A/N: I'M BACK! Well, not quite. Usually, I write humor without any set ships, but for some reason I seem to be having a weird urge to write with a more definitive plotline that's giving me an unusually hard-to-work-past Writer's Block with my other fics. And maybe a teensy-tiny bit of ship-y stuff, even though I suck at writing romantic stuff. *sweatdrops*
My solution? Well, I read some Shakespeare (A Midsummer Night's Dream), stared at it for a bit after I finished, and just kinda went "Hmm, kinda romantic, but not overly-romantic-stuff-that's-way-out-of-my-league? Yeah, I can handle this as a basis for a Hetalia fanfic! Probably."
So . . . yeah. ^J^ This fic will differ some from the Shakespearean play, but the main plot points should be similar for the most part. Each chapter will be based off a scene in the play and hopefully cover the main plot points of that scene, but they may also have a lot of other random stuff *cough*I'm-referring-to-CRACK*cough* tossed in as well. So don't worry, you don't have to have read A Midsummer Night's Dream to enjoy this fic. (And I do hope you enjoy it!) There will be more notes at the bottom, but for now, let's just get to the story!
Summary: A wedding, a love rectangle (emphasis on "tangle"), some fay, a play, and a—Wait, what do you mean it's supposed to JUST be "A Midsummer Night's Dream"? No, no, I'm pretty sure there's a faucet pipe somewhere in there too! Based loosely on the Shakespearean play. Emphasis on "loosely". [America x Russia] [Austria x Hungary] [England/Britain x France] (Other ships not set yet.)
Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Act I: Scene I
1.1
Hungary is planning her second wedding with Austria while Belarus confronts Russia yet again on why he still refuses to marry her. A certain awesome exemplar of awesomeness sides with Belarus, demanding that The Bro Code be obeyed in this situation while Germany is on the receiving end of a phone call relating to the state of local wildlife. All this goes down at the World Meeting, because, well, do the nations ever talk about this kind of stuff anywhere else? Oh, and throughout all this, America is on an elevator ride with his Boss. Literally. It's not a euphemism for anything, promise.
America's Boss was currently in a very stressful place. For one, he had spent the past week surviving almost solely off of coffee—not his healthiest choice, but drowning in coffee was better than drowning in paperwork—preparing for the meeting he was currently on the way to. And for another, he was already running late to said meeting dealing with the other nations because he had to first deal with his own. "For the last time, you can't marry Russia! And we're going to be late. Pick up your pace, won't you?"
"Aw, c'mon, Boss!" America insisted, looping an arm around the tense man as they turned the corner and speed walked through the doors of the meeting building. "You don't really mean that, dude! Austria and Hungary are getting remarried and their Bosses are cool with it—I don't see what the problem is with having a wedding, too! I mean, gay marriage was recently legalized in all the states, right? It'll be just like theirs but, y'know, more awesome. No problems with that!"
"You want to hear the problems? Fine," his Boss said as they strode right into the elevator. He pressed their floor level and waited for the doors to close. Then he turned back to the persistent nation and counted off his list of flaws in America's plan. "One: he's Russia."
"As in we're totally becoming one, bro."
"No, you're not! Why? Two, for example: as in, letting the two of you wed would probably lead to the rest of the world fortifying themselves for fear that you and Russia will try to take it over together."
"Nah, Prussia, Denmark and I already tried to do that with our combined awesomeness. But then again, that metal pipe could totally come in handy . . ."
"Three: I repeat, he's Russia."
"Exactly! We're only two point five miles apart, seems reasonable enough."
"Four—Wait, seriously?"
"Well, yeah," America grinned, pulling out a map and pointing at the corner where a shrunken map of Alaska was displayed next to Hawaii. "The Diomede Islands, way over here—Big Diomede and Little Diomede, dude!"
"Which one's ours?"
". . . The little one," America sighed, crumpling the map and shoving it back into his pocket. "But it makes up for it in awesomeness!"
"Dammit. Anyway, as I was saying, fourth: Belarus."
America opened his mouth to form a retort . . . and then immediately closed it, thoughtfully agreeing, "Yeah, that one sounds like it could be a problem."
"'Could be'?" his Boss scoffed as the elevator came to a stop with a slight bump at their floor. "She's probably organizing a wedding for him as we speak."
The doors slid open.
"I cannot wait for you to see my dress tomorrow, Big Brother," Belarus's voice drifted in as she passed near the elevator. "A double wedding—exciting, isn't it?"
