trashwriting

[trashwriting]

i rise from the ashes

hello hetalia fandom

its been quite some time

[trashwriting]

Skeleton Man

He would watch as flesh peeled away from bones.

He would watch as flesh peeled away from bones.

He would claw away at the flesh, and watch as blood dripped to the floor.

He would cut his way to his bones.

Rid of the tainted meat that covered them.

He would watch as the flesh would decay.

He would watch.

He would wait.

He would wait.

[trashwriting]

And That Means Comfort

Chapter One

  After going twenty years of living in eternal darkness and listening to people apologize over and over about how they can’t be with him or how they can’t handle his disability, or even that his disability is the reason that they can’t be with him, he’s given up on falling in love. 

//

After going twenty years of living in eternal darkness and listening to people apologize over and over about how they can’t be with him or how they can’t handle his disability, or even that his disability is the reason that they can’t be with him, he’s given up on falling in love. The people he’s fallen in love with are always the same, going on and on about how his blindness is such a bummer and that they just can’t handle having to take care of him for the rest of their already miserable lives. But they don’t seem to understand he can take care of himself. He’s done it for most of life, so why should they have to step in and be some sort of hero? Honestly, it’s always as if the whole relationship was about them, and sometimes the fact that he can’t fucking see. But it was mostly about them. Because being in a relationship with a blind person is just so fucking hard.

On his twentieth birthday, after hearing the same speech for what felt like the hundredth time, he officially said that there was no use in trying to fall in love with anyone, because they were all the same. They all spent more time focusing on the fact he was blind than the fact he was a person with feelings. They could never see past the fact he had a disability, as if his blindness was the only thing about him worth noticing. He was sure he had redeeming qualities. But he couldn’t be sure. Because he couldn’t see. In case you didn’t notice. So he had to just assume he was good looking, because no one ever really specified whether he was or not. And if he wasn’t attractive, his sparkling personality was just going to have to pick up the slack.

But only two weeks after his twentieth birthday, he thought he met someone that could maybe be who he was looking for. Aksel whatever the fuck his last name was. He really hadn’t bothered to remember it. Not like he wanted to remember any of his name anyway. Because this fucker brought him down hard, and afterwards acted like what they had had been nothing and the fact that he had hurt him was nothing. The harder you fall the more it hurts when you hit the ground, like his mother had always told him. But she was a bitch so he didn’t really always listen to her. Plus it was so obvious she had gotten all of her quotes from the internet. Not like either of them knew how to use a computer or that they even owned one of the damned contraptions, but from what he had heard about it, there was no doubt that she stolen it from that website, SparkJolts, or whatever the fuck it was called.

But she was right, like she always seemed to be. He had fallen harder than he could have ever imagined. And Aksel let him hit the ground with a splat.

What had started as feeling Aksel’s gaze on him, and wondering about the feel of his lips upon his, turned into gentle touches and quiet whispers, which then turned into nails scratching against skin and begging for more. And then, it turned into: I’m sorry Eiríkur, but there’s someone else and I can’t sneak around behind their back anymore. I love him, and I can’t lose him.

“Well what about me? Don’t you love me?”

“No.”

Did you hear it? Not only the sound of his heart breaking, but the rest of the bones in his body as he shattered against the ground.

“But didn’t this mean anything to you? Don’t I mean anything to you?”

“What we had was a mistake. You were a mistake.”

“But I love you…”

“Then you’re an idiot. This wasn’t about love at all. Are you really that stupid?”

And magically the ground opened up under him, and let him fall once more before turning into mush and matter against the sidewalk. Love is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? The one thing he could be thankful about Aksel breaking him into tiny, sharp-edged pieces was that it wasn’t about him being blind. Even though it still hurt like Hell, he could appreciate the fact that for once it wasn’t about the fact that he was surrounded by darkness. But Aksel was still an inconsiderate, self-loving, lying, cheating, insufferable piece of horse shit. Lovely man, really.

And so, five months after his twentieth birthday, he declared and promised himself that love was pointless, didn’t even exist, and that trying to find anyone to love him, and that trying to find anyone to love was a waste of his and everyone else’s time. How it was a waste of everyone else’s time was still a mystery to him, but he was sure there was some way it was. Even though it was suffering, because being himself was suffering, and even though it hurt, he avoided contact with anyone else, not even his small amount of friends, because they were sure to leave him heartbroken and alone like everyone else that he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

But of course, his mother noticed right away that he had stopped contacting her. While he had deemed her as a bitch (that’s what she gets for not letting him eat macaroni and cheese whenever he wanted), she cared about him, and it hurt her to see that her only son was avoiding her. And in response she got him a therapist. Berwald some last name that there was no point in trying to pronounce. Starts with an O or something like that. Now I can tell what you’re thinking, does poor little Eiríkur fall in love with him too, just after getting his heart broken by what seemed to be the man of his dreams? The answer is no. While he can’t deny that the thought of having something with Berwald has crossed his mind, it would have Berwald lose his job. And surprisingly, he likes him enough to let him keep it.

And it was after four months into therapy and having meaningful conversations that ultimately at least got him a little bit to somewhere, the suggestion of having someone read to him, or as Berwald called it, ‘having a reading buddy’, which sounded fucking stupid. So at first the idea seemed like probably one of the worst things that he had ever heard. He didn’t care for books, because he couldn't read them and he didn’t want to listen to them, so there was really no point. But Berwald insisted, and like the deceiving, convincing fellow he is, Eiríkur finally gave in with a huff and a slumping of the shoulders.

“There’s a man I know who would be good for it. His name is Tino Väinämöinen. Maybe you know him?”

“Ber, the only people I associate myself with are you, my mother, my doctor and occasionally the birds at the pet store.”

“I was just asking. I can have him stop by next Friday around eight a.m. if you’d like.”

“Does it have to be so early?”

“Yes. You need to try and wake up earlier in the mornings rather than sleep till midday. It’s not healthy. It’ll be good for you to get out of the habit.”

“Ugh. FINE. So what is he like?”

“That you can find out for yourself.”

“At least tell me if he’s anything like the…others.”

“I reveal nothing.”

“UGH. Screw you.”

“I would lose my job if you did.”

“No one has to know.”

And that was the start of how he fell in love even though he was positive there was no such thing. Because there isn’t.

//

It was eight o’ one and there was still no sign of Tino. If he was lucky, then Tino had bailed and gone out to do drugs or some shit. Best case scenario. And at eight o’ two, as soon as his clock had announced it, there was a knock on his door. So Tino hadn’t gone out to do drugs. It seemed as though his best case scenario had fallen to pieces. Lovely. Looks like he wasn’t getting any sleep today.

He grabbed his cane from the table and trudged his way over to the door. After fumbling a bit to find the doorknob, he opened the door to be greeted by a way too cheery voice that immediately gave him a headache.

“You’re Eiríkur, right? It’s so great to meet you!” And just as he had expected he was almost knocked to the ground by a hug.

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you too.” He muttered, awkwardly patting the other man’s back. This morning was going to be so much fun. “So what are we reading today then?” He asked as Tino led him over to the couch, even though he could find it himself. He hated people who couldn’t let him do things himself.

