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mysticalmusicwhispers · 3 years

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lovers’ dreams

Summary: “A day fit for a spring dream.” And then he kisses Roshan, and they become lost in each other.

Characters: India (Aditya), China, Iran/Persia (Roshan, genderfluid). Human names used. Indran, Churan, and Indchu for ships!

Notes: 100% distilled surrealism! This was supposed to be a writing exercise that ran away from me rip. There are many footnotes that explain Many things. Enjoy!

also on AO3! (there are bonus thoughts and explanations there for anyone who’s interested or slightly confused 😅. everything necessary for you to understand the story is here too but I ramble about my thoughts going into the piece on AO3 lol)

———

The willow’s drooping branches hide Yao’s face like a beaded curtain, a bride’s sheer red veil. The spring breeze snakes through the tree, and the sound of wedding suona—sorna rings through the silence. A flutter of phoenix wings brushes past their ear, a whisper on the wind. Roshan walks languidly until they are in front of Yao; it takes a minute��it takes a month. Yao’s face is sharp and his eyes glint, like the jade in his belt. But the kiss is soft when they take his lips in theirs, and it tastes of the rose’s tender petals. The clean sweetness of flowers is warm against Roshan’s face and the fragrance of tea drifts into their nostrils.

Yao pulls away, and Roshan opens their eyes to polished jade thorns sprouting up from the earth around them—crisp green, sharp-tipped; elegant, dangerous. So these are the fruits of our love. It is fitting. They lean to kiss Yao again, and this time, a laugh peals through the air when they part. It is not Roshan’s, and it isn’t Yao’s. But it is clear as spring water and tinkles like a bell, a joyous sound, and it makes Yao smile—a smile that is gentle, calculating; sweet, dangerous. A copper coin hides in the corner of his lips. “A day fit for a spring dream.” And then he kisses Roshan, and they become lost in each other.

When Roshan opens their eyes again, Yao is gone. They are standing in nothingness, a shell of a dream. A liminal plane. A wedding song echoes in the empty space, loud and cheerful, although there are no musicians to be seen playing the dohol, the sorna. Then sprung from the air, a mirror of fate, Aayeneh-ye Bakh, with its customary candelabras flanking it, and with their dots of golden light—miniature suns, sparkling stars. Its face shimmers, clear and gleaming: a pond on a full moon night—and in it, Yao stands, his reflection bright, splendid robes shimmering like gold scales and fine silk. Roshan reaches out a hand, and pulls him into a kiss.

“Welcome back, my dear.”

———

It is sunset, and a chill brushes past Yao’s shoulders and winds through his hair. The sky burns red, and fork tongued flames lick at the sun. A world bathed in fire, on the cusp of night. A lotus pond sits before him, and a figure is at its edge—Aditya, adorned in gold, the perfect figure of a prince. He, a dream of glittering palaces and beady emeralds, bright against the glow of the setting sun, sharp against the bloody sky. He holds a lotus blossom out, and Yao takes it. It is pure, tender in his calloused hands. A drop of blood drips from a petal. He lets it float into the water, and Aditya watches with him as the peach pink petals drop before their eyes—the lotus head balloons, then falls with the weight of seeds; it withers, a shell of its fruit. Divine beauty is short lived—seasons turn with the winds of change.

Aditya loops an arm around him, bare skin on bare skin, the warmth of the sun hanging around them like a curtain. Their lips meet. The kiss is long, and lingers even after Yao pulls away; it is slightly bitter, but how could it not be? Aditya’s eyes are like black tea, and Yao tastes acrid lily bulbs. The sky has faded into burnt orange, the aftermath of a blaze. Autumn leaves fall from ginkgo trees, golden yellow, bright with memories of the past. Aditya closes his eyes, and Yao watches him sink into a dream.

The scene shifts before his eyes. The lotus pond morphs into a giant chessboard, and they are on opposite sides. Aditya plays white. Cream colored pawns meet chocolate brown knights, and they watch as kings rise and fall, as steady as the spinning of the world. Chariots race and elephants trumpet; the cavalry fight with long swords and bows, and the peasants use polearms, raised fists. Yao meets Aditya’s eyes, warm but gleaming with an ambition that has never gone away. He nods to his neighbor to the west, to his rival, lover, partner, equal. Aditya smiles.

“So we meet again.”

———

It is afternoon, and the sun is warm on his face. Roshan sits on a bench in the courtyard, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, a pomegranate in the other. Aditya nestles into their side, and they give him a feather light cheek kiss, gift him a wisp of air. They hold out the pomegranate, offers it, and Aditya takes a bite. Roshan takes the other half. They watch as the fruit regrows, seeds become jewels, glittering rubies in folds of red fabric. Roshan holds one up to the light with a critical eye. They spread tawny wings, amber eagle eyes alight with the pride of the past present future. A lion and the sun. The wings disappear—a trick of the light, reality fallen away. Then they hold up the cup of coffee.

“For you.” Aditya smiles, and offers a cup of black tea in return.

We have shared many things, and fought over equally many. How will it be in the future? He takes a sip, and falls through the cup.

A cemetery of swords surrounds them, a memory of things gone by. Afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, winds into Roshan’s hair. Idly peaceful. Flowers sprout through the earth; wither; climb up the rusted metal once again. A vine of roses twists around the hilt of a ceremonial spear, supple and full against cool, glinting steel. The leaves flicker, green yellow dead green again. Its blossom is still fresh red, like passion, like their love, pooling around them like a million memories, a still night in the river of time. Aditya looks at Roshan, different yet the same, a reflection of what they once were. Familiar, always, despite the changing tides and shifting dreams.

