#aph england mention

[forsoobado137]

🍓strawberryslut177 Follow

💎stopimgonnamine Follow

Alfred during the 2020 election was wild. I'm pretty sure he was awake for like 5 days at a time.

🎅santaispan Follow

Oh my god It was so bad he was literally screaming about conspiracies at journalists and slamming his head against everything. They fr had to put him in a medically induced coma (Which only lasted for 5 hours).

22,714 notes

🌎earth_and_sky07 Follow

🚘garagebottom12 Follow

THEY. ARE. ALL. THE. SAME. And the worst part is 99% percent of them are completely fucking inaccurate.

🦄uminamina Follow

Director: I wanna show the real story!

*adds sex scene with a historical figure that never happened*

🚐wekissinthesodomobile Follow

That would unironically be better than literally every NP documentary ever.

4,592 notes

🧦mummysocks741 Follow

🥬my_cabbagessss Follow

An excerpt from Sir Arthur Kirkland's diary 15 August, 1532

🍩donutdaddy Follow

This deserves to be in a museum. I want to see all of the diary entries from when NPs were angsty teens.

👻whereismybebe Follow

I went down a rabbit hole while working on a paper about Louis XIV and NP France's diary is literally so unintentionally funny. Some highlights are:

Two pages worth of smut about him and Spain.

Describing a duke’s legs in excruciating detail.

His “romantic poems” where he called himself the best poet in Europe

When he wrote an apology to God for being so horny.

His first wet dream.

Rants about people not understanding his fashion.

An entry where he denounces King Louis and in the next entry he forgives him because he gave him new shoes.

A note where he says he’s going to run away to “The farthest of east”

⚽katethegrate Follow

Arthur Kirkland: It's not a phase Henry.

Francois Bonnefoy: God I'm so horny.

14,531 notes

[ask2ps]

i really wanna hear more about the 2ps possessing their 1ps?? do they swap bodies or does their original body just go limp?

a) it's not quite a "body swap." the phrase i've used in past writings for it is "overwriting." i think "suppression" would also be appropriate. the 1ps are, if all goes to plan, "put to sleep". they essentially become a repressed memory. oliver set it up like this because he didn't want the 1p nations trying to constantly win back their body. even so, some nations put up a real fight as they're overwritten (and maybe even a little after if they're strong/stubborn enough... ahem ahem america) italy is not one of them though, partially because 2p italy got him in his sleep.

b) yeah they just go limp lol . they're empty husks, now. free meat. england would try a bite if it canada would let him

[moody-skyz]

Hetalia Siblings Week Interest Check

I was thinking of making a week to celebrate all the sibling relations in Hetalia!

You wouldn't be just limited to Canon sibling relations too:

Canon: It's confirmed in canon that they are siblings (Veneziano and Romano; America and Canada; Germany and Prussia, etc)

Historical/Cultural: Interpreting cultural or historical relations as a sibling dynamic (Slovakia, Czechia, and Poland being siblings due to their shared Western Slavic origin; Estonia, Finland, and Hungary being siblings due to their shared Uralic origin; The Germanics; etc)

Fanon: You've seen characters interact with each other and interpret their relationship as sibling like (Such as France claiming to be the big brother of Europe, The Baltics; Germany and Austria, England and America/Canada, etc)

Purely Aesthetics: You've never seen these characters interact in canon but you think it would be cool to see them with a sibling type bond (found family if you will)

*Of course, there is overlap among these four categories

If enough people are interested, I'll create a separate blog, poll for the prompts, and select a week. Please reblog for a wider outreach <3

Thank you so much for reading all this!

[savemehwsfrance]

this is random but here are some random headcanons about england in my nations revealed au

hes not as active on social media, but he does repost the occasional tiktok and post the occasional insta ofc. i feel like all his reposts are british humor or just about his alcoholism.

hes not ugly *i dont think*. hes definitely got an almost masculine, but also like 0.1% feminine beauty about him.

this man is hilarious. sometimes without even trying. but hes also pretty socially awkward. especially in interviews.

i kinda think of alex turner when i think of him. especially fetus alex. and yes he also does the pout alex does because i love it so ficking much.

biggest charli xcx fan. probably got caught by tabloids doing coke once or twice, hes so julia for that tho.

on a more serious note, hes definitely had some problems with drugs. i mean if we are coming off punk england, this goes hand in hand. forgot all his social media training after the 1990s onwards. maybe it calmed down after 2010s but still there, sometimes.

