oumaheroes

[oumaheroes]

I love when you find an author who just has a good flavor to their writing. It could be the way they handle characters, the way they use certain tropes or themes, even the specific lilt of their words. Its familiar and comforting and carries across different stories, like coming back to a place of comfort and recognizing the furniture.

[oumaheroes]

5 favorite AUs, for any hetalia ship, your choice

I'm guessing you mean fics? Because the first thing that came to mind was Reset by @oumaheroes and then....

...and then I wondered if we can consider this an AU since it's nationverse xD but you know, I'll say it's an AU for the sake of this ask, because the idea behind the fic isn't canon so there's that. And also I love gushing about this fic. It's FrUk, in which nations are reborn as humans every random years and forget all about their nationhood.

Another AU I loved is snow by @moonstone-vibe. It's BulRo and the prose is simply beautiful. If you're fun of horror and vampires, you should check it out.

Only a month of so by @snowywolff is also worth to be mentioned. It's a human AU Prumano where the two of them pretend to be in a relationship... until you just know they're not really pretending anymore. xD

Then, I realized I don't have a lot of AUs lol At this point I should shamlessly promote myself? :'D

Amo atque credo is a Spamano AU that I adored writing and was also my first attempt at smut too, where Romano is a priest and Spain is Roma. Living on pills and lines is also an ongoing FrUk AU I'm enjoying writing so far. It deals with a lot of heavy stuff, but I also find it quite cathartic.

[oumaheroes]

Please all know that I think about the Couples Therapy AU at least once a week and I am haunted by it, as well as The Missing

[oumaheroes]

Do you have any fruk fantiction reca? pretty please?

OKay so this sat in my inbox for i want to say literal years because I really wanted to give an answer and properly list out all of my favourite fruk fics carefully, but by god sometimes what comes to mind is my own lol (I write 'em the way I want 'em, what can I say)

Mostly, my faves are the big ones, the ones you've all heard of, but I go into embarassing detail about my fave authors in this post, all of whom hurt me repeatedly, and all of whom I come back to each time I crustily return to this fandom

[oumaheroes]

Miss your posts and light you bring to this fandom <3

Hope you are doing well!!!

Oh Anons, thank you both- I miss you all too! ;u; <3

Life really lifed me, but in several very good ways. I'm doing lots of it, and mostly good things. I'm busy but happily busy and, aside from work being work and making me want to shy away from screens of an evening, my days are spent outside with loved ones

I'm honoured to be remembered by you, and hope that anyone who still thinks of me and this silly old blog fondly is keeping themselves well

I miss this fandom so much and my writing itch do be itching, so hopefully you'll hear more from me soon!

[oumaheroes]

This is an appreciation post for the fanfic authors who aren’t included on rec lists

For the fanfic authors who don’t get art of their fics

For the fanfic authors who can’t get to 1000/500/100 hits

For the fanfic authors who don’t get comments/reviews

For the fanfic authors who write for small fandoms

For the fanfic authors who write rarepairs or gen fics

For the fanfic authors who get hate for the ships/characters/fandoms they write

For the fanfic authors who write in English despite it not being their first language

For the fanfic authors who don’t write in English

For the fanfic authors who don’t think anyone reads or likes their work

For the fanfic authors who aren’t big name fans

For the fanfic authors who don’t get requests in their inboxes

For the fanfic authors who can’t write stories that are more than a thousand words

For the fanfic authors who only write one ship

For the fanfic authors who are just starting

For the fanfic authors who have been writing fic for years

For the fanfic authors who use fanfic to practice writing

For the fanfic authors who write self-insert fics

For the fanfic authors who write about their OCs

For the fanfic authors who write to vent or cope

For the fanfic authors who are just waiting for their big break

Keep creating, I love you ❤️

[oumaheroes]

Happy new year my darlings, I hope 2024 treated you well, and 2025 will treat you even better ❤️

[oumaheroes]

Being in a fandom for 20+ years is weird because you’ll see posts like, “How come I never see people mention x” and it’s like. We did. We talked about that a lot, actually. Actually it’s something that came up. And it’s hard not to be like, “Yeah, we discussed this fifteen years ago.” Half of this fandom wasn’t even born when these discussions happened. Wild.

[oumaheroes]

being in the Hetalia fandom for almost 11 years gives me a sense of comfort that is hard to find elsewhere ngl, they have been present at nearly all the major events of my life.

[oumaheroes]

what are Arthur's gift to his children (eg. little trinkets from his trip or gifts for their bdays/nationals holidays/independence days)

Arthur's very much a handyman, used to making do with what he had for much of his life, and so he's always leant towards making gifts, rather than buying them

I think there was a period of time around the English renaissance where he would have flaunted and splurged to excess for himself (and none of his children ever went without) but again, not really for gifts. He probably didn’t buy them personally very much at all, school books and clothing and furniture aside. Instead, he made things.

