Countrywhatever oneshots

Ukraine can't keep pets

Hey peeps. Been a while.
I'm now starting to think that I should stop being nice with my oneshots and just leave you all disappointed.

While I'm at it, warnings:

Mentions of rape and rape apology
Vore, mentions of fatal
Vomiting
Abuse
Emotional abuse

Collab with oofooftimesthree

Dead dove, do not eat.

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Ukraine was freaking out.

The woman they hated the most, the bitch who defended their rape apologist brother, had called earlier. And now Ukraine was both engulfed in rage and terrified.

What if they really were in the wrong? What if— Maybe Russia was right, they should've gotten over it already. It happened years ago. "Forgive and forget," like Russia said.

No. Ukraine needed a sweet release. They rummaged through the pantry with a flashlight in search of their little plaything.

America huddled behind the cans of soup and ramen packets in the expansive pantry he had hidden himself in, the food stored there left it akin to the towering cliff faces of the national park in China. It had little ladders everywhere, allowing him accessibility to parts of the pantry that are higher up than Ukraine could reach on their feet. It was good in theory.

They'd built him the sweetest little houses for him to inhabit, all of them the perfect size for him and beautifully painted. America would have loved them, if it weren't for their true intent.

Those beautiful colors and sweet appearances were lies. They were made that way to give him a sense of false security. Ukraine was anything but nice with him. Over time, he took parts of the houses and used them to build secret cottages that Ukraine couldn't see, that they couldn't find unless they dug. And dug, they did. They found almost all of his secret houses, except for this one.

He could see the flashlight. It sometimes shone through his window and into his bedroom, where he ducked and hid under the bed to keep from being seen. It would only be a matter of time before they begin to get desperate, and it will only get worse from there. And still, America clung to the hope of being spared.

Ukraine let out a snarl, seething in frustration upon realizing America was hidden somewhere beyond their current clutches. They jammed their hand into the pantry, knocking down a pyramid of Campbell's tomato soup.

"Fuck!" they screeched, punching their head with the hand that wasn't holding the flashlight.

America had to choke down a sob of fear. The thundering noise of the soup cans being knocked over was too close for comfort. He'd hidden himself somewhere it'd be hard to find, but at the rate they're moving, they'd have him in no time.

Tears of utter terror began to form in the corners of his eyes, so hot that they nearly burned. He should have known better. He should have run while he could. Hail Mary, full of grace..

And then the flashlight swung at the roof of his little cottage, and the ceiling came crashing down.

"Aha!"

Fuck.

America felt primal fear suddenly jolt to life in his tiny little system, his blue eyes going wide with terror and shock. No. No. He's fucked. He's totally fucked. He has no more safe places. America tried too hard not to scream, hiding further beneath the bed in blind hopes of being passed up. Maybe the rubble would obscure him from view.