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17wishbones · 3 years

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“Mugen Train” was such a treat that I HAD to write some short stories with the infamous, focused, and amazing Flame Pillar, Rengoku Kyōjurō. Easily one of my favorite characters. His handsome, flamboyant self needed juuust a smidge of more screen time and it would have been perfect.

S/N: Majority of my fanfics will be written towards women of color. Big FYI. Otherwise, enjoy.

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Kimetsu no Yaiba: Flame Eternal

Chapter I: OVERWHELMING CONFESSION

“Good morning, Sunflower!”

“Kyōjurō, please!” You whispered through clenched teeth, “You can’t be scaring me this early in the morning.” The Fire Hashira, Rengoku Kyōjurō, surprised you with a greeting by hanging his head down from the rooftop of the Butterfly Estate.

“My apologies! I wanted to see you as soon as I could.” He jumped down with one hand behind his back. “Congratulations on becoming a Hashira! You have worked hard to get where you are, and that you should be proud of yourself!”

The fire in his eyes burned bright as always. He didn’t know it yet, but he was a driving force in you making it to the ranks, and it wasn’t easy. At all. You were a rare sight in Japan. Everyone still thought of you as a foreigner. No matter how good your Japanese was, not many could understand the concept that people of different colors could be a native to this country.

You have fought for acceptance for a long time, and with the rise of demons, that put unneeded targets on your back. Just like the others, you lost your family to them, and it was but the anger in your heart that brought you here - to avenge those who were killed by demons. You didn’t know if you really had what it took.

Kind and supportive words from Rengoku Kyōjurō had changed a couple of the most important minds, but others were not so keen on the idea. You pushed yourself every day, working and training day in and day out until your body shook with aches. You honestly wanted to give up many times, and tried, but there was someone always pulling you back and helping you to your feet.

“That’s because of you, Kyōjurō.”

He shook his head. “It’s because of you, Sunflower! With perseverance and vigor, you made it through Final Selection and achieved your goals in order to be a Hashira! Therefore, I wanted to be one of the first to congratulate you!”

The confidence and support of his words always made you get “butterflies” in your stomach and your cheeks warm beneath your brown skin. “Stop! You’re making me blush but,” you bowed, “Thank you, Kyōjurō, for everything.”

You had locked your hair months before you trained for the Final Selection. Your hair had been on as much of a journey as you had. It reached down to the shoulder blades. And with these locs, you were in need of a floral decoration to commemorate this special day as you donned your uniform.

“Now, to get a sunflower-”

“Right!” He handed a small bouquet of sunflowers, your favorite flower that he nicknamed you back during those harsh training days. “For you, _____!”

“Ah!” You received his early morning gift with glee. “Kyōjurō, you shouldn’t have!” One smell and you were hooked. “Thank you so much!” You set them down in the room Shinobu offered you to stay in. You clipped one off and wrapped it up on the left side of your head. “How do I look?”

He looked at you, surprised at first, and then with an ear-to-ear smile. “As beautiful as always, _____!”

You felt your heart thumping throughout your chest. His words of sincerity always made you feel like you belonged. Not to mention, his fiery gaze upon you held true when he spoke to and of you. “You’re much too kind, Kyōjurō.” Before you attended to your face, Kyōjurō was already before you, wiping away your falling tears.

“You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Whenever your world began crumbling, he was there and ready to help you get through any self-doubt. He ended up being a shoulder to cry on when you least expected it. He rose to Hashira-dom before you, and yet didn’t leave you behind. You owed him something in return. “N-nothing! I’m happy.” You took hold of his wrists, lowering his hands. “Though I wonder how I’ll ever be able to show you my gratitude.”

“Hmph!” He clasped your hands in one swift motion and stared longingly into your coffee-colored eyes. “Marry me, _____!”

You deadpanned.

Nature filled in the silence.

“I said, “Marry me, _____!”

Your mouth dropped wide open, “MARRY YOU!?”

“Yes! Do you accept?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” You drew back your hands and stepped back. You rubbed your temples, momentarily confused. Stumped. Dumbfounded. “This is a test of some sort, right? A little bit of an early morning joke to keep me on my toes?”

