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Hi...Do you have more detailed head canons about how Alfred got his name? I think you've said Arthur named him? Im not sure how nations choose their names in the manga, I think its left up in the air...
i personally think some nations chose their own name (yao, for one) but yes, my headcanon is that arthur chose the name 'alfred', though alfred later chose 'jones'.
'alfred' for alfred the great, king of the west saxons (and later anglo saxons). on one level arthur names alfred the way a father does his firstborn son. on a nation level, for 1600s arthur as a rising empire, naming is claiming. if we consider imperial cartographies like say, hong kong's capital being named "victoria", mexico being "new spain" or the philippines being named for philip ii. as the british empire, arthur is very intentional about this cultural aspect of imperial domination; wielding the power to define ideas and people in his image.
nations aren't confined to human lifespans, and empires like to think they're immortal and don't need heirs the way human monarchs do. imo arthur envisioned alfred perpetually being his imperial subject, but all the same, he named alfred after someone he considered a great man as a statement about his own history/culture. my headcanon is that when arthur first meets alfred at jamestown, alfred had other names. the settlers had one for him, perceiving him as an orphan (and likely an illegitimate child) of murky origins. naturally, nations like powhatan or croatan that interacted with the jamestown colonists would refer to alfred by something else. so, arthur quite intentionally wants to overrule all of that with "your name is alfred (kirkland)".
alfred, even if he tries to deny it, is very much his father's son; they don't look alike, but in terms of ambition. even if alfred likes to cast himself as an ideological opposite to his father being a scheming old world empire. in my view, englishness and europeanness is not the sum of who alfred isâthere are moments where this comes out and presents very real differences between alfred and arthurâbut at the same time, the modern united states is also a product of the british empire. and so during the revolutionary war, it wasn't easy to disclaim 'alfred'. hence, it's only his surname he disowns.
Written god knows how long ago for a prompt game, but posting for context since the sequel was requested. This one feels very strange to post again in 2026, but it's a good fic, so here it is. Post-Civil War. TB, known as consumption at the time, is often an opportunistic infection that sets in when the body is in distress. I'm not sure what could count as more distressing than a whole Civil War.
He disembarked on muggy September day in 1865 wishing like hell he could be anywhere else. The clipper ship he'd made the journey down from Halifax on rocked gently as it rose on the incoming tide. Beards of algae on the neighbouring dock pilings trailed in swirls on the tide, shiny black mussels occasionally showing through. Somehow the water seemed thicker this far south, and so did the air. An unhealthy climate, he decided, shouldering his rucksack as the gangplank was drawn and the first mate's whistle announced to the anemic group of passengers it was time to disembark. The street stones were slimy in the humidity and his boots slid across them more than once. He flicked sweat from his face. No wonder Alfred was ill.
He'd arrived home to Ottawa from London to a fistful of letters in his brother's larger, looped handwriting that grew shakier and less legible each time Matthew had opened another, at first awkwardly implying he needed help, then saying he probably would be needing help, and then the last one, postmarked from a month before, flat out asked. And even included the word 'please.' That had gotten his ass on a train in a day and then a ship within a week. The letter sat heavy in his trouser pocket, weighed down with Matthew's guilt for not arriving sooner, tied in one of his spare ribbons currently unused as his hair was still cropped short for the purposes of kissing English ass for Confederation. Curls clung uncomfortably to his neck.
He wished he could appreciate his brother's country more, but this far south didn't agree with him. New Orleans was a beautiful, bustling city, bursting with activity. He heard people calling out in a sort of French very different from his own, but still achey and familiar. The damp and heat had him choking. The urge to gag hit him just breathing, the air absolutely choking even though everyone around him was utterly unbothered. London was far worse, as far as stinks went but at least it wasn't hot. Even Ottawa could be sweltering in the summer but this made him want to swoon.
Walking felt more like going for a swim in the humidity even after he unbuttoned his collar and stripped off his coat. Cypress trees hung heavy with Spanish moss as he walked. He paused once to consult the address of Alfred's landlady he'd written on the envelopes and had to ask for directions twice, once in English and then again because Mother of God he had to focus hard to understand, but eventually found the place. He hoped like hell she would have an address for him or a clue as to where the hell Alfred was.
It was a neat middle-class neighbourhood and away from the stink of the city center. The house shaded heavily in trees and it seemed to be easier to breathe. When he knocked on the door frame clean but weathered and warped by the humidity no one came to the door for a moment, but he saw curtains flutter in the window and a neatly dressed woman appeared.