———

Notes

this part might actually be longer than the fic itself rip 😔 reminder that there’s extra rambling on ao3 lol

Suona/sorna: suona (唢呐) is a traditional wind instrument often played at wedding and funeral processions in northern China! (also used in Southeast China + Taiwan) It’s very loud and has a super brassy sound, but personally I think it sounds alright! The instrument came from Central Asia and is also used at weddings in Iran (where it’s spelled sorna/sarna), where it’s played with a dohol, a large cylindrical drum.

Phoenixes: wedding imagery in China, where a dragon symbolizes the groom and the phoenix the bride. There’s also an analogue to the phoenix in Persian mythology, a simurgh, which is a benevolent creature that is said to purify the land, roosts in the Tree of Knowledge, and apparently has seen the world be destroyed 3 times. Can symbolize healing, divinity, wisdom, and life. (the simurgh symbolism doesn't have much relevance to the fic but I thought it was incredibly interesting to read about lol)

Spring dream: very loosely referencing the Chinese phrase 一场春梦 (yi chang chun meng), which literally translates to an episode of a spring dream. It means the feeling that past predictions or events were actually totally wrong and fruitless, like you expected something (probably really good), but then woke up to reality not being up to your expectations? I can’t translate 😔

Mirror of Fate: In traditional Iranian weddings, a large, elaborate table with flowers and food and different spices is set up (sofreh aghd). A mirror of fate and 2 candelabras are also placed in the center of the table. The mirror represents how fate brought the bride and groom together, and the candelabras represent light and fire. The mirror is there so that when the groom looks into it, the first thing he should see is his betrothed's reflection.

Lotus blossoms: in China and India and many other parts of Asia, lotuses represent purity (they grow from dark mud but the flowers are pure white/pink), the divine, elegance, spiritual promise, the good part of humanity. so, a lotus with a drop of blood in Yao’s hands would be interesting.

Lily bulbs: this is purely self projection but lily bulbs (baihe) are used in Chinese medicine and I despise them. They're not super bitter but they taste starchy, bland, and off. Also lilies and lotuses are pretty similar and I thought that would be interesting :>

Chess: idk if I need a note for this but chess originated as an Indian game called Chaturanga and spread over to China and Iran, among many other places in Asia.

Tea and Coffee: nothing really special about this besides that Iranians Really Like tea. Decided to make India drink coffee instead for contrast; realistically he’d also be drinking tea lol

Eagle eyes: the Iranian/Persian symbol of the Faravahar, from Zoroastrianism has wings that are supposed to be eagle wings (I think? correct me if it’s just unspecified). You’ve probably seen it; it depicts a man with spread wings, half kneeling in a side view. Nowadays it’s also a symbol of Iranian culture, history, and national pride, besides being representative of Zoroastrianism.

Rose: national flower of Iran, and obv I don’t need to explain the other rose connotations. Also I’ve fully adopted the hc that Roshan and all their stuff smells like roses so that’s there too.

Lion and the sun: getting lazy with the explanations, but the short version is that it was a very important Iranian national symbol for many reasons, moreso tied to the state than culture (imo); it was also on the national flag up till the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Although I’m still debating how much Roshan is associated with the state, I also think sun and lion imagery fits them (glory, golden days, pride and courage). It’s super interesting, go search it up if you wanna read more!

This whole fic was somewhat inspired by this one, and the indchu bit was also somewhat inspired by this fanart.

If you made it down here, you have all my gratitude. Feedback is welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

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feynavaley · 6 years

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Hetalia Human AU – Jobs Headcanon

America: Paramedic. I think that his hero complex would drive him to a job that would make him actively help people, and I think that being a paramedic is the job that would fit his personality better – I really see him diving head-first into emergency situations and providing the first medical aid, I think that such a dynamic job is just the right one for him.

China: ER doctor or trauma surgeon. I’m undecided between the two, but either way, I truly see China as a senior doctor who has seen it all and, in spite of his occasionally grumpy attitude, always knows what to do and doesn’t lose his cool.

Denmark: Kindergarten teacher. Just picture it. He’s energic and enthusiastic, he’d be absolutely great with kids.

England: Writer. With his love for fantasy and his active imagination, I think he would be a writer of fantasy or children books, always focused on magical elements. I also cannot shake off the vibe that England has a good way with words.

Estonia: Computer technician. He would either own his little shop or be the IT guy in a firm, but either way, I see him working with computers.

Finland: Nurse. He gives me the vibe of somebody with a patient and welcoming attitude, able of making people at ease and, at the same time, being stern when needed and not panicking.

France: Owner of a bakery – but not just a bakery, a small patisserie where he would sell his hand-made sweets along with coffee and other beverages. He would also have an area – curated in any detailed to look comfortable and modern at the same time – where people cult sit and chat while consuming their food.

Hungary: Policewoman. One of the good ones, those who genuinely want to help people and take their job seriously. I think she would also volunteer to teach free self-defence classes in her free time.

India: Psychologist. After the way he helped Canada when England got sick, I got the vibe that he can deeply analyse situations and relationships and offer good advice, and this stuck.

Romano: Cook. I honestly think that this would be the perfect job for him, he’d be an excellent and hard-working cook, in spite of his generally grumpy attitude.

