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#Hetalia: Axis Powers
kirajia · 1 year
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Pirate(UK)x Merman(FR)
Context:Francis is captured by humans and Arthur rescues him, but his tail is eaten by them
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Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Sample Size: 26,133 stories
Source: AO3
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write-a-circle · 2 years
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reaction to s/o eating ice
ft. england, russia
content warning: none
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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.
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Translation:
Да: “yes” in Russian подсолнух: “sunflower” in Russian
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Childhood Follies
England sat down with a thump, old but faithful springs groaning under his weight as he joined Wales on the lounge. “Australia is in the tree again.”
Wales looked up from his reading, some clichéd murder mystery that he’d picked up on the advice of Scotland, but was increasingly finding too outlandish for his tastes, grateful for the distraction as he raised an eyebrow.
“What, again? Isn’t this the third time-”
“This month? I know.” England sighed, normally sharp edges and quick eyes lulled to softness in the face of thoughts of his children, as exasperating as they could be. For not the first time, Wales thought about how much Fatherhood suited him, how children seemed to bring out a strange calmness in him, especially fascinating after long centuries of watching his brother divulge in non-stop warfare, covering himself in blood and cruelty.
“You’d honestly think we were starving the child of all entertainment.” England grumbled, unknowing of his brother’s thoughts, and Wales blinked, tilting his head up.
“Maybe Australia is just adjusting to the different environment,” Wales suggested lightly, although Australia had been “adjusting” to Britain for around five years now, and showed no signs of stopping any of his antics, tree climbing or otherwise.  England grimaced, the pointed furrow of his brows indicating he had come to the same conclusion, and crossed his arms, looking skyward as if any answers had ever come from heaven, despite the numerous bloody wars fought in his name.
“Right, and I’m sure the mud the maids found poured into the bathtub was just Australia “adjusting to the different environment” as well.” He said with a snort, back straight in a way that betrayed how much he wanted to sink down and join Wales in his relaxed position, but couldn’t for the sake of propriety.
English manners, honestly, Wales thought in exasperation and with a well concealed smirk, before blinking at his brother’s sentence.
“Did he really?”  England grimaced in reply. “Apparently, a toad managed to find it’s way in with the mud as well. It gave Edna quiet the fright.”
Edna was the head maid of the household, a quiet but dutiful women, stern with the children but an old hand at dealing with the follies of childhood. She was good at her job, made better by asking very little questions about the nature of the master’s she served. Wales had trouble picturing anything frightening her.
He grinned at his brother instead. “Playing with mud? Climbing on trees? I wonder who he got that from.”
England raised an eyebrow in response, frowning as if to dismiss the idea entirely. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”
“Oh really? No memories of skulking through the trees like a particularly determined monkey, or shoving mud down the backs of our tunics? I remember mother-”
Wales stopped suddenly, shutting his mouth at once and looking at his brother, whose frame had grown as tense as a bow string at his words, his eyes darkening. He cursed himself slightly. 
England’s warm veneer of companionship these past few months had lulled him  into a false sense of security, despite all the practice he had had after the long years he had been by his brother’s side. A conquest, not a partnership.
Childhood, or as close to it they could get as nations, was a tricky subject to approach, especially without the presence of alcohol already at hand, and doubly so for mentioning their mother. 
Wales cleared his throat, trying desperately to come up with words to soften the blow, or change the subject.
“Well,” He said instead, awkwardly. “That is to say-”
“I suppose I was a bit of a brat.” England interrupted, and Wales blinked, whipping his head up from where he had dropped his gaze to the floor to avoid looking at his brother.
England was staring incredibly hard at the window, a faint tint of red down his cheeks, his body still stiff but slightly curled in on himself, and Wales realized that this was England attempting to be civil.
“You-” He started, unsure of what he was going to say himself before England cut him off, defensive but undoubtedly calm.
“But really, most of the time you all deserved it. And it was ever so funny watching Rome stumble about in the forest, trying to find me but with never the presence of mind to look up.” England delivered this with a certain smugness, and Wales found himself smiling, just a little.
Sometimes through the centuries, that comment would of gotten him poisonous looks and sharp rebukes, other’s still a decade of silence. At very bad times, violence would be had. 
Now the only thing it got him was England, slightly embarrassed but still characteristically himself, stubbornness and all. 
