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aph-japan · 6 months

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“‘Come out, English soldier; come out here to us.’ For some little time we were cautious, and did not even answer. Officers, fearing treachery, ordered the men to be silent. But up and down our line one heard the men answering that Christmas greeting from the enemy. How could we resist wishing each other Merry Christmas, even though we might be at each other’s throats immediately afterwards? So we kept up a running conversation with the Germans, all the while our hands ready on our rifles. Blood and peace, enmity and fraternity - war’s most amazing paradox. The night wore on to dawn - a night made easier by songs from the German trenches, the pipings of piccolos and from our broad lines laughter and Christmas carols. Not a shot was fired." -Peace on the Western Front: Goodwill in No-man's Land - The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce {Smithsonian Magazine}

Hetalia ~ Episode 100 ~ Japanese Version + Germany & England

Gifs by @aph-japan {Do Not Repost or Reproduce without my Permission} {Do Not Remove Caption} {DO NOT Use my Posts for overly negative commentary} [Positive or Respectful is OK!] (Please ASK to Use)

During the first eight weeks of World War I, French and British troops stopped the German attack through Belgium into France outside Paris at the First Battle of the Marne in early September 1914. The Germans fell back to the Aisne valley, where they dug in. In the First Battle of the Aisne, the Franco–British attacks were repulsed and both sides began digging trenches to economise on manpower and use the surplus to outflank, to the north, their opponents. In the Race to the Sea, the two sides made reciprocal outflanking manoeuvres and after several weeks, during which the British forces were withdrawn from the Aisne and sent north to Flanders, both sides ran out of room. By November, armies had built continuous lines of trenches running from the North Sea to the Swiss frontier.

The Christmas truce (German: Weihnachtsfrieden; French: Trêve de Noël; Dutch: Kerstbestand) was a series of widespread unofficial ceasefires along the Western Front of the First World War around Christmas 1914. The truce occurred five months after hostilities had begun. Lulls occurred in the fighting as armies ran out of men and munitions and commanders reconsidered their strategies following the stalemate of the Race to the Sea and the indecisive result of the First Battle of Ypres. In the week leading up to 25 December, French, German and British soldiers crossed trenches to exchange seasonal greetings and talk. In some areas, men from both sides ventured into no man's land on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to mingle and exchange food and souvenirs. There were joint burial ceremonies and prisoner swaps, while several meetings ended in carolling. Men played games of football with one another, creating one of the most memorable images of the truce. Hostilities continued in some sectors, while in others the sides settled on little more than arrangements to recover bodies. The following year, a few units arranged ceasefires but the truces were not nearly as widespread as in 1914; this was, in part, due to strongly worded orders from commanders, prohibiting truces. Soldiers were no longer amenable to truce by 1916; the war had become increasingly bitter after the human losses suffered during the battles of 1915.

The truces were not unique to the Christmas period and reflected a mood of "live and let live", where infantry close together would stop fighting and fraternise, engaging in conversation. In some sectors, there were occasional ceasefires to allow soldiers to go between the lines and recover wounded or dead comrades; in others, there was a tacit agreement not to shoot while men rested, exercised or worked in view of the enemy. The Christmas truces were particularly significant due to the number of men involved and the level of their participation—even in quiet sectors, dozens of men openly congregating in daylight was remarkable—and are often seen as a symbolic moment of peace and humanity amidst one of the most violent conflicts in human history.

-from Wikipedia's article; "Christmas truce"

"Having a gunfight on {a Holy night/timeframe} wouldn't be right." -Germany

Say what you will about "Hetalia", but this sequence was semi-based on real historical events - Real events that should be much more well known.

