Asu's Pitiful Book of Words

[kvietka]

This is Cerys and how she's viewed her Kirkland siblings. Heck yeah.

The title of this drabble is...

The White Rose

Oryoucancallit"Asu'sPiifulCerysDrabble"

- - -

I. Iain

He brought her comfort, even if he didn't know it. She didn't cry to him, of course, but he's probably the closest she had to a real father figure, even if their father figure was an active presence in their lives (though not an always very welcome one). She looked up to him and saw sides of him that no one else had ever seen. She had watched him hold back tears and finally release them. He wouldn't dare cry in front of the others and risk his sense of pride. It was strange, that first time she had seen him cry. She gave into her instincts and gave him that embrace and words that he needed, the words seeming to roll off her tongue naturally. Even the strongest needed to suffer

He would come, upon occassion, just to vent out and keep out of the house. He was company when Arthur wasn't there at that moment. Of course, it wasn't for long, given that the absence of Iain's presence was very noticeable, but it was something. It was a time she didn't have to be the older sister figure for comfort (or at least just not the older sister figure). At least not most of the time. Instead of just watching sheep in the distance, they would feed and pet the sheep. They would also sheer the sheep when spring came, white balls of fluff falling like snow on the emerald fields. She would laugh at his love of unicorns, which he claimed to be manly beasts that drank the blood of virgins, and he would laugh at her sheep obsession. He was a lover of sheep, but definitely not to her point.

Her older brother never brought her grief, even as they got older. She was kept in the dark about his career until she had managed to squeeze the information out of someone. He would cave in and ask her for info. She jokingly asked to be paid in sheep plushies. He sews every Saturday.

II. Aoife

She brought her sisterhood, even if she didn't know it. She didn't cry to her, of course, but she was the sister, that feminine figure, that she took comfort in without saying much. Unfortunately, Aoife was usually closer to her twin brother and probably went to him first if she ever needed anything. Understandable, given that they are full-blood siblings... and twins at that.

Aoife cried the least out of the siblings that Cerys comforted. She was the toughest and probably the most violent. It was simply understandable. Aoife didn't necessarily need her sister. But all sisters need each other, or at least some female figure, correct? That was what Cerys tried to do. If only Aoife didn't need to match up and come at the fighting.

Cerys did try to get to Aoife, but Aoife was much more likely to assault the sheep than cuddle it. Aoife had a nice voice, but would rather yell insults a he world than comfort it with song. If hey ever wen in the kichen, Aoife would more likely summon a hurricane of mess than make mousse (though Cerys was no better). They were polar opposites, but at least Cerys tried.

Aoife respected Cerys if that was anything. Cerys was the only sibling Aoife would never strike a fight with. As of recent times, things have been more sisterly (somewhat). They've went different directions, but Cerys is still there. If Cerys ever catches Aoife trying o express her feminine side more, Cerys only agrees to help. Gladly. It's about time.

III. Donald

He brought her grief, even if he didn't know it. She didn't cry to him, of course, but she felt the most emotion. Oh Finn, your existence is both beautiful and ugly.

She called him by his middle name. Finn. Donny boy. The sweet carrot-topped boy. She gave him the nicknames. And he still had a place in her heart, even if Arthur was he sibling she felt closest to.

He was a ray of sunlight. When he wasn't tangling himself in he chaos of the house, contributing to it by never shutting up, he would stay outside for a chat. He would share to her his day, even if much of the information and tangents into wherever his head wanted to take him. He would cry, yes, but he would brighten up. He emanated a certain energy that made everyone happy. He could really make a girl happy in the future with just how much light he had within himself.

But, he started growing dimmer. No one noticed except Aoife and Cerys herself. He would hide it, though. He would hide it. He hid it behind fake smiles and fake joy, covering up the sheer reality. It was troubling, but she couldn't say anything about it. She wasn't going to yell at him with something as crude as "What the hell are you doing?" Aoife could do that. But both sisters agreed: They were worried.

He put a nail in the coffin by running away. It was painful. Aoife stayed proactive and went on a search for her missing twin. Cerys could only lament, but she didn't allow herself to show it. She wasn't going to allow herself that. The thought of never seeing him again, in his happiness and sadness, hurt. It was disappointing. She wanted to slap him if she ever saw him again. She would slap him as hard as she could. then give him he hug for his prodigality. She would shed a tear for once.

IV. Arthur

He brought her reason, even if he didn't know it. She didn't cry to him, of course, but he had such a strong pull on her heartstrings, she had come closest to crying for him. It was a different dimension than the sorrow Donald caused.

He was sickly from the start. She simply wanted to protect the child from the chaos of home. She looked after the boy in his fevers when his mother is gone. Cerys admired the woman for attempting to iron out their playboy of a father to help fix things. Arthur's presence helped keep things just a tad bit more peaceful. Cerys would stay by his side when he was in bed, reading him her favorite books on dragons and fairies, spinning him ales whenever he felt like there should be more. Sometimes even she wished there was more.

He gradually got better as time progressed. Because of Cerys's presence and encouragement (hopefully so he wouldn't end up too much like Iain), he became more "gentlemanly" in nature and less tempered. Or at least he seemed to ry. He would squabble with his siblings, butt he would also try to receed into reading or doing activities a proper gentleman should be doing. hat is, when he maintained self control.

They would grow apart as all the siblings would, but they had the strongest bond out of all the siblings. They retained some correspondence. She would keep the news clippings of his success. She would worry for him, yes. Even if he has yet to cause her grief, a rush of blood to his head would destroy her.

She would lay a white rose by his nightstand, just as she did in his youth every day. They would pile on, counting the days.

[ Handwrote this whole thing during classes. ]

[Asunara Wisdom]

Happy Valentine's Day!

The title of this drabble is...

Five Guys Estelle Screwed and How Good (Or Not) They Were

Oryoucancallit"Estelle'sBoxofToys"

I'll finish it up, but enjoy these two~

- - -

In Which Estelle Screws Arthur...

