A/N: Good God. Am I insane.

Okay, so… once upon a time, there was a loser named Dush-kins. She had no life. She loved Hetalia and World History. She loved writing fanfiction. And then she came up with The League of Evil.

Basically, the League of Evil is a brotherhood of sorts composed on the Axis of Evil, Beyond the Axis of Evil, and the Outpost of Tyranny. Never heard of them? For those of you who aren't familiar with these lists, the Axis of Evil is basically a list of countries that either were or still are thought to be major threats to world peace: North Korea, Iran, and Iraq. Beyond the Axis of Evil consists of three other countries who currently do not—but showed the potential to someday be—disrupters of world peace: Syria, Libya and Cuba. And finally, the countries on the Outpost of Tyranny are thought to have the most oppressive governments in the world: Belarus, Myanmar, and Zimbabwe.

So then I thought, what if these countries, disgruntled and pissed off at the antics of America's (ex) boss, decided to congregate together in solidarity against, what seems to be, the whole entire world? This is the League of Evil.

I have no idea where I'm going to take this. All I know is that this fic is going to contain 9 vignettes for each country. They range from history based to character based. The first to go is Belarus. I'm going to admit, she's a bit OCC here, but for a reason. I donno—I've been reading a lot of Harlem Renaissance literature lately, and a lot of it has to do with the main character finding themselves after a lifetime of living for/under the boot of other people. I suppose this may have influenced how I wrote Belarus here, because above all, I've always liked the idea of Belarus developing a love not only for Russia, but for herself as well (seriously, am I the only one who thinks that Belarus doesn't love herself?)

On a side note. I named each chapter after the Nation's capital because I've always believed that the capital is the Nation's heart (aside from the commonly held vital regions theory). I want this story to be an insight into the "hearts" of these otherwise unpopular and belligerent Nations. Above all, that's what I wanna do with this story c:

Anyway. I'm done rambling. On with the show.

Disclaimer:Heh, you know how different a character Belarus would be if I owned Hetalia?

Chapter 1: Minsk

1: Love

Belarus had always considered herself to be an expert of sorts on love.

Ever since she could remember, back when she was an idea and not even real, she had been obsessed with the idea of love. She would think about it, almost constantly, about what it consisted of, what separated true love from its doppelgangers, infatuation and lust. It was her obsession, her compulsion, her weakness, and although nearly every Nation in the world would certainly think the contrary, Belarus was truly a Nation bursting with love. It cut at her seams and overflowed; she glowed with it, that menacing aura of hers.

She loved her big brother, Russia. Was in love with him. Her protector, her hero, her only one, it was Russia. That love was not returned, but it wasn't as though she ever noticed. All her love, her unlimited source of it, it was all for him. All for him. The one Nation who would never appreciate it.

However, it wasn't as though Belarus wasn't the object the affections of others. Ukraine, her older sister, adored her. Lithuania had been infatuated with her for years. Japan had always tried on occasions to get to know her. America had always expressed the want to take care of her. And there were others, as well.

This was the curse of Belarus: she always loved the wrong people. The wrong person.

And she did not love herself.

2: Envy

Belarus hated Czech. With all her heart.

For a Nation full of love, she only hated someone for good reason. Though Czech had never done anything. The trembling little girl didn't' seem like she was capable of anything truly malicious or mean-hearted. She liked to jump rope. She liked licorice. Was a master at playing the piano. She used to pick dandelions from the back yard of the Soviet Union and give them to—

And this is what Belarus truly hated about Czech—

"Thank you so much, Czech. They're beautiful."

"Make a wish, Slovakia!"

She had what Belarus had always wanted. She didn't want Slovakia, never someone like him. The man was the goddamned senior citizen among the Nations of the world, not very old by human standards but ancient among the eternally youthful Nations. He looked to be about in his 50's, though there were plenty of other countries who were much, much older than him. Similarly, Czech took on the appearance of a very young girl, when she was in fact much older than many countries. The two of them were quite the mystery. But one thing that was for certain was the love that they shared, their connection. Belarus hated it.

Their relationship wasn't like that of a grandparent with his grandchild, as one might expect. But it wasn't a romantic one either, as Belarus wanted with Russia. They were friends. Best friends. It was as though the juxtaposition of their appearance's didn't even matter to them, the love was that unconditional. And Belarus hated Czech for it. Hated Slovakia, too. Although an expert on love, she couldn't understand for the life of her how two Nations could feel the exact same way about each other at the exact same time. It rarely happened with humans, and in effect was nearly impossible for their kind. Nearly impossible. And Belarus was convinced that the two of them had just taken up all the scarce good chance of this happening to her for at least another century or two.

