Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
₍^. .^₎Ⳋ hi hi, do you do more historical asks? im a bit of a history nerd and i have an idea but im not sure if you'd want to do somethiing in the general historical genre
Yes yes yes my love! Historical asks are some of my favorites. Ask away!
I’ve got an ask if you don’t mind! Have you seen that one episode where France runs into a girl and she looks just like Joan of Arc? And he starts to ponder reincarnation and stuff like that so he decides to show her around France just so he can be close to her again one last time. Can you do something like that but with America? Such sweet melancholy~. It’s one of my fave episodes. Thank you for your time! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
What a fun idea! Since America’s history as the United States is much shorter than France’s, I don’t think his story would carry quite the same ancient weight as France encountering the face of a patron saint he last saw five hundred years ago. Still, America’s comparatively short history has given him plenty of iconic women to remember—and plenty of complicated feelings about the ways his country has celebrated, mistreated, and mythologized them.
I had three main contenders for this:
Betsy Ross: Culturally significant, present near the beginning of the United States as a nation, and the oldest of my options. She would make the most sense if I wanted America's reaction to carry that same centuries-old shock as France seeing Joan again.
Alice Paul: An incredibly important figure, but perhaps too modern for the encounter to possess the distant, almost supernatural ache of the original episode with France and Joan.
Amelia Earhart: An American icon whose courage, ambition, and mysterious disappearance feels uniquely suited to Alfred.
Out of the three, who could I most easily imagine Alfred forming the strongest, most sentimental attachment to? Amelia Earhart.
Amelia Earhart feels uniquely suited to America because she embodied so much of what America loves—and fears—about his country. She was ambitious, charismatic, technologically minded, fiercely independent, and perpetually reaching toward the next horizon. More importantly, her disappearance denied him the one thing every self-proclaimed hero believes he can provide: an answer. Alfred could never rescue her, recover her, or properly say goodbye. Seeing her face again wouldn’t only remind him of someone he lost—it would awaken the stubborn little part of him that never stopped waiting for her to come home.
Alfred was kicking a pebble down Atlantic Avenue when he saw her.
She was tall and rangy, with a strong, angular face and short blond hair that refused to lie flat. She wasn’t beautiful in the polished, motionless way of magazine covers—hers was a face made vivid by the animated way she recounted a story to her friend.
Alfred knew her before he understood how he possibly could.
She was just another human girl, maybe, but the quick lift of one eyebrow, the flash of her uneven teeth, and the way her pale eyes sharpened whenever her expression turned serious were all pieces of somebody he knew in motion. He knew her looking toward the sky.
That was his Amelia. He could have sworn it.
He rarely found himself choked up, but the sight of her sitting so casually on a café patio sent his heartbeat rushing through his ears. He had waited years for her to come home—a lifetime to see her face again—and here she was, sipping a matcha latte at a corner café in Bed-Stuy, telling a story about something that had happened between two friends, lovers, or some relationship in between.
Alfred didn’t realize how intently he had been staring until those sharp, gray-green eyes met his. When they did, the rushing blood in his ears came to a halt, and he felt his heart stop with it. It was impossible for him to die, but in that moment, he swore he could have dropped dead.
Just as Amelia would have, the woman held Alfred’s gaze, made a face, and turned back to her friend—most likely to say something about the creepy man across the street who had been staring at her for anywhere between a minute and an hour.
Alfred realized he had to say something—selfishly. He could have walked away, and that would have been that, but he had waited years for this moment. He just couldn’t help himself.
He jogged up to the table where the two women sat and cleared his throat. She looked up at him with the same no-bullshit expression Amelia would have given him.
“Hey. Sorry for staring at you from over there. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything.”
“You’re too cute to be creepy.”
Her no-bullshit expression shifted into one of amusement, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Hey, I’ll take it.” Alfred laughed politely. “I just came over to ask—”
The thought of asking whether she knew who he was floated through his mind, but that felt too forward. Maybe he could just ask whether or not she was Amelia. She had a scar running through one eyebrow—maybe from the plane crash?
Before he could respond, he realized that he was staring again, saying nothing, suddenly as shy as a schoolboy.
“What’s your name, I’m sorry?” she asked, her eyes darting between him and her friend, her smile now undeniable.
“Alfred. You?”
“Kate.”
A rush of disappointment—and another feeling Alfred couldn’t quite place—washed over him. He felt a prickle at the bridge of his nose, but he sniffed it away before it could turn into tears.
“Nice to meet you, Kate. Can I take you out sometime?”
“Ahem. Well, you know what?” her friend piped up, grabbing her tote bag and taking a long, dramatic sip of her coffee. “I was actually just about to head out, so this chair is all yours.”
Alfred heard Kate hiss her friend’s name under her breath, the apples of her sun-kissed cheeks flushing pink. He couldn’t help but smile.
Still, just like his Amelia.
“Oh, no, I hate to intrude on homie time. Please don’t feel like—”
“Nope, I’m out. See you later, Kate.”
And off her friend went.
