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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Serpent of Eden (Part 1 - Reid Series)

Maybe he stole her innocence. Maybe she never had any . . .

Summary: Reader’s one night stand with Spencer turns into a year-long semester. (yes, for all you PLL fans, this is largely based off of Ezra and Aria don’t @ me)

A/N: Strongly suggest listening to “From Eden” by Hozier while reading 😌 Couple: Fem!Reader x Professer Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, Angst, Series Content Warning: allusions to teacher/student relationship, age-gap, allusions to penetrative, public sex Word Count: 3k

BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO @andiebeaword @inkstainedwritergirl @thelovelyrose and @imagining-in-the-margins for their help with the title!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Babe

There's something tragic about you

I’d been absentmindedly humming the song as soon as I heard the opening tune, giving the song more attention than the impatient bartender in front of me who had to wave her hand in my face to bring me back to earth.

“Hello?” She set her weight on one hip, clearly annoyed with me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Just a water please.”

Mild humiliation manifested on my face, earning the concern of the stranger beside me.

“You okay down there?”

I laughed softly to mask my shame. “I’m a bit jet-lagged. I just got back from Europe.”

I hadn’t noticed him sitting there before, probably because I practically slept-walked into this place by happenstance, but once I answered him, my eyes naturally drifted in his direction. Consequently, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

He was charming in the most peculiar way. His hair was a mess of curls, that I positively adored for a reason I couldn’t quite figure out; a stark contrast to his clean suit that targeted my insatiable desire for sharply dressed men.

“Where in Europe?” He asked with genuine curiosity, sipping from a mug with steam floating out of it.

“Iceland.”

He raised his eyebrows in earnest surprise. “I heard it’s beautiful there.”

“It really is. The waterfall we visited was insane. Here, lemme show you a picture,” Pulling out my phone, I leaned over the seat between us to show him a photo I’d taken of the waterfall, not even realizing how close he was until I smelled his cologne. It was such a unique scent that I knew I could only ever associate it with him, even if I were to never smell it again.

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

I brushed aside the nervousness I felt from his close proximity and slid back into my rightful spot a seat away. “You should definitely go if you’re considering it. I’m planning on going back this summer.”

“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m definitely considering it.” He grinned, displaying a pair of dimples that made me weak. I let myself wonder if I was the reason he was considering going.

Unconsciously, I turned my bar seat fully towards him, showing that he had my undivided attention, and asked, “So do you go to Hollis?” Referring to the college just nearby that I attended.

“No, no. I graduated ages ago, but um, I work at Quantico.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“That’s right. I’m, uh, I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We specialize -”

“In building profiles for unidentified criminals. No, yeah, I totally know what you do! At the law firm I work at, the prosecutors use profiles all the time. That’s so cool that you do that.”

He wasn’t even mad that I’d interrupted him, no, he was glad. He smiled, looking almost proud of me.

No tired sigh, no rolling eyes

No irony

“So you work at a law firm?” His mouth hidden behind the rim of his cup.

Doing my best not to look at the way he licked the taste of coffee from his lips, I had to consciously keep my eyes steady on his as I answered. “Yeah, I do. There are like generations and generations of lawyers in my family, so I’m just continuing that tradition, I guess.”

The conversation paused for a moment again, while his stare lingering on me too long for comfort that I had to look away.

No "Who cares?", no vacant stare

No time for me

“I love this song.” I muttered under my breath, simply bringing it up to find a reprieve from his overwhelming gaze. From my peripheral, I caught him smirking, still staring.

“From Eden. B-32.”

Him simply knowing the jukebox number for the song felt like a sign.

Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

“Hozier wrote it in a tongue-in-cheek way from the point of view of the devil looking at something innocent and seeing it as a missing part. The song tries to woo a woman while admitting that the relationship would be deeply flawed.” He informed me.

“Wow, that’s beautiful. Almost makes me want a forbidden kind of love.”

Oh, had I only known the irony of my sentiment.

“He’s so good with his prose and poetry. It’s actually what inspired me to go to Iceland. I thought a change of scenery might be good for writing. Not much here in Virginia that’s quite like the beauty of Iceland,” I rambled, catching myself and consciously slowing down the rate of my words. “But um, I don’t write anything really good, just stuff that’s for me mostly.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

With the utmost nonchalance, he stood from his chair, sliding his drink down the bar with him as he took the empty seat closest to me. I tried not to let my vision drift from his face to his actions, in the same way that he kept his gaze firm on him while he spoke.

“Well, I tried writing, but I didn’t get very far. You’re lucky. If you’re writing for yourself, it’s true passion,” He paused to glance at his empty glass, like he was debilitating whether or not to say this next part. “Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

"Yeah. Sure. If you really want to.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” He chuckled. “You’re smart, you’re well-traveled - great taste in music. I’d like to know more about you.”

Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Maybe the flattery got to my head, but I couldn’t help the sudden surge of confidence bursting through my veins.

“I’d like to know more about you, too.” I confessed.

Needless to say, we didn’t waste another second getting to know each other.

Well, as much as you can get to know someone after you fuck them in the bathroom of a bar.

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

. . .

“And where have you been, young lady?” Holly asked, acting more like my mother than my roommate upon my return to the dorm.

“The Hollis Bar and Grill.”

“Doing what exactly?”

I would be remiss not to take up the opportunity for witty banter.

“Spencer.”

She rose from her seat at an ungodly speed to chase me down and force me to explain everything.

“Who is he?”

“Some guy.” I blankly answered, not finding it in my jet-lagged heart to recount every last detail.

“So is it just Spencer? No last name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask your one night stands for their last name?” I shot her an accusatory stare.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling this? A one night stand?”

My agreeing nod was interrupted with the ear-splitting squeal of joy that erupted from Holly.

“You had your first one-night stand!”

“Say it any louder, would you?”

“Sorry, I’m just so proud of you! My baby’s growing up.” Pretending to wipe tears from her eyes, Holly pulled me in for a hug. The only way I could manage to get out of it was if I promised to tell her every little thing in the morning when I was well-rested, and fingers crossed, less jet-lagged.

As promised, in the morning, I revealed to Holly all the details of the night before, including, but not limited to our thought-provoking discourse, his appearance, and his performance.

“At the end, he told me, ‘I will never forget you.’” I gushed to Holly.

And he definitely meant it, because after tomorrow, he most certainly would not.

. . .

The first day back from Spring Break is typically the hottest day of the year, and today was no exception. It was breaching the three-digit-degree mark, which is how you know it’s hot, but we were still forced to endure the cruel and unusual punishment of wearing a uniform anyway. One that consisted of a white button-up, a plaid pleated skirt, and some type of University cardigan over it.

Usually, this didn’t pose a problem, and I would comply, but we’d recently been hit by an ongoing heatwave that didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.

Even as I got ready in the morning, with my windows shut and the air conditioning blasting, I was sweating like a pig. I had a paranoid feeling that my makeup would melt and run down my face by the end of the day, so I sat in front of the fan to cool myself off. I struggled with my hair - not that I didn’t normally struggle to style my hair every day because my kinky curls weren’t exactly manageable. But I had no interest in straightening it because I knew the humidity would just return it to its naturally curly state anyway, so I settled for letting it run wild. I’d probably work up a sweat trying to style it at all, honestly.

As I packed the last of my things into my backpack, I finally slipped on my Uni cardigan over the rest of my uniform to complete it. I’d been delaying this part for the better part of an hour because I knew exactly what would happen the second I put it on. And just as I anticipated - I felt faint. My cheeks grew pink the minute I stepped out of my dorm; exposing myself to the sun that was visibly beating down on everyone in the courtyard.

“Y/N!”

Behind me was Christina, who was jogging to catch up with me. To be considerate, I stopped walking, giving me the opportunity to look at her wholly. She was only wearing the skirt and the button up, with her cardigan wrapped around her waist.

“Are you allowed to wear your cardigan like that?” I asked after she finally caught up to me.

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. Stick it to the man!” She threw up her fist into the air with a proud grin plastered on her face.

Ah, yes - stick it to the man. One of Christina’s favorite five-word mantras that she stuck by. The other being - we do what we want.

But, see, it was easy for her to say that because she never once faced repercussions for her actions. Take her hemmed skirt, for example. She shortened it by an inch - not allowed, by the way - but here she was, donning her hemmed skirt and receiving no punishment for it, not even earning a second glance from the campus security we just passed.

How she managed to get away with as much as she did was beyond me. The only way I could describe it was that she had this magical gift of invincibility - she could never get in trouble for breaking the rules, completely untouchable. But for me, I knew the second I acted out, I’d be sitting in front of the whole school board, begging them not to expel me. My luck was just that bad.

“You don’t always have to do what they say, you know?” Her words were tempting fate.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why do you always have to be such a goody-two-shoes? Why can’t you just let loose? You’ll have so much more fun.”

“But that’s just it - I’m not here to have fun, Christina! I can’t afford to mess around every day and break the rules. I’m not like you, okay? I actually had to work to get here.” My voice had taken on much more anger than the situation warranted, which I instantly regretted.

Her head cocked to the side in shock. “You don’t think I had to work hard?” Christina’s voice now matched my previous level of rage.

“I’m sor-”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you after class.”

Great.

I watched in lamentation as she briskly walked away from me, clearly upset.

As if today wasn’t bad enough.

Though I knew she wanted me to chase after her and beg for her forgiveness, I had much more important things to attend to. Plus, I trusted her word - she’d see me after class and I could apologize after then, but as for right now, I was going to keep my priorities in order.

As per usual, I was the first to arrive, and the following class, I was, too, and so on and so forth. Christina would’ve rolled her eyes at my timeliness, but I preferred being early than being late.

By lunch time, I hadn’t seen Christina since our minor altercation in the morning, but to my delight, when I reached our lunch spot in the grass, she was right there waiting for me, just like she always did.

“Hey, Chris. About earlier -”

“No need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you to break the rules. Come sit.” She patted a spot on the grass under the shady tree for me to sit on, but not even the voluminous leaves above could mask us from the sun.

It was noon now, probably the peak of heat, and I felt like I was being baked alive. Even the wind that passed through was a hot breeze, merely amplifying the humidity.

And perhaps I was compensating because I had a suspicion that Christina hadn’t truly forgiven me, but I started to peel my sweater off my body with the guise that I was doing it because I was burning up, and not because I was trying to get back on her good side.

She was speechless at first, but then she hit me with a cheerful, “Yeah!” While she clapped in approval, I took off my cardigan and unbuttoned the top few buttons.

I was almost enjoying myself and how rebellious I was being. It was very unlike me, but it felt nice not to care so much, but then I heard a voice too distinct to misplace.

“Ms. Y/L/N!”

Mine and Christina’s head both whipped around hastily to see Mrs. Whitman, who looked furious.

“That is against the dress code. You will report to room R-412 after school for detention. Do not be late.”

Lest I forget to mention, Christina was breaking the dress code, too, but again - her power of invincibility protected her - a power which I did not possess.

My jaw hung low in shock.

“Oh my god,” I turned to Christina, with my hand covering my mouth.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

I shot up from the grass, replacing my cardigan where it should be on my shoulders and buttoning the top few buttons of my shirt to regain some dignity.

“Where are you going?” Christina called out after I abandoned her at the table.

I didn’t answer, out of pure rage, not that it was Christina’s fault, but that I’d actually foolishly broken the rules - and enjoyed it.

The rest of the day was spoiled after that thanks to the impending doom of heading straight to detention after school was over.

Christina texted and called repeatedly to apologize, but it would be no use. I wasn’t necessarily mad at her, although it wouldn’t have been completely untrue to say that I was, but I was madder at the situation.

My humiliation was reinforced when after the final bell rang, I had to go against the grain of students, who were desperately filing out of the classes to return to their dorms, while I was headed for yet another “class.” I normally would’ve been one of those students, briskly shuffling out of a classroom with a million other people, trying to cram through a tiny door to leave, but now I was an outlaw, and I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

I found the room in no time, having studied the campus map until I knew it as well as the back of my hand. I even recognized the room number from when I asked my counselor for an application to audit Dr. Reid’s Criminology class, but I was declined acceptance, giving me all the more reason to hesitate to enter. I clutched onto the doorknob and lingered in the doorway, trying to find the nerve to walk in and commence my punishment.

With one exasperated exhale, I swung the door open and marched in with my head down and my tail between my legs. Taking a cursory glance, I didn’t see a teacher anywhere.

“Hello? Dr. Reid?”

My small voice ricocheted off the high ceilings and reverberated back to me, instilling me with the chills of being alone in this large, empty classroom.

I hadn’t yet taken a seat, mainly in case I needed to run for my life, I’d just need to pick up my feet instead of get up from a seat, but more so because I expected someone to be in here to instruct me on where to sit. I was more surprised that it was just me here and not anyone else, which made me reflect even harder on the idea that maybe I was the only one here because everyone else in this school had more discipline than me. But I also had to consider that the kids that were troublesome enough to land themselves in detention probably had no intention of suddenly abiding by the rules and showing up to detainment as they should.

Out of nowhere, I heard the clunk and thump of shuffling footsteps.

"Dr. Reid?”

From the stage I saw a figure emerge, briskly walking with a satchel crossed over their body and a coffee cup raised to their lips.

Those lips.

I’ve seen them before.

Flashbacks of the night before began replaying in my head at a million miles per hour.

“You okay down there?”

“Iceland.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“B-32.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

“I’d like to know more about you.”

I felt the ground sway beneath me when the source of his familiarity became glaringly apparent.

We simply stood there, gaping at each other like we couldn’t believe this was actually happening, totally, and completely speechless.

“Spencer?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

comment to be added to taglist!

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

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remythologise · 4 years ago

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sooo... unpopular supernatural opinion and honest thoughts on c*ckles?👀

shout out to the three separate anons who immediately asked this, mvps for wanting to decrease my follower count... we love a bit of blood sport in the arena

ok wildly varying levels of unpopular from mild to flaming hot:

meg’s character retcon is bad and I strongly dislike megstiel

I have not read The Most Famous Destiel Fic for more than one paragraph because it was too OOC but literally everything I know about it makes me feel like it should not a) hold the status it does and b) be a destiel fic

jack is one of the best things they ever did for the show and I’m glad he wasn’t a ‘baby’ when we meet him. everyone who acts like season 1-5 is the only ‘canon’ they accept has not fallen in love with jack which means either they have bad opinions or they haven’t watched the whole show

as previously stated, all fifteen seasons of supernatural should be considered canon*. unfortunately

lisa is boring however not as boring as amelia, which is a truly low bar. anyway I refuse to love all the women on supernatural for the sake of feminism because some of them just aren’t very interestingly written

you know how sometimes the fandom hive minds something into The Only Interpretation when that isn’t necessarily true? that but with the famous boner scene in 8.07, that dean is for sure hiding a boner is weirdly fixed despite that not actually being totally clearly the case**. like it’s fun as a joke but we all act like that is gospel truth sometimes when it’s just him being uncomfortable with something.

that demon!dean arc was cut short annoys me on a narrative level BUT frankly the writers seemed totally unable to do anything interesting with it anyway so if it was just going to be a whole season of jensen ackles acting slightly meaner than usual... that’s fine

I strongly think destiel fandom should look to carly rae jepsen rather than taylor swift for their pop girl lyrics taylor swift is the WRONG VIBE

I’m sort of grateful that waywards never happened because 1) all the good writers would have left to be on it, 2) there would be no canon destiel and 3) I don’t know if half that cast were particularly strong actors. and the wayward backdoor pilot was really not super interesting or well written. which reminds me,

robert berens episodes are sometimes very bad, and he is probably not the total friend/ally on the finale we all think he is

anael is great conceptually. dunno if that’s unpopular, does anyone hate anael? wish they’d explored her character in a more interesting way, she would have vibed so well with ‘hbo supernatural’ aka season 4-5

while obviously there are times the actors have great ideas and make really valuable contributions to scripts (misha, jensen and jared doing ALL the bookending legwork on 15.18 and 15.20) I do not think the actors should be in charge of their characters: misha would write tragedy (as he basically did), jared did not like saileen, and jensen reversed a line about dean reading the ‘game of thrones’ series in a robbie thompson episode to make dean sound dumber rather than unexpectedly smart.

ok that’s enough for now! re; cockles: to quote a certain tumblr user who I won’t name and shame, ‘they put the crown on netflix’. I personally don’t really ‘ship’ it*** and I can’t really read or endorse rpf fic (too uncomfortable!), but I do think outright policing people for having mild**** fun with rpf is going overboard. My serious take on their relationship is that misha’s friendship has genuinely impacted jensen’s life in a positive way and I think that’s really sweet.

