#I HAVE A TEST IN A COUPLE HOURS AND I WONT BE ABLE TO THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THIS AAAAAGH

[saltynsassy31]

GUYs

GUYS

I AM ACTUALLY GONNA BE SICK HELP

IS THAT 4!?!?!?! IN THE SPACE SHIP!?!?!

ALSO IT COMES OUT IN 4 WEEKS IM GONNA GO CRAZY IN ANTICIPATION THIS IS ALL I'LL THINK ABOUT I AM

NOT OKAY

[lightpost]

Congratulations..? On what? I haven’t succeed in anything.. I didn’t keep a job longer than 3 months, one paycheck and I ran, did we even date? we went out to dinner a couple times... he was the first to care in many ways no one ever has or will. I was in so much pain I don’t want to move but kept going cause it the only thing to not get yelled at for one tear I was in fear but I still loved him I think I’m really fucked up. What’s wrong with me? I’ve been in the ward a couple times I’ve taken all the damn tests I don’t know even know if I was labeled at something I know I asked once the nurse said no she was questioning herself why I was even in there honestly I needed medical attention and no one cared I was in my physical pain more holding onto walls scaring the others in there yeah cause I was serous physical pain and no one was helping me, one doctor told me to be in porn one told me to even commit suicided, another brushed a nurse off when she told him she called New York for me and had to explain what I had to him and he brushed her off she took two hours to call around and explain my ct scan on the nutcracker syndrome my whole toe is now purple! and I still have that cramp in my calf and its been two fucking years yeah doc I’m not playing you are all going down for bullshit you pulled I will see you in hell to give you no mercy when you met my Archangel you are marked and its much higher than me 

 This world took away my true soulmate 

I’m much anger than lucifer himself. This sadness and anger match my brother Able if not a little bit more broken 

Doctors aren’t believing me 

I ruined the best relationship I possibly could of had by being in kind of pain what’s it like to have your life flash before your eyes? he’ll come in three days. 

I dug my grave 

fuck I fucked up even Jesus saw Baron Samedi 

the spiritual is nothing to mess with I’ll forever regret things I hesitated with him I’ll forever miss him I know how much he loved me too I’m shattered too I lost my best friend he understood how fucked up this world is he was the one to really lean on this world fucked us both up 

You know these tears are going to turn into rage and when I see that person who started all of this someone better hold me back my words will be sharp I will cut him to dust, the most vile two faced lack of cum slut now herpes infested will never touch within a 10 foot poll make it 35 incase the wind picks direction I can move away, art stealing piece can’t even call you a used condom cause you’d enjoyed being a piece of rubber at least you are still getting action  trash bag that he is you wont just be rotting in hell NO! Uriel is waiting to give you the greatest trail and consequence of all you won’t have life after death you’ll soul will be locked in a crypt were I will be taking you myself! Forever to never experience light to be forever sealed in darkness torment by your own sounds in water and stone that’s just one place you’ll go you’ve been marked by far higher power than me you’ll be worse than suffering my true love is after you too he’s got one hell of a sword and all my love he’s one powerful soul and the whole world is doomed. 

I am your boat man! 

[sailorhyunjinz]

What do you think first kiss with skz be like?

aAWH SOME FLUFF T-T OK BUT KEEP IN MIND- fluff is not my strongest pursuit hence why im not a fluff writer hahsah but HEY ITS CUTE!! and anon,,, im so sorry this took such time IM SO SO SORRY AAAAAAAAH- 

also this makes me wanna know my anons first kiss story, AAAH SPILL THEM 

warnings; none?? fluff,,, wow,, rare to say that LMAO- also gn!reader and also suggestiveee??

Bangchan

~gentleman~

will only kiss you if you are REALLY ready for it and if the two of you are dating

doesnt want to rush you into things (even if its just a kiss) because he doesnt know how comfortable you are and such

basically a sweetheart

i imagine its like a cute little date

 night where you guys are stargazing, lying on a blanket on a grassy hill with his arm as a pillow for your head

“chan, look! its a shooting star! make a wish” you giggle to which he smiles, looking at your pretty features that are lit up by the moonlight

“hmm,,, dear star, i wish that y/n would kiss me” he says, laughing directly after but soon being interupted as you attach your plushy lips against his

its probably the most romantic event in your life

him smiling into the kiss as your tongues danced around softly

when you pulled away you laughed, saying; “wishes do really come true, huh?”

poor baby is blushing, his ears red but thankfully for him its too dark for you to see

Minho

the “evil roommate that secretly has feelings for you”

“lee minho i swear im gonna rip your hair off if you touch my plants again”

minho got out of his room, looking at you standing in the living room and rearranging the plants on the windowsill 

“they are all scattered, it’s ugly” he says rudely

“dont call my children ugly” you spit back at him 

there was always a weird tension between you and minho. you were glad to have found a roommate that made a good friend eventhough he was a pain in the ass sometimes

minho liked you,,, and therefore he did everything the opposite of what he felt. if he wanted to compliment you on your outfit he would instead say that you looked “overdressed” or “too much” but you always rolled your eyes towards his snarky comments

you pecked your plants, giving them the love they needed and minho just stood frozen in the doorway, without thinking he spoke

“how come you never do that to me?”

silence

you sneered, placing down the plant you held and streched out your arms

“c’mere if you dare” you said jokingly, not expecting the boy you always thought was so devilish to run into your arms, lips touching and your eyes widening at the unexpected action

the two of you held each other, breathing shaky as wet tongues collided, the sun beaming upon your figures

“m-minho,,, it was a joke!” you laughed, slapping his arm playfully as you pulled away

“but to me it wasn’t” he remarked cockily, licking the inside of his cheek

Changbin

very much giving me like “we dont like each other but we have to work with each other”

like you two are co-workers, working in a boring office and you were assigned to put together this one report and,,, lets say Changbin wasnt your favorite in the office

there was nothing wrong with him,,, its just his vibe that was off putting but sigh,,, work is work

you started compiling information, sitting in a seperate room and drawing graphs on the whiteboard, projecting some other type of research onto the board

“do you think we will need to stay late?” he asks, ruffling his hair in frustration

you sigh and nod, this wasnt going to get done anytime soon.

dawn set on horizon and the others workers packed up their belonging one by one and left until there was only you and changbin left in the now quiet office

you sat next to him, yawning as you typed something as you felt him looking at you

you looked back with a questionable expression, confused when he uttered his words

“do you hate me, y/n?”

“i mean,,, you are a dick sometimes but i dont hate you, at least you do your work”

he shrugged his shoulders, loosening his necktie as he leaned back into the office chair

“a dick, huh? maybe i try to push you away so you wont catch the same feelings i have for you”

you snapped your head towards him. you couldnt lie, he was attractive and at this point you were desperate 

“kiss me then” you said simply causing the boy to immediately cup your cheeks, latching onto your lips as if he’d waited for this moment for forever

more tongue, wants you to feel him ;))

lets just say,,, he made it up to you

Hyunjin

i get this like,,, youthful vibe,,, like the two of you were childhood friends

and,,, eventually you catch feelings for him which you hate because,,, you dont want to ruin this friendship 

every time somebody mistook you for a couple the both of you would make retching noises, mocking each other

“you think my standards are that low?” hyunjin says pointing at you to which you raise your fist

“hwang hyunjin, you’re dead meat”

but,,, he was only in denial, it was his childhood friend afterall

probably happened at one of those night where your mom was working late and you invited hyunjin to keep you company, him bringing kkami as well. 

“dont fucking burn the pizza, hyunjin” you say, petting kkami until the little rascal ran away from your lap

“if you helped it wouldnt be burned” he replies as he comes out with two plates with the pizza burned on the edges

“but if they taste bad you can always taste my lips” he jokes and you look at him with a disgusted facial expression before laughing

“i bet they taste even worse then your mess of a pizza, i would like to see you try to even get me to peck you” you scoff and hyunjin rolls his eyes, sitting next to you on the sofa

“try it then” he taunts but is taken aback when you actually kiss him, your nose accidentally brushing against his as you purse your lips, hyunjin timidly using his tongue to test the waters

he wanted it so bad and he finally got it >:(( he could swear that he heard fireworks going off in his brain

a moment of silence appeared until hyunjin cockily uttered:

“so,,, did they taste better?”

Jisung

the “i met you at a party and made out with you drunk”

he stared at you the entire night, catching glances while you looked away and the music blared in the nightclub that was packed with people.

you ordered a drink at the bar, tapping your fingers on the oak surface where you rested your arms, suddenly somebody bumped into you

turning around you saw jisung and you sighed, thinking his behaviour was starting to get annoying

“oh its you again” you said loud for him to hear as he sat down next to you, having a annoying smirk plastered on his lips

“looks like you are having fun, let me guess,,, you’re trying to get over your ex” jisung says, leaning his elbow against the bar and you glared at him because it was true

you scoffed, avoiding his question and instead sipping on the sour drink you had in your hands, trying to forget everything

he was attractive which only pissed you off even more, as if you hadnt had enough pretentious assholes in your life

the glass slammed against the table as you put it down harshly, gazing into the boys dark brown eyes

“alright, deal. make me forget then since you think you know everything about me” you stated to which jisung raised his eyebrow

the palm of his hand was firmly placed on the bar as he leaned in to kiss you, feeling the bitter liquour hitting his tastebuds as your tongues crashed against each other

it felt,,, freeing. you swung your arms around his neck, wanting him closer to your body

by the way he was kissing you, you could tell that he was there for the same reason as you. a sloppy and heated kiss to fill your thoughts with something other than your ex

safe to say that the kiss progressed ;))))

Felix

aaah cutie boyfriend that is just too shy to even give you a kiss like 3 months into the relationship (OK DONT ATTACK ME NOW, TAKE YOUR TIME, NO RUSH YOU GUYS)

he is shy with pretty much everything, it was only recently he could hold your hand without his heart jumping out of his chest.

it was a simple date night! takeout and games at his place

you layed your head in his lap as you watched him finish up the game that you had given up on a long time ago

he shifted awkwardly in his seat, not used to being so close to such a pretty person before

“ah- fuck! i lost again,,,” he says in defeat, his head rolling backwards before a frustrated sigh escaped his lips

“you did well felix! look how far you got!” you say, pointing towards the score on the screen but not getting his attention. 

you sat up, looking at him for a moment as his eyelashes lightly draped over his closed eyes, cheeks speckled with freckles

you couldnt help yourself, he looked so angelic despite being defeated and so you leaned in, lacing your fingers with his and softly placing your lips against his

he opened his eyes in panic before being swallowed by the fluffy feeling of having your lips to himself, he giggled before stroking your cheek as he tilted his head, almost setting a rhythm to the sweet kiss

felix started laughing shyly, cheeks tinged with red as he hid his face with a pillow

“but you won my kiss!” you said through a smile causing felix to blush even more

Seungmin

its like,,, maybe,,, your third or fourth date??

this one is more chill than the previous ones that were at like some fancy restaurang because hello dandy puppy boy wants class

but this one was like a stroll down the night streets and eating ice cream in the middle of the summer

both of you were casually dressed, holding hands as butterflies bubbled in your stomach from the contact

his hand is all warm and it engulfs yours >:(

you look at all the pretty sights of the night, eventually climbing up to some like high point and looking down at all the lights that blinked

after a good 1 1/2 hours of walking your legs were starting to ache and so you both sat down on the swings of a desolate playground, swinging gently with your legs dangling

“i dont understand how you’re able to,,, even be friends with me,,, or whatever we are,,”

seungmin hummed, looking up into the night sky

“i promise y/n, i will be your,,, friend but,,,”

you looked at him as he said “but”, imagining the worst 

“i dont wanna be friends, i wanna be more than a friend to you”

his eyes twinkled as he stood up and stood infront of you, grabbing your hand

you slowly looked up at him, his figure standing in the way of the moon as the two of you shared a long gaze, his eyes as sweet as honey, dripping with pure adoration

you pulled him closer by the hand and slowly he inched to your lips, the distance between you minimizing as his face tilted to the right, a delicate and sugary kiss landing on your tastebuds from the ice cream from earlier.

your heart skipped a beat, the slightest sound of lips smacking

“i think i love you y/n” he whispered close to your lips after pulling away. 

Jeongin

like,,, uni buddies! 

both being med students meant late study night, usually in school 

there’s papers and diagrams laid out all over the tables and floors along with a bunch of energy drink cans, some scribbles on the whiteboard 

the two of you were friends and met in uni and everyone had always nagged at you for not going after him since he was everything someone ever wanted

you always said that you were friends and that you couldnt imagine being in a relationship with jeongin

but studying with him alone into the deep night felt different, many times you couldnt concentrate when he looked so cute sitting right beside you

being close friends, there was nothing weird about hugging or leaning against each other and so you leaned against his shoulder and yawned as the cozy boy was rewriting some notes. 

“one hour left y/n and then- then we can go hoooome!”

you giggled as you looked at him and he diverted his attention from his papers to you, his lips only mere inches from yours

you didnt know what the fuck you were doing and neither did jeongin, it was late and the both of you were tired from studying for finals

and so your lips drew closer until they clashed, feeling a tension that you’ve never felt with him before

he’s definitely a shy,,, kisser?? not too much tongue since he doesnt know how LMAO so its like soft >:((

didnt know what to do when he pulled away, looking around the room or covering his blushing face with his hands but when you hug him he hugs you back

maybe even coming to terms that he does have feeling for you,,, and so do you~ 

[xsarcasticwriterx]

Wonderwall-part 5

Summary: Steve get closer to you the more your pregnancy advances and tony tries to keep his distance as he come to realize his feeling

Pairing: Tony stark x reader x Bucky barnes, some stucky x reader

Warnings: swearing, alcohol , some minor angsty angst, 

Notes: Ok i really like wonderwall right now so i'm going to update this more frequently (i say and watch i suddenly just hit a wall for this story)

Wonderwall masterlist

It had been a month since your ultrasound and tony had been so distant but steve had been very close with you and bucky. if bucky was away he was everywhere you were caring for your every move. Bucky appreciated it  and loved seeing you and his best friend so close.

You currently were laying in bed with steve watching a movie. your head was on his stomach and he was playing with your hair. you two were eating chips and really only half watching it as yall kept joking around. 

Bucky was on a mission so steve has been caring for you these past few days. “you feeling ok?” steve asked and you chuckled “for the tenth time yes i promise i'm ok” you said tilting your head looking up at him. he smiled down at you and booped your nose. you laughed and smiled “just checking you've been silent for a while” steve said going back to playing with your hair.

“I was just thinking how nice its been being with you” you said reaching up and stroking his cheek. he smiled softly down at you. he cleared his throat “uh y/n-” steve started to say but the bedroom door opened. “oh hey steve figured you'd be in here” bucky said walking in “hey babe” you said. bucky walked over and kissed your forehead and gave steve a side hug.

steve's head landed on bucky's chest as he kept messing with your hair. “heard you've been taking care of her these past few days” bucky said. “he's been a perfect gentleman” you said with a small giggle. bucky laughed and out his stuff down sliding next to steve. you laying on both of them your legs on steves lap and head on bucky's.

“Tony said he's planning a party to celebrate our return” bucky mentions. you turn your head at the mention of tony. He had been avoiding you recently. Anytime you came near him or tried to speak to him he ran off in the other direction or suddenly had things to do. 

“tony spoke to you?” you asked. bucky knew how tony was avoiding you more so because he was also avoiding bucky. “nope he told nat and also told her to tell me something about him being too busy planning to do it himself. i don't know” bucky said with a shrug

“he still avoiding you two?” steve asked and you and buck replied with a simple nod. you were hurt by it, he had started this vow of silence to you since you had told him your past. you started to wonder if maybe he saw you were too broken. did he even want to be in the baby's life anymore? you sighed before shaking your head “lets go tony cant avoid me there” you said sitting up. 

“sweetheart honey you can barely spend an hour without puking or getting nauseas at least” bucky said stroking your hair “ill be fine. were going no if ands or buts about it” you said huffing and standing up. you walked to your closest and steve turned to bucky “there's no point in trying to change her mind” steve said and they both chuckled. you found a dress and set it up on the door handle. “now what time is it at?” you asked with a small clap. 

bucky gave a small laugh before speaking. He knew that he had no choice but him and steve would be on your tail the whole time making sure your ok. “9pm” bucky said. you gave a small nod looking at the clock which said 5pm in glowing letters. only 4 hours then tony has to speak to you.

at 8:00 you walked into the large bathroom attached to your room.stripping down you looked in the mirror touching your small stomach bump. you were close to the 2 month mark and your stomach was starting to prove that. you walked into the shower letting the warm water wash over you. you closed your eyes relishing in the warmth. you soon felt arms wrap around your waist, one human one metal. letting your head rest on bucky's chest he gave an approving groan before reaching for a bottle of soap and washing your hair. “how are you feeling today?” bucky asked massaging your scalp “mmm good steves been so much help and such a great friend when your away its nice” you said with a small smile. 

Steve was almost always around you and bucky. Anything you needed he got you any help you needed he helped. whenever you got sick he kept your hair out of your face. he’d always help you wash up after. he cared for you when your emotions got too prominent and took control. he kept you still doing small exercises and even researched what you should do when you got self conscious of all the weight you were gaining. He slept in your bed holding you close on days bucky was gone and you couldn't sleep. He cared for you, more than you or bucky knew. 

This isn't just for you though, he spent every moment not with you with bucky. they researched on the baby together things to do once their born how to be a good parent. They even tested how to make baby bottles even thought you had almost 7 months to go before the baby was born. you often walked into the room to find the two boys joking around, laughing. There was the one time you walked in on them slow dancing together to music from the 40′s. They said it was from the last dance they had gone to. You of course recorded it and kept it no matter how much they begged you to delete it. Steve cared for you two and would put his life on the line for you two even if it meant it'd be the end for him.

You stepped out of the shower and bucky followed after wrapping you in a towel. “steve is great isn't he” bucky said with a soft smile. “yea” you replied with a soft smile of your own but also a smirk. you looked at bucky's soft reaction to hearing your approval of steve. how his eyes glistened in happiness and a small smile stayed pressed on his face.

When bucky had first showed up at the compound the connection him and steve had lead you to believe they were together. One night you asked steve and he gave a small laugh before telling you otherwise. Not long after you started seeing bucky. You were honestly shocked nothing was going on between them and nothing had ever gone on. The chemistry they had was unbelievable and the sparks was as if someone was trying to start a fire.

Thou bucky had also thought you had a thing for bucky when he returned into steves life. The way you two smiled and laughed with one another. He saw it as a couple, he was never jealous just happy his best friend finally found someone. That was till you asked him out and he was confused. That lead to you telling him how you thought him and steve were together.

You slipped into your nice dark blue dress. you and bucky walked into the loud living room at 9:00 seeing everyone dancing and drinking. steve spotted you two immediately running over. “hey you two” he said with a large smile. “have you seen tony?” you asked. steve pointed to the bar where you saw tony drunkenly flirting with two girls. rolling your eyes you strolled on over leaving the two boys together.

 “shes gonna beat his ass if she has two isn't she?” steve asked and bucky patted his shoulder “that's our girl” bucky said before walking into the group chatting with other, That remark ‘our girl’ caused steve to chug down the rest of his strong drink. He wanted more no needed more but he really didn't want to enter the warzone known at you and tony.

You grabbed tony's jacket shoving him against the bar. the girl ran off in fear and tony put his hands up in surrender. you slapped him across the face before grabbing his jacket again “listen here stark your not getting away anymore ok. not happening nope. now your going to tell me why your avoiding me or ill keep slapping you till you do” you said pulling him forward and slamming him against the bar again. 

Steve had walked over to natasha stealing her drinking downing it too. “jesus what's up with you?” she asked seeing her tipsy friend. “thor you have any asgardian alcohol on you?” steve asked. thor nervously handed his friend a small shot of it. steve immediately downed it feeling the tingly sensation down his body “them” was all steve said “both of them” he said dropping his head onto the table. they immediately got it “so you finally admit it huh?” nat asked rubbin steves back steve lifted his head “you knew?” he asked. and thor laughed “of course we knew everyone did except tony,y/n, and bucky obviously” thor said. steve groaned and rubbed his face “what do i do?” he asked. nat patted his shoulder “tell them dumbass” and with that steve asked for another shot from thor.

You were still interrogating tony “I told you i cant say”  he replied and was hit with another slap. at this point his face was numb. “Bucky will slaughter me if i do and ill never be able to see my baby” he said tears brimming his eyes. “tony just tell me i wont let that happen” you said releasing your grip on him. “i cant” he said. you slapped him once more. tears fell “tony” you huffed out. he looked at you before rolling his eyes shaking his head “i'm in love you” he said tears flooding out, and with that he walked off. you felt your whole body freeze. you sat on the couch in the corner.

bucky walked over sitting next to you “you get your answer?” he asked. you cleared your throat trying to act natural “uh no no he would say i dont know” you said with a shrug. bucky groaned kissing your temple before walking back to the people. about an hour later a drunk steve plopped next to you. “heeeeeey” he slurred. you laughed before replying “hi stevie” you said ruffling his hair. it had grown out a little sense he'd been so busy caring for you he never had the time to cut it but honestly you thought he looked nice with it a little longer. “your so prettyyyyyyyyy” he said falling into your lap. you laughed and smiled down at him “your pretty too” you replied. steve pouted and you were confused but also adored it, he looked like a sad puppy. “what wrong stevie?” you asked rubbing his torso

“I have an issue” he said squirming and groaning. “what is it?” you asked tilting your head “i am in love with your boyfriend” he said. you laughed a little leaving steve confused. “I know” you replied. “huh?” he asked sitting up. “well yea i mean i knew” you said with a shrug “is that it?” you asked and he shook his head “i love you too” he said his head falling back. “me?” you asked with a small smile. “yes youuuuuu i am in love with 2 of the most perfect people and they love each other” he said slurring. “wait” he said looking at you “your not mad.” he stated. you laughed “no stevie a little shocked you love me? sure but i knew you love bucky always have and its not like you can control who you love” you said with a  shrug. “look tomorrow when your sober tell bucky just trust me. tell him. ill deal with him after” you replied. steve fell into your lap again.

once he was asleep you gave a small smile to him “i love you too stevie” you sai combing through his hair. bucky walked up to you “he asleep?” he asked. you nodded with a small smile. bucky lifted steve bridal style starting to walk to steve's room “where are you going?” you asked. bucky looked at you dumbfounded “to put him in his room” he said confused. “come on” you said entering you and bucky's room. bucky shrugged walking in, he layed steve down and he immediately curled into a pillow. “why here?” he asked. you gave a small shrug and smile “cause he has something to tell you tomorrow” you said leaving bucky confused.  Of course you still had no clue on what to do about tonys confession but that was another problem for another day. maybe one where bucky wont slaughter tony for it.

Tag list

@vicmc624 @mylifeispainandiloveit @frostay​

[gobstoppr]

a ramble about . having hand and wrist pain that all started hitting me at once .theres no real thesis i just have been thinking about shit . happy disability awareness month .

god for what, over 4months now , ive had chronic hand/wrist pain thats made it fucking frustrating as all hell to do . the things i want to do . i cant play games for hours at a time . i can barely draw for over 30 minutes at a time without a break (oftentimes i have to take breaks long before that point) . i cant scroll on my dash forever since even with the keyboard shortcuts it strains over time (sidenote but CHRIST can i just . but a bookmark on a point on my dash. i want to come back there later and scroll from there . iwant the site to stop lagging ). everything i do i have to consider how bad my bones will hurt from it and if i can do it, if its something i can adjust to make easier on my hands, if its something worth 'wasting' what i call my 'hand stamina' for the afternoon. like oh if i play video game then i wont be able to draw or do shit for like at least 30min .

ive gone to the doctors. ive gone to the tests . its not carpel tunnel they say ! thank you for clearing that option after 3.5 months of pain. now i get to do more trial and error tests to see what i have . ive finally gotten at least like. the orders to let me get physical therapy so hopefully that can help . just side note i fucking HATE decentralized medical care holy SHIT why cant this info just be fucking shared between u guys . i wait 2 weeks between getting to go into the doctor and say 'yea mate it still fucking hurts' so they can give me a different appointment 2 weeks later and so on . its so much fucking treading water . weve been over this bullshit . why do i have to wait 2 weeks to see the dr for 10 minutes and then figure out an appointment . i just fucking . god .

i have to go to college in a month . im not going to be better in a month . im definetly never reaching what was once 'normal' condition for a long time . its . its hard to think about that shit . i feel like ive been trapped ykno.

i remember . for about 3 months. starting in late september 2021. i was having an absolute fucking blast . i had spamton brainrot . i could pump out several small doodles a day, sometimes multiple cleaned up/colored sketches, every couple weeks i might make a fully finished piece . i could spend hours upon hours just. doing what i loved . drawing silly guy who i liked . seeing what the other people in my community were doing . art, creativity is a conversation to me. i see peoples works, i get inspired, i want to create, even if i don't have anything in particular to say at that moment . it doesnt matter i have no ideas for posing or anything . i wanted to create . and i created .

i could be in my element . have this conversation . this feedback loop of inspiration . a constant improvement to my own skills as i just enjoyed art how i enjoy art . i'm mad at myself for not taking more breaks. im mad at myself for not fucking stretching all these years . but i will never regret my time . it was worth every second . and even if im not always interacting with everyone i met thru that time, im forever thankful for getting to meet all of them .

this is sounding a bit mopey huh . ok some quick advice then for this sorta shit in general.

for one . yes i know its fucking hard . but please just stretch a lil sometimes . even just learning one or two u can do pretty consistently can help u get going . this page has alot of good ones.

two . get yourself a good dumbass friend to watch stupid cartoons with you . yes im serious . if it were not for having my sister this summer to watch anime for children i would have gone insane with boredom whenever my hands hurty so i cant do shit . find yourself some bullshit to binge and laugh at . highly recommend the yokai watch dub of seasons 1+2 . good head empty but very entertaining shit . incredible for passing the time

three . find shortcuts for doing smaller straining tasks udont really think about . for example, theres the more prominant things like using keyboard shortcuts to navigate ur dash, but then theres stuff like realizing . oh trying to cut my sandwich with a knife is a kinda weird strain and because the bread is so soft its hard to cut super easily . so now i just . tear my pb+j up with my hands to cut it . jsut rip it . its not fucking worth the nonsense

yeah ok i think im out of things to say for now but yea. fucking hands huh . take care of yourselves gamers . i apologize if this is a bit gloomy

[mymedlife]

Guys, the pandemic has broken me. Every time we seem to be making any progress I feel like we get set back again.

