#in hetalia fics

[netherzon]

I Will Reign King at Sea

FINALLY, I have started posting the pirate Gerame fic I’ve been working on (research) for almost a year now! I’m really excited that I’ve finally gotten to start actually writing it, hopefully y’all like it too ^u^

Ao3 link here (with more tags), or you can read ch1 under the cut.

Thank you to my friend Lauri for helping with some of the translations <3

RE: historical inaccuracies, I am trying my best but also changing some things on purpose cause its fiction and I like the story better that way. I will try to add notes clarifying whenever I write something in a way I know is historically inaccurate. I’m also not a sailor, the boat terms are what I’ve picked up online. If you suddenly find yourself needing to sail a two or three masted ship, do not use this as a guide.

Chapter 1: Heimweh (Pt 1)

4,467 words

Coming to London had been a mistake.

It’s the first coherent thought Ludwig has as he’s coming back to consciousness, head pounding, still feeling like the Earth was swaying beneath him. They really went overboard last night. He can’t remember having a hangover this bad in years.

Why did I go along with Gilbert like that?

His brother had taught him to never turn down a free drink though, and the man had been pleasant enough company, even with Ludwig having to translate back and forth for everyone. He’d said he was a sailor, celebrating his last night on land before heading out across the Atlantic the next day.

Maybe it wasn’t London that was the mistake then. Maybe it was just going out drinking with Gilbert in London.

Too tired and in pain to open his eyes just yet, he runs through a checklist of his other senses first. Taste: bile, his mouth is dry, his throat is sore. Gilbert would say that’s the fault of subpar English beer. Touch: his clothes are damp, what he would expect after waking up on the side of the road or in an alleyway after the morning fog has rolled in. If he’s lucky it's only that, puddles and fog and maybe some beer, rather than something worse. He’d gone out in one of his nicest waistcoats after all. Sound: people are yelling, moving things all around him, creaking wood and the sound of water. He was probably still close to the river then, at least. He could find his way home with the river as a landmark. Smell: salt, just salt. It overpowered all the other smells he was expecting. He didn’t remember the Thames smelling like a salted herring had been shoved up his nose, but it was borderline painful.

And why can’t I feel the ground?

Something is wrong.

Slowly, Ludwig opens an eye. Instead of the sky he imagined, he is greeted by the sight of wood above him, dark and solid, coated with tar and keeping light out. The gaps between planks are sealed with a mixture of tar and rope.

It's to keep out water, his brain provides for him.

The ceiling moves, too. Or, no, that’s him. He’s the one moving. Whatever he’s lying on rocks slowly back and forth like a pendulum. A hammock. The kind they use on boats, so sailors don’t roll out of their beds in their sleep. Usually he might admire what an ingenious solution that is, except I’m not supposed to be on a boat right now why does it seem like I’m on a boat right now because I can’t be on a boat right now that’s not possible—

He sits up properly for the first time. Everything else is wood, too. The only light comes from open hatches in the ceiling and cutouts in the walls. Men are still rushing around, unaware of his mental crisis. They’re facial hair is neat (for now). Their clothes are plain but clean (for now). He can’t smell them through the salt crystals that have been growing in his nostrils while he was unconscious, but they look like they’d smell fine (for now).

Oh fuck, I’m on a boat.

Walking is harder than he imagined. Not only does the motion of the ship ruin his balance, but his shoes were also stolen. The wood under his feet is cold, and the tarred ceiling isn't foolproof. Every odd spot of slimy algae he steps in makes him cringe.

He wanders somewhat aimlessly, unsure where to go, or who to talk to. Though the ship is buzzing with activity, everyone else seems to have a task. It’s confusing. It's disorienting. None of the men pushing around barrels, taking stock of supplies, or turning in for their own break pay him any attention at all. He wants to find Gilbert, but he feels guilty thinking it, knowing how bad it would be if his brother were trapped here with him, especially when he doesn’t speak English.

For now, he settles on reaching the top deck. It feels like it could only have been a minute or two since he woke up here, and already he’s craving the feeling of the sun on his skin. He’s never thought of himself as claustrophobic before.

What a terrible time to learn something new about yourself.

The top deck has even more activity. Not only are people moving barrels around and counting supplies, but now there’s ropes involved too. The sky is blocked out by a spider web of hemp and canvas, sticky with tar just like the deck. The cold dampness of the wood is even worse up here. There’s no more protection from the sea spray or the wind, and they both cut through his clothes like a knife through soft butter. It makes him shiver in ways even the constant London rain hadn’t achieved. His eyes bounce back and forth: stairs, sails, ropes, wind, barrels, voices, boxes, rats, waves, people, salt, cannons. It’s a cacophony for all of his senses. The day feels cold despite the sun.

