literature

Serene (Scotland x Reader)

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Brimful of sodden, discontented farm animals barely concealed from the outside gale, it was little wonder that Alasdair exhaled deeply so soon as he entered the barn, sniffing soon after as an ignorant hand chose to grind his cigar into the wooden wall. "Not ideal," he began, surveying the fittings and troughs in the same manner as a man inspecting his future domestic property. "But I have certainly seen worse. This'll do." Gesturing to the woman at his side to first step forward, he followed at her heels, remarking occasionally upon the state of the woodwork as a wet cat brushed by his ankle. The resulting irritation was poorly hidden.

His companion laughed at him, and with good reason; generally his position was such as allowed him to bear a conduct of reasonable dignity, so to all of a sudden be reduced to selecting a barn as refuge (and with precious few other options, naturally) was something of an unspoken blow. He belonged elsewhere with a glass of wine, certainly not by the stinking feeding bowl of at least three dogs, surrounded at all sides by sheep and heifers and any number of other bleary-eyed cattle. Here was a place which he would be quite pleased to vacate come the morning. Still it remained a struggle to imagine that this was their retreat, their safe haven, all for fear of being discovered and led back to the towns in utter disgrace. He had integrity enough that almost any imaginable punishment would seem preferable to being led home on charges he would regret to admit.

At last the woman at his side touched her fingers to his arm, gesturing to the corner where, miraculously, hardly any animals were present, and perhaps the dung could be better avoided. "We'll settle there. They won't find us here." 

"How can you be certain of that?" he questioned under his breath, at last shedding his wet coat while an attempt was made to clear the hay somewhat. Thankfully, he displayed what could be deemed a relative amount of expertise. "They'll have men after us by now; your family, as well. It's probably been at least an hour since it became obvious you'd left your bed empty."

"Perhaps so, but I do not think they will immediately look for us here. If they deigned to follow my instruction then they will first search westward."

"Instruction?" Alasdair suddenly shuddered involuntarily, brushing it off as cold when she cast him a rather peculiar glance. Helping her downwards, he made a soft place for her amongst what was primarily filth, encouraging her to lean back against the barn's wall and gather her skirts so they would not be entirely ruined.

"Yes. I left a letter on my dresser, informing my family I would be leaving promptly and heading toward the east, when in reality it was my plan to come northward as we have done and go in the direction of Alyth. Still I am assured my family are confident in my honesty, as they have long been, so we are not yet in danger. They will more than likely assume I was somehow foolish enough to inform them of my whereabouts and expect a swift, amiable welcome. Of course they still don't think much of you. For a time, neither did I."

"Is that so?" Alasdair found himself profoundly impressed, but in absence of any better form of expressing his gratitude he kissed her, still quite incredulous as to the immense gravity of the situation and the problems they could potentially face merely by giving away their names or not adopting appropriate clothing or pseudonyms. Presently, it was the most dramatic thing they could imagine in order to travel through to a neighbouring county, but even that action seemed drastic after the usual simplicity of living both had enjoyed for such a lengthy period of time. "I can only hope that they continue to perceive you as honest. Our actions are, after all, quite incriminating. You're now the disgrace of your family, even more than I am perhaps the disgrace of the Earth."

"Don't remind me," his companion answered, getting her teeth as she turned her head to the side, running the back of her hand across her lips. "If we are unsuccessful then I shall be a spinster for my whole life. No man would take me, nor would I want them. I believe you make me quite content." Her hand searched for Alasdair's, feeling along the rough surface of the filthy ground until she secured his own hand, dry and scarred thing that it was. After a moment of serene existence in this manner a smile came over her and she pulled away, looking at him from the corners of her eyes with a newfound interest. "What a shameless creature I am. Yet even the barn seems comfortable, now."

"Shameless, indeed," was the low reply, coupled with a long inhale of smoke and a coarse burst of laughter upon seeing her disgruntled expression. "Calm yourself; I wouldn't joke if I didn't have some sort of attachment to you. Is that comforting?"

"Hardly."

"Well, at least we are as despicable as each other. I'm certain they will accept us back in time."

"What a foolish notion. But I don't think I can fully contemplate it yet," the young woman replied, stretching out her fingers to a lamb that had wandered too close, all the while having a murky sort of look in her eyes that was sign enough of how deeply the background of their situation still troubled her. She wrung out her hair for a good few moments, looking to Alasdair only to find his attention much occupied elsewhere. By following his gaze it could be presumed that his attention was focused upon the opposing wall, but it was apparently not so.

"I didn't come this far to be reminded of home," he said after a moment of silence, staring down at his own hands, immediately seeming intrigued by the jagged flesh along the sides of the cuticles. "I've seen enough birds for a lifetime, good Lord. Damn geese. My younger brother kept a dozen and doted on them with more attention than he gave to any of us. They weren't even the only birds we ever had; you'd know full well how many chickens we kept! My family's been keeping chickens longer than they've been Scottish, probably. I can't stand the stupid birds."

By now his companion was grinning, attempting badly to confine her amusement. The mere notion of Alasdair in any form bearing some sort of grudge against creatures of such unassuming origin was little more than laughable (almost as much as was the understanding of them being linked to his brother, although truly he spoke very little of his siblings and when he did spoke with the naturally teasing mindset of an individual raised upon childhood argument and eventual tolerance). After a time she finally coughed, mirth laced through the intonation of her words when she spoke up. "You only speak like that because you hunt them."

"Chickens?"

"My God, Alasdair, no! I meant birds. Too many times I have seen you emerge from the forest with a retriever barking at your side and a pheasant over your shoulder."

"How accusatory," he answered, so loosely and so lightly that it was all too evident he was searching for a reaction of some sort. "You know full well that I'm an honest man."

