#lycra lads | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

assortedseaglass · 1 year

Text

Come Back To Me - Chapter Six

Billy Washington x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, Trigger Point (TV) Spoilers

Author’s Note: Thank you for being patient with me while I write this chapter. So folks, here we go…

Word Count: 3.5K

Late afternoon faded into early evening, and London was once again coming alive. School kids, their uniforms disheveled, ambled home. Restaurants were setting tables and chairs outside their premises, a few punters already drinking Aperol Spritz and Bellinis. Cyclists sped past the unmoving cars, desperate to be out of the heat. Billy watched as a tourist stepped into the road, only to be shouted at by a man clad in lycra on a racing bike. He rubbed his face and felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

Billy’d never known a hotter July. Usually, his birthday week was spent away from the city. Away from the noise of a crowded London, with heat emanating from every building and body. As a child his birthday coincided with the summer holidays, and his parents always took him and Lana away to the south-coast seaside for a week. Looking back on his childhood, Billy could measure birthdays in ice creams, sandcastles and beach barbecues. Last year, he had been moping over Becky, who had initiated the first of their many breaks. Ida drove him down to Dungeness, where an old boat house full of friends waited for him. There was Sofia and Faisal, Joe from school, she’d even managed to get a few of the lads from football to come down. They had fires on the shingle beach, cooking fish the boys had caught that morning. They drank until only embers were left in the fire. Talked until their voices were hoarse. Spent the mornings swimming in the cold sea and afternoons reclining on the hot pebbles. Looking back, Billy thought that was the last time he belonged anywhere; at the edge of the world with a few people that had chosen to love him. Now, he was alone. Sweating in London traffic as he drove to pick up friends he imagined didn’t even know his surname.

PING. A text from Lana.

Billy, where the hell are you? It’s not funny now. Police called saying you missed a meeting with them!? Mum and dad are going spare.

He ignored it. They’d called him yesterday, singing happy birthday down the phone before launching into a tirade about where he was. I’ve gone away with friends for a few days. Birthday bender. That’s what he’d told them, anyway. Somehow, he wanted the truth; that he’d spent the morning at Gwen’s before getting drunk and sleeping on a pub floor, to stay hidden.

PING

“Christ, Lana.” Billy was about to silence the phone when he saw the name on the screen. Ida.

Hey, I know you don’t wanna talk, but just give me a message to let me know you’re alright. Hope you had a good birthday, I.

Two things happened simultaneously. Billy’s heart fell to somewhere around his stomach, and his thumb reached out to press the call button by Ida’s name. He stopped. An image of her tear-streaked face looking up at him as he pressed his body against hers flashed in his mind. Instead, he called his voicemail.

You have no new messages, and one saved message. Saved messages:

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Billy, happy birthday to you. I hope you’re ok, Bill, wherever you are, and having a good birthday. Don’t get too drunk.

They laughed sadly.

I left your birthday present at the flat, I hope you like it. It’s Ida, by the way.

To play this message again, press one. To save it -

He pressed one and listened to her sing him happy birthday again. Listened to her sad little laugh. Listened to her clarify who it was, as though he didn’t know every inflection of her voice by heart.

On and on he drove, wending his way through thoroughfares and back alleys. With each turn in the road that took him closer to his destination, he tried not to think about Ida. Or his arrest. Or the disappointed looks of his family. He cranked up the radio, the bass thumping and causing the old car to quiver. Popping some gum in his mouth, he nodded his head to the music. He couldn’t let the lads see him being his usual pathetic self. This was a chance to reinvent. To leave the past behind him –

PING

Mate. Can you call me? I’m with Becky

Fuck. It was Lana again. Truth be told, he had had too much to drink yesterday, and by his 7th or 8th pint had made some questionable calls to his ex at the prompting of his new mates. Sure, Becky had treated him horribly and kicked him to the curb, but no-one needs voicemails of drunken shouting left on their phone. Billy rang Lana immediately.

“Billy!”