Or, y'know, she already had it all planned out and it was set for tomorrow. No big deal, right?
America's Boss watched the other nations filter out the meeting room with a sort of faint shrug, just as shocked as the nation standing next to him but trying to remain professional.
So, settling for using his binder to prop closed his gawking nation's wide-open mouth, he stated flatly, "I told you we'd be late to the meeting."
Russia could handle Belarus on a regular day. Kind of. A bit less than adequately.
That is, if the definition of "adequately" was successfully keeping her from leaving scratch marks on his door and stuffing his mailbox full of blackmail, love letters, concise essays on the subject of their union that she had written herself, and, once, a lock of her hair, to name a few. And if the equivalent to his usage of "a bit less than" was "not at all".
But with Austria and Hungary's remarriage on the horizon, his sister seemed to be upping her game to the point where if her previous level of activity were to be compared to a consumer with their face pressed up against a window, her renewed vigor would have to be compared to said consumer uprooting a streetlight, smashing it through the window, and proceeding to ransack the store—with the help of the Nordic Five in both bringing some badass Viking cosplay, complete with ships and weaponry . . . and driving said ships and weaponry right through the wall of the building and knocking over everything in the grocery aisle in the process—to come anywhere remotely close to her efforts now. So, to summarize:
Russia finally discovered what the Baltics felt while living in his house. That is, if what the Baltics felt had been multiplied a hundredfold and then added to infinity.
Where she used to leave scratch marks on his door, the sounds of her tearing it off its hinges, carefully unscrewing it from its place, or simply kicking it down became so common that Russia went to temporarily—or maybe permanently, considering how Belarus had recently started loosening the frames of his windows so that "the glass will no longer separate us and delay our inevitable union, Big Brother"—room with Estonia. The Baltic nation had appeared to be somewhat reluctant and wary of him at first, and had been quick to make him promise not to break off any of his faucet pipes. Silly Estonia, Russia brought his own!
Where she used to write him concise essays, she now regularly delivered alphabetized encyclopedic volumes depicting all the positive aspects of their approaching unity, along with a new wave of the usual blackmail and love letters, this time adding in multiple wedding-related magazines. The mailman had apparently given up on attempting to squeeze shut Russia's mailbox and started simply tossing his mail in the grass around it.
Russia sighed to himself as he flipped through his stack of paperwork. He'd arrived at the World Meeting early, so he thought he might as well get something done. But even his paperwork didn't go untouched by his sister; where she used to offer getting a marriage license for him to sign, she now snuck at least seventeen in each of his piles—seventeen, because that was the same number of letters in—
". . . marry me, Big Brother?" Belarus's voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He looked up in surprise to see his sister standing in front of him, casually polishing her knife with the hem of her skirt as she watched him expectantly. Apparently, she'd been speaking the whole time.
Russia responded with a very intelligent "W-what was that again?"
"'Austria and Hungary' . . . 'wedding' . . . 'whatever reason could there be for you not to marry me, Big Brother'?" England supplied, dryly reading off his notepad. What? It was a World Meeting—he could take notes of whatever the bloody hell he wanted! And although he was usually terrified of Russia on a daily basis, he didn't find the nation quite as intimidating when put in a room with Belarus.
The door suddenly flew open in response, literally scaring the cats off of Greece, who called after them for a bit before settling on facepalming . . . and then promptly falling asleep in that position.
"Did someone call for Big Brother France?"
"I'm not looking for some bloody wanker to pick a fight with right now, you blasted frog!"
"Well, of course not!" the newly-arrived France nodded in agreement, a devious grin taking over his face. "What you obviously need is for someone to—"
And with that, England and France descended into another one of their ceremonial arguments, with Japan discreetly filming it from the side and Hungary watching with a handkerchief—How long had she had a handkerchief?—to her nose in an attempt to stem the enormous nosebleed that had erupted from it at the sight.
"Belarus does have a point," said Austria, discreetly passing Hungary a box of tissues under the table. "She's known Russia for much longer—"
"Because she's my sister!"
"—and voiced her intentions with him much earlier on, which, as the saying goes, 'gives her dibs'."
"That's it," Romano stood up, banging a fist down on the table. He reached out to point his other hand at Austria accusingly. "Where the crapola did the piano bastard learn the word 'dibs'?"