He laughed heartily. “Not at all!” He locked his gaze on you as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I know that you will make a great wife!”

“Kyōjurō, I’m not like you or the others, as clear as they have made it in the past. I wouldn’t want to hinder you or mess up your reputation.”

“Our Master has allowed you to apply to become a Hashira; you worked hard to become a Hashira; and you have become more than a great friend to me. No matter what anyone else says, I have accepted you.” He closed in and held your hands once more. “I knew since training, to which you promised me your hand in marriage.”

“Eh!? You remembered that!?” You questioned.

“When I saw you at training for the first time. I knew that I had to make you mine! I have waited for this day for a long time. So, I will ask you again. _____.”

You gulped. “Yes, Kyōjurō?”

“Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“I-I,” your hands were clammy and your world started to spin. ‘What are you going to say? He asked you to marry him! Look, look! So what if you fed him a sweet potato every Friday and fell into his arms a few times? You need to let him down softly. Yeah! That’s it! Just refuse his proposal! He’ll understand-” Your mouth opened before you could finish. “Yes…?” You paused. ‘Bitch, did you just--?’

His aura suddenly grew hot around you both. “Then I promise to make you happy, to protect you, to guide you, and to love you until death!” With overwhelming confessions like this, how could you refuse?

“That’s great! But shouldn’t we--” You made a fatal mistake. “Kyōjurō?” You blinked. “Oh no!” He was gone in a flash! “Kyōjurō, wait!” You shouted as you dashed out of the Butterfly Estate. You only got a quick glimpse of his flaming haori, but he was still so fast! You thought you possibly had him when you ran into the other Hashira, assembled for the Pillar Meeting.

“Ah, _____! I was just about to come and get you for the meeting.” Shinobu came before you with her usually endearing smile. “Congratulations on becoming a Hashira. It’s been a long time since we’ve had anyone enter into the ranks, and for it to be someone as unique as you says something.”

“As if! You were only able to join because of Rengoku, and nothing else.” Obanai hissed from atop a tree branch. You really hated his guts.

“But you can’t deny her strength. She did kill fifty demons in a year and a half. That’s at least impressive, right?” Tengen remarked. He was a nice guy, in a way, so you liked him.

Shinazugawa pointed his sword at you. “As long as she doesn’t get in the way of me killing demons, I could care less.”

‘And I could care less myself.’ You thought with a frown on your lips.

Mitsuri was at least nice enough to give you a smile and a wave. “You look so pretty in your uniform, _____!” You liked her the most, along with Shinobu.

Giyuu and Muichiro didn’t speak on the matter.

“Thank you to those most kind, and to the others, you’ll just have to get used to seeing me like I have to get used to seeing you. Anyways, I came here looking for Rengoku. Did he pass by yet?”

“By pass by, do you mean standing at the top of the roof behind you?” Tengen pointed out.

You looked confused as you turned around and felt your face just fall into shock as you saw him proudly standing on the rooftop - again - with a wide smile on his lips. “Kyōjurō!”

He gently took hold of you at the waist when you landed in front of him. “I’ve got you, Sunflower!” His eyes burned brighter than they ever had before, and the aura he exuded could be felt from miles away. “Everyone!” He turned to the Hashira below. “Let us welcome _____, our new Hashira, and my soon-to-be wife, to the team!” Everyone’s face cracked. “Treat her like she’s one of our own!”

Really, what would you do without this flamboyant Hashira?

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Chapter: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny reader insert #demon slayer #kimetsu rengoku #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny x you #kny x reader #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #rengoku x reader

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barelynakedthoughts · 3 years

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Wow, the past few days have been unreal. I last updated on Thursday in the morning soon after they had started pumping in pitocin. From 12pm, May 12th, until 5 am, May 14th, I was dealing with contractions. 41 hours of early labor and it only led to being dilated by 4cm.

