2p! Hetalia Axis and Allies!! Please credit!! Also, please like or reblog if you use them! Not both, like OR reblog. Tho, you can do both 👍👍👍


“Look within yourself..
What do you see?
Is it truly what is given to you right?
The little seed of future planted in your palm
Watered by the unchanging fate.
Growing from the very depths of your body feeding on your soul
And then ,as the flower blooms and is reaped, so will the new ‘you’ will be created.
Changing your nature,changing your mind,changing your soul.
Giving you..a new color..
Look within yourself…
What do you see?.. ’

anonymous asked:

hey this might be a weird request but can you draw 2p france with 1p italy jjust... bein friends

(adm: ALSKDJFALJ AHHHH I’M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO DO ;m;!!!!!!! I also know that’s not exactly what all the asks were asking for but I just ;w;;;;; don’t have time to draw something for each ask, I’m sorry!!! Either way, I hope you like it!!!

Loup: … So many compliments… m-merci.

(adm: you have broken the Loup lmfao thank you!!!! <3333) 

Soul Mate Au

It started with the lines.

Little lines that twisted and turned over his forearms and around his thighs, spreading in every direction across his skin, almost in idle in pattern; no rhyme or reason really. The lines weren’t even pretty or creative, just lines that were too shaky and more like children’s squiggles, the blunt nail of his fingertips leaving nothing much to any artistic eye. Honestly, he simply liked the after effects that occurred when the lines faded, slowly from the beginning to the very end.

But he didn’t care about his lines. He cared about the lines that weren’t his.

The lines that branched off smoothly from his own. There was nothing special about them, not really. It was just regular swirls, but he loved those simple little swirls because he knew somewhere out there, a woman was making those swirls, just like those appearing unaided on his skin, and the design are hers.

He doesn’t know her or anything about her, but in his mind, he knew she was his soulmate.

Then the lines weren’t lines anymore. It started to steadily become beautiful things, things he was certain she must see every day in her life. But she had a talent that he could never recreate, a talent that never stopped, that made him wonder what sort of story must have been behind each drawing that she wished to share to him alone. He never asked though. He was too much in awe of all the things he’d find on his skin. Sometimes at night, he couldn’t help but stand bare in his room, as naked as the day he had been born, twisting in front of the mirror to see all the designs and drawings she flooded into his body. His fingers would trace them lightly, smiling softly when it all came together, all those unexpected turns and twists and curves turning his body into a beautiful canvas and he wondered if she were proud.

She must be to share such a talent with him. But what could he share with her? He held no talent in drawing and he didn’t want to stop the magic she created by drivel words. But what could he give back? What could he share with her that would make them both happy? He thought for a long time after that. He thought about it when he saw the crimson color of a woman’s scarf. He thought about it when he passed a bakery, a father carrying a cake with the number eleven plastered on the surface. He thought about it when he heard the delight of a woman’s laughter, turning to see a couple celebrating their marriage in the courtyard of a church. He thought about it when he looked out from the balcony of his home, smelling the scent of dust after rain.

Then it occurred –  color. He could give her colors. He once recalled a coworker saying that her soulmate was a painter and that when paint splattered on his skin, it would appear on her own. It was perfect! And that’s what he did. He went out to a local crafts shop and bought a small collection of wash off pen, dropping and scattering them all of his bed and preparing himself for whatever new thing would appear on his skin.

It began around his calf, a deer that was hopping in place, blank eyes looking over its shoulder. He waited until she was complete with the deer and picked up a simple brown as she began on the forest next. The cool tip pressed into his skin and he slowly inked in the deer. It wasn’t anything perfect, just a simple one shade, but it brought the drawing more alive. Then he noticed, as the pen was capped shut, that the forest was half complete… she had stopped drawing.

He frowned and glanced back at the deer, wondering if perhaps she had been upset he had added to the drawing? Did she prefer doing things alone? Or was she simply shocked? Appalled that he had pushed his way into her designs? Did he… did he upset her? Chase her off?

Then slowly he saw the leaves of the trees continuing on, being drawn cautiously and then steadily freer as time passed on. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath until he exhaled, relief spreading throughout his chest as he grabbed the green pen. He hesitated for only a moment before coloring a small corner and then just as quickly paused to make sure she hadn’t stopped again. She hadn’t, and he smiled brightly, delighted to find that at the very end, everything had been colored. They had created this — together.

After that she seemed to have gotten the same idea and started using her own colors. And he didn’t think it could be more beautiful. She made the world that she saw more beautiful. She didn’t see the night skies with its dark and black and without character of color, instead she saw the deep blues that encompassed the night. And blue in through the blueness, and the blackness, the winds swirling through the air… and then shining. All the reds he didn’t know existed, nor the orange or browns that were burning, bursting through with color! Everywhere she looked was a complex magic of nature that blazed before her eyes. And she showed him alone, all the things she saw, the magic she gifted back to him… it was wonderful.

He never wanted her to stop.

Then something changed.

2/3/20xx @3 TT

The ever first words she could write, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was. An appointment she had to recall? A meeting to come? A birthday of someone’s? What was it? And what was ‘TT’ honestly, some sort of abbreviation? Initials?

