at least all i could gather now

Escape:  the residency years

Warning:  This isn’t the happiest of chapters.

Special thanks to @joannclelia for her help. And to anon for the ending advice.



“What have ye for lunch then?”  

She turned the phone around to show him her tray.  Pasta, of course.  An orange.  Spinach salad.  Good.  Bottle of water.  Then, just on the edge of her tray…

“Claire.  What was that?”  

She flipped the phone back to her face.  “What was what, darling? You can see I have a very healthy lunch, and I’m sitting down, relaxing while I eat.  With Louise,” she turned the phone towards her companion, a pretty nurse with long brown hair.

“Right there!  Is that a brownie?”  He could hear her giggle, and say shhhh.

Her face was barely straight as she looked him.  “No.  That’s Louise’s, not mine.”

“Non, ce n’est pas le mien!” Jamie heard the indignant voice out of view. 

“Sassenach, I ken ye like the French pastries, but come on.  Ye had a pain au chocolat at breakfast, now this. Last night, some cake.  How about ye not give birth to a diabetic, eh?”  

Claire smiled, and blew him a kiss.  “No pudding at dinner tonight.  Promise.” 

Jamie nodded, pursed his lips, and blew a kiss back.  “Enjoy yer lunch.  I’ll speak wi’ ye later.  Take it easy, okay?”

“I will.” Claire said, as she waved at her screen.

“I love you, mo neighean donn.  Give the bairn a kiss from his Da.” 

“You mean her.”  Claire kissed her fingers and pressed them on her bump. “Love you, too, Jamie,” she said, and disconnected.

When it was time to go back, Claire gathered up her tray, and stood.  

She looked at her chair in confusion.  There was a large mark on her seat. What had she spilled?  

It wasn’t until she heard Louise’s gasp that she realized something was wrong. 

She felt the sticky wetness on her scrubs, but couldn’t really see past her belly.

A moment later she felt the rush of something between her legs.  She could smell the blood.  

Her tray dropped to the floor, bouncing off the end of the table on its way down, shattering everything.  

Far away someone was screaming.

It was her. 


“I just talked to her.  I just talked to her at lunch.  She was fine.  I just saw her.” Jamie kept repeating the same thing.  He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, tears in his eyes, bewildered, confused.  

Jenny catapulted into action.  She snapped a finger at her assistant, pointing. The woman already had the phone receiver in her hand.  “I need Ian, here, right now.  For Jamie.  Alec needs to bring the car around right away.  And get a private plane ready to leave for Paris immediately.  Charge the company.”  

“You,” she pointed at Willie, “come with me.”  Willie, who had shown up with Jamie, was pale and panicked.  He stepped into line with her as she strode down the hall.  “We need Jamie’s passport, and -”

“Oh! I have it.  All of Jamie’s travel documents are in his office.” Willie was glad he had that, at least. 

“Good.  Now, gather all that up and, listen carefully, ye need to get his art supplies.”  Jenny stopped, and put a hand on Willie’s arm.  “He draws when he’s stressed.  He’ll need the distraction.  Get it all together and give it to Ian.” She pushed him forward, “Now go!”

Willie streaked off to do her bidding.

Jenny had Alec drive at break neck speed to Jamie and Claire’s flat.   She threw what she could into a bag, jeans, tee shirts, a few socks, trainers, jacket. She threw some things in for Claire as well.  Soft sleep pants and a softer sweater.  Toiletries.  Where the hell was his underwear!?!  She opened a top drawer and rummaged around.  

The small gold object caught her eye.  She hadn’t seen it in years. Instinctively, she grabbed it, and slamming the drawer shut, turned to go.  She was in and out of the flat in 15 minutes.  

Ian and Jamie were waiting inside the small terminal when she got there.  Her brother was turning his phone over and over in his large hands.  She put the bag next to his feet in silence.    

When the flight was ready, Jenny walked Jamie to the steps.  Ian handed the steward the bag.    

“Jenny, I-“

“Shhhh, brother.”  She grabbed Jamie around his shoulders and hugged him tight.  His arms gripped her as he buried his face in her neck.  God, he was burrowing in like Wee Jamie after he’s fallen off his bike. She had no words for him.  She would not lie and tell him it would be all right.  Lord only knew what was happening in France.  “Give Claire a hug for me, and tell her I love her.” Jamie nodded against her neck.  She turned quickly and gave him a kiss on his temple.  

Grabbing his hand, she pressed the small oval piece into his palm.  “I found this.  Take it.  Let it give ye strength.”  

Jamie looked at it, eyes wide.

“Go on,” Jenny said.  “Call me as soon as you know something.”

Jamie let go, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded, looking at the tarmac the whole time.  

He turned towards the plane, but found himself in a hard embrace.  Ian gripped his brother-in-law, and friend tightly.  No words were exchanged. Whatever one needed, the other would give.  They had been through too much together, their bond understood.  Ian was the one person who knew exactly what Jamie was thinking and feeling.  

How life could change in the blink of an eye.

How you could be whole, and happy, feeling right with the world, and then have your heart and mind shattered like the cracks in a windshield after a crash, spreading out in front of you until you can’t see anything of the world at all. Just fragments.  Fractures.  Shattered pieces.  Or worse yet, missing.  

Jamie sat alone on the plane looking out of the window as Scotland disappeared below him.  He still had the token from Jenny in his hand.  He closed his fist around it, hard, and looked out at the clouds surrounding him. He raised his eyes higher, heavenward.  Lord that she may be safe. She and the child.  


It was all over when he arrived.  

He was ushered to a waiting room, and made to sit by himself.  Finally, a small toad-like man entered, and introduced himself as Dr. Raymond.  His first thought was, Claire said ye looked like a frog.  She wasna wrong.  Jamie’s mouth lifted in half a smile as he stood to extend his hand to the doctor.  

Raymond explained that Claire was currently receiving some units of blood to replace what she’d lost.  Once assured Claire would be fine, Jamie had asked about his child.  

The wee man barely came up to the centre of Jamie’s chest, yet his words had the power to knock him backwards, stumbling into a chair.   

His child was mort-nè.  

Still born.  

Jamie felt fragile, paper thin, like velum, that if he moved too fast or spoke to loudly he would tear in half.   

“Your wife suffered a placental abruption.  This is when the placental lining separates from the uterus.  Sometimes the mother does not feel anything, and sometimes she feels, maybe, some pain in the back.  Unfortunately, the infant was not receiving enough oxygen in utero, so….” The doctor paused, then said in his heavy French accent, “I am sorry for your loss, Monsieur.”

Jamie nodded, and swallowed.  His emotions were so raw, he found himself unable to speak.  His thoughts were a tangle, like a net cast out to sea and caught on a rocky shore.  Fear wrapped itself around his gut, making him wonder if this was, somehow, his fault.  

“Can I ask ye a question?” Jamie said.

Dr. Raymond blinked slowly, and nodded once.    

“Is this my fault?  Should I – “ Jamie stopped.  It was difficult to talk of personal things, private things.  

He thought back to the night before she left, how he drove into his wife, hard and fast, angry that she was leaving, desperate to have her knowing he would miss her, with fear in his veins over their impending separation. More like making a point, than making love. He would rather die than to have been the one to cause the tear.

He gathered his courage, began again.  “The last time, when I had, well, sex with my wife…should I have been gentler?  Maybe….maybe been more considerate of her…of her….condition?”  

The physician simply shook his head, and said quite bluntly, “No, Monsieur. That is not the cause.  You are a fine husband.  It is not possible.”  

Absolved of his sin, Jamie sat back in the chair and exhaled.

But that didn’t absolve Claire.  Jamie took a deep breath, then said what was on his mind next, a thought that was eating at him like a corrosive.  

“I never wanted her to come, ye see.  She…Claire…she doesna do things in half measure, ye ken.  I worried she’d overdo.  So.”  He looked Dr. Raymond straight in the eye, and asked, “Did she?  Did she do too much?  On her feet all hours?  Not stopping, or getting proper rest?” 

Jamie rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them.  He felt ice cold to the marrow of his bones.  “Tell me she rested.  Tell me she took care, that this wasna her fault, either,” he whispered, ashamed, “because I don’t…I don’t want to hate my wife.”  

Dr. Raymond looked at this red man.  The aura around him.  He would fight to the death for the things he loved.  Raymond understood he was fighting now. Fighting for the love that was being consumed by his fear.

“Monsieur Fraser, I can tell you that many times the cause is unknown. Sometimes the placenta does not attach in a place that provides adequate support, and it may not develop appropriately, or it may separate as it grows.” The little man leaned forward in an effort to reassure Jamie, “I can tell you that Dr. Fraser was not reckless or foolish.  Anyone could see that the child in her womb came first.”

The door opened then, and the young nurse he’d seen from Claire’s video called for the doctor. He couldn’t follow all of her rapid French, but when Dr. Raymond jumped up, Jamie instinctively followed.  

He stepped inside the room.  Claire’s room.  A Dhia, she looked so pale.  She was as stark a white as the hospital linens, the dark of her hair like an ink blot on the pillow.  Her arm thin, slack, even though the deep red liquid flowing through the tube in her arm was promising life.  

He understood a few words.  Fever.  Infection.  

Jamie watched in shock as the little man laid his hands on Claire.  Her shoulders, her arms.  Murmuring in French the entire time.  He sent the nurse for another drip, and she scurried out of the room hardly sparing Jamie a glance.  He flinched as the doctor ran his hands over Claire’s breasts, and down her torso, lightly but touching her all the same.  The healer then placed his hands over his wife’s womb, and Claire writhed in pain.  

