balladofthewhitehorse

[balladofthewhitehorse]

I love seeing stuff on this blog that you showed me earlier cause its like "WOW!! early access to cool writing from my friend :3" and I repay this by sending you memes that make you want to chase me with a broom

Chasing you with a broom and the dogs of hell for sending me the barcode-eyebrows Eng meme.

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Scotland, hands wringing England's neck: I'll kill you. That is the truth. Does it suddenly make this right? England, snarling at him as his brother's palm presses against the beat of his heart; Blood choking blood as he shrugs - beating back that panicky, snarling dog in his chest, his pride cannot confess wrong: It is what it is.

England: I never lie. I told you I'd kill you. Scotland, bloodied and dying beneath his feet: …Doesn't make you a saint, does it? England, shrugging as he presses his heel against his brother's ribs - looking around the battlefield with lazy regard: You accepted the consequences. No word of lie passed my lips. This is the outcome, Scotty.

#hws england #hws scotland

[balladofthewhitehorse]

England: I never lie. I told you I'd kill you. Scotland, bloodied and dying beneath his feet: …Doesn't make you a saint, does it? England, shrugging as he presses his heel against his brother's ribs - looking around the battlefield with lazy regard: You accepted the consequences. No word of lie passed my lips. This is the outcome, Scotty.

#hws scotland #hws england

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Flower Language Based Prompt List I made instead of writing 💐

I tried to make the prompts relate to each flower’s definition per the Victorian Flower Language without getting too repetitive.

The prompts are all fairly open ended and I figured people could use them for their own inspiration or request games!!

You know the “send me a ship and flower and I’ll write something.”

Anywho, if anyone does end up using this I’d love it if you’d tag me so I can read what you’ve written!! Either way, I hope someone can get use out my procrastinating 💖

Click here to view an unedited version of the document: The List

[balladofthewhitehorse]

✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨(No pressure. Just spreading some positivity)

AAAA Thank you ;w; <333

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Twilight had drawn a hazy, dream-like quality over everything - and England felt something inside him break as he remembered that the person he had lain with was only a mortal. She won’t be like this forever, England mused mournfully, thinking of silvery hair and crow’s feet around pale eyes. Is it depressing for them? The young man was unsure, watching as the lady began to slowly rise up. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and England longed to gently braid it. He said nothing. 

Somewhere in the midst of the ale and the chatter, he had completely slipped the woman’s name - and he feared that his clumsy tongue might make a muddle somewhere here and there, the name of some other woman England vaguely remembered he was supposed to be courting. ‘’I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.’’ He pressed a shy, furtive kiss against her shoulder (humming at the sight of the freckles - drawn out by the sweet, summer sun, their likeness drawing up a deep yearning in the pit of his belly). ‘’But, I didn’t…I didn’t quite catch your name?’’ England leaned back against the pillow with a soft sigh, watching her shadow move against the far wall, half-lidded eyes as he tried to remember if there was somewhere he was supposed to be today. 

‘’Stephanie.’’ Came the reply, as she arched her brow critically. ‘’Am I not worth remembering?’

#hws england #snippet of a fic I am writing - inspired by one of historia-vitae-magistras' posts

[balladofthewhitehorse]

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Hi guys here’s another one 4 of you like

#hws wales #yes i love him so very much #dw i hoffi cymru :)

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Old Memories

It was a shock of a blue sky, and the wind carried the promise of a sharp frost and sharper winds. With it, England knew that a cold winter was coming soon and cold winters brought famine, a familiar ache in the pit of his belly even though it had not known hunger in a terribly long time. ‘’Chilly, isn’t it?’’ He spoke in a plaintive voice, mundanity pricking the corners of his mouth into a smile that it just about remembered how to do. Scarf drawn tight, England glanced sheepishly at Wales (muttering something about remembering to pack a hat next time they went up to Scotland’s place - and gloves too), his cheeks flush with embarrassment. ‘’Don’t you ever get tired of it, Scotty?’’ Heavens knew that England would - he practically lived beside his radiator these days, and the cold that closed around him was edged with steel; Something wicked this way came, and his heart thudded in his ears. They were in the middle of a valley, cradled on-all sides by hills that seemed - to England - insurmountable, fringed with grey clouds that suddenly felt like bulwarks that bore down upon the three of them with silent prejudice. It was…unfriendly.