There is love in something handmade, something unique that connects the maker with the new owner. Old folktales tell of spells of protection rest quietly in gifted clothes and so Arthur sews. He knits. He carves and whittles and will grow a hoard of presents whilst he's away from his children to surprise then on his return.

Faerie stories he's remembered and invented himself, carefully wrapped and bound in a book of his own making that he knows Matthew will read and enjoy. A necklace of seaglass, collected from the beach in colours that remind him of Zee's eyes. A bow for Jack, old techniques Arthur has almost forgotten will be forced to the forefront and put back to use after he mentions, in passing, that he'd like to learn. Toy soldiers for Alfred, who loves his stories of long ago battles, so that he can re-enact them as he wished.

Arthur does not make a big deal about gifts and nor does he really celebrate big events or birthdays. He's much more likely to take note of offhand remarks and then quietly get to work

[oumaheroes]

THE GAYS ARE BACK WERE SO BACK LOOK AT THEM IN ALL THEIR TWINKY GLORY

oh!

[oumaheroes]

THE GAYS ARE BACK WERE SO BACK LOOK AT THEM IN ALL THEIR TWINKY GLORY

oh!

[oumaheroes]

The sadness I feel that one day children won't be able to experience the pure joy of finding coins on the floor

[oumaheroes]

More a confession than anything but I saw how you stated you felt old because you don't get any references from the newer gen..

But bro..

Hetalia is older than me..

Like I legitimately came on here not knowing wtf was going on 😭 like absolute squat 😭😭

And everyone here is older than be by at least 5-10 years 💀 apologies for your ageing girlie pop I know it sucks.

'Hetalia is older than me'

Warn me before you fire that shot, Anon, I'm girlie popping too close to the grave over here

[oumaheroes]

I joined a hetalia community and I am immediately struck by the feeling of a g e because I have no idea what's going on

[oumaheroes]

There's lots of problems with USA public education but also a lot of you were just drawing Naruto characters kissing while your history teacher tried to tell you about the Scramble for Africa

[oumaheroes]

Talk dover to me <3

'How hot is it?'

'It's hot.'

'Is it hot enough for me.'

'Francis, get the fuck in.' Arthur sat up and back further in the tub to make room, 'Stop looking at me like that; get in and shut the bloody door. You're letting all the heat out.'

'Oh, I thought it was hot enough.'

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens and sank back lower into the water.

Francis shut the door and turned back to glare at him, 'You're taking up all the room.'

'You took too long.'

'Move.'

'I will when you get in.'

'You're insufferable. This is supposed to be relaxing. I'm supposed to enjoy this.' In a swift movement, Francis shucked off his (overly) fluffy bathroom, ‘Get out of the way.’

‘I will when you get in.’

Francis stepped one foot fully into the water with a wince and Arthur grinned, ‘Too hot?’

‘Arthur, I swear to God I will sit on your legs.’

‘I took the tap side for you.’

‘I appreciate the weaponry to hand. Move.’

Before Arthur could retort, Francis stepped fully into the tub and Arthur had to swiftly moved his legs out of the way to avoid tendon damage.

‘Look, you’ve flooded us.’ Arthur said, eyeing up the overflow along the tub’s rim from the wave made by Francis’ entrance. ‘That better not go through the carpet to the floorboards, we can’t afford to redo them after the kitchen.’

‘I’m surprised you have enough heart and feeling in your stingy heart to allow us to have this much water.’ Francis sank as deep as he could go, knees sharp mountains in the water, and closed his eyes, ‘Ugh, it’s been too long since I’ve had a bath. I needed this.’

‘Hmm.’ Arthur pulled one of Francis’ feel forwards to massage his calf, firm circles with his thumbs, ‘It’s rarely cold enough to be worth it.’

‘That’s a terrible opinion.’ Francis cracked open an eye, looking just behind Arthur and to the right, ‘As is the need to have the window open.’

‘I like the contrast.’

Francis shook his heard and closed his eyes again, ‘I think I’m going to quit.’

‘Finally.’

‘Yes, well. I had hopes. Growth upwards, more than anything currently improving.’

‘Move on to another station?’

Francis shrugged, ‘The chance for more responsibility. Menu choices, ideally.’

Arthur snorted and moved onto Francis’ other leg, ‘As if David would ever let you do that.’

‘He does for Nikhil.’

‘Nikhil is an arselick.’

‘Nikhil is also the level above. But even then, to just move off vegetables and fish. I hate fish, or I hate cooking fish. The smell gets everywhere.’

‘I don’t mind you smelling like a whore.’

Francis hit him with a sudden splash of water, Arthur catching the grin of his teeth right before he closed his eyes.