"Are you? I wouldn't believe it." She didn't tell him she thought him thoroughly a friendly sort of character; she didn't tell him she admired him in any number of aspects.

"Nor would I ever believe your background with how quickly you decided you would run away," said Alasdair briskly, setting down his cigar in preference for gesturing to her, and so their soft yet insistent banter continued on for a considerable period for time, all until it became clear that they were merely exhausting one another and would undoubtedly be attracting attention were anyone somehow eavesdropping (perhaps the thought was paranoid, but all the same any thoughts of secrecy and silent existence had been driven from their minds as soon as they had settled into a gentle pattern and found delight in quarrelling with the other). A dreamless sleep seemed fit to take them until he arched his back and sighed and talked of the bullet in his back incessantly, of how he could not sleep for the pain of it.

"I swear you are no more than a child," remarked the young woman at his outburst, yet all the same her attention was not diverted and remained intent upon the risen flesh along his spine as she leaned across, the skin pink and strange beneath the cloth of his shirt. In part, the complaint was quite out of character. He rarely complained of aged wounds. "You know very well those scars would not even exist if not for your careless conduct at that obscure pub." He could tell she was attempting to control her voice in such a manner that it was nearly (but only ever nearly) chiding. "Sometimes I consider our situation and I find myself quite unable to imagine however your life was before I met you and all my sense must have left me."

"And sometimes I wonder wherever you might have happened to gain such a sharp tongue," came the retort, yet it quieted a moment later, an affectionate sort of emotion driving his touch when he inclined his entire body forwards merely in order to let his fingers touch upon her skin, satisfied only when she did not flinch away, and indeed seemed quite content in leaning toward the warmth of flesh not her own.
Ever and again her own hands touched upon his body, wandering and pondering at the red and black slices into his skin, not yet remotely in sight of a point at which she would be able to completely repeat much the same action but with far less consideration for abstaining. Their interactions with one another may have been well and above simply affable, but still she couldn't find the means to do anything regrettable before the marriage could be completed privately.

In the meanwhile her hand halted at his throat, grasping for the absence of his collar.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really. Besides, it’s not even snowing. If anything I'm just exhausted and I swear I would not be beyond venturing onto the road if there happens to be a tavern nearby. What do you say to that?"

Her countenance bristled. "I say you'd be mad to consider it. The first place anyone will search for you will be inside a pub and I am quite certain you know why."

"Paranoid," he bit out. His disappointment was close to genuine. "But I suppose we had better sleep, as deeply as it pains me to say it."

“It is late. We’ve far to go, yet,” she murmured after a time. “I suppose I missed having your presence more than I realised. I haven’t seen you like this in so long, have I?”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he quoted, almost mournfully. He appeared to detest the knowledge itself. “What a waste it’s been, not being able to see one another.”

“I know, I know. There’s so little we could have done, although.”

“Damn pity,” said Alasdair.

Distracted, it was a time before he again felt human flesh lingering at his skin, and he turned to see the dimly lit face of his companion. Much of her body was silhouetted, hidden from view - but in the light of the fire, her eyes shone, and her fingers still wandered over the scars lining his chest and side like stitches in cloth. When she allowed him to kiss her the moment was unusually exhilarating.

It was a simple thing - or would be, did she not know him so well - to think less of him for whatever frivolous aspects downgraded his character, as was the issue of any predictable human fault. He did care, after all. He cared more deeply than ever he understood, himself, and that was his own condemning flaw.
Many a person had avoided and demeaned him for his ways of life and habits, yet despite his actions and his sometimes wrongful character, his heart was of a gentle sort, and perhaps it was that few people understood that well enough to make rightful judgements of his character. He was too easy to fall in love with, and to find so endearing in character and appearance.
 

“You’re in love with me.” 

“It’s difficult not to be. I confess it."

It was that the laughter resumed; they lay side by side, witness to one another's breath and thoughts, residing in a situation deprived of acceptable characteristics but finding a remarkable solace within, all the same. The rain may well have been pouring in and lashing the door and they may well have been surrounded by sleepless, rain-soaked animals, but such tranquillity still maintained such control of the situation that no lasting disquiet was able to prevail.

Both were oblivious, and both were content.

Here we go, another update! This is like the most active I've been since 2013 sometime. *fanfare*

This is another rewrite, and although I pretty much winged it and kept maybe three sentences from the original, this one was quite easy to write, especially as it's about 1/14th of "Calamity"'s size. :XD: It's a redo of "Despite", that Scotland story from forever ago that's one of very few examples of me ever writing fluff, which is a story that's rather popular but I've been finding increasingly annoying. It was up there on my list originally when I was selecting stories I desperately wanted to redo, actually; the need may not be so dire now, but all the same I'm very pleased with this and I think it's a good rewrite by my own standards, even if it is quite similar.

So I hope it's enjoyable, as always! He often seems quite rough in fanon so I tried to not descend down that pathway too much - by nature I think he'd be quite friendly, generally.

I do not own Hetalia.
Scotland is owned by Himaruya/fan interpretation/my interpretation, I suppose?
You own yourself.
© 2015 - 2024 vienna-kangaroo
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PrincessAutumnArcher's avatar
Things I learnt from this piece:

1. It is possible for Vienna Sophie Goddess to write fluff (with eloping implied, yay!) without killing anyone. Or maiming anyone. Or seriously injuring anyone. :D
2. Vienna rewrites will always make me cry because a) I'm too lazy to do that and will just hate the stories hidden far away in my gallery, locked up in vague folders, and b) they're so GOOD.
3. Scotland hates chickens. (I'm crying tears of joy because you didn't blow up the UK brother relationship like so many other people! Thank youuuu!)