China folds his hands into his sleeves. “You’re hardly in a position to be making demands.”
America feels a blush hot under his collar. He swallows.
“You will wear whatever I give you,” China says, “without a fuss.”
America accepts the trade. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sure”}
--
Something inside him spills over and he crumples against the shower wall, the tiles leeching cold into his skin. His shoulders quiver, but he won’t cry - he won’t cry - heroes don’t cry goddamnit! His ass still aches from the stretch of the plug; his stomach clenches into itself at the humiliation.
--
{“Say, ‘meow’ like a good kitty.”
America looks up, his guts squirming: the plastic teeth on the kitty-ears headband dig into his scalp and the scratching elastics on the bikini bra and miniskirt scrape against his skin. The butt plug attached to his tail is stretching him painfully - and bottoming is always hard for him, even with someone he trusts (he had a panic attack once when Canada went too fast, and Canada is the most nonthreatening nation he knows), but this. He bites his tongue, trying to hold back his nausea.
“M-meow,” he whispers. Shame wiggles in his stomach. He tries to think of the subway plan of New York, the multiplication tables, the population density statistics he’d been studying yesterday.
“What was that?” China leans back and clicks his fingers, pointing to the couch beside him.}
--
The smack of his fist on the tiles reaches his ears a second before he registers the pain. A little blossom of red trickling from the knuckle of his middle finger. He reaches down to lick it off - salty on his tongue, but diluted from the shower water. America closes his eyes and lets the pain wash over him: clean pain, not dirty and used the way his body is now. Sharp pain. His breathing shakes, but evens.
{America bites viciously on the inside of his cheek and hops up onto the seat, whimpering as the plug shifts inside him.
“Meow,” he says again, before he can have time to think about it, and nuzzles China’s outstretched hand, picturing the exact steps he’d need to take to fire all the nukes in his arsenal directly at Beijing.
China scratches him behind the headband-ears. “Good kitty. Does kitty want to play?”
He wraps one hand around America’s soft cock and tugs, gently.}
--
America reaches down to turn off the water. He grabs a clean rag from the hamper and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the closet. Plugging the sink, he pours out all the alcohol into it and soaks the rag, swabbing it over his skin: arms, chest, legs. The fumes burn his eyes and sting in his nose: he thinks of hospitals and injections and every nurse who’s ever lied and told him he’ll only feel a little prick.
He wipes himself down with water, when he’s done, but the smell stays. He doesn’t mind. Better than -
--
{The aroma of China’s tea drifts across the room as China sips, delicately, the slim fingers on his other hand still tracing up and down America’s cock. He settles the cup back in the saucer with a clink.
America tries not to gag. He swallows around the revulsion and the humiliation as his cock hardens in China’s hand - it’s a reflex just a reflex that’s all it doesn’t mean you’re enjoying it.
China strokes him delicately. “You aren’t paying attention to me, kitty.”
“Meow?” America forces out, turning his head to stare at China’s nose (can’t look in his eyes, can’t see the triumph and the sadistic pleasure, can’t - ) China slaps his cheek.
“Bad kitty.”
Another flicker of shame smolders in America’s gut as he mews, penitently.}
--
America’s hands shake as he pours charcoal into his barbeque. He spills almost the whole bottle of lighter fluid over the top, but at least it catches fast.
The clothes he’d worn that day send up spirals of grey, smudgy smoke. The buildings across the street waver into indistinct smudges against a dirty-blue sky.
{His vision smears and blurs as China plucks his glasses off his face and settles them on the tea table.
“Now suck.”
America stares at China’s cock and tries to force down his panic, leaning forward so at least China won’t push him. He licks, tentatively. Salty and overpowering, like tasting nails on a blackboard. He shudders and swallows and sucks the head into his mouth so China won’t see the corners of his mouth turn down with his disgust.
The floor hurts his knees. The couch is smooth under his hands. He tries to focus on anything else, but China is overwhelming, stretching his jaw achingly wide and bitter on the back of his tongue. China shoves his head down, and America spasms, his lungs grasping at air that isn’t there, his fingers clawing into the couch. Tears water up in his eyes from the impact at the back of his throat.}
--
The smoke makes his eyes sting and tear up, but he doesn’t look away, staring through the haze into nowhere.
His phone rings. It’s his Ambassador. “Yes?”
