#aph england is still my comfort character

[mauvaisefoy]

It is amazing about how I kind of distracted from Hetalia fandom in 2019 and then suddenly most of the fans that I see are like 20+. This fandom sure do grow up well and mature up /wipes tears/ we need veteran discount.

Arthur and Francis are as silly as they used to be though

Oh yeah lol, i'm 26, got into hetalia when i was 13 and been running this blog since i was 16/17. It was quite rate to find someone over 18 in the fandom back then but now it's the opposite. Like People who found out about hetalia when they were 13/14 are just sticking to it forever

[oumaheroes]

I posted 1,322 times in 2022

680 posts created (51%)

642 posts reblogged (49%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@needcake

@oumaheroes

@a-luran

@senditothemoonn

I tagged 1,290 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#heroes answers - 527 posts

#aph england - 491 posts

#aph france - 199 posts

#hws england - 181 posts

#heroes headcanons - 154 posts

#hetalia - 144 posts

#fruk - 127 posts

#aph canada - 120 posts

#aph america - 114 posts

#heroes treasures - 113 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#goingto this length to fight for their (unasked for) opinion whilst at the same time saying you're a terrible person for yours is laughable

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Would you mind doing some more america and england angst and hurt/comfort headcanons?

Hmm hmm hmm, I'm not sure how many specifically angst/ hurt comfort headcanons I have for these two, but have these for now whilst I ponder on more:

Alfred has inherited Arthur's inability to ask for help

Whenever he's sad, overwhelmed, or emotionally lost Alfred would rather die than ask for help, especially from England. There's a weakness to it that they both hate, something that feels degrading and raw and strays into an aspect of themselves that they aren't comfortable addressing- that they can't stand alone. That they aren't good enough, somehow, by needing or wanting someone. That this makes them less than, makes them small.

England takes this one step further by refusing to acknowledge personal injury or illness. The more severe the problem the more he'll hide it and he experiences something close to shame about people finding out. There's a lot to unpack there for him, but for both him and Alfred regarding emotions they grew up isolated and alone, learning to self soothe and were either scolded or punished (whether intentionally or just by fate playing a part) for not hiding it. Weakness can be used against you, fears can be capitalised and life will kick you when you're down if you let it. These are lessons Arthur internalised and passed on, unknowingly and purposely both.

Matthew is the only exception for Alfred. He'll talk to him about pretty much anything and everything and will go out of his way to seek his brother out as he always makes him feel better, either by talking him through things or just listening. The more serious the issue, the more Alfred will go quiet and maybe even refuse to talk about it at first, but he will still travel to Matthew if needed to sit with him in silence until he relaxes enough to let go and talk about it.

When things are really bad though, when there's an enemy knife to his throat or fever is fatal, or when he first gasps back to life and the weight of America pushes air into Alfred's lungs, he will think of Arthur and want to see him most of all.

They both wished that they talked more

As pleasant as they are now and how well they get on, their relationship is still very strained compared to what it once was. There's that Boston Tea Party sized elephant in the room between them, maybe less from the call independence itself and more from how it happened- on both sides.

To talk about this, to bring it up and try to get over it or better would require a conversation with emotions. They would both have to admit how they were hurt and do equal listening and speaking to both sides and they're not yet willing to do that (the point I made above comes into play- they hate to admit what they perceived as a weakness by admitting vulnerability).

Nowadays, they awkwardly skirt about the topic, avoiding it at all costs and, although they spend a lot of time together and are openly very friendly, (especially compared to what they were before WWI) it's still so strained compared to what they had before- a ghost of a deep, warm relationship.

They both, however, do very much want these uncomfortable feelings to go away and would like to be closer, although they won't ever admit this. The problem is that they don't know how and aren't willing yet to put the work in to achieve that. Both are also still too stubborn to admit all the faults that they have and mistakes that they made in order for any of this to be possible.

153 notes - Posted March 16, 2022

#4

I kinda wish you'd just write something cute or angsty or both about Baby Alfred and England.

I got u anon, I got u. I have a longer fic for these two and this topic in the works set in a more modern time period, but for now have something quick.

Word Count: 1233

Characters: England, America

-------------------------

'Shhh,' Arthur sighs and rearranges Alfred on his hip, the crown of his head pressed into the crook of Arthur's neck, 'I know. I know.'

