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#hetalia writers
thebirdybrigade · 19 days
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Hey, love your work! Do you have any Hetalia writers that you really like? I’m always trying to find more. Thanks!
Thanks nonnie, I appreciate the complement! As for your question, Yes. So very many. You never specified x reader or not tho, so I've sprinkled in a mix of everything. I haven't read any heta content in a while so most of these are blogs that need no introduction, but they're the ones from off the top of my head ^^'
(I've also tagged all the tumblr accounts. It might be obnoxious but I think people deserve to know when something is being said about them on the internet. If you're tagged and you aren't chill with it, lmk and I'll take it off no questions.)
X-Readers
@alfredosauce50 (no chance you've not run across them, but it's sacrilegious to not include this blog. Always a hit, especially if you're a fan of America or Denmark)
@headingalaxys-spicy (or @/headingalaxys-sweet for those of us who may not be down to clown. Especially good if you're in need of some quality yandere content, and all of their work has tw-ings)
@my2phetaliaheadcanons (The name sums it up, but rest assured their characters are great. The content is dark, and their writing is captivating.)
@newbienovelist (Obligatory Nori appreciation. Please feel free to join their unofficial official fanclub with me and also maybe bully them a little bit about updating their Dragon Denmark story. But only a little bullying. Be nice to them.)
@hetaliaimaginesin2022 (All of their content absolutely fucking hits, but especially their Ukraine. I've spent a concerning amount of time lurking on their posts, and you should too. ((I'm kidding. Please try to appreciate your content creators.)))
Non X-Readers
Ao3: Hetaswag - Tumblr: @swagtalia (Do you like women, period dramas, and a writing style straight out of ur fav classic lit author's wet dream? Me too, read Swag's works and come scream about them with me.)
Ao3: Kitaychan - Tumblr: @kitaychan (The original cowboy, ready to cut you off at the pass. Made stylistic character interpretation their bitch. Like, 90% of their fics are completed, too, of which I am. Very Envious.)
Stopping here bc I've spent more time than I meant to. There are def more tho if anyone wants them. Or feel free to add on more yourself if the fancy strikes.
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WE HIRED SOMEONE!
🎶 That means Pumpkin Spice and Caramel Apple Spice flavored Hetalia stories coming soon🎶
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breitzbachbea · 7 months
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"Where is my historically accurate hetalia representation of this and that!!!" Babe, I am so sorry to tell you, but history is very complicated and nuanced and layered and you cannot cram every facet and faction of a fraction of time that a population experienced into the cartoon men. Choose one viewpoint, write an essay and be done with it.
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bitchapalooza · 6 months
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Veneziano calling Germany patata, which he assumes to mean dear. Fucker doesn’t know his boyfriend is literally calling him potato even though it’s so obvious! My guy, dude, look it up 😭
It’s okay, Germany calls him Hasenfürzchen— aka bunny fart— which Vene just thinks means bunny because his German is still pretty mediocre. So he kind of assumes he’s being called something like Little Bunny, just something sweet and cheesy. He’s got the hase part at least…
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snowflake-snowdrop · 24 days
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Sun-kissed skin and the sky for eyes What once a mere child now a strength unstoppable Has the world in his hands and yet wanted more The space conquered he and still yet insatiable
Empires fell down to their knees and kings fear him Such imposing aura but kids come running to him Strong hands able to crush civilization Gentle hands soothing little ones to sleep
All this power he would give it all away Come running here with such glee never seen before Says he already has the world in his arms But how so when all he holds is me?
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hetamyuist · 10 months
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what i say: i'm fine
what i'm actually thinking: isn't it crazy how emotionally charged austria and italy's relationship is in hetamyu. like yeah animanga austria is fond of italy deep down and italy is still affectionate with him but it's not like. intense. meanwhile you have hetamyu austria bristling with almost vicious possessiveness at the mere possibility of italy becoming independent from him, "So Italy has no intention to be independent at all, right? You will never go anywhere, RIGHT?", he has a duet with england where they basically bond over being possessive foster fathers/caretakers, austria pushing italy away to protect him when he's being attacked by prussia and italy attempting to help him despite it, italy crying in austria's arms about how holy rome disappeared and he doesn't want anyone else to disappear because of him....... there is so much emotion and unspoken love and it is UNPRECEDENTED. isn't that insane
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aphfanficwriters · 3 months
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Still writing Hetalia fanfiction in the year of our lord 2024? Want to make fandom friends or just find that extra push to keep writing?
Then sign up to the HETALIA WRITERS’ ASSOCIATION today!
We are an active Discord server offering:
Writing: Fics, WIPs, headcanons, and review exchanges
Support: Stuck with plotting? Looking for a brainstorming buddy or reliable beta-reader? Need a hand with research? We gotchu!
Prompts: Take part in our word prompt challenges and flex your creativity – or don't! No pressure here :)
Get Featured: All members' fics are featured in our monthly round-up posts on our blog @aphfanficwriters
Gain new friends, fans and readers, and chat daily with seasoned fandom veterans who are still going strong (=ヮ=)೨
18+ members only. Antis & fanpols need not apply. This is an English-speaking group. Please reblog to spread the word, thanks!
