I’ve got an ask if you don’t mind! Have you seen that one episode where France runs into a girl and she looks just like Joan of Arc? And he starts to ponder reincarnation and stuff like that so he decides to show her around France just so he can be close to her again one last time. Can you do something like that but with America? Such sweet melancholy~. It’s one of my fave episodes. Thank you for your time! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
What a fun idea! Since America’s history as the United States is much shorter than France’s, I don’t think his story would carry quite the same ancient weight as France encountering the face of a patron saint he last saw five hundred years ago. Still, America’s comparatively short history has given him plenty of iconic women to remember—and plenty of complicated feelings about the ways his country has celebrated, mistreated, and mythologized them.
I had three main contenders for this:
Betsy Ross: Culturally significant, present near the beginning of the United States as a nation, and the oldest of my options. She would make the most sense if I wanted America's reaction to carry that same centuries-old shock as France seeing Joan again.
Alice Paul: An incredibly important figure, but perhaps too modern for the encounter to possess the distant, almost supernatural ache of the original episode with France and Joan.
Amelia Earhart: An American icon whose courage, ambition, and mysterious disappearance feels uniquely suited to Alfred.
Out of the three, who could I most easily imagine Alfred forming the strongest, most sentimental attachment to? Amelia Earhart.
Amelia Earhart feels uniquely suited to America because she embodied so much of what America loves—and fears—about his country. She was ambitious, charismatic, technologically minded, fiercely independent, and perpetually reaching toward the next horizon. More importantly, her disappearance denied him the one thing every self-proclaimed hero believes he can provide: an answer. Alfred could never rescue her, recover her, or properly say goodbye. Seeing her face again wouldn’t only remind him of someone he lost—it would awaken the stubborn little part of him that never stopped waiting for her to come home.
Alfred was kicking a pebble down Atlantic Avenue when he saw her.
She was tall and rangy, with a strong, angular face and short blond hair that refused to lie flat. She wasn’t beautiful in the polished, motionless way of magazine covers—hers was a face made vivid by the animated way she recounted a story to her friend.
Alfred knew her before he understood how he possibly could.
She was just another human girl, maybe, but the quick lift of one eyebrow, the flash of her uneven teeth, and the way her pale eyes sharpened whenever her expression turned serious were all pieces of somebody he knew in motion. He knew her looking toward the sky.
That was his Amelia. He could have sworn it.
He rarely found himself choked up, but the sight of her sitting so casually on a café patio sent his heartbeat rushing through his ears. He had waited years for her to come home—a lifetime to see her face again—and here she was, sipping a matcha latte at a corner café in Bed-Stuy, telling a story about something that had happened between two friends, lovers, or some relationship in between.
Alfred didn’t realize how intently he had been staring until those sharp, gray-green eyes met his. When they did, the rushing blood in his ears came to a halt, and he felt his heart stop with it. It was impossible for him to die, but in that moment, he swore he could have dropped dead.
Just as Amelia would have, the woman held Alfred’s gaze, made a face, and turned back to her friend—most likely to say something about the creepy man across the street who had been staring at her for anywhere between a minute and an hour.
Alfred realized he had to say something—selfishly. He could have walked away, and that would have been that, but he had waited years for this moment. He just couldn’t help himself.
He jogged up to the table where the two women sat and cleared his throat. She looked up at him with the same no-bullshit expression Amelia would have given him.
“Hey. Sorry for staring at you from over there. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything.”
“You’re too cute to be creepy.”
Her no-bullshit expression shifted into one of amusement, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Hey, I’ll take it.” Alfred laughed politely. “I just came over to ask—”
The thought of asking whether she knew who he was floated through his mind, but that felt too forward. Maybe he could just ask whether or not she was Amelia. She had a scar running through one eyebrow—maybe from the plane crash?
Before he could respond, he realized that he was staring again, saying nothing, suddenly as shy as a schoolboy.
“What’s your name, I’m sorry?” she asked, her eyes darting between him and her friend, her smile now undeniable.
“Alfred. You?”
“Kate.”
A rush of disappointment—and another feeling Alfred couldn’t quite place—washed over him. He felt a prickle at the bridge of his nose, but he sniffed it away before it could turn into tears.