“Oh, America. Er.” The man halts, and America knows it’s petty but he lets the awkwardness drag on, staring vindictively at the charred scraps of cloth that used to be his favorite pair of socks. “Um. Did everything go...all right?”
America swallows. “You get a year without interest,” he says, finally, “starting next January.”
“Oh, wonderful,” says the Ambassador. “The President will be so pleased.”
“Excuse me,” America interrupts, his heart pounding in stuttering thumps, his fist clenched on the railing, “but I have to go take another five showers and bleach myself again.” He slaps the phone shut, but the noise isn’t satisfying enough, so he swings his arm back and throws it - it shatters against the brick wall across the street and falls to the sidewalk in a clatter of useless plastic.
America is shaking. The railing of his balcony has twisted in his hand. His heartbeat throbs in his hand, squeezed against the metal.
{China’s cock pulses in America’s mouth and hot fluid fills his throat - he swallows reflexively.
“Mmmm, good kitty.” China leans back, slipping out from America’s lips - America’s mouth falls open and he sucks in air, greedy for it, pressing the panic down into his stomach. It’s done. It’s done for now, and the first time’s gotta be the worst, right? China’s foot collides with his face and he falls backwards, elbows scraping across the floor. His legs sprawl open.
The tip of China’s shoe nudges at his cock dismissively. “Get dressed,” he says, without inflection, “and if you don’t stay hard for me next time I’ll beat you.”
America scrambles to his feet, but China snaps out his leg and snarls their ankles. “Crawl,” he specifies. America grits his teeth and thinks of all his people who need their welfare check or they’ll go to bed hungry, clawing down the urge to jump up and strangle China with his stupid sparkly leash. He crawls. Behind him, China’s cold laugh is punctuated by the tinkling of his cup against his saucer.}
--
America’s coffee mug is made in China - 5 damning letters staining the moss green glaze with polluted, grit-gray. Filthy, filthy little money slut, paying the price it’s your own fault.
His hands shake at the hard fury that spikes through him, leaving him trembling like a live wire, animated only by heady, impotent rage. He flings the mug down and sneers when it shatters on the floor. The pieces stab into his feet as he walks over them, leaving smears of blood on the floor - one by one he tears through his cabinets: cups from China, mugs from China, plates from China. He hurls them down to smash at his feet until he’s standing in razor-edged confetti, the ticker-tape parade of his own humiliation.
The last cup in the corner of his cupboard is beer-bottle brown glass and smaller than the rest - he’s already tensed to throw it when he flips it over to check. On the bottom, etched inside a little star, are the words, “made with pride in the USA.” America sets it back in the cupboard and stumbles over the shards of porcelain to the couch. He curls up with his throbbing feet under him and sobs.
--
{America does not allow himself to cry while he takes off the kitty outfit and leaves it in a crumpled pile. He leaves without speaking to China: his ambassador can arrange their next...meeting. You sold me like a whore; you deal with the bureaucracy
The plane-noise is soothing, after the elegant silence in China’s house. In his dreams he sees faces of all the people who’ve looked at him like he’s the rising sun and squirms at his failure. He sleeps fitfully, grateful to the stewardesses for tearing him out of his dreams when they bring the meals.}
6/6 and a/n
anonymous
January 3 2011, 23:56:52 UTC
--
America startles awake when the sun is already orange and low on the horizon. He must have fallen asleep crying. His cheeks are still tight, and his feet ache - the bottoms are covered in scabs and slivers of porcelain. The smell of rubbing alcohol still lingers in his nose. He stares out the window at his neighbor’s window-boxes, her marigolds fluttering in the wind. Takes a deep breath and feels the ache squeezing his chest a little looser, loose enough for him to settle his shoulders back and take another.
He limps to the bathroom - he will not crawl - and hops up onto the counter, gritting his teeth as he tweezes out all the shards he can see and wraps gauze around his feet. The gauze is made in Canada.
Hobbling over to one of his storage closets, he pulls open the door and rummages around until he finds an old kettle England gave him once, in hopes of civilizing him by persuading him to take up tea. He checks the bottom and the corner of his mouth lifts up: made in England.
This time he slides his feet into his slippers - they’re already too swollen for shoes and they probably will be for a while - before he crunches gingerly across his kitchen to the stove. He doesn’t have to check where the slippers are from; he watched Canada make them for him, on a long winter night with nothing to do while he whittled Canada a bong in exchange.