Somebody bumps into him, almost sending him tumbling back down the stairs. They barely spare him a glance as they disappear under the deck.

He squints against the sunlight, forcing himself to look beyond everything around him, but there’s nothing else to see. Just water. In every direction, all he can see is water, so bright reflecting the sun that it's painful to look at. Even his gaze is trapped on this ship.

“Ludwig!” he hears a familiar voice say behind him.

He turns to see his older brother watching him across the deck. He’s half guilty and half relieved. It was so nice to see something that made sense, someone familiar, his immediate instinct is to hug him and not let go until they reach land again. “Bruder,” he says as he quickly moves closer.

Gilbert doesn’t look to be in a hugging mood, however. His brow is lowered, his eyes dark and serious. His whole body was as taught as the rope he was pulling. His fists were clenched tightly, white(er) knuckles and all. It was the most upset Ludwig had seen him in a long time. He didn’t say anything else.

Ludwig reaches to loosen Gilbert’s grip. He takes hold of the rope, and wraps it around the first wooden peg he sees, uncaring what the rope or the peg are meant for. Then he takes hold of Gilbert’s hands. They’re blistered red and rubbed raw, despite all the calluses he’d developed in the military. The color stands out grotesquely on his pale skin. “Wie lange bist du hier?” Ludwig asks with concern. “Wie spät ist es?” He looks at the sky, as though the sun would tell him. In theory it could. There are people who know how to tell the time using the position of the sun and some fancy protractors. But he doesn’t have that skill. He’s never needed it before.

Gilbert remains silent. He notices now that Gilbert’s feet are also bare, like Ludwig’s, and he’s wearing the same loose white shirt and pants as the sailors around them, unlike Ludwig. Strange, he could’ve sworn last night Gilbert wore his—

“Sie haben meine Uniform geklaut," Gilbert chokes out, angry and miserable. One of the hands Ludwig is holding clenches into a tight fist.

Well, that explains things somewhat. Gilbert took a lot of pride in his uniform.

“Wer?” Ludwig asks.

“Ich weiß nicht,” Gilbert says with more visible anger this time. “Sie könnte geklaut worden sein bevor wir hierher geschleppt wurden oder danach. Sie könnte schon über Bord geworfen worden sein!” the thought makes Gilbert shudder, “Ich weiss nur, dass ich praktisch nackt aufgewacht bin und niemand mir sagen wollte, was Sie mit meiner Uniform gemacht haben!”

“Dann?”

Gilbert’s angry look focuses more firmly on Ludwig, and at the same time becomes a little softer, “Wie sieht es aus, Ludwig? Dann haben sie mich an die Arbeit gesetzt. Du bist Arzt, du bist schlauerer als das, Bruder.”

A slight smile reaches Ludwig’s face. Seeing his brother’s familiar defiant attitude brings him the first sense of warmth he’s felt since he woke up. “Medizinstudent meinst du,” he corrects out of habit.

He earns an exaggerated sigh in response. A gust of wind blows along with it. Behind them the rope unravels, and flies across the deck. There are shouts as one of the beams holding the sails twists suddenly around the mast, narrowly avoiding the mast behind it as it catches on other ropes which are probably important. A man is left dangling from the end of the beam.

Gilbert jumps back into action, grabbing the rope and holding it in place while Ludwig stands there in shock. An angry voice carries across the deck, “Who left the brace unsecured!?” Ludwig watches someone help the man hanging off the end of it climb back up. Gilbert turns towards him, mouth open to say something until he grimaces at something over Ludwig’s shoulder. That’s when the man from last night appears.

He storms towards them from the other end of the boat. The thumping of his leather boots on the deck announces his fury before he gets close. When he sees Ludwig’s face though, he suddenly smiles.

“Oh! You’re awake,” the man looks him up and down. “That's good! Would’ve been quite a waste if you’d died,” he jokes.

He looks a decade older than Ludwig, with a dark beard and hair made wavy by the salt in the air. His short blue jacket and mariner’s cuffs matched the color of the water and sky all around them. He had the cocked woolen hat typical of sailors. Absurdly, the shape suddenly reminds Ludwig of Apfelecke, and the stab of homesickness is sharp. A whole year living and studying in London, missing his home, and now he’s been dropped here, where the world is just salt water.