“Nice to meet you, Kate. Can I take you out sometime?”
“Ahem. Well, you know what?” her friend piped up, grabbing her tote bag and taking a long, dramatic sip of her coffee. “I was actually just about to head out, so this chair is all yours.”
Alfred heard Kate hiss her friend’s name under her breath, the apples of her sun-kissed cheeks flushing pink. He couldn’t help but smile.
Still, just like his Amelia.
“Oh, no, I hate to intrude on homie time. Please don’t feel like—”
“Nope, I’m out. See you later, Kate.”
And off her friend went.
Laughing, Alfred politely nodded toward the vacant chair. Kate nodded in return, so he took it.
“Sorry to interrupt your little friend date.”
“Hey, no worries. We were just beating a dead horse, anyway. If anything, you saved us from abusing a poor old animal.”
“Hey, it’s what I do best.” Alfred shrugged, smiling again, but softer this time. “What brings you to the city, Kate? You live here?”
“Yeah, I moved here after college about three years ago. What about you?”
This was the part Alfred always struggled with when encountering humans: telling the truth and explaining his circumstances or inventing a lie and putting distance between them. It was never in his best interest to build relationships with them. Ever since he was a child, he had felt that pull toward humanity, and ever since then, he had endured loss after loss, each carrying the same unbearable weight of grief. He still stopped in his tracks when he saw blue daisies, the memory as sharp now as it has ever been.
So he chose to lie.
“I’ve lived here longer than I can remember at this point. I go between here and D.C. for work.”
A half-truth.
“Oh, so you’re from here? I hope you can forgive me for being a transplant.”
“Yeah, something like that. Hey, transplants keep the city alive.”
“You would be the first native New Yorker to ever compliment transplants.”
“Hey, the city changes with its people. It’s good to get new perspectives. And this is the greatest city in the world, after all. Of course people want to move here.”
“You say that like you’re an old man.” Kate laughed, quirking an eyebrow.
Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.
“Feels that way sometimes.”
Eventually, Alfred went inside and bought them a platter of small pastries. They spent the next few hours chatting. Kate explained that she was an aerospace engineer and described how she had always been fascinated by flying. Laughing, she told him about a flight she’d once taken through horrific turbulence. The bouncing had lulled her to sleep while everyone else clutched their armrests in terror.
The connection was not lost on Alfred. Coincidence or not, the similarities were striking. He went back and forth over whether to tell her who he really was—whether to explain why he had really sat down, but he didn’t.
“I had a friend like that once.”
“What, a freak who was comforted by turbulence?”
“Nah. Brave,” Alfred said sincerely. “It takes a certain kind of bravery to take to the sky. It’s really admirable.”
Kate looked at him with wide, gray-green eyes and genuine gratitude. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
“I’ve always felt like I was meant to conquer something bigger than myself, you know? I just feel so drawn to the sky—and to outer space. Thank you for saying it’s brave. Sometimes people tell me I get lost in my own head.”
“Never that.” Alfred shook his head. “But please, don’t fly too close to the sun.”
“Too close to the sun?” Kate laughed, looking down to pluck a chocolate macaron from the plate. “Listen, man, I’m bold, but I’m no Icarus.”
By the time she looked up from the pastries, the chair across from her was empty.
Alfred had vanished into thin air.
“What the hell? He was just here a second ago,” Kate muttered around a mouthful of macaron. “He didn’t even give me his number. Weirdo.”
Somewhere across the city, Alfred touched the frayed edges of a photograph he kept in a book filled with all his favorite mortals. He let out a heavy sigh and allowed the prickle at the bridge of his nose to finally bloom into tears.
He wiped a tear from his cheek. As it fell, he realized that a part of him was still stranded in July of 1937, even as humanity pushed onward without her. He was still that boy who was waiting with his hands under his thighs, stubborn and frustrated, waiting for the wire telling him she was coming home. Foolishly, mortality was a concept he found too hard to get a grasp on, even now. Especially now. She had called him an old man, sometimes he felt that way, but in the grand scheme of things, he was so young. He was perpetually in the early June of the springtime of his life, watching the fleeting beauty of petals whip away with the wind while he still held his longing in his chest like late March.
