Natalia Song

Natalia Song

So, this is a drawing of mine that was supposed to be Natasha Romanoff, from The Avengers, but didn’t end up that way. Then for a while she looked like River Song… Not too sure how that happened. Oh well. Anyway…


Totally not related to Fanfiction, sorry!!

Okay, so just a little heads-up for people who have never experienced it: getting your internet taken away until nine o’clock at night really sucks.  Like, really sucks.  My dad decided that it would be fine if he took away my internet for who-knows-how-long, and that I would just be okay with that.  My solution to the problem of being extremely bored?  Napping.  For, like, five straight hours.  And then listening to a shitload of iTunes to stop being so bored.  I can’t do any of my homework, I can’t reply to any of my many emails that need to be replied to really soon, and I can’t talk to any of my friends.  Sound fun?  Yeah. 

Anyways, on a happier note, I finally heard from my sister who’s in college, and we hadn’t heard from her in forever (about a week or so), so that was a huge relief to my parents.  I thought they’d have gotten used to her being gone by now, but apparently not, as they still ask me to send her a text message every day.   I’m fine with keeping in touch with her (I love her!), I just don’t see the need to ask her every second of the day if she’s alright. 

So, yup, on the whole not that great of a day.  BUT!!!  The Oxford English Dictionary is changing its definition of marriage, so I’m really happy about that!  #LGBTRights

Pink Feather Boas

The food here tastes terrible.  The doctors say that you can’t taste it anyway, because of the tube going into your stomach, (in fancy medical terms, no less), but that makes no sense.  You would be laughing and making faces with me every day when the cafeteria served their hamburgers, so why not now?  It’s been three months, and the chairs by your bed have gotten colder from the absence of visitors.  I really wish they wouldn’t give up.

Another thing I bet bugs you: everyone’s wearing green.  It’s not even a nice green, it’s a pale green that makes you want to throw up, but no matter what shade, you’d still hate it. I’m starting to agree with you: pink is a much better color than black.  People are telling me that I’ll have to wear it to the funeral, (black, I mean, not pink).  I tell them to not count their chickens before they hatch.

Dammit, why won’t you talk?!  The first time you’ve opened your eyes in six months, and I can’t even hear your voice?  You don’t even look happy that you’re alive, just sort of worn-out and washed out; like fabric that’s bleached too many times.  All the lines in your eyes remind me of my grandma.  She died ten years ago.

The phone rang today.  I guess math homework would have to wait (not like I minded).  Silence means so much, you know?  What am I talking about; you knew that better than anyone.  Minutes of empty words through the phone, me standing and you laying down somewhere in your room, silence making our lips chapped.  Your first sentence was what made me break down crying, rolling on my bed as the tears and laughter went out of me and to you.  Both of us laughing and crying and apologizing, the first sentence still ringing in our ears.

“You were right, the food did taste like crap.”

A.N.  Hi!!  Okay, so I went to this website (which by the way, everybody in the entire WORLD needs to go to!!!)   and this one website made me cry more in one night then I have in 3 or 4 years.  The stories are really touching.  This is based off of one of them in which a girl’s friend gets in a car crash, and then won’t talk at all for six months.  The rest all came from my imagination, so, hope you enjoy!


Hi everybody!  I’m really sorry about all the repeat posting, but I had to take all of my fanfiction down because I was worried about SOPA.  However, now that enough people have signed the petition to stop them, I”M FREE!!!  Okay, just kidding.  But still, I’m really sorry!

The Battle of the Plains of Abraham

There’s nothing worse in the world than watching your son get torn apart, and not being able to help him or do something about it, to stop it.  France has known loss, sorrow, heartbreak (Jeanne de Arc, and many others), but nothing that tears at him quite like this, and he wonders how England can be so cruel.  If he was doing this to France, then so be it, he could stand it, but a child...  He shook his head in disgust, gently placing another cool cloth on Canada’s forehead (Canada, who looks too thin, too weak, too dead, that he sometimes wonders if they have any chance at all of surviving this war) and leaning in to kiss his cheek lovingly.

He’ll stay, of course.