"That's the only thing that you find wrong about this situation, comrade?"
"For the last time, I'm nobody's damn frie—Chigi, it's Russia! Don't just stand there, you tomato bastard, do something!"
"Well, if you say so," Spain smiled cheerily, oblivious to his former charge's terror. Turning to Russia, he happily went on, "So, for the wedding between you and Belarus, I passed a great place for bouquets on my way here just this morning! It's not too far off and it's prices are so-so, but it has great quality flowers, si? Oh here, let me draw you a ma—"
"I didn't ask you to be a damn cartographer, you bastard! And quit being his damn wedding planner. Belarus already hired someone else for that!"
"We're not getting married!" Russia insisted. "Little Sister, I love you, but I assure you that it is in a purely platonic way. There is absolutely no circumstance in which I would ever—"
And suddenly, his sister tackled him to the floor in a fit of fury, perfectly content to diplomatically beat him into submission. Okay, not really.
. . . But the window did suddenly shatter, making the nations ducking under the meeting table as glass sprayed into the room.
"Not so fast, kesesese!" an awesomely awesome voice interrupted.
Germany poked his head out from under the table to shout at the newcomer. "Bruder, I thought I locked you in the closet and handcuffed you to your broomstick to keep you from coming here!"
Prussia paused to consider this with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Oh ja, that happened, didn't it?"
"I told you he was a fan of BDSM," Italy whispered to England and France a bit louder than intended.
The nations sweatdropped in unison.
"But see, there is one awesome little detail that you somehow—somehow—managed to overlook," Prussia continued with a grin, apparently not having noticed Italy's comment.
Germany facepalmed, guessing wearily, "That you're awesome?"
"That I'm awesome," the very-much-awesome Prussia finished awesomely, as if he hadn't heard his brother's prediction, "which also happens to be why I brought this."
He proudly held out a thick book for the other nations to see.
France, Denmark, and Spain blinked twice. "Whoa, mon ami/man/mi amigo, is that . . .?"
"Ja, it's The Bro Code, alright," Prussia confirmed, already flipping through the pages. "And according to Article 62, 'In the event that two Bros lock onto the same target, the Bro who calls dibs first has dibs.' It gets more complicated if dibs were called at the same time, but since Belarus called dibs way early on, well . . . dibs go to her."
"But neither of us are 'Bros'," Russia pointed out.
"A negative times a negative equals a positive," Denmark piped up.
"So Russia x Belarus is a plus!" Hungary chirped, sounding way too delighted for her own good. She nudged her fiancé. "Austria, perhaps we should add them to our wedding?"
"As guests?" Russia asked hopefully.
"As the second couple in a double wedding," said Hungary.
Hope shriveled up and fell over with the noise that sounded suspiciously similar to that of a cat hacking up a hairball. In other words, things weren't looking pretty.
"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Belarus nodded in agreement. "It's in Athens, isn't it?"
"Can I get a say in any of this?" Russia wondered as his sister began discussing the details with Hungary.
"No, mon ami," France sighed, sidling up to Russia and slinging an arm around his shoulder. Russia startled at the sudden invasion of his personal space. "I'm pretty sure your only option out of this is asexuality."
"A sexuality?" Russia repeated. "What sexuality?"
"No, no, no, I mean asexuality," said France. He paused to think. "But then again, she could still follow you around even if that were the case . . ."
". . . France?"
"Oui?"
"I would much appreciate it if you stopped groping me just now, da?"
"Merde, I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
As soon as France pulled away, Spain jumped back into the conversation. "France is on the right track though, si? Since Belarus hasn't relinquished dibs, well . . ."
"You either marry her or don't romantically associate yourself with anyone else at all," Hungary and Austria broke off from their respective conversations to finish in unison with varying levels of enthusiasm.
"Yeah, how did you know?" Spain asked.
"Do you really think Prussia would break into our house and not educate us about The Bro Code?" Austria sniffed.
"But do these 'dibs' not have expiration dates?" asked Russia, turning back to the Bad Touch Trio.
"Nope, not in this awesome book," Prussia shook his awesome head, ignoring the rant West was giving him as he tapped the cover of the book and then his forehead to emphasize, "and the awesome me has got it all memorized from front to back."
". . . else am I supposed to do to keep you locked in?" Germany continued, seemingly oblivious to his bruder's lack of attention, "And don't tell me that you broke the ceiling again pulling your crazy esca—"
"Well maybe I should have a look myself, da?" suggested Russia, reaching out for the book.
