#Y’all Italians that get to have alleyways like THIS

[princesskkfish]

Background practice ig

Italian alleyways are GORGEOUS

[spaceferren-comics]

heyyyyyy i have many questions about your project because it’s awesome 😎

what IS Typhon? how did he come to be?

how did everyone meet?

who is considered the most powerful of all the characters?

love these characters so much i’ll consume y’all’s art

Tysm!! For Typhon, since he’s got so many different alternate versions (Typhon Valac aka Horror Typhon, Snatched/Main Universe Typhon, Mooties Typhon, etc) Im gonna assume you’re referring to Typhon Valac since that’s who ya made fanart of! :33 I’ll have his long ass story down below cuz even the basic synopsis is long lmfao

Irl we all met over roblox rp servers LMFAO, but in universe we met mostly through various comical means

Of all our OCs the most powerful is like Toy-Maker, who’s basically an unknowable force of unbridled chaos. He’s sorta like if you mixed Bill Cipher, Jevil, Dimention, Klefka, Marx etc. into one horrific mix lmfao

(Long story ahead for Typhon Valac, prepare thyselves)

Typhon Valac

Horror Typhon (also known as 'Typhon V' for 'Typhon Valac') is a humanoid yet monstrous wendigo-esque rabbit creature. This demonic beast appears very much like a skinny, starved, yet muscular ghoul- with torn and tethered rotting skin that loosely clings to the muscular frame of the creature. However, he strangely wears a pair of almost cartoonish white gloves, not much different from say Mickey Mouse or the likes, likely tied to his past as a Disney Employee/Animator.

Typhon V is the twisted spirit of Cecil Cuminotto, an Italian immigrant who worked as an animator at Walt Disney studios in the mid 1980s (during most of Disneys layoffs, and while the company was in a massive slump). in Burbank, California. Cecils' life could best be described by two words: Constant Work. Indeed Cecil worked day and night, doing above and beyond what should have been necessary- always under the threat of fire from the uptight and rigorous company. However it was his passion, so for the most part, he didn't mind- and in his spare time, he even liked to make sketches and rough animations of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (though he hid this from the company, as he didn't belong to Disney at the time) to entertain himself or his fiancé.

This would all change tragically however as come 1984, said fiancé, Katherine Gell, who died tragically in a horrific car accident with a young and inebriated Nicholas Martin- tragically, on the day of their honeymoon no less. Distraught at his loss, Cecil asked for a few months off to process his grief- and was denied, and was thus not even allowed to attend his own SO's funeral. This sent Cecil into a massive downward spiral of depression in and out of the workplace, his own mental instability making him begin to see her everywhere he looked- like a phantom haunting him. His guilt ate him alive- and in a desperate bid to reprieve himself, he reached out to friends and family alike- neither able to help him.

Distraught and mentally ill, Cecil did everything he could to make the constant pain and misery end- such as drowning himself in a waterfall of drugs and alcohol. Noticing his changed demeanor at work, he was investigated- and dozens of anti-depressants and liquor bottles were found hidden in his desk. Immediately fired, the now purposeless addict only continued his spiral by subjecting himself to more and more dangerous concoctions of drugs, alcohol, and anything that could make him simply stop thinking anymore. After taking a particularly lethal (and large) dose of Heroin, Ecstasy, and Hard Vodka, Cecil died alone and painfully in a dark alleyway, forgotten and left to rot. His intense rage, guilt, pain, and overall suffering made his spirit linger- refusing to move on, and thus: a voice called out to him.

A sultry and booming voice, one compiled of millions of collective voices, actually. An entity that simply called itself 'The Darkness' reached out to the distraught spirit- offering Cecil power, resolve, and the ability to get revenge against everyone who made his life so miserable. Unsure at first, the all-powerful eldritch god promised Cecil everlasting splendors, and that getting revenge/inflicting suffering on everyone who ever wronged him would bring him peace. And with peace, maybe, just maybe, a chance to see his fiancé. Cecil leapt at the chance, agreeing to bring forth as much pain and misery as humanly possible into the world of the living.

And thus Typhon V was born, his spirit possessing his still rotting corpse- and his darkness tainting and corrupting the already rotting body into something no longer human. Now having a rabbit-skull-like face to cover his own rotting face below it, long and gangly ears, and generally disproportionate features for a human. Ironically, he got to keep the gloves he once drew nonstop- now forever a piece of him and his attire.

Typhon V is no longer Cecil- even if he may have remnants of who he once was. Only hate and a desire to bring forth suffering upon his victims remain. Like a Shakespearean, he was reborn from the tortured soul of Cecil, a tragic figure whose life was marred by despair and addiction. Typhon V's genesis was thus marked by a harrowing demise—a consequence of the vices and suffering that ultimately consumed him. Bound by his insatiable thirst for retribution against the people he views failed him, he emerged from the depths of the beyond, like a plague soon to be unleashed, twisted, and malformed. He first targeted his family, slowly but surely picking off all the Cuminottos, often the cause of death being deduced as a 'Suicide'. However, even after their demise came no salvation- as Typhon kept them in a personal hellscape of his own design- a horrific personal little world where the souls of his victims reside. This black-and-white world, not too different from an old-school Disney cartoon, is where the demon regularly plays Cat and Mouse with unfortunate victims' souls who've been caught.

