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Spain x Reader - Finale - P2Spaiƞ x Reader-Fiƞaɭe-P2
Darkness presses on your eyes as you come to your senses. For a few moments, you lie there, fighting back thoughts and keeping your eyes closed. The most peculiar feeling is coming over you, quickening your heartbeat. It feels as if you are floating but something, or maybe someone is holding you down, keeping you from flying away. Oh, right. Someone is.
Lazily, almost reluctantly, you open your eyes halfway to a crowded white room. The room is filled with huge computers, with people typing things into the machines furiously. People of all kinds rush past each other, some of them smiling at each other or frowning at others. Everybody is dressed in unremarkable white shirts and pants. You find you are dressed the same way as you look down at yourself.
This scene might have been a fairly normal one, had there been any sound at all.
You raise your head slightly, and your eyes snap open completely in surprise. Sound rushes back to you, and it’s
Bluebird - Pilot!America x Sucidal!Reader
← ϐluɛbird → Pilot!America x Sucidal!Reader
Warming: May be triggering, and is very sad.
[This pair of wings worn and rusted,
from too many years by my side
They can carry me, swear to be
sturdy and strong…]
She inhales, sharply drawing a breath through her cracked lips as a breeze brushes her hollowed cheeks. Her fingers flutter, tempted to wrench the locks of snarled hair out of her face. [Name]’s skin, once soft and healthy, is now a sickly color and seems almost translucent. Glowing lights fill every part of her vision, sprinkled with arching bridges and the edges of buildings. The sky is painted a shade of dark blue, almost black. The moon isn’t quite full, but it’s close.
The city is beautiful beneath her feet.
Too bad it’s her last time seeing it.
She can hear laughter from the floor below her, and the clinking of bottles and glasses. [Name] doesn’t seem to remember the last time she had laughed. But the promises se
Spain x Reader - Finale - P3Spaiƞ x Reader-Fiƞaɭe-P3
Taking your hand gently in his, the man with the green eyes leads you away from your platform and into the crowd. He walks towards one of the towering computers, and nudges you to sit down at a bench. You slip your hand out of his and sit on one end of the bench, your eyes following his form as he sits down besides you. The man starts to type in a language you can’t read, occasionally glancing at you.
There’s a long period of silence as he types and you wait.
“So…What’s your name?” You ask, shifting a little in your seat.
He merely shakes his head sadly at you, not saying anything. You frown, wondering if he had understood your question.
“Do you have a name?”
The man nods once, looking a little irritated.
“…Can you speak?”
He shakes his head, and his irritated look is replaced with one of sadness.
“…Oh,” you say, feeling sorry for him. “Did you los
Spain x Reader - Finale (CONTEST ENTRY)
Spaiƞ x Reader-Fiƞaɭe
Antonio smells the acrid scent of gunpowder in the air. He hears the gunshots, the shouting of men and the screams of women. He feels the cannon, a deep vibration that goes through his entire body as he stares at the ironically cloudless sky. The small velvet box in the pocket of his jacket presses into his side sharply. The Spaniard is also aware of the beating of his heart, the sound thrumming in his ears. It is not as steady as it was a few minutes ago. Now it’s fainter, less sure. Antonio smiles a little as he sees you run towards him, despite the men yelling at you to get away from the battle. And then, the memories flash.
It had started off small. The two of you were acquaintances, nothing more. Sometimes it was a borrowed pencil, with an accidental touch here and there. The two of you had theatre together, and you started to talk more. Both you and Tony were friends with Francis, and though you had not met Gilbert before, you got al
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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