Sweden: Librarian. This is something I’ve already talked about, but I think this job would fit him perfectly. He’s perfectly organized, and he looks so stern that his face alone would ensure complete silence, yet, he would go out his way to be as helpful as he could if somebody needed it.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanon #aph america #aph england #aph china #aph france #aph india #aph finland #aph denmark #aph sweden #aph romano #feyna's headcanon #aph estonia #aph hungary #these are just the ones I'm most confident on #I'm rather undecided on others #and obviously the job in an au depends also on what's needed for the fic #this is just a general outline

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lilithkb · 6 years

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Some couple pictures I wanted to post altogether!

Eli and Gil have the most teenage-like relationship you can imagine. They are constantly picking on each other or fighting or making absurd bets and challenges in order to make the other treat them to something. But they sure like to be one close to each other, that is not that hard to see!

Also, same Elizabeta, even though she is a fierce and rude huntress, softens as soon as she gets close to Roderich... "Green is definitely your colour!" Well, she never wears dresses, but she could use one from time to time!

The third pic is a stupid thing I did cause I love to ake those two kiss. Also, goodbyes are always hard, no matter how non-human you may be... right?

And last one... you can guess by just how Arthur looks at Francis. And maybe you can get a better idea of what I am doing with this character if you compare this Arthur with the other one I posted earlier... *whistles*

To know more about Jäger, click here!

#hetalia #Fic: Jäger #aph: hungary #aph: prussia #aph: austria #aph: india #aph: england #aph: france #traditional art #2013 #2014

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shachaai · 7 years

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[Fic] Child’s Talk in April

Title: Child’s Talk in April Pairings/Characters: Fem!England, India, Wales, Ireland, many, many little colonies, and India/f!England mentioned (but not the fic focus) Rating: Teen - one f-word Summary: England. April 1862. England spends some time at home with most of the British Empire on Easter Sunday. Family, imperialism and trouble in the Americas mix only with a headache.

Notes: real life and research means that yes, I am posting an Easter fic a whole month and a bit after Easter. Happy Easter.

“James, for the third time, get down from the trees!”

Halfway up the old apple tree and with his arms full of branches - again - , New South Wales turns his head with the grudging pace of one who knows they are in for a lecture to where England is sitting at a table on the garden patio with India and Wales. Even at a distance and under the steady spring budding of green leaves, the boy’s eyes are huge and wounded, vainly trying to communicate to his exasperated guardian all of the opportunities he feels he is clearly missing out on - all the opportunities she is so cruelly depriving him of.

“But if there’re eggs up here -”

England sets down her empty cup of tea firmly enough its saucer rattles; India begins pouring her more from the still-warm pot without bothering to ask her about it. “I told you at the start: none of the eggs are hidden above eye-level.”

New South Wales swings himself around a thick branch just so he can see the patio better, his tone turning indignant. “But your eye-level is twice the height of ours!”

On AO3.

#Shacha fic #one v. tired England and a horde of little colonies #and Ireland; Wales and India to stir the pot #nyotalia #fem!England #aph!India #engine #aph!Wales #aph!Ireland #aph!Australia #aph!New Zealand #aph!Hong Kong #aph!Seychelles #so many colonies I am not tagging them all #Arthur Kirkland #hetalia

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sunnixsunshine · 3 years

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I saw one fic in the search results concerning aph India(was trying to find that one screenshot of him and the elephant club, I remember it being fucking cute lmao) and the fic was Turkey x India. Now I can't stop thinking about how cute this pairing would be. Now I can't find the fic anymore--

#hetalia #hetalia fanart #hetalia turkey #hetalia india #hetalia turkey x india #i also cant find the photo i used as reference because the link never copoed and the photo never downloaded #and yet i still closed out the tab :D yaaaay im stupid

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laurajameskinney · 5 years

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I WISH YOU WOULD WRITE A FIC WITH APH INDIA yeet thank you

anon ur valid but ngl i know 0 whole things about him so if i did now or anytime soon it would probably be bad. i’ll get better.

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renaroo · 7 years

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A Packed Lunch

Disclaimer: Hetalia and associated characters are the creative property of Hidekaz Himaruya. Warnings: Canon-typical language. Original Character version of India (written prior to his introduction) Rating: T Summary: Food unites people around the world and sharing it brings three unlikely friends together.

A/N: This was originally published with my joint account I shared with @theeffar in 2011 for our Hetalia works, and in my unending need to cultivate and streamline my online works, I’m reposting some of the ones I’m still proud of here and on my AO3.

Original A/N: The last of my trio of close friends from high school is graduating tonight and it seemed like perfect timing to publish this little story I wrote a month ago that’s dedicated to my three closest high school friends. We were united in our unique interest in heritage (I being a second generation German-American, today’s graduate being a first generation Korean-American, and our third member being an Indian immigrant) and packing our lunches to school. So here’s to my homies!

Sometimes the greatest achievements we have are not in the friendships of our past but the ones we construct anew. There is nothing more terrifying than opening yourself up to the strangers around you.

Most of the time, he ate alone. His lunch was packed neatly in tubaware containers of at least three different sizes. All was placed in an ecologically friendly cloth sack and sealed with a draw string.

Each wurst was cooked with the anticipation of being heated up in the break room. It had a microwave about ten years old that no one would bother to replace. If a country didn’t want to eat in the food court, they were more likely to use the stove and start from scratch.

