Emotions, Various and Sundry, about the World

A place where I can vent my feelings and headcanons about hetalia

[dykeprussia]

@rhehehehhe Ty for the request!!

In my mind he’s a teen here, still learning human boundaries

(evidently the witch drowning test, while done at other witch trials, was not a thing in Salem specifically, instead they had wild things like crushing with stones. Yeowch...)

[hoasens]

literally francis

[kittygirl346]

I missed drawin him ^3^

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Im gonna answer asks i swear to god i will just let me indulge myself a bit here

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Do you think Matt still knows how to drive on the left like the Brits/Australia or does he get his keys taken away?

So fun fact: when I needed to do it a few years ago, a Canadian license can be swapped for a British one perfectly legally and in like five minutes because Tampon Charlie is our head of state and it was okay for me to just try not to die, so I did drive a bit in the UK.

He's fine. It's a bit mind fucky but he's a north American he can drive in any circumstances tbh. Like he's been driving since before there were licenses so he might not be a very legally sound driver, but he is a good driver. It's like using kilos and pounds for food or height. Or klicks, miles and hours for travel. Or having a wank with the left hand because the right got frostbite. Or using French or English. He can switch lol.

No one takes his keys and while he's a tiny bit better at navigating, I do think he can be a bit of a passenger princess. Alfred fucking loves driving and he's kind of shit with maps so Matt navigates sometimes but mostly he will pass the fuck out listening to NPR or Alfred monologuing. A thing Alfred can be trusted with is not getting them killed on the freeway so Matt's just like "I am safe, it is nap time." And just wake up two states later with the best sleep he'll have had in 6 months lmao

[alloydia]

[cryptophasia-nabros]

They would do this.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Am i normal about nations being depicted in old photographs? Unquestionably not, good Lord...

[mintbunnny]

[ego-meliorem-esse]

(This is rebelsandtherest on main) I adore all your art, especially of the disaster family tree. After noticing some of the facial resemblance between your Arthur and Alfred, and also Alfred and Matt, it got me wondering—most people would probably be able to tell that both Matt and Al were raised by Arthur just because of…. How they are, emotionally and mentally 😂 but does anyone point out to Alfred that he looks like his dad, or does it come as a surprise that they’re related? Likewise, do people assume Matt is his bio son, or do they look so different people have wondered about it?

Ohohohoho your question tickled me in the best way poasible! I love the theme of resemblence and biological relations with these bastards!

I guess the best way to describe weather Alfred looks like his dad or not would be by saying that many people meeting Alfred and his disaster dad tease him by saying he "picked out" all the good/attractive features od his dad. Like he undeniably looks like his dad but there is something unique on him. For instance his skin is darker but still he has Arthurs unmistakable freckles. Alfred has features that, when looked closely are uniquely his, but when you are looking at him in photographs, you could assume youre looking at a tall, well-feed, broader and tanner Arthur. They are definutely father and son looks-wise, but if you had to pick out who is more good looking, its Alfred by a long shot.

In my hc, they are biological father and son since I love the notion of nations being born like humans (to other humans or to nations it doesnt really matter, their dna is a match) and having that distinctly human nature to them while absolutely not being human. So, in that aspect they are (unfortunately for Alfred) biologically related. Whereas Matthew and Arthur are not. I also love that aspect. I love the notion that this rat man adopted a french whore child and at first had no interest, no love and no care for this boy. But, as time goes by and as Matt sheds blood, sweat and tears to fit into the mold of the "Anglo child", Arthur accepts him, be it after an unfair amount of time and effort. By the 21st century Matt is Arthurs confidante, his no. 1 emergency call, his oldest son.

Its unfair that Matt spent less time with Francis and he is still considered his son by the old world, but had to spend considerably more time under Arthurs "care" to even be considered the mans bastard.

Matt and Alfred arent twins to me. They look alike in the sense that they share a second parent, but you can definitely see the resemblence as well as differences. They are not interchangeable looks-wise, no mistaling Matt for his yank bro in this household.

[horrible-device]

. Referense used.

[rebelsandtherest]

Engla Londe

Summary: Takes place in the 9th century of the Common Era. England suffers under the onslaught of the Viking Army as he feels himself fracture into pieces. While hiding away in marsh alongside an unlikely leader, he dares to hope for a better future. Written for the Historical Hetalia Week 2021.

Word count: 3,538

CONTENT WARNINGS:

Vulgar language

Blood

Death

Violence

Semi-graphic descriptions of violence typical of the Viking era

—————— 

Anno Domini 793

He’d been on the road when the pain first began.

Emrys had told him long ago that such pain was possible, that he would be cursed to feel it as he grew older, as his people spread out and acquired more land, encountered more enemies, but he’d had no way to prepare himself for the feeling. One moment he was walking down the forest road and the next he was facedown in the dirt and panting for breath, clutching at his chest because he thought he’d been shot.

