Summary: America is a brony! Britain is not amused. I own nothing except my OC!Mexico.

Friendship is MAGIC!

It was shaping up to be quite a normal day for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Britain thought. He woke up at precisely seven o'clock, made a pot of tea, made breakfast, ate said breakfast with said tea, did the more pressing paperwork, drank more tea, fetched the mail, drank tea, read the paper, drank tea, and made his way over to his Prime Minister's office to drop off the paperwork. After a very long meeting with his Prime Minister, he went home, fixed more tea, made lunch, ate said lunch with said tea, ran some errands, drank more tea, beat France stupid when he found a new way into Britain's house, drank some whiskey, gardened, drank tea, spoke to his fairies, drank tea, made dinner, drank tea, embroidered, drank tea, and waited for America to call while drinking more tea.

But instead of his boyfriend of a decade-and-a-half's phone number showing up on the Caller ID when the phone rang, it said Mexico. Britain frowned in disconcertment. Why was Mexico calling him? They didn't have anything to do with each other. He virtually ignored the woman. Wait, could she even afford to call him?

Nonplussed, he answered. "Hello?" He jerked the phone away from his ear as someone on the other end of the line shouted in the background "PONIES!"

Utterly bewildered, he tried again. "Hello?"

Finally a woman's voice answered. "¿Hóla? Bretaña, ¿está usted?" the voice asked urgently. She coughed violently.

Slipping reluctantly and easily (and annoyedly since he could speak that damn language so well) into Spanish, Britain replied, "Sí, soy yo." Mexico sighed with relief and coughed again. Britain could hear America's loud laughter on the other side, and Mexico took the phone away from her ear to scream Mexican expletives at her younger brother. Hesitantly curious, Britain waited for Mexico to get back on the line.

"Bretaña, que está muy necesario aquí," she started, sounding exhausted and exasperated at the same time.

"Mexico! You can be Applejack!" America yelled in the background. "And Mattie can be Fluttershy!"

"Oh shut up, Alfred!" Another voice roared. Britain's eyes widened. Was that…Canada? And was Canada…yelling? This was not good. At all.

"México, ¿qué pasa?" he asked. He heard some thumping and the sound of something snapping. Britain prayed it was not one of America's bones.

"Tu novio está loco, y Canadá está a punto de cometer un asesinato, por favor, ven aquí y meter algo de sentido a este idiota, que no nos van a escuchar," she begged. Britain couldn't decide if she sounded as though she'd burst into tears, or go into Mexico Rage Mode which was just as scary as Canada's Hockey Rage Mode.

"Claro, voy a estar allí pronto," he replied, and hung up. Finishing his tea, he went upstairs and began packing, booking his flight on his blackberry as he locked the front door and got into the taxi.

A long flight later, Britain stood outside America's lovely Virginia home, the house that Britain had built him when he was a colony. It had been renovated and wings and floors had been added on, but it was still the house in which Britain and little America had spent most of their happiest hours.

But everything seemed normal. The gardens were taken care of, no windows were broken, the garage had both America's cars and his Harley in it, the lawn was newly mowed, and the house was intact. Canada's car was waiting in the driveway. Mexico didn't own a car; she couldn't afford one.

Britain made his way up to the wrap-around porch and knocked on the door. He was immediately taken aback when it was flung open and Canada stood there, wild-eyed and looking as if he would rip the door and Britain to shreds. He grinned maniacally and was elbowed aside by his older sister who looked ready to hurt someone, preferably America.

"Gracias a Dios, you're here!" Mexico exclaimed, grabbed Britain's wrist, and dragged him inside with a surprising amount of strength. Canada grabbed the suitcase. The door slammed shut.

"Yes, alright, but why am I here? You weren't very specific on the phone," Britain said, dusting off his suit in a dignified manner. Mexico and Canada started tying shoes and throwing on coats in a hurry, as if the devil was chasing them. Mexico looked up from her ratty dusty thing that really couldn't be called a shoe anymore.

"It's bad, Bretaña, it's bad," she responded in a hurry. Canada opened the door and threw Kumajiro onto the porch in his hurry to leave his brother's house.

"It's out of control, Arthur. He wouldn't let us leave and I refuse to be subjected to this any longer! It was all of a sudden and now we're at our wits' end," he added breathlessly. He fished his keys out of his coat pocket, and sprinted from the house, starting the car and turning it around before the car door was even closed.

"What in blazes—?" Britain began but he was cut off.

"He's in the basement rec room. We're out of here. If he wants us to come back, tell him we refuse to set foot in this country until he can calm down! Good luck, Bretaña. You'll need it." And with that, Mexico slammed the door shut and the car screeched away.