More blood.  Jesus, God, how could there be so much blood.

And then, his name.

Ripped from Claire.  In pain.  In desperation.  Like a magnet, it drew him.  It was strange, how his name dragged from her remaining strength reverberated in his soul.  He took a step towards her before he’d realized he’d moved, and found himself stopped with a vise grip on his arm.  He turned to find a large woman, Hildegard according to the name tag, telling him, “Vous devez partir, Monsieur.”


When she woke up she was a bit disoriented.  Memory surfaced.  Grief washed over her like a tidal wave.  For a moment she could not breathe.  

Turning her head she saw her 6’4” husband folded into a tiny chair beside her bed.  She had no memory of his arrival. 

He was sketching.  He looked tired, wan, pale.  His eyes darting over his drawing as his big hand moved in strong sure strokes.  

“Do you hate me for it, Jamie?” she whispered, wanting to know.  Her biggest fear, that Jamie would blame her.  What was more pain?  Better to roll it all into one great big ball of grief, and deal with it.

He jumped.  “Didna realize ye were awake, Sassenach.”  Jamie set down his computer.  

Claire relaxed at the use of her nickname.  

“Jamie, I’m so sorry.  So very, very sorry.  I put myself before our family.  This is all my fault.”  

“Shhh, mo neighean donn.  Yer a doctor, ye ken well it’s no’ yer fault.”  Jamie moved his chair closer to her bed, and took one small, weak, long-fingered hand in his two large ones. Tears slipped from her eyes at his gentleness.  

Jamie didn’t have any words.  There was nothing to say.   He couldn’t fix what happened.  He couldn’t change the loss.  He could just share it.  

They sat like that for some time.  Glancing at each other.  Letting their hands speak for them, thumbs stroking, fingers squeezing, softly rubbing.  Jamie’s thumb touched her ring from time to time.  

Finally, Claire spoke.  “I want to see her.”


“My wife,” Jamie stopped.  Cleared his throat.  “My wife wants to see our child.” He stood in front of the nurses’ station, hands clenched into balls at his side, standing as tall as he could.

“Ce n’est pas possible, Monsieur,” said Nurse Hildegarde.  It wasn’t the answer Jamie wanted.  He had been powerless to this point.  This, however, he would control.  

“I didna ask yer permission.  I didna say can she, I said she wants to.  So she doesna have to imagine.”  He willed himself not to raise his voice, to keep his anger in check.  

The young nurse, Louise, looked up at him.  She looked at her superior. Stand-offs like this were rare.  Usually no one questioned Nurse Hildegard. Everyone stopped to look at the large, grieving, red haired man.  Nurse Hildegarde opened her mouth to speak again, but caught sight of the little practitioner behind Monsieur Fraser.

“Soeur Hildegard. Presénter l’enfant à Dr. et M. Fraser.  Vous avez ma permission.”   


Claire was sitting up in bed when he entered the room.  The bundle in his arms was so tiny.  A pink blanket.   As he came nearer she could see the tiny face peeking through.  Sleeping.  No, Claire remembered, not sleeping.  

“Her hair,” Jamie said, smiling sadly, “she’s got my hair.”

Claire raised her arms for the baby, and Jamie gently handed her their child as if handling fragile glass.  There was that awkward bobble of a new dad not sure what he’s doing to a new mom too eager to hold her baby.  They both chuckled at that.  Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around his wife, the other under her arms that held the baby.  They stayed like that, silently, as Claire unwrapped parts of their bairn, counting ten fingers, and ten toes. Stroking the luminescent skin.  She chuckled at the tiny ears, which stuck out a bit, like Jamie’s.  He nudged her in understanding, chuffed.  So beautiful.

And then Claire began to sing.

When Nurse Louise came in an hour later she was moved by the tableau before her.  Her friend, Claire, rocking slowly, humming.  Jamie, her husband, sitting stoic beside her.  Neither taking their eyes from their child.  

She approached the bed. 

“Ma Chere, Claire.  Il est temps.”

When Louise left the room closing the door behind her, Claire thoroughly and completely went to pieces.  

Jamie held his wife across his lap.  

And did the same.


Sitting on the private plane to go home Claire looked out the window at the terminal traffic.  Everyone so busy, oblivious to the people they were shuttling on to planes, the bags they were loading, the lives they were moving along. Jamie sat beside her, holding her hand.  They spoke little.  She still couldn’t believe they were alone on this plane.  Jamie insisted.  He said he’d had enough of strangers.  

“I don’t want to forget her face,” Claire whispered, head back, curls pressed against the head rest.  “I’m afraid I’ll forget her face.”

Jamie let go of her hand.  “I ken it may be strange.  I’m sorry if it bothers ye. But I had to,” he said, quietly, apologetically.  He fumbled in his pocket.  “For Jenny.  For my sister.  She would want to see, ye ken.  She’s all I’ve got for family, other than you, Claire.”

There, on his phone screen, looking as if she was sleeping peacefully, was Faith Elizabeth Fraser. 


One year later

They walked slowly through the cemetery.  Jamie’s hands deep in his pockets, as he did when he was nervous.  Claire’s arms were crossed in front of her, as she did when she was nervous, a bouquet of tulips gripped in her hand.  They walked as if they really didn’t want to arrive at their destination, lost in their own thoughts, steps hesitant.  

It was the first time they would visit her grave.  One year to the day when she passed.  

“She should be over here.”  Jamie hung back and let Claire step up first.
Claire’s gasp was audible from where he stood.  She dropped to her knees, and laid a hand reverently on the stone.  A stone.  She hadn’t expected a stone.  They hadn’t ordered one.  She expected a simple marker, not this beautiful, pale pink granite slab. 

Jamie crouched beside her.  He cleared his throat.  “A Da can only give what he can to his bairn.  I’m an artist.  So.  I gave her a resting place, wit’ her name and our names, and placed her in the care of her grandparents.  Yers and mine.”  He brushed a leaf off the corner of the stone.  “And I left a bit of Scotland wi’ her.”

She traced the tiny gold medal imbeded in the stone under Faith’s name. “What is this?”

“It’s St. Andrew,” Jamie said.  “My father used to carry the medal around in his pocket. It would remind him to pray, to ask for intercession when he needed it. It became mine.  Jenny gave it to me when I left for France.  When I ordered the stone I gave it to them, along with the design.”  

They stayed for a long time, holding hands, lost in their own thoughts.  
Jamie stood, and pulled his wife to her feet.  Wrapping his arms around her shoulders he buried his face in her sweet smelling curls.  The sun shone warm on their faces, as Jamie swayed from side to side.

“So.  Now would be a good time to tell me something, Claire Fraser,” he said, next to her ear.  “Anything ye like.”  

Claire butted backwards and hit her husband in the crotch.  He let out a soft “oof” and laughed.

“I have nothing to say, James Fraser,” she said, in her haughtiest tone.   

“Hmpf,” Jamie made a Scottish noise, and turned Claire around to face him. “Yer sure, then?”  

Claire stood on tiptoes and kissed her husband full on the lips. “Five days is not a long time, you know that.”

“Aye, but yer never late.”  He grinned at her.  “It’s fine, Sassenach.  I’ll wait. Besides,” he said softly, “I have you.  And faith.”  

anonymous asked:

Omg I'm in love w/ Readerxgaston❤Could you do one where gaston gets into a fight and he and his opponent agree to a truce but then the opponent suddenly turns back and shoots an arrow and gaston. But the reader jumps in front of gaston and pushes him out of the way taking the hit herself saving his life. Gaston is furious that someone would hurt the reader and terrified she won't wake up and feels guilty cos he feels he should be protecting her. She wakes up, he confesses his feelings. Thanks! X

Pairing: Gaston x Reader
Fandom: Disney / Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Warnings: mentions of blood

A/N: gaaah, thank you for liking the gaston stories my love, I hope you’re happy with what I wrote for your request as well!

ALSO VERY IMPORTANT!!! My best friend decided to beta read my stories because she’s awesome and a talented beta reader so if any of you were annoyed by my grammar mistakes (because lbr, wtf is grammar) fear no more, my bestie will do her best to find all the mistakes I made <33

                                                          *****

They’ve been at it for at least two hours now, fighting back and forth. And it didn’t look like they’d stop anytime soon.

The villagers had gathered around them, so the two of them were standing in a circle, surrounded by so many prying eyes.

You just wanted it to stop. You didn’t want anything to happen to Gaston, even though you knew that he could take care of himself.

“Come to an end, for god’s sake. We all have things to do!” one of the villagers yelled.

You rolled your eyes. No one forced them to watch, after all.

Suddenly, Gaston’s opponent put the sword back in his sheath and nodded.

“I think he’s right. Truce? At least for today?” he held out his hand for Gaston to take.

He hated leaving fights unfinished, but the best strategy right now was to retreat and end the battle another day, so the two of them shook hands and Gaston turned around, same as his opponent, both of them walking in different directions.

Back to back.

While Gaston tried to make his way through the barricade of the villagers, his opponent suddenly turned around again, with an evil smile on his lips that made you shudder.

Everything that happened next felt like a blur.

Keep reading

Guzma Therapy session 3

(i continue to be impressed by my editor and friend @supersquiddle who takes my coal and helps me make diamonds.)


“So you actually showed up,” the woman said smugly.

