Why can't I escape your voice? | Captain's Feels

[Captain]

Finally decided to open a writings thread filled with feels and one sentence summaries that I'm obsessed over. No need to spam my code dump with art.

I cannot do the muses of other people - please don't give me prompts unless it's related to my muses. OTL

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Stone of Scone -- or rather where I try to be witty and instead of talking about a slab of rock touch on fluffy family times}

Baking takes up a lot of time, ingredients, and money.

He was speechless. You could have said that the cat caught his tongue or that he couldn’t process anything in the moment. Literally, with that scowl on his face, he couldn’t say a scorching remark, a witty comment, a complaint, or even a compliment. None, not at all. Nada, zip, zero, zilch, nix, rein, nothing! It was not that his mind was blank - oh no, that would be a mistake to believe that his mind was blank. But rather, his mind was filled to the brim with things he wanted to say, things he wanted to do, emotions that he was feeling right at the very moment.

It was more of the problem that he cannot find the right words to express how he was feeling.

His eyes glared at the younger man. Honestly, how bad can one’s cooking actually be? What he witnessed was... No, it was impossible to describe what he had seen. It wasn’t even possible for something to go that wrong in the matter of time sitting in the oven and out. Even he was sure that the scones sat long enough in the oven at the right temperature so it couldn’t burn at all. Yet it somehow, in one way or another, did. Either this man was cursed for agreeing that the Stone of Scone belonged to the English or he’s just cursed simply because of luck.

Either way, no matter how much magic seem the most plausible reason at the moment, perhaps there was something in the dough that made it worse, that made the scones transform into something of... horror in mere minutes.

Iain scowled, smacking his brother’s head with the flour shifter once more. Dammit, how much flour, eggs, and butter had they wasted by now? The other would be the one covering all of the costs the moment they finally make one good batch. “Again, and do it right.”

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Meanings -- because honestly i need more drabbles of Iain not dying but watching everyone else die}

It’s the little things in life that keeps you sane.

It was his personal life mission after all. Something he wanted dearly as a child, but could have never found the words nor the courage to express them. Little by little, with each small gesture to each of his members, he tried on bringing them together. But now... There's a crack. Yes, a crack. It wasn't a new crack, but it was one that was broken once more after spending so much on trying to repair it, to smooth out the rough edges, to make sure it's at least unnoticeable from up close. But... It was only the start. Little did he know with each minute he spends on trying to repair it, every second something new keeps on appearing. He would fix one crack here to find a greater on on the other side. There was too much to do and only one of him. So when a piece fell, Iain was getting desperate, yet he still could not find the words nor courage. He tried to stay silent during this setback. He tried even harder, to try to express what he was feeling with actions instead of words, simple words, only three words that could fix it.

And then another, and another, and another. Before he knew it, his whole world was gone. No smell of morning coffee with an Irishman humming. No small conversations about how annoying the family is, no more teasing and fussing about funds, no more sewing stuffed sheep, no more spending time because he had the free time. Before, they were... mundane... but now... Now?

Only through lost did he know how much those mundane things kept him human and gave him a purpose in life.

[Captain]

i want to write this one so badly you don't even know but lmao i'll keep this version for archival reasons (if that makes any sense).

SPOILER: Click to show

{shadows - where iain kills himself because i always need another drabble for that. never enough drabbles for that.}

After having too many sleepless nights, the former Quartermaster spent the night thinking about the reason that’s preventing him sleep..

Iain stared at the ceiling. Another sleepless night had passed. By now, he had lost track of how many hours spent staring at the ceiling, how many nights it has been since he just kept his eyes open with no rest. He after all, dared not to fall asleep or the nightmares would return. He relied on the sleeping pills, but even if they allowed him to sleep, he didn’t feel a change at all. His body felt more like lead and his soul grew more weary; the flames that powered it had already started to diminish. In the end, he opted out the pills, but they still stood there beside him on the nightstand. They made a giant shadow that stood over his conscience...

Yet, he knew what the problem was, he knows what’s causing his pain. It’s wasn’t aerospace engineering, it was as obvious as the sky, as plain as day. He only laid there in bed, thinking about the problem, the people who are the problem. He didn’t blame them or anything, in fact he loved them all. If he was going to blame anyone, he would be blaming himself for his own grief.

However, the first person to come into mind was Cerys. She was to him an escape from the hardships of the world.

He remembered the day when she was brought home by their father. Such a delicate little flower she was. In a way, she was beautiful. She held resemblance to their father with the dark hair, but it was perhaps obvious to say that she looked more like her mother that they had never met in their lives. Yet... it just seemed right to see her there, in the gentle hold of their father’s arms.

Iain, he misses Cerys. She was the only one he can go to whenever there was something troubling him. Their relationship was tamed compared to others, but when Cerys wasn’t busy caring for a sickly Arthur, perhaps she was there taking care of him. Even if the manner of this care was different to the other, Cerys was a doctor for his soul. She was the only one who he can truly be open too. She was a way for him to forget about it and everything else, and even if he tried to look tough in front of his sister, there are times when the tears felt too much of a burden to hold back. They say that he was the rock, the one who kept calm amidst all of the chaos when times are tough?

