Latest Posts by strudelcreme - Page 4
Agincourt: The English beating the crap out of the French with longbows. Castillon: The French beating the crap out of the English with guns. Hundred Years’ War: One unholy mess. Check out Francis’ handgonne in action here.
So, commissions are open and there’s a special offer for June and July with commissions featuring France, Canada, America, and others. For the price list and samples, go here.
INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (2009) DIR. QUENTIN TARANTINO
Now, I don’t know about y'all, but I sure as hell didn’t come down from the goddamn Smoky Mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half of Sicily and jump out of a fuckin’ airplane to teach the Nazis lessons in humanity. Nazi ain’t got no humanity. They’re the foot soldiers of a Jew-hatin’, mass murderin’ maniac and they need to be destroyed. That’s why any and every son of a bitch we find wearin’ a Nazi uniform, they’re gonna die.
By the power of— nostalgia max and his favorite 80s sitcoms
Artist | ullychee on Instagram
Something I drew a while ago but didn't post because I dislike how Feliks face turned out ;v; I put it on ig yesterday and people liked it so I'll be bold and post it here as well 💕
1466
“But I should take that as a compliment, I suppose,”
Home Bound.
(Aldo Raine x Female!Reader)
For the lovely @strudelcreme really hope you enjoy ❤️❤️
I'm so sorry if it's bad, I am literally buried in tests and projects 😭
Everything seemed to remind (Y/N) of home.
Every single thing.
From the flow of the river, to the way the towns would quiet down when night came. All such bitter reminders of what she left behind. Of what she might never see again. Such fear and homesickness had seemed to grip her these past few days, it was almost as if she were dying, and her mind was showing her the last good memories she had. At first, (Y/n) was hesitant to join the Basterds as their field nurse. The war absolutely terrified her but she was the only one who actually knew what she was talking about.
Through much deliberation and Aldo's persistence, (Y/n) agreed to join.
Now here she was, in the middle of nowhere France and trying to not cry. The tears blurred her eyes but she did not allow them to shed. She needed to get away from them. Once she was sure that everything of hers was in order, (Y/n) took off from the camp, not going to far as to avoid getting lost. Once she was sure that she was away enough, she finally let herself go.
With a hand over her mouth, (Y/n) felt her body shake, as each suppressed sob finally passed her lips. Her eyes were shut and in that darkness, the faces of her mother, father and friends flashed like lights into her memory. The thought of never seeing them again made her weak at the knees, making her kneel down. It hurt to be this hurt and terrified. With every sniffle and sob, (Y/n) prayed and wished that she was at least sent away, or taken away from all of this.
She could go back home to her ma and never talk about this. The girl was too busy crying to notice the figure that had arrived. Aldo waited for her to at least calm a little, so that he could make his move. It hurt to see the woman he had grown to love in such a state. Her heaving breaths came to a slow, and Aldo moved quickly to take her into his arms. (Y/n) let out a quiet gasp, feeling her face be collide with a broad chest. "S-sir! Um I-!"
"Shhhh, let it out "
His words stunned her, and (Y/n) couldn't stop the new flood of tears coming from her eyes. Aldo buried her face in his chest, listing to he'd breathing and waiting for her to finally be alright enough to speak. "I know, I know, shhhh." Aldo cooed. (Y/n) let out a brief chuckle through her tears. "You shouldn't have to see me like this…"
"I don't mind a bit, darlin'...what's the matter?" Aldo asked through a small grin. To be frank, (Y/n) dreaded the question. How on earth was she supposed to explain why she was crying? She was afraid of how she would be viewed after this, especially by Aldo. She backed up from him, and Aldo could feel his heart break a little when he saw her red, (e/c) eyes. "I...I miss home. I miss my parents...I miss my friends...I hate this…" She confessed, the previous worry disappearing for that moment. Aldo said nothing. "I want to go home...and I'm just so scared that one of you is going to die and I won't be able to save you." She expressed, sighing at the weight being lifted from her shoulders.