Laughing, Alfred politely nodded toward the vacant chair. Kate nodded in return, so he took it.
“Sorry to interrupt your little friend date.”
“Hey, no worries. We were just beating a dead horse, anyway. If anything, you saved us from abusing a poor old animal.”
“Hey, it’s what I do best.” Alfred shrugged, smiling again, but softer this time. “What brings you to the city, Kate? You live here?”
“Yeah, I moved here after college about three years ago. What about you?”
This was the part Alfred always struggled with when encountering humans: telling the truth and explaining his circumstances or inventing a lie and putting distance between them. It was never in his best interest to build relationships with them. Ever since he was a child, he had felt that pull toward humanity, and ever since then, he had endured loss after loss, each carrying the same unbearable weight of grief. He still stopped in his tracks when he saw blue daisies, the memory as sharp now as it has ever been.
So he chose to lie.
“I’ve lived here longer than I can remember at this point. I go between here and D.C. for work.”
A half-truth.
“Oh, so you’re from here? I hope you can forgive me for being a transplant.”
“Yeah, something like that. Hey, transplants keep the city alive.”
“You would be the first native New Yorker to ever compliment transplants.”
“Hey, the city changes with its people. It’s good to get new perspectives. And this is the greatest city in the world, after all. Of course people want to move here.”
“You say that like you’re an old man.” Kate laughed, quirking an eyebrow.
Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.
“Feels that way sometimes.”
Eventually, Alfred went inside and bought them a platter of small pastries. They spent the next few hours chatting. Kate explained that she was an aerospace engineer and described how she had always been fascinated by flying. Laughing, she told him about a flight she’d once taken through horrific turbulence. The bouncing had lulled her to sleep while everyone else clutched their armrests in terror.
The connection was not lost on Alfred. Coincidence or not, the similarities were striking. He went back and forth over whether to tell her who he really was—whether to explain why he had really sat down, but he didn’t.
“I had a friend like that once.”
“What, a freak who was comforted by turbulence?”
“Nah. Brave,” Alfred said sincerely. “It takes a certain kind of bravery to take to the sky. It’s really admirable.”
Kate looked at him with wide, gray-green eyes and genuine gratitude. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
“I’ve always felt like I was meant to conquer something bigger than myself, you know? I just feel so drawn to the sky—and to outer space. Thank you for saying it’s brave. Sometimes people tell me I get lost in my own head.”
“Never that.” Alfred shook his head. “But please, don’t fly too close to the sun.”
“Too close to the sun?” Kate laughed, looking down to pluck a chocolate macaron from the plate. “Listen, man, I’m bold, but I’m no Icarus.”
By the time she looked up from the pastries, the chair across from her was empty.
Alfred had vanished into thin air.
“What the hell? He was just here a second ago,” Kate muttered around a mouthful of macaron. “He didn’t even give me his number. Weirdo.”
Somewhere across the city, Alfred touched the frayed edges of a photograph he kept in a book filled with all his favorite mortals. He let out a heavy sigh and allowed the prickle at the bridge of his nose to finally bloom into tears.
He wiped a tear from his cheek. As it fell, he realized that a part of him was still stranded in July of 1937, even as humanity pushed onward without her. He was still that boy who was waiting with his hands under his thighs, stubborn and frustrated, waiting for the wire telling him she was coming home. Foolishly, mortality was a concept he found too hard to get a grasp on, even now. Especially now. She had called him an old man, sometimes he felt that way, but in the grand scheme of things, he was so young. He was perpetually in the early June of the springtime of his life, watching the fleeting beauty of petals whip away with the wind while he still held his longing in his chest like late March.
He sincerely wished Kate the best, really. She could never know what seeing her face across Atlantic Avenue had done to him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I rarely use tumblr unless it’s to repost my indie project no one cares about but I forgot that this is how a lot of people connect with fandom spaces and I could totally dump my fanworks here.
-
I don’t usually publicly talk abt my heta interest bc I’ve got a big history special interest so I always redo the characters in my headcanons which makes them a bit older and crustier usually and ALWAYS with lore accurate uniforms.
-
If you’re curious, it’s Arthur in a ww2 Royal Airforce Uniform, François in a ww2 French naval uniform, Ivan in a ww2 Soviet Infantry officer’s uniform and Alfred in a ww2 American combat engineer uniform.
Girl it has… been awhile since I’ve been in the Hetalia stratosphere. I don’t know when I followed you and put on notifications for your blog but when I got the notification that you were back… a Hetalia blog… in 2026… so close to my birthday. It has to be a sign. I have to come back and read anything I can about this stupid show. You brought my interest back from the head with your return. Thank you my queen~. Anyways, you do reader insert imagines and whatnot right? If so, fuck it we ball, Isekai. How would either the Axis or Allied countries (you decide which one you wanna do) react to a reader being from our world and straight up denying the existence of human countries because like girl that ain’t real, thas an anime. (Yes Isekai plots are cringe but to be cringe is to be free. I’m a baddie now but that middle school girl loves on within me~. Thank you for making her day.)