He has to wash the kettle three times to get all the dust out, but he finally sets it on the stove and pulls out his single remaining cup and a packet of hot chocolate.
“I am going to beat this,” he says to nobody in particular, “just you wait.”
The kettle whistles - America takes that as agreement.
“See? Watch me.” He limps back to the couch, triumphantly clutching his glass of cocoa, and flips his laptop over to check - Japan! Score! - before he fires it up. Spread out between a couple different files, he has the entire federal budget, and someone at least had the decency to give him the rest of today off, so he has a chance to get a head start before he has to worry about his regular work on top of this.
“Commando Jones,” he mutters to himself, “Operation Deficit Smash is go; repeat, Operation Deficit Smash is go.”
“Roger that.” He slurps up a mouthful of hot chocolate. “Operation Deficit Smash, commencing.” ________________
A/N: (how am I so incapable of giving him an angsty ending?) Dear IRL America, plz to realize that spending money you don't have is a very bad idea. Also, thanks to my beta, aislingthegreat! I take full credit for any remaining mistakes/accidental offensiveness/incoherence.
Author Anon, thank you so much for this wonderful fill. I loved the structure, and also the scenes you decided to show us, they are so kinky but all the wrongness of an unbalanced sexual encounter is there, all there. America's emotions were raw and strong, and you feel really bad for him even as he goes on a rage destroying everything Made in China I thought he'd be left in a completely destroyed home, lol And the uplifting ending made me smile. Nothing can beat America and his optimism, after all ^^
the only thing I regret is the fact that, losing China's angle of why he does all that, he's left looking like an unnecesarily cruel villain...but the fill was so good, I can totally overlook that. Also, he has weird and amusing fetishes xD
Author!anon
anonymous
January 4 2011, 03:53:18 UTC
I'm so glad you liked it, OP! Especially the formatting; I was worried about that but glad to hear it worked.
and I had been originally wanting to make him smash up more stuff Made in China (I have my own bucketload of issues with that and the scene was so therapeutic to write haha) but I felt it was a little too much: I see America as kind of impulsive and emotional and not having the best control of his strength at times, but he's not violent by nature.
I see how that happens but I'm just terrible with multiple POV stories sorry :/ I think in this story China really is being spiteful and cruel (although of course he isn't to blame for America's debt; that's all us /o\), but the West was cruel to him for so long that it's a very understandable reaction. His cruelty has a whole legacy of violence behind it and it's definitely not a black and white villain/victim situation. Also I totally took the Shinatty-chan thing and ran with it for his kinks haha
Lol, Made in China stuff makes me think of Big Brother: it's everywhere, watching you xD
yeah, I understood China's motivations, but the fact that we didn't see inside his head...anyway, the subtle undercurrent of dub-con is one of the stregths of the fill, the fact that America consented, in a way, to this, so China's treatment makes it better than if he had been tame. and the kinks, lol
Re: 6/6 and a/n
anonymous
January 4 2011, 02:36:56 UTC
I'm so incredible happy that you didn't make him end up having a complete guilt feast (its all my fault etc) because YES it IS America's fault (and Alfred was most likely involved too since he is the personification) but China agreed to do something so horrid (rape) and his own ambassador arranged the 'meetings' (rape sessions). So, Alfred should feel some guilt/regret but China is the one who agreed to be such a douche TT.TT
The ending is so realistic. America is often in denial about himself and he is also a very strong nation. Combine those two things and you get that ending. This...I wouldn't mind a sequel because your writing so different/cool but I know it ends here and thats okay too.
A!A (warning: tl;dr)
anonymous
January 4 2011, 04:19:43 UTC
I find it so interesting that you see this as obviously rape because I thought of it as more dub-con basically because China doesn't necessarily know about how badly America's government is coercing him into doing this. I think if anyone's guilty of rape here it's really the humans who arranged the whole thing. But with the guilt, I just don't see it in America's character to sit around being guilty: sooner or later he's going to up and try to do something about it!
