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Last Kiss (JeanxMarco) :iconphoenixoffire177:PhoenixofFire177 0 0
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Drowning in History: Haiti :iconphoenixoffire177:PhoenixofFire177 0 0
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How to Live a Nightmare :iconphoenixoffire177:PhoenixofFire177 0 0
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Oh where, oh where, can my baby be?

The Lord took her away from me.

She's gone to heaven so I've got to be good,

So I can see my baby when I leave this world.

He had stumbled upon the body while trying to assist a nurse find wounded survivors. It had drawn his attention at once, the hair was unmistakable. It was Marco.

We were out on a date in my daddy's car,

We hadn't driven very far.

There in the road straight ahead,

A car was stalled, the engine was dead.

I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right,

I'll never forget the sound that night.

The screaming tires, the busting glass,

The painful scream that I heard last.

He tried to think back to when he had last seen him. Marco had saved him from Titans and then… he froze suddenly. He hadn’t seen Marco since then. A truckload of guilt hit him. If he had been there…

Oh where, oh where, can my baby be?

The Lord took her away from me.

She's gone to heaven so I've got to be good,

So I can see my baby when I leave this world.

He lay there that night, haunted by the death. He was a soldier. He was supposed to be able to protect the ones he cared about! That was the whole reason he had influenced Marco to join the Military police with him! And now… Marco was dead and he didn’t even notice a thing.

When I woke up, the rain was falling down,

There were people standing all around.

Something warm flowing through my eyes,

But somehow I found my baby that night.

I lifted her head, she looked at me and said;

"Hold me darling just a little while."

I held her close I kissed her - our last kiss,

I found the love that I knew I had missed.

Well now she's gone even though I hold her tight,

I lost my love, my life that night.

A while later, there was a small bonfire lit and the bodies were burned. He sat nearby, a hand full of ash in his hands. Tears threatened to spill out. It hadn’t been his time to die, he wanted to scream. He didn’t. He remained in a trance, eyes not moving from the leaping flames.

Oh where, oh where, can my baby be? 
The Lord took her away from me.
She's gone to heaven so I've got to be good, 
so I can see my baby when I leave this world.

He stood among the ranks of the Scout Regiment. After the death, he had devoted himself to preventing anyone else from dying in that way. In a way, it was a way of easing his grief. It only could do some much though. When a commander came by to check on him, there was no answer. There was simply a broken body in a pile of red. The autopsy result came later. He was dead of a broken heart.

I am now taking requests. Please leave one in the comments here or any where else. (deviations, journals, etc...) B-) (Cool) But no lemons or limes, please and thank you. I'm going to slap some sense into you! 

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A/N: I uh… had an idea. I feel like I should properly introduce you guys to my oc, APH Haiti. I say this because her back story is complicated and will add a new perspective to many characters. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone’s assumed that nations have one personality trait, I’d never need to work. Therefore, I’m here to shed some AP world history light on the subject. Enjoy and please, remember that there are multiple sides to every story.


Bright skies and blue seas greeted the child every morning. Her mother’s tribe would be bustling around with their daily tasks and her sister called for her energetically. The child awoke per her twin’s request and stumbled out into the world. The old languages flowed off the tongues of the hunters and the women began preparing the morning meal.

“Children? Are you awake?” Their mother called from her spot by the cooking fire. Both of them nodded, making their way over to help.

“Mother, may we go collect more firewood?” The elder twin asked, politely dipping her head. The older tribe chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, of course. Be careful though.” The two nodded and began to make their way into the forest.

Animals blinked calmly at the pair and birds fluttered around to help. However, when they got to the middle of the forest, voices echoed from the direction of the beach.

“What was that?” The younger queried, her green eyes wide with fear. The elder attempted to comfort her companion.

“I’m sure it was only the hunters.” Her sister tilted her head.

“B-but I don’t recognize-” Before she can finish the strangers are standing over them.

“Mira! Dos niñas!”