Sighing and completely perplexed, Britain slowly made his way downstairs, worried at what he might find.

Britain found him exactly where the brother and sister had said he'd be: parked in front of an enormous flat screen TV. America was laughing so hard his face was cherry red. Britain just stared.

"America!" he barked, startling the younger country. He sat up and looked around, smiling widely at the sight of his boyfriend.

"Arthur!" he hexclaimed, and leapt over the couch to embrace the island nation, pressing a sweet, deep kiss to his lips. "Watcha doin here?"

"I received a phone call from your sister. She seemed awfully worried about you," Britain stated firmly, letting himself wrap his arms about America's waist. America rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Mexico just thinks I'm being stupid," America replied flippantly, going in for another kiss. Britain evaded him, and America pouted.

"Seeing as I hardly ever get a phone call from Mexico, I deemed it necessary to look into," he sniffed. America frowned.

"Artiiiiie…"

"Don't call me that!"

"It's nothing, I swear!"

"So I flew all the way across the pond at the last minute for nothing?"

"Nooo…"

Britain let go of America and folded his arms across his chest. "Well then?"

America sighed. "There's a new TV show—"

"There's always a new TV show."

"—that I really like. And I just got really into it, so I guess it just annoyed Mattie and Regina."

"What is it?" America remained silent. "What is the show, America?"

"…My Little Pony."

Britain blinked, then stared. "Pardon, what?"

"My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic."

The silence was deafening.

"I thought that it was—"

"A toy? Yeah, but Lauren Faust came up a really awesome idea to make it into a TV show!"

"Isn't that toy geared towards girls? Younger girls?" Britain asked. America looked sheepish.

"Yeah, but it's so good that practically everyone loves it. It has a huge following and there's a lot of fan art and remixes up on YouTube of it! It's a freaking Internet meme!" America yelled, excited once again. Britain flinched.

"Kindly do not yell at me when I am less than three feet away from you," he said snippily. He'd flown over last minute because America was into…My Little Pony.

Granted, it could be worse, but was it really worth Mexico and Canada demanding he come over immediately for? America couldn't really help it. If his people were raving about My Little Pony, he'd be too, it's just the way the nations were. It was like that for everyone.

"I'm a brony, now Arthur!" America declared. Britain gave him a strange look.

"You're a what?"

"A brony! A dude who likes My Little Pony!"

Britain rolled his eyes. "How you come up with these things I'll never know. Well if that's all, I've got a flight to book—"

America squeaked and wrapped his arms tightly around Britain. Britain couldn't help but feel a little pleased that America still preferred him over ponies. "No don't leave! Since you're here, we might as well be together right?" America asked huskily, his breath ghosting over Britain's ear. Britain smirked.

"Now that you mention it…" he murmured as he turned around to kiss America deeply. America smiled when they parted.

"Wanna watch ponies with me?" he asked excitedly. Britain felt his temper flair, but before he could start yelling, he was picked up and bodily tossed onto the couch, America bouncing after him. "This is great! You're really gonna like this, Arthur!"

"I doubt it," Britain mumbled bad-tempered. But as the colorful ponies frolicked across the screen and Britain was steadily pulled closer to America until they were cuddling closely, he really couldn't be upset. Yes, the reason he flew over was ridiculous, but it was just America being America. And they were together now, so the reason didn't matter. Even though it was completely idiotic, it was also one of the reasons Britain loved America. Although he'd certainly never admit it aloud.

"Hey Britain, you remind me of Rarity!"

"If you start comparing me to one of your blasted ponies, I will throttle you and return straight home!"

Yes, he'd never admit it aloud.

My anime club was taken over by ponies, and I finally decided to see what all the hype was about, and became a brony in the process. And then I thought "Oh God. America would be such a freaking brony." Thus this fic was born.

Please leave a review on your way out!

Love,

~La Principessa Dell'Opera

P.S.

Spanish translations:

¿Hóla? Bretaña, ¿está usted?- Hello? Britain, is that you?

Sí, soy yo- Yes, it's me.

Bretaña, que está muy necesario aquí- Britain, you're greatly needed over here.

México, ¿qué pasa?- Mexico, what's happening?

Tu novio está loco, y Canadá está a punto de cometer un asesinato, por favor, ven aquí y meter algo de sentido a este idiota, que no nos van a escuchar- Your boyfriend is crazy, and Canada is about to commit murder, so please come here and knock some sense into this idiot because he won't listen to us.

Claro, voy a estar allí pronto- Understood, I'll be there soon.

Gracias a Dios- Thank God

P.P.S.

PONIES!