“No I’m the ghost of kiss my ass,” the boss told her, “where are the tools?” He was visibly dulled and annoyed that someone with a reputation like his would be stuck doing yard work. He smoked a cigarette on her porch, not completely facing the door or her. She pointed over at a few tools scattered against her fence. “Fine now leave me alone” he grumbled as he walked over to the fence. Guzma leaned a shovel against it upright before taking his jacket off and hanging it on it. He then placed his chain and other accessories in the pockets of the jacket, grabbed the hula hoe and got to work. It wasn’t long until the heat of the sun and the repetitive activity began to wear at him. He paused, put the tool down and walked over to where his jacket hung. He took his shirt off and draped it over as well before stretching a bit. While he was stretching he noticed the woman sitting at her porch, staring at him with a grin. She then whistled suggestively and waved a dollar bill in the air. “Son of a bitch…” he muttered before lighting a cigarette and getting back to work….

“The fuck are you looking at. Why’re ya eyes so big?.” he asked her seemingly irritated, having now gathered his things and put the tools away. He had put his jacket on but decided to carry his now sweat-stained shirt.

“You actually finished? I’ve been trying to get the yard in order all month. I figured you would have ran off the moment I went in to lay down. Or robbed me at the very least,” she remarked.

“I did harder chores as a child,” he stated, rubbing the sweat from his brow, “don’t you have pokemon that could help with this? I remember you had a Scyther; that thing would’ve loved to cut down half them weeds… And the fence.”

“I…uh,” she slowly frowned, “…come inside.” She turned, walking into her house and leaving the door open for him.

Guzma chuckled. “Lady i ain’t try’na to sleep with you. I’m all sweaty an’ shit,” he said with a concieted grin as he followed her.

She rolled her eyes and groaned, “shut up… And look at this.”

“Huh?” He then caught up, the woman stood in front of a wall; a few pictures of a Scyther were hung up surrounding a pokeball. Guzma grimaced as the realization hit. “Shit bro… I’m sorry…” his eyes then lit up when he saw a photograph of the tag he did all those years ago. He smiled, reached into his backpack and took out a folded piece of paper. Without speaking he took out a tack from another photo that had four, then tacked the paper next to the photo of his past work. It was an oddly decent sketch of a Scyther, the words at the bottom read “I love my bitchy mom.” The woman stared at the drawing for a moment as tears came to her eyes. She covered her face with her hands; Guzma then slowly put an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to lean into him. He soon left the house; he considered that a positive moment for both of them, yet despite how important it was to her the one consistent thought dancing through the boss’s mind was: “i can never let that doctor know he was right.”

He began walking down the road, took a check list out of his pocket and marked off “pull the bitches weeds”. Listed below it was “help a stranger” and “take over the world”. Guzma soon made it back to the mansion, where he saw two of his grunts playfully wrestling around with a small Stufful. He could not help but smile, for once he felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He went up the stairs and changed into clean clothes before strolling through the halls towards the kitchen. He glanced briefly into one of the grunt’s room and noticed a bed with a broken leg. The boss wondered how long some grunts been sleeping on that lopsided mess. Guzma then gathered a drill and a small toolbelt. By the time he had repaired the bed he noticed a number of other damages just in that one room. A loose doorknob, a broken tv and various other broken things. He spent such little time in their rooms that he hadn’t noticed how much they had deteriorated. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and mumbled, “fucking kids don’t know how to take care of their shit” -he sighed- “then again neither did I…” One by one he restored everything that he could in that one room. Night soon fell; the grunts were either returning from playing outside or roaming Po Town, engaging in failed attempts at petty theft. The boss now slouched in his throne, smoking a cigarette; tired and proud of the work he did that day. A small grunt approached him and asked curiously, “hey, who fixed my bed while i was gone?” Guzma stifled a laugh, he was still wearing the tool belt but the grunt was apparently too stupid to notice. “You did.”

“I DID?!” The little grunt’s eyes were wide.He smirked. “Yeah, and you don’t even remember doin’ it. Prob’ly were sleepwalking or somethin’.”

They stared up at him, astonished. “Holy hell… I’m awesome!”

Guzma sat up further in his throne and leaned towards him. “Hey ankle-biter, I got a question. How have I been around here since I’ve been going to the doc?”

The grunt looked at their feet unsure of what he was referring to until they remembered.“Oh! That place… You’ve been a bit more happy and relaxed… But we don’t trust it boss! Its some kinda crazy magic that makes you say things about yourself! Its gonna eat your soul and replace you with lizard people! Or at least that’s what some of the grunts are saying. Its voodoo!”

He smirked at that response. “You’re cute when you’re stupid…” he said as he tousled the grunt’s hair, “go clean up the place; we’re watching a movie tonight.” The grunt nodded and ran off. Under his breath he thought to himself and muttered under his breath, “maybe the doc is a lizard person?“ he chuckled to himself, “holy shit… I just did my homework and I didn’t even try to brag… Maybe I’m becoming a lizard person…? No, that’s stupid. Lizard Guzma, what’s wrong with you?”

meangreenlimabean  asked:

Obviously there's been a ton of parallels between Ramiel and Cain but I just thought of something. Do we know that Ramiel was actually doing anything wrong, or was that just part of Mary's cover story? If we look at it from his POV they were actual rude AF breaking in and trying to kill him for no reason and stealing things that had been gifted to him! What if Mary had just told her boys that Ramiel had the Colt and they could have gone and talked to him politely?

It was Mary’s cover story, or at least that’s what I gathered. Somehow the MoL discovered the location of the Colt. And they wanted it.

They collect “toys” like this. Like the egg, like the brass knuckles…

Why did they want it RIGHT NOW? Well, that’s the question, really.

What are their plans here, really? Their info is ALL super-sketchy, you know? HOW DID THEY KNOW THE COLT WAS THERE, DOWN TO THE SCHEMATICS OF THE HOUSE IT WAS STORED IN AND THE PICTURE HIDING THE SAFE IT WAS LOCKED IN, AND YET NOT KNOW IT WAS RAMIEL PRINCE OF HELL THAT OWNED IT?!

They have a terrifyingly cavalier attitude toward the people they’ve contracted to work for them. Meaning, hunters. The soldiers on the ground. The people they give orders to and expect to carry out their deeds. It’s rather sickening, you know?

Ramiel’s ONE condition to Crowley was that he (and his siblings) simply be left alone. No one bothers them, everything will stay hunky-dory.

That’s was Crowley’s motivation for interfering here. Because of the deal he’d made with Ramiel, Crowley has assumed PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY for the fact that Ramiel had been “disturbed” by anyone.

Which is really interesting to me, because Crowley’s demons only interfered with our little gang AFTER they’d engaged with Ramiel. Technically they could’ve prevented Mary’s little raiding party from even going in in the first place if they’d been watching the house like they were supposed to.

And I think that comes down to the demon who’d been there with Crowley when the original deal was made.

Remember, when Ramiel offered the throne of Hell to Crowley, he took a minute to feel a bit stunned, and then the other demon– the one who made that little speech about being the demon who killed Sam Winchester?– SHE WAS EAGERLY PREPARED TO ACCEPT THE THRONE OF HELL, and was rather put out that Crowley overrode her and took it himself. She did not seem pleased by this: (note, this is from the rough draft of the transcript. I haven’t put stage directions in yet, but suffice it to say, Demon Lady Looked Pissed)

CROWLEY: I mean, one dares to dream, but what about the others? You’re not the only Prince.
RAMIEL: Azazel was a fanatic, a true believer in Lucifer’s plan. But the rest of us? Well, the truth is, we stopped caring a long time ago. Asmodeus has his hobbies. Dagon has her toys. We’re happy where we are. So the crown is yours if you want it. Otherwise… [Ramiel looks to Crowley’s associate]
DEMON: Oh, hell ye–
CROWLEY: I’ll take it. I mean, I graciously accept.
RAMIEL: Swell, but there is one thing.
CROWLEY: Nothing comes without a price.
RAMIEL: Well, this should be easy enough. Leave us alone. And make sure everyone else does the same. If anyone– anything– bothers a Prince of Hell, that’s gonna be on your head, Crowley. And you don’t wanna know what happens when you piss us off.
CROWLEY: I humbly accept your terms.

So, aside from being pissed at Crowley, she knows the full terms of the deal. She knows it’s Crowley’s head on the chopping block if the terms of the deal are violated– i.e. if ANYONE or ANYTHING bothers a Prince of Hell.

Well, methinks Demon Lady (sorry she’s not actually named, which only ADDS to the feeling that she would feel Wronged by Crowley’s deal) was actually COUNTING on someone breaking the deal… 

She’s been stuck on the most boring guard duty of all time, when she’d been half a word away from sitting on the Throne of Hell herself.

Why not let someone bother Ramiel? It would piss him off enough to go after Crowley, and then she’d be perfectly positioned to take the Throne.

SHE WAITED UNTIL AFTER THEY’D FOUGHT RAMIEL TO MAKE A MOVE.

She didn’t interfere when Mary and Wally were staking the place out that morning. She didn’t interfere when FIVE PEOPLE walked up to the house and began setting out a trap. She knew perfectly well who these people were, too.

My bet? SHE WAS THE ONE WHO TIPPED THE BMOL OFF TO THE LOCATION OF THE COLT. She’s the only other one who knew where it was, after all…

She WANTED all of this to happen. She USED the BMoL to set off this chain of events that would eventually lead to her taking over Hell. She wasn’t expecting to get stabbed in the back by Dean Winchester…

She relied on the MoL’s greed for shiny toys. Assumed Ramiel would handle the intruders, and then rush off to murder Crowley. Her and her associate showing up to finish off the Winchesters would put her on the spot to accept the Throne once Crowley was dead.

Mary was only given the limited information that Lady Demon wanted the MoL to have. The text messages she exchanges with “Hobbits” are quite revealing: (transcribed exactly as they appeared on screen):

“What the hell did you do? The demon had yellow eyes!” She receives a reply a minute later, “Wasn’t us. Bad intel. You Can’t stay there. He will find you.”