'It hurts,' weak fists grip Arthur's night shirt, pulling the fabric taut around his neck, 'Please. Please make it stop.'

Arthur moves again, slow steps that gently rock the child in his arms against him as he crosses from one end of the room to the other. He brings up one hand to cup the back of Alfred's head, feeling the burn of fevered skin, 'I'm sorry, love. It needs to run through.'

Alfred lets out a high moan into Arthur's shoulder. His hair is damp, sweaty from a whole day of this, but Arthur is scared to wash him again. Too much information from too many centuries contradicts, should he undress him? Keep him warm and covered? Wash the sickness or keep him away from the water that apparently now bleeds health away?

Arthur is exhausted.

He had readily listened to the doctors at first, all but allowing them to apply the recommended leeches that Arthur had never had a problem with until they had come close to Alfred's skin. But now, as Alfred grew hotter and weaker and Arthur grew more panicked, he has gone back to older, more desperate advice. It is Alisdair's voice - younger, warped by time- he heeds that tells Arthur to keep him cool. To give Alfred water and sing to him. Offer honey to strengthen him, willow bark to reduce the fever. A cool hand on Arthur’s own forehead, his cheek on rough, home spun wool.

It is night. Almost at the end, morning threatening to brighten the horizon below still bright stars and through the window Arthur can see nothing but the faintest outline of the garden and woods cresting against its edges.

‘Come on,’ Arthur gently places Alfred on the bed and firmly wraps him in a heavy blanket, ‘Let’s go outside.’

The house is quiet, the servants all asleep and Arthur carefully manoeuvres them through, hushing Alfred when he stirs. They would only interfere if they woke and this was something that Arthur felt he needed to do personally, despite their pointed advice and concern. He didn’t want to hand Alfred away to be cared for by someone else, even if that person was familiar, and damn the current customs and etiquette that continue to try and remove him.

‘Look,’ Arthur says once they are outside, ‘Look how bright the stars are tonight.’

Alfred opens a watery eye and peers upwards, head lolling back on Arthur’s shoulder, ‘Why are we out here?’

‘Fresh air will help,’ Arthur hefts him higher, tightening his grip to tuck a fold of the blanket closer around Alfred’s neck, ‘It’s too stuffy inside.’

‘It’s cold.’

‘It’s not too cold,’ the air was crisp but not bitter and Arthur himself felt better just being outside of that house, ‘You’re merely too warm.’

Alfred doesn’t respond and Arthur settles them on a bench by the trees, close to the house but near to the forest like a bridge between worlds.

‘I used to hate being unwell when I was very young. I didn’t have a house all year round and always felt terribly cold outside,’ Alfred lays against him heavily and doesn’t react when Arthur rearranges him to be more comfortable, body limp and loose, ‘You had to put up with the rain and the wind and I always wanted the fire. But then when I did have a stable home, I found that I felt worse inside. I feel better with the wind on me, after all.’

Clumsy and familiar, Scotland trying his best. Still the first thing Arthur’s mind goes to when it cannot comfort itself and he is too weak to stop its wandering to older places.

‘Even now?’

‘Even now.’

A flash of light amongst the trees, the mirror of an eye watching from the shadows. Arthur follows the dark shape of movement, daring it to emerge.

Alfred curls a hand out from the folds of the blanket and lightly holds Arthurs’ arm, dancing his fingers slowly into his skin, ‘When will this stop?’

‘When it is done.’

‘But why.’ He has never been seriously ill before, the sensation entirely foreign to him.

‘Because you’re alive. Because to be of your people is to suffer with them, sometimes.’

‘It’s not fair,’ Alfred huffs and his fingers pause. He sniffs and turns his head to bury it back against Arthur’s shoulder, ‘I don’t want to hurt anymore.’

See the full post

160 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

#3

Fatigue

For frukweek: Day 4  Reminiscing about old times / WWII (I did old times and then fell into WWI)

Also dedicated to @thedisappointedidealist12 who helped to inspire the setting of this story <3

Summary: This war is different. France and England know this more than most

----

‘What are you doing?’

Against the moonlight through the open stable door, France saw England stiffen in surprise.

