#mathias kohler

[noenoaholi]

SURPRISE!! Have some new dennor art in the year 2024

well... i felt so emotional while drawing this because dennor were the first ship i drew on my very first tablet 9 years ago

i enjoyed the process and i also realized i have missed mathias and lukas a lot ❤️

[kazmafiette]

“Eh? What? I couldn’t hear you over my AWESOMENESS!”

[hws-lceland]

I finally made one of these for my stupid sunshine boy because I haven't seen one for him yet ( template by @samrut )

You don't have to tag me but I'd love to see what you do if you use it :]

[hetalia-club]

IT'S DENMARK!!!

Denmark is here and he is reminding all of you before the live action Barbie movie he was the original Barbie girl. I'm absolutely in love with how he turned out he's so obnoxious <3.

Listen to his little Danish accent, he's such a sweetie pie!

[hetalia-themagicalmanac]

Can I see one of Mary with Denmark? 👉👈

uncle denmak denmark gets Got by silly Mary and is now stuck on the floor and attacked by a Hug Creature <:)

[denmarkdenmarkdenmarkdenmark]

OK, Tumblr users, I'll do it.

Give me deranged and crazy asks and I draw low quality mathias kohle as yes.

[hcaivoices]

Hello!

Would it be possible to hear Prussia or Denmark singing "Take me to church" by hozier?

I feel like they would ROCK the chorus, SO HARD

I already had the Prussia one on Discord, idk if I've already posted it here or not. But I whipped up the Denmark really fast for you!

MP3s on Discord Voices made by me Posting for entertainment only

[saltcove]

pairing: denmark/norway theme: fishermen & drowning sailors 

dawn scrapes the horizon, floods it with cold sun. lukas drags the net over the side of the rowboat, grunts and breaks his nails on the wooden edge. emil sits across from him, knotting rope and pressing fish down into the barrel. svaneke is colder than most port cities, births raw winter in his throat. 

“fokus, emil,” he snaps. lukas is swept with impatience. “the fish will not catch itself.”

“i am focused,” emil counters, muttering. lukas isn’t fond of his brother when he’s petulant and bored, disinterested. emil is on the cusp of sixteen, face sharper than most boys his age. lukas knows he would rather read than trawl, but there is no life for them but this. 

“more, then,” lukas stands, throws the net further. “i cannot be doing this on my own. this is not why i bring you.”

“why bring me at all?” emil knots with more fury. “you have it all figured out, storebror.”

lukas bites back a remark. it is always like this, but today is worse. today is worse because it is emil’s birthday. lukas sighs, drops down with a gust from his chest. “sorry. i know you’re tired.”

“i am,” emil looks up, icy. he directs his eyes elsewhere when lukas glares. “i suppose you are too.”

“i will survive this,” lukas sets a hand on emil’s knee, squeezes. “you will be more than a fisherman someday.” but not today, little brother.

emil makes to say something. it is caught in his throat, much like the thick knot his fingers loosen around. his eyes hinge over lukas’ shoulder at the shoreline, and lukas sighs. “we will get off the boat in an hour. be patient.”

emil’s mouth gapes. snaps closed. “brother.”

lukas wets his mouth, gets up again to tend the net. “what is it, emil?”

“i—” emil stops himself. 

lukas rolls his eyes. “has the seawitch stolen your voice?”

“brother,” emil’s paling face has lukas’ focus. dials him in. “look.”

lukas frowns, turns to glance over his own shoulder. he isn’t sure where he’s being directed, scans the shoreline with vacancy. they’re not too far from land, hardly at all. lukas’ eyes pull apart the dark sand and the short pier and then he sees it. 

a man.

a body, pressed into the sand, sea casting over it. 

his words lose power. “row, emil.”

emil scrambles for the oars, composure lost. lukas hisses and heaves and brings the net into the boat before helping him. cold water hits his abdomen, but lukas’ pulse is hot, furious; that is a deadman. he is dead. he must have been. 

he must have been—

without a word, lukas drops the net and flies over the edge of the rowboat in a dive. emil’s voice is replaced by water—arctic and stinging, lung-cramping. lukas swims under, pushes with his feet, pulled back by his own clothes. he swims like he can save something. he’s dead. 

breaking for air, his boots hit the seafloor and lukas treads with clumsy, rushed indignance. closer, the body is lulling in the shallow water. bigger than his, stronger. lukas grabs the man by his lapel and drags, forces them both out onto the beach. 

dropping to his knees, he crosses palms over the man’s chest. pushes, pushes. his hair has come loose from its clip, dripping down onto a pale cheek. the man is drained of colour, his nose too white and his mouth parched with salt. lukas pushes down on his chest, frustration coiling his expression. he’s desperate. faen. 

pinching the man’s nose closed, he brings their cold, open mouths together and breathes. full breaths that hurt his freezing lungs. again. again. 

he’s met with salt water against the chin and a furious fit of coughing.  

lukas’ relief drops him back onto the sand. the adrenaline has singed his nerves to the point of numbness. lukas closes his eyes, prays. 

the man makes no move to get up, groans and turns on his side against the sand. he’s facing lukas, eyes pinched, starting to open. he’s a sailor—maybe. something more, by his rings and his wool. lukas stares, terrified, until the man finally opens his eyes. 

he is staring right at lukas. lukas is staring back. 