#historical hetalia #hetalia #aph england #aph germany #arthur kirkland #ludwig beilschmidt #gereng #hws germany #hws england #geruk #hetalia: the world series #hetalia world series #hetalia world series: season 2 #hetalia: season 4 #the christmas truce #hetalia: jpn version #chai hetalia #chai gifs #chai hetalia gifs #chai germany #chai england #hetalia: original version #(I was Thinking About This Sequence Again {and I Am Hoping Beyond Hope Right Now for Things} as I post this but Yes)#(Its one of the ones I actually really didnt mind at all Considering the Content it Actually Got Half Right)#(This is stuff like what this series Concept Could have Done More when Handled Right)#(There is another popular post around with the scene but it's US dub version and I dont really want to further promote for Reasons)#(So Im choosing to specifically take from the original version to show what the original text also was)#(The link to the original quotes article since died but I can provide it in comments later and extra context is from Wiki which has a whole #(Page on It and its History YOU SHOULD Know REGARDLESS of the Context you Learn it from)#(I havent made edits for the fan base in ages PLEASE Dont Make Me Regret The Decision and I will be carefully watching comments on post)

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dancewiththedev1l · 7 months

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Fun fact I also play idv (suddenly gets blocked by every tumblr user on the platform /j) this tumblr blog belongs to the infamous idv APH | England >:))

You will hear me out on this You Will. It makes sense. England as painter and France as perfumer MAKES SENSE. If you don't understand it do your homework (play idv or watch hetalia). Or just enjoy the art lol

This is niche and self indulgent but this is my blog which means you are subjected to my every single piece

Note: Not intended to be EdVera (painter x perfumer) but I don't really care if you interpret it that way lol

(Reference costumes)

#mixing 2 flavours of special interests #hetalia #aph england #aph france #hws england #hws france #fruk #identity v #idv #painter idv #perfumer idv #edgar valden #vera nair #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy

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teh-inggris · 5 months

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fellas, i offer you : the jf2024 art but nyo asakiku. pls enjoy

insp:

https://twitter.com/zzuykr/status/1736425694467666428/photo/1

https://www.tumblr.com/novuit/704276639269453824/a-bit-late-but-the-official-art-reminded-me-of

#asakiku #hws japan #aph japan #hws england #aph england #kikuasa #hetalia #senart #its literally 2 am rn n my eyes hurt im gonna sleep then check back if something looks wrong here bleh #omg i forgot the other tags mb #nyo japan #nyo england #japan is supposed to have a wolf cut but i fucked up her hair😭😭😭

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checkpointcherry · 7 months

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sorry for the simple messy sketch but what if arthur found an abandoned fox kit so he and francis get to be dads again for a little while 😭

#he gets up at 2 am to bottlefeed it #i love arthur and small woodland creatures IM SORRY #hetalia #hetalia fanart #aph england #hws england #arthur kirkland

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m4ruk4ts · 9 months

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*grabs the mic* this one's for the ukarg lovers;

#they. Genuinely make me sick :heart:#they're kinda silly tho won't lie #i hope a double decker bus crashes into them #hetalia #hetalia fanart #hetalia england #hetalia argentina #aph england #aph argentina #hetalia oc #arthur kirkland #ukarg #oc x canon #my art #el que no salta es un inglés parte 2

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lord-of-tomatoes · 9 months

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Haven't drawn mexico in a while I kinda missed him

#kinda redesigned canada a bit #he finally has ears now lol #i was gonna make his hair longer but he was starting to look too much like france #which like good for him copy your dad ig but i don't want ppl to get these 2 confused #but also i started thinking about this idea where America takes on more physical trates from England while Canada takes from France #basically the brothers resembling their respective father #enough Canada talk now this is a Mexico post #hetalia #aph #hws #aph mexico #hws mexico #aph canada #hws canada #aph cuba #hws cuba #cucan #blue's doodles

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kjellerhjornet · 1 month

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#hashtag. hashtag #their symbols/horns r pretty arbitrary like u kinda just have to choose one #but i put thought into everything else #turning other characters into trolls is so hard bc canon trolls have mostly black outfits but i wanted them 2 still be recognizable..#i tried to keep into account their caste tho like canadas outfit is pretty bland #compared 2 france. etc #their weapons are either from canon or their countries history #aph russia #aph america #aph canada #aph france #aph england #aph china #ALSO i wanted a balance between characters who rep their colours and those who dont #like england doesnt wear teal and america doesnt wear cerulean #but china n france wear their colours!#russia and canada do but it feels more lowkey since their colours r more neutral #hetalia

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fireandspiceland · 10 months

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it’s horny hours I guess 👀 nyo america x pirate england. oral sex/pussy eating, nothing else really. it’s 3am I just wrote this on my phone I’m not going to proof read it now, pls just take it <3

A melodic giggle filled the captain’s quarters while the sea rocked the ship in just the right rhythm to match his hands cradling, squeezing soft breasts. A gasp when he flicked his tongue over her nipple, another giggle when he cruised further down, golden necklaces and the hem of his open shirt ticking her hot skin for a second before it‘s soothed in one kiss after another.