*except for the episode with dean’s daughter which we don’t talk about **unlike that time at that con when... oh. you know ***however I’m not above observing and having a good laugh at ‘the gang is cockles truthing’ reblogs on my dash ****keep it far away from the public, actors and your objective perception of reality and you’re fine. misha reposted a cockles thread and kept using the word ‘cockles’ in things so like. lol

#ask #anonymous #kira for ts #spn spoilers #supernatural spoilers

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thecandywrites · 3 years ago

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Blood For Gold Chapter 14

Ha! You THOUGHT I had forgotten this but no. No. Not by a long shot. it's just getting GOOOOOD. Like intrigue, sit on the edge of your seat as you subconciously hold your breath, good. The plot thickens and it's getting complicated and dangerous and you're gonna love it! Just...love it.

@punkhorse96 gurl, this is for you. Enjoy.

Blood For Gold

Chapter 14

“So what caught that nose of yours so strongly tonight?” Benny asked as she stole into Sierge’s room and was in the process of eagerly disrobing him again.

“I couldn’t be sure.” Sierge shook his head, not wanting to disclose the secret his nose uncovered, although if push came to shove and it was either him attaining Benny or his brother attaining Audra and his happiness was the price of his brother’s, he would officially have enough to tip the scales in his favor. Although now that he had been close enough to Sultana Audravienne, he realized the secret to why the Sultana would have so much coin to throw around, she was obviously a private whore for the Red Velvet Rope. Living a double life and supplementing her income. By his calculations the Sultana could pull in hundreds, maybe even thousands of pounds, being a pure moura with marks like hers, anyone would be paying through the nose to see how extensive they were and if she were masked, no one would be any the wiser because of how “proper” English society was and how covered up they usually had to be, no one would ever see that much of Audra’s body to say one way or the other in polite society. But if the gossip columns got wind of it, she’d be done for.

That is how the Sultana enraptured his brother, they met on the train first, then went to The Red Velvet Rope where she was already latched onto Demsey through his cock and was making Demsey compete for her with the Dauphin, just another moura playing another game of cat and mouse or mice in a maze. All mouras were the same, except for his Benny, his perfect, brilliant Benyana. Who had captured his heart, mind and soul.

“I don’t believe you.” Benny practically sang as she pushed him down into the bed before she practically pounced on him and used her fingertips to both stroke and rake her hands all over his already marked body.

“Demsey’s whore at the Red Velvet Rope, I found her scent on another orc.” Sierge finally confessed as Benny continued to licentiously tease him.

“Well she’s a whore and her whorehouse was hosting the event, of course she was working, she has to make a living too.” Benny reasoned with a shrug as she started licking up his cock and could tell that wasn’t all Sierge had uncovered.

“So what else?” Benny prodded as used the tip of her nose to nuzzle his ballsack as his mostly hard cock layed over most of her face, the head already weeping and the sight threatened to pull every ounce of air from Sierge's lungs.

“Come on, you can trust me, tell me. Have I ever betrayed your confidence?” Benny encouraged before she used the tip of her tongue to split the two testicles as she licked from the back of his ball sack to the underside of his cock then licked all the way up to the tip, grinning as it got completely hard from her minstrations.

“No.” Sierge hissed as he fisted the bedding. Benny and that tongue of hers was something else. He loved it.

“Then tell me.” Benny offered before she swirled the head of his weeping cock with her tongue before flicking it and giving him a heated look of desire.

“She wasn’t there as a worker, she was there as a guest.” Sierge finally groaned when her mouth closed over his cock as she gave him a few good sucks as Benny giggled in her hum around him.

“And did you find her?” Benny asked as she used her hands to start massaging his thighs.

“Yes.” Sierge confessed as he felt like he was in heaven.

“And?” Benny pressed further.

“The resemblance is uncanny.” Sierge said, figuring that was the safest answer he could give.

“Then why did you sniff at Audravienne at the table and the other blue orc?” Benny asked as she used her breasts to squish around Sierge’s cock, the underside rubbing against her breastbone.

“Because I could smell her on him.” Sierge said.

“It was a crowded dancefloor, she could have brushed up against him.” Benny excused, trying to see how much Sierge would give up.

“Not unless she had sex with him on the dance floor, I could smell her sexual essence on him. On his pants particularly. It had been attempted to be wiped off, but her essence was potent and very fresh, less than an hour old.” Sierge admitted.

“Well she’s always had a thing for orcs.” Benny revealed.

“What do you mean by that?” Sierge asked as he rose to his elbows to look at her perplexed by her choice of words.

“My brother Leumeni? He used to get her off with his fingers and tongue a lot back in the stables, it hurt him something awful when she became a shakan and couldn’t return to them, never even returned any of his letters either in all that time.” Benny revealed.

“He what?!” Sierge asked as he sat up, feeling particular panic grip him for his sister Kiera’s sake because Kiera and Leumeni had gotten quite cozy themselves.

“What? That’s a norm back in the stables, most brothers get their sister’s friends off, mouras of all kinds have high sex drives, it keeps the moura’s “pure” as in no penile-vaginal penetrative sex but that doesn’t mean you can’t suck someone off or help them masturbate in turn, but the keiy point is, is, it’s just sex, no feelings, no strings attached, or that’s the way it’s supposed to be but not the way it is right now between us.” Benny giggled as she climbed into his lap and seated herself onto her prize.

“Does that mean that Kiera is in danger of Leumeni…” Sierge began.

“Oh no, wherever we are, we have to hold ourselves to the code of ethics and standards of where we are at the time. So since it’s not proper for a “lady” such as your sister to be in any compromising situation with a gentleman, Leumeni likes her enough that he won’t jeopardize her honor. Nor any of the other jewel orc counterparts. But you and I obviously have something much more precious and valuable than they do, don’t we? And it would be a shame if we didn't take advantage of every chance and opportunity to get as aquainted with each other as we can be, can we?” She coached as she held his face as her gaze held his as she was undeterred and rode him.

“That we do.” Sierge had to admit.

“Then don’t worry.” She reassured him before he fell back into the bed and let her ride him as she pleased.

Meanwhile in Demsey’s room.

“You have to tell her!” Tzane demanded of his eldest brother as Demsey was laying in bed with his arm over his eyes and just wanted rest more than anything, his body was spent, his mind was exhausted and his heart was torn in conflicting confusion.

“I will, when the time is right.” Dempsey reassured Tzane.

“And what’s wrong with right now?” Tzane pressed.

“She’s tired, just like I am. She’s already in bed, it would be inappropriate to go to her rooms, especially at this hour.” Demsey argued.

“Oh you say that, but yet we all know that Sierge isn’t staying alone in his room, we can all smell them on each other. But no one even bats an eye.” Tzane argued.

“That’s because the only thing Sierge cares about- is his own pleasure more than any woman’s honor, even a moura bride’s.” Demsey growled, frustrated that every time he closed his eyes he was seeing Miss Draft instead of Sultana Audravienne.

“If you don’t tell Audra now before the Dauphin and Dauphine push Ramsey to ensnare her to the point where she has no choice put to accept him, it will be too late and Audra will have to put up with sharing her partner with her brother of all people, it’s heartbreaking enough for a partner to be unfaithful, but that’s too much like incest for anyone.” Tzane pleaded.

“I know! That’s why when I get a chance to privately tell her, I will, so that she can protect herself from him and his family. Tomorrow, I will find a moment to tell her tomorrow and I will not rest tomorrow night until it comes to her attention, now please for the love of the gods and all that is holy, return to your own quarters and get some rest. Please, I beg of you.” Demsey pleaded.

“I will hold you to it.” Tzane insisted before he left and returned to his own room.

Meanwhile Calla had found her way into your rooms through the secret passages.

“Audra, there is something you need to know.” Calla insisted as she came over to your vanity where you were removing your makeup and wondering why you had put on gold glittering eyeshadow before you left but it seemed to have turned white and then black over the course of the evening, it was happening to more and more of your gold powder and glittered substances and it alluded you as to why it kept happening, it kept happening ever since Edward’s death and you didn't know what was happening but it was getting on your nerves.

“Is it about how Axal and Ramsey are lovers?” You guessed.

“You know?” Calla asked, shocked by the fact that you knew already.

“Of course I do, Axal told me about the attraction the moment they landed here and he’s been inseparable from Ramsey ever since and I understand if the sight of Ramsey sucking Axal off on the balcony above us caused a disruption to Tzane and Demsey, such kinds of relations are a bit taboo in this society but I had no reason to make a scene and embarrass anyone tonight by throwing a fit, although if push comes to shove and I’ll need that reason publically, I’m sure Axal will “confess” to everything to give me an out eventually. For now, I’m content to play blissfully ignorant until then. But you must swear to keep all that a secret, especially from anyone and everyone else.” You confided.

“So this...does not upset you?” Calla asked.

“No, why should it? I have no attachment to Ramsey and therefore no reason for jealousy, at this point such a union with Ramsey would be considered incest on account of Axal which is all the reason I need to dismiss Ramsey as a suitor and his attempts to woo me and I love Axal dearly and I want to see him happy and Ramsey seems to be able to do that quite nicely and honestly with Axal going to 3C’s, it makes quite a bit of sense. Axal has a solution to the “problem” and it should become realized soon. So all I have to do is wait and play along for now.” You told her.

“Oh.” Calla frowned as she considered all of that.

“So you and Tzane seemed to be quite the pair tonight, does he please you?” You asked her as you scooted over on your bench and patted it in invitation so she could sit next to you.

“He is the most noble and remarkable and brilliant gentleman in all of England.” Call sighed dreamily as a love drunk smile seemed to plaster itself on her face which brought a happy grin to yours before Calla started talking about how wonderful Tzane was.

Meanwhile back in your grandmother’s room, she was taking council with her daughter, her daughter’s mother in law, as well as your hier father’s wife and her mother along with the Dauphine herself as they had all passed around your original contract with Edward along with your contract with Richard as well as the reports of the stable master’s assessments of you after you had been reassessed after Edward’s death.

“This makes no sense.” Your mother said as she wiped the tears from her eyes, reading about the abuse you suffered.

“I think it makes perfect sense.” Maradiem, your heir father’s wife, and your "step mother" answered.

“Then explain it how you see it so that it makes sense.” Your mother demanded.

“What is missing about the reports is Jane. She was only 15 at the time, and is still at the absolute mercy of her monstrous parents. She was an innocent caught in the crossfire according to Audra and the only soft spot the Morrigans found to “push” because they ripped all the others away. Audra had no means of escape, she had no way to fight back. She was being watched at all times and drugged with mourkatili. Served at Jane’s hands no less. If Jane had any sense of self preservation, she of course would play the innocent wounded, weakling to Audra, beg for Audra’s compliance so that she wouldn’t get hurt from Audra’s point of view but also play the compliant pawn to her parents to keep herself from actually suffering their "abuse" which I'm sure was just a show for Audra's sake. And while the Morrigans found that if they appeared to punish Jane, because Audra herself was too strong to defeat by any other means, they used Jane to emotionally manipulate her and dupe her into anything. Jane still, could have reached out to the stables, she could have reached out to any number of people at all the balls or anything she went to, she could have sent a private message to the stables to intervene if she really had Audra’s best interests at heart and wanted to protect Audra as much as Audra protected her. As it stands now, if Audra dies, it is Jane who is Audra’s beneficiary. All that money and wealth, goes to Jane if something happens to Audra.” Avania, Sylvar’s mother explained as Maradiem nodded her agreement to that explanation.

“Exactly.” Maradiem nodded.

“And I have dispatched Charlotte to get the truth from Jane, Charlotte is quite good at gaining trust and gaining invaluable intelligence, she is far more intelligent than she lets on, she is with Jane now, in the gardens and is gathering intelligence as we speak and has been since she came here. Plus, it’s been no mistake that Countess Agnes Morrigan has always had her eye on Ramsey for Jane herself and with Audravienne out of the way and with Jane inheriting all that Audra has, even that would be enough for Gregori or Ramsey to reconsider.” Yalin confessed.

“But as it stands now, Audra’s body has been poisoned or "tainted" as you would view it, to the point that any chance of her producing an heir is naught and any designs that Gregori or Ramsey have about her producing an heir for your family is not feasible.” Your mother Jodhaa voiced.

“Yes, both Gregori and Ramsey will have to consider that Audra even trying to conceive could endanger her life. And I will speak with them about it myself.” Yalin readily agreed.

“I think we need to reach out to Audra’s paid companions, bring them here and question them and see what they know and question all of Audra’s servants, the ones that followed her from Broadcove are especially suspicious.” Loreiris insisted.

“As it stands, Scotland Yard is at Broadcove and at Mirador. And we have hired Bellfast, who is a mage- and they are especially keen with everything magical and they can conjure up everything that has transpired. And what I heard from them only this morning- is Broadcove was under two spells. The second was placed by Audravienne, to turn all the mirrors and paintings in Broadcove into scene catchers, and the first however was performed by a wizard- Lemark under Richard’s decree, so that no messengerari- would work on the grounds and the lightning rod on top of the house is a form of signal disturbance that affects not just the house but until the very grounds that Broadcove sits on, even their neighbors have difficulty but have never thought that the problem would be with Broadcove and Scotland Yard in their in their investigation have found that at least three men in the postal system have been hired to catch all of Audra’s mail and all mail addressed to Audra and they themselves disposed of it but as of right now- those letters are being rebirthed into existance by Bellfast. Each one will come with a high cost- of course it will be demanded of the Morrigans to pay for. So we do have solid evidence of Richard tampering with all communications.” Yalin divulged as she pulled the letter out from her pocket and passed it around for the others to read.

“So Richard made it so that Audra couldn’t reach out and from that, obviously Jane could not reach out either. Audra fired back with making everything else in the house a catcher- basically a messengerari that was set to record everything.” Jodhaa smiled in relief as did most of the others.

