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fizzycherrycola · 3 years

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PrUK, June 1815

Set after the Battle of Waterloo, this is my submission for @historical-hetalia-week.

Warning: Blood, smoking, description of a battlefield.

Inspired by the phrase: “Buddies in Bad Times.”

Mars at Rest

Waterloo, Belgium; 18 June, 1815

Cracking against flint, a match sparks and burns, breaking the deathly silence.

Prussia brings the flame to his pipe, lighting the tobacco, watching it glow red before he inhales that woody, calming scent, letting it fill his bloodstream and permeate his mind. It doesn’t do much to dull the throbbing ache of his muscles, bruised and overtaxed, pricking in sour protest of every shift and gesture, but it quells the final itch of caution, a nagging leftover from the battle, dying out at last. Shutting his eyes, he exhales, long and slow, then turns to gaze upon the shattered countryside.

The field of victory is never a pretty sight.

Belgium’s rolling hills are riddled with bodies, military uniforms dotting the landscape in navy, crimson, and black. A few fires are smouldering here and there, dark smoke billowing off of charred grassland and wool fabric, torn flags rippling from the heat. Among the dead, like phantoms, riderless horses stand quiet, their heavy heads hanging low; sad statues lost without their masters. Dusk soaks the scene in a strange, muted haze, with clouds catching the sunset and blazing as they sink below the earth.

It’s a familiar view and Prussia idly wonders how many battles he has witnessed in his abnormally long life. Hundreds? Thousands? The uniforms and weapons may change, but in his memory, the conflicts all blend together in a sea of blood, a churning stew of grisly images stretching back to the Crusades. The shock and horror long ago morphed into tepid acceptance, better suited for survival, because when staring down a brigade of stampeding dragoons, there is no time for doubt, and the field of failure is a far worse sight than this.

Turning his back to the sullied terrain, Prussia puts his hand on a short, crumbling brick wall, barely more than a fence now, and hops, throwing his boots over the side to perch atop it. His tendons sting, a mild jolt of pain shooting up his wrist, but he ignores it; he rarely listens to his body, anyway.

“You look like shit,” Prussia tells his exhausted ally.

Barely upright, England is sitting on the ground, leaning against a broken cannon wheel that got stuck in the rubble. Coat draping his shoulders, he holds his bandaged side, red seeping through, and still manages the strength to glare up at Prussia, putting those impressive eyebrows to good use.

“And whose fault is that?” he grunts, voice dry and hoarse.

“My best guess would be France,” Prussia teases, popping the pipe between his teeth.

It certainly isn’t his own fault; Blücher had him awake and on horseback before dawn, in near-darkness, marching with fifty thousand armed men at a relentless pace. With a glowing pride behind his ribcage, he witnessed their discipline and how they shoved away exhaustion. They trudged past swollen rivers and muddy swamps to reach the battle in time and hurl themselves at The Emperor’s army; leaping into death’s jaws for duty, glory, and all the inspiring nonsense their superiors shouted about.

“I’ve been fighting since eleven, this morning,” England clips.

Prussia shrugs, a leisurely roll of his shoulders that cracks his joints. “You can’t pin this on me, not when I gallantly saved your ass and won the fight.”

“Gallantly?”

“Besides, I started marching before sunrise.”

England’s eyes go wide and, ever the storm cloud, he blusters: “Then what, in God’s name, took you so bloody long?! If you had arrived even 30 minutes later, Wellington’s entire force would’ve been routed and we’d have lost the damn continent a second time! Can you imagine what would’ve happened if--…. Agh....” He grimaces, eyes squeezing shut, and folds over his injury.

Sniffing, rolling the pipe stem over his tongue, Prussia gives his companion a moment before replying. “Calm down, old man. You’ll tear your stitches open.”

With an annoyed groan, England slumps against the wheel, head tilted back. He’s not in any shape to be shouting; a crumpled mess in the grass, sweat and dirt caking his freckled cheeks. The dark cherry smear is wide, probably from a sword, reaching around his bandaged belly from front to back in a half-circle, a nasty slice that would’ve quickly slain a mortal man. Leaning in, Prussia gestures at the wound. “Did you at least get him back for that?”

England cracks one eye open, an adamant emerald cutting through his dishevelled features. “’Course I did,” he croaks. “Just who do you take me for?”

Prussia cannot help the grin that splits across his face. Even in such a state, England isn’t one to go quietly, not ever, and certainly not against France. At Villinghausen, he took an artillery round to his right arm, and instead of lying down, he hastily shed his scabbard belt and made it into a tourniquet, snarling as he tied off his mangled limb. He fights death with every iota of his being, clawing at it with his bare fingers when he has to. In him is a tenacity, a brilliant refusal to comply with fate.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Prussia says, and England grunts, in the typical way that he does when accepting a compliment. “Do you know where you’re headed next?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll need to drag my bloody arse back to camp for a briefing.”