"Yes?" She said, peering suspicious eyes up at him, hand on her hips at the band of her starched apron.
"Ma'am," He said, giving an awkward dip of his head. "I'm looking for a Mrs. Lewis?"
"What for?" She asked, frowning, wary of him.
Digging the well-worn letters from his pocket, he held them out to her, urging her on with, "My brother, an Alfred F. Jones, wrote to me from this address? Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"
"Gone?" The woman laughed, all the caution flung from her face. She put a hand to her hair wrap and gave him a jolly, incredulous look. "Why he's gone nowhere! The poor child's burning up in my back bedroom as we speak! You're the brother, then? From Nova Scotia? We'd nearly given up on you!"
"Yes, ma'am," He said, and as if to punctuate the fact he was indeed just that fucking Canadian, he had to prop himself up on the doorpost as a blow of lightheadedness passed through him like a storm front. "I only received word he was ill when I returned home from England,"
The flush of dizziness that came next had him nearly off his feet and he was honestly surprised it hadn't happened sooner. The further south he got, the more the heat seemed to bother him. He rejected the warmth of the south the way he would a poorly matched blood transfusion. Like Alfred was trying to push him out entirely. The wall turned to mush under him and he might have hit the floor had the landlady not caught his elbow and kept him from keeling over completely.
"You'd best come in, then, Mr... is it Jones?"
He nodded. The American papers in his rucksack, lifted from Alfred's pocket last time he'd come south to look after him in 1863 had been changed and identified him as one Matthew Jones rather than Williams. It was easier to gain access when he had Alfred's last name anyway. It wasn't as if using Alfred's last name instead of his own was any worse than having Arthur's Union Jack on his flag.
"You'd best come in then before you melt, then!" She laughed and cheerfully opened the door to tug him through. The house was neatly furnished in dark stained wood and markedly cooler, thank God. He breathed in a sigh for the first time in ages and wondered how the construction worked to make the coolness so different from the outside.
"Can I offer you some water?" She asked. "You should collect yourself before you see him,"
"Is it so dire?" He said, frowning.
"I'm afraid so," She said, shaking her head. "The poor boy,"
Matthew really didn't like the sound of that. When he had gathered his strength, drank two glasses of water and generally didn't feel like he was about to keel over, Mrs. Lewis showed him to the back of the house. As she opened the door, she had a sad, maternal look to her.
"Mr. Jones, you have a visitor,"
There was no reply but when Matthew took a cautious step into the room he was met with a nod from the landlady.
"Alfred?" He called out, trying to be audible but gentle. "It's me,"
The bedroom was comfortable looking at least, large windows flung open to the warm breeze and least some effort had been made to equip the room pleasantly. There was a large basin and jug, a square side table with a full fruit bowl and a vase of sweet-smelling flowers on it. A corner had been set up as a parlour with two rattan chairs. In the center of it all was the bed. White lacquered ornate iron, it was equipped with two well-stuffed feather mattresses and fresh bedding. He smelled clean linen. At least, he thought, it wasn't a rotting hospital tent this time.
The core of him, the thing in his chest that tied Matthew to Canada fluttered a little as he approached Alfred as if the rustling wings of the angel of death beat around America on the bed. He glanced uncertainly at Mrs. Lewis, who shook her head and tugged uncomfortably at her hair wrap like making herself neat made things less unbearable. She had obviously grown fond of Alfred.
It was with a gasp he rounded the peaks of white linen bedding that he finally saw his brother's face.
"Mattie?" Alfred muttered and loathed himself for his own weakness but just the turning over on his side had left him hacking and breathless. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he reached out where he thought he heard a faint exhale of breath.
There was a startled heave and Alfred heard muffled profanity, creaking planks and finally, the mattress sank under the weight of a body heavier than his own. He was perfectly still but his body felt like it was pitching to and fro as if at sea. Opening his eyes felt far too risky.
"It's me," He heard Matt say, sounding like he was on the verge of a sob. "Are you awake, Alfred?"
He heard his brother's anxious inhale of breath and two warm hands caught his own between them. Alfred nodded and was immediately filled with regret as the entire world seemed to spin.
"Mattie," Alfred groped with his other hand for Matt's arm. He didn't ask but Matt seemed to sense the question, knowing his thoughts even before Alfred did sometimes. "You came?"