I used a fitness orb, a fitness peanut, slow dancing, varying leg positions. Nothing pushed me into active labor. They kept saying to make it to 6cm and we'll be in the home stretch. The contractions got so strong throughout the day, too. I didn't want an epidural because I didn't want to do it so early. If the beginning took this long, can the ending really be that short? I wanted the baby in my arms but I knew he wasn't ready so I waited for him to give me a sign. (Note we can freely say pronouns now)

I believe at 10am on May 13th, they broke my water because I had made it to 4cm. It felt like things were moving so nicely! The doctor who came in at 6 am wa snot very comforting -made me cry. She gave me minimal answers and her visit was brief. Had I obtained the knowledge of inductions and labor that I have now, I would have been okay, but it was all so new to me and she was very curt after working her 24 hour shift. I wish she would do people favors and just not do those shifts. It would give her a better bedside manner. She basically gave me my first crying spell and I felt so desperate for four hours.

A new doctor came in soon after that. She reminded me of General Holdo from Star Wars, except I have no clue if she had purple-ish hair. Though Jackie, the nurse who talked a lot, had purple-ish hair. I could see it sticking out through her hair cap thing. Our room was always dark so I didn't really see much going on. Anyways, they broke my water and the contractions quickly turned into pain, pain and more pain. Not cramping pain, but pain nonetheless. I was on 2-30 levels of pitocin (whatever that means), and when the water broke, I was contracting every 1-2 minutes for hours on end. I breathed through all of them, dealt with the pain and kept my mind on the goal.

-----

I was thankful for the nurse we had the night before they broke my water, Shawna, because she knew how to just be there for me. When the new nurse came in after that terrible doctor visit, I wasn't all too thrilled cuz she talked a lot and overexplained things, but she at least made it very apparent that she cared. Shawna came back later in the evening, but she wasn't my nurse. She just knew that I liked her and she just wanted to help. It was a relief to have her there for a little bits she came in on.

-----

May 13th was like one last date day between Ryan and I. Besides the constant pain and regular contraction pauses, he and I just talked, hugged, watched Falcon and Winter Soldier, cried, laughed, and appreciated the other one being there. We barely got any rest. Though Ry was able to get a bit more than me, but not much. It was honestly a blurry of a day for me since I spent most of staring at focal points (the red light from the TV being turned off or Ryan's eyes or the up button for the bed or even this white piece on a red container on the baby's soon-to-be panda warmer). Im trying to write as much down as possible, but I know I'll miss a few things.

-----

As the day progressed, my energy level dropped substantially. I gave up my fitness orb life and I embraced bedrest for the first time in the pregnancy. Going to the bathroom was difficult and I was constipated. Stupid magical hemorrhoids that appeared two days before going in the hospital.

Those pesky IV issues got worse. As my pain increased, I had to deal with a 5 IVs. After the one in my elbow went off sixty thousand times, the nurse finally called the anesthesiology team to try another spot but with a deeper vein. She found it with an ultrasound, which was neat, and she had to really numb my arm to get it in there. It was the best IV, though. It really stuck in there and I only had minimal issues with the IV tower. Thank goodness because I was at my wits end at that point. Though Jackie ended up finish the IV and reconnecting my pitocin and fluid drips...she taped the IV to my hospital bracelet. So when anyone tried to scan it, I had to twist my arm painfully.

The one time, the food people came. I twisted my arm to have them read it, and they didn't even scan it....but we'll the damage was done. I had accidentally disconnected everything. The IV started gushing blood like a fountain and I just sat on my fitness orb with nothing much to do but hope it stopped soon...or that someone would come in. My husband actually had to go get someone because there was blood everywhere. All the while, I was contracting every 3 minutes at that point. So a fountain of blood just pushing out while squeezed my own legs. What a trip! The final IV sat in my arm up until May 15th...it was annoying to breastfeed with it in. I had to finish my toradol pain meds before it could come out.

-----

As the day went on, I kept contracting but nothing changed...at 10pm, they finally told us our options: more of the same or having a c-section. We were looking at a failed induction if we didn't progress to 6 cm by 5am, May 14th. At the point, it would have been 18 hours post my water being broke and the chance of infection would then steadily increase. I didn't take the news well and I cried. My night time doctor, who I had seen in the office and who is actually a midwife, was the one who broke the news. She tried to say it was natural to feel sad about this, but honestly...nothing was going to console me after here the word "failure".

