Writer’s block is a cruel mistress.
Perhaps I will force myself to write something tomorrow or Monday
or maybe even later today who knows.
Hello, my name is Kyle and I am a lamebutt who disappears for long periods of time only to return with shameless crack like this.
This is totally TG’s fault. Completely.
Which means everyone should go and read her beautiful crackfic Rocket’s Red Glare.
Ffff yes all my fault I accept that blame omg precious dorky babies /)*0*(\
I don’t remember the title or the author. All I really remember from it is that something bad happened and Edward was blamed for it, so he had to go on the run, but he had some kind of walkie-talkie with him and communicated with Mustang. It’s a multi-chaptered RoyEd fic. Might’ve been read on ff.net or livejournal.
If anyone could help me out, that would be fantastic because it’s been driving me up the wall for days.
The sound of the waves crashing ashore, the smell of the ocean breeze, the sizzle of beach barbeque and the whoosh of bonfires lighting, the feel of the hammock beneath him and his warm lover beside him –
“I’m glad you talked me into coming to yours this time,” Arthur murmured lazily, unconsciously nuzzling into the crook of Alfred’s neck. His hand, which had been absently touring the contours of the American’s naked chest, was stopped, and Arthur felt his stomach flutter –he could feel the cool metal of Alfred’s wedding ring against his palm. He would never get tired of the sight or feel of it, and he was sure his husband felt the same.
“Hawaii’s a pretty damn good place for a honeymoon,” Alfred agreed, his other hand curving up to hold Arthur closer to him. Arthur grinned and slid his leg between Alfred’s, wanting to get closer.
“That it is.”
They were still for a while, content to cuddle (though Arthur would deny it later on) and watch the sun set. It wasn’t until all of the pinks, oranges, and reds had leaked out of the sky that either of them spoke next:
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
challenge can be found here
“Alfred hadn’t even known what this would mean to Arthur; he’d simply noticed that Arthur had been attracted to it and bought it to make him happy.”
Fathom the Ocean, Dark and Deep by Trumpet-Geek
UM WOW YOU DREW ME FANART LAST NIGHT?
THANK YOU OWYN
“Remind me again why we’re here when we could be inside and perfectly warm?” Arthur muttered, wrapping his coat tighter around his shivering body. He could see Alfred’s step falter beside him and for a moment he felt bad, but his teeth were chattering and he was longing for a nice, warm cuppa.
“Oh come on, you know you totally wanna check out those swings with me,” Alfred said, nudging him. Arthur opened his mouth to refuse, but found he couldn’t say no to those twinkling blue eyes and hopeful grin.
“Oh all right.”
“Awesome! Race ya!” Alfred wasted no time in taking off, running with all the grace of an elephant toward the dilapidated swing set nestled between the monkey bars and the seesaw in the local children’s playground.
Fitting, considering the first hint of spring always seemed to bring out the child in his lover.
By the time Arthur arrived at the swing set Alfred was already off, using his legs to pump himself higher. Alfred always did have a fascination with being off the ground, Arthur mused. He gingerly sat on his own swing, the hard wooden seat digging into the backs of his thighs. He wiggled around, shifting but not swinging. His feet were always meant to be on the ground, and he wasn’t interested in swinging so much as he was interested in Alfred.
“Arthur!” Alfred called from high above him. He sounded delighted, his face lit up in a childish smile that brought Arthur back to their early days, back when he first met the small child that would change his world. Alfred’s hand stretched out, reaching for him. “Hold my hand, I’ll help you swing!”
Alfred’s fingers brushed his and suddenly his body whipped forward and his feet left the ground. He grabbed onto the metal chain with his free hand and tightened his grip on Alfred’s hand with his other, terrified for a moment that he would fall, but Alfred’s grip did not waver, and suddenly he was flying too.
challenge can be found here
So to help me get back into the swing of writing, I’m going to attempt the 30 day otp challenge! Just know that I probably won’t update everyday and I’m not sure if I’m going to do all 30 challenges but I think even just doing a few of them will help get my juices flowing again. So yeah, just be aware that I’ll be posting that sort of thing. I’ll tag them under ‘ficlet’ and ‘30 day otp challenge’ (\^o^/)
So this was a little idea Owyn had that ended up longer than I expected! I just finished it tonight and I think I’m gonna use it for Sweethearts Week. Thanks for the idea, Owyn!
“Oh come on, mon ami! A little social interaction isn’t going to hurt you!”
The glare Arthur sent Francis could have killed, but the French bastard just tossed his head back and laughed.
“Francis, I am not going to the bloody carnival.”
“You’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, if you do, I’ll pay for the next round of booze.”
Ahahahaha I drew myself some fanart how sad is that
Summary: America is very proud of his space race win and wants to show off his…er…prize.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia
Warnings: This is a crackfic. It involves tattoos and penises and you should probably turn back now while you have the chance.
AN: Yeah…this is the result of a discussion with extantecstasy in a coffee shop.
The date was July 25th, 1969 and Alfred would not shut up.
Before the world meeting he talked about nothing but his recent victory in the space race. As he and Arthur brushed their teeth, Alfred garbled on about Neil Armstrong being his new hero, flecks of toothpaste hitting the mirror in front of him. As they got dressed in their hotel room together, Alfred informed Arthur that this had been the best week of his life –
“Ah, that’s not to say… Uh… No, of course the day we first confessed our love is better! I didn’t mean it, sweetheart!”)
—And as they walked through the halls of the world meeting building, Alfred babbled on about the genius of his people, figuring out how to build the Saturn V rockets that launched his men to the moon.
Luckily at the world meeting he was forced to stop talking, but just because he wasn’t talking with his voice didn’t mean he wasn’t getting the message out. His body language said it all –the smug smirk, the satisfied posture as he leaned back in his seat, the self-righteous, arrogant glint to his eyes as he patiently watched everyone present their topics.