I don't think I could write a sequel because I'd have to do too much economic research and I just don't have the time right now, but I do like to think that America isn't just in denial and we will be able to get through this (if we can stop the stupid infighting, accept that it's going to be tough, and focus on the damn problem instead of petty political agendas). One guy with a laptop is a little ridiculous though so if that's what you're talking about then yeah, he's going to end up needing hella help. I totally don't have tons of headcanon about America's ridiculous one-man deficit smash attempts, no sir! Not at all!
hello (Im back)
anonymous
January 5 2011, 05:59:13 UTC
I do see it as rape because of how America reacted after wards but I can see how it is also more like borderline rape and dubcon (he "technically agreed" to it and wasn't screaming no).
Yes, the humans were guilty but I can't think that such an incredibly old nation couldn't see how much America /was not enjoying/. Especially after, seeing how America could barely even get it up. The humans arranged it but by agreeing to it and continuing it instead of paying attention to how America felt China agreed to rape him. Simply placing the blame on the humans here is not correct! China is old enough decide for himself whether he was raping someone and old enough to know how 'diplomacy' in these situations works.
You could always just make it Au or say its somewhere in the future without giving a specific time period. I don't see that as lazy but as creative. ^^ Of course its perfectly fine as is!
Captcha- woah I just got Asian characters (and benzol) on this thing haha
Well, I think you can consent to something without enjoying it (I consent to being treated by my dentist and I sure don't enjoy that!). You do make a good point that China should be old enough to infer what's going on; I hadn't really thought about that angle of things. But I know that everyone has a different personal line between noncon and dubcon and at a certain point there really isn't much use arguing about it. Anyway, I'm just happy you cared enough to leave such a thoughtful comment and discuss it with me! So thanks again for reading :D
However that is helpful and completely different to being sold off by humans, taken advantage of by a fellow nation who is waaay older, and then traumatized enough by the end of it that he smashed anything made by china. America even mentioned he barely consents to Canada topping which makes it dubcon/borderline rape in my eyes.
Umm now it seems I'm arguing with you sorry ...I didnt mean to come of so aggressive. If you could see my facial expressions it be relaxed and not pissy. ^^; sorryz *scurries away*
Yeah, but my point was "not enjoying it" does not automatically equal "not consenting to it." If I don't want to do something, I can still consent to do it because I realize it's necessary: America quite obviously doesn't want to be there, but from China's POV that doesn't necessarily mean he's not consenting. But it's still all kinds of levels of creepy and wrong of course; I guess I just see it as more dubious.
And the Canada thing: it's not that he doesn't consent, but rather that he just has Issues about being penetrated, and they have to take it super slow (like literally, [one finger] [two fingers] "no wait too fast go back to one" slow) - his problem with Canada was that one time Canada went a little too fast and America freaked, not that he wasn't consenting to the sex. All of which would have been a lot clearer if I had actually explained the rest of that story (the part where Canada then slowed down until America was comfortable again instead of shoving America all up on his dick the way China did) instead of leaving all you guys to read my mind orz. I'm so bad with doing that /o\
You don't come off as aggressive; it's totally fine.
Hmm I see your point now. He agreed to it, knew it was necessary for his people, and in the end China saw the consent as permission to continue regardless of what he saw on America's face/body. These things make it dubcon.
I can see your reasoning and I understand better now. Thanks for the furhter explanation.:)
Though I still see it as boderline rape/rape it in no way took away from the story. In fact that creepy atmosphere added to it.
{“No poop.”
China folds his hands into his sleeves. “You’re hardly in a position to be making demands.”
America feels a blush hot under his collar. He swallows.
“You will wear whatever I give you,” China says, “without a fuss.”
America accepts the trade. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sure”}
--
Something inside him spills over and he crumples against the shower wall, the tiles leeching cold into his skin. His shoulders quiver, but he won’t cry - he won’t cry - heroes don’t cry goddamnit! His ass still aches from the stretch of the plug; his stomach clenches into itself at the humiliation.
--
{“Say, ‘meow’ like a good kitty.”
America looks up, his guts squirming: the plastic teeth on the kitty-ears headband dig into his scalp and the scratching elastics on the bikini bra and miniskirt scrape against his skin. The butt plug attached to his tail is stretching him painfully - and bottoming is always hard for him, even with someone he trusts (he had a panic attack once when Canada went too fast, and Canada is the most nonthreatening nation he knows), but this. He bites his tongue, trying to hold back his nausea.