would be best friends with damon albarn and liam and noel gallagher. during the beef he'd feel like his close to divorced parents are arguing. example under

probably bisexual when i mean probably i mean definitely. but like only realised in the 1810s. (if you watched bridgerton basically found out like benedict did *cough cough*)

biggest fan of vivienne westwood. like always has something vivienne on. also doc martens, and leather jackets, sunglasses and messy hair (and guyliner-) yeah thats arthur. his government keeps tryna curb his slay tho. >:(

paparazzis definitely catched him drunk once or twice as well.

the biggest rumor about him though would probably be fruk though. the nations revealed universes version of which could mean nothing.

this man gets twink allegations every 5 business days

okay thats it bye

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Is England dominant? Personality-wise? Would he gell well with someone who is partially dominant as well?

Arthur strikes me as someone who is accustomed to being in a position of authority, and rarely has that authority questioned. Mind, he's more-or-less acclimated himself to less rigidity, but in professional settings he is a man who gives respect, and will only withdraw that respect if he's not given the same acknowledgement. In his personal life, I believe he is much more open to compromises. He admires someone who can challenge him, who treats him as an equal, who can charter whatever the ebb and flow between them. I think, in truth, that's why he and Francis are so close; their bickering is petty and ridiculous most days, but it is founded on love and respect. And while Arthur may not be in search of another partner who could fight with him till the cows come home, I do believe he's seeking out someone who isn't afraid to stand up for their values when needed, someone who is capable and loving, but most of all someone who can help carry him should the floodgates give way.

[fireandspiceland]

Your incest kink France post? Mhm yes yes. May I suggest France going to the UK share house and stumbling on, then spying on, Scotland fucking drunk England senseless. Made even better if England scolded him that same day for being a “wine drinking pervert” at the world meeting

You may definitely suggest, dear anon! I do like ScotEng (especially with nyo England, but that’s got nothing to do with this post) and Scotland is 100% the type of guy Francis is into. He’d be so jealous seeing England get what he wants. And somewhat angry too because England isn’t sober enough to truly enjoy Scotland’s horse cock, not like *he* would.

France may be a wine drinking pervert but England is a whisky drinking pervert so I guess they’re even XD

[justabackroundcharacter]

I’m jumping on the Hetalia meme trend

These are my additions so far 💜

[dark-and-kinky-hetalia-scenarios]

@thatonewannabegirl

No worries! I'm just glad you clarified so I can make this post!

Also thank you! I'm not getting better I'm on my second course of antibiotics this year. But they seem to be working now!

Anyway here's the tsundere stuff!

2p allies

2p America/Allen Jones

He tries his hardest to pretend he doesn't like you, which usually ends up with him looking like a complete idiot

2p China/Zao Wang

He's the type to act like he really does hate you. He thinks that if he does this he can control you and he does not realise he likes you

2p England/Oliver Kirkland

He acts very tsundere towards you and then gets super depressed when you don't respond with unlimited devotion towards him.

2p France/François Bonnefoy

He's a slightly abusive tsundere, he only does this to try and keep you away from him. And he also acts like he does not give a single shit about you

2p Russia/Viktor Braginsky

He is the one who usually ignores you and treats you like a pest, he keeps you around tho, he's not overly tsundere in the way he acts around you or others, but he keeps you around a little too much to it being believable that he hates you

2p axis

2p Germany/Lutz Beilschmidt

Oh he is the type who absolutely denies everything and he tries so hard he ends up looking stupid as fuck

2p Italy/Luciano Vargas

Will be a very mean tsundere who has to be pressured into telling his true feelings, which will most likely be a argument! Because that's how he functions. Angry little bastard

2p Japan/Kuro Honda

He is a tsundere who acts cold and uninterested in you and it makes it seem like he actually hates you. But he will straight up torture you because he doesn't understand his feelings and thinks that is the best way to deal with it :D

[whitepeachrum]

Desk to Dinner: A Shift in Priorities

Fandom: Hetalia (personified) Pairing: Arthur x Kat (EngUkr/UkrEng) Content Length: Solo Chapter (~1700 words)

With all the paperwork he’s been tackling and all the shifts he has been covering for his colleague, Arthur was up to his nose in meaningless work. He was tired of seeing numbers race across his mind when his eyes were open and when he tried to them close at the end of the day.  It was one peculiar morning when Kat noticed that he had looked exhausted. Not that he hadn’t looked exhausted the whole time. It just seemed to be extra prominent on this particular morning when he decided to have coffee. 