The first stranger was a man, dressed in finer fabric than the two had ever seen. A feather decorated his hat and two hard green eyes stared down at them, framed by dark chocolate hair. On his right is a man with curly black hair and what appears to be a large leaf. The girls shrunk back, the elder twin bravely telling the men to back off. The men do nothing but chuckle. The first turned back to the group and spoke again.

“Ella tiene el fuego de su madre.” The group chuckled once more as the man grabbed the children.

They struggled but were tied with heavy rope. His voice dropped and he whispered to them in a familiar dialect.

“I know your mother, so do not be afraid. Take us to her and there shall be no problem.” The two girls nodded slowly and gestured in the direction they had come from. The men applauded their leader and began marching in that direction, using sharp blades to hack at the trees.

The children were dragged along, the path gradually becoming more and more familiar. The animals from before now scattered in fear. Birds squawked and took to the skies, causing the village to look up in bewilderment. However, before anything could happen, the unwelcome visitors arrived in the clearing, holding the two children hostage. The remaining hunters took arms and the women glared angrily. However, the girls’ mother was the first to speak.

“Why do you come here now? We have nothing for you or your men.”

The tan stranger smirked in response.

“Yes, you do. Gold, raw material… plenty of resources to desire.”

The tribe crowded around her, spears raised along with several bows.

“Let the children go.” Their mother’s voice was rough and the last thing they heard that day. The children were blindfolded and both were hit over the head.

While they were transported to the stranger’s ship, their tribe was massacred and their mother destroyed. She faded, in that strange way the elder nations do when they fall. Like Gaul, Britannica, and Rome before her, Hispaniola dissolved into nothingness. Her legacy was left to her twin daughters.

One obstacle stood in their way, however. The two girls were now colonies. The era of imperialism had begun.


Sharp words and barking dogs greeted the child every morning. Her colonizer’s servants bustled around and she attempted to keep up with her chores. Her sister was the precious princess of the house and she… she was nothing. Ever since the 1493 incident with the tribes… sorry, her people now. There had been a settlement; it had gone by the name La Navidad. However, she and her people had gotten sick of being pushed around by the strangers. She had inspired a revolt and La Navidad was left in pieces. The strange nation, Spain, or as he requested to be called at home, Sr. Antonio, was furious. As punishment, she was forced to stay with him.

In Spain, she had been demoted to slave. Punishment was common when her chores were incomplete. As a result, she was able to complete tasks dubbed impossible by most adults. Armor was shined every day, the stairs were waxed by noon, swords were sharpened before breakfast preparations, and the stables were mucked by dusk every day, without fail.

The only exceptions were when she was sick with an earthquake or some other horrid event. Those days were the worst. Sr. Antonio required her to clean twice as much then, and naturally almost nothing got done. Her punishment was a sound beating, followed through with several attempts at rape. Of course, her sister or some other colony would interrupt with teary eyes. As hard hearted as the guy was, his heart softened for his other children. Obviously, the only children he liked were the good ones; the ones who picked up his language flawlessly, the ones who submitted to his will without a fight, the ones who didn’t have to be watched for fear of them cutting his throat in his sleep.

Living with the pirate was hard, but there were a few bright spots. Sr. Antonio had two friends and an ally who came to visit on business trips quite often. One, an albino Prussian with a charismatic attitude called Gilbert Beilschmidt, came over with new swords and warfare advice. The second, an aristocratic Frenchman with a soft spot for children by the name of Francis Bonnefoy, always brought furs from a distant place. When she asked him about it, he’d replied with a smile, telling her they were from Canada. This was one of the only men she trusted and the two soon had an illegal trade going. After all, he promised he’d never mistreat her. The ally, a man named Arthur Kirkland, was an English pirate and had pretty much the same world view as the Spaniard.  He smirked every time the Spaniard abused her, knowing full well about her colonizer’s dying interest in her country. It meant that she was free for the taking.

That would remain in her memory for quite some time after.


One of her master’s other colonies, who asked her to simply call him Lars, had struck up trade with her home. It was highly illegal considering the revolution Antonio was trying to put down. However, legality was the one thing that never bothered her. After all, who knew how many French and British pirates and buccaneers were living in her country? At least this time she’d be helping someone and not just supplying a source of income.

