Latest Posts by yourcrowsovereign - Page 3
I can’t believe Kiku did that lol.
government secret: alfred in moon shoes is how the U.S. got to the moon and won the cold war
ur prob right
Red phone nonsense part 2
part 1 part 3
Bonus
look. look at this beautiful sword meme. i’m going to cry
ねこ
This is why I stared at my Iranian classmates. And since I don’t have any Indian classmate now, I tried my best to recall the kids in my ELD class. I love my school. I love California.
MY GEOGRAPHICALLY ASIAN BABIES.
I have no idea what their clothes should be like at that time so I just randomly drew them something…… I should practice coloring more :P
This picture clearly shows the climate difference and they remind me the ELD class I took two years ago lol.
Grandpa fights/arguments in the context of Germania×Rome? (If that makes sense?)
I think I got what you meant?…maybe…let me know if I got it wrong. -Admin Jay
Germania and Rome
Rome: “Well back in my day-”Germania: “We are from the same day!”
Germania: “These damn kids and their technological fruit.”Rome: “For the last time, it’s a phone, not food!”
Rome: “I demand a carriage!”Germania: “It’s a taxi, dammit.”
Germania to Prussia: “Back in our day, we didn’t have these fancy doctors and medicine. We just died.”Rome: “But we died drunk!”
“the Greek city-states were as keen on winning battles as the Romans were“
Okay I have no idea whether I drew her the right helmet and armour or not. I just typed in “ancient greek clothing.” (´･Д･)」
Thought this scene would be cute.
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Sorry for the massive Hetalia spam, I’m using the opportunity while I still have some mildly ok ideas. sketches of fem!England, fem!France, fem!Portugal (design from Portugasm) and fem!Japan as pirate girls
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17th century doofuses
Italy bros with curly hair because reasons
Here’s my APH Gaul OC !
The strange thing in her right hand is a carnyx : it’s a gallic horn that was used on the battlefield to frighten the enemy. The sound is absolutly terrifying as you can hear, it even was used for horror movies.
i’m obsessed with aph ancients, so here’s a doodle of a (semi) canon Persia !
Tanto tempo fa
I love to draw babies so much (*´∀`)~♥
Could you please draw the pirate squad in a younger age? I'd love to see it!!
(I don’t know what Port looked like in those days. So, I just made something up.)
Yeah I love drawing heads, fight me. *run*
I intended to draw their faces with personal ideas(mostly inspired by cannon), and I HOPE I could keep them in mind. They’re originally drew on my notebook before (bad student, again), and colored later on the computer. Maybe I’ll draw other characters later.
Some notes: Ivan LOOKS LIKE a man from rural areas, I describe him as simple rather than charming. He resembles Ukraine. Bela is literally beautiful, and has a firm look. Liet doesn’t impress others much but he looks pleasing to the eye because of the easy-going presence. Feliks’s beauty is unique, having blurring cat eyes and soft frame. Edward, standard handsome young man, having potential of being more attractive when he grows older. Ravis has upturned big eyes, little round nose, and you don’t know what’s actually going in his mind. He’s more relate to Liet (the two and the only actual Baltic) so I pick a darker hair color…
(bonus: Well I think of Ivan whenever I see Plushenko, and I actually refer to him a little. facepalm. )
I tried many times and failed to draw a saitisfying Toris, so I was crazy and began drawing random chibis. It’s so hard to keep a stable style…T.T
（Warning! Reference to the x-men:apocalypse poster.(the villains’ version))
X-men super villain crossover! Talking about this with my friends for a while and finally did this.
some notes: “General Winter” leads Ivan to gather the group of maltreated mutants, Ivan seems uncontrollably creates ice,(yeah just like Elsa in Frozen, and Winter is actually himself, decided by my friend), Natalia gathers and shape powers into weapons (other things,too), Ukraine can shoot power from a long distance through things but adding pressure to her body. Liet has an armor around himself (need lots of physical strength and, time limits) , plus his material art skill. Edward is a young computer genius with the ability of teleportation. Ravis can unlimited stretch himself and through solid objects.
I’m not seriously brought up these, though lol (And, apparently I’m really lame on designing clothes, it really kills me) Anyway, so much for the rambling, hope you enjoy the pic.
Cutting out toxic people in your life like
Misconception: America and England are biological brothers.
Keep reading
Not sure if this has been already posted here but I came across this video on YouTube. It uncovers how linguists trace back origins of different languages and deals with language evolution in general. Have a look at it!
dad-and-son snapshot #3—(aka, additional Prohibition-era…incidents. this scene ended up going in a slightly different direction—but thank you so much for the inspiration @jessaverant lmao!)