"Czechoslovakia is being rather… rebellious lately, da. I should stop them in some way before they get too big for their boots—"

"Invade them," was Belarus' quick response.

And for once, Russia listened.

3: Common

"You and me, we're in the same boat, ya know."

Belarus had her gun aimed at Cuba, because she knew that he was trying to steal Russia away from her. She knew, she knew, she knew, just by the way Russia looked at Cuba sometimes that there had to be something going on between them. The only Nation who had ever been a bigger threat to Russia's affections was Serbia. But Serbia was long out of the picture (he hadn't signed the Warsaw Pact, thank God), so now, all she needed to do was get rid of Cuba. She figured, it wouldn't be so hard; all she had to do was shoot him, right?

But then he said that one line. We're in the same boat. Belarus lowered her gun, not enough so that it was no longer aimed at Cuba, but just enough so that she could see him. "Excuse me?"

"We're the same. You love Russia, right? Like, you wanna be with him?"

Most other Nations would have hesitated to admit any incestuous feelings they may have harbored, but not Belarus. "Yes, of course I do."

Cuba shrugged. "Alright, so do I."

"SO YOU ADMIT IT." Belarus cocked her gun, readjusted her aim. Cuba jumped up slightly, though didn't seem half as startled as any other Nation would've.

"N-NO! I DON'T WANNA MARRY RUSSIA! What I mean is, you aren't the only one who wants to marry a sibling!"

Belarus remained quiet, mulling this over. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for Cuba, she snapped out, "Liar!"

"I-I'm not lying, I swear! There's this one brother of mine, who I've always, always loved, but of course he never felt the same. I mean, we have different ways of going about it, but in the end, you and me are the same, Belarus!"

Through clenched teeth, Belarus seethed, "You're only saying that to get me to drop my guard, so then you can have big brother all to yourself."

"I'm not. I'm for real, Belarus. I don't love Russia. I mean, Russia's a great guy and everything, but I'm not in love with him. My heart Is with someone else, I don't want him that way. I know that he's yours!"

Belarus glared at him for a few fleeting moments before her hand fell to her side. She dropped her gun. Cuba gave her a confused look, and the corners of Belarus' mouth twitched upwards. "You're the first Nation to ever acknowledge that big brother belongs to me." Her face hardened for a moment. "You'd better not be lying to me."

"I'm not. I swear, I'm not." Cuba glanced away from Belarus, looked off at some blank space in the sky. "I would never lie to you like that."

Some part of her knew he wouldn't. He would be the first she would ever let in.

4: Ignorance

"Belarus, why is it that you want to marry Russia so badly?"

Belarus, who had busy baking a birthday pastry for said Nation, suddenly slowed in her work. The vigorous mixing of ingredients slowed until she had stopped completely, and she slowly raised her head to meet Ukraine's gaze, blue meeting blue. For once, her gaze was not hard, nor intimidating in the least. She actually looked sort of… sad.

After a few long moments of dead silence, the younger of the two finally answered, "It's because… big brother has helped me so much. He's made mistakes, but he's always tried his best, always did what he could…" she looked away from her sister then, and off into the distance. "Not to mention the fact that he's quite beautiful, possibly the most handsome man in the world." She offered a crooked smile to her sister, and slowly resumed her mixing, before adding in, "He can be dangerous, he can be mean, he can be cruel, but at the same time he has this gentleness and this grace that is so uncharacteristic among men his size. He's just wonderful, in every way."

Ukraine nodded. "All of that is true. I agree. But what is it that makes you want him as a husband?"

This time, Belarus didn't falter in her activities, didn't even look up. "Because, isn't that the point of any girls life? To get married? Big brothers as good a man as any."

"Well, I suppose…"

"Of course." She added in yet another ingredient and continued to stir. There was silence for a few minutes, before Belarus suddenly asked, "Who do you want to marry, Ukraine?"

Ukraine blinked away tears, and murmured, "No one."

And Belarus believed her. It was truly a shame. Belarus never noticed the way Ukraine looked at her, with the same kind of eyes that Belarus herself used to look at Russia. It was unfortunate, really. Ukraine would have treated her like the princess that she was.

5: Trio

"How the fuck can you do this to me?"