“Can you put Becky on?” God, he needed to apologise.

“Where are you? Sounds like you’re driving?”

“I’m driving to meet my mates. Let me speak to Becky.”

“What mates?” Thanks, Lana. “Anyone I know?”

Billy huffed in annoyance. “Just mates, Lana. Why? What’s going on?” He leant his arm against the window and rested his head on his hand. The traffic was slowing again, but no matter, he was almost there. A large group of people was up ahead, blocking the road.

“Listen, Billy, I’m not with Becky. I just needed you to call me.”

“You’re not with Becky?” He didn’t understand. “What do you mean? Why?”

“I need to talk to you. You’ve not been answering my calls, you’ve not been about,” Billy could hear panic in her voice and it only made him bristle more. Did they not think he could look after himself for one day? “Where are you driving to? Billy? Billy!?”

“Fucking arsehole!” A man shouted through Billy’s car window as he drove slowly through the crowd. Billy stuck up his middle finger and carried on. His mates were around here somewhere and if these tossers wanted to block the road then it was their problem, not his. A few people banged on the windows.

“Billy, where exactly are you?”

“Farringdon Tube Station,”

“Sounds busy, what’s going on? Billy, why are you there?”

He looked around at the signs they were holding. Antifa. Against the Far Right. All Are Welcome Here. Realisation was slowly dawning on him. Lana was still shouting at the other end of the line. “Billy! Listen to me. It’s important. What are you doing at Farringdon Station?”

“I was meant to meet the lads here. ‘Outside the tube’, he said, but I can’t see him. Just a load of lefty wankers.”

Lana sighed. “Billy, why did you drive? Was that your idea?”

“Nah, my mate asked me to give some of the lads a lift down. Must be some kind of joke.” The crowd were moving away from the car now, and Billy couldn’t see his mates anywhere. His voice grew quiet. “Yeah, he’s set me up, hasn’t he? They’re having a laugh, aren’t they? Knobheads.” He smiled faintly, if only to stop himself from screaming. Abandoned, again.

“Billy,” Lana’s voice was hurried now. “These new mates of yours, they’re not who you think they are.”

“Lana, what are you on about?” He leant against the window once more.

“Nic. Nic Roberts!” Billy’s mind remembered the large man Warren had introduced him to. “He’s…he’s a terrorist. One of the Crusaders that killed Nut.”

The world stopped for a moment. The heat of the day disappeared and the roar of London died. He thought back to when Warren introduced him to Nic. His opinions were a little extreme for Billy but he had been kind, welcoming, taken him under his wing. Everything came back into focus.

“You’re winding me up,”

“Do I sound like I’m fucking winding you up!?” Lana screeched, though she sounded panicked, not annoyed. “Have any of them been near your car?”

When he’d told the lads about his car, Warren said he knew a guy, Tommy, that could fix it up. All the men had chipped in and called it an early birthday present. It was him who Billy had been driving to meet. When he gave no answer to his sister, she continued. “Look around. Is there anything different about it?”

“Eh?”

“For fuck’s sake, Billy! Listen to me! I need you to check the car for me, ok? Have a look under the steering wheel, or under the footwell, anything that you can see that might be unusual.”

Billy’s voice was small and distant when he replied. “Right, yeah,” His hands followed Lana’s instruction. He grazed them along and under the steering wheel. Nothing. Around the mirrors. Nothing. Under the radio, knocking over some rubbish as he did. Nothing. Under the passenger seat. Nothing. He lifted the foot mat…

“Lana, there’s some masking tape underneath the foot mat,” His breath shuddered as he heard Lana sigh.

“Alright, ok. Can you really carefully lift up the masking tape?”

Billy hummed nervously in assent, slowly peeling back the mat. “There’s…there’s a wire, Lana.”

“Can you see where it’s leading to?” Her voice was urgent.

