#he deserves fewer exclamation points in her mind (but still gets some)

[mosaickiwi]

yoohoo!!! @nabi004 and @mialuna4 and that one anon!!! sick angel request!!! many thanks for the love <3

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~A Sick Angel~

“Can you please—”

“No.”

The past few minutes had been like talking to a brick wall. [REDACTED] hadn't let you move an inch from the bed since you’d woken up in an agonizing daze.

Sure, you felt like complete shit, maybe a little on the side of a fever. And the moment you sat up you wanted to scream. But it was manageable. If you tried, you'd be able to make it through a day at the library. 

Blue eyes quickly narrowed, as if they knew exactly what you were thinking. It was frustrating how stubborn they could be when he wanted to.

You attempted to frown at your companion. Nothing really changed about your haggard expression—thanks to your face and entire body feeling like dead weight—but your tone worked well enough. “I need to go to work today.”

“Not happening,” he insisted as he reached up to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for just a second. His cold palm against your brow was too heavenly to ignore. “I don't want to let Elanor down. Today's really important for her,” you croaked.

They didn't bother to hide the momentary disgust in their tone at the mention of your coworker. “She wouldn't want y’working either, Angel.” As if to prove his point, they tapped away on your phone. He'd been holding it hostage behind his back. 

Only a minute later, it dinged with a response and he finally held it out to you. Elanor had sent a polite and elaborate text as always. You read through it while he continued to run both of their cold hands over your heated face like two makeshift ice packs.

Good morning, [REDACTED]. At least I assume so from how brief that message was? Thank you for letting me know Y/N is ill! I'm sure they must be worried about missing today's event but we can handle it just fine! And I’m happy to take some pictures for them! Please take good care of them and give my well wishes. Regards, Elanor.

You raised an eyebrow and scrolled back up to the paltry message he'd sent her.

sick no work

Somehow, it was probably the nicest thing they'd ever managed to send any of your friends. You looked back up at him with what was meant to be a pout. “Okay then.”

With instant trust in your word, he stood up to leave the room. He soon returned with his arms full. A cold compress, medicine, some drinks, and anything else they thought you might need. You lightly rolled your neck and resigned to your fate as a patient when he sat next to you. The medicine and drink he offered were swallowed without fuss on your part, then you laid down. The throbbing pain already seemed to calm as you did.

The compress stayed at his side instead of being placed on your forehead like you thought. You felt their hand on your cheek yet again, a more noticeable chill to his rough skin this time.

“Just in case it feels too cold f’you,” he explained before you even asked.

It felt perfect, so you didn't mind at all. You practically purred in relief at the gentle circles they rubbed. You tiredly looked up to him as you complained, if only to tease them, “I'm a little disappointed you didn't bring out the nurse outfit.”

“‘Course you are.” His eyes lit up with mischief, a knowing smile cut across his lips to match your playful one. “I'll make it up t’you when y'feel better, yeah?” Their thumb slowly traced back and forth from one corner of your mouth to the other.

“Germs, you weirdo,” you reminded him. Though you didn't bother to shake off his hand, weak as you were. “You’ll get sick.”

“Y’worried about me, love? Cute. But I promise ‘M not gonna catch whatever you have that easy.” They leaned down to kiss your flushed temple, eventually settling propped up on one arm to lay as close as possible beside you. Faintly warm breath tickled the top of your head until you drifted back to sleep under their watchful gaze.

#14 days with you #14dwy redacted #momo reqs #hehehe :3 #requested THREE TIMES?? #i was gonna write something like this eventually so yayyy #look elanor's in there!!! #she is SO rude to redacted omg #<- she only said regards instead of KIND regards #scandalous #he deserves fewer exclamation points in her mind (but still gets some) #bro didn't even use punctuation themselves #also!! angel: halfway lucid trying to read words #redacted: i must touch and squish

[faimrpg]

The beginning of the month, Fiacre, is punctuated by optimism. As snow and seaside storms from the winter months fade out of sight and out of mind, Celestine and its people ready themselves for a celebration that will leave its mark on the rest of the year, the kind of party that’s been in the works since the start of the last Summer season. When Calandre’s father, Tristan, marked his twentieth anniversary, the revelry at hand was entirely private. Few received invitations, and even fewer actually left the ballroom once they arrived. Yes, it’s true -- many men and women met their end at Tristan’s command, seeing the anniversary as both the chance to gather and to tie up some unfortunate loose ends. It goes without saying that Her Imperial Majesty has other plans, ones which she has accounted for down to the very last piece of dor.

