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Prompt: America makes suggestions at the World Meeting based on Spongebob Squarepants.

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“Okay, so I know you guys have been harping on me about the economy and all - so I’ve got this great idea!” America began, hopping back and forth behind the podium.

He ignored England’s snort and rambled on.

“So I was watching Spongebob the other day -”

“Spongebob Squarepants? Like, the cartoon?” Poland interjected.

“Uh-huh!” America ignored the round of sighs and groans around the meeting table. “That show’s so awesome, right? So Sandy - she’s the squirrel, and it’s kind of weird because why is a squirrel living underwater anyway - but she lives in this bubble, and always has this scuba-kinda stuff on her head -”

“America,” Germany gritted out, “it would be prudent for you to get to the point. Please.”

“I am, geez! If you wouldn’t keep interrupting me,” America flailed around to emphasize his point, “I would!”

France smiled, pointedly looking at England, before addressing America. “Your idea, Amerique?” he prompted.

“The squirrel. She lives in a bubble, and I was thinking - how cool would it be to make an underwater theme park?! Y’know, enclosed in a bubble!” America paused to let the utter amazingness of his idea sink in.

“And how, pray tell,” England began, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “does this help anyone’s economy in any way?”

“Aw, c’mon! Amusement parks make lots of money!”

There was a beat of silence, before Japan’s quiet agreement.

“Placing it underwater seems entirely impractical,” England argued back. Japan nodded; England continued. “Why not build a normal amusement park?”

“Because,” America huffed, “there isn’t an underwater theme park - so this one will be the best in the world! And it will make the most money!” He flashed his trademark grin and a thumbs-up.

“There’s a hotel near my place,” Turkey huffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw some article or something about that - man I really want to eat there, it’s like, a restaurant and hotel and there’s a submarine -”

“America.”

“Oh yeah - but it isn’t an amusement park!”

France “hmm’d” and raised an eyebrow. “I feel that this idea is - ah, delightfully whimsical, is perhaps the right phrase. Amerique - do you have any plans for this?”

“Er...” America licked his lips and fiddled with his jacket sleeve. “Well, not yet! But that’s why I’m tellin’ you guys about it!”

A round of groans followed this pronouncement.

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I have some Polish-American friends who grew up in Poland and moved here, and they said they learned English watching American cartoons. Thus my headcanon = Poland loving American cartoons.

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Prompt: Denmark and Russia go out drinking together. Modern day.

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They were taking a break from binge drinking, instead chain-smoking outside a bar in Copenhagen - thank God, Denmark thought, finally he could crash at his own house for once - and Denmark was rambling on about whatever came to mind.

In this case, bicycles. Goddamn but he loved bicycles.

“Shit, I really shouldn’t be smokin’ so much, should I?” Denmark laughed.

Russia simply sent him an inquisitive look.

Denmark shrugged. “I ride my bike all the time, it’s a hell of a lot easier - and more fun...fuck, it sure is fun...”

A raised eyebrow.

“Well y’know, it’s not really easy to ride around all day after you’ve been chain-smokin’ all night. And with a hangover, too,” Denmark frowned.

Russia pulled out his flask - fuck, he had a flask, too? How much did he drink?! - and took a swig, before nodding.

“Eh? You ride bikes?” Denmark grinned. Now this was new.

“No,” Russia shook his head for emphasis. It was a little...floppy...or maybe that was just Denmark’s own vision. Whatever, he was gonna hope that Russia was at least feeling something after all of that booze.

Which led him to another topic. “And I don’t get it, ya know - you Russians,” Denmark prattled on, drunkenly thrusting his cigarette-clad hand toward Russia, “you drink, like, first thing in the morning, right?”

“Yes,” Russia nodded. “In the winter. It is cold outside, you know this?”

“Yup. ‘kay well - ya guys drink a lot - er - “ Denmark tried to regain his train of thought. “Yeah! So, morning, vodka, I’ve got that right.”

“Yes.”

“So why doncha ride bicycles?”

“I don’t think I understand what you are saying,” Russia frowned, pocketing his flask.

Denmark rolled his eyes. “I’m just sayin’ that if you can drink first thing,” he paused to take a drag, “you can ride bikes in the snow.”