“Erm, th-th-the glovebox.” Billy hands were shaking and his breathing ragged. He held the catch of the glovebox a while, preparing himself for whatever was to come next. Ida flashed into his mind, and he pulled the handle. “Fucking hell,” he shouted, edging away. “Shit, shit, shit. It’s hooked up to summat. Looks like a bomb.” Panic flooded him. “I’ve got to get out of the car.” He fumbled for the door but Lana shouted.

“No, Billy! Do not get out of the car!”

“If it explodes I’m done for, I’m gonna die,”

“Do not get out of the car! You just need to stay calm and listen to me, alright. Here’s the plan. You need to drive away from the Tube. The police are looking for a safe location.”

A horn beeping behind him made Billy jump, and slowly, he pulled away.

“Right, we’re gonna go to Cranstead Fields, Billy. You know the way, yeah?” Billy almost laughed at the irony. Of course he knew the way. Of course that was where he was going to die, he’d spent so much timing living there.

“Yeah, I know it.” He could see the lads from football that he had grown up with. His favourite tree to climb, and the best one to shelter under. The view from the opposite end of the field, back to his house. Ida on the swings with a can of cider in her hand.

“I’ll meet you there. It’s gonna be ok, Billy!” He rubbed his eyes to push back tears. Would it be alright? Did Lana really know? “When you get there, keep the engine running, alright? Don’t press anything, don’t open the door, don’t touch anything. Stay still, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The first real waves of fear were beginning to wash over him now. “You’ve gotta tell mum and dad I’m sorry, yeah? And Ida,” His voice cracked.

“Billy, tell them yourself. You’re gonna be fine. I’m about five minutes away. Just stay calm, stay focused. I’m nearly there, alright?”

He nodded to himself, trying to brush images of his family from his mind, when a small beep sounded from the glovebox. Billy leant forward. “Shit, Lana!”

“What? What’s happened?”

“There’s a timer, Lana. There’s a fucking timer.” Eight minutes, counting down in red digits. “Shit. SHIT!”

“Listen, Billy,” Lana could hear his panic, hear him pounding the steering wheel.

“Fuck!”

“I’m gonna help you, I swear, but you need to focus, ok? I just need you to concentrate on getting to the park. You’re only a few minutes away. When you get there, drive straight onto the field and it’ll be fine, I promise. You’re gonna be safe.”

Billy’s phone vibrated. “Fucking hell, Lana, my phone’s gonna die.”

“Billy? BILLY!?” The line dropped and Lana swore. Somewhere not far away, her little brother was speeding towards Cranstead, heart full of terror and all alone.

Ida spent the rest of Billy’s birthday at her grandma’s house, helping her in the garden. When the Washingtons pulled into their driveway, she hurried indoors. Only hours before, Ida had told them they were a useless family, screamed in their faces and run away. She hadn’t mentioned this to her grandma, but when Gwen caught Val’s stony gaze following Ida’s retreating form, she surmised that the Washingtons had felt her granddaughter’s fiery wrath. It was no secret, that neither Ida, Billy, or even Gwen, liked the way the Washingtons treated their youngest.

Today, the pair were tackling the vegetable plot at the end of the garden, which backed onto Cranstead Fields. Her bare feet enjoying the warm dirt beneath her, Ida was busying herself with the sweet peas that stood next to rows and rows of green beans. She was tying them into small posies so that more could grow, while Gwen harvested a few of the courgettes and their flowers. Ida felt most content outdoors, working with her hands. She often imagined a life for herself, working as a researcher or teacher then coming home at the end of the day to a smallholding far away from the city. Chickens, a couple of dogs, flowers in the front garden, a sandy-haired man waiting in the doorway…

“Ida, tea!” Gwen called, placing a pot and two teacups on the garden table. They sat in silence a while, sipping their tea as Tiggy purred in the evening sunlight. The ringing of Ida’s phone broke the peace. Lana’s name appeared on the screen. Ida was in no mood to talk to Lana after yesterday; she needed some time to be by herself, to be selfish and put herself first. She cancelled the call. Immediately, it rang again. She turned the screen to her grandma, who read the name then raised her eyebrows. Ida gave her a look that clearly meant here goes, and answered.