Still, there was a tomato sauce stain from America’s last demonstration to England on why Spaghetti O’s were world changing.

It also sometimes smelled like olive oil which often made Germany wonder if Romano or Greece had used it beforehand. He quickly wrote those off, though.

He did not eat alone due to a lack of friends or important business lunches. He had enough friends in his pocket to keep himself satisfied and his contact list on his cell in need of a scroll bar.

Germany just needed times where it was him and his lunch. Everyone did.

Even Italy had eventually accepted, albeit unhappily, that many occasions were meant to be reflected on in privacy.

As such, it was not a lonely thing to take a lunch on his own to the break room.

He sat at the table not terribly far away from the sectional that at one point surrounded a television but no longer did. (Someone would eventually have to tell Russia that he had to reimburse the embassy for staking the flat screen with his pipe.) He sat in one of the two chairs that were not cracked and opened each tubaware container as he needed to. It was just easier to heat them up as needed rather than heat them all up only to have the last of his meal be cold before he touched it.

Germany found this often-but-not-too-often routine comforting.

Without warning, though, it changed. When the room wasn’t empty as he walked in.

India had always been a strange acquaintance of Germany.

Seemingly the two would have little to do with each other, but the truth of the matter was they had been friendly since even before the World Wars. He was always encouraging to her about her feelings on breaking away from colonization and, in turn, she was the first of the Allies to end her declaration of war with him after the second World War.

He still hadn’t thought of a proper way to thank her for the support of German Reunification.

Therefore it was not a terribly distressing thing to see her in the break room, sitting on one of the two unbroken chairs, eating what he thought looked like one of Mexico’s tortillas with brown rice and hen pecked quantities of vegetables and beans.

When she looked at him she seemed equally surprised and equally undeterred. She nodded and he made his way to the microwave.

“I enjoyed your presentation today,” she said as he decided to warm the wurst first.

“Thank you,” He said and turned toward her so as to not be rude. “I was rather concerned that I was boring the assembly.”

A wry smile grew upon the regal ancient’s face. “Ah, only America,” she assured him.

It was rather reassuring, he had to admit.

“It’s called roti,” she told him as she tore a bite size piece from the flat bread. “I noticed you looking at it.”

“So I see,” Germany nodded before tearing a piece from his own rye-wheat.

He had decided against thinking too much on how both of their packed meals had changed over the several weeks of meeting each other, unplanned as it might have been, in the break room.

Germany was much more interested in thinking about how Italy and Japan seemed rather put off by the fact that his often-but-not-too-often days of packed lunches had turned into a consistent every-time-we-have-meetings deal.

At the last meeting he had invited them to pack their own lunches, which they both considered. He hadn’t seen them come yet, though.

“For another meeting topic,” Germany thought out loud, “I should talk about how fast food has eliminated some of our more interpersonal relations.”

India thought for a moment and stirred her vegetables absently. “You will certainly get America’s attention with that.”

The routine changed yet again when Germany arrived slightly later than usual.

He had been cleaning off the board in the room after a particularly tough debate about global warming regulation turned into a contest to see who was capable of drawing the best landscape. That, of course developed into a nasty debate on whether or not the sun should have a face or not.

After a cry of ‘if the moon has one, why can’t the sun?’ they had adjourned for lunch.

All except Germany who was cleaning up the mess and wondering if anyone would be interested after lunch in hearing about his theory on fast food.

By the time he had reached the break room at last, India was already there. She had not started eating without him.

Korea, however, had.

He had a bowl of what smelled like something steamed and caused Germany’s stomach to rumble slightly. Not enough, however, for Germany not to notice that there was only one chair left and it had a noticeable crack through the bottom of the seat.

“Did you pack your lunch today as well, Korea?” Germany asked and made his way to the microwave as was customary.

“Tteokguk,” he said with a great, beaming smile on his face. It reminded the European that the youthful Asian nation had been spending too much of his time with America. “Nothing special.”

Germany nodded and waited for the ding to alert him that the Solyanka his brother gave him a recipe for was done warming up. “It smells good.”

India had not spoke up besides gentle chides to Korea who, if Germany recalled correctly, had been doing business with her since he was born out of the fall of the three kingdoms. Ancient friends, he supposed, though India seemed surprisingly maternal.

Germany sat in the cracked chair. It whined but so long as he did not move much it was fine, only occasionally creaking.

Their meals were very different and, despite this, it smelled very good when all together, steam mixing in the air until it was all the same thing.

Germany sometimes wondered if the relationship they shared at their meal was only that.

Since his addition to the rat pack, Korea had done the majority of the speaking throughout their meals. Germany would interject and attempt to ground the insane topics Korea would bring up. In truth, though, he despised when Korea allowed that to happen.

India and Germany may have eaten together in happy, mundane silence but they both smiled more and ate more with Korea around them.

Break at the World Conferences had become a non-sequitter for the three of them.

On the day one of them could not attend the break room for whatever reason, it was mention in passing the day before. Then, even though the other two would not speak about it beyond that, they would not meet in the break room. Germany would see them fitted back into their social positions in the food court.

He was just as guilty as the other two.

He began to wonder why he never brought up the meeting point about fast food and the depravation of more international relationships. But he didn’t think too hard on it.

In truth, he already knew the reason. And it was necessary selfish.

"I think tomorrow we should make a pot luck out of this break room,” Korea said.