‘Go to sleep.’ He said in a whisper. Carefully, so as to make as little sound as possible, he pulled the door to and slid the bolt across, cloaking them all in darkness once more.

Belatedly, France realised that he had caught him coming in, not going out. He stepped towards him and impatiently willed his eyes to readjust so that he could get a decent read of England’s face.

‘Where have you been?’

England looked pointedly over France’s shoulder at the sleeping humans around them- English and French soldiers they were trying to move to a new position down the front line where they’d be lost in seconds- and tried to move past him.

France caught him by the elbow, noting the night air coolness of his clothes, and lowered his voice to a low whisper, ‘You were not supposed to be on watch tonight.’

‘I wanted a walk.’

‘You’re supposed to be sleeping.’

‘You’re supposed to be sleeping.’

A man a few feet away grunted. England and France fell silent, watching him adjust his sleeping position and fall still and quiet once more.

France let go but did not step away. England didn’t move either, merely watched him with guarded, sunken eyes as if waiting to see what France would do.

‘How about we both sleep, hmm?’ France said after a moment of stalemate, ‘You’ll only be more irritated with me tomorrow if you’re tired.’

‘I’m always irritated with you.’

‘You are always tired.’

England snorted but quickly recovered, mouth a tight line once more. There was a rigidity to him, made only the more visible now that there was nothing left for him to do to hide it away. Without work or movement, England stood as if expectant of something, tense and awkward like a puppet without purpose. In the dark, all there was left to see of him were the absences.

France nudged his arm with the back of his hand and indicated further into the stables for England to follow. Wordlessly, England gave up the argument and did so, past their mixture of men to a stable box right at the back that they had both initially claimed upon arrival. As soon as he lay down, France’s body grew heavier, his limbs easing into the hay as the overwhelming need to sleep caught hold of him once more. He’d only awoken because he’d been cold alone and, without England there to remedy that fact and only serving to add more worry that France did not need, he’d reluctantly pulled himself up to go looking.

England came to sit beside him, his back against hay stacked along the wall.

‘You won’t sleep like that,’ France told him helpfully.

England made a low noise in the back of his throat and rested an arm loosely on a knee brought to his chest.

There was a small open window high on the wall behind them, split across their bay and the one next door. It gave enough light to outline them both in silver and France watched the way England’s fingers worried the material of his trousers and the controlled way that he breathed.

Too controlled. Too forced.

‘Arthur,’ France heaved himself up to sit level besides him, ‘What is it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

France took hold of his free hand, running his thumb across the dry, calloused skin of his palm. The silence of the unsaid between them grew thicker, balanced on the knife’s edge of breaking.

See the full post

170 notes - Posted September 21, 2022

#2

I wonder would Arthur leave some legends on the sea, like the time when he got stabbed lethally, revived, freaked out his crewmates and convinced them that tear of the mermaids are real.

Word Count: 1K

----

Their captain died last year.

A bullet caught him right in the shoulder during a raid, shot down from a coward in a crow’s-nest and straight through his heart.

It was unnatural, how long he lived.

He suffered for it, taking in slow, shallow breaths of air many hours after he should have done.

In, out. In out.

Chest hardly moving, body still. Blood pooled and staining his shirt, a sticky billow steadily spreading, hands stiff and cold in the fabric. The bleeding had stopped, when there was nothing left for his heart to beat, but his hands did not unclench.

A stubborn refusal to die even in the face of death itself.

They laid him out on the deck in the sun, right in the heat of the midday as he shivered and grew pale. They had hoped to make his passing easier, one of them until the end, and so as his men stacked their earnings and tallied their prizes to be shared, they folded his expensive coat gently under his head so he could see the fruits of the work he had done in their last haul together. The dead that lay around him, stacked and slumped in darker corners. The gold and arms they had taken, a treasure worthy of the loss of him.

Almost.

Years, men whispered, was how long he had been at sea. Years and years, longer than even the longest serving of their crew.

This could not be. The captain’s skin was smooth and young, not the face of a man who’d served a hard life on the ocean- clothes ragged and torn, stiff with salt. Skin burnt and weathered, hearing deafened.

His face instead was young and his movements were loose, no limp to him, no stiffness. No shake to his hands, no ill health to name. One and twenty years to him at most.