Sorry for the long rant ahead, but I feel like I need to get it out of my head.

Back in the beginning, last March or so, when the state I'm living in shut down, I felt like I could do it. Daycare shut down for almost 3 months to prevent spread.

My husband's job changed his hours to 10a to 8p since everyone was working remotely so they could all be working on the same time zone.

My cofellows were generous enough to switch shifts so I could work all nights and weekends and watch my kiddo during the day. Which kind of sucked, because she doesn't play independently for very long, o was tired, hubby wanted it quiet, and everything was closed so there wasn't anywhere to go to break up the monotony.

Work was filled with frequent changes around what protective equipment we have and what is required to be worn where. I got fitted for 3 different N95s because we kept running out, despite having to check them out and have them sterilized between uses.

I had frequent discussions about how COVID is real with families who refused testing. Parents lied about their symptoms to be allowed into the hospital with their kids, including one who collapsed mid visit due to respiratory failure. Several people ended up having to quarantine because they weren't wearing their N95s during the resuscitation as it was unexpected (at the time we were only wearing N95s during aerosolizing procedures including bagging). This lead to a new rule on not stopping in to help until you have the proper equipment on (which makes sense, but but is so hard).

Early on I spent some time volunteering for the COVID hotline for my state. Most of the questions I got were people upset that things were closing. There were very few health calls.

My aunt died. My sister, a psychologist, argued with her boss she should get a raise for being a frontline worker. My other sister, who is immunocompromised, was mad that all her friends continued to party guilt free and we kept telling her to stay home. My husband began to enjoy his new schedule to the point that he would stay up until 3am playing games after work (the kid was asleep and I was working) and sleep until he had to work at 10 am. My friends talked about their new lock down hobbies, including my co fellow who spent her time creating a new lecture series for the residents. I felt like I was trending water, I started getting behind on fellowship things and I was so tired. My kiddo was happy that I was spending more time with her, and it all was temporary, right?

Eventually things started opening up again. Daycare returned. Two days later my husband was fired. Thankfully he found a job within a few months, but during that time was quick to anger and his staying up all night playing games and sleeping most of the day got worse. He dismissed anything I had to say about it and frequently promised to sleep earlier, later saying he had to stay up because the kid had a nightmare that I slept through.

During this time, many of my pediatrician friends were called to see adults due to high patient volumes and doctor shortages. Luckily I only had to see kids, but there was still a lot of mystery surrounding symptoms and the discovery of the multi system inflammatory syndrome.

My kiddo got sent home a few times from daycare for vague symptoms that necessitated a COVID test, and at one point she was at home with me for 2 weeks due to a COVID positive exposure in class. My husband's job was new so he couldn't take off time to help. At some point things shifted so I was now doing all the daycare pickup and drop-off as well as all the bedtimes (unless I was physically at work).

Following Breonna Taylor and George Floyd there were large scale protests around the downtown area, where my hospital is located. I wholeheartedly support the movement, but someone told my kid it was dangerous to go downtown, and she became fearful of me going to work. This combined with the break in at our home lead to sleep refusal. Something I had to help he with, leading to bedtime taking hours, because my husband would yell at her. Most nights I was too tired after getting her to bed to do much, which lead to more work piling up.

Job hunting was not as fun as I had hoped it would had been. I had one in person interview, everything else was virtual. Thinking about working at a place I've never seen was terrifying.

Many places simply ghosted me. Lots weren't hiring. A few went on a hiring freeze after my interview.

Every interview asked what hobby I developed during lockdown. I admittedly could have answered this question better, and explained that I survived the lockdown with a toddler and that was an accomplishment.

My home institution decided to go with my co fellow over me. When I asked my mentor why she said they felt she had more to contribute to medical education than I do. I'm convinced that in part this has to do with all the lectures she wrote during lockdown.

I was able to get a job, but it's at a smaller community ED where we have a few beds in an adult ED. I mentioned to my associated program director I was a little disappointed, and suddenly everyone is telling me to be thankful for what I have.

I can be thankful and disappointed at the same time.

I think the biggest thing is a fear that if I hate this job I wont ever be able to find another one.

I also kind of resent my kid and husband, if I had more support or time to focus on fellowship things may have been different.

But life goes on. The vaccine was created, things opened up, and now those who aren't vaccinated can stop masking.

The my body my choice people who previously refused to mask are pleased, and now there are barely any masks when I go out (despite a not great vaccination rate in my area).

My kid is 3 and cant get the vaccine, so we still wear them. She loves to whine about how the others don't wear their masks. "It's not fair."

No, it really isn't.

Masks are still required in the hospital, which parents complain about daily. Recently every time I recommend a COVID test it has been refused. The pandemic is over. Kids can't get COVID. And other nonsense.

Kids as young as 12 can get vaccinated. However there is real concern about post vaccine myocarditis. Now everyone who comes in with chest pain wants to complain, even if they are unvaccinated.

Things have been stressful, and my kid is picking up on that. She still has trouble sleeping and has started having tantrums. We recently had a meeting with daycare and they want us to have seen by psych to get her evaluated.

I've found that I've lost interest in most of my hobbies, not that I have a lot of time for them. Fellowship finished and I have the next two weeks off before starting my new job. I was planning on spending it sleeping, cleaning the house, getting out the baby stuff as we are expecting a new little one in a couple of months, and rediscovering my hobbies.

Today I had an awful migraine. I cant take the meds I usually take because of the pregnancy, and my OB wont prescribe anything because he is worried about masking signs of preeclampsia. My husband refused to get up to watch the kid because he was tired, so I pushed through until he was ready to get up.

I lay down to try to get a nap and I get a call that there has been a case of COVID at daycare, and they will be closing for 2 weeks. They will open up the day I start my new job.

And this my friends is what has broken me.

I was so looking forward to finally have time for self care, and now I get to play stay at home mom again with my kid who is in isolation.

After that call I got up and left the house. I'm sitting in my car at the park writing this, and while I know I will go back home eventually, I'm tempted to drive off and let my husband deal with this for a change.

[jadedlavendergemini]

A Summer To Remember

Pt 2

Summary: Lexi Goldstein has one goal in her life, to be a model. Her boyfriend, who is inspired to become a big time actor insists on taking a break and working at a summer camp with the rest of their friends. What go wrong?

A/N: I’m so terribly sorry for the long wait. I’ve been extremely busy with both jobs. Thank you guys for giving me a great amount of support with my fics. I just wish I was able to update more frequently. As always, let me know what ya’ll think!

Tag list (if anyone is still interested) : @instincts-baby @lovelylangdonx @fckinsupreme @7-wonders @angelicmichael @dark-mei-rose @langdxn

Part one

—————————————————————————-

“Alright great job everyone!” Xavier exclaimed to the class. “Just remember I wont be teaching for a couple of months but that doesn’t mean you can slack off! I want every one to be ready to go as soon as I get back!”

The class slowly made their way out of the door, some stopping to wish Xavier a good summer break. He flashed his famous white tooth smile, waving them off. His eyes wandering to his girlfriend who was in deep conversation with Montana Duke.

“So how was the dick last night?” Montana asked bluntly, still stretching her legs. The blonde chuckled at her friend’s wide eyed expression. “Oh don’t be so modest, Lex. You’ve been smiling like an idiot since the both of you got here.”

Lexi just shook her head before crossing her arms and leaning in, lowering her voice. “It was very nice.”

Before Montana could get in one of her many responses, Ray had stepped in and placed an arm around both of the girls.

“Okay, enough with the chit chat and let’s get GOING. I want to get to RedWood before it gets late.”

“What is your deal with leaving the city so soon, huh?” Xavier made his way over to the group and shoved Ray’s arm off of Lexi.

“Like I said, this city is about to get crazy. Just want to get a head start, man.” He moved his other arm off of Montana and nervously wiped his forehead.

“Right, well we’re going to hit the showers and we’ll be ready.” Montana looped her arm through Lexi’s and took off.

After showering, Montana and Lexi met up with the boys in the gym lobby. Lexi fell into Xavier’s side on the couch. Chet sat opposite of them, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. Ray sat halfway off the arm of the couch looking on edge as per usual that week.

“Alright so the drive to RedWood should only be about two hours so if you guys need anything, get it done now because I’d like to make as less stops as possible.” Xavier said to the group.

The group all shook their heads and Ray jumped to stand.

“Nope!” He said enthusiastically. “Let’s get rolling!”

Xavier and Chet rolled their eyes as they began to stand to exit. Before any of them could even head to the door, the doors to the lobby opened and small brunette hastily made her way to Montana.

“Montana!” She exclaimed, practically shocking the hell out of the blonde. “I- can I still come with you guys?”

“Of course, Brooke. What’s going on?”

“You look shaken,” Chet chimed in, dropping his bag to the ground and stepping towards the girl. “Are you alright?”

The girl, Brooke, was on the brink of tears. “H-he came for me last night. The Night Stalker! He broke into my apartment, he tried to kill me!”

Montana nodded, and guided Brooke to the couch. “What? You’ve got to be kidding! Are you alright?”

Lexi moved from Xavier and ran to the nearest water machine to grab a cup for the girl. The group just stood by as Montana tried to calm her down.

“Are you sure that’s who it was, Brooke?” Ray asked. “Not just some random dude?”

“Of course it was him! He said,” she lowered her voice. “He said he wanted me to swear on satan.”

Xavier sighed, brows raised. “Damn, that’s fucked up. You’re still welcome to come though.”

Montana nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Come with us, we’ll be out in the woods. You’ll be safe there with us.”

As Brooke nodded, Lexi made her way back to Brooke with the water. “Here drink and just breathe.”

Brooke took the water with a small “thank you.” She looked around at the group. “I- I packed a bag just in case-“

“We’ll get the van loaded, no worries!” Ray spoke, signaling the boys to follow him.

“Yeah, plenty of room.” Chet gave a small smile towards the brunette before leaving the girls to sit in silence.

Lexi stood up from where was kneeling next to Brooke. “I’m Lexi, by the way. You must be Montana’s new friend.”

Brooke nodded. “Yeah, we met yesterday in class.”

“Lexi is Xavier’s girlfriend.” Montana said. “And my best friend, well more like a sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Brooke spoke.

“Same.” It remained quiet again until she spoke once more. “So do you really think it was him? There’s a lot of crazy shit that goes down in this city.”

“It was him.” Brooke declared, sitting the plastic cup on the coffee table. “He said he was going to come after me!”

Montana held her hands up. “Brooke, chill. It’s gonna be okay. You’ll come with us to Camp RedWood and by the time we get back, the cops will have most likely found him.”

Lexi nodded. “Exactly,” she patted Brooke’s shoulder for reassurance.

Brooke nodded and stood. The two blondes stood with her and they all made their way out of the gym.

———————————ASTR————————————

The first hour during the ride was filled with laughs and promises of the best summer to come. Lexi sat close to Xavier in the front of the van as the others chilled in the back. Brook sat between Montana and Chet, still obviously on edge.

Ray offered some alcohol to the brunette in hopes of calming her nerves. “I still don’t really know what happened.” She managed to say before taking a swig from Ray’s flask.

“Face it, Brooke. You’re a badass.” Montana smiled at the girl.

“The cops are going to find him right?” Brooke asked, still in not convinced.

“I’m sure they will, hun.” Lexi turned around in her seat to give Brooke a reassuring smile.

“What’s better than a few weeks out in the wilderness? And get paid for it!” Montana said, bringing a hand onto the brunette’s knee. “Brooke, you’re totally doing the right thing coming with us.”

“Absolutely, it’s going to be a nonstop party.” Ray spoke next. “The kids, the camp. I’ve got us enough blow and weed to last us through the summer. And let’s just hope that we don’t have to take any drug tests.” Ray, Lexi, Montana and Xavier laughed as Chet huffed.

“No, it’s not fucking funny. Point zero zero one. That’s how much shit those morons said was in my blood stream.” Chet huffed and crossed his arms.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, Chet was disqualified from Team USA. He peed a pharmacy, so they kicked him out of the Olympics.” Montana said to Brooke, who tried to keep her eyes from starting at the man.

“Come on, you can be honest with us. We’re all friends!” Xavier chuckled.

“But I didn’t do anything! I worked my ass off for that spot!” Chet whined, now moving to pull his shirt off. “I mean look at this bod. Have you ever seen a body like this?”

Brooke shook her head and replied quietly with a “no.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” Ray chimed.

“Yeah? What the hell do you got, huh? Let’s see it!”

Montana, who had been watching the whole exchange with smirk spoke. “Yeah, I’m up for a good laugh.”

Lexi giggled as Ray struggled to remove his shirt but managed to finally get it off. He flexed whatever muscles he had. “Eat my shorts!”

A bright flash from Montana’s Polaroid camera blinded him for a moment. She just grabbed the film when it finally printed. “For memory purposes.”

“It’s like the ad always says ‘there’s always room for jello.’”

Ray rolls his eyes and digs through his backpack something. Then brings out a little clear vial of a white substance.

Without a word he gestures it to Chet who hesitates but gives up.

“What the hell! It doesn’t matter what I put in my body anymore anyways.” He says before taking hit off his finger.

Chet passes it back to Brooke, who shyly declines. Which it was now handed to Montana who was obviously down.

“More for me,” she snorted what she could before handing it to Lexi. “And for Lexi.”

Lexi rolled her eyes before lifting the vial towards her nose. She took a big wiff from the line in which she poured onto her hand.

Lexi managed to trade the coke for one of Ray’s famous blunts. She sunk back into seat next to Xavier with the blunt placed in between her fingers.

The curvy blonde took two hits before holding it up to her boyfriend’s mouth. Xavier rolled his eyes at whatever chatter his friends were causing in the back seat. He leaned into the joint that Lexi had held up for him.

Not bothering to wait for him to release the Smoke he had inhaled, she moved closer and placed her lips onto his plump ones. The smoke from the joint seeking its way back into Lexi’s mouth.

The two didn’t notice their friends were watching. Ray, being the more playful friend, decided to call them out.

“Come on you two, cut that shit out before Xav crashes the damn van!”

Lexi only smiled bashfully and sat back in her spot in the passengers seat. That didn’t stop Xavier from taking his large right hand to squeeze her thigh.

And in a low voice, avoiding their friends. He whispered into her ear. “Don’t forget what I said about sex in the woods.”

Lexi just smiled “Oh baby, don’t tease.” She winked.

Not much longer the group arrived at what looked like an older, broken down gas Station. Which was kinda eerie to Lexi, considering her knowledge of horror movies with gas stations like this one.

Everyone had hopped out to stretch their legs. Xavier moved passed the gas station attendant.

“Fill her up. How much?” He asks the older man.

“About a quarter,” he responded.

“And the pay phone?” He asked. The older man grunted And pointed towards the back by a garbage dump.

Lexi settles for a coke from a soda machine nearby. She scraped together a dollar from the change from Xavier’s van.

“You guys want anything from the vending machine?” Lexi asks the girls who are busy stretching their legs and talking.

“Nah, I’m good.” Montana replied.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Brooke responded.

Lexi shrugged and headed back to the vending machine to get her drink.

“Actually, Lexi could you do me a favor?”

“What?” She grabbed her soda and joined Montana And Brooke.

“I don’t know if you could tell but I think Brooke here has a crush on our dear, pain in the ass, Chet. Does she have you blessing?”

“It’s not what you-“ Brooke was cut off.

“Brooke, I really don’t care about you and Chet. Just go for it. Honestly, we only dated for 6 months.”

“You don’t care?”

“Nope. Chet And I have moved on from each other. And now I have Xavier.” Lexi said, eyeing her man walking back towards them. “So have fun!” She giggled to Brooke.

“See? I told you not to worry about her!” Montana Schabe Brooke’s shoulder a shove. “Xavier let’s go! We need to start making a move if we going to get to RedWood before dark!”

“Did she say RedWood?” The old man asked.

“Yeah, camp RedWood. We’re all camp counselors there for the summer.” Brooke answered.

“Turn around. Go back to the city.” The old man responded. “They should have never opened that place again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. How much do we owe you?” Xavier interrupted, his hand resting on Lexi’s lower back.

He helped her into the back of the van as Ray paid the gas station attendant.

“Xav, what is he talking about?” Lexi asks.

Xavier shakes his head. “Nothing. Probably some random shit he says to anyone heading the same way. Don’t worry ‘bout it, babe.”

Xavier hopped back into the drivers seat. Chet stole Lexi’s spot but she was glad to be in the back with the girls and Ray.

Xavier was just finding the right tunes for the rest of the drive when the old man slapped a hand on the hood, causing them to jump in surprise.

“You’re all gonna die.” He spoke in such a deep tone that gave Lexi goosebumps.

The blonde just winked. And drove them off back towards the way.

Lexi however, couldn’t stop thinking of those words. What was he talking about? How much of Camp Redwood did this man know about? Obviously something she did not. And she wasn’t the only one.

——————————-ASTRM————————————

A/N: I know it’s shorter than expected but I’ve already got chapter 3 going. Please let me know what you think.

[brelione]

Virginity (TopperXReader)

27 and 47 for Topper? I love how many requests I got like when I said to send in requests yall really delivered and I appreciate it so much.

Also if someone could please make some more Topper gifs that would be great because I suck at it :)

Warnings:Smut if you couldnt tell by the title.

You and Topper’s relationship had officially started around three months ago.You knew that he had been with a handful of girls before you and had even lost his virginity in freshman year.You,on the other hand,couldnt relate.He had tried a couple of things before,like pulling up your shirt or when a makeout session got intense he’d go to unbutton your pants but you had always made up an excuse.

Now he had you pinned against the wall,his lips moving down your neck and his teeth nipping at your skin every couple of moments.Your parents had gone to the mainland for a vacation,you didnt know what from exactly but it didnt really matter.His hands trailed down,going to pull off your t shirt.He felt you stiffen,making him pull away and look up at you.

 “Are you just not into me?Cause I keep trying to make a move and you just dont seem happy.”He sighed,standing up straight.You bit down on your lip,trying to figure out what to tell him. “Um..im a virgin.”You mumbled.His eyebrows knit together,his lips falling into a frown. “What?Say it again,please.”He requested.You sighed,looking up at him. “Im a virgin,Topper.”You expected him to laugh but instead he nodded. “You couldve just told me.”He mumbled,feeling like you didnt trust him.You shrugged,not really knowing what to say. 

“So are you uncomfortable right now?Do you want to just rain check it for another time?”He asked,his hand rubbing your side lightly.You bit the inside of your cheek,beaming up at him. “Its not that im uncomfortable,I just dont know what im doing.”You admitted.He nodded,leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Thats okay,I know what im doing.And I know that there is no way that you’re having your first time against a wall.”He took your hand,bringing you up to your bedroom.

He grabbed a towel from your bathroom,putting it down on the bed. “If you want me to stop,just tell me.Understand?”He asked.You just nodded,too nervous to say anything. “We dont have to do it,you know.”He said upon realizing just how nervous you were. “I want too...just nervous.”You answered.He placed a light peck on your lips,then your nose and forehead. “Its me,baby.You know I wouldnt hurt you.”He sent you a reassuring grin,kissing your neck lightly.

 “Try not to be so tense,okay?If you’re tense it’ll hurt and neither of us want that.”He spoke softly,moving his hands down to the bottom of your shirt and pulling it over your head.He lifted your head up by your chin,kissing you again. “I love you.”He grinned.You grinned. “I love you too.”You answered.He placed light kisses down your chest,leaving small hickeys.

His hands went under you,unclipping your bra.You bit your lip as his latched onto one of your nipples,sucking gently. “You okay?”He asked.

You nodded,urging him to keep going.He kissed your collarbone,leaving a rather dark hickey on the skin.His fingers unbuttoned your pants,pulling them down and tossing them over the side of the bed.He didnt fail to notice your thighs squeeze together,making him grin. “You know,its not really gonna work if you close your legs.”He chuckled.You apologized quietly,letting him pull down your underwear and spread your legs.

He ran a finger past your folds,smiling at how wet you were becoming.He pressed a kiss to your clit,testing the waters.He licked softly at your core,listening to you moan quietly.He put a finger in you,moving it in and out slowly so you could get used to the feeling before adding another.Your moans acted like fuel,making him move faster.Your face twisted in slight discomfort when he added a third.

 “I know,I know but I gotta stretch you out so I wont hurt you.”He spoke softly,kissing your stomach lightly.The discomfort went away as your wetness coated his fingers,making it easier for him to move.He couldve listened to your moans as he fingered you for hours,letting you cum all over them.He pulled them out after a while though,pretty sure that you wouldnt be able to handle two orgasms.You whined at the loss of contact,making a smile spread across his handsome face.He pulled down his pants along with his boxers,letting you stare for a few moments. “Its okay to back out now,you know.”He reminded you. “You’re going to puncture my kidney with that thing.”You mumbled.

He let out a low,chuckled shaking his head. “It’ll be fine.”He answered.He grabbed a condom that he kept in his pocket,sliding it on. “Ready?”He asked.You let out a shaky sigh,nodding.He slowly began to slide in,stopping when he saw your eyes clench shut,holding your breath.He leaned down so you could touch him,your fingernails digging into his back. “Hey,hey,I know it hurts but you gotta relax.”He spoke softly.You bit down hard on your lip,holding him tighter.

 “It hurts.”You whispered.He nodded,kissing your forehead. “Do you want me to stop?”He asked.You shook your head,telling him that you needed a minute.He nodded,his fingers grazing over your temple and cheek bone,trying to ease the pain. “You can move.”You whispered.He slowly inched in,not wanting to give you too much at once.He’d pause everytime he moved,letting you adjust.Once he was fully in he waited for you to tell him you were okay,hovering over you and letting you run your fingers through his hair.

 “You okay?”He asked.You nodded,letting him know that he could move.He started with a slow pace,watching as your face changed from being in discomfort to pleasure,quiet moan spilling from your lips.He sped up a bit,not going too hard on you.Your hands went to his hair,pulling at the blonde strands lightly. “You good?”He asked.You nodded,he eventually got to a hellish pace,your nails leaving red scratched on his back and his teeth leaving small marks along yout neck.

“Topper-Topper I think im gonna cum.”Your grip on him tightened.You had read enough about sexual education due to the american school system failing you that you knew what the feeling within you meant.Though it was rare for a girl to get that feeling when with a guy.He kissed your forehead as you climaxed,the fluids leaking out of you and onto the towel.

He slowly pulled out of you,not wanting you to get overwhelmed by all the feelings.He disposed of the condom,pulling on his boxers and going into your dresser to get you a new shirt and some more comfortable underwear,smiling down at you. “So?How was it?”He asked,sliding the underwear up your legs due to you still being in a tired,amazed state. “Fucking insane.”You smiled,slowly sitting up.

You felt a bit sore but nothing too bad,taking the shirt from him.He laid down next to you,letting you rest on his chest. “How bad did it hurt?”He asked.You sighed,tightening your grip on his torso. “It was pretty bad at first but then it didnt hurt anymore.”You answered,pressing a light kiss to his collarbone.He nodded,rubbing your back. “Are you sore?”He asked.You shrugged,closing your eyes tiredly. “Do you want a heating pad or icepack?”He asked.You grumbled,resting your head in the crook of his neck. “I want cuddles.”You answered.

@outerbongs  @copper-boom  @httpstarkey

If you’d like to be tagged in all future JJ imagines/headcannons/series comment with a heart,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Pope imagines/headcannons/series comment with a smiling face,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Rafe imagines/headcannons/series comment with a frowning face,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Kiara imagines/headcannons/series comment with a question mark and if you’d like to be tagged in all future Sarah Cameron imagines/headcannons/series comment with a plus sign.If you’d like to be tagged in all Kelce content coment with a “>” and if youd like to be tagged in all Topper content comment with a “%”.Or if thats too complicated you can just comment whose name you’d like to be tagged in.

[fuckyeahharryhart]

KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE, IN MY AU, HARRY HART WOULD STILL BE A BADASS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S ALIVE. HE’S JUST A BAD ASS WITH NO MEMORY

IN MY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - this is what happened when they found Harry. And Roxy is alive, cause “what the hell?” And basically is an excuse for me to thirst on Colin Firth as Harry Hart, who will always be a badass gentleman spy, memory or no.

Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy survived the explosions that destroyed Kingsman. Following the clues from their doomsday protocol, the three of them traveled to Kentucky to Statesman HQ.

They are confronted by Agent Tequila where they try to explain what they are doing there. Tequila does not believe them. He disarms and disables them. The scene begins in Statesman underground holding room. Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin wake up to find that they are bound and restrained.

(apologies in advance for grammar, spelling, format. First draft, secondish draft. Just did one quick read-through and fixed most of the glaring errors.

PS I kinda nerded out with the amnesia and weapons research) 

-----------------

The room remained vague and shadowy. Eggsy fought against a heaviness that kept his eyes closed. He tried again to blink them open. No such luck. They were uncooperative. Moving on. Assessing what little he could, he tested the restraints that bound him to a cold metal chair both at the wrists and ankles. Zip ties. Cheap and easy, but harder to release from than traditional handcuffs. He tried anyway. And then a second time, only with more force. Nothing. He willed himself to relax. If he couldn’t get free with brute force, it was time to get creative. Switch to strategy and problem solving. At least try to figure out what the hell was going on and why a souped up cowboy was holding them hostage. 

His training, his instincts wanted to kick in regardless of the fact that he was restrained. He ran through his checklist anyway. Scan and clear the room. Assess the threat. Spot entrances and exits. Locate the nearest weapon. It didn’t necessarily need to be a gun. Any object that could possibly disable an enemy would suffice.

It was infuriating that he was unable to proceed with his training. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a moot point anyway, nothing of him seemed to be responding to his commands. His surroundings remained a bleary haze. His brain still foggy, was trying to catch up.

The renegade cowboy that had disarmed and disabled Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin, was waiting rather patiently for them to wake up. That is, until the point he was no longer patient and decided to empty a bottle of perfectly good whiskey on Eggsy and Merlin. As he considered himself a gentleman, he spared Roxy.

 It was unsettling how he took the three of them down so easily. Eggsy reasoned that they certainly weren’t at their best. Shit had gone down in the last 24 hours and they were damn tired.

Eggsy and Merlin sputtered in protest. 

“So good of you to join us.” The cowboy’s tone was relaxed and untroubled.

He took a casual stance and leaned up against the wall like he was just waiting for something interesting to happen.

His head cocked to the right. “Now where was I?”

 Nodding to himself, “Oh yeah”, he said, as if he just remembered something fascinating. His fingers snapped together with a sharp click. “You were just about to tell me who ya’ll were and how the hell you found us.” He mentioned this as if he were waiting for them to describe what they ate for breakfast and whether or not they had enjoyed it.

The disparity between his gregarious tone, his friendly manner, and the slightly hostile glint in his eyes was disconcerting.

He crossed his legs on the other side and tipped his head to the left.

“Anytime ya’ll are ready to start talkin’, Im all ears.”

They had already tried to explain what happened to their headquarters. Well, their tailor shop backstop. How likely was it that generations of tailors had passed down a secret doomsday protocol for survivors in case of complete destruction? Of their tailor shop? Eggsy had to admit, as a story, it positively wreaked implausibility. But it was true, aside from replacing their secret intelligence agency with a bespoke suit business. 

From the cowboys perspective, it would seem kind of insulting that they expected the him to buy their story. Actually, It would seem pretty insulting to expect anyone with the most basic cognitive skills believe it. The problem was that, as ridiculous as story was, it was, in fact, the truth.

Eggsy didn’t have any more to say. Roxy, who would probably take him down if given half the chance, wisely remained quiet. Merlin’s furrowed brow meant that he most likely had a bloody lot to say, but nothing that would improve their situation. 

They had reached an impasse. 

The cowboy regarded them thoughtfully from under his Stetson, wide brimmed hat. 

“We don’t have folks from your neck of the woods in these parts that often.” His lips pursed in thought.

“I would reckon once every year or so, some might pass through here that sound like y’all. Why,” nodding his head confirming his own information. “I think it was just about a year ago, we had someone drop in unexpectedly.” 

He gazed up and to the right, as if recalling a memory. Maybe y’ll know him.” He said, his eyes falling back on them.

Merlin. “I highly doubt that.”

The cowboy drew back slightly, irked by their obstinance. These brits were stubborn as all get out. Did they seriously expect him to believe their doomsday protocol story? What was this? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt?

“I just find it awfully convenient that you just “happened” to find this bottle of whiskey with our name on it. Right after your entire “shop” exploded with ALL it’s employees and everyone who worked there. Every single person who knows you, gone with it. That would be mighty upsettin’ if I was in ya’lls shoes.” He tried on a little sympathy for size. Nope, didn’t fit. He continued with his slight undertone of sarcasm. 

 “Can’t even make a call to see if anyone can vouch for y’alls.” Such a shame, he thought. Alrightly, he’d just keep talkin’ at ‘em until one of them slipped up or said something interesting.

He could talk into the night for all he cared. “Not even anythin’ left to take with you. Except a couple of watches that can unlock a biometric security system.” Now this was legitimately irritating. 

“Why would some little ole tailors shop need to have a biometric security system? I mean, ya’ll look mighty fine in them suits and spectacles, but sorry to say, not that fine.”

He used this opportunity to break out one of his favourite southern idioms. “You see, that dog don’t hunt.” He amused himself.

“Look.” Said the Scotsman. “We have no idea what you are talking about. The only reason we are here is because we found one of your bottles.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, before pressing his lips together, this time doubtfully twisting them to the side.

“See, here’s the thing. Lots and lots of folks have our bottles. Ain’t none of them ever broken into our maximum security “warehouse” before.”

“You’re looking for the Brit, ain’t ya? “His eyes narrowed. “And now why would that be?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed even deeper. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was reaching the far ends of his exasperation. “We do not know anyone here. Quite sorry to say, but we have never heard of Statesmen before. In our part of the world, we prefer a single malt scotch. No offence.”

“None taken.” He said pleasantly.

The cowboy pushed himself off the wall.

“Well,” he huffed, “It seems we’re at a stalemate.”

The cowboy continued to study them as he spoke.

“Ya’ll telling’ me a story you say is the truth.”

He shook his head in disappointment, feigning sadness. “And I just don’t believe ya. Now we could go round n round like this until we’re all blue in the face. But that sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“If we ain’t getting anywhere like this, might be time to switch things up a bit?”

“Ya’ll say you don’t know the Brit. But I’m thinkin’ y’all should talk to him. Might be able to make some sense out of what’s comin’ out of your mouth ‘cause I just don’t get it.”

Silence from the three of them. Well, weren’t they a stubborn bunch. 

The man sighed dramatically and shrugged his wide shoulders. 

“Well, it appears you wont be cooperatin’ with me. I think it’s about time ya’ll talk to someone else cause I sure aint getting’ nowhere with ya. But I don’t know if you’re gonna wanna talk to him.”  

He regarded them sympathetically. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that table when he’s the one asking questions. Ya’ll might be wish’n to see my pretty face again.”

Three almost identically frustrated faces looked back at him.

“Word is round here, don’t matter what you won’t say to me.” 

He started ambling across in front of them, from wall to wall in slow, measured steps. 

“What matters is what y’all gonna to say to HIM.” He stopped mid-stride, turned toward them. 

“Now, I’ve seen him doin’ his thing, right?  Believe me, he’ll have ya talkin’ in ways you can’t even imagine.” He continued along his thoughtful line, turning away from them.

He began to let the heel of his boots scuff the floor with every step. “You wont even be able to shut up, ya’ll talk so much.” He spoke over his shoulder. “ Tellin’ him things you ain’t even tell your mama.”

No response from the three Kingsman.

He turned toward Roxy. “My apologies little lady, but here at Statesman?  Guys and gals? We’re all on equal footing.” He had the gall to wink at her. “No matter what our name says.” 

He hooked his thumbs under this belt and hitched the whole get up, flask holster and all, up his non existent hips. 

“I hate to see a pretty miss like you have to go down with the likes of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of Merlin and Eggsy. “But, at Statesman, no special treatment for the fillies.”

Roxy proceeded to murder him with her eyes.

Absurdly, he decided it was a good and proper time to dial up the charm.  “Say, you don’t wanna tell me what you and your boys were up to here? I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping these fellas in line.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce. It turned out that Roxy no longer needed to blink. 

“That’s quite a look you’re thrown’ at me.” The cowboy smirked.

“Well, I’m really sorry. I apologise for this, but ya’ll don’t give me no other choice.” 

He turned toward the side and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The lenses were shaded to a dusky gold. He unfolded them, put them on and tapped the side of the lens. 

“Ya there?” He spoke into the air.

Evidently the glasses were a communications device and he received an answer in return. He nodded to himself. “Yep, affirmative.” 

There was another brief pause as he listened to the person on the other side. “Roger that.” He turned off the communication by tapping the side of the lens a second time. 

He looked at them almost sympathetically. “It looks we ARE gonna find out what happens when we change things up a bit.”

He walked over to the frosted panel window and flipped a switch.

Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy were momentary blinded by a brilliant white light. So bright and unexpected that they had to turn away. They squinted against the flare as coloured spots tripped behind their eyelids. They continued to blink until their eyes adjusted to the intensity of the new light. 

What they saw as the opacity of the glass dissolved… Well, to say they were ill prepared would be the understatement to understate all statements.

It couldn’t be.

It was utterly impossible.

But there he was. 

Outlined by a dazzling white light. 

Unmistakable.

It was Harry Hart.

—

The agents tried to gather their collective wits like they were trying to herd cats. It was nearly impossible. Harry disappeared from view. Sharp, tell tale footsteps could be heard walking down the short distance from the viewing area to their holding room. 

Between the three of them, none had taken a single breath from the moment Harry Hart appeared behind the glass.

For Eggsy, a white hot wave surged through his body and seared him from his finger tips to his toes. He could even hear the heat ringing in his ears. It was a high pitched whine that reverberated from one side of his head to the other. He had no control over his physical response. Any authority that he may have had, dissipated with the frosted glass. Apparently, his body knew exactly what to do, because it was doing its own thing, without any input from him. He set his thoughts aside and let his body do whatever it felt the need to. He was fairly certain he was exhibiting the physical signs of shock. He felt pale, his hands were damp and clammy. He felt weirdly mortified. He might as well be naked, for he felt exposed to the deepest, most secret recesses of his soul. Places that had no business being brought to light. 

He felt laughter bubble up through watery eyes he didn’t even know if he could call tears. For joy? Sheer bewilderment? Whatever the reason, his eyes were leaking. The buzzing in his ears wouldn’t stop and he felt sure he was about to pass out. He wanted to drop his head between his legs, but he didn’t dare pull his gaze away from the door he knew Harry Hart would enter from. He didn’t dare blink. Let alone look away. 

His ears burned, his cheeks flamed red and splotchy. It was as if he was caught off guard doing the most embarrassing thing he could think of, just times a billion and witnessed by everyone from his mum to his kindergarten teacher, not to mention every famous person that he had a crush on or looked up to and the whole mortifying episode was being televised live around the world. 

Whatever he was experiencing, it was nearly unbearable. Like suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. Was that even possible? His heart had either stopped or was beating so rapidly that it felt as if it was hardly beating at all. Which seemed feasible as most of his blood had pooled in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Surely, there was none flowing to his brain. It had signed out for the moment. It certainly wasn’t sticking around to see what was coming next. 

 He tried to arrange his face into the shape he thought would be appropriate for when his mentor, who he saw get shot point blank in the face, a man who died over a year ago, who he had spent what felt like a lifetime grieving, materialise as an interrogator for a covert cowboy secret agency in Kentucky. He couldn’t imagine what an acceptable face would look like in that situation, so he assumed that his face had no expression at all. It was the best he could do. 

He didn’t even posses the wherewithal to see how his partners where faring. He hoped that they were in a more presentable state. He moved his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He tried clearing his throat, but it was dry and papery. Apparently, whatever autonomous system that controlled his salivary glands also decided that this whole situation was bullshit and decided to check out, too.

The track of the footsteps, even now so familiar, paused at the door. The handle turned with a weighty click. 

He didn’t have the brain capacity to even imagine what would happen next.

The only thing in his head were three letters. And they weren’t  ABC. 

They were W. T. F.

The door opened. 

They saw the man who had once been the foundation of their agency. 

The man who had once been its living and breathing heart and soul. 

How long had it been since he last thought of Harry Hart? After the initial grief, the denial, the anger, and finally, the acceptance, the loss became a dull ache.  Though tolerable, it never went away. They never found his body, but he didn’t have hope that Harry would ever return. He saw the shot that took his life. Even the best agent had no way of possibly surviving a point blank shot to the face. Harry fell where he had once stood. He didn’t get back up. And like that, Harry Hart was gone.

In the aftermath of V-day, Eggsy and the others didn’t have a chance to even stop and think about what happened to Harry, let alone process the loss. That came after. In the moments when time slowed down, things got quiet, and they no longer had the urgency of missions to distract them from the loss or to use as a vehicle for their anger and rage at the unfairness of it all.  

Eggy’s pain was not only due to the loss of his mentor, but also from the fact that he never got to tell the man just how important he was to him. Their final conversation repeated in his head, over and over, on endless loop. The last words that he had exchanged with Harry were harsh and accusatory. How much he wished that that conversation had not been their last. What wouldn’t he give to say the rest of the words that were caught in his throat. To finally release them. To say he was sorry. But the chance never came and the words clung to him, never to be spoken.

A tall man in a dark pinstripe suit entered the room.

At first glimpse, he was their Harry Hart. As perfect as they imagined and just as they all remembered him. Only on closer inspection did they notice small, but significant details that would indicate otherwise.

He was wearing what looked like the exact same suit he “died” in. But this one didn’t show any of the wear and damage that was sure to have happened in that final, brutal rampage. Either Statesman had an excellent tailor repair the original suit, or more likely, Harry had his suit replicated. 

The details were exacting as they had always been. The tie with the Windsor knot. The pristine white spread collar and crisp pocket square. French cuffs that were still held by the Kingsman cuff links. 

His standard horn rimmed communication glasses had been modified. The left lens was now shaded a solid black. There was an additional piece that covered his peripheral vision from the edge of the lens to the end of the arm on his left side.

How was it possible that he stood before them, as handsome and regal as ever? Hell, the man could even make a blacked out eye look distinguished. It added to his air of gravitas.

A curious pair of black cowboy boots with elaborate stitching, stood out from below the mid-break of his trousers. The footsteps they heard in the hallway didn’t come from his standard oxfords.

Neither did they see the familiar Kingsman standard issue pistol he would always pack without fail. In his right hand, held down by his side, he toted a nickel plated Colt Single Action Army revolver modified with a double barrel. He carried it by its smooth, wooden grip.

But he did walk with the same measured strides, familiar in pace and sound. Harry took his place in front of them as the cowboy found a space off to the side. 

They wore their incredulity in silence.  Words were insignificant compared to this impossible occasion. Words that would adequately express their turmoil did not exist. Merlin looked like he was trying to deconstruct a complex algorithm in his head. Roxy looked, he imagined bizarrely, like she had just been denied an orgasm. Where the hell did that come from? Eggsy fairly certain he looked like a bloody idiot.

And so they waited. 

Familiar, golden brown eyes, well, eye now, gazed over them. Making and then holding eye contact with each of them in the way they had always remembered he would when he required their full attention.

They searched his eyes and face for recognition. To see any kind of dawning realization that he knew who they were. Merely seeing Harry, alive and mostly whole, was something that was unfathomable to them. 

Finally, Harry spoke.

The vibration of his voice was able to resonate through their shocked and dampened senses. It was a deep and calming sound. Smooth, measured tones with an aristocratic accent that clipped his words. Vibrant. It was a voice that was warm, safe and familiar. It was a voice that sounded like home.

What was completely baffling were the words that beautiful voice said. 

“Please excuse my dreadful manners. But I don’t believe we have properly met.”

They turned and glanced at each other in confusion. What the hell? Surely there had to be some part of Harry that recognized them. At least Merlin, with whom he shared a history going back over twenty years. 

“Harry. It’s us.” Merlin implored. “We’re not undercover. Right now, we’re not anything. That’s why we came here.” 

“Harry.” Merlin’s voice was touched with sorrow. “Kingsman is gone.”

Harry’s face remained impassive. The spark of recognition remained unfired. There was no hint of softening, no warmth, no glint that told them, “Not to worry. Everything is under control.”  

Harry confirmed. “Yes, I had the pleasure of hearing your story.” He leaned back against the wall and took a casual stance. Crossing his legs in front of him much like Tequila did.  He placed a hand in a pocket. The other gripped the Colt lightly.

“It’s quite interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “And particularly unfortunate that this Kingsman Tailoring “Agency” that you speak of, was completely and utterly destroyed. How unfortunate that the three of you happen to be the only survivors.” 

Time paused with him as he contemplated this thought for awhile.

“It would seem rather convenient, on the other hand, for that gives us absolutely no way to possibly verify your doomsday scenario.” 

The disappointment on his face hit them with a guilt that was worse than his impassivity. 

“And why, all of a sudden, after a year, would not only one, but three mysterious Brits arrive here at Statesman, of all the places in the world, for no other reason than a bottle telling them to.” 

Beseechingly, Eggsy replied. “Harry, we don’t understand what’s happening. We thought that you had died when Valentine shot you outside the church.”

Harry’s face suddenly hardened. Slowly he pulled himself up to his full height.

“How could you possibly know that?” The air around them became sharp with tension. 

How did they end up on the wrong side of the interrogation table? They had never seen Harry from this perspective. But they had witnessed him work targets before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

As Harry continued, his voice remained very calm and very steady. 

“No one. Pardon me. I should clarify. No one alive except Statesman has that knowledge. Not even I had that knowledge in the beginning.”

Instantly, it was crucial that no one speak out of turn. Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that was flat and affectless.  They had rarely heard it before, but they knew it was dangerous to be on the receiving end of that dull and indifferent voice. 

Harry was walking his edge. And Harry on the edge was not someone you wanted to push. To anyone else, he would have appeared unchanged. But he had the sharp glint in his eye, the set to his jaw, and the steely note to his voice that betrayed he was very, very angry. They only knew this because of their history with him. It was critical to tread very lightly. 

Eggsy words were dressed with caution. 

“Harry, you were at the church, “he emphasised, “on behalf of Kingsman.” He carefully walked through a minefield of words, wary of any misstep that would trigger Harry’s anger in their direction.

“We knew that Richmond Valentine was up to no good. You were assigned the mission to find out exactly what he was planning. You flew to Kentucky. Valentine was testing his SIM card transmitter on the people in the church. You were there as well. Even though you didn’t have a SIM card, the transmission was strong enough to affect everyone, whether they had a SIM card or not.”

 “Merlin and I were on the communication feed. We saw everything…. You were affected by the sound waves, too… You had no control…” He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he definitely didn’t want to mention the number of people Harry had killed.

Merlin spoke on his behalf. “Eggsy’s right. We saw you confront Valentine. We saw him shoot you in the head. We thought that you had died. The bullet destroyed the communication feed or else it would have transmitted…” he paused. “Proof of life, or confirmation of death.” 

Harry reflected. “Yes, I did almost die on that day.”

Eggsy and Merlin flinched.

“It was only through, whatever would like to call it, luck, perhaps fate. Regardless, it was Statesman that located me. They were able to save my life. I owe them. I am a man who honors his debts.”

The room prickled with silence. They dared not say more until they were able to see more of the landscape they were trying to traverse. It was littered with threats.

Harry, now pacing in slow, steady strides, continued. “With all the resources you say this Kingsman agency had, how surprising that it had to be strangers that came to my aid. Otherwise,” he recalled, “I would be, quite dead.” 

The three of them realised they were on eggshells atop a minefield. Never before had they been confronted by Harry in this manner. Never before had they even witnessed Harry in this state. They were uncertain of what to do when faced with this degree of suspicion and mistrust from a man, who in the past, would have given his life to save any of theirs.

When no one spoke, he began to ruminate. “At Statesman, we knew that it was Richmond Valentine who shot me. Confirmed by two of their agents.” He turned back toward them. “Though the question of why still remained unsolved.”

Coming closer. “But you three, now, are here with that answer,” He paused in-between his points for effect. 

“But you are here, completely by chance.” pause 

“Only because of a doomsday protocol scenario.” pause 

“A scenario that led you to Statesman.” pause 

“And I just happen to be here as well.” pause  

“Do you know what the odds are of that happening?” pause  

“Rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” pause  

“I must say, you are quite the interesting trio. Unassuming.  Not quite what one would expect for this sort of operation.  Perhaps that is the point. Disarm me with your improbability, with your accents, so familiar to my own. Here to deliver stories of how I was part of an organization that no longer exists. And you are the only other individuals who know what occurred the day I was shot.” He stopped in front on them. He turned to face them and drew tall once more.

Looking at each other was a dare none of them were willing to take. They knew that the most important thing at that moment was to maintain eye contact with Harry anytime he looked in their direction. If they couldn’t offer him any answers, at least they could show him that they had nothing to hide. Now was not the time to look or act guilty.

No matter how many tactics he used, regardless of how hard he pushed them, their story would be the same because they had no other story. Was there no memory of Kingsman at all? What about Harry’s moral code, that Kingsman only risked a life to save a life. Was that a credo he still followed? The did not know what to expect.

“Regardless. Questions for another time I suppose.” He waved his hand as if brushing them away.

“The pressing issue still remains.” He was firm and unyielding. “Who are you and how did you find us.”

 What could they possibly say at this point? They remained silent.

“We welcome our visitors and our guests. However, we do not take kindly to trespassers. You say you have nothing to protect, but your honor. If the three of you are the only survivors of your organization and you are as close as you say, I would assume that you would, at the very least, protect a third of what remains of your agency.

Eggsy suddenly found himself on the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver. 

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he felt drunk, off balance, like he had fallen into an alternate universe. Where the laws of physics no longer applied. 

“Harry, it’s me.”  The only thing he could think of that could reach Harry was the guilt he had carried with him for over 17 years. The guilt that made him reach out to Eggsy in the first place. 

With self-possession he did not have, he composed himself as well as he could while being threatened by the mentor he once thought was dead.   

“My father saved your life.” He spoke quietly and deliberately and without hesitation.  “But you had made a mistake that cost him his. You were trying to repay him by helping me find purpose, to do something good with my life. You recruited me to Kingsman. You changed everything for me.” 

The look Harry returned for these words was almost kindly. 

“I’ll give you the following three seconds to prove that to me.”

Fuck. Eggsy was drawing a blank.

He could hear Roxy and Merlin, as if they were underwater yelling to Harry anything they could to make him stop.  

What felt like a lifetime later, the door burst open. Apparently, he had lost the ability to count, because that brief passage of time felt like much longer than three seconds. 

“Stop!” a woman yelled urgently. She tossed Harry a black umbrella. He caught it deftly with one hand.

“Their story checks out.” She held her palms out toward Harry. Please stop.

“I checked our doomsday scenario locker.” She explained. “Only to be opened in the case of a catastrophic event that cripples the agency to the point where we cannot rebuild on our own. It was established by a network of international intelligence agencies, forged when they first began. Since autonomy was the goal for each agency, once the protocol was put into place, no agency was to uncover it unless absolutely necessary.” 

“Take a look.” She nodded to the umbrella in his hand. “Kingsman. It has our logo on it.”

Harry paused to inspect the handle. Sure enough, the Statesman logo replaced the “s” in Kingsman.

He handled the umbrella in a way that seemed familiar to him. It almost seemed like he was looking for other recognisable features. Eggsy has seen plenty of Harry handling the umbrella like it was an extension of himself. He had saved Eggy’s life with it. It looked so natural in his hands. Like it completed the final picture of their Harry Hart and he was hopeful that this might be the final piece of the puzzle.  

Harry looked at the umbrella thoughtfully. It was difficult to read his face if he didn’t want it to be read. After a pause, he tossed it lightly back to Ginger. 

“Not good enough.” The gun swung back toward Eggsy.

They froze, unable to move, speak or even breathe. They were at a loss, nothing in their training prepared them for this. Roxy and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Harry cocked the revolver at Eggsy. Was it a live round? Or was it blank?

What kind of FU world would allow something like this to happen? Eggsy thought. He grasped for any hope, any last play that he could make, but the only thing within his reach was empty space. It simply slid through his fingers, without purchase, without substance. There was nothing that he could hold on to.

BUT… his eyes darted towards Harry’s right hand. The gun in his face was blocking his view… Fuck it. He squeezed eyes shut as he opened his mouth. The words ran together and toppled over each other as they spilled out without pause. 

“you wear a gold signet ring on your right little finger gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear the ring on the left hand but you wear yours on your right because a Kingsman always wears it on whatever hand happens to be dominant and you are right handed”

Nothing happened. And it was quiet.

Cautiously, Eggy peered from one eye. He wasn’t dead. He opened the other eye.

Harry regarded him from along the barrel of the revolver. Eggsy flinched away from its deadly mouth.

Harry deliberated. His mind took a step back and a step to the side. He looked at the situation from a different perspective. Because he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand, not on his left, as was the gentlemen’s  tradition. He was wearing it when he was shot. He could not recall where the ring came from, or its significance. Researching the insignia came up with no leads. But he continued to wear the ring, for no other reason than it felt right to him. Like he insisted on wearing his suit, rather than Statesman’s tie and jacket. 

His eyes let go of some of the hardness. Eggsy hoped that he saw a little softening at the edges. 