"I know how you feel kid...I find ma self missing home too and trust me when I tell ya', we're all terrified." Aldo breathed. "Ya' don't gotta feel sorry for wanting to go home...it's natural to feel that way. Hell, I can't wait to leave this shithole behind." Aldo joked, trying his best to being some levity to the situation. (Y/n) downcasted her eyes, drifting to her filthy pants. Aldo noticed her still sad look, and sighed. "Kid...I can't guarantee that all of us will make it back home... but I sure as hell will try." Aldo stated, confidence dripping from every word. (Y/n) smiled, wiping her eyes. "You really know how to cheer people up, huh Aldo?" She said.
Aldo smiled, and placed his hand on her shoulder. "That's what I'm here for sweetheart. Listen, how about we write up a letter to your folks, I got a guy in Paris thats willing to send letters to England. Will that make you feel a little better?" Aldo quizzed and (Y/n) could swear her heart leapt. She nodded her head vigorously. The girl looked like she was going to leap out of her own skin. "That's ma girl. Now come on, I think Wicki has some spare paper." Aldo said.
The two returned to the camp, where Aldo stayed at (Y/n)'s side for longer than usual. And he was right, the letter did make her feel a bit better. The fear and the yearning for home might never go away, but at least (Y/n) had somebody to combat it with.
She slept well that night.
@empress-writes @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @jokersqueenofchaos @struggling-bee @strudelcreme @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @aurelie34-43
Christopher Plummer as the Duke of Wellington (Waterloo, 1970)
Admit it, this guy is more excited about Napoleon than you’ll ever be.
HAHAHA
Beloved :)
Love Line.
(Archie Hiecox x Female!Reader)
For the lovely @strudelcreme, really hope you enjoy 💛💛 also sorry if it's a bit short and possibly bad , Im still going through a bad fever.
"Archie! I have another one!"
"Am I obligated to hear it?"
"Yes!" (Y/n) exclaimed, taking a seat near her friend. The pick up lines she would throw around, while cheesy and would only work on Smithson, did help the group morale considerably. "Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you're the only ten I see." (Y/n) said. "Hah!" Exclaimed Aldo, who seemed closer to the duo. Archie however, sighed. Not the sigh of disappointment anyone would expect, but rather a happy one.
"While I heavily dislike these pick-up lines...that one was good." He breathed and (Y/n) clapped in triumph. "I'm gonna go try some on Smithson. That boy hasn't had a woman flirt with him ever." She started in glee, turning her heel and quickly scanning the area and finding Smithson.
Archie was left to his own devices, watching (Y/n) skip to the others. When he and (Y/n) first met, Archie was baffled. How could such a bubbly and happy girl, so full of life, be in the middle of a bloody war? He asked those questions, though found himself hesitant to know the answers. (Y/n) was the type to make stupid, corny jokes and use pick up lines on them all, but mostly to Archie.
Archie found them dumb, mostly unoriginal and he would possibly strangle any of the other Basterds for even attempting to lay so many on him. His and (Y/n) relationship was platonic to the ordinary observer, but Archie's affection seemed to be obvious to everyone but (Y/n).
He knew that developing feelings for someone right now would most likely result in tragedy, and (Y/n) deserved so much better. She deserved all the good things life had to offer and if Archie wasn't to be one of those things, then so be it. As Archie's eyes focused on (Y/n), he didn't notice Donny coming up behind him. The harsh clap to his shoulder sent Archie a bit forward, a surprised grunt escaping him.
"Donowitz, you scared the wits out of me!" Archie exclaimed. Donny let out a chuckle.
"Yeah, you had your eye elsewhere, Tommy boy." Donny said. Tommy was the less than comical nickname that Americans used for Brits. In any of the cases, he could always call Donny a Yank, and he knew that would sent the Bostonian up the wall. Archie never really minded the nickname anyway. He adjusted his shirt collar. "I have no idea what your talking about." He said calmly, hiding the blush on his face. Donny smirked. " You're lying, Arch." He said simply. Archie turned to him in surprise.
"I...you don't know what you're talking about." Archie insisted. Donny walked closer, placing his large hand on Archie's shoulder. Archie craned his neck to look up to the Sergeant, their height difference more apparent than ever. "You love her, don't you?" Donny asked. The seriousness in his tone was rare, making Archie know he was being serious. A silence passed by, the crunch of fallen leaves becoming more audible. "I've seen the way you look at her, so don't lie to me." Donny inquired. Archie sighed. "It's really that obvious?" Archie asked.
