Why I don't like USUKLast year I wrote "WHY USUK is bad and you should feel bad." You can read it here: http://starfire437.deviantart.com/art/Why-USUK-is-bad-and-you-should-feel-bad-393268055More Like This
In it I stated why USUK is an incest pairing and makes no sense, but today I want to address why exactly I hate USUK.
I'll start with how it is crammed down my throat every damn day.
When I go on Tumblr and go into the APH America tag, I get USUK pictures within seconds. I'm probably not the only APH America fan who is sick of seeing USUK pictures spamming then damn tag. The same goes for the APH England tag. It's annoying as hell.
On Fanfiction.net, there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of USUK fanfictions in the Hetalia tag. Needless to say, there are a ton of shipping fanfictions in the Hetalia tag, but USUK seems to have the most from my experience there.
Imagine a ship that you really dislike popping up everywhere. Now you know how I feel. It's annoying as hell!!
Next, I'd like to t
A thousand Years (Hetalia - GermanyX Italy)I stand on the battlefield. It’s cold, and it’s scary, and I don’t like it at all. We, that’s me and Germany, are out fighting with our troops.More Like This
And it’s scary, so scary.
I have been sent into this battle as the leader of my troops. They don’t know who I am. They simply believe that I am a young, naive man, who was promoted through some sort of mistake. I can hardly say I blame them.
Suddenly I feel the buzz of my radio, telling me I should signal my soldiers to attack. I shiver. I hate doing this. I know what it will feel like. My poorly trained men will run out onto the field, and get shoot down by guns, cannons and bombs, and as the metals rips through their bodies, it will rip through my soul.
And it will hurt, so much.
I don’t want to do it, but the urgent voice of my boss yells at me down the telephone, telling me I need to give the signal, but I’m so scared.
Heart beats fast
I look around at the faces of my men, my soldiers, who are
ACpocalypse!Smoke still rises from a few of the buildings. Everything is coated with a blanket of ash: cars with dusty windshields; trees with white leaves. The road is silent as death.More Like This
He is almost unperceivable, stalking through the ghost town like a pale panther. His meager footsteps are the only noise that carries on the wind. His skin, the small amount that shows through his worn jacket, is a tanned, reddish hue, and his eyes scan his surroundings without reprieve.
Slung from his shoulders is an object of great value: a faded scarlet backpack. Every few steps, the contents of the bag clink together. The sound seems to worry the young man, and he increases his pace. He is careful to slide a hand across the pack's gusset, minimizing its volume.
The boy passes a sign strewn in the street. It reads, 'ONE WAY', but its paint is chipped. The pavement is lined with buildings, many of which have been stripped of their foundations and are slumped in great heaps of rubble. Dark vapor flows from the gap