The redhead only sadly snickered at himself. They were wrong. The strongest out of all of them was Cerys. He only had the strength to hold back the tears until he would later find his sister. She deserved better after all, she deserves more recognition within the family. She deserves the fact that she should find a good husband instead of worrying over them. Even if it pains him to admit that if that was the case, she wouldn’t be around as much. She was secretly the one that was keeping this family from getting any worse. She was the one to have taken all of their pains and suffering to soothe it away. He wonders, how many tears did she kept locked up inside her? He knew that there’s only so much a person can handle... is Cerys still holding back those tears of hers?

The ginger turned his body to lay on his side. In the corner of his eyes before, he could still see that bottle. He doesn’t want it in his sight at all. His back was turn towards it but he still felt the looming presence it gave. Another figure... no two two figures came up into his mind. He felt his lips tug into a rueful smile at the thought of them.

Aoife and Donald Ah... it was only a year after the arrival of Cerys, no? The house was somewhat lively already, since Iain was the one supplying all of the liveliness in the home already - Cerys was after all the more quiet one... But when chubby little Donald and iron-grip Aoife had entered his life, everything exploded from there... and in a good way. Sure, they would butt heads together as they grew up, but most of his time was spent on smiling and laughing.

God Aoife... Aoife was perhaps the one who he could hold a conversation with without bursting into some petty little argument aside from Cerys. He was more himself, more of the man that loved nature, creatures, and everything around him. They got along which wasn’t a surprise. He knew that she had a hot-temper and he knew how to handle her. As her older brother, he was supposed to be the one looking out for too her. Though, as the years went by, he couldn’t help but notice that she was moving away from the family, and while still throwing in her two cent thoughts into any family discussion, she was distancing herself away.

He should have said something back the, but he didn’t. Now, he accepts her as a young woman who is capable to be able to take care of herself. In fact, he almost felt like a father letting go of his daughter in a way. She became fully independent and he’s proud of her. It’s just that... sometimes he wishes her back into the family, or at least she’ll visit them more.

Though... best not to forget about Donald. He was a wee monster. As a baby he would suck on anything but a pacifier and it was hilarious to see the boy with his growing teeth for whenever he smiled, the gaps appear. And even today it didn’t change much. Instead of sucking on things, Donald would be constantly talking and never stopping. Iain somehow learned how to tolerate the other’s constant talking of course and even enjoy the times of shenanigans with him.

The ginger felt a shaky breath. Indeed, while they had their moments of fun together, like him breaking the news to the Irishman that Lili was the younger sister of Vash or planned all of the pranks for April 1st, Donald gave Iain a lot of stress too. When he had discovered that the other took a path that lead him to the life of the lawless Iain panicked. Not a night went by without worries... but when Aoife returned with Donald... Well, it wasn’t the most heartwarming of reunions, but it held a permanent place in his memories. He wonders... how can Donald still act like the boy be remembered years ago even after sinking into the darkness corners of what life offered? That’s what the ginger wanted to know, even if it was an act. He was that perpetual smile that intruded into his life so many times. How did he do it?

The world felt a lot lonelier, more empty... more grey, without Donald and Aoife. He was starting to regret, to regret ever making that decision in the first place. He thought that he could live without them for once, after all isn’t that what he wanted in the end? To be out of it?

He couldn’t stay still anymore, no not after thinking about his younger siblings. He wanted to banish these thoughts from his head. Iain got up from his bed, and turned his head to glance at the container.

“No, no... Stop thinking about it.”

The shadow still lingered, he needed to get away from it. He needed light, needed something to banish it away from him, at least for a little while longer. The redhead shuffled across his room and wandered into the bathroom. He felt around in the darkness, and with a flick, the light turned on. They blinded him, his eyes squinted. This wasn’t the light he needed. This light only made the shadow grew.

Turning on the sink, he splashed water into his face. His attempts were all useless, the shadow grew bigger.

When he looked up to see himself into the mirror, he was a mess. Before his face would be unshaven, but at least it was kept neat. Now it was just a mess, it looked like he hadn't cleaned himself in weeks. There were bags under his eyes - they had always been there, but now they were deeper, darker even. The burning hair most people labeled him with had turned into something of a dull color. It lost it’s luster and sheen, it’s just dull now, like his eyes.

Ah, look at the pathetic state he’s in now, how far has be fallen already? If he knew the youngest of his brothers the most, then he would have received a comment about that. Yes... that youngest brother of his...

Arthur... What was Arthur to him? It’s just... hard to organize his thoughts. When the Golden Boy had entered his life, he was only seven. Arthur was small and even more frail than Cerys, but the arms that held him was that of a woman’s arms filled with love, something all foreign to him. Iain didn’t like Arthur as a kid. He was too weak, too sickly. However, perhaps it all sprung up from the jealousy on how their mother looked at Arthur. Such gentle eyes, such soothing and soft words. She claims that she loves all of them, but even Iain knew she favorited Arthur out of the rest. Whenever a family decision came up to see what movie they would want to watch next or have what made for dinner, Iain would always say the exact opposite of Arthur. It sounded like it’s childish and perhaps that it would mean nothing, but it eventually have gotten worse to the point where the younger would dread the other’s presence. Yet, he was hiding something behind his cold words. Iain never really hated Arthur, but envied him. Iain, he was only good with engineering, physics, anything of that sort. Arthur on the other hand was well rounded, and loved by the teachers. In fact, it annoyed him to hear that even the oldest brother was being compared to the youngest. It wasn’t the otherway around, they weren’t judging Arthur by how his siblings had acted no. They judged the siblings by how Arthur was.

