#unsentwrites

[unsentwrites-blog1]

unmasked

i. 

Goodness, Urahara realized, was something best left to those more capable of such traits. It was a revelation he’d had younger than most would suspect. Before his days as a jailer, as an assassin, or as a deeply flawed man.

In his youth Urahara had seen the way his own heart was shaped. How he guarded what was his with any means available to him. That he was all too susceptible to the taint of envy, how it bleed into his bones. That he could smile easiest when he felt no joy. 

To be fair he hardly had any appropriate role models. Soul Society was filed with heroic figures, powerful beings, and methods to achieving what seemed impossible. But there were very few truly good people.

But Kisuke did try to avoid lying to himself. He was no good and that was just a fact.

ii.

Benihime’s song was filled with bloodlust from the first instant he could hear her. A shrill sound that made Urahara shudder and his hair stand on end in wariness. 

Yet, rather than to be terrified to pull away he’d followed the sound to the source buried deep within himself. His instincts demanded no less of him.

Stranger yet as he drifted down into the darkness, beyond the carefully constructed walls that kept Urahara at bay from the world was a comforting presence. No less intimidating but oddly soothing. 

From the first hesitant touch Kisuke found he understood why something that should repulse him only drew him in.

Benihime knew each dark secret, every crack in his defenses - but she turned away from nothing. He couldn’t conceal himself from her. No fool’s smile would lead her astray; no deflection would distract her. 

Stripped bare of his defenses Kisuke found himself understanding what it meant to be accepted just as he was. 

They were a matched set.

iii.

Power seduced and knowledge made fools of men. 

Urahara had overestimated himself and let himself be consumed. Or perhaps he had only embraced himself to his flaws. 

Either way the hogyoku became itself. And only after this did Urahara see the error of his ways, saw the dangers he had unleashed. Meddling in places he had no business. 

Much like his slipping through the curtain that hid the Soul King. 

The hogyoku inspired much the same feeling their King had. His heart raced and a cold sweat beaded over his clammy skin as fear snaked through his being. Horror made his stomach roll and turn, as his eyes had seen something that should not be, being. 

Perhaps fear was to blame for his brush with madness that made him create a tool to make mere men into something more than they were meant to be. The hogyoku was brilliant but in the most terrible sense. Urahara knew this because he wanted to destroy it, bury it and never look upon it again. 

Urahara had wanted to reject the reality of the King. 

Wanted to reject the very limitations that made him powerless to accept.

But reality would not permit his ignorance in the face of fact.

Just as he could do nothing to destroy the hogyoku, Kisuke also could do nothing about the Soul King. Both held something very precious together. 

A lynchpin. 

iv.

Isolation was natural of those who were intelligent. Urahara was no stranger to the way the world seemed to be so far removed from himself. Even those that shone the brightest - like Yoruichi. 

They all failed to see the gap between his smile and he words. Missed the precise distance he held himself at. Took no notice of the hollowness of his emotions. Smiling for the sake of smiling, laughing for the sake of laughing - more routine than anything else. The output of the calculations of social equations.

When he was alone Kisuke indulged in allowing himself to be pensive. On some occasions even bitter. 

Because he had yet to meet someone how had ever truly seen him.

Yoruichi had been the closest but even she missed the way he hated her in brief moments. How his disappointment made him hardened against her in ways he had not always been. 

But he asked too much of anyone to accept him as he was. Right?

v.

Some nights sleep never came. Mind too heavy with what he had done so Kisuke laid in the dark and dwelt on his choices. 

Those nights were long and filled with shadows. Shadows they always seemed to shift whenever he looked away. Cast over his head to stay and leave him in darkness that did not always lift with the morning sun.

At first those nights had meet with fear, revulsion, and desire. But with time weariness was all that they roused in him.

The blood on his hands would not vanish or thin because he repented. He’d committed his acts already. Nothing could undo them. Dwelling on what might have been would do nothing but offer him solace where he deserved none.

So Urahara did what he could to still his mind to stillness. Letting the memories run their course. Not trying to comfort himself, reassure or reaffirm. 

Men made their own demons with their own two hands. The more talented a man was with his hands the greater his demons must likewise be. 

All he could do was stare them back in the face and try not to flinch back.

#unsentwrites #urahara kisuke #fanfiction series #urahara-centric #character study-esque #i love this asshole and that's not gonna change anytime soon #despite his less than stellar choices

[unsentpromises-blog]

A Road to Somewhere

Life was life, Steve thought to himself as he huffed to clear the powder off his face. There were good and bad turns to be sure, and there were also just extraordinarily rude people. That was thought with some malice looking over his shoulder for the person responsible for getting him to drop face first into the musk root powder of the merchant stall he’d been browsing. It wasn’t dangerous stuff by any means but it was stomach turningly potent. Steve could feel his stomach rolling on him already.

The man who’d bumped into him hadn’t so much as glanced after the fact. Instead he was leaning into some poor girl’s way and looking half-crazed with how wide he was smiling. He had a long red cloak attached to one shoulder piece that had once had a crest engraved. But the face of the engraving had been scratched and pitted away to be unrecognizable now. His hair was dark and short, hint of curl at the ends against his neck. Thin nose, slightly wide mouth (or the smile distorted it), and blue eyes. Not to mention the air of someone completely oblivious to the trouble they caused and never being held accountable for it. 

Or perhaps Steve was so caught in the pretentious air that had to go hand in hand with a golden suit of armor. 

Unsurprisingly the girl slipped away leaving the man behind with a forlorn sigh.

“You might try a little exercise in observation.” Steve heard himself grouse in a tone that Bucky and Sam so happily deemed his grumpy, old guy voice. But he was hardly old, not by the standards of any magic-kin. A paltry century under his belt was nothing but time to loose milk teeth in a fair few circles. Tall and terribly thin he didn’t cut an imposing figure in his worn robes. The edges of his sleeves beginning to go threadbare but comfortable as a second skin. 

For a beat the man stared at him confused. 

“She was interested from the beginning.”

The man looked in the general direction the girl had gone then back to Steve. “While I’d like to say I’m not that dense, it wasn’t about anything like that.” Though he did frown some looking off away into the crowd of the market once more.

“Yeah, right.” Steve’s tone was painfully flat while his eyes drifted back to the stalls for ingredients he needed. He still hd work to do rude people or not. “Pay more attention or you’ll get the wrong person angry around here.” Steve waved a hand around to mean any of the various spell casters or able apothecaries of less than amiable repute. 

“Yeah...know that.” 

It was the way the man had said it that got Steve to look up again - as if he knew first hand. It wasn’t a stretch to see the man landing himself into trouble but the kind that set his shoulders to droop and his expression to grow somber weren’t quite in line with Steve’s expectations. An jilted lover, seemed more likely. 

“You might also apologize when you bump into people.” It was more a change in topic than anything else. Steve hardly expected an apology.

The low expression turned to something more bemused. “Huh?”

Resisting the impulse to roll his eyes Steve pointed at himself. “You bumped into me.” Not that he was hurt, in body or spirit, but he was a little miffed about it. His temper always had been short-fused. 

“I did?” The man seemed to be uncertain one way or the other. “When?”

“Just now when you went by to harass that poor girl. Was by the stall.”

“I wasn’t harassing her.” Was the quick defense but there was a dawning moment on his face when he seemed to realize. “I hit you? I thought I just tapped against one of the bushels on display.” And the stranger was so earnestly surprised about it Steve found himself believing him.

Steve eyed him a moment. “Well?”

Cringing a bit the man shook off his confusion, and the preoccupied air about him, to look contrite. “I am sorry I didn’t realize or I’d have done it before, I swear.” He held his hands up in front of himself like that did much good against anyone who could toss fireballs on a spiteful word.

Just like that Steve found his ire cooling rapidly. He’d thrown it a little out of proportion. Men like this stranger often hadn’t seen reason to apologize for far worse things and he might have seen them in this one. 

But before Steve could admit to his own fault in the situation the stranger perked up.

“You’re a wizard too?” 

Caught off guard Steve nodded to the question. Even more startled when the stranger took the two wide strides up to him and classed his hands between his own. The way the man was looking down at him was so hopeful and relieved Steve wondered how that girl had gotten away unscathed. 

“Please help me.” 

“..help you?” Steve asked lamely. He was still a little caught on the hand-holding business which seemed very unnecessary. Though the man was wearing gloves it seemed and he wasn’t broaching every rule of ethics when meeting a strange magic-abled person. 

One of the ten cardinal rule being no physical contact with an unknown magical entity upon danger of threat, dismemberment, or death. But most concisely known as - look but don’t touch. Skin-to-skin (on fur, paw, claw, ect.) was the worst of this offense so the gloves spared the man a few points but not nearly enough.

“Please?” The man tried again some of that sad desperation reaching to his face again. It was plain that he was very much pleading. Might have dropped to his knees if Steve demanded it, not that he would. 

But one of the cardinal rules of being magically abled involved not agreeing to anything until you knew the finer details. Breach of contract could be painful to work out and Steve had seen a few of those messes. 

Steve pulled his hands free and took a step back to get himself some distance. Desperate was never a good look on a customer. His mother had been in the healing arts and Steve had seen the face of lunacy from denial and desperation before. He’d learned to be wary of anyone too willing to pay any price for a solution or too inclined to believe magic could remedy anything. He’d seen less of it himself but Steve had taken on far less prestigious work than his mother had. His jobs were small and generally simple. He took on things others didn’t want to due and didn’t flinch away from hard work. 

“Look you need to understand how this trade works if you need help that badly...”

“Tony.” The stranger, or Tony it turned out, provided as Steve’s pause. It was a common name after the birth of the crowned prince, a tiding of good luck or some such. 

“You need to be realistic and stop harassing anyone who happens to practice magic around here. You’ll get yourself barred from any service that way and land yourself in a worse position. You should try one of the reputable potion houses or the upper-crust apothecaries toward the trading ports. You’ll have better luck there than even here in the slums of the capital.” It was all factual. Steve knew the rates of serious cases in areas like theirs. 

Tony’s expression fell slowly once more. His hands hanging at his sides and his brow creased. “I’ve tried that already. The good ones and they can’t help me.”

That meant one of two things - Tony was asking for something that was impossible or asking for something they could not do for him. There were rules and regulations in place for a multitude of reasons, but there were tenets of magic that could not be disobeyed without nature demanding her own recourse. 

“No one here is going to be able to help you.” The chance a slim Steve was wrong about this. One had better chances of opening a unicorn farm, something that had never panned out for anyone in history.

Somehow that didn’t seem to deter Tony. Instead where he’d looked crestfallen before he seemed to have regained his good humor. There was an inkling of a smile, though it was still tinged with sadness. “I was told I could find what I needed here.”

Or option three - Tony was stark raving mad. 

“Who told you that?” Steve asked with all the humoring in his tone to someone talking to a child or someone extraordinarily dull-witted. 

The tone seemed to offer offense because Tony’s wan smile became a far more pronounced frown. He drew up to his full height, making Steve only just then aware he’d been leaning toward him before, to regain some of his dignity. “I trust them. They wouldn’t have sent me here if they didn’t believe what they told me. He’s not a bad guy even if he doesn’t have a fun bone in his body.” 

Why he’d asked Steve wasn’t sure, his mind was made up already.

“Good luck with that.” And he was on his way to go, away from this madness before he became any more involved than he already was.

#unsentwrites #stevetony #superhusbands #fantasy magic au #a road to somewhere au #ravenisthegem #you are to blame for this one

[unsentwrites-blog1]

& a beggar’s word

Reverse side to A Thief’s Honor.

It was only years of previous experience that prevented Harry from startling behind the wheel at Merlin’s sudden interjection. 

“Take a left at this next light.” Merlin’s tone was tinged with something somber.

Question on his tongue about the detour Harry held it back behind his teeth, and put on his turn signal to take the direction. If Merlin was interrupting time Harry put aside to decompress after a successful heist then it was for a good reason. The semantics of a “good” cause might have been debatable Harry was willing to take it on good faith.