On and off it went like this. Always on the arms too, easy enough to reach, to roll up the sleeves and peer at. But he could never decipher what she wrote down – lists, names, dates, even locations – just like her art was something unbottled, so was her mind. It somewhat resembled short hand, he noticed, but somehow wackier, twisting like riddles, and strange circles he could never decipher. And he did, try that is. He really tried but sometimes there were too many things missing, or they were meshing together with the art. It was honestly just a jumbled mess.

But he liked the little game he made out of it, because if he could find out what one thing meant, even just one, maybe he would find her. If he deduced all the things she left behind, maybe he would one day track her down and surprise her, finally meet in person, face to face. He couldn’t wait until that day, and so continued to try and understand the writings she left behind.

¤ Ω ¤

He saw her on a Saturday.

She was walking down the sidewalk, towards the café he often frequented, looking lost and uncoordinated. She tripped on her feet more than once, and he had to chortle under his breathe because she didn’t look real. She was fantastical and bright and outlandish, like some sort of fairytale character. And sort of cute, he thought. The odd splotch of ink across her nose had its charm.

When she entered, she sat at a small table near the windows, just across from him, twisting her fingers through her hair nervously, trying to look presentable. It looked fairly obvious she was waiting for someone – a date? Her soul mate perhaps? It seemed plausible from the way she kept looking out of the window eagerly, seemingly ready to bounce in her seat every time she caught something before deflating and biting her lip. As her eyes briefly scanned the café and then back to the window, it occurred to him that maybe she was trying to leave a good impression for her plausible soulmate.

He’d heard rumors, nothing definite but rumors, of a soulmate that would reject the other. This, he thinks, seemed to completely defy the point of a soulmate, but he’s not stupid enough to completely discount the chance of it. He looked away the moment that thought settled into his mind, his hand resting on his forearm where he knew the image of a butterfly had been drawn in by his soulmate the night before. He didn’t like to think about it, the idea that his own soulmate might reject him. That she might not like something about him and turn her back, leaving him before they even had a chance.

“Why do you always do that?”

The bitter thought immediately flies out of his head like a startled bird as he looks up, noticing that the woman is no longer alone, but now with a dark haired man, her arm presented to him sheepishly as he ran his fingers over the bared skin. He looked a bit amused, from what he could tell.

“I can’t really help it, besides, I think he likes when I do things like that!”

“You know, a normal person would actually use a canvas, not their own body where it can appear everytime on their soulmate.” mused the man, “Especially if they need to be in public and then have things like this they’ll need to cover. It’s nice, but honestly, it looks like a tattoo.”

Curious at the indignant cry from the woman, he tried to peer closer and immediately spotted the flash of a wing. His heart raced suddenly and he rolled up his sleeve to peer at the butterfly, contemplating what he might have seen. It was the same location, he thought, staring intently at the drawing, roughly around the same length from what he saw of the woman’s arm. And while it had been a bit too quick he was certain it had been the design of a butterflies wing…

He searched immediately through his pocket and bit down on the triumphant cry on his tongue when he pulled out a black pen. Heart beating fast, he thinks for only a moment that it could be a coincidence, that it might not have actually been a butterfly but something else – a dragonfly, a pixie or something – and for a single beat he hesitated with the black tip hovering underneath the butterfly. And then he licked his dry lips before throwing caution to the wind: I found you.

He doesn’t look up as he waits, ears roaring and heart beating frantically in his chest.

One minute….


He inhaled slowly and –


He jerked in his chair as he looked sharply to the woman whom was standing, her chair thrown back and her eyes searching the sea of people in the café (some looking curiously at her). The man with her is startled by her actions, even more so when she looked between her arm and then back to the crowd, snapping something too low to hear, but the man does, and he looks surprised and – and he knows. He knows this must be her, this must be his soulmate, and as if hearing his thoughts her gaze snaps to his and he freezes because now she’s looking at him, taking everything in. From the color of his hair, to the structure of his face and then down to the pen in his hand.

He almost bolts sideways when her eyes widened and for a moment he even believes that she didn’t like him – she didn’t like what she saw – that she knew what sort of person he was – that she would reject him and he would never again see all those beautiful things inside her mind and eyes but then she stepped forward. He swallowed and stood, her footsteps echoing his own as they meet halfway.

She hesitated before glancing down at her arm and showing it to him. He does the same. And it’s exactly the same. The butterfly etched in their forearms and the words written vertically in their skin, identical to the very dot at the end. She turned her gaze to him and he watched as her wide eyes are tearing up a bit, the odd ink stain on her nose (and he wonders if he has the same stain too) looking more pronounced and a dark blue instead of black, and — she’s kissing him right on the mouth. It’s not perfect. It’s actually a bit watery and frantic and all bouts of relief, as if though she dared to let go he would vanish, but it’s the most heartfelt thing he could have ever imagined.

When they finally separate, he has his forehead against her own, looking right into each other eyes, lips brushing against each other and hot breath running across skin as he says, “Hello my beautiful soulmate. I’m Luciano.” In return she grinned broadly and laughed in delight.