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RomaBel for yesiamanerd-RomaBel-
"Lovino..." The words were quiet, soft as the two looked at eachother in the darkness,
"Hm..?" The response was equally quiet, "What is it, Emma?"
"We should run away together..." She reasons, playing with some strands of her blonde hair with her free hand, feeling the Southern Italian's hand tighten a bit, protectively,
"Si..." The agreement comes simply, "We should." He agrees with a small nod,
"No-one would judge us for this..."
A sigh escapes his lips, "They better not." That time, his voice is rather bitter, and he pulls the female into a tight embrace, "Emma, don't worry about any of them.. They don't matter."
She nods a bit, and then smiles, "Alright...~"
Softly, he smiles, leaving a light kiss on her forehead, "...Emma." He states, causing her to blink a little bit and look up at the other, giving her head a light tilt over to the side,
"What is it??" The question is innocent, curious,
"What do you think about marriage??"
"Marriage?" A slight head tilt, as she blinks
A Guide to Writing the Fauchereve - VER. 1-Guide to Writing the Fauchereve-
Innocence- He apparently likes people who are innocent and kind(Italy, Canada) and is more drawn to them.
Servant For his Friends- He wants his friends to be completely happy and stay with him, so he’s willing to do absolutely anything for them. He even takes the form of the people they care about the most and use that to make them happy and thinks that he’s helping them.
Friendly- He’s friendly towards his friends(So pretty much anyone who doesn’t see through his disguise) and loves getting new ones.
Selfish, but doesn’t know it- He doesn’t think that it’s selfish at all to take them from their homes, and thinks instead he’s making them happier(Which is technically true.)
F…lowers…- Whenever one of his friends leave, he doesn’t really have a chance to say goodbye, so he makes a flower to remember them by. He currently has a field full o
FrUk for zoewinter1-Breakfast-
Arthur had woken up early again, to see the still sleeping French male next to him as always. Usually, the Brit would wait for Francis to wake up and prepare the food, but not today. Today would be different, he would cook on his own for the other.
That was what he first thought... It wasn't really going well now.
Why did we say that? Perhaps because he was trying to make- Well, whatever it was- For the fifth time now. This caused him to let out an esasperated sigh, green eyes closing for a moment as he thought about all the times he had messed this up in the short 30 minutes he had been awake.
The brit cursed softly under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the mess he made of the kitchen, frowning.
"Bloody..." He started to say, until the others voice cut in,
"England?" The question was soft, warm, and surprising as the Ex-Empire had not been paying enough attention to hear the other make an entrance.
He took in
GerIta - Sakura-Toeto- Just... Keep Breathing, for me... -
- GerIta -
"Italy..." The German stared at his friend, limp, eyes closed as though he was sleeping. The room, silent as compared to when the Italian would happily be trying to gain the others attention. He sat, shifting a bit, uncomfortable, as he swallowed nervously;
Was in a coma.
He doesn't move, talking to the smaller male everyday, "Feliciano..." He addresses him as though he's going to respond, continuing to have a small conversation with the other.
The others begin to worry. He still will not leave the others side.
His only friend.
"Italy?" The strong voice beginning to doubt itself, "Hey... Tell me... Are you happy?" The question is a bit awkward as it falls out of his lips, a bit foreign sounding.
No response... Except for a small shift.
He's still there, talking to the Italian, getting more of an response every single day.
"Hey, Feliciano-" A soft call to the other, human name n
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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