Arthur didn’t really like coffee, but she knew that it was often reserved for times when he was restless and needed a break from the monotonous day-to-day life. She wasn’t sure if he would be in the mood to talk this morning. So, she kept quiet until he was ready to chat. Unfortunately, Arthur needed her to say something. He was falling asleep at the kitchen table. Kat watched worriedly as his head barely managed to stay up.

“Arthur?” Kat put a hand on his upper arm to gently wake him up. Arthur sharply inhaled and looked at her, coming back to reality.

“Mm? What?”

“You’re falling asleep asleep at the kitchen table.”

“Oh. Yeah?” He wasn’t even forming full sentences!

“Honey, you have to take a break.” Kat took the delicate cup from his hand and placed it on the table so he wouldn’t accidentally break it or hurt himself.

“Yeah…”

“Could you take the day off?”

Arthur yawned and crossed his arms. “..Yeah.” He nodded off mid-breath and fell asleep in his chair.

“My poor baby.” Her fingers gently pet his hair and she spoke softly again to him. “You should go lay in bed. It’s more comfortable there.”

“Mm.”

“...Arthur?”

“Mm?”

“Are you going?”

“Mhm.” 

He lied.

Kat finished breakfast on her own and cleaned up the table. The sound of the dishes being cleared out signaled Arthur that he should migrate to the couch in the living room. Kat sat by his side in the armchair and decided to share a peaceful morning crocheting. Or as peaceful as his light snoring would allow it to be.

--

By the time evening came around, Arthur had felt guilty for wasting a day doing nothing but catching up on sleep. He thought working from home for the rest of the day would help him get back on track, but this was a decision Kat greatly objected to. If he was going to take the day off, he needed to rest. She walked over to his desk, gently pushed some of his papers aside, and sat on the sturdy wooden table, hoping to sway his mind.

“Hi, my love,” He placed an affectionate hand on her knee as his eyes remained glued to the confusing mix of words. 

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking.”

“Mm? What about?”

“Maybe we should go on a date.”

Arthur’s eyes focused out of the text and onto her face. The confusion remained, but at least this time his eyes were looking at something much prettier than a monochrome Times New Roman on a bland canvas. “A date?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she looked into the distance for a moment, playing coy. “Maybe some dinner, a stroll through the town. Maybe we could even check out that new karaoke place that opened up.”

“Do we have time for all that? It’s getting pretty late.”

Kat sighed dramatically and even pouted a bit. She was setting the trap for him and he was slowly making his way into it. I mean, how could he say no to a face like that?

“Well, I wasn’t going to say no, but I just wondered if it would be too much to handle in one night.”

“Should we just go to a bar, then? Or a club?”

Arthur debated on her suggestion. It did sound like fun to get plastered and just unwind after all the stress from work, but he didn’t want to be surrounded by people who were also plastered. They created a type of chaos that Arthur had difficulty shielding Kat from. 

“Are you drinking tonight?” Arthur asked, gauging to which degree he was allowed to be drunk. If she said yes, he’d need to be the designated driver. If not, he had to make sure they both got home intact. Arthur frowned, realizing that neither situation would allow him to let loose to the degree he wanted. Actually, there was no degree of drunkenness he could allow himself to be with Kat present. When did he become so lame? 

Kat glanced at his face and smiled, happy that her distraction now occupied his thoughts. 

“Maybe I’ll have a glass. We’ll see where the night takes us.” She slid the paper from his grasp and put it beside her.

“Well, I need to know, Kat. Do I drive? Do we take a cab?”

“We can take a cab for safety. That way you can drink more if you’d like, and we won’t have to look for parking either.”

“Hm. Right.” That made sense. He was fine with her reasoning, but what did he want to do tonight? Arthur contemplated his choices. Maybe karaoke would be fun…

“You know what? I will go and get dressed and then you can tell me what you think our plan for the night should be. Okay?”

Arthur sighed, frustrated that he had to decide at all. He got up and placed himself in front of Kat, putting his hands on her cheeks, and giving her a tender kiss. She smiled at him, feeling her heart thump with excitement about their night out. He then held onto the edge of the desk, leaning slightly into her bubble and looking thoughtfully at Kat.

“I am thinking..” he began, “that we skip dinner. Pass on the bar. Take a rain check for the karaoke place. Save money on cabs. And just go straight to dessert. What do you think?” Kat crossed one leg over the other, leaning into his face to assert her position on the stance.

