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Crack fic for Maru- Iggy Mochi and FrancisDisturbing laughs that could only come from one certain Frenchman resounded against the dirty walls of the back alley. Iggy-Mochi slowly made his way out from under the dumpster he was handing behind and suddenly stopped in his... erm tracks (or is it hops?). Staring up at the one person he was trying to stay away from; France. Tears started pouring from Iggy-Mochi's eyes as he tried to inch away.
Suddenly the ally burst apart at the seams disappearing into the bright tie-dye that now swallowed everything whole. Francis' laughs became the main ambiance, echoing over and over. Then he swooped down and claimed his prize, as the British Mochi squealed, struggling against France's iron grip. A white flash blinds the readers! Slowly, their vision returns to Iggy in the flesh wearing a neon pink dress with matching heels and make-up. Francis with his rape face still plastered on, had his hands on Iggy's waist, also wearing a neon green pleated dress with hooker boots, a feather boa, and make
Gone - RussiaxReaderYou shivered at the absence of the warmth that was usually beside you, eyes threatening to let the tears fall once again from your reddened face. You clutched the sheets where he used to sleep, face buried in his pillow. It smelled faintly of vodka and what could only be described as him.
"I miss you." You mumbled, "Please... please come home soon, Ivan"
Just a Scenario (Kingdom Hearts)"Oh? So Xemnas didn't tell you then?" You looked around the circular room, gracefully turning to look at every single member of the Organization 13 while a small, almost sadistic smile on your face. A quiet, deep giggle escaped your lips, "So your, oh so great and powerful leader didn't tell you how he had such an extensive knowledge of things? Or how he even had the power he did?" Your giggles turned into a full blown laughing fit, and the members looked at you as though you were crazy.
"Please, excuse my rudeness. Hehe, It's just that I would have thought he would have at least told you something. Heh, well, in any case, I guess the time has come for you to finally meet me. I am (Name), Number 0, and the true leader of this organization. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." You ended with a slightly dramatic bow.
-very-Slight!IzayaxReaderStanding there in front of the infamous informant broker's desk, you gazed at the person before you, the deep depths of your eyes barely betraying the immense amount of intelligence you held. A slight smile played across your lips as listened to this informant. Letting out a short laugh, you drew a breath to speak.
"Y'know Izaya," You looked down to the Go board on which this said man played his twisted game and reached out to one of the seemingly random pieces, the named stopped his words and watched you as you moved the marker, "checkmate." With that you smirked at him and turned on your heel, walking out of the room while his gaze followed you. Izaya frowned a bit as his dark eyes flicked back to his game, more specifically, to the piece you had shifted.
BittersweetI don't want it to be up to me.
So much emotion and meaning, conveyed in just nine short words.
So little, and yet, so much.
But, do you truly understand?
I do not understand myself, my emotions, or why I have this daily façade.
-such is this, a fake life-
So how can you?
-a mask of falseness-
I do not think you do.
Because, have you ever let your mind wander,
Wondering what it would be like to kill or to be killed?
To feel a knife carve through flesh and bone of another being?
-Ripping the tissue and vessels of their muscle-
To see the crimson lifeblood of another drying on your own skin?
-the drops splattered all across you-
Or perhaps, what it is like to feel flames lick your body leaving a twisted and charred path in their wake.
Or to experience what it is like to have your lungs fill with water, suffocating every cell that holds you together?
What about our society?
Or Humans in general.
Have you ever let your thoughts drift, realizing how we are paras
It's always like this.
Can't you see?
I just want someone to be there.
You say that they are proud of me.
But how do I know that is true?
How am I sure it's not a ploy?
I'm tired of the uncertainty,
I'm sick of the masks.
I want to belong.
I want to be me.
But I don't know me.
This bitter-sweet logic.
I can't even put my feelings to words,
let alone this poem.
Sometimes I wonder.
Who am I truly?
You say I know the answer.
But truth is, I don't.
Depressing Poetry --Can't you see through the front I put on every day?
Don't you realize it's just a façade?
The me that is true is broken,
I'm not insane, but I'm not exactly sane either.
Caught in between,
A me I'm not sure of,
A me that I don't even know.
Who am I?
What do I represent?
Questions like that fuel my thoughts each day.