Wales hoped fervently that it was a sign for the times to come. He would always love his little brother, (a trait that had betrayed him in the past) but sometimes it was easier than others.  
“You’re admitting that tree climbing is a useful skill? Why, I should go find Australia now and tell him the good news!” Wales made to stand, as if to physically go find the boy right then and there, but was foiled by his brother’s pale hand shoving him back down with a huff.
“Oh, focus on that why don’t you.” England grumbled, the tension of the earlier conversation washed away with the familiar banter. “Besides, I was hardly the only one who used such tactics.” This was said with a significant look at Wales, and he grinned.
“Yes, but I never denied it.” 
England aimed a bony elbow into Wales’ gut, and Wales laughed, shifting himself on the lounge and picking up his book to once more try and struggle through it’s ridiculous plot. With a role of his eyes England also picked up his own project, a lovely piece of embroidery that absorbed all his attention as they continued on in comfortable silence, a pleasant night made possible only through the years of understanding between them.
The next day, after nervously presenting himself to England’s study for the deliverance of his punishment, Australia was baffled to find himself waved away without rebuke, only a small reminder to apologize to the maids.
“But why?” he asked Wales later, confused and a little skeptical.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, lad.” said Wales with a shake of his head, a knowing glimmer in the corner of his eye. 
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favficbirthdays · 1 year
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Happy Birthday
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Nouth Italy/Feliciano Vargas (17th March)
Hetalia
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fandom-friday · 1 month
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TELL ME A PIECE OF YOUR HISTORY by cultureandseptember (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741175/chapters/8294941),(https://fanfiction.net/s/11330126/1/Tell-Me-A-Piece-of-Your-History) Hetalia. In the year 2015, the White House releases documents detailing the existence of the Nations of the World being personified as people. This includes the name of the embodiment of the United States of America: Alfred F. Jones. While the citizens of the United States react with shock, disgust and violence, the rest of the world scramble to make their own preparations for the inevitable. This fic is told by exerts from various articles, twitter threads and emails and examines how various people react to the news. I slept on this fic for a while and regret it. It’s really well written and I especially love how the interview with China and Belguim’s reactions (the personified Nations) were written and handled. I hope other people enjoy it as well!
This is such a cool way to approach a fanfic, and I don't know that I've seen anything like it before! I've always struggled with writing realistic feeling "media" (whether that be news or social media or what have you), so my hat is very much off to the author in terms of writing a fic entirely centered around it. It's very cool and unique, and I appreciate you sending it in!
Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)
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draconicsplendor · 1 month
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I made a general-purpose, 18+ server for Hetalia! It’s still very bare-bones, but I welcome any feedback or suggestions :)
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mpregfrance · 1 year
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fellas is it possible for a hearts of iron IV guy to join a hetalia girl in holy matrimony
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yourfavispure · 1 year
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Canada from Hetalia is pure
Requested by an anon
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nos4ay2 · 2 years
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Ok, So back in the day, I was a Hetalia Fan. And Ive been trying to find a specific fic cause it popped back in to my mind a while back I wanted to re-read it cause I remembered it being good.
So, other hetalia fans if you help a girl out I’d appreciate it.
I cannot remember the title or author but the premise was that on the sly the governments of Canada and Russia had entered into a treaty that basically married them together. And Russia finds out like years later and He and Canada have to deal with it etc.
And help would be greatly appreciated.
*Also I am keenly aware of how weird this is given the current world events etc.
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daisy-stxrs · 1 year
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Hetalia Turkey Episode: 1 🤪🤓🤪💀
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helloimamistake · 1 year
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This mfr made me realize I have a himbo fetish
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Bonus:
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phantomstatistician · 2 years
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Tag: Alternate Universe - Human
Sample Size: 30,546 stories
Source: AO3
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write-a-circle · 2 years
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crush headcanons
ft. seychelles, hong kong, lithuania
content warning: none
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SEYCHELLES
It’s hard to tell exactly who, as Seychelles is so sweet and friendly to everyone, but if you look close enough, you’ll see that she’ll get shyer around them.
The signs are subtle: the way her lips quirk up when she sees them, that extra spring when she steps and dances, how she offers to stay and help them even after her own work had finished
Seychelles would get even clumsier around you, hands fumbling and tripping over herself every second. Sometimes Seychelles is glad that her skin isn’t pale, or her blush would be so bright and visible that someone standing from outer space could see it as bright as day.
