Title: Baked.
Author/Artist: Lynn Stardragon (Happy Dragon)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Sweden, Finland, Sealand, Hana-Tamago, UK
Rating: (Crack) sG/s PG-13 for international swearing. . . Unless you don't know what they translate to in whatever languages you know, then it's right back to 'G'!
Warnings: CRACK! TOTAL AND UTTER CRACK-FLUFF-HUMOR! (Which should tell you something about me if I consider THIS cracky.) And failing at British speech patterns, because I'm horribly sAlfredian/sAmerican. Oh, and failing at personalities in general, but this is Crack!Fiction, so I think I get leeway, right?
Summary: Sea-kun will do -Anything- to get (that Jerk)UK to recognize him as a Nation, including cook up a batch of 'Faerie Biscuits' [magick Cookies for us 'Yanks'] that the Brit has given the poor Naval-Base a recipe for. It's a good thing Sweden is there to keep him from either burning down the house or making them inedible . . . . Itsn't it?
A/N: What do I do when I have a writer's block? Write Something Completely Different! *Bonus points for Monty Python being on in the background.*
Ah, done because I promised the Nation-tans a href=".com/un_?thread=311460#t311460" *[here]*/a. So have some cracky-Fiction!
After thinking about things, Hana-Tamago's gender = inconsequential because it breaks down in 1 of 2 ways:
1) Hana-chan is a boy, but wants a girlie name to make him sound cuter, because of Japan's 'Cult of Cute'. ((DO NOT DENY IT'S EXISTENCE TO AN EX-JAPANESE MAJOR!))
2) Hana-chan is a girl, and wants a cuter name because of Japan's 'Cult of Cute'.
But the Christmas Special does open a different can of worms . . . . namely is Sweden acting like Christmas-Tamago, or Normal-Tamago in this? I'm going for the lulz this time, so have Normal-Tamago!Sweden. If people don't think this is too horrible, I might do the next round with Christmas-Tamago!Sweden.
And because I'm not sure . . . Household = Su-Papa, Fin-Mama, Sea-kun, and Hana-chan. (Does Iceland live with them or with Norway or Denmark, or by himself?)
Beta'd by: (lj user) one_go_alone
If there was one thing Sweden was, it was strong, dependable, resolute.
. . .
Okay that was three things, but each quality was true! And it was these very qualities that prevented Sweden from doing more than sighing heavily when his adopted son, Sealand, came bouncing into the room with more energy than his older half-brother America, and talking faster than Poland after twelve double-shot expressos on the subject of 'latest miniskirt' fashion and etiquette.
The teal-eyed Swede took hold of the boy by both shoulders and held him still long enough to ask, "W'a'sa mat'ar?" [What's (the) matter?]
"Jerk-UK Said He's Gonna Recognize Me! All I have to do is follow one of his stupid-easy recipes for biscuits!"
One of Berwald's eyebrows arched ever so slightly, clearly asking, 'Really now?'
Sealand beamed and brought up the small (and old!) sheet of paper with a single recipe on it. (In rather archaic script.)
The wheat-haired Nation blinked, before taking the parchment from the honey-blond's hand. "Fey'ri Bisskits?" They looked simple enough, a little on the sweet side if the 'non-magickal' ingredients were to be believed, but otherwise harmless.
His sea-green eyes drifted down to sea-blue ones that were still beaming back at him.
With expectation.
Sweden almost frowned. "Sed ya cud 'av'elp? [(He) said you could have help, (didn't he)?]" There was that sigh trying to work its way out of his throat again.
"Well you're really good at cooking, Su-papa! And that Jerk still thinks I'll break any kitchen I work in, and he doesn't think I can make these on my own, because he's dumb! But I also don't want Fin-mama to get worried, because I need lots of different things, and we don't have some of them, so I'll need you or Fin-mama to go get them with me and-"
Berwald chuckled despite himself and tapped the child's nose to hush him. With a simple nod he agreed to help make the (dangerously sugary) cookies.
Sealand spent the next fifteen minutes in a victory dance.
While out shopping, Sweden had asked (in his monosyllabic way) what all was so magickal about the treats. According to what Britannia had told the micro-nation, if you ate one your personality would become like the next living (animal-like) thing your gaze fell upon. So if you snacked on them out in a forest, you had to pray that one of your friends was on hand to imitate.