“M-meow,” he whispers. Shame wiggles in his stomach. He tries to think of the subway plan of New York, the multiplication tables, the population density statistics he’d been studying yesterday.
“What was that?” China leans back and clicks his fingers, pointing to the couch beside him.}
--
The smack of his fist on the tiles reaches his ears a second before he registers the pain. A little blossom of red trickling from the knuckle of his middle finger. He reaches down to lick it off - salty on his tongue, but diluted from the shower water. America closes his eyes and lets the pain wash over him: clean pain, not dirty and used the way his body is now. Sharp pain. His breathing shakes, but evens.
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{America bites viciously on the inside of his cheek and hops up onto the seat, whimpering as the plug shifts inside him.
“Meow,” he says again, before he can have time to think about it, and nuzzles China’s outstretched hand, picturing the exact steps he’d need to take to fire all the nukes in his arsenal directly at Beijing.
China scratches him behind the headband-ears. “Good kitty. Does kitty want to play?”
He wraps one hand around America’s soft cock and tugs, gently.}
--
America reaches down to turn off the water. He grabs a clean rag from the hamper and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the closet. Plugging the sink, he pours out all the alcohol into it and soaks the rag, swabbing it over his skin: arms, chest, legs. The fumes burn his eyes and sting in his nose: he thinks of hospitals and injections and every nurse who’s ever lied and told him he’ll only feel a little prick.
He wipes himself down with water, when he’s done, but the smell stays. He doesn’t mind. Better than -
--
{The aroma of China’s tea drifts across the room as China sips, delicately, the slim fingers on his other hand still tracing up and down America’s cock. He settles the cup back in the saucer with a clink.
America tries not to gag. He swallows around the revulsion and the humiliation as his cock hardens in China’s hand - it’s a reflex just a reflex that’s all it doesn’t mean you’re enjoying it.
China strokes him delicately. “You aren’t paying attention to me, kitty.”
“Meow?” America forces out, turning his head to stare at China’s nose (can’t look in his eyes, can’t see the triumph and the sadistic pleasure, can’t - ) China slaps his cheek.
“Bad kitty.”
Another flicker of shame smolders in America’s gut as he mews, penitently.}
--
America’s hands shake as he pours charcoal into his barbeque. He spills almost the whole bottle of lighter fluid over the top, but at least it catches fast.
The clothes he’d worn that day send up spirals of grey, smudgy smoke. The buildings across the street waver into indistinct smudges against a dirty-blue sky.
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{His vision smears and blurs as China plucks his glasses off his face and settles them on the tea table.
“Now suck.”
America stares at China’s cock and tries to force down his panic, leaning forward so at least China won’t push him. He licks, tentatively. Salty and overpowering, like tasting nails on a blackboard. He shudders and swallows and sucks the head into his mouth so China won’t see the corners of his mouth turn down with his disgust.
The floor hurts his knees. The couch is smooth under his hands. He tries to focus on anything else, but China is overwhelming, stretching his jaw achingly wide and bitter on the back of his tongue. China shoves his head down, and America spasms, his lungs grasping at air that isn’t there, his fingers clawing into the couch. Tears water up in his eyes from the impact at the back of his throat.}
--
The smoke makes his eyes sting and tear up, but he doesn’t look away, staring through the haze into nowhere.
His phone rings. It’s his Ambassador. “Yes?”
“Oh, America. Er.” The man halts, and America knows it’s petty but he lets the awkwardness drag on, staring vindictively at the charred scraps of cloth that used to be his favorite pair of socks. “Um. Did everything go...all right?”
America swallows. “You get a year without interest,” he says, finally, “starting next January.”
“Oh, wonderful,” says the Ambassador. “The President will be so pleased.”
“Excuse me,” America interrupts, his heart pounding in stuttering thumps, his fist clenched on the railing, “but I have to go take another five showers and bleach myself again.” He slaps the phone shut, but the noise isn’t satisfying enough, so he swings his arm back and throws it - it shatters against the brick wall across the street and falls to the sidewalk in a clatter of useless plastic.
America is shaking. The railing of his balcony has twisted in his hand. His heartbeat throbs in his hand, squeezed against the metal.
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{China’s cock pulses in America’s mouth and hot fluid fills his throat - he swallows reflexively.