Harry’s voice, so familiar it made his heart hurt. Not accusatory, but with interest, he asked, “How do you know that?” 

Eggsy, with great effort willed his gaze to leave the barrel of the gun and meet the face that had once meant so much to him. He caught Harry’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said with a calmness and a clarity he did not feel, “because I’m wearing one, too.”

Harry, without breaking eye contact, nodded to Ginger. She hurried to Eggsy’s side. After a quick glance, she confirmed, indeed, he was wearing a signet ring exactly like Harry’s.

Harry lowered his gun. There were three consecutive sighs of relief.

“My apologies.” He said as he holstered his weapon.

“It seems as if we have much to discuss.”

———

They found themselves in a massive great room at Statesman HQ, the top floor of a huge structure the shape of the Statesman signature whiskey bottle. Floor to ceiling windows circled the entire room, providing a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Kentucky from every vantage point.

The centrepiece of the space was a leviathan of a conference table. Elaborately carved, solid hard wood. The trees that created that table must have had lived for years to grow to such a substantial size.  It had space to sit 12, but only few of the spots were occupied.

One of which by a larger than life, genial, vintage cowboy of a man. A little flashy, a little ostentatious, more than a little gregarious, he was the head of the Statesman outfit. With a place at the head of the table, he leaned back in his plush armchair with aplomb. He introduced himself as “Champagne” or Champ as he was known affectionately by his agents.

Roxy wasn’t surprised that, aside from Ginger Ale, she was the only female present. Hell, Ginger was the only other female that she had seen since they had entered Statesman HQ. Well, technically ‘broke in’, but still. They had an invitation, even if it was only in the shape of a whiskey bottle. A bottle that they had emptied while wallowing in self pity. Even Merlin was a bit maudlin, at one point, sobbing into his whiskey and singing Country Roads a little off key. Roxy had side-eyed him until Eggsy spotted the secret message hidden behind the label. She wondered they they had made the clue unnoticeable until the bottle was emptied. They could have quite possibly missed the hint. Being under the influence of, admittedly, very smooth whiskey did not enhance ones ability to spot decades old subtext on the back of whiskey labels. Whose clever idea had that been? 

Once again, she found herself in the odd situation where she wanted to be taken seriously as an agent, but Agent Tequila’s insistence on calling her sweetheart, miss, darling, filly of all things didn’t give her much confidence that Statesman would be any different from the old boys club that was Kingsman.

Even back at HQ, she was often, dear, dearest, or darling. The only person that she tolerated those endearments from where Eggsy, who used them in jest, and surprisingly Harry Hart. But Galahad, and Galahad Sr. calling her dear was much different than a two-bit, over the top, slick cowboy secret agent she had just met calling her something as intimate as “darling”. 

Would it kill him to call her Lancelot? It miffed her that he used Eggsy’s handle and not hers. Looking at the head of their organisation, she didn’t expect him to be much different. 

She took a seat the near end of the table, between Eggsy and Merlin. Agent Tequila walked in with Ginger, followed by Harry. She was surprised when he continued past them and walked around the head of the table to the other side, the Statesman side, and took a seat next to Ginger. He pulled out his chair, as smooth and as graceful as he sat thousands of times at the head of the Kingsman table. Even unbuttoning the last button of his suit so it wouldn’t crease and smoothing the back of his jacket before he leaned into his chair. The crossed legs, the hands folded on the knee. The authoritative, yet relaxed posture. It was all so familiar. What she couldn’t reconcile was the inscrutable, impenetrable expression that fell over his face every time he glanced in their direction. There was no warmth, no familiarity, no flicker of understanding. It made his face look unfamiliar and she did not like it one bit. 

To add insult to injury, Ginger had leaned over and whispered something in his direction. The small hint of a ‘not quite smile’ that pressed his lips together, his mouth just barely turned up at the corners, meant that she had shared an observation that confirmed something in his mind in a bemused sort of way. It was the look Harry had once made, when inquired about Eggsy’s tardiness, she revealed that he was running late because it was JB’s birthday party later and he wanted to get the dog “pupcakes” to celebrate. The memory tugged at her heart.

She didn’t turn her head to see how Eggsy was faring, but she could almost feel his dejection. She hoped it wasn’t so obvious on his face. Sometimes he was a little too earnest for his own good. Not that her other side was an improvement. Merlin was seated directly across from Harry. Only a distance of several feet, but it might as well have been lengths of the world for as distant Harry was from them. The furrow between the Scotsman’s brows had appeared the moment they discovered Harry alive. It took up residence on his face. Harry Hart, the man who was the only person close enough for Merlin to consider a friend, was now a mystery to him. 

The loss, between Eggsy and Merlin, was a cold empty space that Roxy had the unfortunate pleasure to be seated between. She was determined to warm up whatever mood vacuum that had sucked her in. Or at least not make it any worse.             

 And why did she always have to be the mediator? The men had elected Roxy as their spokesperson as neither of them thought that they would be able to speak without laughing, crying, shouting or hitting something. Predictably, she found herself the voice of reason. To be fair, she WAS the one with the least emotional involvement. Not that she hadn’t adored and respected Harry Hart, like everyone that worked under his guidance, but she had to admit, Merlin and Eggsy must be twice as confused and devastated by the recent turn of events. She mentally steeled herself against any additional revelations that might be thrown their way. But at this point, if there was something that could top this most recent turn of events, they might as well just blow up this joint and let it all burn down, too.

After everyone had settled in, and to her amusement, a pour of whiskey was set in front of each of them. She decided to get this “rodeo” started. She nodded in Champs direction. He tipped his chin, tapped his glass with his pen to get everyone’s attention and announced the opening of the meeting. All the Statesman and Harry, emptied their glasses. From her peripheral she saw Merlin and Eggsy follow suit without hesitation. Did all agencies revolve around the consumption of alcohol? She had already developed quite a tolerance from her brief stint at Kingsman so far. Well, if it brought these two agencies on familiar ground, who was she to argue? She tipped her glass back. And the welcomed the warmth after the initial burn, though still much smoother than could be expected. She appreciated the added touch of liquid courage. She cleared her throat. 

“We find ourselves here, under what we,” she gestured to herself and her colleagues, “believed to be the most difficult of circumstances. Only to be faced with another impossible situation. As you can imagine, the revelation that Harry Hart, our Sr. Agent Galahad,” she nodded in his direction, “who we believed had been killed over a year ago by Richmond Valentine, that he is still alive, has been shocking for us.”

In Harry’s direction, she continued, addressing him directly. “Harry. If we had believed there to be even the most infinitesimal chance that you could have survived Valentine’s bullet, we would have not hesitated to garner all the forces of Kingsman to find you and bring you back.”

Harry, respectfully listened to Lancelot, attentive, but without revealing anything aside from simple interest.

She faltered a little under his gaze. And she, too, wished for that little wink, the small tilt of his chin that would encourage her to continue. Just as he first did when she joined Kingsman, nervous over her first debriefing. There was no comfort to be found in his direction. She took a deep breath and continued. 

“Both Eggsy - our current Galahad - and Merlin witnessed the events of what we thought was your death.” She forced herself to face him, eye to eye, without hesitation. After all that he had sacrificed for them, it was the least she could offer him.

Her voice was clear and firm, her words meticulously thought out. “They saw you get shot, point blank, in the face, by no more than a distance of 10 feet, by a 9mm semi-automatic Heckler and Koch P30. The bullet destroyed the communication transmission via the left lens.”

Both Eggsy and Merlin were looking down. Both remembering all too clearly the events from that day. The details were painful for them to hear, especially when the man who they thought had died, was in fact, sitting across the table. Even though they had every right to call time of death, they couldn’t help but feel they had left him behind. 

Roxy continued. “Merlin, our communications and technology strategist and Galahad, who was at the time, your protege, had witnessed all the events up to the point the bullet severed the transmission. We could only deduce, at that point, that a bullet of that caliber, from that distance, would have shattered the lens.” She took a deep breath, “and continued through the left eye and exited the back of the head. Resulting in immediate death.” 

She could sense Eggsy flinch by her side. He had seen the whole thing far too clearly. 

“As much as we wanted to, we were unable to collect the body at the time of death. Due to unforeseen circumstances regarding treachery within the highest ranks of our agency, Merlin, Eggsy and I, had to straight away address both the source of our internal corruption and abort the plans initiated by Richmond Valentine. We were successful in both, but not in time to prevent casualties, both enemy and civilian.”

In speaking so intimately regarding what they thought was his death, she decided to switch identifiers from “the” to “your”. The man was sitting right in front of her. She spoke with a new earnest note in her voice. Rather than distancing herself from her words, she decided to speak from the place that had felt the same grief and loss as Eggsy and Merlin.

Harry’s eyes took on a different note as he heard the emotion in Roxy’s voice. 

“In the immediate aftermath of V-day, after the initial threat was neutralised, we flew to the States in an attempt to find you, identify you, and bring you home for proper internment, but we were unable to locate your body. We tried over weeks, through every channel, every resource, we followed every lead, with no success. We didn’t hope to find you alive.” 

She fought against the wave of emotion that threatened her composure.

“But we hoped that we would be able to properly commemorate your bravery, your integrity, your sacrifice, with the honour, dignity and grace worthy of your life and your legacy.” 

Roxy had stop for a moment, but she did not look away. A small tear rolled down her cheek without her noticing or bothering to wipe it away. It was as if the loss was new again. This pain was fresh. For all of them.

Harry’s eyes finally softened and they caught a glimpse of the man they remembered. But whether it was empathy for Roxy, clearly struggling to continue as her emotions caught in her throat, or understanding how they felt and what they had to do in the most difficult of situations, they did not know. 

And whatever amnesia he was experiencing had to be temporary, right? Surely Melin could devise a plan to help jump start his memory. Now that the were there, they could help him remember.

—

Roxy was determined to continue until the end. 

“After the events of V-Day, we had to recenter and regroup. Our agency had clearly been compromised. We needed to locate and close the leaks and tie up any loose ends.  Our losses were felt across the board. We had to rebuild what we could from the ground up. To recapture the integrity of our organisation. The immediate need to clean up the aftermath was one of the few things that we could focus on to help us come to terms with your loss. We knew, that if you had survived, you would have taken the mantle of Arthur. And that it would be your highest priority to rebuild the agency beyond reproach.”

“After several weeks, in which we continued our search for you, we felt that it would be best for us personally and professionally to move on. We held a private memorial for you, and honoured you as best as we could. After that, we could only move forward. It was a difficult time for all of us.” 

“We found ourselves here, after our organisation was levelled again. This time with only the three of us as survivors. Our HQ, our foundry, our storefront.” Her eyes flared with anger at this point. “And all of our agents worldwide aside from Galahad and I, were all taken down as targets.”

“Merlin was the only surviving handler and tech strategist and the only one of us that had been with the agency long enough know that a Doomsday protocol existed. With all of our resources destroyed, we had no way of protecting ourselves, to find out who had organised and carried out such a coordinated attack. Our last and only option was to see if this protocol existed.”

“We found the Statesman logo. Located your distillery here in Kentucky. At this point, we really had no plan beyond finding your organisation and hoping that you would be able to assist us.”

“We still had some tech in our possession, which I admit, looked suspicious for a group of tailors to have, let alone know how to use. That’s when your agent found us. We meant no ill will, but we had no other way to get into contact with your organization.  We didn’t even know if you existed. We had nothing to lose but to continue to follow any clues that we might come across. We had no protocol for a circumstance like this.”

“You can only imagine our bewilderment to be taken as adversaries when we were looking for help. And then our shock of finding Harry Hart. Finding him, not only alive, but with no memory of the agency he was devoted to over 30 years. It still is an unthinkable situation that we were not prepared for and obviously, are still trying to process.”

She had been speaking for a long time. She paused, took a sip of water, swallowed, before continuing.

She addressed the table. “Everything that we have said is the truth. We were also an independent intelligence agency with headquarters in London.” 

She turned again to Harry. “You were an integral member of this agency for most of your adult life. You know each of us well. Merlin has been your colleague for over 20 years. You knew Eggsy’s father, he saved your life in a mission that had gone sideways. That was seventeen years ago. You had recruited him as a way to repay his fathers sacrifice. My uncle was also a long time colleague of yours and our families go back many years.”

“We are so grateful that you are alive. We are sorry that we left you behind. That would never be our intention. We are forever indebted to Statesman for saving your life and taking care of you. But as you can imagine, we have questions of our own. How did you get here? How did you survive? Do you have no memory of Kingsman at all? What can you remember? Obviously, you have retained your skills, but to what extent? If you honestly don’t remember, then we can see how unbelievable our story is. But I think if you are still a man of honour and integrity, then you have to feel that we are not hostiles or adversaries. We pose no threat to you. Your instincts must tell you we are offering you the truth.”

She could tell that Harry was processing the information, she just couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Roxy concluded. “And that brings us here to the present. I think our most pressing question is “how did you survive?”

Harry nodded to Ginger to answer the question. He seemed to want to observe the conversation. His attention had never wavered from Roxy while she spoke, only widened at times to include Eggsy or Merlin. If he had come to a conclusion, there was nothing that they could see.

Roxy gladly handed off the meeting to Ginger. Harry’s unwavering gaze was getting a little unnerving. Without the added scrutiny, she could get collect her own thoughts and feelings. Kingsman recruitment training had been brutal, but nothing could have prepared them for the last 48hrs. Nothing in the Gentleman’s Guide had a blueprint on how to behave when your agency gets blown up and your dead mentor, comes back to life, has amnesia, and then almost shoots you.

——

Ginger spoke up.

“I would like to confirm that we now have proof that your story is legitimate Which means, Harry, what they are saying about your history with Kingsman is most likely the truth.”

Harry tilted his chin slightly in her direction in acknowledgement. 

She spoke in the direction of the three Kingsman. “We have just received corroboration from several independent sources that the events did occur as described and that your agency was the target of a massive strike against organisations such as ours. We are sorry for your loss. You will have full access to our resources to investigate this adversary and we will provide you with support. This is a threat that affects all of us.”

Merlin spoke up. His voice was rough with concern. 

“Harry, what happened?” 

Harry’s voice, deep and a with familiar, crisp authority, suddenly filled the space.

“At this point, I believe Ginger will be able to recall the events much more clearly than I. I have no recollection of events immediately following the shooting.” He turned to her. “Please, continue.”

Merlin gaze remained fixed on Harry and worried there for several moments, before he turned his attention to Ginger.

“The day prior to V-Day, we detected the transmission of a very low frequency sound wave. Much lower than what is normally used for any legitimate communication. This frequency, for the time and location, was suspicious to say the least and it was imperative that we investigate. Agent Tequila and I helicoptered to the spot, about 10 miles away.”

“The frequency stopped right about the time we were closing in on the location. We had already pinpointed the source so we knew where it originated from. Even though the transmission had stopped, we could still find clues to its origin.” 

“We were just flying into the zone when we witnessed the shooting. We saw Valentine and his accomplices depart. They didn’t confirm death. I expect they thought that shooting someone in the face.. well, there are not many outcomes. Our timing couldn’t have been better planned. We had developed what we call “alpha gel” to use on our own agents in the case of a head shot. Previously, a head shot meant immediate death. Body armour can only protect so much. We’ve lost very good agents.’ 

But depending on where the bullet entered the skull and if there was minimal damage to the actual brain and spinal cord, the gel could potentially save an agents life. 

Harry was still alive when I checked his vitals. I applied the alpha gel immediately. It’s crucial to activate the gel to prevent tissue damage and accelerate the nannites that are used to repair neural pathways. I won’t go further in depth at this point. The main issue at that moment was to preserve life. 

Of course, because of his glasses, we knew that he was intelligence, we just didn’t know whose and we had no way of finding out without compromising Harry’s safety and our anonymity.  

Harry suffers from retrograde amnesia, which could be from the injury. But it can also be a side effect of the alpha gel. However, when life it at risk, the benefits outweigh the possible negative outcomes. This kind of memory loss, you lose existing, previously made memories. This type of amnesia tends to affect recently formed memories first. Older memories, such as memories from childhood, are usually affected more slowly. 

She motioned to Harry, while he listened closely to her explanation.

“So while Harry was whole as a person, personality wise, function wise, cognitive and behavioural skills in place, he had no memory of who he was aside from what could be observed. He had no memory of his past, people, places, events. This was an interesting case because usually with retrograde amnesia, there can be the regression to the younger self. The skill set and knowledge and the growth that occurred during the time of memory loss can also be lost as well. Such as, if you learned French while you were in college, but you lost the memories of this timeframe, in most cases, you would no longer be able to speak French. In fact, the whole memory that you learned it to begin with would be gone. In these cases, the knowledge and skill learned during this time would also be forgotten. However, in some rare cases, the ability to remember the skill remains, while the memory of the past when it was learned is lost. 

“In Harry’s case, it was obviously the later.” 

The slightest shift in the landscape of Harry’s face indicated that we was thoughtful and reflective. How must it be to wake up and not know who you are.

Harry, while still maintaining full concentration on Ginger, set a small part of him free to revisit the day he regained consciousness. Which technically, would not be regaining consciousness, since he had no recollection of losing consciousness to begin with.

——

POV HARRY HART

“My name is Harry Hart.”  It was the first thought that went through his head.

Secondly, “Caucasion male, 6’2”, brown hair, brown eyes, 58 years of age. 13.5 stone” That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

Thirdly, wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling of emptiness. Not as if he was missing something. It did not feel like loss. It did not feel as if he was lacking. That would imply that there was something present to begin with.  It was not a feeling he could identify or that felt familiar or could find a word that was representative. It was unusual for him. He never found his vocabulary lacking. Perhaps if it could be called a non-feeling. He was a vessel. Neither empty, nor full. And no desire to be either or. An interesting sensation. 

When he first woke up, he had not realised that he was suffering from amnesia. Due to the amnesia there were no memories that insisted he should be a certain person. That he had to exist in a certain place. Doing something specific. A curious circumstance. There was no sense of surprise waking up in the condition he found himself to be. He did whatever he would do in a circumstance like this. Assess the situation. 

As he entered a conscious state, his mind automatically shifted into overdrive. But without moving. Without betraying any kind of change. He felt the need to remain unnoticed. He did this from where he rested. He first determined if he had sustained any injury or damage that had caused permanent physical disability or bodily harm. He had full function of all of his appendages. He did not know how long he had been in this state, but he did not notice any signs of muscle atrophy or joint stiffness. They must have a system that stimulated muscle tissue and nerves to prevent deterioration or he had not been in an immobile state for any length of time. Blinking his eyes was like scrapping sandpaper and his throat was a desert of sand. He attempted to make any kind of noise and found it difficult. That meant he had to have been out for at least some meaningful period of time. His head did ache something awful, and he noted a bandage or some other type of patch over his left eye. The use of only one eye would change his perception of depth, and the range of his peripheral vision, but he did not doubt that he would be able to adjust accordingly.

He had no reason to question his cognitive function. He processed information unhesitatingly and with ease. Without a sense of doubt, without faltering, he scanned the room and began to examine his surroundings. He was being held in some kind of hospital or medical ward. Not civilian. It was either private or for research. Maybe military. Hi tech, advanced equipment. Everything was in pristine condition. Two exits on opposing sides. No windows. A complex ventilation and filtration system suggested an underground location. No immediate threat that he could ascertain, but that could change at any moment. No apparent weapons. Some medical instruments that could possibly work. He was not restrained so he was not being held against his will. Or there was no need if he was unconscious the entire time. He did not feel any urgency or sense of immediate danger, but he did not question his need to assess the situation .

He heard two people approach the door to the left. Judging from the echoing quality and the gradual volume and clarity of their foot steps, from a fairly long corridor. 

His eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his heartbeat was slow and rhythmic. He concentrated on the sound. One set of footsteps was clearly male. The stride was longer, more pronounced, in heavy shoes, presumably boots. But an easy pace. Most likely 6’, 13 stone, physically fit. His gait was even, balanced and light. Not the walk of someone that led a sedentary life. The second set of footsteps he concluded were female. Lighter, but not timid. A confident woman. Just a smaller stature. Medium height. Slight frame. Like her partner, fit, alert, competent. 

He did not know why or how he came up with these deductions, but he did not question them. He held the information in his mind so it was easily accessible. The voices, once they became decipherable, were relaxed and easy. Their tone was jovial and non-threatening. Younger than he was. American accent, with a southern drawl. He could be in the US, but anywhere was possible. While he did not expect danger, he still prepared himself for the risk. Mostly, his need was to understand the where he was, how he got there and have leverage over the situation.

The door opened with a heavy swooshing sound. He did not hear the click of a lock being turned, so he was not being held in high security setting.

The two individuals were still conversing, and he could just almost decipher what they were discussing. The man remained on his right hand side while the woman walked around the foot of the bed to inspect the instruments and diagnostics panels to the left. Her back was turned away from him. The man remained at his side. A quick glance in his direction. A holster was slung around his waist, it held a nickelplated SIG-Sauer P226 with wooden grips. A quality weapon. To his advantage, the strap securing the weapon was not snapped in. That would have been a trickier maneuver.

He guessed the woman was in medical, the man, based on the weapon and the fact that he was not actively participating in the tasks, that he was a guard or protection of some sort. With their relaxed tones, and familiar interactions, possibly a friend or colleague. 

Not one to overthink a situation, he decided now was as good a time as any. No use in waiting, expecting a better scenario. Best to address the situation you know rather than wait for one you don’t. Never a guarantee for a better set of circumstances. Only guarantee is time lost.

He waited patiently for the moment to proceed. Just a small distraction was all he needed. It arrived sooner than he anticipated and under better circumstances that he had the right to expect.

“Tequila, would you be able to hand me the print outs right behind you?” 

Harry saw him turn away from the bed, his hips rotated in his direction, the angle ideal for him to grab, cock and point. He only hoped that his deductions regarding his physical state were correct, or it would be a moot point. He might not even be able to sit up, let alone hold a weapon.  Take the out, the told himself. 

These thoughts occurred within fractions of a second. Without hesitation, in one fell swoop, he grabbed the gun, pulled back the slide to load the chamber. Thankfully his body responded without any resistance or weakness and he slid himself back into an upright position. 

He judged the distance between the three of them. The man called Tequila, was close enough by his side to possibly disarm him, so he swung the weapon in the woman’s direction. She was far enough away that the gun was not within her reach. He centered the sight at her chest. It was not the aim of a stop shot. It was the aim for a kill shot. Might as well show them he was not a man to underestimate. He did not want to shoot her, but he did want to make it very clear to them that he was a man to take very seriously. 

Once he guaranteed that he had their attention. Though he had many questions he wanted answers to, he asked them the two questions that were the most urgent.

His voice was gravelly, but still clear enough to understand. 

“Who are you?”

“What am I doing here?”

For having a gun aimed at her chest, the woman was surprisingly relaxed. She held up her palm towards the other man. She would handle this. The man shifted his weight back to a holding posture rather than the offensive stance that prepared him to take action. 

“You have a British accent. That’s helpful to know. How are you feeling?”

“My first two questions still stand.” He regarded them impassively, but kept any notes of aggression from his tone.

—— 

Gingers POV

“My name is Ginger Ale, I’m Head Strategy Executive and Director of Medical here at our outfit.  This is Agent Tequila. Welcome to Statesman, our whiskey distillery. You’re at our HQ in Kentucky.” 

She handed him a cup of water. “Sip. Don’t guzzle.”

She was succinct. “As for what you are doing here, we were waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us. We found you outside of a church about 10 miles from here. You had been shot in the head. You were still alive, so we did everything we could to keep you that way. You’ve been unconscious the entire time here. Your vitals were strong. We were just waiting for you to wake up. We have some questions for you as well.” 

Her voice was gentle, but firm. He did not catch any inflections or hesitations that would indicate she was lying, or with holding information. Her tone was honest, forthright and it put him slightly more at ease. 

“I answered both of yours. Would you be so kind to answer mine?” She asked politely.

He did not refuse, but he didn’t say yes.

“How are you feeling.” she asked again.

“Would you care to clarify?” He asked in return. “There are multiple ways I can respond to your question.”

So he was witty.

“Pick one.”

“At the present moment, tolerable. Though this persistent ache in my head leaves something to be desired” He equivocated. 

“That’s to be expected with a headshot. You did lose your left eye. There will be residual pain/discomfort until the injury is completely healed.”

“What is your name? 

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“Do you feel comfortable enough at the moment to answer some questions for us? Is there anything that you require immediately? 

“More water would be appreciated. Otherwise, feel free. Fire away.” He looked amused. He reached over to return Tequila’s gun. “Perhaps a poor choice of words in my case.” He revised his response. “Very well then, proceed.”

She refilled his water and pulled a chair next to his bed. Tequila found a place strategically viable to intervene if things went sideways. He wasn’t one to get caught off guard twice.

“Now, since we are on a first name basis, can you tell us why you were at the church that day? Why would someone would want to kill you?”

“No.”

“No?” 

“I simply do not know.”

“Why you were there? Or why someone wanted you dead?”

“Neither.”

“Where are you from?”

His face remained blank.

“That may be a little vague.” Ginger specified. “Where do you live? Where is your home?”

No response.

How old are you?

“58” 

“Do you know what you do for a living? Where do you work?”

An almost imperceptible turn of the head.

“Can you remember where you went to school? Secondary or university.”

He squinted his eyes. But no answer.

