#htbw

[write-a-circle]

reaction to s/o eating ice

ft. england, russia

content warning: none

ENGLAND

Stops you immediately, because he’s afraid that your teeth would get bad (which would if you keep chewing ice cubes!)

Arthur and his people have been stereotyped so bad that England doesn’t want that actually happening to you

He’d probably move all the ice somewhere else in the house to keep you from eating

England would also keep you from eating ice cream too because he knows you’ll chomp every bit of the sweet treat

“Not again, love…”

You froze as you looked at England, who saw you steal some ice he kept in the fridge (which he’d hidden in the closet out of all places) for the upteempth time.  “I’m sorry,” you replied. “I can’t help it, there’s just this weird… craving to eat some ice, you know?”

Instead of the usual frown, England suddenly smiled. “A desire to eat? I certainly can be of assistance, then. You see, I’ve been trying out some recipes to improve my cooking, and you could be the taste tester. My recipes are much healthier than ice, yes?”

“…Actually, I think i’ll be fine without the cooking.” You put the tray back into the fridge and walked out, leaving a confused England in the closet.

RUSSIA

This guy joins you and would probably give you more ice to eat

Whenever he’s stuck in a snowstorm, Russia gets bored out of his mind so he’s developed a habit of eating the snow and ice he collected outside

Russia’s sturdily built so he’s got no problem with eating ice, but doesn’t really encourage you to because he’s worried about your dental health, so he only eats with you every once in a while

Crack-crack-crack.

You looked up from your bowl of frozen water. “Hey, Rus?”

“Да?”

“Why don’t we have an ice-eating competition?”

Russia beamed. “Of course, подсолнух! Let me get more ice.”

You smiled as he went up the the fridge and pulled some ice trays out. It was nice to share ice with someone every once in a while, you got pretty lonely from eating it alone. On another note, you didn’t really think that Russia would agree to an offhanded remark from you…

Russia came back and he set two massive blocks of ice on the table. He looked straight at you in the eye. “Let’s start on three, two, one…”

You could only watch in horror as Russia gnawed his giant ice block down in mere seconds.

Translation:

Да: “yes” in Russian подсолнух: “sunflower” in Russian

[heretherebewriters]

Congratulations to Jayiin for winning the December Prompt Contest. 

Regester to read the contest entry here: http://heretherebewriters.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=391

[heretherebewriters]

Congratulations to the July-August Prompt Challenge Winner--Nocturn13!

Challenge Prompt::  Write a 250-500 word description of a HTBW member as though they were a character in a story you are writing. However, they must be a mythical creature in disguise. As we know very little about our friends appearances, these will be completely fake descriptions. Have fun with it. Word Count:: 274

---

The thing about being online is the anonymity of it all. Through text or chat, no appearances have to be made. No one has to know. For Al, this meant that that the “Here There Be Writers” online community was one of the few places where the long drawn out days of maintaining the human illusion was unnecessary. The leaves used for conjuring the human skin could be left for use at another time, as a red fox stood on its hind legs and moved about the house.

The username was something of an inside joke. A fox spirit with three-tails was young, possibly inexperienced but hardly mediocre. Fur-recoiled and paws became human hands for a moment to switch on the speech to text feature. Human speech drifted through the mic on the table from fox lips as tall pointed ears twitched intently.

The fox wondered how many others there were in the online community if any. How many other creatures of story were masquerading and mixing with the humans of HTBW? How many of them were there not just to create but to consume story. Surely, there was a pooka or two among them?

Yet, Al didn’t ask. The tails swished back and forth as the fox thought about it. To ask would mean breaking that sense of anonymity and sense of safety. As a fox, Al craved the mischief such questions would bring but for now the hint and word play of the username would have to be enough. Just a hint of mischief from a fox speaking at a computer to sea of unknown voices. Surely there was magic in that.

[thesewrittenhearts-blog]

I haven’t written anything here for a long time. So, here’s a little something that I came up with recently, thanks to a dream that I really wish happened. Well, maybe not the ending, though. Enjoys!

----------------

Now we all get star-struck, sometimes. No matter who our idols may be - a pop star, an award-winning

actor, an MVP or even a business tycoon, once we see them up-close, all common sense seem to disappear. We lose the ability to talk, favoring instead to just making incoherent sounds that resembles nothing in the english dictionary.

I wasn't expecting him to be there. Having been stuck at home for weeks, a dinner out with the gang seemed like a pretty good idea. Which it definitely was.

The food was great, company was fantastic and we were all just about to go when I needed to use the ladies. Along the way, from where we were seated, there was a beam, one of several which I suppose was doing it's job holding the whole structure up. Secured at the top of the beam was the restaurant's speaker that acts as musical entertainment.

