When the reason hesitates,
and the voice of the heart
is the only thing that you can hear
no-one light can distract you
from the darkness
that obscure your eyes...
Winter snuggles (Russia x Reader)Curled comfortably up on the new, colorful sofa in my large, dimly lighted living room, I tightly wrap my favorite blanket around me, my temples that hammer painfully while, my little Bambi eyes still closed, I softly lay my head on the large, muscular shoulder of the beefy, blonde boy seated next to me.
His warm, calming voice, by the thick, Russian accent that I like so much, sings me and old song in its native language, that, whisper by whisper, manages to climb my high, crenellated inner barriers, demolishing them like they was a cards' castle, and that, numbing my sense in the same way of a surgery's anesthetic, leads me back in time, toward a foreign, faraway land that intensely smells of ice, and frost, where the wind's wailings carry, in themselves, the memories of a royal family destroyed on a december night of many and many decades ago, accompanied by the sweet, faint melody of a music box abandoned beneath a candid, preserving mantle of snow, that nothing forgets.
From (Maksimillian's) pastSitting cross-legged on the enormous, comfortable bed that towers in his bedroom, that day enlighten by the golden rays of a summer day, the young Maksimillian Sharp keep his only good, diamond eyes settled on the large, by the yellowed corners map hung on the candid wall in front of him, a granitic mask of determination to cover his chubby, teenager face.
One day, he tells to himself, his long, sharp ears perfectly stretched upwards, like those of a good, smart student, that doesn't want to lose either a single word of what is being taught to him, while his glance goes slowly, carefully through all the names written on the paper, making his best attempt to mesmerize them, all of this will be mine, and the gods will pay for what they have done to me. he promises, tilting his torso aside to recover the old, consumed photography of Zoyechka Sharp — young, ebony skin, corvine curls, and a smile that would have melt the harder of the hearts —, his mother, along th
Difficult questionsSeated behind the academic desk that Olenka's Ministry of Education has assigned him many years ago, in a desperate, last attempt to educate his own People to scientifically approach that old, complex mixture of Rituals and Celebrations that forms the Aionism, the religion that a part of his plain community still worships, Mishenka Sedov — well... Father Sedov, now — stiffly freezes as soon as one of his new students' question reaches his long, bare pointy ears, that the unexpectedness has pushed to stretch upward, toward the large, bright room's ceiling.
And, when will the war end, professor?
"My dear child —" he could have said, after having spent a moment of thoughtful concentration, giving to his newbie — whose thousand of silvery bracelets neatly oppose themselves to her ebony, velvety skin, sweetly clinking while she, absorbed in the notes that is currently taking, scribbles something on the white, candid paper in front of her, her heart shap
Wreaths and kissesThe perspective that his deep, milk-chocolate eyes have, from the position in which he is laying, diagonally tossed on the only old, ripped blanket that he has been able to find, in his trunk's car, his head resting on his best friend — a total cutie, even thank to her shortness, to those high, pointy ears, full of thousand and thousand of golden, or silvered rings, to make them precious, and her long, corvine curls, that, agitated by a light, summer breeze, sweetly followed every movement of hers, sliding, from time to time, to tickle the boy's cheek —'s lap, is a bit off, a bit... weird, and, as if this wasn't already enough by itself, it's also starting to make him feel uneasy, almost he would have been accommodated on a thorns' bed.
Trying to find a better point of view — and, overall, to manage to discretely take his glance away from her, without letting her know that, basically, he was staring at her —, he shores himself on his elbow, rolling around
From (Zoyechka's) pastShuffling her balance from a leg to another, she is visibly supporting her assertion with little nods, and, from time to time, an head tilting or two, her long, corvine curls that, picked up in a messy bun, are sprinkled by the light sleet that is starting to fall down from the gray, leaden sky, appearing to have developed a numb, anesthetic indifference against this merciless season and its guts, that, scrabbling it with their sharp claws, are fighting with her tall, pointy, full of earrings ears to bring away her new, white fur hat, that, a few days ago, she has received as early birthday gift.
Challenge accepted (USA x Reader)With a little, metallic clink, my friend Alfred's fork softly whisk against the plate in front of him, while its sharp, grey peaks rip away another little, downy piece from the slice of cheesecake I have served him, and his big, deep, blue eyes swift briefly on me, accompanied by the most embarrassed, blushing smile that my dark glance has ever had the pleasure to lay itself on. «Hold up, Lois: I know what you are going to say.» he anticipates me, before that I have the physical time I need to formulate a thought and express it with words. «But please, don't: I couldn't really stop myself from having a second slice... this goddamn cake is absolutely delicious!» he appreciates it, still chewing the last bite he has taken.