It wasn’t fair that Sr. Antonio had closed off the salt trade for Lars’s people. It was the only thing that could produce the herring his people needed to live. So when he’d come to here, eyes pleading and face tear-stained, how could she refuse? Her sister warned her that it would lead to trouble but she’d discarded the caution.


She should have listened to her sister. Her green eyes were locked onto the burning settlements while Sr. Antonio ordered his troops to abandon her here. The first glimpse of her home in almost a century and it had fallen to pieces.

“What have I done?” She whispered to her sister, who, in a Spanish military uniform, looked more alien than ever. Her sister glared heavily.

“You went and screwed up any chance you had of protection. Because of you, I’ll have to spend centuries repairing the damage to the east. Thanks a lot.” The rest of her only family’s thoughts were cut off by a sharp command from Antonio.

“Marisol, back in formation. We’re leaving. She should have known better than to assist Holland.” The west side of the island was left in ruins, with most of her citizens having been killed or escaped onto Dutch ships passing by. Arthur had been right; Antonio was not attached to his colonies. They were not secure and any one of them could be given up at any time.

Hopefully, she thought, her land could be hers once again and life could return to the way her mother had raised them on.


Such was not the case. Arthur, Francis, and the war-racked Lars all claimed her home as a base for their pirates and privateers. The three of them ransacked Antonio’s ships that were headed to her sister’s home and beyond. Alongside that, they massacred the wild cattle her people had worked so hard to care for not even twenty years prior.

However, all was not bad. Francis visited whenever he could; her only source of company. It was then his discovered the full extent of his friend’s mistreatment of his colonies and vowed to help in any way possible. Such a promise proved difficult to keep indeed. In fact, the lawless communities would continue to thrive for 35 years more and then some.

1660 to 1684

When the British governor was replaced with a Frenchman, she felt as if she could cry. It had taken several years, but Francis had managed to manipulate his English lover into giving him control of the small colony. This was the beginning of her redemption, as promised several years back. While waiting for such relief, the girl had aged slightly in human years. No longer a small child, she now resembled the average seven year-old human. It was here when Francis began allowing his people to create settlements. In 1663, the former town of Yaguana was rebuilt and renamed, now bearing the mark of the French Crown.

The following year, Francis formally claimed the colony as his own, much the distaste of Antonio. The two began to bicker endlessly after this point, with it all boiling down to her. However, one thing they could agree on. The lawless settlements in Tortuga had to go. Together, the former friends signed the Treaty of Ratisbon, and pirate hunting became all the rage. It was odd, though. Many of the hunters were former pirates and buccaneers themselves, enticed by the gold of the French Crown.

The colonial capital was moved during this time as well, to a settlement named Port-de-Paix. She was relocated here by the Frenchman, who claimed he could better care for her when she lived in civilized places.

For once, a European was right.


When Francis returned from combat in the Nine Year’s War, she was surprised to learn that her country now belonged to him, officially. Antonio had seceded her to one of his former best friends.

The Treaty of Ryswick had freed her.

Well, not entirely. Under the law, she was a colony again, just under new management. In order to assist in the transition, she accepted every change forced upon the land, and places were renamed faster than she could learn the names.

Saint-Domingue, her new official name, was thrust back into the centre of politics.

Planters began plantations, growing cotton, indigo, and even sugar cane. Hundreds of African slaves were imported to assist in the harvesting and the like.

However, the largest change came when Francis moved her to Paris. It was there that she became acquainted with Francis’s other charges, Canada in particular. Mathieu was older than her by almost two centuries but the two got along rather nicely. In fact, the Frenchman was rather proud of his son for integrating the Caribbean nation into their small family. The colonies hardly ever misbehaved and the Frenchman always had compliments from visiting nations and nobles on his skill with colonies.

Not all were enamored with the situation, as usual. The Nine Year’s War had caused the fragile relationship between France and England to dissolve and now the Englishman was jealous.