What a poetic man to choose such a day to do such an action. The sky was poetically grey, the clouds heavy with rain, ready to cry out. It started out artistically, definitely not jumping right into action. He took care in that. It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this. Unexpected, but her mouth twisted into a smile. Lovely. The way he kissed was like that of a fairytale prince charming. True love's kiss, oh so curing, as if love will cure everything... it never does when you're the poison of the apple and the apple of their eyes.

But he came close enough. Very close. There was a certain uncertainty but gentleness to this. Treating her like a delicate princess. If only she was a delicate princess, but you can't bed many men and get your heart shattered so many times and consider yourself delicate. She just liked keeping the porcelain of the face.

She couldn't help but giggle and purr as he whispered Shakespeare's innuedos and the most romantic of lines... it was chessy but effective.

"O Estelle, Estelle, wherefore art thou Estelle. Deny thy country and refuse thy name..." he whispered.

"O Estelle, Estelle, wherefore art thou Estelle. Deny thy nature and refuse thy past..." she thought.

He was gentle, but she would always be like a diamond in the rough. She moaned pleasures as the rain began to fall, but before she could rise to the climax—

She woke up.

Who was she kidding, according to her sources, Arthur William Kirkland was a freaking virgin who probably had no experience whatsoever. That was a fact.

...Might as well change that fact later. She'll just have to write that on the to-do list.

In Which Estelle Screws Antonio...

He was sweet and spicy. He smelled like tomatoes and passion. And he had the best smoking arse out of all the men that she's been around. She's seen a lot of arses so she had the right to judge.

You have to admit Antonio was the perfect man. He was the kind of guy you would bring home and let your grandmother meet, who would blend right in with your family. But he isn't all the way innocent. He is no stranger to the bed. He knew how to make a woman feel good. He would probably be the perfect husband and father.

Unfortunately, she didn't feel as if she were the marrying type. Or children type. And in the back of her mind, it all felt utterly wrong of her. Well she's done a lot of wrong things, but this one felt especially wrong and unfair to Carmen. Might as well not step over his heart with her Prada like the others.

He was probably the purest and unpurest out of all her lovers. Proof that she had conscience to stop, even if nothing stops Miss Estelle Bonnefoy. She won't say anything about it much, or even claim that it affected her much. But she had to admit, those were some magical nights and that was the sexiest arse she has ever seen. He just deserved better than her.

She'll keep it at that. Though she wouldn't mind another night.

- - -

More to come when I keep writing.

[Missy]

//CREYING. CREYING 5-EVER

[Deleted]

In Which Estelle Screws Gilbert...

The albino made her Valentine's Day cozy. It started with a box of Belgian chocolates and pink roses. Her little army wasn't too pleased, but she happened to enjoy playing with her food.

It was fun for her to toy with his mentality and strip him of his pride. He was a challenge, but men simply didn't realize how much power women have over them. They could make or break the night with just a word. Only one word.

They ended up in bed. Predictable much. Time with him was like forces fighting against each other. It was a challenge. She simply accepted that challenge. Two opposing forces fighting against each other. He wanted dominance. She was a lioness and wouldn't give that dominance. It was a fight with the heat of fire and the harshness of ice. The chocolate heated kisses and five meters of awesome. The roses were quickly forgotten, strewn across the room with the sheets and garments.

She felt more like animal if anything. He felt that way too.

"You and me baby, we ain't nothin' but mammals, so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel."

It was simply fun. Animalistically fun.

She humored him when she woke up. She took her leave early and she left him a note:

"Screw you."

[Asunara Wisdom]

Because you guys like feels. I highly recommend you listen to this as you read.

The title of this drabble is...

We All Fall

Oryoucancallit"ThatOnePitifulKirklandDrabble"

- - -

This fact was clear: It hurt. It always hurt. Unfortunately, she would keep her habit with her and try not to shed a tear. She tried her hardest to let it all out. Watching them all fall. One by one. It was all painful. It hurt that she saw them all fall down in more ways than one. Her level head was going to let go one way or another. But she wasn't going to say much on the topic. She just wasn't.

They fell one by one. The first was Iain. She blamed herself the most for this one. She could have intervened so many times. Intervened till the ends of the Earth, but she knew that it was going to end one way or another. He was just too damn stubborn for his own good. He was the Kirkland who killed himself. After having done the deed, she had been given the gun among his things that he left. If only he wasn't so... if only he wasn't himself? If only that woman hadn't shot herself. Hadn't taken his first born with her. If only she had been strong enough to carry on. He shoots himself, squarely on the temple. She shot herself on the left. A week later, he to his right. He joins his family. And leaves it behind.

Aoife left next. The details were censored so much that the document detailing her death was very much blank, crossed out, and only giving her one piece of information after receiving the packet: She died unjustly on a cold Sunday night. Her body was broken, but there remained a smile upon her face, as if satisfied for the work she has done. Losing that sister was painful, but at least it wasn't a total loss.

Then Arthur, oh dear poor Arthur. He died on the day he had dreamt of all his life. Shot after his acceptance of the Prime Minister role. Shot right in the left lung. He would have survived if he weren't so sickly in the past. The doctors had their medicines, people have been shot in their lungs and have lived before. But Arthur wouldn't. Modern medicine wouldn't save him and his broken spirit. He had been so happy that day, phoning her after his inaugural speech. His lung would collapse and all he could do was suffer with it in a hospital bed, ruling his domain as an invalid. He could have continued living on a machine, but that wasn't worth the damn. There was no reason to stay hooked up to those machines. He requested to let himself close his eyes and take that one final, painful breath. She stayed by his side, holding his hand until the grip loosened as he fell into the state of death. Even Donald stayed, letting Peter sit on his lap and weep. Donald didn't weep, but the expression on his face betrayed all sorrow.

