A small book of headcanons

❝ʜᴇʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ! ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɴᴏɪsᴇ? ɪᴛ's ᴀ ʀᴇʙᴇʟ sᴏᴜɴᴅ! ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ ɢᴏᴇs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ғɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛs, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇʙᴇʟ's ʙᴇᴀᴛ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʟʟ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ!❞ ├┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┤ The albino snatches the book out of your hands quickly, his face turning a bit red out of embarrassment. "H-Hey, this isn't yours to look at!"

❝ᴜᴘsɪᴅᴇ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ, (s)ʜᴇ's ʟɪᴠɪɴ' ʟᴀ ᴠɪᴅᴀ ʟᴏᴄᴀ. (s)ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴘᴜsʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ʟɪᴠɪɴ' ʟᴀ ᴠɪᴅᴀ ʟᴏᴄᴀ.❞ ├┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┤ The Spaniard quickly took the journal from you with a slightly nervous chuckle. "Lo siento, amigo(a)! You can't red this!"

❝ɪғ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ: ɪᴛ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴀʏ, ɪᴛ's ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ. ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀs ɢᴏ ʙʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴅɪᴇ, ɴᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ɢᴏᴇs!❞ ├┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┤ The Frenchman holds his hand out with a frown as he see that it was in your hands. "I would like that back, ami."

"hσw díd чσu gєt thαt!"

What do you think you're doing, reading a lady's diary?! Now, go before I get my riding crop!

❝What are you doing here-?❞ A sigh released from his mouth. ❝Go away.❞

Ask or dare france and England anything

Most of the people I know do this, I thought why not I try it, Da? -NONE OF THESE PICTURES AND CHARACTERS BELONG TO ME-