The restaurant in itself was not a very big place. Tables were arranged quite close to each other, as the case with the beam and the table next to it. I was ready to make a squeeze when suddenly a man came up from the opposite direction and simply leaned against the beam with his head down. He seemed to be focusing on something and it took me a while to realise that he was listening to the music coming through from the speakers. Then he turned his head away from me and yelled, "Cher O'shay!" to the big group at the corner table. I assumed the Jazz singer's name was an answer to a question they asked which, judging by their cheers, he had gotten right.

But he was still blocking my way.

Suddenly, as time seemed to slow down, he turned back around to face me and there he was, floppy brown hair, blue eyes and a wide grin. Looking right at me, was the man of my dreams.

"Oh, sorry. Did you want to come through?" he asked. His smile faltered a little as he must have realised that I was staring at him.

All I could say was, "South-west Minister. Next stop."

As soon as those words escaped from my mouth, I knew my life was over. I felt the blood draining out of me.

"Oh...kay...," he replied kindly, his smile back on his face, before making his way back to his table.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself right there and then. Instead, I turned around and walked back to my friends.

As I put on my coat, I blurted, "I just saw Sebastian Stan."

I could feel all their eyes on me.

"What?" one of them said. I wasn't quite sure who as I was looking down, trying to avoid eye-contact. "Where? Aren't you gonna say 'hi'?"

I shook my head and with a fake nonchalance, I said, "Nah." And quickly head towards the exit.

"Wait, did you pee?" Someone else called out loudly. Must be Katie. She has a knack for embarrassing her friends.

"Yup!" I called out, pushing the door open. Trying to ignore the wetness that was slowly spreading from my lap.

[thesewrittenhearts-blog]

Writing Prompt

You watched as the pool of blood crept towards you slowly. You took a step back so that it wouldn’t stain your new shoes. Your eyes scanned the room and there lies your sister, deep gash ran down each arm. Her bedsheets were covered in blood.

You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh before calling out to your mother. “MUM......!!!! Chole just killed herself again!”

[thesewrittenhearts-blog]

Go to hell.

1) "Go to hell." "I would love to darling, but they keep kicking me out."

2) "Go to hell." "Oh, I will. But not before I send you there first."

3) "Go to hell." "Look around you, sweetheart. We already are in hell."

4) "Go to hell." "And how do you propose I do that? I'm not going to kill myself just so I could save your sister."

5) "Go to hell." "Been there, not a fan. I'd much rather stay here with you."

6) "Go to hell." "Oh, we're going to hell? This should be fun, I've never been to hell before. Would this be your first time too?"

7) "Go to hell." "But I don't want to. Father said if I come home without you, then I would have to tend to the Cerberus for a thousand years."

8) "Go to hell." "Haven't you heard? The doorway is closed. No one is getting in or out of that place."

9) "Go to hell." "But I was just there."

10) "Go to hell." "Quit telling me to go to hell! I've spent the last 500 years there pretending to be you! Now it's your turn to go to hell!"

[escribira]

How to Be Wrong

You settle down at the foot of the bed because you're not sure you're welcome at the top of it and you don't want a punch to your chest for the trouble. Siblings love each other but it's not always the kindest, especially at times like this. Marcie doesn't say anything, even though you aren't quiet, impossible to be with the noisy scrape of the bedsprings and the groan of the wooden frame. She knows what you want to say, but she won't give you the satisfaction of answering all the silent words hovering in the evening like dust motes. "They'll forgive each other," you say, because you have to. Marcie is outgrowing her bed, the one that used to be yours. Her feet are all tucked up, pretending she still fits. "Sure," Marcie says to her pillow, pretending she believes you. It's not convincing either. You swallow, trying to find the words in all your jumbled thoughts and the tangled emotions balled up in your throat. "They always do," you say. "They always come back." The house is silent, dead and still now after the violent noise of the afternoon. It's almost worse. It breeds contemplation. Marcie doesn't say anything for a moment. You hold your breath until there's a ringing in your ears to drown out the liminality. When Marcie speaks again, there's something in it like broken glass, fragile and shimmering and sharp. "It's no way to live," she says in the voice of a girl too big for her bed. "It's no way to love." "It's all we got," you say. Marcie's breath hitches and you pretend not to notice. "I know." She breathes quietly until her voice smoothes out. "But I'm tired of forgiving them, even if they forgive each other. Don't they care?" "Of course they do. They love us." You don't know how true it rings, with your doubts dancing around the vowels. Marcie nods, but she looks at you from under the tangle of her dark hair, and you know you're thinking the same thing. That love doesn't seem enough, when they hate each other more some nights than they could love you any day. You both know your mom will come in later, looking exhausted right down to her bones, to put a work-rough hand on your shoulders and whisper kind assurances in your ears. Low enough to be unheard by your dad and loud enough to sound like a desperate promise. There's never an apology, because no one teaches parents how to be wrong.

[shoujoplace]

APH Iggy and APH America *---,---*