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verrryyy late post cuz i almost lost my tumblr password lol

this is supposed to be posted on 24 august. shame on me. but anyway,,,,, I'M STILL ALIVE!!

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If you're reading this I just want you to know that I've always been watching you since 2016. I've witnessed much of the evolution of your arts :) I'm so proud to see you improved this far. Thank you for always being in UkSpain until now.

wah this ask had me in tears🥺🥺🥺🥺tysm for your heartwarming message I'll do my best to keep fuelling this ship

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just a wip. will finish later for 24 agt

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Hello Rin! (●’◡’●)ﾉ

How are you? I saw your recent post and it looks amazing! I like your style a lot!

When did you get into hetalia? Whose your favorite character? Also in the list of your ships you mention romamona - I don't recognize that pairing. What characters are those?

What headcanons do you have for EngSpa? Has that always been your otp?

Have a lovely day and keep up the good work with your art! -🪽

hi! thank you. i'm good

i got into heta circa 2014-15. next year will be my 10th anniversary in uk/spain ship lol

romamona was romano and monaco ship.

i have so much hcs for engspa which u can find in this acc!

tysm!!!

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Tengo muchos dibujos del año pasado pero trataré de postearlos seguido para que no se sienta tanto (??)

Primer post del 2024 y son los SpUk ♥️ Good Omens que le regale a mis amiguis Dary y Robin 😭 me hizo muy feliz conocerlos ♥️

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im so excited for their final match@euro 2024😭🫶🏻🙌🏻

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credits for the images:

letstalkpalestine

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not french kiss but british-spanish kiss

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"it's not like we haven't married to each other yet, right?"

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Hi hi what's ur MBTI-type? :0

intj-a

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alice and her sugar mommy

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my taste in crossover ship is ivan x fem!childe

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Some people like to play cards, whilst others read or practice sport.

Antonio’s pastime would see them all dead,  and his dearest wouldn’t change it for the world.

—-

EngSpa | E | Read the tags and warnings pls

Day 6 of @hetaberian-hetaevent: “I got your back, no matter what.”

Read on AO3

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Chained

engspa; 806 words; gen; for @needcake

"You.”

“You.”

“Leave me alone…"

"You're the one on my bed."

Spain shoots him a glare, though it is too tired to really mean anything, and he raises his left hand into the air. It doesn't travel far; with it rattle chains, a single cuff attaching him to the bed frame. Arthur briefly purses his lips while he thinks.

It was not an order he gave. But, he supposes he will have to roll with it, and treat it as though it is. His advantage surely depends on it.

“Since you’re here,” the blonde begins, wandering past Spain and to his desk to busy himself with papers long dealt with, “I may as well give you a little update on where we now stand…”

Spain scoffs, quiet, weakened. “We don’t stand,” he replies. England glances at him over his shoulder, perplexed, but the other stares ahead at the door back out to the deck. His freedom. His escape. “I am on your ship, sitting on your bed. You stand. You are in the better position, here.”

He turns to England. There is no fight left in his eyes, like there had been only an hour before. It is as though it sailed away with the other’s crew the moment they were told to return to Spain, tail between their legs. Maybe he realised, as soon as he was dragged onto the wrong ship, that fighting would get him nowhere…

“There is no update to give me, England,” Spain duly concludes. “Do what you will, I no longer care. You did what I asked of you. The rest…” He pauses. His eyes drift back towards the cabin door. “The rest does not matter…”

Arthur’s confusion remains intact. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what has happened to the other’s bravado, the fire he used to have, the near-tangible bite to his words that Arthur could feel every time they crossed paths at sea or on shore. It makes no sense. Spain is still a global power, an empire, an enemy. Yet, fatigue clings to him like a shadow, hanging under his eyes and crawling in his veins.

It is only when the other sighs and fixes his position (he lifts his bare feet up onto the bed and faces England, though he still refuses to look at him directly) that the Brit notices the blood, not yet fully dry, dripping down the side of his face.

He was not the one to spill it. Seeing it makes his stomach lurch.

Without a word, he walks again—this time, to a cabinet—and finds in one of the drawers some old cloth. There is some fresh water in the basin. The least he can do for him, he feels, is to help clean him up.

Naturally, Spain is wildly perturbed when England appears right next to him with a damp cloth. He asks, “What are you doing?” with the wariness of a child, and England—Arthur—who lacks the patience he wants to have, simply takes a hand to the other’s face and turns his head to begin carefully wiping away at the little red streams.

“Just because you are on my ship for the foreseeable future,” the blonde muses, “does not mean I want to hurt you.”

He catches Spain's gaze as he peers out of the corner of his eyes. He is still tense, he is still reluctant to trust him. Though… that is only fair. England—Arthur—has not been kind to him. Not for years. To fear his hands and intentions is far wiser than lowering his guard.

At least, that is what he thinks, and what he thinks Spain thinks, for the first few seconds. But as he dabs and dabs away, one hand wiping away his enemy's blood, the other hand becomes subjected to something all the more unexpected: Antonio leans into his palm, eyes closed, walls down.

Arthur is stunned, but says nothing, lest he ruin it.

Still, it takes him back. The feeling of holding another—of holding Antonio specifically in such a way—reminds him of a brief time between them he had long thought discarded. As impossible as it sounds, Arthur has… missed that, a little bit. He has missed the tenderness and warmth that they had once shared. Perhaps Antonio feels the same. Perhaps that is why he does not fight him. Perhaps that is why Antonio wanted Arthur to stay away from him before…

His thumb cautiously strokes over the other's cradled cheek. Antonio hums, raspy and dry, and he seems to now hang precariously on the edge of sleep, serene.

Arthur continues to gently clean his face while there is no resistance and wonders, in the meantime, if they can ever forgive each other for the things they have done, the people they have hurt, and the others they have loved.