“Care to explain?” Harry asked as the leather of his driving gloves creaked faints as he adjusted his grip out of nerves. He was still wound a little tightly after evading interpol, again. They tended to be the most aggravating of the law enforcement he had to deal with given his career choice. Still Harry knew very well his prize was sitting just where he left it so his nerves would settle fine. Not even Merlin knew where the rubies were hidden away. Precaution of the trade.

“Keep straight for a ways. I’ll let you know when to turn off the main road. You’re going to hit side streets well before you reach your destination.” Merlin’s voice hadn’t lost the somber note Harry had heard, but the air of business about it made Harry relax. If Merlin was in a postion to give orders nothing was beyond saving. “We’re going to get a contact.”

Years had taught Harry that Merlin was often correct in his predictions. But what he meant by his statement was far more vague. Harry had called Merlin out on his vague wording of his predictions to no end. This didn’t seem to sit quite the same on Harry’s mind.

“Contact?”

With a job just finished it would be unwise for Harry to travel more than he needed to until the buzz about the theft died down. It wasn’t an international headline as he used to pull far too often in his youth, but time had taught Harry a measure of caution. 

Merlin told him he was a lying bastard whenever he made that claim.

“The Unwin boy landed himself into a bit a trouble. Caused quite a stir across ever police radio early this morning when he stole a car that belonged to his step-father.” Merlin went on to explain, at last.

Harry hadn’t known the Michelle had ever remarried after Lee. Not that they even saw one another since Harry’s initial attempt to repay the widow for his husband’s show of loyalty all those years ago. Over fifteen Harry’s mind told him when he did the math without being positive of the year but positive of the day. It stood to reason she at some point would have remarried for any number of reasons - love, simple companionship, or financial stability. 

“A little auto-theft really put so many feathers out of place?”

“When the boy leads half a dozen cars in pursuit their honor is on the line.” Merlin’s tone was amused, the kind that Harry knew meant there was a detail he was withholding.

“Ego will do that.”

“Especially in reserve without so much as a beat of hesitation.” Merlin sounded almost proud of the boy.

And Harry could appreciate that himself. He’d have to look into some CCTV footage of the joyride in question but he’d image it was a fair show. Frankly Harry found it sounded like something he’d do, for fun or professionally. 

But why would Lee’s son need to steal his step-father’s car? There was something amiss with this picture.

Harry kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, watching a woman two cars over talking distractedly into her cell phone. Harry at least was hands free. Yet that had more to do with the necessity of needing both for maneuvers in high-speed occasions. 

“Why did he steal the car, Merlin?”

The moment of silence before the answer to his inquiry was enough to imply that Harry wouldn’t like the details. 

Sure enough when Merlin spoke that somber note in his voice was heavier. And despite the man’s fair hold of his temper Harry heard it stir, low and as mean as he could recall it being.

“Dean Baker has a record of theft, distribution of illegal narcotics, breaking and entering, and assault. Not to mention a few incidents that led to police appearances at home concerning some calls about domestic disputes.” The timber of displeasure meant none of the accusations of abuse had held any water. Merlin had no tolerance for those who abused others in positions of lesser means. Harry couldn’t argue that abuse of power was perhaps one of the most underhanded of methodologies. 

Again Harry’s gloves creaked as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. This time in a moment of distemper. 

While it all painted a teling picture Harry wasn’t quite certain why he was being rerouted.

“Where am I going exactly?”

“Holborn Police Station.” 

If Lee’s boy, Eggsy if Harry recalled right, had been so capable of leading them in a merry chase why had he not managed to escape? it didn’t hold up to Merlin’s frank impression of the boy’s skills. 

“He was caught?” Harry heard the disapproval in his own voice. It waan’t logical of him but that changed nothing.

“Something ran into the road, some rodent or other.” Merlin explained with a gusty sigh the likes Harry was all too familiar with. Merlin gave them often when Harry did something he considered foolish. “He ended up jerking the wheel to avoid hitting the damn thing. Hit a poll and got himself cornered for it. Hit the car that had him caught to let his friends escape.”

Unwins were loyal by blood it appeared.

As it was Harry certainly had no qualms with going to deal with this now. Whether Merlin had planned to wheedle him into it or not Harry would have done what he could. He still owed the Unwins a debt, after all. 

“Show me the route in the GPS if you would. I’ll handle this myself.”

A hum of approval later Merlin voiced his last thoughts. “Don’t cause too much of a spectacle I don’t want to be erasing footage for a week thanks to your sense of vanity.”

Harry smirked, aware Merlin wouldn’t see it, and glanced at the updated route on his GPS. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Why did I ever agree to help you and not lock you away I’ll never know.” It was about the usual level of drama Merlin hung up with. 

Harry just shook his head at his friends antics. They were partners for a reason and had been for a great many years now. Clash as they might it had never been enough to turn them off of one another entirely. Not to say they never fought or even went to lengths to pain or avoid one another for childishly long periods of time. But they had held up under many things and would awhile longer.

Holborn Station would take another fifteen minutes to reach leaving Harry with more than enough time to plan a way to collect his clueless ward.

A simple disguise would do. Then it was just a matter of getting to the police lockers and finding a uniform that would fit him well enough for a getaway. With years of practice of much higher risk it would be child’s play. 

Harry pulled into a small, secure car park and took the ticket to go with his fair for parking. He’d have to collect the car later or send Merlin for it. His plan wouldn’t afford him making a getaway in something nearly so flashy as his personal vehicle. 

The station was small and only manned by a single woman who appeared to also be a dispatcher. She smiled at Harry who signed in citing an appointment with one of the detective for a consultation. In his impeccable suit and easy confidence she didn’t so much as hesitate to allow him to wait for the detective to come collect him. Quite amiable when Harry asked if she might let him in to make use of the restroom, as he’d gotten a little turned around on his drive in.

The restroom was empty save for himself at this time of the morning. Harry pulled out a small set of cosmetics from his suit coat and applied it along his face. Contouring his nose to make it look longer than it was, darkening under his eyes to give the appearance of bags, and adding more winkles than he actually happened to possess. 

The wig was of the salt-and-pepper variety. Sideburns trimmed and easy to glue into place were entirely silver while further up more black appeared over the crown of his head. His temples were silvery and lines of silver cut into the black that would be suited to a man that appeared to be this age, if he was lucky. 

Going darker with the pencil on his eyebrows was easier than having to go lighter, far less time consuming. Harry blended it with ease. Then for good measure gave his jaw line a smattering of specks to look like stubble. Some of is finer white and silver.

Despite being in the same suit Harry looked like an entirely different man. It would do for him to slip into the lockers and procure a uniform. The station was small enough they wouldn’t all be jammed in or have anyone lingering most likely. And true to Harry’s estimations he found no one in the lockers. They instead were likely getting to the first details of their work day, dragging feet to avoid the dull routine of it all.

Pulling on a uniform Harry received the call Merlin anticipated it would. It was a direct line Harry had access to almost always. On rare occasions during particularly difficult heists or high points of danger Merlin monitored the line instead. But Harry answered as he redressed in the uniform with a little modification. Rolling his suit coat and wrapping it in his shirtsleeves to tie around his waist to give the impression of having more body mass than he did.

“Customer complaints, how may I help you?” Harry asked effecting a more feminine voice. 

“’m Eggsy Unwin, sorry Gary Unwin, and I’m up shits creek-” The boy sounded as if he was indeed in dire straights. There was no bluster to the words but an unmistakeable pleading instead.

Harry buttoned up the shirt he’d pilfered and was working on knotting his tie. His next statement had more to do with buying time than anything else. “I believe you have the wrong number, I’m sorry sir.” Harry had no intention of leaving him.

“Wait!...wait,” Eggsy pleaded, “that is...oxford, not brogues?” And it sounded more like a question than a statement with such a weak voice.

Harry pulled the cap snug on the top of his head before fussing about the fit a little more. A glimpse at himself meant he was passable. it was time to collect the boy.

“Your complaint has been noted. We hope that we have not lost a valuable customer.” 

Without further ado, Harry ended the call and tucked his multi-purpose glasses away into his pocket before going toward the interrogation room. This would repay his debt surely but Harry wouldn’t be satisfied to leave the situation Merlin outlined alone. Abusive home-life or not the young man had potential and Harry could give him more options than the ones he saw before him. It would not be a romantic scenario by any means, let alone an honest life, but it was a chance for change.

#unsentwrites #hartwin #future hartwin #thief!harry

[unsentwrites-blog1]

nascence

Eyes tired and neck stiff Ichigo surveyed the remaining reading sitting on desk. He’d been at his last afternoon class hoping to power through them all but it was a hefty order. One he wasn't going to be able to deal with if the way the words wouldn’t stay pinned in place told him. 

Shifting his weight back in the seat her pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes lightly. Not enough to make himself bright spots of red in his vision but enough to block out the light form his office. It didn’t do much to ease the faint itching of his eyes that meant he’d been reading for much too long. The rest of the weekend would see Ichigo sorting out the last stack and recording the grades.

With the knowledge he’d get nothing else done for the night Ichigo reached for his cell to check the time. Still only eight. Not too late for a call home. He’d hit the call button before he’d even consciously made up his mind.

It rang a few times and was picked up by someone unexpected.

“Kurosaki household.” Urahara’s voice said as sedately as Ichigo had ever heard.

Ichigo pulled the phone away from his ear to be sure he had called home and not the shop. Urahara would do something goofy like answer the wrong thing to mess with him. Benign as the joke might be.

“Urahara?”

But Ichigo found he had dialed the right number. 

“Ichigo,” Kisuke didn’t sound surprised, “I imagine this is not the voice you wanted to hear. I’m afraid I sent them all to bed not that long ago.”

Urahara stopped by regularly enough and the twins were no stranger to going to the shop. Ichigo got some peace of mind knowing the shop keeper was there  to watch over his family in his absence should anything happen. As eccentric as Urahara’s personality might have been he was surprisingly loyal, Ichigo had found. It was a trait most would have doubted but Ichigo trusted in. 

But Urahara seemed to have expected needing to explain. “Accident in town. Clinic was overrun for hours. Last of the serious patients are at Karakura General. Fed them and I’m looking after the few still here for the night.”

That explained Kisuke answering the phone. Likely only delayed in having to slip into the house from the clinic. Ichigo would have asked about the accident but it didn’t much matter. Everyone was fine, Urahara would have shared if that had not been the case. The mess was cleaned as much as it could be other than the concerns he might have had about any involvement of familiar faces.

“Old habits huh getaboushi?”

Ichigo found himself smiling to hear a faint huff of amusement from the other man. Kisuke was the quiet type about anything sincere. So many years of having his sincerity doubted, possibly. 

“I didn’t hear you complain.”

“Weren’t listening. Clearly.” Ichigo had protested his stay to recover on more than one occasion. Whether or not it was in his best interest Ichigo always had had his own plans in mind. Urahara had been one of the few that could pin him into place and keep him there. He hadn’t in years, thankfully, but Ichigo had no desire to see if he could still manage to do so.

There was the faint sound of shuffling, but no familiar clack of geta. Urahara could move around in them silent as the cat but he rarely bothered. Sleeping patients would warrant the effort, however. 

“So tell me about this new batch of students of yours. Karin and Yuzu have been telling me one of them in particular seems to aggravate you.” Kisuke prodded conversationally. 

The stack of ungraded papers loomed on his desk, Ichigo thought of one in particular. One belonging to the person in question - Sato. The little shit who refused to apply himself but had written a stellar application essay. Ichigo felt himself frown just to think of the kid.

“I can hear the brooding from here.” Urahara wheedled. 