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thegoliathbeetle · 9 months
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Hi GB.
I know you’re taking a break and please do if that helps your mental health but I wanted to share with you how much your fics mean to me. I know you haven’t gotten a ton of feedback, and I feel like part of that is my fault because I’m not always logged into my A03 account so I don’t always comment (my user name there is ScreenQueen6789 if you’re wondering). Anyways, I re-read your fics all of the time, like at least a couple every week. I love your work so much and it makes me sad that you’ve privated most of your work. However I very much understand the mental health implications, if this is what you need to do I get it and I’ll respect it. Just know that your work does impact people like me. The Mosaics series and the Marbles Rhyme are literally two of the best things I’ve ever read, not just in the fanfic world - and I promise I’m not just saying that. I was also the anon who requested the Canada/England and France/America oneshots and I should’ve written you back when you wrote those because OMG they are amazing, I’m truly so sorry I didn’t, I think I only kudo-d on A03 when I really should’ve thanked you.
Anyways I hope you feel better soon, and will maybe consider unprivating your work on A03.
Also I’m sorry I’m sending this anonymously, my tumblr is still designed from a fandom I’m not a part of anymore and since I don’t actively post on tumblr myself I’ve never changed it back to hetalia.
All the best 💜
Thank you for being so upfront with me. I really appreciate that. And it's not like I'm perfect either. I too sometimes read fics and don't comment, for laziness or any other reason. I try not to do this, but it happens. We only have so much energy in a day, and fanfiction is a respite for us instead of being another "thing" that we have to "pay for" in terms of comments. I'm also not singling anyone out for not commenting or whatever. Like I said, I truly do understand and empathise. We go through life being mostly exhausted.
Having said that—and I've been discussing this with some of my closest writing friends now for a while—fic writers are really not as appreciated as they used to be. At least in Hetalia (can't speak for other fandoms). I've been in this fandom a really, really long time. I was posting fic back when it was normal for people to write "Vee~" every time Feliciano spoke (lol). Admittedly, that was for a different, much larger ship (Spamano), but the feedback I got back then was staggeringly different from what trickles in today. And yeah, I write primarily FACE, NA Bros, and Canada pairings which aren't really that popular (I think CanUkr is still considered a rarepair). But I know writers who write for much bigger pairings in this fandom who have also faced similar issues of feedback just dwindling to nothing—in fact, some have even received a barrage of hate comments for no reason.
This isn't because people aren't reading fic, ofc. AO3 is down right now and everyone's upset simply because we all love reading fanfic. It is, in many ways, the backbone of fandom. But the lack of feedback is genuinely disheartening.
I want to first point out that I really, truly get it. Nobody is entitled to comments. It's not a transaction where you "owe" someone a comment, there's no feedback debt/credit going on here. I've been in fandom—not just Hetalia, but fandom in general—for something like 10+ years now, as a fic writer, and I know that the number of comments you get honestly depends on sheer luck. And ordinarily, it doesn't bother me. I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my work.
But to bring you a little bit into my side of the aisle here: this is something I do when I can. For free. Unlike a fan artist, I cannot do fanfic commissions. It's illegal. Fanfic occupies a copyright grey zone, and the reason why most copyright owners look the other way is because fic writers don't profit from it. There's no possible way for me to make any kind of money out of this. So literally the only "reward" for my effort is feedback. And it's truly exhausting sometimes, to spit out thousands and thousands of words that end up getting lost into a void.
And I even feel bad talking about this because I am afraid I come off as entitled. But I also don't think it's wrong to want some interaction for my writing.
I've had interactions with writers where I've commented on their incomplete fics (that have been lying in hiatus for 3 years), and have them respond saying "I didn't know people still wanted to read this, I'm now motivated to work on the next chapter!" (They actually updated that fic, for the first time in years). So I know from personal experience and from these interactions that even the barest comments go a really long way.
I've also written fics, long fics, mind you, for specific creators I've admired (with their consent), only for those fics to go nearly ignored with little to no feedback (by the people I've dedicated them to), for whatever reason. The heartbreak of that is real. It feels like rejection.
I also see this on tumblr, by the way. I've posted works that get quite a few "likes" but very few reblogs, which ultimately doesn't help the creator. I don't check my tumblr notes that much anyway, but I've seen this happen over and over with fan art (I always rb fan art I like), memes, posts, etc. Seeing as likes don't actually help creators grow, it really isn't a show of support. Even a reblog without tags/comments in the tags is valuable, because it helps creators grow their audience.
People say the Hetalia fandom is dying, but I don't agree with that. What I think is happening is that the culture of giving feedback to creators is wilting. And it's sad to see this happen because I know there are so many incredible writers and artists out there who deserve better.
I've been doing this a while. A hate comment or one of my fics getting little/no feedback is certainly upsetting to me, but it won't actually dent my writing practice. I won't stop writing just because of that.