I think that “bad intel” could’ve only come from Lady Demon. To her, the Colt was simply bait in her own play for power.

From Mary’s pov, she only knew that a demon was in possession of the Colt. Telling Sam and Dean that would only lead to them “asking the wrong questions,” wondering HOW she could possibly know that…

They’d start digging, rather than storm the place with bad intel… They’d at least probably call Crowley in for intel… and then they’d know the entire truth about the Colt, about Ramiel, and Crowley would’ve known WHO betrayed him (Lady Demon, the only other person on the planet who knows Ramiel even had the Colt), and they never would’ve put themselves into that position in the first place.

From MARY’S POV, she assumed if she told them about the Colt, they’d ask questions that would lead them to guessing or proving that she was actually working from the BMoL, and she knows first-hand that THEY WOULD DISAPPROVE:

From the Mary POV scene at Raul’s Diner:

WALLY: You meet them fancy Men of Letters?
SAM: British Men of Letters?
DEAN: Yeah, they got gear, but, uh, you know they tried to kill my brother.
SAM: All right. Internet’s up. We’re in business.
MARY: Everything’s gonna be fine.

THIS CONSTITUTES FOUR OF THE SEVEN LINES OF DIALOGUE FROM MARY’S POV IN THE DINER. This was the information that was important to her POV. Fear of the source of her intel being discovered, Wally bringing up the MoL and Dean’s response.

Raise Hell (Part 3)

Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1115

Warnings: swearing, angst, suggestive language, flashbacks, mention of torture.

Raise Hell Master List

“Yeah, guys, what’s the plan?” Lucifer chimed in from just behind Cas. All four of you froze in place as you stared at the intruder. “What? Am I not allowed to sit in on this?” Lucifer pretended to pout. “Oh, and Y/N, I haven’t received your thank you letter. I’ll assume it’s still in the mail?”

You scowled at your former lover, trying your hardest to fight the urge to rip out this throat. His beady blue eyes lingered on yours.

“How?” Cas inquired softly as he glared at his brother in shock.

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The students all gathered in the room with the lift leading to the courtroom. No one quite felt ready to proceed with this trial, but at least there weren’t any eleventh-hour surprises with this trial.

“We used to have to take two trips down.” Masae noted glumly. “Now, if we tried, we probably could all fit in to the lift at once.”

“I’m kinda claustrophobic, I’d rather not.” Jacob mumbled, looking at Masae.

2

Tagged Request: (x)

Imagine being friends with Barba but having to sleep together in the same bed. The next morning, you two are in an intimate embrace.

“Barba, we’ve been over these flies at least a dozen times. All we’re doing now is just burning ourselves out. We both need to get some rest or risk fainting in court tomorrow morning.”

Barba ran his hands over in face in exhaustion. “You’re right. I just wish we could find something to put the bastard away for life.”

“We’ll both think better after a couple hours of sleep,” You pushed back and gathered your things while opening up your phone to call for a cab. “I’ll meet you on the court steps in the morning.”

Barba finally looked over to you. “You’re leaving at this time of night?”

You waved your phone at him. “I’m getting a cab. Still perfectly safe. I’ll even call you when I get in if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Barba muttered. “Stay here for the night. It will take at least a half hour to get to your side of town. You can take the bed.”

“And where would you sleep? The couch?” You replied sarcastically. Barba shrugged. “Oh my God, no! I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

“You’re taking the bed.”

“I’ll stay if we share the bed. Your food diet is bad enough. The last thing we need is for you to have bad sleeping habits as well.”

Barba opened his mouth to argue (he almost, almost, said ‘objection’) but decided he was too tired to fight you on this. 

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine. What side do you prefer?”

—–

It was an accident. A pure, harmless accident.

Barba awoke first. 

You were both facing one another, his arm draped over your waist, your arms curled between the both of you. One of his legs was in between yours.

Highly unprofessional was the thought that rang through Barba’s head. He wasn’t sure if it was due to long work hours or having just woken up but the other irrational part of his brain found the situation comforting.

“Barba?” Your soft, sleep-laden voice called out.

"We're Gonna Do It Again" Video Analysis (AKA: The Possible Plot of "Milo Murphy's Law" and Why You Should Be Afraid of Pistachios)

“Milo Murphy’s Law” may only have five episodes out, but you can bet your Vitamin C tablets that the lack of episodes isn’t gonna stop me from theorizing the heck out of it.

Today I’ll be taking a look at the MML promotional video, “We’re Gonna Do It Again.”

The rest will be under a Read More, because this is gonna get LONG.

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Something I liked about the introduction of Eileen Leahy is how her undercover investigation was different from Sam and Dean’s. The Winchesters have quite a few undercover tricks but most of the time they put on fed suits and question witnesses, while (here, at least) Eileen dresses as a housekeeper and lurks around in the background of the murder scene, eavesdropping on private conversations by speechreading. Both methods have their pros and cons, but we’ve been watching Sam and Dean’s way of doing it for 11 years and right now I’m kind of eager to see more of what Eileen can do. As a Deaf person the last thing I want to do is glorify lipreading, but I can say with confidence that deaf/HoH people often use all kinds of observational skills to gather information and can be really visually attentive. Eileen’s skills could give her access to all sorts of information the Winchesters might not be able to get via their usual methods. With that plus all her MoL legacy knowledge and hunter training, Eileen has all the potential for interesting new hunter perspectives and stories and basically what I’m trying to say is PLEASE BRING EILEEN BACK.

Bidders Falling and Hurting themselves [Part 2] {GIF}

Eisuke

You held onto your daughter’s hand tightly as Eisuke marched ahead of you, eyes fixated on an unreachable item. This wasn’t the sort of toy store that little Kayo would usually get her toys from - Eisuke would typically hire toy makers to design the most beautiful bespoke dolls-houses and Ota himself had been enlisted to make Kayo a little porcelain doll once. This place was full of plastic-reproduced “rubbish” that Eisuke had insisted very firmly wasn’t good enough for his progeny.

Kayo however had grown tired of bespoke dolls houses and perfectly proportioned porcelain dolls. All her friends had the new Marbie doll and she wanted one too. What Kayo wanted Kayo got - so very swiftly Eisuke had agreed to buy her one.

Only thing was that they were sold out everywhere and even Eisuke with his many connections had been unable to find one.

Until now. He reached out a finger and pointed at a doll on the other side of a cordoned off area. “Is that it Kayo? Is that the one you want?” He looked down at his daughter, whom nodded.

“That’s it…” She beamed bringing a smile to her father’s face.

“Eisuke there is a metal chain blocking off that area - I think we should get a member of staff.” You implored but Eisuke was having none of it, he moved towards the barrier with confidence.

He was Eisuke Ichinomiya and was too important to be stopped by a metal chain. He put one leg over and it got caught in a moment of brilliant karma. He fell face first, pulling an entire shelf on top of him. Staff came running to assist him and he emerged red-faced. You and your daughter were giggling profusely, tears streaming down your faces

“Not a word, either of you.” Was all he said.

Soryu

You were in the local supermarket getting some food for dinner. You hadn’t thought you would be getting much so you hadn’t even bothered to pick up a basket, a decision you deeply regretted now. Soryu had just rather coolly informed you that the entirety of the Ice Dragons would be present for dinner. “I told you ____. You don’t have to cook for them, I’ll order something.” Soryu’s hand was protectively on the small of your back. “You need to rest right now, not slave away over a stove.”

“I don’t mind cooking and they’ll be expecting a home-cooked meal anyway.” You sighed, trying to decide quickly what you would make. Something easy would be your best bet. You were quick to tire in your current state. “Hmm… I think I’ll just make some vegetable curry, that should be easy enough…”

“As long as you’re sure you’re up for it. You’re carrying my child. It’s my job to take care of you ____ not the other way around.” Soryu looked rather guilty as you gathered all the ingredients together. You smiled at him defiantly.

“I’m pregnant Soryu not an invalid. If viking women could fight bare-fisted when they were nine months gone, I can sure as hell make a vegetable curry at five months.” You laughed.

“At least let me carry those.” He gathered all the vegetables, rice and jars into his big arms. “Let’s get you home now.”

You were just about at the checkout when you realized you had forgotten onions. “Oh I’ll have to get onions. I’ll just be a min-”

“They’re halfway across the store. You just wait here and I’ll go get them.” He stopped you firmly and hurried down the aisle, your shopping still in his arms.

You saw the wet floor sign before he did.

He clattered to the ground with your messages in his grasp, you bit back laughter as you watched his long limbs fumble around trying to regain balance as you rushed to help him. When he stood up he looked a little embarrassed, but rather strangely a little relieved. “I’m just glad it was me not you.”

Baba

The alarm rung loud and clear and your heart was thumping against your ribcage so hard you were surprised it hadn’t burst through. Baba clutched at your hand, drawing you through the intricate corridors. You had told him it wasn’t a good idea to bring you to work with him and you had proven yourself right. You had fallen and set off the alarm and now Baba had not only failed to steal the Mona Liz, but had given Ayase a perfect opportunity to catch him in the act.

“Just through here, there is a large tree by the window.” Baba told you. You clung to his hand, your feet sore from running. He was your strength to keep going - if you got caught, so would he. “This is a story to tell the grandchildren isn’t it?”

If they had grandchildren, at this rate it was looking more likely that they’d spend their golden years behind bars.

“Lupin I know it’s you! When I catch you my name will go down in history!” Ayase shouted. He close, far too close.

“Here it is.” Baba pried open the window, not all concerned about the proximity of detective Ayase. “You go first.”