“Susie said that you didn’t really like books, so it was a bit of a random pick. But I ha-“

“Wait. Who’s Susie?” He asked, knowing how rudely he had cut Tino off. Not that he cared.

“Oh! Yeah, I forget I’m the only one who calls him that. It’s Berwald.” And then he laughed, which was probably the most annoying laugh that Eiríkur had ever heard. “Anyway, I brought a few of my favorites. Maybe once I get you into liking books we can go to the bookstore down the road and pick a few titles. But I brought The Hobbit an-“

“The Hobbit?”

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No...” He shook his head. ”Continue.”

“Well, I brought that and The Secret Garden. Which one would you rather start with? I would insist on The Hobbit, but it’s your choice.”

“I guess The Hobbit, considering I couldn’t see the movie.”

And again with that annoying, headache worsening laugh that he knew was going to be incredibly hard to get used to. “Was that a joke?”

“I don’t know, was it?”

“Oh shush.” He heard pages being flipped. “Chapter One: An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort…”

And so for the next three hours he sat and listened to Tino read the story about a hobbit that lived in The Shire in a hole in the ground and about how he had a great adventure. No doubt Tino had thought it would inspire him, or give him some sort of comfort. It was one of those stories that brought joy to people because they could see themselves in that underdog sort of way. But he could see right through it, so it was useless. No doubt The Secret Garden was exactly the same.

But the story was still somewhat enjoyable, and could almost admit he almost felt sad when Tino closed the book and told him he had to leave to meet up with his next client. Some girl not too far down the road who had lost her eyesight in a car accident. Lilli Zwingli or something like that. Not that he really cared or anything.

“How much?” Eiríkur asked, reaching over for his cane.

“Oh you don’t pay me.”

“Um. Why?”

“I work for Berwald, silly. Or at least, I work where he works.”

“So you’re a therapist?”

“Of sorts.”

“Oh. Um. Interesting...I’ll-I’ll let you out.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see you next Friday, Eiríkur.”

And a minute later exactly after listening to Tino bustle about with his bag, he heard the door close. With that he fell against the couch, slinging an arm over his eyes. There was no way that he was going to break out of the habit of sleeping till midday. There was no fucking way.

//

“So how did it go?”

“It was okay. His laugh is a pain though.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“Berwald this is a serious issue. I don’t know if I’ll be able to last when I’m going to have to listen to it constantly.”

“It’s only every Friday for a couple hours. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I’m not?”

“Then you’ll live as a blind and deaf man for the rest of your life.”

“You live to hurt me, don’t you?”

“I live to help you stop hurting.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, whatever.”

//

“Maybe after we finish The Hobbit and The Secret Garden we can go to the store down the road and let you pick out a book or two.” He hears papers rustling as Tino flips back to where they had left off. “Because this is about you getting better.”

“You’re not going to cure my blindness, you know. So there really is no point to this. I don’t even like books.” He leans back into the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. Maybe finally Tino will leave and do those drugs he had been avoiding for the past two weeks.

“I’m not trying to help you see, Eiríkur. I’m trying to help you love.”

“I already love.”

“From what Berwald told me, you have more problems with love than you do with your sight.”

“I don’t see how stacks of paper are going to help me love, though.”

“Books do wonders, Eiríkur. Absolute wonders. Now pay attention. We left off on the chapter Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire…Bilbo had escaped the goblins, but he did not know where he was. Much like you sometimes, correct?”

“Was that a joke?”

“I don’t know, was it?”

[trashwriting]

Big Brother

Take it. It's yours now.

Big brother.

This thing was not his brother. Whatever it was…it was a fake. A copy. An imperfect second to the brother that he knew.

That’s what he convinced himself.

The thing was following him. Staying ten steps behind him, perfectly. It knew where he was going, what he was doing throughout the day. And it watched him, with its black, cold eyes.

It was not his brother. The skin was too pale. The eyes were black as they bored into him. The grin that was spread across its face wasn’t natural. Wasn’t…human. Too wide. Too happy.

He didn’t want to know what the thing was.

Then it got closer. Instead of ten steps it became five steps. He could practically feel the thing breathing down his neck as he walked.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced behind him to make sure the thing wouldn’t jump on him before he pulled it out of his pocket.

A text from an unknown number.

I know you can see me.

He didn’t breathe.

He just stared down at the screen, as three dots appeared. It was…typing.

Why don’t you say hello? Your brother would love if you did so. We’ve been having so much fun together.

Again the three dots.

He’s so fragile. Precious to you, isn’t he? He’s just so breakable. Beautiful. Like a doll. He’s just so fun to play with.

His whole body shook. His eyes burned. Were those tears?

Crying? Don’t tell me you’re fragile too. Not such a big guy like you. Your brother was so small. He broke so easily. His fingers snapped one by one, like twigs! It was far too easy. Still, very fun. :)

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, almost dropping it to the ground. His hands were shaking.

As he passed by a toy shop, he glanced at the window, to see the thing standing right behind him.

One step.

He spun around.

Nothing.

No one.

He looked back to the window. Gone.

He took his phone back out of his pocket. There were no texts. Nothing.

Now that he thought about it…it could’ve just been his imagination. Maybe he was spending too much time with Arthur and Vlad. That was it. He would have to miss out on Friday’s meeting. To…clear his head. They would understand.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, deciding to call Eiríkur later, just to…check up on him. He was going to be fine, obviously. He always was. There wasn’t any reason why he wouldn’t be. But still, just in…case.

When he got home, he noticed that the hallway light upstairs was on. He must’ve left it on by mistake when he was leaving for the day. He was in a hurry after all…

He threw his coat on the couch after retrieving his phone and keys. The keys were left on the counter as he searched through his contacts.

Five rings.

No answer.

Eiríkur must have been sleeping. Or maybe he left his phone at home. Reasonable explanations. No reason to be worried at all. Still, something didn’t seem entirely right. But there was no use in worrying…

Eiríkur was fine.

He was about to set his phone down when there was a thump upstairs.

His phone buzzed.

A text, again from the unknown number.

You didn’t think that I was…fake, did you? That all the fun me and your brother had wasn’t…real? But the good part is, I can prove it to you. If you still think that I’m fake. Your brother is still alive. He’s one of my favorite toys. I can’t kill him so soon. That’d be a waste.

Three dots.

Stay downstairs, and listen. Don’t come upstairs, okay? :) You’ll interrupt the fun!!

Another thump.

And then…what sounded like flesh slapping against flesh.

It wasn’t far…the room right next to the stairs, it sounded like. He could be up there in two seconds…but, he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, as he heard what sounded like…crying.

He hadn’t heard his brother cry in so long.

It almost distracted him from the sound of human flesh tearing. Screaming…so much screaming.

Again and again, the same sounds. The ripping, the screaming. Over and over. Sometimes, even a crack. Like bones being snapped in half.

And…dripping. A slow, constant dripping.

He didn’t even notice he had started crying.

Not until the screaming stopped, and all that was left was the dripping.

Drip…drip…

His phone buzzed. He didn’t even flinch.

All done! Although I have to admit, it was sad to see my newest toy leave so quickly. :( Come upstairs whenever you want! Though, I would recommend that it be soon. Don’t want your house to stink up too badly, do ya? :D

Like a zombie, with heavy footsteps, he dragged himself up the stairs.