To celebrate her twentieth year on the throne, Calandre has called for a full and final stop to all trade, all travel, all political and domestic affairs. For the space of an entire week, every city in Celestine has been brought to a halt for one reason and one reason alone: to party like their lives depend on it. And they very well might.

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, death

Val Faim is at the epicenter of this grand celebration, carefully coordinated by Calandre and her advisors to ensure that any and all who arrive on its cobbled streets will be allowed their fair share. Drinks are abound, a keg on every corner, and when night settles over the city, as people return to their homes, they take a flagon of ale or glass of wine with them to sip from on their journey. Music floods every alley, every quarter, and the waves on the docks seem to sing it back to them, the crashes of waves like cymbals orchestrated by one very talented mage. The anthem to Celestine is sung day-in, day-out, and musicians play a new tune every hour. The Lion’s Mane has never seen so much profit, with the way patrons stumble in through its doors and out again, only to loop their way back around. DEGARÉ almost certainly has their hands full, as tempers rise and fall like the changing tide -- PATRICE and SAINTE get caught in the middle of a fight that threatens to eat the entire building up, but manage to summarily put things down together, unlikely allies.

It’s a busy week for the Underworld and the Guild, too, with nobles content to leave their coin purses out and ready for the taking if they turn their heads for too long. New, outlandish outfits appear at Court, thanks to CYRIL, who’s had their hands full since the first month of the year, and the flames of the pyre seem to burn brighter than they did before. It doesn’t help that ISEULT has decided that the time to haunt their shadow in search of new masks has come, and they are in Cyril’s shop in The Silver Quarter almost constantly.

There are events, of course, specifically coordinated for the purpose of enjoyment. On the third day of the week, Calandre announces a horse race she intends to attend, with the winner receiving enough dor to drown themselves in. No one knows who she’s placed her personal bet on, but most have their eye on the newest star of the track, AGRIPPINE, who finds themselves thrusted to the forefront. GHISLAIN is there to watch, alongside VIOLAINE -- and they both breathe a collective sigh of relief as AGRIPPINE crosses the finish line first. They both go to congratulate the esteemed winner, but it’s VIOLAINE who lingers most. BEAU arrives late, only managing to catch the tail-end of the race, but soothes their disappointment by picking what they can from the pockets of those who don’t know any better.

On the fourth day, the opera house is packed to the brim as anyone who can get their hands on a ticket crowds themselves into a seat to watch MÉLODIE perform. VICTOIRE is assigned to keep a careful eye on them throughout the performance, and everything is almost perfect -- up until MÉLODIE’S outfit bursts into flames at the end and has to be stomped out by the conductor, which sours the mood of the evening for almost everyone involved as the curtains quickly close and attendees are rushed out to the lobby for free drinks as apology.

The fifth day, of course, is one for remembering. In a callback to older traditions, Calandre has requested that her prized Chevalier, MATTHIEU, go up against a metaphorical army’s worth of men, starting at noon and lasting until dusk -- not to kill them, of course, only to dismantle them. The challenges only ramp up in difficulty, and by the end there is more blood in the clearing carved out in the gardens than there is grass. ETIENNE unabashedly collects bets to be paid back later in full, slipping in and out of throngs of people to take what they can from open palms. All goes well, until a soldier dressed in customary gold and blue enters the ring. Calandre calls for the event to pause, briefly -- and whispers in MATTHIEU’S ear that this man’s death should be public, and ugly as her Chevalier can make it. She departs before the soldier loses their life, and the shouts of alarm that puncture the air are overwhelmed by a sudden swarm of music from the small orchestra gathered to play throughout.

