so. i think that i am going to need help running this blog, because quite frankly another mod would just be great. if you think you would do a good job, feel free to contact me at theaustipicizer!
Full picture under the cut. NSFW. (obvs)
Love & Murder
hoofmk’s fault. All of it. Take responsibility. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Portugal and England ºuº
The Anglo-Portuguese Alliance: Yeah, it’s kind of like that.
Portugal makes him appreciate love poems like he’s not done in years, maybe ever. He’s never found much meaning to it, elegant words but nothing to back them up—poetry is meant to make you feel, to taste emotion in the back of your throat, and he feels far too old, far too tired.
They should both feel like that—old, tired. Perhaps it’s an inherent trait of Europe, and for them, forever fighting and bickering with neighbours—well they should probably feel older than any. England has always stuck to other genres, preferred the thick, wordy allegories and even the old adventures of Beowulf to the florid works of Shakespearean love and adoration.
He is old, and prickly, and Portugal accepts that in him, embraces it even. Finds it more endearing than he knows how to express, at times. He is blind, at times, and he knows that, accepts it, watching as his dear old friend rises to imperial heights, driven by a deep-seated need to grow, to surpass all those invaders that had ever stepped foot on English soil. He is consumed at times, in a way entirely different from Portugal. There is more than land lust there.
England loves Portugal for different reasons. The other is a respite, a calm, warm place in the tumultuous mix of politics and war. They get along, and that is reason enough to love him. It’s a small seed of affection that grows, until England is noticing things he wouldn’t have before—noticing the way light glances off Portugal’s skin, his face and hair, how he looks illuminated, and how his eyes are just as warm. At times like these, he does wish he was a poet, wishes that he had a way to explain this, to confess love in words rather than in actions.
But despite this, they find their moments in between.
Those moments are of two types, usually—the diplomatic type, when they find reasons to see one another in the midst of business, make their excuses and disappear. And those of the personal type, when they visit simply because they can, and because they want to.
It’s those mornings curled up in sheets, together, curtains open and sun shining that makes England love poetry. It’s Portugal’s voice in his ear and tangled limbs together that make a poetry all their own.
Once upon a time there were two countries, England and Portugal. Once upon a time (a little bit later), there was a series called Hetalia which made it possible to imagine them as people. Two people, that is.
Why these two countries?
Well, plenty of reasons.
• The oldest diplomatic alliance in the world, ratified in the Treaty of Windsor, exists between England and Portugal. (1386! For those of you who don’t like math, of which I’m definitely one, that would be 626 years as of 2012.)
• This alliance has been invoked numerous times throughout history, several notable examples including the Iberian Union’s termination in 1640 to the Seven Years War in 1756 to the Peninsular War in 1808 to World War Two. We’ll get more into this later.
• The two countries have maintained warm relations throughout history, including profuse cultural exchanges (the English custom of tea-drinking originated from Portugal – more specifically, with Catherine of Braganza as queen consort of Britain and wife of Charles II). The only significant break in these relations occurred in 1890 over territory grabbyhands.
• It’s pretty awesome, yes.
England/Portugal is a pairing very much rooted in history, so expect quite a few posts like these. And if you’ve any art or fic to share, pleaasssee share it with us. ouo