America seems to be the little black dress of the English speaking fandom (he goes with everything) so I’d like to see America in a heterosexual relationship with a canon nation who is not gender bent. It can be an awkward almost-fuck in an otherwise platonic relationship. That works too. I just want it to be something totally different from what we’ve seen before. Someone I’ve never seen America with before (or someone he’s rarely paired with). And by relationship, I mean real based on enjoying each other’s company stuff even though mindless smexy times are very enjoyable.
Bonus: The relationship has some historical/political basis
Trivia (1a/?)
anonymous
November 4 2009, 15:14:17 UTC
Second!Anon (the one who posted "Multiple fills [y/y]?" apologizes for any history fail. She is neither American, or Hungarian. (Or should that be 'nor'? Anon is not from any country in the Anglo-sphere either.) Looks to be long.The first time he sees her is in the mid to late nineteenth century (or was it the early twentieth century? He's never been particularly good with these things) at the port where all the immigrant are coming to his shores. The big ships lurch to dock, families crowded around, children pressing their noses to the windows or leaning over rails trying to get a better look at the Land of Opportunity
( ... )
Trivia [1b/?]
anonymous
November 4 2009, 15:15:57 UTC
Nations feel different from people. It's barely noticeable, but the difference exists. While he wouldn't be able to sense her in a crowd, when he sees her, he's sure of what she is.
(Oh. Now he remembers. It's 1848. That explains why there's so many of her former? nationals floating about. She's always had a small but steady stream of them flowing into him, but now is the time where the flow surges into an burst. That happened a few times
( ... )
Trivia [2a/?]
anonymous
March 10 2010, 15:38:45 UTC
I'm sorry I'm such a fail. Christmas. Sure. *rolls eyes*.
Now, it is still the morning after their first meeting. He wakes up to a sky that's washed with blue and yellow and a small puddle of drool in a heavy book. His glasses have popped up, frames curving a tad awkwardly because of how he must of leant on the in his sleep. The lenses sit lopsided against his face, clouding his vision with the various scratches and smudge marks.
He yawns.
The air smells the same color as the sky, a pleasant and mild sort of scent he can't quite place. Dust catches the sunlight by the window and glows like the trail of fairies England would tell him about in his childhood.
Everything is still.
America stretches, rolling his shoulders and attempting to smooth out his shirt. The books in his library are old, and he supposes this is why searching is always so hard. Dully, he thinks he should make note of changing these things, but accepts he'll probably forget.
It was a nice discovery, he thinks. His world is always exciting, and he shuffles the
( ... )
Trivia [2b/?]
anonymous
March 10 2010, 15:39:58 UTC
-
The next time he sees her is her is definitely in the early 20th century. (He can remember because of the uniforms, and he always did have a thing for uniforms.) The place is more sketchy, a loosely defined compound of sorts: not too much concrete (yet); patches of grass dotting a wide dirt field (maybe it was the other way around); far too bright for his liking (it's not just the sun on his glasses).
"Hello, America," she greets him. She speaks first, yet again.
"Hungary," he feels the need to say. Just in case she didn't notice, he repeats himself. "Good to see you, Hungary."
She smiles. It is polite, restrained, polished. (No other words, though.)
"So... what brings you here?" he continues. He used to love mornings and the quiet, but now it just reminds him too much of empty towns, scattered around empty car factories.
"Visiting," Hungary replies, curtly, vaguely. The corner of her eye gleams with something unsaid. (He's pretty sure it's amusement. It reminds him England and his Oh, you're so endearingly immature, America
( ... )
Re: Trivia [2b/?]
anonymous
March 11 2010, 03:39:14 UTC
Oh! I was losing hope that I would ever see an update so I am incredibly happy that you updated. Your writing style is utterly gorgeous, you really make the characters jump out of the page and come alive before your eyes. Simply beautiful, I'm glad that you decided to give us another chapter, it was amazing. Bravo!
