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oumaheroes · 1 year

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Odd Socks

For the lovely @senditothemoonn <3

Summary: The night before their wedding, Francis works himself up into a bit of a panic

Characters: Scotland, France, England/ ScotFra

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‘Fucking finally,’ Arthur pushed his way inside as soon as Francis opened the door, kicking off his shoes to dump a bulging carrier bag on the living room coffee table, ‘Don’t answer the door quickly or anything, people might mistakenly think I want to stay warm in October.’

‘It’s not that cold, stop whining.’

‘You stand outside then and wait for your slow arse to open the door.’

‘I was having a shower.’

‘You knew I was coming.’ Arthur mimicked Francis’ intonation and shucked off his wet coat to fall on the carpet, turning away from him to begin unpacking the bags, ‘Go dry your hair then before you get all pissy.’

Francis tutted, snatching up his coat to hang it properly, ‘I’m letting it dry naturally. Hairdryers give a different type of volume than I’m going for tomorrow.’

Arthur rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. Francis settled to watch him in his favourite armchair, a wide ugly looking floral thing that Alasdair had insisted they keep from his old flat when they first moved in together in their little cottage. It was old, didn’t match any of the rest of their furniture which infuriated Francis to no end, and was, at the same time, his favourite spot to sit. It was Alasdair’s favourite too, and he could never know that Francis actually liked it after all of his moaning, so he only ever sat in it when Alasdair was away.

Like he was tonight. He’d gone off with Patrick and Mathias for one final mini stag do in town, a week after the real one which had left Arthur well acquainted with their back garden’s hydrangea bush and Patrick, another of their brothers, taking the wrong train home and ending up in Birmingham.

It was a good night, so Francis had been told. Arthur still couldn’t put weight on his left foot properly.

‘Here,’ Arthur gently waggled one of the cans at Francis, ‘Get started.’

‘I’m not starting with this, am I?’

‘Of course you are.’

‘It’s cider.’

‘Exactly,’ Arthur chose a can for himself and flopped messily onto the nice three seater, legs and arms splayed. Francis tried not to glare at him, ‘Nice and weak. There’s no point getting anything stronger, you don’t want to be hungover for the wedding tomorrow.’

‘What a terrible best man you are.’

‘A responsible best man.’

‘And so unlike your usual self.’

‘Ha ha. Bellend. Is this the thanks I get for introducing you two?’

‘You can’t keep lording that over me.’

‘I can and I will.’

‘I might have met him eventually.’

‘Might have. Might not.’

Francis tapped his nails on the cool metal of the can, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t.’

‘You definitely shouldn’t.’

‘Get married, I mean.’

Arthur choked, halfway through a mouthful of similarly mild cider. ‘What?’ he sat up, tears in his eyes and coughed again, ‘What did you say?’

Francis shrugged, ‘Well, it would be a waste, wouldn’t it?’ He gave a weak smile and gestured to himself, waggling his eyebrows, ‘To take this off the market.’

Arthur gave a high crack of relieved laughter, ‘Oh yes, the poor lads and lasses you’ve not yet sampled. Bless their little cottons.’

‘And in general being tied to one person isn’t good, is it? Not healthy or natural when you think about it.’

‘No no.’ Arthur grinned, big smile all teeth, and took another drink, ‘We’re carnal animals. What you’re doing is wrong, restricting yourself like this to just Al.’

‘It is!’

‘Terribly so!’

‘Besides, it’s not really my thing, is it? Being tied to someone, legally?’ Francis shuddered, ‘How horrible.’

‘I don’t know how you’re going to surrender your bigamist dreams. They certainly are lofty.’

‘Hmm,’ Francis smiled and looked away- to Arthur’s socks, in particular, the slightly different hue of them. Alasdair did that sometimes, grabbed at a pair in the drawer without noticing or caring that they weren’t the same. Who taught them that? Who let them get away with it for so long? Was that to be Francis’ life, reminding his... husband that his socks did not match, seeing this little detail always?

Was that all marriage was, at the end of the day: a slow decline into only annoyances as the gloss of love began to fade. Hard truths worn visible as love’s softness disappeared, leaving nothing but snoring and odd socks and unwashed dishes. Francis couldn’t imagine hating Alasdair, he didn’t think it was possible. He was scared that time would prove him wrong.

He looked up and found Arthur watching him, a slight furrow between his brows.

‘Are you alright?’

Francis took another sip of cider. The fizz almost felt like it was burning on the way down, thousands of small blunt needles on his tongue, ‘Of course,’ he said. Then, ‘No.’

Arthur put his drink on the coffee table, ‘What’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Francis stalled, tongue clumsy all of a sudden, a hundred truths bunching up and clumping together so that they couldn’t be untangled, ‘It’s- I don’t know.’

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it; it’s nothing.’

‘Bollocks. Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘I didn’t bring anything up.’

‘Yes you did.’

‘I was joking.’