[carsontheleft]

Hot Mess

Summary: Hot Space is a hot mess and John does not want to not talk to Roger anymore. Things get more emotional than any of them bargained for.

Pairing: JohnxRoger (platonic), RogerxDominique (mentioned), JohnxVeronica (mentioned)

Comment: Hey, look, I’m still alive! I started this a while ago and then I spontaneously finished it yesterday and THEN I thought about posting it immediately and then I DIDN’T and now it’s John’s birthday it just fits quite nicely. Happy Birthday, John! Have fun with this, y’all.

John has to forcibly hold himself back from slamming the coffee pot back into its place. No coffee would only worsen the already disastrous day. Week. Month, almost. For the first time, Munich doesn’t seem to be their lucky place.

But maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s because John finally lets himself push for things he wants, that he likes and doesn’t let himself give in just because Brian is pushing for his way.

Brian. The mere thought of the guitarist turns John’s stomach into knots and pushes up his blood pressure. How can a single person be so fucking obnoxious, bull-headed, old-fashioned-

Okay, stop.

John takes a deep breath of stale basement air and decides he needs to breathe real, fresh, cold air without a huge grey, looming building pressing down on him.

Arriving on ground level, he takes one of the back doors leading to a narrow alleyway to escape. The air here smells a bit sweetly of the rotting food in trash cans, but it’s cold and sharp and already saturated with bluish smoke of cigarettes.

Roger is crouching beside John’s feet, leaning against the grey stone, with a pack of Marlboro Reds at his feet. It’s half empty and it’s not even noon.

“It’s not really the right weather for being outside without a jacket, is it?”

It isn’t. November in Munich doesn’t provide conditions to do anything outside. Where Montreux may have gotten the last golden sunrays of the year or the winter’s first snow, Munich is just grey, dreary and dark.

“I don’t see you wearing one”, Roger squints upwards at John having forgotten his sunglasses downstairs.

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them talks when John lights his cigarette.

Normally, that would be unusual. There has hardly ever been a time where John and Roger didn’t talk to each other, may it be because of an argument or because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

But not-talking is the safer choice of interaction nowadays. Not-talking doesn’t pose such a high risk for arguments.

But they’re friends and John wants to talk to Roger, he wants to explain his ideas and visions just like he’s always done it, but he’s not sure Roger would listen. And he just doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Roger and Brian are so afraid of some change, when that’s what’s Queen been about all along, a band not succumbing to trends and expectations, a band that always knew to surprise.

“John, I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

John nearly drops his cigarette when Roger’s voice rips him out of his thoughts.

He’s looking at him, and John is suddenly hit by how young Roger appears with his tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes, that, admittedly, are blood-shot, but that doesn’t take the child-like innocence out of them.

Despite that, John scoffs.

“It’s hardly me who’s at fault here.”

Roger visibly flinches at that, recoils and turns his eyes back to the dirty pavement in front of him.

John’s worked hard to build up the defenses he’s calling his own now, so thick and impenetrable that not even Brian with his jabs and sniping remarks can get through them.

But now Roger’s ripped through them, just like that.

“Rog…”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’ve made your point”, his voice is a little husky, only barely betraying his hurt, “I’m going back inside, see you there.”

And it’s actually this eerie calm, which is so unlike Roger, that John wakes from the stupor he’s worked himself into and makes him realize they really should stop fighting and get to talking instead.

 Roger’s quiet for the remainder of day, too. And John’s not the only one who notices, Freddie asks if Rog is alright and earns himself a grumbled “Just want to get out of this shithole”; Brian only grants him an irritated look when Roger doesn’t jump to his defense. Mack, Crystal and the other roadies opt for not saying anything at all, they know better but to get into arguments that cannot be stopped anyway.

It’s when Roger practically flees from the studio after they collectively decide they won’t get much more done and doesn’t stay back to joke around with the others that John decides he has to do something immediately.

He gets some beer, the German stuff isn’t really his taste, but Roger seems to have taken a liking to it, grabs two pizzas from the Italian place Mack did recommend and walks over to Roger’s apartment.

It takes the drummer some time to answer his door, two rounds of insistent knocking and a raised hand to start a third one, only then there’s some shuffling, the clicking of locks and Roger opens the door a fraction.

“Why’re you here?”, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction and he’s wearing a dark fluffy bathrobe. There is a flush to Roger’s cheeks that tells John he either pulled his friend from a bath or was just lucky to catch him coming out of the shower.

“To talk. Not to fight”, John holds up the pizza boxes with the beer stacked on top, “Please, Rog.”

Roger stares at him for a moment and for once John absolutely can’t read the usually so emotional face. Then he heaves out a sigh and opens the door to let John in.

The place is cluttered in a typical Roger-fashion. An overflowing ashtray, papers with what could be lyrics or shopping lists, a part of a drumstick for some reason and a colorful array of take out packaging. John winces, maybe he should’ve brought stuff to cook a fresh meal instead of gifting Roger yet another pre-made supper.

“How’s Dom?”

“She’s good. Took Felix and went to visit her parents, escaping the rain and stuff. You know how she hates it”, he does his best to declutter the couch table, mindlessly stacking pieces of paper on top of each other without looking at them or at John, for that matter.

“How are Ronnie and the kids?”

“They’re good, Ron wants to come down next week, but we’ll have to see if it works with Robert and the school. I miss them.”

