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Pokemon Rant on PaulWhy I Hate Paul
The Paul I am referring to is a character in the pokemon anime, who is currently Ash's primary rival while the group is in the Sinnoh region. Paul is really a varied character: on the Serebii.net forums, the Paul character discussion thread has, at the time of writing, nearly spans twenty pages, though most of it is saying how "awesome" he is. However, I do not think he is awesome. I hate him more than I hate Harley from the same show. I want to strangle Paul and break one of his limbs. Most probably won't know why I feel this way, so I will explain.
First, Pokemon are sentient beings in this setting. As Linkara pointed out in his review of "Captain Planet and the Planeteers #3," if animals were truly intelligent enough to make their own decisions and follow orders, animals would easily be given rights. Considering that many pokemon in this setting are shown to be smart enough to qualify, pokemon should have a bill of rights. In the real world, Paul's trea
Lasael the DemonPART I: The Winter
Once upon a time in the year 1316, two childhood friends were walking across the frozen waters of Stråken, Sweden. Winter was but a whisper away and the boys were responsible for delivering lamp oil to their homes in Mullsjö. Filip was 17 years old, whilst Isak had just turned 15. As they strolled over the icy lake, the muffled cries of a man filled the air. In the distance, a figure could be seen struggling helplessly in the water.
"Hold on Mister!", Cried Filip. "We are coming for you, please hold!". Without a moment's hesitation, and with no regard for their own safety, Filip and Isak sprinted towards the man in distress. As they pulled the mysterious figure to safety, however, it was clear that he was no man at all. His skin was pale and soft, gleaming as brightly as the blinding sun. His hair was dark like the midnight sky on winter's solstice, and his eyes burned like a pair of newborn stars.
Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the WorldAres is not what I imagined her to be. The great man of myth, muscular and imposing, shining in his armour, with crested helmet and mighty spear, does not stand before me. Instead I face a young woman, hardly more than a girl. She is soft and delicate, with eyes so large they will soak up the world, and skin like spun glass, that glitters in the darkness. A warm glow radiates from within her, not quite visible, but strong enough for me to feel the heat on my face.
The sound of traffic wafts up to us from the street far below. Heavy clouds block out the night sky, reflecting back the poisonous orange of streetlamps and office blocks. The rooftop is high above it all, and we are invisible. That’s why I chose it, to be alone. The last thing I expected was a visitor, proclaiming to be a god.
“Ares?” I scoff, looking her over with something I imagine to be petulance. If not for the fact that she was so decidedly un-human, and that she had materialised on the rooftop with n
[ Ushijima x Reader x Oikawa ] Notice it
This story takes place during the Shiratorizawa vs Aoba Johsai match. Note that Oikawa apparently broke up with his girlfriend during training camp arc.
You couldn't help but feel sorry for Oikawa. He had worked so hard, and yet Aoba Johsai was still barely keeping up with Shiratorizawa. However, you couldn't help but also feel happy for Ushijima. He too, was your friend... or something like that.
You distinctly remember meeting the boys in junior high. You were in the year behind them. That time, Kitagawa Daiichi lost against Shiratorizawa, too. You'd comforted Oikawa whilst he was down, and approached Ushijima to give him a piece of your mind. To your surprise, although he was rather blunt about his egoistic views, he did end up apologising for supposedly offending you.
Somehow, you ended up keeping in touch... you never quite knew what kind of relationship you had with Ushijima. He seemed to consider you a friend of some sorts, sometimes inviting you to hang out or come
CurtainThe rich old man was going to die. Somehow, he knew. It was as if the silk curtains floating in from the summer breeze had whispered this secret into his ear, a billowing angel. Sunlight streamed into the room, lighting the dusty interior with golden rays, but the old man's vision was failing, and he could only see the blurriest of shapes.
“Please,...” he whispered. “Please, someone...”
A figure slipped into the room.
“Oh, good. Good. Please, come sit with me.”
