Sounds that sparkle
Breaking gently over the ether
Echoes of a summer evening
The heartbeat of time
Fortune Cookies (Hetalia One-shot)The next World Meeting was only two days away. China was so busy that he didn’t notice Russia wandering into his office. It wasn’t until China became aware of an eerie presence that he finally looked up from his computer screen.
“Ah! It’s Russia, aru!”
Russia met China’s gaze with an unblinking stare. He held up the small box he’d brought in with him.
“I made these for you,” he said with a grin.
Reluctantly, China accepted the gift. The box’s contents were lightweight and rattled slightly as China set the box down on his desk. The plainness of the cardboard box was offset by a shiny red ribbon that was tied in a lopsided bow.
“It’s very... um...”
“Fortune cookies,” Russia said. “In case you wanted a taste of home.”
China showed Russia his most gracious smile.
“Thank you, aru,” he said. “Although...”
China trailed off, wondering if it was a good idea to continue.
Shinji's (not) a Basket Case[to the tune of “Basket Case” by Green Day]
Do you want to hear
About your darkest fears
And the end of the world in the Third Impact?
Giant war machines,
With pilots age 14,
No wonder everyone is mentally cracked.
It’s not a future we deserve.
Don’t think I trust the folks at NERV.
It all keeps adding up,
So, Shinji, hurry up.
I know you’re scared but there’s a world to save.
The Evas don’t work
At least one went berserk.
It looks like we’re all going to end up dead.
Asuka’s got no heart
And Rei is falling apart
And Shinji’s hiding underneath the bed.
Sometimes I’m shocked they’re still alive
Why do they let Misato drive?
When you hear Shinji say, I mustn’t run away
You know he’s gonna run.
Oh, there he goes.
What the hell is that
Coming out of the sky?
So much I didn’t want to know.
There’s too much fluid in this show.
It all keeps adding up.
So, Shinji, hurry up.
I know you’re scare
RainbowsI started out looking for rainbows
And found only grimy grey lies
And I could keep searching and searching
Til the day that I drown in the skies
Roaming without maps or anchors
Wishing without voice or prayer
Thinking I was lost forever
Chained to walls that were never there
It’s a game you win when you stop playing
Unsolved and intact, you succeed
The wide open sky is my canvas
I can paint all the rainbows I need
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 11Austria waited outside the bedroom door, tapping his fingers against one another. The doctor had wasted no time in arriving and beginning the examination, and yet a great deal of time had passed since the door shut. Anytime an unpleasant thought imposed itself on Austria’s mind, he replaced it with “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.” Still, time wore on and his strategy was failing him. At long last, the bedroom door opened.
“Come in, please,” said the doctor. Resisting the urge to run to the bedside, Austria entered the room. Inside, Hungary lay nestled in the centre of the bed. She was resting with her arms folded behind her head and a peaceful look on her face. A serene smile graced her lips as she watched him approach.
“Thank goodness you’re alright,” Austria said.
“Better than alright,” said the doctor. “There is good news.”
“Wait, wait,” said Hungary, si
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 10In panicked heartbeats and hushed whispers, Austria and Hungary scrambled for a plan. Many rooms away, Chibitalia was still practising. Austria could not believe that this example of precocious diligence was related to that odd man waiting outside.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Hungary said, although her voice betrayed that she suspected it wasn’t. Unexpectedly, she stumbled backward. Austria caught her just before she would have hit her head of the bust of Mozart.
“I hate that thing,” she said faintly. Austria looked at her in concern. He had never seen her look so strained.
“I’m fine, Austria,” she said. “Just a little dizzy.” As one, they looked at the door. The anachronistic stranger was probably still waiting there. Gentle, clumsy notes continued to flow from the music room. Austria gripped Hungary tighter.
“We must act now.
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 9Hungary awoke that morning to the sound of musical notes. Just the notes - not really music. The sounds were plain, clear, and orderly, yet punctuated often enough with missteps and awkward pauses. She found her slippers and wandered down the hall to investigate. As she approached the music room, she remarked how unusual it was for the door to be left wide open. Peeking inside, Hungary could not believe what she saw.