Now Roger looks at him, but it’s not the look of disdain and almost disgust he wore when John presented them the lyrics of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and he threw a fit over ‘I’m happy at home’. This one is one of understanding and compassion.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s have a taste of that beer you brought, yeah?”

They mostly eat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmuring of the TV and one of them occasionally commenting on the food or the beer. When John’s done with his food Roger is intently watching the 10 pm news. He’s not sure the drummer understands much of it, but John is willing to indulge him a while longer. It’s not like he’s looking forward to this heart-to-heart, but he knows it’s necessary and they’ll feel better once they’re done. John only wishes he could fast forward everything in between now and then.

“We need to talk about this”, John starts eventually when the pretty blonde woman on the TV is done with telling them that the next days will be just as dreary as today.

“And what exactly does ‘this’ entail?”

Roger is already in full on confrontation mood, and John has to force himself to stay calm. It’s Roger, he tells himself, no matter that it was actually him who put up the white flag this morning, he still doesn’t like to be cornered.

“Us not working like we used to. The constant fighting and discussions and nothing coming out of it. You constantly siding with Brian without listening to a word I say!”

Oh shit, he really could’ve worded that better.

“Me not listening? I AM listening, other than Brian and you! I’m listening to both your opinions and then I decide!”

“And it’s always in favor of Brian!”

“Well, if we share an opinion, then yes!”

“But why? Why are you so intent on keeping everything as it is?”, they’ve gotten louder and John really, really doesn’t want this to evolve into another shouting match, but he might not be strong enough to reign himself in.

But, much to John’s surprise, Roger sighs and slumps back against the couch rubbing his eyes.

“Because it works! We’re doing this how long now? 10 years? People know us, they expect our product to meet a certain standard, an expectation.”

“Our- our product? A certain standard? Roger, what are you talking about? Isn’t our music about how we feel? What we think? It’s not supposed to be some commercial bullshit”, John is seriously flabbergasted. Not in a million years he would have thought Roger would start to view their work as a ‘job’ only consisting of deadlines and expectations and goal fulfilment.

He scoots over to the other end of the couch where Roger is sitting and bumps their knees together.

“What brought this on, Rog? What’s going on?”

“It’s just…”, the drummer shrugs, rubs his eyes again and then starts to knead the shoulder muscles that John knows are always a bit tense, always a bit sore.

“We’ve been doing this 10 years, John, ten years! How many bands have made it farther than that? Who says it won’t just all fall apart next month? We can’t just start making different music now!”

“We’ve been always aware of that possibility. There was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, but now we’ve got number one hits in America! We’re an established name!”

It feels a bit weird to take on the motivational part, the part of convincing the others that they have actually made it. Usually, it’s Roger who does that.

“Yeah, but…”, Roger blows out a breath, “Don’t you feel like- like you were 27 just yesterday, snorting all the coke in New Orleans without a care in the world and now, now there’s a child and- and a-“

“A woman you might as well just marry”, John tightly presses his lips together to not let the laughter escape. So, that’s what all this is about, Roger just realized he’s actually a grown-up now and he doesn’t feel too comfortable about it.

“It’s not that!”, Roger argues, “What difference does a bloody certificate make?! I have a family now; I have to provide!”

John sucks in his cheeks to keep himself from grinning. He gets it, he does, Roger’s worries are understandable, and he doesn’t want to ridicule his friend, but from John’s position his worries are a bit ridiculous, when they’re in far better position now than when John first became a father.

“Dom has a job, too, you know?”, John teases, fully intending to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect.

“That’s- Stop making fun of me!”, Roger jumps up from the sofa and hovers over John, fists clenching at his side as if he has to keep them from either punching something or someone or from thrashing his apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing I’m good for! The dumb blonde, that crazy drummer guy, let’s make fun of him, he deserves it! He’s no good for anything anyway, can’t manage to write a good song, and we don’t even need him for drumming anymore!”

Oh. Oh.

So that’s where all this moodiness is coming from.

Roger rarely shares his feeling so honestly, usually none of them does if there are not copious amounts of alcohol and or other substances involved, but Roger especially likes to keep everything bottled up, until it implodes. And that leaves either a destroyed room or drumkit, or Roger in front of a toilet puking his guts out and avoiding just about everyone for a few days after until he’s okay with himself again.

So, to say the least, this emotional outbreak with feelings actually being articulated is uncharted territory for John. And for Roger too, who’s staring at John like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Rog-“

“Forget it!”

He stalks away, fluffy bathrobe and naked feet, and slams his bedroom door shut.

John sighs and settles back into the sofa. He came to talk and he’ll get his talk, even if he has to stay the night. With Roger, that might just be the case.

Well. At least the apartment has a second bathroom.

 John wakes a couple of hours later, around 3 am. It’s a weird feeling, usually they’d still be out and drinking, but it’s probably not the worst thing to get a whole 8 hours of sleep at what is actually night.

A sharp gust of icy cold air wafts through the room and John finds that it was that what woke him in the first place with the flimsy throw he used as a blanket not providing adequate cover.

The apartment is mostly dark save for the lights of the city streaming in through the window and John can see through the door gap into the hall and that Roger’s bedroom door is open again.

He finds him in the kitchen, standing in front of the open window smoking.

“You’re still here”, he notes when John steps up beside him.