A fortnight later when he learned that there’d been an attack on the monastery at Lindisfarne, he hadn’t considered that the two had been connected. After the pain subsided, it lingered in his joints, an unnatural arthritis that no child his size should expect to endure. The following year, the profound pain, the dolore magna, as Emrys had told him it was properly known, returned. This time, when he heard of the tragedy at Monwearmouth-Jarrow, he knew that it could not be a coincidence.

The Vikings had come to ravage his people, and his body was paying the price.

Keep reading

[rebelsandtherest]

This is probably a very vain reason to reblog myself, but I was going through my mentions and it’s been on my mind. Over the last several months, a number of folks have brought up a headcanon which has been utilized by the wonderful and talented @historia-vitae-magistras in her ongoing time-travel fic (which you should read! It’s amazing!)

The headcanon itself has to do with Arthur and some old trauma/injuries sustained during the Danelaw. She’s tagged me a couple of times when clarifying that the headcanon originated with me (though I wouldn’t say it “belongs” to anyone). I’m happy to hear it’s become a popular idea. For anyone who is curious, this is the fic where I wrote about the incident that became that headcanon.

I haven’t written any new fic in some time now, so it makes sense that very few people know that I write at all 😂 but yeah! Blast from the past, both for me and for poor old Arthur.

[stirringwinds]

go away creepy linkedin sounding bot i'm not going to be assimilated into the chatgpt or some other AI fic stealing hivemind lol

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Dude i got that shit 2 days ago too wtf it scares the fuckety fuck out of meee

[rebelsandtherest]

Dude, me too! Freakin bots…

[stirringwinds]

alfred having an embarrassing crush on gilbert that he genuinely couldn’t conceal at valley forge is a headcanon i’ll always stick with, but i do feel like even if he isn’t as polished as his older self, he also started learning to put on a performance for old world nations on his post independence please trade and be friends with me tour. it’s not the smug and confident world power persona of course, but he quite deliberately plays up being the charmingly unsophisticated, blue-eyed ingénue i feel, for the likes of everyone from russia to morocco to china. there’s a lot of flying by the seat of his pants, but the old world is all very interested in a new fresh faced young thing who has Arthur in a fury, so why not play up a persona as a wide eyed and somewhat innocent, but also rebellious debutante, that lets them feel amused and wise next to his provincial self if it gets him trade and treaties? why not indeed. showing people what they want to see and manipulating his public image to get what he wants is something alfred, the superpower, does all the time, after all.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

I never thought of that and now im kicking myself for never thinking about that before

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

felt like crap so I cheered myself up by doing an oldschool hairstyle meme with our fave softboy :3

personally i'm a big fan of the braids one he should keep it :))))

[ego-meliorem-esse]

I present to you my years long obsession - female America.

This is not a Nyotalia version it's just a concept of "what if everything is the same but Alfred was born a girl". Like i see so much potential! In a world where all the odds are stacked against her, she despite it all gets to where she is today. Making good and bad decisions along the way.

A lil hc/backstory for my main girl:

• Given name (by dad Arthur) is Elizabeth Felicity Kirkland but during the revolution changes her last name to Jones. Her first name change happens in the 1820/1830s when she changes it to Alexandra, also dropping her second name. (I was young when I came across the name and it means "defender/protector of man" and I was /obessed/ so i just stick to it since she is a loser and just thinks it's a cool sounding name)

• She goes by Alex/Al and I think that's neat :)

• My girl is tall. Like 181 cm tall. Sender but with visible muscles. She does want a bigger behind but her Anglo-Saxon genetics say nah.

• As a child she spent more time in England due to her being a girl so I think even if Arthur was absent he didn't allow her to spend much time alone in the colonies. She resents that ofc

• Just like with Alfred, Alex is very fkn close to Matt even if she forgets to call him or check up on him for months at a time. Al: "Hey man I know I just called a while ago but how've you been? Matt: "you called me 5 months ago..."

• Works at NASA as a part time aeronaitical engeneer. Loves physics, hates chemistry (self projection im sorry)

• During the revolution she dressed up as a boy but the people she worked with knew she wasn't one. People went along with it anyway.

• Other than during the American revolution, she dressed in feminine presenting clothes up until the 1930s. After that it was trousers all the way!

• Alex was never a nurse during wartime but definitely did accountaint work in ww1 and later joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) where she stayed until 1943 when she joined her men fighting on the ground ( Conversion to Army status, Women's Army Corps - WAC). That's when she saw actual combat.

• Isn't fond of birds. Canaries are fine. Eagles are unsettling.

• Obsesses over a certan thing/hobby at a time up to a point where she perfects her skill. When she was about 14 (human years) it was the whole freedom and equality of man and all the politics regarding it. In the 1890s her obession was cars and motor vehicles. The 1910s brought a new obsession on womens rights. 1960s was space exploration where she devoted almost all her time researching and working for NASA, disregarding her goverment/state duties as a country. In the 1980s it was the internet. In 1990s she got really interested in the Balkan wars (self insert >:)) for whatever reason. Today her attention is mostly on social media and her attention span ia short af. Still really likes all things tech.