But his eyes were old. They had the look of a man who had seen too much, done too much. Understood too much and more besides. They’d catch you from their corners, sharp and shrewd with the tilt of his head and suddenly you’d know, beyond what was possible, that this was no mortal man. It was an ancient maturity who led them, wisdom gained from years not possible for him to have lived and a confidence which proved that he did.

A forgotten creature lost to the times that bore him.

Then he’d laugh, smile hiding the almost truth of stolen youth and his men would forget, perhaps, almost, that something strange walked amongst them.

Their captain died last year.

Long though it took, his chest did still. His heart did stop. His breath rattled for a final time in his chest and then, finally, he was gone, a quiet, drawn-out succumbing to the end of a noisy life.

They threw him over, as was right. His body weighted down with cannonballs and wrapped in the linen from his fine bed, rings and ornaments tucked about him- his passage paid. Trinkets and tokens into his pockets, a small painting of a baby boy safe in a locket.

And yet, here he is.

Leant against the bar, two great swords at his hip. A coat of deep red and beautifully made dark boots.

He is with other men. New men. They seem to know him well enough, laughing at his jokes and buying him rounds. They’re his men as they themselves once were, leaning in to talk to him and reacting with a deference that speaks of service and place, hierarchy following from the ship to the land for that is obviously where they’re from. The sea surrounds them all, no matter where they are, marking them as owned by the ocean and their captain wears this mark with pride like a medal.

Their captain died last year.

He died at their feet and now he turns and grins. Sees them staring, sees them know. Watches as they take him in, the horrifying, unholy miracle of it. Strong arms and broad shoulders, sharp white teeth in tanned skin. Blood in his heart and no hole near his neck.

Ancient eyes that hold them there.

There aren’t many of their old crew left any more. They lost many in a great storm not long after they lost the captain and then five more in a raid last week but there are enough of them left to know. To remember him.

The captain’s new men see them. There must be something about them that causes them to tense up and surround him like a shield, as if this creature is in any danger at the hands of ordinary men. They do not yet know, as they do.

Hands go to swords; shoulders grow tense but then the captain waves a hand to calm them and beckons his old friends forward.

See the full post

273 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I used to stare at my parents until they woke up because I was too scared to wake them up when I had a nightmare as a kid. Idk why but I can see Canada doing the same thing

LOL yes

Whereas America would throw himself at England in the night or shamelessly burrow under the covers of England's bed to join him, Canada instead would just... linger.

Wide, lamplike eyes nervously watching England in the dark, hoping he'll wake up without Canada being the one to wake him. Too cautious and awkward at the start to make the first move but scared and desperate for comfort regardless, Matthew would wait by the foot of the bed or in the doorway wrestling with himself. If there were no signs of movement and England didn't stir Canada would step closer, listening to his breathing for any changes. Hyper aware of everything- any shift in position or change in facial expression- in case that implied that England didn't want him there, that he should leave.

Annoyance, irritation, anger- Canada would keep his attention on England's face and hands, if he could see them, as he weighed up whatever fear or pain that woke him against the fear of being turned away. Was it worth it, to wake him? Would he listen, would he help? Was Canada allowed to be here, would England care? Heart beating loud in his chest, hands sweaty- feeling small and alone, wanting a stranger's concern and affection but not sure that it would be given

Would he be scolded for wanting him? Would he be sent away regardless? He could settle himself most of the time, he was used to silent bedtimes and a flurry of nannies but sometimes he selfishly wanted someone warm to hold him close and keep him

England, used to Alfred's directness and volume, took a while to get used to Canada's way of approaching him in the night. The first few times probably scared him shitless, waking up to a cold hand on his arm and a pair of wide unblinking eyes a foot from his face.