“where,” he croaks. it’s danish. 

“here,” lukas answers dumbly. “i—svaneke.”

the man hisses and tries to sit up, falling back on his elbows. “sød guder.”

“stay still, dane,” lukas urges. emil has somehow made it to the coast as well, and lukas hisses at him to seek help. the boy scrambles off. 

“you saved me,” the man rasps, failing once more to sit up, words broken over with fits of coughing. he lays back and stares at the sky. “your name, siren?”

“lukas,” he supplies. “i am a man.”

“you are no man,” it’s scoffed, like he cannot believe it. “you are divine to have found me.”

lukas swallows. he is a fisherman. “i am not.”

the man turns his head, cheek pressed into the wet sand. “you are more than man—to have countered the sea.”

[bisabao]

I have a speech tomorrow and I need to review research protocol documents, but it’s his birthday so this takes precedence.

[corgifruityart]

3 more nordic gnägg refs!! ive had a blast drawing em!

[hetadoujinarchive]

“There Is No End”

Main Characters: Sweden, Denmark

Minor Characters: Norway, Iceland, Finland

Pages: 27

Translated by: animoobs

Vibes: dark, sad, painful, serious

CW: violence

Summary: Denmark and Sweden must oppose each other due to their roles as countries

Other languages: Russian/по-русски, Hungarian/Magyar Nyelv

[rose-vybe]

Fleur-de-lys for @starsmadeinheaven based on yet another prompt. Two more left ;)))

"So?? This should bring me good luck?"

"Mais oui! C'est une porte-bonheur!"

Arthur looked up at him for a second, then rolled his eyes. The brass fleur-de-lys medallion was still laced between his fingers as he sighed. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, and he hadn't even been defeated yet.

"I got it quite painstakingly, I'll have you know! The spell was-.... I'm not even a sorcerer!"

That was true. Francis was no sorcerer, he was a mere weapon, not very performative and annoying on top of that.

'You must fight under my banner!' he had emphatically declared upon becoming edified what this thing was about, and Arthur had concluded it had been an utter waste keeping himself sober for the summoning.

A french rapier.

Seriously, no wonder he'd been utterly ridiculed by nearly all other wielders. Well, minus the two other sorcerers, but still this was no match for Lukas's formidable Viking battle axe Mathias Kohler. Valentin had not been so lucky, having acquired a Turkic-Bulgar sword, slightly curved and awkward, but making up in brutality what he lacked in strength and skill.

Francis however was neither strong nor brutal; he only had a sharp tip and an overly elegant wrought-iron handle Arthur constantly felt coiling around his hand in an encroaching fashion.

Their first and only match so far had been an utter disaster.

Truth be told, they'd been unprepared and above all both had failed to recognize how badly out of tune they were with each other as a wielder-weapon team; and then they'd had absolutely rotten luck to be pitched against the most powerful team of all - Lovino and Antonio were both weapons and wielders and they were flexible enough to *switch* during a fight, effectively throwing their opponents off the tracks.

As such, first Lovino had toyed with them and then the Spaniard had all but pounded them into the ground. With a halberd.

But jolly good he had a fleur-de-lys talisman now to make up for all they were lacking.

"Is this on your coat of arms?" he inquired flatly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm NOT wearing your coat of arms! I thought we already had this conversation!"

"But we need a coat of arms to go to battle under, and you don't have any! You're not even a knight-"

"Francis, we suck! And no one else is a knight either! The age of knights is long gone, what we need is-"

The Frenchman sighed dramatically, flipping his blondle curls backwards, and waived his hand in dismissal.

What he needed was another weapon. Someone both more compatible and pliant.

"Put it on!" Francis told him eventually, ordered more like.

"I will not-"

Arthur swallowed the rest of the phrase, shoved against the wall, wind knocked out of him as the odious French weapon practically wrestled him into wearing the enchanted necklace.

"Bon! On to the practice hall," Francis declared. "I will no longer be humiliated! You and I will claim the greatest victory, etc, etc."

He went on blabbering on the same note, dragging the other's hand down the dark, torch-lit corridor towards the Great Hall or Arms.

Arthur was doomed.

[kazmafiette]

Yes, another "Canada? Who?" joke. I present to you, the SCANDI-WHO-VIANS???

[glittery-ishfish]

For context:

"In a 2010 blog post of Himaruya's, the names Himaruya had suggested to him that he liked for Denmark were Andersen, Christensen, Arnesen, Simon Densen, Abel, Mikkel, Magnus, and Bertram, with "Densen" being the surname he liked.[43]" -Hetalia Archives

Mathias Kohler was never one of the name ideas.

[hetalia-club]

I LOVE THIS LOUD BITCH WITH ALL MY HEART!!! You cannot tell me he did not put absolutely everything he had into this song!!

you know those TikTok memes where it's like "No Ai cover is that good..." Well here's my version but it's Denmark singing this song

[hetalia-themagicalmanac]

Has Mary been on a sugar rush with Prussia, America, and Denmark?

Yes, and Mary very much became Muffin (Bluey) Flavored.

(America, however, thinks this is really funny and records Mary on his phone)

However, let's say Germany wasn't happy to see Mary become Muffin for a day (and immediately put her for a nap)