“It appears so, yes, but it’s all protected by a password. If they can crack the password, they can get access to it, or if Audra will be so kind as to provide the password, a case can be built starting tomorrow so that after the komoba battle- we can go straight to court.” Yalin grinned.

“Clever, clever girl, that’s how the stable masters could know of the abuse. Not only did they have Audra’s word, but they must have seen the proof of it with their own eyes. A catcher is just as good as a messengerari.” Maradiem realized.

“And catchers and messengerari’s both hold up in our court system as proof. As long as there is no sign of tampering, it all can be submitted and taken as gospel.” Yalin insisted.

“Now if you’ll excuse me it is quite late, we need to retire and get at least a few hours of sleep tonight.” Yalin urged them before they all got up and went their separate ways as Charlotte was already waiting in her mother’s room dressing room to tell her what she had found out from Jane but one look at her Lottie and she could immediately tell something was wrong.

“Audravienne’s case can not be allowed to make it to court.” Lottie insisted as her eyes glossed with tears.

“What? Why?”

“Because Jane has uncovered the plot to bring Audravienne into this family. And if the case goes to court- Audravinne and Jane will be assassinated to cover up the plot.” Lottie urged her mother, her own panicked tone giving Yalin pause and worry.

“By the Morrigans? They’ve already tried to kill Audra with mourkatili and failed, but why would they try to kill their own daughter? That doesn’t make any…” Yalin shook her head no.

“No- not by the Morrigans, but...but by Father.” Lottie blurted.

“What are you talking about?” Yalin asked as Lottie’s tears began to fall and she started trembling.

“Count Edward Morrigan was poisoned with Wolf’s Eye. That’s what made him go crazy to begin with. That’s what made him abusive to Audravienne and what got her that shakan status. When Richard and Agnes discovered it, they thought it was Audra, but it wasn’t, she was innocent and had no knowledge or involvement and Jane has proof of Audravienne’s innocence but her parents did not believe Jane and believed that Audra had brainwashed Jane into thinking Audra was innocent, the reason they bought that mourkatili was revenge for Edward. Father poisoned Edward and killed Edward so that Audravienne could marry Ramsey quicker. Jane knows that Audra is innocent, she also knows of father’s involvement and if it goes to court, Jane knows that it will be the death of not just Audravienne but herself if not her whole family to cover up father’s involvement. That’s why it can’t go to court. What has already been done is all that can be done, if any further steps are taken- the implications would ruin everyone involved, even us, especially us.” Lottie revealed as Yalin had to sit down and clutch her middle and fight not to throw up.

“Doesn’t father’s actions make more sense than ever? Father is so desperate to get Ramsey married that he murdered Count Edward to make it so once Ramsey had chosen Audra at the oddly convenient time of her wedding. But now that Audravienne is tainted with mourkatili, she can’t produce heirs and Count Edward died for nothing. If they move forward with the court case, and all is revealed- we could lose everything.” Lottie urged her mother as Yalin started crying as fear and panic gripped her own chest.

“Say nothing for now, to anyone, not even father or your brother. Do not let on that you know any of this. Maybe there is still a way to hang the Morrigans on the mourkatili and prove Audra’s innocence and leave it at that.” Yalin insisted as she fought to find her composure.

“But what is worse is I fear that Axal will meet the same fate. Axal has caught Ramsey’s eye and heart from what I can tell and Ramsey will never let Axal go so that he can embrace Audra and Audra has no wish for Ramsey, it’s plain for everyone to see. But I know that Father is unyielding and Father will make her choose Ramsey if she doesn’t want her own neck in a noose because he could as very well put the poisoning on Audravienne, father has the ability and connections to tamper with the evidence and then turn that tampering on Audravienne, it could be “proved” that she was the one to kill him via Wolf Eye, once things are tampered with- it’s all ruined.” Lottie professed.

“And with Charlico mated to Heavencrest, there is no escape for Audra. She can’t flee to the colonies because Charlico will find Heavencrest, the way all mated pairs of griffins do. Audravienne is trapped, whether she knows it or not but Father will make her aware of it. It’s just a matter of time. And father can always just buy one of Ramsey’s other lovers, have them moved into the palace and pass off their children as Audra’s children to make them legitimate heirs and lock Audra away to make it seem like she becomes pregnant.” Lottie fretted.

“But that means that Audra will be just another prisoner, just another pawn like before. She will be miserable and will drink herself to death, she has enough self respect to not put up with it. It won’t work. If she can not find happiness and contentment, she will be gone. And I swore to her I would protect her from another life like that. And I have every intention of keeping my word.” Yalin insisted.

“But what can we do?” Lottie asked.

“I don’t know, but we will think of something.” Yalin reassured her daughter.

“For now, just...try to get some sleep, and watch over Jane and Audra and Axal. Don’t let any harm come to any of them, make sure to be the first to eat and drink everything offered to them, your own moura genes will protect you, as will the servants. I will find a solution as fast as I can.” Yalin swore to her daughter before she saw her daughter out and then got undressed and retired to her own bedroom where her husband was already fast asleep as Yalin slipped into bed with him and stared at him wearily, if not with fear and a good healthy dose of mistrust.

For all of their marriage they had both loved and admired the other’s cunning and ability to play intrigue better than anyone else in court and in business so that they always came out on top. But she never would have thought her husband capable of actual murder and if Gregori had poisoned Edward, she knew that with Audra being so close and so “attainable” he wouldn’t stop there. Gregori would absolutely kill Axal, he would kill Jane, he would even kill Audra if it meant that his own deeds would never be known and her own family would be torn if not beyond ruin if it was found out. She needed to encourage Demsey Voyambi to take Audra as a bride for himself sooner than later because it was clear to her that he had a deep affection for her and she knew him capable of truly loving her and giving her the loving home life she so desperately wanted. And she needed to find another option for Ramsey that would tempt Gregori off of Audra. Come the morning, she would be talking to Axal herself to find another solution and everyone would just have to accept that nothing more could be done in your case.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Chapter 14 #regency era orc drama #regency era orc #mouras #regency era #exo #exophillia #the plot thickens #oh but the ringer #the kicker #will hopefully sucker punch you #and give you whiplash #hopefully #if I have given you the proper hints #and you've been paying attention to the little details #you can figure it out

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

The Golden Boy

hey look i finally finished that fic i’ve been giving sneak peeks about for months

warning: past child abuse, sexual content

ao3

In Bacchus Year 9 (Earth year 1782), Antar and Earth signed a peace treaty.

The treaty meant requiring many social gatherings on either planet, kind gestures between royals, and many public statements against prejudice of each other's people. It even led to Earth assisting the rebels during the Antarian Civil War in Bacchus Year Final (Earth Year 1834), stating proudly that they signed the treaty for the people, not the monarchs. As one would assume, that line went over fantastically with the public.

They heavily supported the rise of King Atlas Gudrun, a man of great people skills and desire to help, in Gudrun Year 0 (Earth Year 1844). The Gudrun family (which had been anglicized on Earth to Guerin) had been ruling on Antar ever since and had always done their best to keep up their loyal companionship with Earth and its leaders.

It all led to this moment in Gudrun Year 176 (Earth year 2020) where Prince Michael of Antar, fourth of his name, son of King Heinar, known for his charm and wit, had Prince Alex, first of his name, adoptive son of King James Valenti, known for his intellect and beauty, completely strung out and naked against sheets made of the finest Antarian silks.

"How long until the little pest makes you leave?" Michael asked softly, trailing his fingers over the dip of Alex's slightly crooked collarbone. Alex's eyes were closed and his lips were parted and if Michael didn't know any better, he'd think he was asleep. But he did know better and he knew he was simply in a state of bliss that only occured in moments like this.

Their one off tryst had actually occurred more than once, but it wasn't frequent enough to call it a thing. They saw each other a few times a year if they were lucky and could steal a few hours each time to sneak away. If they were supremely lucky, they could even take a night. They weren't this time.

"He said we have until six before we have to be taken to get ready for dinner," Alex whispered, not bothering to correct him for calling his brother a pest while slowly turning onto his side and letting his forehead hit Michael's shoulder. Michael pouted.

"I miss you already," he admitted stupidly, combing through Alex's long hair. He'd seen a picture of him with it all shaved off and had met him when it was short, but apparently he hadn't cut it at all since he'd been given the title of prince. Michael didn't mind.

"You come to Earth in a month, don't you? Ask to stay longer, I’m sure we could easily explain away a reason you should stay in my home," Alex whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"If you come up with a good reason for me, I'll do it. I'm bad at excuse making," Michael grumbled. Alex smiled and lifted his hand, his cold fingertips pressing to Michael's cheek and his lips.

"I'll cause a national disaster if it means getting you alone for one night," Alex said. Michael stared for a moment before grabbing him and rolling him into his back, stealing a series of slow, deep, open mouthed kisses that only came so easily because they were with him.

Michael adored the way Alex grabbed at him, hands never staying one place too long because he wanted to touch everywhere. He wanted to remember everywhere. He wanted him in his entirety. He could never find the words for how it made him felt to be wanted so strongly if only for a night.

"Please never leave," Michael begged against his skin. Alex said nothing.

Instead, the bedroom door was very rudely and unceremoniously thrown open. Michael instinctively covered Alex’s bare skin and looked towards the doorway. On the other side, Michael's guard, Adonis, stood with his back to them in some silly act of respect while Kyle stood with his arms crossed while looking really irritated. He walked in farther and closed the door behind him. Or, tried. Adonis stuck his hand to block it from closing entirely. He trusted Alex to be alone with the prince. Kyle was still earning that.

"Get up, we have to go get ready," Kyle said. He had no shame, truly, as he sat on the bed. Michael fell face first into the pillows and groaned. "Excuse you, I'm doing you a favor."

"You're interrupting," Alex corrected, tan fingers idly rubbing over Michael's shoulder.

"I disagree. I think I just lied to two fucking monarchs that we three princes were going to be hanging out and doing princely things when, in reality, I was playing some fucked version of Go Fish with Adonis while you two snuck away for your intergalactic booty call," Kyle explained. Michael groaned even more.

"How vulgar must you be?" he asked. Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you wanna go there? I've seen your U-Mails to Alex. 'Oh, how I long to get your mouth on my–'"

"Enough!" Alex silenced him, shifting to a sitting position. Michael wanted to cry that it was over so soon. Especially when they still had to sit across the table from each other and pretend he hadn't just had him to himself. "Leave and let me get dressed, then we can go."

"Finally," Kyle groaned, patting Michael on the back before he went, "Good to see you, Prince Sexual Frustration."

The door closed if only because Adonis insisted on the prince being kept away from anyone who might catch him in a vulnerable state. Alex took the opportunity to move back for a few more kisses, all of them feeling more and more like goodbye. He remembered a time when he didn't mind goodbyes. Now they felt like a death sentence.

“Stop pouting,” Alex told him softly as he slowly weaned him off his lips, “This isn’t the end of the night. I’ll still see you at dinner and I still don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

“But you leave so early,” Michael whined, “And at dinner, there’s people.”

Alex traced a finger from Michael’s temple down to his jaw, moving his thumb up between their mouths. He gently grazed Michael’s bottom lip before pushing down on the sore skin.

“I’ve read countless articles about all the wondrous things you say, how well spoken you are, how you can charm anyone to their knees in four languages,” Alex said, voice hot, “If only they could see the way you beg.”

Michael huffed a sad laugh, knowing Alex was trying to distract him from his sad thoughts and deciding to play along. Alex pushed his face away and went to get up. Michael pushed himself off the bed and caught Alex’s bicep, unskillfully pulling him down on top of him.

“You are the only one allowed to see me beg,” Michael said. Alex smiled at him, honest and bold as ever. He laid his weight on Michael completely, trusting him not to treat that little act with anything but kindness. It was the most beautiful thing Michael had ever been given.

He went to move up for another kiss, but he was horrifically sidelined when Alex dodged him and pushed him back into the bed to get himself up. Michael remembered the first time Alex had pushed him. His first reaction had been anger that a silly little Earth man would dare to touch him that way. But his second reaction had been absolute delight when he realized he’d only been pushed because Alex wanted him against the wall. They were so young then. Somehow, things hadn’t really changed.

Alex got out of bed and grabbed the prosthetic leg that he somehow didn’t mind Michael seeing him without. He moved with agile fingers to put it back on in record time before he stood and stretched his body out in objectively the most unfair way that existed. He was long and lean, muscular and tan. And he was covered in scars. No two scars were more than a hands-length apart, Michael had tried. He kept them hidden usually and he kept their origin firmly to himself (including how he lost his leg), but Michael had been blessed with the sight of them. They were 16 the first time they kissed in the halls of the palace, but 18 before he saw Alex’s body in its full glory. It was a small gift, but one that he treasured on nights he felt more alone than he could bear.

“Stop staring at me like I’ve just ruined your entire day,” Alex laughed as he pulled on those ugly clothes that Earth called formal. His pants were a stiff, tan fabric and his shirt was an equally stiff white thing that buttoned up all the way up to hide his collarbone. The clothing was ugly, but the man inside was beautiful and it simply made him look neutral. How decidedly boring.

“Oh, what the hell is that?” Michael scoffed.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what a belt is,” Alex said, giving him a fond smile as he pulled the folded thing from the deep pocket of his pants. He hadn’t been wearing it when Michael got him alone.

“Yes, but where did it come from?”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t remove it so I wouldn’t waste time when I saw you,” Alex said, flashing a cocky little smile and it reminded Michael all over again why his people had been so okay with making him an eligible heir despite his lack of birthright. How could anyone deprive a face like that of the entire world? “But don’t worry. You and your mother both find Earth clothing to be a personal insult, so I’m sure they’ll have something nice and alien for me to wear.”

And they did. Michael had gotten his sister to see to it that they put Alex in gold if only for his personal enjoyment. Soon, he’d be in loose, silk pants and a long-sleeved, knee-length tunic that happened to be a very specific shade of gold that would probably make it difficult to focus at dinner but it would be worth it. Typically, their tunics would have a deep v-cut neckline (Michael’s in particular going to his navel as a show of both his age and his marriage status) but he knew Alex and he knew he didn’t like his scars on display, so he made sure they knew to keep it more modest and to also have an option to put something beneath it if he wasn’t comfortable. It was the least he could do.

With a flick of his wrist, Michael fastened the upper half of the buttons on Alex’s shirt so he could steal a few more seconds to kiss him. Alex rolled his eyes, but he went along willingly as Michael got to his hands and knees on his mattress and crawled over to him. Alex shook his head and caught his face in his hand, guiding him up and giving him a kiss that truly was too explicit to mark the end.

“After everyone goes to bed, I’ll get Luke to sneak me to Adonis,” Alex whispered, ignoring the sound of Kyle’s sudden annoyed knocking. Michael nodded in his grasp and turned his face to press a kiss to his palm. That should’ve been an unscarred place, but there was an unmistakable line of discolored, raised skin down the middle. Michael kissed it without fear or disgust and Alex pressed his hand against his mouth in approval. “I plan to make it so you won’t be able to walk in the morning.”

Michael laughed, “People will talk.”

“Let them.”

“You know,” Kyle said, busting in again and Adonis quickly stood in the doorway after his entrance to shield whatever incriminating position Alex and Michael might be in, “You two take more time to get dressed than it takes a majority of people in existence.”