‘Cut the crap, Francis.’ Arthur scowled at him and Francis noticed, only then, the lines around his eyes, on his forehead. Age flashed onto him like a change in lighting, as if Francis were seeing Arthur as a stranger rather than one of his oldest friends. They were adults now, lives settling and falling straight, falling solid, and Francis felt slightly sick at the thought.

‘The wedding,’ he started, fingernails back to their dance on the cider can, ‘It feels... real.’

Arthur watched him silently.

‘Just now, tonight-‘ Francis waved a hand, ‘You know. It’s like the last of something. Of me, perhaps. My life. Of everything until now. My old existence for a new one.’

‘You’re not going to change, Francis.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. But my life will.’

Arthur scoffed, ‘Hardly. All that’s going to change is that you go from living in sin to not.’

‘This is not funny, Arthur,’ Francis heard hurt sharpen his words but couldn’t hide it in time. He wanted to say something else, to divert the conversation away from what was causing the twisting sensation in his stomach but he couldn’t think of anything other than a forced flippant laugh, ‘Besides, how would you-‘

‘I didn’t say it was a joke,’ Arthur put down his drink, considering Francis a moment before reaching out and taking his hand. Francis let him keep it, allowing Arthur wind their fingers together, ‘But you’re working yourself up about nothing.’

Francis swallowed, throat dry. The urge to steer this conversation away to lighter waters was strong but he stopped himself. Odd socks, rough fingers. Alasdair’s hair left on the sink, his eyes wide and body warm there next to him in the dark, ‘What if I’m not.’

‘You are.’

‘What if this is a gut feeling? A sign that this wedding, our marriage...’

The clock ticked in the kitchen. Outside a car went past, wheel friction on asphalt. Life moved on quietly. Francis wondered where Alasdair had ended up, what hotel his brothers and Mathias had booked for him and what plans they had. His face, heartbroken, in the morning- kilt unworn and alone on a hanger. Would he keep it? Would he give it away? Francis couldn’t think about it, the mere thought was too raw and it hadn’t even happened yet.

He felt the power to hurt someone so deeply, right within him. In his fingertips to text, his mouth to say the words that would damn him. A life and future broken as easily as that. Love gave too much power to the clumsy.

Arthur squeezing his hand pulled Francis back to himself. Arthur had shuffled closer to him onto the edge of the sofa, odd socks and half busted ankles crossed by Francis’ own.

‘Francis...’

‘We’re not old enough yet to make a decision like this, either of us. There’s so much to see and do-‘

‘That you can do together. As I’m sure you’ll want to.’ Arthur smiled, voice calm, and Francis turned away, unable to keep looking at him. Arthur shouldn't be this serious or mature; that wasn’t them. That wasn’t how they worked. Arthur not adhering to their old routine was jarring enough to shame him.

‘Do you love him?’ Arthur asked softly.

Francis looked back, ‘Yes.’

No hesitation. There never was.

Arthur smiled and the grip on Francis’ hand loosened, ‘Good. Then that’s all that matters.’

‘But what if one day I don’t,’ Francis whispered, the real truth of it all emerging before he could stop it, ‘What if we go wrong? What if...’

He swallowed, unsticking one last thing he hadn’t yet dared to voice even to himself, ‘What if one day, he regrets it?’

Maybe the only thing worse than Francis not loving Alasdair, was Alasdair not loving him.

A beat of silence.

‘I’ve never seen that idiot love anyone or anything as much as he loves you.’ Arthur voice was firm and measured, ‘From the first night dressed as bread for Christ’s sake he’s been a doomed man.’

‘Gingerbread,’ Francis corrected quietly, ‘He was dressed up as a gingerbread man.’

Wordlessly, Arthur took the can from Francis’ hand and pulled him close, winding his arms over his shoulder and around his waist. Francis could count on one hand the number of times they’d done this in the last decade, they’d never been the soft, intimate kind, but he squeezed Arthur back and tucked his chin over his shoulder.

‘No matter what happens, you’ll do it together’ Arthur hugged him tighter, ‘And if he lets you go then he’s a fucking fool. You’re no regret, Francis.’

Francis felt his eyes burn and bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on the pain to steady himself.

This wasn’t the most comfortable of positions. Francis was bent at a funny angle, his weight mostly on one side, and he felt dangerously close to toppling off the armchair. But he felt, in that moment, that there was no better place for him to be.

‘Your neck is hot,’ Francis said thickly, once he felt more in control of himself.

Arthur tutted and Francis felt him wipe his eyes, ‘Shut up.’

‘You’re such an embarrassment.’

‘At least I don’t smell like cheese.’

Francis snorted and pulled away, giving Arthur a swift kiss on the cheek, ‘Throw that horrible cider away, pépite, we’re having wine.’

The thank you went unsaid. It wasn’t needed.

---

‘I think today went well.’

‘Do you now.’

‘I do.’

Alasdair stepped back and turned them, the jewelled material of Francis’ gown glittering in the thousands of fairy lights strung up around the hall. The main overhead lights were off, the dance floor was dim, and all Alasdair cared to see was in his arms.

‘Nice food, great service. And no one died, which is a bonus.’

‘And you were there, I suppose.’

