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Arthur woke up gasping for breath, swimming in his bedsheets and a pool of his own sweat.
It took him a moment to ensure that he wasn't still trapped in his mind.
The hallucinations were always so real. They were vivid and pertained to all of Arthur's five senses. The flames that licked away at the layers of his skin, the sharp fingernails that raked across his body, drawing blood; the white-hot knives sinking their razor-sharp teeth into his arms, intent on lacerating him, and the short stretch of rough rope, handled by unseen hands, pressed against his windpipe, slowly causing him to turn blue with asphyxiation...
Arthur shuddered again, trying to suppress the memory, but the more he tried to forget, the more those thoughts stubbornly surfaced to his mind. He lifted a trembling hand towards his throat, and was shocked to feel the ragged imprint of the rope, where it had dug into his skin.
He squeezed his eyes shut, gulped, and forced his hand away from his throat. It was always the worst when his hallucinations stalked him into reality. Admittedly, some of them, like the Flying Mint Bunny, weren't too horrifying, but more often than not, most of the visions left Arthur reeling into the dangers of his worst nightmares.
Arthur willed, begged himself to move, to get out of bed to comfort himself with a cozy cup of Early Grey and a scone, but his body refused to obey, trapping himself in the aftermath of his terrors with nothing but his pillow to defend himself in the inky dark.
Just when Arthur thought he could resist no longer, that he would just succumb to the dark demons that nipped at his mind, the door opened with a sonorous BANG!, temporarily chasing the monsters away in shock.
"'Sup, Artie?" the intruder cockily greeted with a grin.
In walked Alfred, the person that Arthur least wanted to see, the person that Arthur swore would never view him in this feverish, helpless state.
But Arthur was too weak to resist, too weak to push him away as he lay next to him, too weak to slap away the hand that stroked his fair hair away from his sweat-soaked forehead. He lay there and whimpered. The final shreds of his resolve and pride soon caved in, and he found his broken self curling into Alfred's sturdy body for protection.
If this was another hallucination, Arthur didn't want it to end. But everything about Alfred was so real; the slightly greasy scent of American fast-food wafting from his clothes, the bright twinkle in his crisp blue eyes, and the mop of artfully messed-up blond hair with the little strand that relentlessly stuck up in a rigid crescent on top of his hand. With each passing second, he could feel the darkness ebbing away at his mind subsiding, eventually vanishing, as he immersed himself in the ostensibility of Alfred.
As Arthur drifted into a rare, dreamless sleep, he still couldn't decide whether this was actually happening or not. Alfred could've been something that the brighter half of his imagination cooked up out of desperation and despair. But Alfred was so tangible, the weight of his well-built body snugly pressing into Arthur, and his soothing, calloused hand was still petting Arthur's head reassuringly. So tangible. So existent. So real.
But then again, all of Arthur's hallucinations were.
It took him a moment to ensure that he wasn't still trapped in his mind.
The hallucinations were always so real. They were vivid and pertained to all of Arthur's five senses. The flames that licked away at the layers of his skin, the sharp fingernails that raked across his body, drawing blood; the white-hot knives sinking their razor-sharp teeth into his arms, intent on lacerating him, and the short stretch of rough rope, handled by unseen hands, pressed against his windpipe, slowly causing him to turn blue with asphyxiation...
Arthur shuddered again, trying to suppress the memory, but the more he tried to forget, the more those thoughts stubbornly surfaced to his mind. He lifted a trembling hand towards his throat, and was shocked to feel the ragged imprint of the rope, where it had dug into his skin.
He squeezed his eyes shut, gulped, and forced his hand away from his throat. It was always the worst when his hallucinations stalked him into reality. Admittedly, some of them, like the Flying Mint Bunny, weren't too horrifying, but more often than not, most of the visions left Arthur reeling into the dangers of his worst nightmares.
Arthur willed, begged himself to move, to get out of bed to comfort himself with a cozy cup of Early Grey and a scone, but his body refused to obey, trapping himself in the aftermath of his terrors with nothing but his pillow to defend himself in the inky dark.
Just when Arthur thought he could resist no longer, that he would just succumb to the dark demons that nipped at his mind, the door opened with a sonorous BANG!, temporarily chasing the monsters away in shock.
"'Sup, Artie?" the intruder cockily greeted with a grin.
In walked Alfred, the person that Arthur least wanted to see, the person that Arthur swore would never view him in this feverish, helpless state.
But Arthur was too weak to resist, too weak to push him away as he lay next to him, too weak to slap away the hand that stroked his fair hair away from his sweat-soaked forehead. He lay there and whimpered. The final shreds of his resolve and pride soon caved in, and he found his broken self curling into Alfred's sturdy body for protection.
If this was another hallucination, Arthur didn't want it to end. But everything about Alfred was so real; the slightly greasy scent of American fast-food wafting from his clothes, the bright twinkle in his crisp blue eyes, and the mop of artfully messed-up blond hair with the little strand that relentlessly stuck up in a rigid crescent on top of his hand. With each passing second, he could feel the darkness ebbing away at his mind subsiding, eventually vanishing, as he immersed himself in the ostensibility of Alfred.
As Arthur drifted into a rare, dreamless sleep, he still couldn't decide whether this was actually happening or not. Alfred could've been something that the brighter half of his imagination cooked up out of desperation and despair. But Alfred was so tangible, the weight of his well-built body snugly pressing into Arthur, and his soothing, calloused hand was still petting Arthur's head reassuringly. So tangible. So existent. So real.
But then again, all of Arthur's hallucinations were.
Literature
HetaOni: They Have Each Other
"How...how long have we been waiting?" A voice, thick with a British accent, inquired. He was sitting on his bed in the safeoom, his sightless eyes locked on the nation in front of him.
"Dunno..." The other replied, his dirty blonde hair falling in his eyes. "England?" The nation found it hard to bring himself to lock gazes with the Brit, but did it anyway. "What...what's it like?"
With a sigh, the older man shook his head, his pale emerald eyes staring down at the floor. "By 'it' I assume you mean being blind? Well America..." England blinked slowly, as if it would change anything, and glanced back up in the direction of the American. "To
Literature
Absence: USUK
Four months
Arthur sighed staring out the window stirring his tea. The weather seemed to match his mood, pouring down rain, grey skies ominously covering the entire city. He glanced at the calendar again, seven months behind. He wouldn't dare change it in fear that time would forever stop where he left it. Life stopped for him the day that Alfred left him. Four months, he said. He would only be gone four months. He was a liar.
'Liar,' Arthur whispered, gripping his tea cup tightly. Crash! 'Oh bloody hell!' Arthur cursed as the hot liquid spilled over his hands. He quickly ran his hands under the cold water from the sink. He let his
Literature
USUK - How To Tell Someone...
My first USUK fanfic! Please don't judge me too harshly, it's just cute and fluffy, nothing more. XD
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"America
How would you tell someone
You love them?"
America looked up, confused by England's sudden question. "What are you talking about?"
England sighed, exasperated. He looked like he was trying to be casual, but he actually just looked really embarrassed. "How would you tell someone you love them?" he asked again, his voice beginning to speed up.
America just blinked at England, trying to keep his expression blank. He didn't exactly want
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USUK oneshot I wrote... Sorry for not uploading anything in a while ^^' Please enjoy~!
And since a lot of you seem to be asking, I'll leave for you to personally decide whether Alfie was real or not~
And since a lot of you seem to be asking, I'll leave for you to personally decide whether Alfie was real or not~
© 2012 - 2024 vivtheviolinist
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i read "the bright twinkie in his crisp blue eyes" by accident haha