“I wanted a talk, an honest conversation. I won’t leave until I get one.”

“Took a note out of Freddie’s book then, huh?”

“Freddie?”, John scoffs, “Try your own.”

Roger turns to him, mouth open and already gesturing with the softly glowing cigarette. “I’m not-“

“Ridge Farm?”

That takes his drive. He turns back to the view, deeply inhaling the burning smoke. John takes one out of Roger’s packet. He doesn’t really like the brand, but it’s better than nothing.

“You taped my drums, John”, Roger eventually says.

“Are you still mad about this? I’m sorry and I promise not to touch the kit again without you knowing.”

“It’s not that- well, that too, but-“, Roger takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “You tape my drums and there’s nothing I can do that a drum machine isn’t able to. Hell, I’m not even the best drummer without them taped, my technique is weird, if you can even call it that, there are guys who are a lot better than me and understand this disco thing you’re prattling on about.”

“It’s not like Brian-“

“He’s trying, okay? He’s trying to get into that kind of music, he’s not sprinkling guitar solos all over the songs like you’d do it with coke on a hooker because he wants to annoy you! Well, not primarily anyway, but he’s trying to make his contribution to what you’re doing! He wants to have part in this and I, I just don’t see it, I’m sorry.”

Roger flips the butt of his smoke out of the window and rubs his eyes.

“But we can’t just stop! We can’t just stop at The Game and that’s it! We need something new, start fresh like we’ve done it with each album.”

John finishes his cigarette as well but makes a show of putting it out in the ashtray.

“I know that, Deaks, I do! I really don’t want to become the guy that needs to be dragged off stage because the people got tired of him playing the same things over and over and over again! But I just can’t do this disco thing.”

John understands this. You can’t force yourself to produce music you just don’t feel. This is like Fred and his love for opera and musical theater, something John will never get the hang of, no matter how often he’ll take Ronnie to the ballet. And while Roger does like a more electric style of music, he’s not really known for setting the dancefloor on fire. Maybe the women on it but not the dancefloor itself.

“I know you and Freddie don’t need me to realize your vision, this album but I- I can’t lose Queen, John, I can’t. It’s everything.”

Roger’s almost too quiet for John to understand resting against the kitchen counter in the dark, half of his face illuminated by Munich’s night life in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers.

And John thinks, this is it. This is what all this is about.

Because John started to play with those guys he now calls his brothers as a hobby, as a distraction and creative outlet opposite his studies. He had never envisioned to become a famous musician; this never had been a goal for him. So he had sat back and let Freddie, Brian and Roger work on the music, on the band, had let them work on their dream.

And then he had turned 30 and for the first time John had thought that this might be what he’d do the rest of his life. And he decided to give it his everything all, to make a monument for himself, to really give his very best.

And for Roger it had always been like that. There never had been a second option, a plan B, go big or go home. John’s pretty sure even if they hadn’t made it, Roger still would still be a musician. If not in Genesis then in some local band or a studio musician, but he never, ever would have gone to work in some lab or, even worse, in a dentist’s office.

“What are you talking about? You won’t lose Queen! Never! We’d lose all our female fans if we kicked you out!”

“Great to hear that that’d be the greatest loss”, Roger grumbles and turns away but John catches his wrist.

“You won’t lose us. We need you. Who’d be there to back up Fred when his voice is shot? Who’d argue with Brian just to draw him out of his funks? And heaven knows, not Brian nor me can keep up with Freddie.”

“Like I can these days.”

And there’s the other worry hanging in the air around them, Freddie leaving them behind more often than not, being more elusive than he’s ever been. But that’s a worry for another night, right now this is about the two of them, the Sonic fucking Volcano.

“Come on”, John tugs on Roger’s wrist, “Get over here.”

“Deaks, no, I don’t-“

John tugs a little harder and then Roger’s body is pressed flush against his.

“Like you ever say no to a good hug.”

“I hate you”, the drummer mumbles against John’s shoulder and heaves out a mighty sigh relaxing into the embrace.

“I’m sure you do.”

They rest like that for a few minutes, which is not really a thing they’d normally do, but they’re both tired and miss their partners. It’s okay.

“Y’know”, Roger says as he detangles himself, “I’m not sure Queen would lose all its lady fans if I left. Not with you looking like some kind of… Greek God.”

He wrinkles his nose and pokes John into his right pec.

“It’s called exercise, Rog, you could try it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t exercise daily on those bloody drums. Also, Dom likes it. She calls me soft and cuddly.”

He sticks out his chest.

“Wow, look at that, Roger Taylor is proud of being called soft, what a turn of events!”

“Well, at least I don’t look like handlebar with an exploded mop on top.”

“Handlebar? I seem to recall you calling me a Greek god not 30 seconds ago!”

“Yeah, and I regret it already. Just wait until I throw you out of the band!”

[izzy-b-hands]

Every Road Leads to an End, Pt. 1

Y’all had to know this was coming at some point lol. My first Kingsman fic, this one in particular set Post-Golden Circle. I’ve got a lot more planned, for this time period plus during each movie and in between, but for now, I think this is a good start. 

A forewarning that I’m taking canon and making it what I want, because while I love the movies dearly, there’s also a good number of things I’d have maybe done differently, or at least messed about with and considered changing. For one, the little pup Eggsy gets Harry in Golden Circle? He’s around again, because I wanted to know what happened to the puppy. I named him PJ, for Pickle, JR (after dear Mr. Pickle.) 