Germany envied the other’s creativeness and innocent naïvity. As insane and uncalled for as his ideas were most of the time, there was a spark behind Korea’s eyes that made the other two nations take pause and consider.

They looked at each other before coming to an agreement.

“Yes,” Germany said out loud.

Content, Korea went back to his own meal. The other two followed suit.

No one said anything, but they all marveled at the fact that in two yeas of this arrangement it was the first time any of them had mentioned the strangely powerful bond out loud.

Trying to figure out what to cook for the pot luck was much more stressful than it should have been. His stomach did flip flops as he tried to be considerate of the other two nations’ cultural norms and definitions of kosher.

The dogs whining to be fed and the constant berating of his brother did not really do anything to assist matters either.

As a sign of tradition, India ate little that deterred from her land’s natural diet. It was always homemade spices that radiated their heat so much it would cause the German’s eyes to water at a simple sniff. She enjoyed a wide variety of fruits and vegetables that were cooked in ways that were still a mystery to him.

Fast like the times they found themselves in, Korea’s food was a segway between tradition and spontaneous energy. He would eat the meats Gemany was comfortable with cooking but he would also most likely eat the traditional noodles, soups, and tofu. He was unpredictable and less of a worry.

But Germany had always made a habit of worrying. The more senseless the more likely he was to worry.

He cursed under his breath and collapsed into the nearest chair.

Blackie was the first of the animals to respond to the action. She did so by whining and laying her oversized head on his lap.

Germany sighed and rubbed her between her ears as he thought deeply on the subject at hand. There was so many things that could go wrong with a pot luck.

“I need something unique,” he informed his precious pets. “But it also needs to be something that can be enjoyed in small quantities. It would also help it was kosher for my friends’ beliefs and traditions. All I can think of is wurst and stew.”

He looked away from Blackie to Berlitz and Aster. Berlitz was rigid as any Doberman, but Aster was dopey and complacent as ever, her head swaying to the side as another of Prussia’s chicks landed on her. They pecked her flat, Labrador head like they were gathering seed.

And that’s when Germany received some inspiration.

He immediately retuned to cooking, much to Blackie’s distress.

"Oh, so what is this, Germany? A pumpkin roll?” Korea asked as he pawed at the dessert set before him and India.

The table was already decorated with dainty treats from the other two lunch buddies. So much so that Germany was slightly ashamed at the tiny contribution of mohn stollen.

It took him quite a while to make but, seeing and smelling the wonderful dishes like samgyeopsai and kofta it felt incredibly underwhelming.

“It’s mohn stollen,” he explained. “It’s made with poppy seeds.” After a breath he added, “It’s not much.”

India smiled gratefully. “Today,” she explained, “it is everything.”

Then the three corners of the globe partook in a single meal.

Germany and Korea shared their tears as Korea cried out ‘too much curry!’ India nibbled respectfully at each dish before her, tearing off extas from the mohn stollen when she thought the others would not notice. She and Germany then both ate from Korea’s enthusiastically offered samgyopsai. Then Korea snuck two of the rolls of mohn stollen into his brief case, folded sloppily in stain covered napkins.

“I was unaware you ate meat,” Germany said to India as they rested back against their chairs and absorbed the feeling of being much too full.

India smiled. “I share practices with all my people,” she said before growing a curious smile. “However, I have found in thousands of years of allowing my people’s religious sects decide their own rules, I would never eat without bending some of them.”

Germany smiled and nodded to this news. He understood what it felt like to be pulled by his own people in too many directions at once.

The break room gang ended almost as abruptly as it came into existence.

It was an unassuming day as the three crossed paths and their individual ways to the break room. They nodded and agreed to walk together the rest of the trek without speaking a single word.

By the time they got to the room where a small table waited with two chairs that there were fine and one chair that was broken and squeaked, the microwave was running.

And America was cussing at how his Wendy’s was suddenly ruined.

They would have asked him how so if they hand’t already been able to smell it. Or see the remains of the chili’s contents plastered on the inside of the door.

He turned and saw them, smiled his big, American smile, and waved them over.

“Hey, fancy seeing you all in the break room,” he said. “Lucky you guys! There’s plenty of room for more, even with the hero in here already.”

And there was. So none of them bothered to mention that they had, in fact, brought their own foods into the kitchenette first. It was a useless struggle and no one outside of their unspoken group would understand it.

So India turned around part of the sectional to align it with the open side of the table. Korea took a turn in the cracked chair, perhaps to look across the table at America who he was already in an explosive conversation with.

Germany merely sat across from India, feeling smaller and smaller between the two louder nations. It wasn’t a meeting, though, so it was not like there was a rhyme or reason to interrupt.

It was never the same after that day. Though, they only bothered to meet in the new arrangement once.

That was plenty enough for the original trio to realize that the quaint structure they had established had died with an unassuming whisper.

America was an easy scapegoat to blame for it, but they all knew that it was not him. They all tolerated him much easier than the majority of nations who spent time with him. In fact, the two days that had been eaten with America added to the group had been very sociable and fun to say the least.

The culprit was America’s food. Even if it was a home baked apple pie on the second day, it was a fourth culture, a fourth toxin and taste added to the air of the break room and it no longer smelled like a unique blend of counter cultures.

It only smelled like apple pie.

Even when they bit into the poignant curry that India had brought, the zest had been altered into something almost sweeter.

They no longer had food to share. Likewise, their reason for meeting vanished.

It was the last time Germany ate in the break room.