The sixth night brings a more clandestine affair, as CECILE, HELENE, and most surprisingly, LIANE and CELESTE are brought together by Calandre to discuss the topic of Alain Gauthier, and whether or not he should be permitted to attend tomorrow evening’s banquet and ball, knowing what she has in store. They think they’ve come to a conclusion -- or Calandre has, at the very least -- and depart the meeting in Calandre’s quarters feeling accomplished, all the way up until HELENE discovers  RÉGIS eavesdropping. Worse, still, they are unaccompanied by their sponsor, and appear to be in hot water all the way up until GISELE rescues them from their precarious situation.

Finally, the last day of the week comes. Most are exhausted by now, having spent the week in a drunken stupor or desperately wishing for things to return to some semblance of normalcy, but there’s no way to wiggle out of the most important part of the celebration. Tonight, Calandre is hosting a masquerade, and anyone who can get in past the guard is invited. This is not an easy feat, but those who know the right servants to bribe or which back entrances to use are allowed to slip their way in. The Summer Palace has well and truly opened its doors, and strangers and kin alike dance together, drink together, laugh together -- looking forward, of course, to the fireworks that will punctuate the end of the night with a decisive exclamation point. It’s no surprise that YVON is the star of the show, charming friend and foe alike in a dazzling new piece with a mask to accompany it. The spotlight is stolen from them by ROSALIND, but not for very long, as Calandre calls everyone of any worth in her court to her side in the throne room. The crowds are filtered out by Imperial guardsmen -- nobility in, everyone else out.

And then the doors to the Summer Palace are summarily closed. Those who managed to sneak in and avoid the feeling of a metal gauntlet on their shoulders have no choice but to hide themselves in the crowd as Calandre begins what will be an inevitably lengthy speech. SAVATIER notices, as she begins to speak, her arms raised as if to embrace all those in attendance, that something feels very wrong. The bristling of SIDONIE next to them, and a shared glance of concern, tells them that it is a shared sentiment. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate with me,” she says, her voice carried across a room of hundreds by what can only be magic. “Your allowance of my reign is as good a gift as any.” 

She gives what must be a pointed look to someone in the crowd; anyone who stands even remotely close to her area of attention preens. A chalice full of wine in his hand, Alain Gauthier watches with eyes that are burning. What follows is not something any of them would be unfamiliar with: Calandre recites the history of her acquirement of the throne, every last detail, all the way up until the part where she buried a blade into the body of her own father. Silence stretches out, long and yawning, as her voice trembles, dips. She does not continue in a straightforward manner. Rather, the direction of the tone changes. “I must confess, I have ulterior reasons for all of you being here tonight.” Confusion passes over the hall in a wave, as Calandre snaps her fingers. It is HECTOR who emerges from the shadows, clutching a struggling man by the arms. It takes a moment for any sort of recognition, but it becomes clear enough eventually that this is Hippolyte Brosseau, a prominent nobleman and merchant with no small amount of dor to his name. He runs the docks, manages every shipment that enters and exits the city, ensures that ships are well-staffed and prepared for departure.

“This is the man who would have killed me last night, were it not for dear Ambassador Zhenya who rescued me,” Calandre announces, looking to ZHENYA and giving what must be a nod of gratitude. “I’ve decided to ask you all what should be done with him. Chatter amongst yourselves, enjoy your drinks, look forward to the fireworks. You’ll be brought up to plead the case of your countryman one by one.” This, it seems, is the plan. The room lapses into stilted, uncomfortable conversation -- those who are really not supposed to be there press themselves even closer to the shadows, for fear of discovery. The feeling of an arm on your hand or shoulder, addressed by the moniker of Lord or Lady, tells you that it is your time to come up and say whether poor Hippolyte deserves his life or not. It’s surprisingly diplomatic, if not drawn out -- it takes a little over an hour for Calandre to meet with those she cares about.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. As every member of Calandre’s court comes forward -- even Alain Gauthier, who says little even as Brosseau looks at him with pleading eyes but does not say a word -- the Empress’ gaze grows darker by the minute. Still, she lets anyone who would speak say their piece. Some call for his head. Others plead mercy. Many say nothing at all, leaning on the wishes of Calandre instead. Whatever you want, your Imperial Majesty.

