despite the things i've given you — an amephil hetalia fanfic
Isabelo first hears of America during a war. Then another war comes, and another, and another, and somehow all everybody wants to talk to him about is America. Alternatively: some reflections on freedom, from scattered moments in Philippine history between 1762 and 1946.
TAGS: America/Philippines (Hetalia), 18th Century, 19th Century, 20th Century, Historical Hetalia, Philippine Independence. Nicknames, Character Study, Drama
Also available on: AO3
Isabelo first hears of America during a war.
“He’s lovely,” says the British Empire, a rare softness in his gaze. You won’t need to learn my name, I shan’t stay for long, so he said during his introduction, but Isabelo had lived in this old mansion for far too long not to know who Arthur Kirkland was. He promised to bring news of Isabelo’s home, and he did: the British forces had taken over Manila, meaning he was out of Antonio’s control — for the meantime, anyway. “I must have met him shortly after Antonio met you. Why, you should be about the same age! Technically, I mean, if not physically; he’s growing like a sprout.”
The truth was that Isabelo was likely older. But none of the Old World powers like hearing the truth, so he puts on a polite smile instead.
“He must be fortunate with good land then. I’m sure he has made you very wealthy.”
Arthur cackles. “Oh, he’s not the best at it! But he’s quite good, I daresay, quite good. It’s part of the reason why I can wage this war at all. You should thank him, really.”
“If he ever visits Madrid, I might,” Isabelo says. “You know of my situation here.”
“That situation may very well change. Should the winds blow well toward my aims and I conquer all of you, then I’ll grant you more agency than a cage.” Arthur stands, putting on his hat. Isabelo stands as well, ready to escort his guest out, knowing that Alejandro would be close by in case anything happened. “For now, Isabelo, you must forgive me. I’ll arrange the terms of your new settlement once all the dust has settled.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Oh?” Arthur says. “You don’t sound very confident in my ability.”
“My heart is as loyal to the Spanish crown as your America is to yours,” says Isabelo, smiling. “You must forgive me for my belief that Antonio’s forces can best you yet.”
In the end, Antonio comes home bloody and beaten, assuring him that Arthur won’t visit again.
Looks like whoever America was, he didn’t change much after all.
---
The next time Isabelo hears of America is in Alejandro’s letters.
It is kind of Alejandro to send letters despite his independence, Isabelo thinks, since the older boy was his closest friend in the Spanish household. It was Alejandro who taught him how to pray, how to write, and how to avoid Antonio’s fury. It was Alejandro who took care of him when Antonio never could. It was Alejandro who left, along with most of the others, and didn’t bring Isabelo with him.
It is Carlos who is the prized jewel of the Spanish crown now, with Valentina as his support. And Isabelo is worth even less than he used to be, with no galleons sailing to Acapulco for trade.
At least Manila’s ports are finally open to the world, eh? He tries to see the silver lining in these things, he does. So he watches zarzuelas and he serves at mass and he enjoys the little freedoms he’s afforded, because he may not be able to go home, but he’s allowed to roam the city streets during the afternoon. After the sunset is when Isabelo reads Alejandro’s letters by candlelight, letters that are increasingly about America, America, America.
He’s a pain in the ass, in one letter.
He’s not so bad, in the next.
He reminds me of you, in another.
He took away a part of me I can never get back, in the last.
One of the more recent letters ends with: Sometimes I wish I could go back to simpler days. They never told me how lonely nationhood could feel. When you become free too, make sure to see me, okay? I miss you always, Chabelito.
Isabelo burns it. And it’s a little petty of him, but whatever America did, he hopes he made it hurt.
It’s not until Ludwig and Gilbert come along that Isabelo learns America’s name.
“He’s a kid,” Gilbert dismisses, the beer in his glass sloshing with the wave of his hand. “It’s nothing to worry about, Belchen, believe me. If you can take on Toni, you can take on Alfred.”
“Alfred, huh?” Isabelo smiles. The drinks and the dancing may have gotten him a little dizzy, but gossip and information? That is a sobering like no other. He leans across the table with a look that has the younger brother blush pink. “It sounds like you know him well enough. Tell me more.”
“He’s . . . loud,” Ludwig offers, and Gilbert snorts. “Obnoxious. Strong.”
“He’s got a nasty habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Gilbert says. “The other day, his commander even had the nerve to question why we were docked here! Me! When I bet I have as much people in Manila as Toni does! The goddamned nerve.”
“You encouraged him,” Ludwig points out.
“Bah,” Gilbert says. “If I’d known what he’d become, I would’ve thought twice.”