What do they even eat on boats? I don’t even know.

The man continues smiling jovially at Ludwig, holding out a hand to shake. Over his shoulder, Ludwig can see some other sailors pulling the dangling man back up. “I don’t remember what name I gave you last night, but you can call me Hal now.”

“You…don’t remember your own name?” Ludwig asks, thoroughly confused.

This question makes Hal laugh, but not in a kind way, “No, son, we go by many names in this line of work. It's a matter of…professionalism.” His mouth crinkles with a smile. Somehow he makes it seem predatory.

Ludwig makes a noise of acknowledgement, and intentionally glosses over how criminal that sounds. Whatever hope he had that this whole thing was a mistake is being tossed out the window. Or maybe tossed overboard, in this case.

He’d heard rumors of men being press-ganged for naval service, but none of the men here were wearing navy uniforms, and he couldn’t imagine what they’d want with him and his brother. There were so many disadvantages to this plan. It was obvious in the way Hal glanced past Ludwig and sneered when he saw Gilbert there pretending he knew how to secure the same rope he’d been holding earlier. He was looping it around itself in a facsimile of knot tying, all the while trying to hold it steady against the wind manually.

“If I may ask,” Ludwig glances again at Hal’s fine clothes, “sir, I’m afraid I don’t remember much of last night, how did my brother and I end up here exactly?”

Hal strokes his beard carefully, “Right, well, you’d have to talk to the Captain ‘bout that.” He points to the back of the boat, where there’s a set of doors leading inside the raised portion the wheel stands on.”He’ll be in his quarters, but you can go right in,” Hal smiles at Ludwig again. At least it feels less like he wants to eat him this time, “You have an important job here you know, ehm,...”

There’s a pause. “....Ludwig?” Ludwig says.

“Right! Ludwig. I knew that,” Hal claps a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shove towards the captain’s quarters. It's very hard for Ludwig to hold back a snort of derision. Instead he looks over at his brother, still fake tying that rope and fake pretending he’s not listening to their conversation. Ludwig knows Gilbert isn’t listening, but that’s not because he can’t hear them. He considers relaying the conversation, the situation, his suspicions to Gil, but Hal pushes him towards the other end of the boat, and he settles for eye contact and a confident nod. Gilbert frowns, but he nods back anyway, trusting his brother. Ludwig smiles softly. Whatever might happen to him, his brother will struggle even more with a language barrier here. Gilbert's relying on him to fix this for the both of them.

I’ve never failed him before, I don’t intend to now.

He trips over a coil of rope on the way over.

Hal and Gilbert watch his back as he walks. Hal turns away first, glaring at the way the pale-haired man stands there fiddling with the same damn rope. “Alright lad, I don’t know if you’re dumb or what, but frankly I don’t really care. All I need you to do is your damn job. We’re already sailing close-hauled to the wind, any more cock ups like that and it’ll start to cost us time, and that will cost us money.” He yanks the rope away and wacks the man in the legs with the end to make sure he’s paying attention. As slowly as he can possibly go, he demonstrates the proper way to tie it. “This. Is. A. Cleat. Hitch. Got it?” he enunciates, pointing firmly.

The other man’s face screws up in a sneer, “Ihre Mutter fickt Esel.”

Hal just sneers back at him, confused and annoyed that they got stuck bringing the village idiot along when he refused to leave the other man’s side last night, even after he got so drunk he could hardly stand.

If anything, Hal’s visible incomprehension makes the idiot angrier.

“Just go help them haul the yard up the main mast,” Hal gestures towards another group of men amidships.

As Ludwig stumbles his way to the captain’s quarters he reviews his scant knowledge of sailing, anything he ever picked up by chance. The forward motion of a ship relies on the wind. The big logs holding all the sails were called masts. Ships could navigate using stars. But other than that, his knowledge mostly relates to illnesses. They’d had a ship of sailors riddled with scurvy come into the college for a demonstration once. Ludwig had vivid memories of the physical exams they’d practiced, but that had no relevance to actual sailing.

Ludwig stops for a moment to take in the ornate mahogany door, complete with a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion. He bypasses this in favor of a straightforward knock with his hand.

The first thing he notices in the room is the small chandelier. The metal chain squeaks more than it doesn’t as it sways endlessly with the motion of the boat and the water. He’s drawn to the flames as they swing away and towards and away again from the wooden ceiling. Hot wax threatens to drip down onto the floor rather than the trays under the candle. He can already see several spots of hardened wax on the carpet. He’s forced to walk into the room at an angle to avoid any hot wax falling on him next. It all seems needlessly dangerous, especially in the room with the ship's most important assets.