Whenever she’s with them, Seychelles feels like she’s standing next to the gate to heaven. It was beautiful and dazzling, it calls to the bottom of her very soul. Yet her hands are tied. She couldn’t reach out nor move a step.
It would take her a very long time to confess, or maybe she wouldn’t even confess at all. She was dull and clumsy and was only good for her singing and dancing - she was useless. Why should someone so amazing deserve to be stuck with her?
Whether if her crush chooses to return her feelings or to give their love to another, Seychelles would be there to support them no matter what.
HONG KONG
Hong Kong’s crushes are usually on people that he’s already friends with, and he doesn’t realize it until someone points it out for him. Those lingering touches and short silences between sentences? Yeah, he’s definitely got it down.
He loves how their mind and his synchronizes, the way theirs and his thoughts bounce off of each other, and it’s very comforting for Hong Kong to know that he could relax around them at all times. He’s known, laughed and cried with them for so long that he feels like he could always be himself with them.
He doesn’t need to choose his words carefully when they talk, Hong Kong knows that he could share every thought with them, whether it be his interests and hobbies or his feelings on Yao’s insistence on not letting him become independent
He’s a straightforward person but deep down, Hong Kong doesn’t want to lose his friendship with them. He’ll tell them one day, he says to himself, yet seeing them cling to his shoulder for dear life as they laugh uncontrollably at a bad joke he made, Hong Kong realizes that he can’t keep his feelings down for much longer.
LITHUANIA
This is a tough one. Lithuania doesn’t crush often, but once he does, he crushes hard. It might even last for centuries, especially when it’s one-sided (see: Belarus). He can’t help it, his heart can’t let things go easily, even more when it’s someone so beautiful yet so untouchable.
Lithuania definitely gets nervous, stumbles on his words, nods at everything his crush says and might be even more of a pushover than he usually is.
Like Seychelles, he tries to help them out as much as he can. Document overloading? Yeah, he’ll help them sort them out. They’re tired? He’ll cook and finish chores for them, they should go and get some sleep, he’ll be fine.
Lithuania tries to become some sort of figure for them to depend on, and that takes a massive toll on him. His schedule is already jam-packed with work, work, work, work, and even more work from trying to help his crush out? Lithuania convinces himself that he’s getting sleep every time he blinks.
The stress he gets from putting way too much on his plate worsens his already bad mental health, and everything just gets worse and worse and worse. It isn’t even the crush’s doing, Lithuania himself is the center of the problem.
Estonia and Latvia eventually notices the dark circles and greying hair. They ask Lithuania what’s going on, only to be pushed away. And it’s not Poland? They delved into investigation and all signs pointed to Lithuania pushing himself around for someone he liked.
A confrontation between the two Baltics and Lithuania’s crush is inevitable, even if Tolys himself denies everything that was going on.
Overall, Lithuania needs to get his shit back together before attempting to enter a relationship, but when he does, he is going to be the absolute best at courtship.
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The PAF
11th of June, 1940
The dorm was dark and crowded, teams of men (refugees, his mind said, and the word tasted bitter on his tongue) squished in together like sardines.
The British officials had offered him better accommodation when he had first arrived, pity in their voices abundant and Poland had barely managed to still his tongue, to remind himself to be polite.
“I’ll stay with my men,” he had said in heavily accented English, hoping it was understandable. English had never been a particular priority of his, before this. “I hope you understand?”
“Of course,” they had said, assuring looks and derisive thoughts all too apparent. Poland’s body throbbed in pain as he walked away. He was always in pain these days.
He was lucky to be here, he chided himself stiffly, thoughts of the French Vichy prevalent in his mind, but it didn’t feel particularly lucky as his skin tore and bled, and Poland knew his people were suffering under foreign hands.
Lucky, he repeated to himself, laying curled up on a lumpy mattress, aching for home, for his wide fields and jagged mountains.
It was there, in that cramped room filled with dirty men that echoed at night with the sounds of soft sobs cried into pillows that England found him.
“Poland,” he said, ducking around bunkbeds and the morning clamor of people putting on their clothes. He had come with the dawn. “We’ve managed to figure something out.”