TO BE CRINGE IS TO BE FREE!!!!!!!
Speaking from personal experience, I think you're a baddie now BECAUSE that middle school girl still lives on within you <3
I'm gonna go ahead and do the axis (plus prussia & s. italy because they belong with this group in my heart <3) writing this was SO FUN. I leaned into the corny campy cringey, which is a bit different from my usual style, so lmk what we think :)
p.s. happy birthday!!!!!!
You know something is wrong before you even open your eyes. As a journalist, you often wake up with an unsettling feeling in your gut.
What could today's story be? Where will I end up? What atrocities will I bear witness to, only to have to keep a straight face?
It's meaningful work—work that you love—but it never quite ceases to be stressful.
However, this feeling of "wrongness" is much different than your usual morning dread.
The dread starts slow—you realize the sunshine is the thing to gently shake you awake, not one of the many brutally obnoxious alarms you set the night before. When you look around your bedroom, everything is familiar, but you can't help but shake the feeling that everything is slightly.....off.
You observe your room with sleepy eyes. The same dresser, the same rug, the same stuffed animal you still sleep with even at your grown age, everything is familiar. And yet—
You startle to the sound of someone pounding on your apartment door hard enough to shake the frame. Your heart hammers in your chest—your neighbors wouldn't ever knock on your door like this unless something was deeply wrong. A fire, maybe? An intruder? Did a neighbor's toilet break the moment they DESPERATELY needed to take a shit? The possibilities are endless. The sinking feeling in your gut feels heavier as the banging continues. 'Damn', you think to yourself, 'The day didn't even give me a CHANCE to try to do my big one."
The knocking continues, faster and more desperate. A voice—a man's voice—calls out from the other side of the door.
“____! Are you awake? You’re going to miss the meeting!”
You look out of your bedroom door and into the rest of your apartment. The hallway leading to the front door looks impossibly long, certainly longer than usual. The voice on the other side of the door does not belong to any of your neighbors or any of your friends. It is tinged with an unplaceable European accent and a cadence that is beyond anything recognizable.
It isn't until you get out of bed that you realize your legs are shaking. With cautious steps, you meander down the hallway, not caring that you are half-naked in your pajamas. Hell, if somebody is going to wake you up THIS aggressively, they better not judge you for the state of your appearance.
As you're walking down the hallway, you start to realize that little things scattered around your apartment are completely unfamiliar. The gallery wall of photos of you with your friends has Polaroids that feature faces you have never seen before. You stop briefly to look at a photo of you standing next to a grouchy, olive-skinned man with bright green eyes. It looks like he is trying hard to fight a smile. In the photo, you have a glass of red wine in your hand—ew, you hate red—which makes you even more confused.
"Who the fuck is that?" you mutter to yourself.
Then you notice that your press badge, which hangs from a hook near the front door, is hanging from a dark green strap. Your badge is navy blue, it has always been navy blue, and you knew it for a fact because you remember a colleague complaining about how he wasn't a "jewel tone kind of guy" and how it never complemented any of his outfits. On the counter, underneath your keys and badge, is a folded piece of paper titled:
PRESS SCHEDULE — WORLD MEETING
You stare at it, eyebrows furrowed. All you can think in this moment is, 'what in the fresh hell is happening?'
You pick up the piece of paper, and it reads—
9:00 A.M. — International World Meeting
Press access begins at 8:30.
Assignment: Cover opening session, interviews to follow.
You read it again.
Then a third time.
“…Girl.”
The person on the other side of the door pounds again, this time accompanied by a loud groan.
“Come on, sleepyhead! Didn't you say you wanted a good seat before America's ass starts bitching and moaning?”
Your entire body goes cold. You are struck with a strange feeling of familiarity for the first time today. The person behind the door has referred to somebody as America, singular.
America.
No.
There is only one universe where somebody would be referred to as America, SINGULAR.
Absolutely not.
There is no fucking way.
So, to test it, you clear your throat and holler back, "Alfred F. Jones will bitch and moan no matter where I am!"
The person behind the door breaks out into a loud cackle so distinctive that, at this point, you can't even deny what is happening to you. You hear "kesesesese!" and your heart plummets again.
"Ooooooh! Full government name first thing in the morning?! You're gonna be fun today!"
You grab your badge and flip it; your photograph stares back at you with your full name printed underneath. You are still you. Your apartment is still your apartment. And beneath that:
INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENT.
Your dream job....cute. This is the point where you really start freaking out. You feel so awake and conscious, but could this possibly be a dream? Hetalia is one thing, but your dream job? That is another. So, to prove it to yourself, you slap yourself across the face, quick and hard and impulsive, a loud smack echoing off the walls.
"Did you just hit yourself?" presumably Prussia asks from behind the door.
"Yeah, I'm trying to wake up."
"That slap sounded like you were pretty awake to me! Hey—is somebody in there with you? Ooooooh! Don't tell me it's one of our panelists!"
"No, I'm alone.... I think."