Finally, the night comes to a conclusion. The ensemble of musicians at the center of the room is commanded to play, and almost as if in direct defiance to her order given to her Chevalier earlier in the week, Calandre does not tear her gaze away as MICHEL draws out a sword and ends Brosseau’s life in a single, decisive swing downwards. The death is not messy, exactly, just... simple. Those who cannot stomach it look away, and those who gathered closer to watch stumble back to avoid collateral spray. The orchestra continues on, playing as quickly and proudly as they are capable. Everyone in attendance is escorted back out to the gardens to watch the pyre burn and enjoy the fireworks that light up the sky, hors d'oeuvres and drinks passed out by servants carrying massive silver trays. 

The rest of the night passes by in relative peace, with discussion of Hipployte’s unfortunate end and Calandre’s flagrant lack of care for anyone who spoke out against his death to be discussed in the next coming weeks. If anything is certain, it is that the optimistic mood at the start of the month has met its demise, and now, those in Val Faim find themselves feeling wary, with the sense they are being tested. Alain Gauthier makes his quiet rounds, promises to meet with newfound allies in the morning and to call together old ones when he can. And through it all, Calandre Valence watches from the balcony, her mouth pressed into a hard-set line. Hippolyte did not set out to kill her -- this, she knows. His end had been a well-composed lie. But someone sought to frame him, to use him as a scapegoat, and she played right along with their little game. In the coming month, as spring settles itself over Celestine, she will find the rot festering in Val Faim and dig it out with her own two hands if she has to. For now, though, there are other matters to attend to -- and blood to scrub off of the Summer Palace’s marble floors.

And that’s a wrap on the opening event! Thanks for sticking through all the way to the very end, I realize this was a lengthy excursion -- I’m super excited to see things kick off! You are free to plot threads during the week of the celebration, the weeks that followed, and any flashbacks you’d like to help flesh out your characters! I’d also encourage you to post your character’s outfits for the masquerade, if you decided you’d like them to attend and if they made it in uninvited or not. You’re free to have your character participate in other parts of the celebration outside of the days they’re mentioned in -- you are by no means bound to this frame, this is just meant to serve as a kickstarter!

TIMESTAMP: The 3rd of Fiacre, 936 — the 28th of Fiacre, 936. Please do not write threads beyond this point.

For a simplified timeline of the anniversary week:

The 3rd of Fiacre: Reserved for drinking, revelry, and generally having a good time

The 4th of Fiacre: Much the same as the first, with the bar fight at The Lion’s Mane occurring in the afternoon/evening

The 5th of Fiacre: Agrippine races their horse at the tracks and wins while Calandre is in attendance

The 6th of Fiacre: the Opera, which gets cut short by an unfortunate accident

The 7th of Fiacre: Those who are able gather in the Imperial Gardens to watch a Chevalier do what a Chevalier does best

The 8th of Fiacre: More drinking and revelry to end the week arrives, as Calandre decides whether or not Alain will be allowed to attend the masquerade

The 9th of Fiacre: The masquerade, which occurs in the night, and ends with Hippolyte’s death and fireworks

If you have any questions pertaining to the event, please drop them in the Discord channel! If you need any help plotting, or getting things started, please reach out and I’ll see what I can do to help. Thank you again, to all of you!

#faimevent #blood tw #death tw

[flopgoblins]

Unconventional

Or: 3 weddings and a funeral. Weird things happen when you’re a celebrity. Mostly at conventions.

1. Katya

The girl was wearing Halley High knee socks and the ubiquitous plaid cheer skirt that Katya hadn’t felt the same about since Matt’s story about what happened after the cross-dressing photoshoot. The pigtails were a given. The extensions were off the rack, but the eyeliner was applied straighter than Katya could ever manage herself, and she told the girl so, eliciting a flustered giggle and a babble of thanks. Katya was glad she’d held herself back from making a joke about how hard it was for her to do anything straight, since it would have killed her publicist and made the girl turn an even brighter red. Plus, she’d stolen the line from Matt.

