HETALIA FANDOM HOW WE FEELIN?

It’s the happiest season of all, even Romano can’t help but smile instead of frown 😌

Happy mermay

Can we see Australia please? (sorry if it’s a bit out of your range)

he’s kinda scary

alright so im thinking about america--

i dont really think of him as a sexual entity

i think he's had sex before, he's used it to gain advantages, but he doesn't have it often-- doesn't need to or want to

he's puritan at heart, and i can't help but feel like he'd still feel a shame around sleeping around a ton-- yes, he's had one night stands, but they've been few and far in between

especially when growing up-- i think he had so much going on w him that he genuinely didn't think about it much.

hes such a romantic (in the artistic sense) that i think he's more intrigued by the idea of relationships-- of the emotions and the trials, of the way people prove they're in love than actually being in it himself.

in this way, i think his isolationism manifests in his personal life-- unused to intimacy (in both sense of the words), he doesn't have any real desire or thought abt being so thoroughly known by someone else.

-> he's not usually scared of the unknown, throwing himself headfirst into physical things, but emotionally? the guy is stunted.

The way you draw the squishy baby faces are so adorable- If you have the time and motivation I'd love to see the babies hang out together! Since Alfred and Matthew are a bit older they are probably really curious about the baby Lud!

I gotchu, Anon! I like to imagine Ludwig took his first steps towards them

After I drew Gilbert riding a horse, here’s Gilbert on a motorbike. I promise I’ll draw somebody else eventually lmao

Idea came to me when I looked through a book at the bookstore that had pictures from the 1920s, including an image of two reporters with their bike; the image reminded me of an AU somebody brought up to me once with Arthur as a journalist and Gilbert who is along for the ride, so I drew this piece! It was fun to work with this color scheme again

Finland is the kind of person who starts getting into Christmas mood as early as November. From late November, however, it’s the period where the Krampus wander around and punish naughty kids, until Saint Nicholas comes to tame them on December 6th. Because of this, December 5th is symbolically the day of the Krampus, right before Saint Nicholas puts them into chains. … Austria kind of feels their influence and can’t stand Christmas-related things before December 6th. On December 5th, his unsufferableness peaks. Not the best day for these two to meet, I bet lol.

Based on this meme, but I got the idea after drawing Austria as a Krampus for Hima’s April’s Fool thing … So, thanks Hima for accidentally inspiring me for something I’ve been planning to draw since April lmao

Hetalia World ☆ Stars - Chapter 456 Original Translation: spaghettifelice // donamoeba Scanlation: loaf // jammerlea 

Purgatory

Whumptober Day 8: Back from the dead 

Summary: ​​ Vietnam, 1967. Marine Captain Alfred F. Jones, born on July 4th 1942, is killed in action at 0930 hours, twenty klicks from Quang Tri city. This is the aftermath. 

Or: Alfred, through the eyes of one of his men. Because not every human’s experience coming face-to-face with their nation is a good one. 

Notes: CW for violence, death, graphic injuries, war, depictions of PTSD, murder and Cold War-era imperialism. This fic leans hard on the darker side of ‘nations as creepy as hell eldritches and their relationship with war’; citizenship, loyalty and nationhood can cut many ways can’t it? 

“VC” refers to the Viet Cong— the Vietnamese guerrillas who fought against both the US-backed South Vietnamese military and US forces. They were allied with, but distinct from the regular ARVN (aka, the North Vietnamese military). “Charlie” became a slang for the Viet Cong, because the NATO phonetic alphabet reads “V.C” as “Victor Charlie.” [3.2k words]

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One week after Jones dies, a VC sniper nails me twice in the right thigh on a night patrol, with all the suddenness and wrath of a prayer answered by the Almighty. 

Maybe Charlie had been aiming for my balls and had missed, the helo pilot on the medevac chopper had guffawed. He’d seen people in worse shape than me, I’d live, so just sit tight and shut up. 

It enters my leg at a diagonal, it hurts like a bitch, fractures my thigh bone, shreds a whole lot of muscle and nerve tissue, nicks a major artery; I lose buckets of blood. The surgeon at the field hospital in Khe Sanh who ties the artery, fishes out the bullet fragments and sews me back together tells me that at best, I’d walk with a painful limp all my life—if I even recover that much function. Then, I get a raging infection. I burn and I freeze; my temperature shoots to a hundred and three, I’m pumped with antibiotics, I’m told I nearly died—but I don’t give a shit. 

I’m giddy, delirious and incoherent, hopped up on morphine and euphoria. 

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