“If you’d like, I can bring you a cane.” England frowns, a deadpan look that tickles the corners of Prussia’s mouth. “Or maybe, I could take a cannon off its wheels, fashion a wheelbarrow, and cart you over there.”

“If you’re going to continue to mock me, you could at least offer me your pipe.”

Snorting a chuckle, Prussia obliges, sliding off the beaten wall, pebbles and dust shifting in his wake. He crouches down to his knees and passes his pipe, ignoring the rusty odour that drenches his companion, the pungent taste biting past the tobacco. England takes the piece, a languid thumb smearing blood on the bowl, and Prussia sits back, plopping onto the grass.

“We should get drinks again,” he mentions.

Lips curled over the stem, England sucks in a deep breath, then exhales. “Hm. Tempting.”

“Did you know that you get drunk faster when you’ve lost a lot of blood?”

“I do, unfortunately. Learned that in the Middle Ages. But I’m in no state for drinking tonight.”

Of course not. It won’t happen, not tonight and probably not tomorrow. Nothing less than total destruction will do; Wellington and Blücher will have them chasing after Napoleon Bonaparte like hounds on a hunt. It could be weeks before they can relax again, as they did after the last war ended.

“In Paris, then. When all this shit is over.”

England smirks. “Fine, but it’ll be on your coin.”

Amused, Prussia’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh ho! You're going to burn through my wallet? That’s the thanks I get for saving your army?”

“Think of it as restitution for arriving late.”

“Arschloch.”

“Twat.”

Prussia smiles, forgetting the world for a moment, until his back twinges and he has to flex again, twisting his lower spine with a crack and settling lazily, chin resting in his palm. He threads his free fingers in the blades of trampled grass, and if he concentrates, he can imagine it still thundering with horse hooves. He’ll write about this day, scrawl it into his journal and preserve it, violence and agonising victory. Another monumental event whisked away by time.

“I’m guessing this campaign will last a couple weeks,” he murmurs. “Maybe a month, at most.”

“Quite likely.”

“The Thief of Europe doesn’t have much time left.”

England squints. “Why do you sound disappointed at that?”

Prussia sighs, plucking a dry weed from the dirt. “He’s... different from other humans. People like him are only born once a century, and when he’s gone, that’ll be it. God, I wish I’d arrived earlier today, witnessed his genius strategies from start to finish.”

“You admire Napoleon Bonaparte?”

Prussia nods. “As a tactician, yeah, I do.”

England balks. “He ruined your army not ten years ago.”

Prussia tosses the weed aside, sees it land on a pile of smouldering fabric.

Those weeks were as startling as they were cruel; he watched, appalled, as his mighty military was obliterated in just 19 days by a damn Corsican. Cold hate knotted his stomach and he wished to cut the general down himself. But, when Bonaparte entered Berlin, he visited the tomb of Frederick the Great and instructed his marshals to remove their hats, saying, “If he were alive, we wouldn't be here today.” And the sight seized Prussia like a pair of iron tongs grabbing coal, immediately seeing the similarities between Old Fritz and this new ruler, igniting respect and melting his bitter anger.

What a loss it is that Bonaparte isn’t of Prussian lineage.

“Flawlessly,” Prussia declares, passion stirring in his chest. “Nearly every action he takes is flawless. How he rallies his troops, the speed of his attacks, the level of cunning he uses to out-manoeuvre his opponents...!” He releases his fists to the sky, shoulders high and back straight. “Bonaparte might be insane, but he wages war like he was born for it.”

Blinking, England’s mouth contorts in disgust, as if Prussia just blew his nose obnoxiously loud. When he gives no response, Prussia doesn’t slump, exactly, but his hands fall and disappointment needles at his heart. On second thought, it may be a little rude to brazenly praise the bastard who slapped the shit out of every army in Europe... including England’s, just an hour ago. “Ah, never mind.”

“You’re vile and you have a terrible taste in personal role models.” Although England speaks bluntly, the comment lacks true venom, sounding more like a report on peach farming than a judgement of character. He returns to the pipe, puffing fumes like a London chimney stack.

“I’ve got amazing taste,” Prussia boasts. “That includes my tobacco and maybe my halfway decent sense for allies, too.”

England coughs, hacking up a lung full of smoke before he frowns and looks away. The faint colour on his cheeks would be brighter if he hadn’t lost blood. Prussia snickers.

Perhaps he is vile, but war is an unstoppable force. It will be here, until the end of days, and it has never done Prussia any good to waste time ruminating over its monstrosities or wallowing in the shadow of defeat. After the punishing mistakes of Jena and Auerstedt, he studied, pouring over accounts of Bonaparte’s battles, reading until his eyes were bloodshot, and when asleep, he dreamt of battalion formations scribbled across a map. Every revelation was scratched into his journals, pages upon pages of tactical strategies interwoven with jealous praise, because damn it all, France didn’t deserve such a magnificent general.

Regardless, he resolved to find a use for his painful failure, for the eradication of his brave men, and, if this recent victory is anything to go by, he succeeded, climbing over the wall of the dead to return stronger tomorrow.

