Title: Sex Survey
Rating: T
Pairings: Prussia/Canada, UK/US, Sweden/Finland, Greece/Japan, Lithuania/Russia/Belarus, Germany/N. Italy, Spain/S. Italy.
Warnings: Slight crack, various boy/boy pairings, slight smut but nothing graphic. I should probably mention this is my first (proper) fic for this fandom so drop me a review and tell me if I made any glaringly obvious mistakes.
Disclaimer: The shiny new fandom might be mine, but I own nothing of the canon.
A/N: Inspired by and written for the magical Deyo-sensei thanks to the news article she sent me. Love you Deyo-sensei! :3
-----X3-----
Mattie looked so delectable and innocent when he slept, cuddling that infernal voyeuristic bear to his chest, and his boyfriend was hard-pressed keeping his hands to himself as he carefully reached across the Canadian to steal his Blackberry from the nightstand.
The younger nation might have been a patient guy but Gilbert was certain Matthew would not appreciate being woken up at this time of night just for a quickie to alleviate boredom. Therefore, he was just going to have to entertain his awesome, albeit bored, self and leave it at that.
Browsing through Mattie's internet favourites was something he did on a regular basis, and they never failed to further endear the Canadian to him. He kept tabs on almost ten news web pages, all situated in different places around the globe. If something was going down with one of the other nations, Mattie would know and could react accordingly.
One article in particular caught his attention, and the albino had to shove his face into his pillow to stop himself from breaking down into hysterical peals of laughter. The fact that it came from the Telegraph, one of England's newspapers, only made it all the more amusing.
Oh, there was no way this could not be shared.
------
Arthur drowsily sloped into his kitchen, half-listening to the drone of the BBC radio host and patter of rain on the window as he reached for the kettle.
A quick reconnaissance mission on the fridge told the nation he'd forgotten to buy bacon and eggs yesterday and he scowled before remembering the ancient box of cereal he kept in the pantry for such emergencies.
Partially stale weetabix and jam tasted surprisingly good, Arthur mused as he munched breakfast leaning against the counter and waiting for his water to boil. Violent vibration against his leg made him start and he was quick to swipe his cell phone from his pyjama pocket, fumbling with it for a moment before he remembered how it worked.
Chek ur facebuk inbx. Luv Prussia xxx
What on earth?
The atrocious spelling brought a tic to the spot beneath Arthur's eye and he'd have sent a strongly worded—not to mention structurally sound—text in reply, but confound it all, now he was curious!
Though the gift of a Toshiba laptop from Kiku for his last birthday was very much appreciated, Arthur found he used it very rarely. Especially after Alfred—damn that bloody git!—had found out and proceeded to make accounts for him on every possible website known to man. Youtube, myspace, Facebook, DeviantART, Fanfiction, —nothing was exempt.
The result was an inbox full of spam every morning and, god damn it, Arthur had no idea how to change the notification settings. He'd nearly taken a hammer to the blasted thing, and the only reason it wasn't so many pieces of wiring and shiny black plastic by now was out of consideration for Kiku's feelings.
All the same, there was no way he would try to tackle the thing without his necessary cup of tea. There were those—mainly Alfred, the ignorant prat—who would have said that this was some sort of dependency problem of his but Arthur could only scoff at that. His young charge was just as addicted to coffee was he not?
Eventually, he found himself logged in and spent an extra several minutes attempting to find the messages inbox. Blast! The damn thing changed overnight again!
He had one message. He clicked on it. He frowned. He clicked on the link.
And promptly spat a mouthful of Earl Grey onto the screen.
-----
The text from Prussia was easy to ignore. Alfred merely shoved his head under his pillow. The landline call, however, not so much.
"Hrrrrrgnuuuuughguhgugrr?" was the only response Alfred was capable of garbling down the line. After all, the incessant ringing had only just woken him up at three in the morning.
Three. In. The. Fucking. Morning.
"Alfred? Is that you? Wake up, damn tosser, you're incoherent."
"Muuphcursiisfreeindumurnin!"
"It's nine o' clock; a perfectly respectable time to be up. Of course, that is if you haven't been playing ridiculous video games all night..."
"Iggggggy...t'm z'nes 're d'ffr't..."
"Oh man up would you lad?! Now stop impersonating poor Sweden and check your facebook messages!"
Groaning and grumbling and complaining, Alfred nevertheless dragged himself to the edge of the bed and leaned over to rummage through a pair of discarded jeans for his Ipod Touch.
