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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.
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,
grumbling and mumbling
about what I did
to deserve this mess
And my mother glares,
"When I planted you,
I put you deep in the dirt,
not to bury you alive,
but to teach you that
when the growing gets tough,
the tough gets growing."
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
placebo effectthey stuck some needles in his
skin and made him think that he was
plucked the feathers from her
wings and tried to make her
they changed the names of all his pills
and labeled him
tied some string around her neck
and hung her from the
(i only know what they tell me)
grow upyou say
i am weak
i have never
worked for anything
i am not sorry
i should take
the pills the doctor
i will never
know what it is to
hurt the way that you hurt,
plant me in the ground
listen to the way my nature sounds
when i turn from something black
to something luminous, proud
you turned me into a shadow, you prick
remember that? remember this?
yeah, the condom broke, you
piece of shit, at least i tried
to be careful, at least when
you cried, i kissed your
say what you want
about my judgment.
my immaturity, my general
lack of readiness for
anything. but i was good
to you, and i tried,
and i am sorry that
you hurt so much
that you can't
do it as elegantly
as i can.
you have never
learned to love
the grit: the place
where my spirit sags,
where my love
as if biology could have been any clearer,
cleaning your spit from my bedroom mirror-
i can smell your genes and
they smell fucking good to me,
but i keep telling myself,
a girl at the airportwhen she eats cake
she presses a napkin
to her lips with each bite--
frosting smears are impolite
murderers of good,
faraway first impressions.
when she sees someone
beautiful, she hides her face
behind a book, book shelf, closed door
like a pious man hides his eyes
when she has something
important to say among a crowd
she utters it like the bah
of a vulnerable lamb--
a fragile thing, a hesitant mantra
to be drowned and consumed
without thought or care by the sound
of louder others.
when she falls in love
she looks around
to make sure no one saw
and when someone sees
she refuses to believe
their eyes tried to catch
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