#every time I see this confrontation . im inconsolable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trainingdummyrabbit · 1 year

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Hehe hi Pik :0 I'll give you three questions for your ask game and you can pick out whatever you want to answer <:]

What are your thoughts on Kaigaku? I know he's a bit of spoiler territory but I'm curious .. or maybe what are your thoughts on Muichiro? You decide!

A question just for me, though ,, do YOU have a favorite bird? .., !!

oh abolutely HYSTERICAL to give a pick scenario and then lay down topics that will instantly get me to talk for hours on end at the drop of a hat KSJNGFKDJNGKD

so!! the easy one!! my favorite bird, ithink, is between the mourning dove and the house sparrow! they are not terribly glamorous but i love them so so dearly and will instantly cheer up when i think about them :')

as for the character questions. thank you for enabling me HJBSJFBJD

i could very very easily write an entire goddamn essay about Either of them, but for the sake of saving whatever brevity i can manage to keep, ill save talking abt mui for when That Episode(tm) drops whenever it does, because inevitebly, i will be Absolutely Inconsolable and it Will happen anyway KJNDKGDF

instead, for now, under a cut because this preamble is already paragraphs long... kaigaku.

i fucking hate this man. i cannot stand him, hes the worst, he is so fucking stupid, i think about him fucking constantly, and he is one of my favorites. he is so fucking insufferable, and i love him!

ok so. getting into kny, i was like. immediately a zenitsu liker. like i saw him and went "god. fuck. shit. its gonna be this nerd i dont even know about yet and i can feel it already." (i was right.) which is Crucial to knowing the angle here. and when i got to his part in th manga, i . genuinely dont remember if i even thought too hard about him. i dont even remember when i Did, i just know that he Wasnt there, and then he Was, and he Never Fucking Left KSJNKDJGN

which is very very fucking funny, considering... how much of a character he straight up Isnt.

like yeah! he sure does show up in a flashback and then fights zen and dies about it! it takes like, a two chapters max! and the entire time, his only character trait is "bitch for no reason." like... that sure isn't a lot to go off of. so like... why? i guess thats kind of the answer in and of itself.

why is he like this? why is he like this?? what made him this way? we know he grew up orphaned, but why? we knew he turned on gyomei's group and ran, but why? we know he trained to be a demon slayer with zen and kuwajima, but why? why, why, why? we just don't know.

we know he's a survivalist. we know that he's willing to go to any lengths, stoop to any lows, just to make it another day. because another day is another chance you get to get them back, to prove them wrong, to rise above it and laugh in their faces and say "see? see what im capable of? bet you feel sorry now."

shame doesnt exist to him. he will make Anything of himself just to make it by. do anything, drop anyone. no connections, impermanence. its clear in flashbacks that, honestly... nobody liked him very much. and like, well, yeah. obviously. he sucks, and he isnt afraid to show it. but isnt that just so strange? broken box of happiness, disatisfaction. he refuses to forge connections, claiming the only people he tolerates are those who respect him, who see his worth.

and that's... the weird thing about him. see, because, the thing is that... i don't fucking believe him for a second. he talks big game, he can back it up, sure, especially as a demon, but... the entire time he talks, every word he says during his confrontation with zen just felt like a bluff. like he's trying to sound threatening, to sound powerful, making a threat display like an animal. every technique he chooses to execute is some new, big, flashy display of his Power, talking, taunting, still taunting.

its a lot of reading between lines, but... this man is a fucking liar. that fight felt different, it felt quick, and well... maybe because it wasn't a fight. this was some guy taking out his anger on someone in a desperate attempt to prove he's worth something.

i just think that this man is a deeply jealous bastard intent on making himself seem larger than he really is, convincing himself that he's the one that's right and it's everyone else that's wrong simply because he can't process just how awful he is.

growing up barely scraping by on his own, of course he'd become painfully self-reliant. of course he would take advantage of anything he could, anyone he could. you'd have to be that self-centered to survive. talk big, act big, nobody will mess with you. nobody can take advantage of you if you take advantage of them first.

and when he gets shown that kindness, being taken in for the first time... of course he'd take advantage of them too. he's hard-wired with instability in mind, so obviously the clear answer is to take what you can and go before something else happens and they get to you first (even if that was never really a threat.) and if they throw you out for it? it's just proof you were right. you were always right, clearly it isn't your fault. and if you happen to throw them under the bus for it... well, obviously they deserved it. there's no reason to think about it anymore.

being with kuwajima was fine. we don't know anything about the earlier days (which im so sad about) but from the looks of it, he was doing fine. about as fine as he could be, at least. he clearly respected him at first, enjoyed being treated as something special, having his work and talents appreciated-- which he did have! he was a staggeringly impressive slayer, but that's an aside-- and even berated zenitsu for supposedly "disrespecting him" by referring to him as jiichan. which. sighs.

so, zenitsu. dynamics Of Ever. honestly, even without the whole Contention there, kai would've just kinda disliked him because he's... motions with hand. look at him. but its the fact that they were considered together that pissed kaigaku off so much. because that implied that they were on the same level when, to him, they so very clearly were not.

zenitsu was annoying. he was weak, whined too much, cried too much, never put in any effot, he was so, so annoying. which made it that much more insulting that jiichan would continue to try to train him. just leave him behind already! he keeps trying to run away, let him! obviously he just isn't good enough. he's not special like he was. and yet, kuwajima kept trying.

and the fact that he did... probably completely went against everything kaigaku saw in the way the world worked. for lack of a better term, he was very "survival of the fittest" minded in that, if you weren't good, you just weren't good. you'd try and struggle and inevitably die off. the world isn't kind, and will take any chance it has to kick you down. that's why you take what you can, when you can.

if you're weak, nobody helps you. if nobody helps you, you either help yourself or die silently. that was what separated the weak and the strong. and you always, always were either one or the other. again, that's his survivalism talking. so, seeing this person he at the very least Respected waste time on some nobody instead of him, expecting something to come of it... well, it was insulting!

and to think that they were even anywhere close enough to put together? to share the title of successor? with this guy? either it meant that kuwajima thought zenitsu was as good as kai was (to him, a laughable idea,) or that kai wasn't any better than some kid who could barely swing a sword. and that was what irritated him the most.

that was the point of their final confrontation. it was kaigaku proving, once and for all, finally, that he was better than zenitsu. was it purely out of hatred for this kid who looked up to him like a brother? was it out of jealousy of someone who got so many kindnesses granted to him despite, to him, not really deserving it? was it just to prove that he was a powerful demon to those who now had their eyes on him, too? whatever it was, at its core... it was laughing in the faces of those who, honestly, genuinely cared about him (and in his eyes, never truly did.)

he could've ended that fight whenever he wanted to-- its even stated in canon that zen wouldve just lost if he was given more time to grow-- but... he just kept showing off. kept talking. it didnt feel like he was using techniques to fit the combat-- it felt like he was showing off what he could do now. he was proving a point. the only thing that stopped him was what he never acknowledged back when they were training together-- that zenitsu did have worth. that he was growing, too. and using what kaigaku refused to acknowledge in him, zenitsu cut him down-- with a symbol of the respect and comraderie that he hoped to have together. a "sorry, aniki."

kaigaku's appearance in canon is less of the role of a character, but as a statement. hes a walking tragedy. he pushes away everything that makes life What It Is in favor of this image of Strength, which is exactly why he becomes-- at first glance-- a caricature. he stops being a person and starts being a Thing. zen tries to keep him in mind as a Person (despite it all) but when he ultimately gives up hope is when the encounter ends. and when kai's role ends as well.

the only thing i still wonder is... does he regret it? in the very depths of his mind, behind all that mess he puts up, after throwing everything away... did he regret it? twice, he was shown care and kindness, and twice he betrayed them. does he know? does he regret it? does he have the capacity to? or has he simply committed so hard to the role he was given-- to the role he put himself in-- that he simply cannot fathom a world in which he was the problem? could it have been different?

put simply... what the fuck is wrong with him?

. anyway, heres a bunch of posts that remind me of him.

#ask game #pikramble #piktalk #kny spoilers #UM. VERY LONG POST; I DID ACTUALLY END UP TALKING FOR HOURS SKJFNKD #IM. SO SORRY. SLEEPER AGENT ACTIVATED. THANK YOU <3333 #THERES SO MUCH I DIDNT GO INTO TOO LIKE #his weird 'everyone is either above or below me' thing that he switches btwn on a dime #or how he has his sword on his back-- in a technique so focused on quick drawing--#so committed to doing things his way that hell actively hinder himself and how that reflects his whole character #OR OR OR!!! AUHGUHGG #CANT FUCKING STAND HIM. GOD.#so anyway he's one of my 5 rotating favorites. thankyou <333

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reflectie2 · 11 months

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Verandering

Struggled with this years assignment - last year fleeing into concepts that - spoke to me, that peaked my interest, that spoke to me, which is also - in some way- a self reflection, an image of me and my personality/personhood, but I could hide behind the curtain of another layer, a safety net. This year - more confronting - what defines me as a teacher and artist? What defines be in general? Who am I exactly? What’s my identity? These are questions I tend to ignore, I hide them away in a dark corner somewhere, out of sight out of mind, as long as I can ignore it I don’t have to actually think about it and reflect on myself as a person because deep down I’m scared to think about who I ‘really’ am, because I fear that - even after reflecting on the deepest parts of myself — I would come out empty handed, I don’t have the slightest Idea of who I really am or what defines me. I have a fractured self-image. (“when I imagine myself, I am always leaving, I couldn’t draw my own face if god asked” <— leaving things behind, leaving personality traits behind, leaving myself behind. Im always changing)

ex. As a child I used to love so much, I loved every living thing, I was overly social , I went up to complete strangers as and would tell them anything and everything, I loved all the animals up to the most insignificant little bug, even spiders. i had so much sympathy, I hated seeing anything or anyone in pain and would do anything to prevent them from hurting a second longer. When things got bad at home I used to play shop with my own toys, I’d select the ones I thought I needed least and line them all up in my room, then I’d let my brother and sister come in and choose their favorites. I let them have my possessions as and they let me have the feeling of satisfaction - of being able to make them happier. (Once I got this fake phone that my brother begged to have but I’d never give it to him, it was my proudest possession. Until he came home crying one day, he hated his new school and the people there. He was scared and inconsolable and I couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, id do anything to take it from him, so I did. And I gave him my proudest posession. My parents always tell me how much of an empathic kid I was, how I used to always stick up for the ‘weak’, how I’d always befriend the outcasts. Kids that looked a little different or acted a bit weird, the kids that got bullied. They always admired that about me.)

But things change, we change. i grew older and More selfish. I became harsh and cold, and I learned to fear — and sometimes even hate — spiders. The things that used to define me then no longer applied, I was no longer that same ‘empathetic, sweet giving girl’. My identity isn’t constant/invariable.