Alasdair laughed and turned them again, quicker now to kick up the hem of Francis’ gown into a dazzle of expensive stars, ‘Aye, I was there.’

‘I’m glad you were,’ Francis gave a wry smile and titled his head, ‘I was promised a husband, after all.’

‘Well, I’m happy to deliver.’

Francis smiled wider and Alasdair felt his heart skip in his chest, ‘You don’t scrub up too badly.’

Alasdair pressed a hand to his chest mock wounded, ‘My love, you sound surprised.’

‘Arthur attempted to convince me that you’d planned to wear jogging bottoms.’

‘Oh that’ll be Patrick’s idea, they had a dare on.’

‘Ah. It almost worked.’

‘I’m offended. But also not surprised.’

Another turn. Around the edges of his vision Alasdair could see the gathering of their family and friends watching them from the side of the dance floor: huddled with phones and teary eyes or wide smiles. Alasdair tried not to think about all of the attention on him and turned them again to the music, soft and slow.

‘You look beautiful.’

Francis smiled and lowered his eyes to somewhere around Alasdair’s chest, ‘You’ve said.’

Alasdair dipped his head and whispered into his ear, ‘Aye, but I haven’t quite got over it yet.’

This wasn’t exactly right but Alasdair would never be able to describe Francis properly, or even accurately. ‘Beautiful’ didn’t quite cover him, it was a heavy blanket word that missed every delicate nuance that Alasdair loved. His hair had been done up, curled somewhere at the back of his smooth neck with tendrils escaping at the front, and the white off the shoulder dress he wore hugged him perfectly. He looked like a painting, elegant pearls at his ears and hair and a dusting of gems nestled into the white silk satin of his dress.

But it was Francis himself that Alasdair most loved- the deep blush across his cheeks, the slightly messy look to him from a long day of activity. Francis on the brink of coming undone from happiness and life, an uncut jewel ready for Alasdair and Alasdair alone to see.

Francis tightened his hold on Alasdair’s arms, ‘Like I said, you’re not so bad yourself.’

A muted crash and a cackle came from somewhere in the crowds and they both looked over to find Arthur, half staggered into a chair and scowling, and Patrick bent double with laughter nearby. Their mother turned and made her way over to them and Alasdair hissed in sympathy.

Francis gave a soft laugh, ‘Arthur’s been good, recently.’

‘You two had a nice time last night then? He tried to hide being hungover this morning when I ran into him- said you made him drink wine all night.’

Alasdair sensed more than saw Francis withdraw slightly. He kissed him on the forehead to bring him back, ‘What is it?’

‘We talked a lot.’ Francis gave a slightly sheepish smile, ‘I had a little bit of a panic.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘It is?’

‘Of course.’ Alasdair brushed a lock of hair back behind Francis’ ear and left his hand there a moment, cupping his cheek, ‘It’s a big thing, this getting married lark. I had a little panic too.’

Francis looked relieved, ‘You did?’

‘Course. Panicked that I was gonna fuck it up. Panicked that I’d tricked you into this, like I’d somehow convinced you of something I’m not. Panicked that I wasn’t going to live up to what you deserve. I think Patrick had to hit me at some point.’

Francis’ eyes watered but he laughed, ‘You’re an idiot. None of that is true.’

‘Oh, I know. But I still worried about it.’

‘But never about me?’

‘Never about you.’

Francis kissed him. Alasdair held him tighter around the waist, overcome for a moment by everything. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy before, ever feeling this content; he didn’t know that he ever could. He hadn’t thought that happiness could go so far until he’d met Francis and was still bewildered that this man, this wonderful, intelligent, beautiful person, had agreed to be with him for the rest of his life.

Alasdair hoped that that would never fully sink in, that he could keep this feeling bottled up somewhere to remind him of how lucky he was whenever he needed it. They had a whole life together ahead of them, filled with dogs and kids and holidays by the sea. A loft full of memories, walls full of photos- Alasdair simultaneously couldn’t wait for it, and also wanted time to stop so he could savour every part.

‘I never worried about you either,’ Francis said when they broke apart. He touched Alasdair’s chest and ran his fingers over the solid silver broach pinned to his kilt, ‘Only about me.’

‘Stupid worries, then.’

‘Always. And like I said, Arthur was good last night. For once.’

Alasdair made a note to secretly thank his brother later. Potentially, he wouldn’t push him into a hedge the next time an opportunity presented itself.

The song began to wind down to its end and Alasdair held out his arm to spin Francis around properly, a quick twist for everyone to see before he pulled him back close.

‘I hope you’re ready for me to carry you over the threshold tomorrow.’

‘I’ll make a note to pause the hangover for when you throw me onto the sofa.’ Francis said with mock seriousness. He looked down at Alasdair’s and raised an eyebrow, ‘You’ve got odd socks on.’

‘Do I?’ Indeed, he did. Alasdair groaned, ‘Shite, I’m sorry. That’ll ruin some of the photos, won’t it?’

Francis grinned wider, ‘No, they’ll be perfect.’