Not only was Chibitalia inside the room, but he was actually seated at the piano bench. Technically, he was seated atop a stack of books on the piano bench, but he was indeed playing. Austria stood beside him, hands folded behind his back, as he watched the young child navigate the scales. Another batch of eight notes concluded. Chibitalia looked up at Austria for approval.
“Again,” Austria said with a nod. “And this time, remember to only use the correct finger for each key.”
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 8Even in Austria’s dreams, the elusive melody taunted him. The song he had been straining to compose presented itself in the feeling of a perfect flow, and yet was discernible only in tantalizing bits and pieces. If he could only capture that song, he swore, he could hold the key to maintaining his empire’s glory. His family would need -
He had a wife, not a whole family. There were no -
Blinking awake, Austria tried to bring his world back into focus. It was pitch dark inside the bedroom. He couldn’t see a thing, so he just listened. The faintest chirping of the crickets outside. Hungary’s gentle, even breaths. And something else.
A string of strange and discordant notes drifted from the music room. Austria slipped out of bed and followed the sound. He paused outside the music room door. Sure enough, the sound was his dear piano being played by horrendously unskilled hand
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 7Working by the burning frustration within him, Austria let his fingers fly over the piano keys. It wasn’t an angry song, per se, but it was a song being carried on the fiery energy of anger. That worked just as well. Austria felt furious and dignified at the same time - a tiger, king of his lair. The very air in the music room resonated with the bleeding notes. Austria didn’t know what he was playing and he didn’t care. Intuition guided him. The song he played was fury, as primed by years and years of training.
“No one can take this from me. No one!”
His hands crashed down on a sour note, causing Austria to realize how loudly he had been playing. The child was probably in bed already - not that it mattered.
“This is my house,” Austria hissed to the ivory. “I’ll dictate the rules.” The moment he said so out loud, his fingers lost track of where to land nex
Hetalia: Sweet Child Of Mine, ch 6Dinner was early that evening and Austria resented it. There was no excuse for interrupting his piano rehearsal. Adults could eat later than 6pm and if the child needed his food sooner, there was no sense in shifting everyone else around because of it.
“But isn’t it nicer if we all eat together as a family?” Hungary said. Chibitalia nodded in agreement and had a large bite of his beloved pasta. Austria refrained from pointing out the obvious. Hungary paused, perhaps testing if he would.
“Do you know who I saw at the market today?”
“Poland and Lithuania,” Hungary said. “I told them all about Chibitalia, and Poland said, ‘Your son sounds totally cute.’”
Austria’s hand froze halfway to his glass.
“You... told Poland that this child is our son?”
Hungary giggled and waved dismissively.
GarryxReader .:Together Forever:.For as long as you could remember, you have always worked at a very pleasant, and nice art gallery. Yet,at the same time, it seemed a bit....off. You would work late, and the pictures seemed to...move. Writing on the walls. Some pictures being blank. You blamed it on your sleepiness, and seeing things,but every time you mentioned it to your friend Garry, he seemed to dwell on it a second,then change the subject.
You were a bit annoyed with this,yes, because you knew he was in the gallery, in 'another world' with a girl named Ib. You couldn't help but think she was a bit more special than you, since you have had a crush on Garry since you first met him. You manage to stutter around him when he was to close, or when he hugged you.
"Are you ok ______?" He would ask, curiously staring at your reddened face.
You manage to squeak out an "I-I'm fine!" and walk off quickly after that.
But today,today you were going to tell him you liked him.