“Do you know who the current world leader is? President? Prime Minister?”

Her regarded her impassively. She started to form her own understanding of how he was communicating. She could play along. Any form of communication was good for her. It didn’t have to be words. There was more than one way to impart information. It would all get her to the same place. Plus, she would have the chance to read his non-verbal cues. That would be a challenge. His expression was nearly inscrutable.

A slight turn of the head meant I don’t know. His impassive face meant maybe, but he can’t know for sure. The blank disinterested stare meant that he had no idea what she was referring to. She was already intrigued by her patient. She was becoming more fascinated by the moment. 

Changing tactics, she asked. “Can you play the piano?”

A slight tilt of the head. This was new. That meant the question sparked something in his mind. It was a possibility, but he couldn’t know for sure. Interesting. She went further down her tangent.

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?”

Without hesitation, he rattled off. “3.1415926535”

“Parle vous français?”

“Oui”

How many languages can you speak?

“Six ”

“What are they?”

English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic.

Hmmm. Arabic was interesting. She filed that away to look at more closely at a later time.

“Do you know were you learned Arabic or why?”

He was taciturn.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

Impassive.

“Do you own a car?”

Impassive.

“Do you know how to drive.”

“Yes.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought to herself.

“What was your favourite game as a child?”

He furrowed his brow but answered.

“Chess.”

Were you good?

“Yes.”

“Did you compete?

No answer.

Hmm. Retrograde amnesia, she pondered.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

A tilt of the head. Possible, but can’t confirm.

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

“I have no reason to doubt that.”

“Do you know what orange means?”

“The color or the fruit?”

Good. “The fruit, what does it remind you of? 

“Winter. Christmas.”

Excellent. “Do you remember a Christmas from your past?”

Blank stare.

“Do you think you’re attractive? Good looking.”

He huffed, amused. 

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Not to seem chuffed, but I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.”

“Can you remember any specific compliments that you’ve received in the past?”

Thwarted.

Good. “So you know that other people think you are attractive and desirable. But is that how you see yourself?”

 “I was attempting to be modest.” 

She waited for his response.

Reluctantly, “Yes.” He admitted. “I know that I am attractive, handsome, good looking. However you would like to call it.” 

He continued even though he had already answered the question. It was his first moment of revealing information on his own.

“I would go out with myself if I were able, but unfortunately, that is not an option. I am not a narcissist. However, I would say that I regard myself with a healthy and acceptable amount of vanity. “ 

Did Ginger just discern a bit of sarcasm?

His good looks have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she could blame him. She was curious to know how his appearance either hindered him or helped him. She did note that there was no wedding ring when they found him. She couldn’t complain. It didn’t hurt her daily check ups that he was extremely easy on the eyes. Even his hospital issue gown made him look handsome.

Ok. Time to move on. She switched her line of questioning. 

“Where are you right now?” She asked.

His expression was doubtful. Of her, not of his answer. His face asked the question. “Didn’t we just discuss this?” Nevertheless, he answered her with a bemused sigh.

“Kentucky, United States. Apparently 10 miles away from a church where I was shot in the head.”

Ginger nodded. She was encouraged. 

He didn’t see why. It wasn’t difficult to recall. She had only just told him.

“Do you remember our names and what we do?”

He found the helpfulness of these questions debatable, but if it would accelerate his process, he was willing to comply. And participate, if it made this whole interaction a tad more interesting.

“Your name is Ginger Ale. After the beverage, I can only assume. Your colleague, here, is called Tequilla, after the alcohol. I am under the the impression that these are code names that are assigned by the intelligence agency that employs you. Statesman. With a distillery as a backstop. Hence the libation themed code names. 

“Ginger Ale, I gather from your code name’s slight variation, you are in an essential, but supportive role. Whereas Tequila, a right tipple, would be classified as an agent. Of your independent organisation. I would believe, comparable to the CIA, but without the restrictions that often hinder government run spy organisations. And with more interesting code names.”

There was just the slightest hint of cockiness in his tone and in his expression. She found it equally amusing and charming at the same time. Now they were making progress. More than she could have hoped for.

He was obviously intelligent, well mannered, well spoken, though taciturn. Understandable upon waking up with no memory of where he was and why he was there. It was a very promising discovery. He seemed to accept his situation without resistance. He was alert. No hint of confusion. Just a desire to understand the circumstances he found himself in. 

He was emotionally stable, if not a little irritated, by his current state. He took the loss of his eye as a matter of fact. Overall, his ability to acclimate was nothing short of remarkable. 

He folded his hands on his lap, one over the other, tilted his chin in her direction. His posture said. “I’m waiting patiently..” He was throwing shades of a personality she was already warming toward. 

There was a momentary pause. They regarded each other with interest. 

 Finally Harry spoke. “I have amnesia.” He wasn’t asking a question. He was stating it as a fact.

She confirmed. Nodding. 

“I would like to perform some additional CT and MRI scans, and EEG, but judging from the traumatic brain injury you’ve suffered, you most likely have retrograde amnesia. Just based on this conversation alone. To be more specific. Focal retrograde amnesia. 

She continued to explain. “Focal retrograde amnesia, also known as isolated or pure retrograde amnesia, is when someone only experiences the loss of memories that have already been made. Anterograde amnesia, on the other hand, is being unable to form new memories.

He listened to her with a new interest. 

She continued. “So, it appears you have retrograde amnesia, but no anterograde. This means that the ability to form new memories is left intact. You easily recalled information from a short time ago. That is very good news.” She paused, looking for his understanding.

“Please, go on.” He said.

“This kind of isolated memory loss doesn’t affect a person’s intelligence or ability to learn new skills, like playing the piano or affect previously learned skills, like driving a car, speaking different languages. Most likely, if we sat you at a piano, you would be able to play, based on your response to my question.”

“What is the prognosis?”

Ginger, equivocated, a little hesitant “With amnesia, it’s difficult to predict. Retrograde amnesia can result from damage to different parts of the brain responsible for controlling emotions and memories. These include the thalamus, which is deep in the center of the brain, and the hippocampus, which is in the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. There are many variables involved.”

“Thats is all very interesting, but doesn’t quite give me any predictions for my future.” 

“To be completely honest, for the injury you sustained, the amnesia is surprisingly less severe than I would have predicted. Most traumatic brain injuries are mild, resulting in concussion. But a severe injury, like a serious blow to the head, or a bullet for that matter, can damage the memory-storing areas of the brain and lead to anterograde amnesia as well. Depending on the level of damage, the amnesia could be temporary or permanent. I know that’s not very helpful.”

“Ginger, there is no need to “hedge your bets” as they would say. I am quite prepared to accept any answer you provide.”

“The fact that you can remember new information is promising. Your cognitive and behavioural skills are, as far as I can tell, excellent. I would be interested to test your knowledge further. You may have skills that you don’t know you have until you have a need for them.”

“If I were to summarise… “ Ginger concluded. “And please let me know if I go too far off the beaten path as I find this area of research very intriguing.”

She stole a glance at Tequila. “Many would find it boring.” 

Tequila gestured with a shrug of his shoulders..”So what? I think it’s boring.”

Ginger turned back toward Harry.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As much as one could hope.”

“Please understand that I’m generalising here. Just the fact that you are interested in this subject and can process information is extremely promising. The questions I asked you, though random, I asked for very specific reasons.” 

“Our memories” she explained, “can be separated into two groups: Explicit and Implicit. Each of these categories can then be further broken down. If I can use your case as an example?”

Harry nodded.

In the clear and assured tones of a professor, she explained. 

“Explicit memories, or declarative memories, are those we consciously try to remember and recall. When I ask you a question, such as, “Where were you born?” to answer, you would navigate through your explicit memory.

“Explicit memory stores events and facts. This is your conscious memory. You know that you have them and can remember them when you need to. In your case, I asked you to recall a derivative of Pi. You did that easily. That would be an explicit memory. Your knowledge of different languages also taps into your explicit memory.” 

Harry was still, but receptive.

Encouraged by his attentiveness, she broke the concept down further.

“Of these explicit memories, there are three different types. The first two are episodic and semantic memories. Do you know what semantic means?” She asked him.

“Of course. That which is related to language.”  replied Harry.

Ginger was pleased.

“Exactly. Our semantic memory stores knowledge about words, concepts and language-based knowledge and facts. Knowing the definition of “Semantic” is, in fact, a semantic memory. So is your knowledge of Pi in relation to the numerical expression, and the ability to speak different languages. This part of your memory seems to be unaffected.”

She checked in with Harry. She had the tendency to explain way beyond the interest of the listener. He confirmed. Go on.

“The second kind of explicit memory is called episodic memory. This is information about events that you have personally experienced. For example, if something looks or feels familiar, you’re probably trying to pull from your episodic memory. Times in your life, people, places, emotions and context that make up the events in your life. The what, when, where, how and why of your memory.”

“This seems to be a large part of your memory that has been affected and it seems to go back for a very long time. Typically, when you see lapses in episodic memory, it’s usually the more recent memories that can’t be accessed. Memories of childhood are still there.  In your case, your entire past seems to be wiped.

He asked his first question. Well, other than the first two, but that was at gunpoint, so they didn’t really count.“Then how is it that I still have all of this knowledge.”

“Yes, just getting to that. Now we move over to your implicit memories. These memories are not part of your consciousness.”

She took a breath. “These memories are based on behaviours and movements. Memories that are retained through practice and repetition. A learned skill would be part of this memory.”

She had vast knowledge of memory loss due to brain trauma and she welcomed the opportunity to share. “There are two types of implicit memories. Procedural and emotional conditioning.”

“Procedural stores information about how to do things. Why you are able to perform actions without consciously monitoring the sub procedures that need to be pieced together in order to perform the task. Or, more simply, it’s the reason you can brush your teeth without a second thought. It is the memory for skilled actions.”

“This part of the memory is why you can do things without thinking about them. You know how to drive a car. But you don’t know if you own one. You can play chess, but you don’t know if you played competitively. Same with the piano. You can shoot a gun, but you don’t know if you’ve ever killed someone. Even something as simple as brushing your teeth is part of this. You don’t have to consciously think about every sub action you have to make, or the motor skills involved. Probably the same way with a gun. If I asked to take apart and reassemble Tequila’s gun, you could probably do so without knowing how or why you possess that skill.”

“Lastly is Emotional Conditioning.  This can be a little trickier to identify. I would have to ask you more questions to see how this part of your memory was affected. These memories are made through classical conditioning, associations made through stimuli. You know what an orange is. You know what they smell like. It reminds you of Christmas. This is emotional conditioning. But you can’t remember any Christmas that you’ve had. That is your episodic memory.”

Harry looked openly thoughtful. He was no longer guarding his expression. The softness took years off his face. It was hard not to just stare at him. 

“There’s one more category of explicit memories that is important. Autobiographical. This memory system is made up of both episodic and semantic aspects of your memory. It’s a collection of memories specifically related to the self. This could be how you look, your height, specific meaningful points in your life, or the general idea of your concept of self. Which is why I asked you questions not just on how you look, but how you, yourself, viewed your looks.”  

“You know what a gun is. Semantic. You know how to shoot a gun. Procedural. You don’t know if you’ve ever killed anyone. Episodic. Killing someone is only acceptable under certain circumstances. Emotional conditioning. But without knowing whether or not you’ve ever killed anyone, you believe you are a good person. Autobiographical.”

“In regards to the actual landscape of your brain, your cerebellum and prefrontal cortex seem to be the least affected.  In addition to contributions to implicit memory, conditioned responses, fine motor movements, posture and coordination, the cerebellum also maintains internal representations of the external world, which allow you to move in darkness as long as the room or space is familiar to you, and how you would need to position your self to aim a gun and hit a moving target.”

Harry was still engaged, so she went on. 

“It seems the hippocampus was the most affected by your injury. This would make sense based on the entry point of the bullet. This part of the brain processes declarative and episodic memory, people, places, and things as well as recognition memory.” 

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’d like you to rest in the meantime. You’ve only just woken up, in well, less than ideal circumstances. Even though you say you feel “acceptable” you are still recovering from a major injury.  We’ll follow up with you more frequently, now that you are awake.” She wasn’t asking.

Harry, for the first time, addressed Tequila. “I take it that she is always the voice of reason.”

“Without fail.”

“And I assume there is no sense in arguing.”

“None at all.”

——

For simplicity’s sake, they assumed that he was from the UK as many of his mannerism and idiosyncrasies were quintessentially British. Tequila had gotten into the habit of calling him Hart, or The Brit for short. Harry, who was not one for such informalities, was amused. He did, however, recognise that Americans, as well as Statesman, were more easy going and relaxed in their word, dress and interactions with each other, overall. 

——

“Was there anything, physically, or possessions that I had on my body when you found me, that would offer any clues to my identity.”

Ginger paused. “Well, Harry, we found you in quite a unique state.”

They had already been over the event numerous times. But Harry knew that little details were often overlooked the first time around and could surface after a spell.  Ironic, since his own memory wouldn’t be surfacing in any amount of time. He would have rather used a more elegant metaphor, but he was like a top notch computer with nothing to process. All of his files were wiped. Who knew if they were recoverable. No use in wondering. 

When Ginger Ale and Agent Tequila found Harry, he had made quite the impression. As the helicopter descended, Ginger and Tequila saw him closely for the first time. He was splayed out, flat on his back, unconscious, with a bullet through his eye, wearing of all things, an impeccably tailored, navy pinstripe double breasted suit. He was fully decked out with all the details. Spread collar, tie with a Windsor knot, suspenders, oxfords, even a tie pin, cufflinks, a pocket square, and a signet ring. It was a sight not often seen in their part of Kentucky.

While Ginger attended to the man, Tequila checked the church. It was the site of a bloodbath. This was no mass shooting. A mass shooting would be clean and simple compared to what he found inside.  These people had been slaughtered. Creatively. Luckily, whatever or whoever the threat was that had massacred the congregation, had departed. 

Harry had definitely been involved in the bloodshed, but to what extent, they did not know. The tell tale signs were on his suit. It hard to see the bloodstains against the dark wool, but there were unmistakable splashes of red on the crisp whiteness of his cuffs and collar. It was torn in places, whether from a weapon or some other object, one couldn’t tell. But mostly, the proof was on his hands. They were stained with blood and gunpowder residue up to his wrists. He did not have any weapons on his person when they found him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one inside. Nevertheless, a person doesn’t get that much blood on themselves from using a gun. Even at close range, the blood spatter would spray backward. 

Whatever he had been involved in, it was up close and personal. Rage sound waves plus the expert skill and killer instinct of a veteran assassin could definitely equal the carnage that was left behind. He was fitted with a shoulder holster, but no weapon. They didn’t have enough time to search for identifying evidence in the church. The object that they found the most interesting were his glasses. Handsome, squared off, dark tortoiseshell horn rimmed frames. But it was the lenses that revealed the most about him. The glasses told them he was intelligence. They just didn’t know whose.

Intelligence agents, as a rule, never carry anything that can identify them. Harry was no exception. His clothing, even his shoes, though exceptionally well made and no doubt very expensive, bore no labels. It was all bespoke, custom made to fit him, and him alone and as a result, no identifying markers.

They tried to reverse engineer the communications transmitter from the remaining lens. They also attempted to disassemble his watch, but both were designed to withstand and prevent external tampering. Whoever designed them was talented and had the foresight to put anti-tampering mechanisms in place. 

Of course, they had run a facial recognition and prints through their international database, but as they expected, there were no matches to be found. They couldn’t investigate thoroughly without compromising his safety. Obviously someone wanted him dead. It could even be his own agency. More than once, had an agent been removed by their own employer. The threat might still exist. Nor could they risk the anonymity of their own agency. 

They scanned news for anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, any unusual occurrences that happened at the same time, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if a fellow agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer. While Harry was recovering, they also put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description in the civilian world. Even if he was an intelligence agent, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a cover in place, a backstop that could possible lead to his identity.

His accent immediately suggested he was from the UK. However, his lack of a specific regional dialect, made it difficult to narrow their search criteria. Harry’s accent was that of the Queens English, or RP Received Pronunciation. Which might mean he was from Great Britain, or any of the commonwealth countries. Their contacts at MI6 and MI5 received a little exchange of information to see if they had any leads, of which there were none. Whatever agency that he was with, was not government funded. Of course there was the brotherhood of clandestine intelligence agencies across the globe. But in this circumstance, they did not want to broadcast that they were potentially sheltering an agent that could have possibly blown his cover, been burned, or been compromised in any fashion. The safest avenue for both Statesman and Harry was to remain inconspicuous until a tangible lead was discovered.

Because, at the very least, he was intelligence, and so were they, they were curious as to his specialty, his area of expertise. Handling a gun was part of every agents training, no matter where their loyalties lie. It was no surprise that he was comfortable shooting a weapon. All agents were. It was possible that he could be a clandestine officer, or focus on espionage, recruiting assets. He could be an interrogator. He was intelligent, well spoken, articulate. Psych-ops, psychological warfare or diplomacy could be just as likely.  His fastidious appearance, polite manner and gentlemanly demeanour would certainly lend itself to international relations. Certainly a man with his physical attributes wouldn’t be secluded to a desk in analysis. With his charming personality he could possibly be a raven, a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes. That would be effortless on his part. He would just have to show up. There were many ladies that had taken notice of the handsome figure who was a mysterious presence at Statesman’s HQ.

 It was also feasible that he had cross specialties. Some of the specialties would be more challenging than others to assess. Weapons were straightforward. You were either good or you weren’t. Once he felt both physically and mentally up to task, they brought him to their version of Hogan’s Ally or the Farm, the FBI and the CIA’s, respectively, tactical training facilities. 

When Harry’s health improved, they discovered the true extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected.  As Harry’s strength and coordination returned, complex tasks became second nature again. His body began to respond to the stimulus and he gravitated toward the physical challenges that Statesman tested him with. What they learned on the shooting range, then in the Statesman tactical training facility and Special Operations Division, they did not expect and were not prepared for.

Harry found the whole process amusing. If not outright entertaining. Losing ones memory had its advantages. One need not worry about expectations, preconceived notions or judgement. He would either be good, or he would not be. Either outcome would be acceptable to him. No one, not even he, would know the outcome until after the fact. And he knew how useless it was to wish for one scenario or the other when anything was possible.

What did happen, was that the challenges of their tactical installation were not capable of quantifying his ability. His skills far surpassed the most advanced exercise they had.

He proceeded to excel at every exercise, drill, and challenge they placed in front of him. He performed without thought, without hesitation, with the grace and composure they had come to equate him with. First, on the shooting range and then finally on their full scale replicated “warehouse” where they would simulate real life combat situations, including the use of live rounds.

The first test was for speed and accuracy and his knowledge of different firearms.  At the shooting range, they laid out a variety of weapons in front of him. The guns were unloaded. He was tasked with loading the ammunition in to the proper clip or magazine and then loading the weapon. He was to discharge the all the rounds at the target at the end of the range. Aiming for a kill shot either at the head or chest, release the clip and return the weapon and then move onto the next weapon he was familiar with. 

Statesman didn’t know what to expect, but the certainly didn’t anticipate what they witnessed. 

Harry had insisted on wearing his full suit as he did every day. The Brit was calm, cool and composed. He was neither excited nor concerned regarding the proceedings. More than anything, he seemed relaxed, but slightly more interested in the tactical challenges than the cognitive behavioural tests that they had him perform. They explained to him what the task was. One by one, load the clip, load the matching weapon, discharge all the rounds, release and repeat. 

Without any visible effort on his part, Harry loaded the first clip, loaded the weapon, and then seemingly without aiming, pulled the trigger.  The first several shots landed off mark. He adjusted and then fired the entire clip, alternating between two chest shots, followed by one round to the head of the target at the end of the range, chambering each bullet between shots if there was a slide. It did not go unnoticed that his method was the one used by assassins. They all knew, when eliminating a target, it was without fail, two to the chest, one to the head. He was still completing his follow through on the previous round, while reaching for the next clip, before releasing the clip of the weapon in his hand and switching to the next. He did this smoothly, with ease, dexterity and without hesitation with the entire set of weapons. One after the other, shot after shot, hitting mark after mark without effort. No fancy moves, no showy stance, just incredibly efficient, accurate, skill and technique. With the reverb of gunshots echoing through their ears, Harry laid down the last gun in line with the rest, turned toward the observing Statesman. His precision was astounding. 

 There was no perceptible change in his demeanour. He could have been doing a crossword puzzle for all the exertion that was evident on his face. 

“Does this suffice?” His face was pleasant. There could have also been the tiniest hint of amusement. 

It was Ginger that spoke up first. “I do believe, yes, that will suffice.”

Tequila regarded him not only like he was from a different country, but a different species of man all together.

 “How the hell ’dya do that?”

Harry gave him a good natured smile. 

“Knowledge of the weapons.” He continued plainly while smoothing out the front of his suit and adjusting his cuffs to their proper length.

“One must possess an understanding of the moving variables involved when discharging handguns, especially for a significant number of rounds. One must focus on accuracy, which involves trigger pull pressure and control, proper stance, a secure but consistent grip, taking in to account grip tension and fatigue. Excessive trigger pull weight will cause muscle fatigue of the index finger and can ultimately lead to task failure during pistol marksmanship.”  

While opening and closing his shooting hand, he massaged the base of his trigger finger. 

“With the variety of weapons that were included in this drill, one must locate the front site alignment based on the make and model and identify the site picture, either combat, center, 6 o’clock hold, if adopting a classic stance. However, front site becomes irrelevant in situations where the target is not in front of you.”

The Statesman were surreptitiously glancing at one anther. Was this man for real?

“And then one must consider breath control, trigger press and reset, and naturally, follow through.  Of course, one must account for situational awareness. Needless to say, it is far less complicated aiming at a static bullseye in a controlled environment,” He gestured to the range. “rather than at a moving target under enemy fire.”       

He spoke with an easy nonchalance, as if he were describing how to serve tea. Incidentally, last week, Harry had already instructed them on the official rules of how to prepare a proper cup of tea. He had looked vaguely insulted when he inquired about tea and Tequila handed him a cold bottle of sweet tea from a nearby cooler. Following this incident he educated them on the finer points of afternoon tea.

“First and most importantly,” he informed them.” Select the appropriate English tea.”

Harry recommended Earl Grey, Breakfast Blend, or Traditional 100’s black teas. Slightly more bitter than American teas, he informed them.

“Always use freshwater for individual steeping. Boil water between 180-200 degrees.”

Harry stated that it was imperative that the water is at boiling point to properly release the flavours of the tea.

“Slowly pour into a teapot over a single tea bag or loose leaf diffuser. Let it steep for six minutes. Remove the tea bag. Do not squeeze the tea bag. Pour the tea into a proper tea cup, not a coffee mug. At this time, one can add milk, not sugar, unless you want to disrupt the flavour of the tea.” 

He was firm on the following point. “Only milk, if you are looking to make a proper cup. The color of the tea with milk should have a dark orange-brown hue, similar to American coffee. Once the milk is stirred, the tea should be at the perfect temperature to enjoy. If feeling especially British, one can pair with scones and clotted cream.” 

With the same casual, relaxed ease, he continued. “Naturally, it helps if one is familiar with muzzle velocity, air resistance, barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed. The quantity and quality of propellant used in the firearm as well as projectile mass and length of the barrel.”

He saw the blank stares of the Statesman agents. He equivocated, “Or in more simple terms, front site, trigger press, and follow through.”

If he was this level on the shooting range, they were eager to see what surprises he had in store for the simulation. If his performance on the shooting rage was any indication of his abilities, his proficiency on the full scale replica could very possibly be stupefying. 

Word traveled with the wind on Statesman grounds. The following day, allowing his shooting hand appropriate time to recover, Harry prepared for the real life simulation.  A variety of curious onlookers, from fellow agents, handlers and operations support began to gather in small, inconspicuous groups at the control center where anyone watching would have full audio and visual of Harry the entire time. 

The immersive course was situated in two enormous warehouses with an open courtyard area in between.  It was devised to test Harry’s technical and tactical skill. So far, he had shown exemplary marksmanship. But like he had mentioned, it was much less complicated to shoot with accuracy in a range under a controlled environment. The ability to perform with the same accuracy and precision under pressure is what separated a good agent from an exceptional one. They were going to find out which category Harry fell into.

Harry, as an operator, would have to perform under the following conditions; unknown target distances that vary from close to extended ranges, identifying threats and non-threats prior to engagement, making decisions under pressure, speed vs. precision shots, tactical movements, utilising different types of cover and tactical shooting positions to accomplish the mission, which was to come out clean on the other side. Firearms ranged from pistol, rifle, shotgun, carbine rifle, AK -47, as well as improvised munitions. There could be an active shooter scenario. A hostage situation. Anything was possible.

The Statesman insisted that he didn’t have to wear his suit during the engagement and offered him combat gear. His suit was certain to interfere with his maneuverability. He showed up to the course, fully attired in his classic pinstripes, down to the cuff links. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt completely natural and at ease. 

“One should always be able to engage in life threatening situations while properly attired.”  He explained. 

 Call it vanity, call it pride, but he only felt comfortable in suits when he was in a professional role. Wearing anything else seemed sacrilegious. He wasn’t going to wear any less for an evaluation, no matter what the evaluation entailed. And he was very particular. About his suit specifically. He had several suits tailor made by a firm of Statesman’s recommendation. 