‘Stop it. Let me moan; don’t make me laugh.’

‘I would do no such thing willingly.’ Arthur lay back as much as he could with the awkward and hard metal of the tap, lolling his head against the wall with his arm slung over the ceramic to keep him from sliding. ‘Your unhappiness is my entire aim.’

Francis snorted and cupped water in his hands to tip onto the crown of his head, fingers raking through the strands.

‘Are you actually?’ Arthur asked after a moment, his hand going back to the meat of Francis’ calf, then the cool skin of his knee, ‘Going to quit; go somewhere else.’

Francis shrugged. ‘No. Yes. Inside, mentally, I quit ages ago. But today was just...’ he waved a hand lazily, ‘I don’t know how much longer. Not because it’s hard or bad but, what’s the point. Of being stuck somewhere that won’t change, clinging to something that left a long time ago.’

‘True, I-‘

‘Like you with me.’

Arthur froze, a coldness blooming in his stomach to spread like ice through his veins. He pulled his hand away and Francis eyed him, eyes flicking up and down.

‘How many years has it been?’ He asked, ‘Five? Six?’

Arthur tried to speak but managed only a croak. Swallowed, tried again, ‘Seven.’

‘Ah yes, seven.’ Francis looked around the bathroom, at the cracks that Arthur now remembered as being on the ceiling, the damp mildew stains along the tiles to pillow black in the grouting that hadn’t been there a second ago. ‘Too long, my love.’

Arthur couldn’t speak. He reach forwards, through still, tepid water to where Francis still lay bright and whole against clean ceramic and the vibrant colours of years before. His hands met nothing but the smooth other side.

Francis watched him, silent. There was something of pity in his expression, almost readable as contempt. ‘Arthur.’

‘No.’

‘You have to let me go, Arthur.’

‘Francis.’ Arthur pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, keeping the sound of Francis’ voice safe and away from the reality that his eyes could now see, ‘Please.’

‘It’s funny that this is where you see me.’ A soft splash, the gentlest movement of water, ‘Is this the only place that you have left? The last place you can call me back?’

It was. There had been others, especially right at the start. Francis in the kitchen, Francis in bed. Francis draped across the lounge sofa, hair in Arthur’s fingers, his warmth against his side. But the rooms were too large and the truth too heavy, too much to filter with so much space to repaint. As the years fell away, it became harder through the years to recall Francis there for more than a flash, and Arthur always needed more.

The bathroom, small and cramped in their little old flat, was still enough. Arthur could pull their relationship out there and unfurl it like a canvas, run through imaginary tapes of old conversations and quiet little moments to fill the space and coat it completely.

It still felt so real.

‘Your brothers are worried about you.’ Another splash, coming closer, ‘You look at least ten years older than you should.’

‘Stop. Please, don’t.’

‘Keeping me here is taking too much.’ Another splash. Arthur heard something lift out of the water, heard the plink plink plink of droplets falling from something tangible there with him. ‘How much life do you have left to waste on trying to get back the one that you lost?’

Arthur felt Francis’ hand on his cheek, his fingers cold and hard as bone. Arthur’s breath caught and he squeezed his eyes so tightly that he could hear a roaring of blood in his ears.

‘Are you waiting for me to say that I forgive you? Do you keep bringing me back here, dragging me up, because you hope that maybe I’ll say you’re not to blame? And, since I won’t, you instead play happier memories again and again and again-’ Francis squeezed hard, fingers digging in sharp to Arthur’s skin, ‘to avoid that day?’

Arthur tried to shake his head but couldn't, found his whole body was rigid and stuck. He tried to jerk away, kick his legs at the thing holding him there but his legs couldn’t move. The tap pressed sharply into his back, limescale cutting his skin.

‘Oh.’ The thing that still sounded like Francis tutted, ‘If only you hadn’t been drinking.’

A crash, a car. Night time, Coldplay’s Yellow lifting into the darkness as behind him on the verge... Whiskey on Arthur’s breath, he’d been at the limit but still-

The grip tightened, harder against Arthur’s teeth to force the bitter reality past the lie and into his mouth. ‘Didn’t you have just. One. More.’

Finally, Arthur opened his eyes.

It does not take long for flesh to decompose. Especially in the summer, especially when it was already so ruined, so open.

Nothing hung from Francis’ bones, nothing was left of his softness. His beauty vanished when his soul did, leaving only the shell of a thing that sits before Arthur in chilling water: empty darkness between ribs and cheekbones, picked clean by the creatures of the earth that he was returned to.

‘I’m sorry.’ Arthur whispered to it through its fingers, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I know.’ Francis’ voice is still in his head; the fused jaw did not move, ‘But that doesn't change anything, does it?’

-----------------

AN:

... I... This just happened and did not go quite according to the plan that I had in mind but we're rolling with it