England shifts, eyes catching something and he slouches. “Christ,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“Here they come, now. New orders.”

Turning, Prussia at first sees nothing amiss. A few soldiers on horseback are ghosting over the slumbering site, weaving between bodies, torches held high to light their way in the sluggish darkness. They may be hussars, searching for any injured souls to rush away for medical treatment, but it’s more likely that they are commanders, taking vague stock of their casualties to draw up reports.

Then he spots it, a lone rider is approaching them at a trot.

Tall on his mare, shako and red uniform unsullied, the soldier lumbers closer and comes to a halt. He gazes down at them; a pale torch casts flickering light over his stern, olive eyes.

“Netherlands,” Prussia greets, waving at the giant. “Good to see you’re alive.”

“Indeed,” Netherlands responds, a deep thrum in the evening air. Aside from his gaunt features, made worse by the wars, his face betrays little. His smiles are rarer than England’s, but for that matter, his scowls are just as uncommon. A stony and mild-mannered man; perhaps that’s why he found success in commercial business. “I’m here at Wellington’s request.”

England sighs. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“I’m tracking down each of us; we are all to meet at an inn,” Netherlands explains, gesturing with his torch. “It’s just down the hill, at the centre of the battlefield.”

Prussia frowns, a knot forming in his stomach. “Did you say you’re tracking people down?” He could help; pushing past the soreness in his frame is no issue. However, there are several thousand dead in the field with night falling and he has neither horse nor light.

“How many of us are still missing?” England asks.

“Only a few,” Netherlands says. “Most are on their way to the inn as we speak, but I’m still looking for Scotland and Hanover.”

Prussia gnaws his lip. “Fuck, I saw them.”

Netherlands straightens, his gaze snapping to Prussia. “Were they near a farmhouse?”

“Yeah,” Prussia pushes himself to stand, ignores his creaking bones, and points to one of several brick buildings in the distance. “Not the one on fire, but the other one, on the left.”

Those tiny spaces saw incredible chaos, a screaming whirlwind of bayonets and musket fire boxed into humble kitchens, spilling out of windows and stable doors. It was no surprise that when Prussia arrived, darting through a gap in the infantry line, he found Hanover broken. Decorated in dust and bullet holes, wounds weeping blood, he couldn’t speak above a wheeze. In the heat of battle, Prussia could only stuff him behind a heap of straw, tell him to keep quiet, and scour the arena for a medical officer. He found one only after his men took the building and directed the soldier to Hanover’s location.

Hopefully, he didn’t succumb to his injuries.

Prussia relays this to Netherlands and the Dutchman gives a firm nod.

“Thank you,” he says, turning his horse to the farmhouse. “I must continue searching. Once I’ve finished, I’ll join you at the inn.”

“Very well, then,” England murmurs.

With that, Netherlands departs, his mare thumping across churned soil and his torch flame receding into the blue dusk.

England hands Prussia the pipe and gingerly pulls his jacket on, his torn shirt and bruised skin taking shelter under red wool. “You saw Scotland, too?” he casually asks, averting his gaze.

“Yeah,” Prussia answers, tapping his pipe, dumping out the ashes and spent tobacco. “Don’t worry. He had a few scrapes, but he’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t worried,” England mutters. He glares at the buttons on his coat, wincing as he attempts to close them around his battered torso. Prussia busies himself by wiping a handkerchief over his piece, catching England’s subtle glances and the tension in his fingers. “How do you know he’ll manage?”

“Because when I asked him if he needed saving, he told me to ‘fuck off.’”

England’s grimace softens, his lips curling upward just slightly and Prussia can pretend he didn’t see that, because relationships between brothers can be complicated, sometimes. Stashing the pipe away in his haversack, he hefts the bag over his shoulders, its firm weight pressing down on his sore back. He huffs, stretching and shaking out his irritated limbs to wake them up. Then, he moves to help England stand.

“Absolutely not,” England snaps, gripping the cannon to pull himself up and steady his wobbly knees.

“You’re going to walk a whole kilometre like that?” Prussia snorts.

“Shut it.” Brow furrowed in concentration, England extends an arm for balance and delicately shuffles one foot forward. He’s stable for a moment, until he tries a second step and buckles, stumbling into Prussia, who catches him easily.

Prussia tuts. “Nah. It’ll be morning by the time you get down the hill, Herr Eyebrows. Come on, let’s go.” He swoops a hand under England’s arm, the one on his good side, and drags him into a walk assist.

“Oi!” England squawks as his arm is tugged around the back of Prussia’s neck. “Just wait a moment, you prick.”

Naturally, Prussia ignores his protests and they start hobbling towards the inn. England continues muttering half-hearted curses for a bit before settling into silence. It’s another minute or so until he leans on Prussia properly, and Prussia pulls his stubborn companion closer, guiding the awkward steps of their dirty boots through the fouled pasture. He can’t help thinking it’d be a lot nicer if he was carrying England out of a tavern instead.