The one concession that he did make regarding his attire was to replace his Oxfords with the Statesman issue cowboy boots. Cowboy boots, of all things. But he had to confess, they felt good on his feet. It was easier to cover the unfamiliar terrain of the Statesman property, which included dirt, gravel, hay, barns, and stables and various other interesting outbuildings. At least the boots still made a familiar sound on hard surfaces. He particularly enjoyed the hollow, rounded quality his footsteps made when he crossed Statesman’s many hardwood floors. Particularly in the large storage areas the housed the enormous barrels of whiskey while they aged. 

He was also pragmatic. The boots were definitely more appropriate on the occasions they went horse riding, or other “outdoor activities” that his new keepers might engage in. While he might be fastidious in regards to his appearance, he still valued practicality.  For the landscape of Kentucky, the boots were more appropriate. And they did indeed, have a satisfying click that was comfortingly familiar. 

While the course was being finalised, he tested his right hand by creating a fist and then opening his palm wide. He repeated this several times. There was residual soreness from the prior days drill, but nothing that caused him concern. In the simulation, there would be a wide variety of firearms and weapons available in the course. Not every weapon would be a handgun. A shotgun or a riffle could be braced on the shoulder. Different weapons would require a different set of muscle and therefore prevent repetitive fatigue.

His shooting hand didn’t concern him, he was fairly certain he could fire from his weak hand as well. He was curious to find out. He decided to try even if the opportunity didn’t present itself. 

As he entered the course, the Statesman gathered around the monitors.

Even in a suit, he manoeuvred like an elite operator. His movement was refined, graceful, efficient. He held himself tall when he needed to check and clear areas, keeping his spine in alignment. His footing was sure and stable as he maintained a mid-foot drive with every step he took, balancing his weight between the ball of his foot and the heel.

He was not one to peacock. His skills and technique always had a specific goal and end result in mind. Ego had no place in life and death scenarios. But on the course, after he completed a task successfully, he could’t help but push the level of his abilities. Explore his edge. He began following up his kill shots with a second maneuver from a trickier vantage point, or with a more demanding technique, adopting more and more challenging strategies and unlikely scenarios. Each time, giving a little bit more than was necessary. He wanted to discover the full capacity of his skill. 

On the course, he felt a new vitality. Whether it be due to the physical exertion of being in the field, or the mental challenges that sharpened the edges of his mind, he did not question. He simply allowed it to flow.

He attempted to fire from his non-dominant hand when the weapon and the cover required it. He adopted a canted shooting stance, firing the gun from a 45 degree angle, aiming for a target that would be impossible in his position with a right hand grip. Well, that was confirmation he could shoot with both hands. When he needed to reload, he also did so with one hand, just to see if he could. He could. With the slide locked to the rear, he placed the gun between his knees with the grip facing upwards. He slid the magazine and then locked it into place and removed the gun from between his knees. His hand hit the slide release and he got back into the fight in a matter of seconds. Some of those watching hadn’t been noticed. His technique and execution was flawless.

He fired on the run at a moving target who was using a “civilian” as cover and hit his mark.

He shot two weapons at a time.

He shot from behind his back. 

He could shoot through things and still hit his target on the other side. 

He could shoot away from a target, knowing that the force and angle of the ricochet would hit its intended target.

He used bullets as a tool, shooting items into place, to remove barriers, open doors.

He used bullets to adjust a reflective surface so he could see around a blind corner.

It was as if he was mapping the entire course and picturing it in his head while he moved. Once he scanned an area, he was immediately able to place the location in relation to his position and the rest of the course. 

Not only was he expert at weaponry, a top notch marksman, his physical capabilities far exceeded their expectations. He was physically fit, but it was beyond that. He was evolved. He had a body awareness, not only in control of his physical actions, but the awareness of his own body moving through space. (He would be one hell of a lover) At times his movements were economical, not wasting a single iota of energy on a motion that was unnecessary.

But the movements that he did come up with were impressive. One motion would seamlessly flow into the next like a dance. A dance with bullets and weapons, but a dance nonetheless. 

He could shoulder roll while aiming and discharging a weapon.

He could knee slide to dodge obstacles.

He could position himself to make a defensive position into an offensive one. 

He could use a target as a cover, while taking out the target at the same time.

He could practice hand to hand combat for close quarter contact, simultaneously hit targets on the periphery with his weapon. 

At one point he threw his gun forward in the air, while on the move, used both hands to catapult himself over a low wall while the gun was still traveling through space. He caught the gun, landed and then swung it around in his hand and used it as a cudgel to incapacitate a target before he had a chance to reload. 

Agent Tequila leaned in.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Ginger replied.

If they hadn’t witnessed it on the monitors, they would not have believed it. 

It seemed like the further he got into the course, the better he performed.

He moved faster, with more precision, solved problems more quickly, took out more targets.

His most valuable asset, even more than his marksmanship and his physical and tactical expertise, would be his sheer creativity and his ability to improvise on the fly. It was as if, when faced with a problem, there was always a solution. You could almost hear him say, “Well, let’s find out.” The methodology that he used could be seen as unorthodox. It often purposely put him in harms way, but that same method enabled him to open a door to a solution that previously had not been possible. It wasn’t that the proposed solution was not feasible. The solution did not even exist until he created it.  He was confident enough to trust his own judgement and took risks in only the most challenging situations.

Agent Tequila, “If there was a soundtrack to go with this, that would be some kickass music”. 

Ginger nodded. She had to agree. Watching Harry move the way he did in his suit? It might seem silly or old fashioned or traditional to think what she did. He looked noble, gallant, honourable even.

Harry Hart was never one to disappoint. When he was expected to deliver, he delivered and then some. He completed the course while beating Statesman’s record time. To the observers, it felt like he had been in the warehouse for a lifetime. Hadn’t he been moving in slow motion? Some of them even forgot to breathe. 

He burst through the exit on the other side. The doors opened to the sound of cheers and applause. The breeze was cool on his skin, while the sun provided an inviting warmth. The air was fresh and crisp. It was a beautiful day to feel accomplished. He left any residual stress or tension behind. He felt light.

This was not a sight that Statesman was accustomed to seeing after a course was completed. More often than not, the agent would appear dazed, distressed, a little shell-shocked, a little traumatised, perhaps even rethinking his chosen career. Not many were cut out for this kind of work. Rarely did you ever see one, not just capable of the work, but made for it, thrive on it. Harry Hart was the latter.

Harry was exhilarated in a way that he hadn’t felt since he regained consciousness. The calm, cool, collected, focused, deadly Harry Hart from the warehouse gave way and a new man took his place. His expression opened up with a vibrant laugh that changed the very structure of his face. Hell, it changed him into a different person. Whatever, walls, barriers he built had fallen aside, revealing his true authentic nature. He was a man who enjoyed being alive. When he grinned, it was easy to imagine that he would have no problem winning hearts. Certainly most of the females that had watched him take the course were left a little breathless, a little enchanted. And actually, the men didn’t look that much different. 

Why did he seem so attractive at that moment?  

Why did he look so charismatic as he stood, tall and confident in his pinstripe suit, outside the warehouse with an easy smile and warm brown eyes? What had changed from the time he entered the course on the other side? 

The man who started the course had been handsome. The man that came out at the end? It would be easy to fall in love with him. That man was beautiful.

They were seeing a man in his element.  

They were witnessing a man finding his identity.

He seemed more present, more there, more alive. 

He finally felt like he had a place and a purpose. 

When he woke up in the medical ward, his first thought had been:  “My name is Harry Hart.” 

It was different now. There was a connection, a new realization. 

Now he was awakening outside the warehouse.

This time around, he thought to himself.

“I am Harry Hart.”

His brown eyes appeared even more golden in the sunlight. They were warm and inviting. No longer cold. No longer closed off. The light wind tossed a lock over his forehead. In a rare gesture he ran his hand through his hair.

He slung the communication headset around his neck, but not before jesting.

“All right.” He said definitively.   He paused for a moment.

He grinned. “Would you like to see that again?” 

——

What they discovered when Harry completed the course. …Whatever past Harry had come from, he had advanced tactical and technical skills that had muscle memory and strategy so ingrained into every fiber of his being that he didn’t need to think–he simply acted. In the face of immediate life threatening danger, he didn’t merely react to a situation. He took charge. He didn’t make decisions to survive. He made decisions to win.

They had to assume an agent of his caliber would be missed by his organisation. His talent, skill and expertise, if found in an agent, you very well make sure that agent stays in your employ. It was even likely that he was a senior agent or a director. They could certainly imagine him in a leadership role. A complicating factor could be that he was presumed deceased, and therefore, there was no chatter on the wire where you could find information, if only you knew what to look for. 

——

After Harry had literally triumphed over the course, there was a new aura about him. Before the trials, though he was always the perfect gentleman, he was reticent, distant, not quite aloof, but definitely keeping himself an arms length away. Both physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t one to participate in any activities that weren’t directly related to him. He certainly didn’t spend time in the lounge, conversing with the others or stopping in for a cocktail. He didn’t socialise with any of the others. He would politely participate in conversations that happened around him. Could be quite engaging when immersed in a topic he was intrigued with. There was an unspoken invitation that he was always welcome. In addition, one of the Statesman usually asked him to join directly. Harry would always politely decline. Not offering a reason or excuse, but simply turning down the offer in his quiet, but firm way.

He answered questions that were directed to him, but when the conversation took a turn away from work and into more personal areas, he would offer his apologies and depart for a quiet location. He could often be seen a little aways from campus, sitting in the sun, an open book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. 

He never spoke of his past unless he was questioning Ginger or Tequila for any information that they may have overlooked when they initially found him. By all appearances, he seemed to be handling himself well. Especially under the circumstances. But since they didn’t have a frame of reference, they didn’t know if he was usually so reserved, or if this was a result of the situation he found himself in. 

They found that he could horse ride. Once he brushed up on tacking and the most basic fundamentals of horsemanship, he was able to recall the rest on his own. He only rode alone. He never left the campus unless it was required by Statesman. He wouldn’t have anywhere to go besides. The only time he was away, was when he was on horseback. 

He did make an exception regarding his attire when it came to this activity. The Statesman all rode western style. A suit wasn’t the most appropriate. If they rode English, he would have requested a riding habit. His compromise? A pair of trousers, and a button down shirt. No suit, no jacket, no tie. Regardless, he did make a striking figure on horseback. Once he was, quite literally, back in the saddle, he handled himself gracefully. He was both firm and gentle with the animals and they responded to him in turn. He seemed more at ease and communicate more with the horses than with people. It was auspicious, though, seeing a cowboy hat perched on this head. 

They kept an eye on him, at least from a distance. Making sure that they caught any signs of undue stress, mental or emotional problems, disassociation, anhedonia, or displacement. The side effects of amnesia were hard to predict. If a person is unable to reclaim their lost memories, they would have to start rebuilding their history from scratch. This was easier for some than others. The older the person was when they suffered memory loss, the more difficult it became to let go of a past they no longer remembered.

With Harry being older than most of the Statesman, he may be having a harder time assimilating. Even though upon waking, he was coherent, intelligent, adaptive, accepting of his situation, once the realisation sets in that their condition is permanent, there may be a later period of denial that was similar to grief. Suffering the loss of their identity. 

Looking at the person that he was before the physical trials was like looking through a window that was covered with a thick film of dust. You might be able to discern that there was something significant, meaningful, worthwhile on other side of the glass, but it would always be a shadowy, vague, dim suggestion of what it actually was.

The tests had cleared away the dust and debris until the glass was clear, crystalline, perfectly see-through. And what had been behind the glass suddenly shone through. That person was the real Harry. Not the shadow form that you would occasionally see, always crossing from one place to the next. Hardly ever still. Never comfortable to remain in one place for long.

After the trials, he was more open, quicker to smile and engage in conversation. Though he would still refuse invitations on occasion, he would be more willing to accept with equal frequency. They discovered he could be quite the conversationalist. His dry wit and biting sense of humour was a welcome change to the often crass or juvenile comments from the male agents. 

If he wanted to, he could easily hold court. His accent and his deep voice were as captivating as his words. But never did he dominate a conversation. He always made a conscious effort to include everyone’s remarks and would even ask the opinion of those who looked like they wanted to say something, but were hesitant for one reason or another. He was more than willing to have someone else take the lead in a conversation, but if the conversation veered in an uncomfortable or inappropriate direction, he always managed to guide it back to civility. Not that he was opposed to a healthy debate, but he did believe that some words should be either said in private or not at all.

He was just as expert at navigating social situations as he was the field. This was a surprise to them since he was so withdrawn at first. They discovered that he was just someone who never wasted words. 

Not only did he become an increasing part of the fabric of Statesman’s front, he also participated more in the intelligence side of the agency. His insight was valuable, his strategies were sometimes unexpected but always effective, and his analysis sharp and concise. He didn’t go out into the field on operations, but he often assisted handlers and their agents with more demanding, complicated missions. Many times he was able to foresee an obstacle that they could avoid, or lead them out of an operation that had gone sideways. At first, the teams were hesitant to request his assistance, whether they were averse, intimidated or just nervous to approach him. But as he led teams into more successful missions, with less loss, less injury, less risk, he was often sought out, his time claimed in advance.

If he missed the field, it didn’t show. They still didn’t feel comfortable sending Harry out on assignment and he never requested a mission. They feared that the lack of direct action, the kind that he had participated in during his test course, would revert him back to the state where he was listless, closed off, removed. But he did not regress. If anything, he become more. It was difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know him during his transition. But with every passing day, with every new interaction, with every mission that he assisted, with every training session he held for advanced weapon and tactical skills, which he did have to admit, he particularly enjoyed, he just become more himself. 

By the end of the year, he was The Brit. Everyone knew him. Everyone adored him. He was free with his smile, his laughter, with a kind or encouraging word. His pinstripe suit was now a common site on campus. He had his own group of women that would pine after him, though he remained firmly unattached. His opinion was respected, his advice valued, his critiques, though sometimes harsh, were always considered constructive. 

He was not exactly gregarious, but he was a very skilled conversationalist. He could exchange witty repartee, as well as engage in topics with depth and you could trust that there was always something interesting on his mind. When he excused himself for any reason, you were left knowing more, feeling more, thinking more. However, by nature, they learned, he was a reserved and private person. But whatever walls or fences that he had constructed at the beginning of his stay, had slowly but consistently been deconstructed. On that bedrock, he wasn’t rebuilding his history. Without even thinking about it, he was fashioning a completely new one. 

The last year had been spent laying down the foundation for his new life, accumulating building blocks, each experience a new row of brick and mortar. He had let go, completely, of who he might have been in the past. The exercises that he and Ginger went through to try to recover his memory, from hypnosis, light therapy, trauma induced memory retrieval, did not work. After not even a modicum of success, felt that he spent an appropriate amount of time trying to regain his memory. He accepted the fact that his memory was gone. That he would be best to move forward. Not to look back. It was simple really. There wasn’t anything to look back on. So he began his life at Statesman.

—-

His awareness circled back to Statesman HQ, to their stateroom and fully to the present moment.  Ginger was explaining the last of the progress he had made during his year at Statesman.  He had finally reached a point of satisfaction with what was his life. Was he looking for more? Perhaps. Contentment wasn’t a natural state for him. There was always room for growth, for learning new things, and having new experiences.

However, ironically, not just because of the amnesia, he was not one for looking back. He felt that he had always been this way. Now, here were three individuals who were asking him to do just that. Asking him very earnestly, sincerely, and genuinely. 

Like the girl had said, his instincts would be triggered if they were being dishonest or withholding information.  He believed they were telling the truth and had nothing to hide. But for once, he was at a loss.  What was he to do with this information?  Was it even possible to be the person they wanted him to be? He was looking for an answer, but could find none.

He tested the weight of his questions. Was this a burden that he wanted to carry? Does a past that you can’t remember even matter? Should it even? Perhaps the only reason would be to recognise the relationships with those who still remembered you. Where was the honesty in that situation? Wouldn’t faking a past that you can’t remember be just as bad as pretending that you are the person that you used to be. While organising these questions in the folders of his mind, he kept his face calm and neutral. He didn’t have to decide anything at this moment. But he did need to establish boundaries.

He couldn’t give an answer to these three individuals. But what he could do was help them in their current situation. Help them find out who had destroyed their agency, what they were planning and how to stop them. At least, that he could offer. That, he could do. The rest would still be there. Problems, if ignored, only became more vexing. He would look at them later. Perhaps the answer would come to him.

“My sincere apologies.” He started. 

“Ginger is correct. I suffer from amnesia and I recall nothing about my history. Nothing prior to my time recovering here at Statesman. While I retain the skills and knowledge that I possessed in the past, I do not have any memory as to how or why I have them.

“We have tried every means available to recover my memories, with no success.” 

“But we are here now.” Merlin interrupted, encouraged. “We can remind you. Perhaps trigger something that makes you remember.”

“We can help. He’s right. “ Eggsy added. “Who knows more about you, than Merlin?”

Roxy nodded in agreement.

It was probably the first time the group looked somewhat enthusiastic.

Ginger interrupted. She was worried about this. She would have to be the one to grab their hopes and tether them back to reality. 

“Not to discredit your suggestion. If this were a different case, then yes, there is the possibility that it would work. But when someone is suffering from retrograde amnesia, unfortunately, their memory cannot be recovered by simply being informed about their personal experiences and their identity. What you are referring to is called the reminder effect. This would consist of re-exposing the patient to past personal information. This can work for other types of amnesia, but simply giving Harry details of his life won’t help him retrieve memories.”

Eggsy eyes narrowed. He was dubious. He was convinced something they said or told him could surely open up the gates to Harry’s memory. They just needed to try.  They just needed a chance. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to say anything to him at all. They looked toward Harry, imploringly.

Harry was his usual respectful, attentive self. But his expression was guarded and he was quiet.

Their frustration limped across the table in his direction. Ginger needed to redirect.

These people had been through hell and back. But Harry was her patient. And he was Statesman now, regardless of his pinstripe suit, his accent, or his British mannerisms. As much as she sympathised with their situation, there was the risk that Harry’s progress would stall or that he could relapse. The worst thing they could do would be to insist Harry be someone he no longer was under the misguided notion that they were helping him. Harry would be trapped, defeated and they would only face disappointment.  Ginger arranged the words carefully before she spoke.

“Memories are exceedingly intricate. But to simplify, making a memory involves storing information in the brain as a specific pattern of electrical activity.” she explained.

While avoiding excess jargon, she wanted to emphasise the complexity of Harry’s memory loss. If only it were as simple as forgetting something and not being able to remember.

“When we recall a memory, we recreate the pattern of electrical activity that formed it in the first place. This information is then distributed across different regions in the brain to retrieve the memory.  Injury in any part of this circuit can fracture memory function.  It’s not that the synapses, the path, necessary to make these connections, is blocked. It’s much more than that. There’s nothing at the end of the path. There’s nothing to retrieve. It is as if the memory was never made. It’s not hidden. It’s not in the subconscious. It’s not filed somewhere deep in his psyche. It simply does not exist.”

Disheartened. Dejected. Depressed. The three of them were the dictionary definitions. Ginger sighed. Being the bearer of bad news was never a party, but this was less than enjoyable.  However, she wanted to explain as much as she could so Harry wouldn’t have to. He had made so much progress in the past year. It had to be unsettling to face an unknown past, when you had made so much effort to be in the present.

Getting to her point. “Unfortunately, there is no established cure for retrograde amnesia memory loss. There’s no magic drug or deep-brain stimulation that jolts memories back into the mind. I wish there were. If recovery does happen, it largely occurs on its own.  With amnesia as a result of brain trauma, If you're really lucky, new pathways form among the remaining brain cells, like in stroke victims, or other parts of the brain take over from the damaged areas in what we call neural plasticity. But that is very rare.”

“Sometimes, the reminder treatment is more than ineffective, it can also be harmful. Too often, the stories people tell amnesiacs sound like someone else's life and it can be unsettling to them. Witnessing the disappointment of past friends, colleagues, and family when they can’t remember, or be the person who they used to to be, can be emotionally damaging. Having people tell you how to think and feel, or that you’re not who you are supposed to be can be distressing.”  

 “I don’t mean to be discouraging or unsympathetic. It’s crucial for us, for our own sakes, but most of all, for Harry’s,” she placed her hand on his forearm for emphasis, “ that we are realistic.” She wanted to be very clear as she drew her hand back and made her final, essential point “Do not make expectations that can only result in disappointment.”

As Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy discussed Harry’s future with the other Statesmen, Harry claimed this time to examine the three faces across the table. He set aside any of their mannerisms, agitations, conflicts that were due to the current circumstance and concentrated on what he believed to be their true and natural state. He didn’t try to analyse them, judge them or question what he saw. He tried to feel them. To feel the look in their eyes, to feel the expressions on their faces, to feel the quality of their movements.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened, not to their words, but to hear the sound of their voices. He felt their vibration.  Not only to see if anything sparked in his mind, but viscerally. A reflex, an intuition, a sensation that stirred something deep rooted in his bones. 

But his mind and his body were quiet and still.

It was time for him to speak up. Before he addressed them directly, sat up even straighter. Tall and silent. He did not make any of the usual gestures he did when preparing to take over a conversation. Familiar movements of brushing something non-existent off his suit, adjusting his cuffs, running his hand along the back of his hair, adjusting his glasses. He was still. His hands were clasped and rested on the table. 

Only seconds ticked by until everyone quieted along with him. Their heads all turned in the same direction. Harry could always pull attention to him without saying a word. 

He was also not one to hold back words that needed to be said. Time would be lost and nothing would be gained.  He did not want them to get their hopes up. He did not want to them to expect something from him that he could not deliver. 

For the second time, he opened with an apology. “I’m very sorry.” His eyes were sympathetic. 

They had the feeling he was preparing them for bad news.

His words were sure and resolute. There was no hesitation. No wavering. When Harry made a decision, he was firm.

“I do not remember Kingsman.” 

He shifted his weight forward in his chair, resting his elbows and forearms on the table and folded his hands together. It was a gesture of familiarity. He spoke directly to them, as if they were having a conversation. It wasn’t just reciting a statement. He knew, full well, they would be affected by his words. He knew that they would not be the words they wanted to hear. He knew it would be painful for them to be on the receiving end of his words, not matter how gently and honestly he delivered them. He would serve them by being unguarded, unreserved and up front.

He paused so they could process what he was telling them. 

“Prior to your arrival, I was not even aware of its existence.” He added frankly.

“I do not recall any relationships I may have had currently or in the past.” He spoke plainly.

“As much as you may want me to, and I recognise that you do, and I understand where that need comes from, I cannot say, in all honesty, that I know you.” 

Harry was nothing if not direct. 

His eyes held each of theirs. He saw the dejection in their faces. He could not help but feel empathetic. It was obvious that, whoever he was in the past, these people cared for him very deeply. Perhaps even loved. But for Harry, he was never this person and he was never one to fake an emotion he didn’t feel. 

He was compassionate, but firm. "I’m unable to say I even recognise you. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the man you used to know. I may look like him, I may sound like him, at times I may even act like him. But I am not him.” His voice was kind now. His face was gentle. His expression no longer guarded. 

“However meaningful your relationship was, no matter how strong the connection, I am unable to reciprocate in a way that would honor that bond.”

With an honesty and an openheartedness that touched all their raw wounds, he offered.

“It’s not that I can’t remember the Harry I used to be. Or that I do not care. It’s obvious that your relationship with this man was very important, very meaningful, to all of you.” 

He softened both his voice and his manner.  

“It is, that this person you used to know, in my eyes, he never existed.” His face gentled. Became grave and solemn, almost tender. 

“Do you understand?” 

And for Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin, that perhaps was the most painful moment of all. Because with the kindness they heard in his voice, and the softness they saw in his eyes, the way he held his concern for them, on his sleeve where they could see it, he was in that moment, everything that they knew and loved. He was their Harry Hart. He was their Galahad. 

-----

Whew! If you got this far thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, good, bad, funny, dumb, sad, WTF? Whatever.  

Always feel free to reblog, share with someone else who thought TGC had sooo much more potential. Or was pissed that they killed off Roxy. And don’t even get me started on Merlin....

[sirimirihiro]

Hey Again I am so sorry about not getting the ask done. After writing things like 4 times only to have it deleted you lose the will:/ but I wont let that keep me from requesting so, could I request Bakugou,Kirishima,Shinsou,Todoroki and Shigaraki whos in the support course and ends up in the hospital in an accident there(nothn to bad happens tho) (for shigaraki mabye she just comes back a day later than she should have and tells him If that makes writing him eaiser) thank you love ur writing uwu

Hi again! Don’t worry about it, I get your pain. I’m very sorry that this is at late as it is.

Hope you enjoy the headcanons!

————-

Bakugō Katsuki:

- Bakugō had been on his usual way to pick them up from class, having to just go the way that he would usually go when having to navigate his way to class. Students throwing a glance on him was usually met with cold or angry looks in return.

- But that wasn’t the point of his trip. The extras just needed to get out of the way. The quicker that he could get to his s/o, the quicker they could get out of this school.

- There was just one problem. One rather problematic problem, which was answered by an student, mostly out of fear when Bakugō had come up and asked in such a scary manner.

- The last that the teacher had said was that [Name] was in the hospital and had been since the middle of the day, due to burning their hand during home ec.

- That idiot. The whole time that he was heading there, he kept muttering to himself. Spiraling from thinking how stupid [Name] could be, whilst he hurried up.