Italy and Japan seemed happy enough to welcome Germany back to the food court. They even asked him how his thesis was coming along for the presentation on why fast food was bad.

He was eternally grateful for their dependable natures and even more so for the fact that they were still genuinely interested in his subject. Even if he had dropped it nearly a month beforehand.

There seemed to be something missing when he smelled the air of the food court, though, and all there was to greet his nose was an indescribable mass of scents. The individual foods no longer had their own tastes in the air, it was all the same. It was white noise.

Until he smelled something that was surprisingly close to tteokguk and something else that he could have sworn was kofta.

When he looked around he saw his break room companions offering up some of their extra food to the countries America had drug to their table.

“It’s great stuff!” America exclaimed loudly. “I started going to some markets in D.C. that sells it and, man, oh, man. You’ve got to try some. You like curry, don’t you, England?”

Germany, now intrigued, made his way to the table where his friends smiled up at him. Then America turned and grinned.

“Oh, hey, Germany!” I brought some Awesomest-Apple-Pie if you want some! Did you bring any wurst or anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I was planning on eating in the food court today.

America made a disappointed noise and crossed his arms. “Okay, fine. But you can’t use that excuse next month! We’e totally having a pot luck. What do you think?”

India smiled softly up the German. “It was an idea I had in passing.”

Korea flailed his ams in the ai. “Pot lucks originated in Korea!”

After a moment of soaking in the information, Germany nodded, a faint smile dancing on his own lips. “I think a pot luck sounds like a great suggestion.”

The universal truth, through cultures around the world, is that the one thing that unites us all is food.

#writing #hetalia fic #APH Germany #APH India #APH South Korea #APH America

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flyingsassysaddles · 6 years

Text

I was tagged by @must-be-ryan , thanks man!

1. Nicknames: Sassy’s my name, sassy’s my game

2. Gender: I honestly have no idea, but I’m guessing somewhere around female-ish to non-binary?? Demi-female I guess?????

3. Zodiac Sign: TAURUS AND PROUD

4. Height: 5′8″ (or 172.72), and I’m probably just going to get taller

5. Current Time: 6:42, North American Eastern Standard Time (EST)

6. Birthday: May 12th!

7. Favorite Bands: meh

8. Favorite Solo Artists: meh but solo

9. Song Stuck in My Head: I was thinking about this one when I GOT A FEELING OOOO OOOO THAT TONIGHT’S GONNA BE A GOOD NIGHT popped back into my head, so thanks Tumblr, also When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again during tests (always)

10. Last Movie I Watched: “Captain’s Corelli's Mandolin” which is some really sad shit if you can understand the mothers and fathers sobbing, “Το παιδι μου!” (my child) after finding out they died in WW2 ;-;

11. Last Show I Watched: “Medici: Masters of Florence” because my mom loves to watch it but we can’t get it on the TV so I have to use my computer to hook it up and by then I want to watch it too anyway so (on the plus side ALL the renaissance painters are like SUPER gay because HISTORY)

12. When Did I Create My Blog: Hm, about two years ago! I only actually started using it like a couple months ago and before that I just used it to read awesome comics I originally found on youtube

13. What Do I Post?: TibMongol for sure, Mongolia stuff, Tibet stuff, my own writings once I finally piece them together, and occasionally a headcanon or two!

14. Last Thing I Googled: “Calendar” because I forgot what day was last Monday

15. Other Blogs?: Nah, but SOON (dun dun duuuun)

16. Do You Get Asks?: meh but lonely even though I reblog like no ask memes oops

17. Why Did You Choose Your Url?: Er, this is a little embarrassing, but I was (and sorta still am) a huge My Little Pony fan, and when I was making my account, a new character called Sassy Saddles just made her first episode, and I was like “meh sure why not” and put a “flying” on there for good measure

18. Last Thing I Ate: POTATOES

19. How Many Pillows?: One primary hugging pillow, two for its actual purpose, and like one just being tossed around all night idk

20. Favorite Color(s): For the longest time it was purple, but it turns out I really like green?? It’s a May color and is the color of leaves when the sun shines through, so I’m thinking of switching! Yellow is super pretty too because gold and shit

21. Favorite Tag To Use?: Either #TibMongol because it means I FINALLY FOUND ONE or I WROTE ANOTHER TIBMONGOL FIC or THESE DORKS ARE ADORABLE LOVE THEM PLZ, or #Sassy’s Writing because it means I FINISHED THE FIC GUYS OH MY GOD FINALLY

22. Lucky Number: Three. Why? School House Rocks, that’s why

23. Instruments?: Guitar! I know, I can actually play, it’s a miracle (bar chords are so annoying though T^T)

24. What Am I Wearing?: An I-Heart-NY sweatshirt, jeans, the usual

25. Last Thing I Wrote?: A fic for the account that doesn’t exist yet (SUSPENSE) so no spoilers people

26. Dream Job: Um, a guess a neuroscientist, a chemical engineer, or a writer, you know, one of the three! :D

27. Dream Trip: A trip from Mongolia, to Tibet, to Nepal, to India, and then to Inner Mongolia!

28. Favorite Food: POTATO

29. Nationality: Greek-American!

30. Favorite Song Right Now: “The Grey” by Icon for Hire, Youth by Daughter, and Blood On My Name by The Brothers Bright currently!

I tag: @d-joana-a-shippadora @spiritussalis @amechulover @huggiebird @aph-solukhumbu @ariuka-munkh @aristotle-s-lover@thatcraxygirl15 and anyone who wants to give it a shot!

