Hetalia Meme Thing!Stolen from :iconpony-luver101:Choose 10 of your favourite characters/OCs/Friends/Celebrites/other.1: Italy.2: Romano.3: England.4: America.5: Canada.6: France.7: Prussia. 8: Belarus.9: Liechtenstein.10: Hungary.1:  finds a time machine! What time period do they visit?!America: Dude, I'm totally going into the future to see if they've invented flying cars yet! 2:  falls in love with , but knows that  is dating . What happens?Romano: You think I'm going to back down from flirting with a cute girl like Liechtenstein because of some Frenchie? Ha! Yeah, right.3: wakes up in 's house with no memory of how they got there.Italy: Ve... Hmm? Where am I? This isn't my house.England: Good morning.Italy: Eek! E-
Poetry Basics: BrevityBrevity: n. the quality of expressing much in few words.When I was in tenth grade, I took my first literature course. It was a six week exploration of poetry. The first poem my teacher showed us was Ezra Pound's In a Station of the Metro:The apparition of faces in the crowd;Petals on a wet, black bough.I, in all of my 16-year-old knowledge of the intricacies of what poetry is, informed my teacher that those two lines were not a poem. "You don't think so?""No. They don't rhyme, they are just one metaphor, and did I mention they're only two lines?""We'll see." She sure showed me. Importance in PoetryPound's poem is considered such a great work because he inserts several layers into a single image. Using only 13 words he evokes an entire painting within the reader's mind. You can hear the sounds of the trains, see the fatigue of a mother wrestling with her cranky toddler,
Demon Alfred x Vampire Reader chapter 1Demon Alfred x Vampire ReaderSexy Times:Chapter 1: I finally found him again.You were in your lovely abode, for being a very powerful vampire that could take on the lord of hell and live to tell the tale; you were very much high on the food chain. Many demons would give you their souls if you just bit their necks, but your only interest was human blood. You weren't the type for dirty demon blood. For being raised by aristocrats in the hierarchy of the monster, you associated with the best of them. Parents didn't want their child with low level monsters or demons. They considered them dirty or unclean. Your blood was pure as your parents put it, but you moved out at the rightful age of 575, they wanted you to move out when you hit 1000 but you insisted to live your own life.By this time you were living in a village that was filled with monster haters. Let's just say they believed that the Salam Witch trials were accurately judged. But since the law in the states said that if they we
How to Write a Good XReaderA lot of people really like my XReader stories and some people have even asked me to read their stories and to give advice on how to improve or asked me how I make such good XReader stories. So I decided to make this journal to give the few tips I can, I'm no expert and my stories are nowhere near perfection or anything of that sort. These are just the few tips I would give anyone who is interested in writing or does write XReader insert stories.(THIS IS JUST MY OPINION)Alrighty then~1. Be descriptive. XReader stories are nice when they are short and cute. I will use a lousy salad comparison. When you write a story with the characters and make them fall in love, it is cute and like a salad. You just have what is needed but when you add in a lot of description- it is like adding salad dressing, tomatoes, and cucumbers. A salad is usually better when there is more in it, depending on a person's preferences. I usually like a story more when there is a lot of descriptio
Beyond AbeyanceI used to write of darkness.Of a place so hollow and apathetic,And my insignificant place inside it.But silence was deafening,along with solitude savage.I suffocated on thoughts of oblivion.And I floated there.Unbreathing,Unspoken,Overlookingmy realm ofgray.It wasn’t until I closed my eyes,That I dreamed of COLOR.C r e a t i o n f l o o d e d m y l u n g s, And jump started my blood flow.I was given all the universe .........Of which to shape into something b e a u t i f u l..........S o I g a v e l i f e. I t o o k c o n t
Pray for PlaguesSempiternal love strung up on silhouetted trees.Grown as cold as the wind passing through fragile leaves.The bitter air clots the breeze in my throat.Each breath simply begs for me to choke.I can't live with you, I didn't want to try.Yet you made me sit there and watch as you painfully died.Now my soul is as hollow as the bones within a bird.I'm just composed of red lines and screams that are never heard.There is no difference between night and day.It feels like I'm sleepwalking either way.Anything would be better than this volatile raw pain.So follow me to the graveyard, and we'll pray for plagues.We're all just scarecrows lost in fields of October.So enjoy your autumn now, because mine's almost over.
SmileThink.Think back to a time where happiness was true,where honesty reigned,when you weren't afraid to try something new.Grasp.Grasp that memory in your hands, and pull it by your chest.Feel the warmth of that memory especially if it was of a friend,Close your eyes and breathe, remember when you found that nest?cry.its okay to cry, just don’t let your hands tremble let go of all the times you lied.Try to convince yourself that the good outweighed the bad just take his advice,When the last thing my friend told me was “smile” the week before he died.
emptythe emptiness eats away at you,its cold numbness explodingfrom behind locked doors andfrom beneath forgotten buried memories,ironically drowning your entire beingin a vacuum devoid ofeven the remnants of a dying star.the darkness is comfortingly unwelcome,and you begin to wonder which willabandon you first -the morning sun that keeps the beast at bayor the hope that it will continue to rise.
Skipping Stones.We skip stones across the sandexpecting rings to spread in pre-historic oceansas Terra Firma recreates itself according to the original blueprints.We step closer to the brinkfor that leap of faith we never dared to takebefore the tide swept us off our feetand carried us beyond the edge of the ancient maps where“Here be Dragons”have been etched into the scorched earth like graffiti.Sentences get too long as we run out of words to form themspeaking with our bodies in a twisted dancewrithingtwistingblindlylike larvae burrowing into the crust of the earth.Seeking deeper towards the internal sunlike an imitation of Icarusdigging deeper until the core melts our waxen wingsand we become yet another particle of our own universe.All thisfrom ripples of oceans pastand the sand slipping between our fingertipsas we walk on bare feet across the heavensin search of answers we have yet to form the questions to.