#aph france #aph england #aph scotland #scotfra #hws england #hws scotland #hws france #aph scotfra #hws scotfra #hetalia #heroes writes #sendittothemoon

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helianskies · 1 year

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May I request 9 with scotfra for the dialogue prompts :3

oh anon how i wish i could DRAW them, the scenes in my mind rn... i hope i can do them justice! :')

Charm

Francis stands on the rear terrace of the manor, having found an opportunity to escape heavy perfumes and heavier political ‘small-talk’. He cannot be sure how long he will be able to breathe like this, free, easy, content, before he is discovered and pulled back inside by the strangling rope of aristocratic duty.

His family are currently entertaining guests. Guests, amongst whom, are ladies and lords alike that he fears his parents are trying simply too hard to get him to talk to. They have this remarkable idea that Francis will find someone worthy of his hand; Francis knows, however, that it is not him that will be doing the finding and making the decision.

He sighs gently. A westward breeze sweeps past and tussles his hair. The leaves of the rose bushes that poke through the bannisters of the terrace bounce and sway. He hears birds. He hears the distant, fading orchestra. And then—

"Psst."

Francis is startled. His hands fall onto the bannister and he glances around for the source of the strange noise—a noise that repeats—but there is no one. He is alone. Until, that is, he turns his gaze to the rose bushes and finds a face peering up at him from amongst pinkish buds.

For the first time that day, he has found a reason to smile.

“Alasdair,” he greets quietly. “What on earth are you doing to those poor flowers?”

“Pruning,” the other smiles, and returns to the work he was undertaking beforehand. “How are things going up in the big house, huh? Saw you have some visitors.”

The blonde leans now on the stone and rests his chin on the back of his hand. “It is as dull and as miserable as you can surely imagine,” Francis replies. “Another questionable attempt to marry me off, if I am not mistaken.”

Alasdair gives a scoff, a laugh, and shakes his head. “Third time this year,” he remarks. “Anyone would think they’re trying to get rid of you.”

Francis agrees, but does not say so out loud. It is not the most pleasant thought in the world—the thought that his parents are tiring of his presence, like he is not the son of a Duke but the ancient ghost of a relative refusing to pass on, a spirit they cannot satisfy, a ghoul who keeps them up at night. Francis does not want to go, however. He is not ready, and… not because he has not found a reason to leave…

“Here. For you.”

He finds Alasdair once more amongst the bushes, and realises he is being presented with a gift: a freshly pruned rose.

“It’ll match your… face, or something,” Alasdair insists—ever the charmer.

But, Francis thanks him, takes the flower, and holds it delicately between his fingers. It smells divine. The petals are fragile, but bright.

All the while, Alasdair continues to work, and Francis continues to watch. The other has been helping to care for the gardens for the last year or so, having taken over from his father, and he certainly does a fine job. For someone who comes across as roguish, sloppy, dishevelled, and somewhat… mismanaged, Alasdair never disappoints. And, most importantly, he talks to Francis—talks to him like he is human.

Sometimes, Francis loses himself, thinking about the gardener, the charmer, the commoner. The object of his desires that he can never have. Out of reach, even though he can otherwise have anything he so wishes at the click of his fingers. Why must Fate be so cruel…?

“Hey, Fran.”

The blonde tuts. “Francis, please. Someone might hear.”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” Alasdair dismisses, nevertheless, before he pushes through the barrier of rose bushes to stand closer and talk quieter: “I have a request, if you don’t mind.”

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me what it is.”

“Run away with me.”

And, naturally, Francis has to try not to laugh.

“I’m being serious,” the other persists, resuming his ‘pruning’ without really doing anything—a pretence. “You’re not happy here. It doesn’t take a genius or a duke to see that.”

“I know,” the blonde responds, “and I appreciate your offer. But… you surely know why I have to refuse, even if I do not want to.”

At that, the other stops just shy of a rose bud. “Oh? You, uh… You don’t want to, eh?” Alasdair remarks. “Why do you, then?”

“Because my parents—”

“Stuff your parents, Fran. I don’t mean to be rude, but the whole point of running away is to get away from that, the pressure, the expectations,” Alasdair tells him, as if he doesn’t already know. “Isn’t that what you want…?”

And it is. Of course it is. There is nothing he wants more, but it is more complicated than Alasdair appreciates, and Francis… he is not so sure he can turn his back on his entire life. Maybe one day. Maybe soon. Maybe it could take a while. It is impossible to say. He will do his best to fend off any so-called ‘suitors’ over the next week, and for however long after that, but otherwise...

“I do not expect you to wait,” he goes on to tell Alasdair. “You have already been so patient, but I cannot leave—not yet.”

“Then I’ll keep waiting,” the other says. He pushes past the rosebud and searches instead for more dying branches. “These gardens won’t look after themselves, after all.”