A dry laugh erupted from Iain’s throat, yet it held no emotion, no meaning. Only when he realized it, the damage was already done. There’s no going back. He wanted to say so much to Arthur. He wanted to congratulate him on his accomplishments. Being twenty-one and already in Parliament? That is quite an accomplishment. Yet, he never said a ‘good job’ or give him a pat on the back. He felt terrible for just realizing everything too late.

Iain sighed, massaging his temples with a hand while leaning over the sink. God, he was pathetic, the worst of the worst. It was too late and he can never right his wrongs. The only little light in this whole situation was Peter. Peter to him was the reminder about his life’s mission. He wasn’t there to witness the birth of his cousin for he had classes, but when he saw the boy, something in him made him smile with love - a rare sight indeed.

It was obvious, Peter always enjoyed spending time with Iain for the smallest of things and vice versa, the ginger didn’t mind spending time with Peter because the boy was always so energetic and innocent. In all honesty, he reminded Iain of how he was twenty years ago the same age and while he wasn’t as innocent for the family fights that came, he was just as energetic. The boy loved his family of cousins and that’s what made the man smile. Peter’s so young and he doesn’t understand the exact complications that kept his favorite cousins so separated from each other. Sure, they would see each other every day, but that’s just like claiming to see the same stranger everyday at the subway and never talking to him. A normal sight but no bonding. Peter wants to be accepted by the rest, especially by Arthur, but that would be impossible if the people who he’s looking up to can’t accept each other. This is why Iain likes spending time with Peter, it gives him the hope of this is what life would be like if he did bring the family back together.

… If he did. But of course, it’s impossible now. It’s impossible to go back and say that oh, he changed his mind. He was sure at that very moment when he made that decision that he wasn’t going to regret it. Or rather, he knew he was but he had never expected it to have it affect him this strongly.

Iain was a greedy man. In a situation like this, it called for choosing one or the other. He chose what he wanted but the pain it caused was making him doubt if it was worth it or not. He already started to doubt, and to regret. The shadow that stood over his conscience finally tipped it. Perhaps in the cold embrace of the deathly shadow, it might serve as an atonement for what he had done to his family.

He never had the chance to say his apologies and when he did, there was no one to hear it.

---

i said i hated the old one. So here's a revised one 8') Iain doesn't die this time but this features Estelle so you'll know it would end badly. obviously references a couple of other drabbles the kirkland family had produced and a couple of roleplays in the cbox and in threads

SPOILER: Click to show

{because iain isn't really a great family man}

To say that he was shaken was an understatement.

Iain lived a life of responsibilities: as a British citizen who worked to protect the United Kingdom and her Majesty, the Queen, as the Quartermaster who kept a watchful eye over the agents that came to him, and as a man of family--oldest brother four children and as a significant other.

He had been good with keeping up with the first two, but the last one he had struggle with. Due to pride and stubbornness, there were times in where he couldn't make himself see the other side of the constant familial conflicts. He knew that he messed up considerably during his childhood and how the lack of contact of his blood-relatives for a long while took its toll. Which was why he tried to make up for it, of course, under the guise of indifference. He always hid concern with a furrowed brow and blunt words, and what little he showed were only witnessed by the closest of friends and siblings. Sometimes, that mask of his would falter as stress weighed down on him. There were too many things that could have gone wrong in his life.

Ah yes... how much it shook him to know that he would help in sending his own younger siblings out into the dangerous world. He armed them with guns and ammunition, sent them to places that they should never have gone. This was what Aoife and Donald had agreed upon by allowing themselves to work as field agents in MI6 but it was unfortunate to carry that knowledge that they had long been a part of such dangerous operations before he brought them in. Sure, both he and the twins laugh and joke with each other--in fact, these three could have been considered as the closest of the siblings. Flaming hair and mischievous eyes (and at times rather stern ones) plagued the base of operations. An agent could at least meet two out of the three Kirklands a day.

He could recall spending lunch time sitting down and talking to Aoife. She had forcefully demanded that he was to have lunch with her, since he was prone to skipping out on his midday meal. They spoke of mundane things: of the weather and of their family, complaints about Donald's talkative nature. If work wasn't on the forefront of their minds, do the same thing all over again except over a glass of liqueur. He was honest with Aoife and she was honest with him. They spoke to each other as more than sister and brother, but as friends. This lasted all throughout their childhood and their lives as both of them had started to branch away from the unit.

He still fretted over her, but he knew more than anyone else that she was fully capable of dealing with whatever that might come her way.

Donald and Iain spent their time together much more differently. While it was true that the two brothers weren't as close to each other during their early years, once Iain allowed bygones be bygones and forgave the fallen man they joked and laughed with each other, most of the time. On the first day of April the two set out on a large mission to pull the ultimate prank: taping their beloved youngest brother to the ceiling. One day when Iain had decided visit the other's home, he dropped the largest news bomb that resulted in Donny choking on his favorite cereal and marshmallow treat. It was Donny that made Iain's scowl turn and eyes light up with plotted tomfoolery.