This is what Belarus heard through the door that lead to America's office. It only startled her for a brief moment; then, upon remembering who she was, she shook away the brief shock and barged in through the door. Once she got in, she saw what appeared to be a tall African woman harassing America in about the same fashion that Belarus herself intended on dealing with the so-called hero of the world. The African had her back to the door, having slammed her hands down on America's desk in all her rage. In effect, she also blocked America's view of the door, rendering them both unable to see her. Belarus slammed the door behind herself, causing both parties to jump up.

The African woman looked over her shoulder. "You're Belarus, right? Well, get line; I got here first, so I get first dibs at slapping America around."

Belarus didn't respond verbally, she only acted. Taking out the trusty knife she kept hidden in her waistband, she promptly took it out and threw it at the African. It pierced though the air and missed Zimbabwe by about an inch or two, eventually slamming into the wall tip-first.

"Woah," was all the poorest Nation in the world could bring herself to say.

Belarus narrowed her eyes, her twin orbs in themselves daggers far sharper than her measly knife. "Move."

Zimbabwe clicked her tongue. "Please. You think, just cause you're white and have a weapon, I'm gonna listen to you? Kiss my ass, I got here first."

Belarus stalked over to the other Nation, but before she could attack, the window to the far right of the office shattered.

"What the—?"

It appeared as though a Nation had just crashed in through the window. She wore traditional clothing, her hair was in a bun, and she appeared to be of Southeast Asian descent. The woman had landed on her hands and knees, and there was blood everywhere from where the glass had cut her, but she didn't even look as though she minded. She merely got up and dusted herself off. As she began to pick shards of glass out of the palms of her hands, she asked in an eerily cheerful tone, "Sorry I'm late." She glanced up for a brief moment, and then took a double take upon seeing that America was not the only other Nation in the room. "Wait. Wait. You're Zimbabwe and Belarus!"

Said Nations only stared at her for a few long moments, before starting back on each other. Belarus charged over and collided with Zimbabwe, knocking her over backwards into America's desk. In response, Zimbabwe wrapped her hands around Belarus' neck and began to squeeze, her long fingers digging into the soft flesh of Belarus. Belarus began to claw at Zimbabwe, scratching her face, eventually balling her hands up into fists and raining blows down upon the African.

They were both so lost in their fighting that they didn't notice Myanmar off to the side, flailing her arms about helplessly, crying out, "Don't fight! Don't fight, please!" But once she realized that they weren't listening, Myanmar narrowed her eyes, and charged towards Belarus.

She made it there just in time, before Belarus clawed Zimbabwe's eyes out and then lost consciousness from said Nation choking her. She knocked Belarus down to the ground. Myanmar was on top of her now and when she tried to shove her off, the Asian woman took hold of the European's wrists and held her hands above her head. "Enough!" she screamed. She looked over at Zimbabwe. "ENOUGH!"

"Tell her," Zimbabwe stated, rubbing her face. "She started it."

"I started it?" Belarus cried. "You pathetic little—"

"I don't care! Stop it!" Myanmar cried. "Look at us! Look! We can't fight, we have to stand by each other! This is exactly what America wants, he wants us to go against each other!" She looked down at Belarus. "You don't want to give him and the West what they want, do you?"

Zimbabwe rubbed the back of her neck, opened her mouth to say something, then took a look around. "'The fuck did America go?"

It was only then that the other two Nations noticed that America wasn't there anymore, that he'd escaped during the midst of their fighting. Myanmar stood up and off of Belarus; the European jumped to her feet a moment later. "We have to go find him," Belarus said in a definite tone.

"That's right." Myanmar agreed.

Zimbabwe smirked. "Yeah, we still have a lot of yelling and ass-kicking to do."

They never stopped being together after that.

6: League

They met the others by chance.

At a world meeting, in October of 2001. She'd been sitting with Zimbabwe to her left and Myanmar to her right, and the three of them watched, eyes wide and mouths hanging open slightly in their amazement, as Iran jumped on the table and continued to rant.

"America, I'm not gonna say that you deserved what you got, cause you know deep down inside you kinda did. You already know, so you know what? I won't say it. But what I will say is that I'll thank you in advance to at least let me know before you go off invading my poor little brother, Afghanistan. Tell me so that I can talk you out of it. What's going on with us is none of your fucking business, okay? None. So chill the fuck out and get the fuck out of the Middle East. That's what you should do, if you ask me."