Just like my sister, the pitocin failed. Before they officially said it failed, they did a pit rest (a 1-2 hour pitocin break) and then started the process at 2 levels again. We made it up to 10 levels before they called it at 430am. My cervix stopped at 4cm and there was no changing it. Though at that time, I had finally accepted the c-section. It was the right choice and it meant getting to see our baby sooner. We just needed to pray again for safety, healing and life...plus tell our families that I was having a c-section. They were wondering where we went for so long because I just cried for a while and asked that my husband not share anything until we were ready.

-----

The surgery was interesting. I wasn't really contracting anymore but I was exhausted, starving, shaking, and ready to be done. They wheeled me over without my husband so they could give me a spinal anesthetic, still no epidural. I sat there breathing in and out. Using yoga techniques to keep myself present and prepared for a flexible response. I hate the idea of needles going into my spine. I don't care about needles...it's the whole losing movement permanently issue. I need to be able to move and fidget to breathe calmly and react appropriately.

After they were finished, they slowly lowered me back. My legs went numbs and I started to shake uncontrollably. My teeth started chattering. It was if I was extremely cold so they put 3-4 warm blankets on me. I can't remember how many but I do know there were 5 total on me when all was said and done. They splayed my arms out like I was being crucified and I made sure not to move them beyond the shaking. I have no clue how long the procedure lasted but it was light outside when they were done. I believe it was less than an hour, but I honestly don't know. Time had become irrelevant yet so necessary by then. Time still hasn't recovered and it's been almost 3 weeks. (Note: I've been writing this on and off since the hospital stay.)

C-sections are weird. You're awake for the whole procedure and you can feel everything happening to you - the incision, the hands rooting around your insides for the baby, the baby coming out with their arms and legs hitting the sides of your open stomach as they leave, the uterus flopping around. There's just no pain involved.

When my baby came out, he didn't cry much, but when I heard his first squeal, my husband and I cried, too. He was finally here. Our baby boy was alive and well. A 7lb 5oz baby measuring at 20 inches even though he was a few weeks early. He was fully grown and ready to be with us. They measured him, cleaned him a little and got all his vitals while the doctors finished up with my stomach. They gave him to my husband to hold and I got to slightly touch the baby. I cried the whole time because of how happy I was. It was the most fulfilling moment and it was just the beginning of my son's life.

The surgeon was the OBGYN who recommended us to the fertility clinic three years prior, almost to the date. We had come full circle. She still has a weird bedside manner, but the whole thing was surreal. She did a good job and we all made it out safely. My husband was so nervous holding our baby. It was his first time ever holding a baby. I didn't want a c-section, but I was glad when everything was over. My legs remained numb for a while - a few hours I think? In order to graduate to the mother/baby unit and to eat, I had to be able to move my toes. It was a weird feeling to be able to move my arms and not my lower body. Around my incision, I'm still a bit numb there and apparently, I could be for a long time.

We took our first picture together and I look terrible, as if I had gone through pain for 3 days straight. My husband, the always photogenic one, looked great and our son could barely be seen. At least we have this family photo - even if no one else is allowed to see it. My body was still shaking. My shoulders were starting to hurt and feeling was coming back to my lower extremities slowly. They were prescribing me motrin, tylenol and oxy. I only took tylenol because the rest seemed frivolous. Sure, I was in pain, but nothing compared to the contractions and well, I survived all of that with just a tylenol here and there for headaches.

By about noon, I was starving by this point. It had been 30ish+ hours of early labor since I had last eaten. We ordered food (with some hiccups along the way) and finally got to eat when we arrived the mother/baby unit. It was then we started our four day stay of recovering, figuring out parenting, breastfeeding, and personal survival, and being interrupted every hour by nurses, doctors, consultants, social workers and who knows who else. I had only gotten about 2-3 hours of sleep in total during the 3 days of delivery. I matched this during the first few days of parenting, too. Even when I got home, I lived on 2 hours max for about three days straight. A week+ of no sleep really did me in. I was exhausted and finally got rest when I slept through a few alarms. Thankfully my husband took over that night because I needed it.

While in the mother/baby unit, our son had dropped about 10% of his birthweight. He was dehydrated and having a tough time pooping because of the weight loss. It was getting much milk because my nipples wouldn't stay erect while he was eating. Plus he kept falling asleep and it was hard to keep him demeanor.