I feel as if there’s not a single thing that has been a constant in my life. Everything is always changing. So how do I define myself?

Something similar has been happening to me lately. The past few years have been (opposite of stationary - bumpy ride-inch) and a lot of change has happened — both outside and within myself. One of the only ‘constant’ things I had in my life was my ‘creativity’. Since I was a child I was ‘the artist’ kid. I was always drawing, it was what I loved and what I was good at. It defined me. When people got the task of describing me ‘creative’ or ‘artistic’ was almost always the first word that came up. So what to do when one off those key components of your personality just - suddenly- falls away? Over the past few years I’ve been slowly losing my passion for art, for creating, for making and expressing myself through creation. I used to draw as an outlet, I found release in creating and satisfaction, rest, consolation. But recently it only brings me ache. drawing now only brings me zelf-doubt and criticism, insecurities and frustration. There no longer is any release. I stopped drawing for myself a long time ago, and then I stopped drawing all together. It feels like a part of me has been lost, and left a big, gaping, empty hole. Thinking about it makes me feel useless and broken, as if the one thing that I had, the one thing that was truly ‘mine’, had been stolen from me. And I honestly don’t know who I am without it. Who am I if not the one thing I used to identify as, the one thing that characterised me.

(I used to want to become a writer at a certain time in my life, I used to write all the time. Little song, comics, stories I mad up in my head, silly poems,…. And I used to be good ad it. Until I realised that was an unrealistic - unobtainable - goal. So I changed my goals - and I stopped writing all together. I stopped doing it and with that lost my knack for it - Words used to flow out of my pen like a stream, like a waterfall. I had so many ideas in my head, so many worlds that I had to put out into the world and I wrote them all down. now words no longer come naturally to me, it’s hard to express myself through language. I grew sceptic and built my own dam. I think I did the same with my art/drawing. But I realise I havent actually ‘lost’ my passion for writing. it just changed. I love literature. I love reading books and stories and I can lose myself in a poem or quote. And sometimes I still find myself writing creatively. Maybe not on purpose, i don’t sit myself down to write a story or create poetry. But when I’m lost in a conversation - without the pressure of creating or a result — I can still catch myself — sometimes — writing deeply, philosophically, poetically.

I think this is a very important concept. The idea of nothing being constant. We’re constantly changing, constantly evolving, we’re always busy reinventing ourselves, building upon old ideas and characteristics, sometimes even breaking them down and starting anew. But I think maybe that’s exactly what it means to be an artist, or maybe even a human. - at it’s core- at the core lies that ability to change. We have to adapt to our environment, our situation. It’s how we survive and how we grow. Learning how to gain skills and ideas, but also change or lose others is of vital essence to our existence. Artists are constantly learning new things, they practice to improve, they —— teacher - also constantly adapting to new situations, to their pupils, their colleagues, changes that happen in class-the school- society, or even personal changes in their life or within themselves. adaptability is how we are able to survive.

We are constantly discovering new things, learning new things undergoing new experiences, forming new ideas and philosophies. All of these things have an impact on us, they change us, our way of thinking, our views,..; we keep learning. All these experiences, everything we go though, we adapt those things into our own mind.

See I’m no longer that sweet, empathetic little girl, but I am also not that angry 16year old teen anymore. (Well sometimes I am, the truth is I carry her around inside me, all the time, and I always will. But) (I learned to love again, I learned to care and give again and i’m slowly growing back into that little girl that was so full of love that she didn’t even know where to put it all. ) And in a couple years when I find myself standing in front of a class, looking back at this moment, I’ll realise I am also no longer the same person I am today. But I’ll always carry the people I was with me, — in the shape of lessons, knowledge, experience — they’ll always be a part of me.

Menselijkheid

> kusnt - eigen kunsten/tekenen - wat me aantrekt/aanspreekt = lichamen, menselijke lichaam, naakt, puur, vleselijk, vormen, curves, levend

The thing about art that always caught my attention was the emotional side. It’s ability to be able to touch a part of the soul in a way that no other thing can. It evokes something in you, wakes something up. I never cared all that much about the aesthetic side of it, the physical beauty. Bright colours, clean lines and well balanced compositions never really peaked my interest. But the emotions that art could evoke or the emotions you could express/release through art, that was true beauty for me. The humanity in making art, art as the urge to create, that drives us to creation — because there is something inside you that’s so desperate to get out , that it needs it’s own medium, it’s own way to express itself — that’s what called to me. What art was all about.

I guess I’ve always had a certain interest in ‘humanity’ in that way. I was always curious about people, how their minds worked, how they felt or experienced thins, what made them who or what they were, the things that made them tick.

And yes - I was interested in the human psyche - I read about psychology, how the human brain worked all the theories and ideas. Which —sure was interesting enough— but all so scientific and distant, it never could give me what the arts could. This certain empathic knowledge, thought stories, through poetry and lyrics and drawings I felt like I could actually understand other people, and they me, in return. through these I found a way to connect with the world and people around me, and with myself.

I tend to look for the very human things in everything. As I child I used to give ’numbers’ personalities and a backstory, so I could relate more to them. I get interested in new thing through other people’s passions. I developed a passion for mathematics (calculus and algebra) through the views of character of a story I once read. She loved calculus because — opposed to a most real life problems — there’s always a clear solution. i get interested in cities and subjects through books, movies, art of other peoples experiences and stories around those subjects.

Even when my decision to study advertising was based on a very humaine idea. See most people would argue advertising is very inhumane, it’s a harsh competitive world and all you do is cheat and manipulate people into doing or buying things they probably don’t need, just for the profits. i had no interest in advertising originally. Until I saw a poster of a spider next to a landline, with the title ‘belle en het beest’. it amused me so much that I decided to on my major then and there, just because of the humor — which is an inherently human trait. (The reason I gave up on advertising as a carrier after a mere 2months of interning, was also that. It wasn’t humaine, it was harsh and cold and distant. And people were treated as robot’s, replaceable parts of a big machine. It was soul crushing. Teaching — I think — is quite the opposite. It’s one of the most humble and selfless jobs one could do. You sacrifice your time to educate the next generation, mould them so they’re ready to go into the world. You have to help shape them and show them the way, help them discover themselves and everything around them. you have to care a lot for this profession. About your skill, but also the children. To be a teacher you have to possess a certain type of love, a love for kids, people, humanity as a whole. (And it’s future) you have to care. And you do, even tho the majority of your pupils might not appreciate or even realise it at the time. It can be a thankless job at times, I think, but definitely one of the most humaine ones.

#reflectie #empathy #menselijke #adaptability #verandering

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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 20: Then Perish