But for someone who is just starting out as a writer, for them, feedback is invaluable. I started writing fic at 13 and it was terrible quality work, but people were still so kind to me and offered me so much encouragement. That's the reason I kept writing. And it's what's going to keep this fandom going. Especially with the current influx of trust violations such as AI writing/readers using AI to get to the end of incomplete fics, etc, it is vital to support creators as much as possible. Writers are already facing an extremely uphill battle to justify their relevance in the professional sphere (the Writer's Strike is a good example of this), in fandom at least, where the stakes are so much lower, we should be trying harder to support writers.
Again, this really isn't about ME. It's not about you, either. And I'm sorry for this long post. I'm not blaming you or anything. I just wanted to point out that this is a trend I've been noticing for a while now. And yes, of course, it's difficult to comment on all the fics one reads, I get that, but I do think making an effort is important. Otherwise creators are just going to walk away from fandom. And where would we be then?
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neufhistoires · 6 months
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Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 11
Loveless Marriage
Chapter 11
Word Count: 4,496
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been about a week since Francis and Arthur spoke. They hadn’t really seen each other either because the Englishman made sure to leave before the Frenchman woke up or he would get home so late that the other man was already asleep. On days that Arthur didn’t leave the house, he would stay in his bedroom all day and complete work from there. Francis was starting to wonder if he was a ghost, if he didn’t even exist.
It was a miserable existence, but Francis used work as a distraction. He didn’t share his frustrations or embarrassing stories with Feliciano. Instead, he pretended like nothing bad happened, like he had no life problems and he was happy to be living abroad, working at a flower shop.
Escapism worked well for Francis until he returned home each night to either be alone or be ignored– he wasn’t sure which was worse at this point. Arthur wouldn’t even eat his food anymore, and Francis honestly had no clue where or what he was eating. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought that the Englishman might be eating meals with someone else all day…
“How’s your fiancé?”
Francis was cutting flower stems in silence, something that he usually did while humming softly. He was working slower than usual, too, as if he was in some sort of trance, lost in deep thought about his recent misfortunes. However, he was pulled out of his thoughts when his perceptive coworker noticed a change in his body language.
“What?” Francis replied, a mix of surprise and sadness in his eyes when he heard someone bring up the very person he had been thinking about.
“You mentioned that you have a fiancé a few times before, so I was wondering how he is,” Feliciano replied softly, taking some of the flowers to help the Frenchman cut the stems.
Francis was quiet for a moment, motionless as he stared down at the stems.
“How is he..? I wonder that, too,” Francis murmured, his voice almost a whisper. Then, he suddenly returned to trimming the flower stems as if he hadn’t just froze for an abnormal amount of time.
Feliciano glanced over at the other man, who refused to make eye contact with him, with an empathetic look on his face. He wasn’t sure what happened, but he could tell that Francis was really upset because of something that happened between him and his fiancé. 
“Are you two fighting..?” Feliciano asked hesitantly, hoping he was prying into his coworker’s personal life too much.
“Something like that,” Francis replied, still keeping his gaze fixated on the flowers in his hands.
“Why don’t you bring him some flowers again? I’m sure it will ease the tension between you two, at least some, and then you can talk,” Feliciano suggested.
Francis finally made eye contact with Felciano as he started to seriously ponder the Italian man’s suggestion. He knew that it wouldn’t fix everything, but like Feliciano had said, it would probably release some tension and at least break the ice…
“D’accord, I’ll take your advice,” Francis replied, smiling warmly at Feliciano, who immediately mirrored his smile.
Francis returned home with a bouquet of red roses, just like he had given Arthur last time, and carefully arranged them in the same vase from before, which was still sitting on the kitchen counter. 
Arthur wasn’t home yet, but Francis decided that he would wait in the kitchen until he came home, that way he couldn’t avoid him or sneak past him.
The Frenchman prepared dinner, cooking for two even though Arthur had either been eating premade meals or someone else’s food. He figured that he would offer him dinner and roses and he wouldn’t be able to avoid talking to him for at least a little bit.
Hours passed and Francis couldn’t help but feel frustrated when he thought about how he cooked dinner for the other man but he was coming home at a terribly late time just to avoid him.
And that was exactly what happened. Francis ate dinner alone, which he let become cold because he had foolishly assumed that today might be the one day the Englishman would come home on time. After he put the leftovers away, he cleaned up the kitchen, scrubbing the counters and mopping the floor more times than it needed to be done in hopes that when Arthur came home and saw him he would just think that Francis was busy, not that he was waiting up all night for him.
Eventually, Francis sat back down at the table, exhausted and frustrated. He lay his head down on the table, telling himself that he would just rest for a second and then he would go back to finding things to clean, but… he passed out.
The quiet jingle of keys could be heard from outside, and then the front door opened. Arthur was surprised to see the kitchen light on so late. He tensed when he noticed the Frenchman sitting at the table, but then he did a double take when he realized he was passed out.
The Englishman stared at him for a few, his keys and bags still in hand as he tried to make sense of why the other man was sleeping on a kitchen chair instead of in his own bed. Then, as he glanced around the room, he noticed that the kitchen was spotless. Everything was clean and organized. The only thing that stood out was the bouquet of fresh, red roses, arranged beautifully in the intricate glass vase from before.