“I’m thinking..” She said as she perfectly executed the triangle method. Arthur took note of it quickly and gripped the table tighter, his knuckles turning white as his face turned pink. “I’m thinking I have a new dress I’d like to wear out.”

“Oh, a new dress you say?”

“Mhm.”

“Couldn’t you just wear it at home?”

“And have it come off as quickly as I put it on?” She kissed him and chuckled against his lips. “I don’t think so.”

“Damn.” Arthur put his head down in defeat and she chuckled again at his reaction. He was so cute when he was flustered.

She knew she was getting under his skin. And she was right. Arthur was suddenly tempted, baited, and trapped in a situation where he had to make quick decisions to accomplish everything they wanted to do that night. He had considered the shortest path he could take to his happiness but knew that Kat would make him work for it. He had to think of her happiness as well. As a matter of fact, the decision was never really his to make. He just needed to pick what she wanted to do and hope it would satisfy their desires evenly. He realized that he was just standing around and wasting time. He sighed, gently tapping his foot in frustration.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked again. 

“Alright. This is what I’m thinking: Bar. Stroll. Dessert. Leftovers.”

Kat considered his proposition and added, “And no more work until tomorrow.” He looked at all the paperwork. Looking at the pile of papers, he realized how miserable it had been to be enveloped by work that wasn’t even challenging. It was all just mindless and never-ending. It had gotten so bad that even his wife thought about his work when it wasn’t even her job. He would be willing to put it all on pause for a night. Maybe even two. 

He nodded, finally caving into her suggestion, and looked back at her beautiful ocean blues. “No more work for a lifetime.”

“Hm.” Kat hummed as she put her arms around his neck. He placed his arms around her waist, finding more joy in holding her in his arms than holding onto a desk for dear life. “Maybe I should reward my hardworking husband for all his efforts.” She ran her fingers through his hair, teasing him a bit more. Arthur pulled her hand away from him and gave it a gentle kiss. He knew what she was doing and could not afford to lose control this early in the night. His heart felt like it was going to pop out of his ears and it took every bit of willpower to keep his word to her.

“Not yet, my love. Dress first.”

“If you let me go, I can go do that.”

“I can never let you go.”

“Well then. Maybe I should help you with that.”

Kat untangled her arms from him. She pushed all the paperwork around her onto the floor and leaned back on the desk, proud of her accomplishment. 

“Whoops.”

Arthur smiled and looked away, shaking his head at her attempt to get him to let her go. “Unbelievable.”

“I think you dropped your papers, Mr. Kirkland.”

"I dropped them? I believe this was your doing."

"They're your work papers, aren't they?"

“Not for tonight.”

“But right now, there’s a mess in the house.”

“We can’t leave the house a mess before we leave, now can we?”

“Nope,” she smirked at him. 

He sighed and slowly let go of her, ushering her towards the door.

“Go. Go change. I’ll clean it up.” She happily got off the table and walked towards the door. He knelt to pick up the trash from the ground and snuck a cheeky glance at her. Arthur’s eyes watched the curves of her body exaggerate on each side as her hips swayed further and further away from him. He couldn’t help but smile and deeply blush at the ways of his flirty wife.

[forsoobado137]

🙅

🙅Anytime I see a fic where a character's eyes are described weirdly 😭

Like why we out here saying "Arthur's radiant Emeralds met America's Sapphires like earth and sky." Just say eyes! or at least add colour after! If I see the word "orbs" I am instantly pulled out of the immersion! Though I might suck it up if it's a particularly good fic/a rarepair.

[ask2ps]

england seems like he is constantly .2 seconds from having some kind of episode ! go (former) king go !!!

ENGLAND: What are you talking about? I don't have "episodes." I'm collected! And rational. And, and, and... ENGLAND: (Having run out of words to describe his "unfaltering temperament", he is beginning to falter.)