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event Prompt: Then Perish (Part 1) Rating: M (violence, minor character deaths) A/N: We wanted to finish Jasonette July with a bang. The second half will be posted tomorrow for the Saturday Challenge. We’ve appreciated all your comments and kind words, we really do read every one. It genuinely means a lot to us and encourages us to continue writing together. As a fandom you have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we enjoy bringing you fics great and small with a wide variety of genres, dynamics, and iterations. Also blame DC fanboy for the memes in this fic. Marinette loved to travel, she had traveled all over the world from New York to Shanghai. Today, she traveled with her parents to Gotham City to visit her parents' friends, whom they had not seen in many years. Sabine was initially afraid to visit Gotham City, due to its crime rate and ever-growing list of criminals. Tom reassured his wife, saying that his big stature would scare any would-be criminal from harming them, that the trip would be short and they would visit Metropolis afterwards. Marinette wore the Ladybug Miraculous, just in case something were to happen. As the family got off the taxi at Park Row, everyone felt something was off. "Park Row really has...changed." Thomas muttered. Sabine held on to both her husband and her daughter, "I think we should leave." she said. Soon shadows began appearing around the corner, then came the yelling, and soon after came the gunshots. Thomas grabbed his wife and daughter and ran to find shelter from a hail of bullets. Marinette looked back to see many civilians, men, women and children caught in the middle of this gang war. She needed to be a hero, her father could take care of her mother, she needed to save those in danger. She freed herself from her father's grasp and ran behind a corner, she whispered "spots on" and transformed into Ladybug. Diving and flipping across streaking bullets everywhere, she flung her yo-yo to drag any unfortunate bystanders into an abandoned building. While in a building with innocent civilians, she peeked her head out the window to see a monstrous man. Wearing a blood red helmet and wielding two pistols, he systematically killed everyone before him. His flips and kicks were graceful yet brutal, the cries of pain and pleas for mercy made her shudder. She couldn't fight him, no, she was afraid to. It would be best to find her family, she did all she could and got bystanders to safety. She quietly transformed back into Marinette and went to look for her family. She ran back to where she last saw them, she scoured the streets shouting "Maman! Papa!" hoping that using her French would help her parents find and identify her. She soon ran into the Red Beast, as she began to turn and run back before she saw the two people at his feet. “<No, no no no, please god no.>” she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. There lay her parents, in a pool of their blood with bullet holes between their eyes. Marinette dropped to her knees, silently crying. The Red Hood either didn't see her, or chose to spare her and decided to walk away. Marinette ran to her parents, grabbing them both and shaking them. "<Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me>” she wept. Later, she was picked up by the GCPD. They escorted her on the flight back to Paris along with the remains of her parents. When she arrived, she was approached by the Aide Sociale à L'enfance (ASE). They told her that she'll be staying at a nearby orphanage until after her parents' funeral. Then she would then be sent off to live with her only remaining relative, her Great-Uncle Wang in Shanghai. On the night before the funeral, Marinette was unable to sleep. She curled her legs to her chest while she sat on the mattress. She has spent the past few days researching the mysterious Red Hood, crime boss and self-proclaimed Prince of Gotham. She read article after article of his meteoric rise to power, first conquering Black Mask, then The Penguin. Nightmares plagued her whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the Red Hood tower over her parent's lifeless bodies, covered in their blood. She was worried about being sent off to a foreign country tomorrow evening, while barely even speaking any Mandarin. All the while knowing that once she is on that flight to Shanghai, her parent's killer would without a doubt walk free. Morning comes, yet Marinette still thinks of what she should do. Could she really go to Shanghai to start her life anew, not knowing the language and allowing her parents’ killer to go on unpunished? At the funeral, while standing over her parents’ graves, she remained silent. The priest, ASE agents and her friends all came to pay their respects. Each of her friends approached her to give their sympathies, but she did not listen to a word they said. The Red Hood weighed heavily on her mind, and she made her fateful decision. To run, run and never look back. She had prepared a backpack containing the Miracle box with all the Miraculous, along with a few essential supplies and money. She turned into Multimouse to sneak on board a passenger aircraft to make her way to Gotham City. Jason knew, better than Batman, that fighting crime sometimes meant getting your hands dirty. What started as a petty squabble between two rival gangs grew into a bloodbath. He missed Roy at times like these, Artemis and Bizarro were still missing, but he held out hope that they would one day return to this Earth. A teenage girl with an impressively sturdy yo-yo had burst onto the scene, trying to get civilians to safety. He was a bit too preoccupied with the battle to get a good look at the girl. Knowing Bruce, the next time he’d see her, she’d be under his wing. Sadly, there were two civilians that neither of them could save, a large, burly looking man and a tiny woman. The person who shot them with frightening accuracy had got away, moments later a teenage girl had arrived on the scene. There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes when she saw him, and she would have just scurried away if only he hadn’t been at the very spot where her parents lay dead. The girl was inconsolable as she fell to her knees and wept, pleading with them in French. Red Hood walked away, thinking it would be best to leave her to grieve. There wasn’t a whole lot he could say in English that would make her feel any better, never mind in French. He watched from a distance as the GCPD arrived to pick up the pieces, Red Hood watched from the shadows as police officers and an interpreter tried to get the girl’s side of the story. From what he gathered, the girl’s name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her family owned a bakery in Paris. Her next of kin was a relative in Shanghai, and it sounded like the best option for her would be to go and live there. The plan was to ship her and her parents’ bodies back to Paris, and let child services take it from there. He would have probably told her to get as far away from Gotham as possible, away from the clutches of a certain someone who was also orphaned in Crime Alley. He saw her cradle what looked like a small pink doll to her face as she wept, before he turned and walked away. A week later, Jason had a break in the case. This was all caused by some low-level members of the Falcone and Maroni families continuing their decades-old battle. As far as everyone knew, the crime families swiftly executed the men responsible and went about their business. Two crime families were unable to keep their lackeys in check, and now the people who weren’t lucky enough to be whisked away by Yo-Yo Girl, were now either dead or wishing they were. He thought back to poor little Marinette, wondering where she was now. Bruce confronted him at the Iceberg lounge shortly after the incident, to which Jason explained that the perp had got away. He had killed people before, and that wasn’t stopping anytime soon, after all it wasn’t that long ago that he tried to kill the Penguin. “This may surprise you Bruce, but the Red Hood isn’t the only one who uses guns in Gotham '' he snapped. There were some lines that even he did not cross, lines that he had drawn for himself. Judging by the accuracy of the gunshots, this was no accident. Their daughter was probably starting a new life, probably on the other side of the world. Still, he wished he could have said something to the girl, a simple “Hey, it’s gonna be all right” probably would have sufficed. Little did he know that Marinette was making her return to Gotham City. She would have her revenge on the Red Hood, and this time she had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. After her very uncomfortable 10 hour flight from Paris to Gotham City in the cargo hold, Multimouse quietly sneaked out of the crowded airport without alerting anyone. Marinette wandered around Chinatown, thinking of her next step. She was thinking about how she would have to go through the city with a fine tooth comb to search for a lead, likely starting small with his men in the streets. Before she could put the earrings back in her backpack, Tikki begged her to reconsider what she was doing. “Please Marinette, you need time to heal, to grieve,” she pleaded, but Marinette didn’t need the powers of healing, luck and creation. If and when she encountered the Red Hood, she wanted to bring him death, misfortune and destruction. After all, that was exactly what he had brought her. With a stroke of luck, she overheard someone getting a beatdown. "You get your ass outta here, this is Red Hood's turf. If you wanna sell that shit, you gotta give the boss his cut." Marinette whispered "Plagg, claws out" and transformed into Lady Noire, before sneaking up behind one of the Red Hood’s men. He released the person he was beating, and chased him out the alleyway. She took this opportunity to swing her staff, hitting the back of his neck and sending him face first into the ground. He immediately tried to stand up, as he stood on wobbly legs he took out his knife from his jacket. "Oh shit, Catwoman?!" he yelled. Lady Noire used her staff to sweep him off his feet and slammed her staff onto his face. "Where is the Red Hood?" she growled. "Screw you bitch!" the goon retorted. Lady Noire had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her the location of the Red Hood, so she decided to try a different approach. "Fine then, why don't you give your boss this simple message…" Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded. She turned around and started spinning her staff, creating a grey shield to deflect the storm of bullets that were being fired at her. She moved her hands at a rapid pace, and frantically pushed back against the hail of bullets. As the bullet storm subsided she looked up and saw, up on the fire escape, was the Red Hood with an assault rifle. The Red Hood casually tossed his gun aside and asked "So, what's this message you have for me, Catwoman?" He gracefully did a forward flip and landed in a crouch. "Wait a minute..." he said, the first thing he noticed was that this person was tiny, 4’11 or maybe 5’ on a good day. Her eyes were a bright acid green with dark slits like a real cat’s pupils. "You're not Catwoman, you're too short to be her, for one thing.” he remarked “also she usually has a whip instead of a staff, who are you?" Lady Noire gritted her teeth, "You killed my family" she answered with a low growl. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down Kitten?" Red Hood's taunts made her snap. She screamed "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The Red Hood stared at her, as he crossed his arms. "I don't even know who you are, what's your beef with me?" He asked, Lady Noire lunged at the Red Hood with her staff, she swung wildly to try and hit him. He dodged most of her strikes with ease, “Is that the best you’ve got? You’re gonna have to try harder than that.” Where she might have lacked in skill, she made up for in determination. She wasn’t pulling any punches, he had to give her that. He caught the staff under his arm, and punched Lady Noire with his free arm. As he went on the offensive, he slapped her staff aside, and came at her with a series of punches and kicks. “So, what do you want Kitten? Money? Jewels? A very big ball of string?” he joked. “All I want is revenge,” she spluttered. “Get in line Kitten, you’re in the city that runs on vengeance” he retorted. Marinette was lucky that the suit gave her enhanced speed, strength and endurance. She always loved how the Lady Noire suit felt a lot lighter compared to the Ladybug suit. Though she shuddered to imagine what her opponent would do with this power. He raised his leg to end his combination with a forceful downward kick, Lady Noire raised her staff up to a horizontal block to stop the kick. Upon contact with the kick, the staff split into two, and then Lady Noire launched into her counter attack. She was striking the Red Hood with a flurry of blows with both halves of her staff. "Escrima sticks too? Looks like we have a Nightwing fan here” he smirked under the mask; this new girl was just full of surprises. He brought his arms to the sides of his head in a defensive posture, blocking the onslaught of strikes from the escrima sticks. Red Hood then grabbed Lady Noire by the back of her head, placing her in a Thai clinch. He launched a powerful knee to her face and sent her reeling back. He drew his pistols and fired a torrent of bullets at her. Lady Noire had to dodge, weave and use her staff to deflect incoming bullets. One bullet even grazed her cheek. She then pointed her staff at the Red Hood and extended it with so much force it slammed him against the wall of a nearby building. Without giving him any breathing room, she then retracted the staff. She launched herself towards him and then dropkicked his face straight into the wall. His helmet cracked against the tremendous pressure. "It's now or never” she thought, as she cast Cataclysm and swiped at one half of the Red Hood’s helmet. She saw the helmet dissolve and reveal the target beneath. She noticed that underneath the helmet he wore a red domino mask, not unlike the one she usually wore. She would have time to think about how overly dramatic that was later, as she used her other hand to pick up the knife on the ground that the other goon left behind. She jumped on top of the Red Hood, “Now perish!” she cried out as she thrusted the blade towards the exposed part of his face. Red Hood recovered quickly and caught her hand holding the blade. As the two struggled for the knife, Lady Noire tried to swipe at him with Cataclysm again. Suddenly, she felt the power of 50,000 volts coursing through her, as the Red Hood activated the taser hidden in his chest piece. She powered through, running purely on anger, grief and adrenaline. She was only able to struggle for about a minute, before passing out from the pain. Red Hood flipped Lady Noire’s unconscious body aside, before he took off his helmet to inspect the damage. "The hell?." he pondered, "So, indestructible staff that can do double duty as a shield, and the ability to disintegrate things with one touch. Let's find out who you really are." He slowly stood up and looked down at her unconscious body. He tried to peel away her domino mask, yet it would not come off. He tugged on the mask, even to the point of lifting the unconscious girl off the ground. He released the mask, and let the body drop with a small thud. The Red Hood began talking to himself "She either superglued the mask on or it’s something else. Considering all that she can do, I'd say 80% chance it's magic and 20% a lantern. Either way a 100% pain in my ass". He heard a small beeping noise and gingerly lifted her hand up off the floor. As it emitted black and green energy, he noticed that she had a ring on. The beeping came from a small picture of a paw print, which was missing a few pads. If she was a lantern, that ring was going to run out of charge any moment now. He took out his phone and called the Iceberg Lounge. He requested that they send for a van to pick him up and his new guest. He requested that the Su Sisters get her cleaned up and ready. He needed to find out who sent her and who she worked for. He took out the special handcuffs that Batman designed when dealing with metahumans. As he walked towards Lady Noire about to cuff her, he heard some more beeping, followed by a bright light surrounding her. Her suit and mask disappeared, leaving behind a small girl in pastel pink clothes who was probably no older than 15 or 16. Her long braid changed back into a couple of shoulder-length pigtails, and she had a pink backpack on her back. Jason looked inside the bag, there were a few sets of clothes, a wallet and an antique Chinese jewelry box. He wondered if that ring was just one of many tools in her arsenal. Jason's eyes widened, he recognised her as the girl he saw a few weeks ago when the turf war in Crime Alley broke out. "What’s she doing here?" he said to himself aloud, “ Idiot” he muttered. He remembered following the girl and her GCPD escort to make sure she boarded her flight back to Paris. She was supposed to be with her remaining family. Yet she came back to, no, ran away to Gotham City. All for revenge. He checked her wallet and saw the name printed on it, he sighed, this just confirmed that she was the same girl. When she had her revenge, what would she do then? He wasn’t the undisputed master of thinking things through, but even he thought she was a fool to come back here. Gotham City didn’t have the best track record dealing with orphans. He knew this from personal experience, but there was that time where many were rounded up and sent upstate to juvie, for the crime of trying to survive on the streets. He would have been in the same position, had it not been for his own fateful encounter in Crime Alley. He shuddered to think what her other option would be in a place like Gotham City, becoming a Robin. Part of the reason he wanted her out of Gotham was so that Bruce wouldn’t get any ideas about taking her in. When the car arrived, he scooped up the girl in his arms and carried her towards it. Marinette woke up with her heart beating frantically in her chest, the first thing she saw was a bright light. She was dead, she had to be, the last thing she remembered was confronting the Red Hood and now he had killed her. She slowly sat up, she looked down to find that someone had changed her clothes, she was wearing light blue pajamas. She started to look around, to her left there was a large floor to ceiling window where she could see a city at night with bright twinkling lights. On the table next to her was the Miracle box, she quickly grabbed the box and looked through it. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that all the Miraculous she brought with her were still there. Suddenly, Marinette heard someone clear their throat. At the foot of the bed, stood a rather large woman who had a bundle of clothes in her hand. Next to her was a blonde woman with pink highlights who had a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re finally awake” the large woman said gruffly, she set the clothes down on the edge of the bed. The blonde girl set a tea tray down in front of her, along with a couple of pastries. Marinette’s heart sank at the sight of the croissants, they reminded her of her parents and their bakery. “Eat up and get dressed, the boss wants to see you later” the blonde woman told her, before skipping to the larger woman’s side. Just as the two were about to leave, Marinette piped up, “Um, where am I?” she asked, “Who is your boss?” “You’re in the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City”, the large woman told her gruffly. “The name’s Suzie, this is one of my sisters, Candy. Our boss is the owner.” Marinette gave an awkward wave as they left, and Candy returned it with a more cheerful one. She took a bite out of the croissant, it tasted cold and dry. However, if she was going to defeat the Red Hood, she’d need all her strength. She put Plagg’s ring back in the box and reached for Ladybug’s earrings; she needed a new tactic. When Tikki appeared in front of her, she also quickly looked around the room before looking back at Marinette with a concerned look on her face. “I couldn’t do it,” Marinette explained “he managed to stop me and I ended up back here”. Tikki’s eyes were sympathetic as Marinette held her closer to her face, “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” Tikki asked. “For now, I have to get changed and go upstairs to meet the boss. Maybe he’s the one who found me after the fight was over” Marinette theorized as she gave Tikki the cookie from the tray. While Tikki quietly nibbled at it, Marinette stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed. Inside the small bundle of clothes were a simple white blouse and black skirt. They were a little big, she would probably hem it if she had her sewing machine. Moments later, a tall woman with dark hair led Marinette into the penthouse, a large room with a desk in the corner. A tall man in a suit stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sparkling city skyline. She slowly stepped inside, looking around the room as she walked towards the man. “Um hi, who are you?” Marinette asked as she apprehensively walked towards him. She couldn’t help but feel small in that grand high-ceiling room. “I am the owner of the Iceberg Lounge,” he explained. “I guess the question I should be asking is…” he turned towards her and Marinette saw he had a domino mask over his eyes and a red half mask covering his nose and mouth, “who are you?” He threw something at her and she caught it. She looked down and saw the Red Hood’s helmet, half of it looked as though someone tried to tear the metal open. Then she remembered everything she had researched about the Red Hood, and the fight that took place not long after she arrived back in Gotham. “You…” she hissed. To be continued...