Arthur’s chest felt tight when he saw the flowers, recalling how Francis had bought him the same ones before. He must’ve been waiting up all night to talk to him, Arthur thought. He felt kind of guilty until he reminded himself why they weren’t speaking in the first place and his thoughts turned sour.
Carefully, Arthur slipped past the table, hoping he could avoid the other man like he had been. But, in spite of his efforts, the jingling of his keys as he passed by was enough to make the Frenchman open his eyes.
“Arthur..?” Francis called out groggily. He couldn’t believe he had stayed up so late and yet he still ended up passing out at the kitchen table, of all places.
The Englishman hesitated when he heard his name, but then continued in the other direction anyway.
“Arthur! Wait!” Francis called out, stumbling as he tried to stand up from the table after just waking up.
Arthur continued to walk away from Francis, picking up his pace some when he heard the sound of the other man’s footsteps behind him.
“We live in the same house– you can’t keep avoiding me like this..!” Francis called out, frantically chasing the Englishman up the staircase.
“It’s like I said– you disgust me and I don’t want to see or talk to you,” Arthur replied coldly as he stood still on the top step, his heart aching at the sound of his own words.
Francis felt a pain in his chest, too, when the first words out of the other man’s mouth were yet again ones of disdain. Could he truly never forgive him?
“Arthur, I want to apologize to you and–”
“No apology will fix what you did,” Arthur interrupted, abruptly turning around to face the Frenchman, a look of anger and hurt on his face as they locked eyes.
“And I want to clear up the… misunderstanding,” Francis finished his sentence anyway.
“Misunderstanding?” Arthur repeated with a sarcastic laugh.
“Oui, I…” Francis hesitated as he took a step closer to Arthur, moving up a step so they were eye level. “What happened at the hotel was…” The Frenchman’s eyes averted towards the ground.
“Yes?” Arthur urged, impatiently crossing his arms as his icy gaze never left the man across from him.
“It was meaningless. I was so drunk I can’t even remember what led to it, but I can assure you that I would never want to do something like that with you..! I mean– you and I, together in a relationship? Really? We can’t stand each other! It’s been driving me insane to think that you would even suggest that I would want to have sex with you..!” Francis blurted out, feeling like he was a star in some sort of cheesy highschool play.
He was lying through his teeth.
Arthur hadn’t moved at all, an unreadable expression on his face as he seemed to pause and contemplate what the other man just said. Francis watched the Englishman’s eyes impatiently, wondering what was going through his head, if he bought the act, or if that false information even meant anything to him.
Well, it was partially false information. It was true that Francis had been terribly drunk, that he couldn’t remember much, and that he wouldn’t force himself on Arthur. But the lie was that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with the other man. In fact, after their sham of a honeymoon getaway together, he couldn’t be anymore sure that he had feelings for the Brit.
“I wish you’d put it that way sooner,” Arthur replied, both his tone and gaze softening when he said so. Francis didn’t know if he should be relieved or heartbroken.
“The thought of you and I in a relationship is definitely laughable, isn’t it?” Arthur continued, a smile grazing his lips for the first time since they were in Seychelles.
Now he could at least identify how he felt as heartbreak.
“Oui, it’s truly a bizarre thought,” Francis replied unenthusiastically.
“Let’s put this behind us then…” Arthur started, his tone returning to a more serious one again. “But you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone what happened that night, okay? On that condition, we’ll just forget about the whole thing…”
“D’accord… I promise,” Francis agreed, trying his best to hide how deflated he suddenly felt. It was somehow a worse feeling than before, even though he was elated to talk to the other man again.
“Alright… Good night then,” Arthur replied dismissively, turning around and continuing upstairs without waiting for a response. He was probably hoping that he wouldn’t have to deal with Francis suggesting they share a bed again. Although, the Frenchman no longer had any intention of suggesting a thing like that.
Francis went to bed alone that night, conflicted about whether or not he made the right choice by lying like that. Sure, Arthur was willing to talk to him again, but at what cost..? 
It was much later than Francis usually woke up, and he probably would have continued sleeping, too, if he wasn’t awoken by a few knocks on his door.
“Francis?” A familiar voice called out, causing the Frenchman to slowly open his eyes and roll over on his side.
“Come in,” Francis replied with a groan. He had slept more than usual and yet he felt even more exhausted than usual. It was most likely because despite being in bed for so long, he hadn’t truly been sleeping the entire time. He stayed up the entire night, tossing and turning as he contemplated everything wrong in his life.
Francis was disgusted by the way Arthur could destroy his entire day just by stringing a few words together. The worst part was probably that the Englishman didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Arthur opened the door, fully dressed in trousers, a button down cardigan and loafers. He looked a bit irritated when his eyes slowly made their way down to the Frenchman who was still in bed.
“I was going to… ask if you wanted to come shopping with me today in London…” Arthur said, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he realized that if the other man said yes, he would be waiting forever for him to get ready.
The Frenchman held back his surprise and… excitement when he heard what the other man proposed. Yes, the way Arthur’s words could lift his mood in an instant disgusted him, too. When did he become this way? “I guess so… You probably need someone like me to go with you so you know what kind of things to buy…” Francis mumbled into his pillow, his attempt at seeming uninterested coming off as more of an insult.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asked, his eye twitching as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. He was hoping that the Frenchman would get up and start getting ready sometime this year.