Scotland grunted, shrugging as he held up a pair of binoculars to his chest. A bird was flying overhead - a silhouette that belied the promise of being a raptor of some kind, majestic all the way up so high. ‘’There’s no such thing as bad weather though,’’ He jabbed a finger pointedly towards England, heavy brows furrowed as he stared ruefully at his brother’s shabby coat. ‘’Just bad clothing.’’ He scolded, though Scotland’s voice remained light (fraternal even, in-spite of the growing distance between himself and his brother, England). ‘’What on Earth is this-?’’ Polyester; A dreadful material, in Scotland’s opinion, and he turned up his nose in thinly-veiled disgust. ‘’It’s so thin…no wonder the wind’s fucking cutting through you.’’ Scotland scoffed, the corner of his lips twitching into a vague smirk (He certainly wasn’t cold - having dressed appropriately for it). ‘’We’re cold because it is fucking cold.’’ Chimed in Wales, rolling her eyes as she buried her red-knuckled hands into her pockets; Nothing could be felt anymore, not her ears, nose or toes. It was as though piece by piece, the frost was consuming her slowly. ‘’Aren’t you?’’ She asked incredulously, brows knitting in disbelief. Beside her, England shivered and drew his coat tight around himself - thin-lipped with the cold, Wales casting a sympathetic glance at her youngest brother. ‘’Oh come off it, you’re just bragging.’’ She hissed, head snapping back to Scotland as she prodded him in the side. ‘’Give me your hands-!’’ A grasp, pulling at his gloves. ‘’-You used to get really cold when you were little! Don’t give me that look, Scot-!’’ A scuffle - distracted at the moment, Wales and Scotland scarcely noticed England slowly drifting off to the side. His eyes turned upward to the horizon, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end; The air crackled with a strange energy (Figures could come pouring down the hillsides; Thick rivers of steel and men, this was a perfect spot for an ambush) and England felt something heavy bearing down upon him. ‘’Guys…’’ Whispered a strained voice, his tongue as thick as lead (as thick as blood, pouring into the grass in ropes - from a gash on near the top of his thigh; He couldn’t run as fast now, couldn’t hope to manoeuvre in-time to avoid the axeblow that was coming soon). ‘’I-’’ England’s eyes snapped to the grass in confusion. ‘’I’m not bleeding, am I?’’ 

‘’Eh?’’ Scotland gently pushed Wales’ hands away, peering at England bemusedly. Something ragged lingered in his brother’s expression (torn banners, torn hands - Scotland recognised the sight well, and his jawline tensed in patient anticipation for a snap; Teeth bared, defensive - a dog prepared to bite the hand that fed). ‘’No, no…not at all, Eng.’’ He sighed softly, frowning slightly. ‘’You’re fine, lad.’’ He hummed lightly, clearing his throat sheepishly. ‘’There’s nothing there…’’ A twinkle crept into his eyes, Scotland lifting his chin with a wry smirk on his lips. ‘’You’re not weaselling out of this walk so easily, England.’’ The wind howled across the hill-peaks with a playful roar, tousling hair and tugging at hats with an insistence that made Scotland’s eyes shine. Binoculars swinging from side to side, Scotland shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his chin proudly, marching onwards without much regard for whether his family would be able to keep up. ‘’The view will be worth it all,’’ He boasted. ‘’Shift your arse.’’ ‘’I’m not trying to-’’ England started furiously, trailing off into a soft growl. ‘’Fuck off, I walk plenty.’’ No-longer did the wind howl ill, but tugged at his scarf and hat with a playful insistence. It sang of levity, a weight risen from England’s weary shoulders as he stomped after Scotland, snarling that he’d reach the top of the crest (and from high up, there was a good vantage-point; They would not be ambushed; They would not be swallowed up by the very Earth itself). He scowled quietly to himself, huffing and puffing and scoffing that he was perfectly fine with the pace he was managing and that the view couldn’t really be all that grand, the way Scotland was going on and on about it. ‘’You’ve dragged us all the way out here, in the middle of bumfuck no-’’ 

A sudden pang of dread swallowed his tongue. England swallowed anxiously. They were alone. 