They got used to each other eventually. Matthew would still struggle to be vocal but England grew to be a lighter sleeper, waking more easily to the creak of a floorboard or the rustle of fabric in the dark. It became easier to hold up the covers, a silent invitation without lifting his head for a cold body to climb in beside him if it wanted to

285 notes - Posted April 9, 2022

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[waluigis-837th-testicle]

Soapy Special: Esteemed Birthdays - April 23rd, HWS England

Below is a PL of songs that remind me of Sir Arthur George "Fry-up" Windsor-Kirkland, or as his mates call him, Rat Man. Happy birthday, your crankiness

Guinevere - Crosby, Stills, and Nash

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic - The Police

Velvet Green - Jethro Tull

Nowhere Man - The Beatles

Washing of the Water - Peter Gabriel

Dancing with the Moonlit Knight - Genesis

Hello - Oasis

What the Water Gave Me - Florence + the Machine

No Rain - Blind Melon

Death or Glory - The Clash

Fortress Around Your Heart - Sting

For more like this, feel free to check out this playlist and my other character playlists on my playlist channel! Reblogs appreciated!!

[scandinavienne]

requiem for the damned

aka my longest series... which is still not very long 😅

a little about it: 5 parts total. it is set mostly in london, present-day, in a teaching hospital on the south bank. most of the main characters are doctors, with the exception of emil, kristian (aph norway)’s younger brother, who is studying art, and his boyfriend leon, who is a law student. it’s pretty angsty, there’s a lot of hurting and comforting and references to both major physical and mental illnesses. relationships include: dennor; hongice; swissaus; fruk.

below is a summary of each story thus far. 

1. dragged back, a sleepyhead: 

“You won’t be able to do it, you know. You can’t — you can’t — just walk away from medicine. You’ll come back, mark my word.”

Kristian shakes his head. “Get out, Kirkland.”

Dr. Kristian Thomassen never intended to spend his graduate life like this.

set in london, from kristian (aph norway)’s point of view. in short: something terrible happens, and kristian is forced to work out how he is going to deal with it. also, dennor.

2. cliffhanging

Young, ambitious to a fault, precociously successful, family-oriented. It’s not Thomassen but — by god, it could be. Of course, he’s a damn sight nicer than Thomassen, far less bitter and generally less insufferable — but still, Vasch has to shake himself.

Dr. Vasch Zwingli will have to check himself, if he ever wants to achieve cartharsis. That is, if he even deserves it.

set in london again, from vasch (aph switzerland)’s point of view. essentially, this is about vasch dealing with guilt, and trying to work out what is killing a young man named guillaume (aph luxembourg). also, swissaus.

3. he bleeds flowers

“Kristian,” he breathes, and his brother jumps violently. “Kristian, what’s wrong?”

Emil goes to university, and quite suddenly, everything changes.

set half in stockholm, half in london, from emil (aph iceland)’s point of view. he and leon take a break when emil leaves the uk, and emil struggles with it. in the process, he also finds his brother has been keeping secrets. so – hongice and dennor. 

4. living nightmares

François shakes his head slightly and looks away, but the anger in that instant — the betrayal, the mistrust, the humiliation — has Arthur’s chest tightening, has his stomach clenching, has his heart aching.

Dr. Arthur Kirkland makes plenty of mistakes. Sometimes, there's no one there to make it better.

set once again in london, from arthur (aph england)’s point of view. after he and his team lose a patient, he gets drunk at an office party and sleeps with a fellow doctor he’s been interested in -- but makes a pretty big faux-pas, and has trouble dealing with the fallout. fruk, with some minor dennor.

main characters involved:

dr. kristian thomassen (aph norway); dr. søren andersen (aph denmark); emil steilsson (aph iceland); dr. arthur kirkland (aph england); dr. vasch zwingli (aph switzerland); dr. roderich edelstein (aph austria); leon wang (aph hong kong); erzsébet héderváry (aph hungary); françois bonnefois (aph france).

[askcosplayaphcanada-archived]

INCREDIBLY Difficult Tagging Game

@ask-mr-biscuit you’re like the only one who really tags me in silly stuff like this, thank you! ;A;

//RULES 1. Post the rules 2. Answer questions by person that tagged u 3. Write 11 questions of your own 4. Tag 11 people.

1. Heard of the trolley problem? What is your personal choice to that problem?

I have not heard of it, so I’m unsure how I’d make a personal choice on the matter. Is it the issue of what people call a trolley? Like a shopping kart or a buggie? I don’t know I’m sorry! 

2. Would you rather be poor and have a job you enjoyed or be rich with a job you hated?

Question: can I choose to get rich with the job I hated, and then quit that job for a better one? Because right now I feel like I could suffer however long if it meant helping me get back up on my feet financially, ahh...