“Arthur.. you’re su-“

“‘t’s captain Kirkland to you.”

His voice a murmur against her hip, Amelia giggled again but it melted into a soft moan when her legs were pushed apart and Arthur’s rigid breath grazed the inside of her thigh.

“Captain…,” she exhaled, unsure what it was that she had been wanting to say. Couldn’t be more important than watching Arthur settle down at his destination anyway.

A sliver of green sparkled at Amelia from Arthur’s half-lidded eyes. The corner of his lip curled into a smirk. There wasn’t much that he loved more than a fine lass like Amelia in his bed, naked as the day she was born yet in a position devoid of all innocence.

“Let me have you.”

Not a question. Barely a request. The demand made Amelia squirm, though not in an attempt to flee from Arthur, his quarters, his ship, but to hide the flush embarrassing her skin and the excited anticipation gushing from her lips.

She nodded, but Arthur had already lowered his gaze. Keeping her spread open, his eyes slipped shut as he closed in on her.

A first lick. Amelia gasped, squirmed again as Arthur’s tongue dipped between her labia in a languid stroke.

He spared her a break, though merely a second, drinking in her taste. As much as Arthur loved his treasures and to dwell on them, this one wasn’t for savouring.

He circled his tongue around her clit slowly, teasingly, then sucks on it. Amelia cried out, her hips involuntarily thrusting up from the bed. She would be surprised if none of the men from Arthur’s crew heard her.

Hands shot to Arthur’s head, pulling his hair, yet her fist around his strands of dirty blond pushed downwards to keep him in place.

The pain shooting from his scalp turned into a pleasurable tingle as it crept down Arthur’s back. He smiled into the next open mouthed kiss he placed right at Amelia’s core.

Again and again, he flicked his tongue over her clitoris, sucked and licked at it, lacking finesse after a dry spell lasting longer than he’d hoped for but making up for it in eagerness and passion.

He barely caught a breath every now and then when Amelia had so much mercy, but if Captain Arthur Kirkland was to find his end with his face buried between a gorgeous woman’s legs as she screamed out his name in ecstasy, then so it be.

#hetalia #wfsn #aph england #pirate england #nyo america #nyo ukus #ukus #I guess??#also using my new tag yay!#mint milkshake #for organisational purposes :)#riva.fanfic #not really though cause this is not a wip or a preview or anything #it just was in my head and i needed to write it down #consider it a random drabble #written at 2-3am on my phone

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breitzbachbea · 5 months

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Pairing: FrUK

Title: At the crossroads

(Sorry I am NOT creative at all)

Anon, I love you, I am kissing you on the mouth.

Send Me A Title And A Pairing And I Will Write The Summary Of A Fic I'll Never Write

In fact, anon, I love you so much you're getting twice the content, canonverse version and one LFLS version, which is my main AU (Like Father Like Son)

#1: From the Norman Invasion over key precipitious points in the Hundred Years War over France's not-very-successful attempts to help out Irish factions in Rebelling (Willamite Wars and United Irishmen Rebellion, anyone), the Napoleonic Wars, France's defeat in 1871, the Entente and finally to 1945 - This fic would examine a handful of crossroads that had England's and France's future up in the air and them re-examining their relationship.

#2: From rebellious Teenager lovers to two gangster bosses making their bones, this fic would examine François' courtship of Arthur and Arthur trying to figure out how he wants to combine what the heart wants with what the head knows to be right. Once T(w)eenage lovers, their relationship had considerably cooled after Arthur's father died and he entered the sharktank of Europe's underground. When François makes his own first clumsy steps at powerplay with the help of the equally green behind the ears Sicilian Michele, he and Arthur find themselves on opposite sides. However - This intrigues François' all the more and after he saved his skin by throwing Michele under the bus, which was by far not the first deathnail for their disastrous affair, he is on the prowl for a new adventure - And cracking Arthur, who's trying to fill his father's shoes, sounds just like the past time for him.