And America smiled—not the same smile that he usually wore, but a tense one. As if it was taking every ounce of his willpower not draw up a fist and punch Iran—or better yet, draw upon some more troops and invade him altogether. "Well, no one asked for your opinion, now did they?"

"Yeah, not out loud! But I know that everyone is dying to hear what I have to say. Cause I'm Iran, you know? I'm perfect and whatnot." The Islamic Republic took a look around, shrugged, and then jumped off the table and onto the floor. "This meeting's lame. C'mon, you guys."

And with that, five other countries—North Korea, Iraq, Syria, Libya, and Cuba—all rose. The small group started towards the door as quietly as Iran was loud.

As Belarus watched them leave, she felt someone elbow her in the ribs. She whirled around, and saw that it was Myanmar. "What?" she spat.

"We should be going with them. We're the same as they are."

"The same as they…?" Belarus thought for a moment; well, they were the Outpost of Tyranny.

"We should leave," Myanmar repeated.

Without saying anything to the other two, Zimbabwe rose. "Hold up, man!" The group of six turned around. Zimbabwe cleared her throat. "Me and my girls are going with you." Myanmar rose on her own, while Zimbabwe grabbed Belarus by the arm and pulled her up.

"Ah, Belarus! You're with us?" Cuba grinned.

"Who are these people?" Syria asked the Latin American. He grinned. "That's just Belarus and pals. The Outpost of Tyranny! They're good people!"

Belarus's eye twitched. More and more, these groups that America had created for them seemed to be becoming a fraternity of sorts, something to be proud of instead of ashamed. The Soviet Union had been something like this, but Belarus didn't want to be part of anything if Russia wasn't involved. And on this matter, she knew that he sided with his once-mortal enemy, America. Was it because he felt sorry for the idiot? But he deserv—

Oh, God. What was she thinking?

She turned back to look at Russia. She knew by the angle that his head was facing that he could see her watching him out of the corner of his eyes, but he was ignoring her. He was instead looking past her, past Zimbabwe and Myanmar, to the group of six which made up the Axis of Evil and Beyond the Axis of Evil. She wouldn't mind it if he was staring at Cuba; she lo—was very fond of Cuba, because out of everyone he was the first to understand her, at least a little bit. But something inside of her told her that it wasn't him. It was someone else.

Zimbabwe had to all but drag her to the other six, Myanmar just in front of them, her hips swaying from side to side in that delicate gait of hers. She tried not to notice Zimbabwe staring at her ass; she focused on the six others. She locked eyes with North Korea for a moment, and he nodded once in acknowledgment. But, acknowledgement of what?

Once they finally made it over, Iran placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Welcome to the League of Evil."

7: Weddings pt. 1

She showed up in Moscow in her wedding dress the very next day, and promised Russia that she would give up all this 'League of Evil' nonsense if he would only make an honest woman out of her. Marry her. Become one with her in the way he always dreamed.

"I don't have to be the blemish of Europe, big brother. Just marry me, right now."

She tried to ignore the way the color drained out of her beloved's already pale face, as he took a step away from her, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. He sighed heavily. "Belarus, listen to me—"

"I'll do anything you want," she tried. "We don't have to call it the Union of Belarus and Russia. Your name can come first if you want! We don't even have to have twin capitals, all the glory can go to Moscow! Brother, I've always loved you. Always, always, always! Please, brother, don't make me leave. Don't push me out of Europe, out of favor with the world."

He turned away, his back now facing her. His shoulders were hunched over as if he were somehow trying to hide. But he could never hide from Belarus; when would he ever learn? "Please, brother, grant my wish. All my life, my entire existence, has been dedicated to you. Why do you deny the one person who's loved you through everything? I want to be with you forever, Russia," she staggered over to him, reached out and clenched two handfuls of his tan coat in her thin hands. She leaned her head against his back and cried for the first time about it, because Belarus recognized that this was her final chance. This moment was to be the turning point of the rest of her life. She would either realize her dream of becoming one with her beloved brother, or he would deny her, push her away, exile her into the arms of belligerents.

"Big brother…?" her breath came out in plumes of ice cold, and he didn't answer. And she knew then, she would never have her wedding. She would never be a bride.

She pushed herself away from him and ran down the hill she had found him on, out of Moscow and out of her brother's streets altogether. She ran through Chechnya and the rest of the Caucasus, straight through to the only Nation in the entire world with his very own business card. She'd kept it tucked away in her sleeve just in case. She glanced at it once.