So, here that is! 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“You texted me, and I quote, ‘Major emergency, come quickly.’ This-” 

“Is an emergency,” Harry finished. 

Eggsy stared down at PJ, who was wagging his tiny tail happily. “This is dog-sitting. I thought there was a mission, and I’m only supposed to be called back in the event of that or-.” 

“There is, this!” 

“Okay, and where are you off to then? If there isn’t a mission, aside from watching your dog,” Eggsy asked as he picked up PJ.

“I...have a date.” 

“You have...where did you meet...I have so many questions,” Eggsy said. 

“And they will have to wait; I am already late. Thank you for arriving so promptly, instructions are on the fridge regarding PJ’s dinner and bedtime, and I’ve left you money for your dinner,” Harry was like a bullet on track to its target, walking fast enough Eggsy could hardly keep up as he followed him to his bedroom. 

“Oi! Now I get to ask at least one question before you go.” 

“Fine, one. Then I need to finish dressing; I cannot find the right color pocket square I need-” 

“I’ll help you find it if you answer,” Eggsy interrupted. “Where’d you meet her?” 

“Him.” 

“Okay, him. Where was it? I mean, you’re something of a homebody, when you aren’t working-” 

“I am not,” Harry scoffed, and turned to rifle through the pile of folded pocket squares tossed on his bed. “I do things.” 

“You texted me a week ago, and I quote-” 

“That is quite enough of my quotes, I think.” 

“You keep interrupting like that; I’ll just find more of them. Anyway, as I was saying, you said ‘lots of excitement tonight, saw a fox in the garden.’ I mean...Harry.” 

“Are you going to help me find it, or not? I need the same shade of salmon as my tie, and I’ve found every other shade under the bloody sun, and I even sort these by shade, I’ll have you know, and,” Harry sighed and tossed a handful of squares back onto the bed. 

“You’re nervous!” 

“I have been in situations far worse than a first date; I am not made nervous by this,” Harry shook his head, and shuffled through another bunch of squares. 

“You are absolutely a nervous wreck, oh my God. This is adorable! Look at your dad, PJ. I have never seen you like this.” 

Harry sighed again, clearly exasperated, and turned to Eggsy. 

“Put the face away, I’ll help. Now, don’t get mad, but could you just wear a different color tie, that matches one of the squares we know are here and ready to be worn?” 

The kiss on the cheek wasn’t expected, but it was sweet. “Eggsy! Genius! I’ll change it straightaway, then-ooh, I’m going to be even later! I don’t have an excuse for that, we had a reservation and everything...” 

“Tell him I was late showing up. I don’t mind taking the blame,” Eggsy bit back a giggle as Harry whirled past him to another drawer. “Would I know him, if I saw him?” 

Harry stopped dead. 

“Harry?” 

He turned again, a new silk light green tie in his hand. “I can’t...I will tell you. All of it, later. I promise you that. This is also, technically, a mission. That turned into more, and if anyone else with Kingsman or Statesman found out it had, the trouble we would be in.” 

“So he works for Statesman?” 

“No.” 

“He works for us?” 

“Eggsy, please,” Harry sighed desperately as he switched ties. “Like I said, I will tell you everything, later. Once things are more...solid.” 

“As in your relationship with him, or the mission?” Eggsy asked as he set down PJ, and swatted Harry’s hand away from the tie. “You’ve got it all crooked, hang on. And is the mission to...you know?” 

“Eggsy!” 

“Just checking! Even if it isn’t, I mean, I can spend the night here with PJ. I’m already the ‘Prince That’s Never Seen’ to the Swedish media. Won’t be any issue if I’m not home for a day or two, and I let Tilde know it might be a few days, depending on what was going on. So, you know. If things happen...let them happen. Have some fun. Safe fun, I mean, actually, do you have-” 

Harry was bright red as he snatched up the matching pocket square and his coat from his bed, and strode out of the bedroom with Eggsy and PJ on his heels. 

“Oh, look at him blush! PJ, your dad is gonna have a wonderful night, isn’t he?” 

PJ barked in response, wiggling as Eggsy picked him up again. 

“Yes, he is, and then he’s going to tell us all about it when he gets back,” Eggsy continued, even as Harry spluttered half-protests, sighing and shaking his head as he walked out the front door. 

Without any shoes on. 

“Give him a minute,” Eggsy told PJ, who stared up curiously at him. “He’ll realize in one, two, three, and-” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry spat as he stomped back inside, struggling on with his shoes before heading back out, one oxford still untied. 

“That’s a lad,” Eggsy smiled. “C’mon PJ. I think you deserve your dinner, and I will order mine, and then I think a movie is in order. We’ll find something with a dog in it, just for you.” 

It wasn’t long before they were settled on the couch; PJ fed and a pizza box open on the coffee table, and the closest thing Eggsy could find for ‘something with dogs’ (an episode of Planet Earth) on the TV for PJ. 

Then his phone buzzed with a text alert. 

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Advice?

Eggsy frowned at the text from Harry. Text were strictly for non-Kingsman, and non-confidential and/or coded Kingsman business. This, however, wasn’t code for anything that he knew of. 

