~FRANADA FRANADA FRANADA~

look at them i love them (i know it's spelled matthew; zae spells it mathieu and i like it)

Hey! sorry this took so long to write but I can 100 percent do 2p! Canada! These are regular headcanons not yandere or anything of that sort.

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Mathieu is extremely perceptive and would notice your swings and it'll definitely bother him, he wont try to be too confrontational with it but he will intervene and help in his own ways!

He will respect your space but he won't leave you alone he will keep himself busy while he is next to you but if he will be more hands on if you need him to be he would hold you if you needed/wanted it. He doesn't want you alone he wants you to know he is there for you when you need him.

He will cook you your favorite meals or make you coffee or tea and allow you to sit with your feelings, If you want to talk about it he is there to listen and just soak it up with you. He isn't too much for verbal comforting but he loves to show you he is there and he loves you.

You don't need to pretend around him, he won't lecture you or force you to get up and "shake" off the feelings he will put on your favorite movie or show.

Even retrieve your headphones so you can listen to music and draw or write or whatever you want to do in that moment.

Here's the ask in question;

And here is my answer, again sorry for any confusion!

Hey there! I sure can, I do apologise for the LITERAL years this took... but I think my writing’s improved, so that’s somewhat of a plus ;-; 

(If anyone does read this, thank you for enjoying this very fun drabble! ;3; )

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Bunny Business

The front door creaked open far later than usual, followed by the click of the light switch, the silence somewhat eerie to the Canadian currently toeing off his snow-slick boots. Matthieu didn’t look up at first, simply moving with his usual absent mindedness toward the kitchen to sit at the long mahogany table he’d built himself for fun one summer. A yawn would pull at his slightly chapped lips, a sun-kissed hand running through the bristling hair of his beard before making his way to the cabinets—a cup of coffee in his favourite chipped mug sounding divine in the moment.

The steam would curl and plume around Matthieu as he took in the aroma; slightly nutty with hints of oak, a Canadian national favourite. Running a thumb over the chip on the rim of the mug, Matthieu would mentally comment on the silence—too quiet in the rustic cabin even at this time of late day—just through the kitchen window the sun was dropping into the horizon behind a snow-covered lush treeline, orange and reds scattering across the floorboards like flickering flames of a fire.

Then, amidst the silence—he’d hear it. Shuffling footsteps, followed by a soft thump and a muffled, breathless, “Don’t panic...” That got his attention immediately, his head slowly turning toward the sound of their voice. The sight that would greet his gaze would be something that made the corners of his lips twitch upwards, a deep blonde brow raising upward. 

You were stood in the entryway to the kitchen now—boots scuffed and muddy, jacket askew and unzipped, cheeks flushed from the winter air and what Matthieu could only assume was exertion—and a sight that made him hold back a chortle, an armful of tiny white balls... bunnies. Barely old enough to open their eyes, nestled into the crooks of your elbows whilst finding comfort in the warmth of your chest. 

“...the fuck?” The words escaped Matthieu’s lips as he adjusted in his seat and raised a hand to shift his glasses, thinking this may be an illusion—but no, it very much wasn’t. “I found them...” A small smile pulled across your features as your gaze met Matthieu’s, speaking quick enough that his eyes would widen before he’d blink a few times in quick succession. “They were out by the ravine, in a box Mattie. A practically destroyed cardboard box. Someone just abandoned them and I couldn’t exactly leave them alone at this age—” Matthieu had stood from his seat now, placing a hand on your shoulder in a show of reassurance before speaking in a clear yet calm tone, “You don’t have to keep pleading your case maple, I hear ya loud and clear...” 

Matthieu would look down and do a quick headcount of said bunnies, his brain overworking when the digits became double, “...but twenty bunnies?...”, “I didn’t really count as I was getting them all, it was far too cold to double think it at the time!” You’d crouch down and place the bunnies atop a blanket on the sofa, rubbing the woven fabric against their shivering bodies. “Mattie, I don’t think they’ve eaten in days...” A bunny would let out a sneeze moments later as if sensing your words, whilst Matthieu began moving toward the chair he was seated in before this scene had unfolded, leaning back in a reclined yet thinking manner.

“...you’re covered in so much fur.”, “Honey, I can see that...don’t give me that look either, it isn’t helping!” Your words held no bite, far too exhausted to seriously complain—just a pout twitching at your lips. “I ain’t givin’ you a look.”, “You’re at least thinking one, sweetness.” A tired smile would tug either side of your lips, an exhale leaving the gap in Matthieu barely parted lips before he’d slowly pinch the bridge of his nose beneath black trimmed glasses in-between his fingers, “We live in the middle of the woods. There are coyotes, bears and hawks swarming the area—”

“—Now we can add bunnies to that list.” You’d chirp up in response, hopeful that your speech had swayed Matthieu enough. With lips pressed into the thinnest of lines, Matthieu would stand from his seat with the weight on his shoulders of a man about to be deeply inconvenienced from being unashamedly in love. “They definitely ain’t stayin’ in the kitchen.” That made your ears perk up as your head raised, that smile still pulled on your wearying features before shifting on the sofa for Matthieu to sit beside you and the bunnies. “So that means we can keep them, huh?”, that made Matthieu’s footsteps halt before he’d give you a playful eyeroll, “I didn’t say! Shit...”

