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Language:
English
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Published:
2025-09-28
Completed:
2025-10-29
Words:
1,548
Chapters:
3/3
Comments:
14
Kudos:
5
Bookmarks:
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137

EUROPE BAKES!!!

Summary:

Just a silly little idea i had after seeing those tiktok baking video comments voiceovers.
WIP
TYSM FOR 100 HITS!!!

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Operation Zuckerbretzeln

Chapter Text

It was German Reunification Day, which mean that Germany's main emotion would be grief for at least a week. As a result, Italy had decided to bake some Zuckerbretzeln as a surprise. Which had led to Italy recruiting the rest of Europe to help.

"Alright people!" Italy shouted over the resulting chatter, trying to get everyone's attention. He failed. UK sighed, unceremoniously yanking the recipe book from Italy's hands, and shouting "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" at the top of his lungs. This definitely grabbed everyone's attention. UK shook his head before whispering to Italy "See? I know how you are about being courteous, but ya gotta be impudent with these bastards. Observe." UK tilted his head up. "Alright then! You little shitlings know why we're here! So how 'bout we get to it!?!" Ireland scoffed and tugged the cookbook from her cousin's grasp. "Lemme see that." She dictated, before finding the page the group needed. Italy winced as he watched Ireland practically slam the cookbook onto the table. He knew it technically didn't count as manhandling, depending on who you asked, but it still made him cringe. UK made a noise of equal parts revulsion and irritation, but didn't retaliate. Ireland ignored her British relative and fellow alternative dresser and began to relay directions smoothly.
The chaos started immediately.
Hungary had dumped a cup of flour onto Romania's head, and in retaliation, Romania had kicked him in the gut hard enough for him to dry heave. Spain had somehow lost the vanilla extract, so he and France were rifling around the kitchen trying to find the 'beaver ass gland extract' as Russia called it. Cyprus was crying while smothering the floor in paper towels because they dropped the milk jug and milk was getting everywhere. Serbia was slamming Austria's head into the (metal) faucet repeatedly. Switzerland was screaming neutrally, and Vatican City was cursing rapidfire in Latin whilst trying to maintain some sense of order. "WHAT ARE THE MEASUREMENTS!?!" Croatia screeched while trying to drag Serbia away from a now half-senseless Austria. "Get offa me you Croatian-" Serbia's words were cut off as Croatia elbowed him in the back of the head hard enough to make him see stars. Croatia showed the wildly thrashing Slav towards Montenegro, shouting "Control your feral fucking brother goddamnit!!" "Wha- I- Croatia come back!!" Montenegro shouted, but Croatia had already ran off, the half unconscious Austria in tow. Presumably to find out the measurements and possibly medical attention for Austria. Serbia mumbled something unintelligible before going to help Cyprus clean up the milk they spilled. "WHO DREW A SUMMONING CIRCLE IN THE FLOUR!?!" Vatican City exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the dry ingredients bowl. Finland slowly raised her hand, trying not to laugh. Ireland was already laughing hysterically beside her.
Cut to Vatican slamming Finland over the head with a frying pan saying something about how one does not summon things of demonic nature with flour.
Scotland, N.Ireland, Wales and England were trying to make the cinnamon thing that goes on top of the pretzels. The following conversation between England and Scotland ensued.
"Eng! Pass me the cinnamon!
"Huh?!?"
"The cinnamon!!"
"I can't hear you over everything!!"
"THE CINNAMON GODDAMNIT! USE THE SPICES YOU, B.E, UK, AND B.E.I.C COLONIZED INDIA FOR!!"
Fun times. It took a bit, but soon enough, the dough was finally put together and was able to be left to sit.
-TWO-ISH HOURS LATER-
N.Macedonia left to go check on the dough. "Dough is cometh!" Macedonia reported. "Macey, why the hell was that your choice of wording?" Greece responded confusedly. Macedonia shrugged.
-TO BE CONTINUED!-

