Chapter Text
Stamp Act, March 1765
Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. The sound of the grandfather clock in England’s living room seeped into the kitchen, he felt every second pass by deep inside his chest like a physical blow. The gas stove produced a quiet airy hum as it’s flames warmed up his kettle. England had been drinking tea non-stop recently, it had been one of his only sources of comfort during these troubling times. Some Native Americans had been rebelling against his English forts near their tribes and he had just dealt with another fight with France. As much as he hates to admit, he’s losing money.
England groaned, bowing his head and pinching his temples. He stared up at his ceiling, with his current luck, there would be a leak. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Colonizing America was supposed to boost his income, not deplete it with these silly uprisings and fights.
“Oh bother, what to do?” England asked aloud, though, he wasn’t really expecting an answer. He wished his unicorn and fairy friends would help him, but they haven’t been very helpful lately, they’ve been more apt to ignore his questions for guidance or mock him passive aggressively.
A small wistful whizzing that soon became a piercing scream interrupted his thoughts. England took the kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water into his mug. The tea bag floated to the top of the water, the surrounding liquid had a slightly green hue as the tea leaves leaked their flavor into the drink.
England turned off the burner and took his mug into his office, placing it onto his designated spot for tea cups. He drummed his fingers against his desk with a groan as he frowned over all the papers. So much paper, so much money. So much money leaving him. England took the rim off a small container that he kept sugar cubes in and dropped a few in his cup. He stared at one for a few seconds before glancing at the papers and then it hit him.
“By God, I’ve got it! I’ll just tax America!” He announced happily, again, to nobody specific.
Around 30 years ago, in 1733, England had taxed America 3 cents for every gallon of molasses. Poor America had pleaded that the tax would at least be 1 cent, but England refused, and has gotten a good share of money from the tax.
“Oh, but whatever shall I tax…” England placed a hand to his chin "Something that is widely used that he cannot just avoid like molasses..”
His eyes fell on the papers in front of him. Papers. America uses papers for all sorts of things, commercial and legal documents, newspapers, pamphlets, almanacs, and playing cards. It’s impossible to avoid using these items.
“Heheh, oh what a cunning and dapper fellow you truly are, England.” England assured confidently to himself, feeling very like quite the intelligent man.
England immediately got to work, he’d have to write to parliament and get their approval, which wouldn't be too hard since parliament was made of all Brits whose votes for America’s laws didn’t affect them at all.
About a month and a half later, in America. (horrible time skip, I know)
America walked down the cobble paved street. The Boston streets were bustling, horse drawn carriages filled the roads and across the street, women were accompanying their children at a park since it was nearing spring and the weather was getting more tolerable.
As much as America loved strolls to admire his citizens, he was going out to purchase a newspaper to hear the local news and so forth.
America approached the local corner store and nodded to the British soldiers keeping watch. They were everywhere. Does England know America has his own cops and soldiers to keep the peace? Anyway, America took a newspaper from the nearby rack and handed it to the cashier.
“Greetings! How’s business?” He asked the young cashier casually whilst digging in his wallet for proper payment.
"Oh, business is doing well. Fortunately you're buying newspapers, they haven’t been selling well lately.” The man responded. He took the money and started collecting change for America.
“Huh, weird. Anything for a local American business, y’know! Keep the change.” America flashed his signature grin at the man before putting his wallet away and taking the newspaper.
“Oh, why thank you. Don’t forget your stamp!” The cashier reached under the counter and handed America a small stamp. It was drawn in red ink with a crown in front of two fencing swords that formed an X and some Latin written around it.
“Huh, what’s this for?” America asked. He took the stamp and stared down at it in his leather gloved hand.
“It’s to give to the stamp collector. Luckily this one isn’t too much, it’s only half a pence (~50 cents, 2026)” The man explained with a shrug.
"What? Why are there stamp collectors, is it the newspaper company or something for a prize?”
“No, England is taxing newspapers, documents and other items now.”
“Oh, I see.” America responded simply, his voice flattening a little. He shoved the stamp in his pocket “Whelp, have a good day, sir! I hope your business does well!”
America trudged out the door at marching pace. He didn’t look at the British soldiers by the door, he didn’t feel like dealing with them commenting about his mood. He had someone he needed to see.
England stared down at a document. He was very busy and had fallen into deep focus, his tea had started going cold. But then, his work was interrupted by this agitating and grating sound of the door slamming open so hard it banged against the wall. He didn’t even have to look up to know who was standing in the doorway.
“Yo, England, sir, what is all this stamp taxing about?” America demanded with fire in his eyes as he held the stamp out for England to see.
“Do not use such improper language, ‘yo’ is not a real word, why, you’ve developed an attitude lately.” England corrected, he took a sip of his tea to calm his nerves. He hadn’t realized until halfway through enacting the tax that America may not be happy at the idea. He’s been anxiously awaiting the conversation for a while now.