Quietly, Wales padded after him - a shadow at his shoulder, England casting an anxious glance towards her (as if begging her to keep quiet, a phone conversation that she wasn’t meant to hear in the first place; A secret that England thought embarrassing, shameful). ‘’You’ll be fine,’’ She breathed softly, patting him on the back lightly, a rare gesture from England’s childhood - back when the trees used to sprawl across the sky. Before she had tasted steel across her throat. Before she watched England, as she lay dying beneath the trees that sprawled across the sky. ‘’As you say, you’ve walked plenty of times.’’ A conspiratorial smile crept across her lips, across her cheeks as Wales crossed her arms behind her back with a playful hum. ‘’From your armchair to the kitchen.’’ Scotland let out a bark of laughter, as the three of them reached the hill’s summit. Around them, sprawled the scenery - and just as England was winding up a sharp comment of his own, he lifted his binoculars to his eyes. ‘’Guys, belt it-!’’ A silhouette glided effortlessly across the sky, wings cutting a stark shadow against the white clouds. ‘’-It’s an eagle.’’ A rare sight, Scotland couldn’t help feeling mesmerised by it - breathing in slowly and deeply, as if he couldn’t quite appreciate it enough. England’s sharp voice (indignant, defensive; A bristling thing, like a brambleberry bush - anger flashing like shiny berries in the autumn sun) faded away, petering into an equal appreciative silence. ‘’Doesn’t it look majestic?’’ Scotland sighed, feeling warm. Wales stood beside her brother, looking up towards the sky - eyes squinting in the sun. ‘’It is.’’

Slowly - sulkily, glaring at Wales’ back as she joined Scotland - England joined the two of them at last. He looked slowly around, eyes panning over the vast horizon. It sprawled out before him in a patchwork quilt of fields and forests and rolling hills, jagged mountains rising up in the distance; England was not a man who appreciated nature - or at least, he wasn’t before. There were no enemies hiding on the hills, silvery swords rallying in the howling wind, and England exhaled slowly and lengthily. ‘’I suppose it’s alright.’’ He grunted softly, crossing his arms across his chest as he tried to suppress a chill that crept through him (only the cold this time, only the cold). England leaned back towards the open sky, trembling as he slowly closed his eyes against the warmth of the wintry sun. ‘’...Peaceful out there. No trouble, yeah?’’ England mumbled, as if trying to convince himself that there was nothing out there, not anymore. Just him, and his siblings surrounded by miles, upon miles of hills - and they were all getting along.

Just like the old times.

#hws england #hws scotland #hws wales

[balladofthewhitehorse]

England 4?

Truly, England would be taken aback. He’s used to immortality, to being infinite - and certainly while he’s aware that there is the prospect of death, of dying…he’s become quite comfortable with his existence. If he had one month to live, England would have a meltdown. He’d be furious, questioning everything and wondering what this meant - I have no doubt a good chunk of that final month would be spent with England trying to work out why that is.

#hws england

[balladofthewhitehorse]

20 for Port and 25 for England!

20 for Port: Household chore they hate the most 

Portugal does chores quite often; It’s a necessity these days, now that he isn’t living with a retinue of servants or amongst large groups of people. Nevertheless, there is always one or two things that Portugal most resents having to do - and there isn’t a chore that Portugal dislikes doing more than hoovering the house. Dust always seems to build, and the sisyphean chore has a tendency to aggravate Portugal’s lumbar-pain; This is despite England telling Portugal to stand up straight while hoovering - Portugal’s terrible posture doing them more harm than good. Additionally, Portugal is somewhat casual about their living space…they’ve lived in worse accommodation than the one they have, endured worse conditions than a bit of dust on the floor - and truthfully, Portugal is just a little workshy. Or at least, they tend to be workshy about things that need constant doing. They’re perfectly capable of getting things done, but the more repetitive and mundane tasks tend to get left by the wayside. Portugal prefers one and done things, and sometimes England needs to remind them to do the hoovering - although Portugal absolutely does not see the sentiment England has in their little Henry Hoover, and wishes they’d get a better one…