“Blame the leg,” Alex said simply, his smile cocky as he pulled away from Michael. He kissed the tip of his nose and patted his cheek in the most loving way he could. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Never.”

“I’m gagging,” Kyle said in a monotone voice. Alex rolled his eyes and let his hands slip off of Michael, leaving him cold and lonely despite being far from alone. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be asked questions I can’t answer without incriminating myself.”

“We’re going,” Alex said, already following him to the door. He spared Michael one last look and a wink before disappearing with Luke, the final person who knew what was going on between them.

Luke, Adonis, and Kyle only knew out of necessity. It was sort of an unspoken agreement between royal bodyguards and the royal children they looked after that they cover up every stupid decision they made as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone. Michael figured he could actually make an argument that this did hurt him, but that seemed frivolous at best.

“Get up, little prince, you’ve got to get ready for dinner,” Adonis said as he entered the room once Alex and Kyle were gone. Michael pouted and dramatically fell backwards against the bed. Adonis chuckled under his breath.

“Don’t call me little,” Michael said half-heartedly, easily slipping out of English and into his native tongue.

“I’ve been watching over you since you were small enough to get lost beneath your bed,” he said, “You will always be little to me, little prince.”

Michael glared at the ceiling. While he knew Adonis was right, he didn’t feel little. He knew, objectively, he was nearly 21 and he was nowhere near getting any kind of responsibilities outside the ones he had. Max was the one joining the military, Isobel was the one training to be queen, Michael was the baby who was left to do little more than indulge in his desires without consequences and be the face of the younger generation. He was friendly and charming and had women and men alike all screaming their appreciation for his face and his body and his smile all over the internet. He liked that attention and he liked just being able to go to parties and have fun and have people he met make posts about how fun it was to hang out with the prince. His father didn’t exactly approve, but it didn’t matter when the people did. They liked that he was young and real and approachable.

But there was something about Alex that made him feel more like a man than he could put into words. Alex was a few months younger than him, but he had seen more than Michael could imagine. He didn’t party, he didn’t drink, he didn’t do anything that could be a sign of weakness. He was beautiful, but he was a brilliant strategizer and worked closely with his adoptive father for many important decisions regarding the ruling of the kingdom. Kyle was the one who was approachable; Alex could barely spare a kind smile to the press and adoring people. People still liked him, but it wasn’t a secret he was straight-edged and hardened. Michael seemed to be his only vice. It was so… adult.

“Must I affiliate myself with foreign monarchs over food?” Michael asked helplessly, “Isn’t it enough to simply blow his son in my free time?”

Adonis sighed, but he seemed as amused as he always was when it came to Michael.

“Words to live by, little prince.”

“I’m judging you so hard right now.”

“Like I care.”

Kyle groaned and rolled his eyes as Luke followed them to their quarters. The Antarian royal family had a lot of land they resided on that had a secure gate around it, but they didn’t really believe in castles. Instead, it was a bunch of houses and special rooms, all connected by paths that were lined with well tended to gardens.

“What’s even the point? Like, is this gonna amount to anything, or am I expected to die with this secret?” Kyle asked. Alex shrugged his shoulders dismissively. He and Michael didn’t talk about serious things. They were princes and dealt with so much bullshit. They kept each other as a safe place to unwind. “Great, I am expected to die with this.”

“It comes with the title, Your Highness,” Luke said simply. Kyle tilted his head back as he groaned again. Alex simply shook his head in amusement.

When they got back to the visitor’s quarters, three people were waiting for them to help them into their Antarian garb. There were a few different styles for different royal occasions, but, as visitors, they were typically given standard tunics. He remembered one visit when Michael had him sent special robes and wraps his way, ones like he wore when he was feeling extra, and he’d gotten so confused in trying to put it on that they now always sent an extra hand to make sure they wore it correctly. As confusing as they were, though, Alex was sure he would know how to put them on now. He’d taken them off Michael enough times.

“Thank you,” Alex said graciously as he accepted the fabrics. He went into his own room to change and would return back to let them make their adjustments. He wasn’t a big fan of people seeing his body. That meant questions and he wasn’t keen on answering those.

He laid the fabrics out on the bed so he could see what he was working with. As always, since he was 18, all of it was golden. Michael had some weird obsession with him in gold, but he never asked why. He thought it looked nice enough on him.

The tunic had intricate leaf-like patterns embroidered into it that Alex couldn’t even begin to understand how long it took to achieve, but the pants were thankfully plain. Then there was a golden silk wrap and he smiled at whoever paid that much attention to detail. He grabbed it first and stood in front of the mirror as he wrapped it around his chest, covering any scars the low cut tunic might expose.

There were very few people who had seen those scars, most of which were purely out of an inability to hide them. If someone had told him when he was being tended to after losing his leg that one of those people awarded the visual of his skin would’ve been an Antarian Prince, he would’ve laughed in their face. His father had hated the Antarians more than he hated Alex. He was supposed to stay away.

But then the king got involved, Jim Valenti creating a huge uproar as he worked to change the rules that would mean Alex could be an eligible heir. And now he was. Which meant he had to work with Antarian officials at the ripe old age of fifteen, suddenly going from a maimed soldier to a pretty little prince. The first year seemed to be full of rigorous re-training of his brain to be good at the social part of things. The second year he was brought to Antar for the first time.

He distinctly remembered the first time he saw Michael, young and carefree and absolutely shameless. He had outwardly chosen Alex to fawn over for the extent of their stay, constantly sending smiles and winks and batting his eyelashes. He leaned too close when they talked and kept offering to show him where things were. Alex had disliked his abrasiveness to the point that, the closer he got, the more it set off his fight or flight reflexes. He almost hit him three times before Michael seemed to get the memo.

When the Antarian royal family traveled to Earth for their public appearances, Michael was much more tame. Unlike the rest of his family, he’d opted out of donning more of Earth’s style of clothing. There was something so bold about the way he walked around in his wraps and robes, all of it loose and seemingly hanging onto him just barely. It had exposed a good portion of his chest and his arms, even his thighs if he walked a certain way. Earth was too hot to cover more, he’d said. That’s when Alex really saw him. He was annoying as all hell, but he would be damned if someone tried to shame him into changing himself even for a moment. Alex had kissed him before he went home which was absolutely Alex’s fault. It was his favorite mistake.

“Gold always looks good on you,” Fides said as Alex walked back into the main room. He smiled his thanks and she led him to a chair to fix his face and his hair. She was the only one he trusted near him with all the tools that it took to make him look nice enough for the queen.

It seemed to be an hour before she was done, but it was worth it. Alex’s hair was braided into intricate six-strand braids that made a makeshift crown around his head and other tiny ones throughout the rest of his hair while the majority of it stayed down and was loosely curled where it rested against his shoulders. His eyes had thick and bold black eyeliner that seemed to bleed into gold eyeshadow which led to a leaf-like design that matched the pattern of his tunic that stretched to his sideburns, over his cheekbones, and above his eyebrows. His lips only had a thin layer of gloss over them, but he looked good and a part of him wondered if Michael would agree.

He knew he would.

“Thank you, Fides,” Alex said. She gave him a sweet smile and packed up her things. It was in Antarian’s blood to touch, but Fides respected Alex’s taste for it and, although he gave her permission to do his makeup, didn’t push him for more. It made her one of his favorite people.

It seemed achingly long before Kyle was done. He had a similar get-up to Alex, but his short hair was left alone and his face was more of just glittery and not in any particular design. It wasn’t long before their stylists excused themselves and went to do whatever they did in the main house. Alex and Kyle collapsed on the couch in time to Alex’s phone dinging to signify a U-Mail. He flipped through fabric to find which discreet pocket he’d slipped it into.

Eventually, he found it and he put effort into keeping his face straight as he sat Michael’s screen name cross his screen.

definitelynottheprince: My bed is cold and yet smells like your skin. It is the cruelest combination that has ever existed. How am I expected to be presentable at dinner while being mocked by the fabric that refused to keep your body in it’s grasp? My heart aches.

Alex somehow managed to keep his face seemingly uninterested despite the fact he wanted to both smile and make fun of him for being melodramatic.

HRH.AMV: You’re incorrigible.

Michael’s response wasn’t in English, but Alex was thankful it wasn’t if the few words he could pick out from his shotty language classes taught him anything. He understood the words floor, bed, week, and what was technically spoon but was slang for something that Alex knew had to be vulgar. Michael had a way with words in all four languages he knew and all of those ways were melodramatic and raunchy.

HRH.AMV: Does a moment ever pass where you’re not thinking about sex?

definitelynottheprince: Who says I’m thinking about sex?

HRH.AMV: I know you.

definitelynottheprince: You do. Then you should know the things I want to do with you aren’t all sexual.

It was one tiny word that made Alex’s blood run hot and he locked his phone so he didn’t have to think about it. With. Not to. He couldn’t explain why that was so exhilarating.

“Are you seriously making plans to get laid again already?” Kyle asked, “Literally how? Who has the stamina for all that?”

“Clearly not you,” Alex shot back. Kyle made a face mockingly.

“I just don’t get it,” Kyle sighed in exasperation, “Like, if it was Isobel, I’d get it.”

“So you’re homophobic?”

“No, let me finish,” Kyle scoffed and Alex waved him on while Luke watched with a bemused expression from where he leaned against the wall, “Isobel, I get it. She’s hot and could probably crush me. Max, I kinda get it, he’s nice and has that whole good-boy-soldier thing going for him. But Michael? The dude is known for being chill, I get it, but he loses all the charm when you see him five minutes after a party and he’s throwing up in the garden. Or how about the fact that he refuses to learn my name and just refers to me as the pest.”

“In his defense, you are a pest to him,” Alex pointed out.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sorry, I failed to hear a question.”

Luke snorted and Kyle fixed Alex with a look. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to get out of him. Alex had never been a secret-sharer, even when they were young and played toy soldiers in the little yard outside the palace. That had only gotten worse as Jim Valenti became king and, instead of listening to his former right hand man Jesse Manes, had him publicly tried for war crimes. His tight-lipped nature extended to his personal relationships, much to Kyle’s dismay.

“The question was how did you get involved with him in the first place? Because I’ve been trying to figure out how you two even get along since you started hooking up two years ago,” Kyle said, voice so honest Alex didn’t bother pointing out that it had been much longer than two years and Kyle just hadn’t noticed. “Just… make it make sense.”

Alex rolled his neck and tried to think about what exactly it was about Michael that made it hard to look away from him but also made it easy to go so long without speaking. As attached as they were when they were on the same planet and as much as they communicated in the weeks before and the weeks after, there were typically multiple days they went without so much as a word between them. They did their own duties and this thing they had found themselves in wasn’t a part of that. Michael spun romantic words for him, but Alex wasn’t his only pastime and probably never would be.

“He’s…” Alex trailed off, trying to find the words and settling on something that did the man no justice, “Simple.”

“Simple as in stupid?” Kyle asked dully.

“Simple as in not a problem,” Luke corrected.

“Simple as in he doesn’t ask questions,” Alex finalized. He meant it to be sort of lighthearted, but Kyle turned to him with concerned eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but quickly decided to answer himself with another question, “You mean he doesn’t know about‒”

“No,” Alex said dismissively, carefully pushing himself to his feet and subtly checking his balance, “And he never will. We have dinner to attend to.”

Alex sort of checked out mentally for his own good after that, the walk to the dining hall and finding their seats completely a blur. He only seemed to come back to consciousness when Michael made his grand entrance. His robes and wraps were a dark red, hardly hanging onto his body as always. It exposed his chest more than anything else, the dangerous placement exposing the beginnings of the trail of hair beneath his navel. His head was held high, a thin gold band sitting atop his perfect curls. His eyes had cloudy red makeup surrounding them and his lips were painted gold. Alex smiled carefully to himself as he admired him.

Kyle was really the only one who actually looked forward to the food Antar had to offer. Alex didn’t hate it, but he would choose a pot of mac and cheese over the under-cooked meat of an animal that had no English name. Michael had tried to teach him how to say it, but it had way too many syllables and way too many consonants that Alex just couldn’t keep up. He’d just laughed and kissed him and never brought it up again.

“So, Prince Alex,” the smooth voice of Michael’s mother, the queen, said in her thick accent, capturing his attention. Queen Celeano (Lady No if she liked you) was a beautiful woman, but if that’s all someone took her for, they’d be sorely mistaken.

She ran things more than her husband did, her iron fist impossible to ignore. She was fiercely protective of her children and rightfully skeptical of everyone who entered her home. But she seemed to like Alex. She never raised her voice or gave him that demanding tone she used on everyone else. The tone she used on him was motherly and made him eager to please her. When he was alone, he envied that Michael got that tone of voice from her all the time.

“Michael said you were in school. Are you going to classes with other people or do you have a tutor?”

“Oh,” he said, shifting in his seat and hoping he was presentable enough for her, “Both. I go to only one class in a school every week, typically. I do like being there, but it’s difficult to balance everything with adding travel time and dealing with the stress of being in a crowded area.”

“Of course,” Lady No said, smiling, “And you’re doing well? It’s not easy I'm sure."

"I'm doing well. I'm studying poly-sci and I'm focusing on international relations right now," he explained. Alex's eyes involuntarily slid to Michael, watching him hide his smile by shoving food into his mouth with a two-pronged fork.

"Good. And languages, are you working on learning ours?" Lady No asked, seemingly oblivious to her son's antics. When Alex said he was, she followed it with a sentence in her own tongue that Alex could hardly decipher.

"...no?" he answered half-heartedly. Every Antarian in the room chuckled to themselves and Alex tried not to be offended by that.

"I asked if you were interested in becoming fluent," she said, still smiling easily, "I'm sure it'll come eventually."

"If he was here more often, I could make him learn,” Michael said boldly.

"But obviously that's a bigger discussion to have," Alex covered quickly, hoping for an underlying message of ‘I care about your son but I’m not trying to destroy his innocence I swear’.

"Yes, a bigger discussion," Lady No said, nodding.

"Maybe you could convince him into doing more schooling. I'm sure it'd sound better coming from you," King Heinar said gruffly. Michael gave an award-winning smile to his father which just earned a sigh.

The rest of the dinner went by slowly, but Alex's mind already started coming up with ways to make that suggestion a reality.

Michael was giddy after dinner and he found himself pacing his room while waiting for Alex.

Within the hour, there was a knock on Michael’s bedroom door and he opened it to find Adonis and Alex.

“Thank you!” Michael told Adonis dismissively as he grabbed Alex by the bicep and tugged him into the privacy of his room. Both of them laughed, but Michael didn’t care as he immediately went in for a kiss.

Alex was still decked out in his pretty clothes and his pretty makeup and Michael was high on everything. He was going to get to go to Earth and he was going to get to spend every single night in bed with him. It softened the blow that he would be leaving in only a handful of hours.

“Do you think we can set an alarm?” Michael asked through kisses, “So you can sleep with me for just a little while?”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding his head. Michael smiled.

“Yay.”

“Before you get carried away, can we get this off my face so I don’t stain your pillow?” Alex asked, pulling out of the kiss a little breathlessly.

“Yeah, of course,” Michael said, leaving Alex with a simple kiss as he went to his vanity where he grabbed a cloth and makeup remover.