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

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aquariusshadow · 3 years

Text

Liveblogging! Legacies s3x10

Oh boy oh boy oh boy, it's that time of the week. We back at it again with the Legacies live!blog! Last week's episode gave me my favorite legacies ship......I have high expectations for this episode.

Plz don't let me down.

METHAN

FIRST SCENE

..........guys

STOP

omfg methan are stopping crimes together

we love a crime-fighting romantic duo

there's a fanfic trope about this i swear

IS THAT DEATON

TEENWOLF DEATON?!

or am i stupid

Hope is so gorgeous i cant

Hope/cleo scene yaaaaaay

guys let hope be happy

she's allowed to be happy

josie's hairstyle is beautiful im in love

is lizzie really giving josie romance advice?

....when was the last time we saw Finch? i genuinely can't remember...

........noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo i dont want a mizzie scene i really dont want a mizzie scene

LET ME HAVE METHAN

thank god

why are they so cute

"blursome" jfc hahaha

I hope ethan doesnt get too caught up in the supernatural-ness of it all

"you wanna skip P.E. with me *wink wink*"

there she is, there's finch

awww josie she's so cute

okay there better be a good finch/josie lunch scene for that good ole development

omfg invisi!lizzie....InvisiLizzie is my new nickname for her TM me lmao

HFKLSHDFLGJGLHJDFGLHSDFJGH

HOPE AND CLEO

PICNIC

GUYS

listen ik i said i ship handon again

but yall expect me to ignore this i swear

i like happy hope, happy hope is very cute and she has a pretty smile

is that a banshee? what was that screetch?

okay this is genuinely creepy im impressed

maybe we can learn about cleo's past more this episode?

OMFG I WAS RIGHT

I NEVER GUESS THE MONSTERS RIGHT

IM THE NEW LANDON HAHAHAH

"Rules of the Rom-Com" oh my god lizzie...im really not sure she's the best one to be giving romantic advice ehehe but i love that she's really trying to help josie :D

was that reverse psychology? yup, good job lizzie!

cleo and jed...this'll be interesting

why is everyone obsessed with wendigo's?

look at this development

i like that we're getting more stuff with jed

METHAN BACK METHAN BACK

"we can just hang out"

ethan...honey...there's more than just the supernatural

I do understand being very excited though

ETHAN GO WITH HIM

awwwwwww "it's just nice to have something to care about"

you know...just replace 'something' with 'someone'

ok i'll stop the shippy

alaric death happens nearly every episode the stakes are low

this jed development though im happy

omg the acting range!!!!!

im so intrigued holy shit

god he's such a good actor

dont say landon

do not say landon will die

OH COME ON

GUYS

STOP WITH THE LANDON DYING PLOT PLEASE

stop putting hope through the same thing over and over and over

one step forward two steps back

look i understand landon's more or less human status obvi puts him in the most risk

but

we've seen this same thing over and over

the banshee did say there were many possible roads so maybe this is just a misdirect

JOSIE awwwwwwww shes so brave confessing to finch infront of all her friends

this is cute

shes gonna say no isnt she

yup

hmmmmmm

idk guys im really not vibin well with this pairing

hope.....that broke my heart poor cleo

lizzie no

no "stealing back"

just

advise josie to move on

or find out who finch is seeing i guess

maybe that'll bring josie closure?

wouldn't it be cool if this 'banshee drawn to inconsolable grief' thing was a foreshadow for hope confronting her grief

man banshee!jed was so cool i hope we see more acting from him

awww mg was trying to protect ethan from the full moon i think

finch is a werewolf

"tomorrow's no good" duh okay that makes more sense now

so finch does like josie but theres the supernatural thing

boy does josie have news for you finch

oh boy mizzie scene...woo...

wouldn't it be funny if there was another methan twilight parallel

we got the werewolf aspect now

it could happen

ETHAN SAVED MG

YES GOD IM SO HAPPY

BOTH OF THEM SAVED EACH OTHER

this is what i mean when i say i love balanced relationships ajflhsdjfsdf

ah is the monster thing from the end of the last episode...

werewolf hope :D

awwwwwwwwwwww god i really do like hope and cleo

"no one's dying today" damn straight

"the truth is you're kind and brilliant and badass"-hope to cleo <3

are they...do methan have their own hideout...

ETHAN MADE A HERO BASE FOR THEM

GOD

DID

did mg

call ethan

"eeth"

they

they have nicknames

oh my god

elena's old room

the nostalgia

LIZZIE

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

WHY WHY WOULD YOU LIE ABOUT FINCH

like i understand josie not wanting to be apart of the supernaturalness anymore

but like

hgnnnnnnnnn

ik lizzie has good intentions but good lord

awww this is a cute handon scene

ANOTHER PICNIC thats so sweet

idk why im getting an odd vibe with this cleo and jed scene

it's supposed to be strange

"i've never had a genius monster idea until standing next to you" hmmm

cleo's a muse

that doesn't mean she's evil which is hopeful

oh god why does the monster want handon hair

what type of voodoo shit are we gonna deal with next episode

I really liked that episode too! I guess what’s really making the past few episodes stand out is the character developments? So, I’m not really feeling josiexfinch BUT I like how it’s helping Josie’s character grow to try and be more confident with herself? I’m not cool with Lizzie lying to Josie about Finch. I understand it, I guess, but I don’t like it.

Methan. Nuff said. I’m not apologizing for my constant gushing over them lmao.

I wanna know more about Cleo.

#legacies #legacies 3x10 #liveblogging legacies #handon #methan #josiexfinch #hope mikaelson #cleo sowande #mg #milton greasley #josie saltzman #lizzie saltzman #jed #finch #ethan machado #landon kirby #hopexcleo #invisilizzie

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

remember me | kth - 03

chapters: I, II, III, IV, V

pairing: taehyung x reader

rated: mature - contains smut.

genre: idol!au, baker!tae, french!reader, angst, romance, fluff, smut.

summary: Taehyung wants to be forgotten. Overwhelmed by his life as idol persona V, he longs to just be Kim Taehyung for once. Even if that means forgetting everything he ever knew.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex, mentions of blood, strong language, memory loss.

a/n: so. it’s finally here..its chapter three. I’m going to be honest with you - this has been finished and sitting in my drafts since January but for some reason I just couldn’t post it. I got so many lovely messages about the last chapter and truthfully I was scared - just in case this one doesn’t live up to expectations! But it’s like 11pm rn and im making the decision to FINALLY put this out...so let me know what you think, I promise I can handle it! hehe.

The nightmares started suddenly. And once they did, Taehyung couldn’t make them stop.

It was becoming increasingly normal for Taehyung to find himself awake in a pile of shivering limbs at ungodly hours of the morning.

For some reason his mind just wouldn't quit it.

Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, brazen images plagued his peaceful slumber. They crept into every corner of his brain with a vigour so overwhelming, Taehyung was sure they were reality - until his beating heart went into overdrive and woke him with a jolt.

The nightmares were nothing like Taehyung had experienced before. This wasn’t your run of the mill blood and gore - in fact he was blind; or more accurately, his eyes were covered - by what he couldn't tell, perhaps a mask - only allowing a dull and dampened light to penetrate its cover.

It wasn't what he could see that filled him with dread - no, the thing that had him paralyzed, vulnerable and cold was what he could feel.

His body, washed in a fiery heat that numbed his entire being. The air, hot and heavy as he gasped around it, lungs ablaze.

He could hear too - a haunting cacophony of broken strings and his own screams, barely noticeable if it were not for the way his throat burned fiercely.

In the dreams everything felt a little too bright, a little too loud and so vivid yet when he woke they were jumbled and faded and somehow out of reach. An untouchable movie reel that played on repeat until dawn pressed pause.

That being said, they were becoming more intense, more clear. Slowly, at least. Sometimes, his fingers were able to loosen the knot and part of the blindfold would fall away, revealing cracks of the picture before him - parts of the thing that was haunting him - like another piece of a puzzle falling into its place.

And that was what Taehyung feared more than anything. For now, the blindfold was his protection, a form of sanctuary from whatever pursuit he was running from.