+ and 25 for England:  What other people wish they could change about them

What isn’t there that other people would wish to change about England? He is a pretty difficult person to like - Surly, defensive and wary of the good intentions of others, England is an all-round cunt and I think there’s something to be said about how England tends to push others away. While I could go-on and rag-on England to no end, I’ll be honest and suggest that most people would change just how wary he is towards others; A lot of his prickly personality comes from his fundamental belief that people are inherently selfish, that there’s always a cost. For individuals like Portugal, Wales and Scotland - this tends to clash greatly with them, and they certainly wish England would be a little less stringent about it. Others, like France, honestly wonder whether England would be easier to get along with if he wasn’t so…you know.

#hws portugal #hws england #engport

[balladofthewhitehorse]

✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨(No pressure. Just spreading some positivity)

Aw, thank you!

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Day 3: Getting vulnerable

@aphfrukweek

#hws england #hws france #fruk #ow my heart

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Old Memories

It was a shock of a blue sky, and the wind carried the promise of a sharp frost and sharper winds. With it, England knew that a cold winter was coming soon and cold winters brought famine, a familiar ache in the pit of his belly even though it had not known hunger in a terribly long time. ‘’Chilly, isn’t it?’’ He spoke in a plaintive voice, mundanity pricking the corners of his mouth into a smile that it just about remembered how to do. Scarf drawn tight, England glanced sheepishly at Wales (muttering something about remembering to pack a hat next time they went up to Scotland’s place - and gloves too), his cheeks flush with embarrassment. ‘’Don’t you ever get tired of it, Scotty?’’ Heavens knew that England would - he practically lived beside his radiator these days, and the cold that closed around him was edged with steel; Something wicked this way came, and his heart thudded in his ears. They were in the middle of a valley, cradled on-all sides by hills that seemed - to England - insurmountable, fringed with grey clouds that suddenly felt like bulwarks that bore down upon the three of them with silent prejudice. It was…unfriendly.

Scotland grunted, shrugging as he held up a pair of binoculars to his chest. A bird was flying overhead - a silhouette that belied the promise of being a raptor of some kind, majestic all the way up so high. ‘’There’s no such thing as bad weather though,’’ He jabbed a finger pointedly towards England, heavy brows furrowed as he stared ruefully at his brother’s shabby coat. ‘’Just bad clothing.’’ He scolded, though Scotland’s voice remained light (fraternal even, in-spite of the growing distance between himself and his brother, England). ‘’What on Earth is this-?’’ Polyester; A dreadful material, in Scotland’s opinion, and he turned up his nose in thinly-veiled disgust. ‘’It’s so thin…no wonder the wind’s fucking cutting through you.’’ Scotland scoffed, the corner of his lips twitching into a vague smirk (He certainly wasn’t cold - having dressed appropriately for it). ‘’We’re cold because it is fucking cold.’’ Chimed in Wales, rolling her eyes as she buried her red-knuckled hands into her pockets; Nothing could be felt anymore, not her ears, nose or toes. It was as though piece by piece, the frost was consuming her slowly. ‘’Aren’t you?’’ She asked incredulously, brows knitting in disbelief. Beside her, England shivered and drew his coat tight around himself - thin-lipped with the cold, Wales casting a sympathetic glance at her youngest brother. ‘’Oh come off it, you’re just bragging.’’ She hissed, head snapping back to Scotland as she prodded him in the side. ‘’Give me your hands-!’’ A grasp, pulling at his gloves. ‘’-You used to get really cold when you were little! Don’t give me that look, Scot-!’’ A scuffle - distracted at the moment, Wales and Scotland scarcely noticed England slowly drifting off to the side. His eyes turned upward to the horizon, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end; The air crackled with a strange energy (Figures could come pouring down the hillsides; Thick rivers of steel and men, this was a perfect spot for an ambush) and England felt something heavy bearing down upon him. ‘’Guys…’’ Whispered a strained voice, his tongue as thick as lead (as thick as blood, pouring into the grass in ropes - from a gash on near the top of his thigh; He couldn’t run as fast now, couldn’t hope to manoeuvre in-time to avoid the axeblow that was coming soon). ‘’I-’’ England’s eyes snapped to the grass in confusion. ‘’I’m not bleeding, am I?’’ 