“I - I’m scared of heights.” You stuttered out.

“Alright princess, how about if I go first and I’ll help you down?” Baba’s voice was soft when many others would have been impatient and harsh. You watched as Baba maneuvered himself from the window ledge to the tree.

Somewhere along the way he lost his footing and fell. Your eyes widened in horror and  driven by your need to see that he was okay all fears about heights subceeded. You descended the tree at a lightening pace.  “I’m fine… don’t worry about your prince princess.” Baba drew to his feet, covered in leaves and dirt. “Maybe we don’t tell our grandchildren about this part?”

Ota

“I thought you didn’t want to come.” You groaned as Ota girated to the beat of the music. The pair of you were at Eisuke’s party to celebrate the opening of his new hotel and it was a grand affair to say the least. Your husband was drunk, much more so than you had ever seen him before. “Now you won’t even leave.”

“Stop being such a bore Koro - your master is having fun.” Ota said much too loudly for your liking. Angered by his behaviour you vanished off to speak to Baba who while still drunk, was much more bearable than his best friend.

“Ota is having fun - so much fun that he’s forgotten about his beautiful princess.” Baba whirled you around. The pair of you laughed and joked for a while until you heard a clatter.

When you turned around Ota was on the ground, he quickly pulled himself to his feet and continued to dance as if nothing had even happened. You and Baba laughed.

“_____ . Please take Ota home now. He is making a mockery of this entire party.” Eisuke came to you ten minutes later. With a smile on your face you agreed, dragging your husband back to his hotel room by the scruff of his neck.

Mamoru

“You’re getting a little round Mamo. Anyone would think that you were the one who just gave birth to a baby.” Ota joked cruelly as Mamoru sat on the couch with your little baby son in his arms. The proud expression that had been on his face quickly subsided to a much angrier one. Despite the angry guise however you could see that the words had wounded him.

“I love him just the way he is. I’d love Mamo if he was twenty-stone.” You kissed his cheek and stared down at your newborn, adjusting the blankets around the tiny thing.

During your pregnancy Mamoru had put on a little weight. He’d eaten the same food as you, which was a lot, and you had joked that he was going through a sympathy pregnancy. He was a little insecure about it, you could tell, which is why you never brought it up. You were happy with him regardless.

The following week you were awoken by your son in the middle of the night. You had expected Mamoru to be sound asleep on the other side of your bed but it was empty. Thinking he maybe heard the crying before you did, you went through to the nursery expecting to find him there, but he wasn’t. Quickly soothing the crying baby you walked through the house looking for him.

You found him in the spare room on a treadmill. You wanted to kill Ota when you saw him drenched in sweat. “Mamo why are you doing this at three in the morning!”

“I didn’t want ya to worry sweetheart. Just doing a little exercise ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” He increased the speed on the treadmill substantially.

“Is this because of what Ota said?” You asked and he mindlessly continued to increase the speed.

“Do you think I care what that twit thinks. I’m doin’ this for you sweetheart, you deserve a husband who is in shape.” You were about to protest when he put a foot on the treadmill - the treadmill that was going much too fast for even Usain Bolt…

“Mamo!”

The treadmill rebounded him backwards and he hit the wall. You held back laughter as you knelt by his side to press a kiss onto his forehead. “If it bothers you this much how about we sell this thing and just go out jogging together, I could stand to lose a few pounds myself?” You laughed. Mamoru smiled meekly.

“Maybe that would better Idea-  just… just don’t tell that blonde-headed angelic looking son of satan about this alright?”

“Of course not.”

Home For Awhile  (Dean Ambrose AU)

PART 2 OF: Home for Now (homeless dean au)

requested: by anon
plot: continuation of ‘Home for Now’ where the reader has to break some news to Dean. 
content warning: hmm, i don’t think so? i think it’s alright
word count: 2.1K

@smutwwe, @heyambrose, @imaginingwwesuperstars, @helluvawriter, @wwe-smutfics


It had been a month since you shared that special night with Dean. Since then you had to admit things weren’t always easy… but they were good. Better than good. You had taken him shopping to get some new clothes, mostly consisting of jeans and black and grey t-shirts. You had also bought him a nice suit for him to apply for jobs in. 

You were proud of him, because he was trying hard. The two of you had stayed up all night working on his resume the other week. He had a lot of job experience, just nothing that he could hold on to. You put yourself down as a reference and he was good to go. He had been handing out resumes all week and even gotten a few call-backs for interviews. 

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Beneath the Water (Epilogue/ Part Four)

Summary: Ever since you died, obviously things haven’t been the same. The pack is no longer a pack anymore, Lydia avoids everyone, and Kira is basically the most hated person in the ex-pack.
BUT, when Liam starts to have strange dreams of you, where you’ve suddenly survived…how will he be able to get the pack back together to investigate?

Word Count: 2269

Originally posted by skylerlockerbie

PART ONE.   PART TWO.   PART THREE.  ALTERNATE ENDING.

Liam looked around him suspiciously, the room he found himself in not the slightest bit familiar. There were no windows, and no doors at all, just four stone walls with one hanging light bulb in the middle of the room to illuminate it.

When Liam started to look closer to his surroundings, he realized that the stone walls were damp. There were streams of water coming down at every angle, slowly filling the room. Before he knew it, the water was up to his ankles, rising faster than ever before.

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A Session.

“Do you write about them? All of them?”

She sits next to me, her elbow propped delicately on the counter. I can’t look her in the eye when I speak. Instead I spin my coffee cup around, and it only leaves water rings on the porous wood.

“No.” I could have ended it there. I didn’t. “Not all of them, at least.” 

I shake my head. Stop. Think. Gather.

“Besides, it’s not like there’s many to write about. Just the two, really.”

She’s still staring at me, I can feel it. A knowledge that burns into the side of my face. It would ache if I wasn’t so acutely used to it.

“The real question,” she begins, knowing I’ve finished, “is why? Why do it at all? Why waste the energy?”

Now there’s a question. Why waste the energy. Why write about love and the heart only to believe it doesn’t exist in the first place? At least not for some people. People like us. 

I sigh and rub my inner eye. I forget I have mascara on, and my thumb comes away black. I spend a minute rubbing it off and staring into space. 

“It’s selfishness.” I am sure. If there’s one thing I can feel poisoning this body, it’s selfishness. Maybe that’s what that ache is, in the end. 

I’ll ride it out now. Open the can with broken nails and dig until all the worms are back in the ground where they belong. 

“I write about one to try and make sense of the other. History and being doomed to repeat it, I suppose. One, by all accounts, dead. The other… well, it was never alive to begin with. So I write about one to grieve because I think that’s what I’ll always need. And I write about another because I’m selfish, and that’s why only way they’re mine, really. In my own words. I can have that piece. Even when it’s nothing, it’s something. And that’s selfish, isn’t it?”

I finally look her in the eyes and her brows are furrowed. I know she’s trying to make sense of it all; make sense of a bunch of words that never will. She nods her head a little, and for some reason I continue. My mouth is dry and my chest feels like my ribs are no longer beams of a house but bars of a cage. It hurts, I think. Maybe that’s what the ache is, in the end. 

“And I feel selfish because, in the end, it’s all about me, isn’t it? It’s all about this desire. This need. This dream of forgetting what it’s like to be so alone. My entire being aches for a love I know is impossible to give. So I take what little pieces I can and hoard them; just tuck them away like they’re just for me.” 

I’m spinning my coffee again. I haven’t taken a sip in over an hour now. It just sits in its cup and spins and spins and spins. It is useless now and I know the feeling.

“But it’s not just for me, and I hold no illusions to that fact. But I take them anyway because if I don’t, it’s gone.” I take a second to think and breath. Think. Breath. Think. Think. Think. “I am selfish because I desire. Because I want these pieces. And I am shamed because I will never admit it, not really. Never to them.”

She clears her throat and I take it as a sign. She wants to say something. I arch my eyebrow, my own sign to continue.

“Wanting to be loved isn’t an inherently selfish act, though. We all need it.” She makes it sound innocent and carefree, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to realize.

I laugh and she’s caught a little of guard. I have to bite my lip to curve a series of emotions I’d rather not dwell on. It’s humorous all in a way that makes you want to die.

“It’s different. Yes, I want to be loved. I want to know what that’s like. But I want more than that. I want to be missed. I want people to miss me when I’m not around. And I want to be first in line sometimes. I want to be fought for. I want honesty and sincerity and I want to be treated like a human and not like a tool.”

The coffee cup is now being squeezed, and I can feel my chest tightening. It’s an odd reaction. My eyes burn a little–a very unknown sensation to me. Maybe that’s what the ache is, in the end. 

“I’ve never had that. And I’m not looking for pity or some half-assed attempt at love or acknowledgment. In reality I’m either dead or a joke. I am idiot or the worst or just the girl here for a few moments of humor. But I want to feel real to someone. I know I’m hard to handle, and I know my head makes it hard for me to be fun around sometimes, but if someone would just have the patience to dig through and find all that rests underneath, then maybe they’d see.” 

The last words fall from my mouth so pitifully. There is something small in my voice. It cracks and brings me nothing but shame. 

“But I’ve always just been a background actor. A set piece for others to work off of. I am included out of pity, given my 15 minutes, then thanked and dropped off. And because of this, I instinctually guard myself and deprive myself of things because I’m terrified of it happening time and time again. History has proven it, so why take risks? I keep ruining myself because others have ruined me.”

Her breathing is calm and collected, just as mine is. If you saw us from the outside, you’d never guess we were in the midst of breaking down my entire being. 

She lets me continue. She lets me keep whatever pace I want.

