Hello, Everyone! This is my first fanfic on this beautifully strict website and I'm sorry if the chapters appear short, I'm not very good at writing long chapters. Or long stories but I promise not to leave this fic unfinished.
Reviews are appreciated.
Chapter One.
"Don't worry, dudes!" America glances at Seychelles, "And dudette! I will save you all from Iggy's cooking so come with me!" The rest of the gathered nations roll their eyes at the statement.
"Lies.." Only Canada hears Hong Kong's remark and tries to hide a smile, not that it would be noticed.
Not when your (younger) brother bursts down the door to their former care taker's home. Various sighs echo Canada's own.
The smell of pastries met them as they walk into the house causing the nations to share confused glances.
That wasn't an odd thing, honestly. England likes cooking, much to everyone's dismay and will bake or cook something for them when someone told him they would be coming over to visit.
But what has gotten them worried is the fact they can smell pastries. They can smell deliciousness in the house. That there is a sweet aroma in the house.
They can't smell something burning. There isn't smoke filling the air. There aren't ashy smells of coal filling the air and suffocating them. They don't have to worry about what they have to eat because they smell pastries. Not coal.
"Umm, do you think we're in the wrong house?" Australia asks.
"No. There aren't any surrounding houses, remember? Arthur's house is in front of a forest." Grumbles Seychelles. Australia had lost her jar of pickled fished and she had been dragged from her home. She had made sure that she gave the Australian a good beating and is satisfied every time she sees the pinkish bump on his head.
"I don't think there is any need to worry, maybe France managed to teach him how to cook." New Zealand says calmly, looking at everyone's faces, but freezing when he sees Hong Kong's disbelieving face.
Well, he thinks it's a look of disbelief.
"Mr France teaching mu- I mean- Mr England how to cook?" The Asian nation asks, eyebrows raised. Okay, so it is a look of disbelief.
"Yeah, somehow." New Zealand responds. It's possible, right?
"Without Mr England killing him?" He is fighting a losing argument but, luckily, a noise from the kitchen interrupts them before New Zealand can say anything to defend himself.
"Well, follow the Hero, dudes and dudette!"
"YO, IGGY-"
'What's that idiot doing here?' Wales thinks as he looks at the nation that dares to interrupt their weekly Let's-Annoy-England get together and the others following him.
Sealand gives a small huff from beside him and Wales smiles to himself, knowing his opinion is shared with his brothers.
It was bad enough that France, Prussia and Spain already interrupted their weekly Let's-Annoy-England get together and that they are eating the food baked for them (them, goddamnit!) but having the American, unfortunately, join them is testing his anger.
The boy steals all the attention.
He sees North and Ireland rolling their eyes at countries who stare at the goods laid out on the table in front of them with open, gobsmacked mouths.
"Aye, the lad can bake, shut yer mouths. Ya look like idiots." Scotland huffs from next to Ireland. "Except from you two, Aye like you two." He motioned to Hong Kong and Seychelles. All of the brothers had a favourite. Ireland's is Australia (Ireland being the cause of Australia's mischievous behaviour), North's New Zealand and Wales' being Canada.
New Zealand ignores the comment, unlike his brother and America who looked very offended, instead choosing to ask;
"Since when did you cook good, mum?"
"I'm not your mum! And I always could cook good, thank you very much!" England says.
"No you didn't," Ireland says and England turns to him, hands on his hips.
"Then what, pray tell, do you call this?!" He asks his older brother.
"Deliciousness." England opens his mouth to argue but Northern Ireland speaks up before another argument could break out.
"What he means is, dear brother, is that you can bake, not cook."
"That still doesn't explain how mum," England's spluttering was ignored, "Always fucks up baking for us," Australia says, confused.
"None, of your business!" England blushes, "Keep asking and you won't get any."
"Wait! So we can try some?!" Seychelles asks, taking a seat next to France.
"Yeah, sure." England shoots apologetic glances towards his brothers, before jumping, as if remembering something.
"I've got a meeting with the Queen and Parliament, so I've got to get going." Scotland, North, Ireland, Wales and the ex-colonies all groan. England immediately feels bad.
"I'm sorry, but it's important... I hope." England hugs and kisses his brothers before taking the frilly apron off, punching France for the smack to his butt and leaving.