3. What’s worse for you, being completely unrecognised after death or completely hated and remembered?

I think...being unrecognised after death....it’s a fate so many of us will share, but it’s also a desire to just...leave some kind of mark on this Earth to show, hey, I was here! However, doing something that would make me remembered but hated sounds extreme, and I’d like to try to make things better, not worse. 

4. What type of media would you abolish if you had to, and why? (Examples are radio, TV, print, etc.)

BUT WHY THOUGH. They’re all needed- they’re all linked together. Print gave birth to radio, and radio to TV, ect- Media grows upon itself, getting rid of any of them would be horrible! ;A; Augh.....I guess....If I’m forced to choose....TV. 

5. Choose a time period to live in!! :D

Ah.....I guess...maybe just a little earlier. Like maybe I could have been a baby boomer like my Mom was, born in 1961. Live through the hippie age, where minimum wage was still a living wage, a gallon of gas was like 20 cents, I could have lived through the weirdness that was the 80′s...Maybe I could have gotten more of a head start on life before the economy went to shit....I don’t know. 

6. Not a difficult one, but… What’s up with all that England hate in the fandom?

IS THERE? I DON’T KNOW??? Why would people hate him???? England is precious and must be protected, he deserves all the love and hugs and HNNGGG I’m seriously curious as to why people would hate on England though. Granted, everyone is entitled to like or dislike characters (I’ve read rants from people saying they hate APH Canada too and it just confused me because?????????) but ahh....AAHHHH THEY’RE ALL PRECIOUS?????? I....I can’t really think of any one character in Hetalia I actually hate??? Now, there are certain fandom portrayals of characters I HATE WITH A PASSION but that’s a different subject matter....

7. If you were to follow a religion or philosophy, (or if you’re already in one, pick another) what would you chose? What parts of that religion spoke to you?

Er....well...I grew up Christian, but I’m not really as in to it as I used to be. Could I choose just to go back to that? I’m not really familiar enough with other religions or philosophies to be comfortable enough with choosing one. 

As for Christianity, I believe in the love thy neighbour aspects. I wish it was more like that, spreading love and acceptance....however, I stopped going to church years ago for personal reasons, and whenever a family member tried to drag me back, I found myself disagreeing with nearly every word that comes out of a preacher’s mouth.  I digress. I can’t continuously go to a place that spews nothing but hatred for anything non-Christian and holds themselves prideful for “being right”.  Ugh. 

(And I know it’s not like that everywhere, but....I’ve given up looking for anything good here. My personal religion now is just that, personal.) 

8. If you could get cybernetics to enhance your natural human capabilities, would you?

It depends. I...wouldn’t say no to having a better memory. Or perhaps getting 20/20 vision again.

9. Would you kill yourself to save 1,000,000 people? If yes, how about 100,000?Then 10,000? If yes, what’s the lowest number?

I would like believe that I would, but the truth is, I’m a terrible coward. So honestly, the answer is, I don’t know. I would have to actually be there in that position in order to make that kind of high stakes decision. 

10. If you really could change your appearance to whatever you wanted, would you?

Who wouldn’t? I wish purple eye colour was a legit thing. And...hrm...I’d like to have a masculine chest. It’d be heckin’ awesome to walk around without a shirt on and it not be labeled indecent exposure. 

11. After analyzing the costs, would you really want to be famous? Like, tabloid level?

Tabloids are intrusive and eeeuguuuhh. I like my peace thanks. However, I still think it’d be cool to be at least a little well-known.

My Questions!

1. What is one thing that makes you irrationally angry?

2. If you could stop one thing from happening without consequence, what would it be?

3. Is it better to see paradise and lose it, or to have never seen paradise at all? Explain?

4. Would you rather be able to fly or breathe under water?

5. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

6. What skill would you like to learn if you had the chance?

7. If you have to live for a year on only one food, what food would you choose?

8. If you met your favourite character face to face, what would you tell them?

9. Do you have any plans ready for the impending zombie apocalypse? ;D

10. If you could have one exotic pet, what would it be?

11. How would you define happiness? 

I’ll Tag: @ask-aph-cosplay-america, @ask-cosplay-femalespain, @askaphgreatbritain, @grandparomeaskblog, @queensolaria, @ask-2p-southitaly, @ask-2pcanadacosplay, @ask-2p-jones, @canadas-googlesearchhistory, @sincerely--alex, and  @ghostie-ghost-the-ghost