1711 to 1789

At the beginning of the year 1711, the capital was moved yet again and still she allowed it. Cap-Fraçais was the new centre, as ordered by Louis XIV.

1726 saw the formation of Les Cayes to the south and the largest city of the region.

Port-au-Prince was formed in 1749 and she was finally allowed to travel between Paris and her home in this city as necessary.

Despite the era of peace and happiness for her, Francis was exhausted. The Seven Year’s War took tonnes of energy from him and in 1763, Mathieu was reluctantly handed over to Arthur. It was a blow to both the French Crown and the little family she had found. Francis refused to see anyone for quite some time afterwards, so she continued to oversee her people’s growth.

By 1770, Port-au-Prince was named the new capital and she was ecstatic. But it was not to last. That very same year, the second major earthquake hit along with a tsunami. Thousands died and she was afflicted with rapid seizures and covered in what would later become scars.

Francis cared for her the best he could and her country gradually got back on its feet, out producing British colonies with coffee and sugar.

With the large plantations came the need for more slaves. In fact, the labour would kill off slaves before they could settle down and start families. Slave traders took people from all along the Atlantic coast, creating ports filled with babbles of languages ranging from French to the old tongues of the Taino.

This was when Voodoo became popular. The African roots mingled with Catholicism, creating a folk religion practiced for hundreds of years.

The so-called ‘Pearl of the Antilles’ became a hotspot with European discrimination against the people of colour. She began to see the horrid conditions her citizens suffered and demanded change from her adopted father.

“Papa, please. They’re dying!”

Francis remained sympathetic but calmly explained that he couldn’t exactly stop his boss’s wishes. That sympathy only lasted so long, though. When reports of her people murdering French settlers reached him, he appealed to his boss to maintain order.

1789 to 1804

Francis soon forgot all about keeping order with his adopted daughter while he suffered through the French Revolution.

When she heard about it, the freemen of colour demanded the same rights won in France’s fight. There was refusal and the delegates that went to negotiate returned unhappy at first. Equality was granted through a group called The Society of the Friends of the Blacks. Two members in particular tried to stir up a rebellion to ensure such liberty was granted but had it crushed by the French militia. They fled to the Spanish part of the island but were returned and executed.

In 1791, the slaves were done with mistreatment. Led by a Voodoo priest, they burned plantations to the ground and revolution had begun.

In an effort to quiet the flames, the French sent a representative, Léger-Félicité Sonthonax, to help manage the colony and distribute freedom. He declared the slaves free, but severely limited their freedom. The constitution of 1795, done by the French National Convention, ratified emancipation.

This was not the end, as she had hoped. Certainly, her people were free, but the white settlers from Francis’s home fought liberty with help from Arthur! Military leader Toussaint L’Ouverture with his recently freed army of slaves backed up Sonthonax, but the official was recalled in 1796, leaving chaos to reign.

It was here that Arthur finally made good on his threat from so many years prior, threatening full-scale invasion. Acting quickly, she provoked L’Ouvture, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, and Henri Christophe to fight back. The three pushed back the British with their army and Toussaint was named the de facto leader of her nation. For once, her own citizens had free reign.

In 1801, Toussaint had defeated a threat to his power in the south and had taken her sister’s country of Santo Domingo as well. For once, the younger twin was superior.
However, his leadership left much to be desired. Toussaint never reprimanded the slave holders because he was convinced slavery would never return. He even didn’t both with declaring full independence. Technically, she was still French territory.

Not even a year passed before Napoleon decided enough was enough. She’d had her fun with playing independence and now it was time to be a good colony and resubmit.

But her people were not content with the idea of giving up their new found freedom. Napoleon’s edicts revoked the rights given and all people of colour were once again declared slaves. Toussaint lost his lieutenants to the invaders via bribery and the hopeless outlook. Reluctantly, the leader met with French generals but was kidnapped and taken to Paris where he died of disease.

With that news, her former leaders once again took up arms in the bloody conflict.