Need some advice? The West always on your back? Sanctions keeping you down? For help with all of today's problems stemming from the stupidity of infidels, contact the Islamic Republic of Iran!

Underneath that was his address. He lived right in the center of Tehran. She made it just by nightfall, her dress torn, her feet bleeding. Her hair was a mess and her milky pale skin was blotchy and red and still wet with tears. She pounded at his door, hard, forceful thumps delivered by a hand which did not know its own strength. "Iran!" she cried out his name in a broken voice; he was a stranger to her, but this Nation was the first since 1991 to offer her any sort of help or understanding. She had fallen from a ledge called Russia, and was now waiting to see if there would be a soft cloud for her to land on named Iran.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, someone did answer the door, but it wasn't Iran. It was the hijabi woman from the day before. She was also in the League of Evil, if she wasn't mistaken. Syria, was it?

"Shit," the Muslim Nation mumbled under her breath; she held her arms out to Belarus and she nearly melted in them, too tired to carry on anymore. Syria rubbed her back and didn't complain when a new river of tears began to flow from Belarus, soaking her shirt. "Can you walk at all?" she whispered.

Belarus slowly shook her head; it was as if her legs were suddenly made of jelly. Syria looked over her shoulder and called out, "Libya! Get over here!"

The heartbroken Nation closed her eyes, swore that she lost consciousness for a moment before she felt herself being lifted up by strong, secure arms. She was carried away like the bride that she was, up the stairs and into a bed that was not hers. She drifted off to sleep.

8: Weddings pt. 2

The next morning she awoke to find her bedside lined with eight Nations, all staring at her intently. She tried to smile, but just like all the other times she just couldn't do it.

"Are you alright, Belarus?" Myanmar asked softly, concerned etched into her creased forehead and furrowed brows. "Do you need anything?"

She shook her head. A hand began to stroke her hair, and she looked over to see that it was Cuba. "It's good to see you're awake. You kinda scared us there for a while."

Belarus sat up a bit, opening her eyes wider, trying to show the others that she was okay. "There was no need to worry about me. Nothing bad had happened. I just passed out from exhaustion."

"Yeah, but from what?" Zimbabwe inquired.

"Belarus, be honest… yesterday, were you at a funeral?" North Korea asked seriously.

Her eyes widened, and she laughed shortly from the shock of being asked such an out-of-the-blue question. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Well… because. You were dressed all in white yesterday. And as white is the color of death, one can only assume—"

"No, no, no… I mean, perhaps in your culture white symbolizes death, but not in mine."

"So what does white symbolize to you?" Myanmar asked innocently.

Belarus remained quiet, and suddenly, she knew what it was to be Russia, to be asked questions that she didn't want to answer. She glanced up once at Cuba; what white symbolized to the both of them was perhaps the only thing their cultures had in common, but he glanced away once he saw her pleading look.

"Well?"

"It symbolizes… purity."

"Purity?"

"Yes. It's usually the color that brides will wear on their wedding days."

There was an air of confusion in the room for a moment, but only for a moment. Looks of realization passed over the lot of them almost simultaneously, and no one knew what to say. None of them, save for—

"Wait, you were supposed to get married yesterday? Where the hell was I? Why wasn't I informed? Oh, yeah, keep everything a secret from me, poor old Iraq, like I'm some sort of dog or something. That's fucking low."

Soon, the others joined in as well.

"And where was my invitation?" North Korea seethed.

"Why am I always the last to find out about these things?" Libya mused, almost to himself.

"You know what? I don't care. Fuck your wedding if you didn't want me there so bad," Syria huffed.

"Not cool. Not cool at all. I thought we were bro's, Belarus," Zimbabwe laminated, shaking her head in sadly.

"Why didn't you tell me? Are you embarrassed of our friendship?" Myanmar whispered, eyes welling with tears.

Belarus shrank back; out of all things, she hadn't been expecting this kind of reaction. She looked up at her old friend Cuba, searching for support, but even he was offended. "I thought we were on the same page. If you finally convinced Russia to marry you, why would you keep that a secret from me, of all people?"

She turned away, and soon all the chatter and yelling became too much. She had always considered herself strong, but with all that had happened in the past few days, she wasn't so sure. The world just seemed like a mess now, everything was falling apart, and now it seemed as though she didn't even have the League of Evil on her side. She buried her face in her hands, and tried to shut it all out.