‘’Eh?’’ Scotland gently pushed Wales’ hands away, peering at England bemusedly. Something ragged lingered in his brother’s expression (torn banners, torn hands - Scotland recognised the sight well, and his jawline tensed in patient anticipation for a snap; Teeth bared, defensive - a dog prepared to bite the hand that fed). ‘’No, no…not at all, Eng.’’ He sighed softly, frowning slightly. ‘’You’re fine, lad.’’ He hummed lightly, clearing his throat sheepishly. ‘’There’s nothing there…’’ A twinkle crept into his eyes, Scotland lifting his chin with a wry smirk on his lips. ‘’You’re not weaselling out of this walk so easily, England.’’ The wind howled across the hill-peaks with a playful roar, tousling hair and tugging at hats with an insistence that made Scotland’s eyes shine. Binoculars swinging from side to side, Scotland shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his chin proudly, marching onwards without much regard for whether his family would be able to keep up. ‘’The view will be worth it all,’’ He boasted. ‘’Shift your arse.’’ ‘’I’m not trying to-’’ England started furiously, trailing off into a soft growl. ‘’Fuck off, I walk plenty.’’ No-longer did the wind howl ill, but tugged at his scarf and hat with a playful insistence. It sang of levity, a weight risen from England’s weary shoulders as he stomped after Scotland, snarling that he’d reach the top of the crest (and from high up, there was a good vantage-point; They would not be ambushed; They would not be swallowed up by the very Earth itself). He scowled quietly to himself, huffing and puffing and scoffing that he was perfectly fine with the pace he was managing and that the view couldn’t really be all that grand, the way Scotland was going on and on about it. ‘’You’ve dragged us all the way out here, in the middle of bumfuck no-’’ 

A sudden pang of dread swallowed his tongue. England swallowed anxiously. They were alone. 

Quietly, Wales padded after him - a shadow at his shoulder, England casting an anxious glance towards her (as if begging her to keep quiet, a phone conversation that she wasn’t meant to hear in the first place; A secret that England thought embarrassing, shameful). ‘’You’ll be fine,’’ She breathed softly, patting him on the back lightly, a rare gesture from England’s childhood - back when the trees used to sprawl across the sky. Before she had tasted steel across her throat. Before she watched England, as she lay dying beneath the trees that sprawled across the sky. ‘’As you say, you’ve walked plenty of times.’’ A conspiratorial smile crept across her lips, across her cheeks as Wales crossed her arms behind her back with a playful hum. ‘’From your armchair to the kitchen.’’ Scotland let out a bark of laughter, as the three of them reached the hill’s summit. Around them, sprawled the scenery - and just as England was winding up a sharp comment of his own, he lifted his binoculars to his eyes. ‘’Guys, belt it-!’’ A silhouette glided effortlessly across the sky, wings cutting a stark shadow against the white clouds. ‘’-It’s an eagle.’’ A rare sight, Scotland couldn’t help feeling mesmerised by it - breathing in slowly and deeply, as if he couldn’t quite appreciate it enough. England’s sharp voice (indignant, defensive; A bristling thing, like a brambleberry bush - anger flashing like shiny berries in the autumn sun) faded away, petering into an equal appreciative silence. ‘’Doesn’t it look majestic?’’ Scotland sighed, feeling warm. Wales stood beside her brother, looking up towards the sky - eyes squinting in the sun. ‘’It is.’’