He still worried over Donald's state of mind as it wasn't so easy to go through life with a chipper smile after trudging through the pit the Irish boy had found himself in.

They never told him, but the twins had saw him as the guardian and foundation. The Peter, the Rock to their family. He stood there, head high and shoulders broad as he moved through life, making sure that all would go well under his careful eye. He was what kept them together.

Then there were those that weren't under his watch all the time. Cerys was one of them-- a lass that was quiet, that not many people would have even known she was a Kirkland. Her eyes were violet unlike the rest of her blood-siblings and her hair was much darker, more reminiscent of their father despite looking completely like her mother. She was the only one that would have seen his vulnerability, the tiredness and stress that ate at him from work and concerns. She was the only one that had seen sides of him that he felt ashamed off. He knew that she dabbled with singing, she always had a pretty voice, but it was by her badgering that he would learn about her not so lawful actions (and she in turn would know of his role in his 'office job').

Every Saturday he would set aside some time and sew. It was the image that most would not align with the 'tough and rough' Quartermaster. She joked that she wouldn't accept money and instead sheep plushes instead in return for her informative services and Iain took her seriously. Of course, doing something he somewhat enjoyed was better than spending actual money. Their love of the rolling hills and grazing animals were shared and it was often that they could converse with each other over the phone. She was his first sister, the first sibling that was brought home by their father. Cerys held a rather special spot within his heart just for that.

He still worried about what Cerys was doing, even if she had been more than helpful to him. He just would have preferred that she wouldn't be playing this role of broker to both sides of this hidden war.

She never told him, but she always saw Iain as the closest thing to a father figure out there. There were times where he was stern, yes, and there were times where she was more than willing to tease and make fun of his siblings but most were out of good-nature and less of pure spite. No matter what, he would still have an open ear and a spot beside him for a good listen.

Another brother he would not see so often was Arthur. The both of them were far too busy to even set aside time to see each other, let alone speak. His youngest brother had great ambitions to become the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom--and as the people dubbed him, "Excalibur". While the Golden Boy worked with the light blessing him, Iain worked in the shadows of the government's underground. It was nearly impossible for them to even run across each other. The beginnings of their relationship was far from great or pretty. Unfortunately, the politician's childhood was riddled with the experience of being the butt of almost everyone's jokes.

But sometimes, there were moments were they did get along. Iain had tried to act as the brother once, when Arthur had been acting differently. He told the young boy that despite any of the things he had done and said, he would be there to listen, just as long as Arthur came to him. Not everyone could read what was happening in the each other's mind after all. When Arthur was first elected to become a Member of Parliament in the General Elections, the Scotsman had showed up--under the pretense of business. He needed to speak to a particular person who just so happened 'to be in the area'. It was officially for business reasons but there was no denying that he wanted to give a good congratulations. His brother had always been smart, and while not as smart as the researcher himself when it came to the natural sciences, he felt pride.

He still worried about just how fast his little brother was moving. It was often that the brightest of stars that burned the fastest.

He never told him, but Arthur looked up to his oldest brother for approval. The surprise he had felt when Iain had bothered to say 'you've done a good job' was so great. When he learned that the redhead had been reading and collecting poetry and tales of the writer known as William Archer, he was almost tempted to admit to the secret identity of the pen name.

The last of the blood family wasn't even his sibling, but a cousin that was adopted by all of them nonetheless. Peter was a sweet, energetic boy who made everyone else tolerate each other. Not many people could bring themselves to really be angry at their siblings as long as Peter was around. The poor lad was thrown to his cousins the moment his parents had divorced and wanted nothing to do with the boy. There was an inkling Iain felt that whenever he saw any of his own siblings played and spent time with Peter, it was because they were trying to make up for the things they never had done. The same was said for him.

Peter had Iain's number, just in case there was ever an issue or he had some kind of question. Most of the texts and calls were for the latter reason, but that meant that everything was good, all things considered. The older man had always been more than willing to answer anything that came his way--save for English. Having Iain answering questions in regards to that subject was probably an insult to Arthur himself. When time permitted him to, he would visit Arthur's home just to see Peter. There were days in where the grown man would play video games or go out to the zoo to admire giant and cool animals that often loitered around just for his youngest cousin. Iain would ask Peter about school, and the conversation would find its way to being about how the inventor should show up on those 'Bring Your Parent to School' days (even if that also led to how it would probably be Arthur that would go to such things).

He still was concerned over Peter's well being, only because he knew just how time consuming campaigning as Britain's next Prime Minister was. The child was only twelve, and most likely had to eat take-out every single day.

Then there was one special person.

Estelle Aimée Bonnefoy.

They knew of each other for a long time now, it was simply what was expected of them: her being a mafia leader and him being the brains behind MI6. They were opposites of each other. She was graceful with each and every step and danced around men as if they were her toys. He was painfully straightforward as he bulldozed through those who dared to underestimate him because of his occupation in some lab. Iain had to admit... he he wasn't exactly the best of citizens in when he caught her breaking into the lab. Instead of apprehending her, he was far more interested in going along with her game and flirting with the dangerous woman.