If the blindfold was gone, Taehyung would have to confront his persecutor face to face. And he was terrified of what - or whom - he may find when his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness he knew waited for him.

Taehyung had tried to hide the dreams from you at first. Back when they were just that - dreams. Back when Taehyung could turn over and fall back asleep, replacing the fear with the cushion of peace and comfort slumber once brought him.

Until they were so intense, so powerful, he found himself shaken awake by his own frantic shouts, legs and arms thrashing around in the satin bed sheets that suffocated his dampened skin.

Suddenly, they were a lot harder to conceal.

Naturally, you were concerned. It was driving you crazy, seeing Taehyung in pain yet being helpless to relieve it.

This wasn't the type of wound inflicted by a knife or a fever and you were out of your depth.

You wanted to know why; or more accurately what - what was turning the man who smiled so easily and lived life with a love so passionate into a child, stricken with fear. What caused him to become so utterly inconsolable?

"I have a book on dreams somewhere," You had encouraged one morning, after a particularly bad night. Nibbling your lip anxiously, you searched through a pile of novels on the floor next to the bed. Perhaps providing the why for Taehyung would help him come to terms with the what, you figured. "It might help you sleep better if you knew what the dreams meant."

And Taehyung wanted to tell you the what. Except he couldn't. Because truthfully, he didn't know himself. And he was more than sure that there was no textbook that could provide him with an adequate explanation.

"Yeah. Maybe." He had responded with levels of enthusiasm lower than he intended to be evident, flashing you a curt smile in an attempt to save your feelings. You were trying to help, he knew that. "I'll give it a read."

Truthfully, besides the knowledge of morning, the only comfort Taehyung could rely on was not something that could be found in a book.

It was you.

When the world was dark and his body trembled, your arms were a tender sunrise as you cradled him in your embrace.

Your fingers stroked his hair with a soothing touch gentler than moonlight and the tears that streaked his cheeks shimmered like a thousand stars.

Your hot breath was sweet as honeycomb while it whispered gentle hushes into his ear, bringing his heart to a steadier pace with your slow lullaby.

And it was then that even though the nightmare still clung to Taehyung, the world didn't seem so dark anymore. You were the sun, bathing him with a warmth and radiance that didn't burn like the fear did.

And for a moment, everything was okay again.

After a while, you found yourself lying awake even before Taehyung inevitably woke you with his strangled cries and sweaty palms. Simply watching as his chest rose and fell gently, exhausted features relaxing as you traced the contours of his face with your thumb. Anticipating the pivotal moment where they would harden and contort with a pain unimaginable to you.

Until another nightmare would take Taehyung away and you would hold him desperately, scared to let go incase he never came back.

Until the sun rose and morning filtered through the curtains and you were sure Taehyung wouldn't slip through your fingers like broken glass.

Until Taehyung was Taehyung again.

Taehyung would be lying if he said that night was like any other; it was worse.

He had already woken up twice that night, plagued by the same demons he had grown to anticipate. Both times you had been by his side, pulling him towards you carefully as you always did, pressing soft kisses to his forehead despite the layer of salty sweat which coated it.

Not long had he fallen asleep again before they were back, except something seemed different - striking a bout of fear in him more intense than ever before if that were even possible.

His body was alight again, hot to his own touch when he grappled with the blindfold which obscured his vision to no success. A voice sounded somewhere behind him - or was it in front of him? - he couldn't tell, but he tried to follow it anyway, stumbling to his feet and outstretching his arms as he blindly navigated the darkness. The voice was bright, almost friendly if his gut instinct wasn't screaming NO! as he approached it.

"Taehyung."

Well, that was new. It knew his name now, huh?

And then, again: "Taehyung."

But this time the voice was different, deeper. Recognisable perhaps, if he just thought hard enough...

His foot hit something and his balance was lost, sending him flying forward. Taehyung's hands came out before him, barely breaking his fall and colliding with the coolness of metal - no, it was glass, he could feel the broken shards cutting his palms, blood surprisingly cold against his boiling skin - and then the voice was back, taunting him this time.

"Taehyung! Taehyung! Taehyung!"

The strings began to play and he must have started to scream because the air was knocked out of his lungs with a colossal force that left him heaving on his hands and knees.

A fragrance so sweet it was sickening filled the air, choking him as a brush of velvet fabric raised the hair on his arms.

The voice was next to his ear this time, lips brushing his lobe.

"Taehyung. I miss you."

Before he knew it, he was running, boots clunking against stone as he tried to outrun the voice that seemed to be everywhere now. Until the ground disappeared, his stance faltering; and he was falling, falling...

Until then, he was awake again.

Taehyung's form shot up, elbows propping his weight as he clutched his chest, face contorting with fierce anxiety.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His breath came out in short, sharp rasps and his throat was tight and raw. He drew his bare legs to his chest, arms curling around them and cradling his own chin between his knees, waiting for your familiar gentle touch to send shivers across his skin.

Except, it didn't. And for what felt like the first time, he opened his eyes.

Morning slipped between the cracks in the blinds, bathing the room in a yellowish glow. The clock on the wall told Taehyung it was already past 10.

A quick glance to his side revealed you, perfect and still as you slept facing where he sat, arms outstretched as though you were reaching for him.

Guilt washed over him. You had barely slept for weeks - and it was all his fault. You were so worried about Taehyung's sleeping habits that you completely forgot to take care of your own; no wonder you were exhausted, he tutted.

And through it all, Taehyung had been too focused on himself to even realise it. He had been too caught up in his own nightmares to notice the blueish bags beneath your eyes or the yawns you hid behind your hair at the bakery.

He couldn't blame you for not being there when he woke up, not really. But that didn't stop him from wishing you were awake to hold him, relieve the anxiety that bubbled hotly under his skin.

Even though thoughts of waking you nagged in the back of his mind, he resisted. Taehyung's thumping heart felt like it suddenly stilled when he looked at you, utterly tranquil. His hands ached to trace the pink rosé of your cheeks, the soft lips which parted for quiet breaths to flutter between them.

He decided he could not bare to disturb you.

"I'm a grown adult. I can do this." he said to nobody but himself, hearing the uncertainty that was evident in his own voice. "It was just a dream."

With trembling fingers he pulled the sheets tighter around your shoulders, placing a long kiss to your temple before climbing out of bed, feet scuffling against the carpet as he crept carefully out of the room.

The apartment was the same size as it always was however while it usually felt cosily small, now it was suffocating. Every breath felt like the air was thinner than the last and Taehyung wanted - no needed - out.

Quietly, he pulled on a shirt and slipped his feet into his shoes before scribbling a note in his messy scrawl: GONE TO MARKET. BACK SOON.

A walk. That is what he needed. The fresh air would do him good, help him clear his head.

The cane he was used to grabbing out of habit now balanced against the dresser. Gingerly, he applied pressure to his thigh, wincing when an ache captured his leg. Not nearly as painful as before, though.

His fingertips brushed the cane's handle, before retreating to the fleece lining of his coat pocket.

"She'll be happy," he reminded himself of your face, imagining the way it would beam when you saw him walking without assistance. "You can do it."

Hand caught on the door handle, Taehyung turned and took one last look at your sleeping form, lashes pressed tightly to the tops of your cheeks.

And with that, he slid out of the door, pressing it shut with a quiet click before making his way into town.

The morning air was cooler than usual against Taehyung's face, and the light chills that crept up his arms were a welcome relief from the heat that still lingered somewhere beneath his skin.

Preparations for the annual September Fate filled the market with an excited buzz as Taehyung walked beneath the blue and yellow bunting someone had strung between opposing balconies in celebration.

If there was one thing Taehyung could rely on it was that the town was full of life. The infectious warmth was enchanting, drawing Taehyung in with its loud and bustling charms and thawing a sense of normality from beneath the vice like grip of unnerving fear that still clouded his mind.

Herds of people crowded around tattered wagons decorated with collages of fresh produce. Taehyung felt his shoulders relax from their hunched state as his eyes glazed across their familiar faces, anxiety eased by the contagious giggles of playing children.

"Bonjour, Taehyung." An older man behind a vibrant fruit stall called as he passed by, whom he recognized as a regular from the bakery.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," He drawled back in French, his pronunciation not yet perfect but improving. The people here didn't seem to mind though, accepting him as one of their own. The quizzical stares he had received upon arriving were long gone, replaced with knowing grins and tenderness. It felt like family. It felt like Taehyung belonged.

The fragrance of sweet jasmine and white lilies drew Taehyung's attention towards a flower stall which sat nearby. The blooms were as vibrant as the town itself, flamboyant and almost too beautiful not to stare at and before he knew it his feet were shuffling towards the biggest bouquet of sunflowers on display, their dreamy scent lulling him with a sense of familiarity.

Sunflowers were never his favourite but somehow they intrigued him now; they were majestic power and strength, surviving every storm and begging for the sunlight they received so graciously. They were joy on a cloudy day, giving their beauty to the world without regret.

Absentmindedly, Taehyung handed a crisp bill to the stall owner and told her to wrap the entire bunch.

While the age calloused fingers of an old lady began to carefully twist the stems in brown paper, a bell chimed as a door was opened nearby, followed by the click of heels and harmonious, sugary laughter. Taehyung's eyes couldn't help but wander.

A couple stepped out of the store which sat on the street corner, a spring in the step of the young woman whose eyes were filled with stars - almost brighter than the ring her partner placed on her forth finger.

The man's own expression softened as he watched her hold out her slender fingers, admiring the rock that symbolized infinity; eternal love. His palms cupped her chin and he tilted his own so that their lips crashed together perfectly. And Taehyung found a small smile growing on his own face as he watched them disappear hand in hand, filled with a sudden sense of longing.

His heart was laced with a desperation to touch you, to feel you. To tell you that he was hopelessly yours and he wanted nothing more than to make you his, if you would allow him.

He didn't need the wedding - though he had to admit the idea of seeing you in a dress was mouthwatering, the image too beautiful for him to comprehend - just you and him and the security of forever and always.

It was almost laughable. How he had turned up in a new town, an amnesiac and an outsider. Yet somehow the things he had forgotten didn't matter anymore when what he knew was so precious; the love he felt for life here was real and something told him he should hold onto it until death did he part.

But if losing it meant having you, he would agree in a heartbeat. And that's how he knew you were special.

Taehyung's palm cupped his forehead, shielding his eyes from the morning sun as he read the handmade sign balanced above the window of the store the couple emerged from. Someone had scrawled Pawn Shop in French, the red paint a little smudged at the edges but still legible.

It was like some sort of rope was tightening around Taehyung's waist, drawing him closer and closer, all earlier thoughts forgotten as he pushed his way through the small crowd, ignoring the grunts of irritation from those around him.