Well, you are certainly awake, or having the strangest hallucinogenic experience of your lifetime. Your eyes dart between the door and the badge, back to the wall full of photos—NO! The grouchy man with the tan skin and green eyes.... does APH South Italy have you drinking red wine in this universe?
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
"That's exactly what I'm thinking! Get moving, beyoch!" the voice calls again, and at this point, all you can think is, "well, time to serve cunt for APH Prussia!"
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
When you finally open the door, you find yourself face to face with, yup, as expected, Prussia himself. Your first thought is, "oh, this motherfucker is still alive?", but you don't even dare to think about questioning it. For a moment, you think you must be gaping like a fish, because Prussia is looking down at you like you're from a different planet….which, technically, you are.
"Damn, sleep like shit? You look like the sandman hit you with a piledriver."
Well, that is certainly a first impression. If your shit is going to get rocked by the universe, couldn't it have sent you someone more demure first thing in the morning?
"Dude, I have so many things I could say right now, but I don't even know where to start. Let's just go."
He cocks an eyebrow, clearly looking like he is gearing up to sling another insult, but instead shrugs it off.
"If you say so, but just know you'll be feeling constipated holding your bad feelings in at this meeting."
You simply have nothing to say back to that, the only thoughts in your head being that of, "wow, the Hetaverse version of me and Prussia really chop it up, huh?"
You grab your purse, keys, and bag, and follow him to the meeting, your nerves roiling at the possibilities of what—and who—could possibly be awaiting you once you arrive.
And after the meeting.... you will get to the bottom of this.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
The meeting isn't unlike anything you have experienced before. Politics are politics, no matter the world, and everyone is equally as ridiculous. However, you do find this world much more... entertaining, eyes constantly darting between each and every one of your middle school comfort characters, all flesh and blood and really hot and arguing in front of you about who was a better jouster four hundred years ago.
Out of all the countries present, you catch the vibe that Prussia must be your confidant in this universe, as he sits next to you during the meeting, takes notes of his own, and cracks an unpleasant (but still funny) joke at any chance that he gets. Well, it seems like Prussia is on the journalist front, which would explain why he is still out here kicking.
Since it seems like you have the best relationship with Prussia, you muster up the courage to pull him aside after the meeting and confess the situation. Is he the most logical person to have this conversation with? Certainly not. Is he your safest bet at this moment? Most likely. You are a human journalist from a different world sitting in on a Hetalia world meeting with LITERAL anthropomorphic, immortal representations of the world's biggest global powers. There is no such thing as logic in this situation.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
Prussia
"No, you're not hearing me—I am from a world where you guys ARE NOT REAL. You are an ANIME. A Japanese cartoon. One I liked when I was TWELVE. This does not make sense to me!"
"You are not making sense to me because I've known you for YEARS! And NOBODY could be that creative as to make me up!"
Prussia does NOT believe you when you look him in the eye and explain your situation in full seriousness. In fact, he laughs in your face! He's laughing so hard there are TEARS in his eyes!! Just foolish!!! There is no reasoning with our king Prussia here—no explaining to him that you've shifted here from a different universe by accident and that you are completely freaked out to be chopping it up with him at this moment. The more freaked out you get, the harder he laughs. This alternate universe version of you must be a real LOLer, because Prussia certainly believes that you're just performing a long-winded, out-of-pocket bit.
It gets to a point where you realize there will be no reasoning with him, so when he plays into the bit by saying things like, "wait, so if there are no immortal anthropomorphic countries in your world, who controls the natural order?"
You'll respond with things like, "Jeff Bezos", to which Prussia tells you, "remember when America smacked the shit out of his bald head on accident at that press release!"
You have no choice but to laugh. God, you wish you got to see that.
At the end of the day, he still doesn't believe you, but he is starting to get a little bit apprehensive about your commitment to this bit. He'll lie in bed at night thinking about it like, wait..... were they being for real?
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
N. Italy
"I'm finding it really hard to believe you're really in front of me right now."
"Why, because I'm so handsome?"
"No, because you're animated."
"Is that another word for handsome?"
"No."
North Italy, out of all of our friends here, is the most likely to believe you from the jump (especially after you refuse to give in to his shameless flirting). Not because you are particularly convincing or anything, but because he is always down to imagine what would happen if impossible scenarios became true—remember when a star literally fell from the sky and bonked England in the head? Crazy things do come true!
Empath that he is, he is also the most likely to listen to you with full engagement and seriousness, because hey, even if he thinks you are acting very strangely for not believing that he exists, (you've known me for years, come on, ___! Don't you remember Lake Como 2022?), he wants to try his best to support you through whatever is making you this distressed, and even if he doesn't understand it, he is curious to learn more. Another universe? Sure! A cartoon? Weird, but okay! Apparently, he has been through enough supernatural bullshit throughout his lifetime that interdimensional travel doesn't even crack the top ten. Don't get him started on Venice back in the day!
He does have MANY questions, though, most of which are completely unhelpful. What does he look like animated? Does he sound handsome? Is he popular? Do people have crushes on him? Ooooh, how many people? Are THEY handsome? When you reluctantly explain that there are entire online communities dedicated to discussing him and the other countries, he is absolutely delighted.