"Of course," His brother said, easily. Because always did when Alfred needed him. Alfred felt a rush of fondness, or maybe it was catarrh because the next thing he knew he was twisted onto his side and hacking, coughs dragging out him like they were snared in his lungs with fishhooks. When the world stopped spinning, he found himself lifted against his brother's shoulder, oddly broad feeling and finally opened his eyes to see the back of what must have been his brother's nice grey serge waistcoat and the snowy linens. He wasn't sitting on the bed anymore but had somehow dragged the chair over.
"God, Alfred," His baby brother said, sounding as near to tears as Alfred felt.
"I know," Alfred said, faking a grin as he gasped for air. "I look like shit, huh? Congrats on being the sexiest brother now,"
Matt snorted, more startled than amused but Alfred felt him shake his head in that fond way of his that meant "God, you're hopeless." Alfred clung there in the not-quite a hug for a long moment, letting Matthew hold him. His baby brother felt like the most real thing in the world just then and by far the sturdiest. After a long squeeze, Matt arranged the pillows and set him against them, at least giving him the dignity of being a little upright. He even brushed his hair from his face and it only made Alfred want to cry a little.
"What the hells wrong with you anyway?" Matt asked after a long moment.
"Consumption," Alfred said, knuckling his bony sternum, urging himself not to cough.
"Consumption?" Matt sat back in the chair. "Jesus Christ,"
"I know," Alfred said, preparing himself for a rise of emotion from Matthew, even tears, but was shocked by a bolt of laughter from him instead.
"Consumption?" Matthew repeated, this time at a near howl. He grinned. "Jesus Christ, what'd you do? Go and lace your corset too tight, there, Sally?"
"Oh fuck you," Alfred shot back.
"You absolute girl," Matt practically cackled. "Consumption? Really? Alfred, Jesus, when I told you masturbating instead of just having it out with another lad was going to kill you one of these days, this isn't what I meant!"
"Matt,"
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Matt dragged a hand down his face and pinched his nose like he had a headache. Alfred did all the time these days. "All this just from a human disease? Jesus, Alfred, I thought you were dying,"
"I am," Alfred said, gesturing to his wasted body.
"I mean dead dying," Matthew hissed, mood souring in an instant. He glanced at the door and his voice dropped to whisper since there were... normal people within earshot. He gripped the arms of the chair with both hands. "I thought the war had actually broken you somehow even with the victory! Jesus Christ, Alfred, you frightened me. How did it even get this bad this fast? Consumption takes years. Even for us."
"It's galloping consumption," Alfred deflected, lifting a sarcastic hand over his heart as if touched, doing his damndest to forget he'd just spent weeks wondering if Matt had abandoned him for good what with the diplomatic shitshow going down with Arthur over Confederate shipping. "Aww, you do care,"
"Of course I fucking care," Matt muttered again and Alfred saw his knuckles were white with tension where he was holding the iron frame of the rattan chair. "For fuck's sake, Alfred. Why haven't you just, you know," He glanced at the door again, making sure they weren't overheard and mimicked cocking and firing a revolver under his chin. "Reset,"
"It's a sin," Alfred hissed. They could do that sometimes, shake off human illness or a particularly bad injury with death but Alfred had never liked it. There were specific passages of the holy book that banned the practice and he was sure of that, even couldn't actually remember which just then.
"Oh, for the love of the holy mother. It's not actually suicide, Alfred! Not when we," Matt gave another paranoid glance to the door. "Not when we don't actually die,"
Alfred glared at him. "It's close enough,"
Matt palmed his face and more too himself than Alfred said, "You can take the boy out of the Puritans but not the Puritan out of the boy,"
Alfred didn't quite know what to say to that because he was most certainly not a Puritan anymore if he ever had been but he was also feeling drained again. While he'd managed to sit up a bit so far, he had to slump against the pillows again, tacked there by exhaustion as firmly as a butterfly was to a collectors frame by pins it the wings. When he could focus again, his brother was leaning forward, his hands on his thighs, brow drawn low.
"Holy hell, Alfred, is that why you wrote me? To come down here and do it for you?" Matthew hissed and his face pinched up in that way it did when he was being angry because he felt guilty for being frightened. "For fuck's sake, sneaking down here is one thing but killing you? We're already in the shit over those blockade runners,"
"No," Alfred said and without being bidden, tears came to his eyes and he had to look down, embarrassed to his core. "No, Mattie, no. Please just listen!"