I need help, I can feel it.
The me that you know,
It's not real.
A fictional character from the back of my mind: -----.
The dried salty tears that ran down my cheeks sting,
the sensation dull.
I push through the sadness,
the hate of me,
fictional pixels lifting my spirits like no-one I know can.
Heh, It's stupid isn't it?
Fanfiction Dump 1Here are the reader insert ideas that I haven't finished yet, there will be just ideas then those that I actually have something written.
CanadaxReader - Hockey
AmericaxReader- "American Trash" based on this song: (and yes it's an English band) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgivUPa-QD0&feature=related
ShizuoxReader story (Durarara)
PrussiaxReader- Reader is sick with head cold
RussiaxReader- its blizzarding out and Russia ends up having to go somewhere. Reader insits on going with despite the weather and Russia protests.
AmericaxReader- has no name yet
That day started just like any other day. It was a Tuesday, and a world meeting at that. Alfred was up to his usual antics, yelling things about him being the "Hero" and such, though, as his assistant, you had to put up with it every day rather than just at the meetings. Sometimes you thought the others were a bit lucky for that. Everyone was fighting as usual too, their yelling echoing ab
Music to meCalming, these captivating melodies,
The rhythm has me swaying,
and pushed keys,
and blown flutes,
The harmony of the orchestra,
In tune to a clear voice.
Transport me to another place,
Away from the troubles,
The worries and stress,
To a place where the sound washes over me.
Relaxing my mind,
Soothing my soul,
A harbinger of peace
In my own little sanctuary of bliss.
For each beat has me moving,
and each verse has me singing
as though it's a trance.
Nothing but the symphony resounding around me,
Just like an addiction,
It has me hooked for life.
...Tension, is building between
our bones; cracking
these boundaries that bind
[lets not get lost in the moment
Our Wayward Starsguide the specimen
through the maze
and through the rain
rinsing our clothes
like they're still on fire
and somewhere, well
they probably are
and you pray
like tomorrow itself
is the fuel
that empties our dark places
like what lives there
goes away at dawn
but it doesn't
and i pray
like tonight itself
is the dark
that fuels our light
like what lives in each
feeds the ugly other
and it might
but, we're all prey
and the dream itself
is the place where
our chemical flames
hit the surface
flailing as we sink
in panicked clothes
from a distance
we must look like
lost, accepting the
drowning slow burn
of our descent
we look like what we are
I bet she smells of laurel and pineI've made a career of
standing on the back porch -
calling your name into
the wide-open ears of
You step from the house
to beckon me inside
but I swear a piece of you
is missing; escaped
into wilder arms years ago.
Asabikeshiinh (Filter)Asabikeshiinh (Filter)
I wear the dream snare like a chain.
The willow hoop filled with spider thread,
sway loose as the aves feathers
and the spun yarn traps the fallen.
I tread subconsciousness
like salmon swim
in the falls of Williamette.
And watch the net
take hold of chimera,
a phantasm of phenomena
as I greet the cousin of death
with a firm shake of the hand
and respectful grin.
But wisps of spirits tempestuous
reverberate throughout the lace,
as the new day slowly begins to take shape.
Light returns to Earth as my eyes open.
Conceptions' theories last so long
before absoluteness' presence grabs hold.
I'd rather immerse myself in abstractions.
Big BadI wanted to conquer the whole world, but
all I got was a dark room
and a fistful of dimes.
I remember being sixteen, an
American Spirit burning near my lips,
head out the passenger window
as we sped on like triumph...
You can laugh at the stars
for being so far
away, and it won't cost you
You can blow ash on the grass
and burn holes in the sole
of your shoes,
and it won't cost you
anything but time.
It was those nights
with the cigarettes
and the stars, there was
no promise in it,
no hope either. A big joke
we can all point at, we can
tilt the bottle and laugh.
The yellow half moon
half smiled with us.
The sun those nights
held its head with us.
Life without promise,
one big bad joke
and we were
the god damn punchline.
The Denial Of Truth?Why they
Don't listen to you,
Until it's too late?
Don't believe in you,
Until it's too late?
Start to listen
When it's too late?
Start to believe
When it's too late?
Couldn't listen to you,
When they should have?
Couldn't believe in you,
When they should have?
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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