"To everyone but her apparently." Donny said. A soft laugh made Archie look over, his own face contorting to a smile when he sees (Y/n) laughing with Smithson. Seeing her happy made his heart pick up in pace. "I suppose you're right, Donowitz...but...I'd rather keep things as they are now."
"What the hell? Why?"
"We are in the middle of a war Donny. She will be put in unnecessary danger for even associating with me." Archie expressed. Even the thought of her getting hurt because of him, made Archie feel sick. "I understand that, but do you really want to live your life, knowing you never said anything?" Donny asked.
Archie never expected someone like Donny to be so insightful. Not that he thought of Donny as incapable, but he just never showcased any knowledge on love specifically. The world was full of so many surprises, wasn't it? "What guarantee do we have that we'll make it, Donny? I don't want to promise her everything and then give her nothing." Archie expressed frustration. "Well you won't know until you tell her!" Donny retorted, rather loudly.
"Tell her what?"
Archie froze, while Donny's face was slowly overtaken with a mischievous grin. He slowly backed up, saying he heard Aldo call him. Archie silently cursed himself and Donny. "You alright there Archie, you look pale." (Y/n) commented. "Is this about my pick up lines?" She asked slowly. (Y/n) knew that most of the Basterds found her lines annoying and sometimes irritating, but that never warranted a reaction. She was also aware that there was a good chance that this wasn't about that at all.
Archie chuckled, his eyes down cast. "No...um...well...I have something to confess." Archie finally breathed. (Y/n) ears perked up and her (e/c) widened slightly. "I...I actually find those stupid pick up lines very...endearing. And I find you...very endearing." Archie said carefully.
God, he felt like a boy again. That fear from before appeared once more, the fear that she and him wouldn't have a lifetime together. That Archie wouldn't get to hear those stupid lines again. But then, he thought of Donny's words. "You won't know until you try." He had said. "Archie...what are-?"
"Ivebeeninlovewithoyouforalongtime!"
Another silence passed through them. It was clear that (Y/n) hadn't really understood him. Archie took a breath, speaking slower then before. The parts she did manage to hear made her heart pick up. " I have been in love with you for a long time...I never said anything because I was...I was afraid." Archie confessed. "Afraid that if I promised you so much...I wouldn't be able to give it to you." He finished with a breath. A comfortable silence settled between them, as Archie awaited for her to answer. With a swift move, (Y/n) was upon him immediately, the biggest of smiles on her face. "You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to say that." She breathed.
With their arms wrapped securely to one another, Archie leaned in to whisper in her ears. "I promise I will give you everything and more." He said, before planting a soft kiss to her neck. "Archie, you know...if you were a triangle, you'd be acute one." (Y/n) replied.
"I just told you I loved you and you...oh forget it." Archie laughed, before picking her up in her arms. "What can I say...you are adorable." She replied. After such a heated session of confessions, Archie and (Y/n) spent the night under the stars, as he whispered a thousand promises to her awaiting ears.
For the first time in a long time, life felt good.
@strudelcreme @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @empress-writes @struggling-bee @jokersqueenofchaos @sergeant-donny-donowitz
Napoleon I … Finally
Rami Malek as Ahkmenrah Night at the Museum (2006)
what if they ran around in hamster balls instead… what then
night at the museum is a franchise I wouldn’t have gotten sick of. they could have tried shoving 8 sequels and an animated series down my throat and I would have ate that shit up
if i had my way the americana-themed met gala would look like this
The Price of Fun.
(Gerold Hirschberg x Female! Reader)
For the lovely @strudelcreme, really hope you enjoy ❤️💛
"You two gotta be careful out there. Don't know when or where those Krauts might be hanging about." Aldo warned for the upteenth time. (Y/n) had to suppress a eye roll while Gerold only nodded. The mission wasn't even that big of a deal, it was only Aldo wanting to make sure that Paris had... viable escape routes. He couldn't have out one of his best on a more boring mission. "Do not engage if you see anything, do I make myself clear?" Aldo quizzed.
"Yes sir!"
"(L/N)?"