The figure came and sat, guiding a chair to the bedside with precise movements.
“Listen to me, please. I think I'm going to die very soon. I just wanted someone to talk to. I haven't had anyone to talk to for months.” The old man tried to gesture with a sallow, bony arm. “When you're as old as I am, you'll want someone to talk to, too. I've had my to tell for years, but no-one to talk to.”
The figure gazed down at the old man with cold eyes.
“I remember when I was
Rules of Manga and Anime#1 also known as *The hair rule*: Hair will be considered to be made out of steel in any circumstance unless:
a) it's length is enough to surpass the shoulders and there is wind or the character is hanging upside down.
b) the character has to put on a hat or helmet.
#2: if the words *Final battle* or *Ultimate enemy* are said, there will be another arc; unless the author dies or the company goes broke.
#3: if a character has a secret, such secret cannot be revealed unless it's the end of the arc, and chances are it'll be the next arc.
#4: the weight of a weapon is inversely proportional to its size and power.
#5: if protagonist is weaker than friend, and bad guy defeats named friend; then bad guy will be defeated by protagonist.
#6: there is no such thing as too much weapons.
#7: if protagonist is a bad guy, the series will end with his death or attempt of redemption.
#8: plans made in the last minute are ten times more likely to succeed than any plan that's been thought thr
Hetalia Headcanons--Sweden((PLEASE DON'T FLAME ME FOR MY HEADCANONS. IF YOU DO I WILL FEED YOU TO MOCHIMERICA :I))
1. There was a time when he and Denmark were best friends
2. His ears are like e-zones
3. He used to hack into computers a lot.
4. Surprisingly, he's the one that cries the easiest.
5. He's really shy, which is why he doesn't speak much.
6. He suffers from Catagelophobia.
7. He has a beautiful singing voice, he just hardly sings because he's self-conscious.
8. He's excellent at ballroom dancing.
9. He doesn't like talking directly to people, he prefers inderect forms of talking like IMing and texting.
10. When Greenland was little he used to tell her stories.
11. He's an excellent wood worker.
12. He only drinks when he's extremely stressed.
13. He wears glasses because Denmark hit him in the head and messed up his vision ((He hit him pretty hard.))
14. He's not a very heavy sleeper.
15. Only Denmark and Greenland can tell when he's really mad.
16. There was one point where he took abuse from Denma
The kid was quiet for the first several hours after he had picked her up. Obe glanced at her occasionally, particularly when he changed the radio station, looking for a sign that he had found the one she liked. She was quiet, but expressive, and she wrinkled her nose for the first five that he tried. When he found a classic rock channel, she smiled slightly and her shoulders relaxed. She was staring out the window at the endless dusty desert, but he caught her stealing glances back at him several times. Obe was patient, and waited for her to start the conversation.
“I don’t remember how I got out here,” she said finally.
“That’s okay. Most people don’t.”
“Yeah, but it seems weird that I don’t remember how I got in the middle of nowhere.”
“Yeah. How did you get here?”
Obe smiled. The girl, who had told him she
The clocks were silent, and the day was almost over. Not quite, however. Not yet.
There was a faint noise of the hooves on the ground, the sky was dark and the pegasi had scheduled rain for the evening. Everypony was trotting back home from their jobs, schools, and their daily adventures. Not everyone though. Not yet.
Somewhere in the crowd, a light purple cloaked figure hastily moved through the bystanders, mumbling "excuse me" or "sorry" however faintly spoken, under breath in hushed tones. The cloaked figure made their way to the front of the crowd, trotting quickly toward the outskirts of town. They fell a couple of times, a couple more after that.
In the horizon, an old painted circus tent, with those classic red and white stripes and that musty smell, pleasantly nostalgic like an old memory. The pony in front of the entrance was the Ring Master. He waved at the cloaked figure as they approach. Everypony is in the tent before the rain starts to pour. Well, not everypony, only the