Guest sporking: "Stockholm", Chapter 5
Computerized voice of Auto Speaking Unit One (AUSO): The sporking chamber is entering auto-search mode. Sporker found - the next two chapters shall be done by guardians_song - permission to repost has been granted. The sporking chamber would like to . will be pleased with as will out loyal air conditioners.
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Guest-spork for overlordmikey's sporking of the story in question.
TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THE STORY (and thus for the sporking): eroticized pedopilia, rape, child abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, et cetera. Yes, this is a horrendous fic. Discretion advised.
None of the sexual part directly occurs in this chapter, but it will in Chapter 6 (which I'll also be guest-sporking). Be forewarned.
[None of my sporking-characters have been brought in yet, but they will be for Chapter 6. I didn't need them here because this is a short and non-explicit chapter, but the next one... Hoo boy...]
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, I wouldn't claim to be the author of this story if you offered me a million dollars, and I'm not Overlord Mikey or SOS Sporkers, either. Cross-post this sporking anywhere so long as you give due credit.
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I sat on the stoop, smoking my third cigarette of the day. The sun was still high in the sky and I could tell it was barely noon. It had only taken a matter of days for me to become dependent on the awful thing. They burned my throat and left a horrid taste in my mouth, but I couldn't stop. I needed them...
May I note that, since tobacco is a New World plant, it would be more likely that America addicted the Europeans to tobacco?
Anyway… How did he manage to become a several-cigarette-a-day addict in only a few days?! Good heavens, that’s rapid!
Needed them like I needed Arthur- like a giant gangrenous tumor on my buttocks an addiction; something I could never live without. Just another thing I couldn't live without.
I hugged my coat tighter to me, the chill of the fall getting worse each day. It was almost winter, and soon the snow would fall.
I stood, putting out the cigarette and wiping off my pants. Arthur would be angry if I tracked dirt into the house.
(America) Arthur also gets angry if I wear white after Labor Day, fail to comb down my cowlick, and don’t hop around the house three times on one foot before each time I enter it. *single tear*
(England) On your LEFT foot! Don’t let me catch you using your right foot, you scum!
He stayed a while this time, not leaving for several weeks. The days dragged on as I had developed what seemed to be a perpetual limp. Everyday was another beating, each more brutal than the last.
“Everyday” should be “every day” in this case, and… good grief, it’s an abusive!Dursleys fanfic by any other fandom name. Let’s say “several” means “four”, shall we? So he gets twenty-eight days of increasingly brutal beatings…
Uh, yeah. I think the author is invoking nation-immortality, whether she realizes it or not.
I would fall over nearly everyday, breaking things as my eyes grew worse.
Given that she thinks pedophilic rape is so hawt… I can’t help wondering if this detail is thrown in for sympathy, or as fetish fuel. *sick*
Everyday Did you hear me, author? seemed to be a battle to complete my daily tasks, trying not to hit anything or get in trouble with Arthur. My limp continued and I fought myself pretend
What?!
nothing was wrong.
I walked inside, making some tea to warm my chilled body (since I wasn't allowed to have coffee, and could never sneak it under his watchful eye) PERIOD! I sat at the table, taking small sips, letting the liquid warm my body. I watched over my cup as Arthur walked through the door, hanging up his coat, and walking into the kitchen; COMMA! NOT SEMICOLON! his posture reflecting the proper gentleman he was. He sat down at the table and I smiled at him hopefully. "Welcome home! How was your day?" I greeted him lovingly, praying he was in a good mood today.
Next thing you know, America will be in a French maid costume. *pause*
That is not a suggestion, author.
"Good." He replied coldly.
"Good," he replied coldly.
(Fic!England) Cold… LIKE THE COLDNESS OF MY DEMENTOR-INFLUENCED SUMMERS!
…Er…
LIKE THE COLDNESS OF MY CRUEL AND EVIL HEART!
And no, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Potter, you CANNOT take back your CAPSLOCK! I am your country! All your CAPSLOCK are belong to me!
He casually flipped through a book I had left on the table, clearly becoming annoyed by it. It was written in the colonies and made me smile; the idealistic themes portrayed always seemed to amuse my dead cow’s third killer-whale aunt.
Is it so hard to proofread?
The placid expression on his face was only under toned “undertoned” isn’t even a word… with malice and distaste, proving to me he didn't like the book very much.
And I don’t like that sentence very much.
"Make me tea, would you boy?" He he asked rather politely, though I knew it was an order.
(America) I would boy, but I wouldn’t girl.
…comma…
So I stood, placing down my own tea cup TEACUP as I prepared his. I placed it in front of him obediently, and a soft hand ruffling my hair told me I did a good job.
(America) Thank you, Mr. Disembodied Soft Hand! :D
I quickly moved back to my seat, sipping at my tea timidly, wanting to keep his good mood in tack.
Oh, look, it’s demure!timid!Harry of a thousand abused!Harry fanfics - never a moment of resentment or cold fear, only timidity and submissive obedience. Bleurgh. I swear slash fanfics fetishize abusive childhoods as a way to get Yamato Nadeshiko ukes for their great big semes. Yecch.
"Alfred, do you believe this rubbish?" He looked at me with genuine curiosity and I returned it with one of excitement.
You returned his genuine curiosity? Did you get any of your money back, perchance? Was there a special ‘return a “genuine curiosity” and get full cash back on a returned “excitement”’ offer at the college bookstore that day?
“He GAVE me a look of genuine curiosity and I returned it with one of excitement”! Or “He looked at me with genuine curiosity and I returned HIS GAZE with excitement”! Is it so hard to make your sentences make sense?
"Well, no, of course not. But it's interesting, isn't it? I mean, this guy's ideas. He-" I was cut off as I felt a hard cover bash into my cheek, lashing my head to the opposite side.
"There will be none of this kind of talk, understand me boy?"
(America) I’ll understand you boy, but not you girl. |:
And yep, this is definitely badfic!Vernon. Oh, joy. Going to call him a ‘freak’ next, “England”?
With that, he walked over to the stove, moving the tea kettle and lighting it back up. He held the book over the small flame until it too took fire, and he dropped it as the hardcover BOOK began to flicker and light, it's ITS detailed lettering charring. I watched as my favorite book burned, and Arthur sat back down, calmly sipping his tea.
(America) I can get more copies, you idiot. I am the NATION.
(England) Good, I was in need of more firewood.
"M-my book..." I unconsciously spoke, regretting it instantly as a tear slipped down my face ~like a liquid diamond~. An eyebrow was raised at me before anger flicked through them,
Through the eyebrow?
a chair screeching against he floor
(He-Floor) By the power of Graymop… I am HE-FLOOR!
as it was pushed back. Suddenly he was standing next to me, yanking me up by my arm, and leading me toward the stove. My book lay in ashes, merely a small glimmer in the flame.
Isn’t that a little… fast… to burn? Shouldn’t the cover have at least left larger lumps of charcoal?My arm was held securely over the fire until I screamed in pain, wretching
What?!
my arm away desperately. Another hit was landed across my face
Why is there so much use of the passive tense in this fic?
and I felt the cold wall hit my back.
I sunk to the floor, sobbing silently as he loomed over me. "Alfred, I will hold you over that flame until you learn to bite your tounge
(America) What the heck is a “tounge”?
and just listen." Another yank to my arm. He held the arm without burns over the flame, and I cried as the skin blistered away. He pulled my arm away swiftly, dropping it. And it promptly fell off. "You can treat yourself." And with that, he once more strode out of the room, taking his tea cup with him.
I sunk back to the floor, cradling my arm in my opposite hand, crying softly as I listened to the small flickering of the still burning stove.
I stood back up on shaky legs, running my arm under cold water before wrapping it.
Wait wait wait. BOTH his arms are burned, idiot! He ought to be running BOTH his arms under cold water!
This would be a reminder to choose my reading materials more carefully.
(America) Look, England, it was a sheer coincidence that I checked Celebrían, Subjugation, and Little Miss Mary out of the library all at once.
(England) Nice story. I TOLD you you’re not sporking until you’re at least thirteen, young man.
It was clear Arthur didn't want me to read anything that would harm me later.
(America) Unfortunately, I’m reading this story. *BRAIN BLEACH*
I mean, Arthur always had my best interest at heart, so next time I would merely have to be more careful with what I chose to read.
(America) He won’t have objections to stories with nice, mundane titles like Fifty Shades of Grey! :D How bad could it be?
After all, Arthur was always looking out for me, I should return his generous love.
(Fic!America) Hey, England, allow me to non-consensually shove large objects into YOUR every orifice!
(Fic!England) This isn’t the sort of ‘reciprocation’ I was looking for! *FLEES*
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Short Chapter is short. It's only because the next one is what happens that night...cough cough wink wink.
Oh, you mean the pedophilic rape?
For feck’s sake. I know Your Kink Is Not My Kink and all that B.S., but if a teenage boy was writing all this ‘cutesy’ pedophilic rape and getting off to the pain, abuse, and terror of a prepubescent boy at the hands of an older man, he’d have people coming down on his ass in no time flat. Teenage girls should not get a pass either.
And any claims of the pedophilia and abuse being for 'dramatic' or 'disturbing' reasons are completely negated by her doing all that cutesy winking and coughing over the next chapter. That's not what you do if you're announcing horrible things happening to a beloved character. It's what you do if you're tittering over a racy scene. So she's made it quite clear that's what she regards the rape as - a hot, racy interlude in the fic.
And that is just SICK. 'But it's FAAAANTASY!' only counts if the author clearly demonstrates that he or she knows the difference between fantasy and reality, and I'm not seeing any indication the author knows how sick this would be in real life. [Paraphrased] 'Oh, tee hee! Arthur's so eeeeeevil! Look at him sexily raping little prepubescent Alfred!' No, that's NOT demonstrating to me that the author understands just how ****ed-up this situation is. It's really not.
...Anyway, onto Chapter Six. Let's hope the sporkers retain their sanity...
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