Is one of the things the guy you’re seeing? And if so, what is the other thing? 

He could hear Harry’s frustration in the reply.

No! Not exactly. He invited me over, but he knows we’d both be in trouble if anyone knew about this; no one is even supposed to know he’s alive!!

That many exclamation points signaled a show of proper emotion from Harry, whatever this was, it was deeply serious to him. But it was hard to advise when he only had not even a quarter of the story. He sent back his biggest question. 

Who?????!!!!!!

For about five minutes, there was nothing, and he almost set his phone back down on the coffee table. Then: 

Merlin.

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy murmured. “And how in the hell? There’s no way...somebody has to be fucking with him, which means who knows what he’s gotten himself into now.” 

He sighed, and bemoaned that he had left his luggage at his hotel, rather than bringing it with. There wouldn’t be enough time to get it, change into a suit, and try and configure Harry’s location so he could get there. 

Unless. 

He hadn’t ever actually spent a night in Harry’s guest room, but Harry had always assured him it was supplied for him, should he and Tilde ever need a place to stay. Searching it proved just that: three suits with varying colors of ties and other accouterments for him, and three matching dresses and pants suits for Tilde, plus three tiny matching jackets that would have fit JB. 

“PJ, you hold down the fort, yeah? You’re a big boy now, I think I can trust you,” Eggsy said as he finished putting in his cuff links and pulled on his jacket, watching as PJ settled down on the couch with a sigh, his grey wiry fir blending into the dark material. “I’m gonna go make sure your dad makes it home, and when we get back, we’ll have that leftover pizza. I’ll make sure he lets you have a little, promise.” 

 From there, he was on his own. His watch and glasses let him track Harry somewhat, but wherever he was, he was on the move. With whoever this impostor Merlin was, surely, and that was who he really wanted to track. But even if this Merlin was using any Kingsman or Statesman tech, he wasn’t registering on any of Eggsy’s gear. 

He got as close as an Italian restaurant, dropped off by a non-Kingsman cab, if only so as not to arouse Harry or the faux-Merlin’s suspicions if they were near enough to see it. There, outside of it, the dot representing Harry had stopped. Or so it seemed to have, finally, though at no point had the dot gone into the restaurant, leaving him wondering where on earth the actual dinner had been, and why on earth Harry was stumbling around in the dark with the faux-Merlin. 

There were a few dark alleyways just near the restaurant. A small chance to be sure, too easy if anything. But as he wandered down the first, the blip of Harry’s dot on the map superimposed over his glasses got louder and louder and-

“Jesus,” Eggsy ducked behind a bin, then peeked back out over it. 

Up against a nearby wall in the alley were Harry, and what for all the world looked like Merlin, kissing hard and utterly unaware of anything else going on around them, apparently, since he hadn’t exactly been quiet as he’d ducked away. 

“If I’m wrong,” Eggsy whispered to himself, then shook his head. Even if this was somehow real, Merlin had somehow survived the land mine and was safe and back, it was better to check, to interrupt and know for sure. 

“Let him go,” he stood and pulled his pistol, pointing it at the possibly faux Merlin. 

“I think he’d rather I didn’t,” and god it sounded like Merlin. “Harry, did you not tell him?” 

“I was going to, later,” Harry hissed, and whipped around. “Put that down! What on earth are you doing?” 

“Not many men could survive a land mine. Fewer still could survive it, and be repaired well enough to go into hiding afterwards. So if you really are Merlin, and if you are...know that I am sorry for all this, but I’ve got to have answers. As of right now, I have no proof you aren’t some...double, hell bent on doing God knows what with Harry-” 

“Hell bent on doing something with him, that’s for sure,” Merlin murmured and giggled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “If you’re still up for it, after we explain things and send Eggsy on home.” 

Harry sighed and pushed himself away from Merlin. “Look. I-I should have just told you everything straight away. I know you, and you’re a good agent. And a good agent would have done just as you’re doing now. It’s just...I mean, this was a date!” 

“Still is,” Merlin called from the wall. “This isn’t quite how I saw it going, no, and I certainly didn’t think Eggsy would be involved, but this doesn’t ruin the night or anything.” 

“Oh my God,” Harry muttered, and pushed his glasses up as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

Eggsy lowered his gun. “Well?” 

“Tell you what,” Merlin said, striding forward. “You both come back to mine, for now. We can explain things, then Eggsy, you can go back home feeling that all is well-” 

“To Harry’s, actually. I was dog sitting,” Eggsy interrupted before stowing his gun away. 

“Right,  back to Pickles, JR, then, knowing that all is well and Harry is safe,” Merlin continued. “And Harry, if you’d like, well...” 

“I could just about die right now. And I’ve never said that about anything,” Harry sighed. 

“Dramatic, outside of work, isn’t he?” Merlin snickered as he led them out of the alley and down the sidewalk. “Part of why I asked him out, you know. Nice to get to see the man under the agent again. Don’t get me wrong, I love the agent, but I liked the man first.”

“Makes sense,” Eggsy replied, giggling as Harry blushed ever more red, trailing just behind them. “So, did you two ever...before this, I mean?” 

“That’s a lot of old history to be getting into,” Merlin smiled. “Maybe a bit too much for tonight, but later on, perhaps-” 

“Oh my God,” Harry muttered again.