He went back to Alex who had sat on the bed. He had the tunic bunched up and was slowly pulling it over his head without getting any makeup on the fabric. Michael grinned and helped get it the rest of the way off with a simple move of his eyes. Alex acknowledged his act with a shake of the head.

Alex scooted back just a little and leaned back on his hands. Michael perched himself on his lap and spared a simple kiss to the spot on his chest right above the wrap he hadn’t removed before getting to work on his face.

Michael had vivid memories of the confusingly slow process that was getting Alex to trust him with his body. He wasn’t sure why, but the search results that came up when Michael looked up his birth father told him it wasn’t due to a loving childhood. Still, he didn't look too far into it because that seemed like an all too obvious breech of Alex's personal boundaries.

Their first kiss had ended in Alex pinning his wrists to the wall whenever he tried to grab his waist. After that was years of every meeting involving gradual progress in Alex’s comfort levels. Hell, they were still making progress. It started with Michael not being allowed to touch him anywhere, his hands always being tucked behind his back or pinned down as Alex kissed him or touched him where he wanted to be touched all while fully clothed. They were seventeen the first time Alex had stripped Michael bare and yet kept himself covered. It was the most vulnerable Michael had ever felt in his life. As a reward for that trust, Alex let him touch his biceps when they kissed and his hair when Alex went down on him.

On Michael’s 18th birthday, Alex had taken his shirt off for the first time. Michael hadn’t been allowed to touch his scarred body with his hands, but he got to be chest to chest with him while he touched himself which had absolutely solidified his infatuation with him.

The next time he saw him, after sharing pictures and conversations from the safety of being on separate planets, Alex had gotten completely stripped too (with the exception of his prosthetic). That time had been a little different in a few ways. There was no touching at all, but Michael got to watch him get himself off and Alex had watched him right back. Then Alex had locked himself in the bathroom for 30 minutes. But, when he came back out, fully dressed, he’d crawled into bed and they cuddled for the first time.

Even though Kyle had ruined it by busting in, Michael remembered that night as the moment things really changed between them. It no longer felt like a game that made Michael feel giddy. It’d taken him a long time, too long, to fully realize the weight of what Alex was giving him and that it wasn’t a game to Alex at all. It never had been. That’s when Michael started laying on the sweet talking as thick as he wanted.

Two years after that realization, Michael was given free reign of Alex’s body with few restrictions. He could touch designated places with his hands: his face, his biceps, his thighs, his upper chest, and his hips. Michael could go down on him, but his hands had to be in visible areas and Alex typically chose to pin them down during it so he didn’t have to think. More often than not, Michael would still lay on his back with his hands tucked beneath him while Alex took over his mouth. No questions asked other than ‘is this okay?’. It made every step hold more weight than his casual hookups had. There was not a single thing boring or pointless about having Alex Manes in his bed.

“Up,” Alex dictated when Michael finished with his face and Michael listened without argue.

Alex removed his pants and got to work to take off his prosthetic. Instead of making Alex uncomfortable by staring, he turned the cloth to a clean corner before pouring a little remover on it and beginning to wipe at his own face. Alex took over when he put his prosthetic to the side.

“So, I may have thought of an excuse on how to get you to stay longer on my planet,” Alex said cooly, holding Michael’s chin in his hands as he wiped his face clean. His eyes were closed while Alex cleaned them, but that didn’t stop him from smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

“Go on," Michael said, unable to hide the giddy tone in his voice. Alex hummed.

“You could do a semester of schooling there,” he suggested, "More if you like it."

Michael peeked open the eye that Alex wasn’t working on. “School?"

“School,” Alex said, his voice still controlled and face stoic despite literally sitting in nothing but his briefs and a wrap, “You could stay in the palace.”

"That's a long time."

"Yes, well," Alex sighed, "One semester is a few months. Then you could go home. And there's plenty of people who I'm sure would love to get their hands on an Antarian prince."

"Plenty of people?" Michael huffed, "What about you?"

"I'll be there when you want me," Alex said simply, but it was clearly an open invitation.

Michael wasn’t quite sure why Alex was trying to give him the option to opt out. The whole reason he wanted to go to Earth was to be with Alex. Michael already had his mind set on spending all of his free time with Alex while he was there. It would be difficult navigating being Princes from different planets while keeping their relationship a secret, but they could do it. Michael could make anything happen if it meant having Alex. He didn't know why Alex didn't see that.

“I would spend every night in your bed,” Michael said, leaning closer. Alex leaned back and held his face at bay. Michael knew better than to take offense to that and just kept smiling. “Don't be so scared of me.”

"I'm not scared of you."

“You are,” he teased which Alex really didn't seem to like because he glared, "It'll be okay. No one's going to find out. Your home is a safe place for a foreign Prince, all the security. Perfect. And Luke and Adonis will help cover our tracks. We're safe and I want you.”

“You seem so confident that things will work out,” Alex said skeptically. Michael grinned.

“If I’m with you, I’ll always make things work.”

Alex let him come closer for a kiss and he pressed in hard right back. Michael could feel the tension radiating off him and cautiously reached his hand out to place on his thigh. He didn’t add any pressure, but he rubbed his thumb in circles until Alex stopped stressing so much.

“This is good,” Michael told him, “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he agreed, breaking the kiss only to get a good view of his face to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Alex tossed the cloth off to the side and cupped the side of Michael’s neck in his hand. They stared at each other for a moment as Alex let it sink it. It was easy to forget how nervous Alex was to accept anything good. But Michael was going to make sure he finally started accepting that he deserved them. “Wouldn’t you miss your random one night stands?”

“Why would I when I had you with me all the time?” Michael asked. Alex scanned his face again.

“I’m temporary,” he said. Michael shook his head.

“I want to be with you,” he said honestly. He’d said those words in a lot of different ways, but that was the first time he’d said them so directly. He saw Alex swallow harshly before just going in for another kiss. Michael didn’t mind.

Alex laid him back into the bed, his hands slipping easily into the wraps around his body to get to his skin. Michael put his hand on Alex’s cheek and kept it there. The prospect of getting more of him than little moments a few times a year was exhilarating. Imagining his bed smelling like him at all times was almost too much. Things were going to be better than he could’ve dreamed.

He carefully moved his other hand to the wrap on Alex’s chest.

“Can I take this off?”

Alex agreed without hesitation.

Things happened extremely quickly.

The door slammed open and Alex woke up in defensive mode. Too many nights his father had come into his bedroom as a test, making sure he was alert. That wasn’t something that could ever be un-taught. So, just like his father taught, he grabbed the knife that he always kept within reaching distance and threw it at the doorway with unparalleled precision.

It was only when Adonis dodged it by using his telekinesis that Alex even realized it wasn’t his dad or an intruder. He didn’t apologize, though, and he didn’t feel guilty. Who just busts into someone’s room? So he reached for his prosthetic and started to quickly put it on even though he didn’t know what was going on.

Michael woke up at that moment and lazily started rambling in Antarian. Adonis had already locked the door behind him and was in the process of moving Michael’s armoire in front of the singular window in his room. All that told Alex was that something was wrong and so he picked up the pace.

Adonis answered Michael in clipped Antarian, his voice rugged in a way that it never was and chills covered Alex’s skin. He grabbed the pants that he’d worn the night before and the wrap, putting them on as quickly as he could.

“What?” Michael asked, still in a different language but Alex understood that much. Alex started towards the door to retrieve his knife.

Adonis answered him in that same rough tone, sparing Alex a glance as he did so. Most of the words flew over his head, but he’d overheard enough Antarian’s speak about him that he caught one word. His whole body froze and he looked over at Adonis, feeling every bit of that soldier his father had raised slowly build back up inside him. He’d tried so hard to not be that person anymore, but at the simple word ‘Prince’ there was no keeping it at bay.

“Kyle?” Alex asked carefully, voice devoid of emotion, “Is he alive?”

Adonis sighed and turned to him, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Yes,” he answered in English, “He was shot at, but the bullet just grazed the side of his head. From where we think the shooter was standing, it looks like it was meant to be a direct execution-style shot, but it was swerved at the last minute when they realized they had the wrong prince.”

Alex lifted his chin.

“How do you do know it was because they had the wrong prince?” Alex asked. Truthfully, he knew he was right. No one wanted to assassinate Kyle. On both planets, the Valentis were well loved. Jim listened to his people and accommodated them and that made him easy to respect and appreciate. Kyle was an extension of that and he was loved even more. Alex was like, sure, but he had one person who would be willinging to put a hit out on him and he couldn’t be shocked to discover it finally happened.

“It’s a theory, but we don’t know why it would’ve missed if it hadn’t been and then there wasn’t a follow up shot,” Adonis explained.

“Right,” Alex said, nodding curtly, “I’ve got to go.”

“What?!” Michael nearly squeaked and Adonis shot him a look to tell him to be quiet, “You’re not going anywhere when there’s someone out there that wants to kill you!”

“I already know who it is,” Alex said, “Or, who paid them. My father isn’t stupid enough to do it himself.”

“Your father?” Michael asked, “Why would the king‒”

“Michael,” Adonis said sharply. Michael looked up at him and then back over to Alex.

“You aren’t going anywhere. Stay here. It’s safe here,” Michael said. Alex huffed a laugh.

“And willingly put you in danger? Absolutely not. You’re already in danger by being affiliated with me.”

“But why would it be your dad, Alex?” Michael asked, slowly stumbling out of bed, “I mean, you got adopted years ago, why the hell would he wait to do it now? And on a different planet? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Except it did make sense. If Michael knew the first thing about his father, then it would make complete sense. But he didn’t. Because Alex didn’t share. He didn’t share anything. He’d enjoyed so much that Michael never asked any questions or prodded, but now it seemed he waited too long for an explanation and all the questions were coming at once.

“It doesn’t matter, I need to go,” Alex said.

“Wait,” Adonis said firmly, his eyes closed as he honed in on whatever other guards were telling him telepathically, “They found the guy. Hired assassin. Give up your dad’s name easy.”

“I believe that,” Alex said. Michael was still staring at him, still waiting for him to explain or do something worthwhile. Alex didn’t have anything to give him.

“Alex,” Michael called softly, holding out a hand to him in hope he’d come back to bed. But Alex was awake and needed to go be with his family. “It’s alright.”

“We’ll talk later,” Alex said, nearing him and giving him a kiss on the forehead, “Luke should be waiting to walk me back.”

“No,” Michael argued, grabbing his hand and holding him in place. Fear shot through Alex’s body at the act, that siren going off in his mind that told him he was trapped. He yanked his hand away and glared at Michael who looked pathetic. Maybe Alex was wrong to think being with a man who’s issues paled in comparison to his was a good idea. He would never understand. “Alex, there could be more than one assassin. Stay until light. Someone could hurt you.”

“Let them try,” he said cooly and he left Michael’s room. Adonis followed to make sure he would be okay, but Luke was waiting at the door. His face was stoic, but he had bags beneath his eyes and a set jaw that told him it’d been a long night.

He led the way back to the visitor’s building where Kyle was being patched up by the medic that resided on the royal’s grounds. They were both on high alert the whole walk, but Alex assumed it was probably for drastically different reasons.

“His Majesty is handling the assassin with Lady No and Sir Heinar. They’re trying to see who failed so spectacularly at their job,” Luke said. Alex breathed a tight sigh as he sat on the bed. Kyle was leaning back in bed with drugged eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Alex told him.

“Why? If you were here, you would’ve died,” Kyle said, voice slurred by whatever they’d given him. Alex shook his head.

“I would’ve preferred that over you getting hurt in my absence,” Alex said.

“Oh, fuck off,” Kyle scoffed. Alex managed a smile. “You getting laid is clearly a lifesaver, so that thank the prince for me, will you?”

Alex’s eyes widened at his brazen statement in front of ears that didn’t deserve it. He glanced at the medic who was stitching up the side of Kyle’s head. They seemed unphased by the admission.

“Do not worry,” they said, voice thick with an accent that made Michaels’ seem nonexistent, “I am a royal medic for a reason.”

Alex took that as a promise of their lips staying sealed. He turned his attention back to Kyle.

“Where is Prince Boy Toy anyway? Is he all worried about you?” Kyle mocked. Alex rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care about that,” Alex insisted. Kyle quirked a lazy eyebrow.

“Huh? You don’t care that he cares about you?”

“He was a bad idea,” Alex said simply. Kyle snorted.

“Well, yeah, at first, but he’s good for you. Makes you less of a rock,” Kyle said. Alex barely had time to process that before Kyle changed the subject. “Can’t believe your dad tried to kill you. I knew he was an asshole, but, damn.”

“I just can’t understand how he got an Antarian to go through it. Isn’t he still in prison? How did he even pull that off?” Luke asked. Kyle scoffed and they both started brainstorming ways. Alex slowly tuned out the conversation.

His entire life, his father had haunted him. He trained him to be a soldier in all the ways he knew how: tying Alex down and making him figure out how to escape, wrapping a rope around his stomach and having him lug objects like cattle, tying weights to his ankles to make sure he could always run even in times in distress, and that only scratched the surface. He put his hands on him when he didn’t act like he was taught and he had since was little. It only got worse as Alex got older, covering his body in scars until he got to the worst of them all: his leg. During a training session, he’d tied thin wires to each of his limbs. It took Alex hours to get them off, but, by the time he got to his last leg, it’d been virtually impossible to salvage. His ankle had already been broken three times and now it had a severe loss of blood flow. They said they could try to save it, but he’d probably be in pain forever. They made the unanimous decision that it had to go. Which is when Jim finally had enough.

But the damage was done. Alex had already been littered with scars that would never heal, mentally and physically. Alex still remembered his father mocking Antarians for the way they dressed and everything they showed. Part of him wondered if that’s why he was so deliberate about the scars‒with them there, he would never show off his body like that and never get the attention he wanted from other boys. He still got it though. That only seemed to make his father more angry. How dare his only son have an interest in other boys, who would carry on the family name?

The thing was, Alex had biological brothers. None of them really survived his father’s torture like he did. They either broke under the pressure or they really didn’t survive. Alex was resilient though, he was his father’s favorite, he was the golden boy. And wasn’t that just impossible to comprehend? How could he be the favorite and yet still treated that way?

It was even harder to think that he was lucky. Sure, he still couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and he got uncomfortable when men gave him attention and he still couldn’t let Michael touch him in so many places, but he was lucky. And his father knew that. And he was angry.

And his voice was still in Alex’s mind. It made it impossible to accept Michael’s sentiments that he wanted him for more than something temporary. That was painting a target on his back and Alex knew it.

“Alex,” Luke said, pulling him out of his head, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Alex said simply, blinking away the memories that made his blood run cold, “But do you think we could arrange a private meeting between me and my dad when we get back on Earth?”

Luke eyed him strangely.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Do you have a better one?”

And he didn’t, so Alex slipped back into his mind.

Michael’s mind stayed on Alex for so long that it was becoming a problem.

They’d never parted on such tense and negative terms before and Michael had convinced himself that Alex hated him and never wanted to see him again. It was just not good. He’d messaged him twice, but he got nothing in return. It really felt like he hated him. He didn’t know whether he was angry or if something bad had happened. Surely someone would’ve told him if another assassin had gotten to him, right?

“Come here.”