Rather than grumble at the man, Ichigo found himself giving him the request ion. Going into detail about the student’s habit of waving away assignments or Ichigo’s general warnings to his students about the weight of a particular assignment to their grades. Perhaps he’d underestimated how frustrated he was because Ichigo found he’d been talking for over twenty minutes uninterrupted with only the occasional hum or muttered reply from Urahara to show he was listening.

It was cathartic in a way to vent about it. Ichigo didn’t want to complain to his felt professors. They had a way of looking at the students like they were pests rather than people.

But Urahara had always had patience in spades. It was different talking to Urahara about it. 

Years ago Urahara had been patient with a younger, strong-willed Ichigo himself. But never enough to let him neglect what needed learning. Never slow to correct, even if by force. 

“Look at you trying to adopt a new set of young, impressionable things.” Kisuke teased from the other end of the call. His amusement clear in his words.

With a snort Ichigo only found himself easily parrying the barb, “Like you can say shit about that one.”

“True, true.” Urahara had taken on Ichigo as a student. He was just as inclined to help Karin with her slowly developing powers, though far more willing than Ichigo liked most days. “You need to set the new generation in the right direction before you can let them go full steam.”

It hadn’t been Ichigo’s intention to be on the call so long, let alone not with his sisters. Or even his father for a little while. But Urahara was the right kind of mellow for his tired nerves and worn temperament. 

Tomorrow, and likely most of Sunday, would involve being up to his eyeballs in red ink. Student papers were tough to get through sometimes. Ichigo hated the idea of handing them over to a teacher’s aid for help too. Ichigo wanted to know his students better than that.

“Enough about that. Tell me about what’s going on with everyone.” Grading could wait for now.

it had been too long since Ichigo had received any news on the shinigami front of things. He didn’t know if Hinamori had finally succumbed to Hiyori’s suggestion to set Shinji on fire, or if Renji was still making cow-eyes at Unohana of all people. Nevermind Rangiku’s claims to have been trying to find Toshirou a girlfriend - as if that wouldn’t result in a body count. Even just the general crazy or what was passing through the rumor mill.

Urahara made a contemplative sound before be started to breakdown the recent developments he’d heard of on the front of Rukia’s potential love-life. With Ishida Uryuu, as unlikely a pair they were. 

It was just the distraction Ichigo seemed to need because he was laughing in no time as Kisuke kept talking. More time passing and the light in his office growing dimmer and dimmer as the night beyond the windows bled into blackness.

#unsentwrites #uraichi #urahara x ichigo #slow burn stuff here

[unsentwrites-blog1]

a thief’s honor

Eggsy’s only just hung up his one phone call when the door to the interrogation room opens with a uniformed officer. He’s in full uniform, including his cap which is pulled down to obscure most of his face. Eggsy can only catch the hint of a chin beginning to droop with age and gray hair along the man’s ears. Uniform even fitted, or old and undersized enough, to show a paunch.

Eggsy just assumes he’s about to be moved to general holding but instead the officer lifts his head to reveal a pair of brown eyes that don’t seem to sit quite right in the man’s face.

“Hands out.” His voice is hoarse and stern, frown deepening the lines about his mouth further. Even the faint crows feet at his eyes become more pronounced. 

With little other option Eggsy holds out his arms to be cuffed. Before the snap of the cuffs Eggsy spots the man’s badge and identification tag - Lupin, it reads. An odd name that nags at some part of Eggsy’s mind but is quickly forgotten as he’s tugged along by the arm back out into the corridor. 

Oddly enough Lupin keeps a hand on his shoulder and guides him along from behind. Not quick, jerking movements most officers provide that are mostly mean spirited more than helpful. The grip is solid but the guidance is mindfully gentle. It’s at odds with the gruff tone the man used, but how is Eggsy to know he isn’t just a soft-touch. If there was such a thing walking around in a bobby. 

No one stops them.

Which makes it awkward when Eggsy finds himself facing a fire door that clearly does not lead to any holding. Even stranger the grip on his shoulder leaves. 

Lupin comes around and is already removing the connection to the door with deft fingers. Little more than a reflex before he’s turning with key in hand and unlocked one half of Eggsy’s cuffs. All without a word one way or the other what he’s up to.

Eggsy still hasn’t made sense of it when Lupin is tucking the removed cuffs into one his pockets and offering a sly smile that doesn’t suit him. There’s a hint of shadowy stubbly alone his jaw, paler in patches by the hinge of his jaw. 

“Come along, Eggsy. We haven’t all day.” Lupin says and pushes open the fire door that doesn’t alarm to alert the rest of building to opening. He holds out a hand and pulls him, urges more than pulls, to go over the threshold out onto the  narrow alleyway. 

The sun is bright outside and Eggsy winces against it first stepping out even in the shadow of the narrow walls. Lupin is just behind him and he gives Eggsy a nudge at the shoulder to keep moving. “Keep going, out to the parked cars if you please.” Calm and polite as the man’s words are is slightly ruined by watching him jam his baton so no one can follow behind them through the first door. 

Lupin is just a step behind Eggsy’s confused giat after that. The man’s legs are unfairly long and don’t match his aged face. The muscle tone isn’t proportioned to the paunch he has.

“Fuck is goin’ on?” Eggsy hears himself ask, barely above a hissed whisper.

For a second Lupin says nothing. 

“Getting to released. Your phone call was to that effect, was it not?”

Eggsy had forgotten about the medallion around his neck. He’d only given it a try as a last ditch effort and expected nothing to come of it. This is something straight out of a Bond movie really. Strange gent turning up and leading him out without a hitch without revealing anything. Eggsy would suspect Dean’s hand at it but his type aren’t nearly so delicate about their dirty work. 

The alleyway opens out to the small rear parking lot. Patrol cars are lined up and a few of the detective’s personal vehicles are in the closest spots. Every car is empty and Lupin slips around Eggsy without so much as a glimpse back.

Without any better option Eggsy rushes after the man. Lupin goes around to the side of the car and opens the door to one of the patrol cars without even having to unlock it. 

“Passangers for you.” Lupin says and his eyes look brighter under the shadow of his cap than they did inside the station. 

Before Eggsy can make heads or tails of it all Lupin is ducking into the driver’s seat. In an effort not to be left behind Eggsy hurries into the passenger’s seat. He whacks his elbow and hisses out his discomfort. But he’s in his seat by the time Lupin is turning keys in the ignition. 

“Seatbelt.” Lupin says just before starting to reverse out of the parking spot without much notice.

Thousand questions in his head Eggsy finds the least helpful tumble out of his mouth first, “Seatbelt, are you for fuckin’ reals?”

Lupin gives him a peevish look for that and puts far more weight onto the gas than he needs to to get them out of the lot. There are no screeching tires but Eggsy jolts and nearly hits his head on the dash.

“Mind your mouth.” 

Rather than argue Eggsy pulls his seatbelt down and snaps it into place before turning a sharp look at Lupin. It’s about then the name hits the right recognition points of his memory. A famous thief has the same name or a similar one - fictional but definitely not the kind of name you find morally bound. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Eggsy asks, something a little like hysteria starting to rise in his chest.

“The man who gave you that medal. And the man who kept you out of a cell; a little gratitude would be nice.”

“That ain’t an answer.” Eggsy grumbled but took a good look at not-Lupin once more. The paunch didn’t look natural with not-Lupin sitting. 

After removing the cap and a wig to reveal a head of a much more appealing chestnut-colored hair the man answered. “Harry Hart.” 

Whether removing the wig disturbed something or being in closed quarters with the man brought it about Eggsy could smell make up. Or it reminded him of his mom’s cosmetics. The way the powders smelled or the goop that came in the tubes did. Not a thing he could put into words but something Eggsy could recognize and categorize none the less. 

“You ain’t no cop.”

The statement stuccoed Hart as funny because he laughed, soft and almost breathless by the end that did something strange to Eggsy’s stomach. 

“I am indeed no such thing.”

The wig was tossed into the back of the car behind the plexi-partrition. The cap rolled some and hit the hard plastic seat. Harry was tugging at his shit collar and the primly buttoned collar gave under a firm pull of his fingers. Tie sliding and pulled loose enough to go over his head in short order. The tie joined the cap in back.

“I operate on the other side of the law, Eggsy.”

“Know a few in there that still apply, ya know.” Eggsy shouldn’t have been pleased at the amused nod in recognition he received.

Harry glanced sideways at him when he was forced to slow at the red light. “Tell me Eggsy would you perhaps be open to a job interview?”

Thoughts not able to settle into the meaning of that Eggsy gave into the hysteria-tinged laugh bubbling up his throat. “Why not.” Because nothing about the moment could get stranger.

“Ah excellent.” Harry’s eyes were before on the traffic well in time for the light to change to green. “How do you fancy becoming an apprentice international thief?”

Eggsy could only stare. Especially when Harry put his foot to the floor and wove through the traffic just barely after he put on the lights and sirens of the patrol car. Naturally people parted for them and they sped forward leaving the station further and further behind. 

“What have I got to lose...” It wasn’t a bold or dedicated response but there was only so much Eggsy’s mind could handle within fifteen minutes. When he caught up he might sing a different tune. 

What tune that would be, even Eggsy wasn’t positive.

#unsentwrites #future hartwin #thief au #thief!harry #hartwin

[unsentwrites-blog1]

Hey, @pensversusswords​ and @brandnewfashion​ you two seem like you could use something a little fun and silly. Now here’s the Pokemon AU of Check, Please no one asked for because reasons. Very much ZimBits centric.

Jack was a former champion challenger that everyone assumed would walk away with a victory like his father Bad Bob did. With both of his parents bend formidable trainers in their younger days most people assumed it stood to reason that Jack would be a big name in the competitive arenas. 

Except Jack completely blows a battle before his formal long awaited challenge of the elite four in Kalos. A battle against Kent who goes on and while he doesn’t make champion gets a good name for himself by making it to the champion. Kent keeps up his competitive battling and has some rematches with gym leaders before moving onto other regions to bulk up his team further. 

Which leaves poor Jack to deal with the aftermath of his loss. 

It takes time but when Jack sorts himself out he decides to pull back away from the any competitive battling. Instead Jack gives research a try. There’s a great deal of mythology in all the regions about the origins and evolution of pokemon. It’s fascinating and Jack starts to dig further into the topic before he has his breakthrough to stop being a competitive trainer. So with his parents full support Jack heads off to Hoenn to work as an intern for some of the researchers in the area, as well as to take time away from Kalos. 

And Jack finds very quickly that he sort of loves this new choice of his. His pokemon at his side crawling around through old caves and taking in some of the oldest established towns for clues about details about pokemon. It’s refreshing not to have to strategize or calculate the way he used to as a trainer. 

It’s not until he ends up meeting a group of other trainers in one of the smaller Hoenn cities that Jack realizes he might miss battling. Or more specifically it’s not until he meets Eric Bittle that Jack eventually realizes he might miss battling. 

Because Jack can’t help but to find it so amazingly endearing to see Eric who wants to get into the competitive scene but is terrified of his pokemon being hurt. And Jack remembers that fear being there for him too but also the elation of being a team. Working with his pokemon who trusted him enough to listen. Especially when Bittle can get spitting mad if anyone calls his pokemon weak or not suited for competitive fights. Bitty hasn’t let anyone tell him that his pokemon can’t beat anything they come up against despite Jack knowing logically a bunneary, no matter how cute, isn’t going to be able to take down any top-tier fighting types. Not that Jack doesn’t like Senior, he’s just worried about the little guy(s).  

Of course Jack has to offer to help Bitty train. It’s not the easiest thing to manage when Bitty is so concerned about every little bump and scratch his pokemon get. Jack feels like a stereotypical villain each time his own pokemon get a little rough, and they seem to feel guilty about it too, with every battle. But no matter what Jack sends out Bitty’s pokemon never seem inclined to back down. Especially Senior. 

And Jack encourages them along with Bitty through the fights. That aren’t really battle so much as training exercises. 