The only time his smile falters is when he begins telling you stories about the version of you he knows and realizes that you genuinely don't remember any of them. Lake Como, the Christmas party where you accidentally set Germany's tablecloth on fire, the time you got drunk and cried because his pasta was “too beautiful to eat”—none of it means anything to you. It hurts him, so he reaches across the table, squeezes your hand, and tells you that it is okay. If you really are from another universe, then he'll just have to introduce himself again, no worries, he's charming.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
S. Italy
"It was strange because when I woke up this morning, I was in MY apartment, and everything was the same except all of my things belonged to a version of me that is NOT me!"
"You're losing me. Did you have a quarter life crisis in the middle of the night and decide to rebrand your entire personality?"
"Listen, there's a picture of us on my wall drinking red wine. I HATE red wine."
"And suddenly, I believe you. You are either from another world or need to seek medical attention."
Very similarly to Prussia, South Italy thinks you're playing in his face at first. First of all, why are you coming to him to ask for advice, as if he knows anything about interdimensional travel or psychology?
He starts interrogating you like you're the one inconveniencing him, asking questions so fast that you can barely keep up. What do you mean he's an anime character? What the hell is an anime? Hair curl? What curl? You know how serious he is about his hair looking good, don't even try to joke about a stray curl! Most importantly, what do you mean people on the internet have been debating his personality for YEARS? He is offended, confused, and—though he will never admit it—a little bit curious.
But the red wine is what gets him. The version of you he knows LOVES red wine. You have spent years trying to convince him that your cheap grocery-store cabernet is just as good as anything he could get back home, a claim that has caused several screaming matches between the two of you. There is no way you would suddenly forget that, and there is definitely no way you would willingly embarrass yourself by admitting that you hate it.
Once he realizes you are genuinely scared, his whole demeanor changes. He still calls you an idiot, obviously, but now he's telling you that you're not allowed to wander around alone until everyone figures out what the hell happened. South Italy believes you before he is willing to say he believes you, you're a rational person who is clearly scared. If anyone asks, he's only keeping an eye on you because you clearly cannot be trusted to survive an interdimensional crisis without supervision, but that is the only reason. Oh no, having to take care of a beautiful journalist in distress, what a shame, he feels so horribly inconvenienced....
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
Germany
"Is this some sort of sick joke? You're saying that in your world, I am a character from a cartoon?"
"Yes exactly."
"I think you need to visit the medic or perhaps the psychiatrist."
"What if I can prove it? Oh, hey! How about those p*rn magazines Finland/Santa gave you during World War Two?"
"WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT THOSE?"
"THE SHOW!"
Germany's first assumption is not that you have traveled between universes. His first assumption is that you have hit your head, suffered some kind of stress-induced breakdown, or allowed Prussia to talk you into an elaborate prank specifically designed to ruin his afternoon. Come on, people! This is a place for class and decorum (said nobody at any world meeting ever)! Whichever it was, he was concerned. Where the hell is the medic? He asks you an exhausting number of questions about what you remember from the day before, and whether you had ingested any drugs in the past twenty-four hours. (No shame in that btw, he just figures it would be more cost efficient to save those for die Diskothek.)
The problem is that your answers are consistent. You know things you shouldn't know; the secrets he made to himself in the 1940's that he never told another living soul, the patched up pair of underwear Austria forced him to wear, and most terrifying of all, you know what he had written in his journals.
On the other hand, you don't know things that the version of you in this world absolutely should. Germany tries to catch you contradicting yourself and becomes increasingly disturbed when he can't. Eventually, he pulls out a notebook and begins writing down everything that feels different to you, because in true German fashion, he's going to be very Type A about this emergency identity....situation.
He still refuses to say that he believes you until there is concrete evidence, but from that point forward, he takes the situation VERY seriously, especially after you mentioned his p*rn.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
Japan
"If anyone can help me, I think it's you, Japan."
"Thank you."
"And I don't know how to say this in a way that doesn't make this situation considerably stranger, but in my world, you are from an anime."
"I see."
"That's it? 'I see'?"
"Trust me, I have questions. I'm thinking about how I want to word them without making either of us sound foolish."
Japan is quiet for so long after your explanation that you start to wonder if you have somehow broken him. Based on what you know about him (from the show), it would make sense that he would stay calm and refrain from speaking too fast. He doesn't laugh, ask any immediate questions, or start looking for a practical answer. He simply.... stares and contemplates with an expression so calm that it circles all the way back around to being TERRIFYING. It's the scariest reaction you get from any of our boys, for sure.
Japan is one of the first to seriously consider that you might be telling the truth. The isekai genre comes from media created in his country, you know, so he knows a thing or two about the genre. Your description of his world is too specific to dismiss, but distorted in exactly the way a cartoon adaptation would be. Come on, him as a MOCHI? A CAT????