Inhumane methods were used to execute people from both sides and the bodies piled up. But no matter how bad it got, she was never gone from the battlefield, all of her energy dedicated to getting her former caretaker out of her country.

Slowly but surely, the tide of the war turned to her favour. Napoleon and Francis both realized that it was hopeless to pursue a North American Empire and had to sell Louisiana to stay afloat while fighting both her and Arthur, who was suffering one of his many bouts of anger towards the Frenchman.

The long nightmare was almost over.

1804 to 1806

She breathed a sigh of relief when Dessalines declared her nation free at last. Her people even renamed the country, choosing to follow Taino culture and call the place Haiti. For once, the brunette nation approved of the change wholeheartedly. It reminded everyone of her legacy from her mother. After all, she was the land of many mountains all those years ago, so it seemed fitting that she be renamed as such.

However, peace didn’t last. Dessalines was outraged with the French even after the war and massacred the remaining Europeans. Well, she had managed to convince him to spare the Poles. It wasn’t right to kill them after they gave so much to help her people become free. Instead, they received citizenship if they wished it and several hundred accepted. It was now when she became great friends with Feliks.

The unity they had felt during battle gave her courage and reminded her that she’d have at least one friend in Europe. When it came time for him to leave, she begged him to allow her to repay him. He’d only smiled and boarded the waiting vessel. Later, she found out that both Prussia and Russia were invading his home and had broken down crying.

Dessalines had remedied her briefly, running the first official constitution by her. It held several policies in it including religious freedom and the right for citizens to attack the moment the French returned.

In the end, Dessalines’ reign proved disastrous and he was assassinated in 1806.

1806 to 1820

After the death of Dessalines, her people split in half, forcing her to become bedridden with a split personality. It caused agonizing headaches and so much political trauma that the eastern part of the island took advantage and attacked. Jean-Pierre Boyer began to reunite the nation as quickly as possible when he took over in the south.

1820 to 1843

Boyer also invaded her sister’s half of the island, creating a permanent divide between them when the two finally separated.

She hated the strife that followed all of her bosses and a small part of her began to regret the revolutions.


Even though she and Boyer had been running the independent nation for years, Francis still refused to acknowledge her freedom. It wasn’t so until she paid 150 million gold francs.

When she asked what for, the response was for loss of property. She didn’t speak to Francis after the payment was made.

Boyer had begun the debt of the nation and she wasn’t amused by her boss’ antics.

1843 to 1915

During this time she suffered nothing but political instability that lasted until Alfred, or Mr. America as her many bosses insisted she address him as, intervened.

Alfred had particularly not been fond of the German influence in her economy, to which she shrugged and explained that Gilbert had insisted that his little brother trade with her. Feliks had assured her it was safe so what was the problem?

“Ludwig is my friend, Mr. America. Why is there a problem with us trading? It’s been going smoothly since… well, since Gilbert and my former parent forced us to befriend each other.”

The American had groaned and slammed his head on the desk.

“You do realize he just lost a war, right? Ludwig won’t be able to trade considering how we beat his ass.”

She huffed as the war reentered her thoughts. The German hadn’t allowed her to fight with him so she’d done nothing while her best friend suffered greatly. Needless to say, it had hurt her to abandon him.

1915 to 1934

Ten years of Alfred’s interference and she’d had enough. Her people viewed the forced labour to build roads as a new form of slavery and hated every moment.

As a nation must, she led her people in once again dispelling another who wished to use her to their own ends. Her people weren’t satisfied until she confirmed the American would never come back.

How could she refuse the request? Alfred had done so much to help, but changing the constitution and unpaid labour was too far.

Essentially, she told him to take his reforms and stick it.

1934 to 2011

Military coups began to take advantage and once again, she went through boss after boss.

They included Stenio Vincent, Elie Lescot, Dumarsais Estime, Francois Duvalier, Jean-Claude Duvalier, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, and Rene Preval.

Aristide was okay at first but the United Nations eventually sent in troops to stop the 2004 coup d’état.

Alfred, Francis, and her adopted brother Matthew sent in the first forces but their soldiers were accused of not keeping the peace properly.

