#s&pweek2019

[aph-fanficchallenges]

Welcome to our first event week! This week is dedicated to your ships and platonic relationships! You can write with who you want, as long you use our prompts and follow our rules 💕

Rules:

This is a sfw event, so please don't write heavy topics and ns/fw contents. This includes, obviously, pe/do/philia, gore, na/zi, racism, xenophobia, etc. Be respectful.

If you write something that could be a trigger for someone else, please tag it as such, so we can tag it as well.

You have to, at least, to use one of the prompts given per day. If you want, you can use both!

Tag your work with s&pweek2019 and mention us (@aph-fanficchallenges ), so we can reblog it!

Day 1 (June 16): Meeting at midnight / Old-fashioned

Day 2 (June 17): Ocean / Constellations

Day 3 (June 18): Lipstick / Pride

Day 4 (June 19): Moonlight (or just Moon) / Hope

Day 5 (June 20): Serenity / Mirror

Day 6 (June 21): A fateful encounter / an anxious feeling

Day 7 (June 22): Free day

You can send late submissions and, let's be honest, as long you mention us, we will reblog your work no matter when.

If you have questions, you can ask us!

May you be blessed with inspiration!

[shachaai]

[Fic] A River to Cross and No Boat to Get Me There

Pairings/Characters: America /& f!England Rating: Teen Summary: Brussels, Belgium, July 2018. Over drinks, England and America (do not) talk politics. Really.

Notes: Written for @aph-fanficchallenges’ Shipping & Platonic Week 2019, Day 1: Old-Fashioned. It’s late. orz The way I write these two always feels like it straddles a line somewhere between platonic and strangely romantic/sexual, and I think you can choose to read this as either shippy or not - either way, there’s a kind of (resigned, exasperated) love there. Also on AO3.

   July, 2018 A bar in Haren, City of Brussels, in the Kingdom of Belgium

  The bar is all suits and badges, but, as long as a guy knows what he’s looking for, the woman sitting nursing her drink at the bar - smart, dark grey skirt suit, name and face on her badge hidden by being tucked away behind the lapel of her blazer - stands out from the other people in the room.

She’s the only Nation in the room.

Well, she’s the only Nation in the room until America sidles in, quite proud of himself for his tracking abilities in an urban landscape without the use of spy satellites. He takes himself to the bar beside his quarry and leans over its polished top to nab the bartender’s attention, body angled towards his colleague.

“An Old-Fashioned for me, sir, and -” he begins, and eyes up the drink in front of his companion: a tumbler about a third full of booze and ice, deep brown with shimmering tones of gold - someone is hitting the spirits early (earlier than him) -, “another one for the lady too, I think?”

The bartender gives him a look and America is just about to repeat his order, a bit more clearly this time, when England sighs beside him, looking up from her one-woman stare-off with her drink and repeats his request for him. In French. (America assumes it’s French. There’s a L’Old-Fashioned in there anyway, rolling off England’s tongue in the way it never does in front of France, and a rather pointed s'il vous plaît.)

The bartender nods and gets to it, leaving England to give America her trademarked suspicious look. She’s foregone pretty hairclips today so has to sweep back some of the side-fall of her sharp bob to glower at him effectively, and that sort of effort usually means business.

“This place isn’t your usual. Why are you following me?”

Blunt.

“Everyone else was busy,” says America, and tries a charming smile that hopes England won’t point out how unlikely it is that all of the Nations involved in NATO apart from England and America have found something else to do with their lunchtimes. There’s always at least one Nation at loose ends for another to pounce upon.

England’s frown deepens and her eyebrows arch for the sky, so America lets his smile drop. There’s no real point lying, though the waste of his acting talents does make him pout. (In another life, Hollywood would be just eating this up. Begging for his time.)

“Alright , I came seeking refuge in audacity?”

“I’m audacity?” England asks, sounding undecided on whether she should be offended by that or not, only to swing her legs round hastily when America goes to pull out the barstool beside her and stomp down an unladylike heel on the foot rest, preventing its movement. “Oh - no, no, no, no, no, Jones. I think you’re a blithering idiot at the moment as well.”