He is fascinated from an intellectual standpoint and deeply uncomfortable from a personal one. Still, he is incredibly gentle with you. He understands that if your story is true, you have woken up surrounded by people you recognize who do not actually know you, and people who recognize you but don't know this version of you.
He offers to help you compare your memories with this world's records and quietly promises that he will not force you to explain anything you are not ready to discuss. Then, after a very long pause, he asks whether the animation is at least well done. (You can't speak on the first four seasons.)
also can you do some Russia Hcs like ANY YOU CAN DO ANYTHING I MISSED YOU
ANYTHING YOU SAY???? I've already done some historical Russia headcanons here, so for this one I'll do a mix of general/relationship hc's instead :) Thank you for the support darling!!!
Disclaimer at the top: I believe that the countries can have separate political/ideological identities than those of their country at any given point! Call me an idealist idc also ivan braginski is my son and I would like to think that he is anti-war at this phase of his life but maybe thats just me asjkdhdkas
Disclaimer No. 2: Also just in general????? I write general/historical headcanons from a country perspective, but all the relationship things I do from a human perspective :) It's hard for me to overcome the whole immortality thing when writing about romance because I can't help myself from jumping straight to the "doomed to live forever while their loved one dies in front of them" plot line lolz.
General Headcanons:
Russia knows he’s controversial. Even after 1,000-something years of existence, he still finds himself saddened when he hears people refer to him as “evil” or “the villain.”
That being said, Russia has learned to distance his personal beliefs and values from those of his government. At his core, he believes in communism; however, he recognizes that the way he and his bosses implemented it in the past was…..... not ideal.
Togetherness and community are things Russia has always valued, but he is a bit ashamed of how those values have played out in his country.
He puts a lot of energy into finding intrinsic “goodness” in his life. He enjoys gardening, fostering kittens in his very large, very empty St. Petersburg residence, aiding conservation efforts at Lake Baikal, and pushing for more land protections for Indigenous peoples living in Siberia. What can he say? He’s become a bit of a hippie!
He HAAAAAAATES his current boss.
His primary residence is in St. Petersburg. He finds Moscow too crowded and dirty for his liking, and he much prefers the slower, more artistic pace of St. Petersburg. When he was a younger country, you couldn’t get him to leave Moscow, but these days, he only visits for important meetings or when his boss summons him.
Once, Spain invited him to go tapas bar-hopping in Valencia. Russia is well aware that food from his country isn’t considered “gourmet” in the Western world, so he was excited to dip a toe into the cuisine of his continental neighbors. While there, Spain made him try ensalada rusa, and, well… Russia was a bit offended that it was the worst tapa on the menu. He tried asking Spain to consider changing the name, but Spain just laughed.
Russia stole his secret paella recipe instead and now makes his cook prepare it for him.
He will say that he isn’t susceptible to popular culture, but he owns several different Adidas tracksuits. He doesn't wear them often, but they make him feel connected to the youth.
He has several tattoos on his back that were given to him by the Kerek people of Siberia. He got them hundreds of years ago—well before Russia himself was unified—and they have almost completely faded. He hopes to get them touched up one day, but with the rapid disappearance of Indigenous ethnic groups in his eastern lands, he worries that day may never come.
Relationship Headcanons:
Hi big daddy lol
Ivan falls hard and fast, and when he’s in love, he’s in loooooooooooooove. The concept of a “fling” does not compute for him. What do you mean you don’t want to spend the rest of your life building a beautiful family with him in a charming brick cottage next to a sunflower field? Are you out of your mind?
Ivan can go loooooong periods of time without dating anybody. He isn’t very flirtatious (or open, lol) so he ends up showing his interest in others through acts of service so intense that they can become slightly alarming. You mention once that your radiator is broken, and you wake up the next morning to workers installing a high-tech HVAC system in place of the old radiator. Awh, you shouldn't have!
Poor sweet boy (grown man, btw) is so afraid of being loved :( He is so used to being seen as an intimidating and scary person that sometimes he forgets he could even be considered desirable by somebody, especially somebody as lovely as you!
He loves a soft, quiet romance—one full of slow, sleepy mornings, gentle kisses snuck in between chores, and reading with your feet resting in his lap. He loves the idea of gentle closeness.
Once he feels safe in a relationship, he is sooooo romantic. While he catches feelings and falls in love pretty fast, it takes him a bit longer to feel fully comfortable being himself. For example...
You’ll be sitting on the train reading a book when, suddenly, your favorite flower, pressed and tied with a red ribbon, falls out from between the pages.
You’ll find handwritten notes left for you around the house—under your pillow first thing in the morning, folded into your favorite mug, slipped into the pocket of his sweatshirt that you always steal.... his little love notes are like poetry.
You complained about missing spring during the winter, so he made it his personal mission to build a greenhouse full of tropical plants and flowers just for you.
Anything for his sweet kotik <3
He read too much Dostoyevsky at one point in his life, to the point where he believed he was DOOMED to be unlovable. Sometimes, even years into your relationship, he will feel some of those insecurities. Fuck him better lol
Major size kink (obviously). He is a LARGE man, both in height and bulk, (I'm talking 6'6, 300 pounds, gurllllllllllllllll) and his admiration towards small, cute things extends to his type as well.