But in the end, it turned out to be a good thing. He couldn't explain how things ended up as they were. In the beginning, he was calling up Cerys on anything she could tell him about the woman that MI6 didn't know. He wasn't picky on the type of information he got as he wasn't interested in knowing what her weakness or aversions were. Who was she as a person and if she had anything she particularly liked where the things he was more willing to listen for. (As a bonus, Cerys dropped a tidbit about her preferred shade of lipstick.) The interactions between him and Estelle were mainly left unknown to most people, a star-crossed love that would end horribly some would have warned if they knew. He told himself that if he was careful enough, then the two of them would be fine. He told himself that he could convince her to forsake the life of crime, because he knew so much about her than she would see in herself.

She became a part of his family, and not the messy and convoluted one that held too many strained ties. She was his, just the two of them, just as lovers too enamored with each other.

So where were they all now?

One laid buried beneath the ground with holes in his chest.

One became silent his heart could not handle the grief.

One came back with her body broken, bruised, and cold.

One had fallen into the pit of madness and of faithlessness.

One had her spirit worn down and her happiness lost.

One was sentenced to the Death Row and refused end her life not on her terms.

So when Iain had felt that shiver in his soul and that rattling in his breath, he realized that he once again had failed in keeping up with his responsibilities. He couldn't be that guardian the twins had saw him as, he couldn't be the father figure Cerys saw in him, and he couldn't be that older brother that Arthur wanted. He kept himself engrossed in his work, but everything felt a little bit too quiet as agents gave him apologetic looks that he quietly scorned under his breath. He didn't go out drinking as much anymore, and preferred to sit alone in the privacy of his own home instead to avoid conversation and distractions. That happened rarely. Oh yes, he now excelled in protecting the country, as there were no more distractions that kept him from fiddling with loopholes and exceptions. Oh yes, his efficiency and analytic attitude made many of the missions go a lot more smoother, with only a bit more of more sacrifices.

But at what cost?

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Harsh Reality -- because kirklands like dying}

Being angry and in denial was easier than accepting the truth in Iain’s case.

Iain had always thought that he would die first. It wasn't the fact that he was the oldest or that he's just being ignorant of having two siblings working out on the field, but rather, he thought that he would have died from some sort of cancer, liver or heart failure, or even stroke. After all, he knew about the risks of drinking too much and smoking. He just chose to ignore it. Yet, to know that the youngest, only at the age of twenty-five, would die before him...

Iain couldn't believe it... He thought that it was just a dream, a nightmare all too realistic. Yet it has been confirmed time and time again that it wasn't from his twisted imagination.

The stain of blood from Arthur has Iain hovered over his brother on stage - that was real. The room Arthur had stayed in as the doctors had done everything in their power to save them - as real as the damage Iain had caused to the wall out of frustration. The body before him now in the casket... As solid and cold as any dead body should be.

He tried to keep a strong face in front of Peter. After all, his wall had already been shattered before, the wall that kept his composed expression. It had already shattered once and once more was on the verge of shattering. Yet it was hard. If it took most of his will not to fall down on his knees, shouting and yelling with anger of profanities and blasphemies, curses towards the Lord he believed in for allowing such a cruel fate to happen, triple that amount of will needed to prevent the tears from just simply flowing. It was easier to be mad at something, it was harder to swallow it down in cold, hard acceptance.

Iain wanted to break down. For a moment, he wanted to release that primal urge of his. He contained his temper and bottled it all up. That was the worst kind of rage after all, the silent type, the type that was just building up for the perfect moment. The final ingredient needed for the biggest of explosions, the single feather that broke the camel's back. The tipping point where everything just falls over in mayhem.

Iain took a shaky deep breath. It felt almost impossible to breathe without trembling. It felt impossible to stay something without choking, without gasping for air.

"Yeah... Rest in peace." The only words he could muster, and it was only in a low and quiet tone.

There wasn't enough time, oh how cruel fate is. There wasn't enough time... Was that his excuse? Did the position of being a Quartermaster took that much time away from him? Just five minutes, no, not even. It took only a matter of mere seconds to say the words, "Congratulations", "I love you", "Little Brother", "I'm sorry". It was his own fault for stalling it for so long. His own fault that he never had the guts, never could have swallowed his own pride, to say those simple words.

He and the whole world were silent that moment, and from then on, remained silent.

[Captain]

DRABBLE INSPIRED BY: BLUE LIPS BY REGINA SPEKTOR BECAUSE I'M STILL A LOSER

SPOILER: Click to show

{Guardian Angel -- once again, still need more drabbles with Iain dying}

Have no fear, for your Guardian Angel is always praying for you in your time of need.

No matter how many times it has been stated, Iain would always be watching over his family of siblings and cousins. And even now, he found another precious person to dearly care for. She was family to him, she was the only one who melted his heart from it's frozen state.

He was the guardian that stood at the gates, bracing himself for anything that would dare to hurt those precious to him. The Saint Michael or whatever you want to associate him with. Yet, like all humans, he made mistakes, and allowed the pain and suffering to slip past him. He was disappointed at himself, found fault within himself, yet all the while not allowing anyone know about his inner turmoil.