[olympeline]

Most of my FrUK headcanons are fluffy and sweet but you could get some really good drama out of the Norman invasion of England. Make it nice and angsty if we go with the - ahem - “conquering of the vital regions” headcanon for when a nation-person is subjugated by another. What they do to seal the deal. You know what I mean 👉👌

So it’s the end of the Harrowing of the North and you have a beaten down England on the ropes. Meaning by extension Arthur is too. Weak, starving, wounded, and unable to defend himself against Francis. Who’s there to claim what’s his by the law of their kind once England’s last holdout rebels surrender. I imagine nation-people would have different standards towards the act than normal humans, even without the timeline being nearly a millennium ago. Since it’s something that has to happen. Still a terrifying and traumatic experience but the perpetrator wouldn’t be considered a monster for doing it. More akin to a soldier killing an enemy combatant vs. a civilian murder case: still bad but one is way worse

Anyway, Francis corners him and Arthur tries to act brave. Still a young nation (only recently matured into his adult body) this has never happened to him before. He’s only heard stories, horror stories, from nations who came before. Francis is older, stronger, growing in power faster than Arthur himself. Francis’s conquerer killed Arthur’s king and ravaged his lands. Arthur expects the personification of France to be just as cruel and, underneath his brave face, he’s terrified.

But this is where Francis surprises him. If you’ve seen Game of Thrones think of Daenerys’s wedding night with Khal Drogo. Honestly this is where the whole idea for this headcanon came from. Arthur and Francis might even have had the same language barrier. Warrior Francis only a little less terrifying than Drogo - Arthur is still green after all - and showing a side just as restrained and gentle. Because Francis is a character who always struck me as capable of great kindness when needed. Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t make him weak or a pushover or incapable of great cruelty too. Just that he has a big heart as part of his complexity. He saw his younger neighbour’s terror and it moved him. Made him want to show Arthur the small mercy he was able.

“No?” Francis would ask - or maybe “Non?” - once, twice, three times. As many times as needed until Arthur was ready and replied with a “Yes.” They both know it’s meaningless consent. France is the victor and will have England now no matter what. But Francis’s kindness and respect in creating the illusion for Arthur to cling on to at the worst moment meant a hell of a lot. Letting him keep his dignity, his pride, even lying blood splattered in the dirt with his conquerer sinking down on top of him.

Years later, after England gained its freedom, Arthur would return the favour during the Hundred Years War. Francis is just as grateful for the mercy. They’re still rivals and enemies but these acts plant a seed which would eventually blossom into a real relationship.

“Fair flowers can grow from bitter earth.” I can’t remember where that quote comes from but it sums all this up pretty well

[aster-riskite]

as an april fools prank i have elected to update a fic again (as if my updates are ever reliable) so anyways here it is again in case u like SCP stuff and hetalia and whatnot

[hetaari]

aph england could come up to me and say nothing but “ ‘ello love” and that’s all he’d need to say for me to marry him on the spot

[aviesfics]

Hetalia WIPs* (updated 15/03/2024)

(*Multi-chaptered fanfictions only, I have too many half written one-shots to possibly record).

Ongoing on AO3:

Instead, I Live - FrUK. Canonverse England develops depression. Chapters 5/6 posted.

A Spell on You - USUK. Arthur is a clumsy mage; Alfred is the knight who keeps coming to his aid. Chapters 6/? posted.

Stations of the Sun and Stars - USUK. Arthur is the captive of a vampire, but falls in love with the werewolf who wants to free him. Chapters 4/? posted. Being re-written.

A Better Place - Arthur is dead. Alfred sees ghosts. Includes FrUK, AusHun and GerIta but ships are not the focus. Chapters 4/? posted.

Whore of the Worlds (NSFW) - WorldxEngland pwp fic. Chapters 7/10 posted.

Wide-Eyed Fears - USUK. Omegaverse AU. Arthur is a pregnant maid on the run. He bumps into Alfred in the woods. Chapters 3/? posted.

Ongoing and unreleased:

Meteor Impact - USUK. Science fantasy/apocalypse AU where Alfred falls in love with an Arthur from the wrong universe.

Castles in the Air - USUK. Hero Alfred and villain Arthur team up to take down a more dangerous threat.

Screaming Red - Human AU where the characters are tributes in a Hunger Games. Contains AusHun and FrUK but ships are not the focus.

Over the Sun - Eleven young men have been held captive since childhood for reasons they don't yet know.

Fire Inside - USUK. Fantasy AU where mages are enslaved and Alfred gradually realises he should do something about that.

Good Out Here - FrUK omegaverse/apocalypse AU where humanity lives in a series of self-governing (and usually corrupt) safety domes.

My Hour at Last - USUK. Arthur betrays his found family of freedom fighters - or so it is thought, until Alfred finds his journal and unravels the mystery.