It makes Jack happier than he’s been in awhile to see Bitty as well as his pokemon working so hard. Jack doesn’t go easy on them when he can help it because Bitty let him know fast he didn’t appreciate that. And Senior might have head butted his knees too, which hurt more than it ought to have for something that fluffy. 

It doesn’t take all that long before Jack actually has to try to keep Bitty from winning their exercises. None of which go on until the pokemon faint, but Jack’s impressed and pleased with the improvement. It’s not everyday you see a bunneary fearlessly thunder punch a pyroar in the face. 

Meanwhile Bitty is getting more impressed with what Jack knows and grateful for his being so willing to help. Especially when he finds out Jack’s been traveling around doing research that he’s putting off to stay put. Bitty does try to convince him to get back to it but Jack just keeps saying it’s good for him to have a break. 

Bitty doesn’t get Jack to change his mind about leaving but he does end up asking what Jack’s been up to. Only to see a new side of Jack he hadn’t before as the man positively lights up and explains the headway he’s made into his research on pokemon origins and evolution theory. Stuff that’s been around since well before poke balls were a thing. Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone talk about apricorns for that long but it’s sort of cute when Jack goes into the details about how they can still make them into poke balls. 

Unsurprisingly Bitty puts everything he’s got into becoming a better trainer. He reads up on what Jack suggests, goes through the drills that are exhausting, and reminds himself that Jack wouldn’t ever really hurt any pokemon for their mock battles. But it is paying off and Bitty can see that for himself. The results don’t put up to an argument. 

Still Jack has been putting off his research and he can’t exactly excuse it for good. Bitty isn’t wrong in telling him he’s put his own life on hold but Jack doesn’t mind. Instead he’s found it strangely energizing to do this. He’s missed this element of his life. Bitty requires he use strategy instead of brute force and Bitty isn’t above messing with him either. Not that it’s the suffocating feeling being at the plateau gave him. No this is just...fun.

Eventually Bitty feels confident enough that he challenges Jack to a battle. Jack says he wants to hold off just long enough to get himself a better team to be a fair match for Bitty. While Bitty wants to argue it it’s hard to deny that it’s even recognized by the regulations of competitive battle that trainers not take battles of drastically uneven leveled pokemon for safety.

Jack takes a page out of Bitty’s book and gets pokemon that he just likes instead of worrying about their strategic values alone. He doesn’t worry about their innate abilities or their natures either. 

If Jack got himself a Bunneary the look on Bitty’s face is completely worth it.

It’s not a long battle, Jack has more practical experience and he wins. Though he has to reevaluate after the first knock out. Jack had been more focused on Bitty being too upset by it he’d lost two of his own lineup. 

Bitty is anxious, more about his pokemon than the loss but while they’re waiting at the center to heal their pokemon Bitty admits he isn’t that afraid because he knows Jack wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not really. Jack is more pleased about that than he probably has any right to be that Bitty trusts him like that. And Jack thanks Bitty when they leave the center with their teams in fighting form again. Explains to Bitty some of what happened to him, glossing over some details that are just too personal still to share, and that doing this with Bitty has reminded him why he wanted to be a trainer to begin with. 

But Jack admittedly has to get back to his research and Bitty is solidly on his own feet now as a trainer. So Jack says his goodbye, and gets himself covered in static when Senior says goodbye too. 

Bitty might make Jack promise to write, and call, and visit just so he can hear updates about his research. 

Before he leaves Jack gives Bitty a poke ball with a litleo saying it’s only fair since he now has a bunneary because of Bitty. Jack obviously has to come back and make sure Bitty is raising the little guy right too so they’ll see each other again.

#omgcp au #omgcp pokemon au #unsentwrites #zimbits #pensversusswords #brandnewfashion

[unsentwrites-blog1]

Young & Broke

Tony stared at the monitor and blinked a few times, dumbfounded. His tiny cubicle was currently overstuffed, an inbox overflowing and bits of a few of the PCs he had to repair sitting across what little desk space he had. It was the usual disaster it stayed in because Tony didn’t have time in his schedule to straighten up. 

But Tony was far more preoccupied by the contents of the e-mail he’d just gotten a response to. He’d had questions for the sales department about some repair work he had to do. It had been poorly labeled, he’d been sorting through it at the tail end of shift after a long week. So Tony wasn’t shocked he’d misread something. The passive aggressive piss fest in the e-mail was a little more surprising. Debby was normally bubbly is absent-minded and completely lacked a verbal filter. Apparently she didn’t appreciate her time being wasted but had no qualms about never giving Tony the answers he needed. Or giving their outside of office reps the appropriate directions to get their tech back sooner.

A fluttering feeling started in Tony’s neck as his pulse rose with his irritation level. Tony did his best to remember to take in slow, deep breaths to calm his raising heart rate. But there was only so much you could do against the forces of adrenaline. 

All the same Tony gritted his teeth and glowered at his monitor. It would have been easier to ignore if it had just been the one thing, but it was the one thing too many. Overworked, under rested, and sadly overwhelmed with his workload Tony just found this instance ground him down. He had a software validation to write and then review, a harddrive to replace and a PC to entirely setup again because of an outdated accountant being stupid, and a small stack of DRCNs to sign off on after overlooking. Never mind the near continuous small grade complaints that people should have been able to sort on their own with a Google search. But few people seemed motivated to sort out their own problems if they could hand it over to someone else.

There was a scream trapped somewhere in Tony’s chest that had he not been in the middle of the office during the later afternoon he might have let out. The janitors had heard him swearing a blue streak more than once on the nights he was forced to stay late because someone else hadn’t done their job. Or had kept him from doing his own.

Tony didn’t even feel the desk when he let his head drop down to it.

“Fuck, I hate my job.” As if to reply or correct him Tony’s desk phone began to ring. He was tempted to ignore it. instead he reached blindly to pull the handset off the receiver. “IT.” Tony managed to get out without bothering to liste his head still just hanging between the support his chair and the desk offered.

“Copier’s jammed again.” 

Ken was the receptionist. She wasn’t so bad and Tony didn’t mind her company. She was the type who seemed to genuinely care when she asked how you were doing. Tony wasn’t quite so happy to hear her voice just that second.

“That Toshiba needs to die in a fire.” Tony cracked an unwilling smile when Ken laughed on the other end of the line.

“Agreed. Still the managers are doing reviews,” the unspoken understanding passed between two minions, “so can you come take a look at it soon?” Ken asked, bare hint of pleading in her voice.

Tony wasn’t so unsympathetic he’d leave her hanging knowing very well how some of the managers like to bitch and moan. Especially at anyone below their station when they found blame for things completely outside of their control happened. 

“Yeah give me ten and I’ll be over. Debby isn’t around is she?”

“No...why? And does this have anything to do with why she was in a snit?”

“Probably, but you never know.” Tony bit back something far less polite sitting on the tip of his tongue. Jarvis would have given him hell if he started tossing around the kind of things he was thinking. Not to mention what Aunt Peggy would have had to say.

Ken huffed and it was slightly static, probably being just a little too close to the microphone of the receiver. “Don’t pay her any mind. She lives on her own planet.”

“Be up in a few.” Tony said as he finally straightened himself up in his seat. There was a crick in his back from sitting so long and crouching to deal with the copier wasn’t going to help that feeling. So he hung up and got an aspirin out of his desk drawer. his water bottle had gone missing over two hours ago so he swallowed the pill dry instead.

After that Tony got to his feet and took a deep breath. A mantra of “I love my job” repeating in his head as he made his way down to the front desk to let Ken know he was dealing with the copier. 

He wasn’t paid nearly enough but on the brightside he could say he wasn’t someone like Justin Hammer who owned the entire company but only breezed through to cause chaos in his wake. Hammer was due for another visit in the not too distant future and Tony was loathing that quarterly routine he had to being a pest. 

Ken was on the phone by the time Tony made the last corner after a short but stale smelling elevator ride down three floors. But she waved to him as he passed and Tony waved back. 

Sure enough in the supply room, where the copier was kept to be out of sight was one of the managers. He was red faced and muttering under his breath at the copier. Tony would bet the man was the cause of the entire debacle. But he wasn’t a face Tony was overly familiar with, not that he tended to meet with much of management. Minions were sent to deliver their burdens and jobs most frequently. 

Without bothering to make conversation Tony went to the touchpad of the copier to check on the cue status of prints to make sure they were all paused. Then he was checking over any routine relays the copier itself gave when there were paper jams or low toner levels. Sure enough there was a jam in the middle of the machine. An easy enough fix. 

“About time someone showed up to fix this.”

Rather than rise to the bait Tony only went around to the side and pulled the panel back to get a look at the working go the copier. Three pages were stuffed into a space they were meant to go one at a time. It was a bit of a squeeze but Tony managed to get his fingers on the sheets with enough of the grip to wrench them out. One of them tore on the way out which was of no surprise to Tony. But the path looked clear now so Tony straightened up and closed up the panel. 

Instead of the triumphant whine of the copier machine resuming it’s printing it beeped unpleasantly instead. 

Tony went around ignoring the huff behind him from the manager. Or maybe he was the new head of sales. 

On the touch screen Tony quickly found out it was saying the toner was empty. Another easy fix but odd it hadn’t been there before on his previous check. So Tony pulled the front panel down instead of the side to get to the toner cartridges. One of them looked like it wasn’t flush as it ought to be which could have been the issue. Tony gave it a push but it eased back out to stick out just a little too far. Thinking the cartridge might have been in backwards instead Tony pulled it out. 

“Can’t you fix it-”

Tony didn’t hear the rest of the man’s complaining as his hands, arms, and pants ended up spotted in pure magenta toner. Everything was still for a second as more of the tone seeped into the khaki of Tony’s pants and seeped between the lines of his palms. 

Grabbing one of the wastebaskets in the room Tony at least managed to save the carpet, somewhat. There were spots just as covered as Tony himself was but more toner as on Tony than staining the carpet. Once he was sure the cartridge was dripping into the trash he took a look at it. 

When cartridges were shipped they had a strip and seal over them to avoid leaking. Neither of them had been removed when the cartridge had been put into the copier. Attempting to force them, likely not but just Tony himself, had broken them and gotten the toner moving. Meaning a great big mess of a full cartridge spilling out. Turning it over to prevent more leaking Tony peeled off the seals aware of his the way his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

The urge to scream was stronger than before. 

The manager was suspiciously quiet. Enough that Tony looked over at him to see him looking everywhere but at Tony himself. 

“Get some paper towels.” Tony heard himself say with more bite than he’d normally give any of the managing staff. But today he was covered in bright pink because some moron couldn’t read the boxes before putting a toner cartridge in.

Surprisingly Tony didn’t get any comment or scolding for it as the man just quickly fled the room. Hopefully to do what he’d been told. Otherwise it was going to be a juggling act Tony couldn’t even handle without making one hell of a mess.

#unsentwrites #young & broke au #young and broke au #young tony stark #broke tony stark #office worker Tony #non-powered au #office au #that one work day from hell everyone has had

[unsentwrites-blog1]

Return of the nerd

Thanks to a bad decision on my part to never update my tumblr linked e-mail account I can’t get back into my old blog, unsentpromises. So rather than get too bent out of shape about it I’m revamping. I’m back y’all! (Y’all being the four people that I ever actually talked to on this site, but hey y’all.)

Any of you want to start filling up my shiny new, empty inbox there’s a link for it. 

#unsentpromises #unsentwrites #unsent personal #brandnewfashion #ravenisthegem #pensversusswords

[unsentpromises-blog]

To Defy II

The dark passage was claustrophobically narrow compared to the open view of the lands Eggsy had on the bridge. Only the light from behind offering any means to see ahead. Galahad moved on steadily unbothered by the darkness that seemed to engulf them all. It unsettled something, just barely, within Eggsy who hadn’t felt much of anything in days since Harry’s death. A wrongness that weighed his stomach down and shivered over his skin. But there was no turning back, os Eggsy only clutched at the weight in his lap to ground himself. Even in death somehow Harry was able to act as a pillar of guidance to him. It was enough to remind him why he had come to such a place. 