“Lana.”

Lana spoke in one, quick breath. “Ida, Billy’s in trouble. These new friends of his, well, I don’t want to scare you, but they’ve planted a bomb in his car and he’s on his way to Cranstead-”

Ida’s scream was near silent. Horror was etched into every pore of her face. “A bomb?” she whispered.

“He’s freaking out. He might be there before me. Can you get there?”

A switch flipped in Ida, and the steely resolve that Billy loved so much about her leapt into action. “I’m at gran’s. I’ll be there.”

She sprinted away from her grandma and down the narrow path by her house. “Billy needs me,” she called back, and that was the only explanation Gwen needed. Barefoot, Ida sprinted towards the park, her cheeks burning, tears fighting to burst free and her breath roaring in her ears. Billy needs me, Billy needs me, Billy needs me, Billy needs me.

She saw him. That ridiculous old Vauxhall came speeding around the corner and disappeared through the park gates, closely followed by multiple police vehicles. Ida sped up, not caring about her feet which were bloody and battered from the pavement. Police tape was already up by the time Ida entered Cranstead Fields, but she carried on running until a policeman grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.

“Step away from the scene, miss,” he said, trying to restrain her as she kicked her feet.

“He’s my friend! Please!” She fought against the man with all her might. “Lana asked me to come, please!” Ida screamed until she was hoarse.

“Ida?” She looked up to see a stout man with dark skin and shorn hair. He was completely kitted out in dark uniform, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

“Has?” Before he could reply, the roar of an engine filled their ears. Lana’s car skidded to a halt, and she exited almost before it had stopped. She made a beeline for Has. Ida, still restrained by the policeman, listened to them speak in hushed tones.

“I’m worried he’s gonna bolt,” Has said.

“Get everyone back, I’ll speak to him.” Lana ran towards Billy as Has approached Ida and the police.

“Billy, I’m here.”

“Lana,” Billy’s voice was desperate. Weak. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, from heat or fear, Lana couldn’t say.

“Alright? It’s gonna be fine.” Lana tried to sound as reassuring as she could. Her heart was hammering in her chest, fighting the urge to open the door and pull her little brother into her arms. “Stay really still for me, yeah? I’m gonna look around the car.”

“You’ve gotta do something. Lana!” His gaze followed her as she walked around the car. He didn’t want to be alone. Not now. He muttered under his breath, phrases between stay calm and I’m gonna die. He looked to the timer. 3.26.

“I’m gonna get out-”

“Stay still! Don’t touch anything, I’m gonna check the car ok?”

“Just hurry!” He sounded like a child and Lana tried to recall her training. Focus. “How bad is it?” Billy asked as she came back to the driver’s window.

“It’s fine.” Lana’s voice was focussed.

“I can tell when you’re lying, man! How bad is it!?”

“It’s fine,” she tried to sound convincing.

“Lana!”

“It’s fine!”

“Lana,” he was starting to cry. Hot tears fell from his wide, blue eyes.

Ida watched as Lana prowled around the car and the other officers talked in hurried whispers. A man, clad head to toe in grey combat uniform, a gun strapped to his back with only his eyes visible, was speaking into a comms device.

“EXPO is at the device. Cordon secure, sniper’s in position.” Ida gasped and ran forward once more, only to be caught by the same policeman.

“Miss, I will not hesitate to arrest you if you do not stay behind this cordon!” An ugly sob rent itself from her lips. She watched Lana hurry back towards Has, and she stilled to listen to them speak.

“The timer, it makes no sense.” Lana said.

“Why?”

“How would the bombers know where he’s gonna be when the device goes off? I don’t get it.”

“A decoy?” Lana nodded and returned to Billy. Ida could hear her screaming to him through the window.