Michael lifted his head to see his mother in the doorway. Her face was as unreadable as ever, just like Alex, and her dark hair had been slicked back in a low bun. She wore all black wraps, inches of her stomach and arms exposed. They were tighter than usual which told him she’d been sparring. Despite that, he obeyed her and stood from the table to go hear her. She placed her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes as if that would betray all of his feelings. And maybe it did.

She guided his head to rest in the crook of her neck and she hugged him tight. She had a few inches on both him and his father, but Michael didn’t mind. He quite liked knowing she would always be taller than him. She would always be so clearly his mom.

“Did the assassination attempt really scare you this much?” she asked, combing through his hair like she’d done as long as he could remember. He relaxed into her and shook his head. “Then what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet.”

Michael didn’t know what to tell her. He was a terrible liar, nothing would sell as well as the complete truth. But the truth was scary too. What he and Alex were doing wasn’t really allowed. Antar and Earth being friendly was one thing‒but their young princes having an affair? He couldn’t imagine his mother, or the people of either of their respective planets, loving that.

“Alex won’t talk to me,” Michael offered, hoping that would be enough.

His mother breathed slowly and controlled. He didn’t move. She was thinking and probably piecing everything together. Michael said nothing.

“Was there a reason Prince Alex wasn’t in the building when the shot was fired?” Lady No asked, but it was clear she already knew the answer. Michael sunk into her more.

“He was with me,” he confirmed. She sighed.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, clutching him tight, “What have you done?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he insisted, his voice cracking, “I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. I can’t help it.”

“I know you didn’t,” she murmured, “But you still did it.”

“I want to go study on Earth,” Michael said firmly. He felt his mother suck in a deep breath. “I want to be closer to him.”

Lady No pulled away and grabbed his face in her hands. Michael let her stare and gauge how serious he was being. Because he was serious. Deadly. It didn’t matter that Alex wasn’t speaking to him. If he was on the same planet, he could get him to talk.

“Alex is the son of a very hostile man, Michael. He put a hit out on his own child, do you understand that?” she said. He nodded and she harshly let go of him. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“No,” Michael said firmly, “But I know what I want. I want Alex.”

She scoffed, shaking her head, “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, “I’m not a child, I know what I want.”

“Do you know anything about Alex? Do you know why he was adopted or why his father is imprisoned? Do you know anything?” she demanded. Michael swallowed as he looked at her. She was angry.

Michael very quickly realized that he didn’t know much. He and Alex avoided talk of anything of substance and he didn’t ask. The only time he’d asked anything real or they spoke of anything real was that last night they were together. Otherwise, he really didn’t know Alex that well.

But that wasn’t fully true either. He knew Alex. Maybe he didn’t know his past, but he knew did well in school and had great aspirations to be a good ruler. Maybe he didn’t know how he got all of his scars, but he knew which ones upset him the most based on what he could stand being touched and what he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t know what Alex’s father did to him, but he knew he hated him and that was enough to make Michael agree. He didn’t know him enough to write a biography, but he knew enough to love him and wasn’t that enough?

“I know he’s unhappy and probably scared,” Michael said, “And I know I want to study on Earth.”

Queen Celeano took a step away from her son and closed her eyes. He waited patiently, fully expecting her to pull him into his mindscape so he would be easier to mold. But that didn’t happen. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked at him straight on.

“You are my child. My duty, above all else, is to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you’re on Earth. I’m sorry, but no,” she said simply, shaking her head, “Not while I know you’re affiliating yourself with a man who has a target on his back.”

“We’re discreet!” he insisted, “No one knows and no one will know! It’s no one’s business but mine and his!”

“You’re young, you’ll change your mind. You’ll find a nice Antarian and‒”

“No,” Michael said, firmer this time. He could feel Adonis hovering close by in case he needed to interfere. “I want Alex. And maybe it’s not forever, but if you force me to give him up, I will always feel forever about him and I will always blame you.”

She stared at him, long and serious. He wondered if this was why he liked Alex so much. His mother had instilled something in him that took that controlling seriousness and made him love it. It was never an insult. He took it as a silent ‘I love you’.

“I will talk to your father and I will talk to James,” she said. Michael’s eyes widened.

“Wait, don’t tell them about‒”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, “But we’ll discuss schooling. And I’m sending you with more than just Adonis because I don’t trust Alex’s father.”

“But you trust me?” he said. Lady No took a deep breath and stepped back up to her son.

“I trust you,” she agreed, “But I don’t trust his father and I refuse to have my son return to me in a body bag. So I’ll see what I can do, but please, please be safe.”

Michael nodded in agreement and kept his smile at bay despite the fact he wanted to run through the halls screaming his joy.

“Always.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

Alex waited as the guards hesitantly unlocked the doors to the interrogation room they had his father in specifically for this meeting. He was being put on trial again for attempting to assassinate a member of the royal family, but that didn’t mean it would be impossible for Alex to get him alone. Jesse Manes had been patted down and checked over multiple times to make sure he had no weapons and he was handcuffed to his chair, but Alex still felt on edge.

On edge, but more powerful than ever.

He had been spending the last week trying to think of what he was going to say to finally sever this tie to his father, but, when he saw his face, all of that went out the window. But he had to do this. He had to if he ever wanted something good in his life. Something like Michael.

“Hello, son,” Jesse said as Alex stepped inside. Luke was close behind him. Alex had tried to get him to stay back, but he insisted he was going to be right there with him so he wasn’t alone. Alex didn’t know how to say no to that.

“Dad,” Alex greeted, waiting until the door slammed behind them. Luke leaned beside the door in quiet solidarity. “Took you five years.”

“Not from lack of trying,” he said simply. It was surprising, but Alex still felt that pang of hurt. “You’ve stopped training, I know you have.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Alex said, “I spar every day that my leg allows. I just don’t endure torture.”

“What I did to you wasn’t torture. It was what you needed to become a good soldier, to rise up and finally end that fucking peace treaty. There’s nothing peaceful about it. It’s complacency,” he said. Alex shook his head and stepped closer.

“It isn’t,” Alex said, “They’re good people.”

“They aren’t people.”

“No, you aren’t a person,” Alex shot back, “What kind of person tries to kill their own son?”

“He wasn’t really meant to kill you,” Jesse offered, “You were supposed to kill him when he tried.”

Alex huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “Why am I not surprised that you think that’s better?”

“I spent fifteen years dedicating my life to you, Alex, you’re my son and I love you,” Jesse said. Alex held his chin high and tried not to let those words hit like they so desperately wanted to. “What don’t you see? You’re my pride and joy. Look at you. Infiltrating the royal family on both planets. Do you know what you could do at this rate? You could do wonderful things if you just stayed on track like I raised you.”

“Bold thing to say with witnesses,” Alex said. Jesse shook his head.

“I raised you,” Jesse repeated, “There are only witnesses if you let them be.”

They fell silent for a moment as Alex stared at him and tried to come up with the right thing to say. This was supposed to be empowering, but instead it felt more like he was just opening himself to more manipulation. But he refused. So, instead, Alex unbuttoned the jacket he was wearing and let it fall to the floor. His father eyed the gold wrap made of Antarian silk that was wrapped around his torso.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asked slowly. Alex took a deep breath.

“My entire life you shamed me for the scars you left on my skin. You taught me to hide from them and from what I wanted. But I refuse to listen to you. I refuse to let you stay in my brain, taunting me and making it difficult to let men touch or admire me. Because I want them to touch and admire me. How does that feel, Dad?”

Jesse’s jaw clenched at his words, but Alex felt no guilt. He felt quite the opposite. There was something freeing about getting under his skin.

“That doesn’t make me weak,” Alex continued, “I’m far from weak. I survived you. I can never be weak.”

“If you’re not weak, then you can ignore disrespectful desires,” Jesse said. Alex huffed.

“Disrespectful to who? Not me. And if it’s disrespectful to you, then I don’t care. I refuse to care. I spent so many years of my life trying to be the perfect son, trying to make you proud. And the sad thing is that I did. I was the son you wanted. Except for one little thing,” Alex said. His fingers skimmed the silk, begging it to give him strength. And it did. It felt like laying in Michael’s bed, like being wrapped up in a place where no one could hurt him. He felt invincible. “And I’m done being ashamed and scared.”

“I disagree.”

“Good luck with that,” Alex said, “Because I’m putting in a good word to have you executed.”

“My father is dead and he still lives in my mind, Alex,” Jesse said, smiling a smile that looked too much like Alex’s, “You can kill me, but I’ll never be dead.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll sure as hell do what I can to make sure I never end up like you,” he said simply, “I’m going to be a good king. I’m going to be kind. I’m going to love and be loved. I’m going to have a man in my bed, Antarian men in my bed. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Spite only lasts so long,” he spat.

“Don’t wait and see how long that is.”

Alex decided he was over the conversation and turned to leave, hoping Luke grabbed his jacket on the way out. He didn’t notice his hands were shaking until he got around the corner and Luke draped the jacket over his shoulders.

“Did you get the closure you needed?” Luke asked. Alex sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him. He didn’t really feel that different other than the fact that he felt like he needed to throw up.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Michael arrived on Earth after three weeks of not hearing from Alex, but that was alright. He was going to take advantage of his time there.

The main reason for coming was for some big party that Michael didn’t really care about, but it was doubling as a time to enroll him in a school on Earth. The same school Alex was going to. He would be returning in a few months at the start of the next semester and, if he and Alex weren’t on good terms by then, then he would spend all of his free time trying to get them on good terms.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for Alex to give him a bright smile when they pulled up to the palace. There were cameras around so they didn’t hug, but Alex greeted him with a handshake that made his mind feel like fireworks were going off.

The next few hours were agonizingly slow and full of small talk. By the time Luke was leading him to Alex’s bedroom, he was already losing his mind trying to figure out what exactly was about to happen.

He was welcomed into Alex’s room and then they were alone. Alex was clothed in his stiff dress pants and his stiff white button up, but he looked nice. He always looked so nice.

“Hi,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Alex said right back. He stepped up to him and gave him that sweet smile that he always had for him. It was jarring considering their last encounter.

“I’m sorry about the last time I saw you,” Michael said, “I shouldn’t have grabbed your hand when I know you don’t like that. I know I sent you a U-Mail that said the same thing, but I keep thinking about it and it makes me feel worse every time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, you were scared,” Alex said simply, eying him. Michael waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. So he finally asked a question.

“Alex… What’s going on?” he asked, “With us, I mean.”

“Last time we spoke, you said you wanted to be with me. Do you still feel that way?” Alex asked. Michael’s eyes widened, but he nodded. It seemed too deceptively easy, but it was Alex and he would jump into an endless pit if Alex thought it was a good idea. “Then I think we should talk.”

“Talk?”

“Talk,” Alex confirmed, nodding to his bed, “About anything. I think I owe you some honesty. I felt I had too much baggage for you, so I never shared, but you were kind to me for four years not knowing why I acted that way. So I think it’s time I let you in a little more.”

“Seriously?” Michael breathed. It felt too good to be true.

“Seriously,” Alex laughed, “I’m so tired of hiding from you.”

The two of them sat down on the bed facing each other and not touching. But then Alex held out his hand. Blood pumped in Michael’s ears, but he slowly reached out his hand towards Alex’s. Alex carefully laced their fingers together and rested it on his knee. They didn’t do that. But this was progress. So much progress.

And all Michael could feel was pride.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #ITS FINALLY HERE #IVE BEEN GIVING SNEAK PEEKS ABOUT THIS FOREVER

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brokenmimir · 4 years ago

Text

The Curse of the Golden Hoard

White Rose Week 2020, Day 5: Curse

In Vale, success breeds misfortune as readily as failure.

(Sequel to The Ruby Eye of the Serpent King)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718948 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13615480/1/The-Curse-of-the-Golden-Hoard

Weiss rolled her eyes as Yang threw the door open, the solid oak banging against the interior wall loudly, drawing the attention of all of Beacon. Normally she would've been angry at the brute attracting the potential ire of as many dangerous people as routinely visited the small tavern, but in that moment she was too elated to care.

Still, appearances had to maintained, even if her heart wasn't in it. “Yang…”

“Sorry, ice queen,” Yang sang. “Guess I forgot my own strength. How 'bout I make it up to everyone with a round of drinks on me!”

“Yeah!” the room cheered, and Peter Port smiled behind his thick mustache as he began preparing drinks for the relaxing crowd, who were all discretely tucking away the weapons they had prepared against the forceful entry.

Yang strutted over to their usual table, throwing the heavy sack she'd been carrying down on it, making it clink suggestively for those with an ear for gold. Blake did the same, and then Ruby as well, until all three looked at her expectantly. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, Weiss heaved her own sack onto the table, privately enjoying the sound of their new fortune.

“We're going to be robbed the moment we step out of here,” Weiss complained as she sat down, an unrepentant Ruby hopping onto her lap with a grin. Weiss grunted a little at the weight, as for as petite as she looked, the barbarian girl was all densely packed muscle, built lean and wiry for maximum speed and agility.

“Like anyone can take us,” Yang snorted. “I don't know about anyone else, but I'm feeling good tonight!”

Blake grabbed their drinks, a glass of mead for Ruby and red wine for Weiss, and soon all four clinked their glasses together. “To friends and family!” Ruby cried.

“To a job well done,” Blake added.

“To having fun,” Weiss put in.

“To being filthy stinkin' rich!” Yang crowed, and all four downed their drinks. “Hey Port, another round on us!"

“There's no way we're going to make it back in safety after this,” Weiss said. “And you'd better not dip into our haul to pay for all of this; we haven't even divvied it up yet.”

“Ugh, you are such a killjoy,” Yang groaned. “Come on, live a little! When are we ever gonna get this much again. And it wasn't even illegal!”

“Well, not very illegal, anyway,” Blake drawled. “I'm sure we broke some laws. You can barely breathe in Vale with pissing off some magistrate.”

Weiss hummed thoughtfully. “The tower was probably owned by someone, for all that it's been abandoned since the Grimm attack centuries ago. Furthermore, we are supposed to declare any salvage for tax purposes. So on at least two levels we broke the law.”

“Ugh, Vale sucks,” Yang groaned, before taking a swig of her ale. “Of course, I can't party like this back home. Even if I brought back this good've a haul somehow the elders would've just taken it to 'spend on the village' and I'd be expected to go right back out there.

“So not that different,” Weiss chuckled. “Except here, everyone's so corrupt that no one is going to report you for not following the law. It's just a matter of if you can keep your ill gotten gains.”

Hours later, drunk with success and alcohol, the four girls staggered out of Beacon and onto the filthy streets of Vale. Not even stepping over a mugged corpse could get Ruby down that evening. Nothing could distract her from how right everything felt.

When she'd first arrived in Vale five months before she'd been an outsider, a barbarian unable to understand or accept anything about the city she'd been warned about her entire life. The first person she'd made a real connection to, Weiss, hadn't really simplified things, as the beautiful woman had represented everything her people had looked down upon about the city folk.

But somehow, after those few short months, full of combat, wealth, deprivation, magic, fear, and joy, they had bonded more strongly than she ever thought she could with an outsider. She spent more time with Weiss than she did her own sister, despite both of them being in the same city. And somehow, she wouldn't change a thing.