She attended all of their funerals. All three of them had state funerals, their caskets draped with the Union Jack. She sang "God Save the Queen", wishing God saved them. She'd shed not a tear but keep all the sorrow. She couldn't bring herself to cry— It was too much of a habit not to cry. But oh how she wanted to cry. All she could do was pray and leave them fresh flowers at the mausoleum. Iain, with his strong shoulders that used to hoist her up to see all the sheep, his ginger hair going dull. Aoife, with her fiery red-orange hair, never going to yell out a curse or comfort ever again. And Arthur... oh dear golden boy, they let you shine, and you've fallen so far.

You learn a lot of things about life. If you could sum it up in three words, those words would be: It goes on. After a period of mourning, she went back to her work. Peter would live with Donald. The problems seemed to stop there. But Donald's only began.

The last time she had seen him was after Peter's accident. It was a shock: Peter had been run over by a car. He was promptly sent to the hospital, unconscious and battered. The poor crushed body of a boy whose closest person to a brother had died. They were supposed to move into Number 10 Downing Street together, continue with the cycle of annoying at each other and laughing at each other. It seems the boy was given a break. Or maybe he hadn't. He had been bandaged and had fallen into a coma, in hopes of recovery.

Donald only continued to fall. Cerys feared for him and attended the funeral to comfort him, but she couldn't say much. She didn't want it to be like last time, but she didn't know how to fix things. He lost his wife and his first born the day he was supposed to finally have his own family. The family that he always wanted, one that wasn't broken like the one he had now. The man lost everything and shut her out. She couldn't do anything about it.

She saw him again at the cemetery on the hill. A place he had not been to for a while. She was silent, simply keeping her eyes downward and fingering the rosary in her hand. She would look at him for a while, then resume her prayers. He was confused and lost in a place that had once given him great joy. She gave up on restraining her curiosity.

"Donald, why are you here?"

He ignores her. She repeats the question.

"Look at me. Why are you here?"

He turns towards her.

"The question is why are you here. You barely shed a tear."

"You're not answering my question. Why are you here? Why haven't you visited Peter in a while?"

"What do you think I'm doing? Paying respects to the dead. Why are you here, you haven't cried and are obviously living your lovely life with your lovely career up the wazoo."

He was awfully more snarky than she remembered him.

"Excuse me, I've wanted to cry for the longest time, but do they want me crying? Do they want you acting like this? If Aoife were alive, she would give you an earful, she would—"

It hurt to even say that name. But she cleared her throat and continued.

"Why aren't you doing anything? Why are you still moping around the flower shop? I bet you haven't even dismantled the nursery in your flat, and you never open the shop anymore. You probably haven't even cleaned up the dead flowers."

"You don't know what it's like to lose a wife and child."

"I know what it's like to lose everyone I care for. But I won't lose you too."

He shook his head.

"I've lost everything I lived for. Vash used to come into the shop every day to check up on me, but he's been busy since his promotion to that one position under Commissioner, and he's been helping make sure Femke's position as the new Quartermaster isn't disputed. I'm freaking alone now."

She crossed her arms.

"Those better not be sleeping pills bulging out of your pocket right now."

He sighed and pulled out the pills and threw it at her. She caught it and frowned.

"You're going to go visit Peter with me right now. You're better than this, Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland. We best be going, Finn. I'm certain Iain would— would... and Arthur would—"

She was choking up, but she wasn't going to allow herself that.

"Just... we have to go. Now."

She turned away, not looking back at the three roses she left at the mausoleum.

He silently followed.

[Asunara Wisdom]

Because I need to make sure you guys don't crawl away depressed. I highly recommend you listen to this as you read.

The title of this drabble is...

We All Stand

Oryoucancallit"ThatWeddingDrabble"

- - -

It was pretty funny to see Aoife be worked up about colour coordination and dresses and frills. It really was. All this planning had gotten her even more worked up than Cerys. And it was Cerys that had to convince her to help plan the wedding. The wedding had definitely gotten different sides of the girls that you usually wouldn't see. Cerys has never delegated so much before and Aoife had never been so OCD... and both had never been so expensive. The poor mens' credit cards were going down the drain.

The team had been able to steal Arthur's credit card, beg for Vash's credit card, and agree that they could simply overcharge Donald's credit card and use his Subway gift card. Their budget, of course, was somewhat reasonable. Arthur had been able to let them use St. Paul's Cathedral if he were made a keynote speaker (which Cerys would have allowed anyways), but the credit card thing was a secret.

Speaking of Vash and credit cards, Vash wasn't too amused at how much the girls have been charging to his card. Nor was he amused that he would be giving his one and only younger sister to a man he really couldn't approve of. This guy had a freaking criminal record and had ditched him on occasion on missions. He wasn't the easiest guy to work with and it just wasn't very... well Vash didn't want to give away his precious little sister to the big bad wolf, now would he. But after... getting thrown out the window among other things, he had to put her happiness before his. Her arguments were too valid. And he had to concede eventually.

But among other things, Vash wanted to punch the guy. Not for being the bastard that was about to go whisk his little sister away. He wanted to punch him for having second thoughts.

"I swear, if you don't say 'I do' up there, I'm going to shoot you at the alter and you aren't going to feel anything well into next Sunday," Vash lashed.

"I swear I won't, I'll even practice. I do, I do, I dooooo," he replied, but that didn't help eradicate the nervousness. What if Vash's counters were right— She deserved better. Even his stick in the ass brother would be better. His criminal record, his flakiness at many things, just how blackened his soul had once been— Well of course he felt like he probably didn't deserve this.

'Stop this, Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland, the more you do this, the more you both upset Vash and the new Missus O'Neill-Kirkland,' he thought.

"Listen, whatever happens... just make her happy. I shouldn't care what you've been through, but I do. But you don't have to pay attention to my own happiness. Just make her happy and freaking protect her with all your heart. If you fail to do that, then I don't know what you're doing," Vash said, turning towards the door. "I have to get to the front of the church, go assume your position. And... I'd recommend you go resign from the MI6 after. Do yourself a favor and don't worry her with the threat of dying. I've done enough of that already."

Donald smiled at that. "Thanks, Chipper!"

Vash didn't turn around, but he was smiling on the inside. It's show time.