"Yes sir." She responded, less enthusiastically than her man. Once everything had been briefed once more, (Y/n) and Gerold were left near the outskirts of the city. " Alright, I'm not going to do this." Gerold said, catching his girl by surprise. "What do you mean?" She asked. (Y/n) knew that her boyfriend had a knack for causing trouble, especially back home. She didn't take him serious when he said he was joining the army. "I heard there's a movie playing at the cinema. You wanna go watch it?" He asked.
"You can't be serious."
"Come on, I haven't taken you on a date since we got here." Gerold reasoned. (Y/n) laughed softly, feeling a blush creep up on her. The idea of a cinema did sound appealing, it definitely beat having to do this boring mission. "Fine, let's go. How do we get the tickets?" (Y/n) asked, although she knew that Georld had some scheme already planned. " Who said anything about tickets?" Gerold smiled. The two made their way toward the cinema, (Y/n) making an effort to conseal them from any Police. They snuck into the cinema, taking the seats the top of the room. The movie they were watching was "Gilda", Georld's favorite movie. Hell, when (Y/n) and he first met, Gerold said she looked like Rita Hayworth.
"Haven't you seen this movie like a thousand times?" (Y/n) asked with a grin. Gerold smiled back. "I know the entire thing by heart now. " He said proudly. The movie got to the bit that could literally make any man swoon. That gorgeous hair flip, combined with that beautiful voice, it even made (Y/n) blush. Once the movie was over, the two decided that it was time to head back. They exited the same way they came in, and it was then that they noticed that it has gotten dark. They shared a look. A look that conveyed exactly what the two parties were feeling. "We are so screwed." (Y/n) said.
The walk back was filled with awkward laughs and Gerold trying to sneak a kiss here and there. "You know, when we get back home, I'm gonna marry." He said. "You serious?" (Y/n) asked, quite surprised by his confession. She had wanted to be married and it mad her extrinsically happy to know that he wanted to as well. The camp was quiet. "Phew, we are good to-"
"I wouldn't say so, Hirschberg." Said Aldo, emerging from behind them. (Y/n) yelped, jumping slightly and Gerold swore. " Now...why don't you two tell us where the fuck you've been?" Aldo asked, his voice dangerously low. They have never seen him this mad. Turns out, the others were awake as well. They all looked just as angry. "We umm...we umm...we were at a movie." (Y/n) sighed with honesty. It took a moment for Aldo to process what she said and Gerold looked like he was going to shit himself. "So your telling me that you blew off an important mission to watch a fucking me? Well fuck me, we should all do the same thing. It ain't as if we are in the middle of fucking war!" Aldo swore. If you have ever heard a man from the middle of goddamn Tennessee swear, you know you were in trouble.
"Sir, we were only trying to-"
"I don't wanna hear it, Hirschberg. You two dumbasses might have gotten killed. Did you have any consideration for any of us?" Aldo asked, as if he was expecting an answer. The duo stayed quiet and Aldo scoffed. "You're lucky I sent Wicki and Stiglitz to do your job for you." He sighed. "You two ever pull this shit again, you'll be running to the Krauts to save your asses." Aldo seethed and a cacophony of agreements followed suit. The situation died down after, and the others returned to sleep. (Y/n) were left to think about their actions. "It was a good movie though." Gerold said. (Y/n) chuckled. "Be quiet, shortie." She responded. A pout made its way to his face.
A hand came down on both their shoulders, and they were pulled into an almost bear-like hug. "Aldo, you're crushing me, man!" (Y/n) stated, dropping all formality when it was just them. "Shut up." Aldo responded simply and (Y/n) laughed. " You two ever pull something like that again, I swear to God I will kill you both." Aldo stated, his tone holding promise. Both (Y/n) and Gerold returned the gesture, them staying in the hug for a good minute. Once Aldo finally pulled away, he smiled. "I promised I'd get you kids back home. So do me a favor and don't make it harder for me." He chuckled.
"We won't...for now."
"(L/n)."
"I'm kidding."
Aldo laughed, before bidding them a goodnight. Gerold and her laid down, when he turned to face her. "You weren't really kidding, were you?"
"Nope."