A cool wind carries the scent of gunpowder and other burning things that overpower the rural air. Dim twilight transforms puddles of blood into ink and corpses into obscure, lumpy masses of shadow. Prussia directs their route through the quiet field, squinting in the dark at things that may be shakos or rocks, branches or muskets.

“Look at the state of it,” England grumbles. “I’ll kill the frog all over again for this mess.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind breaking military code for schnapps right now,” Prussia admits. And then, he has a thought, a twisting queasiness that’s probably nothing, but.... “Hey, are those drinks still on, in Paris?” Pupils flicking over Prussia’s face, England tilts his head and quirks a shaggy brow. Quickly, Prussia delivers a cocksure grin, switching to a more joking tone. “Did I scare you off with my war talk?”

A pause, then England exhales through his nose, turning so Prussia only sees his straw hair. “No, don't be ridiculous. I know what you meant.” His fingers curl around the shoulder strap of Prussia’s uniform and he glances back, face set in a haughty look, eyebrows up and lids low. “I’ll come. Just so long as you shut up about how much you love French generals.”

Prussia’s barking laugh fades to a sigh and his cheeks hurt from smiling. “All right, I can promise that.”

They go on, walking together through hell, burdens made milder in solidarity. Maybe Prussia is a hypocrite, he thinks, aweing at the genius of war, but also wanting it to be done, tiring of it and the stench of decay. How it drives splinters under his skin, bruises his friends and steals their respite, their freedom to while away time as they please.

Regardless, they will outlast The Emperor, his battles, and whatever comes next. They will earn their peace soon enough.

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes

Waterloo is currently located in present-day Belgium. However, in 1815, this land was officially controlled by the United Kingdom of the Netherlands. Belgium would become independent in 1830.

Many historians disagree on what time the Battle of Waterloo began, with some sources saying the fighting started at 11:30. I had England say “eleven” as a rough estimate based on his own assumptions, like the direction of the sun.

Blücher was the Prussian commander during the battle. Wellington commanded the Anglo-Allied army.

“We’d have lost the damn continent a second time!” This is probably not true. England is exaggerating because he’s upset and his stab wound makes him feel vulnerable.

Villinghausen was a battle that took place in 1761 during the Seven Years’ War.

Arschloch = Asshole.

Although Prussia wishes he could’ve seen Napoleon’s tactics at Waterloo, he probably would’ve been disappointed, since Napoleon made several strategic errors in the battle.

Hussars are a light cavalry unit. Shakos are a type of military hat.

After losing to Napoleon in 1806, the Prussian army went through a massive overhaul. Many improvements were made and commanders were instructed to study Napoleon’s tactics for future wars.

At Waterloo, the Prussian and Anglo-Allied armies defeated the French, which was a devastating loss to Napoleon. It eventually led to his abdication and final surrender, just weeks later.

#aph england #aph prussia #pruk #hws prussia #hws england #aph netherlands #hws netherlands #hetalia fanfiction #historical hetalia #gilbert beilschmidt #arthur kirkland #hetalia #historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 7 #set in 1800s #blood cw #war cw #injury cw #my writing

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nakajimahikouki · 4 years

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Even if my entire being disappears into the past I'm sure we'll always stand together

The first year of Heisei, 1989, was the year Kiku returned to this world. Heisei was interpreted to mean “peace everywhere” and it had been ever since, in spite of their obvious differences with regards to their duties as nation representatives, past and present. The end of Heisei came in 2019 with the abdication of Emperor Akihito. The ascension of a new emperor meant the continued tradition of revealing a new name: Reiwa, interpreted as “beautiful harmony.”

for @historical-hetalia-week (since my stuff rarely shows up in tags) *for anyone wondering why i use “hikaru” as a name, please see my pinned post, thank you. :) it is important to note that this series has followed my canon divergent rp blog @/kyokkou through particular moments in their history-based timeline while trying to keep the spirit of each era with appropriate outfits. hairstyles will not be accurate as i wanted the character to remain recognizable. lyrics from “miiro” by akino from bless4.

#historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 7 #set in 2019 #prompt: tradition #Honda Kiku #Honda Hikaru #aph fanart #[ I... I FINALLY DID A WHOLE ART CHALLENGE. nothing but bastard and hikaru. LMAO ]#[ i think that's all i'm gonna draw this year too LOL ]

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earths-roots-grow-up · 4 years

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@historical-hetalia-week day 7: free day, 1800-1945

Connected to this Headcanon. Please note that the uniform is not exactly historically accurate, which is my mistake.

#historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 7 #1800 - 1945 #hetalia #aph prussia #aph germany #hws germany #hws prussia #ludwig beilschmidt #gilbert beilschmidt #Axis Powers Hetalia #hetalia world series #german brothers #potato bros #hetalia prussia #hetalia germany #myart #churning out pots

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atlas-workbench · 4 years

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Wish You Were Here - WWII Historical Hetalia Fic

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13830542/1/Wish-You-Were-Here

Summary: It is 1943 and there is an invasion to plan. Unfortunately, England does not have the right map for the job. Luckily, America and Canada are able to lend a hand. A drabble written for the 2021 @historical-hetalia-week.