New York City, 1924 redux
Alfred will admit that he had, as usual, mostly spaced out by the time he arrived at the British Consul-General’s residence on Fifth Avenue. Hey, he’d had had a shitty week and was only too happy to escape Washington D.C for a nice pad with a view of Central Park, alright?
He sinks into an overstuffed floral chintz armchair, and takes in the large windows and expensive-looking furnishings. “Wow, Sir Gloster Armstrong is letting you have free run of this place? Damn.”
“He’s on vacation and his name is Harry, you ridiculous lad. Gloster is his middle name.” Arthur retorts. Well, Alfred thought, that was still leagues better than Fly-from-Fornication.
Anyway, shit, these were really nice, Consul-General worthy digs. Even the floral chintz was kind of stylish with the rest of the well-appointed décor. In the dimming twilight of the encroaching night, the soft, warm lighting made the whole place exude cosiness. “Y’know, I could get used to living here, old man.”
“You could also get used to cleaning your apartment,” his father remarks drily, getting out the decanter and several glasses. “Harry took pity on me upon hearing of my ordeal residing with you the last time around.”
“What the fuck, man—I was an awesome host. You enjoyed getting smashed at those speakeasies I brought you to! The jazz was great too, you said so!”
Before Arthur can make his counterargument, they’re interrupted by the loud jangling of the telephone in the study. The older man clucks his tongue in annoyance and heads into the adjoining room to take the call.
When Arthur doesn’t return within five minutes, Alfred glances around. Where the heck were the drinks? His father totally promised there would be great booze, and that nobody from the Consul-General to the house-staff cared. They too, being reasonable human beings, were unable to tolerate the barbarity of Prohibition, after all. Getting up, he spies a rather strange-looking bottle on the sideboard, positioned next to the other crystal decanters. There was no label, but it was obviously some sort of wine, packaged in a novelty, collectible bottle.
(Later, Alfred will blame it all on a combination of fatigue and the dim lighting inexcusably affecting his normally impeccable and flawless judgment.)
The seal of the bottle looks strange but is quickly dispatched by the bottle opener. The liquid sloshes into the glass easily—but it goes down hideously stale and viscous in his mouth. Fucking hell, it was disgusting—what kind of horrible wine was this?
“You said there was good, finely-aged wine but this tastes like trash!” Alfred directs an accusing gaze at Arthur, who has just returned.
But instead of launching into a long lecture about the art of wine-tasting and how Alfred lacked the requisite patience to appreciate fine wines older than his government or some other tedious bullshit—his father’s eyes only narrow in bewilderment as they fix onto the bottle Alfred has clutched in his hands. And then—much to Alfred’s annoyance—he bursts into wild laughter.
“You absolute—absolute plonker, Alfred Bloody Fucking Jones—my word— the Curator will be furious but oh my, this is just too good—” His father is actually breathless. There are actually tears in the old fart’s eyes.
“Care to get a hold of yourself and explain exactly what folly I have committed, old man?” He says sulkily, as he rinses his mouth out with water from a nearby jug of water. “Have I drunk toilet cleaner or liquid fertiliser or whatever it is that you Europeans routinely keep on your sideboards?”
Arthur sniggers. He almost dissolves into another round of cackling, and only just manages to collect himself.
“Oh, you drank finely-aged wine, alright. Just not the one I got for us—this one was found in the cellar of a Roman nobleman’s villa in Wiltshire. Somehow, it got mixed up and left behind instead of being packed away for delivery to your Met Museum—it’s on loan from us to the Roman gallery. Anyway—brilliant job, lad! It’s been mouldering away for some 1600 years!”
iguesstheynevermisshuh
The First Lady's Library
Abigail Powers started life as a schoolmistress in New York state, and eventually married one of her pupils – future US president Millard Fillmore. The couple, though never rich, acquired a private library of over 4,000 books which was astonishing for the time. Though Abigail stopped teaching after the birth of their first child, and Millard’s election to the New York state legislature, she never lost her love for learning. Her husband always made sure to buy her a few new books during his travels to cities like Albany, New York, and Washington. So when Abigail moved into the White House, she was horrified to discover that the executive mansion housed not a single book. No library for the president? An outrage.
She got Congress to give the Fillmores $2,000 to start a collection for a presidential library, and Abigail personally supervised the purchase of each item. Maps, reference works, histories, even some novels made their way to the White House’s second-floor parlor, which became the official White House library. The finishing touch was a piano, which Abigail had taught herself to play. Though the room has changed (from the second floor parlor to the ground floor) the White House library is still the most famous legacy of Abigail Powers Fillmore, the First Lady who loved to learn.