Needless to say, the stoic scandinavian was not convinced. But rather then let the experiment be a total wash, the old lion picked up several non-magickal substitutes for the more . . . questionable components-the idea being to make two batches. The first would be faithful to the Brit's instructions, the second one would actually be edible. (Not that Sweden wouldn't give it his all to prevent the snacks from ending up like the many dishes Arthur had handled before, but better to be safe than sorry.)
To make sure that the different cookies didn't get mixed around Sweden also picked up a few tubes of icing. They would leave the 'Fairy' ones plain, and decorate the 'safe' ones with any and every color Sealand wanted (because Sweden was a good papa, and as such he was supposed to spoil his children).
Once home the pair ordered all of the ingredients on the kitchen table before divvying them up between which group they'd go into. Next came the washing up part, and Sweden got out his pink apron, and a smaller red smock for Sea-kun ("Power Rangers" . . . always with the live-action heroes . . .). Then the duo rolled up their sleeves and got to cooking.
Things went smoothly, more or less. Finland was out with Hana-Tamago on the pup's seasonal veterinary examination, so they had the house and kitchen to themselves. There was a scary moment when adding in the sage and rosemary, as it reacted with the peppermint extract. Thankfully they had already added in the eggs and rose-water binding agents to the flour, so the explosions were relatively minor. [1] (Sweden no longer left his house without his Blackberry on hand, so it was relatively easy for him to look up a place to buy a few litters of a nontoxic variety of the consecrated liquid.)
Still, exploding cookie mix aside, about half an hour later they had two baking sheets full of the confections. (Peter escaped with only his face blasted a ghostly white from a warning puff, being that Berwald had dived over the lad at the first sign of danger. Thus his back and hair bore the brunt of the few flying globs of goo.) Setting them to cook in the oven, Sweden ushered the boy out to get cleaned up before moving onto the next batch. It wouldn't do for them to cross-contaminate the samples.
By the time the elder Swede had made it back from scrubbing clean, Sealand was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. (But Sweden was a good father and took the dangerously hot trays out himself, letting them stand as they were for a few minutes before moving them onto the cooling racks.)
With the first group done, it was time to work on the non-magickal batch. (And this time, there were no explosions, unexpected or otherwise.) With the young navel-base at work with the mixing bowl, Sweden wrote down his variant of the cookie recipe, along with recapturing all the steps they took in preparation. If they turned out well enough Berwald wouldn't object to making them again. Among other things, he wanted to try variations of his own variation. Simply put he had picked up candied orange peels for one substitution, and wanted to see how candied raspberries or even caramelized bananas might have done next time.
(It really had nothing to do with Sea-kun begging him to dump the equivalent of .23 kilograms [2] of chocolate into the one batch to make up for it's 'mundane' qualities. No, those eyes held no power over him. Not even slightly. Really. It was completely different from whenever Finland made similar pleading eyes at him. Honestly. . . . He was a good husband, dash it all! He was supposed to do nice things for his wife and family all the time!)
Once the second round was baking away in the oven, it was time for them to clean up again. Or it would have been, had Sweden not managed to catch the time out of the corner of his eye. His wife would be home soon, and it was the once Viking Nation's duty to make dinner. Thus changing his shirt would have been a moot point. So Berwald shooed his adopted child from the room and began a small feast for the family; a good thick stew that was easy to make after all his running around that day.
(Still, every so often he'd see a crop of honey-toned hair peek in under the shadow of a sailor-cap. Then Sweden would turn just so, allowing his proud smirk to go unnoticed. Maybe, just one cookie before dinner wouldn't be so bad? They had worked hard on them after all. . .)
When Sweden was sure that their meal wouldn't boil over, he called his young charge back into the kitchen.
Peter zoomed in like a veritable rocket. (And almost toppled him over with the force of one.)
The 'ordinary' treats had been sitting long enough, so it was only right that they should put the finishing touches on them. (Sweden had been careful to keep them apart, but even if he hadn't the 'magick cookies' had turned out looking nigh identical to America's innocuous-if fattening-'Nilla Wafers', whereas their versions had a darker, more cinnamon and cherry color. [3])
Sealand happily drizzled a little of every color of gooey sugar at his disposal over the food as Berwald supervised with a thoughtful smile. A few, the parent Nation noticed, had some extra touches of red to them. Those, he concluded, must have been the ones the boy was claiming for himself. (And, if he squinted slightly, Sweden could almost see tiny flags of the respective members of their family being painted by little hands.) He chuckled quietly, just before ruffling the tot's hair.