“Billy listen to me. Listen to me! Billy look at me, yeah!? The timer means nothing. They put it there as a trick so that you’d open the door. Can you hear me? Don’t touch it. Stay still. It’s gonna be fine. Listen to me. I’m your sister, ok? You need to trust me! I’m gonna go and get some stuff. You’ve gotta trust me, it’s gonna be fine!”

Ida watched as she ran back to Has and they resumed their discussion. Every now and then, Ida glanced to Billy in the car. He was rocking back and forth, anguish painted across his face. “Lana!” she called out, but Lana ignored her.

“What’s happening?” said Has.

“Billy’s freaked out by the timer, but I’m sure it’s a trap. I need to get him out but the driver’s side might be rigged.”

“Passenger side?”

“That’s where the device is. I don’t wanna risk it, they could have done all the doors.”

As Lana and Has continue to speak, Ida turned to watch Billy once more. He was screaming for his sister, the words indistinguishable but the fear evident.

“Let’s extract him through the rear window,” Has said, laying a hand on Lana’s shoulder.

“LANA!” Ida screamed for her to hear. Both she and Has turned to look at her. “He needs you! He’s freaking out. He doesn’t understand what your saying. Let me go!” She shouted at the policeman. “He needs you there.”

“Ida, we haven’t got the time-”

“He needs someone! Send me! I can calm him down.”

Has interrupted. “That’s impossible, love, I’m sorry. We can’t have civilians at the scene.”

Ida ignored him. “He doesn’t trust you, Lana. Send me!”

Lana stared at her for a moment. Ida was right. Before she could act, the solider in grey spoke.

“Trojan Five Four, suspect is unlocking the door.”

“BILLY!” Lana screamed. Without thinking, Ida broke through the cordon. Billy needs me. She sprinted towards the car. Billy needs me. She watched as Billy struggled inside. Billy needs me. In her periphery, she saw a sniper’s gun raise in her direction. Billy needs me. Lana’s voice drifted towards her on the summer breeze, barely discernible to her now.

“DON’T SHOOT!”

Note: Thanks for all your well wishes! I’m off work and drugged up, but writing this is getting me through. Not too long until the next chapter <3

Tags: @jessssica1234 @anditsmywholeheart @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @aemonds-wifey @slytherincursebreaker @valerie977 @i-killed-ramsey @greenowlfactif @yentroucnagol @schniiipsel @arcielee

#ewan mitchell #billy washington #billy washington x oc #trigger point series #aemond x reader #ewan mitchell x reader

95 notes · View notes

muscular-fantasies · 2 years

Note

hi, i hope you can help me! i'm a pretty mediocre white guy, 27 yo and 6'0'' that spent a lot of his time studying, but i want to change my life a bit. You know, i find lycra, speedos and tight sport gear extremely sexy, but with my body there is nothing to show off and don't feel comfortable wearing that. Could you change my body so i would not feel embarassed wearing those clothes?

The problem isn't the clothes, it's in the material i's made of.

When a mysterious package arrived, you were surprised to see a bottle of deodorant in it. On the label you read: clothes make the man and man can make the clothes. Reading the information on it you thought it was some silly joke, but when you tried to throw it away you walked past your mirror. Looking at your reflection, you got a bit sad. There was it, almost thirty but still not even close to looking like the man you wanted to be. Your glasses hiding most of your rounder face, sloppy clothes hanging over you, even though they were only medium sized. You looked back at the canister and in desperation decide to go for it.

You went to your car and started to drive to the mall, here would be enough guys that could get you what you needed. Walking around for some time, you arrived at a Abercrombie & fitch store, where you looked around for some time, knowing nothing in this store would look good on you. After sometime, when you were about to give up one of the clerics came over.

"Hello sir." The stunning young lad said. "You looking for anything special?"

You look him up and down, almost getting hard from the sight. He had what you wanted the perfect body, handsome, great muscles and they all showed through his work clothes.

"Euh.. yes, could you help me get this shirt in a small?" you asked.

"Sure I'll go look in the back, do you wanna try it out?"

"Yes.. pls" You said containing your lust.

"I'll bring them to the fitting rooms." He said walking away.