Drip…drip…

The door was closed. But blood stained the carpet in front of it. So red…so much blood.

He swallowed, and forced himself to open the door, his stomach doing cartwheels.

Blood was splatted across the walls, pooled the floor. Human entrails were scattered around the chair his brother sat in. Fingernails were strewn about the floor, coated in red.

His brother’s hair…what used to be white, was now stained red. Some of it was ripped, taking the skin and some flesh away with it.

The fingers of the left hand were snapped upwards. The bone was snapped completely in half, the flesh torn.

Gashes, going up and down the chest. The entrails pulled out. Some even still hung out of him, sitting in his lap.

His face was completely gone. All that was left was a blank, fleshy slate.

In his right hand, he held what looked like a heart.

His phone buzzed.

Some of my greatest work, if I say so myself. I hope you like it too!!! ;)

The two holes were his eyes had been begun to leak black fluid.  What was left of his mouth lifted upwards slowly into a smile. A grin.

The right arm moved. It lifted, as it held out the heart to him.

Take it. It’s yours now.

Big brother.

[trashwriting]

After thinking about it, I'm definitely, for the moment, not finishing The Boy Who Breathed Fire. I really want to finish it, but I can't find any real motivation other than 'there are people who actually like it.' I don't know...But I might at some point in the future continue it. 

Sorry guys. :(

are you going to finish the boy who breathed fire?

(Oh my god d I’m so sorry I didn’t answer sooner oh my goshhhh)

At this point I don’t know. I’m trying to rewrite it currently, but it’s not working very well. I’ve kind of lost interest in writing it overall. I’ll post an update or something later to confirm whether or not I’m continuing. 

[trashwriting]

are you going to finish the boy who breathed fire?

(Oh my god d I'm so sorry I didn't answer sooner oh my goshhhh)

At this point I don't know. I'm trying to rewrite it currently, but it's not working very well. I've kind of lost interest in writing it overall. I'll post an update or something later to confirm whether or not I'm continuing. 

[trashwriting]

The Worst Nordic Fanfiction Ever.

Chapter Two.

~

Norgay walked down teh strais, his usually stoic and emotionless face even more stoic and emotionless than ever before. Wow!

It seems that he only shoes emotion around iceland. because why show emtoion around your friends that youve known for hundresds of years and shit. not like he cares about themor anything.

“Anko.” he said, walking tino the kticehn, “You’re a fucking idiot, stupid dance. you stuidpod dane.” He striked a pose. ‘stupid dance.”

anko (who was really denmark i dont know why norway is speking japanese) (It might be a medical condition) also striked a pose, trying to look smexy for his ex-husband. “sup norway.’ he said, looking nervously over at sweden who was carving apostrophes into the wall, muttering the word over and over again. but it sounded more like:

“‘ ‘ ‘’ ‘’ ‘ ‘’’’’ ‘ ‘ ‘’ ‘’ ‘’ ‘ ‘ ‘’ ‘ ‘“

“not much, anko/” noway said. “Also, you’re a stupid dane.’

finland then backflipped into the room, waring nothing but a sexy santa outift. ‘MOI MOI MOTHERFUCKERS.” he screamed, landing on the table.

“hot diggity dog.” said norgay. “anko is a stupid dane.”

What will happen next chapter? Will Iceland come back? Will Norway ever stop calling Denmark anko or stupid Dane? Will Sweden learn how to speak properly? Will Finland teach everyone the true meaning of Christmas? Find out, next chapter!!

[trashwriting]

The Worst Nordic Fanfiction Ever.

Chapter One.

~

It was a bright and beautiful day. Birds were chirping, the sun shined brilliantly, sending streams of sunlight through the slits in the whatever the fuck you call those things cause I don’t know. Windshields. Let’s call them windshields. yeah.

“Good morning, Iceland.” Norgay said, opening the door to his lillebrors room. “Time to wake up! and don’t foreget to call me onee0canh!”

Iceland sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m not calling you oneechan.”

“Please.”

“Nah.”

“c’mon.”

Suddenly, Icelands appearance changed!@! His eyes grew bigger and what looked like anime tears formed at the corner of his eyes!

It couldn’t be! Was he…

turning into a uke???!!//?

“O-o-o-o-o-o-o-onne-e-e-e-e-echan…” He said, the anime tears falling down his face.

Wow. what  fuckin uke.

“Now that’s what I call sexy.” Norway said, doing an anime hair flip, before he sashayed out of Iceland’s room making plans to tap that later that night. Time to get his seme on, yo/

Denmark was in the tickehn, however the fuck you spell keitchen, because I dont’ fucking knw.

He was making apncakes like the loser he is.

Sweden walked in the room.

“H’’’’ ‘ ‘ ‘’ ‘’ ‘’’’ ‘’ ‘ ‘’ ‘ ‘ ‘“ Sweden said, giving a short wave. “ ‘ ‘’ ‘’ ‘ ‘’ “‘ ‘ ‘’  ‘’ ‘f’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘’’’ ‘’ ‘’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘’ ‘ ‘ “

Denmark picked up his axe. “I’M THE FUCKING KIND OG SCANDIVANIA BITCH.” He screamed, swinging the axe at the wall, loding it ddep into the wood. “SUCK MY FUCKING DICK, NEERD. I’M TJE SEME IN THIS RELATIONSHOP.”

What will happen? Will Iceland and Norway have hot yaoi sex later that night? Will Mr. Moi Moi ever appear? Will Denmark realize that his axe is now stuck in the wall? Find out, next chapter!!

[trashwriting]

100 Things Iceland Isn't Allowed To Do

(A rewrite of the old one that I never posted. But yeah.)

1. I will not call Norway big brother.

2. That one is a no brainer.

3. I will not touch Denmark's chest. It makes me, Denmark, and Norway uncomfortable.

4. I will not ask anyone if they want to join me on a swell trip to my penis museum, for some fun, educational learning.

5. Especially not France.

6. People worry I might get laid.

7. I will not ask Sweden if he tops Finland.

8. We all know he doesn't, and it's just depressing for all to see the expression on his face after I ask.

9. I will not tell Seychelles that she's Swellchelles.

10. She punches really hard and I can't afford a black eye at times like these.

11. I will not go through the scene phase.

12. I will not converse with anyone going through the scene phase.

13. It doesn't matter if they have slightly cool looking hair. It's not worth the pain.

14. I'm not a hipster.

15. I will never be a hipster.

16. It's time to face the facts.

17. I will not take Sealand on a fun, educational trip to my penis museum.

18. I accidentally gave Finland a heart attack last time.

19. I will not tell Australia that he can't join the Cool Island Club because he's technically a continent, and he'd ruin everything.