A glass window separated him from the display of silver and gold jewelry encased in glass, each labeled with prices and carats and styles. His eyes scanned the shelves of rings - each pretty enough to make his heart flutter slightly at the thought of watching it catch the light on your finger but none quite what he envisioned.

Until he saw it. In a box, black and perfectly simple, with an interior of pink satin - elegant yet tasteful. It was luxury and splendor and everything that this town was not.

Except, all of this become a blur when Taehyung's eyes fell on the main prize - something that made every other stone in the world seem like mere rhinestones and crystals in comparison.

Something he had...seen before.

A diamond ring.

And just like that, it hit him. Everything hit him.

Memories flooded back to Taehyung in a flash, his breath catching in his throat as images crossed his mind in an agonizing rush.

Bangtan. The fans. The house. The car.

Remembering felt like a searing heat that ripped through his chest, causing him to buckle as he gripped his throat in a desperate attempt at taking a heaving breath.

The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, worse than any wound a knife could inflict or dream could conjure and it sent his heart into a torturous irregular thump that rattled his rib cage and deafened his ears.

This was no longer a nightmare. It was reality. And for the first time, Taehyung no longer stung with heat but fell numb with the bitter cold of truth.

"Monsieur?"

Taehyung couldn't hear, his vision cloudy yet somehow clearer now that his mind was no longer obscured by the blindfold that he had so desperately tried to remove. The mask that prevented him from remembering who he was and where he came from. The blindness that led him to you.

A gasp left Taehyung's throat, barely aware of his fists against the glass, the sound reverberating through his head over and over until it all became static.

His eyes were wide and panicked, unaware of the commotion he was causing as he stepped back into the street, narrowly avoiding a motorcyclist as it swerved around his stumbling form. His legs were weak and he was sure the world was spinning as he placed his sweaty palms on his knees to steady himself.

Minutes ago, if you'd asked, Taehyung would have said he wanted to remember. But now that he did, he wanted nothing more than to forget.

He wanted to forget the practice room and the choreography and the hardships. The arguments and the paparazzi and the headlines. The photo shoots and the interviews and that fucking ring that his company wanted him to give to a girl who wasn't you.

"Holy shit," Taehyung stuttered, extending his arms in an attempt to steady himself as he made his way through the throngs of people, desperate to escape the sticky humidity that burned his lungs with every inhale. "I need to get out of here."

The market seemed to roar with rage now, the street narrowing around him as he swallowed a scream. The deafening chaos made Taehyung's ears split as he fought to escape the flaming breathlessness.

His feet began to move, finally cooperating with his brain which was telling them to go, go, go, before a slender hand tightly pinned him in place by the forearm, eliciting another breathy gasp to leave his lips as he tried to break free from its grip.

"Your flowers, Monsieur?" A far away voice rang out, pressing a package into his sweaty palms."Extras, free of charge, for your mi amor."

The flowers.

Their scent was utterly nauseating now, no longer providing a sense of hope for the future but rather a reminder of the fragility of his life here. With one paparazzi shot or tourist encounter, his identity could be revealed; and everything he loved, ripped away.

You. You could be ripped away.

You didn't fit into his life as idol Kim Taehyung. And he knew that.

But then again, neither did he. Not really. He had never felt more truly Kim Taehyung than when he was here with you or behind the bakery counter or at the harbor. He wasn't ready to leave it behind. Not yet.

Before his trembling lips could form any sort of response, however coherent, his legs were carrying him back along the path he had grown to know well, past the bar and the bakery, through the alley and up the steps until his fingers were fumbling with the handle of the door he knew led to you.

The same word ran around his mind in dizzying circles, louder than the cries of IDOL PERSONALITY V and YOU NEED TO TELL HER.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

Your name. The only thing that felt familiar and right among the memories of what came before.

His shaky fingers managed to shake the screen door open, no longer able to hold his own weight and landing on his knees against the carpet, flowers discarded somewhere behind him. He didn't care when the rough surface burned his calves, resting his head against the floor as he finally took deep, heaving breaths for what felt like the first time in his life.

A few moments passed and he finally gained some form of control over his limbs again, unsteadily raising so his weight rested on the hinds of his legs. He took in the space around him. Everything was as he left it - the bed messy from where you lay with him the night before, open books pushed aside on the night stand next to chamomile tea, cold now.

Everything was eerily familiar.

How could anything be the same when everything was different now?

Except, things weren't entirely the same - the room was devoid of your presence, leaving the apartment cold as ice even though it was still warm outside. Was it because you weren't in it or because he had arrived?

He couldn't be sure.

Taehyung wobbled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

"Y/N?" He called meekly, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. He sounded as wrecked as he felt. He received no answer, just the echo of his own pathetic state, bouncing from the walls of the empty room until his head throbbed angrily.

Taehyung stumbled feebly over to the kitchen sink, taking a glass between his shaky fingers and attempting to fill it with water from the faucet. Most of the liquid splashed over the edge, the glass chinking against his teeth as he swallowed what he could.

A few moments passed with Taehyung bent over the sink, partly because he didn't think his legs would work if he tried to walk and also as a precaution due to the bile that was steadily rising in his throat as an image slowly worked its way to the forefront of his mind.

Joy.

Her face - one he naively coaxed himself into believing he loved - was enough to wrack his entire body with wave after wave of guilt and self condemnation.

As far as she was aware he had just...disappeared.

Sure, he didn't want to marry her but he also didn't want to make her suffer, unknowingly or not. It pained him to know that there were people probably looking for him right now - he knew that there were people who cared about his whereabouts enough to hunt him down. The fans would be distraught, he was sure of it.

But what hurt the most was that a part of him wished that they didn't care. He wished he could have slipped away without worry or repercussion, without people nationwide caring about whether his hair was pink or blue or if he was coming home. Without his company caring about how much money they could exploit him for.

Idol personality V didn't exist. At least not anymore, not now that Kim Taehyung had taken his place. And he would be damned if he let him slip away just yet.

Taehyung scrunched his eyes shut tight, focusing on replacing memories of Joy's dark curls and pouty red lips with your warmth and your touch. And for a moment, the waves faded to sea foam.

A brush of velvet fabric against his arm. Perfume, sickeningly sweet.

Words played over and over in his head.

To: joy ❤

i will be back in a couple of days. don't wait up.

The last text Taehyung sent before he boarded a plane and landed bang in the middle of a new beginning.

The words rang out in his mind. She never replied.

Or did she?

Before he could think better of it, Taehyung was across the room in a flash. Hot adrenaline rushed through his veins as he ripped the closet door open, heart thumping at a pace he was sure was unhealthy when he located the black bag he arrived with.

He pulled the bandanna from around his neck over his head to prevent his hair from falling in his eyes. Trembling fingers gripped the zipper and he took a deep breath before ripping it open all the way, shoving his fist inside the dark interior and rummaging around until he found the cold metal of his phone.

Waiting for the device to start up was torturous; the loading bar seemed to move slower the more he willed it to hurry. His back was to the door and Taehyung's eyes were trained to the white dot as it gradually crept upwards...

Until the phone in his palm started to buzz uncontrollably, bathing his face in a blue glow and alerting him of an influx of incoming messages to his inbox.

300+ Unread Messages

His heart sank as the pad of his thumb swiped across the screen, revealing the password display. And it twisted in his chest when he carefully inputted the four numbers that separated him from the point of no return.

0309. Her birthday.

Just like that, the barrier was broken. He was in.

The wallpaper of his slightly blurry Pomeranian puppy stared at him as his trembling fingers lingered over the green message app. Taking a shaky inhale, he opened it, scanning the abundance of names that sent pulses of pain with each remembrance.

FROM: JOY

a few days?? what do you mean?? tae?? please reply. im getting worried. im calling the police tae.

Taehyung exited the chat before he could read any more, the messages enhancing the ache in his chest ten fold. Instead he scrolled to the top of the list until he landed on the latest, yesterday:

FROM: MIN YOONGI

please man, if you've seen the news...just come home. we're all out searching for you. please.

News? Before he could stop himself, he was typing his name into the internet search bar and biting his lip as hundreds of pages with his face as the headline loaded in front of him.

Barely glancing at the titles, he opened the first link, scrolling past numerous articles.

"K-pop singer of BTS Kim Taehyung, also known as V, is still missing since his initial disappearance on the 24th of May. His company, Big Hit Entertainment, is still pleading for any information regarding his whereabouts and his safe return."

Sliding his finger down from the top of his phone screen revealed the current date. 4th of September.

He had been gone for almost four months?

"Alongside his family, other members of BTS have finally broken the silence regarding his sudden disappearance. Kim Namjoon, the leaders group told news outlets on Saturday: 'We just want him to come home safely. He is family to us and we miss him terribly. We remain hopeful that he is still out there and we are doing everything we can to facilitate his return.'"

Taehyung scanned a few more paragraphs containing the last witness reports of sightings of him at Incheon Airport before his departure and then -

"Album sales of the bands latest repackaged release, Love Yourself: Answer have soared since the news of Taehyung's disappearance broke, hitting record highs and breaking previous records."

"Of course." Taehyung sneered bitterly, teeth clenched, pinching the bridge of his nose to dull the throb that had settled in his forehead. "That's what they care about. Fucking album sales."

The old Taehyung was consumed by numbers, constantly checking sale rates and celebrating new records and watching the numbers in his bank account climb to a string of figures long enough to require a scroll bar.

The new Taehyung, excuse his French, did not give a shit.

Just as he was about to open another article and bask in his own furious condemnation of society, soft footsteps pattered against the carpet nearby.

"Taehyung?" A voice drew him from his ministrations - your voice - and he twisted so fast he was convinced he pulled a muscle, throwing the phone filled with hatred and toxicity somewhere behind him and wincing at the audible thud that followed.

Then, you appeared - hair still wet and wrapped in a white towel. In his haste he had not noticed the gentle hum of the shower.

"What are you doing in there?" You questioned with an eyeing smile, nodding towards where he stood nervously inside the closet staring past you with empty eyes. "Are you looking for something?"

Just reading about my nationwide search party. How about you?

Taehyung simply blinked at you a few times before he realised your question warranted an answer. "O-oh no, I was just - "

Before he could finish, you were already occupied by something else, face suddenly lighting up with the glow of a smile that still managed to make his stomach somersault despite the circumstances.

"Are these for me?" You asked quietly, letting out a breathy sigh of admiration while picking up the bouquet which lay limply on the carpet. You fixed the petals which had been crushed in Taehyung's earlier haste. "They're beautiful."

They were beautiful. A shade of vibrant yellow which stood out against the muted background of your apartment.

"N-not..as beautiful a-as you." Taehyung managed to stutter, finishing his broken sentence with a smile as if that would do anything to conceal his anxiety.