I can’t help but feel like at one point Alfred really got on England’s nerves (and possibly everyone else’s) in a meeting, and so Arthur in his rage pulled out the Full Name Scolding™️ and was like “Alfred Fly From Fornication Jones you behave yourself” and everyone laughed while Alfred was mortified just like daaaaaaaaaaaadddddd
slight plot twist: smug, confident 20th century alfred is harder to mortify.
Washington D.C, 1998
The ensuing silence in the wake of Arthur’s outburst is interrupted only by Antonio’s snicker. “Oh, it’s been too long since I last heard that name.”
Ivan tears his eyes away from the pie charts and figures on the projector screen to shoot an accusatory gaze at Alfred, who is beaming cheerfully at his father in that patented, all-American way that was calibrated to somehow be simultaneously charming and obnoxious.
“I was under the impression that your middle name was Frederick, Alfred.” Ivan says calmly. If this is the truth, he feels faintly cheated at having missed out on this amusing and critical source of mockery for the past seventy years.
Alfred’s smile is dazzling, as he nonchalantly flips through several intricate-looking engineering blueprints. “’Course it is, Vanya. Just a little joke of the old man’s. You know how he is, he’s still not over the Battle of Yorktown. Now how ‘bout we get back to the—”
“I am most assuredly ‘over’ your teenage tantrum and have been for the past two hundred years,” Arthur says drily, taking a deliberate sip of his tea. His green eyes sweep the others seated around conference table. “I suppose he has been telling you lot one story or another when it comes to what his middle initial stands for, but it is most definitely Fly-from-Fornication. We were, after all, Puritans in that time.”
Alfred’s eyes are large and innocent, as he stares at his father with undisguised concern.
“Shit, pops, I can’t believe you’re already getting fuzzy around the edges. Don’t you remember, you named me Frederick, after Friedrich the Great? I didn’t have a middle name till then, but then you took a shine to ‘Frederick’ after getting weak at the knees for Old Fritz.”
Ludwig, who had been about to firmly suggest that they return to the agenda, is now clearly trying to bury his laughter behind a thick binder prominently labelled European Space Agency Budget.
Arthur is unruffled. He regards Alfred with the air of a schoolmaster long-used to dealing with a particularly tiresome student. He smirks. “I must say, the length you have gone to cover this up is nonetheless, quite amusing.”
Kiku’s brows are considerably nearer his hairline. The complicated calculations he had been working on are forgotten. He looks disappointed at Alfred’s lack of candour. “You told me the ‘F’ stood for ‘Franklin’ back in 1853. So, your middle name is truly Fly-from-Fuckin—”
“Fornication,” Antonio corrects brightly. Shrugs at Alfred’s loud No It Isn’t. “Well, it is the truth, you know—I heard it from the Pope himself when he was having a conniption about Arthur back in the 17th century. Perhaps it is better to just embrace it,” he counsels reasonably, as Francis nods sagely next to him.
Arthur looks positively delighted at this unexpected source of support and raises his tea cup challengingly at his son. Who proceeds to brandish a rolled-up NASA report threateningly at his father.
“Well, firstly, this is bullshit. Secondly, if it is true—don’t you guys think this proves that my dear old man shouldn’t be allowed to name anything, including the kick-ass project we now have in the works? And that I am considerably better at choosing names?” By the end, Alfred’s scowl has morphed into a winning smile, of the variety often worn by his politicians in their television ads.
Arthur snorts. “As I was saying—before we detoured on the amusing subject of your middle name—just because you’re providing most of the funding doesn’t mean you have exclusive naming rights. This is an international collaboration and needs to embody peaceful, multilateral cooperation in every respect.”
“And the names you submitted are boring and uninspired.” Alfred returns. Throws his hands up in exasperation. “We can’t just call this groundbreaking, reach for the stars ‘The International Space Station.’”
“Well, but ‘The Death Star,’ would give a rather worrying impression—”
“You know that was just a joke, Lutz.”
“Come on, Al. It’s not terribly interesting but ‘International Space Station’ is diplomatic and a good description. I doubt we can get fifteen governments to agree on any other name—at least for now.” It’s Matthew, who has just returned from the restroom. Then, noticing that everyone else is staring at him. “What is it? Did I miss something?”
It’s Feliciano who gets the question out, unintimidated by Alfred’s warning glares, his hazel eyes wide with irrepressible curiosity.
“Matthew, is your brother’s middle name really ‘Fly-from-Fornication’?”
new year new icon
Mochi America as big chungus
Listen up. There is literally an app that can help you avoid self harm and I don’t know why we aren’t talking about it.
Calm Harm can be tailored to your needs and will provide strategies to help you get past those crucial moments of wanting to harm.