Eggsy closed his eyes against the darkness as they went further and the little light filtering behind them vanished. Everything he had known was behind him now. The world, the people, and the life he had known were in the past. Now all Eggsy truly had was Harry in this strange, new place. 

He’d hesitated the night before when he’d stolen away. Looking at the sleeping face of his mother and Daisy when he’d bid them goodbye. Wondering if he shouldn’t have been tethered to his life rather than a dead man. He’d hesitated before taking away the enchanted sword resting across the burial shawl at the moment as well. Knowing he’d be taking something Kingsman had guarded for a great many years from their hold. It was an action tantamount to betrayal to the organization that was so riddled with cracks it might be its undoing. Eggsy had felt guilt in his selfishness but it had not been enough to stop him. Even now thinking how Roxy or Merlin would take his theft; how his mother might have to accept the loss of her son and the last link she truly had to his father in the world. 

But a life ahead of him without Harry had been too suffocating a possibility. Each moment he’d thought he’d grounded himself into accepting moving forward Eggsy would falter. Harry had created in him a weakness Eggsy had never had before his appearance into his life. it was a weakness Eggsy hated but longer for in equal parts. A weakness that made him desperate. 

The darkness around them brightened slowly. Eggsy saw brightness behind his closed eyelids and opened his eyes to greet it. 

While the light reached down the narrow corridor to them it was there, a brilliant point in the distance. Keeping up their pace Eggsy could make out color once more slowly. Could see the way the stone around him was indeed worn smooth from time. Even the slight bob of a stray weed as they disturbed the air in their some procession. 

It looked something like an antechamber they Galahad stepped out into. But even the antechamber made the passage they had come through look minuscule by comparison. At the center was a filled pool, that Eggsy might have assumed was a well were it not filled to the brim with water. It was perhaps a cistern instead, there was an opening up above in that went too high for him to make out entirely. But the water was still and dark. 

Everything was made of the same stone that all looked just as worn as the passage. Within there were less weeds or small flowered flora to be found, but by openings that let in the sunlight Eggsy could make out the dark contrast of them against the brightness. 

Leading out from the antechamber was what looked like the heart of the castle. Fitted to the image Eggsy had been granted in his slow trot across the bridge. Eggsy had felt insignificant many instances in his life and they all amounted to how he felt in this place. Like little more than a grain of sand as Galahad went further into the open space of the main body of the castle. Straight ahead were a set of steps that left up to an alter, all likewise stone. Tall, narrow high arched windows and then a great opening facing toward the mountains that Eggsy had barely been able to make out before. The space was so bright after the tunnel it made Eggsy squint against the light until his eyes had a moment to adjust. Galahad pawed a bit more with his steps.

Trying to avoid looking directly into the bright light ahead Eggsy found himself turning his head. When he did he caught the statues of creatures he’d never imagined lined the walls on each side. They were blocky and angular in appearance making them somewhat crude but they were over twice the size of Eggsy himself in height easily. Like the doors that had led to the small passage they looked impossible to move. Even in the brilliance of the room they were harsh somehow. 

But onwards Eggsy encourage Galahad to go. 

Shy of the steps leading up to the alter Eggsy stopped the stallion. Galahad offered no protest and halted. Carefully Eggsy shoved the sword back into the pack. Then he adjusted his hold of Harry bound in his shawl and slid them both off the saddle. His feet landed apart for a wide stance that smarted at his knees some but kept him from toppling over. 

Better adjusted to the light Eggsy carried Harry up the steps. There was more detail to the whole room than his initial sight had led him to believe. Some of the stone was carved in a manner that Eggsy was unfamiliar with. But it mattered little to him.

He almost hesitated to put Harry down. Even if the weight of him was beginning to make his arms protest. 

Carefully Eggsy laid Harry out to lie flat before he tugged at the ties atop the burial shawl wrapped around him. They came unwound with the right pull and twist and the fabric parted. The flap of it was strangely loud and reverberated against the stone walls and floor. 

Lying in the sun, looking too pale and cold to the touch, was Harry. Still the gray at his temple and his face swept clean of emotion. The light did strange things thought and Eggsy thought if Harry had been paler by nature he’d have only appeared to be sleeping. He glowed in the sunlight, or shone perhaps. A strange, silent figure that seemed to suit the alter on which he now laid. Eggsy looked down at him and laid a hand over Harry’s arm. He knew how cold he was now but he couldn’t help the urge to seek him out still. 

Galahad let out a sharp whine and a series of stomps startling Eggsy from his morose train of thought. 

When he turned to look Eggsy immediately saw the cause of the horse’s sudden fright. Impossibly from the very cracks of the stone rose dark, shadowy thin limbed wraiths. They only had singular points of brightness that were where a man’s eyes should have been. They shivered and wavered in place, not looking so solid as anything mortal might. They filled Eggsy with a strange kind of fear that even his grief could not fully suppress. 

Rather than remain still Eggsy rushed down the stone steps to Galahad, taking them a few at a time. He caught the horses’s bridle to stop him from fleeing or rearing up. But rather than out of compassion to have done as much for the steed he went for the saddle bag and pulled the sword he had stolen free. Taking a few steps away from Galahad should the horse rear or kick Eggsy unbound the hilt from the scabbard. With a sure tug after that Eggsy threw the scabbard aside and looked ar the now half dozen and more creatures shakily coming his way. 

Fear still a cold, sick feeling in his throat and stomach Eggsy watched them not sure what earthly thing they could be. But his grief, his outrage, and his desperation rose to a boiling point. With a hoarse wordless shout Eggsy swung the blade clean through one of the shadow beasts. It dissipated immediately into nothing.

The rest of the creatures came to a halt and didn’t approach further. 

Eggsy held his ground, surprised at how strangely out of breath he felt. Tension shaking under his skin and taking deep lungfuls of air as he stood, sword clutched too tightly in one hand to his side. He had been ready to beat away the group of them but they came no closer and part of Eggsy wished they would. He still had so much anger buried in his over Harry’s death and King’s death had not quenched it. He felt no more man than these creatures looked. Nothing like the knight he had been in training to become, but a beast. 

Galahad beside him kept steady but his breathing was distressed.

“You come better prepared than the last.”

The voice from above nearly startled Eggsy into dropping the blade. His fingers tightened until it bit into his hand painfully. The voice had been booming in the quiet, from where the ceiling looked to be. The words making no sense to him.

Turning his eyes upwards to the ceiling Eggsy found a dark recess that reminded him of the pool in the antechamber. It was darker than even the corridor had seemed leading to the castle. A darkness that was more than the absence of light, but somehow almost seemed animated.

“You’re the god they talk about in this place?” Eggsy heard himself ask. 

The shadowy figures stood still as they were able, flickering as they did like a candle’s flame did. But when the voice spoke again they dissipated like smoke but with no trace.

“I have been called many things. What do you come here for mortal?”

Alone once more Eggsy looked over to the alter. “There’s a way to bring the dead back to life here, isn’t there?”

There was a long pause, long enough that Eggsy worried before they spoke again.

“Ground mortals don’t tread. Your kind do not deal with the ways of the dead.” There was a hint of something besides the distance Eggsy had heard in the voice before. Something darker, perhaps anger or disdain. “There will be a price.”

His eyes didn’t leave the still form on the alter. 

“That’s fine.”

There was another pause, this one longer than the last. But no shadow creatures appeared. The burial shawl only fluttered in a breeze that came through the great many windows by the alter. 

“Very well.” The voice said, almost gently. “You must destroy the idols to fulfill your request. Don’t waste time trying to dismantle them with your bare hands they are not ordinary stone. If you wish to revive that man you must find within this land the colossi they represent. Kill the colossi and they shall live again.”

Eggsy didn’t quite know where to begin. many questions came to mind but the words were so formless in his head. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he could only stare at Harry. This had been a fool’s errand one he hadn’t thought would even be possible. This was more of a chance than he had ever anticipated. 

Eggsy climbed the steps to the alter. He took Harry’s hand in his own. 

“How can I find them?”

“Raise the sword to the light and it will point the way.” Again the voice, feminine but not at some instances, seemed to gentle beyond the sternness that seemed common to it.

Eggsy nodded, swallowing around a sudden tightness in his throat. He laid Harry’s hand back down gently as if he could have hurt him otherwise. 

“Thank you.” Eggsy heard himself whisper as he pried himself away to take up the saddle on Galahad’s back once more. He stopped long enough to collect the scabbard to sheathe the blade. From there Eggsy tied it to his belt this time instead of the saddle. 

He had his leg over Galahad and was settling into the saddle when the voice piped up again.

“Good luck, mortal.”

Rather than reply Eggsy merely nodded and urged Galahad along. There was a set of steps that led past the alter and outside to more stairs that led downwards to the vast open plains Eggsy had seen from above on the bridge. Eggsy did look to the alter as they went past offering silent promises to return, to succeed before he emerged into the open sunlight.

#unsentwrites #shadow of the colossus au #hartwin

[unsentpromises-blog]

To Defy

Galahad shifted nervously on his first few steps down the length of the ancient, long unused stonework bridge that led into the forbidden lands. Eggsy only had to give the stallion a little urging to set a steady pace. Small weeds easily bending beneath the weight of the the horse and its baggage. A steady clop of hooves the only sound above the sound of wind moving through the large open arches of the bridge. 

But the bridge afforded a look at the forbidden landscape. Distant dark mountains loomed to the west, with a deep, thin chasm leading up to them it appeared. Great stretches of open, untouched fields lay directly below the bridge itself that went on further than most towns did back home. Some of the grassy land seemed to give way to sand or rock as the terrain changed and Eggsy thought there might have been a shine from a body of water far, far off. Truthfully he could only mostly see fields even from the impressive height of hundreds of meters above the plains themselves. 

So much land and not a single creature upon it. It should be strange if the land had been long untouched by humans. No deer grazing or even the smallest of song birds flitting through the sky. There was no sound beyond Galahad’s hooves beside the drone of the wind when it picked up. The solitude of it reminded Eggsy of the weight across his lap, enough that he eyes strayed down to the tied burial shawl. He spread his fingers over the embroider shawl and felt the heavy weight of it against even his worn hands. 

Guilt nagged at Eggsy’s consciousness. Merlin had gone to so much trouble to try and make Harry’s burial as respectable as the old knight would have wished. But Eggsy was young and too grief stricken to have accepted the death of his mentor so well. So he had stolen away with Harry’s faithful steed, Galahad, and the body long gone cold to one last hope.

His mother would no doubt be beside herself to have him gone with no explanation. Even Roxy and Merlin only had a letter to explain his actions. 

But Harry’s body hadn’t been his only theft. One more artifact had been required for the gateway that lay at the end of the bridge leading into the looming castle. It was aged and one edge looked ready to fall inwards but still standing. All the stones were wind worn and looked like they should be smooth to the touch between the weeds or moss that managed to seed itself between them. 

Despite that Eggsy could feel the odd sensation in the air of this place. An undercurrent in the wind that made his hair raise on end. Long ago people had fled or been cast out by the last shred of the gods that still supposedly lingered on mortal soil. A terrible creature was supposed to be trapped within the castle itself, nurturing an old hatred for humanity. Many, many years ago humans had entrapped a weakened demon god they had called Gazelle - a name still capable of putting fright into the unjustly cruel. 

A scabbard attached to Galahad’s saddle gave him the same buzzing he felt in just the very air of this land - magic. The last hope Eggsy had.

In the land forbidden to humans there supposedly lived a demon god who could return life to the dead. 

The doors were not made of wood but stone and they would have been too heavy for any mortal to budge. Not even an army could have heaved them open. Eggsy felt impossibly small looking up at them but the feel of thread beneath his fingers wouldn’t let him be frightened off. Looking the intricate pattern of the shawl over once more Eggsy took a breath meant to fortify himself before he began to unfasten the ties holding the scabbard to the saddle. Barely in hand the doors before them gave an ominous groan before they began to swing inwards. The weight of the shaking the stone of the bridge and making deafening noise. Galahad startled but calmed when Eggsy drew in the reins and pressed closer to him, shush and whispering reassurances he did not believe. 