[ final wordcount, 902; prompts found here! ]

#helia writes #hetalia #hws france #hws scotland #scotfra #i dont think ive ever written them before did i do it right?? i don't even know ashetjh ;^;

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kirkland-bros-and-more · 2 years

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I have dreamed that Hima said ScotFra was at some point canon, like he released some panels of the Auld alliance and Scotland was in an armour (wanna think this was because of the Garde Écossaise) and they were "married" but like France still has feelings for Scotland nowadays cause he is a strong man and yeah I'm crying so much 😭😭

Good morning

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historia-vitae-magistras · 8 months

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has alasdair ever fell in love with someone who's not francis? king can do better, methinks

I looked through ao3 once, and all I could find were Scotnor, Scoteng Scotfra, and Scotland/Spain. Beyond that, I have no idea. He can absolutely do better than Francis, though. Might share a wean with Norway if the Orkneys has one dirtman? Or be boning the Orkneys? Married to the Hebrides? You could go a lot of ways with it.

#the ask box || probis pateo

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koolkat9 · 10 months

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Your favorite ships with each of the UK brothers (except England / Arthur)?

Wales

In most cases I see him as aroace, but if I had to choose a ship, I'd have to go with PruWales purely because of the anon that has been coming in my ask box. Also love the parallel they have with GerEng with Arthur's older brother who raised him and Ludwig's older brother who raised him are dating.

Scotland

ScotFra. Good history, they were married at least in the past. I have just seen so many fanarts of them together and just ugh, so cute.

ScotNor. Once again, I've seen great fanart of the two. There is a specific artist that I can't think of

ScotGer. It started as a joke idea because Allie kept getting flustered around Lud, but then I wrote three fics and I think they're actually super cute. 10x more awkward than GerEng and I love that for them

Northern Ireland

I don't think he's aroace but I don't think about him enough to figure out a ship for him. So as of right now, no I don't have a ship.

#hetalia #uk bros #hws #scotfra #scotnor #scotger #gerscot #pruwales #walespru

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folightening · 9 months

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wip tag game 🍎

rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your wip folder and tag as many people as there are documents. let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Thanks @sorvete-de-pacoca for the tag!

I have so, so many wips and most of them are titled by ship/character or basic idea in a ship folder, so I picked some of the ones a bit more specific.

Stalker Spain - Human au. Antonio is stalking Romano. Romano actually doesn't mind. Will need so many warnings. I'm having fun with it.

Spain into "cardverse" - Human au, Spamano. Antonio is transported into another dimension. Gets pulled into stuff by Romano. Not actual cardverse, I just needed a setting I could easily remember.

Spamano Arranged Marriage - Humans. Antonio has a choice between the Vargas siblings for some political marriage and shocks everyone by choosing Romano.

Regrets? - Rusliet. Lithuania thinking about his feelings, talking about wishing things were different, loving Ivan but not Russia... Not exactly sure what I'm doing.

Handing his heart to Liet - Y'know how Russia's heart apparently fell out in a strip? Never saw it myself, but I've heard of it. So he hands his literal heart to Liet and Liet is not as touched as Rus would have hoped.

Scotfra - Fake Dating Au, Humans. Them being friends irritates Arthur. So if they were dating... They both do enjoy irritating Arthur. And of course feelings are caught.

Romano and the Chibi Spains - Spain is somehow turned into not just one chibi, but multiple. And they're spread out all over. Romano has to gather them together to get Spain back to normal.

PortSwiss Dreams AU - Humans. Inspired by the Hallmark movie In My Dreams. The fountain lets them see their "true love" in their dreams for seven days after they make a wish (need not be related to romance). Switz does it to humor Liecht; what happens happens. Port does it as a last chance to find a reason to stay alive. Will need warnings for Port.

Hetalia Not Zombies AU - They are attacked by beings from some other dimension. Switching pov. I'm having a lot of fun with it, but it isn't fleshed out or finished enough to properly share.

PortSwiss & UKUS - Engport - Humans. Engport are engaged but uninterested in actually getting married. There are expectations for them to be together. But Arthur is in love with Alfred, and João falls in love with Vash.

Murder Mystery - Nations. Russia is (temporarily) killed. Everyone has motive so America jumps at the chance to do a murder mystery. They have until Russia comes back and tells them who did it to figure it out for themselves. Probably the only fic I will ever have lietpol in.

Island Retreat Horror - An excuse to play around with their immortality and put them through things. Some cult wants to test things and learn more about the personifications, tricks them onto the island, and puts them through situations.

Iberian Prince and the Pauper - Humans. Spamano and Portswiss. More Barbie's version than the original but I still did my own thing. Port is the prince, Spain is the pauper. Switz is Port's personal guard, Romano is the foreign prince Port's supposed to be marrying. Portspa swap places after Port is kidnapped but Turkey for political reasons (I haven't fully figured that part out yet). Spain falls in love with Romano while doing a bad job of pretending to be Port.

No idea who to tag here; consider this your tag if you want an excuse to talk about wips.

#hetalia #tag game #fol stuff

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senditothemoonn · 1 year

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You know that scene in Ratatouille where Colette is explaining that the way to get good produce is to either grow it yourself or bribe a grower?