He bit the tip of his tongue to hold himself back as a small blur of white rushed into his lap, Matthieu then trying desperately to ignore the softness shifting against the deep denim blue of his jeans, “I’ll sort ‘em a corner of the livin’ room, go into the woods tomorrow and find ‘em proper substrate and shit.” The moment he spoke so solidly about his plans, your eyes would widen in surprise before letting a satisfied smirk tug at the corners of your lips, “Already thinking ahead, I like that Mattie.” Matthieu would scoff in response, before letting out a sigh. From the deepest crevices of his chest. “If you weren’t damn cute, I’d be puttin’ my foot down.”

A deeper smile graced your features, worry melting from you when noticing his shoulders loosening up and the tension dissipating from him as he lightly ran the back of his scarred knuckles along a snoozing bunnies back. Matthieu would catch glimpse of that smile, the same one that meant you were thankful he said yes even though deep down you had an inkling he would. Through a grumble he’d lean back with sluggish movements, but there was something extremely soft in the way he muttered,  “Goddamn bunny sanctuary situated right here in my livin’ room.” As you stood from the seat beside him, you’d catch the subtle smile growing on his now deceptively peaceful features, the lamp-light casting a glow over Matthieu that made your gaze linger on him far longer than intended.

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~ Allen F. Jones • Headcanons ♡

Allen’s motto is: “If your gonna do something dumb, be fuckin’ smart about it.” 

Which doesn’t grant much surprise when his close friends and family find out how much a felon he really is.

These days however, he makes sure all his stunts aren’t too common or deplorable for him to get tracked down and thrown behind bars.

Allen had learnt the hard way after Oliver couldn’t handle bailing him out anymore which resulted to leaning on Matthieu as a last resort to wrangle the shit out of him.

And the moment he left the prison with his brother in tow, not only was he half deaf from the yelling [in French and in English], but also a bit more bruised up than before he stepped inside.

Due to his many infamous feats in the law, Allen has become regrettably well acquainted with the cops who’ve been arresting him. So much so, that whenever he spots a familiar policeman on the street or in a nearby restaurant he’ll flip them the bird and walk by without a care. 

As if he isn’t disrespecting the people who can throw him in jail for the 50th time.

Allen has a strong New York accent. And added with his deep and somewhat gruff voice, people perceive him to be dangerous or dangerously attractive. [Allen’s fine with either or ;>].

He does enjoy shooting guns like Alfred, but enjoys short-ranged weapons as well. Allen's naturally gifted with any melee-weapons. Be it knifes, bats, handguns, you name it. 

His real specialty though, is hand to hand combat.

If or when he and Alfred get into a fight Allen can honestly give the latter a run for his money if weapons aren't involved.

After the first few years of introduction, things between the two were pretty rocky since both came from completely separate heritages and in turn, disagreed on a plethora of things when it came to running the country.

~ But turning to the subject of him and you, you probably first saw the latter during the dead of night. Sitting in a park where the streetlights limelight glow illuminated his form—or perhaps smoking less than legal substances in an alley way with a certain Chinese man.

You, living in New York, knew better than to hang out around alleys, have small talk with strangers and stick around longer than you should. Especially in this side of the city in the 1970s. So the most you would do was spare a quick glance and walk off on your merry way. 

When you first moved to Manhattan, you held a very general idea of what the city might be like.

Densely populated, filled with rude people, stoners getting high in the alleyways, hookers coming in and out of bars, overpriced apartments, and much, much more. Course, you understood that not every part of the city was terrible. But being street-smart was your best ticket in avoiding any trouble.

And after seeing those familiar red-tainted auburn hair with a certain cow-lick sticking up more than once, it left your mind screaming the words danger and leave.

Allen’s reputation was deeply rooted within darkest parts of New York, and while he hasn’t committed any serious crimes to receive the death penalty yet, it was best not to cross paths with the latter.

Or at least get on his bad-side. 

But you, being part of the unlucky bunch, has.

Having developed a sharp tongue since childhood, you obtained a nasty habit of insulting people in between sentences. All of it was purely involuntary as no one corrected you until much later into adulthood.

So you made sure to keep conversations short and to the point. To protect not only the other persons feelings, but the strain it took minding every phrase.

Allen one night, had walked up next to you after you were finally released from your job hours. When he saw you leaned up against the stone wall at behind the building and simply relishing in the icy air prickling your skin and cooling your fiery nerves, all of it lit a spark in his mind.

You were the the person he kept seeing. 

The poor soul that continued to make their way into his thoughts. 

So what’s the harm in trying to get to know you? But of course, the conversation doesn’t go as smoothly as he planned.

“Hey dollface, haven’t I seen you somewhere before~?”

Your eyes flicked over to him as you replied in a heartbeat,