Isabelo thinks back to what he knows about America: a former British colony, who fought for his independence, with Alejandro and others shortly following suit. He had already proven himself against Alejandro, and now he was fighting Antonio too. He’d even brought his war to Isabelo’s ports. And somehow, the young rising star of global politics found it prudent to give the revolution — a revolution that he shouldn’t have cared about, a revolution that Isabelo was fighting to stay alive — its exiled leader back in the midst of it.
Gilbert grins sleazily. “I know that look. You’re interested.”
“He’s an interesting man,” Isabelo says. Gilbert laughs and Ludwig frowns. “He could be a friend.”
“For your sake and ours, I pray that he doesn’t become anything more.” Gilbert raises his glass with a cheer. After casting a furtive glance at Isabelo, Ludwig obediently does the same. “To your future independence!”
Looking back, Isabelo really should have known better.
---
“Is my brother treating you well?” says Matthew.
Several years have passed since the final surrender. His rayadillos are collecting dust in the back of a closet, his blades long confiscated, and his defeat quietly covered up. The American public only knows of revolts and skirmishes, minor at most, while the men of Washington remain skeptical of his use. Alfred quickly revealed himself as naive and self-centered when they met, and callous and brutal when they fought. Oh sure, the boyish charm is undeniably compelling. Yet Isabelo only sees the shadows of Arthur’s influence cast upon him: a clumsy copy of the empire, trying his hand at exercising a new power. To the victor go the spoils, or something like that.
One ray of light is that Alfred has kept Arthur’s withered promise. His “what’s yours is mine” philosophy apparently works vice versa, so Isabelo is welcome to explore America however he pleases. Although he is barred from returning home once again, he is no longer confined to a lonely mansion either.
The verdict? Not the worst. But certainly, the so-called land of the free could do a lot better.
Isabelo huffs. “Oh yes, for a certain definition of well. I don’t suppose I can become a dominion like you, instead?”
“It took many years before I gained Arthur’s trust,” Matthew says, smiling. “You can consider yourself lucky that Alfred offered you what he could from the start. He’s fond of you.”
“Fond is one thing, respect is another,” Isabelo counters.
“Respectfulness has never been one of my brother’s better traits.”
“He should learn.”
“Will you teach him?” Matthew asks. There is an edge to his voice that has Isabelo straightening up on instinct, the sudden shift too easily reminding him of— “This isn’t like Antonio, Isabelo. He is pledging to you what he pledged to Carlos: that by the end of this, you will be a nation of your own. And in the meantime, he’ll pull you together. Build your economy. Strengthen you into a proper state. He’s only trying to help.”
Isabelo smiles. “And make lots of money along the way, yeah? I’m still a colony. So are you.”
Matthew puts his hands up. He sighs and moves toward the door, turning his head back for one last aside. “Let it be known that I tried. Please, just stop avoiding him? His sulking is getting annoying.”
“That, we can agree on!” Isabelo chirps. The door creaks shut before any reply.
He peeks outside his bedroom window — he was adamant that he had a room facing the garden, or he would disappear to another state — to find Alfred pacing anxiously by the blooms. He exchanges quick words with Matthew, who brings him news that he’s obviously dejected by, then bids him goodbye. As soon as he’s alone, Alfred crumples in on himself, hunched low as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Isabelo knows Alfred doesn’t realize how stressed he actually is. Maybe he’s the only one who can realize it, as he’s the only one who’s privy to all of Alfred’s private moments.
The younger nation must sense he’s being watched, as he aims a blinding grin at Isabelo’s way. He waves his hands enthusiastically, seemingly distracted from his brief stupor.
“Isa!” Alfred yells. “Hi!“
For the first time, Isabelo waves back.
---
The funny thing is:
Things actually get good.
It feels like every day, Isabelo has to pinch himself. He gets senators. He gets a president. He gets a commonwealth. Years stretch into decades and as Alfred grows into his own, he gets brought along for the ride. He gets ice, cars, and movies! Isabelo loves the movies. Who can blame him if he gets a little carried away? One show at the theater and suddenly they’re kissing in the backseat, tumbling into bed, giggling through meetings, and holding hands. The push and pull of their relationship gains a teasing playfulness that undercuts the real political tensions between the two. Sure, maybe Alfred still doesn’t fully believe he’s ready for self-rule, but Isabelo doesn’t give a damn. He is slowly, steadily, finally crawling towards the end. He’s going to be free.
And then—
---
Life as part of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere is, to say the least, unprosperous.
Kiku arrives in the same way Alfred had: with death, fire, and gunpowder, overhauling his leadership with the promise that, one day, he would be granted freedom. Isabelo isn’t naive enough to fall for the same trick twice, so he fights with all he has. He gets captured anyway.