Russia shrugged.

“Aw, c’mon dude,” Denmark elbowed Russia and laughed at Russia’s confused look. “That’s kind of a compliment,” he winked.

Russia stood and looked down the street, a look of deep contemplation on his face, before dropping his cigarette and stomping it out underfoot. “I have never ridden a bicycle,” he finally stated.

“What?!” Denmark squawked. “Never, really?!”

“No.”

“Okay,” Denmark spread his arms, “okay. We gotta fix this. Do ya have anywhere to be in the morning?”

Russia frowned, confused - such an odd character, Denmark - and shook his head. For once he did not.

“We’re goin’ to my house then,” Denmark declared, then grabbed Russia’s arm and began dragging him back inside, tossing his cigarette along the way.

Russia giggled as they went through the door, and Denmark dropped his arm. “Stop that fuckin’ giggling,” Denmark muttered, “it’s - “

“Your house?” Russia asked.

Denmark turned around with a wide smile. “You bet! I am totally teaching you how to ride a bike!”

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Ah geez now I kind of want to write that.

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Prompt: Denmark and America having an awesome competition.

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Legos. Legos everywhere. And it was on.

Denmark and America were both spread cross-legged on the floor - Denmark with a plane of blue as a base, America with green - trying not to let the other see that they were watching what the other was building.

America was furiously completing his awesome archeological dig, complete with Lego dinosaurs and those guys with the monocles and even some stuff from the Ancient Egyptian set - because hey, mummies were cool even if they weren’t his; Denmark was doing the same, though he was hurriedly building a ship and assembling his Viking crew, all with fierce expressions and looking ready to pillage.

Meanwhile, they were snarking back and forth over the sounds of Lego parts snapping together.

“I was around centuries before you even existed, kid, I don’t know why you think you can take me on,” Denmark grinned.

America just winked back and continued building, thinking that while he may be a new kid on the block, heck, he still had achieved more than Denmark could dream of. Not that he said it; Denmark would probably beat him to a pulp. He could read the atmosphere if he wanted, thank you very much. And right now, the atmosphere said “Let’s not get my ass kicked.” He threw some ‘jewels’ into his miniature plastic treasure chest instead, and yammered on about how his movies were better.

“I don’t think so,” Denmark snorted, searching for something appropriate to put on the prow of his - fuckin’ kickass - Viking ship. Damn. No dragon heads? He’d have to have a talk with...uh...someone. Who had something to do with Lego blocks. Yeah.

“What?!” America yelped, furiously piecing together a tomb. “Of course my movies rule - c’mon, I make, like, everything!”

“Yeah, you tell yourself that.”

“Okay, okay, France and Italy and,” America waved his hand and dropped a few pieces in the process, then hastily began gathering them back up - he couldn’t let Denmark have his pieces, hell no - “y’know, other countries, they make those artsy things, but I’ve got - explosions! And guns!” He threw an arm up into the air.

Denmark laughed and continued his banter with America while putting the finishing touches - an ax or two - why weren’t there atgiers, the hell was wrong with these people? - and one that looked like France, he could be on the shore, maybe he should make a hut or something - on his creation.

“Done!” Denmark exclaimed, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at America.

America barked a laugh. “Aw c’mon, Vikings? Not nearly as cool as this,” he showed off his creation - mummies, archeologists, a rather elaborate set if he did say so himself.

Denmark snorted. “Lame,” he waved. He cut off America’s indignant retort with a Viking raid into his dig. “And now I’m gonna mess your shit up!”

“Hey, your guys should be dead! You know, ages ago!” America knocked Denmark’s Lego-men over and bent his men in an appropriate ‘observation’ position.

“Fine,” Denmark laughed, and grabbed a nearby skeleton head. He snapped a Viking head off, replacing it with the skeleton one, and watched as America’s eyes widened. Oh. He forgot about that.

Denmark took back his Lego-men and replaced all of the heads with skeleton ones. “And now,” he asserted, trying desperately to hold back his laughter at America’s horrified face, “my Viking ghosts are gonna pillage your dig!”

He fell over on the floor from laughing so hard at America’s horrified squeak.

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Prompt: HUMM Prussia and Denmark trying to out-awesome each other? - except this one ran away from me. Far, far away.

