England wore a tiny top hat for his 2010 Halloween costume and for his Queen of Spades outfit. I'd love to see something with him having a tiny top hat for different occasions.
Bonus: He has a backup hat if something happens to the one he wears Bonus: Romania has tiny hats too and trades with England
England really liked hats. It was a secret that everybody pretended they didn’t know, but all the same it was glaringly obvious.
Throughout history the man had always been adorned with a hat of some sort, from Cnut the Great to Elizabeth the Second, skull hugging steel to feathers and cravats. Most recently, though, was his bordering on creepy obsession with tiny hats.
He had one for every occasion, with an entire shelf in his cupboard dedicated to the small flamboyant creatures. The only occasion he didn’t have a hat for was St Patrick’s day, and that’s only because he doesn’t like the colour green, I assure you.
But one hat stood out above them all, a small, dark purple number that rested perfectly upon the crown of his head and contrasted his hair in just the right way. It was his casual hat, his formal hat, his hat for every occasion and no one dared to question him on the wearing of such a perfect hat, because whilst it might be small, England would probably castrate them with a rusty spoon if they even dared to speak bad about his lovely hats.
He named this particular hat Nelson, to the hats friends it was referred to as Horatio.
The hat, however, had no friends, so it was simply Nelson.
Our tale takes part on a abnormally sunny English day in the midst of Hyde Park. As is tradition for sunny English days, everyone was wearing very little clothing and dying of the constricting under 20 degrees Celsius heat. England, however, was wearing a sweater, because sweaters suited him (in his honest opinion) and he generally wasn’t the type to get naked in public alongside his people.
Honestly, he wondered when they became so un modest, then he remembered they’d always been that way.
Anyway, so there England was, enjoying his own company whilst being blissfully aware of Nelson, his most trusted of all accessories, resting atop his head.
But like most English days, there was a fucking terrible wind about. England tried his hardest to ignore it, a continuous steam of curses in his own mind about his weather and how much it sucked when abruptly, a particularly tall gust of wind ripped his hat from his head and sent it spiralling off.
He let out a scream of anguish, watching as admirable Nelson flew off. At first he thought, maybe, he could follow after it, but the second his hat drifted over water he realized that dream was short lived.
Nelson dropped to the water where his lovely fabric and wiring became stained and water clogged, onlookers did what they did best and looked on as a full grown man wearing a sweater vest sobbed over the loss of his hat. A few minutes later, a park attendant came by with an officer of the law to help England up from his place on the floor.
“Is there anyone we could possibly call?” A kind lady in a hat asked, and England could do nothing but frown at her and shake his head. “Come on, son,” the officer said, “there’ll be other hats.”
England looked up from his place on the floor, eyes a more watery shade of green that usual and said, “there will never be a hat as good as Nelson ever again, sir, and don’t you dare assume otherwise.”
The next week, England was back into top hats, and all was forgotten. Nelson was put on the radiator and then promptly declared unwearable by such a man as Arthur Kirkland and given to Scope.
And this anonymous firmly realized that day that she was insane.
Not!OP thinks this is all sorts of cracky goodness.
I am not ashamed to admit that I laughed a great deal more than I thought I would, because I expected this to be some kind of wonderfully historical fill and then BAM hat-angst happened.
I do believe I've just found a new OTP. We must spread the word, anon; the world must realise the greatness of this romantic tragedy.
Oh God, I've just re-noticed the title now I've set the comment box to 'preview' and I'm laughing all over again.
And I wonder how many people won't get the Scope reference?
also, this irish!anon will force him to find a green hat. he's not above the great saint paddy's day.
It's nothing exciting! It's just a little thing you probably won't get unless you live in England. Scope is a charity in England and Wales for people with disabilities, and Scope-brand charity shops are basically the go-to place for people looking to pass over some old stuff and do some good at the same time. I think Americans call them thrift stores. Sorry to disappoint, haha!
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England- Tiny Top Hats
(Anonymous) 2012-05-07 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)Bonus: He has a backup hat if something happens to the one he wears
Bonus: Romania has tiny hats too and trades with England
The flight of Nelson
(Anonymous) 2012-05-16 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)Throughout history the man had always been adorned with a hat of some sort, from Cnut the Great to Elizabeth the Second, skull hugging steel to feathers and cravats. Most recently, though, was his bordering on creepy obsession with tiny hats.
