Author's Notes: Based on a prompt from the kink meme, which asked for fic based on one of the "Europe according to..." maps here (delete spaces):
http:/ / alpha designer .com/ project-mapping-stereotypes. html
Relevant one for this fill is the "Europe According to Bulgaria" map. Also, the "Europe According to Russia" is necessary for the omake.
The France of Eastern Europe
"Bulgaria. Like, a word."
Bulgaria is not looking forward to this.
Poland grabs him by the wrist and drags him to a small room. There, Moldova and the Czech Republic sit glaring judgmentally. Hungary smiles, which is much more frightening. Belarus sharpens her knife, which is even worse. Poland takes a seat between her and Hungary, delicately taking out a piece of paper.
"So," Poland says, unfolding said paper. "Have you, like, looked at this?"
Bulgaria looks down at it very briefly.
"It's a map."
Poland rolls his eyes. "Look closer."
Bulgaria does so, eyes automatically drifting towards himself. He goes west. Gree – wait, that's Macedonia (or whatever they're meant to call her now). Greek Slavs. Hmm, well that's... odd.
"Do you get what this is yet?" Poland asks, which he doesn't because he hasn't read most of it. Poland sighs. "Y'know, reading the title might help."
Bulgaria does so. Europe According to Bulgarians. Um.
"Yeah. Now, take who's in this room, and the map, and like, cross-reference."
Bulgaria does so.
Hungary – Porn Stars.
Czech Republic – Szex Republic.
Poland – Sexy Fembots (?).
Moldova – Strippers.
Belarus – Pole dancers.
"So," Poland concludes. "Any last words?"
"I – I can explain!" Bulgaria protests shamefully.
"Oh, you better," Czech Republic says, glaring.
"The only pole I dance around is big brother's!" cries Belarus. Everyone stares at her. "...It is usually quite hard to make him stay and watch, though."
Bulgaria isn't quite sure if he'd have been happier if that was a euphemism or not.
"Romania's going to kill you..." Moldova points out, smirking.
Bulgaria gulps again.
"Please don't tell Romania."
"It's just like – how do these even make sense?" Poland asks. "I mean, mine – Sexy Fembots? Great you think I'm sexy and all, but... where did that even come from?"
"...Kind of a long story."
"I don't really mind," Hungary says. "I mean, I already know I have a reputation..."
"O-oh," Bulgaria blushes, but is relieved. "...Wait, then why are you here?"
She grins wildly. "I revel in an opportunity for justified violence."
"You think I'm a slut, don't you?" Czech asks, eyes narrowing. He backs up.
"N-no! It's just a stupid map!"
"Did someone tell you something like that? Did Slovakia?"
"No! It has nothing to do with Slovakia!" He points down at the map. "Look, according to this I just think of him as your mountains, so..."
"So I'm probably meant to be angry at you for his sake at well."
"Okay, like, back up a second," Poland tells her. "Chill."
Bulgaria sighs in relief.
"'Til we've all gotten our chance; then it's bloody vengeance time."
"No offense, but this is just kind of creepy," Moldova says. "I mean, you're like my uncle or stepfather or brother-in-law or – what is it? What's going on with you and my brother again?"
Bulgaria turns bright red. "That – that's none of your business!"
"You are calling her a stripper; she has a right to ask questions, yes?" Hungary says with a very I would not mind knowing personally look on her face. Dammit.
"Guys, try and stick to the brief, mm'kay?" Poland says. "Point is, Bulgaria over here is like, totally objectifying all of us. And that's not cool. He's like, the France of Eastern Europe!"
Poland glares. "You heard me."
"I am not France!" Bulgaria protests, arms flailing widely. "I at least tried to hide my perving on all of you!"
Suddenly, their expressions change.
"...That was one of those things that I meant to say in my head, not..." It's no use; they're quickly rising from their seats.
"Guys, please, you don't have to do this–" Bulgaria collides with the wall. Poland grins like a wild animal. "Come on, it's not a big deal; surely it's a compliment–"
He slides to his feets. Whimpering, he closes his eyes and curls up, preparing himself for the first blow.
"...Nah, we're totally kidding."
Bulgaria's eyes snap open. "What?"
Poland shrugs. "We're like, cool with it. You've never done anything or whatever, and you're right, it is, like, a compliment?"
Bulgaria can't quite comprehend this. "...Czech Republic?"
"They're your thoughts, not mine. As long as you keep your hands to yourself, it doesn't effect me one way or another."
"I told you; lots of people have that kind of idea about me, and I don't worry about it."
She, unlike the rest, is still glaring. She aims her knife at him. "If I am a pole dancer – do you believe I am an attractive enough pole dancer to lure in my darling brother?"
Then, something utterly terrifying happens.
And hugs him.
"Hooray!" she cries, beaming against his neck. "Now, with my newfound sexiness, big brother and I will be together forever and ever!"
"Eep!" he cries over her shoulder. She doesn't notice. Poland shrugs.
She pulls back, scowling again. "Not – not that it's anything to do with you," she says. "I'm not going to be grateful, jackass!"
Bulgaria is very relieved.
He's still shaking though when she stands up again, and a smirking Poland stretches out his hand. "You like, need some help there?"
He takes the hand and pulls himself up. "Thank you."
"No problem!" Poland says. "By the way – I like, don't have much experience in playing a robot – fembot – but if I did a little research..."
"Uh..." Bulgaria starts blushing again, but Moldova intervenes.
"Is this more stuff I have to tell Romania about?" he says, which actually doesn't help with the blush. "Seriously, he will kill you if he finds out about all this – he'll say it's because he's protecting me, but really? – so, uh, I have blackmail material for life now." He grins.
"...I hate you."
"I know. We're talking about whatever's going on with you two later, by the way."
Bulgaria buries his head in one hand.
"Right, so are we all like, done here?"
"We're done," says Hungary.
"Done. Now I have business."
"I am done, and wish to return to big brother's side."
"Done, and reveling in poor Bulgy's misery."
"Right." And they all walk out, chatting cheerfully as they go. Bulgaria collapses into one of the chairs ahead of him.
Another head pops in the door. "Ah, mon cheri, I couldn't help but overhear you having some trouble–"
"Go away, France."
"It's so unfair!" Bulgaria wails.
"Mm," grunts Sweden, indicating at the bartender for another beer.
Bulgaria smiles as Sweden passes it to him. "Thanks," he says. "You didn't have to do this; I mean, we're not exactly close..."
Sweden shrugs. "W'nted t' get out o' the house fer awhile."
Bulgaria only thinks of his as Abba. Sweden can live with that.
Finland's being all suspicious and pouty now.
"Thank you," Bulgaria says, taking a large gulp of his beer. "I mean, I didn't do anything, so why is karma... am I a terrible person?"
Sweden's about to reassure the man, but gets distracted when Russia walks in, looking as confident as he ever has. Sweden looked away and tried not to blush. He did not need to know what goes through the other nation's head.