“Nothing,” Francis replied with a yawn as he finally sat up.
“Well, you’ll have to be ready soon though if you’re coming. I don’t want to have to drive home in the dark,” Arthur said, standing back up straight. “I’ll make you breakfast and you can eat it on the way or something…”
“Non, please don’t,” Francis replied so quickly that Arthur couldn’t help but be a little offended. Was it really that bad?
“Just hurry up,” Arthur said, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment as he shut the door and headed back downstairs.
Surprisingly, Francis didn’t take too long to get ready and Arthur didn’t subject him to his awful cooking. The two of them headed off for London and the skies appeared to be bright and sunny.
Understandably, there was an awkward tension between the two of them, albeit for different reasons. However, without words, they both agreed to try and make things work. They cracked jokes and passive aggressively roasted each other until they got to the city. It was as though nothing had changed between them…
“What do you think of this one? It’s nice, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, his green eyes settling on the Frenchman as he lightly pulled on the bottom of a long, plaid trench coat that was hanging on a rack in front of him.
“Hm? That one?” Francis murmured, putting his hand on the coat, too. He seemed inattentive despite how long he gazed at the coat in front of him. His mind drifted off into thoughts about how Arthur’s hand was so close to his, how he swore he could feel warmth radiating from him.
Ultimately, the only quiet response Arthur was left with was, “It suits you.”
Then, Francis turned away and continued on in the same direction that the two of them had been walking in. Confused, Arthur looked back at Francis, then the coat again, and ended up pulling it off the rack to follow after the Frenchman.
“That’s not necessarily a compliment, you know? Is it a nice coat or isn’t it?” Arthur repeated his question, his cheeks tinged pink as he realized he was basically begging for the other man’s fashion advice.
Arthur ended up buying the coat and the two of them headed off to the next store that caught their eyes, a street fashion clothing store. It wasn’t particularly either one of their styles, but part of going into the city was seeing things that they usually didn’t see, right?
As they walked through the store, Arthur saw a pair of black, ripped, oversized jeans and ran over to them. He pulled them off the rack and held them up to his waist in front of a mirror to see what they looked like without the hassle of actually trying them on.
Francis slowly walked behind him, cocking an eyebrow in confusion as he stood behind the Englishman and watched him in the mirror. He soon realized that Arthur wasn’t actually considering buying the pants, but was just joking around. He heard him start to speak, a big grin on his face, but… he couldn’t hear him.
Something about the way Arthur was messing around, being so carefree and playful, as if no one else existed but the two of them… it reminded Francis of walking around Seychelles and taking stupid pictures in straw hats and gaudy sunglasses. He felt disgusted with himself for even considering it, but he wanted to cry. His heart ached at the thought that the Englishman didn’t return his feelings, that he would probably be elated if he never had to see him or deal with him again.
“Did you know that I wanted to be in a band when I was in high school?” Arthur mused, laughing at himself as he put the pants back on the rack.
“Oh? What stopped you?” Francis asked, his jaw clenched tight as he mentally talked himself out of suddenly crying. He would surely be worse off if he did something like that.
“My parents,” Arthur replied, his mood visibly becoming sour. “As you know, they like making choices for me,” He added, giving Francis a small smile.
“Oui, clearly mine do, too,” Francis replied weakly, assuming that Arthur was referring to the arranged marriage.
“Well, hopefully we won’t have to deal with this whole thing much longer. I heard from my parents that your family’s wine business is slowly, but surely, starting back up,” Arthur murmured, shifting through clothes on the racks as he passed by them.
“Oh, is that so? I didn’t know that,” Francis replied, his voice almost a whisper as he started to space out again. He couldn’t help but feel hurt that Arthur didn’t even seem to notice the way he hadn’t been paying attention…
“Really? They’re your parents…” Arthur replied, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at the other man, who was looking down at a shirt in front of him. It didn’t look like the sort of shirt that would usually catch his eye, so the Englishman assumed that he had become bored of the store and zoned out.
“Anyway, do you want to go somewhere else now?” Arthur initiated, periwinkle eyes meeting his. “We passed a decent looking bakery on the way here. I think they might have had macarons.”
“Let’s go there then,” Francis replied so quickly that he made Arthur let out a small laugh.
“You could’ve told me that you were hungry..!”
“Well, I wasn’t hungry until you mentioned macarons,” Francis joked, his mood seeming to lift at the thought of food. Maybe he was just overthinking things because he had gotten hungry.
Nonchalantly, Francis looped his arm around Arthur’s arm and pulled him along out of the store. The Englishman didn’t seem to mind though because he left it there.
“Which way was it?” Francis asked, glancing down at the map Arthur had opened on his phone.
“It looks like it’s that way,” Arthur replied, struggling to point because he was holding his phone, shopping bags, and now Francis was clinging to his other arm.
They eventually found the bakery, which was rather extravagant and expensive, just as one would expect of a specialty bakery in a big city. It was a café as well, so they both ordered a cup of coffee and various different kinds of baked goods. Normally, Arthur would’ve gotten a tea, but he was trying to take Francis’s recommendations, because although he was reluctant to admit it, the Frenchman did have great taste.