Poland looked up. His usually spotless blonde hair was tangled, he was wearing yesterday’s clothes, and he probably smelled something terrible. 
His expression was one of brutal determination, a longing for action, to do something, anything, that England knew all too well, a similar desire reflected in his own face.
“Oh, so you’ve finally given me a job other then “Sit tight, and don’t worry about it?” Poland’s tone was a strange mix of bitterness and lightness, a joke masking his worry and annoyance at his own helplessness.
Before England could respond he pressed on, a strange sort of intensity settled in his voice as he sat up straighter.
“What is it?”
England sighed, giving him a reproachful look before throwing a piece of clothing at him.
Poland caught it, blinking in the light of the weak sun beaming from dirtied windows. “This is...” His heart beat faster. “A uniform cap?”
“Yes,” England gave a rare, wane smile. “Welcome to the independent Polish Air Force. I’m assuming you’ll join company No. 302 of the fighter squadrons. It’s the first one.” England shifted, his green uniform as neat as ever, but with the marks of a garment that had been worn continually, day in and out.
Poland sucked in a breath, his fingers crushing the navy blue fabric of the cap in his hands. “What changed your mind?”
England shrugged and looked away, a glimmer of pain on his face flashing across his face. “My boys are good, but more and more of them have gone out and haven’t come back. And you’ve always made it abundantly clear if I ever need any help with this sort of thing, I need only to ask.”
There was a dry sort of quality in his voice, but Poland ignored him, looking down at the familiar symbol of the white eagle fastened to the cap’s middle.
A symbol of his people, of him.
He breathed out, and the pain of his people was still there, a patchwork of festering wounds that would not close. It would always be there, for as long as this war took, but he hoped that maybe this would help.
Even if not, it was a good start.
Poland looked up, and before England could even think to evade or block, threw his hands around the other nation, hooking him in and feeling first hand the effects this war had had on him as well. Or maybe that was just British food in general.
“Thank you,” he breathed, and there was a smirk on his face as he pulled back, familiar and as old as the polish people themselves. “I always thought you were like, kind of a stick in the mud. But this?”
Poland shook his head. “Just, thank you.”
England flushed, and smoothed down his uniform almost absentmindedly. “Yes, well, don’t thank me just yet. The hard part is still to come.”
Poland grinned, body aching but spirit aflame. He thought about his people, about Germany’s violence's and the bloodshed and pain they had suffered because of it. 
“You won’t regret this.” He said, and it was a promise.
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Historical Notes:
1. 11th of June 1940 - This was when the first of two Anglo-Polish Agreements were signed, and the RAF's attitude towards the PAF became more accommodating.
2. “Derisive thoughts” - The German propaganda of the Polish ineptitude was pretty strong, and created many doubts about the flying abilities of Polish pilots. As Flight Lieutenant John A Kent who flew in the Battle of Britain said:
“All I knew about the Polish Air Force was that it had only lasted about three days against the Luftwaffe, and I had no reason to suppose that they would shine any more brightly operating from England'.
3. “No. 302″ - So technically this fighter squadron was only formed in July, but the first agreement was signed in June so shhh. No. 302 was one of the first Polish Fighter Squadron’s to exist in Britain along with No. 303.
 4. “My boys are good, but...” - Over the summer of 1940, many experienced British pilots were killed or wounded. There were not enough trained pilots and there was insufficient time to train those available for combat. The Poles were experienced and enthusiastic to fight, so.
5. “White Eagle” - Ok, so this is literally just the polish crest. It symbolizes the sovereignty and unity of the state. And yes, I googled that. Please, if anyone else has any more specific info feel free to comment! I’d love to know more.
6. “You won’t regret this.” - He sure won’t! The legacy of the Polish pilots in the Battle of Britain (in particular, though not just that) is awe inspiring, and deserves much respect. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding (who once doubted letting the Poles fly) summed it up like this:
'Had it not been for the magnificent work of the Polish squadrons and their unsurpassed gallantry, I hesitate to say that the outcome of battle would have been the same'.
Also, here’s a link to the PAF uniform (and cap!) I reference:
https://www.ima-usa.com/products/original-wwii-polish-air-forces-raf-flying-officer-uniform?variant=31384640749637
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favficbirthdays · 1 year
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Happy Birthday
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South Italy/Lovino Vargas (17th March)
Hetalia
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