"Nein! No way is someone as awesome as me letting you look through The Bro Code! You even said it yourself that you're not a Bro—which is totally lame, even by your standards, unless you're thinking about converting, in which case that's slightly awesomer since I'm free tomorrow so we can plan the awesome ritual—"
"What do you mean, you're 'free tomorrow'?" Hungary interrupted, seemingly offended as she once again broke off her wedding planning with Belarus. Belarus frowned. And they'd been right in the middle of discussing how the cake was going to work, too . . . "Tomorrow's the day of our wedding!"
Prussia blinked, his expression the epitome of "I'm so screwed". "Ja, but, well . . ."
Then he abruptly started running in the opposite direction, causing Hungary to whip out a frying pan from—where did it come from?—to chase him in circles around the meeting table, shouting, "Get back here, you!" as she brandished it threateningly, the other nations growing increasingly alarmed at the sight of her expanding dark aura. And yes, really.
"And that is why you totally shouldn't, like, get on the bride's bad side or anything," Poland concluded, nodding sagely.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Lithuania agreed absentmindedly, staring at where Belarus had resumed sifting through Hungary's cake pictures on her own.
Poland paused to stare at his companion curiously. "You totally aren't listening, are you?"
Oblivious to this exchange in the background, Russia affirmed, "I'm still not a 'Bro'."
"Not yet," France corrected, "but think of all the benefits, oui? For one, we'll be sure to throw you a—what' the word?—an awesome bachelor party for your wedding with Bela—"
"I'm not marrying my sister, either!"
Before anyone could respond, a phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Germany picked it up. "Ja?"
The nations went quiet as he listened to what they were saying on the other end.
". . . So what you're saying is that there's a gaping hole through the roof?"
He turned to look pointedly at Prussia, who Hungary had managed to pin to the floor and, at the sound of Germany's ringtone, had paused with her frying pan in midair, poised to smack him upside the head.
"Nein, it isn't a disruption of the local ecosystem. The bird was already there," Germany spoke into the phone. "Ja, he's a pet. 'Who builds a nest for their pet bird', you ask? What do I sound like to you, a psychologist? Actually, I suppose I am pretty good in that area . . ."
There was another pause as he continued to listen. Then his eyes widened.
"Handcuffs? Ja, they're mine, but—"
The talking on the other end grew slightly louder, but still came out muffled due to how Germany had pressed the phone closely to his ear.
"N-no, it's not what you—"
The person on the other end apparently hung up, leaving Germany to bash his head against the table in exasperation. When he looked up again, he snapped at the gawking nations, "All of you, out! The meeting is temporarily adjourned. Go take a lunch break or something."
They reluctantly turned to leave. Prussia stepped forward to go as well, but Germany cut in before he could go, "Not you, Bruder. We're going to have a talk about thi—Hey, what are you doing with that book?"
Prussia finished shoving a pair of headphones onto The Bro Code and said, "It's too awesome to have to suffer through this as well."
Meanwhile, Belarus grinned forebodingly as she brushed past Russia. "I cannot wait for you to see my dress tomorrow, Big Brother. A double wedding—exciting, isn't it?"
During the "lunch break", while Germany was trying to explain to government officials that yes, he sometimes locked up his bruder inside the house to keep him from coming to meetings and yes, it was a perfectly safe and reasonable course of action that his bruder didn't have any problems with it at all and Prussia was trying to convince them that no, he didn't have Stockholm Syndrome, yes, it was him that wrecked the ceiling and was "responsible" for the pet chick—"So, what you're saying is that the bird—" "Gilbird." "—Er, the Gilbird—" "Nein, it's just Gilbird! C'mon, let's start this whole thing over again until you get it right."—and "possibly traumatized" the neighbor's cat, no, he wasn't the Hulk in disguise, he was just too awesome to be repressed, and that yes, that was a real affliction, and an awesome one at that, America and Russia sat at a table far away from where Hungary and Belarus were still engrossed in their wedding plans.
"So, Belarus, huh?" America finally broke the silence between them halfway through his second bag of burgers. "I totally thought I heard something about you guys getting married."
"I'm still not marrying my sister."
"But she has a dress," America pointed out, fishing through the bag for his next burger.
"She always has a dress," Russia countered.
"A wedding dress," America clarified with a scoff. "For the wedding. Tomorrow."