He loves the look of you on top of him, his big hands engulfing your waist, the soft feeling of your thighs on top of his. He is in awe that such a sweet, delicate thing trusts him enough to bear all their vulnerabilities towards him. He gets hard just thinking about how much you trust him.
That being said... he is well aware that he is strong enough to hurt you, but he never will. But the idea that he could (and the fact that you still trust him given that information) is really hot to him.
Total soft-dom. He'll tease you for hours, deny you everything you want, but the entire time he'll coo to you so sweetly, it'll make you dizzy. He'll ask you to keep begging for him, but he'll deny you until you're at the brink of tears.
And once he finally gives you what you want, he'll make sure you're more than satisfied. With him, it's always, oh come on baby, you can give me one more, right? Even when you're shaking and overstimulated, you always do.
Sit on his lap and caress his arms. Tell him how big and strong he is and how well he protects you, how safe you feel when he touches you. Your big, strong, sweet man—he'll melt in your arms.
I've already asked this somewhere else, but I wanted to see your take on it. Who do you think are the most ugly and messy crier? What makes them sad, breaks them down completely? Give me the sweet angst sis
I'm coming back swinging with this one....
Many people would think that N. Italy is the messiest crier, but surprisingly, when he cries, it’s kind of... pretty? His face squeezes into a little pout, his nose gets a bit runny, and tears streak down his cheeks and drip rhythmically from his chin.
S. Italy, on the other hand... that’s a man who can cry. I’m talking snot all over his face, screaming, crying, throwing up. When S. Italy feels, he feels deeply. He hardly ever cries in front of other people, masking his sadness and disappointment as anger, but when he is behind closed doors—or, very rarely, with people he trusts—he gives up on the “macho” facade and just lets it all out.
S. Italy has some internalized machismo to tackle. Even now, in the modern era, he still falls victim to the idea that “crying is for girls.” That being said, when he does allow himself to cry, it’s like an exorcism. He wants the feelings OUT.
Prussia is another messy crier, but not for the reason you’d think. Unlike S. Italy, Prussia—who is now pretty separate from his countryhood—embraces the modern rejection of traditional gender roles. Prussia feels comfortable enough to let himself ugly cry when he is hurt, both physically and emotionally, like while watching films with friends. He'll also cry when he feels overwhelming happiness.
Prussia always finds himself crying when Germany is behind a major accomplishment, whether that’s winning a football match or developing a new mRNA vaccine. His face gets all red, and he scrunches it into a silent scream-sob. Think Kim Kardashian... just gaping like a fish. There’s no shame in it, he thinks. He’s too old not to feel all of his emotions fully.
France is also an ugly crier... but please don’t tell anyone. And the tragic thing is... France LOVES to cry. He finds it therapeutic. His number-one guilty pleasure is putting on a tragic film or television series, imagining himself in the place of one of the main characters, and crying as if it were his own life—or, more often, relationship—on the line.
One thing France has always envied is the tragedy of mortality: how humans have such temporary but uniquely beautiful lives. Even though France is comfortable with crying, he doesn’t like people seeing him do it. In his head, when he cries, his tears streak beautifully down his high cheekbones, leaving a shimmer in their wake. In reality, his eyes get horrifically puffy the moment a tear even THREATENS to spill. He is very grateful for the lymphatic drainage massages China taught him all those years ago...
Honorable Mentions
England—When he’s sober, he cries beautiful man-tears. One tear wells up at his waterline, and he wipes it away with his hand before it spills. When he’s drunk, however... it’s a completely different story. Don’t mention it to him in the morning.
Czechia—Like France, Czechia enjoys a good cry now and again. It’s a good way to feel connected to her humanity, however much of it she may—or may not—have. Her favorite part? Taking a long nap afterward, so nobody ever really sees the aftermath.
Russia—Russia rarely ever cries. He could count how many times he’s cried in the past 1,100 years on one hand, but when he does... ouch. There’s a lot of pain he refuses to address within himself, so when he is pushed to the point of tears, he becomes a bit more scary than ugly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
BELL WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? LOCA?!?!?!?!!! I’ve left the fandom BUT I NEVER UNFOLLOWED YOU!!!! I had my doubts thinking you were done too and I shit you not I came by here just to visit memory lane and, boom! Here you are, what the loving fuck. Hi, welcome back. How’s life? Did you enjoy school? Jesus, I don’t know where to start….
THIS ASK JUST MADE ME SQUEALLLLL!!!!!! This has been a Hetalia summer for the girls, honestly.
I've been good! Since I've last posted, I've graduated from university, got my masters degree (I know thats right), and moved to a brand new city all on my own <3 I now work a Serious Big Girl Job that gives me the summers off, so I've been very much in a place of my creature comforts.
Thank you for thinking of my work when you wanted to indulge in Hetalia!!!! I'm going to start posting sporadically, so send me requests ;)
First time I’ve logged into this account in SIX YEARS.