20. He started crying last time, and New Zealand got mad at me.

21. So I got punched in the eye by someone shorter than me and got a black eye.

22. Again.

23. I will not pretend to be in some sort of weird love triangle with Norway for Denmark.

24. It's not even a triangle, and we all know how it'd end up anyways...

25. Killing England is not an option.

26. Slapping him with a fish is also not an option.

27. Calling him Big Brows Kirkland is also not an option.

28. I should just stay away from England.

29. I will not tell Mr. Puffin that his kind is actually eaten in my country.

30. He'd end up going rebellious.

31. And try to eat me.

32. Shoving licorice up Prussia's ass is unacceptable.

33. He'd get off on it.

34. And I probably would too.

35. Going emo is not an option.

36. Asking Romania for tips on how to be emo is also not an option.

37. He's not emo and he would just punch me in the face.

38. I will not tell Sealand that Latvia is in love with Estonia and not him.

39. He gets mad and kicks me in the shin and it really hurts.

40. But I don't even know why he gets mad.

41. Telling everyone that I am secretly a tuna fish is just low.

42. Even though it might be true.

43. Telling everyone that if you rip off Scotland's skin, you'll reveal that he is actually a sheep is mean.

44. Because America actually tried it.

45. And Russia did too.

46. And England tried to high-five me.

47. Things like that cannot be allowed.

48. Mr. Puffin is not a transformer. He's not even a vehicle.

49. I will not try to convince him he is, because that just ends badly for everyone.

50. I will not jump on Australia's back and scream 'Ride 'em cowboy!'

51. England will get mad.

52. And Norway will too.

53. And Australia might get off on it, you just don't know with that guy.

54. I will not tell everyone I'm half ambidextrous.

55. They won't get it.

56. Asking Japan what yaoi is, isn't to be done.

57. Asking him why he has a doushinji of me will only make him cry.

58. Telling Austria that I saved two bucks on Coke and then asking him what he saved, and then saying 'Not your marriages that's for sure' is rude and he will cry.

59. Finland is not metal. That was only a phase.

60. Telling Sealand that I'm better friends with Latvia than him is wrong.

61. He will cry and Latvia will not want to be my friend anymore.

62. I'm not allowed to date Sweden’s fridge.

63. It's not like I've tried or anything.

64. Just because Denmark did it with a table once doesn’t mean it’s okay.

65. Telling France that I am a 'big boy now’ is weird and wrong on so many levels.

66. I will not tell Australia that I'm number nine on the happiest countries in the world, and he's only ten means that he's a loser and won't ever get laid.

67. Even though it is true.

68. Calling New Zealand, Nezzie Zezzie is wrong and he will kick me in shin and take my money.

69. I will not yodel.

70. Ever.

71. I suck at it and I made a man go deaf.

72. I will not yell during a meeting, 'You a stupid ho!'

73. Especially while Sweden is talking.

74. Yelling it while Estonia is talking is also wrong.

75. He will throw something at me and I will not be prepared.

76. Netherlands is not a cuddle buddy.

77. He's also not a smoke buddy.

78. But most importantly I will never try to cuddle with him.

79. Even if he is tall, strong, and handsome. And is willing to cuddle with me.

80. It is pathetic and Scotland will start crying. Because he's a pansy.

81. Scotland does not hump sheep.

82. And I don't either.

83. Jumping in volcanoes is not a fun afternoon activity, and is not for all ages.

84. Telling everyone I hump shark meat is weird.

85. I will not tell America I'm disappointed in him and then walk away.

86. He gets sad and I get sad too.

87. I will not tell Poland that he looks great when the lights are off and no one can see him.

88. He will get mad, then sad, and then he'll start crying and Lithuania will kick me in the stomach.

89. Stockings are not an option.

90. Even if my legs look great in them.

91. Denmark doesn't wear stockings either.

92. I will not try to make him wear them.

93. No matter how badly I want to see him wear them. Not because I like him or anything.

94. Hungary is not my friend, even if I think she is.

95. She is an enemy and is to be avoided at all costs.

96. Pretending to be in love with Norway is wrong. Just because it's funny to see people's reactions isn't a viable reason as to why it's okay to do.

97. I'm not a pole dancer.

98. I'm also not a stripper.

99. So I won't try to be either of them. Ever.

100. And lastly, I, Iceland, will never, ever, not even in a million years, convince anyone, ever, that Mr. Puffin is actually a human in disguise.

[trashwriting]

Elrond Saves the Day

(A thing me and my friend wrote while sleep deprived and on coffee highs.)

Summary: Title says all.

~

"Does anyone want this?" Kayley announced to the air, holding out the coffee pot, filled halfway with cold coffee.

"Who are you offeri-" Lou was cut off by the sound of a crash from the bathroom, followed by the faint jingle of spoons.

Legolas then burst in with a water gun, wearing a leather jacket. Again, followed by the faint jingle of spoons. He threw the gun to the side and pulled out his bow, notched an arrow, and pointed it at the two friends.

"I got the goods. " He said, then proceeded to throw a bag of spoons to the floor in front of them. "Give me the coffee."

"But it's cold." Kayley said, holding the coffee to his peripheral vision, considering she was less than half his height.

He pushed past her before smashing the kitchen window with his elbow and calling down to his father, "It's cold!"

Thranduil for a second had a worried look on his face, and his eyebrows widened in surprise, before he dramatically fainted, and whispered, "Catch me, Legolas."

Legolas then grabbed the cold coffee from Kayley's hand and jumped through the window-door, and through the backporchs screen door, and ran down the stairs. Alas, he tripped over his own feet and proceeded to tumble in the shape of a circle down the stairs. The coffee flew from his hands, across the yard and onto the grass. He was able to glance over to his father to see that before he had hit the ground, a fleet of doves that had come from the forest had caught him mid-fall, saving him from hitting the ground.

Legolas landed on the ground, just in time to see the coffee fly over his head and onto the ground.

"Coffee!" He screamed, reaching out for it, as it splattered onto the dirt and grass.

He looked over to his father, to see him brushing the dirt that had never touched him off of his robes.

"I'm disappointed in you, Legolas. No bedtime boogie tonight." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Legolas refused to give up. His willpower for coffee, and the bedtime boogie, were strong. He grabbed the coffee pot, and attempted to scrounge up any remains of the cold coffee. There was not only horrible tasting coffee in the pot, but dirt, worms and grass. But Legolas still stood strong, refusing to give up. He twirled over to his father with the 'coffee'.

"Here father." He said, confidently.

Thranduil looked at him in disgust. "This is dirt." He stated.

"It is also grass!" Legolas chimed in.

Thranduil held up his elven pimp-hand, and bitch slapped the coffee pot from Legolas' hands. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" He growled.

Legolas held up an index finger. "One who shaves my legs." He said proudly.

"Very well." He said, rubbing his temple. "Pick up the coffee pot. We'll use it for later." He said, and snapped, summoning the same fleet of doves to carry him home.

Some stayed behind to carry Legolas, who bent down to pick up the coffee pot.

Lou looked out the window. "You have to return that coffee pot it isn't yours." He shouted, throwing down a spoon.

Elrond boogied his way into the scene, and caught the spoon mid-air. "Not on my dance floor." He stated, before boogying away.

The fleet of doves encircled Legolas, before carrying him away.

"That's my coffee pot you're taking!" Kayley shouted out the window.

Lou and Kayley turned back to the floor, which was covered in elven spoons. They were very nice.

"We should eat them." Lou stated.

"Yeah." Kayley said.

The end.

[trashwriting]

The Boy By the Tulips

"Why do you spend so much time in the garden?" "I don't know. I just like flowers."