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Denmark laughed and tossed empty his beer in the trash can nearby, then flopped back next to Prussia on the park bench.

“Dude, get your dumb hair outta my face,” Prussia grumbled out in one long slur, shoving Denmark across the bench.

“Hey! My hair’s not dumb! In fact,” Denmark smirked, righting himself, “it’s way better than yours.”

“What?! It’s goddamn crazy and spiky and shit, not awesome like mine.”

Denmark snorted. “What’s so great about your hair? It’s just,” he waved, “there. Mine, though -”

“My hair’s white, which rules.”

“Betcha it can’t be as ‘goddamn crazy’ as mine!” Denmark reached over and fluffed Prussia’s hair just to illustrate, ignoring his flails and protests. He pulled back - and almost fell over into the bench again - and pointed at Prussia’s hair, snickering “See, it just goes flat again.”

“Yeah, whatever, that’s because it’s totally amazing flat.” Prussia smoothed it back down. “Doesn’t look stupid like yours.”

“Ha, you can’t get it to be crazy like mine,” Denmark taunted.

Prussia took the bait. “Of course I could - if I wanted to!”

“Betcha can’t.”

“Oh yeah?!” Prussia took a swig of beer with one hand while fluffing his hair with the other. “How’s that,” he asked, shooting a cocky grin at Denmark, chin tilted up.

“Nope.”

“It - what?” Prussia felt around just to check - no, Denmark wasn’t lying, it was flat again. He frowned. “Huh, guess you just use products like some pansy, then.”

“Nope!”

Prussia cocked an eyebrow and ran his hand through Denmark’s hair, sure he was lying. He wasn’t. Well shit-fuck-damn.

He wanted to punch that stupid goddamn grin off of Denmark’s face. He was about to, too, when Denmark suddenly leapt up from the park bench and stumbled a few steps, yelling “I know! Let’s see if we can get it to do somethin’ not-lame.”

“Fuck you, my hair is not lame, it’s awesome the way it is.”

“And,” Denmark continued, crossing his arms and grinning down at Prussia, “I know just the place we can find some stuff to put in it!”

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“You’re shittin’ me,” Prussia snorted, watching Denmark unlock the door to Netherlands’ house.

“Nuh-uh,” Denmark shook his head, opening the door. “How do ya think he gets his hair like that? No one has hair like mine, man.”

One of them remembered to shut the door at the last second, and they stumbled and laughed their way up the stairs to the bathroom, telling jokes and trading jabs the entire way.

“Kay,” Denmark flipped on the light switch, opened the cabinet, and began pulling out item after item, tossing the unwanted ones to the side. “Yeah, here -” he yanked Prussia over and the two of them stumbled into the toilet, giggling, “let’s try uh...” he looked at the bottle, “...hair gel.”

“Dude, we coulda just used West’s - what the fuck?!”

Denmark laughed and continued rubbing gel-covered hands all over Prussia’s head, shaking it around even harder when Prussia protested with “You’re not fuckin’ towel-drying me, dumb shit!”

Denmark pulled back and they both looked at the mirror. Prussia’s hair looked a little worse for wear, but certainly not crazy. Before Denmark could open his mouth Prussia gritted out “Okay fine, but I’m sure you can’t get your dumbass hair to lay down like mine. Ha!” He turned around and poked Denmark hard in the chest. “Yeah, try that!”

“Uh,” Denmark raised his eyebrows and dumped more gel into his hand. “Okay...”

They were in the middle of attempting to arrange Denmark’s hair into a pompadour, cackling madly and belting out the words to filthy punk songs, when Netherlands appeared in the doorway.

And stared.

They didn’t notice him.

He stared some more.

He pulled out his pipe and lit it, and only when the plume of smoke crossed their field of vision did they notice.

Prussia jerked and whipped around with a startled yelp, before defending his manliness by instead insulting Netherlands for having the stuff - Denmark just waved with a huge grin and asked for Netherlands’ opinion on the new ‘do.

Netherlands puffed at his pipe, eyes flicking back and forth between the two, before he muttered “You two are fuckin’ idiots,” turned, and let them be.

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Wheeeeee drabbles I love them.
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