When that was done sea-blue eyes sparkled with overflowing mirth. But back those cookies went to cool, and so too did Sweden return his attentions to the bubbling stew. This time, however, Peter stayed in the kitchen, elbows on the table and chin in his hands as he quietly mused on the Faerie sweets.
When dinner was almost ready, Berwald relented, and plucked up two of the 'magickal' pastries. (His theory being that the taste of the former would wash away that of the latter, should Britannia's recipe have turned out inedible despite his best efforts.) But the larger Nation insisted that he should try his portion first (for he was a good father, and wouldn't allow his ward to ingest anything that was potentially fatal).
The moment it hit his tongue, Sweden regretted ever conceding to bake the horrid things. Still, they had worked hard, and Sea-kun was watching him. . . So he mentally grit his teeth and treated it like some of his wife's more 'aromatic' foods-i.e. down in one bite without ever touching his tongue. (To his credit, Sweden was able to keep the sordid treat down the full fifteen seconds it took him to get to the bathroom, before his body thoroughly rejected every last particle in his system.)
On his return to the kitchen the Swede found the little territory munching on his cookie with only a look of mild disappointment on his face. Berwald blinked, with a look in his turquoise eyes that clearly asked, 'How can you possibly keep that down?'
Sealand shrugged before he swallowed. "Well, it's not as bad as some of the things that jerk cooks." Then he smiled. "Su-papa really is something to make one of his stupid recipes taste this good!"
Sweden didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. "So's no' mag'kal? [So it's not magickal (then)?]"
The boy shook his head, "I don't feel like going to balance any budgets or anything, um grown-up-y, and you're the next thing I saw, so . . ." his face shifted into a full pout.
"'Sal'rite. Kin s'il' sho'm of'. [It's alright. (You) Can still show them off (to England).]" And Berwald pulled the young one into a comforting hug.
To say that Sweden was only mildly worried when dinner was ready before Finland returned home would have been accurate. (If one knew him, otherwise one would think it was an understatement and the Nation was a step away from sending out platoons of his military to find his missing wife.)
Pulling out his Blackberry again, the sea-eyed Swede looked through his voicemail and other records before finding a text-message he'd managed to miss. Apparently Tino had taken the puppy out to be pampered after being poked and prodded for some routine blood-work that they hadn't planned for. Looking over the time-stamp and then a timepiece the homebound Nation concluded that it would be better for them to start on dinner without his golden haired love.
(Because Sweden was as good a father as he was a husband, and it was nothing to keep dinner warm on the stove for when the rest of his family arrived home.)
The meal was noticeably subdued, though still filling. And by the window the mundane snacks continued to cool, icing hardening into a crunchy shield.
It was after dinner-after the dishes had been washed and such-that Sweden thought about the sugary traps awaiting them. They would be just the thing to cheer them both up. So with barely a word Berwald called Peter back to his side and they each picked out a cookie to try. Again the elder insisted that he go first, on the off chance that there was going to be a repeat performance. (Much less likely this time, but parental instincts were impossible to turn off.)
Taking up one of the more blue and yellow of the disks, Sweden just heard the happy yipping of the family pet rushing over to greet them. Sealand bent down to pet Hana-Tamago, and just over the racket Berwald could hear the most wonderful words in all the world:
"We're home!"
Chuckling to himself, Sweden popped the whole cookie into his mouth before bending down to scratch behind Hana-chan's ears. (This batch had clearly been saved. It hit with the taste of a butter cookie, but after a moment the sugar caught up with him.)
"So what's for din-"
The last thing Finland saw before hitting the floor, was his husband smiling broadly as he pounced him.
The UK had been hard at work in his home office when the window for an instant message had popped up on his computer screen. He recognized the name as belonging to Sweden. So when Arthur saw that it was Sealand sitting on the other end of the web-cam, one could understand the following line of questioning.
"Does Sweden know that you are using his laptop?"
"Maybe? I don't think-"
"What have I said about using something without asking permission?"
"Not to-But I have Finland's-"
There was a rather loud comment from other side of the world that England knew to be a particularly strong expletive in the Finnish language. Peter blushed cherry and turned the computer to frame the mayhem transpiring in the background. There, on the couch, was the indigo-eyed Finland laid out on his back with Sweden draped over him, nuzzling and licking his house-mate's face.