Yet there he is now, on the ground with fire surrounding him. "London is burnin'," He thought to himself. There was nothing he could have done - he was trapped. He's supposed to feel pain, but it was numbed out from his mind. If he felt anything at all, he felt disappoint with himself and questioning himself with doubt. He had stumbled down and asked himself, 'God this is all this is?'

He coughed, even now the smoke found no escape, he was either going to suffocate first or die when the building finally collapsed over him. The story of the great Quartermaster of MI6, this is how his story ends.

~ ~ ~

He watched it all happen. How London was rebuilt, how the people slowly started to pick up where they left off and tried to move on with their lives. He kept watch of six people especially. They have been fortunate, extremely fortunate.

He watched over them all, prayed for them even in his state. He closely watched over them and yet could never do anything for them in the first place. He only watched them, just observing. They all hurried past him, and while the first steps were slow, it was a gradual increase. Yet, they never stopped. Never took the time to rest, never took the time to smile. They never found the reason in their hearts to smile.

He only questioned himself once more, 'God this is all there is?' He was not content. No, not to see them living a life like this. He had done his best to guide them, to live a better life, to move on. But this was not what he wanted. He did not want them to have a life of him being an obstacle. So he prayed, and prayed. After all, was that not his role? To pray on their behalf? Even if few of them were none believers, he would still pray for them.

Yet, after such a long time, he fell asleep, dreaming, dreaming with the hope that his prayers would be answered. And when it was, he smiled.

Each one of them, even if as absurd as it sounded, was able to move in life. Arthur's ambitions had been answered, Donald started a family and Aoife too. Cerys was very successful in her career and Peter grew into a well respected man, even more handsome than Arthur...

And Estelle. God, Estelle. She found a different man, but even Iain could tell that it was nothing but a physical replacement. It was nothing more than that, nothing more than just the physical touch. It was terrible to see her like this... Yet at least she's trying to pretend to move on.

It was selfish of him to say, but to know that he could never be replaced... It wasn't right for him to be glad at the idea for Estelle was left alone... Yet, he made a promise to himself. If Estelle would never move on, he shall remain at her side forever in spirit. He would bless her dreams, pray for her safety, do anything in his power for her.

Nodding to himself, he is sure to keep this promise. Now he was finally content, at least to a certain extent. Content with his work, content that his prayers where answered. He watched with a gentle look on his visage. His home was a gem of blue within the darkness, within the flicker of white stars. He was pleased with his work. He wasn't a child anymore, how many years did it take him to learn about that? What felt like minutes were actually months, years. He was the observer, the one who prayed for their well-being on their behalf. Even if they didn't believe in him, even if they didn't want him, he still watched over them.

Blue, that was the adjective he would describe the Earth he watched over. Life revolved around blue, blue was the color of life. Blue was the eyes of Peter, blue was the color that strangely complimented Arthur. Blue was the color in which Donald's tie would be, blue would be the flower that Aoife cared for in her apartment.

Blue was the color of the little box he had in planned for Estelle before the fated day happened.

He knew it now, and it took him many years to finally know.

Blue was the most human color, his life revolved around it.

[Asunara Wisdom]

Prompt:

Drabble on Monaco, deary. She needs some love too <333

[Missy]

*HUGS YOU. JUST BECAUSE. I DON'T NEED A REASON.*

[Captain]

Asunara Wisdom:
I read this on my phone in class and I spent my whole lunch period thinking on what the hell to write. I came up with something. uwub

@missy:
*HUGS BACK* I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING CUTE... SORT OF. ALLOW ME TO POST IT WHEN I CAN.

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{this had the stupidest title ever and i don't even want to remember that}

Jealousy even happens to the best of people - it’s unexpected but everyone gets jealous in one point of their lives.

It was a sight to behold.

Who would have expected at the Quartermaster of MI6 would be spending the day, trailing a couple of lawless criminals at the mall? Well... at least it looked like that.

Iain glanced over his shoulders to see Gilbert with Estelle sitting in the food court. Gilbert looked over to his side to see the Quartermaster looking straight at them (with a look that isn’t exactly pleasant - even the Scotsman himself didn’t know he was glaring).

… In all honesty, it felt uncomfortable to know that they were being stalked... on a date no less.

He excused himself to refill his (awesome) sippy cup.

The next time he looked back to his side, he witnessed Iain whisking Estelle away out of the mall (with her shopping bags in tow).

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{pretty sure this is for a monaco ship and i forgot who the man was}

The kindest of gestures don't always come with flowers and chocolates.

Christyna kept herself from grinning as she looked at the frustrated expression of the other person who was playing with her. They’ve been together for quite a while and well, perhaps it’s about time to do something in return for all the good times he had given to her about now.

She shuffled the deck quickly.

She passed the cards out carefully.

Looking at her hand the Monegasque kept her poker face, yet she glanced over to the other man who seemed to be very confident with himself. She could lose just this once.

“Two pairs.” The Princess declared, throwing her cards down.

“Flush!”

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{My World -- because we need a dad on this board and it might as well be Scottie and not Papa Kirkland. fuck papa kirkland. bUT ISN'T IT FUCKING IRONIC ON HOW IN ASU'S FAMILY TREE PAPA KIRKLAND'S NAME IS ELLIOT. WHY U NAME YOUR SON ELLIOT}

He'll never break this promise; never.