“Mmmm, good kitty.” China leans back, slipping out from America’s lips - America’s mouth falls open and he sucks in air, greedy for it, pressing the panic down into his stomach. It’s done. It’s done for now, and the first time’s gotta be the worst, right? China’s foot collides with his face and he falls backwards, elbows scraping across the floor. His legs sprawl open.
The tip of China’s shoe nudges at his cock dismissively. “Get dressed,” he says, without inflection, “and if you don’t stay hard for me next time I’ll beat you.”
America scrambles to his feet, but China snaps out his leg and snarls their ankles. “Crawl,” he specifies. America grits his teeth and thinks of all his people who need their welfare check or they’ll go to bed hungry, clawing down the urge to jump up and strangle China with his stupid sparkly leash. He crawls. Behind him, China’s cold laugh is punctuated by the tinkling of his cup against his saucer.}
--
America’s coffee mug is made in China - 5 damning letters staining the moss green glaze with polluted, grit-gray. Filthy, filthy little money slut, paying the price it’s your own fault.
His hands shake at the hard fury that spikes through him, leaving him trembling like a live wire, animated only by heady, impotent rage. He flings the mug down and sneers when it shatters on the floor. The pieces stab into his feet as he walks over them, leaving smears of blood on the floor - one by one he tears through his cabinets: cups from China, mugs from China, plates from China. He hurls them down to smash at his feet until he’s standing in razor-edged confetti, the ticker-tape parade of his own humiliation.
The last cup in the corner of his cupboard is beer-bottle brown glass and smaller than the rest - he’s already tensed to throw it when he flips it over to check. On the bottom, etched inside a little star, are the words, “made with pride in the USA.” America sets it back in the cupboard and stumbles over the shards of porcelain to the couch. He curls up with his throbbing feet under him and sobs.
--
{America does not allow himself to cry while he takes off the kitty outfit and leaves it in a crumpled pile. He leaves without speaking to China: his ambassador can arrange their next...meeting. You sold me like a whore; you deal with the bureaucracy
The plane-noise is soothing, after the elegant silence in China’s house. In his dreams he sees faces of all the people who’ve looked at him like he’s the rising sun and squirms at his failure. He sleeps fitfully, grateful to the stewardesses for tearing him out of his dreams when they bring the meals.}
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America startles awake when the sun is already orange and low on the horizon. He must have fallen asleep crying. His cheeks are still tight, and his feet ache - the bottoms are covered in scabs and slivers of porcelain. The smell of rubbing alcohol still lingers in his nose. He stares out the window at his neighbor’s window-boxes, her marigolds fluttering in the wind. Takes a deep breath and feels the ache squeezing his chest a little looser, loose enough for him to settle his shoulders back and take another.
He limps to the bathroom - he will not crawl - and hops up onto the counter, gritting his teeth as he tweezes out all the shards he can see and wraps gauze around his feet. The gauze is made in Canada.
Hobbling over to one of his storage closets, he pulls open the door and rummages around until he finds an old kettle England gave him once, in hopes of civilizing him by persuading him to take up tea. He checks the bottom and the corner of his mouth lifts up: made in England.
This time he slides his feet into his slippers - they’re already too swollen for shoes and they probably will be for a while - before he crunches gingerly across his kitchen to the stove. He doesn’t have to check where the slippers are from; he watched Canada make them for him, on a long winter night with nothing to do while he whittled Canada a bong in exchange.
He has to wash the kettle three times to get all the dust out, but he finally sets it on the stove and pulls out his single remaining cup and a packet of hot chocolate.
“I am going to beat this,” he says to nobody in particular, “just you wait.”
The kettle whistles - America takes that as agreement.
“See? Watch me.” He limps back to the couch, triumphantly clutching his glass of cocoa, and flips his laptop over to check - Japan! Score! - before he fires it up. Spread out between a couple different files, he has the entire federal budget, and someone at least had the decency to give him the rest of today off, so he has a chance to get a head start before he has to worry about his regular work on top of this.
“Commando Jones,” he mutters to himself, “Operation Deficit Smash is go; repeat, Operation Deficit Smash is go.”
“Roger that.” He slurps up a mouthful of hot chocolate. “Operation Deficit Smash, commencing.”
________________
A/N: (how am I so incapable of giving him an angsty ending?) Dear IRL America, plz to realize that spending money you don't have is a very bad idea. Also, thanks to my beta, aislingthegreat! I take full credit for any remaining mistakes/accidental offensiveness/incoherence.