@strudelcreme @sergeant-donny-donowitz @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @empress-writes @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @struggling-bee @jokersqueenofchaos
Mikhail Kuznetsov as Fyodor Basmanov in Sergei Eisenstein’s Ivan the Terrible (1944)
“A beautiful face, a vile soul”
Mikhail Kuznetsov as Fyodor Basmanov in “Ivan the Terrible” 1944-5
“A beautiful face, a vile soul”
Mikhail Kuznetsov as Fyodor Basmanov in Ivan the Terrible Part 2
INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS
donny donowitz
熊が好きです
I drew this on a whim but later on when I was doing research on public crying I found a cool book about the history of crying in Britain, and after reading it I was struck with some thoughts on how this famously stoic boy feels about having cries. I think I’ve come across a few headcanons about sadboy Arthur Kirkland, based on stereotypes of the attitudes English people generally have towards being emotional. I wanted to explore a bit on how the history of norms about the general expression of emotions have influenced how England would have comported himself throughout time… what entails is some discussion of savoury subjects such as masculinity, dependency and British insularity as well...
(Disclaimer: norms around emotions and their expressions are obviously gendered in a country like the UK, so this discussion will be only applicable to a male-identifying England. CW for mentions of colonialism.)
In the present day, England is likely to keep himself from putting on displays of tears in public. He’s self-aware of the stereotype of the English able to uphold a “stiff-upper lip” in trying circumstances, and to a degree, adheres to it himself. This articulation of the myth of English stoicism arose recently, crystallized in the public mind through the propaganda of the First and Second World Wars, and packaged as an export of a stereotype (America being the most eager consumer of this, always happy to construe anything British to a way to patronize England. As you can imagine, he comported himself as eternally carefree as a moral counterbalance to England’s anal agedness).
The later Victorian years preceded the synthesis of this stereotype, when the association of tears with weakness and foreignness antagonized their shedding by English men. As Britain was reaching the peak of global geopolitical dominance, the physical and mental conditions as well as characters of its men became a matter of national security. A boy whose upbringing did not involve a disciplining with the Stiff Upper Lip ethic would become a man that threatened the upholding of imperial activities. Though Arthur later became a bit more aware of how the norm of the Stiff Upper Lip spawned from this ideology, at the time it wasn’t a matter for questioning, given the alibis granted by scientific inquiry. Darwinism and psychiatry shaped anthropological theories of weeping, which were made available for use to identify a human society’s proximity to either primitivity or civility – English/British society’s supposed exceptional ability to strictly regulate emotional expression marked them as superior, most obviously to non-white (or non-WASP), colonised societies, as well as to other Europeans. The incapacity to restrain passions was in turn pathologized as “emotional incontinence.” During this time, Arthur was most extremely committed to the repression of tears as a matter of conforming to the Age of Reason. But the sought-for clever, unsentimental disposition came at the cost of pre-emptively devaluing empathy. Furnishing the imperial superiority complex with the view that fellow Europeans were more prone to emotional excess, island-hood came to represent independence from the need for friends rather than the inability to keep friends at all.
Around the close of the Victorian era, the intertwined agonies of loneliness and repression of empathy -- particularly poignant when witnessing his state calibrate its technologies to wage violence and inequality at home and abroad -- inclined Arthur to take seriously complaints about the British “undevelopment of the heart” coming from perspectives of the British cultural elite, many of whom were already critically exploring other social mores. Intellectually, he had a general awareness of the conventions that bound himself and the English people, specifically those who were middle class. Yet, even in circumstances where he was in a place of repose and privacy, with the opportunity to weep – e.g. when affected by the catharsis spurred by the climax of a tragic play, after a gruesome battle on a foreign land, after attempting to comfort a struggling family – he’d find that he couldn’t. At that point he could not even be affected by stories of child suffering -- which were archetypical of Victorian heartrending stories, and which once could have evoked some adequate tears from him when it was popular to be evoked as such. By that point, he’d been comfortable for too long being held captive to his idea of masculinity. Meanwhile, amongst his fellow semi- or fullblown-alcoholic European peers, he gained a reputation as a weepy drunk -- in spite of weepy drunkenness having been a sign of foreignness. Inebriation was an easy escape from those terrible scruples. His drinking companions would have little sympathy to afford England during those fits of incoherent, pity-and-alcohol-fuelled blubbings.