“Oh, come on. ” America protests, and gives the barstool another halfhearted yank. (Not a serious yank, because if he did that he might break England’s ankle, and England and the British and Washington all of the rest of NATO would eviscerate him about him with their tongues and Russia would be a smug asshole about it again, and God, England would never let him forget it if he broke her leg. Ever. ) “I’m buying you a drink!”

“Caveat emptor,” says England snippily, and doesn’t let up on the barstool. Whoever said the English were civil, gracious and polite? “I came here for some peace and quiet, for a change.”

“Yeah, well, I came to join the club.”

America had figured England had someplace to go when she’d pretended she’d not noticed the way France was deliberately ignoring her and swanned out of the NATO headquarters like she had better things to do. Without talking to any of her own people either. It usually meant England was taking herself directly to the nearest source of both dimness and decent alcohol so she could bitch-text whoever wasn’t at the latest conference with her about how much she hated everything.

A drink and getting away from everyone glaring daggers into his back or offering gentle ‘suggestions’ about his boss had sounded pretty great to America, so he’d followed her. There isn’t enough time allotted for lunch for England to get totally wasted (something the world and certainly America must be very grateful for), but some mild inebriation for the both of them would probably make the afternoon’s meetings a lot easier to get through.

America toes one of the barstool’s feet, letting the dull thud shake up through England’s heel. “We can’t be social pariahs together?”

England still looks suspicious. “Alone, together?”

“With alcohol,” says America, right as the bartender slides their drinks over to them. The guy might hate English, but he has pretty good timing, so America digs out one of what he thinks is one of the more high-value pieces of rainbow paper most of Europe calls money out of his wallet and tells him to keep the change.

England huffs at him, but she withdraws her heel so America can finally pull the barstool out to sit, distracting herself by fishing the maraschino cherry out of her Old-Fashioned to pop it between her lips. “I swear: if you try to talk shop with me right now, I’ll stab you somewhere unpleasant.”

“Didn’t know there was somewhere pleasant to stab a guy,” America comments as he finally takes a seat, holding up both hands in the universal gesture for whoa there when England grins a grin that looks entirely too mean for an elaboration to be anything America wants to hear about in public. “I’ll take your word for it; I don’t wanna know!”

“Where did your spirit of adventure disappear to?” England teases him, and finishes her first drink in one long swallow before reaching out to her new cocktail.

America picks up his own, gesturing in the vague but not explicit of England beside him as his fingers slide in the condensation on the glass, “There’s adventure, and there’s…”

“Where angels fear to tread?” America takes a swallow of his Old-Fashioned so he doesn’t have to answer, the bitters heavy on his tongue under the whiskey burn, and England snorts at him. Flicks back her hair again, but thankfully doesn’t reach out to pat his cheek. “It’s been a long time since you were a cherub, darling.”

America squints at her, because he might have to recalculate just how quickly England can get herself shitfaced when the mood strikes. (He really needs to clean his glasses.) “How many drinks have you had? ”

“Not enough,” sighs England, which is a feeling America can definitely empathise with. At least as long as England isn’t sliding sideways off her barstool. “I keep hoping the alcohol will drown out all their squabbling.”

“S’it working?”

“Like fuck is it.” England toasts him idly, takes a sip of her drink, and then grumbles, “And you don’t help.”

“Thanks,” says America with the same amount of cheer. Maybe he can drown himself in whiskey.

“I’ve my own shit to deal with without my people harping on about your shit,” England continues unnecessarily, because America, of course, could not have possibly heard any of this same spiel from any of the other Nations or their people gathered in Brussels that day already. “If your tit of a boss could just not do what he did in Canada and leave one thing unfucked for the rest of us, that’d be smashing.”

“That’s the plan,” America sighs - and then hurries on before England can harangue him further, “but what’s your strategy?”

The element of surprise works - for once - in his favour, and England is distracted. “Hm?”

“For winning over Europe,” America clarifies - and then pauses with his glass against his mouth, sweet cherry bobbing against his lower lip, realising something. “Is that why you’re wearing a new suit?”

He’d thought England’s skirt suit had been smart: it’s all crisp lines with a nipped waist, dark grey herringbone blazer against the stiff white collar of her blouse, but the straight skirt is definitely showing off a lot of her legs.