#beareplies #anon #aph #hetalia #hws #aph fruk #hws fruk #fruk #storie nostre #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #sorry if version 2 doesn't make sense it makes sense. To me. I will gladly explain the timeline and necessary AU worldbuilding to make it #make sense though

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ameliafuckinjones · 3 months

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Hehehe

#nyotalia #amelia f jones #arthur kirkland #hws america #hws england #ukus #nyo america #my otp #hetalia #aph england #aph america #literally drew these in like 2 minutes so please forgive the poor quality 😭😭😭#the special relationship #yes...england is a Capricorn his birthday is dec 25 1066 look it up

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luzkro · 2 years

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Hetalia chars as my bookmarked tweets because i

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justabackroundcharacter · 10 months

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Who’s your favorite hetalia character ?

Now if someone asks you this remember kids it’s a trick!! This question is broad so narrow it down by asking the following

Do you mean my Country where I’m from?

Do you mean the Country I was assigned in my friend group?

Do you mean the country that I am most like personality wise?

Do you mean the country that I can cosplay the best ?

Do you mean one of the main cast? Or can we choose from the extended hetalia universe?

Once’s you narrow down the parameters then you can safely answer the question 👍

Remember kids stay safe out there and put who your favorite character’ is in the tags lol

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trealamh · 1 year

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Copper

Day 2 of ScotEng week:

Drama // family, consequences, worth // “Do you really believe that?”

[What is it with the wedding themes in all of these prompts you might ask? The answer is ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I’m just happy to be writing again do not question my life choices’. This takes place in an AU where Arthur has been half in love with Alasdair all of his life. He runs off after introducing him to Francis and watching them fall in love. Francis doesn’t let go of him so easily and so he and Arthur stay in touch, but Alasdair hasn’t heard from Arthur in years. Alasdair and Francis are walking down the aisle in two days; Arthur loves them both and cannot fathom that they could love him back.

Ask me about the coins and the salt in the piss pot and I will tell you a wee bit about Scottish wedding traditions.]

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His eyes find Arthur across the room at every turn and he does not lie to himself. He is seeking him out of the corner of his eye, drawn to the sound of his voice and the familiar shape of him in a crowd. He keeps to himself, lingering near windows and walls, his back never turned to the door. Alasdair looks at him and sees negative space; sees five years into the past. He thinks that Arthur’s hair might be a little longer, his posture a little better. His clothes lived in but well-fitted. He looks well.

Alasdair should not be looking.

Just across from him, Francis looks happy; is happy. He looks beautiful backlit by the warm light of the faux sconces on the homely walls of the pub. And Arthur loves him, Alasdair knows he does. He would not be here, if he didn’t. Not when… He would not be here.

Someone (Sean, probably) has put a piss pot full of salt in Francis’ hands and he is making the round around the pub trading in kisses for copper. Francis’ friends from abroad throw in two pound coins and kiss him so hard that they nearly bowl Francis over. If he keeps his feet on the ground it is only because they hold him up, arms held firm at his waist, hands amiable and familiar on his body. Alasdair could no more resent the easy way Francis loves and is loved than he would his smiles or the sound of his laughter. There is something in him that aches though, watching now as he makes his way to Arthur to earn his due. Arthur’s tight lips quirk in what is almost a smile and he drops two pence into the pot. He turns his face when Francis leans in and Francis does not chase his mouth, content to press a lingering kiss to the soft swell of Arthur’s cheek like a brother.

Alasdair’s fingers itch to curl into a fist. He goes to find another pint instead.

At some point in the night half their party heads off down the street to the next pub over and the rest split ways. Francis does not try to coax Alasdair away but leaves him behind with a quick embrace and a whispered promise. Alasdair will not keep him to it and takes the damned piss pot to put aside. Fuck knows where Sean’s been off to; he hasn’t seen Daffyd all night. Alasdair should call him in the morning and ask why, why? Did Arthur say...?