Only with the social upheaval following World War II could norms have the chance to slacken, at least relative to British standards, which by that point were world-famously tight as straitjackets. Psychiatric support for weeping, trickling in primarily from America, encouraged discussion, at least, that recognized that the Stiff Upper lip ethic would be obsolete in the post-war era. Tears provoked by passion no longer were obviously the symptoms of a national traitor. For instance, Arthur came to find release in partaking in collective tear-shedding at emotionally-charged football matches, or during events symbolic of the decline of his empire. Despite his roughly century-long period of restraint, engagement in public rehearsals of catharsis didn’t always come without embarrassment or strangeness.
The period of the stiff upper lip was one of the most hostile to tear-shedding, but prior to this, Arthur had a liberal understanding of what it meant to cry. Throughout history, English society had variously regarded crying as a pious act, or as an intellectual act of sympathy, or a pathetic display of paternal affection, etc.. And with centuries’ worth of “maturing,” having more interactions with other nations, and becoming more self-aware, it became more important to Arthur to take these norms seriously, and more tactfully regulate the expression of emotion. With the 16th century reformation, he learnt from Anti-Catholics to avoid certain forms of weeping that represented the blasphemous and excessive frivolities that Catholicism spoiled religious Christian practices with. (This strengthened the foundation for anti-Europe feeling, but also further justified the feeling of superiority over the Irish). In the aftermath of the French Revolution and the 25 years of war that came with it, a triumphant yet jaded England harboured a special disdain for the seeming unrestrained passion and sentimentality that characterized France’s revolutionary condition. Since the onset of the 19th century, the restraint of emotion would last, to varying degrees, as an aspect of a certain kind of cultural conservatism.
Especially with hindsight, England did appreciate that the correlations of weeping with weakness, effeminacy, foppery, self-indulgence, madness, primitiveness, or degeneration etc. were not natural, and were products of ideological interests. But, having harboured a lifelong insecurity as an island situated a stone’s throw away from an unpredictably violent continent, it tended to seem necessary to adopt any behaviour that could defend him from the machinations of the outside world. His overall habits to repress feelings would be a difficult habit to discard, mostly because he couldn’t be motivated enough to be rid of it anyway. This made it tricky for the unexpected moments when the need for catharsis became too much. The reflex to smother instances of agonised feeling could be discomfiting due to the obsolete moral value the habit stands for. He occasionally indulged in some weeping so long as it’s appropriate and in private, but the sense of comfort that resulted would now be alien too.
And in turn, he couldn’t help his continued alienation from others. While it became more normal to be sceptical of the Stiff Upper Lip’s place in the world post WWII, and Arthur adopted more liberal gender norms, he couldn’t completely abandon old associations of maudlin sentiment so long as they persisted with some strength in English society. Being methodically uncomfortable in sharing these rare feelings with others, these days he’d find real comfort instead in his own geography, as he’s often done so in the past. He is always proximate to the ocean, or if not, to rain, or to sombre crowds of people -- with which he convenes, to observe the latent signs of their confident grieving in lieu of what he himself cannot express.
---
Tl;dr what if Arthur is just a boy about emotions but you also used English history to explain it.
Austria, Prussia, and Russia – Europe’s REAL bad trio
inspired by a post made by @kisamesfacioplegia tbh
fanfiction: fugue in a minor
Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: SpAus (Austria/Spain) Characters: Austria, Spain, Belgium, Augsburg, Swabia, Bavaria, Holy Roman Empire, Saxony Rating: E
Summary: 23 October 1520. Spain and Austria get married. The Imperial Estates and their guests while away the evening with music and courtly dances, celebrating both the union and Charles V’s crowning as “elected Roman emperor” in Aachen Cathedral. But what is expected of the newlyweds? And what is in for them on their wedding night?
This story has been written for Hetabang 2020. It’s a collaboration project with @aph–lietuva who was my Beta and who created wonderful art for this story that you can find on her tumblr. With her permission, I also inserted her art into this tumblr post. It’s been a pleasure working with you! ❤︎
Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).
Keep reading