Linking arms with her, he felt just a tad bit discontented. She really had gone a long way from that squirming wrinkled baby that he had abhorred. He had wanted to give her away to someone else so badly as a kid, but now... well, he couldn't believe he would be giving her away.

But he won't be regretting it.

[Asunara Wisdom]

Because I need to make sure you guys don't crawl away depressed. I highly recommend you listen to this as you read.

The title of this drabble is...

Wildflowers

Oryoucancallit"ThatTimeDonnyGetsaBittersweetEnding"

- - -

He stopped praying when she left. All he did was beg for forgiveness.

The question was why. Out of all the things that could have happened, it had to be that one thing. It was painful, watching her face contort with pain, her had squeeze his with such intensity, her blood dripping in concerning amounts. And the way she looked at him. Her weak smile and the simple "Thank you."

Oh dear lord, how she tortured him so, to end with a smile. How she tortured him so, to leave him a daughter but no mother to care for. She tortured him so for building that nursery, having all those flowers around, always smiling, always forgiving Vash, and most of all... always forgiving him. Who was supposed to give him forgiveness now? Aoife won't give him forgiveness. She had gone missing in action a couple weeks before this, and no one would give him the forgiveness he deserved. He couldn't even look to Cerys for all the grief.

And Cerys... He couldn't even turn to her for forgiveness. If anything, he owed her so much. It broke his heart to be declared unfit to raise his own child, but honestly, he was at the time. He had struggled to even write her name on the birth certificate, and struggled to sign the custody over. Cerys had refused to take the child so many times, begging to let the little girl stay with him, but to no avail. The other options wouldn't work, and the law was law.

He sometimes would go into the nursery and run his hand across the walls and the bars of the crib. This was supposed to be his life now. He was supposed to have his own family. He was supposed to sit here with Lili, supposed to read all those dragon books that Cerys had read to him before, read all those fairytales that Vash had read to Lili... supposed to stroke the girl's hair and sing the lullabies way off-key, change diapers every few hours, work from eight to five, and be an awesome father. Was that too much to ask for? Just a chance to redeem himself. To start over new. The reason was you, Lili... why did you have to go...

On this particular day, he actually was slumped in the nursery, now compulsively always changing the flowers in the vase, though the flower shop was still in disrepair. The phone rang. Great.

"Yes?"

"Finn, it's that time of year again, have the door unlocked this time."

"...Fine."

He dreaded this every single year. He had clearly stated he won't be wanting to visit. It was just too painful to visit. But of course, Cerys always insisted upon visiting during the birthday... the anniversary of her death day.

"Straighten up a bit, I've also brought someone you might want to meet."

He hung up the phone. Well then, Cerys never brought people with her besides the child. He heard an... unlocking noise. What, was the landlord going to try to evict him for not paying rent on time again? Finally.

It didn't seem like the sound of a key unlocking, though... more like... the kind of unlocking where you didn't have the key, the kind where you were breaking into—

"Donny, you better still be alive in there, or I'll kick your sorry dead arse!"

Shit, that couldn't be Cerys, now could it.

They filed in, one by one. Iain... wait Iain. Does that mean more MI6 business or... He held a bag... shortbread cookies? Donald hasn't had any of those in a while. He also held a cake... and it actually looked good. Probably not baked by him.

Next came Arthur, who was actually smiling. What the heck, no. No no no. Arthur hates his guts, doesn't he? For causing just a lot of grief and being a dumb idiot and going underground like this and letting himself go, the list of reasons he could hate Donald could go on. But, he held a box... a present.

Then came Aoife— Shit, how long has it been. Slung on her shoulder, a bag from... Disneyland? Where the heck have you been, sister... It was all somewhat confusing, but sister dear...

Then came Cerys. This time, the little girl wasn't in the Welsh woman's arms. No, the girl was walking and gazing at the messy flat longingly. He couldn't help but look into her eyes... her mother's eyes. Damn it, don't do this again, you've been through this. Look at her hair. It's brilliant like yours, though a bit on the darker side like Iain's, stop thinking about this—

"Where... have you been?"

Aoife smirked, even if she did know of the pain that her absence probably was.

"If you're given the chance to drop off of MI6's radar for a while legally, wouldn't you do the same? I've been everywhere, including Disneyland," she said, pulling out a Mickey Mouse-eared hat and putting it on her brother, who was a bit dumbstruck... Disneyland, of all places.

"We all need a bit of happiness in our lives, so chin up, brother," Arthur said, handing Donald the present "It's for the both of you, enjoy it."

The little girl let go of Cerys's hand and looked up at Donald. He was speechless.

"Can we visit mommy together?"

There was a deadpan of silence, even amongst the aunts and uncles. They didn't expect that or put her up for that.

"What... what did you say?"

"Can we visit mommy together? Mommy's been awfully lonely... Can we bring her flowers together? It's my birthday and I want to visit mommy for once..." she said sheepishly.

He couldn't help but be silent.

"What are you doing, be man enough and go with her. You're her father," Iain piped. Donald nodded and took her hand.

They all drove up to the cemetery on the hill.

"Uncle Vash sometimes comes with me. We leave her her favorite flowers. It used to be Edelweiss, but it's been tiger lilies, so we leave her both."

He still couldn't answer to her or even look her in the eyes. They reached the hill and the girl began to run into the flowers.

"Wait, don't go into there, they might be poi—"

"Don't worry, Uncle Vash lets me pick the flowers all the time. He says mommy would have loved that."

"She... would have."

He walked over there slowly. She turned towards him and dumped a whole pile of small daffodils and daisies into his arms.

"I think we have enough now!"

"Maybe a little too much, kiddo."

She then lead him to the marble gravestone.

In Loving Memory of
Lili Adelaide Zwingli O'Neill-Kirkland
Sister, Wife, Mother, Friend

"Tread carefully, here lies our world"

"Drop them here, daddy. Auntie Cerys usually leaves the flowers for me, but I want you to leave flowers this time."