In the back of her mind she could barely register it, someone else's shouting. "Hey… hey…!"

Until he jumped up on the nightstand and began to clap and scream at the top of his lungs, "SHUT! UP!"

As always, Iran knew just what to do in order to grab attention. Belarus peaked out from behind her fingers. "'The hell, you guys! Fucking look at her! Does she look as if she just got married yesterday, with her dress torn, her hair a mess? Why would she come running to my house crying instead of spending the night with her husband? Just because she's dressed in white does not mean that she just got married. What the hell is wrong with you guys! She's hurt, she's heartbroken, and she needs for the eight of us to be a soft place to land. That's what the League of Evil is all about, or have you all forgotten?"

The Middle Eastern Nation then turned to Belarus, to the former Soviet who just seemed so tired. Tired of the rejection, the anger, of love unreturned. "Belarus, I don't even know you, but I wanna. You just seem so beautiful and strong and smart. I've heard a lot about you, and I think you're awesome! Perfect, even. The whole deal. I can't think of anyone who wouldn't marry a girl who would stand by them through everything, defend them to the death, literally kill for them. I've never met a girl like that, man, never. You're really one in a million! Whoever rejected you yesterday really doesn't know what they have."

Belarus looked up Iran, the rouge state who just seemed so confident and proud in all that he did. He wasn't particularly good-looking, and he was also the shortest Nation in the room, females included. But there was something about him that just made her want to gravitate towards him, an aura of greatness that could not be denied. He wasn't good looking, but he was definitely beautiful. He almost glowed. And if such a Nation thought so highly of her…

After that, the apologies came.

"Geez… I'm really sorry, Belarus," Cuba told her, rubbing that back of his head as he looked away awkwardly.

"Fuck, man, I'm sorry. With the way we just treated ya, I wouldn't be surprised if ya didn't invite us when ya actually do get married." Iraq laminated, shaking his head.

"Belarus… forgive me? If you do, I promise I'll never be that stupid again." Libya grinned widely as he told her this, and somehow, Belarus didn't think he'd be able to keep up his half of the bargain.

"Shit, I'm an idiot. Sorry about that. We still bro's?" Zimbabwe asked. In response, Belarus smiled, perhaps thinking that she wouldn't be able to do much else. It acted as a yes.

"I should've noticed the sad look on your face. I'm so sorry," Myanmar whispered, taking her hand and stroking it.

Syria sighed, then shrugged offhandedly. "You know what? I wouldn't even invite someone like me to my wedding. I swear, sometimes I can be such an asshole…"

"Same here," North Korea admitted. "I apologize."

"You see, Belarus?" Iran asked, spreading his arms out. "This is what the League of Evil is. We aren't really evil. We're just a band of ragtag Nations who happen to be hated by the whole damn world for marching to the beat of a different drum. How sad is that?" He jumped off of the nightstand. "It's gotten so bad that that asshole, that waste, that infidel America, had to group us into three's, essentially labeling us "bad", "worse" and "worst", and the world hasn't yet realized that he is the evil one here, not us. And until they open their eyes and see him for what he truly is, and more importantly, us for what we truly are, then we have to stick together, the nine of us. The League of Nation's Who Aren't Really Evil, or The League of Evil for short. Won't you join us?"

Belarus smiled weakly. "How can I resist?" Her smile melted away as she added. "It's unfortunate that people think of me as evil, just because of who I love, or who my boss is."

"That's right," Iran placed a hand on her shoulder. "You aren't evil, Belarus. You're just a girl who loves her big brother more than anything else in the world. And there is nothing wrong with that." He stood upright and placed his hands on his hips. "What's wrong here is how he keeps rejecting you! Uh uh! Russia needs to wake up and recognize the good woman he has in front of him!"

And as the eight of them all agreed on the one thing she'd been preaching all along, she closed her eyes and thought that perhaps, friends weren't so overrated after all.

9: At Last

"I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I, big brother?

Russia glanced up at her from where he was sitting at his desk; up once and then quickly back down. As if he could barely stand the sight of her. It was all the answer she needed.

"Or, perhaps, you aren't good enough for me." She turned away from him, and smiled to herself. "You really need to get working on that. If we are to marry someday, then you should be at my level."

She was an expert on love. She burst with it. Carried it in her heart, along with so many other things, now. She was Belarus.

She was perfect, and deserved the world.

A/N: So, normally historical notes would go here, but there was, like, no history in this. Much more in the next chapter, though! ^_^