All I can think when I see "Francis as a chef and Alasdair as a gardener" is "Francis gets the best food for his restaurant using his feminine wiles on Alasdair."

YES YES YES okay I love that so much

I was actually thinking about how cute it would be if (they were married and) Alasdair grew loads of produce in their garden which Francis then used to cook them lots of yummy wholesome meals 🥺

Can you imagine if they started dating in the first place only because Francis was just whoring himself out to Alasdair so that he would give him the best food for his restaurant 😭

Cut to: Alasdair who is madly in love and Francis who's realising "oh no, I've caught feelings"

#tHIS IS SUCH A CUTE AU PLEASE THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK #this is now how they met in my sims game #really they just came into existence and were immediately married #but this is their backstory now #WAAHH #scotfra #ask

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dysfunctional-lego-ninja · 3 years

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okay I accidentally unfollowed and refollowed you for a second BUT-- "give me a series" for HETALIA!

Alrighty ^^

❤ Favorite Male: France (ughhhh I love him so much bruh) ❤ Favorite Female: Not including the Nyos since that would make this so much harder, but it’s a good two-way tie between Hungary and Belgium (they’re both queens) ❤ Favorite Pairing: HECKIN hetero!ScotFra is my jam at the moment, ngl - love me some Auld Alliance (oldest European alliance babyyyyyyy) ❤ Least Favorite Character: I don’t particularly dislike a lot of Hetalia characters, but I guess the one who annoys me the most is Sealand. Idk what it is, he just bugs me. ❤ Who’s most like me: honestly, looking through a lot of character descriptions, I’m probably the most like Slovakia XD If you think I fit someone else better, let me know XD ❤ Most attractive: France. End of discussion, I want this man to marry me. ❤ Three more characters that I like: Prussia (he is the awesomest of awesome men), Russia (misunderstood sweetheart, protect him at all costs), and Norway (I relate to him too much man, he is a whole mood and a half)

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cdesu · 4 years

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What are your thoughts on ScotFra? (Scotland x France) and all the Rough Wooing between Scotland and England? I would love to know how you see that triangle.

I probably feel more like Fra←Scot if you ask me lol, anyway it doesn’t matter.

Triangle, yes it feels very much like a TV drama, the line would be En→Sc→Fr, where you can see Scotland wants to marry France more than England so he dumped the engagement ring into the lake while an angry England breaking in through the window causing an utter mess trying to grab Scotland home. (※ pure illusion)

I feel like England has quite a strong will to marry his brother, eh, I could say he’s probably been trying since beginning, but the approaches were harsh until later he finally got his lightbulb on (and it went on quite smooth since). He feel exceptionally furious in seeing Scotland trying to marry France when himself had a promise already, not because of losing Scotland but more like its France.. In England’s perspective, Scotland is something he’ll eventually get into his hand, it’s just about when this is going to happen. It’s already close enough this time and he’s losing it to France, that doesn’t taste good.

France (sorry I’m not very familiar with him), on the other hand, enjoys Scotland’s accompany and believes he’s a good way to tackle England. I sometimes wonder if France looks down on Scotland, not dislike but naturally feeling he isn’t important enough (compared to England at least?). He probably feels disappointed losing his ally. I’d like to imagine France thinking Scotland is beautiful but I tend to believe it’s rather barbarian no.2 with a bit better taste buds lolllll, I personally do not portrait Scotland as exceptionally beautiful, just normal-level appearance.

Scotland, is quite splitted at that time. Personally I believe Scotland sees Protestants as an English threat at that time, and tries his best to avoid it. He can see he’ll lose the country if he proceeds to marry this time, at least it’s quite obvious. In my opinion his primary aim for all his life is to stay alive, especially when you’re living in such a place. Scotland probably finds France assuring. I wouldn’t say trustworthy though, France is quite a player, but if it’s not too much he’s willing to get a hand in. I’m actually quite interested in how you protrait their relationship. I see them more like old comrades, maybe playful but not a full-hearted devotion? I lack knowledges on other events so it might be different.

#aph #aph scotland #aph england #aph france

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oumaheroes · 9 months

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I may be biased but of course ‘Odd Socks’ is my favourite story of yours 💖 (and probably my favourite thing I’ve ever read in general) I always go back to it if I’m feeling down or I’m just peckish for some scotfra and it always leaves me so satisfied and the ending always makes me so giddy with happiness. You capture everything so beautifully, it honestly feels like magic idk how you do it but you have a way of telling stories that’s so immersive and atmospheric and I can imagine them so vividly in my head being all in love and married and ahhh! I am going to go back and reread it in a minute ajhsjshsj one of my favourite parts of your writing is the dialogue, it’s such a hard thing to get right and you do it so flawlessly! I’ve said this before but reading the conversations between Arthur and Francis is always so fun, and I just love them in this fic 🥺 you have one of the most interesting and dynamic portrayals of them I’ve ever read and it’s probably my favourite ❤️

Phi... Phi 😭😭

I don't care if you're biased, this is such a lovely thing to hear and i want to squeeze you really tight ❤️ Odd socks was all for you, especially the dancing scene!!