Warnings: war and injury (all non graphic), mentions of weapons and bombing, crummy innuendos that no one outside of the Hetalia fandom would consider to innuendos but here we are, some name calling, and problematic empire thinking in a ‘vague-bloggy’ way. No beta we die charge of the light brigade style.

#historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 7 #APH England #APH Canada #APH America #historical hetalia #ACE family #couldn't have a historical hetalia week without the WWII now could we!#thank goodness for the free day for whenever history we want #there's just too much history to be contained #the gift that keeps on giving #thank you for getting me off of my rear and onto this bandwagon #I shall now fade into obscurity once again #it's been good #see you all on the other side

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goldtracing · 4 years

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Day 7 – Memento / (post-1945)

Once again, I’m a wee bit late. I wanted to present this for Day 6, however family activities interfered. So, I’ve decided to post it for Day 7. Also, I had pieced of this in my WIPS, and therefore I just went ahead, translated it and added.

In lieu of the most devastating war in human history, the once proud nation had been crushed, the confidence in that smile liquidated, the mad glint of fascism eradicated. Something that the fiend had deserved in Denmark’s eyes.

“What else do you want to do to my people?”, Ludwig had rasped, desperate in his question to Matthias, his else collected nature distorted by hopelessness. It had filled Denmark with sadistic glee to see his enemy so vulnerable.

He had played god for so long and he would be a slave all the longer.

The physical wounds the war had inflicted were deep and hurt, but it was the mental injuries that smarted the worst and hauled forth the worst sides of human nature. So, as one of the wronged, the Nordic hadn’t shown any mercy in his next words. Because wasn’t he entitled to revenge, however abstract it was?

“My dear Ludwig, somebody has to clean up the legacy you have left, and who would be better suited than your own children”, he had smugly declared.

Germany had demeaned them, forced them to their knees and humiliated them. He had shot, enslaved, tortured, subjugated and starved them – therefore he deserved nothing less than the unbridled ire of the whole world.

Which was why he couldn’t fully comprehend why Alfred had decided to spare the disgusting sinner, even decided to reconstruct him. “America is still young and foolish and so woefully idealistic”, he had told himself. “One day he shall learn that a tumour can’t be converted – it has to be burned out by a cleansing fire.”

Nevertheless, beneath all his anger, a small fraction of him that was so unchangeable human and sympathetic understood the new-found king, even concurred with his choices when the superpower vaguely explained part of his reasoning. That they should retake the exact path that he lead to the war to begin with. However, it was just a spark of compassion – one that was almost extinguished by years of bloody conflict, like every time order was replaced by chaos and altruism yielded to greed.

However, such memories were irrelevant in face of the present. The war was over and to remain trapped in the past and recollections of it, as well of the self-conflict it brought, was ill-advised. It was the most logical option and as a millennia-old nation it should have been an easy task. Despite having participated in countless wars and having learned to bury loathing – for allies could become enemies overnight and vice versa, leaving little room for permanent grudges – but this time, it was different.

Matthias breathed in deeply, smelling the sea and the sand, holding the air in his lungs for a few moment and then releasing it. The stiff breeze tugged at his tresses, the chill welcome and grounding in reality. He reminded himself that he was free again, free to remould himself to the changing demands of the modern world and choose the path he wished to take.

Opening his eyes again, staring down at the beach from his perch. It was a windy day, the dully shining through a grey cover of clouds, mirroring the turbulent waves with its froth-crown waves. Drowsy, in a way, like the village to his back.

That couldn’t be said of the boys down on the beach and Denmark made his way down to them, halting at the black flag that had been plunged into the loose ground. Behind that makeshift line, the member of the Hitler Youth, were lying on their stomachs. Their fear was palpable as they poked in the sand, searching for landmines. They were thousands of them buried in this little stretch of land, the legacy of Germany that desperately needed to be removed.

Some of his men had argued that it was inhumane to put children in harms way like this, where one wrong move could be their demise. Other’s argued that they were Germans, and therefore this was only fair.

Either way, this had to be done.

Grimacing, he glanced at the black crude things that had been stacked up. All defused, ready to be stripped for metal and explosives. Yet Denmark considered keeping one, as a crude memento of this wretched century. Something grotesque that would remind him of the atrocities committed, even when the world shall have forgotten about it, every living memory eradicated and the people that had witnessed the battles and bombings and crimes all deceased.

It would fit well in a museum, buildings were artifacts were housed, so many of them souvenirs he, the personification, had gathered on the journey that was called life. Such a mine would be an appropriately grisly warning from a long-gone era in a century or two.