Chapter 2: B A K I N G (FT. The Soviet Union for around 0.2 seconds)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The dough hath risen.
It was time to bake.
Which is what Italy had HOPED would happen, but alas, it was Europe. So nothing would go by Italy's hopes.
Exhibit A : UK, who had somehow DISMANTLED THE MICROWAVE and was caught trying to turn it into a BOMB, was now banned from being in the kitchen unsupervised.
Exhibit B : Communism Seance. Basically, Finland and Russia had gotten into a argument about something. Russia had ran off and came back with THE sickle and hammer. "I WILL SUMMON MY FATHER FINLAND SO HELP ME GOD!!"
Dead silence. Poland dropped the butter knife they were swordfighting Lithuania with.
Russia's announcement had obviously sent the Eastern Bloc countries into a panic. Russia used her height to her advantage, playing trauma-themed keep-away as she summoned USSR.
The summoned Soviet was visibly displeased. "No. No. Nyet. NO. I am not doing this today." Russia tried to explain, but USSR swiftly cut her off. "No, Russia. I don't care. I have no wish to deal with Europe anymore." "But-" USSR shook his head. "I will not participate in this fuckery. Tell Roscosmos he's the favorite child now next time you see him." USSR then disappeared. Russia stood there, devastated. "Wow. He left without insulting me. That's new." Finland remarked wryly. "OK, that's very nice and all but can we bake these damn pretzels?!?" Scotland demanded incredulously. Vatican nodded before unlocking his inner drill sergeant and swiftly ordering people into groups. Western Europe would make the pretzels into the proper shape, Eastern Europe would coat the pretzels in the cinnamon butter concoction and the British Isles would man the oven. And UK would sit in the designated 'time out corner' for attempted arson.
Everything was fine.
Until Kovoso finished UK's attempt at a microwave bomb and threw it at Serbia.
Anyway, guess who got blasted with holy magic.
Kovoso's unconscious form was then dumped into the time out corner. Serbia smiled triumphantly. "Thats what you get, you little shit.
Nothing interesting really happened after that, and the pretzels didn't come out looking like molten rock, so Operation Zuckerbretzeln was (mostly) a success.
And Italy now knows better than to think that teamwork between Europe is possible.

Notes:

Sorry if the ending was kinda lame chat i had no ideas and wanted to finish today :P

Chapter 3: The Aftermath

Summary:

Gerita fluff jumpscare at the end :D

Chapter Text

Vatican City was driving Italy home after the Operation Zuckerbretzlen debacle, the reasoning for this being that the baking itself was done at UK, Portugal, Spain and France’s house. This was because they had the largest kitchen out of all of them, and Germany had taken the car to visit the graveyard East Germany and the rest of his family was buried in, which had given Italy and the others ample time to bake, as Germany would probably be gone for over an hour.

“Italia, I love you like a son, and you may as well be my son, but please never do anything like that ever again.” Vatican City beseeched wearily, his wings drooping slightly.

“I know, Papà…” Italy mumbled. Vatican City sighed.

“Don’t act like that. I wasn’t trying to lecture you. I know how you are with the whole ‘giving people a chance to not act unintelligent’ thing. You got that from me, and I’m glad you have more empathy than F.I did, it’s just…” He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t listen to me. I struggle to remember you're an adult sometimes. You do what you please.”

Italy nodded. “At least the pretzels turned out edible.”

The Papal personification smiled gently. “And they don’t look like they’ll instantly give anyone who eats them food poisoning, so all in all, we did well.”

“They might be demonic because of Finland drawing a summoning circle in the flour.”

“I was trying to forget about that happening.”

Italy laughed at Vatican’s response, before continuing, “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you swear in my whole ninety years of life.”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“I thought it was a sin to lie.”

“Shut your mouth.”

Italy laughed again, watching as Vatican’s head wings curled around his face slightly as they tried to hide their amusement.

The two sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, outside of the soft shuffling of Vatican CIty’s wings.

Vatican City dropped Italy off around 10 minutes before Germany came home.

It took one look from Italy to see that his partner had been crying.

“Germania, are you alright?” Italy asked tentatively as Germany walked in the door.

Germany simply nodded silently in response, adjusting their glasses slightly, trying to prevent them from slipping off the bridge of his nose.

“You’re horrible at lying about your feelings, love.” Italy remarked gently.

“I know.” Germany responded, hanging up his coat.

“I- Well, me and the rest of Europe made you something.” Italy continued.

“Is it an explosive?” Germany guessed wryly.

“No. At least I hope not.”

“I’m not going to question that last part.”

Italy smiled slightly at Germany’s words, before grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen, where the box of pretzels sat untouched.

“We made Zuckerbretzlen.” Italy explained, opening the box and handing one to Germany. Germany tore it in half, placing one of the halves in Italy’s hands.

“For putting yourself through that much suffering in dealing with the rest of this damned continent to bake me pretzels.” Germany joked, before gesturing to Italy to follow him. They curled up together on the couch, each eating their half of the pretzel and talking quietly.

“Russia also summoned USSR before we even got these things into a pretzel shape.” Italy commented after a while, his tone casual as if they were discussing the weather.

“She fucking what-”

Notes:

I'll finish this later I'm eepy.