"Hey," Matt immediately sprang from scolding to something far softer, his cool hands found Alfred's face to turn chin up to look his brother in the eye. "Hey, it's all right, Alfred, okay? I'm listening,"
He didn't know why but somehow Matthew's reassurance made it far worse. He just didn't want to die bloody. Just this once! That was all. The bed creaked and he scoot over awkwardly, forcing Matt to pull his chair forward so he could take Alfred in close. Safely buried in Matt's chest, he let the tears come. Matt held him, pet his hair and made all the right sympathetic noises. His baby brother was good at that, consoling and mothering. When he wasn't being a British shithead at least.
"I'm listening," He said sadly. "It's all right. Alfred, I'm here and I'm listening, okay? We'll do we what we need to do."
Alfred cried on his brother for another moment, letting Matt tell him he'd be okay and taking all the comfort Matt could give him. He knew, somewhere deep down that cost Matt, for all that happened between them in recent months, or between their peoples at least. sob throbbed through his body and his brother made more of those soft, consoling noises like Alfred was a spooked horse about to bolt.
"Mattie, I don't wanna die violent, again," He gasped, coughing again and shutting his eyes tightly, trying to deny the world his tears but utterly unable to do so. He'd been shot, stabbed, starved in the last years. He'd fallen over dead on the march of camp fever or typhoid more than once, been blown to pieces and lost three weeks until his limbs reconstructed. He couldn't fucking bear the thought of another mark on his body, another new scar to join the slew that had come from the too recent civil war.
"Hey," Matt said, and took his hand and pat it. Matt had always been everything tender about North America and as he laid his head down on the mattress next to Alfred's useless fucking body and looked at him so full of apologetic empathy and Alfred's hand in both of his, Alfred loved him so much for it. "Hey, hey, hey. You don't have to. It's okay. It's really okay. We don't have to do that, okay? However you want to do this. However you want to get this done, Alfred, I'll be right there. Swear to God,"
Alfred nodded and reached for his brother again to press his cheek to Matt's sternum. Usually, Matt running a few degrees colder than the normal person was annoying, but Alfred had been running a fever on and off for months and now his brother's cool skin felt like the best thing on all the earth.
"Do you want to go out west to Colorado? That's where people go when they've got consumption, right?" Matt said, running his hand on what was visible of Alfred's forehead to push his damp hair back. "Or California? Maybe you'll get better out there. I'd say British Columbia, but I think the damp would just kill you faster,"
"Home," Alfred croaked. "I want to go home,"
"What, to Virginia?"
Alfred shook his head.
"You mean Massachusetts?"
He nodded into Matt's chest and felt the heave of his brother's sigh rather than heard.
"Alfred, the winter will kill you,"
"I want to be in my own house," Alfred croaked, feeling pathetic. "In my own bed,"
"Which one? The row house in Boston?"
"No. Plymouth," To the little saltbox house with the steep slate roof and the low wall of layered flagstones that he'd put together himself as a gawky child and the fruit trees everywhere he'd ever planted and grafted them.
"Plymouth?" Matt squinted at him.
"Plymouth!" Alfred said. "Remember, my place on the harbour with all the apple trees? I want to go home,"
"Okay," Matt nodded, giving Alfred one of his gentle smiles as he made to stand up. "Okay, I'll take you home. Lets get you packed,"
Alfred grabbed hold of his brother's sleeves, pulling him back into the seat. "Will you stay?"
"What?"
"Would you stay with me?" Alfred let words rush out of him, thinking of when he'd grown taller first and had easily held Matthew on his shoulders and tossed him in the air among the leaves of the apple trees, using that freakish strength of his to make his baby brother shriek with delight. "You called it home when you were still a crabapple,"
Matt made the grumpy pinched-up face at him again. "My home is Canada, Alfred, you know that,"
"Still a goddamn crabapple," Alfred muttered, letting go and trying not to be upset at his brother just for existing so far from him even if the hollow in him made him want to cry on his brother again.
"But I'll stay," Matt said, something dawning on his face, reaching for Alfred's hand and squeezing it. "I won't let you die alone this time, Alfred. Promise. You'll die warm and as comfortable as we can make you, all right? If you don't get better. Does that sound... better, at least? Then the war?"