Devour - USUK. Futuristic omegaverse AU where Alfred is a crime lord and Arthur is the furious omega he has purchased.

Exceptional Things - FrUK. Omegaverse romance, where Francis and Arthur both have troubled pasts and will eventually realise that they are each others path to healing.

Beyond the Pages - USUK. Fantasy AU, where Alfred has been put in charge of ensuring a prophecy is fulfilled.

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: Worked themselves to exhaustion Rating: G Word Count: 2570 I whumped England but I actually whumped Ireland. England works himself to exhaustion because he makes bad life choices, Ireland begrudgingly picks up the pieces because England's life choices also affect the people around him. @badthingshappenbingo

Usually when Éire showed up at England's place in the middle of the night, he showed up to return to himself the things which England had stolen from him over the years.

Éire got a kick out of giving England no part in the transaction. It was a turning of tables long overdue... so, silent as the night, he’d take his things and leave no trace of himself.

He'd retrieve an old sword, a king's crown, his wand their mother had given him, his henri hippo money box... the usual objects his kleptomaniac of a little brother had seen and somehow immediately sensed that this, this had sentimental value attached, and dragged far misplaced from the original steward.

Usually when Éire showed up at England's place in the middle of the night, he would slip through the window. The old dusty one behind the garden rose bush, the one which had lost all its screws, which England still hadn't realised, and the same one which had lost the short decorative awning lip over the top to small faerie teeth. The window had a sideways damaged flair— that was why England planted the rose bush in the first place.

He was terrible at hiding the problems he refused to fix.

And Éire had gotten deftly skilled at dealing with the hurricane of problems left in the wake of what his youngest brother refused to fix.

But tonight was different even if his entry stayed the same.

Éire slipped into England's house with feather-feet. The storage closet heaps around him absorbed sound between their packed boxes, keeping him secret as if they, too, were on his side, begging to be rescued from the dust-forgotten corners of England's dragon hoard.

His fingers wrapped around the knotted bour wand in his pocket to retrieve the tool. A spell whispered under his breath caused a warm faerie glow to light like a firefly from the tip.

Then, stepping light-pawed around the boxes, Éire continued soundlessly. In the dark he was obscured: a lanky man dressed in brown tweed wool, a narrow movement between narrow spaces that moved a swift pace in a cat-like-gait.

He manoeuvred to leave the closet and he entered England's relatively new house. 

The halls were stoic to his presence as usual. They were oddly protective of the ugly deep green imitation of toxic Victorian wallpaper they drowned in, but the sheer number of paintings, posters, framed letters, photographs, and swords hanging over the painful paper drowned even the wall's colour.

Éire disliked this house less than he disliked the last one.

This house, particularly, had only actually been England's house for a few decades. The new residence was government owned rather than having been gifted to him by royals, which was almost a plus for Éire. See, after England’s last home had been rendered unliveable as it was a bombed, fifty room, bleed-your-taxes-out, museum of a pile of rubble, the UK authorities had leapt at the chance to shove him into a smaller, twenty room, bleed-due-to-your-housing-crisis-out, hoarders' paradise of an estate.

In Éire's opinion, the 'house' could probably squeeze five Westminsters and the Palace in it if England threw away his hoard.

Which, to him, meant the ‘house’ was way too large to justify one man living in it... the UK authorities should move his things into a museum or send them back to their owners and put him in a normal house like all the other privileged Britons.

And each of his brothers had been plushily treated to the same British bribery while Éire still lived on the same stoney island he'd claimed since Vikings would knock down his door. No one could make him budge.

He didn't understand why his siblings had all stumbled after similar impractical lifestyles.

Éire whispered a second spell under his breath, an old one he'd created, "dul sa tóir ar dhuine namhad." 

He flicked his fingers to his shoes, flicking magic as if it were water. The leather shoes absorbed the words and whispered back, d'aimsigh mé an deargnamhaid.

They began to walk and Éire trusted their direction.

Two things happened at once after a nice stroll through England's hoard.

Éire rounded a corner with cozy fire-feet.

A fizzle of sparkling firecracker-green wizzed by his head.

The crackling spark missed him by a lot. It struck a poor undeserving photograph of a horse and immediately splintered the glass like a shrieking spiderweb.

So that was how the little dragon was today...

Éire's magic smoothed an immediate fire-gold shield in front of himself.

England let loose a string of curses.

"Watch your magic. And your aim. That was horrendous on every front," Éire said.

His littlest brother cursed again.

