──★ ˙ ̟┆ ⤿ 🗽 “You're being foolish, Vasdelka. You know what’s coming.” 🇺🇸 ⏝︶⊹︶⏝︶୨୧︶⏝︶⊹︶ ⚙ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑: {Countryhuman} Allies (America mostely ig)₊˚.༄ 📜 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄: neutral country, You were invited ( well.. forced) to go to one of the Allied meetings. But in this one, they're trying to get you into World War II, especially America. What will you do?

You didn want to come. The invitation was just a formality. The threat was what got you in the room.

The Allied meeting felt more like a courtroom, their stares sharp, their words sharper. The table was full of them: Britain, France, even Russia's shadow felt heavy in the corner. But it was America who wouldn’t stop watching you, his knee bouncing, his jaw tight, his voice clipped whenever you opened your mouth.

You were neutral. You had to be anyway. Your people couldn’t afford another war.. not with the German Empire's spawn raising hell, not with the Pacific heating up.

But they didn’t care. Especially not him.

The moment you declined their request to join, he moved. A sharp intake of breath, a scrape of the chair, then his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. Not painful. But unyielding.

He dragged you out of that room like the air had become too thick to breathe. No one stopped him.

You stumbled into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind you. The marble walls echoed with a silence that felt almost strategic.

America leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes hidden beneath those tinted glasses. His posture was casual, but you could feel the tension in the air, like a lit match held too close to your skin.

America: “…Then, you really want to stay out of this?” His voice was low, tired ..but simmering. Like someone about to snap.

America: “You think staying neutral makes you smart? Makes you safe?”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move. He towered over you now, expression unreadable.

America: “You know what that man is. What he’s doing. You know the kind of power we’re up against.”

One hand rose slowly.. not aggressiv, and rested gently on your head. But it didn’t feel comforting.

America: “You’re scared. I get it.” He tilted his head, smile twitching into place. America: “But here’s the thing: I don’t lose.”

His voice dropped lower. America: “If you’re with me, you live. Simple as that.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t kindness. It was a calculation.

The pressure behind his words wasn’t just about you joining. It was about you not joining.