He silently dropped the pile of wild flora onto the grave and cried.

"W-what's the matter, daddy? Mommy's happy now that we're all here."

Cerys nudged Donald.

"Finn, at least give her what she wanted this whole time."

"What might that be, she's already seen me cry and—"

"Say her name. She hasn't heard it from you."

He was silent. Aoife glared at him with a look that said "Say the damn name."

"Well then... Happy birthday, Aislinn Eleri O'Neill-Kirkland. I hope you're happy and—"

She went up to him and gave him the biggest hug her little arms could allow.

"Thank you, daddy."

"Thank you Lord... Thank you Lili."

- - -

Aislinn means "dream" or "vision" in Irish Gaelic.
Eleri means "overflowing" in Welsh.

[Deleted]

No more saddening Kirkland feels, yay! Have fun with this article! To see the picture in full colour and bigger, click this.

This will be part of the "Scandal in the UK!" series. Have fun~! This will be told reporter style.

Future Prime Minister Caught in the Act!

Oryoucancallit"Arthurdoesnotsimplypimp"

- - -

This article was on the front page of The Crown Royale Gazette a couple weeks ago, this picture plastered largely on the front. Other tabloid papers have also published this photograph with their own articles, but this article will prove to be the most enticing and informational in the affair.

- - -

Future Prime Minister Caught in the Act!

Article By Feliciano Vargas

I was very surprised to see this photograph too, that Monday morning when I came to work. They slammed this photograph on my desk and told me "Go write about it." I almost spittaked my coffee all over the desk.

First of all, I thought "MAMA MIA, IS THAT REALLY ARTHUR KIRKLAND?!" You heard me right. You all know who it is in the photograph. That's no doppelganger, that really is Arthur William Kirkland, in the flesh and blood, surrounded by women, and seeming to pleasure himself. How we received the picture, we're not quite sure. It was an anonymous source and there was an envelope of money.

Of course, I had to verify that it really was Arthur and went undercover. The man seemed to be one of high tastes, and so I ventured into the Fortuna Magnus Casino. That place is very Italian-friendly, and I highly recommend it. I tried talking to some of the girls and there were a lot of giggles from the bellas. The girl on the left who forced me not to reveal her name (not that I would anyways) said that it's their duty to sit with those who pay, and commented that they really didn't need to be fondling the man in ways that he hasn't been fondled before. He paid a hefty sum, apparently. And oh yes, it seems he's quite the virgin from what the girls have told me... who says Shakespeare lines when they flirt? 'Tis classy and all, but not for the Casino.

Of course, we have also been able to collect clips from the Casino's security footage, which you can see on the website link posted below. If you would rather not see one of the possible future prime ministers of our beloved Isles, I recommend you do not go on.

We also talked to some of Arthur's coworkers. One comments: "I really cannot believe the indecency, but I suppose all of us have needs. Arthur is a young man, one of the youngest of us, and so we'll dismiss this."

I got together with one of Arthur's closest accomplices, Michael Collins. He said: "How do you expect Arthur to pick up so many girls if he can't even have a girlfriend, I mean c'mon. I don't know anything regarding the matter, and is that my gir—"

Well, he didn't seem to be too amused by the picture before slamming my reporter's notebook down and turning off my recording tape. At least this picture does dispel the recent rumours of Mr. Kirkland being gay for Mr. Collins, though that would have been rather juicy.

I got a hold of Mr. Kirkland himself, and he has nothing to say on the topic, but he did not publicly deny that that man in the picture was him. Take this as a lesson: Be careful what you do at the Casino, you might regret it. Vargas out.

To see some scandalous footage, go to www.crownroyalegazette.co.uk

[Deleted]

Another article that could potentially make Feli not have children! To see the picture in full colour and bigger, click this.

This will be part of the "Scandal in the UK!" series. Have fun~! This will be told reporter style.

Maximantics Heirs in a Compromising Position!

Oryoucancallit"WhoopsIcaughtyouinthesnow"

- - -

This article was on the front page of The Crown Royale Gazette a couple weeks ago, this picture plastered largely on the front. Other tabloid papers have also published this photograph with their own articles, but this article will prove to be the most enticing and informational in the affair.

- - -

Maximantics Heirs in a Compromising Position!

Article By Feliciano Vargas

I don't understand— What is with people and photographs? These are really entertaining to look at, but not after having a euphoric time at the various art museums of London. I had to clean my desk from the wine I ended up spilling all over my desk... and the wine wasn't that cheap to come by either. Really now, why are you guys not being more discrete?

Ah, well, as usual, I had to take up the challenge, but had to think "OH DIO MIO, THE WINE!" Well, I was surprised at the two, but who can deny brotherly love? Brotherly love is always nice, no? But not in the snow, but it does seem kind of like a nice thought to cozy up with a fratello. Or comfort one for not being able to farsi una ragazza (score a girl). Don't worry, fratello, you'll get there someday.

This photograph had been taken right outside the Maximantics Building. Of course, I'm wondering "Who is taking all these pictures and expecting me to write about this?" But the envelope with the picture meant business. From details, it was after a Maximantics soiree that I had attended. Soiree goers didn't get to see much, but from accounts, it seems that this wasn't just brotherly snuggling in the snow.

One bella told me: "I could see Lukas whispering into his ear and... purring?"

Purring? That was very surprising.

Other accounts have said that they weren't just being friendly with each other, they were being friendly. I had been able to talk to both brothers, but they deny the claims... now then, why does everyone deny the claims these days? How fun is that?

Oh, and a messages to all fratellos out there: You'll farsi una ragazza soon enough.

[Deleted]

Haven't written anything in a while. I highly recommend you listen to this as you read.

The title of this drabble is...

The Downpour

Oryoucancallit"AntonioandEstelle'sAngstyAdventure"

- - -

It was a cold and dark December. On the rooftops she remembered, there was snow. White, pure snow. If she wasn't at the right place at the right time... no, those weren't the words. If she weren't at the wrong place at the time, maybe she wouldn't have had to feel all of that and experience all of it. It felt ugly and beautiful at the same time. Just like herself.