When Iain first held both of his children, what he was feeling was extremely hard to explain. To simply put it into terms he could understand himself, it was probably that feeling any good father felt in the same situation...

That didn't really help himself sort out his mind. Yet when he looked at his kids, his features softened immediately. A smile unintentionally crept onto his expression, whatever bothered him before, be it from the stress of this wonderful love or work, simply just melted away. It felt like his children would be able to do anything and as their father, he felt like he was holding his world in his arms.

The ginger chuckled, glancing over to his tired wife. How funny the world is, when he was so focused on bringing his own family back together, Estelle intruded upon his life with the intention of stealing something from MI6. And here they are now, they have a family of their own.

God the road was rough, mentally and even physically, but it was worth it. Every second was worth it. The smiles they've shared together, the times they argued. After all, they were not a perfect couple but a solution was always found in the end.

Right then and there, he promised to himself, a promise that he would never dare to break. He promised to be a different man than his father. With childhood innocence, those fairy tales of the loyal husband and the only princess were never true. As much he was a "loved" presence in the home for Iain, the rest of the family perhaps did not think so.

He may not have the best father role-model in his life, but Iain swears to be the best for his children, so Mairi and Elliot may have something he never did.

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{iaineste christmas fluff because everyone needs this}

The seasons come and go, and at the toll of Midnight, miracles happen.

It was the season for celebration, a season for cheers and thanksgiving. It started out as a Christian holiday, but it’s still celebrated nonetheless.

It was Christmas, and during this time of year like any traditional family, there’s a Christmas tree in the middle of the living room decorated with fragile yet beautiful ornaments for the season. The home would smell of gingerbread and cinnamon: that very corny smell that you would have hitting your face when you walked into a decked out living room filled with Christmas decor.

However, it was late at night and with the children tucked in, nothing stirred aside from the rustling of wrapping paper, the snipping of ribbons, and the beeping of the oven. Like any good family, the parents were busy preparing for Christmas Morning, the mother wrapping the presents with the father off on making shortbread. They’ve been at it for quite awhile for it was the mother’s decision to go out and buy so much presents for their daughter and son... and not to mention a little more for the extended members of the family. Of course, it was Christmas season, the only time where it would seem acceptable to spend so much in such a short span of time.

As for the father, he was busy baking shortbread like mentioned beforehand. It was after all, a Scottish tradition to bake shortbread and to consume shortbread. Despite any protests coming from anyone, he did believe that he was a good baker - if not a good cook. He would have done it even if everyone in the world had warned him on not to set a single foot near any kitchen. Yet, he felt a sense of pride. It was quite uncharacteristic of him to put so much thought into baking shortbread, usually all a person would need is butter and brown sugar, but no. He wanted something different and thus had to look into multiple cookbooks into finding the recipe he wanted. White chocolate shortbread with cranberries - it was a good recipe with simple instructions. To say that his version of the shortbread mirrored the ones in the photo however...

It’s best left up to the opinions of other people and not his.

Iain wiped his brow, satisfied with the finish product and wanted to check out on how his wife was doing with the presents and whatnot. She did complain about how he should be helping her, but he reasonably argued that it’s just not Christmas without some homemade shortbread and that all of the presents was spent with his money with her pointing to the things she wanted to buy.

He peered into the living room, almost grinning, holding a laugh back at what he saw. He knew that Estelle was different than most women. She wasn’t the housewife and she isn’t the type to actually be a good role model of responsibility, but hey, that’s what made her special to him for what he saw was Estelle fumbling with the ribbons and the wrapping paper, the tape and the gifts themselves. She did achieve the ultimate goal, which was to wrap the presents... yet really, the tape was visible and all over the place and the wrapping paper had creases in places where they should not. It didn’t look like a box at all, it looked more like a... deformed creature of no solid form - if that made any sense at all. But really, as much as he could stand there with a grin on his visage, the poor kids couldn’t be happy to see such presents wrapped up in such a sloppy manner.

He snuck back into the kitchen, taking a few extra rolls of wrapping paper, ribbons, the extra rolls of tape, and any presents that were in his immediate vicinity and retreated back into the kitchen. It was good that the Frenchwoman was way too focused on trying to wrap the box of clothing that sat in front of her. Still even to this day, she struck some type of ‘terror’ when angered.

Later on that night, Iain was able to re-wrap most of the presents, whilst sneaking a few of his own gifts into the pile near the tree. Unfortunately for him, he was caught by Estelle. He braced for a poke to the chest with a manicured finger and scolding about how her ‘hard work’ and been for nought. He had grown used to it in all honesty. He almost became a saint for having to deal with Estelle for these years (and not to mention his family of nutjobs). Arguing back would be... well... It’s not arguing per se, but rather reasoning in a more calmer tone.

But, there was a sigh, and not a sigh of disappointment. It was sigh of relief. He thought he was going to end up preparing for a war on Christmas Morning - not literally of course, but one cannot be so unsure... that or he’s simply still a child that could come up with the silliest of conclusions. He heard her mutter something about perhaps it’s sweet of him to be actually wrapping the presents up too.

He pretended not to hear it at all really.

Yet she had noticed one lone box sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He tried to keep it out of her view with his body, but that was only in vain for she reached for the box and grabbed it.