"That doesn't mean we're getting married!"
"Oh yeah? They already reprinted the invitations. Check it!" America held out a slip of paper for Russia to look at. When Russia didn't speak immediately, America read it aloud himself. "'You are hereby cordially invited to the reunion of Austria and Hungary and the new union of Belarus and Russia.' America, whenever is this most wondrous date set for, you ask? Oh look, there it is—tomorrow."
Russia only frowned at the paper. "Hey, why didn't I receive an invitation?"
"Because you're the groom!" America sighed in frustration, balling up the paper and shoving it into one of his empty fast food bags.
"You've been doing that quite a lot today," his Boss commented as he walked past with his own meal. "Don't want to make a habit out of it."
"Just shut up and let me sulk," America called back, though his Boss was already out of earshot. He shoved a consolation burger into his mouth, munching thoughtfully on it as he turned back to Russia. "If you ask me, dude, this situation is complete—MMFRAMPHLEANFU—isn't it? Not to mention how you totally got to—EMPHINFMM—too, y'know? And it totally sucks, man, because you don't even seem to give a—FMPHINTHKAROWT—about what's going on, so she's totally just going to walk up there, go 'Yeah, dude, let's totally become husband and wife and brother and sister because everyone knows that that can totally happen simultaneously without things seeming totally out of wack because of—LARPHALMPHIN—and all that wacky stuff' and—HRAOWMPHUL—happens and then you're totally married! And don't even get me started on how awkward it would be for the two of you to—"
"Either you eat or you talk," Russia finally interrupted. He gingerly used a napkin to brush off the crumbs America had sprayed all over the table with a rather disgruntled expression on his face. "If you do both, I'm going to introduce you to a certain magic metal friend of mine."
"Fine," America huffed, quickly scarfing down the rest of his burger. "All I'm trying to say is that we should probably figure a way out of this wedding, dude."
"Well, what would you suggest?"
"Hey, I'm not the one escaping from marrying my sibling!"
"Ah, I see. If that's so, then I do have one plan that might wor—"
"But since you asked so nicely," America cut him off obliviously, "I do have one plan that might work. It's pretty straightforward, though."
"Let's just get it over with," Russia sighed, hoping that this one didn't involve robots or superheroes or radioactive spiders or nuclear—
"We should run away."
Oh. "What?"
"I said that we should totally run away, dude," America repeated. Russia opened his mouth to question his sanity, but America continued, "I mean, only for the day of the wedding, of course. And we'll have to check out of the hotel so that they don't find us, because if they can't find you, then you can't get married. It's easy! Now, what was your plan?"
"To barricade myself in the hotel and hope that my Little Sister doesn't get in and drag me out somehow."
". . . Yeah, running away sounds way easier."
"Are you really going to go through with this, Mr. America?"
The two nations startled at the sound of a third voice joining their group, swiveling around to see Lithuania looking back at them expectantly. Poland stood next to him, simply looking impatient.
"Lithuania, Poland!" America laughed awkwardly. "How long have you two been there?"
"Like, ever since you totally said 'I totally thought I heard something about you guys getting married.'" Poland answered. He pointedly elbowed Lithuania. "So, since you totally said 'totally', which is, like, totally fabulous and all, I thought we should come check it out. But then I grew kind of bored and said we should, like, leave, but Liet was all 'Wait, I totally want to hear what happens next' and so we, like, kind of wound up staying. Are you seriously, like, running away from the wedding?"
"Da."
"But we're, like, in Greece."
"I've got a lot of government and buildings—well, I guess mostly government buildings—based off of his," America offered. At the others' unimpressed looks, he dug into his pocket and extracted the crumpled-up map from earlier, "Plus, I've got this map we can totally use!"
"I think that map's a goner," Poland said observationally as America fruitlessly tried to flatten the map on the table.
"And you probably wouldn't be able to use it even if it wasn't," Russia added.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
"That you totally can't read maps," Poland deadpanned.
"But what I don't get is why you would want to run away from Belarus," said Lithuania as America desperately tried to prove to Poland that he could, indeed, read maps—"See? That's Athens, Greece, right there!" "That's 'Athens, GA' for one of your states for something. It's totally not Greece. Wait, do you, like, know how to spell 'Greece'?" "Sure, I have it in just about all my meals, dude! G-R-E-A-S-E. Here, have a fry, too! No? Y'sure? Okay then bro, but it's your loss!"—in the background. "She's so pretty and wonderful to be around, isn't she?"