~

Emil never went in the garden. He didn’t know why, exactly. It just didn’t that important. There was always school to worry about, and his crazy brother who never seemed to leave him alone. He liked to look at it though, through the windows. It was pretty, with various types of flowers, his favourite being the white dryad. But he never went in the garden. Not a lot of people did. It was mostly teachers, who needed to get away from the hundreds of students that they encountered during the day, or a couple meeting up between class changes or after school. Sometimes his brother and Matthias would go in, and sometimes he even saw Tino and Berwald. Once, he even saw Peter with Lilli, ripping a few flowers from the ground, bits of dirt falling from the roots, and handing it to her, to which she shook her head, refusing the ‘gift’, and smiled politely.

He stood in front of the window, just taking a second to look in. There was the usual couple, Alfred and Arthur, who never seemed to leave the garden. And there was Ivan, who was looking at the sunflowers, with a sad smile on his face. But there was one person, who he had never even seen before. Not in the garden, not even at school. He was looking at the tulips, every so often writing something down in a notebook. Then the bell rang, snapping Emil back to reality. The boy turned from the tulips. Emil took a step away from the window, and turned to walk to class.

The next day he looked in the garden, the boy was there again, looking at the tulips, writing in the same notebook as the day before. Arthur and Alfred were in there again as well, standing by the roses. But he wasn’t focused on Arthur and Alfred. He was focused on the boy standing by the tulips. He didn’t know why he was so focused on him. It was just one person, standing by the tulips. Maybe it was because he had never seen the boy before. He didn’t know. But the boy had piqued his interest. He felt the urge to step inside and go talk to the boy. But he pushed the urge away. Still, he continued to stare at the boy who stood by the tulips. And then the bell rang, making him jump. The boy turned from the tulips, and reached down to get his bag. Emil backed away from the window, and headed off for his next class.

The third day when he looked into the garden, he wasn’t surprised to see the same boy standing there by the tulips, writing in the same notebook as the days before. He noted that the scarf the boy had worn was gone. He glanced over at the entrance, and mentally slapped himself as he decided to step inside. The smell of all the different types of flowers hit him, making him pause. The colors of the flowers looked a bit different, a bit brighter than from outside the window. It looked much prettier, and he tried to hide the smile that soon formed. He took slow, tentative steps over to where the white dryads were planted, his focus on the boy across the room, who was still writing in the notebook. He stopped in front of the dryads, and bent down to get a better view. The flowers were his national flower, he remembered. His mother had planted some in their own garden, and would often go outside and sit by them. After a few minutes of silence, the bell rang. He listened as the boy walked out, and after another minute of waiting, he walked out himself.

That was the first time he had ever gone into the garden.

The next day he hesitated, before stepping into the garden. Maybe this time he shouldn’t go in. Maybe he should just stand outside the window, like he normally did. Soon though, he stepped inside, and made his way over to the white dryads. The boy was again over by the tulips, the scarf wrapped around his neck like he had gotten used to. The notebook was gone though, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes were closed, and Emil could see his lips moving, but he heard nothing. Emil tried to keep his focus on the dryads, but he found himself staring at the boy from the corner of his eye. He wanted to go talk to the boy, ask him what he was whispering about. But whenever he tried to move from the spot he was in, and walk over to him, he felt his stomach drop, and decided against it. But he still found himself wanting to talk to the boy. He didn’t know why he was making it so hard for himself.

Then the bell rang, and the boy quickly walked out, leaving Emil by himself in the garden, with only the flowers as company. He stood there, his mind and heart racing.

A teacher stuck their head in, and told him he needed to go to his next class.

He felt dizzy almost, as he left the garden.

On the final day of the week, he walked into the garden, and straight to the boy who stood by the tulips. The boy glanced over at him from the corner of his eye as he came, before quickly looking back to the tulips. Emil stopped, and stood beside him, and looked at the tulips. He could feel the boy’s gaze on him, and he forced himself from looking back. The tulips, he noted, were pretty. The varied pinks and yellows were nice. He could see why the boy liked them so much. They were nice to look at.

But the tulips didn’t save them from the silence, and one of them had to speak up.

Emil swallowed, and forced himself to speak.

“Why do you spend so much time in the garden?”

He mentally slapped himself. It was rude.

“I don’t know.” The boy said, his voice making Emil jump. “I just like flowers.”

More silence followed, but neither of them broke it. The bell rang, saving them from the silence. The boy hurried out, leaving Emil to himself. Emil got out his phone, and took a picture of the tulips. A small smile formed on his lips, and he walked out of the garden, the smile never leaving his face.

He needed to go in the garden more often.

[trashwriting]

Pathetic

Chapter One. You are reading Chapter Two.

Rating: T Characters: Norway, Iceland

Summary: This is what the world has come to...He thought, a smile slowly rising. We're so far gone...that not even we're capable of feeling anything without injecting ourselves with filth...

~

"We've talked about this so many times, Lukas…" His father let out a deep sigh, setting his pen down on the table. "It's getting ridiculous, honestly. One more freak out like that and they won't ever let us go back." Lies.

The skin on his arm was a disgusting, marshy green. A bandage was wrapped around his elbow, hiding the small, red dots from the injections. Small droplets of blood had bled through, reminding him even more of the filth that had been forced into him.

Just keep on talking, He thought, never once looking up at his father as he talked, I won't pay attention either way.

"I don't understand how you can hate them so much. They're what give us our ability to feel."

No, you filth. They're the reason we feel anything at all. Don't you get that? Don't you understand?

"You should act more like your brother when he gets his injections."

Don't you mean the empty shell?

But isn't that what you want to be?

"The shots don't bother him one bit. Why should they bother you, then? You're almost an adult...I don't understand."

Of course you don't.

"I don't know...I just don't like needles."

Buy it, take it. Like you always do.

"Maybe we should have you see someone about it…" He mindlessly tapped his fingers on the table, his voice drifting off. "Then maybe you'd give the nurses an easier time with the shots."

"It's not necessary." Lukas said, flashing his father a small smile. "I won't freak out like I did next time. I promise."

The smile on his father's face let him know that he had won.

Again.

It was too easy.

"I trust you. And I expect you to keep that promise, young man." The pen returned to his hand.

Don't lose the smile just yet. "Of course." He said, reaching across the table and grabbing his father's hand. "Don't worry about it. You can trust me."

"I trust you." And just like that, he was back to flipping through his papers, his focus on his son seemingly gone.

Good.

Just keep on lying. They'll always believe you. They have no reason not to…

"But…"

Not normal. This was not normal.

What did I do wrong?

"I think you should talk to your brother at least. Ask him how he's so calm when getting his shots, or maybe how to act calm when getting him. Just...just in case, okay? And maybe, while you're at it, try to have a conversation with him. I haven't seen you two talk normally in God knows how long. So, talk to him. Get to know the person he is now, and try to understand him. I'm sure if you give him a chance he'll do the exact same for you." Lies.

You want me to talk to the empty shell?

How can you talk to something that isn't there?

"Alright. I'll ask him later." Don't lose the smile. Keep it on. Convince him.

"No, I want you to ask him now."

I can't talk to him. I can't talk to something that isn't there.

I can't even look at him.

"Alright."

He could feel his whole body shaking.

It's been so long...too long.

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor when he pushed the chair back made him wince. His arm throbbed. His father's smile made him want to throw up.

I haven't tried in so long.