“Hey, which way should we go?” Yang asked, as she casually slugged an opportunistic moron in the jaw. His head snapped around, teeth flying, before he collapsed bonelessly onto the ancient cobblestones.

After pausing to rob the thieves of the few coppers they had, Blake pointed down the street. “Ruby's place is closer.”

“It's my flat,” Weiss grumbled. “I'm the one who signed the contract for it."

“Ruby's sounds good,” Yang agreed. “Come on sis, let's go crash you're place and split some loot.”

Weiss grumbled a little, but Ruby could tell that it was mostly for appearances, and even that stopped when she moved close enough to rest her head on the other woman's shoulder. Weiss actually blushed a little, which Ruby found more than a little funny. Weiss had no shame at all about nudity or sex, but honest, public affection made her quite embarrassed.

Once Yang and Blake had dealt with the criminals who had seen or heard about their largesse and its probably cause at Beacon, they made good progress, soon arriving at Weiss's apartment building. Unlike the cheap flophouses and rundown hovels that populated most of the poorer part of town, it was a newly renovated building, one only two blocks from the nicer living spaces that surrounded the Great Market. Obviously the owner either expected for merchants to be bold enough to make the journey through the crime ridden streets in exchange for cheaper rent, or they thought that the market district would soon grow to encompass the building. Either way, it was far nicer than it had any right to be, and had been available for a price that they could (barely) afford.

Once Weiss had the door unlocked they entered the main living area, and without a word all four began to dump their sacks out in the center of the floor. Coins and small gems made up the bulk of the haul, but a variety of statuettes, jewelry, and idols joined the growing pile. It was an impressive display of wealth, and for all that gold had relatively little allure for her, even she felt herself caught up in the moment, drooling over enough wealth to buy her village.

“Weiss,” Yang said distantly.

“Yes?”

“Remind me to team up with you more often,” Yang sighed joyfully.

Weiss smirked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder smugly. “Of course. A little bit of research, and enough muscle to make it through some Grimm infested ruins, and we have more money than we know what to do with.”

“Little bit of research?” Ruby asked. “Weiss, you've done nothing but plan this thing for weeks now. I was actually getting a bit worried.”

“Why would you be worried?” Blake asked. “A good score always requires careful planning.”

“'Cause I've never seen Weiss fret over this kinda thing before,” Ruby said. “Usually Weiss doesn't worry about money at all. It was more than a little odd.”

“This was a lot of money,” Blake said, patting her sack.

“Not as much as the snake guy had,” Ruby pointed out.

“No,” Weiss grunted, before smirking. “But this is gold in my home. There's a big difference.”

“Hell yeah, there is,” Yang crowed, scooping up a handful of gold coins and tossing them in the air. “We're rich!”

It was far too late at night when they finally finished splitting the money, and with the help of a few bottles of wine that Weiss had gleefully shared, Blake and Yang were in no condition to walk home, so she graciously let them sleep on her floor near the fireplace for the night. With their own fortune secured in sacks, Weiss and Ruby retreated to their bedroom, where, after a brief moment of thought, she dumped the sacks on the center of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked with a giggle.

“Just a fantasy of mine,” Weiss said, removing Ruby's cloak and letting it fall to the floor. With deft, well practiced fingers she swiftly stripped Ruby completely naked, taking a moment to admire her strong, lean form. As she always did she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the scar she'd received fending off an assassin to save her life, before straightening up and shoving the barbarian back onto the bed.

“Hey! Ack!” Ruby complained. “That's cold.”

“If that's another ice queen joke,” Weiss grumbled as she straddled her lover.

“No, I mean, it's like, really cold,” Ruby said. “And kinda hard. And a little pointy.”

Weiss giggled like a child as she hovered over Ruby, sliding a hand through the gold and gems covering her bed. “Ah, come on. I've always wanted to make love in a pile of gold, and this is my chance. You're not going to say no, are you?”

Ruby just smiled up at her. “How much wine have you had to drink, anyway?”

She giggled again. “Way too much.”

Instead of replying Ruby pulled her down, and the two began to kiss, quickly growing heated as hands wandered. Eventually Ruby started trying to pull at Weiss's clothing, and she pulled back, standing from the bed.

“What?” Ruby panted.

“Just stay there,” Weiss said, before slowly, sensually beginning to remove her own clothing. She'd seen many, many dances put on to entertain crowds and rile up guests for more personal services, and while she'd never felt a need to put on such a show for a lover, she put every bit of her grace into it, the slight stumbles her drunkenness caused interfering very little with the display. Ruby's silver eyes were wide open, and Weiss grinned like the cat who caught the canary as she finally stripped the last item away, letting the silken undergarment drift to the ground.

She straddled Ruby again, but before she continued she spotted a piece of treasure sitting beside her lover. It was the appropriate size and shape, and with a wicked grin she picked it up, before leaning down and kissing Ruby again.

“Ack! Cold!”

Ruby wasn't sure what woke her up. Normally after so much mead and intimacy with Weiss she'd sleep the whole night through, but something pulled at her consciousness. It was a cold feeling, and at first she mentally blamed the treasure pile that Weiss had insisted they sleep on like they were legendary dragons. It wasn't quite that, however. The cold was deeper, in her heart, and she found herself shivering despite the blankets and warm body next to her.

Opening her eyes, she couldn't really see anything. It was dark, even darker than it should've been, as normally some dim light made it through the windows even deep in the heart of the night. She swallowed thickly, knowing on some level that something was wrong, although she couldn't put her finger on what. The same deep, primal sense that warned her when a dangerous beast was lurking about in the wilderness told her something was very, very wrong.

“Weiss, Weiss, wake up,” she whispered, still slowly turning her head from one side to the other as she tried to make out something in the pitch blackness. “Weiss.”

“Ughhhh,” Weiss groaned, shifting slightly closer and tossing a leg over her hip. “Again? You're starting to wear even me out.”

“Weiss, something's wrong,” Ruby whispered.

“Yeah, you're not asleep,” Weiss mumbled. “I promise, I'll do whatever you want… in the morning. Just need a… a little more sleep.”

“That's not… ugh,” Ruby groaned as Weiss fell back asleep. With a sigh she pushed her lover away, standing up stiffly and stumbling from the bed, coins and other valuables falling to the floor in a cascade of invisible gold. The sound seemed strangely dampened, however, as the heavy metal should've been louder falling more than a foot onto the wooden floor.

“I am never going to sleep on money again,” Ruby whimpered, rubbing her back and wincing when she dislodged a coin that had managed to embed itself into her flesh. No, she definitely wasn't doing that again, no matter how excited her weird fantasy had made Weiss.

It was hard finding her clothing in total darkness, especially since she'd been a bit distracted by Weiss while she'd stripped her. Once she finally had something on she reclaimed her battle scythe and carefully opened the door to the rest of the apartment, not wanting to risk walking in on her sister and Blake having their own celebration.

Instead, it was pitch black as well, but she could hear muffled snoring coming from the center of the room. “Blake? Yang?”

They didn't respond, even when she called again, and with her heart pounding in her throat she stumbled through the room, heading to where Weiss kept a candle for dark nights. Usually they navigated just fine by starlight, but sometimes her lover wanted to read in the evening, and she had to have something for that.

Normally finding the candle in the dark wouldn't have been difficult, but it felt like she was somehow being watched, like danger was all around her, ready to pounce. The longer she spent in that dark, quiet room, the more she felt vulnerable, like she was being hunted by an unknown predator. With unsteady hands she finally grasped the fine beeswax candle, a gift from herself to replace the stinky, smokey tallow Weiss had been using, and she pulled flint and steel from her pouch.

It was only as she tried to strike the tinder that she realized how badly her hands were shaking. She actually paused in her work in surprise, not quite able to believe it. It felt like it had been years since she'd had such a strong, useless reaction to fear, and yet here she was, shaking like a child on her first hunt. For the first time she was almost glad that it was dark, since it meant that no one could see her weakness.

After taking several long, deep breaths to gather herself Ruby finally regained her control, striking the flint and steel to produce strangely dull sparks. It took several tries, but finally the tinder took, and then the wick thereafter, lighting the candle.

It did almost nothing for the darkness. The large candle should've provided enough light to easily make out the room, but instead it seemed to be little more than a single point in the middle of a deep, dark blackness. She couldn't even see the walls of the room, and it was far from being so large as to make that reasonable.

Something was very, very wrong.

Ruby quickly, methodically searched the apartment. It wasn't very large, but with her light the way it was she had to take her time looking everywhere. Everything was as it should be, with no signs of intruders or anything else strange, other than the muffling of all sound and dampening of all light.

Yang and Blake were still asleep, which she supposed was strange in its own right. Yang was a heavy sleeper, but normally it was impossible to do anything without waking Blake up. Even a shift in the pattern of your breathing would cause her cat ears to twitch warily, but Ruby was able to crouch over her, burning candle in hand, without it disturbing her dreams.

With nothing wrong inside of the apartment, Ruby decided to check one last thing before waking up the others. Opening the door, she crept outside, looking about warily, before heading down to the street. While they were usually dark at night, with most honest citizens (for some meaning of the term) carrying lanterns if they had some business at that late of an hour, the stars and distant buildings usually gave enough illumination for her trained eyes to navigate the streets.

Instead Ruby looked around, frowning at the excessive dimness, before deciding to walk a bit to see where the dimming effect began and ended. She had only begun to walk when she spotted a body lying against the side of the building. She almost moved on, her time in Vale having conditioned her to ignore peopleliving or dead lying in the street, something that had been difficult to get used to after growing up in insular, tightly knit Patch. Without Weiss or Blake around to scold her for it, she decided to check on the person.

They were a woman of more than twice her years, with a face made up with powders and creams to seem younger, if poorly,something severely undermined by black streaks under her eyes. She was dressed in very little clothing, and from what Ruby could guess, were she younger and more attractive, the Weiss she had first met upon arriving in Vale would probably have paid for her services.

She also shouldn't have been passed out in the streets, without any sign of injury or intoxication causing her collapse. Ruby checked her pulse, and was relieved to find it, although it seemed slow, sluggish. She tried to shake her awake, but she didn't react at all, and it was then that she noticed something else odd. The black streaks, which she had assumed had come from tears mixing with kohl, were slimy and thick, and her eyes widened when she realized that their was a black streak on the wall behind her as well. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but if she had to guess, she'd say that the black ooze ran straight up the wall towards her window.

Ruby's fear sharpened, no longer seeming quite so baseless. She might've been able to dismiss her instincts crying out that something was wrong, or even somehow assumed that the muffling of sound and light were only in her head. But this was far more suspicious, and the only thing that kept her from running up the stairs was the burning candle in her hands, and how difficult it had been for her to light it in the first place.

As she hurried back towards the door she noticed two more bodies, this time a pair of laborers, tall and strong, collapsed near the street corner. While the woman may have been taking a break in the alley before continuing her walk or job, they were obviously taken by surprise, simply collapsing on the spot without a word. It was enough to make her speed up her step, using the arm holding her scythe to shield her candle as best as she could from the wind of her movement.

When she reached her door she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, leaning her deployed battle scythe against her shoulder so that she could carefully open the door without setting down her candle. It creaked open, and the gloom within was somehow even thicker, more impenetrable than before. The candle barely seemed to do anything, but she could somehow see something moving in the dark.

“Yang? Blake? Weiss?”

There was no response, but she heard something shifting in the room. Jaw tightening, she stepped inside, carefully shutting the door before her, before raising her scythe, choking up her grip to provide control one handed. It was a poor way to fight, but without better lighting she had no choice.

She slowly made her way across the room, eyes darting about, her heart jumping every time she saw something move, but every time it was simply her eyes playing tricks on her. Every figure was a piece of furniture, every attacker was naught but a shadow shadow, every monster an illusion when examined properly in the dim light.

When she reached her sister she nudged her with a toe. “Yang. Yang… Yang!”

She didn't move, didn't react. Finally, Ruby looked down, only to gasp at what she saw. Trailing down her face were the same thick, slimy black trails, as something apparently poured from her eyes, before being drawn across the room in the direction of the bedroom. One final glance at Blake to verify the same thing, and she was moving towards the bedroom door, keeping one eye on the slime trail while looking around for danger.

She didn't even bother opening the door, simply kicking it open, the loud slam a barely audible thud. Looming over the bed, over Weiss, was the most hideous creature she had ever seen.

It was thin, with long, spindly limbs, the feet coming to a single, sharp point, while the arms ended in three long, slender claws. The rest of the body was like a human shadow, angular and distorted, but recognizable in form, with bony plates scattered here and there, notably a skull and ribs. The face was vaguely human in shape under the bone, with burning red coals for eyes, and a gaping, fang filled maw.

Without hesitating she lunged forward, swinging her scythe in a broad, desperate stroke, hitting nothing but air. Unfortunately, the fast motion made the candle gutter out to almost nothing, and she was reduced to standing perfectly still, knowing there was a monster in the dark, unable to do a thing to stop it. She tried to listen, tried to feel the motion of the air, or see something in the dim ember of candle light, but it was like being wrapped in a blanket of night. All was still, silent, and shadowed.

After far too long the candle finally stopped sputtering, and Ruby turned about looking for the monster once more. It was when she had turned halfway around that she saw it, the thing having moved behind her, ready to attack once more. She swung her scythe again, trying her best to shield the candle with her body, but once again the tiny light failed, and she could do nothing but stand still, desperately hoping to find it before it could attack her again.

Then she felt the claws dig into her back. She reacted instantly to the sneak attack, diving forward into a roll that ended with her swinging her scythe, and this time, finally, she made contact. The monster broke its silence with a loud, terrible screech, which tore through her, scraping her bones for marrow and hollowing out her heart, leaving nothing but ice and fear behind.

This time she could hear it moving, the dullness slightly receded, and she didn't even hesitate, dropping the now completely snuffed candle on the ground as she spun in place, swinging her scythe right towards where she was sure the monster was. She made contact once again, and this blow sheared through something, and a moment later she heard something thump onto the floor, before the shrieking renewed.

Unfortunately her next swing missed, and her follow up hit the wall, so she paused, holding her scythe in both hands, trying to slow her breathing as she listened for the monster once again. She almost lashed out when she heard another sound, only to pause as she recognized Weiss's voice, even if she couldn't hold onto the words passing through her ears and mind. She shuddered, the motion agitating the cut on her back, and then the room was finally illuminated.

Weiss, nude and beautiful as ever, crouched on the bed, her sword in hand covered in a pale, spectral blue flame. She looked weak, her hand trembling, unable to fully stand as she held the weapon as high as she could through her enervation, trying to provide the best light she could. Ruby could see the lines of black slime down her own face, as whatever had happened to the others has been done to her as well.

Then Ruby turned, reacting almost before she sensed it, swinging her scythe once more at the monster. It was looming behind her once more, its left hand missing from her earlier attack, and, finally able to see, Ruby aimed her swing directly towards its neck. The scythe cut through, and the head bounced away, breaking down into the same black ooze before turning into the oily, smokey fog of a dead Grimm, its body slowly following.

“Weiss!” Ruby shouted, lowering her scythe and turning to her lover. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she rasped, raising a shaking hand to her face, rubbing away the slime with a look of disgust. “What the hell was that?”