Or he could ask Arthur himself, it seems.

He cuts a lonely figure, the sole person left behind, half-sitting on a table top with his hands held loosely between his thighs. There is no device in his presence here, no gambit or intent. This place felt like it was theirs once, back when Alasdair had first put down the anchor to rebuild the family business from the ground up. Every hour he had spent sanding the floors and thatching the sunken benches had been worth Arthur’s evenings spent pouring over ledgers and faded receipts. He never took a cent for any of it, shrugging off Alasdair’s offers coarsely and claiming ownership to nothing more than the black ink on the records that first fiscal year they broke even. Alasdair knows now that it was more than pride that kept Arthur one step removed but he struggles to follow the logic of his actions. He cannot guess at the storms that brew behind the green of Arthur’s eyes unless he puts them into words. All he knows is that for all that he is difficult Arthur is also honest. For a while he belonged to these rooms as much as the furniture, and so if anyone has the right to beg off from the revelry of a wedding that isn’t his and spend the night letting his eyes get lost in the woodgrain instead, it is him.

“You were right.” Arthur breaks the silence and Alasdair is caught short, unsure of what he means.

“The sconces,” he clarifies, and makes eye contact with Alasdair only briefly before looking away again. “It was worth wiring them. The room does not need any more light than this.”

Alasdair hums, and thinks back to the arguments that had very little heat at heart.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Arthur shrugs.

“I don’t suppose it’s cold enough to warrant a fire.” He is thinking out loud and doing a fine job of ignoring Alasdair, eyes on the ash stains that frame the fire place.

So, Alasdair does what he’s always done best. He puts himself right where Arthur cannot ignore him.

Arthur keeps his weight resting on the table behind him but straightens up from his slump when Alasdair comes close enough. He looks at the enamel piss pot he is still holding by the handles first and then, finally, his face.

“I’m short on change,” he deadpans.

Alasdair huffs his amusement without smiling and sets it to the side. The salt and coins resettle with the movement, scratching the bottom of the pan.

“Will you stay?” Alasdair has never known how to keep from sounding angry when he speaks low like this.

Arthur opens his mouth to speak and he interrupts him before he can argue.

“For the wedding,” he clarifies, and thinks in numbers. Two nights and three days. Arthur must have arrived earlier in the day, and he will be staying the night. Alasdair does not know where he might be staying but he’ll have dropped his bags there, some spare clothing and formalwear, for the ceremony. Another pair of shoes.

Arthur looks at him silently, his expression blank but softened by the lax set of his lips. He nods, barely there but he nods, and Alasdair feels at one like he can breathe and like one of his ribs had popped out of place to dig painfully into the soft tissue of his lungs.

“There’s a spare room—”

“Upstairs.” Arthur finishes for him with finality and for the first time there is something like anger in his eyes. “Across from yours.”

What Arthur means and does not have to say outright is that it would be cruel at best to have him stay. Alasdair knows that and offered anyways because somehow it feels worse not to have Arthur under his roof. Francis would be glad to have him. He would come out of the bedroom in the morning to find Arthur tucked into their kitchen nook and smile wide enough to hurt. He would kiss Alasdair’s neck to thank him silently for whatever bargain he’d made to bring Arthur home. Even if he told him so, and tried to explain, Arthur would not believe him.

“Aye.” He will try anyways. “Across from ours.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches and he breathes an angry huff, looking like he is of a mind to storm off. The only thing that stays him might very well be that Alasdair is standing so close that he’d have to shove him aside to leave.

“Where are you staying?” Alasdair asks, though he’s starting to suspect he already knows the answer.

“I’m not.” Arthur snaps.

Alasdair holds his ground, scowling right back until Arthur’s temper begins to flag.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he laments, bringing up a hand to press against his forehead and dragging it down to his eyes.

“Why did you?” Alasdair presses.

Arthur shakes his head lightly and for once Alasdair lets it be.

“You can’t be driving.” He tries for reason. “And you’ll not find a room this late, the inn’s booked full. You could call—” he tries to think of anyone Arthur would trust enough to impose on and comes up short. “—someone. I’ll call someone for you if you’re set on being stubborn.”