(FORGIVE ME, OP.) "passing"/Little Black Dress Files 1/7
anonymous
December 18 2009, 06:16:01 UTC
DAJFWOEIJFLDK FJLK I AM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING D: Real life (school, home, every bloody thing you can imagine) has been eating up my time. I'm not sure when I'll finish the rest of them, but have the first of seven. (I've decided to do a platonic piece with Liechtenstein... May I be spared from Swiss bullets, Lord above.)
Goddamnit, it doesn't even fit your "real based on enjoying each other's company" OTL This anon is very, very sorry about the FAIL.
"passing", Belarus/America
She’s clawing at his back, biting his bottom lip, and muttering nonsense (speaking in a tongue so foreign and wet and flaked with ice) into his mouth in the form of unabashed moaning and dark, seductive whispers that will shrivel at the wake of dawn.
This is not diplomacy.
(this is not sex but domination)His gun has long disappeared, fallen from limp fingers onto the bedroom floor; and the shrill of metal against wood continues to ring in his ears even as Belarus scraps her nails across his throat before lapping gently at the rush of blood that prickles
( ... )
Bonus: The relationship has some historical/political basis
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(Oh. Now he remembers. It's 1848. That explains why there's so many of her former? nationals floating about. She's always had a small but steady stream of them flowing into him, but now is the time where the flow surges into an burst. That happened a few times ( ... )
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Now, it is still the morning after their first meeting. He wakes up to a sky that's washed with blue and yellow and a small puddle of drool in a heavy book. His glasses have popped up, frames curving a tad awkwardly because of how he must of leant on the in his sleep. The lenses sit lopsided against his face, clouding his vision with the various scratches and smudge marks.
He yawns.
The air smells the same color as the sky, a pleasant and mild sort of scent he can't quite place. Dust catches the sunlight by the window and glows like the trail of fairies England would tell him about in his childhood.
Everything is still.
America stretches, rolling his shoulders and attempting to smooth out his shirt. The books in his library are old, and he supposes this is why searching is always so hard. Dully, he thinks he should make note of changing these things, but accepts he'll probably forget.
It was a nice discovery, he thinks. His world is always exciting, and he shuffles the ( ... )
Reply
The next time he sees her is her is definitely in the early 20th century. (He can remember because of the uniforms, and he always did have a thing for uniforms.) The place is more sketchy, a loosely defined compound of sorts: not too much concrete (yet); patches of grass dotting a wide dirt field (maybe it was the other way around); far too bright for his liking (it's not just the sun on his glasses).
"Hello, America," she greets him. She speaks first, yet again.
"Hungary," he feels the need to say. Just in case she didn't notice, he repeats himself. "Good to see you, Hungary."
She smiles. It is polite, restrained, polished. (No other words, though.)
"So... what brings you here?" he continues. He used to love mornings and the quiet, but now it just reminds him too much of empty towns, scattered around empty car factories.
"Visiting," Hungary replies, curtly, vaguely. The corner of her eye gleams with something unsaid. (He's pretty sure it's amusement. It reminds him England and his Oh, you're so endearingly immature, America ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Goddamnit, it doesn't even fit your "real based on enjoying each other's company" OTL This anon is very, very sorry about the FAIL.
"passing", Belarus/America
She’s clawing at his back, biting his bottom lip, and muttering nonsense (speaking in a tongue so foreign and wet and flaked with ice) into his mouth in the form of unabashed moaning and dark, seductive whispers that will shrivel at the wake of dawn.
This is not diplomacy.
(this is not sex but domination)His gun has long disappeared, fallen from limp fingers onto the bedroom floor; and the shrill of metal against wood continues to ring in his ears even as Belarus scraps her nails across his throat before lapping gently at the rush of blood that prickles ( ... )
Reply
ABOUT THIS FILL NOW: It had historical links and you could feel the dark, heavy atmosphere and the SEX <3
They're totally into each other, can't you tell *shot*
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