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Author Anon, thank you so much for this wonderful fill. I loved the structure, and also the scenes you decided to show us, they are so kinky but all the wrongness of an unbalanced sexual encounter is there, all there. America's emotions were raw and strong, and you feel really bad for him even as he goes on a rage destroying everything Made in China I thought he'd be left in a completely destroyed home, lol
And the uplifting ending made me smile. Nothing can beat America and his optimism, after all ^^
the only thing I regret is the fact that, losing China's angle of why he does all that, he's left looking like an unnecesarily cruel villain...but the fill was so good, I can totally overlook that. Also, he has weird and amusing fetishes xD
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and I had been originally wanting to make him smash up more stuff Made in China (I have my own bucketload of issues with that and the scene was so therapeutic to write haha) but I felt it was a little too much: I see America as kind of impulsive and emotional and not having the best control of his strength at times, but he's not violent by nature.
I see how that happens but I'm just terrible with multiple POV stories sorry :/ I think in this story China really is being spiteful and cruel (although of course he isn't to blame for America's debt; that's all us /o\), but the West was cruel to him for so long that it's a very understandable reaction. His cruelty has a whole legacy of violence behind it and it's definitely not a black and white villain/victim situation. Also I totally took the Shinatty-chan thing and ran with it for his kinks haha
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yeah, I understood China's motivations, but the fact that we didn't see inside his head...anyway, the subtle undercurrent of dub-con is one of the stregths of the fill, the fact that America consented, in a way, to this, so China's treatment makes it better than if he had been tame. and the kinks, lol
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The ending is so realistic. America is often in denial about himself and he is also a very strong nation. Combine those two things and you get that ending. This...I wouldn't mind a sequel because your writing so different/cool but I know it ends here and thats okay too.
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I don't think I could write a sequel because I'd have to do too much economic research and I just don't have the time right now, but I do like to think that America isn't just in denial and we will be able to get through this (if we can stop the stupid infighting, accept that it's going to be tough, and focus on the damn problem instead of petty political agendas). One guy with a laptop is a little ridiculous though so if that's what you're talking about then yeah, he's going to end up needing hella help. I totally don't have tons of headcanon about America's ridiculous one-man deficit smash attempts, no sir! Not at all!
Anyway, I'm so glad you liked it!
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Yes, the humans were guilty but I can't think that such an incredibly old nation couldn't see how much America /was not enjoying/. Especially after, seeing how America could barely even get it up. The humans arranged it but by agreeing to it and continuing it instead of paying attention to how America felt China agreed to rape him. Simply placing the blame on the humans here is not correct! China is old enough decide for himself whether he was raping someone and old enough to know how 'diplomacy' in these situations works.
You could always just make it Au or say its somewhere in the future without giving a specific time period. I don't see that as lazy but as creative. ^^ Of course its perfectly fine as is!
Captcha- woah I just got Asian characters (and benzol) on this thing haha
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However that is helpful and completely different to being sold off by humans, taken advantage of by a fellow nation who is waaay older, and then traumatized enough by the end of it that he smashed anything made by china. America even mentioned he barely consents to Canada topping which makes it dubcon/borderline rape in my eyes.
Umm now it seems I'm arguing with you sorry ...I didnt mean to come of so aggressive. If you could see my facial expressions it be relaxed and not pissy. ^^; sorryz *scurries away*
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And the Canada thing: it's not that he doesn't consent, but rather that he just has Issues about being penetrated, and they have to take it super slow (like literally, [one finger] [two fingers] "no wait too fast go back to one" slow) - his problem with Canada was that one time Canada went a little too fast and America freaked, not that he wasn't consenting to the sex. All of which would have been a lot clearer if I had actually explained the rest of that story (the part where Canada then slowed down until America was comfortable again instead of shoving America all up on his dick the way China did) instead of leaving all you guys to read my mind orz. I'm so bad with doing that /o\
You don't come off as aggressive; it's totally fine.
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I can see your reasoning and I understand better now. Thanks for the furhter explanation.:)
Though I still see it as boderline rape/rape it in no way took away from the story. In fact that creepy atmosphere added to it.
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Anyway, you're welcome and thanks for discussing it with me! :D
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