A lactation consultant visited 6 times. I didn't like the first one, but then we lucked out with Renee for the rest of the visits. She was understanding and she didn't pressure us to breastfeed her way. She thought of different ways to encourage us and give solutions, such as a nipple shield or supplementing formula. Renee revealed that her oldest went through this as well and that it doesn't help when the hospital staff tells you how to do everything their way without listening to your needs. I commend her for her absolutely genuine care and reassuring assistance.

A few nurses were stellar (not Shawna awesome, but still great to have). Katie gave us our first few hours of rest. It also hurt his weight cuz I was delayed on the feedings, but she gave us swaddlers, extra blankets, shirts, etc. She also made sure to talk to us like we were humans and not patients who were leaving in a few days. Kristie was the first one to see me cry and she knew exactly what to do. She brought us the right sized nipple shield and flanges. She brought us a ton of formula. She helped ease my feelings of hopelessness transition into a sense of pointed purpose. The other nurses - Salimah, Anna, Natalie and a few others in the mother/baby unit were the best parts of the stay. Even if they all provided varying levels of care.

The doctors were too quick with their check-ins and I didn't really enjoy their presence. They had the best intentions but we felt like a mark on their checklist. I assume they have too much to do in one day.

The room was small for a three person family but large enough for everything we needed to do while there. Our baby had a little plastic tube of a bassinet with two drawers of storage. My husband had to sleep on the most uncomfortable couch out of the three he ventured on. I believe it was this one that he caught an ear infection from because he didn't use the bed setting. He used the regular couch setup because the bedding was slanting.

The bathroom was pretty big, though. I put many mesh underwear and large pads on in there. It's where a nurses used a perineal bottle on me and showed me how to use it. It's where I took my first post-surgery shower and found out my stomach was numb still. I liked our original room with the induction unit best because of the couch for my husband, and I loved the huge size of the labor/delivery room. The bathroom for the mother/baby unit was best. It was right next to my bed during a time when it was hard to walk. Plus it served as a dish washing site and a great place to rest from all the noises in a hospital.

I had a catheter in from the c-section and by the time they took it out, I was very hydrated. Peeing clear impressed the nurses who took it out - I guess it's the little odd things that make the day better.

My husband and I fought multiple times in the hospital and since coming home. We're exhausted. We don't fight often, but when we do, it is normally because one of us is tired...and well, we're always tired right now.

-----

It's now 6 weeks post delivery and our little guy is doing well. He's a tad under the weather (doctors says a cold), but otherwise he is 11 pounds and 22 inches long. He grows pretty fast so he may be heavier by now.

These last few weeks have been very tough and I've gone through a lot of emotions. It's a lot of work and we asked for it. We really wanted a child and now we're finding out how hard it is to raise one. Yet would I trade my son for anything? No. This shows how bad we wanted a child and also how much we are still willing to sacrifice in order to hold him for many more years. The birthing experience was not what I wanted, but he came home. That's all I prayed for...and it's exactly what we got. I can only be thankful to God for his life right now. My heart feels warm.

-----

This post took six weeks to write because I don't have much time anymore. Most of it was done while in the hospital, but some parts had to be completed or filled in afterwards. It barely covers everything that happened during our 6-day stay. It was a long and arduous time, and now we are met we an harder time of caretaking. Parenthood is so glamorized and I'm here to tell you how much it shouldn't be. The afterglow is wonderful and the heart fuzziness is neverending. No, seriously. I feel joy even when my son is crying and I don't know what to do to help. Yet, we paint pictures of cuddling babies and doing fun activities, but it's a lot more than that. Make sure you want a baby before having one. It's a lot of work to get to the time where they can take care of themselves alongside you. It's years of waiting for them to grow old enough to just pee on their on own. It's many days wondering if you're doing okay as a guardian. You just hope they survive your mistakes and your novice-abilities of taking care of a human life. As rewarding as it may be, you are forever changed. For at least the beginning parts, you will not have much time to do anything for yourselves besides eat and sleep, which is still something you lose and have to reteach yourself and your baby how to do at the same time.

