"There was blood everywhere! My blood! Oh god! Who could have done this?!"

Arthur found himself leaning forward, green eyes darting back and forth and eagerly soaking in the words in his book. His nose almost touched the pages! A loud thump made him jump. He (literally) peeled his face from the book.

"Ahhhh! Arthur help me!"

"What." Arthur groaned and unwillingly set the book on the end table beside a chair being held together with duck tape.

A flash of ginger and white fur brushed by his leg, his cat letting out a meow of alarm as he trudged towards the bathroom. He cussed under his breath and flicked on the light. A blond man with stubbles decorating his chin stuck out of the toilet. Seriously. He stared at Arthur in alarm. Arthur wondered how he even got there in the first place. He swore he locked every possible entrance to his house...

"Mon cher, you must help me! I am stuck in this strange contraption!"

"Francis! What the hell are you doing in my house in the first place? Did I not get a restraining order?"

The Frenchman's blue eyes were wide with pleading. "S'il tu plaît! I'm begging! I'll do anything if you could get me out of this...stink situation!"

"Oh, really? Anything?" Arthur put his hands on his hips. "Does that include leaving forever and not making me look at your face ever again?"

"Ever again? Well..."

Arthur sighed and approached the hopeless man with his rear end dipped in the bowl. He wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled upwards, trying not to get too much stench of French up his nose. "If you were using the toilet, why are your trousers still up?"

"Heh, funny story. Ow!" Francis winced and placed his hands on the seat to lift himself without much success. "I was reading those lovely magazines underneath the bathroom sink that you have with all those women...when I slipped." Francis let out another grunt. "This water is soaking my derrière!"

Arthur let go of him and backed away. "If you could have stayed home with your fat hips then you would not be in that position!"

"These fat hips could be in a lot of positions," Francis pointed out, only to yelp as Arthur pushed down the toilet handle and breezed out the stuffy bathroom. "Arthur! Où tu vas?!"

"Butter would be useful," Arthur mumbled to himself as he stepped into the hallway. "If that doesn't work, I will have to get my seat removed, or I could leave him there to cry about it. Both options are unappealing."

He made his way toward his kitchen. Sounds of rummaging and soft, off-key singing drifted into the dining room. Arthur froze. Another intruder was in this house. Singing, no less, in the kitchen he just had repaired from a misperhaps with a frying pan and a toaster. Yet the voice was familiar, and Arthur groaned internally. When he walked into the kitchen, something clattered to the floor, followed by cussing.

"Get out of my refrigerator!" He shouted at a butt sticking out of said appliance.

It back up, revealing a young man with a stubborn cowlick curling from his forehead. He swallowed whatever he had crammed in his mouth and pushed up his glasses. "Yo, Artie! I ran out of pickles!"

"So, you decide to steal mine?"

"No, no! You got it wrong! I am...um, borrowing them?"

"Borrowing implies the item being returned, Alfred! I can say with the rate you are gorging yourself with my pickles, I'm not going to any of those back."

Alfred shrugged. "I need protein." He popped another in his mouth, snapping it into bits. Green juice flew out of his mouth as he asked, "Do pickles even have protein?"

Arthur curled his nose. "Eugh. Why don't you Google it?"

"Hey! That's a good idea!" Alfred reached for his phone, but the pickle jar in his other arm slipped and shattered on the tiled floor. Both men stared at the mess. "Oops!" Alfred's eyes trailed away, "Oh, I suddenly remember, I have to do...a thing..."

"No! Where are you going?!" Arthur jabbed a finger at the pile of broken glass and pickle juice, "You clean up your mess, now, young man!"

Alfred swung open a window and called, "Not my pickles, not my kitchen, not my mess!"

"Alfred!" Arthur stomped after him. He ducked his head out the window, only to see the bastard child sprinting across his yard. "Ugh!" He slammed the window shut and turned to the spill.

"Arthur!" Francis whined from the bathroom.

"I have other...things to take care of first," Arthur told himself and grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge, and a knife from the butcher block. He entered the bathroom once more holding it threateningly.

Francis stopped squirming and gawked. He let out uneasy, French laughter, "Arthur, what are you doing? I know we had our quarrels, but it doesn't need to end like this!"

"What are you blabbering on about? I'm going to cut you free. That is what you wanted!"

"You're not going to slather me with butter and eat me while I'm vulnerable?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Non!" Francis wiggled. "Just...do what you have to do."

Arthur knelt down and took the knife to this jacket.

"I can't watch!" Francis exclaimed, throwing a hand over his eyes.

"Stop being a drama queen and get pushing yourself out while I use the butter!"

"No, no, no! My beautiful outfit! Ruined!" After everything was said and done, with a sobbing Frenchman curled on the floor covered in butter, Arthur lightly kicked his side and told him to get out, leaving the bathroom before seeing if he actually did so.

His fingers curled in anticipation as he approached the book waiting for him where he had left it. He settled into the trashed chair and smiled a bit to himself, cracking open the novel. A high pitched screech from a different location ripped him from the suspenseful words. Arthur let a growl escape through his teeth and he agitatedly set the book down onto the table once more. It sounded again, followed by a thump.

