A poem I wrote about Russia and his flag ( Read more... )

There is a certain feeling to England’s house. A rigid dignity, a stern stiffness. Germany sees this and approves of it, but he misses the sweet, effortless beauty of Feliciano’s villa. It is a sturdy house, beautiful in its own way, but the beauty is tacky and pasted-on. There are paintings all along the wall. Germany rips them off. He rips them ( Read more... )

I never really found out who they were ( Read more... )

Higurashi marathons+writing RP posts for a psychotic OC of mine+working on Starting Over= ... I'm crazy ( Read more... )

The air smells of pasta, of subtle herbs and smooth oils. It is a welcoming scent, a scent that wraps Germany up and sooths his brain, calling him as a siren does. Stay here, it says. Sit down and stay, it calls to him. He wishes he could listen, that he could sit and forget all about his mission, what he came here to do. But he must go on ( Read more... )

He wishes that he could live forever, only him, and that the other nations would die. There are so many things he wants gone from the world, so many memories of blood and pain, that cannot die so long as there are nations on earth who remember them.

He wishes for a day when the name of Adolf will no longer be remembered as anything more than a ( Read more... )

 Find something interesting to say!


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 I can't get it out of my head!


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 Evil, you hear, EVIL!

... well, I needed SOMETHING to start this journal entry with -_-' So shut up about me saying that too much and keep reading. Or else I'll throw a virtual keyboard at you. Not my real keyboard, I'm not going to throw that at people. *shudders* Can you imagine the damage your head would do to my keyboard?

Speaking of my ( Read more... )