He sincerely wished Kate the best, really. She could never know what seeing her face across Atlantic Avenue had done to him.
I've already asked this somewhere else, but I wanted to see your take on it. Who do you think are the most ugly and messy crier? What makes them sad, breaks them down completely? Give me the sweet angst sis
I'm coming back swinging with this one....
Many people would think that N. Italy is the messiest crier, but surprisingly, when he cries, it’s kind of... pretty? His face squeezes into a little pout, his nose gets a bit runny, and tears streak down his cheeks and drip rhythmically from his chin.
S. Italy, on the other hand... that’s a man who can cry. I’m talking snot all over his face, screaming, crying, throwing up. When S. Italy feels, he feels deeply. He hardly ever cries in front of other people, masking his sadness and disappointment as anger, but when he is behind closed doors—or, very rarely, with people he trusts—he gives up on the “macho” facade and just lets it all out.
S. Italy has some internalized machismo to tackle. Even now, in the modern era, he still falls victim to the idea that “crying is for girls.” That being said, when he does allow himself to cry, it’s like an exorcism. He wants the feelings OUT.
Prussia is another messy crier, but not for the reason you’d think. Unlike S. Italy, Prussia—who is now pretty separate from his countryhood—embraces the modern rejection of traditional gender roles. Prussia feels comfortable enough to let himself ugly cry when he is hurt, both physically and emotionally, like while watching films with friends. He'll also cry when he feels overwhelming happiness.
Prussia always finds himself crying when Germany is behind a major accomplishment, whether that’s winning a football match or developing a new mRNA vaccine. His face gets all red, and he scrunches it into a silent scream-sob. Think Kim Kardashian... just gaping like a fish. There’s no shame in it, he thinks. He’s too old not to feel all of his emotions fully.
France is also an ugly crier... but please don’t tell anyone. And the tragic thing is... France LOVES to cry. He finds it therapeutic. His number-one guilty pleasure is putting on a tragic film or television series, imagining himself in the place of one of the main characters, and crying as if it were his own life—or, more often, relationship—on the line.
One thing France has always envied is the tragedy of mortality: how humans have such temporary but uniquely beautiful lives. Even though France is comfortable with crying, he doesn’t like people seeing him do it. In his head, when he cries, his tears streak beautifully down his high cheekbones, leaving a shimmer in their wake. In reality, his eyes get horrifically puffy the moment a tear even THREATENS to spill. He is very grateful for the lymphatic drainage massages China taught him all those years ago...
Honorable Mentions
England—When he’s sober, he cries beautiful man-tears. One tear wells up at his waterline, and he wipes it away with his hand before it spills. When he’s drunk, however... it’s a completely different story. Don’t mention it to him in the morning.
Czechia—Like France, Czechia enjoys a good cry now and again. It’s a good way to feel connected to her humanity, however much of it she may—or may not—have. Her favorite part? Taking a long nap afterward, so nobody ever really sees the aftermath.
Russia—Russia rarely ever cries. He could count how many times he’s cried in the past 1,100 years on one hand, but when he does... ouch. There’s a lot of pain he refuses to address within himself, so when he is pushed to the point of tears, he becomes a bit more scary than ugly.
BELL WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? LOCA?!?!?!?!!! I’ve left the fandom BUT I NEVER UNFOLLOWED YOU!!!! I had my doubts thinking you were done too and I shit you not I came by here just to visit memory lane and, boom! Here you are, what the loving fuck. Hi, welcome back. How’s life? Did you enjoy school? Jesus, I don’t know where to start….
THIS ASK JUST MADE ME SQUEALLLLL!!!!!! This has been a Hetalia summer for the girls, honestly.
I've been good! Since I've last posted, I've graduated from university, got my masters degree (I know thats right), and moved to a brand new city all on my own <3 I now work a Serious Big Girl Job that gives me the summers off, so I've been very much in a place of my creature comforts.
Thank you for thinking of my work when you wanted to indulge in Hetalia!!!! I'm going to start posting sporadically, so send me requests ;)
First time I’ve logged into this account in SIX YEARS.