You almost ran towards a stall and waited for him to arrive. Once you heard him you yanked him into the stall and quickly before he could say anything you started to spray him with the deodorant.

He stopped moving as his limbs retracted into his body, his skin coloring white.. in a few seconds he had completely changed into an ordinary white shirt. You grabbed it and headed out, back home.

You couldn't believe it, was it actually gonna work.. As soon as you got home you threw got naked and fitted on the new shirt. As your head moved through the collar you felt different. Your mind flooded with new memories of his life.

"Damn this dude had to go for his looks, cause he is so dumb!" You laugh.

Going to the mirror you grinned, as his reflection grinned back at you. It had worked better than anticipated, you had gained his body. Lifting the shirt you flexed your sixpack, but after you removed the shirt completely you instantly transform back.

You felt so bad as your body diminished and putted it back on, looking back at your amazing physique. You walked past your pool, wishing you could just dive in and do one those sexy walking out of the pool struts you loved to see. But the canister had told you not to get the shirt wet or his aura would disappear from it and it would be a normal shirt.

Annoyed that you could only look like this while wearing it, you kicked a chair standing next to you. The moment you hit it you felt your foot sliding and fell into the water. Your shirt started to give off a coloring tint that attached itself to you. Your memories of your original getting really blurry as you dumbed down, to the jocklife you were gonna have now.

"Fuck dude.. Why is my head so.. empty?" You knew you had transferred his being and mindset to yourself. "Fuuuckk.. Guess I'll have to change some big smart dude.."

At least if you would ever have found that canister again. So you better get used to being a dumb jock from now on. At least you can get what you want with that sexy smoldering look.

#muscle gay #muscle theft #muscle transformation #gay transformation #body theft #body transformation #muscle

213 notes · View notes

scrumjock · 10 months

Text

Italian lads in Lycra

16 notes · View notes

faintvibes · 2 years

Text

HISTORIC ART STUFF WOO

In true procrastination fashion, I have picked up drawing historical Hetalia in the midst of deadlines- but take some images anyway? I've got another 4 waiting to be finished, but I'm posting these now in the hopes that I'll switch focus to better things before I pick up the remaining images... (hopefully)

If you're interested in my process through creating these, I have more information on my thoughts, references, etc under the cut! :)

So first (and ironically the most recently completed one): America. I was going to draw this lad in more masculine clothing, but I was flipping through one of my reference books and found a look I thought was absolutely stunning, so ofc I had to use it. My justification is the hc that he crossdressed to hide from British forces/representatives (depsite the image used being dated to the 1710s). Speaking of...

This is taken from a book in the World of Art series by James Laver: "Costume and Fashion". This specific image can be found on page 129 and is captioned (visible at top of image) "Studies of three women, Jean-Antoine Watteau c. 1716-17". The lady on the left has the outfit that caught my eye, while the one in the middle is who I took inspiration from in regards to hairstyle. I found it fascinating to see the differences in fashion between classes- the same basic structures, but the left woman's stays are on full display, held in place by a simple ribbon. And her stays don't show a hint of decoration, unlike many from the time. Certainly not something the other two would be caught dead wearing, but I quite like it.

Since the image has little colour, I was free to play with my own ideas (though I likely would have anyway). Since my excuse was that this is during the revolution, I figured linking back to the American flag would be a neat touch- hence the blue skirt and white ribbon (not exactly the shades used, but I didn't think of that at the time). You might notice that red's missing from the equation, which I decided on due to the famous redcoats of the British army at the time. I thought about using a red-brown for the stays, but I liked the brown I settled on and figured that probably wouldn't have been the most common colour on the cheap anyway. However, the white of the ribbons is ever-so-slightly red, and I used a grey-red colour to shade it. That detail is meant to be rather subtle however, as I imagine America wouldn't have wanted to use anything red as a disguise at the time. The green top might seem a bit out of place following that logic, however I had a different idea when it came to that. Originally I thought of green because of how it worked well with blue and brown, but a recent (ongoing) project involved me researching meaning by the colour, so its association with growth and renewal seemed fitting for the whole revolution plot. Though, it could also like to the green fields and rolling hills you can find in the east coast- the ground on which the revolution was fought.