You had to,since your friends were pressuring you in
titans.they don’t tell you that
sisyphus just let the rock roll down
and collect his body
they don’t tell you that you can still walk
with holes in your legs
and you can still love
when your heart has already been ripped open.
they don’t tell you that
you are 75% of an ocean
that is six miles deep
and eats ships alive,
75% of the water that shapes canyons,
75% of the rain that drowned the earth
for forty days and nights.
they don’t tell you that
your body is made of the same carbon
they don’t tell you that
there is a fire burning inside of you
or that your bones are stronger than steel
or that the things that fuel you
fuel tigers, too.
the greeks and romans wrote stories about
how strong you were
and you are icarus,
and you died laughing
because they didn’t tell you
how beautiful the world really was
even as it was swallowed
by the waves.
Singing to the WetlandsI'm the girl with bayou eyes,
twigs, mud and death snaking into my curls.
I pause to breathe and s-h-o-c-k,
shock sets in:
Earthen clasps latch on my arms,
pulling me back down;
the meandering waters clutch
at my bell-shaped elbows.
My smile is climatic;
the sun always seems to shine,
burning the layers of leaves
but I can't even put up a fight
to remember it's grace.
I'm surrounded by an animalistic embrace--
mismatched light from alligator stares
and throaty frog musings.
I forget what color
the back of my eyelids were.
Siren of SummerI am the princess of the grass
when summer comes calling.
Naked toes curling deep
into the verdant blades of the land;
this is my kingdom.
My subjects are the bees and multicolored moths
of gold, cobalt and russet.
The gossiping birds soar into my court
bringing tales from afar
of love and death and life.
I make my bed among the sweet smelling wild flowers
and whisper my dreams
to the insects close by.
We watch the parade of clouds
as they sail through the sky.
I am content to be.
I am content in me.
I find the sun wishes to court me,
to reign alongside
the princess of the grass.
Blazing boldly forward he showers me with warmth
kissing my skin and leaving his mark.
I breathe him in
drowning in his intoxicating scent.
His seduction shakes the heavens
calling the cleansing calm of rain
and the riotous bluster of the wind.
Unafraid of complex things as these
Eternal guardian of the forest
Whose pale eyes glow from the shadows
Running with the wind, fluid and sleek
Your fangs alone make the law
With the stars reflecting off your coat
Of burnished silver fire
Your ears are alert and forward
As a howl echos in the distance
Standing alone, watching through the night
As the moon travels the path of the sky
Unknown, unseen, but forever needed
Wolf...protector of the forest
Protect the weak, join the strong
Pass the birthright to your young
Wolf...guardian of the forest
May you always remain eternal
My definitions for this word are:
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD)
Attention Defesit Disorder (ADD)
I am cursed with autism.
I am confused whether my thinking is normal or not.
I am the only one.
I see teens with incredible thinking power.
I see science everywhere.
I see sin.
My mind carries no common sense.
My mind can never come up with the right words for me to say.
My mind is imperfect.
I repeat real life events I see over and over in my head.
I concentrate on hatred passed to me from other people.
I have incredible issues.
There are people whom I see have flaws in their learning.
There is a brain tumor collaborating with my brain.
There is no cure for Autism.
This disorder scars my personality.
This disorder keeps me away from being a white sheep.
This disorder is my host.
Associated with selective hearing.
Associated with an incontrollable temper.
Mabonthere are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.
her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.
counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.
swinging pendulum hips,
"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."
She tugged on my fur like I was a teddy bear,
Her tiny fingers curled in my thick gray mane.
My fluffy tail is her blanket of warmth.
She laughs and giggles at everything I do.
And I laugh at the joy she so easily receives.
As she rests on her mother's lap to sleep-
My master and I slip from the cabins nest.
Evening approaches as dusk settles in the air.
My ears pricked for the slightest of sounds,
I keep my nose pointed down- for the scent of elk.
It fills my nostrils as if they stood before me.
A bark emanates from deep within me,
Then I dash across the snow-covered terra.
My master followed at a distance, trusting my senses.
My prey cannot hide its tracks along the forest floor.
And before they know it I am upon them.
The bull turns to face me to protect his does.
He will not fear me nor do I fear him as he charges.
I dodge his antlers with the swiftness of a ghost,
I sink my teeth into his hind leg then release quickly.
He calls out in pain as he rings his head around.