"Do you have one? Did he send it to you?!" Arthur jabbered in his ear as he pulled the Ipod back into bed with him.
"Iggy...sh'dup...'m lookin'..."
He woke up considerably upon reading the article, his speech drastically improving.
"...sounds about right...you are lazy."
"WHAT?!"
"You do let me do all the work..."
"YOU HOLD ME DOWN BEFORE I CAN GET A THRUST IN EDGEWAYS, YOU SLIMY GIT!"
America decided to ignore this and read on.
"Hah! Oh my god! This was a survey done on your own turf!"
"Alfred, if you don't shut up right now..."
"Do your women really hate you that much?"
"MY WOMEN LOVE ME, YOU WANKER!"
"Coulda fooled me. It's probably got something to do with the fact when your queen made all those poor girlies lie back and think of you when getting down and dirty in the Victorian era."
"I'm warning you brat..."
"I sure hope you got your ass in gear and satisfied them old man, cuz there's nothing more pathetic than a man who can't please a lady..."
"ALFRED MY BOY! READY THY BUTTOCKS. THOU ART IN FOR A SOUND SHAGGING!"
"FINE BY M-wait...what?!"
"Now you listen to me. You are going to buy a plane ticket, you are going to get on a plane, and you are going to fly to London, today. I will pick you up, I will take you to the nearest swankiest hotel I can find, and I am going to shag you!"
"Shag me?!"
"Yes! Get that through your thick skull boy! I'm going to be topping you, as I should have been from the start, damn it! And let me tell you something, I am going to pound you into my mattress so hard, your brother will feel it!"
"Bring it on, old man!"
Alfred slammed the phone down with relish and grinned evilly as he imagined turning the tables on old man Artie and coming out on top as he usually did. Like a true hero.
Then he remembered how England was famous for its police force and right now Iggy was probably rifling through his 'sexy closet' for that revealing copper's outfit and a pair of titanium fuzzy handcuffs right at that very moment. Alfred blanched and mashed his face back into his pillows.
God damn it.
-----
After a late breakfast, Berwald had kindly agreed to tackle the enormous pile of washing up they'd let build up over the weekend while Tino bundled up and went outside to chop fire wood.
Swinging down the axe, Tino split one more log before straightening up and wiping his brow with the back of his gloved hand. He took a deep breath of the cold tundra air and smiled.
He and his 'husband' were usually so busy with their affairs of their respective countries nowadays, they'd hardly had a moment's peace for themselves, let alone each other...or Peter for that matter. This long weekend had been nothing but some blissful, well-earned family time.
Even if Peter is wiling away our last day sleeping in, Tino mused, but he decided it was only fair to let the boy do as he wanted at least some of the time, and was thus not bothered.
Stomping his boots free of snow on the mat inside the door, Tino was quick to shrug off his heavy winter coat, take the logs to the basket beside the iron stove, and stoke the fire. In the kitchen, the dish rack beside the sink was empty, a few bubbles remaining on the stainless steel the only clue any washing had ever taken place, and the dishes themselves were all neatly stowed away in the cupboards.
Berwald was sitting at the table, sharply dressed but barefooted, left ankle resting on his right knee, with a tattered multicoloured throw hugging his hips. There was a coffee mug beside the open laptop before him, and the nation eyed it pensively as he chewed his bottom lip in thought. Tino smiled and wandered up behind him, slipping his arms around the broad shoulders and tipping the Berwald's head back for an upside down kiss.
"W'fey?"
Long ago had Tino given up protesting against this title.
"Hmmm?" His tongue flickered out to brush his lover's lips, intoxicated by the taste of coffee, and interested in not much else.
"D'ya think 'm t' quick t' f'nish?"
Tino jerked back, surprised.
"Whatever gave you that impression?"
Berwald gestured to the computer screen. Tino read the article over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he did so until he let out a disparaging hiss.
"Well that's utterly ridiculous..."
"Y' r'lly think?"
Tino straddled him smoothly and gave his husband another kiss.
"Well, it has been a while; I suppose I might have forgotten. Let's find out shall we?"
"P'ter's st'll 'n bed."
"Well," Tino whispered, reaching out to unbutton Berwald's shirt, smirking more broadly with each inch of flesh that was revealed. "I guess we'll just have to be quiet then."
-----
Seated on a balcony in downtown Cairo, Gupta tilted his head back to enjoy the pleasant heat of the midday sun. It was not so hot today that the sky was obscured by choking smog, and for this the nation was thankful.