I always find myself returning to a place of Hetalia when shit hits the fan. This post is kind of like a Hetalia signal. IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE STILL??? BIG MOMMA MIGHT START POSTING AGAIN!!!!
I stumbled across your blog and it made me fall down a hetalia rabbit hole it's been YEARS and now I'm just reading my ancient made up country oc fic, baby.
this blog is ironically also the result of falling down a hetalia rabbit hole after years. I'm stuck.
Omg can we have the high school headcanons with the Nordics please!!! I loved your original post!!!1
Of course!!!
Also, sorry for the general inactivity this week. I’ve been super busy with graduation things, college things, work, and everything else in between. I’ve also been having a total existential crisis cause I’m gonna be an adult and leaving to go to college soon like WHAT
Writing this gave me a crush on all of them though I wish I went to this school :/ also I use a lot of American terminologies for things which is MY BAD and I’m not trying to erase their cultures! Let’s all just assume a world wide made up fictional academy would have traditions and terminologies from all over the world, in this case varsity sports and prom-
Anyway! Here’s the original post!
Mathias Kohler
Everyone knows Mathias. Everyone loves Mathias. Mathias is the varsity volleyball captain, but doesn’t use his status as a way to look higher than everyone else. He’s the kid who dances with everyone at prom, high fives kids in the hall, stands up for kids who are being bullied, makes eye contact with teachers to let them know somebody’s paying attention, says thank you to the lunch ladies, makes sure everyone feels included, and sometimes refers to teachers by their first name just for the laughs. If you haven’t had a crush on Mathias Kohler at some point in your high school career, you would be lying. He isn’t particularly all that bright, he relies on Lukas and Berwald to get his grades up A LOT (and may or may not cheat on an algebra test here or there) but his character gets him far in school. He’s a complete goofball, but in a sweet and harmless way. However, teachers are warned ahead of time if him, Gilbert, and Alfred are put in the same class.
Lukas Bondevik
Lukas is the guy who everyone knows for one thing, but other than that, he stays on the down low. He’s the kid in your AP Chemistry class who is silent the entire year, but on the last day of school, he says something in response to Mathias being stupid, and the whole class goes wild because a) he talked, and b) he’s funny. He’s also known for being the schools witchy kid, which gains him some popularity with tiktok cottagecore lesbians, kids who watched American Horror story one too many times, and teenage girls who follow their horoscopes way too closely. In between classes or in study halls, he’ll do tarot readings for other students, which freaks out the teachers sometimes, but its all in good fun. He’s had several instances where a jock has outwardly criticized him for it, then asked him for a reading, and he would purposefully pull ten of swords or five of pentacles, just to freak them out. He’s terrible, he knows.
Emil Steilsson
For his first two years of high school, Emil is known for being Lukas’ brother, and it pisses him off. Teachers will accidentally call him “Lukas” instead of Emil, and teachers will tell him stories of how great of a student Lukas was, and how intelligent and motivated he was in school. It drives Emil half near insane. Emil is the kid you’ll find sitting in the corner of a band practice room (he’s first trumpet in his schools band, and it’s his biggest flex.) He’s snarky, funny, and a little bit disliked by teachers just because he will never kiss anyone's ass as long as he’s alive. He runs a big Instagram meme page that only a couple people know about, he doesn’t live for the clout. You can win his heart by buying him an iced coffee before first period, and hitting on him instead of his very popular hype beast best friend Leon (he gets flustered by compliments but seriously loves them.)
Berwald Oxenstierna
Unproblematic king. Everybody likes Berwald because he’s proven himself to be unproblematic, and a total sweetheart. He’s the kid who takes all the technology/home improvement/workshop electives, so most of his day is spent in that particular section of the school. However, since he’s fast to finish projects, if you ask him if he’ll make you something, he always will. He’s known for 3D printing or carving small figurines of Hello Kitty, dogs, frogs, hearts, or other cute things for girls who ask him to. Him making little things for people when they ask has become a school wide wholesome meme. Though he doesn’t really talk all that much, he’s the best seatmate to have in class. He’ll share his answers if you’re confused, and is a really good listener when you talk to him.
(I know he’s supposed to be scary in the show okay shut up he isn’t scary he’s a big softie and gen z understands that.)
Tino Väinämöinen
Tino has played high school like a video game. He is a school renowned teachers pet and a straight A student, and he does it with no shame. He’s never a jerk about it, oh no, he could never, he’s just very, very, very sweet to everyone he’s ever met. He does theater and can be very passionate about it, but hates theater kids more than anyone else. He’s the kid who will gain a cult of underclassmen who were shunned by other upperclassmen, and spill all the tea to them. All around though, he’s a very wholesome person. Everyone in the cast knows that he has a not so subliminal crush on Berwald the set designer, and they aren’t so hush hush about it. Berwald made him a small Moomintroll figure once and Tino half near went into cardiac arrest backstage. His friends will never let him live it down.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
gamechangershow
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