Why scream when he doesn't even hear? When he doesn't even bother to listen?

"Tell me how it goes, okay? I want to see my boys talking again. I expect to hear only good things, ja?"

Lie. Just lie. He'll never know.

"Ja."

He gripping the bandaged elbow, and forced himself to walk to the stairs.

One step at a time. You can do it.

You can talk to him, can't you? To that empty shell?

To the empty shell with the needle scarred skin. To the empty shell with the dull, violet eyes. To the empty shell...where there's nothing left.

To the filth?

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you."

Then go. You don't want to talk to him either, don't you? Just go. He won't care, and neither will you.

"I don't care." Apparently not. "I…it's been a while…"

"Yeah. I wonder why."

He's blaming you?

Pathetic, isn't it?

It was hard to ignore that every inch of his brother's arms were covered in tiny, red dots. How parts of his skin had turned completely black, contrasting disgustingly against his pasty, white skin.

Filth.

"It's not my fault that you can't control yourself when it comes to your injections..."

Blame him. It's all his fault.

Knuckles turned white. Dull, violet eyes turned fiery.

He's an empty shell? Why lie to yourself?

He's there. Just in broken, tiny pieces. Shattered, even. But he's there.

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

"You think I like it? You honestly think I enjoy it?"

Once glance down at his arms. Yes, he did.

"I hate it. Do you think I like seeing my skin covered in these...these…"

Trash.

"Just go away. Just lie to them like you always do. Tell them that we had a good talk, that everything's sorted out."

"You knew that they-"

"Why else would you bother to talk to me? You're not that hard to read, Lukas. And they aren't either." He said, finishing it with a laugh. "Just go away. Don't bother talking to me again, because trust me, I won't answer. And you'd be totally okay with, wouldn't you?"

No.

"Of course. Why would I bother with someone as disgusting as you?"

You're all filth. You're all disgusting.

Won't you do something? Won't you say something?

But why scream when no one bothers to listen?

[trashwriting]

Pathetic

(I'm sure we've all seen the post where emotions have been turned into drugs. After two minutes of pondering the idea, I decided to write a story about it. Yeah, now that's what I call pathetic.)

You are reading Chapter One.

Rating: T Characters: Norway

Summary: This is what the world has come to… He thought, a smile slowly rising. We’re so far gone...that not even we’re capable of feeling anything without injecting ourselves with filth…

~

He didn't like needles. He didn't like getting shots. He didn't like it. He hated it with everything in him.

They always had to strap him down when they had to inject it into him.

He could hear his mother screaming at him like she always did, about how he needed it. How it was normal.

He was being childish, and he knew that. But that didn't change his opinion about it.

He watched as the blue liquid was injected to him, as the skin around the injection turned a dark blue, before going back to it’s normal flesh tone.

He slammed his eyes shut, and tried to hold back that feeling of...Peace, is what they called it.

Peace…

Calmness. Serenity…pathetic.

He didn't want it. He didn't want to feel it.

He’d rather go around as an empty shell than have that...that shit, injected into him without his consent.

But he always lost. He always felt himself immediately calm down, a warm feeling spreading around inside him. Like it always did.

“Isn't that better, elskan?” His mother asked, her voice sickeningly gentle, her fingers brushing his cheek, wiping away the tears that had dared fall.

No. No it isn't. It isn't better.

“Ja…” He answered, his hands shaking.

“Give him the next one.” She ordered, snapping her head to face the nurse. “Now.”

“Ja, Mrs. Bondevik.” The nurse replied, nodding her head, turning back to the table to get the next case.

The next one. Joy.

And then Empathy.

Then Hope.

Then...his least favorite.

Love.

“Give him another Peace.” His mother said, tapping the nurse on the arm. “And...while you’re at it, another Joy.”

“Mrs. Bondevik, we’re running low on Joy, we can give him a third shot of Peace, if that-”

“No.” She said, waving the nurse off. “Another Joy. Get someone to send my husband in. I have a meeting in an hour that I can’t be late for.”

And without another word she left the room, leaving the nurse and him by themselves.

The nurse gave a long sigh, her shoulders slumping. “How do you put up with her?” She asked, groaning.

He didn’t answer her. He was too busy staring at where they had injected the Peace, and how the skin around it was turning blue.

“Two Joy, another Peace, Hope, Empathy, Love...I’m going to need another shot of Peace by the end of the day…”

The nurse left the room, shouting out into the hallway that his father was needed in the room.

This is what the world has come to… He thought, a smile slowly rising. We’re so far gone...that not even we’re capable of feeling anything without injecting ourselves with filth…

Pathetic.

They were pathetic.

[trashwriting]

Iceland the Whore

Rating: T Characters: Iceland, Denmark, Norway

Summary: Norway and Denmark try to give Iceland the talk. Everything goes downhill from there.

~

Iceland stared at the T.V, waiting. He had heard them creeping down the stairs. And by creeping, he meant Norway and Denmark slowly walking down the stairs, the stairs creaking every five seconds. And Norway almost ‘accidentally’ pushing Denmark down the stairs. They were trying to sneak up on him. Key word, trying.

“Iceland.” Norway said, clearing his throat.

They were standing right behind the couch, behind him.

“What do you want?” He asked.

“We need to talk.” Denmark said, leaning down beside his head. “About something.” He whispered.

Iceland leaned away from him, slightly disturbed. “About what?” He questioned.

“About...well…” Norway said, trying to think of what to say without mentally scarring his brother even more.

“The bedroom boohah.” Denmark said, jumping over the couch, landing beside Iceland. “The bedtime boogie. The party under the sheets. The lock and key. The harry meets the vaginny. The ding dong diddly-”

“Stop.” Iceland said, holding up a hand. “Are you talking about sex?” He asked.

Denmark leaned away, disgusted. “HE SAID A DIRTY WORDY!” He screamed, covering his face with his hands.

Norway slapped the back of his head and sighed. “Yes. We are.”

Iceland laughed. “There’s no reason for it.” He said, shaking his head.

“Why….not?” Denmark asked, lowering his arms.

“Because I’ve already had sex with someone.”

There was silence.

“With...who?” Denmark asked. Norway was too stunned to say anything.

“Oh...well. Let me think….”

He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here we go! All the people I’ve fucked and all the people who have fucked me.”

Norway slammed his head against the wall.

“Romania.”

And again.

“Netherlands.”

And again.

“Australia. Prussia. Haha wow I almost forgot about that one time with Sweden.

There was a hole in the wall at that point.

“Oh man. When did I fuck Finland? Oh wait….I remember. Nevermind. And Latvia. And Estonia, and...Den….mark?”

“When did we have sex?” Denmark asked, sounding more confused than disgusted.

“A month ago.” Iceland said, sounding a bit unsure.

“Who topped?”

“Me, of course. Did you really think I was going to let you fuck me? Wow, you’re lame.”

Norway had somehow crawled into the wall, and was tunneling his way through the house with his head.

“Annnnnnnnnd…Thailand. And I had a threesome with Australia and Netherlands. That was interesting. Remind me to never do that again. Ha. And at some point with Luxembourg...wow... And oh yeah! Almost forgot. New Zealand.”

Denmark was sitting in stunned silence. Somehow Iceland had managed to fuck more Nations than him.