America has heard far too many people compliment England’s legs in front of him over the years, and he groans at the mental images. “It is, ain’t it?”

England has the decency to blush - or at least allow all the booze she’s imbibed so far to do it on her behalf. The colour bleeds down her throat, and America groans again into his Old-Fashioned, taking a large swig from his tumbler and tucking the cherry into his cheek. “I -”

“I don’t wanna know,” America gripes, and hopes the whiskey will burn his revelation out of his head. Europe.

Still pink, England coughs, and takes another sip from her own cocktail. For a few moments, they have quiet.

“...Probably for the best,” England admits quietly, eventually, and then shifts enough over on her stool so she can nudge her knee up against America’s. “Thanks for the drink.”

     The 2018 NATO summit was held in Brussels, Belgium, July 11-12. It took place in the (new) NATO headquarters found there, in a complex in Haren (part of the City of Brussels municipality). I don’t know if there are any good bars nearby the complex, but you’d think there would be with all the demand there must be.

The 44th G7 summit was held in La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada, in June 2018 - obviously, before the NATO summit. It received a lot of attention internationally because of (as others have more tactfully put it) ‘a significant decline of relations of members with the United States’, and was dubbed G6+1 by France and parts of the media as a result. The US withdrew in what seemed like a huff from several important international agreements, and was widely condemned by international politicians, climate change scientists, trade policy experts, foreign policy experts… etc. The US President left the summit early in order to travel to Singapore for the USA’s first summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, and was dubbed ‘the democratic world’s worst nightmare’ - all of which, of course, led to a rather fraught political atmosphere for all nations going to the NATO summit the following month.

...Do I really need to make a note about Brexit?

All the titles for this ‘verse come from poetry/literature created around the time the fic is set. This one is taken from a few lines from the poem Running, by Joy Harjo, which was published in July 2018 in The New Yorker: Now I have to find my way, when there’s a river to cross and no Boat to get me there, when there appears to be no home at all.

[nethwan]

Lipstick

Shipping/Platonic Week

Day 3 - Lipstick

Note: I hope this isn’t OoC. 

_____________________

Mei put on her new lipstick. She looked at herself in the mirror, that new color was really gorgeous. She didn’t wear too much makeup, but this one was something she needed in her life. It was pink, her favorite color, and also it smelled and tasted like strawberry. Now she needed the opinion of certain person.

She found Lars reading in the living room, she sat next to him and smiled. He looked at her; he was unable to ignore her.

“Do you like my new lipstick?” she asked him.

“It looks really good on you”

“And do you want to know the best part? It tastes like strawberry. Do you want to try it?”

He didn’t understand until she got closer. He leant to kiss her. It was true what she said, but Mei’s kisses were always so sweet anyways. Later she kissed him all over his face and neck. He laughed because she was tickling him, but he didn’t mind to receive that kind of attention. In fact it was cute and funny.

Then she observed him and giggled. He raised an eyebrow when she gave him a mirror and he found out his face was covered of kiss marks.

“That color suits you, Bunny”

She cleaned up his face with a handkerchief while both laughed. He was amused by such a situation. And he had to admit that he liked all that attention.

“Actually I liked it” he said. “Could we try again?”

She smiled, she was surprised, but she couldn’t refuse. Then she put on the lipstick again.

[nethwan]

Old Fashioned Love

Shipping/Platonic Week

Day1 - Old Fashioned 

Note: this took me a lot. It is problably not “old fashioned” but there is the idea, I hope. 

Also here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245007

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13313785/1/Old-Fashioned-Love

Lars sighed after finish another letter, this one was really special, and he had been working on it for weeks. He felt his heart beating fast, imagining Mei’s smile when she read it. He couldn’t help it; he was a hopeless romantic. He sent her flowers, wrote her love letters and poetry.

All he needed were his perfect calligraphy, a special scent and the words he couldn’t say out loud, he just let his heart talk and his hands writing. However he knew that it wasn’t enough to let her know how much he loved her.

He still wrote her letters even if they were already living together. The first time he gave her one, it was his way to confess his feelings for her, but he was afraid that it would sound cheesy and idiotic. She read it almost with tears in her eyes, telling him that it was the sweetest thing someone had ever told her.

That day when he was on his way home from work, he listened to some people talking.