Demon gods were not to be trifled with and Eggsy had no expectations he would leave these lands alive. But if he failed then he might still be able to achieve what he hoped to - a reunion. 

When the doors came to a stop everything was still once more. The quiet nearly deafening in comparison to the scraping and screech of the doors when they had opened. The path ahead of dark but still Eggsy gave Galahad a few more pats to calm him before nudging his sides to urge him forward. 

Into the darkness of the castle they went, one hand clutching at Galahad’s reins while the other clung at the weight of Harry across his lap, without looking back.

#unsentwrites #shadow of the colossus au #hartwin

[unsentpromises-blog]

She is the dawn and the setting sun, the tempest and the calm beneath the sea. Within her is the makings of stars, contained in her is the legacy of suns past. Infinity as sure as breath, uncertain as life. A curling darkness that dwarfs the light, or a brilliant shine that blinds - in her is every moment of error and victory alike. So let her be in herself true.

#unsentwrites

[unsentpromises-blog]

Galahad Lives

warning: not gonna be what you want it to be or even close to that.  Major Canon Character Death

After two years of silence a single very Bond themed message came in - Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. It’s more classic Bond dialogue than the recent films and Eggsy can’t help that it rekindles a treacherous hope he’d extinguished. Grief and acceptable couldn’t trump blind hope.

So Eggsy had put on a suit and become Galahad. Merlin in his ear her went to an arranged meeting spot, both pretending not to be hoping for the same thing. Harry Hart being more impossible than he had any right to be, because they missed him dearly. Enough that a ghost of a chance had them both on the more to investigate.

It was a calm day and the gardens their messenger had chosen were fragrant with roses mostly. But Eggsy thought he could spot stalks of lavender as well, among other small, colorful flowers he rightly knew nothing about. It leant a dream-like quality to it all. As if Eggsy was having just another restless night and his mind had conjured up some fantasy for him. But the almost suffocating smell of the roses was hardly something Eggsy appreciated. He’d rather smell a back alley over so much of the flora around him. Beautiful as the roses were they seemed oddly foreboding. Why Eggsy thought of Alice painting the roses red in the Queen of Hearts’s gardens when his eyes round a bush of red petal he wasn’t certain.

None of that mattered a little further on the path, away from the few others scattered about that looked like professional gardeners. It was a privately owned garden so it wasn’t unsurprising to see no one else around. Until Eggsy laid eyes on a man in a suit. Tall and broad across the shoulders with their back to Eggsy. 

The niggling little hope caught in Eggsy’s throat and his knees shook until he locked them. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat Eggsy made his way closer until he had to stop due to his suddenly rubbery legs. Merlin was silent in his ear. He didn’t even make a peep when Eggsy forced the name out of his mouth.

“Harry?” 

But the face that looked back at Eggsy was not the one he hoped to see.

Charlie grinned at him in his bespoke pinstriped suit. Hair carefully styled just as Harry used to, and now Eggsy did. It was worse than the ghost Eggsy saw stare back at him from the mirror. 

Two years Eggsy had grieved, had went on his way from a man who wouldn’t be returning. Shed his tears and vented his anger at an empty grave vainly thinking it meant he’d moved on. That he’d hoped, that he’d come here expecting to see Harry revealed the ugly truth - Eggsy hadn’t let him go. 

“Don’t look so disappointed, Eggy. You’ll have your reunion.” Charlie said smirking and drawing a pistol from a shoulder holster under his suit jacket. 

Merlin roused from his shock and shouted at Eggsy to find cover or curl up to let the suit take the shot. 

Instead Eggsy looked down at the barrel and heard himself get out before the shot only a few words.

“This ain’t that kinda movie.” 

Two week later Merlin found a message on his personal server - Eggsy, where the devil are my slippers? 

Harry Hart had just missed his successor’s funeral. 

#implied Hartwin #at least one-sided on Eggsy's part #unsentwrites #unsentangeywrites #see if I get any responses to this

[unsentpromises-blog]

you cross my mind (from time to time)

@brandnewfashion @pensversusswords @lady-pei because we’re gonna suffer together through this now.

No one ever appreciates something until it’s gone - Jack’s familiar with the phrase. But it’s not until graduation that Jack understands what that means about a person.

It’s in the way Jack doesn’t have any words to describe why Bitty’s retreating back makes something in his stomach drop past his feet. Not immediately but the more time passes can’t find his footing again. His bearings aren’t in line for him to keep his mind from drifting. Not unlike how his hands keep drifting up to his tie, fiddling with it. It tugs it out of place form where Bitty straightened it for him. He’d almost think he misbuttoned his shirt with how fidgety he feels. But it’s all done up properly, his robe isn’t even too warm on top of his clothes. 

Something is just missing.

Jack’s distracted enough he almost misses his dad’s suggestion of taking a last round on the rink. But that’s not what he wants to do. “No not that.” He mutters with another shift and tug on his tie.

“Ah.” His dad sounds like he’s thinking about something involved. Sure enough After Bob Zimmerman puts his hand over his son’s shoulder he starts. “You know what you uncle always says ‘You miss one-hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’” 

Looking back at his dad Jack doesn’t quite know what he means. “What do you mean?”

“I mean go say goodbye.” Bob says with a little good humored understanding. He was that age once, after all. “You won’t be back here for sometime you know?”

Everyone’s been working on making peace with graduation. Shitty’s haircut had been one of the biggest markers. But the half-packed boxes and cap and gown had had their own weight as well. Still Jack doesn’t think it’s fully set in he won’t be coming back to Samwell. Not for him, not for Shitty. Haus isn’t home away from home anymore. 

“If that’s what your heart is telling you, you should really go.” Bob gives his son’s shoulder a squeeze to encourage him. 

Jack is looking off in the direction of the Haus. Bitty’s long gone so he doesn’t know why he’s hoping to spot him bidding his last goodbye. Bitty’s who despite his size is easy to find. 

Bitty who hugged him and acted like they were never going to see one another again.

Bitty who Jack can pick out of a crowd without meaning to now. Jack can even see pieces of Bitty in strangers - in a laugh, in off-key pop songs, in the smell of cinnamon and apples. 

And Jack has been looking, searching for Bitty.

His photography project suddenly comes to mind. Jack remembers developing the photos. Remembers one of the other students mentioning Bitty was in a fair few of the last rolls he’d taken. 

“Go really say goodbye.” Bob mutters and lets his hand slide off his son’s shoulder. He’s already planning to text his wife to tell her to take her time. No sense in rushing them both.

All Jack can do is breath out an “oh.”

“Euh. J’reviens.” Jack gets out even as he’s already started to take his first few steps to work up to a run. Wide strides before he’s at the jog against the grass sweeping easily between assembled families and friends. He’s not even twenty feet before he’s running.

Because he understands now. Just why he’s thought about why he’s going to miss Bitty so much. Or why even parting way with Shitty hadn’t left him so disoriented. Leaving Haus that morning hadn’t been as disorienting as watching Bitty go. 

Really he should have sort fit out sooner with the number of pictures he’d accumulated of Eric Bittle smiling. Or maybe when he felt his own smile turn up when those developed. 

Jack knows he must be making a fool of himself, full-tilt running in his gown and tie swaying up enough to swat him in the face at least once or twice. But he doesn’t care. Not when he needs to see Bitty again. He’s even half sure he imagines a car playing Beyonce as he runs past. If he could spare the breath he’d laugh. As it is his throat is already burning because he isn’t pacing his inhales and exhales to his pace. 

A few turns are too wide and another is tight because Jack hauls himself around but holding onto a lamp post. 

His dad wasn’t wrong about his wanting to have more time with Bitty but Jack doesn’t want to say goodbye. He wants it to be something more like - until later. Goodbye is the problem, it’s too final. Two years isn’t nearly long enough.

Jack was taking this shot even if Bittle could be a little shit. 

“Bittle!” Jack shouted ahead of himself as he barely caught himself on the door jamb of Bitty’s room. To find it empty. 

Just as his shoulders were starting to fall and his heart drop Jack heard it behind him, though it was strained. A singing voice he knew, though the sniffling distorted it. He’d been woken up enough by it to be too familiar with the timber and tone. 

He hadn’t been too late.

Jack still didn’t have any words to explain himself. Didn’t know what to say, or how to could tell Bitty what he’d finally realized. In fact anything but Bitty’s name was more than he could manage just that second. Between his own revelations to the signs of tears on his face. 

He’d just followed the pull toward Bitty. Something settling back into place he’d never noticed before. And when kissed him he finally had some words.

You’re the one I’m looking for - because I love you. 

#unsentwrites #zimbits #jackbitty #omgcp #omgcp spoilers #couldn't not do it

[unsentpromises-blog]

the call

Here’s some demon!Eggsy because there needs to be some of it out there. There is some violent that is typical to the canon content. And you know some language. 

Out in the Kentucky sun Harry Hart bleeds and drifts somewhere between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Trapped between his slanted view of pavement and memories of days long past. All thoughts of Valentine gone from his mind. 

After many years of service Harry’s stared death in the face more often than most. Each time he’s come away intact. Merlin’s accused him of being the luckiest bastard to walk the planet but his old friend doesn’t know one of the oldest secrets Harry has guarded since his knighting. Harry doesn’t have incomprehensible luck but he does have a secret weapon as it were. One that should be along shortly if their history has any dependability to it.

Sure enough the ghastly trainers appear in his line of blurred half-vision. 

“Half a mind to let ya die one of these days Hart.” Eggsy growls, sounding upset as he kneels beside his mortal charge. “You know what you need to do.” 

Harry can’t be certain if his imagination is at work or if Eggsy is grazing his claws through his hair, certain to come back bloody. The implied demand for Harry to seek his help clear in the way Eggsy’s brand burned onto Harry’s body flared with uncomfortable heat. They had both been here before many times. Eggsy distemper for such things only worsened with each instance, his distaste for humanity worsening to see what they continued to do to his mortal.

“...E..ggsy...” Harry managed breathing it out more than saying it. His head throbbing in agony for even that much.

“You don’t get to die, Hart. Remember that.” Eggsy said as his brand became a white-hot point against Harry’s skin that would have caused him to scream had he the breath or strength to.

Blessedly the world fell away to darkness for Harry after that.

Eggsy comes from a shadow and takes Galahad’s seat at the table startling Chester King nearly into arrhythmia. Eyes dark as he takes in the fright of a man who plays with the world like a chessboard. It’s disappointing how woefully plain King is, just one more mortal for the pile.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” King demands in a means that reveals his history of obedient followers.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” Eggsy replies honestly. For years he’s endured Harry subjected to this man’s whims and temper. Watched him send Harry to places he shouldn’t be for Eggsy to mend back together again. Were it not for Merlin, Eggsy very well might have burned the whole thing to the ground for the transgressions against his property. 

Of course King pulls a gun on him not that it does anything. The man’s wrinkled face hardens. 

Eggsy only laughed at the weapon pointed at him. 

“You’re mad aren’t you?” King question but waits for no answers. Rhetorical, no doubt. “I don’t care what you want.”

Eggsy doesn’t even so much as twitch when King pulls the trigger. His body goes limp in the seat and his blood spatters onto the dining room carpet. Creates thin rivulets on the back of the chair and the seat as he bleeds from the gunshot wound. 

Chester King only lays the weapon down and reaches to pour himself a drink.  Napoleonic brandy meant to toast the fallen knights. Propriety rather than sentiment makes him toast.

“To Galahad.” King mutters to the dining room. Hardly sparing the body in Galahad’s seat any mind.

A grave mistake on Chester’s part.