#historical hetalia #historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 7 #memento #1945 - present #post-ww2 #aph denmark #aph germany #hws england #tw war

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jxllydrummr · 5 years

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( airi suzuki, female, she/her, bang dream! girls band party! ) * &. i know it must be scary for you, kanon matsubara, after not surviving the takeover. to turn into someone like ichika nonomiya, a twenty-two year-old clerk at ‘sno problem, right here in castle town. just remember that you are as kind as you are anxious, and to be wary, be safe, be true to who you are : heroic through and through. ( mage / she/they / 21 / est )

(( Yes hello hello again! It is Mage, who decided that she wanted to play her BABEY Girl, her sunshine, her DAUGHTER!!!!!!! I care abt Kanon so much I can only hope I portray her half as good as she truly is. Also YIKES I WRITE A LOT LMAO… but she’s my baby so I have to… tw for food mention! ))

Before The Snap - KANON MATSUBARA

She’s a 16 year old drummer in the band Hello, Happy World!

She’s an anxious, quick to tears girl with a heart of pure gold. When she gets stressed out (so, VERY OFTEN), she says “fuee”.

She was going to give up on drumming, and was about to sell her drum set, when the lead singer of HHW, Kokoro Tsurumaki, convinced her to jam out with her. This event made Kanon realize how much fun she had drumming, and because of this, she sees Kokoro as a real-life hero.

In my personal headcanon, Kanon almost gave up on drums because her little brother made a joking comment about how she never really touched the drum set, and Kanon started to worry that she wasn’t good enough at all for it.

Made friends with a baby penguin.

Her favorite animal is the jellyfish, but she loves all marine life.

The band consists of Kokoro Tsurumaki (vocals, rich as hell and has the energy of a thousand red bulls), Hagumi Kitazawa (bass, sporty tomboy who hates seeing anyone lose and has zero thoughts), Kaoru Seta (guitar, the Best Lesbian, literally has to do a wedding photo shoot with another girl and Kaoru was dressed up as the groom, another character canonically has a crush on her), and Misaki Okusawa (DJ, tired 24/7 and the only one in the band with a functioning brain besides Kanon, unfortunately has to DJ in a fur suit named Michelle, and only Kanon gets that Michelle and Misaki are the same person).

Kokoro taught her the chant “Happiness, Happy, Magical”, which fills Kanon with courage when she chants it, helping her do what she has to. It’s not magic or anything; she just thinks about how Kokoro saved her by (in her eyes) being brave enough to talk to a stranger dragging drums in the street.

Despite her anxiety, she actually works at Copyright Friendly McDonalds.

She has a pretty good memory, able to recall huge orders and can repeat them back without messing up once, or can remember tiny details about what someone’s wearing.

Kanon’s sense of direction is terrible. It’s so bad that she can often get lost while walking in a straight line. Often, Kaoru has to come and lead her in the right direction. Despite this, she can always find her favorite cafes from how they smell. It’s pretty much her anchor point.

Kanon has gone to every cafe she can find and not get horribly lost on the way to it. From tiny hole in the wall places to a special 3D latte art cafe, she loves them all, but her favorite always will be the local Hazawa Coffee.

After The Snap - ICHIKA NONOMIYA

Kanon did not survive the snap, so now… meet Ichika!

Personality wise, extremely similar to Kanon; anxious, but kind. Ichika is a little bit more extroverted than Kanon, enjoying spending time with friends and not having to be dragged to fun activities. She still says ‘fuee’, not nearly as frequently as Kanon, though.

She’s still into drumming, spending some time at The Record Scratch looking at the drum sets, and sometimes, if she’s lucky, playing them.

Now, she works at Sno Problem, which is still as stressful as ever, but nothing she can’t handle.

Her memory is still good, but she has to write something down in order for it to really stick.

Ichika’s life is very… unnoteworthy. She grew up in a lower middle class family, as the little sister to an older, extremely distant brother. She never really got to know him, although all the memories she has with him are positive, but knew of his garage band, trying to make it big without the record labels. Her parents were often working late hours, so Ichika had a lot of free time. She spent it reading any books she could get her hands on, and listening to her brother perform in the garage, although he would often be away “on tour”.

Because of her reading, she became a massive bookworm, going to libraries and running them dry of any book that caught her fancy that day.

Ichika learned drumming from her older brother. It’s one of the few times he’s gone out of his way to spend time with her, and she adores it. Whenever she plays, she feels connected to her brother.

Her family life isn’t terrible, but she does wish she could be as close to her mom as some of the YA heroines seemed to be with their moms.

She adores the sea, and will often just wander around near it, but she has to have a landmark near her, or else she may wander off and never find her way back.

She started going to school for marine biology, but nearly dropped out after the first sememster because of her work load, and it nearly burning her out. Talking to the college, they let her take on a much lighter work load, while making it clear that she would not be graduating on time. That was fine with her, because that meant she could spend a little bit more time really getting to know herself outside of books and drums.