His house-mate's livid face. And was Berwald yipping?
"United Kingdom, get your bloody rump in gear and over here now!"
"Really, I don't think marital rows are any of my-"
"He Ate One Of Those Unholy 'Biscuits' You Dared Sea-Kun To Make! Now come fix this! ACK! No, Sweden! Down boy! Heel, heel, no kisses, no-Mphm!"
Arthur quickly shut down his workstation before preparing to board the next flight heading NorthEast.
England knocked before attempting to enter the house, because really that's what a gentleman such as himself was supposed to do. Yet if he had known the commotion it would have caused, the Anglo Nation would have just as gladly foregone the formality. The man expected his young brother-son-cousin Peter to open the door, given Finland's indisposed state from when they last spoke. He didn't expect the thunderous beat that pounded its way to the front door, nor the loud and un-canine like yips that followed afterwards. Or the *wham* of a large body colliding into the wooden barrier somewhere in-between.
From just inside the abode the amber-blond [4] could make out a lyrical plea of, "Sweden! Sweden! Come here boy! Come on. . ."
The yipping at the entryway continued. Next came a much less musical intonation of curses and the substitution of 'Hana-Tamago' for the entreatment.
There was some whining, and a few more scratches at the door, before the beast moved away. Arthur took the opportunity to cagily let himself in. The sight that greeted him was half expected, Sweden panting happily on the floor before a crouching Finland who was scratching the would-be pet behind his ears.
"Oh my. . ." The way clicked softly closed after him.
Tino looked up from the floor imploringly. "Can you help him?"
"I should be able to put him right. Although if I could bend Sealand's ear for a mo', that would be best."
"Ah, he's in his room with the 'real' Hana-chan." The 'false' one yipped and butted his nose into the indigo Nation's chin. England noted how he wasn't warring his glasses before trekking over to his distant relative.
Sealand's descriptions of the events leading up to everything was interesting to say the least. Arthur was amazed, really, because the recipe had never been intended to work-at least not the way he'd told the child. True, the story and-original-instructions had been given to him by the Fey-folk, but the legend around it was a half-joke. These biscuits were just that, biscuits and nothing more. It was something done on a lark, a made-up task to distract the boy long enough for the older Kirkland to get some real work done.
Some of the more tricky pixies had agreed to help Arthur fake the 'age' of the recipe he'd passed off. It was nothing more than directions for standard fare, typical after dinner sweets. So how in the realms had Peter managed to get it to work?
Looking over the scene of the incident again-and rigorously ignoring the fact that Sweden had cornered Finland on the couch again-England found the disturbing answer:
Berwald's recipe.
"So he ate one of my biscuits first, purged, had supper, than ate one of his making?"
Sealand sighed, "For the bazillianth-and-one time, Yes! I'm a kid, not stupid, Jerk-UK!"
Deep emeralds narrowed with a frown. "I'm going to blame that on distress." Then he shook his head with a sigh, turning back to the note. "No interaction, so no acting catalyst. . . Isabelle, what do you make of this?"
What was the thin air over the United Kingdom's right shoulder to everyone else was a tiny Fey to the amber-blond. And she just so happened to be a lovely phosphorescent purple, thank you very much. Still, Peter's look of bewildered confusion aside, England stood by patiently as his magickal friend assessed the situation for him. When she was done reading Isabelle laughed, and told him that Sweden had managed to make an alternate potion with that same properties as the first. Every alteration for taste doomed him further.
Luckily that meant between the two recipes, they had all the ingredients called for to make an antidote.
Arthur was just glad he wouldn't have to bother Transylvania [5] for one.
Making the serum was easy. Getting Sweden to drink it wasn't.
England got his first inclination of the uphill battle he would be facing as he made the cure. After getting a good whiff of the stuff, the pup in Sealand's hands had started to whine before struggling to jump free and skitter out of the kitchen. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to give into the urge to roll his eyes, and continued on. Granted the Fey-creature laughing on his shoulder didn't do miracles for his disposition either, but he had to set matters in order before he could take the time to complain about everyone's critiques of his cooking.
The real trial began when he carried readied elixir out for the poor soul to consume. Finland had apparently gotten Sweden-Tamago to settle down into a nap before the British peoples walked out. Hana-Berwald perked up at first before sniffing the air. After that the wide-eyed Nation emitted a familiar whine from deep in his throat as he tried, and failed, to hide under the couch. Noticing that he wasn't safe there the confounded Nation made a break for the marital bed.