#phi you need to understand how desperately i tried for that fic because you deserved your scotfra dreams to come true #you and your art are such an inspiration and i loved the chance to bring your scotfra headcanons to life!#heroes treasures #thank you so much you lovely egg ❤️❤️❤️

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ch-fics · 4 years

Text

One Shots From Discord Requests!

No. 1: Norway and England (Friendship) England was sitting near the window at the coffee shop his brother ran. He had a strawberry smoothie in his hand, along with a candy bar. As he was daydreaming, he noticed someone else walk in. They had snow on their shoulders as they took off the coat and cleaned the boots. They quietly ordered a warm drink as they took off their gloves as well, their red and blue eyes darting around, as though they were searching. Then, they turned and noticed England. The eldest Nordic of them all: Norway. He gave the Englishman a small wave as he paid for his drink, then going and sitting next to England. “Greetings, England. Long time; no see,” the Norwegian said softly, his voice quiet as usual. “Hello to you, too,” England replied softly, fixing his hair a little. “Is it cold in Oslo?” “A usual during the winter, yes. Sweden was over today, so I didn’t make it at the time I normally do.” Norway took a sip of the hot chocolate in his hands, humming quietly as a warm smile formed on his face, showing his small dimples. “Your brother always has the best hot chocolate… I wonder what the recipe is,” he murmured. England nodded. “What have you been doing with your new job?” England then asked. “Oh, it’s rather interesting. We harvest ice from the frozen lakes and use it for sculptures and other uses. I never really knew what the uses were since I mainly harvest the ice with my brothers,” Norway explained. England nodded along as Norway spoke, seeing how bright the dark red and blue eyes were as the Norwegian spoke. “You know, when you speak, your eyes always light up,” England said gently, looking at Norway. “What do you mean?” “Well, your eye colours are already dark, but when you speak, they light up; like fireflies, these bright bugs in the summer evenings. They’re very pretty, just like your eyes.” “Oh, well, thank you, dear frie-” “Please, just England is fine, Norway.” “Alright, England… I’ll see you around.” “See you soon, Norway.” No. 2: GerSpa (Relationship) Spain woke up to a sleeping German on his chest. He slowly sat up and kept Germany in his arms, kissing him awake. “Guten Morgen,” Spain said gently. He had learned German just for his husband. “Morning…” Germany cuddled back up to his lover’s chest. “Still sleepy?” Spain asked, his lover nodding gently. “Well, how about I make us some coffee… How do you like it again?” “Vanilla iced…” Spain nodded and went downstairs, pouring himself a cup of black coffee with sugar and cream, then making Germany’s. “Here you go, mi amor,” the Spaniard said to the German, looking at him. Germany thanked his lover quietly taking a sip. He then leaned against Spain as his lover started reading. “What’re you reading?” “A book about the stars. I wanna learn for Poland so he doesn’t feel so alone when he rambles about stars…” “How sweet of you… You really do care about everyone… Why is that?” “Well, mi amor, I was taught that everyone deserves to be cared about unless they hurt you personally. Nobody I know and that I’m friends with has hurt me, and I know that because, despite everything, they’re all still my family after mine passed… It’s strange, y’know? How your friends can feel like your family…” Germany smiled gently, setting his hand on Spain’s cheek. “Well, I consider you family,” he murmured. “That’s because we’re married, darling.” “I know that, dork!” “Pfft! Dork? That’s the first time you’ve called me that, and I shall cherish it forever. Did Britain teach you that?” “Maybe he did.” “Oh, I’ll give him a piece of my Spaniard mind!” Germany and Spain broke out into a laughing fit, holding onto each other gently, smiling warmly. No. 3: GerFra (Relationship) France was in her office, playing with a Rubrics Cube. She overheard someone walk in and smiled at her boyfriend. “Bonjour, Allemagne!” She said with a bright smile. Germany smiled gently and waved. He slowly hugged his lover. “I’m sleepy…” Germany buried his face into her chest, yawning sleepily. “Did you overwork yourself again, dear?” France asked softly, kissing Germany. He nodded, leaning into the kiss a little. “It’s not my fault though. The EU piled work onto me again…” France played with Germany’s hair as he vented about his work. She noticed his hair was rather messy and grabbed a hairbrush, going through and getting the knots out. Germany seemed to enjoy this a little since a smile grew on his face. “I’m sure tomorrow will be better - today is Friday after all, so we have tomorrow off.” “I hope so… We can sleep in, right? I don’t feel like getting up early tomorrow…” “Of course, mon amour. We can sleep until three o’clock in the afternoon if you wish!” Germany chuckled softly. “Isn’t that too long?” “Hey, if Bretagne can sleep in until four o’clock, then we can sleep in until three. Simple as that, dear.” “Fair enough. We’ll sleep in until then… Or noon, if we can’t.” France smiled and nodded gently, letting her lover ramble about things he enjoyed. “There. All finished brushing,” she then said. Germany nodded. “Danke, mein Liebe,” he said gently. He then kissed France’s cheek, making