I'm not complaining, just not being dishonest. I'd rather be open about my struggles than to sink in self-negligence. Sure, I probably have postpartum depression in a mild sense, but I am actively working to go beyond it. It's been tough to not have much time for myself, but I can't give up. I have to do this for my baby and for my husband. I have to keep going for myself, too. I owe it to me.

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deepfriedtwinkie · 6 years

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Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VIII)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2,300w

It’s four of them left at the end. Harry, Hamish, and their final hurdles, Derrington and William. He thinks back to the moment they stood there, proposing agents at their shoulders, and listened to Arthur inform them they’d reached the final stage.

Everything had rung in his ears for the remainder of the night. Possibly it might’ve had a thing or two to do with being drugged, but there’s plenty reason enough to doubt it was only that. Surreality, for one thing. Utter surreality.

One sentence, and his goal was within reach. No other candidate craves this the way he does. They haven’t had the chance.

He’s finally reached the stage that’s going to change his life forever. One way or another.

Harry glances anxiously around the drawing room where he was told to wait, kneading his hands, minding Mr. Pickle at his feet. He’s trying to conjure up a focused mental review of his past twenty-four hours with Martin. There’d been plenty of advice, he was sure. Peppered with years of a seasoned field agent’s wisdom, cautionary tales, and all sorts of things like that. The problem is, the only thing he can seem to remember is the proper way to make a martini. Ice, gin, vermouth, shake, pour, garnish. It’s not very helpful at the moment.

His gaze jumps up when the door opens, expecting Arthur. Instead, it’s Hamish, Ainsley loping obediently at his heels. He shuts the door behind him and comes to sit, settling on the far end of Harry’s divan.

The two hold a shared look for a beat or two, capped off with singular nods. It’s a heavy moment, and that’s acknowledgment enough of that.

Until it isn’t, because who are they to kid themselves at this point.

“Are you nervous?” Hamish asks quietly. It’s the most pensive Harry’s ever heard him.

He can’t give that anything but honesty. He lets his head bob. “Yes. Very much.” Then he looks left, watching his friend contemplate his hands. “You?”

The silence lasts far longer than he expected it to. Hamish doesn’t look up. He hardly moves at all, in fact. It lasts until Harry is tempted to ask what the matter is.

Then, without preamble, he doesn’t have to.

“My aunt died three years ago,” Hamish says.

Immediately, Harry’s empathy is lead in his stomach. He wouldn’t dream of prodding this time.

“I was just a tyke when my parents’ car wrecked in the highlands. Didn’t even think twice before she took me in.”

He has to pause. Harry’s overwhelmingly compelled to let him off the hook.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this,” he insists softly.

Hamish’s head shakes. His hands cover his knees, and his glance finds the window. He continues. “We lived in Edinburgh. Got by all right on her pension, and she’d patch up the neighbors’ clothes for a discount whenever we needed a little extra. Worked her fingers to the bone for me, she did. Then, one day… Pneumonia. Ten days in hospital, and that was it. It was foster homes after that. Four, maybe five of them. Shit ones, mostly.”

The more of this he says out loud, the more vulnerability his stoic face betrays. Harry knows what’s coming. It doesn’t take a genius to get there.

“I turned eighteen a week ago,” Hamish reveals, and it’s the softest part of all. His eyes drift somewhere far away. “If this…”

He doesn’t say any more. They both know he doesn’t have to. Harry works out the rest on his own. There won’t be another foster home. Or any funds to follow his intern work to Berlin, either.

There’s nothing left for Hamish out there. Nowhere to go.

Maybe he’s not the one who wants this the most after all.

Harry wracks his brain for something to say. It takes several moments, but he lands on something he thinks might hit the right note. His inspiration licks her paw.

“Is Ainsley named after her?” he asks.

Hamish nods again. It’s hard to spot at first, but one side of his mouth shows signs of twisting toward amusement. “What’d you study at Oxford, anyway? Let me guess: psychology?”

“Political science major with a minor in entomology, specializing in lepidoptery.”

“Lepi-what-the-fuck?”

“It’s the study of butterflies.”