They chose a window seat which gave them a nice view of the city around them. However, the sky that had been bright and sunny for the majority of the day had abruptly become gray and cloudy.
“I suppose I jinxed it by saying that I didn’t want to drive home in the dark,” Arthur mused. As soon as he finished his sentence, the sound of thunder rumbled through the bakery, causing the lights to dim for a moment. Then, a heavy rain started.
“Non, I think that there was jinxing it,” Francis replied with a small laugh before he took a sip of his coffee and turned to look out the window in awe. It was unbelievable how quickly the weather had changed.
“Well hopefully it will let up soon,” Arthur murmured, using the side of his fork to cut a piece of the pastry in front of him.
Once again, Arthur had jinxed it. The rain never let up, and eventually the two of them had been there too long. Hours had passed, the sun went down completely, and the bakery was going to close in less than a half an hour.
“Aren’t there any hotels nearby?” Francis asked, standing up. He started to clean up their table, stacking the garbage onto one plate so it would be easier for him to carry it over to the trash can.
“That’s what I’m looking for…” Arthur murmured, bent over his phone as he scrolled through lists of nearby hotels. “It looks like the closest hotel is a two minute walk away, but even so, we’ll still get drenched…”
“It seems that we’re going to get wet regardless, so you might as well call that one and see if they’ve got any rooms available,” Francis replied before he walked away with the garbage.
When Francis returned, Arthur had just finished up his phone call.
“They said they’ve got a room available and they’re willing to hold it for us if we make it there within the next fifteen minutes,” Arthur said as he stood up and started to collect his bags.
Francis gulped when he heard Arthur say they had a room available– a room. Just one? Was it really a good idea for the two of them to share a hotel room again?
“D’accord, let’s get going then,” Francis replied, grabbing his bags, too.
The rain never let up, so they were completely drenched when they reached the hotel. Somehow, running in the rain was kind of fun though.
“Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland?” The receptionist asked, making Arthur blush in embarrassment and Francis chuckle.
After the ceremony, they hadn’t been able to agree on who would take whose name, as both of them were reluctant to give up their own name. The only possible agreement they could come to was to use both of their names with a hyphen in alphabetical order. The alphabetical order part was Francis’s idea, of course.
“Yes, is the room available?” Arthur replied, reluctantly answering to the name.
“Yes, we have it all set up for you two,” The woman replied, a smile on her face as she handed Arthur the key.
“Thank you,” Arthur replied, swiping his card to pay for the room before the two of them went upstairs to find their room.
Eventually they found room 212, which was a rather large room– a luxury suite, to be exact. The only problem was that…
“What kind of joke is this?” Arthur asked loudly, his voice shaking as if he was terribly offended by what was in front of him.
There was only one bed.
Francis let out a heavy sigh and set his bags down on the floor.
“Well, what did you say to the receptionist on the phone?” Francis asked, mostly due to his own curiosity. Did Arthur go around calling him his fiancé, he wondered.
“I said that two people, two men, needed a room for the night because of the storm,” Arthur replied, seeming more and more annoyed and worked up as time passed. “I mean, do I really seem–”
Arthur was cut off when Francis let out a laugh that he failed to hold back. He pretended he was just coughing or choking when the Englishman glared daggers at him.
“You think this is funny?”
“Non, non,” Francis replied, waving his hand as he continued to cough in an attempt to cover up that he was only laughing harder when Arthur got more upset about it.
Irritated, Arthur stormed out of the room and went back down to the lobby, determined to get a second bed.
“Excuse me,” Arthur started, a forced smile on his face as he approached the receptionist again.
“Yes, sir? Was there a problem with your room?”
“Yes, yes, there was.”
The receptionist seemed surprised to hear that there was something wrong with the room, but was eager to help resolve whatever the issue was.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the issue?”
“There’s only one bed in our room,” Arthur replied, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
“Oh, I…” The receptionist’s cheeks flushed, too. “I just thought that because you two have the same last name… that you… Not to mention that the two of you suit each other quite well…” She trailed off in embarrassment.
She then started to hurriedly click through different rooms on the computer behind the counter in an attempt to find a different room before the uncomfortable conversation could continue any further.
“It’s not like that!” Arthur raised his voice defensively, his cheeks now completely crimson.
They suited each other? That was the same word Francis used to describe the coat Arthur had bought earlier. Once again, he was left wondering if it was really a compliment. All the two of them did was fight, so surely the woman, who was merely a stranger, was mistaken.
“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, but the last room with two beds has already been taken. And there aren’t any single bed rooms available tonight either… Again, I’m really sorry,” The receptionist replied, avoiding eye contact with the Englishman after he raised his voice.
“I, um, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled,” Arthur replied awkwardly before he turned around and went back upstairs.
When Arthur got back to the room, Francis was sitting on a chair, drying his wet hair with one of the hotel towels. He glanced up at the Englishman.
“What did she say?”
Arthur ignored Francis and walked past him.
“It doesn’t matter. This whole thing has me exhausted, so I’m going to sleep now,” Arthur eventually replied dismissively.
