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a hero's legacy episode 2Kyo was sitting on the roof of his house thinking about that strange dream. 'Their coming' he thought he didn't tell rio about it because he didn't want her to be scared.she was still young 'their coming for your sister' those words never left his head.
His thoughts were interrupted when rio called out to him. "Kyo" she said "yeah" he replied "can we go get the ice cream shop?" She asked kyo nodded and jumped down "sure" he said and they both made their way to the city.
(Short time skip)
Kyo and Rio reached the ice cream shop got their ice cream. Both of them choosing vanilla as they were enjoying their sweet treats they were greeted by a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Hello" she greeted. "Um.. h-hello" Rio said, Kyo just stared and observed her "are you Kyo and Rio?" She asked. "Who's asking?" Kyo spoke.
"I just came by to say hello" she smiled, "my name is Star it's a pleasure to meet you" she said. Kyo just looked at her. "Do you mind if I hang out with you?" She asked.
Ichiro x male reader(Name) ran for his life through the forest his only source of light was the full moon illuminating the night sky. He jumped over tree branches and stumps taking deep breaths he had been running for a long time without taking a break.
He couldn't take a break he had to keep running no matter what. He soon tripped and fell over "your a fast runner (name)" a voice chuckled. (Name's) eyes widened there's no way he could have caught up to him so quickly. But there he was hanging upside down from a tree the vampire boy ichiro.
"Are you done running?" He asked, (name) got up slowly and just stared at ichiro. 'It's over he's got me' (name) thought. Ichiro hopped down from the tree and used his vampire speed to appear behind (name) he ripped off (name's) shirt and pinned him to the ground.
"P-please l-let me go" (name) begged. Ichiro chuckled lightly "afraid I can't do that" he smirked leaning towards (name's) neck. He licked his neck before sinking his fangs into his neck.
"S-stop p-please" (n
male reader x mitsukuni chapter three'Great' (name) thought 'i come to a school meet a few people and now I'm being trained to become a host can things get any better?' No don't be fooled these aren't happy thoughts.
(Name) looked around the room observing everyone hikaru and kaoru were sitting at a table, kyoya was on his computer, mori was reading a book, tamaki and haruhi were talking and honey was sleeping.
'Looks like a kid acts like a kid and takes afternoon naps like a kid it's hard to believe he's seventeen' (name) thought walking over to honey senpai before he got to close to him tamaki grabbed his arm.
"What are you doing?" (name) asked "don't get to close to honey senpai" tamaki said (name) could here a little bit of fear in his voice. "Why?" "Honey senpai wakes up in a very bad mood after napping".
(Name) looked at mitsukuni and back at tamaki "fine" he said (name) noticed that mitsukuni's bunny rabbit was on the floor and picked it up.
When he grabbed it mitsukuni had woken up and tamaki ran behind the couch
How to be a better writer!How to be a better writer, or
Even a better artist.
“Trust me”, I have experience,
I’ve been at it for years.
Let me give you a few simple guidelines,
Some that I myself go off of,
And I’ll pretend that my style,
Choice of words, will work for everyone else.
And let’s not forget to mention that
I am a premium member! A beta tester!
A senior member!
Till hell freezes over!
I must know what I’m talking about?
In all my greatness and glory!
I have the authority,
To tell others how to make their art better.
Let’s cut the bullshit here and now,
And ignore those people who tell us our style.
One person, so skilled and great,
With art that all tend to appreciate,
Does not have the right to lead ‘his’ flock,
To determine whose art is worthy or not.
You write one way I write another,
My thoughts are calm, while yours are loud as thunder.
She strokes left, but he’ll stroke right,
Her art his peaceful, but his depicts a fight.
A pencil i
Avoidant Personality DisorderI've never gotten to explain this to anyone before, since every time I try, I break into some sort of sobbing fit. If my explanation sounds a little funky, that may be why.
Yeah. So, I have APD, or Avoidant Personality Disorder.