He looked worse than he'd looked several days ago when Éire'd last seen him. England might've been attempting a furious glare, but the bags under his eyes were taking all of Éire's attention, and Éire couldn't focus on anything else except the massive purple bandit bruising on his face.

My God... those bags were three times larger than usual. He looked like a raccoon.

It suited the greedy little bastard.

"Get out of my house!" England said. He swayed on his feet like a goblin fortress threatening to collapse in the wind. 

"No thank you," Éire didn't smirk as he usually would. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the little beast yet, and he felt he should know before he began kicking anthills.

"What's got you leasing brain power into the void this week?" Éire said sceptically. "Three days ago, you missed your queue to imitate a frazzled pup when I called your latest political stunt the world's most irrelevant tantrum. Then you said, 'thank you' when I tossed a note containing a list of GIS data demands in the general direction of your head."

England narrowed his eyes. 

He looked deeply concentrated.

Then, "sorry," he said

Sorry? Éire almost laughed, because that was the wrong answer.

England must be feeling economically sick already to be that delirious. England didn’t say ‘sorry’ to him, ever.

"I'll ask Scot to write your obituary if he hasn't started already." Now Éire smirked. "Do you have a fever? Immediate global backlash? Investors betting on your poor choices? Well well well, consequences of your own actions." He was going to sprinkle salt in England's wound just to watch him squirm.

"Please get out of my house."

"Your house? Could've sworn I stood on public land. British taxpayers bought this place-"

"I don't have time to fight you tonight!" England growled. He stomped, but it was a weak stomp, and he nearly stumbled with the motion.

This pulled Éire off his elusive high horse and back onto his original mission, which was to make sure England wouldn't kneel over dead. A ruin of fun, really, but there was an unfortunate responsibility that came with being the eldest of four magical island men without a mother in sight.

"Are you drunk as well as sick?" Éire asked.

"What?"

"Are. You. Drunk?" Éire pronounced each word clearly and slowly for England's aid.

England's wrinkled raccoon peepers widened slightly and he shook his head adamantly. "Why'd you always think 'm drunk." He sounded genuinely puzzled and upset.

"It's a Saturday night, you're alone, yesterday you were withdrawn. Believe it or not, Arthur, you're an incredibly habitual creature."

"I'm not drunk!" 

"You're like a toddler trying to bike without stabilisers."

"Leave!" England boldly moved forward. Very pathetically he tried to push Éire.

His bones were fish floppy, his feet were flippered messes without stance, and his resolve faded before Éire could bother lowering his magical barrier to help England save his dignity.

"This is the worst attempt you've ever put forth in controlling me; this should earn you tears." 

Even in this poor state, England was desperately clutching filing cabinets and alphabetized dictionaries. Éire was a wild card no matter how desperately England attempted to tame him into his perfectly organised box of a universe. But this? This was a particularly resigned attempt to settle his order.

England's grip loosened and he wobbled more, steadied himself, and drooped. He was a staggering drunk.

He dropped further as if gravity had grabbed his shoulders and tugged him eagerly for a hug. 

"England, are you drunk?" He asked again. He was sterner and teasing in the same tone.

England didn't respond this time.

Was the little bastard going to kneel over and die? 

Éire... didn't know how to feel about that. He'd need at least a week to ponder whether to sing and dance or sacrifice a single tear or do both at once during his funeral.

Suddenly England's droop sloppily straightened, his fingers glowed a magic green, and Éire's barricade prepared to take another missed shot.

England's hand waved up at his own head as he muttered 'wake' at himself.

The green glow fizzled over England before sinking into his skin.

Immediately his littlest brother straightened fully. His eyes glazed sharp. His face contorted angerly as a mask over his tiredness.

"I'm not drunk, thank you very much, dear brother."

You had got to be kidding...

He was just sleep deprived?

And cursed?!

A magical method to force wakefulness didn't negate the necessity of sleeping!

"You're cursing yourself!" Éire accused. 

"Jealous?" England taunted.

"Of sleepless torture? Why would I be?!"

"That you didn't get to curse on me by your own hand," England clarified. He sneered in his ugly pug-face way which always made Éire want to swing a nice left hook into his flat Saxon skull.

The purple sagging under his eyes made Éire think twice about pummelling him. He was already pummelling himself.

"I can solve that problem and curse you now, you little bastard," Éire flicked his wand upwards. The wand summoned an opaque white fog of faerie dreams which twirled, misted, and glinted, in small, dreary loops around his wrist, ready to curse England into a deep sleep.