The bells rang to signify that it is midnight.

As the Freshwoman looked at the box, the Scotsman said, “Aye, Merry Christmas.”

What he bought for her was a silver necklace encrusted with diamonds and decorated with amethyst.

[Captain]

SPOILER: Click to show

{ten -- too many iain dying drabbles i can't even remember that this one was about without reading it}

This wasn't fair, even for an all perfect being's doing.

He knew the risks, and he accepted them.

He took the chance, and he now paid the price for it.

Looking back on it now, oh man was he such a fool. A fool who fell hard and was blinded with love, a fool who never doubted his own words, a fool who believed that everything was going to work out in the end no matter what.

He was wrong, oh so very wrong; it was as if the world itself wanted to prove him otherwise.

"You gotta stay strong." He reassured himself, but even his own words fell on to deaf ears. How can he? How can he stay strong when his family's broken, when his pillar to lean on crumbled into ruins?

And right before his own eyes too. His pillar, Estelle Bonnefoy, the most wonderful woman of them all, had fallen in front of him. There was no one to turn to. He had no one.

The world, even with seven billion people walking on it's face, felt so empty. Returning to his family as a way of comfort? Impossible, that wasn't an option. Arthur's death drove them all apart. They are family, yet it didn't feel like that, no. What it felt like was that everyone were strangers and that they're just living under the same roof.

He grieved; if Arthur's death caused his whole world to tumble down, to be shaken to the core, that everything collapsed around the Scotsman, at least he still had the ground. He still had the ground to stand on and the ground to rebuild on. However, that was impossible for Estelle's death just destroyed everything. That was left standing was utterly gone and even the ground beneath him crumbled. There was nothing left, nothing.

Down into a void he went, down as he fell with no escape.

Iain Stuart-Kirkland had lost his footing. He had lost his world.

He lost what kept him from falling over the cliff into the vast endless sea of insanity.

No one understood, they thought that Arthur's death finally got to him. They thought he finally gave in to the burden.

He lost it when Estelle died. Yet, how would they think of him? That he's mourning over the death of his brother's 'murderer'? He couldn't tell anyone, that was the thing that weighed down his heart the most.

There was enough sanity within him though, he was sober enough, to count how many days had passed. Ten days, ten nights, ten since her death. It was only a little over a week. If the Lord was cruel, then this the representation of the Ten Trials Abram went through, the ten trials that God had planned for him to test his loyalty and faith. Yet, he had enough, already did two deaths took away from him, no more. Not one more death to someone he holds dear. He had enough, why have faith, why believe in a god that causes and allows such grief to happen?

...

He knew that he was a greedy man.

He knew that he was a selfish man.

So it never crossed his mind, he didn't even consider, how his remaining family would have felt when he left them and the world for good.

[Deleted]

SPOILER: Click to show

{that one drabble where arthur and estelle dies and iain breathes on vengeance}

Being alive with no purpose was just the same as death.

He had to keep going; the road looked too dark and too long. He had to take that single step to move on; everything weighed like lead to him.

He had to keep living, but that was easier said than done.

Iain Stuart-Kirkland: Quartermaster, genius, inventor, accomplisher, cantankerous, unethical, cruel, detached, soulless.

What people thought he was before, he proved them right. They thought that he was a slave driver, he was. They thought that "Schadenfreude" described him perfectly, and he proved them right. Only a man that finishes his job no matter what is sacrificed, no matter what's the cost. If an agent has to die to accomplish that mission then so be it.

Society offers no mercy, so why should he?

He knew that others thought that he was a tough man with a soft interior. He proved them all wrong. He turned his heart into stone and shattered it, so he can never allow himself to be hurt again. There was a constant scowl, a real one. It was not there because he was used to scowling, it was there because there was something that always displeases his critical eyes. He found fault in everyone; he allowed no one to mess up.

The Iain they knew who was patient with them all, the one who visited them occasionally to see how they were doing, who offered them a hand of help whenever they would needed it, who would be the person to go out drinking with him after a rough day to listen to their problems and complains - he was gone.

Taken him for granted they did.

The higher ups loved him - he was loved by the creatures he hated the most. He was efficient and he gets things done. Before, he would always go against them, always considering about the agents and the civilians involved. He would always slow things down, give the most inefficient but most live-saving solutions.

That wasn't a problem anymore.

He had a goal in mind, a goal that would perhaps shake the British Intelligence Service to the very core.

No one knew of course. The only thing they knew that he became a ruthless man who will follow his orders like a dog. Loyalty: that's the only thing that hasn't changed about him or at least that's how it seemed. He was driven, driven to find the real criminal, and bring him to face this justice that was both needed yet so unfair.

After all, no one dared to question him for he was a brilliant mind. They just thought that he had a plan to bring the root of all of this evil out. They thought that they had finally hunted down the monster who was the criminal mastermind.

"No more of this case you shall bring up Quartermaster. We found the murderer and brought her to justice. We are not going to conduct more searches."

He just wanted revenge. He lied to everyone just for this petty revenge.

The next morning, the captured criminal had mysteriously been murdered while under watch of MI6 while waiting for his trial. Died of blood lost with multiple bruises. It was best to say that he did not die a quick, painless death.

The same morning, there was no more purpose for him to keep on living.