• Hasn't got many properties/real estate. Al does own a penthouse in Seaport, Boston and a late 17th and early 18th century colonial home in Newbury, Boston (that she needs to renovate asap). The only other real state she owns is in California, though modern and recently buit, it's not big nor does she spend much time there.

• Her personality is basicaly Alfred if he grew up as a woman and had to face opression based on sex and inequality that came with it. So still bubbly, extroverted, a social butterfly but also self-serving, idealistic, manipulative sprinkled in with sarcasm, cautiousness and craftiness. Same feckin sense of humour tho.

• In 1783, at the Treaty of Paris in Versailles both her and her father had to sign the document that started her independence (She herself had a human representitive 'cus of her age/sex bla bla but it was mostly formalities). At that signing Arthur gave her a flintlock pistol that he himself used in the 1640s. Not many words were exchanged, he just put it in her hand to keep. She still has it in her attic. Somewhere. She'd find it if she just takes the time to look for it I'm sure.

• In 1889 she straight up did her first war crime/murder of a fellow nation (if you don't count shooting her pops face off at Saratoga in 1777). After an altrication with Antonio that resulted in him insulting and slapping the girl for her audacity and mouthiness, she punched him straight in the jaw. A fight insued where she got ahold of his belt and straight up strangled him. Took her a while to process that and accept it. On the bright side Antonios scilence was heard around the world and while perplexed and insulted, older and influential (mostly male at that point) nations started to feel a glint of respect forming for the young startup.

• Al was given a family pocket watch by her father in the 90s (No more empire for Arthur so he sad :(((((( ) that was suppoaed to go to a firstborn son of a lord as an inheritance symbol. Everyone thought Jack would get it since Matt is techincally not Arthur's son. But even he would be expected to recieve it before Al. Then in an unexpected turn of events, while visiting her grumpy and nostalgeous empire-missing dad, Arthur pulled out the watch while eating stale kebabs in front of the telly and gave it to her casualy without as much as a word (The empire started with her, it shall end with her). She keeps it in her work desk drawer in a wooden box.

• Al and Zee have an interesting relationship. While being different in almost every aspect, there ia a mutual respect for eachother from eachother. While not really being able to see eye to eye, they are sisters in a certain roundabout and very fucked up way. Girls who learned that they are very much judged by their sex despite being daughters of a high ranking British lord. While aware that she will never be Alex/Elizabeth in her fathers eyes, Zee still gets treated as a treasure by her father. Much to Zee's annoyance.

• It's still Matt who's in Alex's shadow. Despite the dificulties she rises above and is the perfect child of an empire. Smart, intelligent, inquisitive, a fast learner and incredibly aware of the political and historical situation at all times. Even despite being a girl and less than a son in the eyes of a 17th/18th century society, she suceeds.

• Arthur wanted a son to come from his colonial endeavours, as all empires/nobility at the time did. And as all other empires at the time had. But ofc karma is a bitch and he's the only empire with an only child being a daughter. Though at first thougrly dissaponted, when he lays his eyes on his daughter for the first time, the only emotion he can feel is /joy/.

• Instead of sowing/knitting Al's education was very much focused on natural sciences, since that is where Arthur quickly realized she exels at. He swapped her Violin and General History of Music lessions with Astrophysics and The History of Astronomy. All in an attempt to stop her from making his ears bleed from the constant prattling about The Four Square Theorem or The Brachistocrone Curve. It only got worse, but his daughter was happy and content.

I have sooooo many more of these jfc i might do more later but for now this is all I can think of.

TLDR: Female America is great and has so much potential as a character hghhhhhhhh

[ego-meliorem-esse]

He broke the Hippocratic Oath.

I am an enthusiastic "Dr. Matthew Williams" enjoyer. Him being in the medical field just makes sense. But on the other hand this good lad is so good at spotting out, aiming and shooting a rifle at the enemy that Lord Admiral Arthur Kirkland (Lord Father - derogatory) simply didn't want to hear about his bastard sons preference for healing and caring and set the boy up with a rifle as soon as he stepped foot into the trenches. And by God did the bastard excell! It took mustard gas blinding the poor lad to a point where even after he recovered, he'd still have to war glasses, AND another world war for Arthur to concede and allow him to become a medic.

Though, good things (if Matt can even have those) don't last. Especially not for this forest frenchie. Of course fate had other plans and stranded him alone in a forest with his comrades dead, and him surrounded by enemy soldiers. Our boy had to pick up his damn rifle and find his way back. Behind him a trail of left behind corpses and a bloody medic brassard buried in shallow, unfamiliar snow.

I do love a bit of drama/irony :)