"Someone is treating my washing machine rather harshly," Arthur felt one of his infamous eyebrows twitch. He stood up and stormed after the sound just a few doors down from the restroom where Francis cried tears of a man who had nothing else to lose. "Who the bloody hell is in my house now - gah!" He flinched and covered his face with his arms.

"Don't mind me," a deep voice grumbled.

"Ludwig! What...why are you here?!" Arthur pointedly looked away from his hulking figure. "D-do you have other...acquaintances to... help you do whatever you are doing?"

Ludwig followed his gaze to his bare legs. "I am using your washer and dryer. They had..." He sighed, "They had pasta sauce spilled onto them."

"Why didn't you go to the local laundry mat?"

"That would be inconvenient for the story."

"Wha-"

The dryer door swung open, and an Italian peeked out. "Did someone say pasta?"

"Get back in there!" Ludwig slammed the door shut. "You've cause enough problems for one day!"

Arthur hollered, "Can I not use my own things in my own house?!"

"You owe me, remember? My brother still cannot wear his shirts inside right."

"Still? It has been four months!"

A second bathroom resided behind the washroom, where an Asian man with only a fluffy white towel around his waist kicked open the door and brandished a hairdryer. "This device does not work! I am filing a complaint to the owner, aru!"

Arthur gnashed his teeth together. "Wang," he greeted so politely. "Is there something failing at your home as well, and that is why you choose my house of all the people you know to bathe and dry your girly hair?"

"You expect me to use any of my freaky neighbor's bathrooms? That's how people turn up missing."

Another man popped up from outside and leaned into the washroom. "Yao!" He cheered, tapping the window with a ever-growing smile, "You can use my non-freaky bathroom! That's what good neighbors do, and you will not be able to turn up if you are missing!"

"There he is!" Yao screeched, and threw the hairdryer, which bounced off the window as the newcomer let loose an eruption of giggles. He spun around to flee into the bathroom, the towel fluttering to the floor.

"I didn't summon you!" Arthur spat. "What are you doing here, Ivan?"

"I smelled a capitalist around here, so I thought I should come here to point and laugh."

"Arthur! I got stuck in the toilet again!"

Arthur's stomach flopped as a hot flush of anger hit his face. "I'm never going to finish my book," he growled. "Unless I get rid of everyone. That which gives me an idea." He reached behind himself with a wicked expression.

Ludwig leaned away from him, his blue eyes widening. "What are you doing-"

It was too late. Arthur pulled out a black stick with a star on top of it, chanted strange words, and the house was filled with a bright light.

"Ha! There!" He triumphed, "Tutus for everyone! Now how could any of you bear to show yourselves around here ever again after this?!"

Yao burst out of the bathroom. "I am wearing a tutu! I am too old for tutus!"

"I think it suits you!" Ivan chirped. He kicked a leg out from behind himself. "I look pretty, yes?"

"What?!" Arthur snapped, "No! You're supposed to be crying and running far away from here!"

"I had worse," Ludwig nonchalantly shrugged, pulling the pink skirt down a bit.

A high voice squeaked from inside the dryer, "I spilled spaghetti on my new skirt!"

Alfred's voice boomed from behind Arthur, "Wow! What kind of party happened when I was gone?"

Said man flinched before turning around. "Are you here to clean up the mess you left behind?"

Alfred laughed obnoxiously, "You didn't clean that up yourself? Man, you're slow!"

"As you can see, I have had company!"

"Whatever. I brought soda!" He lifted up his shirt and multiple Coca-Cola bottles tumbled out.

Ivan sighed. "I knew I felt my day get worse."

"Keep making that face, and perhaps that nose will grow on it."

"I hope you choke on one of those Cokes."

One of the bottles fell right on Arthur's foot. He yelped in pain, "That's it! All of you! I am done! Get out of my house!"

"But I'm in the toilet, mon ami!"

Alfred released unnecessary cackling. "Look out red your face is getting, Artie! Oh, man! I'm gonna need more pickles!"

Arthur pointed the wand at him, "Oh, no, you're not!"

Ludwig grunted, "Put the child's toy away."

"It's not a toy!"

"Wow, a child's dollar-store wand." Yao mused, "I wonder what else Arthur has that we have yet to know about."

Ivan agreed, "We should look around some more!"

Arthur glanced between everyone. "No, absolutely not-"

Ludwig said, "Maybe after I'm done with my clothes."

"We could start in the bathroom where that strange, French laughter is coming from!" Alfred jabbed a thumb to his chest and winked, "I'll go in first, of course."

Arthur latched onto the back of Alfred's jacket, "Oh, no, you don't! I will not let you carry on with these disruptions and gayness when all I have been wanting to do is read a book in peace!"

"Great, the old man is getting on a war path again."

"Old man?! Why, you...!" The wand started to glow as the wielder's anger got the best of him. He snarled, "Fine! If none of you will leave...ha! No one will come into my house again, if I do not have a house to go into!"

The home invaders let out a collective yell of fright, and the house was enveloped by a bright light once more. The house was gone. No one was spared. The end.