Please don’t feel pressured to do this Munday meme, this is only if you want to. ;w;” 

[icelandsgooglehistory]

1. Post the rules 2. Answer questions by person that tagged you 3. Write 11 questions of your own 4. Tag 11 people.

Tagged by @ger-mun-y 

1. What’s your dream country to live in? America or Norway

2. If you could meet one aph character, who would it be? England! ( I wanna eat his scones and I hope I won’t die-) 3. Any gh mun(s) you’d want to meet? @2pnyofinlands-gh @swedens-googlehistory @nyo2p-norways-googlesearches 

4. Comfort movie? The Princess and the Frog or Big Hero 6 (I almost said Baymax...again) 5. favourite music album? Bring Me the Horizon – That's the Spirit 

6. Favourite musical? HAMILTON or the Hetalia musical... 7.Favourite video Game? The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

8. Have any pets? I have a mouse! She’s cute and smol and stops hiding when I watch series.  9. If you could time travel, where (or more, when) would you go? I’d go to two jerks, break into their house, take something very important and then they’d go to jail. Ohh, and I’d slap them so hard. So... when I was seven years old. 10. how many mangas are in your room (borrowed ones count too!) I only have 14 because I sold my other mangas (My heart still hurts) 11. What’s the closest thing on your left? ...My math book.  I am horrible at asking questions... but here you go: 1. Do you think that aliens exist? 2. How do you make yourself sleep when you can’t seem to get to sleep? 3. What habit do you have now that you wish you started much earlier? 4. If you could hack into anyone computer, which computer would you choose? 5. What genre of music can you not stand? 6. Favourite book? 7. Are you an early bird or a night owl? 8. Are you a cat, dog or [insert animal here] person? 9. Do your joints creak and crack? 10. Favourite fandom? 11. Are your hands cold or warm?

I tag (I’m sorry if you’ve already been tagged) : @ask-the-america  @270willow @aph-england1  @ask-the-real-hell @ask-aph-icebaby @2pnyofinlands-gh @nyo2p-norways-googlesearches @nyobelarusgoolgehistory @nyo-canadas-googlehistory @danesgooglehistory @swedens-googlehistory

[bramblepaw]

Literacy & Power

aph eeweek day 2 

Prompts: Historical: Estonian National Awakening + Mythology

Warnings: None

Rating: G

Literacy and schools were the signs of identity and class. If something wasn't written, it didn't exist to the elites... the ones who survived in both pen and name. With foreign ideas of enlightenment, paired with a newfound fascination with the “folk,” Estonia, still young, found his identity to mean something.  He collected words and song, and put them into the tangible permanence of books, and with his close friend, Finland, collaborated to build up a Finn-Ugric national identity.

“I exist!” Estonia proclaimed to the German elites who, for the longest time, had been the only people to live within his lands to access the tools of power and prosperity. He adapted to them, and took von Bock as his name to hid himself in the leagues among them. Literate Estonians grew gradually in number, and he found himself in debt to Sweden with the university at Tartu. But, because oral tradition was treated as impermanent, and not an objective reality of history, Estonia still had no history to wave above the great kingdoms-turned nations; not one that belonged to his people. So, give the elite what they want and prosper to escape from them another day. Unfamiliar myths and song were what prevented Estonia from becoming ahistorical in popular worldview. He had to sing the right way, write the correct things, and maintain a form of antiquity to have a voice.

“I have a history too! So does Finland! Now, I have written proof!” Written proof started the discipline of folklore in places that lacked identity like he did, with connections to a literate society in a medieval past. He had talked to Iceland, Norway, and Ireland, and they showed him their beautiful manuscripts, Finland, who was with him, lit up at the illuminated pages, and collected stories of his own myths and transcribed them in a book connecting Finland to an ancient past, like the others who were finally able to have a voice, however small, in the kingdoms they were forced into. Estonia had taken inspiration from his closest friend and ally, and the only soul whom he knew would not take advantage of him, and his own people's tales were collected and woven into something that adhered to the popularity of German romanticism and literacy, while proclaiming the identity of his people again and again.