Norway crawled out of the wall and fell to the floor before he burst out crying.

“Oh yeah! Had sex with you too, Norway.”

The end.

[trashwriting]

The Boy Who Breathed Fire

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. You are reading chapter six.

Also posted on Fanfiction.net and Archiveofourown.com.

Rating: T Characters: Iceland(Main), Hungary, Denmark

Summary: He was a freak. All that could come from his hands was destruction. And so he ran. But no one can leave their past behind them.

~

"She's dead." Someone said, staring down at her body.

"Of course she is. We ordered them to kill everyone."

There was silence.

"I wish we hadn't."

"Are you growing soft?"

More silence.

"Of course not."

"Good."

I came here for sanctuary Away from the winds and the sounds of the city I came here to get some peace Way down deep where the shadows are heavy I can't help but think of you In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander To some distant century When everyone we know is six feet under When all of our friends are dead and just a memory And we're side by side it's always been just you and me For all to see… When our lives are over, and all that remains... Are our skulls and bones, let's take it to the grave...

Skulls-Bastille

One second everything had been quiet. Normal. Then the next, everything went to hell. The ground shook, before jagged pieces of rock erupted from the ground, piercing anyone who stood in their path.

They ran. But they weren't fast enough.

The ground cracked, opening up deep holes in the Earth. Screams were drowned out as people fell in, the sounds of their bones cracking when they hit the bottom replacing the screaming.

Arrows rained down on them from above.

In the distance, they could hear drums beating.

They tried to get away. But it was too late.

They were already dead.

Somehow he had gotten away. Somehow he had hid, and they hadn't found him. He had survived. But when he came out of hiding, he wished that he had died along with everyone else. He wished that he had been the first one to go.

Bodies littered the ground, soaking the Earth with blood. Giant cracks and holes were scattered around, pieces of jagged rock stuck out from the ground, bodies hanging lifelessly from the sharp ends. Blood trickled down the sides to the ground.

His legs shook, and he fell to his knees. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, before falling down his face.

Everyone was dead.

He was the last one left.

"Or maybe I'm not..." He breathed, gripping his shoulders tightly, his knuckles turning white.

A small smile played out on his lips, and he let out a shaky laugh.

It was impossible. Almost impossible.

But maybe Eiríkur was still alive. Maybe he had been alive this whole time, just hiding. Just out of his grasp.

He remembered Razmus had told him of somewhere down South, of a place he used to visit when he was younger.

Maybe he had told Eiríkur to go there.

Maybe.

Matthias pushed himself from the ground, his whole body shaking.

He didn't care if it killed him.

He was going to find Eiríkur.

"You have to be able to understand that fear can drive people to do the most horrible of things. Your mother was afraid of what you can do. She thought that if she let be able to control your talent, you would use it for destruction. She loved you, but she was afraid." Elizaveta brushed stray strands of hair from his face behind his ear. "And I know you're angry, but you have to let that anger go. You can't let your anger control you."

"My mother loved me?" Eiríkur said, laughing. "She hated me. She wasn't afraid of what I can do. She was afraid of me. To her, I was a monster. A freak. She would always remind me that I wasn't like them. That I was different. That if anyone found out, I would be the cause of our deaths. She-"

"You see?" Elizaveta said, her voice gentle. "You're angry. You're upset. And you can't let it go. Because for all of your life you were treated as a freak. But you have to let it go, because if you don't, your anger is going to control you and make you the monster everyone thinks you are."

"You want me to let it go?" Eiríkur asked incredulously, scoffing. "Let it go? And there's no making me a monster. I already am one."

"Do you like being a monster?" She asked quietly.

There was a moment of silence as he took the words in.

"Do you like being a freak? Do you like it? Do you enjoy the fact that people are afraid of you? That...I'm afraid of you…"

"You're...afraid of me?"

Elizaveta smiled. "I'm not just afraid. I'm terrified. Everyday I can't help but think that you'll try to kill me, that you'll burn everything I love to the ground. You're a freak…" She paused. "A...monster."

"I knew it."

Elizaveta held her breath.

She knew it had been a bad idea. She knew that she had been wrong to say it. To lie to him. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, to tell him she had been lying, that she was only trying to help him. But the words caught in her throat.

"I don't know why I trusted you."

"Eir-"

"You're just like everyone else." He hissed, balling his hands into fists. "But don't worry...You're right...I am a freak...and you've seen him..."

Fire entrapped his hands. A smirk rose on his lips.

"But you haven't seen the monster just yet."

[trashwriting]

The Boy Who Breathed Fire

(Originally posted on my main blog icelandisagaygay. If you need conformation, then go ahead and find some.)

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. You are reading chapter five.

Also posted on Fanfiction.net and Archiveofourown.com.

Rating: T Characters: Iceland(Main), Norway, Belgium, Hungary

Summary: He was a freak. All that could come from his hands was destruction. And so he ran. But no one can leave their past behind them.

“But what if he isn’t fine?”

“Then we’ll never know.”

Time shakes, found you at the water At first you were my father, now I love you like a brother Earthquakes shake the dust behind you This world at times will blind you Still I know I’ll see you there Heartbreaks, the heavy world’s upon your shoulders Will we burn or we just smolder Somehow I know I’ll find you there I wanna see if you can change it, change it Still I know I’ll see you there

Come a Little Closer-Cage the Elephant

"How do you feel?" Elizaveta asked, hands folded neatly in her lap. She stared at Eiríkur expectantly, a small smile draped across her face.

"Fine." He said, sighing.

"That’s good." She said, nodding. "But tell me, aren’t you angry? Don’t you want…revenge? On Matthias? He’s the one who caused you to reveal your talent. He’s the one who almost got you killed! Don’t you want to do something about it?" Her smile dropped, and was replaced with a glare. "He deserves to be punished." She said, her voice grim. "Don’t you agree with me?"

"N-no!" He said, leaning away from her. "It’s-it’s not his fault."

"Yes, it is." She said, shaking her head. "And what about your mother? How she forced you to hide who you really were. How she hated you."

"She didn’t hate me…" He said. "She…was just scared…"

"She was scared. She was scared of you. She could never love you. She thought that you were a freak. A monster.”

The fire between them erupted, twisting and turning, rising up into the sky.

And as soon as it had risen, it fell, back into a simple flame.

Eiríkur’s eyes, which were normally a light violet, were completely red.

"You see…" Elizaveta said, smiling. "Your emotions are what control your talent. You let your anger control it. All that rage, stored away inside of you, it’s what fuels it. But you’ll never be able to control your talent if you don’t control your rage. You have to learn to control your rage before you can ever use your talent."

"I’m not a monster." Eiríkur said, his eyes going back to their normal violet.

"I know you’re not." Elizaveta said. "Because if you really are a monster, then so am I. Then so is your brother, so is Matthias. If you’re a monster, then so is everyone else. You’re not a monster."

"Then why did this happen to me?"

She sighed. “The world is a cruel place.” She said. “But it’s not all bad. And what you were gifted with isn’t either.”

"Gifted?" He said, laughing. "This is a gift?"

"You just don’t see it." She said, shaking her head.

He remained silent, staring down at his lap.

"I’m sorry." He said, his voice cracking.