When she’s not at work, school, the beach, or Record Scratch, she’s usually found at any of the eateries around town, nose buried in a book. Her favorite place is Beans Beans Beans, and she always orders the same thing, a small black tea with perhaps an illegal amount of sugar and cream in it.

She is often seen with a scrunchie around her wrist, almost like it’s just a bracelet. She wears one at work to tie her hair back. Lately, though, she’s taken a shine to a particular one that seems very floral…

She has a stuffed dog named Eve. This has nothing to do with anything I just think it’s vital you know she has a stuffed dog named Eve.

Also her name has a subtle reference to who she really is: ichiKA NONomiya

#castletown.intro #castletown.ooc #( how fueeting ; ooc )#( what i call home ; castle town information )#( pitter patter pitter patter ; past life )#( you really gotta be here ; about ichika )#long post #food tw

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cheesytoucans · 6 years

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I feel like if the question was asked to HHW, Kokoro would go "that's a great idea", the host would be like "finally!", but some days later the male band HHW collabs with is a band of 7 year old boys who really like dinosaurs

Kokoro runs up to some kindergarten boys playing dinosaur on the playground: LETS MAKE A DINO SONG TOGETHER.

Misaki films and it puts it up on online with the title “Hello Happy World’s first collab with a male band!”

#honestly that's the cutest mental image ever #and kokoro would #fuck its so wholesome #I can't #it'd be a perfect dino song man #I know it #bang dream #Anonymous

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historical-hetalia-week · 3 years

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2022 Prompt Announcement

Hello everyone and welcome to Historical Hetalia Week 2022! This year, the event will be held from February 21st to February 27th, 2022.

Prompts:

Day 1 (21.02): B.C. – 500 // Memories

Day 2 (22.02): 500 – 1000 // Seasons

Day 3 (23.02): 1000 – 1500 // Tradition

Day 4 (24.02): 1500 – 1800 // Adventure

Day 5 (25.02): 1800 – 1945 // Music

Day 6 (26.02): 1945 onwards // Color

Day 7 (27.02): Free Day

Rules & Content Guidelines:

Your work must be tagged with the following: #historicalhetaliaweek and/or @ this blog, Day and prompt being fulfilled (i.e. #hhw day 1 & #prompt: 500), proper tagging for any mature or triggering content (please see a non-exclusive list HERE)

The event prompts will be broken into time periods to encompass all of history. However, there will also be additional prompts provided for each day. Participants are required to fulfill at least one prompt for that day. Content made for the addition prompt must have a historical setting, but not necessarily the time period it is paired with.

Works including topics like genocide, ideologically sensitive issues, or recent tragedies will not be accepted. Works portraying topics like incest, pedophilia, rape, gore, and graphic violence will also not be accepted. If you are unsure if a work/idea conforms to this rule, our ask box is always open.

Additional Rules and Tagging Guidelines can be found HERE

If you have any questions about the prompts or any of the rules, please don't hesitate to ask! Our ask box is always open and we are happy to clarify.

#hetalia #historicalhetaliaweek #historical hetalia #prompt list #hws america #hws england #hws russia #hws china #hws france #hws germany #hws italy #hws japan

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ajisaitea · 6 years

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For Day 6 - 10 I wanted to pick songs that weren’t so old that no one would know them. But I also tried to keep the feel of the song in the area of what the groups might sing; with the exception of HHW but I think the song I picked for them still fits.

Day 6: Echosmith - Bright Day 7: Maroon 5 - Lucky Strike Day 8: Owl City - Fireflies Day 9: CHVRCHES - Get Out Day 10: Oh Honey - Sugar You

#aji plays games #bandori #Bandori30Covers

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garbagebinrentals · 5 years

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Where Can I Throw Out My Garbage in Toronto – read here!

The end of your driveway. Simple. An easy answer to the question, where can I throw out my garbage – if only.

If you have electronics, hazardous waste, construction materials, a whole lot of garbage, mattresses, or furniture, municipal waste management isn’t picking it up.

There are a lot of situations where it might not be clear where you can put your garbage in Toronto.

Let’s clear up any confusion. Here is a breakdown of how waste pickup works in Toronto and what options are available to you.

The three-bin system

Toronto waste disposal and garbage pickup use a three-bin system. With this organization, the City manages more than 500,000 tonnes of garbage. Here is what is allowed to go into where.

 Your garbage bin is where general waste and non-recyclables go. These include food containers, disposal cups, food boxes, plastics, foil wrappers, straws, pet hair, and more.  Blue bin recycling accepts specific items in the categories of plastics, metal, paper, cardboard, and foam polystyrene. It can take some time to learn what’s recycling and what isn’t. This is perhaps why over 30 percent of Toronto’s total blue bin recycling is contaminated.  Your green organics bin is for fruits, vegetables, meat products, pasta, bread, rice, dairy, animal waste, house plants, coffee grounds, diapers, sanitary products, soiled paper including food packaging, and paper towels.

Where can I throw out electronics in Toronto?