He had one for every occasion, with an entire shelf in his cupboard dedicated to the small flamboyant creatures. The only occasion he didn’t have a hat for was St Patrick’s day, and that’s only because he doesn’t like the colour green, I assure you.
But one hat stood out above them all, a small, dark purple number that rested perfectly upon the crown of his head and contrasted his hair in just the right way. It was his casual hat, his formal hat, his hat for every occasion and no one dared to question him on the wearing of such a perfect hat, because whilst it might be small, England would probably castrate them with a rusty spoon if they even dared to speak bad about his lovely hats.
He named this particular hat Nelson, to the hats friends it was referred to as Horatio.
The hat, however, had no friends, so it was simply Nelson.
Our tale takes part on a abnormally sunny English day in the midst of Hyde Park. As is tradition for sunny English days, everyone was wearing very little clothing and dying of the constricting under 20 degrees Celsius heat. England, however, was wearing a sweater, because sweaters suited him (in his honest opinion) and he generally wasn’t the type to get naked in public alongside his people.
Honestly, he wondered when they became so un modest, then he remembered they’d always been that way.
Anyway, so there England was, enjoying his own company whilst being blissfully aware of Nelson, his most trusted of all accessories, resting atop his head.
But like most English days, there was a fucking terrible wind about. England tried his hardest to ignore it, a continuous steam of curses in his own mind about his weather and how much it sucked when abruptly, a particularly tall gust of wind ripped his hat from his head and sent it spiralling off.
He let out a scream of anguish, watching as admirable Nelson flew off. At first he thought, maybe, he could follow after it, but the second his hat drifted over water he realized that dream was short lived.
Nelson dropped to the water where his lovely fabric and wiring became stained and water clogged, onlookers did what they did best and looked on as a full grown man wearing a sweater vest sobbed over the loss of his hat. A few minutes later, a park attendant came by with an officer of the law to help England up from his place on the floor.
“Is there anyone we could possibly call?” A kind lady in a hat asked, and England could do nothing but frown at her and shake his head.
“Come on, son,” the officer said, “there’ll be other hats.”
England looked up from his place on the floor, eyes a more watery shade of green that usual and said, “there will never be a hat as good as Nelson ever again, sir, and don’t you dare assume otherwise.”
The next week, England was back into top hats, and all was forgotten. Nelson was put on the radiator and then promptly declared unwearable by such a man as Arthur Kirkland and given to Scope.
And this anonymous firmly realized that day that she was insane.
The end.
someone please help me
Aksfkh.
(Anonymous) 2012-05-16 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: The flight of Nelson
(Anonymous) 2012-05-16 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)I wish I could help you, but someone would need to help me first. I have hugs though, is that any kind of consolation?
Re: The flight of Nelson
(Anonymous) 2012-05-16 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)I am not ashamed to admit that I laughed a great deal more than I thought I would, because I expected this to be some kind of wonderfully historical fill and then BAM hat-angst happened.
I do believe I've just found a new OTP. We must spread the word, anon; the world must realise the greatness of this romantic tragedy.
Oh God, I've just re-noticed the title now I've set the comment box to 'preview' and I'm laughing all over again.
And I wonder how many people won't get the Scope reference?also, this irish!anon will force him to find a green hat. he's not above the great saint paddy's day.
no-one is spared.
A!A (:
(Anonymous) 2012-05-17 09:40 pm (UTC)(link)Engat shippers unite, my dear anon, unite.
very little probablyRe: The flight of Nelson
(Anonymous) 2012-05-22 02:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: The flight of Nelson
(Anonymous) 2012-05-23 10:37 pm (UTC)(link)It's nothing exciting! It's just a little thing you probably won't get unless you live in England. Scope is a charity in England and Wales for people with disabilities, and Scope-brand charity shops are basically the go-to place for people looking to pass over some old stuff and do some good at the same time. I think Americans call them thrift stores. Sorry to disappoint, haha!