“So now I am nothing but some hollow girl who wants these things but is too afraid to ask for them. I have no voice, no will, no nothing because I tell myself these things don’t exist for me. I can’t connect with people like I want to. I can’t love people like I want to. I see it happening to those around me and I instantly feel like an alien. An unwanted invader. So I do nothing except retreat. I am trapped inside myself, and I’ve become so complacent to the fact that I don’t even fight it anymore. So instead I write about it. I write about what I’ve lost and what I’ll never have. I write about missing people in the hopes of being missed. I write about fighting for people in the hopes of being fought for. But there are no wars being waged. No thoughts being sent. I am here and here alone and I write to adjust to that. Selfish and jealous and adjusting to that.”

My words feel final. I think she knows it, too.

“So,” she narrows her eyes, trying to process my self-diatribe. “Sum it up for me.”

I take a deep breath and push the coffee aside. My knuckles find circulation again, and my chest lets itself go. My eyes no longer burn. I am back to stasis. The numbness I force upon myself.

“Love exists in words and words alone. Anything else is just an illusion.”

Maybe that’s what the ache is, in the end.

2

A/N: There’s two anon requests in one, they just went together perfectly. It gets quite sad so you might wanna prepare a hankie or something.

Words: 1139
Warnings: violence. Also, I cried when writing this, so… just so you know.

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Myungsoo Scenario: When You and L Are Both Idols and Start to Have a Relationship, but are Discovered

3 Months Ago

It started simply with fleeting glances, small moments of locked eye contact backstage between rushed coordi noonas trying to usher you both to your different prospective areas. As mysterious and chic L was, Myungsoo was an entirely different part. You treasured those small interactions backstage and would giggle to yourself every time you caught him staring out of the corner of your eye, before he would whip his head away in shyness a slight red tinge on his face where his members would then smirk and poke him playfully at his puppy crush. 

It wasn’t until one day where you were walking back to your waiting room at a music event did you really notice the difference between Myungsoo and L. Almost as if he’d came out of nowhere, Myungsoo fell as clumsily as possible, ultimately ending up falling on top of you, causing your head to hit the edge of the wall with a hard thud. 

“Oh shoot…” you faintly heard one voice say from around the corner, and then another shouted urgently before you could hear a group of footsteps running away, “Oh crap he’s going to murder us!”

Whimpering slightly you cradled your head while Myungsoo was still in shock before blinking his eyes which widened when he took in the situation. Standing up promptly and doing a 90 degree bow, you could hear the embarrassment in his voice, “Oh my god (y/n)-ah, I am so so- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to trip and fall on you an- oh my god your head!! Are you okay? You should go to the hospital, I’ll take you there. I’m just so so sorry my grou-” he stammered while looking up at you with worried eyes and shame across his face before you cut him off.

“Don’t worry L-ssi,” you gave a small encouraging smile, “accidents happen, it’s okay. Was that your group I heard around the corner?" 

"Ne,” he said softly, still embarrassed from the situation and you just thought of how cute he was acting like a 5 year old caught stealing a cookie. 

“Well good luck with your performance L-ssi,” you wished him good luck and as you were about to walk away you heard a loud, “WAIT!”

Turning around you could see Myungsoo gather up all his courage before rambling out, “SinceIhurtyourheadIshouldatleasttreatyoutoacoffeetomakeupforit,”

After seeing your confused look, he took a deep breath before shyly murmuring, “Since I hurt your head I should at least treat you to a coffee to make up for it.”

Now it was your turn to be shy, “Okay,” you said while blushing causing Myungsoo to practically glow.

Present

That all seemed so simple as you looked back on the first time he asked you out with the “help” of his members. But as you looked on your twitter and Instagram, you felt the sting of each nasty comment.

It’s so obvious she’s using L for popularity.

Why would L even date her? She’s not that pretty and has no talent.

(Y/N) should honestly be dumped by L, who’d want to date someone as pathetic as her? 

You wanted to just bundle up and hide, feeling as if each comment was a fresh wound with salt being poured on it. As much as you wanted to hold your head high and let the comments roll off you, you could feel them slowly seeping into your mind, a twisted voice constantly prodding you and making you weaker and weaker. 

“Jagiya?” a voice softly called, it was filled with warmth and a sense of comfort. This was the voice you fought for against all those comments.

But this time was different. You made no movement and stayed still under the blankets on your couch, just reading the comments over and over almost as if you were being brainwashed to hate yourself. And it did work.

Shakily you propped yourself up and held your knees to your chest in a small ball position. 

“Jagiya, what’s wrong?” Myungsoo’s voice was now worried and tinged with fear as your lip quivered.

“I think,” you whispered quietly, trying not to choke up on your words, “I think it’d be best if you dated someone better.

Myungsoo stayed quiet for a moment soaking in your words until something in him snapped.

"Why would you ever believe that? That you’re not good enough for me? Do they know who you are besides what they see on stage? Do they know how I spent a whole year thinking I wasn’t good enough for you? Hell, do they know the little things I know about you that make you perfect? Like how you work harder than anyone else I know or how you volunteer outside of what your company schedules you because you love helping people or how you always try to find the good in everyone, even these fans who are hurting you, you defend them by saying it’s out of their love for me that they act this way.”

Myungsoo took a deep breath and then looked at you intensely, his hand going to stroke your cheek which had a few tears running down them, “Do they know how much I love you?”

You stayed silent and hiccuped slightly while Myungsoo started to cradle you in his arms. It was quiet and comforting as he calmed you down and your breathing evened out. 

You noticed he started to rummage through his pockets before taking out his phone and scrolling through his photos searching for something until he showed you making you gasp.

An entire photo album on his phone titled: My Inspiration

All the photos inside were candid pictures of you as well as screenshots from twitter and instagram of messages left with inspirational sayings about Myungsoo and yours relationship.

Oppa and Eunnie, I wish you guys so much happiness and I think you guys are perfect together. Hwaiting!

Don’t let the haters get to you both! I know you can overcome anything together!

You guys are perfect together don’t listen to those who criticize your relationship and you both deserve happiness with who you love.

“(Y/N)-ah, I know it can be hard and I’m so sorry for what you have to go through in our relationship, but always know I love you and don’t worry because to me you are perfect,” he whispered as he held you securely in his arms, as his voice started to shine in your mind like sunshine brightening up the shadows and hate from before, and in that moment his presence outweighed any of the doubt all with the help of a simple I love you.

You’re My Everything [Changkyun Angst / Fluff] Part 2

Genre: Angst / Gang!au

Summary: You were but one of the millions of stars in his sky ; he was your entire universe.

Part 1


“This is why I wasn’t planning on coming,” Hyungwon gritted his teeth, hands clenching tightly into fists until his knuckles turned white.

“But your sister would rather die than leave Changkyun in their hands,” Kihyun sighed as he leaned against the wall, admiring your bravery and love but at the same time, hoping that you hadn’t been so reckless. Hoseok had his face buried in his hands, blaming himself for failing to pull you away fast enough.

Noticing this, Hyunwoo placed his hand on his shoulder. “She’s a smart kid, and a strong girl. Our maknae is quite the fighter as well. I’m sure they can-”

“I should have seen him coming-”

The boys heard approaching footsteps and they hid behind the rubbish dump yet again, breaths held in and hands trembling when they saw the shadows of some people cast upon the wall.

“I swear I heard Hoseok’s whiny voice,” a familiar voice could be heard and all seven crouching bodies stood up at the same time, heads popping out from the dump. There stood four boys and a girl, all with smirks on their face and guns in their hands.

“How did you guys get here?” Minhyuk asked and Jennie frowned.

“_______ called me here and I brought them along. But where is she?” The other four boys nodded and looked around them, wondering where you were.

Hyungwon lowered his head and said in a small whisper, “They got her as well. We were too careless.”

Hands on her hips, Jennie nodded. “So we’re saving two butts today? Okay, I’ll be able to redeem two favours.” Everybody smiled slightly at her joking comment which lightened up the mood. “So what are we waiting for?”

“We don’t know how many men are in there…” Kihyun explained but trailed off. “But we have nine people now. I think that changes things.”

“It does, doesn’t it? I think we can take them on,” Hoseok loaded his gun and so did the others, placing their fingers on the trigger, ready to fire.

“Ready?” Jennie cocked her head to the side and the boys nodded in unison.


Honestly, you didn’t know whether to wish that they would come to save you. You had seen the number of men guarding the place and you would rather die than have all your friends lose their lives while trying to save you but at the same time, you didn’t want your life to end so quickly.

After your sudden confession, Changkyun held your hands despite it being awkward as both of you were tied up, preventing the perfect interlace of fingers.

“How can I be your entire universe? I’m nothing,” He smiled bitterly and you frowned.

“That’s funny, how you seem to be everything to me.” The room became silent after you spoke and the both of you sat there, holding each other’s cold hands tightly and keeping silent, almost as if waiting for some men to come in and kill you off.

You wondered what the other five boys were doing, whether they ran away or if they were still hiding behind the rubbish dump. Then, Jennie popped into your head and you knew that there was nothing she could do if the rest had already left. All you could hope for was that they had all gathered together and that they had a plan. Or, you could just wish for the least painful death.

“What was that?” Changkyun jerked up suddenly and your head shot up, looking at the door which was still shut.

“Did you see something?”

“No. I heard something.” He said, tone dead serious and you didn’t understand how you could have missed a sound that seemed to change his entire attitude. Just as you were about to ask him what it was, you heard faint gunshots and you looked at him.

“What was that?” It was your turn to ask it now and he shook his head.