It makes for an unhappy reunion. Isabelo hasn’t seen most of his neighbors in centuries, and there’s a touch of envy in learning that the rest of them had been allowed to stay in their homeland when he hadn’t. Now Kiku has forcefully brought all of them together, and Isabelo is confronted with twisted versions of the old friends he can barely remember. Some of them even carry different names now. It’s only natural, he supposes. Isabelo wasn’t his original name either.
Antonio had given him many things, and prayer stood above all else. Every morning and night, Isabelo makes the sign of the cross, knowing his faith is the one thing Kiku can’t shake. He even forms a small alliance with Dirga and Malik because of it.
They’ll protect each other’s gods. It’s one of the few precious dignities they have left.
“He won’t come back for you,” Kiku says. Isabelo curses to himself. The fact that the master of the house could interrupt his evening prayers means the other two had been intercepted somehow. “I’ve known Alfred longer than you have. He is just as foolish as the other Western powers.”
Isabelo stands to face him with a cheerful smile. “Is that so? I always thought he was dumber.”
“Don’t play smart with me.”
“I’m so deprived here, I can’t do it with anybody else.” Isabelo sighs dramatically, subtly keeping an eye out for Kiku’s expression. He seems faintly amused. Good. “Besides, I’m hardly the only one with ties to the West. I hope Ludwig and Feliciano are good for you. When I knew them, they were in the shadows of something greater, and everyone doubted if they would ever measure up.”
Kiku’s eyes harden. Looks like the rumors of Italy’s surrender were true after all. “Your concern is noted, but unnecessary. All that matters is that we stand strong together.”
“Really? I thought you were only conscripting Yong-Soo’s men. So I guess we don’t have to fight together. One starts to question what the point of all this fighting even is…” Isabelo pretends to ponder. “You know, Alfred didn’t want to fight until you dragged him into it. But I trust you’re prepared to fight back. Obviously, the great and just Imperial Army is capable of taking on the world’s most advanced nation in modern warfare.”
“Of course,” Kiku says. “That’s why I have you, Philippines.”
Right.
“Well then,” Isabelo says brightly. “I’m going to bed. Good talk, Kiku. Let’s not do this again.”
He runs off before Kiku can say more. It’s getting too late for dashing so loudly through the servants’ quarters, and he can already imagine Ekkarat complaining about it in the morning. He doesn’t care. Feeling wretched and heartsick, he completes the unfinished prayer in his head:
Lord, give me strength. Lord, give me patience.
Please, Isabelo thinks, with a desperate fervor he didn’t even realize he had. Let me see him again.
---
“Today’s the day,” Alfred grins. “You ready?”
“I’ve been ready,” Isabelo laughs. He’s in his best barong and his shiniest shoes. A sprig of sampaguita flowers is pinned to his chest — a last-minute decision, but a fitting one, he thinks — and he’s so excited that he could jump out of his skin at any moment. “How do I look? Official and nation-y enough for the occasion?”
Alfred brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders, which Isabelo knows is just an excuse to get closer. His embrace is warm. “You look great,” he says affectionately.
“Hmm.”
“Amazing.”
“Oh?”
“You look perfect,” Alfred says. “Satisfied?”
Isabelo laughs again. “Very.”
He’s angling for a kiss, but Alfred steps away, his smile oddly bittersweet. The rising sun is casting a dark shadow on his face. “Things are going to be a lot different from here on out. Your priorities are going to change. Mine will too. I hope we can continue to work together.”
“Of course we will,” Isabelo says, a bit confusedly. “We’ve still got so many plans.”
“Yeah,” Alfred says. “You’re right.”
There’s an old tension in the room. Isabelo takes a deep breath.
“So that’s how it is,” he says. Alfred closes his eyes as Isabelo pushes him away. “Lying America has made his return. What secrets are you keeping from me this time? Another war? Another depression? Am I supposed to expect military ships at my ports and a treaty on my desk, so you can steal my independence one last time?”
“Will you ever let that go?” Alfred asks, exasperated.
“What is going on with you?” Isabelo presses.
Alfred explodes. “Nothing! For God’s sake, it’s nothing, Isabelo. And if it develops into something, I’ll tell you all about it, but right now, it’s none of your business, and I’m intent on keeping it that way.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Isabelo scoffs. “I’m sorry. I just meant, it’s supposed to be your day today, and we’re supposed to be happy about it. You’re happy. I’m happy. We’re good. Alright?”