The boy was rather less effectively dressed as Wally, complete with cheap red wig, and Katya refused to examine him any further than that after feeling the bulge in his pocket when he hugged her for the photo opp. It wasn’t the first time, but it never got any less gross. At least he hadn’t made any comments about how hot it would be to see her and his girlfriend make out in matching outfits, but-

“Vanessa, there’s something I need to ask you. Um, and hopefully Katya doesn’t mind.”

Oh god.

Katya turned, ready to signal to the assistant standing off to the side of the backdrop, but then she realized the faux Wally was kneeling. The bulge in his pocket was gone, and in his hand was a small black box.

Katya let out an involuntary cackle of laughter, and clapped her hands over her mouth. Almost as mortifying as an erection in JCPenney khakis, but tragically longer lasting.

Next to her, the girl in pigtails burst into tears.

“Will you marry me?”

What followed was the predictable flurry of snotty affirmations, damp selfies, and fans still waiting in line craning their necks to see what the holdup was. Katya made as many exclamations of delight as she felt she could before warranting a SAG award, and then hustled the enfianced couple towards the exit.

But first….

“Wink twice if you need a way out,” Katya whispered to the still tremulous girl as she hugged her. “Totally understand if you only said yes because of the circumstances, it was a super weird position for him to put you in. And me. Romantic, of course. Sort of. But I can get you out the back door if you need an escape. No? Sure? Okay. Congratulations.” She released the girl, blew a kiss with a spangle-nailed hand, and turned to greet the next group.

“Oh hey! So great to meet you! You will not believe what happened with the last people who came through…”

2. Nico

Nico was still new enough to it that the meet and greets were both novel and incredibly weird. Matt and Katya didn’t even seem to register them anymore, viewing them with about the same lassitude they viewed comicon panels or table reads, but since Nico found panels and reads pretty fucking exciting, photo opps were still a definite thing. And, like having strangers touch your hair and face every morning to get you camera ready, a definite mixture of cool and intensely bizarre. He wasn’t sure if it was weirder to have people paying actual money to meet him - and hug him, and sometimes burst into tears - or to call him by Jack’s name instead of his own.

“You get paid either way,” Matt said, who’d just been Wally’d no fewer than a dozen times.

“Yeah, but,” said Nico, “they know we’re not them, right?”

Matt gave him a gentle, pitying smile, and then both were dragged off for the next round.

After some time, Nico got into the flow of it. He could almost always find something to compliment fans on - their costumes, or their memory for Halley High lore, on which he could generally go toe-to-toe, or their ability to quote his lines back to him word perfect. Katya and Matt had described all of it as vaguely awkward and mostly boring, but Nico liked it, up until the point something happened that he was pretty sure they’d been lying to him about.

‘At some point,’ Matt had said, ‘They’ll do something weird in front of you.’

‘Yeah,’ said Katya. ‘Like get you to roleplay with them.’

‘Or propose,’ said Matt.

‘Aw, fuck off,’ said Nico, who was used to them messing with him at this point.

“Sasha,” said the girl with purple streaks in her hair. “I’m asking you here, in the sight of the greatest thespian of our generation, to do me the very great honor-”

“Oh!” said Nico, and covered his mouth.

“Oh, Fern!” said Sasha, whose shirt proclaimed her a member of Wallack Nation.

“-of marrying me.”

Nico moved his hands from his mouth to his eyes as Sasha flung herself into Fern’s arms. “Oh wow! Oh my gosh!” He uncovered his eyes, saw tongue, and covered them again.

“Oh my god! Did you know that was gonna happen? Holy sh- Wow! Uh. It feels weird that I’m here. Should I leave? Kelsi, please don’t charge them the $75 for the photo opp, this one’s on me. Seriously, should I leave?”