Drop off old electronics at a Toronto drop-off depot. They can also be donated if they’re still working. Even if there’s no value to them, the City will take them off your hands for nothing. This includes the following:

 Smartphones and home phones.  Computers and accessories.  VCR/DVD players  TVs, flat-screens, and monitors.  Printer and fax machines.  Cameras.  Speakers.  Turntables.

Where can I throw our hazardous waste in Toronto?

Hazardous waste is tricky. If it’s generated by a business, commercial, industry, charity, or institutional stakeholder, Toronto won’t accept it anywhere. If it’s from your home, you have options.

You can throw out hazardous waste in Toronto at Household Hazardous Waste (HHW) Depots and/or on Community Environment Day. The following is considered hazardous waste:

 Car and garage products like antifreeze, car batteries, motor oil, fuel, and windshield washer fluid.  Personal care products like alcohol-based lotion, medications, vitamins, nail polish, syringes, and non-empty aerosol cans.  Household cleaners, abrasive powders, bleach, drain cleaners, floor and furniture polish, and disinfectants.  Pesticides and garden products, including insecticides, fertilizers, and weed killers.  Paints, solvents, and glue.  Propane tanks.  Helium tanks.  Lighter fluid.

Where can I throw out construction or renovation waste?

Installing a new roof. Building a deck or patio. Completing a demolition. Renovating your washroom.

These are all examples of jobs that create a lot of waste. Where you put your renovation waste is inside a dumpster or mini bin rental. Believe us when we say this is the easiest way to manage construction waste. This type of waste includes:

 Wood.  Concrete.  Drywall.  Metal.  Bricks.  Tiles.  Ceramics.  Glass.  Plastics.  Cement.  Paint.  Adhesives.  Sealants.  Roof shingles.

Services like Toronto’s Core Mini Bins even offer same-day mini bin rental or dumpster rental service. Just call us and we arrange drop-off. From that point on, the process is easy. Put your waste in the dumpster. Call for pick-up. Get the waste hauled off, no questions asked.

Where can I throw out office or business waste?

Moving offices or moving out old office equipment is a lot of work. A dumpster or junk removal service for office waste is a great opportunity to keep it simple for yourself. The process works similarly as a mini bin rental for a renovation. Just give us a call.

If your business requires ongoing waste management on a weekly basis, arrange a weekly dumpster rental. The cost is yours. The labour, transportation, and responsibility are on the waste disposal company. Here are some examples of office waste that will need a dumpster or junk removal:

 Computers.  Printers and fax machines.  Chairs and tables.  Cubicle dividers.  Binders.  Old office furniture.  Metal file cabinets.  Telephones.

Business waste isn’t exactly the sort of thing you can ignore or manage on your own. An appropriately sized mini bin is your best bet.

Where can I throw out old furniture and garbage from my condo?

Toronto is filled with thousands of condos. Every month, people move in and people move out. Old furniture needs a place to go. Some condos will want your waste moved quickly. A junk removal company is your answer.

Junk removal services are perfect for students, seniors, and condo owners. Get old furniture moved quickly. You don’t have to lug it down to the road or go against your condo rules. A representative will be there, often same day, to help.

Where can I donate furniture, electronics, and reusable items in Toronto?

A lot of organizations are willing to accept your old electronics and furniture as long as they continue to be functional.

If you aren’t able to lug your items down to a local charity organization, allow the best junk removal service to do it for you. Specify you want something donated and to where. In many cases, garbage pickup can help. Environmentally-friendly waste management is key to junk removal. Anything that can be recycled should be recycled. The same goes for reuse.

Can I throw out my garbage in Toronto without hiring a company?

Toronto does have drop-off depots to collect and sort the city’s waste. Any Toronto resident can throw out unwanted items here 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. This isn’t without convenience though.

During peak periods – 11 am to 1 pm and 3 pm to 5 pm – priority is given to City-operated vehicles. You might have to wait if you arrive at these times. You also have to lay down a $40 deposit, regardless of the size of the load. Some items are accepted. Others aren’t. There are fees for some materials, of course. There’s a long list of materials that aren’t accepted at Toronto garbage depots, ranging from hazardous materials to construction and renovation waste, farm waste, tires, yard waste, liquid waste, soil, and more.

Do you need to throw out some garbage in Toronto – you don’t have to look far. Contact a representative at Core Mini Bins today. You don’t have to go through the hassle of DIYing it. Toronto dumpster rentals, mini bin rentals, junk removal, weekly rentals, waste donations, or whatever you need! Core Mini Bins is your resource.

Source: https://www.garbagebinrentals.ca/waste-collection-removal-disposal-blog/767-where-can-i-throw-out-my-garbage-in-toronto-read-here.html

#Where Can I Throw Out My Garbage in Toronto #Toronto waste disposal #Toronto waste garbage pickup #Where can I throw out electronics in Toronto #Where can I throw our hazardous waste in Toronto #Where can I throw out construction waste #Where can I throw out renovation waste #Where can I throw out office or business waste #Do you need to throw out some garbage in Toronto

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