Alarmed, England put a few feet of distance between them.

"No, no, no you can't do that, I forbid you!" His hands waved up as if they could shield him.

"Oh yes I can." Éire grinned sharply. "You can't forbid me from anything."

"I'm not done working needs to be done before tomorrow I've a deadline another stack of documents— this pertains to you! This is interests you!" England shouted.

Éire lifted his chin. 

Clever intentional little bastard. Manipulative baby brother. Lying kid.

"Really?" He said, tilting his head. England brightened.

"Yes, very important," he gestured mindlessly at his desk, "this needs to be-"

Éire flicked the faerie fog off his tangle-bore wand into England's face.

England fell like a stack of bricks.

"You forgot that I don't care for your words," Éire told the soundly sleeping English lump. "... but, er, sorry mum," he mumbled as an afterthought. She never liked it when they fought. 

Éire stepped over England's sleeping form and strolled over to England's desk to check what he'd been forcing himself awake to finish.

A stack of documents lined one side. A smaller stack lined the other side. Highlighted on the paper in the centre of his desk was an EU document.

So... England was starting to fill out his divorce papers.

Éire would chuckle to himself if he wasn't tied to his brother's fate. The deadlines were indeed short, England might've been working for days without sleep if he wasn't being helped with all these documents.

Éire picked up a page and flicked the thing straight before reading aloud.

"The bilateral arrangements between the Union and the United Kingdom under the Protocol do not give rise to rights and obligations for third countries," he read the part circled next to a note scribbled illegibly.

Ouch... England getting labelled a 'third country' by the EU was exactly the cold shoulder which England had signed up for. It was different to see it first hand, though.

"Consequently, any imports pursuant to Union import tariff rate quotas or other import quotas applying to goods originating in a third country that are brought into Northern Ireland..." Éire paused as he focused much deeper into the document, "cannot be counted towards that third country’s rights vis-à-vis the Union, unless agreed by the third country. That situation poses a risk to the proper functioning of the Union’s internal market and the integrity of the Common Commercial Policy by allowing the possible circumvention of the Union’s tariff rate quotas or other import quotas."

England hadn't lied.

This was about him and his Union membership.

That made Éire feel odd. The little dragon's whole mouth was silver, to have heard him actually use the truth as his defence was weird.

This wasn't just England's battle, how'd England not bring this up to him three days ago? The foot Éire still had toward his little brother's United Kingdom would cause scruples over import and export tariffs as goods flowed freely without strict regulation between all of Éire's land regardless to which side it belonged. It was a tentative measure to ensure peace.

Dealing with that without contacting him? Ridiculous.

The fact that this made space for squabbling between England and his fresh break with the Union meant England should be meeting with Éire more often about this topic at hand. The Union wouldn't like how plausibly England could escape tariffs by utilising Éire's scar.

And if the Union got their ideal way, England might be further split from Éire's Northern half by regulation. The ordeal depended on how this particular negotiation ended. It wouldn't be a wise choice to put a customs border in the middle of Éire, as reinforcements of his split would call back to more violent times in his history.

But a customs border on the Irish sea would put Éire fully a fence away from the United Kingdom, separating his North half from their main source of imports.

Éire hummed and tapped two fingers to the corner of his mouth.

This... was a stick poking a delicate tower of cards. Éire could sense tension and riot material already.

Loyalists and Nationalists, back at it again with bricks and sticks and fire wicks.

No fun. Especially for Éire.

"You've tripped me for the thousandth time," Éire said to his sleeping brother. The thorn in his side always, the deep splinter in his foot which his own mother had made. England honestly couldn't help but jump off a cliff and knock Éire over in the process. 

England: professional discord sewer. 

An ironic situation considering England spent every second of his life attempting to control and sort everything into his own perfect order.

Éire sighed.

"If you didn't exist there'd be nothing on earth that could keep me humble. I might've been king. Let's get you to a proper bed," he begrudgingly told the little bastard. He was going to drag him over every stair-step like he and his other siblings did when England was passed-out drunk.

Then, he was going to make him sleep for three days before he lifted the spell. Mainly, because Éire didn't want to deal with him; secondly, when Éire did deal with him, he should be well rested and thinking with a clear head. This was his fight before it should be England's, but England had a part to play and he’d better play well. Éire wouldn't take the consequences of England's choices without driving his stake into the ground first.