3. Jordie

The rest of them always wrapped up meet and greets before Jordie did. Part of this was because Jordie was bad at ending conversations, and tended to let fans run riot over him, killing the time limit and the event manager’s soul. The rest of it was because Jordie’s line of fans was twice as long as anyone but Matt’s, and Jordie hated turning anyone away.

“Look on my works, ye mighty,” murmured Matt, forty-five minutes after the rest of them had finished and were still waiting for Jordie to re-emerge. He flipped his wrist, looked at his watch, and tilted against the wall. “And despair. I have seen the future, and it is blond, peppy, and nineteen.”

Katya was scrolling the #jordieswiftsdcc tag and perusing selfies from the line. “This person waited two hours to see him and is pretty much creaming herself for the opportunity. This person waited three hours and is getting his signature tattooed on her wrist. And this one looks like he’s had some minor plastic surgery to look more like him.”

“Jesus,” said Nico, horrified. He knew they sometimes forgot that their little cast member, who tended to have half the screentime and a third the lines the rest of them did, was not only a fan favorite but had amassed 5 million subscribers on YouTube for a reason. “Poor Jordie.”

Katya clicked ‘report’ on a Tweet that Nico couldn’t read beyond the handle, which was @jordieswift_tongue_my_taint. She slid her phone into her back pocket and tilted against the wall next to Matt. “Competition, Tiny. Your agency is gonna have a cow if he starts to surpass you.”

Matt curled his lip in what might have been a smirk. “My agency should just sign him and turn me out to stud.”

Katya slid down the wall until she was squatting on her heels, fringe from her boho vest brushing the floor. She dragged her finger through the dust on the ground. “Tiny ginger babies cropping up in pastures everywhere next spring. Seabiscuit, out of Georgina, by Matt.”

Matt prodded her until she tipped off her heels and sprawled on the floor. “I’m happy to sell my semen but if they actually need me to mount anyone-”

“Guys, please,” said Nico. He was getting antsy, ready to go get dinner, and bouncing a little on his toes to keep himself awake. “There are kids around. Maybe less with the semen?”

Matt dodged Katya’s attempt to pull herself up on his ankle. “How about the mounting, is the mounting okay?”

Katya grinned from the floor. “Oh, I’m sure Nico’s okay with you mounting-”

Matt yawned. “Where the hell is Jordie?” he said. “Seriously, they’re shutting down the venue any minute now.”

“Let’s go look,” said Katya, and clambered upright, scooping up her purse in one hand and Nico’s arm in the other.

Jordie was down to the last fan, but it was immediately clear why it was running over time. It wasn’t just a matter of exceeding the allotted five minutes so much as a ‘death do us part’ thing, given the fact the fan was down on one knee and Jordie looked about 30 seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

“Oh dear,” said Matt. “They got him.”

“I’ll call security,” said Katya.

Nico ignored them both and dashed towards the unfolding scene, where Jordie was babbling helplessly.

“Wait, me? You’re asking me? Oh no! I thought this was about - I thought you were going to propose to someone el- Please stop kneeling. I have - Listen, I have a- Okay, my agent didn’t tell me what to do if this happened? I think my contract says no. I’m sorry! Okay, please don’t - um, please don’t - ”

Nico took one look at the ardent worship on the fan’s face and their outstretched hand, one look at the panic in Jordie’s eyes, and leapt into the fray. “Whoa, hey. Yo! I object!”

“Wh?” said Jordie.

“I’m so sorry,” said Nico, grabbing Jordie’s arm and securing him protectively against his side. “I’m so sorry, but he can’t marry you. Bigamy’s illegal, you see, and he’s already engaged.”

“He is?” said the fan blankly. Nico could almost see them scrolling Jordie’s Wikipedia page in their mind, searching for the ‘personal life’ section.

“I am?” said Jordie, looking as terrified as if he’d actually forgotten.

The fan’s mental scroll had clearly come up blank because their eyes narrowed. “To who?”

“Whom,” said Nico, because children of English professors never missed a cue. “Uh.” He hadn’t thought this all the way through, but realized at once he couldn’t go for his first instinct and throw Katya under the bus. For one thing, it would only encourage the #katyathecougar hashtag, and for another, she might hurt him. He’d deserve it, too. “To me, of course.”