On either side of him are heavy wooden desks covered in maps. Star charts, compasses, and miniature globes crowd out more mahogany, this time with a mother of pearl inlay. The Persian carpet under his bare feet is somehow equally uncomfortable as the cold, unyielding wood up till that point.

A third desk stands across from the door. Behind it sits a man with even more gray in his beard and an even bigger hat than Hal had. His skin is so pale it seems like he hardly leaves this room. He puffs on a long black pipe as he watches Ludwig approach. Behind him is a painting of a ship caught in a storm caught in a golden frame. It makes Ludwig wince.

He coughs a little, as the smoke replaces the fresh air in his lungs. The man watches him in silence. “You are the Captain, correct?” Ludwig asks.

The man grins at him, and reaches out a hand to shake, suddenly as genial as Hal had been. His voice is gravely, and not very forceful “Captain Nicholls, and you?”

“Pleasure to meet you Captain Nicholls,” he replies mechanically,” my name is Ludwig.”

The Captain raises a curious eyebrow, “Well then, Ludwig, what can I do for you?”

A bit of the tension leaves Ludwig’s shoulders. Whatever confrontation he’d been expecting, this isn’t it. “I’m afraid my brother and I were brought onto your ship by mistake,” Ludwig leaves out the part about how drunk they both must have been.

His relief doesn’t last very long. Captain Nicholls belly laughs at Ludwig’s statement, throwing his whole body back and making the chair creak in harmony with the chandelier. Ludwig fights the urge to tense back up. What was so amusing about his statement?

Relax. Even if they meant to do this, normal people don’t kidnap other people for no reason, and there’s no good reason for them to kidnap you or Gilbert. You have plenty of arguments in your favor still.

The laughter sends the Captain into a coughing fit. The wet, hacking cough tugs at Ludwig’s brain. It reminds him of other people they had examined in school. The ones that had growths in their lungs at autopsy. When Captain Nicholls finally regains control of himself, the expression he fixes on Ludwig is disdainful. “With all due respect, lad,” the word makes Ludwig frown, “I wouldn’t have let you and your drunken hooligan friend stay on my ship if it was a mistake.”

This only makes Ludwig frown harder. “So, you meant to kidnap us?” he asks for clarity.

The Captain waves a dismissive hand, “You make it sound so sinister when you say ‘kidnapping’. We prefer 'press-ganging’’ in the business.”

“The business of kidnapping?”

“‘Press-ganging,’” Nicholls insists. He puffs again on his pipe in a way Ludwig can only describe as ‘smug’.

Ludwig’s fists are clenched. He takes a breath and forces himself to relax again. It only partially works. “So, the business of ‘press-ganging’ then?” he forces out of his gritted teeth.

The Captain shakes his head, “Oh no, the business of sailing, lad.” Ludwig hears something in his jaw pop. Whatever it is, if his medical studies have taught him anything, it’s not supposed to be doing that.

He forces himself to breathe deeply for a moment, to calm down enough to present his case. He straightens his shoulders, attempting to dredge up his composure and dignity in the wreck of some of his finest clothes and bare feet, “Alright, sailing then. Whatever the case is, you’ve made a poor decision bringing my brother and I along. There are some things you should know.”

“Oh?” the Captain raises an eyebrow again.

“First, my brother does not speak English. He’s hardly of any use to you if he can’t understand orders. Second, neither of us has experience in labor jobs like this,” he leaves out Gilbert’s experience in the military, not to mention surgery wasn’t exactly easy, “I was studying medicine when you brought me here, neither of us has any knowledge of ropes or knots or anything. I had never even seen the ocean before moving to London. Neither of us even knows how to swim!”

His voice grows more confident as he speaks, and the Captain nods along, seemingly thoughtful. When he’s done, chest heaving in rhythm with the rocking of the boat, the Captain smiles at him again. “That was a nice speech,” the condescension practically drips from his tongue.

They stare at each other for a moment, Captain Nicholls waiting for reality to settle on Ludwig’s shoulders. Each second the weight gets heavier. Ludwig’s frown deepens.

Deep breaths. Ludwig closes his eyes, “If this wasn’t an accident,” calm, “and you don’t believe me when I explain how useless we are to you,” Ludwig’s cold blue eyes settle on Captain Nicholls again, “what do you want with us then?”

The Captain leans in closer, “Glad you asked!” He grins, showing off his tobacco stained teeth.