The chuckle begins when King rests his glass against the table. When he looks Eggsy is staring back at him eyes impossibly dark and deep. It raises hairs - sheer human instinct at work - like the chill of someone walking across your grave.

“Like you didn’t send Harry to his death back there.” Eggsy accuses as his wounds stitch closed. “Saw it myself.”

Mind trying to make sense of something so impossible King starts to stand and snatches for the pistol on the table. Only to halt before pulling the trigger to see a Kingsman issued pen in the little beast’s fingers. 

Turning it between his fingers Eggsy regards the old man. “He ain’t your little straw doll, King. He’s mine.” Possession snarled across the glossy table top Eggsy depresses the pen. 

Chester King looks truly shocked even before he feels the toxin start to do its work. Doubling at the waist and tumbling back into his seat. Looking more frail and depressing than ever. Huffing around his shock and the pain as the poison eats away at him.

“You little prick...” King groans out.

Eggsy stands and stares down at the man. “Be happy I did it quick. I got a world to save for Harry.” 

When Harry awake in medical he only closed his eyes again and reached for the button in his lap. Something that was unnecessary with the two guests in his room.

“Easy Harry.” Merlin said and reached to hit the call button on the wall as well before pulling the handheld away to not get in the staff’s way. “You’re safe.”

But when Harry opened his eyes he was looking for the other room’s occupant. Sure enough Eggsy was at the foot of the bed smirking down at him from beneath one of those dreadful snapbacks he enjoyed. Eggsy always claimed the sun hurt his eyes. Still Harry missed the newsboy’s cap he used to favor more each day. 

“I know.” Harry said around his parched throat. 

Merlin didn’t react when Eggsy curled his fingers around Harry’s ankle in an iron grip. It ached but Harry appreciated the tether to the living world at the moment. When he walked the line it was always difficult to hold his bearings at first. 

Merlin was going to usher the nurses in to see to his friend not able to see the demon keeping his position at the foot of the bed. 

“You’re mine Hart. Never forget that.”

Harry would have laughed if he could have around the dryness of his throat and mouth. He’d be hard pressed to forget his owner with the literal brand burned into his hip. The tattoo that Merlin still complained about.

Yet despite it all Harry always slept more soundly once he got the damn thing. Maybe because he didn’t need to worry what eyes watched him in the dark.

#unsentwrites #demon!eggsy #contracted soul!Harry #hartwin #implied hartwin #touch of dark hartwin

[unsentpromises-blog]

Love is a Crime

This idea of a Cell Block Tango is thanks to @lady-mephistopheles who kindly gave me permission to write a little something. Wherein Harry goes over his past honeypot marks who all seem to have something to say about Eggsy.

Norman Bowing had an apparent weakness for a specific type of older man. A weakness obvious enough it was the subject of gossip even in polite circles how often Bowing found himself on the arm of such men. Though the speculation on the subject was largely incorrect. Norman Bowing was a trust fund baby and had no need of any financial support from his gentlemen friends. Nor was Norman embroiled in the any sort of sexual scandal that some assumed went hand in hand with such an age gap. The truth was simpler than that.

So Harry Hart was ideal really for seducing Bowing when his name turned up in far too many cases of missing persons. 

It wasn’t a hardship for Harry to have the younger man’s company. Norman Bowing was in fact polite and courteous with everyone Harry had seen him come into contact with at the night’s festivities. Not terribly common on the social scene of the modern day where being catty or morose was seen as edgy, intriguing behavior. Rather than huddle up and gossip with the other twenty-somethings Norman seemed content to sit at one of the back tables with Harry.

Norman was young, only twenty-seven, and there was still that youthful softness lingering in his cheeks. Smooth skin and boyish charm not worn away with age and experience. Blond hair in some ridiculous spiked style and bright brown eyes that hadn’t strayed from Henry Bridgeworth, Harry’s awful cover alias, in quite some time now.  

There had been more space between their chairs only an hour ago. Slowly Norman had shuffled closer and closer, balancing on the edge of his chair to lean toward Harry. Elbow on the table and chin in his palm looking terribly attentive to Harry’s polite conversation and mild anecdotes. Never forcing himself to laugh but smiling with ease and accusing Harry of downplaying or underplaying his role in the events by turn. 

Now Bowing’s hand was resting over Harry’s on the table. A hint of hesitance bashfulness to the gesture that under different circumstance would have been charming.

Instead Harry found himself preoccupied with how much the boy reminded him of Eggsy. It grated just enough on his nerves that Harry would have rather been dodging a hail of gunfire than sitting, sipping at expensive champagne with a young man looking at him as if he might be the highlight of his entire evening. Because while Bowing’s eyes were not a shade of green that reminded Harry of a calm spring sea, the roguish edge of his smiles were all too familiar. Something that Harry was helpless not to smile back at in return.

The very kind of something that was Harry’s undoing.

“Would you like another drink?” Norman asked when Harry had set his empty glass onto the table. 

“You needn’t trouble yourself.” Harry may have stressed the English manners as Norman appeared to appreciate them. Henry wouldn’t have been the type to demand or expect such attention. No Henry was the type to think Norman’s attention was pity for an old man sitting alone at the edge of the party-goers. 

But Norman gave Harry’s hand a pat and rose to his feet. “No trouble. I’ll be right back.” 

And before Henry could protest Norman was plucking up the empty glass and making for the bar with a spring in his step. Harry was thankful for the moment to try and focus. Norman was not Eggsy. And Eggsy was no more than his protege. 

No matter that Harry Hart hadn’t felt his heart stutter in anyone’s presence in years until Eggsy had appeared. Shy smiles, wanting approval, but with a boldness that offered no intention to offer apologies. Eggsy who trusted Harry far too much, who had forgiven him so readily when he returned. Eggsy whom Harry had no business watching each moment he had the chance to like a thief in the day that coveted.

Drawn from his distraction Harry looked up when Bowing set a full glass on the table in front of Harry. 

“Is everything alright?” Norman asked before resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Brow pinched with concern to ask. “You seem distracted.”

“Just wool-gathering, I assure you.” Henry smiled and tried to brush it off. “Thank you, you really didn’t need to. Nor do you need to keep an old man company when you could be having fun.”

Norman accepted when Henry ended that route of conversation, returning to his seat. “I don’t know what you're talking about, I am having fun.”

Harry wondered and gave him a doubtful look. “Surely you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Norman was resting his head in his hand again regarding Harry with one of those smiles. Just enough mischief around the edges to make it seem real. “You’ve got more interesting things to say than anyone else here has so far.”

Henry let out a soft chuckle. “I feel you’ve given me too much credit.”

“I think you just want to chase me off so you can pretend you’re having no fun. Then you’ll have excuses to leave and I don’t want that.”

Rather than reply Harry lifted the glass Norman had brought to take a sip meant to imply Henry was fortifying himself for the conversation at hand. From Harry’s point of view, however, was a degree of appreciation of Bowing’s skills. 

A thought that very rapidly left him when his stomach churred unhappily around the heat of tainted alcohol in his belly. Already Harry felt his grip on the glass slackening against his will. Dropping heavily to the floor with a clatter muffled by the music and conversation in the room. No one so much as turning to see what the source of the unheard noise was.

Norman’s expression went from that playful smile to a stoic mask as Harry felt his heart thud uncomfortably. Weakness worsening and his weight slumping against his chair.

“Perhaps you’ll tell me what you’re really up to, Henry.”

Harry’s last articulate thought before unconsciousness suffused his will was - shit.

Consciousness returned to Harry in a dizzy, uncomfortable way. His head felt heavy and his mouth dry; bitterness lingering behind on his tongue. Stomach warm around its unease. Harry wondered if he wouldn’t be sick truthfully with how his jaw ached and stomach turned.

But his head cleared a little more. Enough for Harry to come to understand he’d been stripped of his suit jacket and tie. Likely before he’d been bound to the chair he was stuck to. However, he was ungagged and his glasses were still in place meaning Merlin knew his mission had gone south. His old friend would curse Harry’s uncanny ability to have every honeypot mission he was assigned turn into a disaster since his knighting. A lecture was in Galahad’s impending future.

“Good you’re awake.” Norman said as he came around the side of the Harry’s chair into view. He bent over enough to be on level with Harry’s eyes. “Henry I’m disappointed, we would have gotten along if I hadn’t thought you were up to no good.”

Harry tried to retort but his tongue felt too heavy and the bleary edges of the room shifted around them. He was drugged no doubt about it, with what he couldn’t be sure. His arms still felt weak and his knees thankful for the support of the chair. Harry wouldn’t be going nowhere on his own steam anytime soon unless there was a counter-agent to whatever he’d been given.

“Now are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

The leaden weight of his tongue was something Harry was thankful for. He’d keep silent on his own but it was far less work when he felt he couldn’t physically speak. 

Norman started to circle. Quiet for a beat but the squeak of his shoes on the painted concrete floor. “With how you turned up you noticed they all went missing didn’t you? Those friends I made.”

He was right, not that Harry told him so. 

“I wonder if anyone will miss you Henry or if any of your former lovers will thank me instead when you do too.” Norman didn’t look sorry so much as disappointed. “It’s a shame you remind me of him so much and I miss him.”

Unable to pull his head away Harry could only look up at Bowing when he lifted his chin. He wasn’t forceful about it, he held the weight of it and met Harry’s eyes. Something like genuine regret might have crossed his expression.

“Had you been who you said you were, I might have even been content awhile.”

Harry’s own expression turned puzzled to be regarded with that kind of gentleness from a man who clearly meant to kill him. It was a rarity even in Harry’s lengthy career in espionage. The thumb that brushed over his cheek didn’t clarify matters any.

Bowing didn’t yank his hand away either to let his head drop, he lowered it. But after that he stepped back, turned his back and walked away from Harry. Never glancing back.

Once he got so far Harry couldn’t make him out clearly. He turned into something vague and softly colored in his pale gray suit, blurred and formless. 

But it was the other blur Harry could make out coming toward him that drew his attention. Slighter than Bowing was and padding in bare feet toward him. The closer it came Harry made out the form of a woman in a sheer slip. She bent at the waist and came face-to-face with him and Harry found himself staring back at the sad smile of a ghost. 

Sofia.

Harry hadn’t thought of her in years and yet the guilt rose in him to see her face. Eyes somberly regarded him. Skin a pale and unblemished as when Harry had last seen it.

His first honeypot assignment ever had been Sofia. Still young and foolish he’d thought it would have been the easiest of his missions. And in some sense he’d been right, Sofia had been fun and eager to accept his invitations to dance. In others it had been more than he’d ever been prepared for. With how it had ended with Harry pressing his hand over his mouth in a rush from the room not to be ill.

Somehow Sofia pulled him to his feet and he helplessly followed after her. Harry felt years younger as Sofia tangled her fingers with his own and lead him further away from the chair he’d been bound to. His head still felt fuzzy but Harry couldn’t resist the guilt that made him follow. 

They might as well have been dancing over two decades ago in the chateau her family had owned and hosted the party from that Harry had turned up to uninvited. Young socialites crowded in with alcohol freely flowing and boisterous laughter all the way to the high ceilings. 

An apology was lodged in Harry’s throat as they took the first turn of what should have been a waltz but shifted into a tango when Sofia half turned from him. Harry kept a hold of her hand and tugged her back wanting to force the words out before she could disappear. 

“Do you really feel so guilty after all these years, mon cher?” Sofia asked as she was tugged back toward Harry’s chest. Not resisting the crushing way he tried to keep her there. Paying no mind to the fear she could see in his eyes.

Before Harry could get a solid hold of her she danced out of his grasp. “Yes.” He replied soft and hoarse, following after her and great long, sweeping strides while holding a hand out for her.

Sofia’s smaller, pale hand laid in his own and she smiled at him. “We had such fun while it lasted, but you know these things do not last, Harry. Do you forget what I’d done?”