Alfred nodded, anchoring himself on Matt. "There are worse ways to die,"
almost 2026!!!!!! u don't hv to answer if u don't want to...but whats ur first drawing of the new year gonna be đïž
time is flat, the end is the beginning and i'm back to my roots with amechu (lol). because what is hetalia for if not sublimating our geopolitical feelings of impending doom, history, anxieties about the future, cultural identity crises, curiosities and also hopesâ into our eldritch nations... anw, happy 2026 (to those of yâall alr there), and have some messy old china trade doodles:
i personally headcanon that they're both old men; long before he was skorea or even joseon, yong-soo was the ancient korean kingdom of silla (with his northern brother as goguryeo). so, he and kiku are well, seasoned and brined and 2000+ years old. separated only by the stretch of sea that is the korean straits, and with very different public images in the 16th centuryâ gentleman confucian scholar vs. samurai warlord. throughout history, the korean peninsular was the conduit for many mainland asian influences adopted by japan. thus, a very old relationship where those straits were both a conduit for cultural influence, dialogue and conflict, from ancient times to the modern era.
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u know, I always forget Korea is canonically significantly taller than all of his neighbors
as a short sea/chinese person im going to help you remember it now đ for me the height game is: 1. yong-soo 2. yao 3. kiku. i think that's pretty much the canon take too, and i see their height difference as like this by the 16th century or so.
yao actually has to tilt his head up to look at yong-soo and i headcanon it annoys him a bit (i don't care, i have the mandate of heaven, he sniffs. he does care). whereas kiku doesn't really care because he's convinced that where it matters (martial prowess), he's got it while yong-soo is a nerd (read: confucian scholar and gentleman vibes). famous last words on the latter...because yong-soo almost definitely can and will throw hands (and turtle ships) if he needs to.
hello...what do u think of amekor/korame as a ship...
caveat: pretty much all my Hetalia r/ships are dysfunctional in some manner đ
i find it interesting actually, if it properly gets into the nuts and bolts of history, beyond a flat depiction of SKorea as an American ally. and only if it starts with the premise that Yong-soo is way older than Alfred. so a âYong-soo who used to be ancient Silla, then Joseonâthen, through the years of Japanese ruleâcoming out the other side of the Korean War as the Republicâ vs against Alfred, the young, dangerous new boy-king of the world. a situation where their age and power dynamics are at direct odds, rather than âYong-soo was born in 1950 and is a teenager.â there's the irony of Yong-soo for thousands of years being conscious of having to narrowly walk this tightrope of East Asian politics (especially being right next to the Chinese empire; and in the modern era, a powerful Japan) whereas Alfred...has a sliver of that experience but can just upend the entire chessboard. when you're 2000 years old, you know the world isn't fair, but that knowledge doesn't dull the bitterness easily!
personally, it only makes sense to me when Yong-soo's character is heavily foregrounded with having all this old history with Yao, Kiku and his brother (NKorea/Goguryeo), specifically because thatâs exactly whatâll shape his worldview in his interactions with younger nations like Alfred. as well as the Cold War context that the alliance comes about in. Yong-soo and Alfred for me is a lot of like..if you think of the perspective of having to now be on the same side of the Cold War line as Japan, it's very much a 'Forced To Get Along With the Worst Person You Know by America' feeling for Yong-soo in the 1950s... so thatâs where Older Yong-soo fits into the characterisation. Alfred is powerful, but East Asia is no blank slate heâs stepping into either; instead SKorea and Japan that have layers of history and memory older than before he was even an idea. for me, any Korame feels like it's done more justice where that asymmetrical power and age dynamic is acknowledged, through which other aspects of trans-Pacific cultural exchange, immigrant experiences can be contextualised, and then any more positive elements explored.
What is your attitude towards China from Geopolitical Boys?
i'm not gonna lie, even though i now headcanon Yao having short hair during much of the 20th century...Geopolitical Boys China just doesn't do it for me? i cannot explain why, lmao, because i definitely do dial up Yao as more serious and cunning so, which is apparently what Geopolitical Boys China is like (from what i vaguely know)?
maybe it's the length of time. maybe it's the nostalgia of doodling comics of Yao to memorise facts for my A-level history exams and how much brain energy i've expended on conceptualising Wang Yao (tm) specifically. maybe it's the surrounding cast and set-up, tooâ the original hetalia comics had a mix of genuine light-hearted silliness but also undertones of dark humour and melancholy, and so just the fact that they were shown in uniforms set a lot of early fandom on the premise of them being involved in real historical events and going wild on gorgeous historical fanart, rather than just being...abstract olympic mascots or hot nations in a high school? no matter how off-the-walls surreal many of the early hetalia strips were. honestly, that might seriously be part of it? it may sound ironic, but as a chinese person, that ancient strip of kiku shown literally backstabbing yao as a symbolism of the first sino-japanese war made teenage me go ohhhhh i'm so going to stay here and obsess over these immortal fuckers.