“You see,” as he speaks he fiddles with a cane leaning against the desk, “I know you don’t have any skill at sailing. That’s fine. That’s not why we brought you here. You have other skills that are even more valuable on a voyage like this, especially since the doctor I usually hire has passed, god bless his soul.”

He grasps desperately at the last loose thread, “What do you mean ‘doctor’? I’m not a doctor. I’m still just a student, you cannot seriously expect me to act as the ship’s doctor.”

The only response is an eyeroll, “Well I definitely didn’t bring you here because you’re a musical prodigy, lad. You look like a practical guy. Think about it. My ship needs a doctor, but we couldn’t find one in time. Until my first mate ran into you at a pub the night before we set off. Real unfortunate you become so gullible after an extra drink or two, but that’s not my fault.”

The Captain’s demeanor is relaxed and self-assured. Completely and one hundred percent content with the fact of Ludwig being trapped. Convinced absolutely of his security in this situation. Ludwig can do nothing as Captain Nicholls leans back in his chair, and hammers in the final nail, “You’re not going anywhere, lad.”

Ludwig steps back, forgetting the room around him as the feeling of helplessness grows. Unaware, he stumbles underneath the chandelier. A drop of hot wax hits his ear, but the feeling barely registers in his mind. Where the burning warmth hits his skin, he sinks into an icy resignation.

“Oh don’t look so down, it's not all bad,” the man continues, “the ship’s doctor is a very important position. You’ll be exempted from a lot of the grunt work around here. You even get your own cabin. Most of the other crew don’t have luxuries like that.”

“What about my brother?” a second drop of wax hits his foot, “He’s still not of use to you. He deserves to be let go,” another spike of heat hits his arm. His fists clench. It’s his last bargaining chip, but if it means his brother doesn’t have to go through this, then it's worth it.

“I’ll stay willingly if you agree to take my brother back.”

The Captain plants his cane firmly on the wooden floor, groaning as he stands up from his chair. A bit of tobacco spills out of the pipe still clenched in his right hand as he leans against the desk to regain his balance. Ludwig briefly contemplates offering him his arm for support. But only briefly.

Thump thump thump he makes his way around the desk until the sound of his cane is muffled by the carpet. There is nothing physically between them now.  

Up close, he can see the wrinkles set deep in the man’s face. There are liver spots peppering his cheeks and neck. His eyes are even lighter than Ludwig’s, so washed out and pale they look silver, and he’s almost two heads shorter than the blond. He reminds Ludwig of a Moorente. The ones he and his brother used to hunt in Hagenburg.

“Perhaps you are right,” it sounds like the Captain is about to agree with him, but at this point Ludwig knows to stay on guard. “Your brother really is pretty useless to me, huh?” he jokes.

Ludwig fights hard to keep a neutral face.

“But you should think carefully about what you’re asking of me, lad,” his eyes are as cold and cruel as sharpened steel. He speaks slowly, “It's not of any use to me to return him to London either. We’ve been underway for half a day already, I won’t turn the ship around just for you two.”

Ludwig frowns openly now. “I won’t make this easy for you. You want me to treat your men, but I don’t have to. You can hold me here, but if you don’t let my brother go, there’s nothing you can force me to do for you,” his voice is firm.

All he gets is a smile. The warm light of the candles reflects a harsh contrast in the Captain’s eyes. “You forget that I’m Captain on this ship. I give the orders here. It’s your job to follow them. Maybe you’re valuable enough to get away with disobeying, but you’ve already acknowledged yourself that your brother is not, and if he’s really as useless as you say, why should I keep an extra mouth to feed from my scarce holds when there are plenty of hungry fish he could serve better?”

He, no, he couldn’t — all the air leaves Ludwig’s lungs in a rush. He’s never been punched so hard before.

He could, he would, he thinks despairingly.

And who would ever even know out here? Who would ever even believe me?

A sickening grin stretches across the Captain’s face. Ludwig isn’t known for emoting, but given the right circumstances even his thoughts can be easy to read, and the Captain is clearly entertained by it.

The threat hangs heavy in the air between them, as they stand suspended above water, as the water is held up by the Earth. It is an immutable fact of the universe that Ludwig loves his brother, and so there is nothing else he can say. There is nothing he can do but concede. This battle isn’t worth winning at that cost. It never would be.

“I…” the resignation chokes him. He swallows, “I understand.”

“Is that any way to address your Captain, Ludwig?” he can see the man’s stained teeth again.

The Captain wants him to feel the humiliation in every possible way.