Slowly - sulkily, glaring at Wales’ back as she joined Scotland - England joined the two of them at last. He looked slowly around, eyes panning over the vast horizon. It sprawled out before him in a patchwork quilt of fields and forests and rolling hills, jagged mountains rising up in the distance; England was not a man who appreciated nature - or at least, he wasn’t before. There were no enemies hiding on the hills, silvery swords rallying in the howling wind, and England exhaled slowly and lengthily. ‘’I suppose it’s alright.’’ He grunted softly, crossing his arms across his chest as he tried to suppress a chill that crept through him (only the cold this time, only the cold). England leaned back towards the open sky, trembling as he slowly closed his eyes against the warmth of the wintry sun. ‘’...Peaceful out there. No trouble, yeah?’’ England mumbled, as if trying to convince himself that there was nothing out there, not anymore. Just him, and his siblings surrounded by miles, upon miles of hills - and they were all getting along.

Just like the old times.

#hws england #hws scotland #hws wales

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Oh - Engport

Hetalia - Engport A simple realizing of feelings.

Portugal was angry with him. Of course Portugal was angry with him. England had overstepped. A lot. But he hadn't had a choice. When the humans made a decision, the nation was expected to abide by it. Portugal knew that. Everyone knew that.

So why was England being ignored?

England slammed the bottle on the table and scowled at the fresh paper before him. He had sent numerous letters to Portugal since the argument. Addressed to both his nation and human name, each imploring him to remember their status as nations and cease his attitude. He disliked being ignored.

England disliked being ignored by Portugal more than anyone else.

His best friend ignoring him was... How was he feeling? Ignored, of course. Annoyed, definitely. Alone? Worried? Scared? Of what, he wasn't entirely certain. England put the pen against the paper and paused again. Should he try a different approach? What if Portugal continued to ignore him? What would even work?

Dearest - Friend? That didn't quite fit. The address could wait.

I miss you No, too vulnerable. Why are you ignoring me? No, they both knew that England knew why. I miss you. Still too vulnerable. But that was the truth of it.

He missed Portugal. He missed his smiles, his laughter. The way he'd take the bottle right from his hand to drink some himself. The way he wrinkled his nose at things he considered unpleasant; sometimes including England himself. Days spent doing nothing but enjoying the weather and each other's company. Portugal's warmth was something he cherished and now it was being kept from him and he only had himself to blame.

I'm sorry. Please come see me

England stared at the scrawled words and set the pen down. Who deserved his vulnerability if not Portugal? Portugal was the only one England had ever considered deserving of his apologies. They had been together for so long, been through so much together.

England grabbed the bottle and swirled the remaining contents. Yes, there were times his judgement was clouded. When he let himself get carried away with one thing or another and left Portugal behind, but he always- He always came back. He couldn't truly leave Portugal; Portugal meant too much to him. England scowled and drained the remaining alcohol.

Now he was going to lose Portugal.

He didn't want to lose Portugal.

Everything England needed - everything England wanted - Portugal was. England... No, Arthur...

England stared blankly at the wall and set the empty bottle down. So that was it. He didn't just love Portugal. He loved Portugal. This was so far beyond friendship he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed sooner.

It wasn't about England and Portugal the countries, or any of their humans. It was about Arthur and Afonso the people.

I have something important to say. Please come see me, I need to see your face when I say it.

Always yours, Arthur.

Now he just had to send it off and wait for Portugal to come. And when he finally saw him again, England would say all the things he should've said a long time ago.

#engport #hws england #hws portugal #ohhh this is so cute #i love it <3

[balladofthewhitehorse]

I wondered how I could update Arthur's style to current trends so he isn't wearing that godforsaken green sweater with a red tie that he's had since fucking 1930 lmao. A looser fit for his clothes esp his trousers and white sneakers for a casual look will do the job without losing his essence. Then I got carried away and gave him two more fits

Together they're the Rowdyruff boys 🫶 daft cunts, all of them

#hws scotland #hws wales #hws england

[balladofthewhitehorse]

You think America and England argued over the redundancy of bows when guns exist? Like America saying a bow is slow and cumbersome af he can totally cstch one mid air. England offers to test that theory. Long story short, America is sitting in an emergency room with an arrow in his shoulder and England is with him looking smug

#sounds about right #hws england #hws america