#tag meme #sassy's stash

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godtier-fics · 7 years

Note

16, 31 and 35 for the fic meme?

this meme

If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

sweats

looks at my ao3

sweats

character wise it would be nalin roy (aph india)

ship...pairing wise....

alfred x yao (amechu)

Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

i very, very rarely write in canon stories...but the only things i try and keep canon compliance are characterization but even that’s hard when writing an AU!

Would you ever kill off a canon character?

you come and ask me the ultimate Artie Kirklands HATER this??? don’t you know i founded the DED (Drag England Daily) club?!

nah but seriously...even if i kill off a character...i tend to only do that in fics where reincarnation/redemption is a thing

otherwise....no not really into death for angst’s sake

so even Artie Ol’Boy is safe from me (and I do appreciate him as a character lOL before someone sends me qs about this)

-kei

#learn to take a joke @ random readers #ask games #thanks for the q #andrew-blackthorn #kei answers

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hwssouthasia · 7 years

Note

Hey, I'm a person of South Asian descent (Indian and Bangladeshi) and a scholar of the history of the Indian Subcontinent. I was was wondering what relations your OCs are to APH India? Btw I love your name for APH India, it's so beautiful!

hey anon,

this is kei and i’m on a hiatus rn so i’m in and out on tumblr cuz...yeah.

anyway, i’m...confused? by what you mean by your question.

APH South Asia is a blog that hosts OCs for the other countries in South Asia that don’t have a canon appearance currently! So, if you’re asking what their relationships are to Nalin then its imo similar to how East Asia works with regards to fandom viewing Yao as the big brother.

If you wanna know more you can always check out the what...30+ fics I’ve written about them? But since I’m on a hiatus currently I’m in and out but if you leave a more clarifying question in the inbox I’ll get to it when I return to the internet before the month is out.

-kei

#mod answers #mod kei #Anonymous #kei anons #kei asks

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 3 years

Text

glimpses into a calmer universe

a gift for @luyous, because you once made some posts asking for indchu fics, and I started writing indchuran for the hell of it, but never finished until now. I think this could fit in the indchuran: bros for life AU but only after they get together, since there’s less pining than usual. Anyways, this is very overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

A little bit of domestic fluff. 3 glimpses into the indchuran universe through three different perspectives. Iran/Persia is Roshan, and they’re genderfluid.

Also on AO3!

———

The smell of food is wafting upstairs from the kitchen. It tempts Aditya sorely, and he tries to resist—he has a rather crushing workload to get through today—but five minutes later his feet are padding softly on the first floor landing, the tiles cool under his bare soles. He stops in the doorway, idly tracing the spots of afternoon sunshine dancing on the walls, and watches the figures of his two loves, side by side in the kitchen. Yao is standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, and Roshan is at his side in front of the sink, busy washing something Aditya cannot see. They are talking quietly above the sizzle of the wok and the sound of water gushing out of the faucet, a perfect picture of domesticity, all easy smiles, gentle touches, quiet jokes and careless laughter. An intimate synchronization of movement, like their hearts are beating in time. It strikes Aditya that his heart suddenly feels like it is overflowing, and he supposes he’s done enough watching from afar—for today, at least.

Yao hears him coming first, and turns around as he enters the kitchen, but doesn’t say anything, just acknowledges him with a smile and a softening of the eyes, and begins to heap the stir-fried ants-on-a-branch—the vegetarian variation, with diced shiitake mushrooms instead of minced meat—onto a plate. When Roshan sees him, Aditya is treated to a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek that smells like roses before they turn back to washing the spinach, cilantro, and parsley—Aditya thinks they’re for the reshteh that recently appeared in the kitchen cupboard—in the sink.

He offers to help with the washing, or the onions (even though they make him cry, which always makes Roshan and Yao laugh), but Roshan pushes him lightly out of the kitchen and Yao makes sure he doesn’t go back in. So Aditya is forced to sit at their small dining table, debating whether to finish his work or enjoy the afternoon sunshine streaming in from the glass back door. The work, he decides, isn’t worth it, and instead he goes back to watching Roshan and Yao work. He refuses to think he is admiring them.

Nevertheless, it isn’t long before he’s too caught up in staring that he doesn’t notice Yao nudging Roshan and whispering “Aditya’s pining again”. But when Roshan catches him staring, they just smile cheekily, wink, and blow him a theatrical kiss that still makes Aditya’s throat catch and his heart stutter, even after a year of dating them. When they turn back to chopping herbs, the sunlight catches on their hair, coating it gold. Aditya is reminded of Roshan’s name, and Yao’s—and their meanings: light, shining.

He does not think himself sentimental, but sometimes—many times—he wonders if they were fated to be. And he supposes it is not too cliche to admit to himself, privately, that his partners are the lights of his life.