“Think I should take the overuse of that phrase as a good sign for later?” Merlin asked with a positively wicked grin. 

“MERLIN!” 

Eggsy and Merlin fell against each other in a fit of laughter as Harry sighed deeply yet again. 

He calmed once they were in Merlin’s house though, his coat off and tossed onto the couch as if he lived there, and Eggsy half-wondered as they settled onto it. 

“So. I’ll make a long story short, so you can get back to PJ, and we can get back to...other things,” Merlin said. “I did survive the mine, but barely. And I very nearly didn’t survive the jungle, because my tracker didn’t click on again to let Ginger Ale know I was still kicking until you all had already left.” 

“How the hell did you survive?” 

Merlin shrugged. “I shouldn’t have, Eggsy. Chalk that one up to dumb luck, perhaps. That, and Ginger Ale, or should I say now, Agent Whiskey’s fantastic medical research and work with prosthetics.” 

Eggsy gestured to Merlin’s legs. “I have to admit, I was curious.” 

“Amazingly built prosthetics, all thanks to Agent Whiskey. She assembled a team to get me out, get me to Kentucky, and get me healed and well again. And she would have told you and Harry both right away, but-” 

“It wasn’t assured he would survive,” Harry interrupted. “And so I asked them not to say anything to you at that time. I didn’t want you to lose him twice. I figured it, rather selfishly, I admit, that it would be enough for me to lose him twice.” 

“But you didn’t,” Merlin said softly, grabbing Harry’s hand. “I’m right here, not going anywhere.” 

Harry only nodded, but Eggsy could see his fingers tighten around Merlin’s. 

“With you still not knowing I was alive, and my continued survival not assured at that point, I was put into a sort of hiding. Kept in Kentucky, under Statesman medical care and guard. I remain under their guard now, to some degree, and not Kingsman guard because, well-” Merlin shrugged. “Kingsman is still rebuilding. We have Agent Tequila here, and Harry, and yourself as a reserve agent, but that isn’t much. And there’s concern that some of the guards I tried to take out with me are still out there, and might be looking for me.” 

“Didn’t they find them all? Or all the pieces of them, I guess,” Eggsy asked. 

“Enough...pieces to make up all the bodies except for two. We might have presumed they were just truly blown to smithereens, until certain messages started to arrive at various locations, specifically the rubble of the Kingsman HQ and your old home, Eggsy. Agent Whiskey was the one who suggested surveillance on those locations and a few others after I was recovered from the field, and thank goodness she did. We might never have seen them until it was too late, otherwise.” 

“Too late?” 

“Attacks,” Harry said. “On Statesman HQ, specifically trying to get to the medical ward. One got damned close too. No identifiable information on them, except that everything done to erase their identity was similar to what Poppy had done to her cronies. Erased fingerprints, filed down teeth, all that. But since we know Poppy is dead, that tells us nothing. And the henchman that we thought died when the land mine went off weren’t identifiable either, not even the pieces of the dead ones. So figuring out who the live ones are, if they are alive, and where they are...” 

“Damn near impossible, until another attack, which hasn’t happened because you’ve been kept under guard here. And that’s why no one was supposed to know you’re alive,” Eggsy finished. 

“And why this,” Harry sighed, picking up Merlin’s hand and kissing it, “is so very risky. If anything happened as a result of me, I swear-” 

“I know, and I’m willing to take the risk,” Merlin interrupted. “Anyone would for someone they love. Eggsy would for Tilde, essentially does being married while being an agent, right Eggsy?” 

Eggsy nodded. “Harry. You shouldn’t deny yourself this, happiness, just because of the risk. There’s always going to be something, you know? Life just isn’t that easy, that safe...especially for us. Tilde and I, we know the risk, and we both accept it to be together. If you and Merlin feel the same...why not go for it?” 

The look Harry was giving Merlin gave Eggsy his out. “And, that said, I think maybe my portion of the evening is complete, and the portion with you two is uh...yeah. I’m gonna head out, go back and let PJ have the bit of pizza I promised him, and then turn in for the night, and you two aren’t even paying attention to a word I’m saying right now.” 

They certainly didn’t seem to be, again concerned only with each other and kissing and the fussing about with Harry’s tie, which was plenty for Eggsy to see. 

“I mean good for ‘em, you know?” he told PJ as they snuggled on the couch, his suit hung back up in the guest room of Harry’s house, the pizza warmed up for a late night/early morning snack. “But...bit like watching your parents snog, you know? Like, they’re adults, consenting and all that and isn’t like that...urge disappears as you age, I just. It was time for me to not see anymore. You get it, right, PJ?” 

PJ whimpered, and snuggled in closer. He was laid out on Eggsy’s chest, and very nearly had his cold nose poking Eggsy’s chin as he moved closer and closer. 

“Aw. You just miss your dad, don’t you? Well, never fear, he’ll be home in the morning. Er, later morning, considering the time. Dads have to have their fun too, and in the meantime you’ve got me!” 

Eggsy flicked off the TV and closed his eyes, listening to PJ’s soft breathing as he finally fell asleep. 

And then his watch buzzed on his wrist. 

He carefully moved his arm, to not disturb PJ, and looked at the alert.

ALL KINGSMAN AND STATESMAN AGENTS, REPORT TO NEAREST HQ LOCATION IMMEDIATELY. AGENT COMPROMISATION HAS OCCURRED. 