Like Cinderella, the clock chimed twelve, but the magic wouldn't wear off, no. The trance only began. In a sea of tourists and Londoners, out of all the people she could have stood next to, out of all the strangers she could have planted her poisonous kiss, she turned to him. They made eye contact, the static in the air prompting her to wrap her arms around his neck, his around her waist. Like the passionate man he was, he dipped her, their lips meeting, sharing that holiday kiss to ring in the new year. It wasn't too strange, she told herself. There were others around her doing the same thing. But curses, why him of all people, she later told herself.

Of course, at the time, all she could think was "That stranger is a good kisser." with just a footnote that he was probably a good bedder. But not tonight, dear Estelle. The kiss for the New Year, passionate enough to heat up in London's weather, fireworks bursting overhead. They broke their kiss and looked at each other. She, with her lovely amethyst eyes that had seen too much, he with his life-giving emerald eyes. He gave her a charming smile.

"Happy New Year, tomatina."

She was charmed. But she charmed too. That was a kiss that reciprocated just what he could give, with a bit of sharpness. They didn't exchange names or numbers. But that was a start.

They would meet again under less romantic, fairytale-esque circumstances. She was caught in her own crossfire. And he was there to untangle it. She lost her gun during the scuffle. He had simply been called to action.

She was shivering, but not in fear. It was in disappointment. Her usual gung-ho had been reduced to futility. Things usually ended up alright, just as expected, with just a bit of blood on her fingertips.

He kept calm and appeared inconspicuous. the gun he had was concealed. His goal was to investigate mafia action, and he just happened to find action gold. He did something unplanned. He saw her there, somewhat out of her wits, and took her by the shoulder. They ducked into an alley, panting for dear life.

"You okay, bella?" he asked, catching his breath and clutching the gun close to his chest.

"O-oui, monsieur," she answered, in disbelief that she was still in one piece. She slumped her shoulders against the wall, the sound of gunfire echoing throughout the streets. Her heart beat fast, the smell of smoke wafting through the air. This was blood on her fingertips. No one would know. It was all concealed under gloves and feminism. She tensed at the sound of running, scooting closer to Antonio. He himself was somewhat tense, but eased at her touch. It wasn't her warmth that was comforting; it was the desire to keep the lass safe and keep himself alive. The threat of dying was always high during missions.

"Don't worry, they won't get to us, and if they do, boss can take them," he said, putting a comforting arm around her, but keeping a tight grip on the gun.

"Merci. Mind if I ask my hero's name?" she asked, regaining courage and comforting herself with the thought of being able to get out of this situation.

"Antonio. Antonio Fernandez. And you, mi corazon? I never got your name that night."

Oh, so it was him.

"Estelle. Estelle Bonnefoy. Might I say, that was a fine kiss."

They wouldn't say a word on why either of them was in the crossfire anyways. No one asked and no one wanted to ask. Why disturb something nice with something awful?

With a girl like Estelle, it was expected: She was going to fall in love. He, as well. He would fall, and he would fall hard. They both fell together, and they would fall far. But you could only fall so far before you hit rock bottom. To her, this would grow more serious. It wasn't a one night stand in a bed, it wasn't leaving the bed and not making breakfast, It was falling, not prancing around like the princess that everyone wanted. It felt so wrong and it felt so right. Even he couldn't help but feel that sense of falling. This was risky. He had lost coworkers, their wives and husbands never knowing the truth to what happened to them.

The relationship was built on wary ground. She told him nothing, he told her nothing. But no one asked. No one would know about their relationship, both of them made certain of that. There was that fear that he would get tangled in the mafia, or she tangled in the corrupt lawlessness of MI6's innerworkings. But those moments were times that both appreciated. It was a time when they wouldn't have to hold onto the bounds of life, though they would only fear and fear some more.

This wasn't what she deserved, no was it... she hadn't done anything to deserve it, but neither did he. She knew: She wasn't going to be able to give him what he deserved. A wife, children, a family, stability. And he... he didn't think he'd be able to give her what she wanted... he could give her the care in the world that she needed, but he wouldn't be able to give her what she truly needed: Someone open.

They only fell apart. Just as they needed to. It simply had to be. He had a blue box, but he only struggled with it. To give or to not give. She only did the liberty of ending it before he could decide. And his soul would never be tied to the blue box.

She's plagued with the thoughts when she's with Iain now. Does she really deserve it? Can she handle it? Does she deserve this love and attention? Does she even deserve a damn in this world? She looked longingly at the cup of coffee she was drinking, ah the coffee they used to drink together on Sunday mornings.

You were given a blessing once and you turned it down. You might as well accept this one; you never know if you'll ever receive one again.

She looked across the cafe and was surprised to see him smiling and laughing, a blonde-haired woman sitting across him and laughing just as hard. He got what he deserved, didn't he.

She would never know that he still had the blue box.

[Deleted]

[ this was for school, i decided to drabble instead and just replace all the names ahahaha... okay this sucks but school sucks ]