Cairo was the largest city in the whole of North Africa, and also one of the most densely populated in the world. As such, the traffic congestion and resulting pollution was only to be expected, but Gupta couldn't help but wish they'd start tackling the environmental problems in the World Nation's meetings soon.
Instead of messing around as we usually do, Gupta thought before shaking his head and taking a sip of his Asiir Lamoon.
His jackal, which was currently reclining beside the nation's chair, rolled over onto his back to accommodate the tiny cat attempting to snuggle under his chin.
"Heracles, your cat is bothering Anubis." Gupta calmly informed the depressed nation beside him.
The response was a darkly gusting sigh.
"You're not really helping your case by remaining in a...how you say...funk, like this, no?"
"You know, I used to like Prussia. I really did. The guy was a good laugh...but this...this breaks my heart."
"And you truthfully think you're not...er...what's the word...'soppy'?"
"I'm sensitive, is all!" Heracles protested before his cell phone interrupted him. "Hello?"
Gupta politely turned a deaf ear to the conversation, putting aside his lemonade to pick up Heracles' cat and scratch it behind its ear.
His mother always had loved cats.
"Yes yes of course Kiku...I'll be right over!"
The Greek hung up, looking a great deal happier than before the call.
"Where's the closest airport? I need a ticket to Japan."
"Cairo International. What's the emergency?"
"Kiku needs a sensitive muse for his newest doujinshi."
"I see. Well, it's good to know he can put up with your floods of emotion," Gupta said shrewdly as he pushed the squirming cat into the other nation's arms.
The Greek just chuckled good-naturedly and vaulted off the second-story balcony onto the street below, startling several passersby as he did so.
"Watch for traffic," Gupta called after him absentmindedly.
No sooner than Heracles had vanished from sight, did a masked Sadiq appear, seemingly out of nowhere, into the nation's vacated seat. Gupta started.
"Turkey?! What on earth..."
"Ah Egypt, here you are! Finally; I've been looking for you everywhere. Listen...would you say I have BO? Or a perspiration problem? I got this link to an article from Prussia..."
Gupta just groaned and put his head in his hands.
"Not again..."
-----
It was nine in the morning, and most sane people were still asleep. God knows why three nations of the United Kingdom decided it was a good idea to frequent a Welsh tavern somewhere in the seaside town of Llangrannog.
The bar maid couldn't even comprehend why they were ordering alcohol at this time of day.
"Pint a' Guinness, m'dear," drawled the Irishman.
"Malt whiskey, lass," boomed the Scotsman.
"Local brew, love," muttered the Welshman.
"Will tha' be all?"
"Aye," they chorused.
The girl raised an eyebrow and went to get their drinks, her sullen look not suiting the pretty face.
"Roight, someone mind tellin' me why we're drinkin' out together like this? 'Specially this early in tha morning."
"Angus here got i' in 'is head to celebrate."
"Ah did Martin, an' Ah've got me a right good reason too."
"Spit i' out then."
"Look a' this," Angus boasted, thrusting a piece of paper in his brother's faces.
"HAH! Second worst! Arthur must be pissin' himself!"
"Aye, e'll beh hoppin' mad, wee wretch, I guarantee," Angus agreed, chuckling heartily.
Seamus took the internet printout from his brother's hand and examined it.
"Oi, Angus yer do realise yer're on this here list too, yer know."
"Eh?"
"Yer on 'ere too Martin."
"Gimme tha'!"
Angus and Martin seized it at the same time and pored over it together.
"Too...selfish?!" Martin spat, his face going somewhat puce.
Angus' bellow of laughter caused Martin to start, Seamus to raise his impressive eyebrows, and several of the bar's other patrons to look around and glare at him disapprovingly.
"Haha, eighth place! This calls fer 'nother drink!"
He beckoned the barmaid over.
"More whiskey lass! Top 'er up nice an' generous!"
"I' this really necessary, Angus?" Seamus asked in a rather dry imitation of his younger brother, Arthur.
"Ya do realise you're talkin' ta the bloke who celebrated winnin' the award for 'Country With Worst Heart Conditions' several years back by drinking and feasting till 'e almost burst?" the Welshman muttered darkly.
"Ah go shag a sheep, Martin. They don' seem ta mind yer unwillingness ta give in bed."
"Fuck off!"
Seamus just laughed and downed his Guinness in one as his brothers started to tussle before reaching out to protect their drinks from flying fists.