To summarize, it's a disorder that makes people want to avoid social contact and criticism by all means.
Unfortunately, that includes me.
I didn't know about the disorder until I browsed through psychological disorders for writing purposes, and happened to find it. I matched every single symptom.
Every last one, period. And I believe, wholeheartedly, that I have it.
This isn't your WebMD diagnosis, not when you feel so badly.
It's a really difficult feeling to describe.
Whenever you so much as try to make conversation with any person, you feel like chopping your head off. In my case, you're afraid to say hello. Or goodbye, or thank you, or I love you, or things that people should be able to say without stopping to think.
You feel unworthy o
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,
Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.
A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,
A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.
A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,
Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.
A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,
She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.
A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,
A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.
A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.
A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.
A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.
A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.
A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,
A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
anyway.there are things i know too well about you, and most of them break my heart just remembering them. i knew the look in your eyes right before you would cry, or how it would snap and change from a look of swelling tides to unfiltered rage, aimed directly at me. cause i was the closest thing that you could bruise or throw your words at that wasn't a wall, or yourself. it wasn't damaging you, and as far i was concerned, that was worth a few flourishes or a swollen eye.
the alternative just wasn't worth mentioning or comparing.
there was something not right in your head, maybe the vodka or whatever you drink dissolved a synapses or two, because the notion of cause and effect didn't seem to make any sense, and empathy was just completely lost on you. i did love you, the best i knew how to, the best i could with the cards you gave me. i don't know if you returned those feelings when you were sober and weren't forced to be honest. drunken words are apparently the truths we can't admit when we'
Magic HourMagic Hour
by Kit the Wolfy
I always keep a cool and sunny place in my heart.
A place where the sky glows with the rich blue and pink and yellow of dusk and dawn, and everything is in picture-perfect clarity.
It's my own private magic hour.
And in this magic hour where everything is clear and bright, I take some time every day to reflect.
Reflect on the people I love.
Even if it's hard to continue, and even if I have scars,
My magic hour always heals the pain.
So, every day, I take a little time to retreat into my heart, into my magic hour.
And in that magic hour, I sit down in the grass, lie back, stare up at the shining sky...
And I think about how grateful I am that I have the people I love.
EmotionalA lot of people say that emotions is what makes us human because it's healthy for us to stay happy, joyful, and to always smile. But, what if the table was turn? In fact, is it turned already? Because some people can't feel that way.
What if instead they felt the opposite? What if they felt sad, pessimistic, and always cried tears every day in their lives? Some of them can't help, but feel like that. They feel like they're hopeless, mistakes, imperfect, or not good enough, anxious, depressed, bipolar, tearful, broken, and never going to be the person they dream of being.
So the real question is: Is being any other emotion besides happiness make us human?
NothingAnd the preview shows Nothing, just like the title of this poem.
But what's behind the "Nothing"? If you come closer you will see anything that is, paradoxically, "The Nothing."
Lost!Meandering through a dense jungle, lost in my own thoughts.
Climbing through the thickets, beating back the vines!
The path ahead with its twists and turns, seems to lead nowhere!
Now standing stock-still, scanning the forest rooftop, I feel so alone!
Is there no one who can hear me, as I cry out for guidance?
No one to reach out to, so as to take my hand?
But wait! Is that a sliver of light I see, shining through the darkness?
It is my angel, here to comfort me!
am I in love ?I think something's wrong with me, no matter where I go I still have the same miserable and emotionless expression my face and most of the things I say are insults.
I think it's because of my childhood since I was always alone because of my shy nature and when people try to be friends with me I always turn them down because I don't know if I can trust them.
But one day this girl wanted to be friends with me so I said we can be friends, we've been friends ever since that day and whenever I'm with her I'm always happy and smiling and laughing.
I think I'm in love with her but I'm afraid to tell her because she might not feel the same way and we can't be friends anymore.
When I'm with her all the sadness disappears.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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