The background colour isn't so thought out- I just picked one that didn't take away from the main image.

Now next we have Prussia, who's dressed in a formal suit from the 1820s- specifically, 1829- as seen in the reference photo I used:

This is from "A History of Fashion: From Loincloths to Lycra", written by Jacqueline Moray, created and designed by David Salariya- with a small team backing them up. It's incredibly detailed, and each page features small images of people across each time period discussed (one of which I've used for my reference) which helps with variety of dress. I do have to note, however, its lack of poc representation- with figures of any skin colour other than white only displayed in the Ancient Egyptian section and from the 1920s onwards. Furthermore, a crayon-like texture is apparent on darker skin tones- for no apparent reason. I'm not normally one to call attention to limited representation in these sorts of books- it's incredibly frustrating, but I get the thought process of "European/western fashion, European [looking] people" but the fact that they begin to appear after a time and the weird texture is... highly suspect.

But none of that relates to Prussia! This figure (the middle one, in the turquoise coat) can be found on page 24 of the book, and I've taken the outfit practically verbatim- minus some changes in colouring. I kept the shoes, under suit (under under suit?) and socks, with my changes originally going to be a grey/red colour theme... before I remembered that Prussian Blue exists. My whole idea I had going into this drawing was the sort of obnoxious peacocking that feels very on-brand for Prussia, and using a colour literally named after him sounded perfect. I decided to make that the overcoat's main colour, with a smidge of red around the vest collar to contrast it. Apart from that, I kept the grey and detailed with various buttons, primarily gold in colouring (with an exception for the larger ones on the overcoat, which are a darker blue).

Additionally, you may notice that he is blushing in the drawing I've done. There is no special meaning to this, other than that I'd noticed- while browsing images of him in order to reference features- images that appeared to be official/from the manga (I was just scrolling, and so didn't double-check) often depicted him with a bit of blush along the edge of his cheeks. Frankly, that's adorable and I had to include it.

And the last we have is New Zealand- or, my interpretation (one of). As I've stated previously (buried in the tags of an earlier post, good luck finding it) I have always thought of feminine/female, in part due to the lack of such representation in the Hetalia canon. Admittedly, though, my decision is influenced by my own gender identity and a want to relate to the character that represents my country. I alter the appearance of my country from their canon counterpart mainly due to a lack of satisfaction with what there is in canon for Aotearoa (and this is not something that just applies to my country, but it is the strongest in this instance) and the feeling that the character I see for my country doesn't represent the one I know. Though it's important to mention that how I choose to represent my country isn't static- it often changes, and you'll likely not see the same two NZs ever in my art, (unless it's an instance like my oc Kima, who was originally an interpretation of my country but was roped into another project and became individual in her own right. I draw her a lot, and her appearance is static, though I doubt she'll appear often on this blog.)

With that out of the way... I had two main reference images for Aotearoa, both taken from "Dressed: Fashionable Dress in Aotearoa New Zealand 1840 to 1910" by Claire Regnault which, by the way, is the best resource I have ever come across for early NZ fashion, and- while approaching the topic largely from the perspective of colonists- details how both Pākehā and Māori clothing evolved.