"Might as well."
And then he downed their drinks too, chuckling all the while.
-----
"Too...too hairy?!"
Toris would have to thank Prussia the next time he saw him; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd laughed so hard.
"What are you laughing at, dear Toris?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just a list of the worst lovers in the world that Prussia sent m—YARRRRGH! IVAN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!"
He attempted to dive out of his seat but a giant arm looped around his waist from behind and pinned him to the chair. The soft voice blew warm air past his ear and Toris shivered as it raised goose bumps down his neck.
"Let's see...Russia...Russia...oh...tenth worst..."
The following silence was so thick; Toris could have hacked at it with a war axe and made not one lick of difference. He squeaked when Russia let out a strange purring noise behind him and slipped one hand under his shirt.
"So...little Toris...am I too hairy for you?"
"N...no...no...Master Ivan...of c...course you're not..."
The days of the Soviet Union were gone and past, and Lithuania was his own free country damn it. No longer did he have to suffer with his brothers under the tyrannical reign of Russia.
So why wasn't he fighting back?
It probably had to do with the fact that Ivan's wandering hand under his shirt was doing sinfully delicious things to his left nipple and a hot tongue was probing his ear. Oh šūdas...Feliks was going to kill him when he found out...
"Become one with Russia?" Ivan pressed, his voice a pleading rasp. "Become one with me again...Toris?"
Russia's free hand slipped between Lithuania's thighs and cupped the growing bulge in his pants almost hard enough to hurt.
Toris moaned...and was spared further sweet torture when the door burst open with a thunderous bang and Ivan screeched in his ear, sending Toris flying forward in shock almost head-first through his computer screen.
"Brother Russia! Ivan my darling! Prussia's news article tells filthy lies! You are not too hairy for me!"
"Sister! Leave me alone!"
"I will become one with you!"
Ivan fled screaming, Natalia hot on his heels, leaving Toris sweaty, panting, and rock hard on the floor by his chair.
Oh yeah, he would definitely have to thank Prussia, if only for sending Belarus the very same email.
-----
Bella supposed she really should have been surprised when she found her brother sprawled face down on her kitchen floor in a widening puddle of his own drool.
She kicked him viciously in the side and he groaned like a dying animal, letting out pathetic muffled curses.
"Damn it Lars! What have I told you about breaking into my house when you're high?!"
The reply was an unintelligible and inarticulate mash of gargling but Bella was accustomed to this and deciphered the meaning easily.
"I don't give a damn whether you had the munchies! Get off my floor!"
Lars did, albeit reluctantly and as slow as hell, but instead of departing, he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
"Oh no you don't. Get out!"
"Fooooooood!" He begged piteously.
Bella flexed her fists, coming perilously close to giving her druggie of a brother a good thump around the head, but decided against violence this early in the morning and went to make a mound of toast.
The quicker she complied, the faster Lars would be out of her house for the next good long while.
When the toast was done and buttered—there was no way she'd waste any of her precious Nutella on him—the Dane raised his head fractionally, allowing Bella to slip the plate before him, before mashing his face into the food and munching using solely his mouth.
"Ah hate you but ah luuuurve you BellBell," he groaned ecstatically into the toast as Bella rolled her eyes in disgust.
"Yeah yeah, shut up. Now eat that quietly and be gone as soon as you're done."
Drawing her dressing gown tighter around her petite figure, she flounced huffily into the seat furthest from her brother and drew her laptop closer as she bit daintily into her own piece of toast spread thickly with chocolate paste.
Heavenly.
There was one email in her inbox. The sender: Prussia.
Lars raised his head in confusion—a sight comical in and of itself as the butter smeared around his mouth was acting as an adhesive for a beard of crumbs—when his sister almost fell out of her chair cackling like a maniac.
"What...what?!"
Wordlessly, she reached out and turned the computer around so he could see the screen.
He gaped at it, a gooey mash of toast visible in his gaping mouth.
"But...but...but...Matthew never used to complain!" He protested loudly, flailing like a headless chicken in his delirium.
Bella just laughed harder and vowed that her brother would never see the end of this one.
-----
After World War Two, Germany was no longer renowned for his military prowess, a fact about which, were you to ask him, he would truthfully say he was relieved. The horrors and war crimes his Fuhrer had committed in his name were, after all, to be abhorred and rightly so.
But he couldn't help but wish he still had that prowess, if only as a security blanket.
Imagine, a strong capable nation such as himself...in need of such a thing. It was laughable.