“She thought we were a couple, didn’t she?” Francis teased, a smirk forming on his face.
“Only because of our stupid last names..!” Arthur replied, getting worked up again. “Now where do you want to sleep– the bed or the couch?”
“Well, since you asked, the bed.”
“Fine,” Arthur replied as though he was disappointed, but too tired to object. In fact, as soon as he heard a response, he started moving a blanket and pillow over to the couch.
“Just because I’m going to sleep in the bed doesn't mean that you can’t, too. We are married after all,” Francis continued to tease the Englishman as he walked over to the bed.
“At this point I wish you would invite the receptionist to the bed so she would get whatever idea she has about me out of her head…”
“It might get that idea out of her head about me, but not about you. Bonne nuit!” Francis replied in a singsong tone as he turned off the light.
“Oh shut it!” Arthur yelled, tossing his pillow at the Frenchman from across the room– a decision which left him stumbling around in the dark trying to find it for quite awhile…
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ifindus · 1 year
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ScotNor Fic-Art
The promised ScotNor surprise as a celebration of 1 000+ followers is here. I am so greatful for all the wonderful writers we have in this fandom, especially those who write for rarepairs, and would take this opportunity to show that. That is why I have drawn an art piece for every ScotNor fic on AO3 that's not written by me with ScotNor as a main pairing - thought it would be a fun project 💖
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Sylfiden - by @hana-noiazei
Quote: “I saw your face when you first laid eyes on me. I doubt you have ever looked at Marianne that way. At the very least, I have never seen you do so.”
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Exile - by @fuckflorida-hetalia
Quote: It occurred to him that Ingve had said “I need supplies”, but Alistair had been taking enough for both of them. Would he really leave his family and everything he had to make sure Ingve made it?
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Of Coffe, Rain and Red Umbrellas - by @roessslyng
Quote: Allis shrugged. And then, with a grin, added, – ye can imagine, that Ah came here tae see ye, if ye wanna.”
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ScotNor/Storm - by @darcymariaphoster
Quote: […] - assuming Brodey had eyes for literally anyone else. But he doesn't, and Sigurd knows it. There's been nothing formal, but Sigurd isn't daft.” or “For all the time they've spent together over the past few months, Sigurd has to say that he enjoys not knowing exactly what Brodey is thinking.
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Anticipation - by moist_meat on AO3
Quote: “You get a reward.” He kisses him, long enough to make him want more and short enough that it wasn’t enough.
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A Little Peace and Quiet - by @randomw07
Quote: "I can't think of anywhere else I would rather be."
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The Witch of Wesmerland - by @hana-noiazei
Quote: Oh. He could hardly breathe. This man did not appear at first glance to be the witch that had risen out of the lake, but he quite clearly was. His hair was now short and fluffy, shoulders wide and strong beneath the velvet; there was something about him that made it nigh impossible to look away.
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longingpolaris · 5 months
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Using mmd for its intended purpose (making anime boys dance)
(Ignore Arthur's jacket)
models: uminosati, NE / stage: StarNoodle495 / skydome: 怪獣対若大将P / motion: Seto
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headingalaxys-spicy · 2 years
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I saw an ask on another hetalia blog that mentioned collecting x reader writers like Pokémon or something, and it made me really curious! What would your team look like if your favorite writers were Pokémon?
Oooooh another fun question.
@thebirdybrigade -Starly
@my2phetaliaheadcanons Xerneas
@kitaychan Mega Lopunny
@yandere-dark-cupid Umbreon
@yanxidarlings Gardevoir
All of which are cute Pokémon because honestly that’s the type of trainer I’d be is one that does concentrate on Aesthetics⭐️
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pom0dorini · 1 year
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i love how the italian part of the fandom has decided that romano calls spain antò i think it's very cute
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council-of-beetroot · 7 months
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I need some genuinely insane fanfic tonight if anyone has any old fics from FF.net that they remember that deals with Russia, Poland, Prussia, or the Baltics let me know but be warned I want absolutely insanity
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snowflake-snowdrop · 9 months
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Currently writing a story right now and I fell down into a rabbit hole and had a brainrot moment.
Russia and the USA has a border, it's the Diomede Islands. The Little Diomede belongs to Alaska aka USA, it has native population about 130 or so, while Big Diomede (also known as Остров Ратманова) belongs to Russia. Big Diomede had native population too before the Russian government forced them to move to the mainland for several reasons such as a military base there and to avoid contacts across borders during WWII and Cold War.
The Bering strait is the only thing that separates the two islands, during winter an ice bridge forms there so theoretically but illegaly you can cross the border whenever you want to. The ice bridge was also called the "Ice Curtain".
Even though both countries are only barely 4km apart, their center of government is very far away from each other. Literally "so close yet so far".
Honestly, my AmeRus heart thinks the Diomede islands is quite cute but also sad.
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ko-fanatic · 3 months
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Who wants a spoiler for the Wales-centric historical Hetalia fic I've been writing? See below the cut.
Warning: There are some dub-con dynamics and implications in the following excerpt, but no sexual content. This is creepy, but nuanced, I hope. Still, if these things affect you, I'd recommend not reading.