“Answer the question! Why are you taxing newspapers and stuff?” America demanded, ignoring the corrections whilst resisting an eye-roll.
“Well, since you asked so kindly, we’re collecting the tax to help pay for more soldiers in your country and other such activities.. To be frank, I’m surprised you’d even care about such a small ordeal when it’s going to help you and those pesky Native American attacks.” Britain explained with a small smile to try and calm America down with the partial truth.
“That’s stupid! Why didn’t you ask me for my opinion?”
“My goodness, you are getting quite the ego. Do I have to pass everything by you? Why does it matter if I ask for your opinion or not?” England took a quiet sip of his tea.
“Because you’re taxing ME and MY citizens! You’re not taxing your country, you’re taxing me- a totally different country! You didn’t give me a choice on this, you just randomly dropped this whole tax stuff with things you’re not even making” America exclaimed, clenching his fists, the outburst may be about a little more than just the stamp act, but the amount of taxing England had been doing was just ludicrous to him.
“But, America, are my little brother, I’m doing this because I care about you and want you to be safe. Would you rather me not love you?”
"Yeah, I would rather that if I’m being honest. I can handle my own.” America grumbled, looking down at his shoes after his declaration.
“... I see, I’ll.. keep that in mind.” England responded heavily. He pressed his lips together, the air felt thick. “Well, please do remember to pay off that stamp of yours.”
“Y’wanna know what I think of your stamps?” America asked figuratively while digging in his suit pocket for something.
“No, I believe you’ve expressed how you feel about the stamp quite well enough."
America took a match box, pulled a match out and ignited it. He held the flame under the stamp and made the flame catch on the stamp. He let the stamp burn for a few seconds before dropping it to the carpet and stomping it into the ground with his brown leather boots that had attentively made swirls on the sides.
“Hmph!” Was all that America said before marching out of England’s office and slamming the door.
“Ugh! How vulgar!” England commented under his breath, glancing down at the ashes on the carpet, that would definitely leave a burn mark.
As America left England’s house, he saw something in the living room that caused him to pause. On the wall were a few photos of when they were younger. There was one where they were both sitting together outside eating some lunch, England was wiping some food off of young America’s face with an annoyed look.
There was another photo where America and Canada were in these stupid matching outfits. They both had these red collared shirts with big frills everywhere and then these big and wide blue cotton pants. America remembered that day, England and France had tried to go out and enjoy a day with Canada and America. The only thing those two could agree on was putting America and Canada in the most ridiculous outfit, the rest of the time, England and France would fight over petty occurrences.
The third photo was simple, England was standing next to America with a small fond smile as he watched America. Little America was holding a bouquet of these royal blue flowers with medium length thin petals and yellow buds. England had brought some over from his country to America after he had desperately searched across his own to no avail.
America turned his head away with a huff and continued on his way out. They both aren’t the same people anymore, he shouldn’t scour into the past of people who aren’t here. England probably only kept the second photo to laugh at anyway.
About two months passed, England had THOUGHT that besides America… Maaaybe his citizens would be more accepting of the taxing, but his hopes were wrong. There were riots, boycotts, and people would simply ignore the taxes. This mysterious group had even formed in Manhattan, they threatened and attacked the owners of shops for even selling products that were taxed. England knew that Americans may be hesitant about the tax, but he didn’t expect them to perform such violent actions in rebellion.
England had been sitting on his couch, sipping tea and reading the news, when someone burst into his house again. It was America, proudly holding this piece of paper with fancy cursive writing on it.
“Hey, England, take a look at this!” He held the paper close to England’s face with a shit eating smirk.
“Oh dear, what have you done now?” England took the paper and held it at a preferable distance to read the whole thing. The paper was an appeal to the Stamp Act by America’s congress. England put a hand over his mouth and laughed, quite amused at this attempt “ohohoho, are you actually attempting to appeal to my taxes?”
“Yeah! And you better consider it real hard, I’m SICK of these taxes!” America declared, narrowing his eyes at England and leaning in to point at the paper.
“Oh, really? Well, hmmm.. I am considering, I am considering..hmm” England said sarcastically, stroking his chin and glazing over the paper and it’s words. “Would you like to know what I think of your repeal?”
“What?”
England stifled a snicker as he took the top two corners of the paper in his hand and ripped it into two. He put the two pieces on top of each other and then ripped it into four. America’s mouth stood open for a moment before closing in a frustrated grimace. He furrowed his eyebrows as he watched England drop the scraps to the floor
“Dude!” America managed to groan
“Oops. I hope you’ll at least pay the tax for that document. Anyway, would you like to have some tea?” England asked before sipping his own tea.
“NO! I don't want tea, you’d probably just tax me for it anyway!” America crossed his arms, glaring down at England.
“No, I’ll avert from taxing you for this tea.” England responded, trying to present with a soft and calm smile.
“Ugh you suck!” America spun around and stormed out of the house, not being able to bear another minute with England.