I always find myself returning to a place of Hetalia when shit hits the fan. This post is kind of like a Hetalia signal. IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE STILL??? BIG MOMMA MIGHT START POSTING AGAIN!!!!
unique hetalia requests, please? gorgeous art & detailed, textured writing with proper characterisation included ♡
time to pick up forgotten manuscripts . . .
(especially appreciated within historical setting + disabled / less represented! reader ♡ )
― author of this haunted parlour is very much alive! ♡
heartfelt apologies for absence due to severe illness !
Sorry to follow up so late (audio hc anon) but it about their reactions to their s/o shyly admitting that hearing them speak their language really turns them on. (America, Canada, and England will have to be excluded from my ramble so my fault to ppl who have the as their fav💀)
Long text warning:
France and Ita Bros would definitely be cocky about it “Of course you find (insert Romance language) hot who doesn’t” and would go out of their way to speak it to them in public to watch them squirm. Veneziano would definitely play dumb because that’s wha he does best. Not to mention using it in bed, they would love to gage their reaction in a private space - and in Romano’s it would definitely go all out as it gives him an ego boost considering his inferiority complex.
I think Germany would be the most surprised out of all of them considering how many jokes there are about German being such a rough language - so he’s definitely shy about it at first, but gets more confident about after seeing their reaction.
While Prussia speaks the same language, he’s definitely still just as egotistical and cocky because “of course they find everything hot about me” and would definitely have the same teasing strategy as France and the Italies
I think China would also be a bit taken a back but more like “yay another thing I can use to please s/o🙏🏻” but also I’m not great at characterizing him so my bad😭
Japan I think would also be shy about indulging in this considering his reserved nature, but also not surprised considering how popular Japanese media is (even though this is not necessarily the reason s/o would find it hot). He definitely is flattered though and finds it cute it turns his partner on.
﹙୨୧﹚ ˖ speaking my language | hetalia
characters : china, france, russia, italy, romano, japan, germany, prussia
tags | language kink , suggestive , headcanons , imagine , scenario , human names used for countries , they/them pronouns for reader , established relationship
author's note* omg been trying to get this out since march!!! it's finally here!! 🤍 enjoy, everyone!
happy to hear that his partner loves listening to him speak chinese, yao uses this as an opportunity to teach them his native language. 'i didn't like speaking english all the time anyway.' he thinks to himself. yao begun greeting them in chinese. saying goodbye everytime the pair had to part for the evening for whatever reason. when they were reunited, he spoke softly to them. it was meant to be a learning opportunity, but it was hard for his lover to focus when the lighting was warm and dim, and his voice so low and soothing.
they finally confessed to francis how they felt when he spoke french. in that same moment, he started to daydream about the various ways he was going to amplify that feeling in them. he didn't hide the smile forming on his face. it was mischevious just as it was loving. proudly, he told them it was no surprise they would feel that way about his first language. with a kiss on the forehead, francis made it his mission to speak to them in french from that day forward.
upon hearing their thoughts about him speaking russian, ivan looked them up and down before exhaling out a small, quiet snicker. deep down, he was excited to show off, but didn't want that to be known. he opted to wait for the perfect time, which would be when they least expected it. he only wishes he could have seen the shocked look on his love's face when he silently walked up behind them, whispered into their ear and kissed it. over time, he started to love teasing them.
when they first told feliciano, they figured he didn't think much of it. he smiled just like he usually does and told them he thought that it was adorable! they did notice that he started to use more italian terms of endearment. not that they were complaining...at all. one night, the pair were curled up, relaxing together. neither one paying attention to the TV, as it was on purely for background noise. feliciano looked at them first, they caught on. he crawled on top of them, then politely asked for a kiss in italian.
after hearing their thoughts, lovino definitely got a little bit of an ego boost. his partner found it attractive when he got passionate and started to speak quickly about whatever interested him. they even found it a little attractive whenever he would argue. what made it even better was, that when he would get excited, loud, or even pissed off, he would always take a moment to calm down a bit and then turn to them (and only them) for comfort.