"There’s nothing to be sorry for."

He wished that he hadn’t woken up.

He was chained to a wall, his hands forced behind his back. There was a cloth tied over his mouth, preventing him from screaming. The room was dark, and every so often he could hear footsteps, but he could never tell where they were coming from.

He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted it to be a dream.

The door opened, streaming light in. A woman stood in the doorway, a knife in her hand. She stepped in, not closing the door.

"So you’re finally awake?" She asked, her face lighting up. "I was wondering when you were going to. My big brother was worried about you.Oh! I’m terribly sorry. Let me get that silly little cloth so you can talk!" She bent down in front of him, raising the knife and cutting the cloth, letting it fall from his mouth to the floor.

"Where am I?" He asked as soon as it was off.

"On a boat." She said. "But don’t even bother trying anything. Those straps around your wrists will stop you from using your talent, so it’s useless. Any other questions?"

"Who are you?"

She laughed. “That’s not important. You should be focusing on why you’re here.”

"Then explain."

"You see, I’m the leader of…well let’s just say we’re…interesting people. We attacked your village. We killed everyone. Except you. Wasn’t that nice of us?"

She paused, allowing it to sink in.

Everyone was dead but him.

Everyone.

"Why?" He hissed through gritted teeth.

"My big brother had a little secret. And I finally found it out! You’re his little secret. He wanted to protect you, Lukas. He wanted to make sure that no one hurt you. But, it seems that he failed. It’s sad, isn’t it? Oh! And if you’re wondering who my brother is, you’ll find out soon enough."

She glanced down at the knife and paused, as if contemplating something, before waving and stepping back out, slamming the iron door behind her.

Everyone was dead.

He was alone.

A girl sat by herself at the edge of the water, playing with a doll made of wood. She hummed to herself, listening to the crashing of the waves. Everything was peaceful. Quiet. Like it always was.

She didn’t feel the arrow pierce her chest.

She didn’t hear the drums beating.

She didn’t hear the screaming.

Lifeless eyes stared up into the sky. What once was bright, was now dull.

She still gripped the doll tightly in her hand, a smile still placed across her face.

“She’s dead.” Someone said, staring down at her body.

“Of course she is. We ordered them to kill everyone.”

There was silence.

“I wish we hadn’t.”

“Are you growing soft?”

More silence.

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

[trashwriting]

The Boy Who Breathed Fire

(Originally posted on my main blog icelandisagaygay. If you need conformation, then go ahead and find some.)

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. You are reading chapter four.

Also posted on Fanfiction.net and Archiveofourown.com.

Rating: T Characters: Iceland(Main), Norway, Denmark, Netherlands, Belgium, Hungary

Summary: He was a freak. All that could come from his hands was destruction. And so he ran. But no one can leave their past behind them.

Another old random town. Another random old attack.

She knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I’ve become so numb, I can’t feel you there Become so tired, so much more aware I’m becoming this, all I want to do Is be more like me and be less like you Can’t you see that you’re smothering me, Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control? 'Cause everything that you thought I would be Has fallen apart right in front of you.

Numb-Linkin Park

"I haven’t known Razmus long. We met a couple years ago when he came to discuss the possibility of a…well, someone who wasn’t talented with water. Someone who was talented with fire. " Elizaveta said as she dampened a cloth to clean Eiríkur’s cuts. "I’m guessing that’s you."

"Yes." Eiríkur sighed, his voice quiet. "That’s me."

"He was worried, you know? He was sure everyone would find out, and go after whoever it was." She bent down in front of him, and pressed the cloth to the cut on his cheek.

"Why was he so worried?"

She smiled, and grabbed his arm, ripping the fabric that had been cut by the arrow. “He didn’t want them-or you to be exact, to die. He’s seen so much death. He doesn’t wish to see anymore.”

"But why did he come here?"

"We’re…accepting. We don’t care how you’re talented, or if you aren’t talented at all. Because all that matters is who you are, not what you are or what you can do. And he knew that. So he came here looking for help. And we said that when he found who it was, he could send them here."

"It took him a while." Eiríkur said, laughing.

"Well, with the little show that you put on back at your home, it wasn’t that hard to figure it out." She said, patting him on the cheek.

"It wasn’t my fault." He argued.

"I know it wasn’t your fault." She said, her voice quiet. "You’ve never been taught how to control your talent. All you’ve been taught is how to suppress it, how to hide it. That’s why I want to help you."

"How?" He asked.

"I want to teach you how to use your talent."

"It’ll only be a few more weeks until I know what little secret you’ve been hiding from me." Anri said, laughing. "Hopefully it isn’t something stupid."

"He isn’t stu-it isn’t stupid."

Anri stared at him for a second, silent. “Did you say…he?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

"No!" Lars snapped. "I didn’t."

"No-no, no. You said he. You said he isn’t stupid." She insisted. "Who’s he?

Lars stared off to the side, refusing to speak.

"I’m your sister. I think I have a right to know if you’ve been seeing someone." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Especially if it’s someone where we’re attacking."

"It’s none of your business."

"Oh-it is, though. It is my business. Because we’re going to be attacking Rjukan, and if you know someone there, then I should know."

"Why won’t you just leave it alone?" He hissed, standing from the table. "It’s my business, and no one elses."

"Might it be that you’re in love with someone who lives there?" She teased, a smirk forming on her lips. "Maybe you’re seeing someone who lives there, and they know you’re coming. Or maybe they don’t know you’re coming, or maybe they don’t even know you at all. What is it then?"

Before he could say anything, she cut him off.

"It might be that you love someone who lives there, like I said before. And they don’t know you at all. So you’re going to take them as a prisoner." She exclaimed, standing from the table.

"You don’t know anything." He growled.

"But I do know." She said. "I’ve got it all figured out."

"No you don’t."

"Yes I do." She said, laughing.

"So maybe you do." He sighed. "What are you going to do?"

"It’s simple." She sang. "I’m going to find them before you do."

"Tell me where my brother is." Lukas demanded, blocking Razmus from leaving his tent. "Or I’ll kill you."

Razmus laughed. “If you kill me then you’ll never find out where he is. And besides, I promised him I would never tell anyone. And I intend to keep that promise.”

"You said yourself that promises are easily broken."

Razmus sighed, and easily pushed Lukas to the side, allowing himself to exit his tent. “I know I said that. But just because you want me to break my promise isn’t going to make me break it.”

"Please." Lukas begged. "I just want to know if he’s okay."

"If he found his way, then he’ll be just fine."

"So what if he didn’t find his way? What then?"

"Then hopefully Elizaveta found him."

"Who is she?"

Razmus sighed, and put his hands on Lukas’s shoulders. “Your brother is fine, Lukas. You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop worrying.”

"I just need to find him."

"No you don’t. What you need, is to calm down, and stop worrying about your brother, and start worrying about yourself. Now if you’ll excuse me."

Lukas stared after Razmus as he walked away, never once looking back.

"Did you find out anything?"

Lukas turned to face Matthias, who had a hopeful look on his face.

"Nothing. I found out nothing." He said, sighing.

"Maybe we should just try-"

"He said that Eiríkur is fine." Lukas said, shaking his head. "For right now, I’m going to believe him."

"But what if he isn’t fine?"

"Then we’ll never know."