love ur takes on historical hetalia!! it too is a fandom i always circle back to (heheh get it??) bc the junction btwn nation and personhood in these characters is so juicy and im never not fascinated by history
rlly enjoy ur thoughts and takes!! and ur art is so expressive! this is just a fan letter of appreciation haha
hey, thanks so much for the sweet message!
and yes, that's exactly why i always find myself returning. what i like about hetalia is that unlike some other variants of the personified nations trope, i feel i can strike a better balance between the Being Immortal Eldritch Concepts and the Flesh and Blood, very much flawed and human emotional aspect. you can make it slice of life, you can also make it incredibly serious. i always have a weakness for immortal characters with eons of history between them, and hetalia is just the perfect sandbox.
one nice thing about being in a fandom for so long is that it really does feel like the characters have grown up with me a lot; both in how my art and headcanons changed, as well as acquired more layers. one thing i really enjoy is being able to just develop such hyperspecific headcanons and backstories about any special personal possessions they carry throughout the centuries, or how they'd dress and look during a particular time period. i think my headcanons about yao's hair length throughout the 20th century and alfred's bomber jacket patches have changed forms so many times haha.
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both excited for people having more canon designs to play with esp. since latin america canonically only has cuba and equador. iirc, i think there was a mention of mexico but i don't think we saw any design. but also that weird feeling of being torn! because there are non-canon characterisations and designs of brazil that have lived in my head for a very long time, such as latin hetalia brazil especially @zu-art's take on him.
One of my oldest OCs (dating back to Ancient deviantart days) was Iran/Persia whom I drew as a woman, so I remember being a bit disappointed with canon being a dude. But i feel like even with the characters that have been canon for ages, we always make them our own in really flexible ways by the end so i hope that all these community ocs continue to exist alongside canon, which also usually end up with loads of diverse incarnations for most characters too as people conceptualise and add their personal touches to our helltalias imo.
I saw that ask you answered about Yao, about whether there's any particular imagery and symbolism you see connected to the nations. Do you have similar thoughts about this for Kiku? Thanks đ
sorry for taking so long (huge understatement) to get to this ask, but i do. here are some and how i visualise them:
one obvious symbol would be sakura/cherry blossoms. we're all familiar with sakura as a modern tourist symbol for japan, but from kiku's perspective, cherry blossoms are a multi-layered metaphor for the beautiful but transient nature of human life. it symbolises both life and death, beauty and violenceâand was also associated with the samurai. people drew parallels between the short-lived, fallen petals of sakura flowers and the many young men who died in battle. at the same time, cherry blossoms represent renewal and the cyclical return of spring. thanks to buddhist influence on japan arriving from mainland asia, reincarnation and remaking is a familiar conceptâand i often like this metaphor for old asian nations like kiku: going from bloody 16th century of wars against korea and china to isolationist japanâthen, to the imperialist era of the meiji restoration onwardsâ and then post-war japan's uneasy balancing act in a continually changing world. all these different sides are all very kiku to me: sakura as a symbol of japanese culture and history's many facets. an ability to quietly appreciate nature's fragile beauty, a manifestation of artistry in paintings or poetry, but also a contrasting association with a martial/warrior culture, and the death and violence it could bringâand finally, a broader reflection on the inherent impermanence of human existence.
a second one would be the sun (for obvious reasons including Amaterasu, the shinto sun goddess) and birds of prey, particularly an asian goshawk or peregrine falcon (hayabusa). the latter, because their flight melds fittingly with that solar imagery and the old history of japanese falconry and its association also with the samurai...and because much like alfred, i see kiku in the 1900s being one of those nations who had a keen interest in aviation. i imagine most nations have taken on numerous specialties throughout history, but they especially gravitate to some, and imo, he is a military pilot during the second world war, so the pacific clash with alfred on which the power balance in asia hung is a very direct face-to-face conflict. in the modern era, it's also nod to japan's own space programme. one of the spacecrafts the JAXA used to collect asteroid samples was named hayabusa.
yet another; black pine trees, or kuromatsu. this one is influenced by how the Edo era shogun tokugawa ieyasu is one of my (multiple) inspirations for kiku's personality. kuromatsu trees often grow near the sea, are often used in bonsai, and their evergreen nature was also a representation of the shogun's eternal power, as seen on the screen doors of Nijo castle, which Ieyasu had built. imo, bonsai is one of kiku's hobbies too: the attention to detail and aesthetic aspect is very him.