“I don’t know. Did you come here with anyone?” Upon hearing that, your eyes widened and you felt a surge of hope, as if that familiar sound of gunshots brought the chance of survival, of escape.

They didn’t leave.


“Cover me!” Kihyun yelled as he ran upfront, firing skillfully at the men guarding the front door, hoping to kill them off in one shot before more could swarm out from the house. Each time a man lifted up his gun, ready to fire, he would get shot right in the chest by Kihyun or on the arm by Hoseok. They were the sharpest shooters, always knowing where to aim at and when to fire, giving the enemies no time to make a move.

But as much as they were talented, they couldn’t possibly win a fight alone.

“Hoseok to your left!” Hyunwoo shouted and Hoseok’s arm swung automatically to that direction, finger pressing the trigger and ending the guy just when he thought he had snuck up successfully.

“We still got that chemistry,” Hoseok commented and the other boy shrugged.

“Of course.”

As expected, more came barging out of the front door but that didn’t seem to taunt anyone.

“It has been Kihyun and Hoseok doing most of the work,” Minhyuk told the rest as he reloaded his gun.

“We haven’t even started.”


Time passed and the gunshots became louder and louder, letting you and Changkyun guess that your friends were getting closer and closer. You felt helpless, knowing that the boys were giving their all out there while you were stuck in a room, hands and legs tied together tightly. 

“I want to get out of here and fight,” You said with gritted teeth and Changkyun nodded, gaze fixed on the door, waiting for that moment where his friends would barge in, hopefully not injured.

“HYUNGWON!” A loud cry rang and you were struck with fear, your face became pale and your mind became a blank. Did something happen?

“The both of us will stay with him, you guys go get them,” Minhyuk’s faint voice could be heard and you knew they were close. Open the door, open the door, you chanted in your head, wanting to run out and check on your brother and show no mercy to whoever struck him.

Realising that they didn’t know which room you both were in, Changkyun yelled at the top of his lungs and so did you, hoping that they would get you both out as fast as possible.

“They’re in that room!” You heard Jennie’s voice and you were surprised that she was there as well. So they did find each other. That’s good.

The door flung open with Hyunwoo, Kihyun and Jennie rushing in with sharp knives in their hands, ready to cut the ropes.

“Two of you cover the door. When I’m free I’ll help with Changkyun’s ropes,” You told them and they nodded, Jennie and Kihyun going to the door to handle whoever was possibly coming. Hyunwoo freed you and Jennie passed you a knife, allowing you to handle the rope around Changkyun’s ankles as Hyunwoo did the rope around his wrists.

The two at the door shot down some men and cleared the way for all of you to dash out to where Hyungwon was on the ground, leg bleeding profusely. You couldn’t help but feel like it was all your fault for facing your back to the entrance of the alleyway and allowing yourself to be taken yet again.

“Hyunwoo, you’re the strongest. Carry Hyungwon and we’ll do the shooting.” Kihyun said and Hyunwoo nodded, lifting Hyungwon easily onto his shoulders in one swing.

“Let’s go.”

None of Jooheon’s men was in the way at first, the alleyway being wide open for your escape. But, it simply wasn’t possible for one man not to send a distress call in the middle of the fight which called for help.

More of them started charging towards you at the entrance and everyone but Hyunwoo held up their guns, firing mercilessly at them. That neighbourhood was a deserted one, quiet and empty and so your yells and gunshots rang throughout the entire place. You swore that the police could hear the sounds from the station even though it was quite a distance away but they probably didn’t care. After all, this area had the highest crime rates because of the corrupt and perhaps just unbothered police force.  

“I think it’s the last of them!” Minhyuk signaled for everyone to start running again but from the corner of your eye, you saw a man on the floor still twitching, trembling hands reaching out for the gun next to him, wanting to at least shoot one of you before he died. Your hand shot out and you aimed at him before pressing the trigger but nothing happened. Damn it. I’m out of bullets? By that time, he already had the gun in his hand and pointed it towards Hoseok.

“Shoot him!” You yelled, pointing at the man as you threw yourself in front of Hoseok just as a shot was fired. Was it from his gun, or one of yours? You saw blood forming a puddle around the man’s head and you almost heaved a sigh of relief until you saw Changkyun falling on his knees in front of you. Body growing stiff, you tried to understand what exactly had happened and when Minhyuk rushed to the maknae’s side, taking of his shirt to press it against his stomach, you understood.

You were going to shield Hoseok. But Changkyun took the bullet for you.


There was no way Hyungwon and Changkyun could go to the hospital without the doctor asking how the bullet got there in the first place. Jennie could treat shots like the one on Hyungwon’s leg but Changkyun’s wound on his stomach was something much more serious.

“We need to get him to a proper hospital or clinic,” Jennie insisted but Changkyun shook his head, faking that he was alright.

“I…don’t-”

“Sh, don’t talk. Just press this against the wound to stop the bleeding,” Minhyuk ordered and you stood there, thinking of possible options and eventually coming to a conclusion.

“I’ll ask my uncle.” The room grew silent and all eyes were on you.

“Uncle? How are we going to explain it to him?” Hyungwon asked and you looked at the Changkyun, grateful and yet, pained that he was hurt because of you.  

“Well, Changkyun took a bullet for me and saved my life.”

“So please, save his.” You pleaded and your uncle looked at Changkyun, eyes fixed on the soaked, red patch on his stomach followed by the bandage around Hyungwon’s leg.  

“What were you and Hyungwon doing? Fighting again?” He eyed you, a stern look on his face.

“I was fighting for my own life and for my friends. We didn’t start the fight, Jooheon did.”

“So this young man got injured while trying to save you?”

“Yes, so please help him.”

Your uncle saw the desperate look in you eyes and gave in, telling Hyunwoo to bring Changkyun to the guest room.

“I’ll get the instruments. ________, just this once.” He looked at you and you nodded, a wide grin spreading across your face but disappearing almost immediately when you heard painful groans as Hyunwoo lay Changkyun on the bed.

Rushing to his side, you held his hand and told him reassuringly, “My uncle will get the bullet out and treat your stomach. You’ll be fine soon.” He looked at you and smiled weakly, nodding slightly and trusting that everything would be alright.

Sighing softly, you placed a hand on his cheek. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You…risked your life to save me…” Changkyun paused, wincing as he bit his lip, bearing with the pain radiating throughout his whole body. “You told me that…I was your entire universe.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and you nodded. “You are.”

“This…doesn’t just work one way. I will protect you too.”

Your uncle walked into the room and smiled at the sight of the both of you being there for each other, giving each other strength, hope and most important of all - love.

“My dear niece, I need to handle your boyfriend now. He’ll be fine in no time,” the older man chuckled and you nodded, giving Changkyun a quick kiss before leaving the room.

Taking in the fact that you had escaped death twice, you sat next to the boys who were proud of rescuing their friends successfully. You didn’t know whether you were really safe and whether a similar incident would happen all over again but you didn’t worry as much as you previously did, simply because you knew that you had friends who would risk their lives for you and someone who loved you as much as you loved him.

Once, you were something to him but now, you were everything. And that was all you needed to know for you not to fear anything because no matter what happened, you would never be alone.

When he loses his temper (You x iKON B.I. ft. Bobby)

Sooooooo…I think I have a thing for iKON now?? I’ve been majorly behind on their show since I’ve been so busy, so I decided to catch up a bit and now I’m just like…~(゚∀゚)~ I wanted to try writing something for them, and this came to mind! Don’t be surprised if you see more iKON scenarios in the future kkkkk~ 

**********************************************************

“Let’s try that note one more time. I don’t like the way that it sounded.”

“From the chorus?”

“Yeah, I’ll restart the music.”

Your pulse throbs in your temple as Hanbin sits behind the class, watching you in the recording studio. How many hours had it been already? Four? Or five? You were wearing down, and you’d still only managed to record half of the three minute song to his satisfaction. You nod to him and the music starts up again, and you try the chorus line again. 

“It’s only you, baby~”

”_______.”

The music cuts off abruptly, and you see Hanbin sigh, running a hand through his hair. Great. He didn’t like that one, either.

“Let’s just take a break, okay?” His voice comes crackling through the mic. “Ten minutes.”

More relieved than anything, you open the heavy, sound-proofed door and make your way outside of the studio to the hall. Opportunities didn’t come along that often, and somehow, you felt like you were ruining it. 

It had only been two weeks since it had been announced that you would be the trainee singing on iKON’s new track, and there had been some major hype around you on SNS and fan sites. The rumor was that you and handsome leader B.I. had something going. Several pictures had been snapped of the two of you at a restaurant, and a few more of a coffee run and an early breakfast one morning. They made it out to seem like you were together.

Truthfully, you and Hanbin did kind of like each other. In fact, you were close enough that the two of you had admitted to liking each other. But in preparation for a new mini album, he was more and more stressed, with the constant vocal rehearsals and rearranging of songs. There was no way you could maintain anything other than a friendship right now, so that’s what it was.

But at this moment, Hanbin was not your friend. Hanbin was B.I., strict leader and music producer who refused to let anyone down. He wanted this track done by the time the day was over, and you had to do your part. He’d pushed off the other boys’ recordings so he could get your done, which made you feel even worse about the fact that it had taken so long already.

You stop by a water cooler posed in the hallway, taking a paper cup from the stack and opting for some warm water rather than cold. In all honesty, you hadn’t had much rest these past few days. A stipulation of being on the track was that you keep up your normal practice schedule, and attend the recordings on your own time. As a result, you were more exhausted than ever. Your head was pounding, a fever was coming, and as a result…you voice sounded bad, too.

The water touches the back of your throat, and you cough, your eyes watering. If you could just get through this…everything would be okay, right?