So he starts singing (Matthew always loved his lullabies), and his heart leaps; it’s working, Canada’s fevered tossing on the bed is getting quieter.  Perhaps the unrest in his capital is finally settling (it’s said that to a nation, having their capital under attack is like being stabbed in the chest by a hot knife); France is simply glad of the reprieve.

Two days later, England retreats; France watching with open hostility, holding a quivering Canada in his arms.

When the Wall Fell

Prussia sits on one side of the wall that now separates East and West Germany.  Running his hand over the bricks (bricks that were brought in the night, built in the night, betrayed him in the night) he wonders why Ludwig (no, it’s Germany now, Germany in wars) did this.  He was such a good kid, never breaking rules, never stepping even one toe out of line.  But now, now he’s got his whole body on the other side (literally, he thinks bitterly).  Now he’s on the other side of the wall.

Because Prussia’s tired, and snow clogged, and weighed down by heartbreak, he can’t bring himself to figure out what to say (if he ever see’s Ludwig again, the real Ludwig).  What do you say to a little brother?  To an accomplice?  To a killer?

He’s come here every day for 14 years, and he’ll keep doing it for 14 more.


14 Years Later

‘If the noise of battle had been loud’, thought Prussia as he ran to a familiar place, ‘then the noise of freedom is deafening.  Deafening, and fucking beautiful.’  As he got closer to the wall, he could see the glint of metal as the sledgehammers were swung up, to crash down again, and bare hands pulled at chunks of rock.  Blood and sweat mingled in the snowy air of East Germany, as Gilbert grabbed a hammer himself and slammed it down, pulling at the now loose shards of separation.  The wall crumbled, and for the briefest moment, face stared at face stared at shocked face.

Then, of course, all hell broke loose.  Both crowds surged forward, touching and crying, laughing and rejoicing and finding.  Prussia laughed, feeling it as his people found each other, found their friends, found their family, but now that they were safe, he had one priority: find Ludwig.  He shoved through the crowds of people searching for loved ones, keeping an eye our for blond hair and blue eyes, features he’d never forget.

He stopped short suddenly, turning to see a face staring at him in awe.

“L-Ludwig?”  He stuttered for the first time in his life (besides when Holy Roman Empire and Old Fritz died), but then years of separation, of loss and longing and alcohol took over and he tackled the German in a hug.  Ludwig stumbled back slightly, then hugged back, burying his face in the albino’s hair and pulling him close as he sobbed quietly.

“Bruder…”  He fell silent, just soaking in the feeling of having a brother again, and felt himself being hugged tighter.  They stayed that way for a second, an eternity, somewhere in between.  Neither of them let go.

Five Reasons Why.

1.)  …Why France will accept being called a pervert, but not a rapist.  It reminds him of the pain inflicted to himself, and many others, during World War Two.  He would never bring himself to do that to anybody, to cause that much shame and anguish to anybody, because he can’t think of a crime that would deserve such an unforgivable punishment.

2.)  …Why for years, France could never stand to see that sight of his own flag.  It wasn’t the whole flag, just the red.  The same color as the red on his back, after his occupation by the Germans.  He still has the symbol, still has the scar, and most of all, still has the memories.  They’ll always stay with him, and he’ll always associate that hurt with the color red.

3.)  …Why for years after, he was afraid of being alone without at least three friends with him.  He’s afraid of being abandoned, afraid that people will leave him again.  One of France’s worst fears is that everybody will abandon him, leave him to fend for himself.  He can’t stand on his own without his friends there to catch him if he falls.

4.)  …Why he tries to look so attractive.  His reasoning is that if he is handsome, people will be more likely to stay with him.  And he can’t bear the thought of being alone, without anybody.  People that are beautiful are more likely to have others stay with them, but they won’t stay with him forever.  The only ones that will do that are the people that France believes don’t care for him, the people that have always been there.  They may have broken apart sometimes, but they’ll always help each other stand back up.

5.)  …Why France will never tell anybody what happened to him, although they have a pretty good idea.  He’s afraid they’ll turn on him, and won’t accept anybody’s reassurances that they’ll always stand by him.  It took a promise from Britain, sworn on the French flag, to get him to finally start letting people in again.