Thus, Brazil took matters into his own hands. He made sure his people led the peace keeping efforts, pulling in Argentina, Chile, Jordan, Morocco, Nepal, Peru, the Philippines, Spain, Sri Lanka, and Uruguay. The nations tried to prevent conditions from growing worse.

More troopers were called for in 2005 and she began to realize that her people couldn’t be handled, despite Brazil’s best efforts. Protests ended violently and she felt utterly hopeless.


This year was the worst yet. A 7.0 earthquake devastated her heart, Port-au-Prince. The aftershocks measured up to 5.9. It was the worst event yet.

Three million of her people were hurt and/or killed, leaving her devastated. This earthquake injured her façade horribly and her sister, Marisol, immediately sent aid.

24 hours later, Iceland, who introduced himself as Emil, arrived with an aid team. Yao Wang, otherwise known as China, arrived the following Thursday with Qatar, Israel, and Korea following soon after.

Alfred’s people raised money for the American Red Cross to help and Matthew’s boss, Stephen Harper, began to discuss immigration to Canada. America did the same a little afterwards, providing illegal immigrants a pass to stay in the U.S.

The twins also allowed children from the destroyed orphanages be adopted by their citizens, something she felt would require her eternal thanks.

It was during this tragedy that she finally spoke to Francis again. The two managed to repair their relationship and now are as close as ever.

It was also the first time she was able to be reunited with her adopted family since the 1700s.

With the effects of the earthquake still being dealt with, she finally feels like this boss can do manage her home properly. President Martelly is very fond of his nation and she believes it is a step in the right direction.

Her overseas affairs are fine; Francis, Matthew, Ludwig, and Alfred remain her top partners. However, she recently struck up relations with Taiwan, so she prays that it won’t backfire.

But all this aside, Haiti is strong. As usual, ups and downs have engulfed the western half of the shared island but she’s proved time and time again that she can manage. Her heritage is strong and celebrated; she even took a human name to honour her former European caretakers: Aubry Sanchez.

As time goes on, she looks over what she’s done, what her people have done, and smiles. If she’s been around this long, what’s stopping her from moving into the next year with her head held high?

The answer; absolutely nothing.
Drowning in History: Haiti
Alrighty, this took two days so I hope it's satisfactory. If you couldn't tell, I have my AP world history knowledge mixed with my Hetalia and stuff happened. Enjoy

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I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing. Just praying to a god that I don’t believe in. I got time while she’s got freedom. Because when a heart breaks, no it don’t break even.

He sat on the edge of the bed they had once shared. Now, he was alone, in a house that had once been so filled with life and love. The house was dark now, empty. A pitiful reminder of what had been. Of what would never be again.

Her best days will be some of my worst. She finally found a man that’ll put her first. While I’m wide awake, she’s no time asleep and… and when a heart breaks, no it don’t break even.

There was a picture still on the wall. It was painful to look at, it reminded him how much he had failed. Of when the one he cared about most walked out on him and left him alone. Alone and depressed. A shell of the man he used to be.

Oh, what am I supposed to do when the best part of me is always you? And what am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re okay? I’m falling to pieces yeah, I’m falling to pieces, I’m falling to pieces.

He no longer knew what it was like to not be hurting. Every reminder, every memory now made his life a living hell. Even breathing hurt. He felt as if the absence was killing him, slowly but surely. If that was the master plan of his beloved, it was certainly working.
They say bad things happen for a reason. But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding. Cause she’s moved on while I’m still grieving. And when a heart breaks, no it don’t break even, even no.
He curled up in a ball, sobbing his eyes out like he had for six months now. Pain and agony had just become two synonyms for life. Misery, withdrawal. His two best friends. It hurt. Every smile he had to fake, every forced laugh. It did nothing but stop his friends from worrying. A living lie to satisfy those who he had no desire to please.