"Oh, shush." You grinned, spinning on your heels to place the bouquet on the countertop. "I should get a vase - wait, are you okay?"

Worry was suddenly evident in your voice as you locked eyes with Taehyung. His face was paled and his eyes vacant, fingers fidgeting with each other and he shook his head lightly from side to side.

"What? Oh, yeah." Taehyung mumbled, finally shuffling out of the closet and into the apartment. "Just a little tired."

Your heart hurt at the sight of him - he seemed so off. "I'm not surprised, Tae, you were awake all night."

Running your hands through your dripping hair as a makeshift comb, you carefully treaded closer to him. It was strange; you were almost nervous to touch him for the first time. As if he would turn to dust with the lightest pressure.

"I was?" He scratched the back of his neck nervously, eyes slotting around every edge of the room except for where your eyes sat. "I don't...I guess -"

"Hey, hey," You couldn't stand it any longer, reaching forward to pull his large frame down next to you on the bed, legs crossed as you cupped his face in your palm. "What's up? You can tell me?"

Taehyung knew he should tell you. But he also knew that if he did, nothing would be the same. This wouldn't be the same. Just you and him.

Privacy doesn't exist when you live in a house with 3 walls, the nation always watching through the window. He couldn't subject you to that. Or himself, quite frankly.

And that was the moment Taehyung decided. He could never tell you.

"Nothing, baby. I promise." Forcing what he hoped appeared to be a natural smile to grace his lips, pressing his thumb and forefinger to your chin in gentle reassurance. "Don't worry about me, yeah?"

Still not convinced, you narrowed your eyes, pout forming on your lips. "But you seem so tense."

Your hands rubbed circles into his neck and shoulders, highlighting the tight pressure that he hadn't noticed resided there. Your eyes shone with interrogation and he tried to relax his muscles in an attempt at putting you at ease.

"I just need to lay down and rest for a little - "

"You know, I know a way to get you to relax." A small smile played innocently on your lips.

Taehyung's breath caught in his throat as he felt you tracing featherlight circles against his inner thigh, voice electric as you hooked your leg over his lap.

His hot palms came to rub your bare shoulders. "I don't know if we should right now -"

"It was just a suggestion," you snap, instantly jumping from his lap like he was a live wire. Taehyung's stomach sank. "I just - I don't know what to do anymore Tae."

"What do you-"

"I feel so helpless," you explain, drawing your knees to your chest as heat threatened to prick your eyes. "I'm trying to help but however hard I try I can't stop it."

"Stop what?" Taehyung couldn't resist lacing his fingers with yours, relieved when you made no attempt to pull away.

"I don't know - whatever is hurting you...whatever you can't tell me."

"Y/N..."

"It's okay, Tae." Bare feet against the carpet, you turned away from his piercing gaze. "I understand. You don't want me around anymore."

Is that what you really thought? He wanted to tell you just how much he needed you - he practically relied on you to get through each minute of the day lately - but the words just wouldn't come.

"Y/N, I'm serious okay. It's just these nightmares..."

"Then tell me? What are they?"

You can't. Don't tell her.

"Okay." Taehyung pulled your body back towards him, gripping your waist until you slid onto his thigh.

"Okay wha- oh."

"I'll let you help."

"Really?" You bit your lip, searching his eyes anxiously. They were empty. "Let me just help you relax. Please?"

"Oh yeah? Relax?" He let out a breath shakily, hands coming to grip the rough towel that covered your hips as confidently as he could. He felt far away as you teased his neck with light kisses that trailed from the base of his jaw to his earlobe. "And how would you do that?"

You can't do this now, the voice of reason in his head screamed, not after you lied.

Your nimble fingers came to the buttons of his shirt, twisting each one carefully until the fabric slowly fell from his shoulders. Taking your time, you drew light circles against his chest, avoiding eye contact by focusing on tracing a dot to dot with the freckles on his collar bone.

"Just like this." You whisper, finally tilting your chin so that your calm breaths mingled with his own anxious ones. To your surprise, it was him who closed the space between you, his lips cushioning your own with a gentle tenderness that almost erased the uncertainty that had settled into your stomach.

He was still Taehyung. Your Taehyung.

Bringing a hand to his jaw, you deepen the kiss. His lashes fluttered closed against your cheeks and you could almost feel the desperation which coursed through his veins.

Taehyung was overwhelmed by the scent of your shampoo and the softness of your skin as it brushed his bare top half. It clouded his judgement and silenced the voice in his head that screamed STOP!

Your hips dropped slowly, dragging agonising circles over his groin. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, a string of soft whimpers leaving your lips as the heat between your legs grew stronger, a towel and his sweats the only fabric separating you from what you wanted most.

Taehyung watched you with lidded eyes, enjoying each twist of your hips against his length.

Really? You are hard right now?

"See," You whispered, dragging your hands down his back and enjoying the way he shivered under your touch. "You're relaxing already."

Taehyung nodded, silently agreeing to your words. His hands shakily came to the place where your towel crossed, glancing at your face for permission. A quick nod of your head was all he needed before he was pulling away the fabric, leaving you completely bare on his lap.

You sat back a little, allowing his eyes to rake in your form. Taehyung watched the way you shamelessly dragged your heat over his clothed hardness, leaving a noticeable wet spot. He lingered on your breasts for a moment before he dipped his head, sucking hot kisses into the exposed skin of your chest.

The pace was slowly picking up, a small moan leaving your lips as you raked your hands through his hair gently, pulling the locks to draw his face to yours. Taehyung's forehead crashed against your own and for a few seconds, he just stared at you, as if debating something.

Don't do it. Don't do it.

His nose rubbed yours sweetly and his tongue snaked out to coat his chapped lips. And then his mouth was on yours, hot and hungry as his hands seemed to leave a scorching heat wherever they touched.

Never leaving his lips, you reached between your legs to fumble with his zipper, desperate to feel him. After a few failed attempts, he smirked into the kiss before reaching between your bodies to undo it himself, knuckles brushing against your dripping folds and drawing a whine from your lips.

Taehyung let out a gasp as the cool air hit his length and choked back a grunt when your small hand wrapped around it. He was hot and heavy in your palm, hand gliding against the ridges on the underside of his cock as you stroked him slowly.

Your gaze never left his as you climbed down from his lap, pulling his pants a little further down his legs and pushing his thighs open with your hands to make space for you for fit between them. Taehyung couldn't help but hiss when he felt your breath fanning his cock, nails scratching his hips while you stared at him alluringly.

"Y/N you don't have to - oh my god." His words caught in his throat when you pressed the first kiss to the underside of his length, lips warm and plump against the hot pulse between his legs. Your tongue dragged sinful stripes up the shaft, blowing cool air across the trails before swirling around his engorged head at a pace that had his eyes rolling into his skull.

Taehyung rested his weight on his elbows you watch as you gently slipped his tip between your lips, hollowing your cheeks and savouring the saltiness of the precum which leaked from his head. His length was already a stretch as you tried to fit as much as you could into your hot mouth.

You pressed your tongue to the underside of his cock as you began to bob slowly up and down his length, wrapping your lips tightly around his shaft as Taehyung resisted the urge to buck into your mouth.

After a few long strokes of your mouth, you drew back with a pop, using your hand to stroke the base of his now glistening dick before attaching your mouth to the head once again.

"H-holy shit, Y/N." Taehyung had given up hiding his pleasure, openly moaning lowly as your eyes bore into his own. He wanted to watch the way his cock slid in and out of your wet mouth but he couldn't bare to look away from your enchanting stare for even a moment.

Your free hand searched for his wrist, pulling his fingers towards your hair and encouraging him to lock them around the strands. He obliged, taking a loose hold and using his other hand to stroke your cheek encouragingly.

You let your jaw fall slack, blinking at him for a moment until he got the message. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling you back and off his cock before thrusting you back down. He was gentle though, scared to push you too far and you placed your hand on top of his own to assure him you could take it.

You are selfish. How can you take from her when you're lying?

The pleasure was becoming too much and Taehyung could feel his climax building, white hot in the pit of his stomach. "Y/N, I'm gonna -"

And with that, you popped off his dick abruptly, snapping Taehyung out of his daze. "I - what?"

With a sly smirk, you climbed back onto his lap again, palms pushing his chest so his back rested against the bed.

The throb between your own legs was almost painful, your clit begging to be touched and even the lightest of brushes against Taehyung's cock had you moaning loudly. Taehyung caught on quickly, dipping his hand between your wet folds and rubbing fast, hard circles into your sweet spot.

"No, no - " You stuttered, pushing his hand away. "I want to cum around...around you."

Taehyung smiled at your nervous admission, large palms gripping your waist firmly.

"I'm all yours." He said, voice husky with arousal and desperation. But he meant it. He was yours.

And before he could fathom it, you were sinking down onto his cock, walls hot and velvety around his sensitive length.

The ridges of his dick rubbed your walls perfectly and you clenched around him, drawing desperate groans from the both of you as you began to bounce up and down, setting a pace that still wasn't quite fast enough.

Taking the hint, Taehyung began thrusting his own hips up into yours and this time it was perfect. Each upward push left you writhing above him, hands fisting your hair as the head of his cock rubbed against the spot you wanted it most.

His pubic bone brushed against your clit with every thrust and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. Taehyung was near too, desperately trying to focus on the feeling of you around him to distract from the deafening voice which plagued his mind.

TELL HER! TELL HER! TELL HER!

But then, you were coming around him, head falling forward to fit between his shoulder and walls clenching so perfectly around his length that he fell over the edge too, white hot pleasure consuming him as he came inside you.

Your breath was hot against his neck and Taehyung’s strong grip brought you closer to him.

And for a moment, the voice was gone.

#thebtstown #kwordsmiths #bts smut #bts fanfiction #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #bts scenario #taehyung scenario #i hope you guys like this and im sorry it took me so long to pull up my big girl pants and post it #pls be nice :(#ily #ve1vetyoongi #my work

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tap-dat-agent · 7 years

Text

Who Knew? - Merlahad Fic By Me

Part 2 // Part 3

“John Denver.”

“What?”

Eggsy sensed Harry enter the room but couldn’t stop the tears just yet. What they had lost had finally gotten to him more so now than when he and Merlin had a sob in the tunnels under Kingsman.

“Sorry,” he whimpered, wiping at his eyes with aggression. “I got caught up for sec.”

“Might I join you?”

Eggsy watched the older man close the door behind him, draw nearer from the darkness, but he quickly glanced away to hide the red of his eyes in the light of a crackling fire. He snorted and blinked profusely, ignoring the weight of Harry’s presence as he sat in the empty armchair situated next to him.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, his voice a cultured utility of reassurance, and Eggsy almost believed him.