“I can’t believe he sent me another letter again”

“That’s too old fashioned” they laughed.

He looked at the bouquet of tulips and the letter he’d give to Mei. Well, probably they were right about it, he had listened to something like this in the past. He felt annoyed just thinking about it and how the surprised he had for her was ruined.

He loved Mei. Every day at her side was magical. He liked to give her flowers, taking her hand when they walked, dancing slowly at the rhythm of romantic music. Or just enjoying each other’s company and talk for hours about everything. Things that some people could consider too vanilla and boring.  

He didn’t like to exhibit their love on social networks as others did. That wasn’t for him. In occasions, Mei posted some pictures, but he didn’t mind because she was more used to it. It wasn’t as if he was a complete gentleman, he was far from being a prince, but sometimes he thought he was born in the wrong generation.

When he arrived home, she welcomed him with a sweet smile, and he got breathless.

“These flowers are beautiful! Thank you, Bunny” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He kept the letter for later.

Then they exchanged a few comments about their day while they made dinner. After dinner, they stayed in the living room to watch her favorite drama. She noticed he was quieter than usual.

“What’s wrong, Lars?”

“Are you bored of my presents?”

“Of course no, I love flowers and your poems are beautiful. How could I think that what your heart says is boring?”

“Do you think I’m old fashioned then?”

“Bunny, you are a hopeless romantic, and you are attentive and loving too. I love you as you are, you should know it. Besides I have kept all the letters you have given to me, they are my treasure” she said, taking his hands on hers.

Maybe he wasn’t the most modern man on earth, but maybe he was little bit old fashioned in some aspects, like he never used a calculator because he was good at math. He preferred physical books than ebooks and he called instead of send messages. But she loved that of him.

Then he took out the letter from his pocket. He hesitated a bit, but he really needed to give it to her. Her eyes and smile got brighter when she saw the envelope, but this time he asked her to read it in front of him.

She did it gladly, and as she was reading she started crying, but she didn’t stop. It was a poem in which he told her the story of them. He had put his heart on it and it was evident. Then she gasped when she read the last line. She nodded and hugged him.

“Yes, I will” she sobbed. And he placed the ring in her finger.

He wiped her tears away and kissed her. Later, they danced slowly at the rhythm of her favorite love song. And even after getting married he still gave her flowers and love letters.  

[aph-fanficchallenges]

The Shipping/Platonic Week begun!!

It's the first day! And the prompts are "Meeting at midnight" and "Old-fashioned"!

Now, will your characters have a mysterious encounter at midnight? Or maybe will find a problem that requires an old-fashioned way to resolve it?

It's up to you!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

It's time for day 5!

Today's prompts are "Serenity" and "Mirror"! Maybe serenity is what your character feels next to their loved ones! And maybe there's something behind the mirror that they don't know!

Only the writers will know!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

It's the day 4!

We already reach half of the event, thank you for participating until now! Don't forget you can still submit the other days!

Anyway, today's prompts are "Moonlight (or just Moon)" and "Hope"! Don't they say that looking at the moon will make your problems fade away?~ Or that hope is the last one to die?

It's you, the writers, who decide!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

The third day is here!

Today's prompts are "Lipstick" and "Pride"! Maybe your character bought a new lipstick and want to kiss someone's cheek? Or is celebrating Pride, as this month is the Pride month?

Either way, love is love, no matter is romantic or platonic 💕

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

The second day is up!

The prompts are "Ocean" and "Constellations"! Do your characters live in the deep ocean? Or maybe in a place where you can be amazed by the clean sky and its incredible constellations?

You are the one who knows!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

It's the last day!

Today is a free day! Meaning you can write whatever you want!

We thank those who decided to take some of their time to participate 💕 Hopefully you had fun!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!

A reminder that we will reblog late submissions. How late? Honestly, just mention us and we will reblog. This blog exist to promo your work, so we will reblog anything that we were mentioned. ;3 Have fun!

[aph-fanficchallenges]

Day 6 here!!

Today's prompts are "A fateful encounter" and "An anxious feeling"! Well, well! Who will your character encountered thanks to fate? Or why is your character having such anxious feeling?

As we say, it's you who decided!

Don't forget to mention us and tag your work with s&pweek2019!