I had feels if a het variety... sorry not sorry, 'cause ScotEng with Nyo!England is way too cute. Fight me. Anyway, one arbitrary magical mix up later and we're here. No turning back now.

Enjoy! ;)

Wait. Who is that with Scotland? It isn't- It can't be...

Ireland found himself choking on his own saliva as the woman strolled into the room, heels clicking rhythmically on the floor in stark contrast to Scotland's tense footsteps. She looked up, a light smirk on her face, at all of the gaping nations as she took her usual seat, signalling that Scotland should pull up a chair beside her.

"I hate this," Scotland grumbled.

"Your chivalry is flattering, really poppet, but I can take care of myself," she chuckled then, her eyes roaming over the room, "And anyway, I don't appear to be in any danger, everyone appears to be too flabbergasted to try anything."

"England?" France choked out, shaking himself from his distraction.

She raised an eyebrow at him, "What gave it away?"

"I- I- Uh..."

She snorted out a laugh, "Now France, if I'd known it were this easy to render you speechless I'd have done it years ago, unfortunately this is getting us nowhere and I'd quite like to be back to myself again before the end of the day, so if we could move this along, that would be brilliant."

"Oh yes, because they're going to get over this that quickly," Scotland grumbled, pointedly making eye-contact with any nation whose face showed anything that could be considered 'dodgy' by his standards.

"England, what happened to you?" Belarus asked, a fairly neutral expression on her face, tinged with only a little worry, "Surely you wouldn't be foolish enough to play with magic the night before a meeting."

"No, my dear, I'm afraid I've been this way for a week or so," England replied, picking at her painted nails.

Quite frankly it was strange to think that England of all people could ever be feminine, even as a woman. England was too... England to be a woman... let alone a feminine woman. A feminine woman in heels and a skirt, with painted nails and painted lips, her hair in a loose and elegant bun atop her head. Honestly, Ireland could see why Scotland was being so tense and protective. He hated to say it, because England was a shithead, but he really did clean up nice, all things considered.

"Scotland and I have been working to turn me back, but we had to take a break for this, you see."

"Why did you not call, I could have been of help?"

England rolled her eyes, pointing a thumb at Scotland, "This lug, and I have to tell you, I do rather prefer being on the giving end of the chivalry."

"You can stop complaining!" Scotland groused, "You're the one who got yourself into this mess, you brought this on yourself."

She sighed, "As true as that may be, I'm not entirely fond of the assumption that I can't deal with whatever shit my fellow nations can dish at me simply because I'm a woman now."

Scotland rolled his eyes, "That's not what I'm trying to say."

She raised an eyebrow, at him, "Enlighten me then Scotland."

Scotland frowned, pointing directly across the table to where France was staring rather directly at where the buttons on England's blouse stopped being attached, "That's the reason."

"Hey!" France protested, as England made a show of doing up her remaining buttons, "They're distracting, everyone in the room is looking at them, why-"

"Because you're the only one being horribly blatant about it."

"Oh I see now," England said, her chest now modestly covered, "You're jealous."

"I am not!"

At Ireland's laugh he turned to scowl at him, "Scot, I've seen you as a woman, if you weren't jealous of all the looks she was getting, you'd be jealous that she's hotter than you."

"Are you calling my ugly?"

"As a guy I'm not prepared to answer, but you're a bit of a butterface as a wo- oh shit, no, Scotland!" He leapt out of his chair as Scotland got out of his, laughing uproariously as Scotland chased him out the door.

"I'll show you an ugly woman you fuckin-" the rest of Scotland's sentence was blissfully cut off by the slamming of the door behind him.

England huffed, rolling her eyes laboriously, "Honestly, they're insufferable." There was the hint of a smile on her face though, as she turned to her fellow nations, "Shall we get started, I'm sure I can fill Ireland in should the need arise."

"Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but winning a fight with an independent nation isn't really something you can do these days." England sighed as she dabbed at the cut under Scotland's eye, soothing over the spot as he crossed his arms irritably. She chuckled, leaning forwards and pressing her lips to the wound gently.

She felt Scotland smile gently, "You're nicer to me when you're a woman."

She raised an eyebrow, "I could say likewise, you show that gentleman I've been trying to instil in you all these years. I knew it was there," she pressed their lips together, letting the touch linger for a moment before pulling back to say, "Who knew it was my womanhood that would bring it out?"

As she pulled back, admiring the bright lipstick mark left on Scotland's mouth, she decided she rather liked it, and smiled a little, running her thumb over the stain. Scotland raised an eyebrow, "What?"

She grinned, feral and hungry, "You look pretty in lipstick." She tilted her head, her smile turning smug, "More specifically, my lipstick."

Scotland mirrored her expression, "Oh look at that, did I find a new kink to exploit?"

"But you wouldn't!" She gasped, "I'm but a gentle lady! Whatever happened to that handsome gentleman I knew but a moment ago?"

England snorted out a laugh as Scotland fell back on the bed, dragging her with him, "Handsome gentleman is going to take advantage of this while he has the chance."