Seated at the other side of the table we have occupied a while ago, I happily take a sip of the chocolate milkshake that, along with the dessert, I have prepared to celebrate his birthday. «I'm glad that you like it, Al.» I reply, putting
Stand another minute alone
They won't notice
Let another tear fall on the ground
They don't notice at all
Make another cut
They won't notice
Sing another heartbreaking song
They don't notice at all
You do not need a superpower
To be invisible
And it hurts me to know
That they don't notice, at all
RapeI am a 17 year old girl
My eyes sparkle in the daylight
I have a smile that can light up the whole room
I have an amazing family
My friends are the best that anyone could ever ask for
My boyfriend is amazing
Someday I am going to live in a big pretty house just like the one I grew up in
When I graduate I am going to go to a good college and learn to do my dream job
After college I am going to marry my prince charming
And we will live happily ever after
I will have beautiful children
And I will love them with all of my heart
And when they grow up I will become a grandmother
When the time comes I will die peacefully in my sleep with my loyal husband at my side
I have a perfect life.
I am a seventeen year old girl
My tears glisten in the cold moonlight
My smile, like me, is broken and fake
I am all alone
With friends that will never understand
And an ex boyfriend who is wondering what he did wrong
My big house is filled with emptiness and shattered dreams
At school my classmates happy
CuttingMy thighs were first.
Then my wrists.
Ripped out at
I ripped them out myself,
if only to avoid
giving others the pleasure.
I ripped them out hard,
if only to teach myself
I deserved it.
I ripped them out
and all the while
I sang to myself,
unable to cry
pain less real.
I joked about them.
I laughed about them.
I smiled about them,
"the stupid emo kid"
and believing it was true.
It was true.
I deserved it.
I needed it.
I craved it.
I wanted it.
I breathed it.
I worshipped it.
I loved it.
And it took me.
it took me.
Into places you can't go without it.
Into places you didn't know existed.
Into places you are afraid to dream.
Into places you never want to leave.
I loved myself. (I hated myself.)
It was so
to be broke
I'm haunted in my head
I'm haunted in my home
I'm haunted all the way back home
I see, I remember
That cuddle coach is dusty
My bed is full of tears
The bathroom has blood stain
And my mind has fears
I'm haunted by her words
I'm haunted by her voice
I'm haunted by her face
I wish I could say
The break-up was fine
we weren't meant for eachother
But for me, she was the one
I'm haunted by her
And she won't ever know
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted Achromatic
I want to be a person just like you, don't you see?
I want to be a person who is still being "me"
A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.
It really would be nice but I'm paying a price
'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not suffice
You asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.
A dream which
Why Does It Have to be You?Yes, yes, I know.
This is a mistake...
loving you, that is.
Yes, I know last time it ended badly,
but can I deny my heart of what
it truly wants?
I try, darling,
really I do.
But I'm addicted to you.
Love is a curse - binding me to the depths of hell...
all because its unrequited?
How is that fair?
You light up my world
and make me smile.
It's an impressing feat these days.
I blush when I read your texts.
I smile when I send one back,
blushing, of course.
Why are you the one that races through my mind?
Why are you the one invading my dreams?
And most of all...
Why do I still love you?
Maybe, Just Maybe
Why can't I be sad about this?
Not a single tear has flown
Am I emotionless?
Am I a monster?
Why can't I be sad about this
My mood seems to be the same
Am I heartless?
Am I empty?
Why can't I be sad about this
The others have their masks on
Why do I not need mine?
What have I become?
Or maybe, just maybe
I have grown used to the pain
Of losing someone who's close to me
Maybe, just maybe
Suicide is SurrenderSuicide is never an answer, it is a surrender;
a permanent recusal from a temporary turmoil.
Taking yourself out of the equation
where there could be infinitely many solutions
will always equate to nothing.
When you've hit rock bottom there is no point
in giving in when there nowhere to climb but up.
There will be light. Don't christen this chasm your gravesite!
You have the power, but it cannot be harnessed
if you're blocking all the outlets in the room around you.
There are people that can help but are scared to step in
if you've etched "DO NOT ENTER" on the welcome mat.
You could be hearing a symphony of sympathies
but you're allowing the ensemble to fall on deaf ears.
Recovery needs reflection and self-discovery, but you're
scrambling for an exit door from the reality.
The Sun would be happy to bathe you in light
if you part the clouds hanging over your head.
It's time to shred the memorandums of your self-loathing.
Rip them from the corkboard in your conscience!
The road to