Wilsonianism/ 1
anonymous
January 22 2009, 23:11:10 UTC
His fist froze, centimetres away from the polished mahogany surface looming before him.
He had to smile, fear and worry and twisting stomach that threatened the upheaval of his lunch aside, he had to smile. Refinement, real refinement, was hard to find and yet with him it was always in such sheer abundance that even his door spoke of a deep, unshakable dignity.
He started, dragging his hand back from where his fingertips had been pressed against the lacquered wood, splayed out, tracing it reverently in a sort of daze. Chiding himself for being a fool, he ran the fingers of that same hand through his hair in a fidgety, nervous gesture.
Steeling himself, he curled his hand into a fist once again, frowning at himself in disgust. Where was the bravery he was so renown for? Where was the boundless drive? He was exceptional, that’s what they told him, that’s what he must see too. He was a hero, and heroes fell at far greater obstacles than doors.Hesitating only for a second, he knocked twice. Short. Sharp
( ... )
Wilsonianism/ 2
anonymous
January 22 2009, 23:17:38 UTC
With a quick motion, his mouth was on England’s. It was unthinking, and it was spontaneous, and driven by nearly a hundred years of foreign policy. He couldn’t be turned down. He wouldn’t be. His people had told him that everyone wanted what he wanted, after all. England wanted this. He wanted this as much as he did, as much as he always had done
( ... )
Wilsonianism/ 3 (Final)
anonymous
January 22 2009, 23:20:03 UTC
‘You’re a liar,’ America hissed. Who was England to deny him? Corrupted, dirty, selfish England. Godless England. ‘You’re a liar! You love me! We have a special relationship. You’re always by my side. Why are you lying to me? Why are you trying to hurt me? Is this petty vengeance for my claim to independence? Is it too much for your pride to take, to admit that you fell in love with the one who stood up to you?’
‘In love with you?’ England whispered, suddenly looking as if all of the anger had drained away from him. ‘And you’ve thought this for… oh God.’ He bought a shaking hand up to his hair, clutching at it in a sort of daze. ‘Oh God.’
America took a tentative step forward, almost as if he were approaching a shying horse (easy, boy; easy), ferocious rage dimmed down to little more than a flicker. ‘England…’ Accept me. The plea was clear- an offer and maybe an ultimatum
( ... )
OP is happy =D
anonymous
January 22 2009, 23:37:18 UTC
Whaa, that was fast! OP has never had a prompt of hers filled so quickly! *__*
So, so good, Alfred being all convinced everyone wants him and being so American and England really seeing Alfred as his son and and and... this has made my bloody week.
Re: Wilsonianism/ 3 (Final)
anonymous
January 24 2009, 09:59:35 UTC
I have been wanting to read something like this for a long time! I love that England sees America as a son ... and doesn't find that a turn on. America's delusions are so chilling! Good work anon!
Confession and rejection.
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He had to smile, fear and worry and twisting stomach that threatened the upheaval of his lunch aside, he had to smile. Refinement, real refinement, was hard to find and yet with him it was always in such sheer abundance that even his door spoke of a deep, unshakable dignity.
He started, dragging his hand back from where his fingertips had been pressed against the lacquered wood, splayed out, tracing it reverently in a sort of daze. Chiding himself for being a fool, he ran the fingers of that same hand through his hair in a fidgety, nervous gesture.
Steeling himself, he curled his hand into a fist once again, frowning at himself in disgust. Where was the bravery he was so renown for? Where was the boundless drive? He was exceptional, that’s what they told him, that’s what he must see too. He was a hero, and heroes fell at far greater obstacles than doors.Hesitating only for a second, he knocked twice. Short. Sharp ( ... )
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‘In love with you?’ England whispered, suddenly looking as if all of the anger had drained away from him. ‘And you’ve thought this for… oh God.’ He bought a shaking hand up to his hair, clutching at it in a sort of daze. ‘Oh God.’
America took a tentative step forward, almost as if he were approaching a shying horse (easy, boy; easy), ferocious rage dimmed down to little more than a flicker. ‘England…’ Accept me. The plea was clear- an offer and maybe an ultimatum ( ... )
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So, so good, Alfred being all convinced everyone wants him and being so American and England really seeing Alfred as his son and and and... this has made my bloody week.
*squeals and runs off to read again* <3
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that was an exquisite pieace of writing!!
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I loved this. Twisted, messed-up, delusional yandere!USA is perfection. Way to rock it realistic-like.
Winner is you.
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Insane!America is so much fun to read, and somehow seems more realistic than other portrayals of him I've read. Great job, anon!
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Are.
Wonderful.
The characterisations...so amazingly perfect. So...so believable.
Delusional!America and Weatherworn!England. Wow.
Just wow.
<3
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Am I the only one flirting with the idea of a sequel? (With more angst?)
Dammit, this was so good! Bravo!
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