Tino had jumped onto his back in a flash and Sealand had grabbed both of his wrists. Together the two of them held the larger Nation at bay as England did what he could to force the acidic-green liquid down his throat. After that Arthur held his mouth shut to keep him from spitting it out.
At least at first.
After a few minutes Sweden was able to throw all three of them off and ran-on two legs thankfully-to the restroom with tears streaming from his eyes. When the shock wore off Finland leapt to his feet and called out to his beloved, asking if everything was alright.
The Swede's response was, "Pois'n'd!" [(Oh Dear Gods! I've Been) Poisoned! (Call An Ambulance! In The Name Of All Things Holy, And Any Love You Bear Me, Call An Ambulance!)]
Finland had never been so overjoyed by his husband's distress before. (For a few seconds anyway, before he started to worry about all the retching sounds originating from the little room.)
With the paramedics on their way, the UK took the initiative to gather up all the tainted pastries for proper disposal. Most notably into a gift basket addressed to France.
[1] Random reactions are random and have no basis in science. 'Tis but a ploy to have cookie batter/dough get into Nations' hair.
[2] 227 grams = .227 kgs = 0.500449335 pound = 1/2 lb. = funny. [http : / / www. metriccalculator. com / weight. html]
[3] Logic!Fail fails logically. Do not question how something with orange peel ends up looking red. It just does because I can't stand bad soap-opera plots of 'oh they mixed the batches up' or 'dumbing down characters' to make impossible things happen. *Twitches violently.* . . . Yeah, just wanted to make it clear that Sweden knew what he was doing. -_-;; {Edit: Yay one_go_alone for the idea of Food-coloring. Applying food-coloring patch to fiction now. X3}
[4] Freaking had to stare at the color-chart scan long enough to burn out my eyes-AFTER looking at posted images of the cards-before seeing that, yes, UK's hair is a tad darker than Sea-kuns. Now what the **** do I alliterate it as? 'Amber-blond'? 'Copper-Blond'? What? Help is love! (Because he's not dark enough to be a brunet.)
[5] The Hetalia RP Group I'm in is ******* awesome, and ******* crazy. Not only do we have an Ireland-mun, she roles as Transylvania and Norway as the situations call for . . . and as either Australia or New Zealand. I forget which, but our Egypt-player picks up the other one. And our Germany pulls shift as Poland when things get too quiet. Anyway, Ireland-mun is awesome, and Transylvania is awesome and scary. In a way she's like Hungary, except she's a vampire with a knack for making potions, poisons, and antidotes. 2(3?) of her more popular concoctions (that we abuse) are the 'Gender Swap/Flip' potion, and the 'Seme to Uke, Uke to Seme' potion. Woe to you if you get hit with both, as our Prussia-RPer found out . . . Ah, I wish I could have stayed for that. . . *Is so totally ignoring the fact that she's stuck as Super-Pretty-Moe-Fem!Sweden in the RP right now . . . and has been adopted by Transylvania so the Vampress might continue to dress her in frilly pink dresses, with exorbitant amounts of lace . . . . Or the fact that Fem!Sweden is enjoying the experience a little too much.* . . . Still, dedication note is dedicated to wonderful friends. {Edit: Group no longer exists, sadly.}
A/N: Ah . . . . maybe I should have slept?
(KH) Axel!Muse: *Shakes his head no.*
Lynn: . . . That's good enough for me. ^_^
Meh, wanted to leave off on Sweden needing like a week to recover, because of having to eat Finland's cooking. ;_; I seriously love sm'wife/s Finland but he can't cook. /Cry
There was also supposed to be a bit with England asking Finland why he couldn't see the Fairy, and then Finland would have made the comment about Norway being the one who sees pixies. Then England was gonna bring up the whole, 'You play Santa for one night each year, but you can't see magickal critters?' Ah . . . . maybe I'll work it in later. . .
Along with the note that after Sweden fully recovered, Sealand and Hana-Tamago had to spend about the same amount of time wherever Iceland lives. I leave you readers to guess why- *-* -I'm Okay! I'm Okay, I can breath again! . . . Stupid coughing fits . . .
So, give it to me straight people, how abysmal was this? Like, details. Gory, gory details.