Post by Japan on May 11, 2013 14:54:41 GMT -5
So, just a place to copy paste my drabbles~
To start off with, an Auld Alliance Angsty snippet.
Concrit appreciated.
It is on the wrong side of cold when Scotland steps out. If one was to be brutally honest however, it is a few miles north of crisp and knees deep in bitter. His cheeks sting from the cold, fingertips already hot with the cold. He rubs his hands together to stave off the impending spread, knowing that when he gets back inside he will be in pain.
He should not have left like that. Especially not in the middle of winter, on a hill, in the highlands. That was just inviting frost bite into his life… But fuck.
Just fuck. He could not face France just now. He could not even stomach returning for a mere moment, to grab a coat and jacket. It had taken all of what he had not to hit the guy and tell him where to fuck off to.
He pats the few pockets he has on a quest for cigarettes, fingers and body jittery with the cold. The kind of cold that turns your skin raw. He knows it could be worse though. It could be the cold that is damp and hangs in the hair, sinking into your bones and chilling you from the inside out. That kind of cold… it sneaked up on you. It was the kind of cold that killed drunks. It was the cold that falling snow brought.
He swears when he comes up dry, stomping off to the shed to see if France had found his hidden supply. The man was trying to get him to quit, spouting something about it being hypocritical when the country had banned smoking in public buildings. His useful reply was always that he was not in an effing public building, but his own house. Or well, shed… as of late.
The door shuts behind him with a slam, the structure shuddering with the force. It groaned and creaked, threatening to collapse for a few terse moments before everything settled. His hands skimmed the work surface, fingers tips numbly looking for the toolbox with the hidden bottom. Surely the man did not know about this spot.
Pushing open the lid and pulling out the several layers it is with a bitter grin that his clumsy hand curls around the pack. He leans against the wall, a step or two behind him and pulls out a cigarette and lighter from the pack.
The first puff was always the best, the most calming. It went down hill from there. It was kind of like make-up sex. The first fuck settled the waters but then you had time to think and you got angry all over again. He takes a second and third drag, eyes following the trailing smoke without really looking at it.
‘He’s fucking done it now.’
He takes his fourth drag, sucking it in deep and letting it linger in chest before he breathes it out.
‘Didn’t even pick a fun shag… who cheats with fucking Austria?’ He chews on his cuticle, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He flicks away the ash and goes through the whole ritual again, holding the smoke in until his eyes are watering and he is choking up the stuff.
Scotland was not quite sure what he was angry about… the fact that Francis had cheated, or who he had cheated with. Both made his blood boil at the moment.
When he is down to the wick of his second cigarette and his hands are struggling to hold onto it, hand numb with the cold and movement sluggish, he decides to return.
The door of the shed opens with a groan of protests and he tells it to ‘fuck off’ before throwomh the cigarette. The house looked far more appealing than before, the warm glow of the fire and the figure of Francis curled up on the couch physically tugging at his survival instincts. Body heat was the best way to combat the cold after all.
‘I'm fucking screwed.’ He shakes his head and looks down at his feet, listens to the crunch of frost laden leaves as he walks and takes a deep breath. He could only hope for the best.
If Francis had any sense he would not give Scotland any chance to think between the make-up sex and the next 5 consecutive fucks.
Notes: Austria isn't random. It's a wee Reference that Francis should be able to get ^^
To start off with, an Auld Alliance Angsty snippet.
Concrit appreciated.
It is on the wrong side of cold when Scotland steps out. If one was to be brutally honest however, it is a few miles north of crisp and knees deep in bitter. His cheeks sting from the cold, fingertips already hot with the cold. He rubs his hands together to stave off the impending spread, knowing that when he gets back inside he will be in pain.
He should not have left like that. Especially not in the middle of winter, on a hill, in the highlands. That was just inviting frost bite into his life… But fuck.
Just fuck. He could not face France just now. He could not even stomach returning for a mere moment, to grab a coat and jacket. It had taken all of what he had not to hit the guy and tell him where to fuck off to.
He pats the few pockets he has on a quest for cigarettes, fingers and body jittery with the cold. The kind of cold that turns your skin raw. He knows it could be worse though. It could be the cold that is damp and hangs in the hair, sinking into your bones and chilling you from the inside out. That kind of cold… it sneaked up on you. It was the kind of cold that killed drunks. It was the cold that falling snow brought.
He swears when he comes up dry, stomping off to the shed to see if France had found his hidden supply. The man was trying to get him to quit, spouting something about it being hypocritical when the country had banned smoking in public buildings. His useful reply was always that he was not in an effing public building, but his own house. Or well, shed… as of late.
The door shuts behind him with a slam, the structure shuddering with the force. It groaned and creaked, threatening to collapse for a few terse moments before everything settled. His hands skimmed the work surface, fingers tips numbly looking for the toolbox with the hidden bottom. Surely the man did not know about this spot.
Pushing open the lid and pulling out the several layers it is with a bitter grin that his clumsy hand curls around the pack. He leans against the wall, a step or two behind him and pulls out a cigarette and lighter from the pack.
The first puff was always the best, the most calming. It went down hill from there. It was kind of like make-up sex. The first fuck settled the waters but then you had time to think and you got angry all over again. He takes a second and third drag, eyes following the trailing smoke without really looking at it.
‘He’s fucking done it now.’
He takes his fourth drag, sucking it in deep and letting it linger in chest before he breathes it out.
‘Didn’t even pick a fun shag… who cheats with fucking Austria?’ He chews on his cuticle, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He flicks away the ash and goes through the whole ritual again, holding the smoke in until his eyes are watering and he is choking up the stuff.
Scotland was not quite sure what he was angry about… the fact that Francis had cheated, or who he had cheated with. Both made his blood boil at the moment.
When he is down to the wick of his second cigarette and his hands are struggling to hold onto it, hand numb with the cold and movement sluggish, he decides to return.
The door of the shed opens with a groan of protests and he tells it to ‘fuck off’ before throwomh the cigarette. The house looked far more appealing than before, the warm glow of the fire and the figure of Francis curled up on the couch physically tugging at his survival instincts. Body heat was the best way to combat the cold after all.
‘I'm fucking screwed.’ He shakes his head and looks down at his feet, listens to the crunch of frost laden leaves as he walks and takes a deep breath. He could only hope for the best.
If Francis had any sense he would not give Scotland any chance to think between the make-up sex and the next 5 consecutive fucks.
Notes: Austria isn't random. It's a wee Reference that Francis should be able to get ^^