The Fighter

The best thing in life is when you step back and it hurts. You go through things to avoid pain and when you look back, all you see is pain you inflicted on yourself.
She woke up in a hospital bed. She was broken in more ways than one, lucky to be alive really. There were no signs of whiplash, broken bones, or injury to the face. Simply a concussion. There could have been much more damage, but this was a stroke of luck.
Luck. Had everything she had done so far been luck? She had often thought of herself as a lucky person, but had she finally run out of luck.
She slowly turned her head to see a figure slumped asleep in a chair. Her vision was blurry, trying to figure out who it was. The thumping in her head wasn’t helping at all, but that flash of carrot hair was very familiar.
“He is your brother... yes, that sounds right. His name is... Donald. Donald. Donald,” she thought, keeping the name running through her head, clinging on it and keeping it as a hold to climb back into reality.
He stirred a bit and yawned lazily.
Is he drooling? That seems just a bit right...
He glanced in her direction, jerking into full awareness when he caught glimpse of her sitting up. Rubbing his eyes, he said “I never thought I would see those eyes bright again. It’s been a while, Aoife.”
She blinked in response. Aoife. That name sounded far away, like a pleasant comfort during the storm, the time between the fighting and the yelling. It was a name that she had once answered to. It was fond, but it was painful. She couldn’t respond to it.
“Please don’t do this to me, Banshee... please,” Donald said “I beg you, don’t do this. Stay with us, you don’t need to keep fighting... I’m just really, really sorry for almost going off like that. It could have been me in the car, but it had to be you.”
Okay, Banshee seemed a lot closer to reality.
“Why is he so worried, I’m not fighting anything,” she thought. But that thought felt wrong. It felt like she was always supposed to fight, always supposed to try to come out victorious, always try to prove a point. “Why am I here?”
“It was the car accident. You were fortunate enough to only suffer that concussion. But you were knocked out; they said there was potential for brain damage or memory loss,” he said. It was obvious that those words were foreign to him. There was no such thing as her being knocked out of anything.
“How long... have I been out?”
“About a week and a half. I’ve been coming here everyday to check on you, Aoife.”
That name again. He really doesn't call her that anymore.
“Can you say that again?”
“What?”
“Aoife. Can you say it again?”
He smiled. It really has been a while, hasn’t it.
“You don’t have to fight anymore, Aoife. Just come home.”
Home... It felt like the word fight and home were close in meaning.
Might as well make them antonyms.

[ ahahahaha, let me go get my grade now ]

[Asunara Wisdom]

SPOILER: Click to show

As he held her close, his stern face seemed to soften, as if growing younger. She reminded him too much of her father, that same father that he wanted to punch in the gut a lot of the time, but... those eyes. Those eyes that were her mother's, those eyes that didn't just stare up at him, but stared right through him.

It was that unconditional love that he had for his sister... and now for this little girl.

“Vash, I used to think you’d beat me to it. You’re older than I am," his sister kidded. He stammered a bit... from what? From the fact that he was seeing someone at the moment? Nah, it couldn't be only that. It was just a tad bit overwhelming... to have family again. Living, breathing family. Of course, not in the blood sense, exactly, but family. And he vowed he wouldn't let this die away.

"What did you name her? A German name?"

"Nope. Her name is Aislinn. It means 'vision' in Irish Gaelic. We're hoping the next one will have a German name."

Ah, what a bright vision indeed.

SPOILER: Click to show

She seemed to be much more wrapped up in watching her siblings' love affairs. Or at least... lack of them. Donald and Iain were well off (or at least, she approved of Donald's relationship, Iain's was a bit iffy to look at). But of all things, she wasn't watching out for her own romance. She was grilling Arthur and Aoife about their love lives.

Arthur was married to his work.

Aoife was married to her masculinity.

She really should stop waiting on them. After all... let's not waste a pretty face.

They all agreed that she deserved a break from them so... Well, let's hope that forced blind date actually goes well.

SPOILER: Click to show

She was cold to the heart.

But frightened to the bone. She simply decided not to show it.

Her father scared her with his firm gaze and authoritarian lifestyle. Her mother scared her with her perfectionism and loveliness, as if Natalya would never become that way. Her sister scared her with her failures as a person. Her brother... he scared her the most. She was scared of falling more and more in love with him... because it always hurt hearing those rejections.

And now, the deepest of her fears was that desire she felt for another... why. Why did she have to go out for morning coffee and hit him with the damn cheap moped.

She was scared to see more.

SPOILER: Click to show

Oh dear suaveness, why are you so fake? Why do you always hide yourself in your fear and your glamour. Maybe that is why fratello seems to hate you so much. You aren't the person you used to be. You have changed.

He stopped knowing what was real and what was pretend. It was all an act, and they were all puppets on strings, guided by the artist and architect of a different dimension. He would merely do his job as an actor.

Put on that fake smile. Keep with your fake cares in the world. You don't need anyone to know. Simply be suave.

SPOILER: Click to show

He tapped the pencil on the counter as he scanned the balance book. Ahhh, those numbers, beautiful numbers, numbers he shouldn't contemplate, numbers that aren't meant to exist... but exist.

"Seems like another good month..." he muttered to himself. He looked at the pencil and sighed.

She wasn't going to be coming back into the kitchen anytime soon. How long would it be until these numbers convince her to come back.

[Asunara Wisdom]

SPOILER: Click to show

He sat up in the bed and groaned.

Shit, I'm in a hospital bed.

Among the things that ran through his mind (hospital bills, sister, flowers, money, weapons), he couldn't help but feel guilty about the sister part.

How the hell am I here?

He turned his head towards the night stand. And sure enough, a bouquet of alpine roses and edelweiss were there.

SPOILER: Click to show

One does not simply misplace a lab. A large, mother flipping lab funded by the government.

Iain Stuart-Kirkland did. Kinda. Melinda simply did not feel like opening up that day. Melinda is quite a jealous little lab.

SPOILER: Click to show

She seemed like the joyful motherly type. Which she was if you didn't account for what she's witnessed before.

But this was probably a moment where joy wasn't a mask.

"Hermano?"

SPOILER: Click to show

Ludwig and Arthur don't do parties for several reasons. One reason being Michael. Another being how both of them have sticks up their asses. The third being their alcohol tolerances.

Arthur was coerced into drinking. Regrettable. It really wasn't a good idea.

Ludwig happened to enjoy his drink a little much. His wallet, not so much.

And Michael only laughed and took some questionable photos. Ahhh, lovely.

SPOILER: Click to show

She stayed by his side every single time. It was painful, seeing him cough and retch like that in bed with a fever. But as always, she would open her book and begin to read.

"The forest was like a jewel, sparkling in the distance. They say the dragons roam the forests and cliffs, waiting for that one pure person to come to them with the valiance to tame them. Only a true warrior, a true sword, an Excalibur would be able to be the master of them."

Ironic, he would become an Excalibur.