Poland broke off his conversation with America to remind Lithuania loudly, "The last time you went on a date, she broke all your fingers!"
"Physical contact is an important part in every healthy relationship!" Lithuania insisted, while Poland continued to deny this—"Not if it causes you not to be able to hold any writing utensils for, like, the next month! I totally had to take notes for you at the next four World Meetings after that disaster!"—vehemently in the background. Looking back at Russia, he continued, "The thing is, Mr. Russia, I would be very happy if Belarus treats me the way she does with you. Oh, how I wish that were so."
"As do I, comrade," Russia agreed solemnly.
"Dude, don't wish that kind of violence on others!" America protested. "It's freaking messed up!"
"Don't worry, it would be an upgrade from what she does to him now," Poland assured him . . . though it wasn't really much assurance.
Someone else's voice called out through the room before America could reply to this statement.
"The authorities have finally relented, everyone," Germany declared, snapping his phone shut and pocketing it. "The World Meeting will officially reconvene in five minutes. Oh, and Bruder, you're paying for the ceiling."
Prussia snorted into his drink, which looked suspiciously like beer. "Not until those lame authorities acknowledge that I escaped not because I possess 'remarkably thin, birdlike wrists' but because I'm just too awesome for handc—Okay, okay, I'll pay! You can put down the frying pan, alright? No? Oh scheiße, I should probably run now."
Before the four of them headed back to the meeting room, America turned pleadingly to Poland and Lithuania. "Just promise me you won't tell anyone else about this, okay guys?"
"Don't worry, I won't," Poland promised.
Relieved, America smiled as he left, "Thanks, dudes. I knew I could count on you to keep a secret!"
After the other nations had filtered into the room, Poland glanced at Lithuania, still standing in the doorway.
". . . You're planning on telling her, aren't you?"
Notes on this Chapter:
. . . And the Hungary ran after the Prussia with a . . . does a frying pan count as a cooking utensil? Yes? No?
I chose to do a fic with a bunch of ships that I'm not too used to shipping . . . wonder how this'll turn out. Hopefully, it's still passable. It's a longer chapter than I'm used to writing, but I guess that's what happens when you have more of a plot in mind. ^J^
Oh, and speaking of the plot, *cough*SPOILER ALERT*cough* going by the plot of A Midsummer Night's Dream, Belarus and Lithuania would be endgame in this fic. However, here I've also thrown in Poland—
Poland: *flips hair* "Because I'm, like, totally too fabulous to resist!"
Me: "Keep telling yourself tha—Well, actually, that's pretty accurate."
—who's going to serve as a sort of extra conscience to Lithuania (which is semi-ironic considering how it seems like it would be vice versa), so, just to give you a heads-up way ahead of time, I might make a poll on that sometime further down the road.
I really hope I haven't accidentally wrecked anyone's ship with any OOC-ness. *sweatdrops* Well, unless it's the funny kind of OOC that only pops up occasionally, in which case I'll probably feel slightly less guilty. ^J^ But only slightly.
"Pipedream": According to Merriam-Webster, this would refer to "an illusory or fantastic plan, hope, or story". However, it's origins are similar to those of the word "crackfic", so I thought it sounded rather fitting to use as part of the title.
France's mentioning of "asexuality" is supposed to reference *cough*ANOTHER SPOILER*cough* one of the options (the option of a lifetime of chastity) if Hermia refused to marry Demetrius in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
And as you could probably guess, Prussia breaking through Germany's roof and the authorities getting involved wasn't part of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, but it was awesome. Speaking of Prussia, outro, please!
Prussia: *running around World Meeting table* "Nein, can't you tell the awesome me is kind of in the middle of being unawesomely chased right now?"
Hungary: *brandishes frying pan* "'Unawesomely'? Take it back . . . take it back!"
Poland: "Stay, like, totally fabulous! . . . Wait, when you said I was 'thrown in', you don't mean that I'm, like, part of the 'other random stuff' you mentioned in the A/N, right? Right?"
Feedback is greatly appreciated. I hope you've enjoyed things so far! Oh, and in case you were wondering, A Midsummer Night's Dream has five acts with two scenes per act for most of the acts (the fifth act only has one scene), so that would probably make this fic around nine chapters long. ^J^
Poland: "You still totally haven't answered my question! Hey, get back here!"