kiku, being a little bit of a people pleaser, searches the depths of his mind to figure out how he can make his lover happy with just his voice, or more specifically, his first language. he takes them out on dinner dates just so he can order for them in japanese. he sings softly in japanese while doing chores around the house. kiku gets increasingly more shy around his partner, thinking only of the ways he can turn them on. their confession had been on his mind for a week. he throws caution to the wind, kissing his partner hard, just to groan out the words 'aishiteru, aishiteru.' between every few kisses.
ludwig is absolutely flattered! but feels conflicted because most people think that german sounds "aggressive" and "harsh". he thinks otherwise, of course, so in the end he really doesn't mind casually teasing them with his words. he speaks german to them more frequently. he's unable to think straight when it's just the two of them alone, limbs intertwined on top of cool sheets. "verdammt." he breathes out. they find themselves falling in love with him, his accent, and the way he comes undone
gilbert pokes their side, snickering when they give him the reaction he was seeking. he's been teasing them for a while now. the day they confessed, he smirked to himself before covering his mischevious little grin with a turn of his head. he wasn't surprised that someone like them would find his accent, or more specifically, the way he spoke his native language, attractive. when it called for it, he ordered them around. it was especially fun to him because he knew they wouldn't understand anything he said, which meant he garnered more control over his lovely little partner. ;)
are you perhaps planning on making the hetalia noisy series with the nordics?
﹙୨୧﹚ ˖ how noisy are they? | hetalia edition
characters : denmark, norway, sweden, iceland, finland
tags | smut , nsfw , masturbation , scenario , imagine , headcanons , submissive!iceland , praise kink , country names used , minors do not interact
author's note* i saw this notif as soon as it appeared in my inbox and wanted to get this done asap !! here is part one and part two !
animalistic denmark doesn't care about being 'messy'. at least he doesn't in the moment. a quiet, throaty groan is released from his mouth. he opens his eyes to watch the pre begin to leak from his tip. he focuses on stroking himself faster. his chest rising and falling quicker. his desperation was growing. he shuts his eyes before finally finishing. once opened again, he sees the white, dime-sized droplets all over his lower abdomen.
he sounded like this.
if norway is lucky enough to be all alone, he'll start to relax more and moan quite loudly. for someone like him who's had a few partners before, he feels as though the sound of someone who's enjoying themselves is sexier than anything else. cute, soft little noises get him going the most.
when no one's around, he'll sound like this.
only slightly less quiet than usual, sweden grits his teeth, stopping himself from being loud which could risk alerting any neighbors. he swears under his breath. he realizes just how hot he had become. stripping himself of his shirt, pants, and fogged-up glasses, sweden begins again. this time, without any intentions of stopping for a break.
he feels so good, and sounds like this.
submissive by nature, iceland thinks of everything he finds appealing about the person he likes. their hair, their voice, their body. he imagines what it would be like to be bossed around by them. to be put in his place. he sighs. he hates that he waits until he can't take it anymore to touch himself—that he waits until he can no longer think straight. iceland is unable to bite back his whines upon first touching his semi-hard dick.
...and it sounds like this.
finland lets out a long string of deep grunts. he reaches into the depths of his mind to imagine a special someone doing everything he wants, and in return, doing everything they want to him. he lets out a small, short whine at the thought of servicing someone. he gives a pleasured gasp each time he gets close, opting to stop for a second just so he can feel good for a little while longer. he thinks of receiving praise, and it nearly makes him finish right then.
author's note* hello! this is a writing exercise i did, mostly for fun, but also to receive feedback! i wanted to write a vampire or vampire hunting au with historical elements. this is what i ended up with! i tried to get the smaller details as historically accurate as possible, save for some parts of the dialogue. i've also been looking into the american civil war more since it was not taught in the highschool i attended. i hope you enjoy reading it!
summary
after leaving his small hometown in virginia with nothing but the clothes on his back, alfred jones joins a militia that is set on getting involved with any conflict possible. a seven day battle breaks out among the opposing sides, with the militia not skipping the opportunity to fight.
when the battle concludes and the sound of muskets firing has subsided, jones abandons his camp to search for his missing friend. instead, he comes face to face with a creature he thought was nothing more than an urban legend.
the vampire.
read it on archive of our own | written by @yawujin ࿐