What am I gonna do when the best part of me is always you? And, what am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re okay? I’m falling to pieces, yeah, I’m falling to pieces, yeah, I’m falling to pieces (One’s still in love while the other’s leaving) I’m falling to pieces (Cause when a heart breaks no it don’t break even)

He sat at home, staring at the angry red cuts lining his arms like a sick work of art. The razor blade was left in a puddle of liquid, metallic to the taste. And of course he would what blood tasted like. Every diagonal sweep with the offending blade caused him to bite down on his lip until the pale face was stained red from the top lip on down. A bottle of wine sat nearby, half empty of its contents. The label had been ripped off and now hung from the bottle as if trying to remind him of its original purpose. He growled at the memory. His former love had no right to be invading his thoughts like this. Not today. ‘Maybe they left because of what you did.’ A small voice nagged. ‘After all, you were the one who cheated. And on your anniversary too!’ It was his fault. He was the one who cheated. The one who failed. God, he couldn’t even look at himself anymore. ‘I’m sorry love…’ He whispered as more blood welled from the newest cut. This time however, the bleeding was figurative as well as literal.

Oh, you got his heart and my heart and none of the pain. You took your suitcase and I took the blame. Now I’m trying to make sense of what little remains. Ooh, because you left me with no love, and honor to my name.

He lay there, unmoving on the bathroom floor. There was an empty, shattered bottle next to him. A telltale sign of what he attempted to do. Blood covered the white tile, staining it a ghastly dark red. An old picture of him and his ex-love was in his hand, his fingers wrapped tightly around the frame. He had seen him again. Him and his new lover. His brother, Allister and… Francis. God, the sight of the French blonde with someone else had forced him to the brink of snapping. He had congratulated himself on keeping a cool head until the couple was out of sight. What he hadn’t known was that the said Frenchman had seen him and was extremely concerned.

I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing. Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in. I got time while she’s got freedom. And when a heart breaks no it don’t break even.

Francis walked into the darkened house and called out for his old friend and former lover. He walked around, very surprised at the way the house looked. Nothing had changed since Francis had walked out, and that had been a year ago. He continued to walk around the house. He stopped in front of a particular picture. In the frame was the two of them, smiling. He smiled faintly and a single tear rolled down his face. It was the same picture he kept by his bedside. All this time, Francis had tried to see other people. He had honestly tried to move on. But throughout all of that, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit that he no longer loved the man who had cheated on him. And right now, he knew why. He loved him. It was as simple as that. Francis resumed his search with renewed vigor. He finally stumbled upon a ghastly scene. His love lay in a puddle of bright red and broken glass. He held in a gasp of horror and was by his side in an instance.

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me is always you, and what am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re okay? I’m falling to pieces, yeah, I’m falling to pieces. I’m falling to pieces…

Arthur Kirkland had woken up in the hospital with the man he loved by his side. He didn’t remember much, and he felt it was better for him that he didn’t. He tried to get up, only to have a worried Frenchman pull him back down.

“You need to sleep mon cher.” Francis stated and finally Arthur gave in. Every time he had slept for the past year had been filled with nightmares, but with the Frenchman beside him, he felt at peace. Gentle snoring told him that Francis had fallen into the clutches of sleep. Arthur looked over at the sleeping form next to him. The same form that had forced him to the edge of insanity and brought him back. Arthur smiled, an honest, real smile. The first one in a year.
How to Live a Nightmare
A FrUk fic from awhile back in my career. :D (Big Grin) However, I must caution you. I made my friend cry and my mentor visibly upset when they read this. Sweating a little... That being said, enjoy. Heart 4 
  1. This place... is odd to say the least.
  2. I won't have any watchers.
  3. My work... doesn't suit this place.
  4. Why did I join?


PhoenixofFire177's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
'Ello loves, Phoenix here. I'm an author of sorts, specializing in complicated dialogue, depressing plots with uncertain endings, and romance. Please, enjoy your reading experience.


Add a Comment:
DamaiMikaz Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi there! :wave:
PhoenixofFire177 Featured By Owner Edited Jun 29, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
'Ello there!Hug 
PhoenixofFire177 Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Isn't this rather lonely?