They took a close turn. Harry thought he felt her warmth soak through his shirt front and it only made the stone in his belly heavier. The apology he wanted to utter still trapped. And in the next turn they took Harry thought he saw himself still bound to a chair with his head lolled back staring at the ceiling of a basement. But Sofia’s hand turned him to look back to her before he could make sense of it. The edges of the room were still blurred.

“Did you?” She pressed.

“No.” Harry answered even as he tried to gentle his hold of her. He couldn’t forget the way he never could connect what he’d been told with who he’d met. Sofia who had laughed easily, spoken softly to him and treated him with tenderness while their affair had lasted. Almost convincing enough to be a lover’s remembrance than a killers. Sofia who had had more blood on her hands than Galahad had on his own at the time.

“Then you remember it was necessary.” Sofia smiled still. Seemingly unbothered by the way Harry’s grip turned to iron on her hand and waist. “You remember how many men I killed for the orders I had like you, mon cher.”

And Harry could remember the way she’d fought him in the end. Just as well as he couldn’t forget the shocked betrayal in her eyes. Her nails digging into his cheek and the way her throat struggled under his palms. 

Seemingly beyond his control Harry felt one of his hand wrap around Sofia’s throat. She only laughed as his fingers dug in. Expression pained Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to stop this. It was all long over and over twenty years ago he’d strangled her. Fate could not be averted now.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said sincerely to her. He could feel Sofia start to sag toward him, weight against his palm growing. 

Sofia still only appeared amused at his antics. “Save you apologies for the living.”

Somehow Harry knew just who she meant - Eggsy. But he had little time to think about it because as Sofia slipped from his grasp fading into the edges of the room as she had appeared, and someone else had appeared in her place. Sitting at a scratched, sinfully ugly table was Walton Ulysses.

He was going gray at more than just the temples, streaks of it in his dirt colored hair. His face was ruddy and his paunch as robust as Harry recalled it being. Ulysses was still the single most ugly man Harry had ever met. It had had nothing to do with his appearance but everything to to do with his disregard for the life of anyone but himself. 

He’d been Harry’s second honeypot. A world better than Sofia because Harry had never shed a tear for such a waste of a man.

“Boy you’re no better than I ever was now are you?” Walton raised the glass in hand to his mouth and emptied the tumbler in one motion. He’d been a heavy drinker, one of his many vices.

Any softness in him that had lingered behind for Sofia, any regret, burned away. Harry still hated Walton Ulysses almost more than anyone else. 

“We are by no means alike you filth.” Harry found himself snapping in a sway of temper he less often indulged in his more experienced years. “I’ve never treated people like cattle.”

“Haven’t you?” Walton didn’t seem cowed by any means by Harry’s spitting anger. Rather he rose to meet Harry’s height with his own. Even if he fell short by several inches. Ulysses always had imagined himself as larger than life.

“No, I haven’t. I never found them fit for trade like you did.” A Kingsman agent may have gambled with the well being of the populace but Harry had never literally sold anyone. Never put the innocent into the hands of someone who didn’t so much as qualify them as human. Not without plans to rescue them.

Ulysses let out a barking laugh and advanced on Harry, who retreated for each forward step of his. 

Harry wanted for every bit of physical distance from the man he could keep. He’d been mercy to his whims before, been forced to remind himself every moment he could endure to spare anyone else the same fate. Even as he felt his skin crawl with every pudgy fingered touch the bastard had to offer him. Harry had scars left from those few terrible days.

“But you don’t have much more regard for a man’s life than I did, boy.” Walton’s temper was showing. Anger in his eyes and color coming to his face in unflattering blotches of red in his complexion.  

Harry hardened himself and held his ground itching for his pistol. But he never had shot Walton Ulysses despite the pressing temptation to every moment in his company many years ago. No Harry had drawn it out more than that, shown the cruel edges Sofia hadn’t endured for her whole brutal struggle into death at his hands. 

There was no lie in Harry’s telling Eggsy he’d made good use of Kingsman’s many poisons. 

The memory emerged and Harry pulled the standard issue pen from his shirt pocket. A smile overtook Harry’s expression and it had all the same dark seemings of the one he’d shared so long ago with the man in question.

Ulysses halted in his pursuit of Harry and blanched at the sight of the pen between his fingers. Harry clearly wasn’t the only one who remembered that night. 

“You’re gonna ruin that boy.” Walton said, trying to offer one that bite before he was subdued. “And you know it.”

The pen depressed as he wanted and Harry almost jolted when Ulysses did as the accusation that echoed a very real fear. He had no desire to see Eggsy become as he had, calculating and manipulative like an agent and less himself. Until he was something resembling a shadow of Harry Hart and more the mantle of Galahad.

Ulysses was dropping to the floor gasping and gagging for air, clutching at his stomach. Laughter in his eyes with his agony.

Harry turned away and tossed the pen in his hand at the wall. When he looked back to the spot on the floor nothing but chipped concrete awaited him. He sagged on his feet and wished for a chair.

A hand settled on Harry’s side startling him. He’d heard no steps and noticed no one. A familiar face looked back at him and Harry felt his face fall. 

“Isaac....” He heard himself say and one of his hand reached up to touch rest against the man’s cheek. 

Isaac readily leant into the touch with a sad, accepting smile. “Easy Harry.” His dark eyes just as intelligent as the last moment Harry had seen alight with life.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat Harry could manage to apologize, much with Sofia. He’d failed Isaac terribly. His mission had been to seduce him and he’d succeeded. Unlike with his previous assignments, however, Isaac had been a mark to protect no assassinate with his charms. Brilliant mind that could do wonders for the right organization. 

Isaac Moraic had agreed to join Kingsman once Harry had given him the truth. Harry had even been charmed in turn when Isaac had called him out on his lies in bed. 

It had had potential to be more than an assignment in the end. Harry had enjoyed his company. He’d enjoyed his mind. He’d enjoyed his humor. 

And he’d also shot Isaac. 

Harry swayed with Isaac who moved them both. Forehead resting against his own and Harry closed his eyes. 

“I didn’t want to.” Harry heard himself say.

Calloused hands kept Harry moving and Isaac hummed to let him know he’d heard him. “I know. I was there.”

Everything had gone so wrong. Another agency had come after them both. Harry had done everything he could but still miscalculated. But years later he never could think of another solution where Isaac could have lived. Isaac looking back at Harry with pity with a gun to his temple, telling him to shoot.

“If it could have been me I would have.” Harry hadn’t had much in the way of family or connects awaiting him in London. Only Kingsman. 

If Isaac could have been guided safely to the Berlin HQ he would have. instead he’d brought a body back with him for burial. Been the only on to mourn knowing the truth. Been the only one there trying to keep the life in Isaac while his hands bloodied.

Harry clutched at Isaac’s back and felt something warm beneath them. 

“I know, Harry.” Isaac said. 

When Harry opened his eyes to look at him the dark completion of his face had gone damp with sweat and etched in old pain. 

For all Harry could do he might as well have been a twenty-something trying to keep pressure on the entry wound like it would make a difference. Still he clung. 

“At least you were honest with me.” Were Isaac’s parting words before Harry simply found his arms empty and his hands dark with blood.

A tremor ran through him and Harry longed for a way to wash his hands. To distance himself from the memory. To forget how Isaac hadn’t been angry at him. Not for his lies, not for his shot. 

But it had taught him the importance of distancing himself. A lesson that he had taken deeply to heart, for perhaps too long. 

After came Martinez who Harry had dodged in Spain once his cover had been blown. Who sniped at him as easily as he shot at him. Who Harry snuck up behind and garroted without batting his eyes. 

“Who thought someone so brutal could be so soft-hearted.” Martinez grinned at him and pushed Harry’s hands down out of easy sight. His shirt was open at the collar and hair curled at the ends as Harry remembered. “Has age done that or did I miss a hidden jewel like that? I wonder if I had seduced you would I have seen you make such faces at me.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “You came too late.” By then his heart had grown harder. His friends slowly disappearing below the weight of duty. Five more years and half the knights on Harry’s knighting would be replaced by necessity. So many new faces that Harry only kept as acquaintances by choice.

“Ah, but look at you now. Soft for a soft-hearted boy.”

The imagine of Eggsy laughing so earnestly at one of Harry’s displeased looks came. It remained even when Martinez pulled him back against his chest in mimicry of Harry’s violent end of the man’s life. 

But rather than harm he only whispered, “I wonder if your love is a painful fate.”

Forcibly Harry shook him off, taking space. Wanting desperately to deny.

But like the rest when Harry raised his hands, spinning to force Martinez away he faded like the phantom he was. Just when Harry felt the memory of the bit of the ligature against his fingers. 

But blessed his hands were clean once more.

More of them came together. By then Harry had stopped remembering so clearly. Actively working to forget once his assignments were over. But pieces remained despite his best efforts. 

A wisp of sound of smell that raised gooseflesh and brought discomfort. That stilled and choked Harry until he forced himself onwards as always. 

Persisting. Enduring. Galahad only tainted further with each encounter until his codename was an irony. When Harry resembled a black widow more than a just knight. 

Gasping to catch his breath without warning Harry felt his chest constricted by something. Rope biting into his bare wrists as he tried to move himself. The chair below him bit into his arms and back as he tried to lever himself up despite the restraints. 

Struggling that ceased when Eggsy’s face appeared.

Eyes widened Harry took in the soft, sad way Eggsy looked at him and went immediately to set him free. Despite his heavy tongue Harry knew heh ad to warn him of the danger he presented him, because those ghosts were right about him.

His love was a trap. 

“No.” Hoarse but audible.

Sure enough Eggsy stopped and regarded him with worry. “Harry?”

But further words failed Harry. Despite the swimming way his thoughts circled around the fools that had ventured too close to him and been burned. True affection turned to tragedy, facsimile of care turned to betrayal. 

Eggsy added to their numbers would kill him. Harry had no doubt of that.

Moments passed in spurts to Harry’s hazy mind. One moment he was silently entreating Eggsy to leave him tied to the chair and the next Harry was pulled from his seat. Familiar smaller hands urging him and trying to be gentle. Cheek pressed to the familiar feel of Kingsman kevlar blend fabric and Eggsy’s neck in view. Beauty mark tantalizing to his sight and paler hair looking so tempting to touch. But Harry’s limbs still felt like lead.

“You’re safe now, Harry.” Eggsy told him in a gentle tone, no doubt meant to be comforting.

Yet all Harry could think was, you’re not because I can’t help myself but to love you.

#hartwin #unsentwrites #Harry kills in this #or is implied to have done so in the past #Harry needs a hug

[unsentpromises-blog]

It starts after Eggsy admits around his tears and an half-empty bottle between him and Merlin, that he had loved Harry. A new love no doubt, so full of potential that never got the chance to be anything more than possibilities. A great many things made much more sense after that night.

So Merlin had managed to get the boy to bed and went on his way.

The first photo Eggsy ever acquires of Harry is from Merlin, who mentions he might like a keepsake. It’s a younger Harry, a more carefree Harry in a way Eggsy never had chance to witness for himself. Framed and ready to be hung or set in place. 

Eggsy leaves the photo on the nightstand. Some nights when sleep evades him he looks at Harry frozen in a laugh until the world is left behind.

Then he collects more. Old Kingsman photos from the archives. Some candids Merlin provides before turning him over to the other agents who should have a few of their own. Eggsy collects them and remembers a man he never got to know nearly as well he would have liked. 

Somehow it makes it a little easier to have pieces of Harry lingering in the world. Eggsy has one of last photos taken of Harry with himself hung by the door. Each time he leaves he touches the frame and bids his goodbyes, every time he returns he touches the glass and bids welcome. It’s a ritual before long. 

The small things are what give the grieving comfort, Eggsy thinks each time he sees one of the photos. 

He’s only realized there are so many when Daisy comes to visit and asks who the man in the photos is. 

So he sits and tells Daisy about Harry Hart one lazy afternoon.

#hartwin #unsentwrites #short thing that I did because I could #now time for bed