And she would be his shield, her arms around him, comforting him and shielding him from the yells and retorts.

If only that was how things worked. The stronghold can only remain strong for an amount of time.

[kvietka]

Because a cruel thought passed through my mind. I highly recommend you listen to [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW93CV6m-JU]this[/url] as you read.

The title of this drabble is...

One Hundred Words

Oryoucancallit"Donny'sSilence"

- - -

Maybe you are given some reparation. It could have ended right then, but no, he had to fight. That's all you've been good for. You never stopped fighting, even when you didn't need to fight. Even when you were happy.

Maybe fallen angels are given second chances because they are simply pitied. Maybe watching your descent was painful. But he had been lucky this time. Ironic. It would have been much easier to end it right there. Silence was painful.

He was supposed to die, but he didn't. At least, not at that moment. He was given one hundred words before he would be going back to meet his Maker. He only had one day, in which he would be taken up regardless of how many words he had used, so no trying to stay silent to prolong his time. He would have tried writing everything, but even that would take away words. One hundred words. So much to say. No way to express it. So of course, he wasn't going to waste words explaining his silence.

He had to figure out who he would give his words to. Aoife. Iain. Cerys. Lilli. Aislinn. This was going to be freaking painful. But he wouldn't be wasting words saying that those would be his last words to them.

Aoife || "Sister, I'm sorry for— damn it, what the hell am I saying," he said. Goddamnit Donald, you just wasted how many words... twelve? She'll get eight more. You can't waste all one hundred words on her. That would suck ass. This felt weird, trying to think words through. Aoife looked at him blankly.

"You okay? Taking that shot and not even getting a scratch was lucky. They hit you in the head too?" she asked. Heh, not even a scratch... well isn't that far from reality...

"Thanks sis... look after Aislinn, her favorite flavor is vanilla," he said, giving her a hug.

Damn it, I went two words over.

"You sure you're okay? You wuss... no need to be sentimental after a near death experience, we go through so many of those on a daily basis."

He said nothing and released, keeping himself from retorting. He would never feel the strength of her punches or hugs. He turned away. He couldn't look at her anymore.

He wouldn't want to look into her eyes. His eyes were her eyes. He wouldn't want to see those eyes. It hurt too much.

Iain || Iain is an ass. Seriously. Why waste more words on him?

Because of guilt, of course. Guilt for doing all that to him, and for being such an ass, for running away, and being the sinner he didn't want to become. Iain probably hated his guts.

"Hey," he said, entering the lab. Another word wasted.

"Hmmm?" Iain responded, not looking up from the lab report he was writing. He's not even paying attention to you, stop trying.

"Just wanted to say sorry, God. At least look at me!"

Iain loked up from his lab report.

"Sorry for what?"

Well that might be important.

"For... for... being stupid. You happy?"

Iain didn't say anything. Before he could respond, Donald had left the lab. Iain looked down at his lab report, a frown upon his lips. He began to work again, shaking his head.

Cerys || He actually thought through what he was going to say for her. It would have been sinful to leave her hanging and not apologize and not... well, it wouldn't have been very "gentlemanly" to simply put it in Arthur's stuffy vocabulary.

He would be causing her a lot of grief by dying. He was sort of the "prodigal child" to her, the one that left, caused her the most grief, and simply accepted him again, though she initially slapped him upon seeing him, with open arms and an open heart. And he felt guilty for that.

How many times have you done that for a person? Stop exiting lives like this, you've already killed her once, you can't kill her again...

She wasn't the same as Aoife with her reaction to his running away, and that hurt. Aoife, with her everlasting masculinity, would go on to trying to investigate his disappearance. She didn't. Cerys was silent, but it hurt.

Goddammit, how long has she been silent...

He approached her in the Barbican Center's make-up room.

"Donald? You really should stop sneaking in here from the back."

Damn it, she would be beautiful. She needs to allow herself to let those tears streak her face. There is no saying how many tears she has held back for them.

"Sis, don't be afraid to cry."

"What?"

"Sorry for running away."

"Why are you apologizing now? That was a while ago, and you know what happened that time."

"Just... sorry, okay? Don't be afraid to cry, I know you need those tears."

And he left without a word.

Lili || If he was going to do anything about her, he would have to betray nothing... and he wouldn't want to say goodbye, either. He was going to actually confront her. He debated to either write a letter or not, but confronting her and seeing her lovely face and smile would be comfort. Selfish, yes. To see that smile one last time. He would give anything. He was questionate of whether he would be able to make her laugh with the amount of words he had left, but he would try.

He opened the door of the flower shop. He knew he didn't need to buy flowers, but why not? He pointed to the bouquet of tiger lillies.

"I would like to buy that for any price you'd like."

She turned around and smiled.

"You told me that the first day you walked into this flower shop, no need to go around with that silliness again," she laughed, though a tad bit suspicious... oh well, he tended to do silly things like this, anyways. But he seemed serious at this... He had grabbed the bouquet and put down his whole wallet.

"You really are a card, Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland," she laughed, looking at the flowers and laughing again. He wrote on the back of a receipt:

"Thank you. I love you forever."

He left without saying anymore. And he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. If he said more, he would have died on the spot. And he didn't want to do that.

Thank you for everything, Lili... For your unconditional love, for your smiles, your laughter, for Aislinn...

Aislinn || He couldn't bear the thought of dying in front of her by saying his last word. So he decided to write a letter. He drove to Cremorne Gardens. Aislinn was probably napping in the flower shop or something of that sort. Which was good. He wouldn't want to give her bad memories of him dying at the flower shop or their house...

His hands trembled with the pencil as he tried to find the right words. He began his letter:

[Aislinn,

I'm sorry if I wasn't a good father. I want you to know that I will always love...

He would never finish his letter. He simply did not have the words left for it.

They would find him later on the park bench, his breathing ceased, but there seemed to be white roses and tiger lilies placed around him like a memorial.

All he had left was one hundred words.

He now has none.

[Asunara Wisdom]

How about them family trees?

SPOILER: Click to show