T H A N K

:3c

AYY! Ace of spades!! Same!

:>

Your nordic headcanons were beautiful and like I just need more. Would you take requests? Like wow

Sorry it took so long to answer, I forget easily and I get kinda anxious cause I don’t know what to say!

Also, sure? It might take a little while until I get around to doing ‘em, so I hope you’d be willing to wait a little, but request would be nice. It might help with my motivation to do and finish things too

And thanks! I’m really glad you liked what I wrote, it was a spur of the moment kinda thing and I wasn’t certain if it was good or not. Might be because I’m so used to staring at my own writing and never getting a second opinion on it!

reblog this if you post hetalia art

In the void, after the moon crashed into season 8

“Well…”

“Well…”

…

“…That didn’t go as planned.”

“Honestly, I don’t think there was a plan at all.”

“There never is with the hermits, is there?” They said fondly.

“No,” the other replied, amused. “That’s half the fun, though.”

They laughed.

“…They played well.”

“The players?”

“Yes.”

“They always do. That is why I remind them that they have played the game well after they exit the end.”

“They cannot hear that. That is for the ones behind the screen.”

“Maybe... You tell the players behind the screen that sometimes they can hear the voice of the universe through the noise of their thoughts.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s to say the players on this side of the screen cannot do the same?”

“I suppose.”

“And even if they couldn’t, we’re here to tell them to their faces, even if it doesn’t mean as much then.”

“Why wouldn’t it? Who’s to say it doesn’t mean more to them if we say it to their faces?”

“I don’t think it would carry the same weight. It would only confuse.”

“Still. It would mean more coming from a friend, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right. Besides, they’re hermits. They’re used to weird.”

“Exactly. Shall we tell them, then? When the next season starts?”

…

“Iskall?”

“…I worry.”

“About them?”

“Who else? This has not been pleasant. Will they truly be okay after this?”

“To cure them of sorrow would destroy them.” They reminded the other. “The sorrow is part of their own private tasks. We-”

“-cannot interfere. I know.”

…

“They will be alright. Right? Etho?”

“Yes. I believe in them.”

“As do I. They may not see the long dream of life, but they will continue the short dream of the game.”

“They probably don’t think it’s particularly short.”

Laughter.

“No, I guess not.”

…

“Yes. We will tell them they played the game well.”

“That everything they need is within them.”

“That they are stronger than they know.”

“That they are the daylight and the night.”

“That’s my line. Half of it is, anyways.”

“Oh, snappers!”

Laughter.

…

“…We should go.”

“There is not much left to stay for.”

“Let check on our players.”

…

“Hear us, hermits. The universe is speaking to you.”

“It’s saying the darkness you fight is within you.”

“It’s saying the light you seek is within you.”

“It’s saying you are not alone.”

“It’s saying you are not separate from every other thing.”

“It’s saying you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.”

“It’s saying I love you, because you are love.”

“And the season was over and the players woke up from the dream. And the players began a new season. And the players dreamed again, dreamed better. And the players were the universe. And the players were love.”

“Nice improvisation. Really Omega.”

“Thanks.”

“But now it is time.”

“Wake up.”

Actavis you and I need to have a conversation because what the fuck

Why

The fuck

Is your pill bottles so goddamned big???

That thing is like half the size of my hand and contains thirty tiny ass pills

They barely cover the fucking bottom. You could have made it half that size and still have more than enough space for the fucking pills

W H Y ???

WHATS THE FUCKING POINT???

Well, my first posted digital art photo.

Y’know, for something I drew with my finger it’s actually pretty good (since I don’t have a drawing tablet I have to make due with the ibispaint app and my fingers :/)

Anyways, have...uhhh... punk Denmark? Something like that. (also he trans but u can’t see that)

((It’s actually Denmark from an AU of mine but thats a different story))

Oh, also, kudos to @askthedanishdork for giving me the idea of giving Denmark an eyebrow piercing *fingerguns*

Anyone want some kitties?

Introducing my neko!canada and neko!america designs since the canon ones couldn’t quite satisfy me

I love these puffballs

So I’m working on this Hetalia/Harry Potter crossover that might not actually be written and a part of it is set in chamber of secrets and I had a thought/question about the workings of the basilisk’s gaze and its killing/petrifying properties

Cause, it’s stare petrifies you if you indirectly look it in the eyes right and we’re shown a few different ways this plays out, like seeing its reflection or looking at it through a ghost

And then there’s Colin Creevey

He sees the basilisk through the lens of his camera. Now, in the book we don’t actually find out what kind of camera he’s using, but I think it’s safe to say that it has a viewfinder (aka that little thing photographers look through to see what they’re photographing). Now, from how I understand it, that viewfinder is really just a lens. Colin Creevey survived looking a basilisk in the eye by seeing it through a lens

So, theoretically, you should be able to survive a basilisks killing gaze by... wearing glasses?

It’s easy to look and see humans, but they are not.

Most of them try to forget it.

Some of them revel in it.

The rest of them like to pretend the Nordics are like them. Human. Or as close as their kind can get.