Both are illustrations by George Angus, the former (page 27) is taken from his book "The New Zealanders Illustrated" which covers how Māori dress changed due to colonisation, which was published in 1847. The latter (page 49) is a painting by him of Toenga (a hine of Ngāti Maru), depicting her in a traditional (though, slightly modernised) harakeke kākahu (flax cloak) as well as a European-style hat he describes as very fashionable among the Māori women of Auckland at the time. While I haven't incorporated the hat into my illustration, I have taken the cloak and red balls of fabric used- a detail Māori weavers began to incorporate upon trade with Europeans- though not the further red lines, since I have limited experience with illustrating this sort of garment. I've taken inspiration from Toenga's pose as well, particularly with how she holds her kākahu to slightly disguise her face (though NZ barely does). As for the other reference, I focused mostly on the hair textures and skin tones depicted to gain an idea of what I wanted this NZ to look like. While Māori hair remains most commonly black or very dark in colour (in my personal experience), I went for a very clear brown tone to call into her Pākehā links. I also initially went for a darker skin tone, but ended up choosing a lighter one for this reason. I additionally considered making her eye colour more noticeably European (e.g. blue, green) instead of brown, but ultimately decided against it, limiting myself to a lighter brown colour. At this point in her history I headcanon her as being primarily linked with her indigenous population, but she isn't absent of European heritage. As colonists begin to take more from her, I can see her becoming more westernised- but that is not yet something she has largely faced (key word being largely).

For similar reasons, I wanted her to have a tā moko tattoo. I am no expert in this art- my knowledge is limited primarily to the placing of the tā moko on the body in different instances and some of the common patterns- so I also sought out a reference for this. I used the book "Tangata Whenua: An Illustrated History" by Atholl Anderson, Judith Binney, and Aroha Harris. It is a goldmine of Māori history (as the title may suggest) and features many depictions of Māori people and events- this time from a primarily Māori perspective. The individual whose moko I referenced is pictured on the front cover, but is discussed in more detail on page 483:

Since I've taken taken my depiction from an actual person's moko, I cannot apply any special meaning relative to NZ apart from the cultural significance of the tattoo: the passage into adulthood, traditionally, though it can differ in the modern age. Internally, I warred with myself over distancing the design I have used from my reference more- after all, every moko is unique to the individual and the last thing I want to do is step on someone's cultural identity- but I am hesitant to do so. I am not greatly knowledgeable about tā moko and I can't help but feel as though I may be making a greater misstep in altering the design myself.

I did, initally, have another image to add here- I'd drawn an image of Canada in the following outfit (page 21 of the same book I referenced for Prussia):

But I wasn't fond (at all) of the pose I used upon finishing it, nor my attempts at the intricate detailing. But if you're interested, the idea behind the image was a bit different to the others. This is the sort of suit a French nobleman might wear in the 1790s- quite a while after Canada became British territory, though I'd been interested in the thought of him looking quite out of place dressed so fancily. So my idea ended up being France (kidnapping him?) deciding to loop Canada into a day of "nostalgia", bringing out old outfits and convincing his old colony to put one of them on. As such, I added a few more modern details to hint at this reality- painted fingernails, for one, and Canada's hair wasn't a wig, but his own styled in a small ponytail (with the ribbon). I may redo it eventually seeing as I was fond of the premise, but I had another idea for a Canada image that will be released whenever I finish the second set. This one was originally a vague notion of Nyo!Canada (her design is adorable) but I wanted this one to draw more from Inuit roots, and so her design will reflect that. Not really recognisable as canon Canada, but a Canada nonetheless.

Apart from that Canada, the other designs I have sketched but on hold are the following:

France, in the clothes of a Norman nobleman from the 1150s- looking slightly older than the young France depicted in Hetalia canon but with a noticeably innocent expression

Germany, looking very unimpressed in a wedding dress dated to 1878 (modern Germany, old wedding dress)

A joint depiction of Nyo!North Italy and Nyo!Germany with slight GerIta, which can be dated to sometime from 1910 to the 1920s, though more likely the 20s than the 10s (look, I had two dresses slightly different time periods, and an idea)

And if you've made it this far through my very long-winded explanation about these drawings that each hold a little bit of my soul, I applaud you and am very (very) thankful. Please feel open to discuss further with if you'd like- I value every second you spend entertaining my thoughts :))

#hws america #crossdressing because the king deserves it #hws prussia #hws new zealand #hws aotearoa #uhh the time periods are ambiguous 1700s 1820s and 1840s ish

4 notes · View notes