- When shown to where his s/o was, the first reaction wasn’t exactly the best one. Even yelling involved, making just everyone around the question what in the world was happening.

- But, at the end of the day, he was glad that they seemed okay. Following them home, he made sure not to hold their injured hand. He couldn’t stay mad at them, in the end.

Kirishima Eijirō:

- The moment that he heard the news, Kirishima wasn’t sure what to think or to react. How do you, when you hear something just like that? The only thing he was sure of in that moment was to get to them. Make sure that they were alright.

- It was lucky that his s/o hadn’t gotten hurt too badly. With a villain having crashed a building in a fight, whilst they had to go and collect some groceries for their dorm room. Merely having escaped with a few scratches and bruises from the fall. No one had gotten hurt, luckily. With the villainbeing caught almost after that, too.

- When Eijirō saw them sitting on the hospital bed, getting some of the last parts checked of them, he couldn’t help but to run over and embrace them. Grip secure around their body, a few hitched breaths leaving him. It enough to surprise s/o a bit here.

- As much as he didn’t want his mind to go back to those old tendencies, Kirishima just can’t help but to think that this was his fault. If he had just been there, maybe they wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Wouldn’t have had to experience that. But, rest to sure, of course his s/o was going to tell him that he shouldn’t be worrying over that.

- Will 100% bring them something to eat and to come over to his place afterwards for some cuddles to calm the nerves with. For the both of them, really. He makes sure to get their favorites and that they feel comfortable. Willing to listen if they want to talk about it.

- If Kirishima admits to how he feels about it, you know that his s/o will praise him and tell him otherwise. To where he can’t help but feel his face start to get red and to smile at how sweet they really are.

- " I have the manliest hero here with me, so I’m okay. Right? "

Shinsō Hitoshi:

- Being in the general class and it laying sort of close to the support course, they would often end up running into his lovely s/o. Even without pda, Shinsō still liked it whenever that he noticed them pass each other.

- Execpt for today, he hadn’t even managed to catch a glimpse of them. Even during lunch, they weren’t by their usual spot, where they would wait for him so that they could head to lunch together. If that wasn’t the strangest part, then it must’ve really been the silence of his phone. Not vibrating from the usual texts Shinsō would get throughout of his day.

- That was why he was going to get to the bottom of this. Now, waiting for students to thin out in their class, where he maybe could manage to catch the homeroom teacher before she left, to ask about his s/o.

- When he actually managed to come and ask, what he was left with was more worrying than what he would’ve expected. Apparently, due to having splinters stuck in their hands due to having to work on some uncarved tree stump for a project, they had to take to the hospital.

- Having been allowed to leave by now and gotten the name of the nearby hospital that they were staying in, Shinsō quickly headed off to see his s/o. If it had been awhile since they went there, it was probably cleared by now.

- Fate must’ve had it’s way, because when he was halfway there, he suddenly came face to face with [Name], who was all fixed and now wearing bandages on their palms. Just seeing they were alright made him all better again.

- During the whole walk back again to the dorm rooms at campus, he was the one that held their bag. Even if [Name] had to remind him that it wasn’t their shoulder that were hurt, he just couldn’t help it. Hitoshi felt better in their company.

Todoroki Shoto:

- When class had finished for the day and he got a chance to check his phone, Tododoki couldn’t help but to stop and notice a few calls from them that had been sent throughout the day.

- To say that he was confused was an understatement. The pair was more of a texting couple, so to see all of this.. As He was heading out, Tododoki wrote to them and asked what was the matter.

- With the chat going back and forth for awhile, it was first when he received one response that made him stop in his tracks. 'Can you pick me up from hospital?'

- The screen seemed so bright when he read it over multiple times, shutting and showing it into his pocket, before heading along of the hallway with hurried steps. The echoes seeming louder when he was just himself.

- It might’ve been stupid to worry about, since their school and the neighborhood here were relatively safe, but he wasn’t going to take any chance when he came to the one that he loved. The one who seemed to be able to cheer him up, even with the most cliche jokes that came to them.

- Once he had been allowed by Aizawa and practically ran there, Shoto asked the staff about them, before following along. Finding his beloved sitting on a chair, with only bandages around of him, he felt himself ease down.

- Apparently, according to [Name], they had only ended up tripping over a couple of steps during a trip to the grocery store, because they needed something for their class. Even though Tododoki had calmed down about that since, he still seems to hold their hand more whenever they reached a pair of stairs now.

Shigaraki Tomura:

- Shigaraki wasn’t one to worry over these things. He had grown so used to sending out people, wether it would be someone that he knew well or would be set out on a test. So why, oh why, was he suddenly feeling weird when he hadn’t heard a reply from them?

- It was first when the main door to their base was opened, with the familiar tug on the feet, that his back straightedges out again and that the scratches at his own neck stopped again, almost in disbelief. But if it was Dabi again, doing that just to make him get his hopes up, he’ll swo—

- " Tomura-san? Erh, sorry about that. Hospital waiting time took forever. "

- This man just stared, not even sure if he could believe in hearing something like that. Like, when the love of his life had just walked in to admit that they got themselves hurt by one of missions that he had sent them out on that would have really only taken an hour but now at least over a day - - Wait, no. That was what this was.

- He didn’t admit to it, till they showed their gazed fingers, having been accidentally caused by a hero that almost caught them. Shigaraki could absolutely feel his blood start to boil over, only having his s/o to stop him here in this empty bar from going on a murder spree.

- If they could make him relax for a moment and explain that they were fine, he would feel a bit more calm. Despite of the bright and clear anger that shone in his scratched eyes. It was even more the reason why he despised villains and didn’t want anything but to destroy.

- Except for [Name]. [Name] was one of the only things that didn’t count in that. And maybe some of the others, if he really admitted to it. Cause who would destroy, a thing that they held most dear to them?

[caphayzardous]

I don’t feel like I cracked or broke this semester I just like started very low because of the winter depression, and the lockdownz, and then started recovering slightly, but then slowed down, and slowed down, and slowed down...

I’ve been taking so much time off, all I do these days is sleep, eat, go for a walk, and somehow it takes up a whole day. I do spend an amount of time sitting curled up on the floor thinking, ‘I should work’, and probably that nebulous amount of time is where I am losing hours. that and I sleep too much. just the bare minimum existence and I can’t find any heart to work. next week is the first of the final assignments, and then the other three are all within 10 days of that; I have only really started 1 of them, and barely. I don’t want to apply for more extensions (one of them has already been extended) because if I can’t even access ‘stress mode’ productivity NOW then I don’t think an extra week will do anything at all to help me get things done.

I’m not really worried? I’m not stressed? I’m not too sad even, but I am not too good. Very empty. Although I have also cried on like 15 out of the last 21 days (since I turned 25) lmao but there’s been... reasons for most of that. I’m very self conscious of how other people might see my treatment of uni right now, but... I do love it, and I know I did well last semester, I believe I will do well next year... but we’re at uhh let’s see 66 days into the current lockdown, and we’ve passed a total of 250 days in lockdown as a city, so like. idk. I can adapt I can make the best of a situation I can persevere etc etc etc but I think in the last few weeks the tricks and methods just don’t really cut it lmfao.

its so hard to keep working when there’s nothing else, so hard to enjoy walking when it’s the same paths, so hard to manage your days when you also have to book vaccines (which, the process here was basically ‘seagulls fighting for a single chip, but also the seagulls have class disparity’) and then be knocked out with fatigue from said vaccines, and then you also continue to get colds even in lockdown because your immune system is shit, and then you have to go and wait 3 hours in a drive thru testing site - and also, you know what, getting a period every month doesn’t fucking help, I’m going to say it, I’m going to say it. when you’re not having a great time and then every 4 weeks you do that whole charade again it doesn’t HELP, does it.

I kind of feel just like I did in year 12 lmfao, where I thought, ‘I should have dropped out sooner’ lmao and then I had to just stick it out. a bit sunk-cost fallacy you know. but it’s literally week 12, which is the LAST week for half my classes, and I’m like motherfucker I should have trusted my gut and deferred the semester way back when this lockdown dropped, the idea of completing literally every week of a class and then failing the last assignment and having to redo the course is PRETTY BAD LMAO, but I guess it happens and it’s normal. Anyway. I wont fail ‘em, I’m going to get through it. when I chose not to defer I knew that meant I’d be accepting A Bad Semester in terms of grades so like. That’s ok.

The upside is. Once I get the semester over and done with (come what may) I think I will swing up a bit because. I can better enjoy things without this looming over me. I’m already kind of ‘doing whatever I want (within restrictions lmao AKA I am Walking) irresponsibly and dismissing my uni obligations’ but it doesn’t exactly feel good. We’ll be out of lockdown soon which is it’s own terror because the city is going to just accept a new rate of death which feels pretty bad you know lmfao. but lockdown doesn’t work as well here anymore and it will only be less and less effective (people really are tired).

But you know. Might feel nice to be able to do more things. On saturday I saw my best friend for the first time since this lockdown started, since we’re both vax’d now and the like travel limit was upped to 10km a couple weeks ago. Nice that I can see 1 friend now, you know! That was something different and enjoyable! We’re getting more and more days of sun so I can probably shake of the ol’ seasonal affective, which, honestly I’d’ve already shook if it weren’t for uni & lockdown ykwim, so like. etc etc.

here’s to a happy november, soon. lol new dave gahan album in nov too so genuinely excited for that as well hahah, media is not enough to sustain me but I think it will all culminate in a nice month I guess, let me just reach it without my brain dissolving completely, please!!!!

[jessefandomunited]

Visiting hours  (part 1)

Spencer Reid X Reader

You can’t believe Spencer got thrown in prison and when your forced to take sick leave you have to go to see him.

I’ve been numb ever since Reid was put in that damn prison, and it showed in my work. For a while Penelope put me on the night shift on paperwork duty because I was no help, but even that wasn’t working. Emily cleared her throat behind me , “ hey, my office , please.” I slowly got up and cracked my fingers, I glanced at the phone and my heart stopped, I had started my shift at 3pm, it was about 5am now. I swallowed and slowly made my way into Emilys office. “ Please sit,” She said looking at me with intense pity. “Listen I ...I didn’t realize what time it was,” I began to explain but she held a hand up to silence me, “ I know , I know that this has been hard on you, you two were very close, and because of how you’ve been lately, I'm putting you on medical leave.” I stood up, “ what!? I’ve been doing my job, what more do you want!? I'm not sick!” “ Mentally you are,” Emily said firmly , then she softened, “ Listen, take the time off, visit him a few times, heal.” “ How...if i’m not working, if i’m not doing anything it won’t help him at all,” I stuttered holding back tears. “ Please, just a couple weeks at least,” She urged. I bit my lip and nodded. I got up and left the office.

As I was driving home I realized that I couldn’t go home. I looked down at what I was wearing a old fashion peter pan collared blouse with a coffee stain and my longer pleated skirt. Not the thing one usually wears to visit a prisoner but  it would have to do, I couldn’t put off seeing him anymore.

The visitations didn’t start till 10 so when I got there at about 9 they made me wait . The guards inspected me and made snide comments. I ended up putting on my glasses to hide how dark the circles under my eyes have gotten. I couldn’t sleep, any time I closed my eyes I just could imagine what they were doing to him and id end up looking through the web for anything to do with Scratch. Then Penelope moved me to the night shift, so I didn’t sleep at night or during the day. “ Come on,” A guard yelled breaking me out of my trance. I hugged my bag close to me and took a note out before handing it over. They led us into a surprisingly open room that had rows of desks with a small piece of plexiglass in between. I awkwardly sat swinging my legs till the door opened. My head popped up and I watched the inmates walk in. A few of the guys eyed me up and down and there were a few wolf whistles but I didn’t care once I locked eyes with Spencer. A weary smile tugged at his lips and I stood up trying not to cry as he walked over. I went for a hug but a guard yelled, “ NO TOUCHING!” there were a few snickers from other inmates but I ignored them. “ I’m not going to ask how you are, but honestly I don’t know what to even say that will make you feel better I know this sucks I should be out doing something anything ,” I rambled rubbing at my eyes. He looked bad, unshaven unruly hair and he didn’t look like he was sleeping well. “ What are you doing here,” He asked, “ i’m, glad to see you but they usually send people on Monday right?” I rubbed my neck nervously and locked eyes with him before saying, “ Emily...has put me on medical leave. I’ve been working the night shift , on paperwork, and I tend to stay there a bit longer than I'm supposed to and ...” I stopped because he looked distressed, “You’re not sleeping...are you?” “ Not in the strictest seance of the word,” I almost whispered. “ I’m so glad to see you, but i’m...scared for you, it’s not safe and the men here,” He said trying to grab the right words. “ Spencer I can’t just sit at home and do nothing,  I wont ‘heal’ at home, and they wont let me back at work so I want to be here with you , as often as I can , I want to make sure you’re alright. And it drives me mad that I cant do anything because I ,” My words trailed off , I was going to say I loved him , here of all places. I bit my lip, my hands were shaking with rage and I felt hot tears in my eyes, “ It’s not fair.” “ No,” He said simply and I wiped my eyes feeling stupid, “ Sorry, this isn’t what you need to see from the outside world. I uh… wrote you a note, They wont let me give it to you but I know you’re a fast reader.” I held it up. It was me just rambling about things Penelope had said and how we have a big party planned when this is all over and how much we are all working to get him out of here. He nodded his eyes red , “ thankyou, that was really sweet.” “ Look at that little mama with Mr. Reid,” Someone jeered. I saw Spencer stiffen, “ you really shouldn’t be here, really it isn’t safe.” “ Spence I don’t give a fuck,” I whispered so the guard wouldn’t snap at me, “ you’re in here and I will be here as long as it takes to remind you that we haven't given up on you and you shouldn’t either! As for all the guys in here I couldn’t care less what they say, they’re mostly talk.” I winced a bit then added, “ well maybe not for you, but I really doubt they can hurt me out there.” He looked around nervously and swallowed, “ please just be careful.” “ I will I promise,” I said with the first real smile I could muster, “ now what is the one thing you’d want most in the world once you get out, it can be anything.” He seemed to relax a bit with my casual tone, like he’d just be getting off a shift at work, “ maybe a bath, and a few good books.” I smiled brightly and winked , “ that wont be a problem at all.” He tried to hide his blush and I quickly changed the subject to a book he had recommended to me a while ago, and it felt like we were talking back at the office till , “ VISITING HOURS ARE OVER!” We both blinked a couple times like we were pulling ourselves back into reality. “ Bye...Spence,” I said sadly , “ I’ll be here tomorrow.” He visibly became a bit more distant and cold and just slightly nodded. “ Miss i’m going to need you to leave now,” One of the guards insisted . “ Yes… sorry,” I said a little absent minded. I spun around and left without looking back, I couldn’t look back

….

I was sitting outside by myself when they approached me , “ Hey Reid, cute little mama you got there hu?” I really did not want to talk to them in general but especially not about her. I got up and started to walk away but two of the guys grabbed me roughly and turned me to face the other. “ You didn’t answer now thats just rude,” He said in a sickly sweet voice, “ Now I feel like my boys here need to teach you a lesson on respect.” I forced my face to stay stoic, this was just any other usub looking for a weakness to strike at. “ Now,” He continued, “ that lovely lady that came in, she got a name.” “None of your business,” I replied instantly causing one of the guys to punch me in the stomach. I gasped and tried to wriggle out but they held fast. “ Now that’s strike two,” He said shaking his head, “ You know i’ve got some contacts on the outside, one that could turn her world upside down, in fact maybe the next time I see her, i’ll just jump her myself, what are they going to do , put me in solitary?” “ You won’t lay a finger on her,” I snapped . He laughed, “ okay okay, I won’t, but you have to tell her, to her face, that you don’t want to see her again, and if you tell her why, i’ll still jump her, got it?” “ I don’t think you can do that,” I hissed through gritted teeth. The guy punched me again then threw me to the ground, “ I guess you’ll have to find out.” I didn’t want to take that chance but I hated the thought of her not coming, that was the first time in a while I remember smiling or felt like a real person. I shook my head, I was being selfish, this was her life at stake. I took a deep breath and started thinking of a plan.

…

I was able to sleep a little that night, I think physically seeing that Spencer was still Spencer was a big relief even if he did seem more tense. I read a bit of another book he recommended to me the next morning so that i’d have something new to talk about, then it was back in the car driving to the Prison. I had almost forgotten to change before I left, I pretty much collapsed when I got back yesterday and just starred at the ceiling. Today I chose a more neutral outfit , high waisted brown corduroy shorts and an oversize green turtleneck sweater tucked into them. It was a bit more casual that I usually dress in fact I don’t think I have ever dressed this casual with Spencer before, even when we went out to the movies or the planetarium or some other random thing none of the others wanted to go to, I always dressed up for him. I wanted him to feel important but I realized that it didn’t matter what I wore more that I was there, so I decided to test my theory today. I tapped nervously on my backpack as I waited for them to call me in. My palms were sweaty and I felt a lump in my throat, I thought i’d be excited but being surrounded by dangerous men made me anxious. They called us in and I went. I sat at the same table waiting anxiously. I felt like I was going to cry again but I shook that thought out of my head. The door opened and I noticed almost every inmate looked at me as they went to their seats. I felt suddenly very exposed. I heard someone whisper very softly, “ she came baaackkk.” I felt a bit faint, I was definitely in some sort of danger. “ Hey,” I jumped at the sound of Spencer's gentle voice but then relaxed, “ Sorry...I...” I looked around and leaned in, “ i’m….in trouble aren't I ?” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the glass  making me jump again. I saw the words “, you’re in danger, sorry.” “ Spence I,” I started but he snapped loud enough for the others to head, “ listen now and listen good, I do not want to see your face here ever again, is that understood.” The guards walked over to us. “ Understood,” he said darkly. I felt my heart crack a bit and I nodded quickly. I stood up and I heard one inmate say, “ bye bye pretty girl.” I whipped around and kicked the table he was act and fixed him with a cold glare, and then I was drug out of the room. It wasn’t necessary but I had just gotten my best friend taken away from me again and there was literally nothing I could do about it.

[honeypirate]

Figure it out

Part four

Hinawa and fem reader

Masterlist here

The one with ✨ another song! ✨ And nurse 👨‍⚕️Hinawa!

I’m like that monkey at a type writer that people always say “even a monkey could write that” that’s how I feel with this lol but I like it anyway 😜

You wake up before him, slowly coming to consciousness as the sun shines into the window, your eyes flutter open and immediately look over to him, taking in his messy bed hair and calm face, a hand on his chest and one on his stomach. You watch him until you see him start to stir, then you take a deep breath and sit up, stretching out your arms and groaning at the pain and stiff muscles from your injury.

“Good morning sleepy head” you say when he sits up, he smiles “good morning” you smile at his morning voice, so low and raspy. “How do you feel?” he asks and you shrug “as good as i can post surgery with a stab wound. I don’t like that you were so overworked, but I’m glad I don't have to be here alone” he yawns and then smiles softly at you, his eyes still full of sleep as he gazes over at you “well, honestly, even if I didn’t have to be here, I still would come and stay by you if i knew you didn’t want to be alone.” you raise your eyebrows with a smile “you’d do that for me?” he nods and sighs, a soft sound containing all he feels about waking up and seeing you in the morning, makes him wish he stayed beside you when he slept in your bed. “of course i would. You’re important to me” he says softly and before you could discuss that any further nurses came through the door.

After their tests they tell you that Hinawa can be discharged and that you could as well if you promised to be on bed rest with minimal office duties for the next few months until you’re fully healed. You decided to take that offer because there was no way in hell you’d sleep in this bed another night, they gave you some as needed pain medication and a prescription for another month, with an appointment to get your stitches taken out in two weeks.

Back at the base you head towards the Captain’s office but Hinawa stops you “you heard them. you should go rest. I’ll tell Captain Obi” you’re about to insist you’re fine but he shakes his head, holding out your medication he was carrying “go, take some of your medication and rest” he orders and gently shoves you in the direction of your room and you huff before sticking your tongue out at him as you walk away, keeping your right arm against your middle so you didn’t move your stitches.

You stop by the kitchen to get some water and run into Maki, “oh Y/N you’re finally back! How are you?” “it’ll take more than a little knife to take me out” you say and laugh gently as you get yourself a glass of water “how long will you be out?” you take one of your pills before you say “a couple months, i hope less though” she nods “you should go rest but it’s my turn for dinner so it’ll be done in a few hours” you nod “okay thank you, see you later”

When you make it back to your room you lay down, the short walk strangely exhausting, you find yourself panting, your side hurting. “Okay, i’ll just lay here until my meds kick in, then i’ll get up” you close your eyes, trying to distract you from the throbbing pain, focusing on evening out your breaths, you didn’t notice when the meds kicked in because you were already asleep.

When you wake up again it’s dark outside, your clock’s lights reading 12:23am, you lay there for a moment, considering going back to sleep but your stomach rumbles and you groan, having missed all meals today you were starving. You slowly roll out of bed, the familiar walk taking longer because of your baby steps.

He was worried when you didn’t come to dinner, but he figured you were sleeping when your door was quiet, and figured he would make you a good breakfast in the morning. He woke up to your singing again, your voice from the kitchen vents

“It's nothing, it's so normal you You just stand there, I could say so much But I don't go there 'cause I don't want to I was thinking if you were lonely Maybe we could leave here and no one would know At least not to the point that we would think so”

He pushes off his blanket and quickly makes his way to the kitchen.

The lights are on this time, illuminating the hallway from the open door “And I couldn't tell, if anyone here was feeling the way I do But I'm lonely now, and I don't know how To get it back to good”

he walks in and smiles at the sight of you singing softly, heating up some of dinner with a metal bowl with your hands on either side, using your fire instead of the microwave. “Hey” he says and you look up at him from the counter you had used a chair to be able to sit on top of, “hey are you hungry?” you ask and he shrugs “i could eat” you laugh “perfect, I already have enough for you here”

You convince him to eat on the couch since you were injured, and he carries both of your bowls as you walk, he tells you everything you missed during the later afternoon and evening, the fights over dinner and the new information about the white clad. Once you’re sitting on the couch, he hands you your bowl and you smile up at him warmly “thank you Hinawa” he nods and sits next to you, his thigh pressed into yours leaving no space between you. He was warm and it was comforting, you found yourself leaning into him but didn’t care enough to stop, you were injured and medicated and needed some comfort from him

You eat in silence and when you are just thinking about how you needed a drink, Hinawa hands you a bottle of water. you didn’t question it, just took it with a smile. After you were done eating, you leaned your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes “when I was younger, I used to help out on my grandma’s farm in the Chinese peninsula. well one day i was messing around while working, completly goofing off, and slipped in some mud while carrying these 5 gallon buckets full of water with lids on them. i slipped and landed on the very edge of the lid. The edge went right between two of my ribs and cracked them. What was the worst was that one of the farm workers saw it happen and came to ask me if i was okay and I just popped up and pretended i was fine, i said “at least i didn’t spill the water!” and laughed And he gave me this like” you raise your head and look at him with a super worried face, causing him to chuckle “and he said ‘no sweetheart,who cares about the water. Are YOU okay?” you chuckle, the medication making your ribs only slightly ache, “I didn’t even find out my ribs were hurt until later, showing my grandma my bruises that night, it hurt to laugh for two weeks or so” you lean your head against his shoulder “you must have been a really tough kid” you smile and nod “I guess I was, but the actual reason why I told you this story,” you frown and bring your hand up, grabbing his shirt sleeve gently and turn your face further into his arm, your voice more muffled now “ this injury is going to take longer to heal than that one, which means less time I can laugh. And I love joking around with you every day, love that you make me laugh easily, I don’t want to have to miss out on that for a long time” he chuckles and lifts his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders and gently holds you a little closer “i’m sorry you wont get my amazing jokes for the next little while” you lean up and point at him “you have to keep telling me things! No! Don't stop. I will just control myself!” he smiles and you get a little embarrassed by your outburst “please, dont stop telling me funny things. Okay?” you whisper and he nods “okay, but if you hurt yourself and laugh i will stop right then” you nod quickly “deal! No going back on it!”

He laughs some more and you lean back into him, a smile on your face as you try and hold in a groan, pain shooting in your side from your wound, hoping to get away with it until Hinawa tenses, scooting forward and looking at your side with a worried face, thats when you notice the blood on his side and you gasp, looking down at yourself and seeing the blood spot against your white shirt “you might have ripped a stitch” he says and you sigh “fuck. Can you help me? I can't quite..” you hold your hands up and try to reach it to showing him how awkward it is, he nods “i’ll meet you in the bathroom for the better light after i put the dishes away i’ll grab the first aid kit and be right there” you nod and stand, wincing with the movement, thankfully Hinawa wasn’t looking and you sighed in relief. When you look up to himhe looks straight into your eyes “i saw that” he says and then laughs at your look “i’m not going to lecture you this time though, not unless you do this again” you nod and salute weakly “yes sir” he shakes his head and holds the two bowls stacked in one hand, his other resting on your lower back as you walk down the hall together, not moving it until you pass the kitchen and he leaves you to continue your slow shuffle by yourself.