[rb-abroad]

Rome

For my last adventure outside of Amsterdam, I met up with my roomies and best gal pals Maddie and Mackenzie in Italy! We spent our first 3 days out of 10 in Rome, and boy was it amah-zing. Here’s the breakdown:

On Day One, Mac and I arrived fairly early and had a chill jetlag-friendly morning and afternoon. After a late breakfast, we hung out around the Piazza del Popolo and had our first (of many) Aperol Spritzes. It basically changed our lives :P

The fanciest iced coffee

That #spritzlife

Next, we headed back to the hotel to relax and meet up with Maddie, who booked us all a room at the very chic and cool Villa Laetitia. Owned by Anna Fendi, the property is beautiful and has incredible sketches from famous designers all over the walls. We stayed in the Karl Lagerfeld room, which was super cool, and got free bfast every morning! If you want a boutique hotel experience somewhere less touristy/off the beaten path but still close enough to walk or use public transit, Villa Laetitia is a great choice. 

Oh hay, Karl

Once we finally confirmed that the taxi driver found Maddie and she wasn’t TAKEN (phew), the three of us went out for a pre-dinner drink at Settembrini, which was down the street from the hotel. It was so beautiful out and a perfect night to sit on the terrace and take selfies ;)

Cute building on the walk over

After drinks, we crossed the street for dinner at Cacio e Pepe, which was seemingly a very local spot but the food was just okay (...for Italy). However, we did highly enjoy the 8-Euro liter of house wine.

Carbonara obvi

The next day, we woke up early and headed straight to the Vatican for a guided tour. It was super crowded (it was a Saturday, after all), so having someone guide us through the whole thing was really great. The tour included the Vatican Museum, the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter’s Basilica, and although I had seen all of these spots back in college, I’m so happy I got to experience it all again. Absolutely worth coming back again and again! I took too many pictures of ceilings, and the truth is very few of these pics do it justice - you just gotta see it yourself. 

Inside the Vatican 

Outside St. Peter’s Basilica

St. Peter’s Square

After our tour, we walked over the bridge and into the city center for the first time. Luckily for us, we had many Rome spirit guides with killer recommendations. The first was for the best Roman-style pizza at Pizzeria Da Baffetto, and it definitely was worth the hype (thanks Ari!!). This is a must-eat!

A random cute alleyway - Rome is full of them!

Sausage, shroom, n onion delight *heart eyes*

After lunch, we moseyed around a bit more and then headed back to the hotel to get ready for the evening festivities (there were a lot of them). In search of some rooftop views, we had pre-dinner cocktails at the Roof Garden of Les Etoiles. Just stunning!

Next, we had dinner in the back of Roscioli, which was so cute and suuuuper tasty. We had some of the best Italian wine on the whole trip AND delicious pasta. Doesn’t get much better than that!

If you see this bottle on a menu, just get it. 

The fanciest caprese I ever did see

Delicious pasta #1

Delicious pasta #2

Let me be clear - if you go to Rome and you don’t pay a visit to Giolitti, YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. I think it’s one of the oldest (if not the oldest) gelateria in Rome, and it is downright amazing. We definitely went more than once. Gelato in hand, we headed to Trevi Fountain and lived our basic tourist dreams <3

Hazelnut and chocolate chip gelato with WHIPPED CREAM OMG

There she is!

We finished off the night getting drinks at Bar del Fico, which was very lively/cute/easy-going, and at the Jerry Thomas Speakeasy, which was super cool inside and worth checking out if you love a fancy cocktail, but it’s definitely on the pricey side and we had to have a reservation. 

For our final day in Rome, we started out on a free walking tour! We started at the Spanish Steps and saw many cool sights along the way. 

Look at how cute my fwends are!

  It me

We stopped by the Pantheon and it was soooo cool! There was a service going on while we were there, so I’ll have to go inside next time. 

Toward the end of the tour, we stopped in the Church of St. Ignazio di Loyola. It was SO cool - the inside was beautifully decorated, and the paintings on the walls and ceilings were incredible. The roof of the church is flat, but it was painted to make it look like it’s curved (there’s no dome)! 

How cool is that?!

We ended our tour with one more look at dat Trevi Fountain. 

Our next stop was lunch at Osteria di Fortunada, where I literally had the best pasta in my entire life (leave it to my friend Denny to tell us where to eat)! I had the gnocchi with ragu sauce and honestly I’m still dreaming about it... I can’t even begin to describe how good it was. The restaurant itself was pretty small and you have to get there during an off-hour or right when it opens to snag a table. They even had an old lady on display making the pasta by hand! If you don’t go to this place while you’re in Rome, we can’t be friends anymore.

There she is, the love of my life. 

How cute is this espresso mug??

Next we hauled over to the Colosseum and took a whole bunch of pics!

And then we went back to Giolitti.....

For our last dinner, we went into the Trastevere area for dinner at Cave Canem, which was a local recommendation. The pizza was just okay (again, for Italy), but we had a lovely time sitting outside on the terrace!

And that was it for Rome! We LOVED it. The food was amazing. The sights, unparalleled. The time of year was perfect, it was pretty hot but it was riiiight before all the other tourists would arrive for the summer, which was just happened to work out in our favor (so go in May, y’all!). This is a place that I could never get tired of visiting. Next stop, Tuscany!