and finally, the last one many people think of is just the sea generally. compared to yao, whom i associate more with the yellow river's janus-face as a source of both life and death with its violent floodsâ kiku definitely brings to mind the sea when it comes to water imagery. naturally because island nation huhâ or hokusai's famous 'the great wave' woodblock...and the tempestuous shinto sea and storm deity, Susanoo. on one hand, i think kiku can project a tranquil and emotionally controlled face, but from china and skorea's longer perspective, imo they at times perceive him as the younger, prideful and ambitious regional troublemaker even before the 20th century: the japanese invasion of korea during the imjin war etc. and during the meiji era onwards, it's a nod to japanese naval power, which has roots in longer histories of seafaring all the way back to ancient timesâand at the same time, the sea historically also added as a protective and isolating moat, such as the "divine winds" (the first origin of the term kamikaze) that helped destroy the invading mongol fleet in the 13th century.
rather specific qn đ but headcanons of when korea/china/japan cut their hair short with modernization n all?
this is something i've definitely thought about a fair bit! by chronological order:
kiku â1867. the most obviousâthe definitive collapse of the tokugawa shogunate due to the perry expedition forcing the country open, and the beginning of the meiji era and its reforms that aimed to borrow Western ideas as a form of national self-strengthening.
yong-soo â 1890s, and at latest, amidst the kwangmu reformsâ when king gojong officially proclaimed the âkorean empireâ and the country attempted to industrialise and modernise. it's when western style uniforms became introduced. historically, korea and its ancient kingdoms were also the conduit that brought new ideas to japan from the continental asian mainland, so this is a role reversal to some degree; it comes after the 1876 ganghwa treaty...which was basically japan forcing open korea through gunboat diplomacy. if you can't beat america...join him and adopt his tacticsâthat was the playbook.
yao âmaybe 1901. i thought of 1911 at first for the xinhai revolution and its toppling of the qing dynasty in favour of republican china, but now i feel like he might cut off the manchu-style queue earlier, as agitation for reform (and indeed some attempts to pass measures to allow the country to âcatch upâ to the western powers) began before that. but overall, i like the idea of him being the last, behind yong-soo and kiku. an even more ironic role reversal from the centuries where yao was and saw himself as the wellspring of high culture and advanced civilisation transmitting ideas to korea and japan, whom he never really saw as his true equals. now, the world has left him behind, in a manner of speaking. i like to think yao has gone back to his age-old tradition of long hair in the present day, but...he's gonna spend a large part of the 20th century with short hair, in sync with how much hardship he goes through and how much of a battering his image of himself takes, before his eventual return to being a world power once more.
tripped and fell back into valley forge alfred and gil after 84 years... i feel like in between yelling and swearing at how alfred and the continental army were the saddest, sorriest sacks of shit he'd ever seen, gilbert could be oddly encouraging and optimistic in his 'local man goes abroad, encourages teenage boy to commit patricide' kind of way.
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I apologise if youâve already answered this and I just canât find it, but what âgenerationsâ do the nations fall into for you, and what would you say are their approximate ages appearance-wise? Knowing that Arthur is in the 30-35 range made me wonder just how old Yao or how young Yongsoo, as an example, would have to be in comparison.
hey! thanks for the question.
i don't see nation ages as strictly linear or progressing neatly, in large part because i enjoy it being jarring and unnerving. that the facade of youth worn by our centuries or thousand year old eldritches occasionally slips, and you see the weight of uncountable human lifetimesâyao is one of my favourites for this contrast. and yong-soo imo, was the ancient kingdom of Silla long before he was SKorea, so he's not really a young seedling either.
generally speaking, i see the older nations like Yao and Yong-soo being towards the early 30sâlate 30s side, and they tend to hover and stop there; though if they're going through some seriously deep shit they can look older, mainly from being very haggard. but it's not linear; when times are good, they can look younger (though probably not baby-faced). for me, it's part of this reminder they have that they're not human. that it is their privilegeâor burdenâto witness and carry memory. to be tied to the world until the world lets them go...which can be thousands and thousands of years. to be part of humanity, but never able to truly fit in and melt into human life, because always, there comes a time where people will notice that the years are leaving them untouched.