———

Yao pauses at the entrance of the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market, still wondering whether it was wise to bring Aditya and Roshan along, and whether they will drag him to every place that sells anything vaguely shiny before leaving. But just as he thinks this, he makes the mistake—and it is definitely a mistake—of turning, and catches Aditya grinning at him, flashing an easygoing smile—a smile he’d do anything to keep, and he relents. But his regrets, or doubts, or whatever the vaguely self-preserving feeling in his chest is, must have shown on a slight frown or in an imperceptible sigh, because Roshan kisses his cheek and says,

“Come on Yao, we’ll handle ourselves. We won’t get distracted and we’ll be back at home in no time, exactly as you planned.” They wink at Aditya, which is never a good sign, but it’s still enough to wheedle him into agreeing, however fondly exasperated he is, and however certain he is that they will waste half the day away, as usual. He sighs again—the old man sigh, according to Roshan—but grumbles a “fine, but you need to pay me back in white rabbit”, and watches them veer off towards the artisan stalls, holding hands. Aditya’s hair glints brightly in the sun, and Roshan’s is dyed a rich, dark brown. Like two suns, hand in hand; one bright, the other warm.

Someone bumps into him, and Yao shakes himself out of his reverie. The grocery list is a mile long, and he doesn’t need to waste more time than is absolutely necessary, after all.

But finding all the things he needs to buy takes more time than he likes, and the walk to the Chinatown butcher’s to see whether they have halal live chicken— they don’t—takes even longer, so that it is almost noon (two whole hours, which he realizes with a pang) when he wanders back to the Ferry Building to find Aditya and Roshan in a small jewelry shop, excitedly inspecting a stand of earrings. He watches them for a second through the windows as Aditya holds a pair of dangling yellow lotus blossoms up to his ears and Roshan looks on admiringly. Yao is pretty sure he too is admiring Aditya—he looks truly beautiful, with the earrings and a modest smile and a bright twinkle in his polished obsidian eyes—but some part of him pulls him back into real time and reminds him that although it is a Saturday, he has no time to waste (stupid law firm), and he regretfully walks into the store to retrieve his partners. He thinks—no, he knows—it will be half an hour before he can pull them away from the (admittedly alluring) jewelry displays, but he supposes Aditya’s cheek kiss and Roshan’s cheerful gratitude will be worth it. Anyways, he can always bullshit case briefings and squeeze out extra time somewhere. He’d rather not rush this moment.

———

When Roshan finally trudges home after getting the week’s groceries, neither Yao nor Aditya are there to hold the door open for them, and there is no response when they call out an “I’m back” from the kitchen. They know Yao and Aditya are in the house—Yao’s Hello Kitty slippers are missing from the shoemat—so the only possibility is that they are ignoring Roshan. Sad. They sigh—rather theatrically—but heave everything into the refrigerator without calling a second time, and hope this will be a fair trade for them failing to find white rabbit in Chinatown for the third time in a row.

Yao and Aditya, they find, are in the living room couch, engaged in another petty struggle over the remote. The newest Game of Thrones episode is playing on the TV Yao shipped from China, and Aditya is furiously muttering about “what a trashy white-produced rapefest show it is” and trying to swipe at the remote Yao grips with white-knuckled hands. Yao, for his part, has not retaliated much at all, besides scooting over to the other side of the couch and obstinately holding onto the precious remote. Roshan looks on for a time, amused, and watches Tywin Lannister’s face loom nastily over them all, until Aditya turns around and catches sight of them in the doorway.

“Roshan, help me! You can’t possibly agree with Yao’s taste, can you?” Aditya looks thoroughly exasperated, and Roshan almost can’t believe how much his voice begs them to take a side.

“No thanks. Aditya, you’ll have to fight the good fight by yourself; I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner.” They smirk, and decide that the way Aditya swells up with absolute fury is definitely worth whatever payback is coming. And as they walk back to the kitchen to start washing vegetables for dinner, there is a brief moment of silence as the TV switches off before everything descends into chaos. Yao's yelling now, and, by the sound of it, has started a pillow fight that Aditya joins in with enthusiasm. Roshan glances back, just in time to watch Yao whack Aditya with a flower patterned pillow and scream,

"LET ME LOOK AT TYWIN LANNISTER AGAIN, ADITYA!"

They are idiots, Roshan thinks with a smile, but they are their idiots.

———

Feedback is welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading :)

Notes

In the second scene, I just chose a notable farmer’s market in San Francisco at random hhhhh (apologies for any inaccuracies if anyone from CA is reading lol) the Ferry Building Farmers Market is pretty close to Chinatown, and although idk where they live in San Fran, Yao’s gotta get his white rabbit from somewhere right (the live chicken would be for chicken soup, but not the American kind)

Last scene inspired/taken from this ask! thank you bones, this was the fic I was talking about lol

the title was made up on the spot but I was thinking along the lines of “well this is a universe where the three of them are less of a group of bastards and also don’t have to contend as much with complex relations and just be lovers together”

In the first scene, there are two dishes I was referencing:

Ants-on-a-branch: 蚂蚁上树, whose proper name is ants climbing a tree, but I tweaked the translation a little. It’s a Sichuan dish that usually consists of vermicelli noodles cooked with minced meat (pork I believe) and a bunch of green onions and chopped peppers for spice (my parents also add stuff like wood ear, a fungus, and carrots and don’t add pepper but idk how “authentic” that is because we ain’t from Sichuan lol). For a lot of Chinese dishes you can usually substitute meat with shiitake mushrooms to make it vegetarian/vegan.

I tried to imply that the dish Roshan was planning to make is ash reshteh, a Persian dish of thick noodle soup with various herbs, onions, and peas. Kashk or yogurt whey is also a component of the soup and gives it its signature rich sour flavor. Because reshteh noodles are believed to bring good luck, ash reshteh is typically served around the Persian New Year, Nowruz, and at important events, but it can be theoretically be eaten at any time.

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