Ludwig sighed. Really, it was just like his big brother to send him something like this; especially now since Prussia was about eight thousand miles away living in with his boyfriend. Where Germany couldn't whack him upside the head or something.
Cheery singing, accompanied by notes of cilantro and oregano, floated through the house from the kitchen, where Feliciano was cooking up a tonne of pasta and tomato sauce for lunch.
"Beeeeee Itaaaalian!"
Mein Gott. Why, oh why did I think taking him to that musical was ever a good idea? Ludwig groaned and put his head in his hands.
"Germany...Germany!"
The bouncy nation was calling his name as he roamed the house, searching for his friend. He found the German sitting behind his desk looking troubled, before him his laptop open and glowing.
Feliciano didn't like seeing Ludwig troubled.
"Ve...Ludwig? What's the matter?
Ludwig jerked out of his reverie, making to stand up.
"It's nothing Italy. Come, let's go downstairs and eat..."
But then Feliciano leapt into his lap and, despite his fairly unsubstantial weight, successfully pinned him to the chair. They tussled momentarily, the large blond attempting to extricate the smaller man from his lap without harming him as he resisted, before the Italian's attention was grabbed by the screen.
Later on Germany would marvel in his ability to read so quickly and accurately even while being tossed around so to speak.
"Prussia sent this to you, Germany?"
Ludwig gave up struggling and sat back in his chair, one arm loosely around Feliciano's waist.
"Yes...he did."
The smaller nation was still and quiet in thought.
"Ve, Germany does smell," he eventually chirped.
Ludwig slumped a little lower in his seat, a haze of depression already beginning to descend over his head.
"Germany smells like wurst and sweat and baby powder and leather. He's so stinky."
He jumped when pert lips brushed his shoulder as Feliciano turned sideways on his lap and leaned into him.
"But I like it. Ve, Germany's stink is a good stink."
Ludwig's lips twitched as he tried in vain not to smile when Feliciano laced his arms around the German's neck and snuggled closer.
------
Predictably, the next World Nation's meeting was somewhat of a farce. No matters of even remote important were discussed as everyone was too busy gathering round the list posted on the meeting room's display board.
As voted by the female citizens of each respective country:
TOP TEN WORST LOVERS IN THE WORLD
1. Germans (too smelly)
2. Brits (too lazy)
3. Swedes (too quick to finish)
4. Dutch (too rough)
5. Americans (too dominating)
6. Greeks (too soppy)
7. Welsh (too selfish)
8. Scottish (too loud)
9. Turks (too sweaty)
10. Russians (too hairy)
Which was, quite frankly, old news. Matthew suspected it was the list below it that garnered so much attention.
As voted by the female citizens of each respective country:
TOP TEN BEST LOVERS IN THE WORLD
1. Spaniards
2. Brazilians
3. Italians
4. French
5. Irish
6. South Africans
7. Australians
8. New Zealanders
9. Danes
10. Canadians
"What the hell did you do, Spagna, to get top spot?!" Lovino Vargas snapped as he punched and cursed at his lover.
"Lovi...Lovi don't be angry with me..."
"Hah! The only reason I haven't called these idiots out on their lack of sense is because they've done all too well in awarding the Potato-bastard his rightful position."
"Fratello! Don't be mean to Germany!"
"Lovi, do you perhaps need relaxing?"
"No I most certainly do not you tomato bastard and don't you even think of smarming up to me or...ngggh...mmm!"
Lovino's increasingly violent rant abruptly cut off when Antonio pulled him into his arms and twisted his finger in that erogenous curl.
"Shall we go somewhere more private, mi amor?"
"B...bastard...I'll kill you...ngh."
They departed for elsewhere, and every other nation in the room promptly noted to themselves not to open any closets within the UN building for the next few hours or so.
"Ah fourth place...tut tut, I must be getting out of touch surely," Francis sighed still gazing at the list before hanging his head in shame.
"You're still in the top five. That's not bad at all," Lilli reassured him kindly.
The Frenchman's head shot up again and would have taken little Liechtenstein's hand in his to kiss had her older brother not whipped out his ever-present gun with a fanatic gleam in his eye and forced Francis to beat a hasty retreat.
"Hands off."
"What honestly confuses me," Roderich interjected from next to Vash, "Is how three of England's boys, not to mention one of his brothers, made the 'best' list when he himself got second place in worst?"
"Simple," Hungary chirped from beside him. "They learned from his mistakes."