that being said, i do see there being age/generational gaps showing up between certain characters i headcanon having things like a familial relationshipâergo, Arthur and Alfred being father and son. Arthur is a medieval and late antiquity (or earlier) creature, whereas Alfred was baptised in the blood and tumult of european imperialism over the americas, the dawn of the modern eraâand also things like the Enlightenment. and a lot of it shows in their worldviews and outlookâ Alfred imo, is an idealist in a way his father isn't. an idealist can also be a zealot (and terrifying that way), so it's not to say Alfred is "good" while Arthur is "bad", but there's that part of Arthur that is just genuinely more jaded because he's from another generation. a part that'd sneer in the face of teenage Alfred and go "did you think Caesar and Boudica, or the Romans and Iceni and Anglo-Saxons and Normans and every other invader who swept across the channel made me out silken clothes and placid grains instead of blood, conquest and violence? this is the way of the world, this is how it has always been, this is how it'll always be." Alfred would say it's possible to shatter and reforge the world; that he'd steal the very fire of the gods and remake the world in his own image.
and circling back to Yao and Yong-soo; it's a similar thing, and also relative. Yao's age over Yong-soo (and Kiku) becomes obviousâ in the way he sees them and approaches life. Very much I am the Elder here (and the good old Confucian hierarchy). like that relativity also comes in for Yao and Kiku during the First Sino-Japanese Warâand also Yao and Arthur during the Opium Wars, boyâthe stinging, ruined pride and vibes of "i was old even before you dragged yourself out of the mud of the Thames." All nations do take some pride and dignity in age. And if it's Alfred, rather than Arthur? That generational contrast gets magnified even further. For Yao and Yong-soo, he's like some crazy bamboo shoot that grew faster than it had any right to, and for them in the 20th century, it was pretty jarring to have to deal with such a young nation having such power over their fatesâand the destiny of the world. when you've seen civilisations rise and fall, when three centuries for you is maybe a single dynastyâ i think the meteoric rise of Alfred and the other drastic technological/political changes of just the past three hundred years can feel very short and sudden in a way it doesn't for Alfred, for whom it's just...the span of childhood to adulthood. and that jarring change is how it is for the other older nations too; on one hand, they've experienced a lot of upheaval so they're used to some pretty dramatic and terrible shit, but sometimes the pace of it can feel dizzying and breathtaking when you remembered how it took millennia for the invention of the wheel to go to the modern automobile, and suddenly now it's like aviation and space travel is conquered in just 100 years? damn.
so overall i think generational gaps for nations show up a little bit in their physical age, but a lot more in worldviews and clashes with younger nations.
Do you ship Japan x China? If you donât, what do you think about this ship? Are there any depictions of it youâve seen that you particularly like or dislike?
hi! thanks for your question. i find their interactions deeply interesting (kind of hard not to when one's personal history is shaped by this clash!) but it's not exactly a straightforward or healthy ship for me. then again, most hetalia nations have some level of dysfunction because World History huh?.
however, they're always prone to asymmetry imo because yao never really respected kiku as a peer in pre-modern times, unlike how he was willing to view iran, india or rome. in the early 1900s, where you had some anti-Qing dynasty Chinese nationalists who were interested in how a weakened China might be reformed, a whole lot of people including Sun Yat-Sen ended up in Japan, and regarded Japan as a successful model for Asian modernisation. so; imo there were periods where Yao grudgingly had to admit that Kiku had a pointâbut it's always coloured by the larger context of him feeling humiliated by the First Sino-Japanese War and the sense that Kiku trod on him for power.
tho, Yao is never naive enough to actually be surprised; his own ambitions have crushed many others. he himself benefited from Might is Right for a very long time, but no nation ever likes the shoe being on the other foot. on Kiku's part during the 1900s (before post-WWI's Japanese demands on China poisoned the well beyond redemption), i feel like Kiku has this mingled respect for who Yao was with contempt for who Yao is now. when a student loses respect for his teacher; or a younger for an elderâYao and Kiku is always a lot about the Confucian order and upsetting it imo! and that's both the drama and interesting thing about them. from Yao's POV, i always liked that idiom one of my friends ascribed to their dynamicâ éćșäșèïŒèèäșèâ it's literally referencing how the blue dye that is obtained from the indigo plant is bluer than the original source; symbolically, it's the metaphor of a student surpassing their master.
so...overall i find them a fascinating and rich relationship to explore, when they're both given that nuance and the ups and downs of their history are grappled with and allowed to shape their personalities and perspectives. âđŒ
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