Ludwig spitefully lifts his chin instead. “I understand, sir,” he says, but he makes sure to look down at Captain Nicholls as much as possible. He thinks Gilbert would be proud.

As he storms out of the room, he takes pleasure in the drops of hot wax he watched fall on the Captain’s own silk waistcoat and trousers.

I hope they burn.

~Historical Notes~ *while medical schools did exist at the time, its actually much more likely Ludwig would have been trained through an apprenticeship with a doctor instead. Going to a special school wasn’t really required, and you could also start much younger.

*You were more likely to be press-ganged by the navy, but it wasn't unheard of for merchant vessels or even pirates (foreshadowing) to do this, especially when it came to valuable jobs. Surgeons and carpenters (who acted as surgeons if the ship didn't have an actual surgeon) were some of the most important people in a crew.

~Translations~

L - "Wie lange bist du hier?" -> How long have you been here?

L- "Wie spät ist es?" -> What time is it?

G- "Sie haben meine Uniform geklaut" -> They stole my uniform

L- "Wer?" -> Who?

G- "Ich weiß nicht. Sie könnte geklaut worden sein bevor wir hierher geschleppt wurden oder danach. Sie könnte schon über Bord geworfen worden sein! Ich weiss nur, dass ich praktisch nackt aufgewacht bin und niemand mir sagen wollte, was Sie mit meiner Uniform gemacht haben!” -> I don't know. It could have been stolen before or after we were dragged here. It could've been tossed overboard already! All I know is, I woke up practically naked and nobody would tell me what they did with my clothes!"

L- "Dann?" -> Then?

G- "Wie sieht es aus, Ludwig? Dann haben sie mich an die Arbeit gesetzt. Du bist Arzt, du bist schlauerer als das, Bruder.” -> What does it look like, Ludwig? Then they put me to work. You're a doctor, you are smarter than that, brother.

L- "Medizinstudent meinst du" -> Medical student, you mean

and lastly G- "Ihre Mutter fickt Esel" -> Your mother fucks donkeys

Thanks for reading C:

[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!

[sunnylolli]

He just gives me such vibes. Like he looks like he has some strong opinions on EDM music or where the milk goes in the fridge. (The lowest shelf, lying horizontally (Wrong. He's wrong))

[gilsart]

Just...gerita in general😩

My good man, you were extremely lucky, because I was drawing them just as you sent your request. You get the angsty fanart!

[sisalrian]

besame mucho

[ivanscarf]

I LIKE HOW YOU PORTRAY ROCHU SO MUCH 😭, can we see more rochu :) ? if you want ofc

OF COURSE i’m always happy to draw rochu i want to draw some more little comics of them

[heedzhee-art]

prumanoes all over the place

conversation from this fic

[renonv]

WOOOOOOOO happy birthday to the bestest and most amazing @mangofresca 🥭 💛💛💛

There’s a second part but tumblr is being homophobic so you can find it here

[hellonerf]

i draw stupid things everyday, my love for bodyswap everyday

[lietpolski]

a small compilation of some nationverse lore headcanons i love!! for inspo :)

⤿ physical

a nation's physical strength is equal to the combination of their current military & political power and it fluctuates a lot — e.g., habsburg austria was a lot stronger than he looked and could beat most nations in one-on-one scuffles, but that's no longer true (i'm obsessed with the implications of one nation being able to physically overpower another, and later their distress when they realise they're no longer able to)

nations heal faster and are in 'conservation mode' during times of war. their bodies become accustomed to the constant healing process and can do it faster, while their more human needs for basic things like food, water, and rest are minimised

their pain tolerance is impressive too!

they experience physical symptoms when they get new nations as rulers e.g., when finland was given to the russian empire, that came with headaches and dizziness for finland over the sudden adjustment

when nations lose a lot of their territory at once it itches like a phantom limb for some time

⤿ psychological & more

the nations are selfish by nature!! it doesn't matter how much they love or care for someone on a personal level, they are innately incapable of not choosing their own best interests, and those decisions are easy for them even when they're at the expense of loved ones (they can still feel guilty, but they don't regret it)

gender generally doesn't matter that much, similar to how some ancient societies were alright with female deities having 'masculine' traits (artemis the archer, athena the strategist, etc.) nation women aren't held to (most) of the same standards as human women and it's fine for most of them to be involved in war, politics & battle strategy

at the same time, nations who aren't close don't see each other as their "human form" (which includes discussions of gender) — e.g., most nations wouldn't go easy on hungary just "because she's a woman" since they see her as a nation-creature-whatever-thing first, as hungary first, and as a person, erzsébet, second or not at all. they're very aware of their own non-human nature, and their perception of other nations as individuals only comes when they get to know them well

