A/N: Oh, Mr. Myers. You meant well in telling us about this, but…but…

"We have a WHAT?" Germany stared at France, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"A son," France repeated. He held up the red, wrinkly Thing bundled in blankets. "I named him after an aardvark."

"You – no, no, forget it. This isn't happening, this is impossible." Germany closed his eyes. "You can't even have children, we didn't have sex, that thing is probably a piece of Voldemort's soul or something more likely than us having a son."

"Well, he's here," France said cheerfully.

"WHY ARE YOU NOT FREAKING OUT?" Germany randomly yelled. "HAVE YOU BORNE OTHER COUNTRIES' CHILDREN BEFORE?"

"…"

"Oh, gott." Germany then decided that it would be an excellent time to change the subject. "What's his name?"

"Arthur," answered France. "I told you, I named him after an aardvark."

"…Francis, WHY would you do that?"

"You know, this morning a squirrel got stuck in my toilet."

"Stop changing the sub-"

At that moment, the baby opened his eyes and, in a perfectly adult voice, declared, "Bloody hell!"

(You read that in Ron Weasley's voice, didn't you.)

France stared.

"Oh, good Lord, he's British."

Sixty seconds later, Arthur had grown to full size. France was wondering absentmindedly if the man counted as a minor (he notched those on his left bedpost).Meanwhile, Arthur was glaring at the Frenchman and speaking in a clipped British accent. "Who are you, frog?"

"Your papa," France answered happily.

"And you?" Arthur pointed at Germany.

"Your vati." This could not possibly get any weirder.

"That's impossible," stated the blonde.

Germany shrugged. "Clearly not."

Arthur turned his piercing green gaze back onto France. "How did this happen, Papa?"

France started out of his ogling and gave a nervous laugh. "Ahaha, funny story, that…"

English came from French and German.

England is France and Germany's lovechild.

YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID.