A/N: Look! I actually came back! We'll see how long this lasts.

Anyway, I made a character sheet so that those of you keeping score at home can remember all the OCs. 'Tis here: sabakunostupid(dot)deviantart(dot)com/journal/37906307/

I think that's it for now, not much to say before I get into this one.

Please enjoy my paltry offerings!

Warnings: OC!Colonies, Mild gore, Mild swearing… You think I should change the rating?

Well, obviously a bunch of stuff happened between 1691 and 1768. However, the only thing important enough to affect the plot was the French and Indian war. Or the seven years war if you're British or trying not to confuse young children, but where's the fun in that? Basically, in 1754 France, who already had a stronghold on most of modern-day America, decided that he wanted England's colonies as well and sent in his army to take them. England obviously was not too happy about that and sent in his own army. After, you guessed it, seven years of fighting, the British and colonists won. England gained all the land from the Appalachian Mountains to the Mississippi river. He also got Florida, but no one cared right then because it was pretty much all swamp, couldn't make large quantities of orange juice yet, and he somehow ended up giving it back to Spain anyway. Oh, and the rest of that one place that makes a nice hat for America. What was it called again? Aw, who cares?

Anyway, this treaty was signed in Paris at the time stated and underlined just under this awesome introduction. That is where we meet back up with the adorable little landmasses.

February 10th, 1763: Paris, France

Ply was trying to read a newspaper (and failing. Why couldn't he get an English paper in France?) when he heard a key turning the lock of the room France had put him and England up in. He was so eager he almost held his breath. He would finally be the first one to hear what had gone on at the meeting. Since he was only a colony, England had always said that he couldn't come to the treaty negotiations. However, his elder brother was good enough to let him at least come to Paris after begging him since before the last shots were fired.

It was a pretty swanky place too. Not the city itself. Paris was just like any other city: dirty, stinky, and full of death and despair. The hotel, though, was amazing. The bed was as soft as the ear of a rabbit. The late-afternoon sun shined gold into the room, giving the wallpaper a positively gilded look. However, even without it the candleholders upon the walls and bedside tables were colored to look like the precious metal. There was a large mirror directly opposite of the bed. The mahogany writing desk had plenty of space so that one could spread out whatever you happened to want to look at. Even stupid papers that were written in a language you didn't understand.

Not that it was perfect being in France. Ply couldn't really go anywhere, since he would probably get lost in the wild web of streets that all had similar names and if he took one wrong turn and didn't notice right away, he wouldn't be able to get back because he couldn't ask for directions. Also, there was only one key for the room and England had it, so even if he didn't get lost he would have to sit outside the door like some dog until his master came to let him in.

Plus, there was only one bed. Sleeping with England never bothered Ply much when he was a child. It was comforting to be held against such a large, warm body. To know that his brother loved him enough to let down his ever-present mask of absolute invincibility and just be a loving caretaker.

But now… things were different.

First of all, England was smaller than Ply now. He had been for years, but it became obvious during the war - the war that they had just finished fighting – when Ply had been so frightened in the night that the savages or French would come and get him that he had snuck into England's tent. The elder nation understood and held him, but it was so odd that now the island nation's arms barely met when they were wrapped around his "little" brother. It probably shouldn't have bothered Ply, but it did. It somehow made England feel smaller, like he couldn't protect Ply like he could before.

And then there was the fact that England just didn't make his colony feel the same anymore. Whenever Ply saw his big brother's sails coming over the horizon he would feel warm, safe. England was his sweet, loving older brother, teacher, god even, and he would always protect him. But things were different now because Ply knew a different England, and he wasn't sure how safe and loved he felt anymore.

He now knew a man who was unimpressive in stature but whose barbaric strength and inhuman bloodlust more than made up for it. He knew a man that would sing folksongs and lullabies in Welsh and Latin as his hair was dyed red with the blood of dozens of Frenchmen. He knew the harsh laugh that would come out of that man's throat when he switched to French for the sake of seeing his enemies' faces when they realized they were being shot and stabbed to the songs that their mothers sang to them. It terrified Ply to his core. He was more afraid of England than he was of ghosts. And ghosts were fuckin' scary!

But on the other hand, watching him also inspired complete fascination on the part of the younger blond. Ply thought back to those bloody, horrid battles. The way that thin lithe body positively swim among corpses was absolutely breathtaking. England's saber was clutched firmly in his hand; the steel seemed to be nothing more than a natural extension of his arm. His eyes were full of fiery passion the likes of which Ply had never seen. The notes he sang were smooth and flowing like rolling hills covered in long grass even when the words almost made him sound like he was gargling rocks. In the midst of panic, he was relaxed. In the middle of a war, he was at peace. Something about him when he was in that zone was absolutely beautiful.

Now only if England would recognize that the colonies had changed too. Ply frowned. Why did the Brit keep treating them like they were kids? It wasn't fair! They had fought too. Maybe they weren't as good at it as England, but they had still done an awesome job! In fact-

Ply was brought out of his mental rant as the door finally swung open to reveal his enigma of a mentor. England walked in and shrugged off his coat. He looked so tired and maybe even, Ply shuddered to think, old. He was so different from both Englands in the colony's memory.

"Ugh." He thought, "Please don't make me meet another England!"

However, as the older man opened his eyes, the younger saw that they were the same as the ones who had looked down at him for almost as long as he could remember. This was the England from his childhood, wholly and completely. Thank god. Ply smiled

"So how'd it go?" He asked eagerly.

"Wonderfully," England said, smiling as he sat down on the edge of the bed, "I got everything I wanted."

"That's awesome!" The American's smile widened, "So does that mean that we get to keep Ana and Louis?"

"That's right; the two pieces of East Louisiana will be living with you from now on."

"Yess!" Ply hissed, ignoring England's correction. He was so happy! He loved kids; they were so much easier to understand than adults.

"So let's blow this oversized cheese stand so I can go home and stop wearing these stuffy clothes!"

England scowled, "You know, adults aren't supposed to mind wearing nice clothes. You are an adult aren't you?"

"You don't seem to think so." Ply thought before saying, "Of course I am. I mean, I'm taller than you are. In fact," He laughed, "Maybe you should start calling me big brother!"

"Watch your tongue," England said, going into teacher-mode. Stupid teacher-mode-England. "You still need me to take care of you, so I'm still your big brother."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ply pouted.

England snorted, "Oh really, who's the only one you trade with, then?"

Oh, he wanted to play it that way, did he? Well then. "That's only because you passed those laws that make it illegal for us to trade with anyone else."

"It was to help you," England explained calmly.

"What?"

"Look at how many ships you're building. Look at how much tobacco Maryland and Virginia are exporting. Look at how my navy is protecting you."

"We don't need protection!" Ply exclaimed, "Didn't you notice how hard my boys, all our boys, fought?"

"Listen," England said, rolling his eyes, "It doesn't matter how hard your soldiers fight, it matters how well they can fight. Let's be honest, France was beating your collective arses until I stepped in."

"We were doing fine!"

"You were losing!"

"Yeah, but we turned it around!"

"With my help!"

"Shut up!"

"You beg me to take you to the treating signing, and now you're just harassing me?" England snarled.

"Shut up!" Ply yelled again.

"Listen to me for once you ungrateful brat! We're running out of money due to a war we fought for your sake and now you're acting like a child and saying we shouldn't have been involved."

"I said shut up!" Ply screamed.

England was going to open his mouth again, but Ply lifted a hand and smacked him across the cheeks. Yes, it was harsh. No, it probably wasn't the best idea. But did it feel good? Yes. Did he deserve it? Fuck yes.

The older blond lifted his hand to his cheek slowly. So slowly, in fact, that Ply was afraid that he had literally smacked the man stupid. Eventually, those thin fingers touched the reddening skin. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. Ply just stared back, trying to appear determined and strong. He hoped that he did, but even if England didn't see it, the younger man felt it and that was good enough.

"You-" England gasped, "You-"

"I know that you want me to apologize," Ply said, "But I won't. I'm not sorry and, more importantly, you don't deserve it."

That was a mistake, because it seemed to break England out of his trance. His eyes darkened and his lips compressed into a hard line, "You have made one thing very clear to me, America," He said, apparently forgetting that Ply was just one colony again, "I've been too good to you. It's time that I become more involved in your affairs so that I can teach you the meaning of respect. And you, you are going to learn. You will learn how to treat me, and you will learn to start fulfilling your obligations as part of my empire."

Ply snarled but didn't raise his hand again. Instead, he just left.

He ventured into the streets of Paris and managed to locate another inn that looked cheap enough for him to afford. He gave the woman at the desk all the money he had. Apparently it was enough because she gave him a key. The blond stormed up the stairs, unlocked his door, and immediately plopped down on the bed.

The wallpaper was pealing. The bed was hard and smelled funny. There was only a small window and it faced a brick wall.

Still, it was more comfortable than sleeping with England.

February 15th 1774: Boston, Massachusetts

Ply shivered as he fumbled in his pockets for his key. He hated winter period, but he especially hated this part. It had been winter for months and any time now it should thaw, but Mother Nature just wouldn't give up trying to freeze his soil five feet deep. Oh well. He was almost home now, and soon he could get a nice big fire started so that he could maybe, maybe unfreeze his nasal passages.

However, as he approached his house, he saw something odd. There was light peeking through the curtains of one of his windows. He furrowed his brow. He lived alone, after all. For a while, he had helped take care of Ana and Louis, but they had moved in with Virginia as soon as they had the opportunity. They were still free spirits, and needed to be somewhere near their lands, after all. If any of his siblings were coming, usually they warned him in advance. One hand held his key, and the other quickly found the hilt of the dagger he kept in his cloak. He slowly unlocked the door and peeked inside.

There was no one that he could see from this angle. He carefully pushed the door all the way open. Still nothing. He pulled the dagger out of his sheath and tentatively took a step inside. Yet unopposed, he walked into his sitting room, where the light was coming from. He left the door wide open, in case he needed to run. However, instead of finding a burglar, he found-

"Ah, I'm glad you've decided to join us. I came to the colonies to try to see my favorite little brother, but it seems he was replaced by a common hoodlum. Would you please help me find him?"

-England.

Ply swallowed. There was no kindness, no love in his brother's eyes. His stare was so harsh Ply was surprised he didn't burst into flames. England was sitting in Ply's favorite chair. Well, flopped over, more like. One arm of the chair supported the Brit's knee and the other held up his elbow, letting him easily support his chin on his hand. He was still wearing his privateer's apparel. The knee-high leather boots shined in the firelight. His coat was flung over the back of the chair, leaving him in his vest, shirt, and cravat. His hat, however, was still upon his head, the wide rim and blood red feathers adding to the air of majesty and power England always possessed.

"Oh?" The pirate said, swinging his leg back around so that he was sitting properly before crossing one thigh over the other, "it appears that the rat does know something. Well then, I suppose I must find out what it is. Virginia, please close the door, if you wouldn't mind; it's getting rather chilly."

For the first time, Ply took his eyes off of England. It seemed as though the empire had forced some of the other colonies to come along. And to make it worse, he had picked the ones that Ply had always played with as a child. Peaches, Virginia, Carol, Mary and New York stood before him now, all stone-faced and still with the exception of Virginia who had gone to do what England had asked.

"Now," England said, standing up "I believe you know what you did. So what made you think," He crossed over to Ply in three short steps and softly said, "That you could get away with it?"

Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. It was to be a time when you gathered with your family to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Normally, that was what the American Colonies did. For a while anyway.

Usually, Ply and Carol would end up slightly drunk and wrestling on the floor. Mary would just watch for a while, until one of the boys said something stupid or got too close and she would join in with full force. Georgia, or Peaches as they called her, and North would be begging them to stop. Virginia would shepherd Louis and Ana out of the room muttering something along the lines of "Those two never change…" and the children would be struggling to get free so that they could see which of their brothers won, typically shouting angrily in French which only served to make Virginia pull harder.

This year, however, everything was quiet. Louis and Ana had been handed off to Canada, and the adults were all sitting around the big dining table in Virginia's house. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Ply. Every single pair was sharp and accusing. Was there no one who realized why he did what he did? No one who supported their hero of a brother?

Hero, he liked the sound of that. Probably because that's what he was. He was the hero, the misunderstood good guy standing up to the evil that was oppressing them all. So what were they thinking, looking at their savior like he had committed some crime?

Well, technically he had, but it was for the greater good!

Eventually, Carol got tired of just sitting there and glaring at his older brother. He stood up and slammed his hand on the table.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He demanded, "England already thinks were a bunch of ungrateful bastards over here and now you had to go and make it all worse!"

"Seriously Ply," Mary said, apparently deciding that it was okay for her to join in now too. "The past few years you've done nothing but contradict our big brother at every turn and now this."

"You can't say you guys have been happy about what he's been doing!" Ply countered, "Carol, you threw a fit when he drew that line ten years ago because you wanted to go farther west. Peaches, you were totally pissed when he taxed everything on paper because you could barely afford to read your novellas. And Virginia," Ply stared hard at his older brother, the one who had decided to have this conversation on Christmas of all days. "Wasn't it one of your boys who gave us that great quote, 'No taxation without representation'?"

"Yes," The aristocrat said, "It was. But all of us, Ply, we used words. We spoke to England. You dumped three hundred fifty chests of his tea into Boston Harbor!"

"He was asking for it." Ply said, defensively, "Putting all those taxes on-"

"Even with the tax," Mary said, "It was still cheaper than all that stuff The Netherlands smuggled in for you."

"You just don't understand," Ply said, falling back on the age-old teenage cry, "You don't see the principles that needed to be defended."

"Yeah, your principles of never answering to anyone, especially England."

"Oh, you're one to talk, Carol."

"As much as I usually support you," New York said, "I must say Carol has a point."

"Traitor!" Ply cried, "You make most of your money off of merchants too! England is robbing you, just like he's doing to me!"

"Look," New York said, brushing some of his nearly-white hair behind his ear, "First of all, he founded most of you guys, so you all owe him. The only one who has any right to complain is me, since The Netherlands had me first. However, I'm still not mad at England because he protected us. He's in trouble because he came across the sea to keep France from getting his filthy hands on us. He even gave us two more siblings. You of all people, Ply, should remember all that he did for us. He loved you the most; he helped you grow the most. And now, now when he finally needs us, you want to just leave."

"If he needs us," Ply said, "He wouldn't be abusing us like this!"

"You think that this is abuse?" Carol demanded, "We still barely pay anything like the taxes people in England pay!"

"I-"

"You're just running away because you don't like what he's doing! You're the traitor, not New York! You're a traitor and a filthy coward!"

"Say that again." Ply said softly, standing up and clenching his fists, "Say it again Carol, I dare you."

"ENOUGH!" Virginia yelled, standing abruptly.

Both Ply and Carol jumped. They hadn't expected such an explosion from Virginia. Had he even ever yelled before?

"Look, right now the last thing that we need to do is fight amongst ourselves."

Ply sat back down and blushed, "You're- you're right."

Virginia smiled, "I think that that may have been the first time I've heard you say that to me."

"Well," Ply smiled, "Usually you just tell me off, but you really are right this time. We can't be fighting each other; we have to be fighting England."

"No we don't." Georgia said, "He's not done anythang to hurt any of us."

"'Not done anything to hurt us?" Ply asked, "He killed-"

"Massachusetts," Virginia said, "Please calm yourself. Only five people died."

"Yeah, only five innocent people."

"Innocent my ass," Carol said, "They were a mob. A mob that your dear friend Sam riled up, if I remember correct-"

"Don't you say anything about him!" Ply exclaimed.

"Why shouldn't I? He's nothing but a trouble maker. His one talent is motivating people, and how does he use it? To get you and your people whipped up into a frenzy with his propaganda and terrorist friends."

"Is it terrorism to show that tea-sipping bastard that he needs to respect us?"

"It is if you do it by destroying his property!"

"Can't we keep peace here for five minutes?" Virginia asked.

"Not when Carol here keeps persecuting me like this. But I guess I have to be the mature one here," Ply said, rising to his feet, "You guys obviously aren't going to hear me out, and even if you did you wouldn't understand." He grabbed his cloak from near the back door, pausing at the threshold, "You never understand anymore."

And with that he walked out into the snowy Williamsburg night.

"Well?" England asked quietly, "I'm waiting for my answer."

Ply wanted him to yell, he really did. He could deal with an England screaming his lungs out. He could deal with an England ranting. What he couldn't deal with was an England this quiet, this in control. It was frightening beyond anything that the young man had experienced. His mentor's voice was soft; the thin hand pressed against his colony's chest was light. And yet, it was impossible to think that England was anything but infuriated. His words were like thin ice, they seemed to be perfectly safe but one wrong step and Ply would fall into freezing cold water. The young nation could feel the way that those fingers itched; how they were prepared to grab his throat as soon as he did anything England didn't like.

Ply wanted so badly to fall to his knees, to curl up at England's boots and beg for forgiveness. His heart was racing, and he was sure that his mentor could feel it just by the smirk on his face.

But no, Ply wouldn't fall. Not now. He had come this far. If he were to back out, he would never forgive himself.

He forced the shakiness from his voice and asked, "What makes you think I dreamed of getting away with it?"

England laughed. It was a harsh biting sound completely unlike that of a hundred years ago when he and Ply had played in the grass outside of town or in the big house in the country. His eyes had sparkled with happiness when he looked down at his only, as far as he knew at least, little brother. And now- now-

No. Just no. Ply couldn't think this way. It would make him sick for sure.

"Ah, so you're not quite that stupid." England said, "Good, maybe then you'll learn something from all this. Not a good chance, but I'll take it."

"What are you going to do to me?" Ply asked.

He had heard horror stories before from sailors in the taverns. They told tales of terrible, terrible things that had happened to either themselves or their shipmates when they made England mad. Ply had heard it all: whippings so horrible that men would bleed for days, being bound to the mast and not given food or drink until they were at death's door, ears and noses cut off, people being attached to a rope and thrown overboard to be run over by the boat again and again and cut by the barnacles on the keel, sometimes if the sailor had done something particularly awful he would be tied up, covered in honey, and put in the bilge so that the rats and filth could kill him.

He hadn't quite believed those stories before, there was no way that England would be so awful to someone he was responsible for. But now, seeing the look in those green eyes, he believed it. The colony dreaded what was coming. What was the man planning? It seemed as though he was thinking it over himself.

"You've committed a terrible crime, colony," he said, "In fact; I believe that this is one of the worst offenses I've ever had to deal with."

"Oh God," Ply thought, "This is it. I'm dead. He's going to kill me. Oh God, oh God, OH GOD!" He began to visibly shake.

"However," England said, ignoring his future victim, "I suppose that it is partially my fault. I raised you like this, irreverent and independent. I am to blame as well."

"Wait… Maybe, Maybe I will survive this." Ply allowed a sigh of relief to escape his lips. Huge mistake.

Green eyes flashed up to glare into blue, "Do you believe this means I'm letting you go? On the contrary. What this means is that it's my duty to set things right." He unfastened the leather whip from his belt. "I will break you, Massachusetts. I will break you until there are only the very smallest shards left, and then I will build you up again. This time, you will become the loyal little brother that you ought to be. If it's any condolence, this does not make me happy. If I had my way, I would never have to discipline you."

For a moment, there was a softness in England's face again. His eyes had gone from green like the sky before a tornado to green like leaves in the summertime. For one fleeting second, Ply saw the teenager that was happy to see him no matter the scenario. He saw the country that had loved him, plain and simple. But then that country was gone, and the empire before him looked on with much older, sharper features.

"But even I cannot always have my way. I have to make sure that my brother behaves himself, after all. If you choose to act like this, I have to punish you. That's just how it works. Now," He unfurled his whip. It at first had seemed to be a plain leather device, but now it was obvious that there were nine tails. It wasn't fair to mix punishments like that! Of course, Ply didn't say anything because if he did England would just come up with something worse, "Take off your shirt and face the wall."

For once, the blond did as he was told, but he was still not ready to give up. He braced himself and clenched his jaw.

He felt the tongues of the whip sting his back. It hurt, it hurt a lot. England was aiming for the shoulders, where there was no fat and little muscle to protect his brother. The colony bit down harder, England wouldn't hear him scream; he would not. Apparently reading the younger man's mind, England whipped him harder and made sure to hit some of the same places he had broken the skin before. Still, Ply held out. He would stay silent. And those were most certainly not tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and even if they were, he was just blinking them back. This was nothing. It didn't hurt half as bad as when he was shot in the arm during the war, and he didn't cry then either. So then why was it so hard to do this now? He bit his lip so hard that it bled. England was getting irritated, he could tell. The blond wanted to hear his colony scream.

Well like hell he was getting it.

Eventually, though, Ply's elbows gave out and he collapsed against the wall. This seemed to be enough to satisfy England, as he stopped after that. Ply turned to watch as he wiped the blood off onto the white tablecloth. That was brand new, dammit!

"I hope you've learned your lesson." England said, "All of you. If any of you so much as think of trying anything like that, you'll end up even worse than him."

Ply didn't want to think of how bad he looked. He actually didn't feel too awful, but the others were looking on at him as though he had been dismembered. Mary was trying to hide her tears with her handkerchief. Carol just stood there with his mouth agape, seemingly confused about how horrible he felt seeing this happen when he himself had done worse things to his brother. New York, for all his gruffness, had fallen to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Peaches was sobbing openly, tears running down her face like the Flint River ran through her home. Virginia's lips were only parted slightly, but his eyes were wide and empty, just like after the battle of Lake George when he had first killed a man. When most of them had first killed, actually. When England had forced them all, even Peaches who always said she was so delicate, to the front lines with him. In spite of, or possibly because of, his shock Virginia was the first to speak.

"England," He said, "Big brother, what have you done to him?"

England took a few steps toward his oldest colony, "Less than I ought to have." He put on his coat and walked towards the door.

Ply grabbed the closest thing he could reach, a candle stick, and threw it towards England. It missed by a mile. The colony cursed.

"So that's how it's to be," England said, turning back for a moment "Well then, prepare yourself, little brother. I'm not nearly done yet." Still, he left without a fight.

The moment the door shut, the other colonies leapt to their brother's side. The held him, cleaned him, told him everything would be okay and swore on every relevant thing that England would pay.

None of them cared that no matter how much blood had spilled at one point, the cuts were already scabbing over. None of them noticed the tears that had already been in England's eyes before he left. None of them heard the stories of how the captain had walked back to his ship, demanded they leave, and then not said anything to anyone until he was back in London.

Historical Notes:

"Those laws that make it illegal for us to trade with anyone else." These are the Navigation Acts. As Ply said, they were laws that forbade the American colonies from trading with anyone else but England and other English colonies. The first of them were passed in 1651, but it didn't really bother anyone since the officials were easy to bribe and everyone ended up making money. Also, it did add all the positives that England listed.

"Didn't you notice how hard my boys fought?" Let's be honest here, the American army sucked. It sucked even during the revolution. The French and Indian war proved this to the British (because the proper term was British by this point). However, the colonists, in true American fashion, believed that they did most of the work and were the heroes of the war.

"It's time that I become more involved in your affairs" After the war and almost losing its colonies, Britain decided that it would drop that whole salutary neglect thing. They kept 10,000 soldiers in America and from there on out were much more involved. Of course, the colonists were overjoyed (/sarcasm)

Dates: The Tea Party took place on December 16th. Most likely, if all of the colonies came as quickly as possible the earliest they could have met was around Christmas time. Word of the event reached Britain in January (it took about three weeks to cross the Atlantic), so I figure England would have gotten there in February.

"That line ten years ago" This refers to the Proclamation of 1763. The British drew a line and said that people couldn't settle west of a line. This was to prevent hostilities with natives and also make the people easier to tax and control.

"Everything on paper" The stamp act of 1765 added a tax on everything on paper, from legal documents to cards. It was the first direct tax, so this bothered the people since they got to see the money they were paying?

"'No taxation without representation'?" Patrick Henry, Virginia house of Burgesses said this. He wanted Britain to recognize the rights of landowners to be represented in parliament (this came from the Magna Carta, written in the 13th century). Most likely, if Britain had given the colonies even one representative, they could have postponed the Revolution for many more years.

"You dumped three hundred fifty chests of his tea into Boston Harbor!" Even though we don't like to admit it, the Boston Tea Party was the act of a fringe group of terrorists known as the sons of liberty who were upset that Britain had given the East India Company a monopoly in America. They snuck aboard a tea ship and dumped 342 (I rounded, okay?) chests of tea into the harbor. The reaction was mixed to say the least, especially since the East India tea was still cheaper than the Smuggled Dutch tea, as Mary so helpfully pointed out.

"We still barely pay anything like the taxes people in England pay!" Carol is right. It's crazy how little tax the colonists paid. What really bothered them was that England had implemented those taxes without asking. In fact, their legislatures would have most likely voted for the taxes had England requested it. Just goes to show you how important saying please and thank you is. Your mom wasn't just making stuff up.

"Only five people died." The Boston Massacre: December 1770, a bunch of kids throw ice balls at British soldiers. One of them reaches out and smacks the brat a good one. So Sam Adams, second cousin of John Adams, head of the Sons of Liberty, and as thoroughly unpleasant as Carol makes him out to be, gets a mob going. Something (no one knows what) causes the British soldiers to fire. Five people do in fact die, but the papers blow this out of proportion. John Adams defended the soldiers at trial and managed to get an acquittal.

Williamsburg: Colonial capital of Virginia. It does on occasion get cold enough to snow there according to Wikipedia, and I figure that it happened more before global warming set in.

England's Punishments: Most of these are based on real punishments, but somewhat exaggerated. People were whipped into the 20th century in some commonwealths, and it could be quite awful depending on what happened. People were tied to masts as a punishment on pirate ships (likewise with the cutting off ears), and since England is a privateer (a pirate who works for a country's government) he would probably get away with this. Keel-hauling is as awful as it sounds, and was actually practiced. I'm not sure about the putting people in the bilge bit, but it sounded awful and nightmare-inducing when I thought of it. The Cat O' Nine Tails actually wasn't that bad, as they were usually made of rope. England's being made of leather would in fact be quite cruel.

"Not that deep": To be honest, even though the British did punish the people of Massachusetts, it was really more a show of power than to hurt them. Also, I don't think England has it in him to hurt his babie bwudder that badly.

The other colonies' reaction to the punishment: After the Boston Tea Party, the British passed what they called the "Coercive Acts" to make an example out of Massachusetts. They closed Boston's port until all the tea was paid for, they took power away from the assembly, they made it so they could take British officials and try them in Britain, and they forced the Bostonians (that is a real word, by the way) to provide homes for all the troops Britain wanted. These were called the "Intolerable Acts" in America, as they all violated the rights of Englishmen. This effectively turned Massachusetts into a martyr and made more people anti-British instead of scaring them into submission. Nice job breaking it hero indeed.

A/N: This one made me cry a little on the inside. The road to the American Revolution was such a case of two stubborn nations doing their bests not to give in to each other, no matter how much they wanted to be friends again.

But on the other hand, Scared!America and Pirate!England are hellova lot of fun to write.
Also, if you really love me, get me an England sprawled across an armchair wearing any kind of period clothing. It will make me very, very happy. Until next time~