Most of the time it’s easy.

But sometimes...

Sometimes you can’t pretend.

Can’t pretend, because Finland speaks with the freezing northern winds as his voice and he’s a winter storm and a summer hail and thick clouds that cover the sky and block out the sun. His attacks are lighting and his heart beats with the rumble of thunder and he perseveres perseveres perseveres, always gets back up, always comes back, and you never see him coming until it’s too late. He dances under the midnight sun and laughs during polar nights and smirks as the rest of the world falls to the biting cold while he stands strong and unbothered.

And Norway, who’s as deep and mysterious as the northern forests, the Scandes, the fjords. He’s crisscrossing leylines and great waterfalls and vast archipelagos. His joints creak like the wood of ancient evergreens as they grow, his innards stained black by stake burnings and dark plagues, his eyes a mirror of the northern lights. He sings with the voice of the stars, the moon, the aurora, and he’ll ensnare you as easily as he weaves his magic and bends the land to his will.

Iceland consciously hides it from the rest of the world, but in the company of a select few they drop their disguise and breathes a sigh of relief. They’re a duality, scorching volcanoes and freezing arctic, hot and cold, fire and ice. Their eyes burn with flames, lava in their veins, bones of obsidian. Their organs are made of ice, their skin like snow and frost lines their throat and lungs. They breathe smoke and frost, cry ice and lava and their hair is snow and ash.

Most of the time Sweden is normal, but sometimes you tilt your head and he’s scintillating water and the creak of oars and fine metal- and woodwork. His bones are iron, like what they mine and mine and mine in Malmberget, and his heart is a patchwork of water and splotches of land connected by bridges, the city of islands, and if you listen very closely as he speaks you can hear the creaking and clinking of the ice and stone in his lungs and throat which at best muddles his words and at worst keeps them deep in his chest.

Even Denmark, the most normal, is sometimes not a man, but a raging bonfire and burning villages. Glinting gold and shining blades and delicate sculptures of glass. His laugh is the crowing of ravens feeding on the flesh of the fallen, his hair tinged red with the blood of his enemies and his eyes are deep blue blue blue, the same shade as the ocean he once tamed and conquered and ruled.

They speak in riddles only they know, whisper of time and places no one else remember, and laugh as the other nations draw back in wariness and fear.

If they wished to play being normal, let them. But where’s the fun in that?

Unspoken Rules of The Nordic Countries

The trees are not malicious. They will not purposely hurt you. But they will not help, and they will not care if something else comes after you. You are not relevant.

Be careful of which small hills you traverse over. Not all of them are hills. Don’t wake what sleeps under the dirt and rock.

Always be respectful towards what lives in the forest. It will increase the chance of them leaving you alone.

If you leave an offering of food to them, the trolls will keep an eye out for you. Nothing else will.

Make sure you’re clear about who the offering is to, or something else might take it.

Always check the back of the people you meet in the forest. If it looks hollow, or if something’s moving at their waist, quickly but politely part ways with them. Do not follow them anywhere.

If they help you when they find you, thank them thoroughly. If they offer to lead you out, decline politely and ask them to point you in the right direction instead. You wouldn’t want to waste their precious time. Do. Not. Follow. Them. Anywhere.

Be alert of snow in cities. Be wary of snow in the country, and always cover your eyes. It can and will blind you.

If you’re one of the few that go to church on important holidays, don’t look behind you until you’re on church ground. The ones who were here first do not like that newcomer from the desert, and they don’t like you for abandoning them for him.

Be especially wary during Christmas. They do not like the way those desert folk and their three part god twisted their celebration and then called it their own. There’s a reason the Nordic folk still call it Yule.

If you hear violin music from a pond, a lake, a river, turn around immediately. Or else he might ensnare you and convince you to join him at the bottom.

If you hear music in the woods, take another path or return from where you came. They’ll try to ensnare you too, but they might be a bit more merciful and let you go after. But do not tempt fate. Mercy is unlikely, and they will definitely not give it to you twice.

The mountains and hills do not move. If they do, they are not mountains or hills.

If a deciduous tree is still in bloom during winter, do not approach it. Especially not if the earth around it is warm.

The ravens are always watching. They know everything. Never tell a secret in the presence of a raven that you aren’t willing to let them whisper on to something else.

If you find a child standing alone of the side of a road, greet them politely. If they ask for a name, give them one, preferably your own, if possible. They will not do anything bad with it, and will treasure it forever. You will never see them again in the world of the living, but they will remember you fondly.

If you hear the cry of a child by or under the floorboards of a house, ignore them and do some research into your family. If someone you’re related to lived in that house a couple centuries back, pray what’s locked under there never gets loose.

If a dead family member knocks of your door, answer. They have come to tell you important information.

Evil people who die violent deaths rarely pass on. They’re still there. Watching. Planning.

There are few places where no one has died, and much sorrowful history. But do not be afraid. Usually the ghost wish you no ill will. Usually.

Never board the silver metro train unless you wish to be lost forever.