“I was right, you’re something the fuck else.” Grinning faintly now, Hamish sighs, and he retraces his mental steps, idly scratching behind his bloodhound’s ear. “Mrs. Ainsley. Her and my mother’s maiden name. That’s what she liked everyone to call her. God help the sod who didn’t. It was Aunt Ainsley to me, too, no exceptions.”

Hopefully it’s in good taste to ask questions again, because he can’t resist poking at the pattern he’s seeing. He’s a shit, after all. “Why was that?”

“Oh, her first name was Agathe. She fucking hated the thing.”

Harry’s urge to laugh slips free before he can temper it. Slowly, it catches, and by the time Arthur appears in the doorway, the two of them are confusing the hell out of the dogs, employing sleeves to rid the tears from their eyes.

“We’re ready for the both of you,” Arthur says. “If and when you’re quite finished.” He gives nothing more to their antics past a single peaked eyebrow. It’s very evidently not his first foray, but he looks like he’d love for it to be the last. Harry straightens quickly, aware of Hamish doing the same.

The adjacent doors have opened as well. One to the right, the other left. Lamorak is framed in one. Lancelot in the other.

There’s one order of business left before he takes his summons. Standing tall, Harry protrudes his hand to Hamish.

“Good luck, friend.”

Hamish clasps it, shaking heartily.

“And to you.”

Whatever awaits, may we both be Kingsman when it’s through with.

Turning apart, they go their separate ways. Harry hears the shutting of doors behind him, comforted by Mr. Pickle’s loyal trot as he meets Agent Lamorak, entering a sunlit parlor. It’s the sort of room he’d love to read a book in. Maybe he will, once he’s an agent. Because he’s going to be an agent. He’s going to be.

“Have a seat,” Martin instructs. Harry does, and so does Mr. Pickle. Just look at you. You couldn’t possibly be better behaved. I hope you know how much I appreciate you making me look good on this.

After all this time, he knows better than to expect his instructions straightforwardly. He knows to wait for them. He’s still waiting when Martin reaches into his jacket, pulling out his handgun. Extending it to him.

“Take it,” he says.

The sinking feeling in the pit of his gut knows something that he doesn’t. He wishes it would tell him sooner than later. Harry takes the weapon cautiously, eyes plastered to the agent’s face, seeking out the answer.

“That’s a full clip.”

It seems a little obvious to point out. You don’t say? I’d have expected most Kingsman to carry around empties for the fun of it. The fact that he’s deflecting even in his own head is a fairly severe warning sign.

Something is wrong. Something awful is coming. He just doesn’t know what.

Until Martin calmly finishes his sip of liquor.

“Shoot the dog,” he says.

Harry’s world narrows to a single frame, zooming nauseously to a point, and that point is Mr. Pickle’s trusting face. He wants to retch. He wants to turn the gun on Martin, just for the suggestion, and fuck all he’s done for him. All he can do is stare at him in shock.

How can this be what you want from me? How can this be what you’re asking?

He wonders if his mother would fault him if he left this room and never looked back. He wonders how long it would take him to fault himself.

He rips his appalled gape away from Lamorak, landing it where it belongs, letting it soften to something between pure love and despair. Mr. Pickle shifts his weight patiently to new paws, unaware of any of this. Unaware that he… That this could…

He can’t even think it. He can’t imagine a world in which obeying that order is okay. In which he can live with himself in the aftermath. Every suit would be blood red to him. Every one of his triumphs tainted with the sickest form of selfishness, the murder of something that had unconditionally loved and trusted him, who hadn’t done a thing to anyone. A completely–

Harry’s mind reboots itself.

A completely innocent being.

A Kingsman only condones the risking of one life to save another.

Things begin to click faster than he knows what to do with them.

The net in the gorge.

The bombs that stopped at zero.

Why specifically tell me the gun was loaded, unless…?

The danger was never real. All this time, it was never real. We were only meant to think it was.

Martin isn’t asking mindless obedience. Kingsman aren’t killing machines, and they don’t want them. He’s asking for comprehension. He’s asking if he’s understood.

Harry bolts to his feet, hands quivering. He has to do it before his nerve fails him. He has to do it now. It has to be now.

His trembling aim rises. Then steadies, by force. Mr. Pickle’s amber eyes glint up at him from over the barrel. His revelation didn’t end his insides’ churn, and neither does that.