You reach the bathroom and manage to maneuver your way up onto the counter top and once you do you look to the doorway and see him standing there, an amused smile on his lips “did you..?” he laughs “yeah, the whole thing. Im impressed with how determined you were, i could have just lifted you if you waited” you sigh and he comes over to you holding the first aid kit and an extra shirt

He looks at you for a few moments, you look back into his eyes without speaking, like you were lost in his beautiful golden orbs, until you realized he can’t help you with your shirt still on. You blush and look down before you use your arm on your good side to lift the bottom up over your head before pulling it down your other arm and holding it in your lap as you avoid eye contact now, suddenly feeling very self conscious.

He watches as you take off your shirt, the tips of his ears turning pink because of how soft your skin looks, of how gorgeous you are. He watches as you blush and shrink into yourself, watching the physical response of your self consciousness. “Hey” he says softly and you hum in question without looking up at him. He reaches out and with his first three fingers, gently tilts your head to look at him.

“Let’s fix you up okay? Don’t worry I wont hurt you” you smile at his warmth “I trust you Hinawa” he nods “good” he drops his hand and then washes them in the sink next to you before opening the first aid kit and slowly peeling off the bandage stuck to your skin with tape.

He dabs at your would gently with a wet washcloth as you hold your arm up, clutching your opposite shoulder so it’s out of his way. “it’s not bad, you won't have to go back to the doctor, you just need to take it easy and go to bed after i’m done” you smile as you study his face while he looks at your stab wound. He dabs it with peroxide, then puts on some neosporin so it won't stick to the gauze he places over it and then another bandage that he wraps around your middle instead of taping it to you.

“Is this too tight?” he asks and you shake your head “no, it’s perfect. Thank you for your help.” he nods “of course, here, i brought you a shirt” he hands you one of his extra black shirts and you thank him before taking it and trying to put it on. He watches as you struggle for a moment before reaching out, helping you unfold it and slip it up over your bad arm and then holds it as you slip your other arm through it, gently sliding the soft material down all the way, his fingers brushing across the skin on your back.

Once you brush your teeth and make sure you have everything you need, you lay in bed, him helping you get situated in silence. You watch him, a question in your eyes that you’re too embarrassed to ask “Do you want me to stay?” he asks for you and you smile shyly “only if you want to though” he smiles and then looks into your eyes “if i am being honest, I slept the best next to you than i have in the all of my adult years” you beam up at him “then you’re saying you’ll-” he nods “I’ll stay” your heart warms and your stomach floods with butterflies as he climbs into your bed beside you.

Because of your wound you have to lay on your side facing him, a smile on your lips and your eyes looking at his face as he lays beside you “you can’t sleep unless you shut your eyes” he says with a smirk, his eyes never opening. You reach out and grab his side, pulling yourself as close to him as you can and moving down just a little before you bury your face in his chest, he chuckles and watches you, waiting until you're comfortable before he gently wraps his arm over you.

“Tell me a story?” you ask and he sighs with a smile into your hair “real or fake?” he asks and you smile into his chest “you decide” he hums as he thinks “okay, ill tell you the story and at the end you can guess if you think it’s fake or real” he thinks for a moment before kissing the top of your head and beginning his story, his hand coming up to play with your hair that’s on the bed behind you

“There once was a prince of a small kingdom, he was handsome, intelligent, and level headed. One day the prince’s best friend was poisoned by a neighboring kingdom that was trying to start a war. The prince vowed then and there that he would never allow himself to care for another person again, never wanting to feel the same pain and grief again. He lived like this for many years, keeping his heart guarded, thinking he was doing the right thing” you were trying so hard to pay attention, forcing yourself to stay awake for this, it felt important. But the sound of his voice, the smell of him, and the warmth of him holding you, that fights to pull you to sleep.

“One day the prince met a princess, she came to stay at his kingdom and they became friends, laughing and joking with each other every day, she was the only one in the kingdom who seemed to understand everything about him without even trying. She easily walked into his heart and made it her home, walking through each wall and barrier like it was nothing, like it was her purpose to make him feel again. The only one who made feelings joyous instead of exhausting. She saw every hidden part of the Prince and made him feel worthy, she showed him how nice it is to have someone close to him who understands and doesn't make him feel guilty about where he lacks. The door in his heart opened for her like she had the only key.” you smile, thinking about how lovely the princess sounds. He swallows hard and his hand stills, strands of your hair twisted gently around each finger.

“The Prince fell in love with the Princess easily, even though he hadn’t felt the feeling for years she easily claimed all of his love as her own. She would sing to him, call him to her with her angelic voice. She made him laugh easily and not to mention she was an amazing person. She is kind, smart, and the prince is positive she is made of everything sweet and good. One day the princess got hurt.” Your fingers clutch his shirt gently as you whisper “oh no” he chuckles and kisses the top of your head before continuing “She got hurt and the Prince couldn't protect her. He felt terrible about it even though there wasn’t anything he could have done in the moment, he was tied up at the time. There was nothing he hated more than seeing her hurt and wished he could save her from it, but since he couldn’t, he would do anything he could to help her as she recovered. staying by her side and protecting her until she was strong again, until she was back to being able to protect herself. then he would go back to being her partner, and not just her nurse and guard.” You sigh and turn your face so your cheek presses against his chest “I like the prince” you whisper and he smiles

“Real or fake?” he asks and you hum into his chest, too far asleep to truly answer. You hum again and try to wake yourself up more but your mouth doesnt say what your brain tells it, it just mumbles out “my.. prince” before taking a deep breath and sighing into his chest, completely unconscious.

He wakes up with a start, panic in his heart from a dream he can’t remember. He looks down at you in his arms, a smile on your sweet sleeping face. You looked like an angel in his arms, the sun on the horizon hitting your window illuminated the back of you like a halo. He tried to move, to get comfortable again, but your unconscious hand gripped his shirt, and his heart. He was frozen to the spot, his heart racing thinking he woke you up, he waited a moment before looking down at you again.

“Maybe, if this happens again, we could sleep in your bed. It’s bigger than mine right?” you say and snuggle further into him, making sure you don't hurt yourself anymore, your wound was already throbbing and you didn't want to make it worse until you had to get up. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head “right” he clears his throat, the sun rising waking him up more, “you’d want to, do this again? Sleep beside each other?” you look up then, opening your eyes purposefully to look into his, “Hinawa” you reach up to cup his cheek “why wouldn’t i? You keep me safe. Do you think that these have just been coincidences? That it was just because you happened to be here?” you pull your hand down and furrow your brows “unless you don’t like mmm--“ you stop and change your sentence “ You don't want to. Then I mean yeah of course whatever you want I don’t want to make you uncomfortable” he smooths out your brows gently with his finger and he chuckles softly “shhh shh it’s not like that” he gently wraps his arm around you and holds you to his chest, his hand gentle against the back of your head.

A knock sounds at your door followed by Maki’s voice “sorry to wake you y/n but we have an emergency meeting in 5” you tense, knowing it must be big if they’re waking everyone “thank you Maki” when her footsteps retreat is when Hinawa lets you go, he looks into your eyes, he was sad you had to part so soon but he knew it must be important. “We’ll talk later” you smile softly and nod as he gets up softly and helps you out of bed so you didn't hurt yourself. At your door he cups your cheek with a smile before silently slipping out your door.

[terrible-my-hero-academia-aus]

An AU Where...

Present Mic goes bald one day due to a quirk related accident. He had just rescued the small child from their blade-armed kidnapper when, with a terrified shriek, the child sneezed from the stress. 

Of course, living in a society of quirks, she couldn’t simply sneeze snot and germs like any other child. She had to sneeze her quirk. Hence the bald, shiny head he now sported.

On his way to buy a wig; disguised with hot pink sunglasses and a hoodie. He bumps into a runaway teen, who, in their panic stumbled and fell.

Reaching down to help pull the teen back to their feet. Present Mic stopped in shock. Over an otherwise pale face, spread deep purple scars.

“Shit, you ok kid?”

“What do you think” He snarled, yanking his arm from the heroes grip in a valiant attempt to scram. 

“Hey-hey, wait a sec kid,” 

And so~ Present Mic became the father of a smol dirty child.

Personal headcanons:

He drags the grimy kid home for a nice hot bath and stuffs a couple of cup noodles into his mouth. Oh, what’s this? Mic can cook you say?? No. I refuse.

Touya’s hair is floofy.

Mic gives him an All Might towel to dry it and Touya loves it.

Touya doesn’t realise his saviour is a Pro Hero at first because Present Mic is still bald from that kid’s quirk.

 Mic knows how to deal with his new kid, because, if he can handle the grumpy cat which is Eraserhead, he can handle this smol kitten.

Convinces Touya to stay for at least a little while he, “gets on his feet”-cough-adopted.

“Hey kid.”

“What?”

“You wanna come to work with me today?”

“What’ya do” *snaps chewing gum*

“Gossip hour on xxxRadio. Doing a whole segment on under vs overrated heroes.”

“...Y’know what? Yeah...I’ll come.”

A few hours later~

“So signing off now! This has been HeroDebate with your hosts: Present Mic and our guest for today, Dabi!”

...

“Wait what?”

“shh my smol son. I know. It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

“What.”

“It’s usually a lot longer, I swear! It’s not photoshopped! Do you know how much a week I spend on hair gel!

“WHAT”

........................................

*After a long and emotional conversation in which Touya spills the beans*

Mic takes Touya to UA to get paperwork quietly pushed through. Even through his faith in heroes is not completely lost, too many years and memories are based in the hero worlds failing, for him to continue there. With the help of Nezu, he takes classes as a business student at Shiketsu with, Y’know, the odd lesson from Nezu himself.

Nezu pulls some strings to get Touya to test a hormone cream in an attempt to make himself resistant enough that his flames wont further injure him. After many long trails and false positives it works, ans Touya is able, with the help of several support items, use his quirk without  burning himself.

By the time our famous class 1-A comes into the picture Touya has graduated into being Nezu’s “Secretary” at UA.  (And Present Mic’s Official SonTM)

Yes. He sits outside Nezu office and manages his meetings and emails. He's also Nezu’s direct link to bringing down his enemies via public reputation but who cares he makes a mean scone.

*Aizawa, going to meet Nezu after the entrance exams and spotting Touya’s ID* “Oh shit there’s two of them.”

Mic’s hair does finally grow back.

Somehow, none 1-A, even after occasions when they were sent to see Nezu, none of them picked up that the Hot Secretary is Todoroki’s brother. 

Touya hiding behind people to avoid being seen Endeavor when he come to see Shouto.

Shouto being sure that Someone is stalking him. 

Touya sent to give Aizawa some papers during class and walks in right when someone asks Todoroki has any siblings.

“Yes, I have a sister an one-” 

*Touya walks in*

“-two brothers...Where the have you been?”

“At work”

“Yes, but before today.”

“School.”

“I mean before that.”

“The womb.”

“Not that far back.”

“Doin’ stuff, don’t worry, i’ll be a bit late for dinner though.”

“...it’s been 84 years...”

“ Shaddup I’m not going grey yet.”

[sovereign-tempest]

TL;DR: Everything sucks, please distract me with memes or plot with me on Discord (IM me for Discord if you dont have me already).

Long version:-

// I’m a mixture of angry, upset and terrified. Because of several reasons, I’m not able to work right now (major depression, constant headaches/migraines which can lead to fluid on the brain and a hospital stay and having no-one around to look after the baby if I did work) so I claim benefits. My partner works, but his wage isn’t enough to cover us, so the benefits lift it up a little so we can afford rent and such. 

// It’s been this way for a while. They keep pushing me to look for work despite my doctors order that we have to wait until we find out what’s wrong with me. They insist that both my partner and I need to be in full time work and my son needs to be palmed off to literally everyone but us... because apparently that’s how parenting works? F*ck off, not letting rando’s look after my son, and there’s no family around to help because they’re all far away or work full time themselves... Not our fault my partners full time employer went bust during 2020 and he only has this part time job now - but aside from them being annoying and giving me a panic attack every month, it’s been alright.

// My statement for what I’m due to get on the next pay day came in today. My partner had only a couple hundred from his wage, just over half of rent because his store had to take on loads more staff - shops shutting all over because of COVID does that to a company. Anyway, I figured I’d get a little more than usual this month, so I went to check so I can organise my funds for the month.

// £0. Wait. Nothing? Why?! “an employer has stated you have a take-home payment of £7000+ this month”. WHAT employer?!

// I obviously rang up to explain I’ve not been employed for a year and we’re waiting for hospital appointments and tests to find out what’s wrong with my head and if I need surgery or not so I can function. (Im happy to start looking for part time work once my son was in school. Apparently that’s not enough) - and now apparently this employer has said they’ve paid me when...I dont HAVE an employer and I certainly haven’t had thousands of pounds in my account this month. All they said to me was they’ll give it to a case worker and I’ll hear from them either today or tomorrow. It didn’t happen, so I’m assuming tomorrow. Apparently this is the one time they’ll talk to me through their Journal entries - this is the first time I want a phone call so I can explain and get answers instantly, not hours between replies... 

// Obviously I have evidence that nothing of the sort has gone into my bank account and I have a slip from my last employer saying I left - but I have this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach they either wont care/wont ask for evidence/take this mystery employer’s word for it/or even if they do see they’ve f*cked up royally, wont be able to resolve it in time for my payment this month.

// Collectively, we have less than £50 to last until the end of the month (if I dont get any luck), where Partner gets about £390. Rent and tax is £650+. I am f*cked. I have a kid to feed and no way to do it unless by some miracle they sort things out for me. 

// So I certainly wont be able to sleep tonight. I got a terrible stress-headache just thinking about it. I’ve cried so much today - I was just getting my finances on track after debt and now THIS. I need distractions, need to pull a Dimitri and literally go-go-go until I collapse from exhaustion. Only way I’ll get any kind of sleep.

[artificialqueens]

Girl I Met On The Internet, 4/? (Crystal x Gigi) - Strawberry

Summary: Gigi and Crystal discuss things in person. Elites Only also gains a new member.

As soon as Crystal realized what was happening, she exited the Twitter app. The girl she had been talking to for months, the girl she had shared so many things with was Georgina Goode, who happened to be best friends with the girl who hated Crystal for no reason, because of course this would happen to Crystal.  

Crystal’s mind was racing, her brain instantly jumping to the worse case scenarios. Did Gigi know she was talking to Crystal this entire time? Was this entire thing just a ploy orchestrated by Dahlia to get dirt on her? Georgina was not gay, but Gigi was. Did Gigi even like her, or was Crystal just an experiment that no one would ever find out about because it was over the internet? She knew none of these theories made sense, she didn’t think Gigi had any idea who she was until now.

Gigi was freaking out. She had messaged Crystal, attempting to explain herself, but she had gotten no reply. Crystal hadn’t even read them. Panicking, she messaged Jan, hoping she would be online.

gigi: jan oh my fuckigng

jan!: WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YALL GFS??

gigi: …no

jan!: and why is that?

gigi: she literally goes to my school she sent me a selfie and i sent one back without saying that we’re irls and she just said what the fuck and now she wont message me back

gigi: i know u don’t like how rude dahlia is so im sorry i have to mention her but she’s literally the girl dahlia picks on for no reason i didn’t even know her name was crystal

jan!: W H A T 

gigi: what do i do

jan!: girl like i know?? this doesn’t usually happen to people.

jan!: when do you usually see crystal

gigi: i see her in the halls sometimes. she told me before that she stays mostly in the art wing tho

jan!: ok. tomorrow  go to the art wing and find her. talk to her. she’s probably not responding bc im sure it’s not a good feeling to find out the girl she’s been flirting with for months is best friends with the girl bullying her

gigi: god i feel so bad about that. i only stopped it once and i feel so bad

jan!: i love you but you’re a fucking idiot, gigi. you really are. go talk to her tomorrow and do better.

-

The next morning arrived faster than Crystal wanted it to. She was dreading going to school, knowing she couldn’t avoid Gigi forever. Thankfully, they did not have any classes together, but crossing paths was inevitable. The thought of seeing Gigi, even from across a crowded hallway, made her want to sob.

Her stomach started hurting because of her anxiety, but convincing her mother to let her stay home didn’t go over well. Crystal had convinced her mother at first, but as soon as she felt Crystal’s forehead to see if Crystal was running a temperature, which she wasn’t, she had insisted that Crystal stop pretending and get ready for school. She even drove Crystal to school instead of having her walk to make sure Crystal didn’t skip.

Crystal walked straight to the bathroom in the art wing. It was smaller, with only two stalls and the cell service was terrible; but it was vacant for the most part. She often stayed there when she wanted to skip class, and the only person she had ever encountered was Aiden, a shy girl from her art class. If Gigi was looking for her, this bathroom would be the last place she would look.

She had spent the morning sketching and listening to One Direction. She was in the zone, barely noticing when the door opened. Crystal didn’t bother looking up when she felt someone’s presence there, assuming that it was Aiden. “Hey, Aiden.”

“Uh,” Gigi started, “Crystal?”

Crystal’s head shot up, her eyes wide as she looked at a very relieved looking Gigi. “Oh, shit. Hey.” 

Gigi walks over to her, kneeling down to be at the same height as Crystal. “I know you’re probably upset with me, but can we talk? Please? I’ve been looking for you all period.”

Crystal nodded, moving her backpack to make a spot for Gigi to sit down. “Sorry I said what the fuck and dipped, I really didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m going to sound like such a bitch but I didn’t even know your name until last night.” Gigi had never been good with names, only being able to remember her online friends’ names in the beginning because their name was attached to everything they did. Crystal had been known to Gigi as ‘Art Girl’ until last night.

Crystal had to laugh at that. “It’s fine. I don’t think Dahlia knows what my name is either, and I’ve lived in her mind rent free for years!”

“Speaking of her, I’m so sorry I only stopped her once. I didn’t want to get into it but I realize now that ignoring it is just as bad as joining in. Especially seeing the effects it has on you first hand, and now that I know I could’ve helped.”

Last night, Crystal gave Gigi a run down on every single color she had ever dyed her hair, and she had mentioned that she stopped dying her hair once she got into high school because she didn’t want to stick out even more, in fear of getting treated worse. It had made Gigi sad then, and knowing she could’ve changed that made her feel even worse. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how this is going to impact your real life, but no matter what I just hope you will step in next time.” 

Gigi reached over to grab Crystal’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I will never let her hurt you ever again. I care about you so much.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Can I tell you something?” Crystal asked quietly, avoiding Gigi’s glance. 

“Of course. You can tell me anything.”

“I really like you. I know it’s probably weird now, since you’re not out and I’m not positive you feel the same, but I feel like I should tell you.”

Gigi smiled, placing her fingers under Crystal’s chin, lifting them up to make Crystal make eye contact with her. “I’ve been hoping you would say that.”

Crystal blushed at the contact. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. I would be such a fool not to like you back.”

The bell rang, interrupting their moment. Gigi pulled away, pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket to check the time. “Fuck. I have a test this period.”

“It’s okay. We can talk about this later,” Crystal reassured her, standing up even though she had no intention to go to her next class, “I can send you my address and we could meet after school?”

Gigi nodded, pulling Crystal into a tight hug. “This is the most emotion I’ve ever shown at once. I thought it was going to be scary but I feel so much better. Thank you for talking to me. If I was you I don’t think I would’ve.”

“I could never not talk to you.”

-

Crystal decided she would stay in the bathroom until lunch. It was mostly out of laziness, as her Gigi related anxiety was long gone. Doing academics was the last thing she felt like doing now. 

She had plenty of entertainment, she had missed a lot on Twitter, and had two thousand new messages from the group chat, even though she was gone for less than a day.

crystal: im skipping class what’s up ladies

jan!: hi crystal!!!

jaida: girl where have you been?? my world has been so empty

nicky: wtf jaida stop acting like i don’t exist

crystal: ehh personal things happened so i was ia. i dyed my hair green last night tho!! look!!

jan!: omg you’re so pretty

jaida: HOT HOT HOT

nicky: crystal. marriage now

heidi: omg girl you look so good!! i love your leprosy print shirt

heidi: leprosy

heidi: girl how do you spell lepord

heidi: leopard

heidi: there we go

nicky: you did it!

jaida: so proud of you

She was relieved they didn’t question her further, but she couldn’t help but be curious about what their reactions would be if they knew what was going on. Talking to the girls again made time go by extremely fast, before Crystal knew it the bell rang, declaring it lunch time.

She hadn’t eaten breakfast due to her anxiety from this morning, and just realized how hungry she was. Collecting her stuff, she exited the bathroom and headed down to the cafeteria. 

When she was in line to pay for a slice of pizza and a bag of pretzels, she had caught the attention of Dahlia, who didn’t hesitate to express how she felt about her new hair. 

“Ew, who in their right mind would dye their hair green?” Dahlia loudly asked Gigi, making sure Crystal was in ear shot. 

Before Crystal could defend herself, Gigi spoke up. “Dahlia, can you please shut the fuck up? No one cares what you think about Crystal’s hair, it looks fine. I can hardly tolerate you being rude anymore.”

“Georgina, what the fuck? I’m not rude!” Dahlia whined, making Crystal smile. She had been slightly surprised that it happened so soon, but she was happy Gigi stepped in.

Crystal paid and made sure to wave at the girls on her way out. Gigi waved back, and Dahlia looked the other way, her arms crossed.

-

crystal: it’s not that i didn’t believe you but i’m shocked that actually happened..

gigi: she’s lowkey mad at me but idc

gigi: i believe you owe me ur address? 

crystal: oh that’s right!

gigi: i have cheer after school but i can come over right after

crystal: yay!!! 

The rest of the day was painfully long. Every minute felt like an hour, Crystal was even bored during her art class. She couldn’t wait to go home and talk to Gigi.

She zoned out while she was walking home, wondering what could happen tonight. Crystal would like to think that Gigi was about to kiss her before they got interrupted, or maybe she was going to ask Crystal to be her girlfriend. Anything could happen, and Crystal couldn’t really tell how she felt about it.

When she got home, she tidied up her room. Her bed was unmade, her dirty clothes were on the floor, and a couple dirty cups littered the top of her night stand. It wasn’t too bad, Crystal would usually consider this clean for her, but it made her feel slightly embarrassed now. She had the urge to fix it, even though Gigi probably wouldn’t have cared too much if Crystal left it the way it was.

After her room was clean, she still had some time to spare before Gigi would be on her way. She headed to the group chat, curious to see what chaos they were up to currently. 

nicky: ADD HER

nicky: ADDD HEEERRRRR

jaida: jan please come back i hate it here

crystal: who are we adding?

nicky: JACKIE

jan!: NO WE WILL NOT BE ADDING HER

nicky: why :(

jan!: i can’t trust you guys to not embarrass me in front of her and she is not a stan!!! she will not understand any of you!

jaida: we don’t have to embarrass you, you’ll do it yourself. we can teach jackie stan language, she’s smart and she’ll catch on

nicky: JAIDAHJKFDGLK

crystal: omg add her

jan!: i hate you all so much

nicky: PLS

jan!: fine.

jan! added Jackie

jan!: jackie, these are my friends. don’t believe anything they say about me.

Jackie: Oh, hello everyone!

nicky: YAAAS JACKIE NATION

nicky: c’mon auto caps!

crystal: hi!  

jaida: hi jackie!

heidi: i leave to play animal crossing for 15 minutes and we get a new member… smh

nicky: not just any new member! it’s jackie!!!!

jaida: the way nicky likes jackie more than jan does

heidi: that’s impossible. jan is SUCH a simp for jackie

Jackie: What? 

crystal: OMFG

Jackie: Does that mean she likes me? I’m confused.

nicky: yes!

Jackie: That’s good. I would assume that Jan likes me, especially after what we did in my car earlier.

crystal: holy fucking shit

jan!: OMFGHFJSKDSFHJDFJK UH

jan!: JACKIE SHUT UP!!!!!!

Jackie: Why?

jaida: god i love it here

gigi: janet you better tell me everything later!!!

jan!: GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER!!!!!!!

Crystal was so invested in the train wreck going on, only focusing on the messages sent by Jan and Jackie that she didn’t notice Gigi had come online until she got a notification that Gigi sent her a private message. 

gigi: im on ur street :)

Crystal ran to the door, opening it the second she saw Gigi step onto the porch. Gigi jumped, not expecting it. “Someone’s eager to see me, huh?”

Crystal blushed, letting Gigi in. “Shut up.”

Gigi kicked off her shoes and sat her backpack down next to them before letting Crystal lead her to her room. It was colorful, lots of posters and canvases covering the hot pink walls. “This is very you. I like it!”

“Thank you!” Crystal exclaimed, taking a seat on her bed and patting the space next to her. Gigi gladly sat next to her. 

“This is just really weird. 24 hours ago, I didn’t know who you were and now you’re in my bed. It’s kind of overwhelming,” Crystal blurted out, making Gigi frown. “But not in a bad way!” She clarified, “It’s just a lot to process.”

“Oh, yeah. It is a big change. Last night, I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend, but that obviously did not happen.” Gigi blushed, grabbing a throw pillow from Crystal’s bed to hide her face in. 

Crystal took the pillow away from her, sitting it next to them, “Do you still want me to be your girlfriend?”

Gigi nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t know if we should become official yet. We know each other so well, but I feel like we need to see if we vibe in person.”

“I don’t think we will have an issue with that, but I agree. Let’s take it slow. But can I try something first?”

Gigi grinned, “Yeah, what?”

“This.” Crystal whispered, leaning forward until her lips pressed against Gigi’s. Gigi kissed her back, wrapping her arms around Crystal’s neck and pulling Crystal even closer.