*adjusts glasses, rubs hands together* It's good to be back.
Pony POV: Teacher With a Green ThumbPony POV Series: Teacher with a Green ThumbPony POV: Teacher With a Green Thumb by Acalanthide
Made with permission from alexwarlorn.
Cheerilee sits behind her desk, sipping tea, and grading papers. A knock is heard, and Cheerilee stand up, and opens the door.
"Oh, hello there! Come in, come in! Have a seat! An interview, you say? Well, my students are home for the day. I was just grading papers, so an interview would be ok.
Cheerilee sits down, sighs a little, and begins to speak.
My name is Cheerilee Bloombright. I am a teacher at the Ponyville Elementary School. Special talent, you say? Well, my special talent is helping children bloom. No, I'm not a florist. My talent is to help with the blooming of lives and destiny. Now there was a time when I doubted this, especially after Discord came into town.
I was on a class trip to the Canterlot Gardens. I wanted my little ponies to experience something they wouldn't normally see. Everything was ok, un
Commissions! *Currently Closed*Yes, I do take commissions! My prices are as listed below!Commissions! *Currently Closed* by Acesential
Commissions are paid via PayPal.
I do not take point commissions.
Send me a note!We go over what you would like.I sketch out your commission until you are satisfied.$5 will be paid for the sketch. The rest will be paid once finished.Upon completion, I will alert you.After transferring the rest of the payment, I will release the commission to you.I will ask if I may publish it on my Deviantart. I will not publish commissions without explicit permission.Hope you'll be willing to commission me!
Pointy Ponies- 5 dollars
Ponies, Please Portrait- 5 dollars
Sketch- 5 dollars
when writers cryAwake on strong, black coffee drinkswhen writers cry by TheLaughingDreamer
Words on paper, liquid ink
Dreams of pen tips, future lies
Tragic stories, quotes of the wise
Nights have carved their dark, deep valleys
In the hollows of my eyes
For you see, my friend, when writers cry
There are no tears, their cheeks are dry
But ink dipped fingers, worn out wrists
Chewed up nails and bloody fists
You see, it's strange when writers cry
Their hearts are true, their words don’t lie
They mourn in silence for a few days
Of paper cuts and tear-less haze
Of coffee mugs and smoky paper
Liquid spills, and water vapor
Sorry dreams and wasted hours
Putrid smells and dying flowers
(Torn to pieces from inside
Tears are hidden by our pride)
Hi! I'm Acalanthide or Aca for short. I am an ameture poet and novelist. I am a Latin student (and love it!) You will usually find me browsing the art, or staining my fingers with the ink of my labours. I love to debate with others, and am very passionate about my views.|
Translation: If you start a flame war with me, prepare to get BURNED!
You have been warned.