Please, please God, let me be right. Don’t let me hurt this dog. Please, I beg of you, don’t let me have gotten this wrong. Don’t let me be wrong…

He fires.

The pellet bounces off Mr. Pickle’s fur. He staggers backward with a whimper.

Nothing more.

The gun is on the ground and Harry’s dog is in his arms before he registers, even remotely, that the sound of his gunshot was doubled by the room across the way.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, did that nasty thing hit you?” Mr. Pickle is wriggling like mad, stretching to reach his face and lick every inch of it, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Laughter bubbles out of him with tears, and it’s hard to tell which came first. “Oh, yes, I know. I know. I would never hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you, Mr. Pickle. Not for all the money in the world. Not for a thing.”

Martin rises while Harry’s still pressing soothing kisses to Mr. Pickle’s scruff. After another half-dozen or so, he finally senses he should pay attention, and looks over in time to see Martin replace his weapon, straighten his jacket, and offer his hand.

It’s then that it happens. He’s unprepared to commit it to memory, but he’s going to anyway.

“Welcome,” says Martin, “to Kingsman. Agent Galahad.”

Welcome to Kingsman.

Gently, Harry plops Mr. Pickle back to the floor. His eyes are full this time, and he makes no excuse for them. Reflex takes Martin’s hand for him. He barely feels his arm move.

Thank you, sir. His brain sends the command to his mouth. “And Derrington…?” is what incredulously comes out instead.

Please don’t let there be a chance of losing this. Don’t let there be an asterisk.

“Shot the dog, too,” Martin says, pumping his hand. Harry’s heart nearly stops, and so does the handshake. It’s Martin’s look that saves it. “Then thought the blank must be some mistake. Tried to take Geraint’s sidepiece and finish the job. I hear Molly bit him. No one stopped her, either. He’ll be on his way home once the dart wears off.”

Harry exhales so heavily his lungs might as well be raisins. Never in his life has he been so grateful a human being turned out that depraved.

“You’ve done it, Harry,” Martin confirms with a grin. “We all knew you could. Your mother will be extraordinarily proud.”

Mother… He’s got to phone her. He’s got to get to a telephone. He’s got to…

No, not yet. Not yet.

There was a second gunshot.

He grabs his mentor’s hand again, rattling away at his elbow like a lineman in a lever factory. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, I’m honored. I… May I be excused?”

There’s something knowing in Martin’s expression, and he nods. “Go on.”

Scooping up Mr. Pickle, Harry all but throws open the door. The one on the other side is already open, framing Lancelot again, only this time, smiling in the background. Hamish is already charging to the middle of the drawing room.

Grinning ear-to-ear.

“William?” Harry demands.

“Couldn’t do it; Kay sent him home.”

“Ainsley?”

“She’s all right.”

If there’s anything his memory allows him to keep about this day, anything that holds its clarity instead of fading to the blur of awe and adrenaline, Harry wants it to be this. The moment that he extends his hand again, this time brimming with the glee of a ten-year-old boy, standing tall in a Kingsman agent’s shoes.

“It’s an honor to be working with you, Merlin.”

No one else knows the relief on his friend’s face like he does. Hamish shakes, blinking back tears of his own. “And with you, Agent Galahad.”

“Agent Galahad!”

There’s no parrot in the room. It’s Martin again, emerging from the parlor holding a sheet of fax paper, radiating alarm.

“Don’t get comfortable. I’m going to need backup. Come with me. Your suit’s on the plane.”

“Merlin, to the control room, quickly. Arthur will meet you there,” Lancelot orders.

There’s only time for a sharp nod each, and Hamish claps Harry’s shoulder. Then the two of them are off down the corridors, scored by the sound of a piped-in radio broadcast.

For those of you just tuning in, the date is Wednesday, twenty-nine July, and what a beautifully clear morning for the wedding of the century…

pt. IX

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing #p.s. nobody asked but in case anyone's wondering: his mother's Peggy Carter of SHIELD and his other one is Angie Martinelli #it's @faeriviera's fault and now it's law so there #I leave it vague in this on purpose so y'all can speculate however you want but there it is so have fun

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