“Wh?” said Jordie.

“Come along, dumpling,” said Nico, and swept him away.

Katya and Matt watched as Nico hustled them both through an ‘emergency exit only’ door, Matt with arms folded, Katya with her phone still out and security ringing through on the other end.

“Well,” said Matt. “If Jack/Silas wasn’t a thing before, it sure as hell will be now. Quick, Kat, bookmark the tag on AO3.”

“Be honest, Matty,” said Katya, as con organizers descended on the still-kneeling fan. “You’re a leettle bit jealous that Jordie got the proposal before you did.”

“I’ve been proposed to no less than five times, Kit-Kat.”

“But never,” said Katya, with a sly smirk. “By Nico Martin.”

4. Matt

The woman clutched a silver urn in one hand and Matt’s fingers in the other. It had been at least five minutes and Matt’s smile was at risk of becoming a rictus, so he changed it to a look of quiet sympathy.

“He would have loved to meet you,” said the woman, pressing Matt’s hand even tighter. “Gloucester Lost was his favorite movie. And we had the box set of NICU: NYC. Watched it nightly.”

“I’m so glad he liked it,” said Matt. He eyed the urn, in which resided the last earthly remains of Milton Heslop, apparently Matt’s biggest fan. His agent would not be pleased to know that one of Matt’s most dedicated viewers was dust, but he supposed this was what came of approaching thirty. An aging fanbase was just what a turn on Halley High was supposed to prevent, but he supposed a woman holding her dead husband was better than yet another red wig and loosely glued protuberance. “Would you like a picture?”

“I’ve been going to all his favorite places,” said the woman, still latched to Matt’s hand like she was one of the parasite wasps from episode five and he was - well, himself. “I scattered some of his ashes at Yosemite, and some at Dollywood. He always wanted to see the Space Needle, but they wouldn’t let me through the metal detector. I thought of the beach at Gloucester, of course, where Vincent tried to drown himself, but-”

But that particular beach didn’t exist, since they’d done all their shooting in Rhode Island for tax reasons.

“-but then I thought I could do one better.”

“A photo?” said Matt again, a little desperately. The pill he taken with breakfast - ‘breakfast’ might have been a generous description, but with his morning coffee and kahlua, anyway - was wearing thin, and he would have given a finger for the chance to smoke a cigarette. Going cold turkey this week had been a mistake, no matter how much he liked being able to kiss Nico without brushing his teeth first. “We can take a - There’s a photographer right - ma’am, do you-”

She’d finally let go of his hand and was busily unscrewing the top of the urn.

“Ma’am,” said Matt, but he didn’t leap back in time. Slowed reflexes, another sin imparted by the cold turkey.

“This is for you, Milton,” said the woman sorrowfully, and upended the urn at Matt’s feet.

“Well,” said Matt later, brushing grey dust off his lapels, “I’ve had two proposals and one break-up at fan events, but I can say that was my first consecration of human remains. Slightly less awkward than the proposals, honestly. Kelsi, do you have a wet wipe? Or a vacuum?”

As the event manager hurried over with some hand sanitizer and a damp paper towel, Matt shot a glance at Katya, who was shaking helplessly in the corner with tears streaming down her face. “Kitty, if you don’t get me something to smoke and I mean now, I’m doing to sneeze Milton all over your McQueen.”

“I’ll see what I can rustle up at the crematorium,” said Katya, and dissolved into laughter once again.

#star boys #matt rose #katya walker #nico martin #jordie swift #bonus episode #craving star boys content? WAIT NO LONGER

[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. 

#text post #LeeH writes #kingsman fic #harry hart x merlin #not sure what else to tag rn #so lemme know if y'all want others added! #I'll figure out the tagging as I write the next part of this and the other fics I have in mind lol #eggsy is here too of course #like there's gonna be multiple plot threads of Harry and Merlin and stuff with Eggsy going on plus major Spy Problems #so I'll add tags in as we add in more threads lol