^ for that same reason, most nations don't refer to each other by their human names. it's a sign of closeness when they do (and they feel awkward when they have to use someone's human name for bureaucratic reasons, which has become more commonplace in modern times)

but also, younger nations are often less strict about human names, and use them more often than older nations

i feel like we overestimate how much information they can retain! often their memories of older times are vague, with some clear, standout moments. they argue with each other over who remembers certain things more correctly ("i definitely kicked your ass in battle in the 1420s" "no you didn't! that was me!")

nation children are also children mentally, so in modern times the laws around nation representatives require that they have some kind of legal guardian (often a nation they have a familial relationship with)

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

"You got the best of me."

Wips, different colours and context below the cut. (TW: Religious themes)

If you're curious, this illustration is based on a comic (which is based on a fan fiction) I worked on for a long time called "You Got the Best of Me". Yes, it's a BTS song. It's a good B-side.

The idea is that traveller!Antonio finds his way to a small, wayward tomato farmed owned by this grumpy man called Lovino. He's the son of the village's head priest who had passed away from cancer when he was a child, not long after his younger brother, Feliciano was born.

Feliciano was always sickly and couldn't do very much. He was a crybaby. He was kind of pathetic but always cheerful and Lovino loved him very much, and worked hard to support him.

Growing up, Feliciano became very religious like their grandfather and trained to become a priest. Lovino didn't exactly disapprove, since it meant Feliciano would be taken care of, but he didn't believe in God as much as he used to. Afterall, God let his grandfather—the epitome of Godfearring—die so painfully. Feliciano tries his best to reconnect but their difference in faith made it difficult.

In the present day, Antonio and Lovino met when Antonio just stumbles into a village party one day. He leans against an empty barrel, exhausted, until someone taps his shoulder. He turns around and sees a handsome, albeit drunk as fuck young man giving him a bottle of alcohol, telling him to cheer up and drink. Antonio fell in love at first sight. That smile was gorgeous.

They meet again the next day when Antonio walks into the church and sees the same young man sitting at the back. The young man didn't say no when Antonio sits with him, and doesn't do anything when Antonio talks to him and asks to share his Bible.

After service, they walk around the church in silence and they go to a quiet stretch of meadow where Antonio plays some childhood songs on his guitar. Antonio was surprised when Lovino knew the words and could speak Spanish. Lovino said the 'weirdos' his grandfather made friends with taught him whatever he knew, which was surprisingly a lot.

They continue chatting and without knowing, it had been hours.

"Brother, it's lunch time," Feliciano said softly.

Lovino screamed. "H-how the fuck did you find me?"

Feliciano laughed as he pointed to the footsteps in the ground. "There's coffee! No alcohol, don't drink so much." Feliciano acknowledged Antonio with a curtsey and a suspicious glance. Lovino did not always have the best judgement.

The three of them walked together, Lovino walked ahead because he was hungry and knew that he needed to explain himself. Antonio and Feliciano introduced themselves. Feliciano was not as paranoid as before—Antonio seemed like a nice person. Antonio liked that Feliciano took things well despite his sickliness and hoped that he would get better soon. Feliciano gave him a look.

Antonio understood immediately. Feliciano was unnervingly pale and skinny. The only thing about him that was strong was his will to live. Antonio promised to never talk about it again and Feliciano smiled.

A few months go by and Antonio was helping Lovino harvest tomatoes and that was when Lovino pulls him aside and asks, "Do you know about my grandfather?" Antonio said vaguely because he and Feliciano slipped it in conversations here and there. Lovino nodded and then elaborated more on what Antonio 'vaguely' knew. Lovino usually wasn't this open so what happened now?

"Doctors said Feliciano won't have longer than a year left."

Antonio felt devastated. He did not know them for very long and yet he knew Feliciano was one of the better sort of people out there. He could only imagine how painful it must be for Lovino—his own brother!

"Is God trying to take a piss at me?" Lovino said angrily. "For not believing? For fucking giving up? For calling Him a bastard? If He feels bad, then maybe He should stop fucking killing everyone I love! My own family, Antonio! What the fuck is wrong with Him?"

Antonio listened. Lovino started ugly sobbing, understandably so. Antonio nodded.