“Have you never seen yourself?”
There was humour in Rome’s voice as Rhydian observed himself in the polished silver he’d been handed, turning his face to and fro as the older man had that day. He ran a critical eye over his nose, his eyes, his jawline and cheekbones. The way his hair had grown out from his tribesmen’s old style had left him blinking pale strands from his lashes, and had gotten yet another compliment from the man.
Rhydian fucking hated him. 
“In still waters, yes,” He answered, tone completely civil, “Not like this, however. You were right, I am quite pretty.”
Rome laughed, then, running a hand through Rhydian’s hair and leaning the boy back to rest on his chest. The younger closed his eyes, swallowing hard, but let Rome do as he wished; he didn’t have much energy to spit and hiss as he’d done when the older man first saw fit to see him settle into the “new home” he’d “so graciously” provided. 
The house was beautiful, he couldn’t fault it for that, but it just felt so… unnecessary. Merely decorative. Rome had laughed before about his “mud huts” and Rhydian hadn’t appreciated it at all, throwing the cup of wine the other had given him in his face - staining the brilliant white of his toga - before the young nation marched out of the dining hall and to bed. 
“It’s a personal quirk,” He continued, shrugging, “We have mirrors, too. Made of bronze rather than silver, though.”
“You can see the truer colours with silver,” Rome hummed, “See how lovely your eyes are. The rosiness of your cheeks. Your pretty hair.”
The last utterance was punctuated by a kiss, right on the crown of Rhydian’s head, and the mirror clattered to the floor. 
At once, he was on his feet, chair falling away as he pushed out of Rome’s admittedly soft hold, eyes wild and heart hammering. He called Caledfwlch to his side in an instant, poised and ready to defend, and Rome only met his aggression with more laughter. 
Rhydian dreamed of cutting his throat, letting the blood bubble up every time the older man tried to snicker in that infuriating manner, but he never did. It was better to settle, live alongside the Romans and share their cultures. To just calmly accept it all and roll with the punches. He wasn’t conquered like Albion apparently was. It wasn’t perfect, but an uneasy truce was a truce nonetheless.
And the figs Rome had bought him were sweet. 
His shoulders slowly lowered, breathing out the tension, but his sword still in hand. Just in case. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 
“Has anyone ever told you that you should relax?” The older man asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and Rhydian swallowed against glass shards, “Not every touch is mean spirited, or an attack.”
No, but they could be. 
“You’re right,” He falsely acknowledged, the flesh of his cheek between his molars as Caledfwlch was sent away once more, “I’ve never been good with uncertainty.”
“You really don’t know where you stand with me, do you?”
The words were spoken in the closest thing to sadness that Rhydian had heard from Rome in the past months, nearly year long they’d been going through this back and forth. It made his shoulders slump further, a faint metal taste in his mouth at the kicked-dog expression the other was wearing. 
Am I really the bad guy here?
“I don’t,” He concurred, voice quiet, “Why capture me to release me? Why flounce between Italy and Albion, only to come back here and spend the whole time feeding me strange food and calling me pretty.” 
There was that silence again, but it didn’t stretch as long. Perhaps it was the tentative understanding that starts to build from this sort of time together. Not the same as tribesmen, nothing near, but familiarity. Like how he knows Rome will indulge in red wine until he’s sick several times over, and how Rome knows he likes leek with his rabbit and will nibble on cherries for dessert. 
“You’re more valuable to me as an ally, I think,” Rome admitted, “Your metal work - both weapons-wise and jewellery - is extremely impressive. You make so many small details look so effortless, and craft some truly delicate pieces. You’re also willing to bite and claw and scratch to keep your freedom, no matter how much it costs you. It’s almost inspiring. Besides…”
Rhydian swallowed once again, that sharpness increasing tenfold, blinking back a sting in his eyes at the praise. At the admittance of how talented and tenacious his people were. Feeling proud and yet so, so small all at once, in a way only Rome could accomplish. 
“You have a face that makes me want to dote on you, show you the ways of the world.” 
A step towards him, and another, and another until those big hands encircled his own wrists. Looking up at that soft, guileless smile, he felt his stomach swoop in something dread-adjacent. He wasn’t scared, but was certainly apprehensive of what expectation was held in each gentle touch. Body language exchanged in the silence of the newly built villa and filled the empty space with tension. 
Rome’s face whispered go on without uttering a single word. He let himself be led to the bed - metal and precious and expertly crafted, topped with a soft down mattress - and Rome took a seat first. A guiding hand pulled him onto the man’s lap, and he put up little resistance, but didn’t meet his eyes. 
The older’s hand dipped into the little box on the bedside table, offering its spoils as he was delicately perched. Like he had to be treated gently, like the wind and rain didn’t mould him, like he was soft and sweet. He felt like he was absent from his own body, somewhere to the side of himself, floating in that same space that Caledfwlch disappeared to when he no longer needed it.
Like he no longer needed his mind. Like he could simply float in the ether. 
Rome offered his hand, pressed his fingertips to his lips, and Rhydian took a bite.
The pomegranate was sickly sweet.
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