Arthur’s hand is still covering his eyes, but he is very obviously grinding his jaw.

“Or you could stay.” Alasdair finishes brusquely. “And come upstairs to sleep in the spare room.” Your room, he wishes he could say still.

Arthur exhales and drags his hand down roughly to cover his mouth instead. He looks up at Alasdair through the mess of his fringe for a long moment before he speaks.

“I haven’t been drinking,” he says and sounds like he is only trying to himself not to stay.

“If you stay, you’ll want to.”

That at least makes Arthur snort.

“Sure,” he agrees, and Alasdair can suddenly picture him years younger and curled into the sunken couch upstairs, a hot toddy held in his hands.

But this isn’t the Arthur he remembers. He looks tired, suddenly, and speaks with a gravity that begs no argument.

“I left for a reason.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Arthur raises his chin in a challenge.

They will have to have it out. If not now, then later. They will have to talk and figure things out if they have any hope of keeping the peace long enough to see the wedding out. For Francis’ sake he would rather it be now. For Arthur, he can be patient.

“Why, then?”

Arthur searches his face, chewing on his lower lip like he is struggling to find the words to parry along the confrontation he wanted.

“Because I couldn’t…” he tries, and sighs like he is frustrated with himself. “I don’t want this. I don’t know if I can want this. And I do not know who I am to you and what my place in your life is if we’re not fucking.”

Alasdair swallows back his anger and counts to ten in his mind.

This is the effect of having taken all that Arthur offered before he knew any better and questioned his motives. It is all so clear in hindsight that it chaffs against his pride that he could be so blind, once. There is equal blame to place on Arthur for his silence— for running away— and every opportunity he let pass without making himself known. Alasdair could have loved him better, would have if only Arthur had told him how. Never fucked him at all, for all that matters. Has never even kissed him like he deserved to be. And now there is another person to consider and half a decade of missed opportunities to work through.

Every word they speak now will carry the consequences of their past omissions, so Alasdair does not stop to consider his words and says what he wishes he has told Arthur years ago instead.

“You are family,” he declares and shakes his head roughly once before Arthur can interrupt him. “Whether you stay or leave. This place is yours, a third of it, a half. Whatever you will claim of it is yours to keep. And you are family. To Francis, to me. As much as Sean and Dai could ever be; more, for who you are to us. To both of us.”

Arthur’s eyes on him are intent.

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, and Alasdair has always known deep down that before he is anything else, Arthur is a cynic that wants to be proven wrong.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

The question hangs in the air for a beat too long. Arthur drops his gaze.

“What will you tell Francis?”

Alasdair grunts.

“That if he had time enough to orchestrate this while running me ragged he could have spared a moment to wash the bedding in the guest room.”

That startles a huff of laughter out of Arthur, but it sounds a little wet. One of his hands is back, hovering near his lips in an old nervous gesture.

Alasdair has never been good with words. He resorts to his hands instead and buries one deep into the roots of Arthur’s hair. It feels thicker than it looks and is coarser than Francis’; a shade closer to sand than gold.

He would not be surprised to find the bedsheets in the guest bedroom washed and pressed, all the edges tucked neatly under the corners of the mattress the way Francis never makes their own bed. There is no hurry, though. He’ll wash them himself if he needs to and keep Arthur company while the washing machine makes a racket in the kitchen, spinning through the dry cycle. If the sheets come out damp he’ll spare Arthur half of theirs and the thick, woollen blanket they only pull down from the cupboard in the winter. For now, he lets himself relearn Arthur’s warmth with his nose buried in his temple and thinks in numbers. Six more hours until morning. Three cups of coffee over breakfast in three mismatched mugs. One more night before his wedding and ahead of that a lifetime worth its weight in copper.

#something a little longer for day 2!#scoteng #scoteng week 2023 #scotfra #hws england #hws scotland #aph england #aph scotland #i would imagine that Alasdair is the kind of mind to value copper over gold #someone prompted me to write infidelity a while back and it morphed into polyamory #scotfruk #Francis is in fact extremely pleased that his gambit played off and he does kiss Alasdair in the morning #it'll be a while longer until he can kiss Arthur too but they'll get there #i should continue this one day

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