#Hetalia Day

[hetalianhistorian]

Happy Hetalia Day 2024!! (10/24)

Source link: https://twitter.com/hima_kaz/status/1352572794144342018

It's quite late in the day where I am currently posting this, but I thought it was important to still post something for a very important fandom date. Happy Hetalia day, everyone!!

[samrut]

Happy Hetalia Day 2023! 🌎

[My chocolates got a bit sweaty in the fridge. 😅]

[italiaveneciano2024]

Happy Hetalia Day!! ✨🇮🇹🇩🇪🇯🇵🥂🍾🍷

[aph-japan]

{Hetalia} World Stars {+World Series} Kiku Honda {Japan} x "IDOL" Direct Link: {HERE} (Go to the link to view in high quality!!) {NOTE: This A.M.V. may display wrongly at times. If it does not display above with the embed, Please feel free to check the direct link, Which should work at most times!!} Anime Music Video / A.M.V By Me / @aph-japan {Do Not Repost or Reproduce My (+Video) Editing without my Permission} {Do Not Remove Caption} Featuring various dynamics of Kiku's starting in earlier history, also partially based on the stories implied more within the strips {such as "Black Ships Have Come" with Alfred, "Mr. {Holland}" with Netherlands, and "{Alliance} between two Lonely People" with Arthur} going into the modern era {Herakles}, but others {Feliciano + Ludwig, also Yao} - appear briefly in between too. (It's partially complete, but most of it is there.)

Short Summary:

"You, perfect and {a liar},"--

Short Summary {Continued}:

"You, perfect and {a liar}, are 'like' a {genius idol}…"

"I don't know anything about 'falling in love' 'with someone'."

Original commentary and lyrics source under 'read more'!

Long Summary:

There are people who "wear their hearts on their sleeves", and those who "mask" their feelings.

"Aishiteru", in Japanese, is not something that can be said easily.

"There are lies that hurt people, and lies that can {save} people." - Kido Jō, Digimon Adventure 02 (Japanese version); Ep. 16 "You, perfect and {a liar}, are 'like' a {genius idol}..." "I don't know anything about 'falling in love' with someone." For lyric{s}, check the following!:

[hetaliatrashxoxo]

Hetalia Day 2023

(I accidentally wrote 2024 lmao so I had to change it)

[mr-magoriums-im-sorry-emporium]

if i woke up in taylor swift's body id tweet out "watching hetalia! it's SOOO funny" and turn my phone off

[crispyliza]

Fanfiction in the late 2000s-early 2010s was wild bc you'd find a beautifully written story with the most compelling heart-wrenching plot you've ever seen and the author's note would be like:

Author with a username like ~SasukesWaifuxD~ : Ohayo gozaimasu! ↖(^▽^)↗, I'm sowwy it took me so long to update (๑•́_•̀๑)

tsundere twink from their fic : It was about damn time you idiot (눈‸눈)

~SasukesWaifuxD~ : Hey now! It's not my fault the plot bunnies kept wunning away fwom me (╥﹏���)

tsundere twink: W-watever, it's not like I missed you or anything (💢,,>﹏<,,) b-baka!

[applefruitluver69]

happy hetalia day(?)

[renonv]

Here comes the Sun himself ☀️

glassless versión

[lemonerix]

fixed up my templar sketch bc he's just so fun to draw :DDD

[khloxxy]

🇨🇦🎂

[samrut]

[Did a draw of Mr. Turkey. Different colourways under the cut.]

[sunnylolli]

A small alternative text, because imagining England thinking to himself that, maybe in another life and another time, he has an ordinary life - And that life is just my Punk Dad Au

[crepegosette]

local witch takes her kids to a midnight ride

[hydraespacial]

@usukweek

Day 4: Nyotalia

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.