“No, it bloody fucking isn’t,” Eggsy said, dragging a hand down his face in the hopes of ridding all evidence of weeping. “I’m just…coping, I guess. We get to mourn now, right?” Eggsy slouched over, desperate for the heat of the fire to consume him. “Only after we save the world, yeah?”

“…Did Merlin tell you that?”

Eggsy shrugged, staring down at the floor, the mere mention of Merlin’s name causing the corners of his eyes to burn with a familiar prickly sensation. It wasn’t rare for him to cry. He cried epically, all the time, but the traumatic experience of growing up with a dick of a stepdad who liked to punch him in the gut and smack him about whenever he dared to shed a tear had trained him to hold back the waterworks in front anyone who wasn’t Mum.

That changed when Tilde came into his life, his newly-wedded wife, one of the only people he trusted enough with his feelings.

Then there was Harry who, given his resurrected status, remained to Eggsy a walking, talking, false sense of security, a constant reminder that all that was good in his life could easily be taken away just like that. Harry moved to rise and Eggsy felt a sudden pang of panic that he might leave.

“I believe the occasion demands a stiff drink, don’t you agree?” Harry mused, a trying but somber pep in his tone. “No offense to our American brethren but I’ve been looking forward to indulging in a fuller body only on offer at Kingsman.”

Kingsman…Eggsy couldn’t remember when last he hadn’t felt ache in his chest at anyone mentioning Kingsman.

Kingsman had just started to feel familiar, like his mates, like his mum and his sis. Apart from the professional zeal, the demands of duty, the Machiavellian façade, there was among them a common core of modern model gentlemen-like sensibilities about honor, bravery, and camaraderie that made the organization more like brothers-in-arms, like family, offering the kind of devotion and respect Eggsy had lived his whole life longing for but never got in an unstable home round a fuck-all stepfather.

“Cheers,” Harry quipped, handing him a two finger, neat, of an aged single malt Scotch whisky, before situating himself back down with a Scotch glass of his own in hand. “To life of holy matrimony,” he said, raising his glass in Eggsy’s direction, but Eggsy kept his own glass clutched in both hands, too despondent to drink to his own wedded bliss. “Alright, then. To the fact that, despite all odds, we have reached a full week of active duty, unscathed, secured in our finances, and at no loss for work.”

Eggsy watched in his peripheral as the glass in Harry’s hand inched its way toward the older man’s thin-lipped mug before its contents disappeared in one fell swoop.

“Right well,” Harry set the now empty glass down on an empty coaster on the small end table between them. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that then, Harry?”

“Did Merlin tell you not to mourn…not to show any emotion or feelings, or some other hogwash like that, until after we’ve fought the good fight and saved the world?”

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy barked out, beside himself with grief. “What fucking of it?”

Harry remained unfazed by the outburst. He was the ever so patient and understanding parental figure Eggsy was too old to have or want at this point and yet there he sat, cross-legged, watching and waiting for Eggsy to rediscover some semblance of composure.

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy repeated, an apology laced in the lowered tone of his voice. “Shit lotta good that did, too. After we went into Doomsday protocol, yeah, we got steaming pissed on a full bottle of Stateman’s straight bourbon.” Eggsy smiled at the memory, his eyes wandering to the Scotch in his hands. “We balled like dickheads, goin’ on and on about losing Kingsman, and Merlin insisted it was his fault but it wasn’t. It was my fault. It was. I let that Charlie fuck back in and now Roxy’s dead, my mate Brandon, J.B. …”

Fuck, Eggsy thought, and the lure of the clear caramel-colored liquid at his disposal finally overcame him. He downed it without a second thought, basking in the smooth burn it left in his throat. His eyes watered because the shit was truly strong and not at all because he couldn’t stop crying about all the good people in his life who were no more.

“That’s what he said.”

Eggsy all but slammed his now empty Scotch glass against the surface of the end table.

“What an absurd thing to say to someone who’s grieving.”

“Fuck no?”

“The man had cultivated quite the stony veneer, over the years.”

“Merlin grieved, alright? Kingsman keep their shit together but he fuckin’ grieved—that’s how it was,” Eggsy insisted, suddenly on the defensive. He glared at Harry, the older man’s unwavering one-eyed stare an aggravating sight. “Or did you forget? We had the mission.”

“Incapable of having a little cry while simultaneously doing what is necessary, are we?”

“Why are you riding this, man? We kept our head in the game, alright? Isn’t that what a good little soldier does? Fuck off, there’s nothing absurd about it.”

“Of course, there is,” Harry insisted himself, looking off into the fire. “I should know. Who do you bloody well think told him that?”

Eggsy didn’t know what to say to that but, at a loss for words already, he simply stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace before them. The snug room drew quiet and nothingness pounded in his ears. In the heat of their exchange, Eggsy had managed to replace tears with anger and do away with thoughts of loss and self-loathing.

Now he felt nothing.

“John Denver.”

“What?”

“I knew who his favorite singer was,” Harry said, as if it were the most blatant thing in the world, like that was at all what either of them had been on about. “I knew everything about that man.”

Eggsy looked over to Harry, his curiosity piqued, the drift of Harry’s voice sounding with some semblance of pain that Eggsy had never been privy to before now. Harry’s one visible eyes glazed over with certain memories, glistening in the light of the fire, and Eggsy found himself all ears to the regret lingering at the tip of Harry’s tongue.

“His favorite colour is green, like the sprawling Highlands of his motherland. He’s three years younger than I and yet held a place in the same year at boarding school. I was inconsolably miffed to find some young pleb had outdone my top marks and so I went to confront him. We ended up having it out like two common blokes outside a pub in Moss Side of Manchester.” A small but strange smile withered across Harry’s face. “We subsequently settled on an acquaintanceship.”

Eggsy eyed Harry with rapt attention. “Go on.”

“He had a flare for the dramatic, though, you wouldn’t know it at first glance. Before gadgetry it was painting—a technological genius and he wanted to be an artist. Then I enlisted, obligated by a sense of duty, but then he enlisted because I did. Kingsman had him on their radar before they ever gave me a fleeting consideration. We somehow managed to succeed in our respective candidacies and remained happily unforthcoming on how we knew each other. Mother…”

Harry fell silent, his dance down memory lane having stumbled upon a subject clearly hitting too close to home. Eggsy would swear he stopped breathing, in that moment, in fear of disturbing the aura of the man’s confessional state. Eggsy could barely get him to divulge a request when making a lunch run, so close to the chest did Harry play his cards. The only other time Eggsy had ever heard Harry mention his mum had been shortly after discovering he was still alive, when he told Merlin he wanted to see her.

Merlin knew his mum, Eggsy realized.

“Mother adored him,” Harry eventually carried on, “and he her. She took a disliking to me, in the advance stages of her condition. Confused me with my father. I asked him to look after her, when I was off on missions for an indefinite amount of time, and he relished in the excuse to spend more time with her. When she finally succumbed to her illness,” Harry paused again, lowering his gaze to the expanse of his immaculate apparel, and Eggsy waited on his every word, “it devastated him.”

The silence of Harry’s sadness felt like a sucker punch to Eggsy’s face.

“I was a coward. I was cruel. He needed me and I…I wasn’t there for him. I told him I didn’t want him, didn’t need him, and he adapted in time. I told him not to mourn, because I hadn’t. I swept it under the rug, insisted on the mission. We can feel when we’ve saved the world but the world is never truly saved, is it?”

“Harry?”

“I killed him,” Harry said, staring pitifully into the fire, a helpless but resolute inflection about him. “I’m the reason he’s dead.”

“That ain’t fucking true and you know it,” Eggsy urged. “I killed ‘im. Okay? Not you, me. He pushed me off that mine, not you.”

“He saved you because he knew that’s what I wanted.”

“What, for the mission?”

“I should think,” Harry breathed, sulking, and Eggsy shared in his angst. “I lied, Eggsy, before… Alone was not all I had. Alone was not all I ever was. I had him, Eggsy. I had him and I took that for granted. I miss her... I never told him that. I should have told him that. Why didn’t I tell him that? There was so much more I could have said…”

Silence again.

Eggsy fixated on the fire, afraid to look over. There were no sobs, no whimpers, not even the slightest movement of distress. Harry was ever the epitome of nobility, the kind of posh, yuppie, high class wanker Eggsy used to despise mainly because posh, yuppie, high class wankers usually despised him. Not Harry, though.

Harry treated him better than anyone.

Eggsy looked to his senior colleague, summoning the balls to acknowledge a grief beyond his own, the single tear trailing down Harry’s eye remaining unfettered in its descent. Harry’s face screwed up only slightly as he fought back the full extent of his emotions, and Eggsy didn’t press him for more than that.

In fact, Eggsy found himself doing one better. He clambered out of his chair to stand behind Harry and, before losing his nerves, wrapped his arms around the older man faster than he gathered Harry could protest. He latched on, unwilling to let go, burying his chin against the backrest for good measure.

Harry said nothing but didn’t push him away and, eventually, Eggsy felt the older man relax into the embrace. Eggsy had practice with consoling his mum on what used to be a daily, wrapping her up in his arms to relieve her of all her anxiety and grief and hopelessness. Of all Eggsy’s skillsets, both the bad and the good, looking out for the people he cared for was the only one that ever truly mattered to him.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages until Eggsy’s phone went off.

“It’s Whiskey,” he said.

“Any idea what she might want?”

“No clue,” Eggsy admitted, staring at his phone’s screen in surprise. “I’ll take this, yeah, and then will get right proper shitfaced.”

“I wager I should pass on the offer,” Harry lamented and, just like that, Harry sounded contained again. “I had a full bottle, already, before joining you.”

“You what?” Eggsy raised his phone to his ear. “Galahad.”

“Galahad,” Whiskey greeted, her voice urgent. “I’ve got news for Kingsman and it’s a bit shocking.”

“We’re all ears,” Eggsy assured her, placing her on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Galahad, we found him.”

“Found who?”

“On our last sweep of Poppy’s hideout, we discovered a secret lair among the temple ruins and he was there.”

“Who was there?”

“Merlin,” Whiskey said, getting to the fucking point. “He’s alive.”

Eggsy looked to Harry, the alarm and disbelief and hope in his eye as he unwittingly clutched the back of his seat fucking heartbreaking.

Eggsy’s gaping mouth grew dry.

“Fuck me, Whiskey.”

“Uh, no thank you,” Whiskey said, in polite dismissal. “Tequila’s on his way. We’ll have you guys back in Kentucky by this time tomorrow.”

“We’ll be ready,” Eggsy said, looking to Harry with careful consideration.

“Let’s go,” Harry said, rising to his feet, and the two shared a determined nod.

#merlahad #kingsman #harry hart #eggsy unwin #merlin #fanfic #tap-dat-agent

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