“Hey, _______-ah!" 

Bobby’s head peeks around the corner from an empty practice studio, waving you over. “Hanbin-ah wants us back in the studio…are you okay? Was that you coughing?”

He says it in his usual innocent way, and you offer him a smile. “I just got choked up a bit, that’s all.”

"Are you sure?” He frowns. “You don’t look that good. I mean, uh, not that you don’t always look good, but…when was the last time you slept?”

"Two days ago.” You cringe. Thinking about it only made you more tired. 

“Did you tell Hanbin that?” He asks. You shake your head. How could you? That would change anything.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrug off his concern. “It was nothing. I’ll see you in there.”

You roll up your sheet music and pace down the hallway quickly, away from Bobby’s suspicions. You had worked too hard and come too far to give all this up now. “I’m here.” You enter the studio, where Hanbin has taken his seat in front of the controls.

“I need you in there with Jinhwan hyung.” He nods. “You two have the next verse together.”

Jinhwan hands you a pair of headphones and you fit them over your ears, listening to the track start up for what seemed like the hundredth time tonight. It all seems to be going well until Jinhwan sings his part. You open your mouth to let the words come out and your voice cracks…cracks…right in the middle of the lyrics.

Hanbin’s mouth drops open, and even the boys are surprised. You were known among the other trainees for your sturdy voice, and no one had heard it crack, like…ever. You cover your mouth in shock. “Sorry!” You say quickly. “One more time!” Hanbin shakes his head and restarts the track, but the same thing happens again. 

“What is going on?” You’re shocked when a few moments later Haebin opens the door, storming in. “Have you not been practicing enough? I know that the note is challenging, but really! On any other day you could hit it with no problem!”

You can’t even look him in the face while he scolds you. It hurts your feelings too much.

“We’ve been here for hours, and all because you can’t hit the right note!” He snaps. “I’m confused. I thought you were the right trainee for the job, and now I’m not so sure if I think that.”

Ouch. That one hurts. Hanbin rarely called you a trainee (at the very least, he called you a friend), and the way he was speaking to you…how could he do that? Sometimes your instructors yelled at you like that, but never Hanbin. 

“Hanbin, stop.” Jinhwan says softly, noticing the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. “She gets it.”

He sighs, looking away from you. “You should just go. We’ll try again tomorrow after your schedule, and you’d better be here on time.”

“I’m sorry for being a burden.” You bow at the waist, and Hanbin looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll go now. I’m…I’m sorry for holding you back. I didn’t mean it.”

You sit the music back on the stand and take off the headphones, putting them away. You can’t even bear to look at the boys as you leave the room, embarrassed that they all just witnessed that. “Thank you for your hard work.” You mumble, dipping your head. All you want to do now is leave, but Bobby chases you into the hall, grabbing your arm.

“Don’t let him get to you.” He says sternly. “Sometimes he’s like that when he’s stressed. Most of the time he lets it out on me or Junhoe, but I never thought he would do that to you.” Suddenly he presses a hand to your forehead. “You feel really warm…are you getting sick?”

“I don’t know.” You mumble. “I’m going to go home now. Thanks, Bobby.”

~~~

A few hours later you sit nestled on your couch, your head resting in the crook of your arm. You’d come home right away, falling to pieces when your mother asked how your day went. She let you cry out of frustration (which you hated), and then sent you to your room to wash your face and take a shower. After some left-over spicy stew, you’d settled in front of the television for some much needed relaxation. 

You’re dozing off when the doorbell rings, and your mother comes out of the kitchen, looking confused.

“What time is it?” You ask, sitting up on your elbow.

“Ten-thirty.” She frowns. “Who’d come by this late?”

You keep your ears peeled, the front door hidden from your view. When she rounds the corner, your surprised to see that she has Hanbin in tow. “You should be practicing!” You gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“The guys to a one-hour break to go and eat some dinner.” He sits in front of the couch, twisting a cup in his hands. “Here. I brought you some tea. It’s good for sore throats.” You take it, all the memories of the past few hours coming back. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, dipping his head. “I yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just been working really hard on the album lately…but even then, that’s not an excuse.”

“It’s okay, Hanbin.” You murmur. “You’re the leader. It’s your job. I didn’t sound good today, so I’m sorry. I don’t know why…I should have told you that, but I didn’t.”

“It’s because you’re not getting enough rest.” He reaches out and touches your cheek with his hand, and you stiffen instantly, your ears going pink. “I told you, sleep whenever you can, even if it’s in between classes. And you should tell me when you don’t feel well. Bobby hyung told me you felt like you had a fever, and you do.”

“It’s nothing a little rest won’t fix. At least, that’s what my mom says.” You shrug, a little flustered. “I’m not mad at you, Hanbin.” You could never be.

“I yelled at my best friend when she had a fever.” He leans back on his hand, laughing to himself. “I’m such a bad guy.” You throw a couch cushion at him. “You were doing your job. Stop regretting it so much!” He nods, chuckling, playing with the pillow. “I should go. I have to make it back in time to catch the bus." 

"Oh, right.” You say quickly, a little sad that he already has to leave. It was so rare that the two of you got to spend time together that even if you met today under these circumstances, you were grateful for it. “Hanbin-ah!” Your mom comes bustling out of the kitchen, a bunch of boxes in her arms. “It’s not much, but take this back with you. I know you probably skipped your meal time to come here, and I wouldn’t be a good mother if I sent you back hungry!”

“You prepared all of this?” Hanbin stares at the food in shock. Your mother was an impressive woman, and you marvel at the fact she’s prepared a three-course meal for him, complete with soup and little slice of cake. “Of course.” Your mom smiles over her shoulder as she disappears into the kitchen. “I have to find some way to thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

Mom.” You hiss as he blushes. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Thank you, for this.” You motion to the tea, smiling. “I’ll work harder next time.”

“As long as you just get better, that’s the only thing I care about.” He grins. Although he hesitates for a second, he leans forward and kisses you on the forehead, leaving you standing there in shock. “Feel better, okay?”

You watch him as he jogs across the street, food in hand.

“I like him.” Your mother smiles knowingly, snooping from the kitchen. You sigh, closing the door behind you and sliding down to the floor, heart fluttering. 

“Me too.”

*****************************************************************

Ta-da~ Scenario finished! What did you think? This was my first iKON scenario, and I really liked writing a lot! Have you all been following them as well? I don’t know who my bias is yet kkkkk~ I hope you enjoyed this scenario! Hopefully I might get some iKON scenarios the next time my requests open up! Maybe that will be soon? *wiggles hopefully* ~Jjangpanda

Urban Legend in Limbo: A Tale in One Part
  • Marisa: ooh shiny
  • Marisa: gimme gimme gimme
  • Marisa: wait shit what why am i going to the outside world
  • Miko: hmm, these occult balls are damaging the barrier and could be extremely problematic, i should gather them in senkai where they can't get away and study them properly
  • Byakuren: just seal 'em all away forever
  • Miko: wtf is your damage
  • Ichirin & Futo: lol idk what is going on
  • Reimu: HULK SMASH
  • Sumireko: o, i am slain!
  • Miko: well at least we can make sure the occult balls don't cause any more barrier problems now
  • Canon: REIMU IS THE SAVIOR ONCE AGAIN
  • Fanbase: MOE HARUKAWA POSES FUCK YEAH
  • Fanbase: ACTION SHOT PHOTOSHOPS OUT THE ASS
  • Fanbase: TURBO GRANNY RIDES ON
  • Marisa: :D
  • Byakuren: :D
  • Ichirin: :D
  • Futo: :D
  • Miko:
  • Miko:
  • Miko:
  • Miko:
  • Miko: fuck

this post really got me thinking lmao…like the invention of cameras has got to be such a pain in the ass for the nations in hetalia? cameras that are now everywhere & capturing facial features with crystal sharp, good-enough-to-be-used-in-biometric-passports-clarity. i mean…

‘you don’t see the problem? cameras today are different, grasshopper, different. sure, i’ve been depicted in art at least ten thousand times because i’m older than the wheel, or so you like to claim. the fifth terracotta soldier in the second column from the left in the first emperor’s tomb is me, they based them all on real soldiers you know—you can’t tell? exactly! because the guy didn’t get my face shape right! even if he did, who’s going to notice since they fucked up the preservation and all the coloured paint came off & it’s sort of stylised a little?

nobody knows that painting of a court official holding a half-bitten peach in that awkward pose hanging in the nat’l art museum in beijing is me. again, stylised and whatnot. but photos? photos—yes i know those of you standing outside your tent with that constipated expression during the civil war are so grainy nobody goes ‘isn’t that the white house intern???’ but come on now, during ww1 you just had to get yourself photographed, beaming with that obnoxious smile in your uniform amongst a group of people who are almost very assuredly all worm food by now, or at least not still looking buff and youthful and not a day over nineteen. and even that’s not so bad because they didn’t put it in those coffee table portraits of ww1 books and it’s just gathering dust in some back archive in the imperial war museum. like nobody knows the guy photographed holding one end of the banner at that shanghai labour union protest in the 1920s is me ‘cos the quality’s crap. 

like how you could probably fake the whole ‘oh my! i really look my great-grandpa!’ thing you did when you ran into that poor guy from your squadron who kept excitedly shoving the yellowing photo of you posing next to your mustang in everyone’s faces. not a chance with digital photos today. nobody’s going to buy that when they run into you fifty years from now and come across a fifty-year old digital photo of you standing next to the UN Secretary General, crisp and sharp as the day it’s taken—when they can distinguish every single pixel of your jawline and down to your individual nose hairs!’