"Feliciano's a good kid. He's always doing his fucking best. He never whored around, he's always nice. He cooked for old ladies. He prays and reads the Bible every fucking day. Why do you Hate your own, God? Is it because he's dating some guy? Well, I don't like the blonde son of a bitch either but I won't kill them. What the fuck is your problem? Aren't you the good one?"

Antonio pat his back. And then, Lovino said, "Why can't He just kill me instead? Let Feliciano go. Let him be happy."

"That won't change anything."

"Yeah that fucking won't but at least I won't be sad."

"Well, I would."

Lovino looked at Antonio like he was crazy.

"But you'll fucking bounce in what? A week? Two weeks? I know your type. You idiots never fucking stay in one place, always running around, bumming around without doing anything proper. Piss off, Antonio. You'll find another one in China or some shit."

"No, Lovino. I care about you. I don't want you to die. Feli's not dead yet. What would he say?"

"He'd tell me to pray."

"Praying isn't dying, sí?" Antonio said. The sun was setting and the birds were chirping. Antonio picked up a plump tomato from the ground, wiped it with his shirt and gave it to Lovino. "Eating this beautiful tomato won't cure you or Feli of your pain but it sure tastes really nice."

Lovino laughed at that childish response. He ate the tomato and smiled. It was quite delicious. Antonio thought he looked like an angel when he smiled, especially now. They looked at each other with an unspoken emotion, something at the tip of their tongue. Antonio knew it a bit better than Lovino but it was still scary because it meant giving up his freedom to stay here.

Forever.

Of course, he can talk about travelling with Lovino but he knew lazy bastard wouldn't want to do anything. He could try to get Lovino out of the house. He could lose his dignity and leave and reclaim that freedom. He could... Lovino laughed again and that smile was gorgeous.

[crispyliza]

Have you guys ever been in a fandom where the majority of its fanfiction was really high-quality? If so, tell me which fandom it is in the tags. For me it's the Witcher.

[italyveneziano]

Obsessed with what America and England have going on in HetaOni. America's like "I keep having to watch my dad die from overusing his magic in past timelines and not knowing how to stop it is killing me inside but I'm not going to talk to him about it" and England's like "I can't seem to hold a conversation with my son without insulting him but I won't hesitate to use my dying breath to ensure I can protect him from beyond the grave"

[forsoobado137]

Does NEKOTALIA exist in your Au and if so are they immortal If so are animal experts able to determine the cause also do they have their own social media accounts I have a mighty need for Nekotalia content

Nekotalia ABSOLUTELY exists in my au. I think they used to be mortal but then after they were taken in by nations, they lost their mortality. I also think that they slowly began to reflect their owners' personalities to the point where they are basically cat personifications. I believe that it's still a scientific mystery as to why they became immortal (much like the mystery of nations themselves). People, including nations, just assume they're normal cats.

The personifications and the media find them very adorable. They set up playdates mini world meetings for their cats. They fight just like their owners, but less about geopolitics and more about how to get more cat food from people. Sometimes the cats get interviewed and asked questions like "Do you love your owner?" and "What do you think of the (insert head of state) putting tax on tuna?" The cats just respond with meows, but sometimes the nations will "translate" what they say.

And yessss they have their own social media accounts. I imagine it's a gag where some nations who run these accounts pretend that it's actually the cats running them. Sometimes they make identical posts to the nations but make it more cat-like.

France makes matching outfits for his cat and poses with him. Japan's cat is an actual celebrity that makes the news for how cute he is. China's cat reminisces about the good old days when his owner spoiled him (He still gets spoiled). Italy posts his cat's "artwork" and it still gets a bunch of likes.

Greece is the king of posting about his cat. He has hundreds of posts where his cat is literally just sleeping. The caption is definitely something like "How lucky my cat is to not worry about debt. I wish I were a cat so it would be socially acceptable for me to take 14 hour naps."

[saturnpanther]

I think everyone is doing Austria a disservice when they write him as a prudish blushing flower, and not as a manipulative bitch who has mastered weaponized sexuality. YES he's an uptight snob, but when you look at the history of Austria's military alliances there is a lot of calculated moves based around arranged unions instead of (or to subdue) all out wars. It's much more fun imo to see Roderich as someone who can seduce you into a strategic marriage for the sake of saving his own ass.

[romatito]

in the last splendor you posted (about João) I noticed I have an EXACTLY SAME pipe! it's incredible!! and most of all...isn't it damn similar to abel's?

so ill be 100% real, i had more of a "i just think they're neat" moment when i was drawing it bc i think those pipes are cool... but now this is absolutely canon to my au. they share it regularly bc otherwise theyd go insane.