all those things I said. Alas, you do not have ein Father. Hehehehhehe, so gay," he actually looks kind of uncomfortable, but of course he won't say it, "You know, I have never touched cocks and balls, not even my own. I haven't seen them...so defined. against a man's underpants," he positions himself so he can look directly at it, and does so with intent and fascination.

"Oh, seriously, so have you never gotten a - a hard-on, or is it just really small?"

"Mein Weisswurst ist sehr Groß. Prepare yourself, Roman boy."

"But, I thought you weren't fucking gay," I ask, now feeling free enough to give it a gentle touch.

"Ach! What is gay about being on top of another man? Unless you are the bottom, it is not gay! Und I am God's strongest soldier, he will surely forgive me since I killed so many infidels for him in the past!" He looks away, closes his eyes and smirks as he remembers his Crusader days or whatever, and looks at me again like I'm some sauerkraut with cheese and, with hunger.

"Just fill me full of your Weinerschnitzel already," I say, desperately, before wondering how the fuck I got here. I don't even care, actually; at least I'm fucking. I have some apprehension but this is probably gonna ease Prusso-American tensions more than anything else. And since when do I have shame? Again, I could be doing anything but fucking right now so at least that's not the case.

Ol' Gil there is way more apprehensive and shameful than me, mild blush blooming on his pasty face; I'm starting to feel annoyed. "So, do you have any clue how to do this?"

"Well, of course, I do! I can do anything and everything, I have done this so many times the world is filled with my bastards, you're probably related to me!" He probably didn't mean it like that; maybe it's the aristocrat in him, "Oh. No, let's not. Yes. As I was saying, I have done this..."

Jesus fucking Christ, I've begun to get unhard; that takes a lot of strength and willpower and I'm almost impressed. "If you don't know what to do, just like, I'll suck you off or something."

"That sounds... good enough," he said, defeatedly, before he sat down in his chair.

"Well, you've got the first step down, but just move a bit further from the table so I have some space to be."

"No, no, no. I need you to be under the table so I can pretend you are ein girl."

"Well, alright," I say, in resignation, before shimmying my way underneath the table, slowly but surely. The marble floor is cold against my trousers but that adds to the moment more than anything else. He's already all undone, and I eat his daschund with the desperation of a starving Asian child, he whines a bit and that's okay, it encourages me to have another filling of Wurst, but then, the whimpering turns into crying and a bunch of incoherent, I assume, prayers in German, a language which is guaranteed to kill the mood, but I don't know, the juxtaposition of those harsh consonants yelling at me about holiness and sanctity while I'm engaged in one of the unholiest things to happen in all of diplomatic history, it just motivates me more. His crying becomes louder and louder until it feels like he's crying because his whole family was shot in front of him rather than out of pleasure ; again, it just motivates me more.

Just having his Konigsberger Klopse sucked makes him incoherent, and he's forgotten English completely, he's grabbing onto my hair while keeping his head towards the ceiling so he doesn't even catch a glimpse of me, "G-gott helfe mir... Herr Roy, sei freundlicher... b-bitte... ich werde e-e-ejakulieren!"

I think I kind of get the last part, and then his Pilsner begins to leak into my mouth, slowly and slowly until the whole tap his opened and he makes the most woman-like noise I've heard come out of a man, followed by more utterances of God's name at a rate no true Christian would engage in. So much for masculinity, I hope I send him into a faith crisis.

"Come down from below the table... please," he calls, his voice sick and weak and pathetic. As I exit from below the dark table, I finally look up at his face and his eyes are actually still brimming with tears, he looks like he's been through the Western front, and it's all over 10-minute, disinterested head.

I don't wanna look at him, Gillbert's now in fetal position on the chair, cradling himself and crying a bit more. When I turn around and prepare to leave, he jumps at me and gives me a hug. "You will never understand it; what you have done to me..."

"I understand pretty fucking well, can I leave now?"

"Goodbye."

And I'm out without a reply.