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.
England straightened up, surprising the both of them. Hurriedly, he moved back around his desk and leant over it, shuffling papers here and there. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, eyes unable to meet America’s imploring ones, ‘that you and I need to take a break from each other. I need to concentrate more on Europe and the EU anyway. I’ve been planning to shift more towards them for a long time anyway,’ he explained, forcing his tone to sound conversational.
‘Are you… are you dismissing me?’ America said, voice trembling in disbelief.
England looked up then, fixing him with a stare that was in equal parts the pitying look of an ashamed parent, and the cold, hard apathy of a business associate. It was unsettling upon England’s face. Unsettling to truly see it for the first time.
‘No,’ he said, still in a quiet voice, but it was much firmer than before. ‘I am suggesting that we spend some time apart, working in different spheres. Maybe it will give you some clarity.’
‘Don’t tell me what I do and don’t need!’ America slammed his fists down onto the table. Lying England again, falling back into his Goddamned deceitful ways, treating him like a kid, just because he knew he was inferior. Just because-
‘America,’ England’s voice cut through the fog. England’s tired, emotionally drained voice. ‘Go home.’
America drew back, dragging his fists back to his sides. Without a second glance at England, he turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door shut behind him with a soft click.
And then he smiled.
Silly England, acting morally superior. America was the exceptional one, God’s chosen child. What did England know of morals? Where were England’s morals when he was carelessly cutting down anyone weaker than him on his path to glory?
Patience was what America needed. Patience. One day everyone, every person on God’s green earth, would agree with him. He was the ideal, they told him. He was the one who had risen above history, mighty in his benevolence, and righteous in his cause. And when the day came when England came crawling to him, begging for his forgiveness and his love, he would grant him both. Because what was he, if not the shining beacon of hope for this world of liars and sinners?
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!
‘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.
England straightened up, surprising the both of them. Hurriedly, he moved back around his desk and leant over it, shuffling papers here and there. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, eyes unable to meet America’s imploring ones, ‘that you and I need to take a break from each other. I need to concentrate more on Europe and the EU anyway. I’ve been planning to shift more towards them for a long time anyway,’ he explained, forcing his tone to sound conversational.
‘Are you… are you dismissing me?’ America said, voice trembling in disbelief.
England looked up then, fixing him with a stare that was in equal parts the pitying look of an ashamed parent, and the cold, hard apathy of a business associate. It was unsettling upon England’s face. Unsettling to truly see it for the first time.
‘No,’ he said, still in a quiet voice, but it was much firmer than before. ‘I am suggesting that we spend some time apart, working in different spheres. Maybe it will give you some clarity.’
‘Don’t tell me what I do and don’t need!’ America slammed his fists down onto the table. Lying England again, falling back into his Goddamned deceitful ways, treating him like a kid, just because he knew he was inferior. Just because-
‘America,’ England’s voice cut through the fog. England’s tired, emotionally drained voice. ‘Go home.’
America drew back, dragging his fists back to his sides. Without a second glance at England, he turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door shut behind him with a soft click.
And then he smiled.
Silly England, acting morally superior. America was the exceptional one, God’s chosen child. What did England know of morals? Where were England’s morals when he was carelessly cutting down anyone weaker than him on his path to glory?
Patience was what America needed. Patience. One day everyone, every person on God’s green earth, would agree with him. He was the ideal, they told him. He was the one who had risen above history, mighty in his benevolence, and righteous in his cause. And when the day came when England came crawling to him, begging for his forgiveness and his love, he would grant him both. Because what was he, if not the shining beacon of hope for this world of liars and sinners?
With a cheerful smile, America walked away.
---
Hope you enjoyed it, OP. : )
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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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