France smile warmly. “You’re such a sweetheart…” “You are too…” “You’re more of a sweetheart, mon chere.” “Heh, how so?” “Well, you always give me kisses and gifts, of course. You’re just a really sweet person in general.” Germany blushed at that, smiling happily. “Aw, Danke fur alles, mein Frankreich…” “Not a problem, dear… Je t’aime…” “Ich liebe dich…” No. 4: ItaAme (Relationship) “You can’t miss the sunrise again because you slept in, Ame! Come on!” Italy kept making the American walk up to the roof with her. She wanted him to see how beautiful the sunset was. “Fine, fine,” America replied sleepily, rubbing his eyes a little. He went up the ladder, Italy following afterwards. She ran up to the near edge, being careful to not slip. She sat down and let America sit next to her. “Isn’t it so beautiful, Ame?” Italy asked, hoping he’d agree. “It is, darling. Not as beautiful as you, though…” America kissed Italy after that, chuckling as he knew his wife’s cheeks were hot with blush. He gently pulled Italy closer to his chest, letting the Italian rest her head there. “You’re such a charmer…” “Heh, well, runs in the family!” Italy giggled softly at that, looking at America with gentle, green eyes. America smiled at her, continuing to watch the sunrise. “I’m glad you woke me up to see this, darling,” the American said softly, looking at his lover. “It’s rather beautiful…” Italy just smiled brightly and listened to her husband talk. She really enjoyed hearing his voice more than anyone else’s; always been that way since they met back in 1919. Italy noticed the sun was far up in the sky when America stopped talking. She smiled and stood up, taking America’s hand in hers. “Let’s go back in. What did you want for breakfast?” Italy asked. “Anything that you make, darling~!” “I appreciate it, Ame, but I need to know. You’re a picky eater when it comes to food.” “Fine… I’ll take some eggs, cutie pie.” “Alright, love. How do you want them?” “As cute as you are~!” “...Ame, I swear-” “What? It’s how I want them!” “Might as well just have me for breakfast then!” “Maybe I wi-” “HAHAHA NO, YOU’RE NOT-” “Aw, come on!” “Still a no!” No. 5: ScotFra (Relationship) Scotland sat down after the recent battle, sighing from exhaustion. He winced a little in pain at the wounds he received, seeing France walk in with a med-kit. “Bonjour,” France softly greeted, sitting next to Scotland. “Hey,” Scotland simply replied. He let France started patching up the wounds on his arm and face. She seemed heavily focused on that, but still wished to peak with Scotland. “You should be a little more careful, especially with your face in battles. You could go blind if you’re reckless enough.” Scotland just nodded, too tired to make a big deal out of that. “You should rest after I’m done patching you up. It’s better for you to sleep than to stay up all night,” France then added. She noticed the Scotsman was too tired to even answer her. She simply kept patching up his wounds before being pulled into a soft kiss. “I know this, darling,” Scotland finally said, his voice quiet and gentle, as usual. France simply smiled, setting her hands on Scotland’s waist. “Just making sure…” “You always make sure.” “Because I love you that much, Scott.” “I know that, darling.” Scotland kissed France’s cheek as she cuddled up to him, her arms wrapped around him. She let Scotland kiss her forehead as she buried her face into his chest. “I love you, dear,” the Frenchwoman murmured. “I love you more,” Scotland replied gently, looking at her. France lightly blushed as Scotland set his hand on his lover’s cheek. “Shall we go stargaze?” “I was hoping to nap, honestly.” “Let’s nap then!” France said with a happy smile. Her lover simply smiled as he laid down in her lap, letting France stroke his hair gently as he fell asleep. “Sleep well, darling…” France kissed him goodnight as he fell asleep. No. 6: GerEng (Relationship) England was sitting at the bar, holding a fruity drink. He didn’t notice Germany sitting next to him, who seemed to be much happier than him at the moment. The German did notice the Englishman, however. “Hallo, England!” Germany said happily, his hand on England’s shoulder. “Hey, Ger,” England simply said in response, looking at Germany with his tired eyes. “Have you slept lately? You look exhausted.” “Sleep is for the weak, Ger. I’ve taught you this for years now.” “I know, but you still should sleep. It’s good for your health.” England just sighed softly and took another drink of the beverage he had. Germany sat down next to him. “Eng, I’m worried about you. You only stay awake when something is bothering you… Do you wanna tell me what it is?” “Nothing is bothering me, Ger. I just have insomnia.” England smiled at the German, getting a soft smile in return. “Well, aren’t ya gonna order?” the Englishman then asked. “Oh right! What did you order exactly? I’d like to try it.” “I dunno. Shirley Temple, I think.” England shrugged. “Nonetheless, try it anyway. It’s not half bad for a bar like this.” Germany chuckled softly. He subconsciously grabbed England’s hand as he ordered the drink. Of course, they were a couple. Not just friends. They’d been dating for a near year now, and Germany was always the more sensible of the two, especially when it came to physical and mental health. This was just another regular Friday with these two. They loved each other, of course. It’ll hopefully be that way forever.

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