✿frowns loudly✿

jartam-nyugaton:

from dat oekaki board ._. fail!art

oh yeah arthur in non-imakawaiitransvestitebitchwhoanybodycanfuck♥ style

heta-ali:

Baby!England from ひつじ’s log on pixiv

hetalio:

イギイギ

Pixiv ID: 34124773

Member: JR_Jane

edencomplex:

“I am not your brother’s keeper,” England snaps from where he’s digging through the rubble of what had been a village before the British bombardment, Spanish dirt up his britches and blood speckling his bright red jacket.

Portugal hopes he bakes in the damn uniform, refuses to look up at the other even when England returns from a few yards away, dropping what looks like Spain’s sword down on the hot earth by Portugal’s knees. Under the dust, the blade gleams silver and slick red, coated like Portugal’s bare hands as he tries vainly to piece the sword’s owner back together.

England all but radiates frustration, shifting from foot to foot - but Portugal currently has no attention to spare for him, to spill out all the furious words clogging up his throat; the silence stands as a suitable accusal for now, the acrid taste of gunpowder on all their tongues, and Portugal’s hands are busy with the surgey laid out before him.

Bodies are the most difficult jigsaws to assemble, and all of Spain’s wet pieces (bone-white, red and purple, slippery to grasp) are scattered by cannonfire. Nations broken apart must either regrow or reassemble, and on this strange battlefield, they have little time to spare for the former.

“It was his own damn fault,” England says, angry at the anger choking all of them, that he hasn’t had the opportunity to personally throttle France recently. It seems terribly easy for him to say - all of his limbs are still attached. “If the damn fool had waited like he was told to-“

“Inglaterra,” Portugal grits out, wipes his hands vaguely-clean on his own dirt-stained britches and returns to what’s left of his brother’s ribcage, the tragic pieces of Spain laid out on the earth before him. “If you must be useless, go be useless somewhere else.”

All gritted teeth and grinding impatience, England turns and leaves, precise stomps of boots in the dust - and returns, within the hour, with a bit of arm, the sorry remains of what had been Spain’s purse, and a great deal of needle and thread.

Is this Peninsular War fic 

I did not see that coming omg 

SHACHA I’M FUCKING SCRE AMNIG NG

salvadorolliesout:

i feel like i need this on my page too

espanya:

[ » ]

saerok:

commission for the lovely basil <3

drawacirclethatsme:

Source

tatewaki2011:

捧物