The road to independence required acknowledgment, so he and Finland worked together and took different approaches, music uniting them in trying to find a shared history; different from Denmark, from Sweden, from Russia, from Germany. German phonetic guides to Latin characters were applied to Estonian sounds, and Estonian became a a language of literacy. That literacy that put Estonians, as a people, on the map. That literacy that helped fuel his ventures with Finland in recording runesong. It may be a mythical history, but Estonia finally presented the Kalevipoeg as his people's saga to his allies ; Ireland, recovering from the hit of a devastating famine, Norway, a land of superstition and working class farmers and fisherman, Iceland, with a similar story, and Finland, his best friend. They sat together in a room with their languages spread out across the floor, hidden in the shadows of the empires their bodies and people belonged to, united by a desire to one day be kingdoms of their own- like their written heroes and legends. The shadows of those less fortunate ducked behind them; places that would not develop autonomous boundaries like the Saami and the Scots. But, for now, they felt safe and welcomed in the warm glow of candlelight.

Finland leaned on Estonia's shoulder, comforted by shared language, and some semblance of shared identity. They were the underdogs, but their stories were also fashionable, and with the fashion came traditional, valued education. Some of their people could leave their hoes and rods behind after toiling in the shadows. Rising and revolution was coming, and the written word was part of their power.

So, like every other evening, Estonia easily slipped out of Russia's home and ran through the towns and fields, so beautiful with the cornflowers growing between the crops that they very well could have been put there by a giant. He knocked at the door to their library and entered once again to exchange stories about vikings, and kings, and springs; alliteration half from an older tradition, half made up as he went along.

“Eventually,” their little group vowed, “Our ancient heroes will make us strong and wealthy too.”

Notes:

I messed up and missed day 1 I will GO BACK. I have grad school apps and another thesis, plus like three jobs. Please. 

Experimented a little bit to pose my interests in historical theory but in Fanfic Form. Little bit nervous about incorporating that in fiction but hey!! why not?

Iceland was known to be one of the most “literate” societies in the thirteenth-fourteenth century because of the introduction of Christianity meshing with the preservation of an indigenous, oral culture. England and Ireland also had increased levels of literacy among elite classes.

Manuscript production in Old Norse and Old Irish in addition to the Latin culture was pretty unique until the rise of lay literacy in the late Middle Ages.

Finland and Estonia had their national awakening at about the same time beginning in the first half of the nineteenth century up until gaining national autonomy in the first decade of the twentieth century.

“Folklore” as a discipline emerged largely because of a fascination that elite classes had with “the folk,” hence getting things like “Estophilia” among Baltic Germans and a desire to compile traditional songs and trace a shared, Finno-ugric identity.

Unlike Old Norse epics or Old Irish manuscripts, the Finnish epic, Kalevala, and the later published Estonian epic, Kalevipoeg, were nineteenth century compilations of rune song, traditionally orally transmitted poetry, and content made up in the style of either. Literacy and education were key in the post-enlightenment construction of both history and national identity, and also bridged the gap between the German elite and Finno-ugric “folk” recognition.

[astralastrid]

Tagged by: @doodling-time-lord (an awesome, sweet and talented person!)

Rules : Answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better. 

Name: Amelia

Nicknames: Alfie, Alfred, Kernel/ Sanders (by my friend, it’s weird)

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Height: 5'5"

Orientation: Still questioning, but right now I’m going with Pansexual!

Ethnicity: *sweats just a bit* African-American

Favourite Fruit: oranges!

Favourite Season: Winter

Favourite Book: “Everfound" and “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”

Favourite Flower: oooh good question! Roses

Favourite Scent: Citrus

Favourite Colour: cerulean

Favourite Animal: Lynx and Norwegian Forest Cats

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Tea (especially Earl Grey) and Hot Chocolate

Average Sleep Hours: 9

Cat or dog person?: Cats. But I do enjoy dogs, I’m just not obsessed with them

Favourite fictional character: aph America, Yang Xiao Long, and Qrow Branwen

Number of blankets you sleep with: 1, a comforter

Ideal trip: I really want to go to Japan one day! and of course England!

Blog Created: October 2015

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