#hartcroft

[schestokryl]

Little birthday present for @dryherbalistess <333

[irvingcoded]

a very valentine's day appropriate sketch commission, finished... um, we'll say on time, I'm posting this the day of obviously 💖

[cordelia12345678]

Not even a fan of Kingsman, but these two together just look so visually appealing I felt compelled to do something about it.

If anyone’s interested in checking out this ship, I strongly recommend “I Never Said I Didn’t” by directedbysherlock on AO3—humorous, insanely in-character, filled with Mr-and-Mrs-Smith style action scenes and wistfully beautiful towards the end.

[solrosan]

This is for @marcceh, because you’re the only other person I know who might be interested in some Hartcroft! This is part of a much lager fic that will probably never see the light of day, but I like to think about the two of them together.

--

One night not all that long after the incident in Prague, Galahad rang on Mycroft’s doorbell. Unarmed, at least as far as conventional weapon went. (Mycroft might be good at what he did, but not even he could determine if a pen in an inner pocket was just a pen or if it was a Bond Gadget.) Very recently returned from a mission in a dessert. (Seeing who the agent worked for, Mycroft didn’t trust his knowledge of foreign affairs enough to make a more precise observation.) And very clearly drained, both emotionally and physically.

To say that Mycroft was surprised would be an understatement.

“I’m sorry, showing up like this,” Galahad said. “Would you mind terribly letting me in?”

Mycroft stepped aside, still studying every move Galahad made. He wasn’t there to kill him, that was obvious, but his actual motives weren’t.

“Whisky?” Mycroft offered when they were both standing in the sitting room.

“Please.”

Mycroft showed him to sit down on the sofa with his hand before he poured them each a whisky. There was a slight tremor in Galahad’s hand when he took the glass. Mycroft sat down in a nearby armchair, crossing his legs, still with his eyes on his guest.

Grief and regret; it seeped out through Galahad’s fingers, his eyes, his tightly closed lips. He was a very easy person to read. At least right now.

“I do apologise for just barging in like this,” Galahad mumbled.

Mycroft shook his head ever so slightly. He had dreamt more than once about this man showing up at his door in the middle of the night. Those dreams had been of a far more erotic nature, but he still preferred reality. Something personal had brought Galahad to his doorstep this night. For some reason he had sought out Mycroft’s company in a moment of weakness, and he didn’t even bother hiding it. The thought was thrilling.

“I sometimes think about getting a new dog,” said Galahad suddenly. “Not a puppy, obviously –wouldn’t have the time to train it – but a dog. Someone to come home to. But what would happen with it if I didn’t come home? And it wouldn’t be the same without looking it in the eyes and shooting it, anyway.”

Galahad emptied the whisky in single swing and with a grimace. Without a word, Mycroft got up, took his glass from him and went to refill it.

“You see things other people don’t, things that other people miss,” Galahad said when Mycroft gave him back the glass. “How do you do that?”

“I look.” Mycroft sat down again. “It’s my job.”

“And my bloody job is to make sure—“ Galahad cut himself off. He continued, so quietly that Mycroft had to concentrate to hear what he said. “I missed something, and a man I respected died because of it.”

“It’s part of the game we play.”

“It was my responsibility! He was my responsibility.”

Mycroft lifted his glass in a silent toast. He could claim that he knew better than to pry into a secret organisation’s fatale missions, but it wouldn’t be true. That was his job too, after all. He couldn’t even say that he wasn’t the type of person to exploit someone’s vulnerability to get information, because he was. Something about the broken man on his sofa made him stay quiet, though.

They stayed up all night, sitting together in total silence. Mycroft stopped filling their glasses at midnight. At the door, when Galahad was about to leave in the morning, he held out a card for Mycroft.

“If you’re ever in need of a suit,” he said. “Ask for Harry Hart.”

Mycroft nodded. There was something in Galahad’s – Harry Hart, Mycroft was sure – eyes that made his stomach flutter, and the small smirk he got was almost as inviting as the ones in Mycroft’s dreams.

“Until next time,” Mycroft said.

“Next time.”

Mycroft closed the door, and locked both locks, before looking down at the card. On the front it said “Kingsman” in printed gold letters.

On the back was a handwritten phone number.

Mycroft smiled.

[sanguisugaao3]

Six Sentence Sunday - 9/15/19

Thanks for the tag @vulpesmellifera!

From Trials, a Hartcroft piece that was requested by @lmirandas - like many of my WiPs, I have the ending completed, I just need to fill in the middle... 

******

“I wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you if I was around, Myc. And I already know what lengths you’ll go to in order to protect me.” Harry rolled his hips again, delighting in the involuntary flutter of Mycroft’s eyelashes that followed. “Besides, think about all the fun we’d have.” He ran his nose over Mycroft’s cheek, whispering in his ear. “We have five years of fucking to catch up on, my darling.”

[sicknessglory]

Sherlock + Kingsman Crossover! the Iceman and the Kingsman

transparent version and close ups under the cut ⬇️

[sssoqasnape]

[sanguisugaao3]

Six Sentence Sunday 6-09-19

I was tagged by both @vulpesmellifera and @paialovespie this week! Thank you, lovelies! I tag and and all - please post 6 (or more) sentences of a WiP, posted or not. 

This is from Trials, a Hartcroft AU from when Harry and Mycroft went through the Kingsman trials together. This was requested from @ineffabledearcrowley when she won my lot in the @rupertgravesbirthdayproject last year. (It’s happening again this year - go sign up!) This little bit comes from their reunion a few years later.

********

“Harold…”

“It was you. Don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise. You dusted off your gear and you came riding in to rescue me like a bloody white knight. You saved my life, Myc.” Harry reached up to touch Mycroft’s cheek, barely even flinching as long fingers wrapped around his wrist and held him fast. “And you did it because you care.”

“Caring is not an advantage.”

Harry huffed out a low laugh, close enough now that his breath tickled at Mycroft’s lips. “Shall we trade quips, then? How about - no man is a island.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Harold, don’t be an ass.”

“Don’t be a fool.”