Truthfully, Isabelo wants to prod him even more. But Alfred’s right. Today will be the first time his flag will be raised alone, and all the days after that should be spent focusing on his affairs, not Alfred’s. There’s a bit of hollowness to that realization, but maybe this is just what Alejandro meant by nationhood being lonely.
He’s finally going to know what nationhood is like. A smile forms on his face before he realizes it.
Alfred offers his arm. Isabelo, like he has done so for many years, takes it.
He doesn’t know that today will be the last time they walk side-by-side for a long, long while.
No one seems to notice how scary America actually is.
- A short Amephil prompt
Alfred F. Jones is the representative of the United States of America. Everywhere he goes, he evokes a profound sense of excitement for various reasons, shaped by his complex personalities, built upon the interplay of sociopolitical, cultural, and environmental factors.
He embodies the contradictions within American culture—values of freedom and individualism juxtaposed with instances of aggression and isolationism. This duality can generate a sense of anxiety, as one is left to ponder the implications of such contradictions.
Other than excitement, Allfred can also evoke a sense of apprehension through several characteristics that reflect both the nation's strengths and its complexities. He encapsulates a blend of charisma and unpredictability, reflecting a nation that can be both awe-inspiring and frightening. His portrayal serves as a reminder of the complexities inherent in American identity, leaving a lingering sense of unease beneath the surface of his bravado.
No one seemed to notice Alfred's carefully designed and assembled mask, with each yarn representing a crime he considers noble. Every time he looks at someone, they are indisputably standing on top of bleeding thorns, which only he can push and bring to fall.
“Millions have been hurt by the very actions he sees as noble. He’s a tornado in a glass factory, and no one else seems to notice.”
Yet—people view him as a hero.
"Behind the mask of freedom, America wields his influence like a sword, offering friendship only to those who bend to its will.”
Only to those who bow before him.
The personification of the Republic of the Philippines, one of the oppressed nations, is a few who sees Alfred's agglomeration of emotions compressed in a single mask.
The way Alfred treats him—not like a human, a country, a representation. He is treated like a mere doll, a toy, a slave.
When Phil is alone with him, his charismatic and attractive mask fades into nothing. A completely different person stands before his own eyes. The warm smile melts away, replaced by a cold, calculating glare that sends shivers down Phil’s spine.
“The hero everyone adored is nothing more than a master of disguise, concealing a heart steeped in manipulation.”
“Do you understand, Phil?" Alfred circled the Filipino nation with his once lively blue eyes now dark like a night sky in absence of stars.
Completely hollow, lifeless, cold.
"Should the thought of fighting for liberation, independence, and national democracy cross your mind again," he paused in front, leaning in. Their lips were barely inches apart. “Tell me. I will be more than happy to remind you of your miserable situation.”
A smirk was stretched on his lips.
“In this fascinating world, those who oppress are the only ones who prevail. I promote freedom. The ability to own and use a property as one sees fit.”
The Philippines a decade hence is still a neo-colony.
Maria sings to Amelia ALL the time. Amelia finds her voice to be the most beautiful and calming thing ever. Maria sings when brushing Ame's hair, when they're in the car together, and even hums soft melodies when she does small things like tie her shoes. Amelia loves this about her.
HARANA!! Phili definitely went outside Ame's doorstep, guitar in hand and serenaded her (im a creep, im a weirdo)
Since Phili is shorter than Amelia, there's a lot of headpats and resting her chin on Phili's head (even if she has to tiptoe to do that last one)
Amelia cannot handle spice while Maria can dump a cup of tabasco on food and feel nothing (exaggeration). This spice tolerance gap leads to very interesting and goofy moments where Ame's face starts burning after eating Maria's sisig, Bicol Express, or any food that's a little spicy
Amelia has a loud laugh that most people will think is annoying, but Maria seems to be the only one who can tolerate it
They both listen to musicals together (i have OdyPen but its Nyo!AmePhil brainrot)
I HC that Amelia does boxing as a hobby and Maria is always there to watch matches, though she gets really worried about Amelia being in pain after sparring. She's very gentle with nursing Ame after she gets hurt.
I also HC that Maria plays volleyball and gets smacked in the face every now and then. Unlike Maria, Amelia freaks the hell out and causes a scene when she's felt the slightest bit of pain (AAAAA WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BBG type shit lol)
Amelia can doodle and Maria can write. They want to make smol picture books together :3
There's not exactly a "better one" when it comes to video games. Amelia is great at Valorant, Apex Legends, CS;GO while Maria is better at Leauge of Legends, Overwatch, Fortnite. They're kinda balanced in skill at fighting games so the winner normally depends on the circumstance when they play