"Explain America to me then."
"...okay new theory. Canada had France to teach him before England ever got close...Ireland was tutored by the leprechauns...Australia was taught a few things by the inmates England dumped on him..."
"And New Zealand?"
"...okay new theory number two...."
Roderich, Vash and Francis all slumped against one another and groaned, while Lilli just giggled and cuddled up with her new big sister Elizabeta to listen.
Meanwhile several conversations—if they could even be called that—had sprung up between the other nations, among them being Arthur grudgingly congratulating his once-colonies Australia and New Zealand while slapping away America's wandering hands; Feliks telling Ivan to like, get stuffed and leave Liet the hell alone as the nation in question put his arm around the blond to restrain him, and; Denny and Bella ganging up on Lars to laugh at him.
Heracles was slumped in his chair and snoring softly as Kiku sketched him, Heracles' ever-present cat curled up on top of the shorter nation's head.
Berwald was cuddling Tino under one arm as they shared a pair of ear buds joined to an mp3player.
Everyone else was comparing sexual experiences involving several different countries with one another, and debating whether or not the poll was really accurate or not.
Canada for once, was very glad that he wasn't easily noticed as he stood back and watched the proceedings with horror, hugging Kumajirou tightly out of habit.
"Did you really have to go and pin that up here?" He hissed at the ex-nation beside him.
"Course I did Mattie. Even the awesome me doesn't have the email address of every world nation and this just had to be shared."
Matthew was sceptical.
"Of course it didn't. You just like stirring up trouble, Gil. Admit it."
"Awww hey, Mattie, don't be mad. Come on...come bask in my awesome presence, heh? Hug?"
The blond turned his back on the outstretched arms and too-wide smile.
"Screw you."
"Mattiiiie, come on, don't cock block me..." Gilbert went to embrace him.
"Don't touch me."
"Are you just jealous you got tenth place?"
"E-eh? What? Don't be stupid..."
"You are! I bet you are! Why've you gone all red?"
Matthew didn't answer, squeezing Kumajirou as he sulked. Gilbert snorted.
"Hey, I'm not even on the list. Big deal."
"...isn't that an insult to your pride?"
"Huh? What? No way! There's a reason I'm not on that 'best' list. It's cuz I'm so awesome they haven't figured out a number astronomical enough to put me above everyone else yet."
"Of course," Matthew droned as he rolled his eyes. Gilbert just grinned and flung his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.
"Oi, listen. That list up there's got it wrong. Ain't no Spain that's in first place. You are."
Matthew went scarlet and started flailing wildly with one arm, the other still being used to hold his bear in place.
"What?! No..idiot! Don't say things like that, eh!"
"You think I'd really date a guy less awesome than first place? Gimme a break."
Gilbert started hustling him towards the door. As if the meeting would get any more productive than this anyway.
"Come on; let's blow this joint. I wanna go back to the hotel so you can just prove how wrong that list is. Whaddaya say, huh?"
"...I want Timbits when we get home," Matt threatened, wrenching his arm out of the albino's grip to replace it with his hand. "Soooo many Timbits for this, Gil."
And Gilbert just squeezed his hand happily in return.
"You got it number one lover."
-----X3-----
The aforementioned article can be read here:
http://www(dot)telegraph(dot)co(dot)uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/6241440/German-men-are-worlds-worst-lovers-with-English-men-in-second-place(dot)html
Just remember to remove the "(dot)" and replace with "."
Further notes:
-Anubis is my own fanon name for Gupta (Egypt's) Jackal.
-While not mentioned canonically, Turkey's relations with Egypt are friendly. Egypt was once part of the Ottoman Empire, and nowadays they have embassies and such in one another's countries. They signed a Free Trade agreement in 2005. For this reason, Sadiq and Gupta interact amicably.
-Angus, Seamus, and Martin are all my own fanon names for Arthur's brothers Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, respectively.
-There is a place called New Prussia in Canada. For this reason, Gilbert now lives with Matthew. It is also the reason I ship them.
-Bella is a common fanon name for Belgium.
-Lars is my own fanon name for Holland aka. The Netherlands. (Thanks for the heads-up kanelros! -bows-)
-Denny (or Dennis) is a my fanon name for Denmark. If only because (Den)mark=(Den)nis.
-Lilli is a fanon name for Liechtenstein which I have taken to using after reading her entry on Hetalia Wiki.
...Mattie reacts like Chopper when complimented...believe it fools! –ducks-