Weiss had never felt so completely drained in her life. Not after performing all night magical rituals with Cinder and the others, not after the frantic, desperate sword training lessons her sister gave her before she left to become a mercenary, not even after the wild, week long benders that dragged her to half the houses of ill repute in the city trying to forget everything. It was as though every bit of energy had been ripped from her body, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its place.

She'd used what little energy she had left to cleanse and bind Ruby's injury, the process wearing her out so badly that her lover had been forced to dress her, as she could do little more than slowly shift her limbs by the time the process was complete. Ruby had, much to her protestations, actually carried her into the main room, where she set her on a large chair and lit several candles.

Blake and Yang stirred sluggishly, Blake finally sitting up and blinking dazedly around the room. She didn't even seem to the notice the slime on her face, her nearly vacant expression only gaining a little focus when she saw them. “Weiss… Ruby. What happened?”

“Grimm,” Ruby answered. “I've never seen anything like it.”

Blake blink a couple of times, before starting to stand only to collapse when her legs wouldn't support her weight. She blinked down at them, an expression of betrayal on her face, before looking back up at Ruby for answers.

“I don't know,” Ruby said. “Weiss's the same, and I think it wasn't just us. There were some people in the street the same way.”

Weiss gathered her strength for a moment, before speaking, her voice small and weak. “The Grimm must've gained strength by taking ours. Given enough time we'd be dead, and it probably would've expanded the area effected. This whole block probably would've died before anyone noticed if Ruby hadn't stopped it.”

“How come you weren't effected?” Blake demanded.

“I dunno,” Ruby said. “I just… woke up. When this whole thing started. Dunno know why.”

Weiss sighed, leaning back into her seat as Blake and Ruby talked. She was too tired to really maintain a conversation, but she hadn't wanted to lapse into silence while Ruby was obviously upset. She smiled slightly, glad for the diversion, as she let herself mentally drift.

She had managed to fall asleep again, only to awaken when the smell of cooking bacon filled the air. They rarely made their own food, with Weiss knowing nothing about how to do so, and Ruby being limited to roasting fresh game over a campfire, but Yang had somehow picked up some real cooking skills, and when she came back to herself it was to the sight of the exhausted blonde hunched over the fireplace, slowly poking at crisping bacon in a pan, bread sitting on the stone nearby to heat.

“You're awake!” Ruby said.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Did anything happen?”

“Uh… good news or bad news?” Ruby asked, moving to sit beside her on the seat.

Weiss narrowed her eyes. “How bad?”

“Uh… we're all alive, so it could be worse news,” Ruby hedged.

Weiss frowned. “So, very bad news.”

“Kinda,” Ruby agreed with a wince.

Weiss groaned in dismay. “How about good news… then breakfast… then bad news.”

Yang chuckled. “Gotta recharge before the bad?”

“Well, the good news is we're all alive,” Ruby said brightly. “The Grimm's gone, and the longer they've been up the better they've been feeling.”

“Yeah, you really need to put some meat on those bones, Weiss,” Yang taunted. “You're the only one who fell back asleep.”

Weiss glowered at her, not even breaking her expression when the other woman handed her a plate of food. “I also helped Ruby deal with the Grimm, while you two slept right through it.”

“Details,” Yang dismissed.

As annoying as the woman was, she prepared a filling meal. The fresh, hot bread was slathered with honey and fruit preserves, and the bacon was crispy, just the way she liked it. After crunching on a piece she groaned ecstatically. “Alright… you get to live.”

“How kind of you,” Blake drawled, although Weiss noticed she hadn't even looked up from her own breakfast.

Once they were all finished, Weiss leaned back against Ruby, a smile on her face as she finally felt a bit more human. “Okay, so what's the bad news.”

“Um… maybe it's better if you see for yourself.”

“See for myself?”

“Yeah… why don't you check our room.”

It was another typical night at Beacon, with Weiss nursing her red wine while Ruby sipped at her mead. Blake and Yang had gone elsewhere for the evening, probably driven off by Weiss's smoldering temper. Even most of a day after finding out the truth, her lover still wasn't over it.

“I can't believe it was all trash,” Weiss grumbled again.

Ruby chuckled. “Well, you know… easy come, easy go.”

Weiss glared at her, before sighing and slumping against the table. “But there was so much!”

The golden treasures they'd taken from the abandoned tower had turned out to be anything but valuable. With the Grimm cursing it dead, the treasure had turned out to be nothing but corroded scraps, rusty iron, and broken clay and pewter bits. Weiss hadn't been able to determine whether the fake treasure and associated Grimm had been an intentional trap placed by the tower's former owner, or if it had been something put together by the Grimm seeking gullible treasure hunters to prey upon, but either way they had been left with nothing.

“What's really bothering you?” Ruby asked.

“What do you mean?” Weiss asked, her back tensing slightly.

“Weiss, you're the one who taught me what 'easy come easy goes' means,” Ruby pointed out. “Usually you're the first one to shrug that kinda stuff off. So why're you so upset now?”

Weiss was quiet for a long time, before finally sighing. “You know our apartment?”

“Uh huh,” Ruby hummed. “What about it?”

“Before… before we moved in together… before we got together, I didn't have anything beyond what I could carry,” Weiss said. “Just a belt pouch of money, the clothes on my back, and my ancestral sword. Otherwise, I would fight or steal to fill my pouch, and then find someone's bed to sleep in for the night. It's been… years since I've had a room that required a lease. I haven't… I haven't had a home since I left Schnee Manor.”

“What's wrong with that?” Ruby asked.

“Everything,” Weiss sighed. “And nothing. I guess… I was used to a lifestyle once, where I had roots, and books, and fancy candles, and staff cooking me meals, and a warmed bed ready for me at night. All with a steady roof over my head and no risk of losing it all. Well, no risk until I chose to throw it away. Then I had nothing to lose, but that meant I had nothing at all. I was rudderless, alone in crowds, with nothing to depend on, and nothing depending on me.

“But now… I don't want that anymore. I want a life with you. With a home, and a bed, and the security not to need to run when things go wrong. Money… money had no value to me when my family had so much of it, and no value to me when I needed no more than I could take in a day. But now… now I don't want to risk losing this… this life we're building.”

“I had no idea,” Ruby said, taking her hand. “This has been really bothering you, hasn't it?”

“It should bother you, too,” Weiss said. “Vale chews up and spits people out. That was fine when I didn't care what happened to me tomorrow, but I don't want that anymore. I want… I want a tomorrow, not just a today. And a tomorrow requires more than odd jobs and petty crimes.”

“Then we'll find more.”

“It's not that simple,” Weiss said.

Ruby grinned at her. “It's only not simple if you make it not simple. Besides, even if something does go wrong, I know how to live in the forest with nothing at all. We'll figure out how to get by, I promise.”

“Dolt,” Weiss said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, who's worrying about silly stuff here,” Ruby said. “You know, you should share this stuff with me. We're in this together, you know? You don't have to worry alone.”

“I- huh,” Weiss said, leaning back in her seat. “I suppose you're right.”

“Of course I am,” Ruby said with a grin. “Now, how 'bout I get us another round of drinks, and then we can figure out what we can do next, since I guess we have to pay money to that landlord guy every month.”

“Sure,” Weiss said with a smile. “Together.”

#white rose week #white rose #ruby rose #weiss schnee #rwby #fanfic

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apparitionism · 5 years ago

Text

Run 2

Other than a few select details—and the overall conundrum of the appropriate role(s) for technological advances in sports—this story is entirely fantastical. Very little of what I’m describing works in the real world as I’m pretending it does here. Of course very little is working in the real world as it usually does right now, so why should this be any different? Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing. More than ever, I’m writing words down solely to write words down, and I can’t get any sort of tone to cohere, and while I’m sure it would be nice to be inventing calculus or writing King Lear, sometimes all that’s even vaguely achievable in the creative (or “creative”) realm is some poorly constructed fanfictional narrative about too-springy shoes. Which began in part 1.

Run 2

The man sitting next to Helena Wells in first class—his window 5A to her aisle 5B—was a talker. He was in sales, he began explaining the very moment he sat down, and his three vodka tonics over the course of the 90-minute flight did nothing to slow the torrent of information he felt compelled to convey to Helena about the endlessly fascinating (to him) world of medical devices. And the sale thereof. Helena could have informed him, a bit, about certain likely future directions of that field, for Helena knew a bit about a great many fields, but she kept her own counsel. He said nothing of consequence, and she did not feel any need to expend energy on him, even as little as it might have taken to freeze him with a look. “Mm hm,” she would say, when he paused for breath, and after every such interjection, off he would go again.

Not until the end of the flight, not until she had already risen to pull her bag from the overhead, did he bother to ask, “And what do you do?”

Helena smiled a smile that showed only the biting edges of her teeth. “I win.”

She did indeed win. More precisely, she negotiated deals to the best advantage of those who employed her, so her newest position, with the Zelus athletic corporation, suited her competitive nature perfectly. She found it delicious to be facilitating the endeavors of, and even working with, athletes, for they were straightforward, unabashed in their desire to show that, on a given day, they were better than any competition they faced.

Helena did, however, envy them their openness about that desire, their freedom to be visibly coldblooded. While ideals of “good sportsmanship” did keep most athletes from dancing on their enemies’ graves, that sportsmanship at base required going all in to win, and showing it. In Helena’s bailiwick of corporate dealmaking, on the other hand, every position had give; every outcome reflected some of that give—that is, some loss—on each side... or at least, it did so externally. Every party might in fact achieve their desired outcomes, but regret was what one had to perform.

From this, Helena knew that no person or business or any other entity was ever as strong in their supposed stance as they claimed to be. And oh, how they did claim: so many ways there were to righteously say “this far and no farther.” And then so many ways to try to save face when that crumbled to “perhaps, in fact, just a bit farther.”

Where Helena excelled was not in nailing down the finer points of contracts, but rather in discerning weak points and, on their basis, obtaining agreements in principle into which her opposition needed to enter—and out of which they could not wriggle—without causing public embarrassment or shame. She relished in-person meetings, for physical presence could serve as motivation when recalcitrant parties needed goading, or cover, to make the required concessions. Particularly when Helena gave every indication of being entirely willing to walk away. And to talk about having done so.

“Here, ultimately, is what I must have from you,” Helena would say, at an appropriate point, to some such reluctant interlocutor. And then she would, often, present an outsize “ultimate” ask.

Her counterpart would, naturally, be nonplussed, and would sputter something such as, “We can’t afford that!” or “That’s unreasonable!”

Helena put the theatrics undergirding face-to-face to good use: she was quite practiced at engaging in a lengthy process of standing up and restoring implements to their appropriate places in her attaché. “Then I suppose further discussions will be unproductive,” she would say as she carefully housed a pen, her telephone, and various other assorted technologies in zippered pockets. “Such a shame, when I’m sure you could summon some extra effort.” She would, on occasion, sigh.

Observing this production, observing its “finality,” her counterpart would waver. Then would come the beg of “Wait, wait.”

Helena would, of course, wait as requested. As she did so, she would begin to muse, aloud, something along the lines of a quiet, “I might be willing to offer certain... considerations...”

Eventually an agreement would be reached, one in which she would have given up no more than she was authorized to concede, and usually far, far less.

Requesting the moon, being ready to bark about not receiving it, and then yielding some sweetener, was not her only tactic, but it was consistently—surprisingly consistently—effective.

The additional leverage provided by Zelus’s money, prestige, and international reach in such situations was gratifyingly robust. It had made this new position singularly attractive, to start, and would, she hoped, make it satisfying, both in the long term and in the short-term highest-of-stakes dealmaking on which she was about to embark with AAI.

She was licking her chops at having been tapped for these talks, though she knew that Dan Badger—Saint Dan, as he was known at home, with a nationally uncharacteristic lack of irony—would not sully his ethically pristine hands by engaging in them. He had underlings for that. Speaking to Zelus would imply that he spoke to Zelus, and thus that he might be influenced by—that is, that his principles might fall victim to—the company’s money, prestige, and international reach.

Funny that anything of consequence in her life would come down to Saint Dan... but she had no need or time to concentrate on that now, what with her flight with Mr. Medicaldevices, what with getting herself to her hotel and then to AAI’s headquarters.

“I win,” she repeated aloud, as a firm reminder to herself, upon exiting the elevators on the 40th floor to confront the winged AAI logo on the wall of a large lobby. She wasn’t nervous as such, but the initial conferences involved in any such negotiation, particularly one like this with such enormous repercussions, did tend to make her feel as if she were being put through qualifying. As to whether she would qualify, there was no doubt. But having to do so was an annoyance.

“I win,” she said again, as she realized, after some purposeful striding through hallways, that she had no idea where she was, or where she was supposed to be. How could she have been so foolish as to have misread the COO’s office number?

Well. She was considered a shark, was she not? So she kept moving, entering the nearest office space, determined to push her way to a righted course. Someone would know where she was meant to be. She found herself in a large area featuring several desks, at the nearest of which sat a womanly figure, her back to Helena. She had long, dark, curly hair. Helena had once upon a time been dramatically drawn to women—well, be honest: one woman—with long, dark, curly hair... she tried not to be, anymore, but here she was again, drawn, as if no one else were present in the space. She tapped the woman’s shoulder and received an annoyed response, and upon hearing it, Helena thought, Wait...

Then the woman looked up, and Helena thought, Oh no, followed swiftly by, Myka.

She could not summon a single word to say. Judging from Myka’s wide eyes and unmoving mouth, neither could she.

As they gaped at each other, Helena’s thoughts galloped along: She hasn’t changed. She looks like herself. She still has that whorl of hazel in her eyes...

She tried to shake herself back to sense by noting that people’s eyes didn’t change color over time; of course the hazel would still be there. The hazel and the green and the lashes that overswept them both...

“Lost,” Myka at last said, lighting on what Helena vaguely remembered was a word she herself had said.

“Lost,” Helena affirmed. It was all she could do to utter that syllable, even though, standing here, staring at Myka, she felt no longer lost at all. Or perhaps she was lost again, or lost anew, lost as she’d been, nearly two years ago... the distance between then and now had not been sufficiently impressed upon her until this moment. You are different now, this reminder of emotional depth and breadth told her. You are intentionally different now.

A man seated near Myka said, “Call me crazy, but I think you two know each other.”

The ensuing silence stretched into near-insurmountability.

Then: “Yes,” Myka said.

Helena was surprised that she would acknowledge it, but she had, so: “Yes,” Helena echoed.

Nothing else happened.

“Okay,” the man said. After a moment, during which Helena and Myka continued to stare at each other, he said to Helena, “Um. New lady Myka knows, what are you doing here?”

Helena found something like her voice. “I’m from Zelus,” she said.

“When you say it like that, sounds like an alien planet. How many suns does it have?” he asked.

Whoever this was, he was good at breaking tension. Helena coughed a little laugh and said, “You see my healthy tan.”

“So, zero,” the man said. “Mykes, you never told me you knew an alien from a system with no suns.” Then, to Helena, “Okay, alien from the planet Zelus, how can we help you? But I’m not sure I believe you’re from there at all. Don’t they make everybody wear the gear? Where’s your headband or whatever?”

Helena laughed a bit more strongly, this time at the idea of herself in a headband. “Your COO can attest. I have an initial appointment regarding what to do about the shoes. The Deceits, that is.”

The man snorted. “Trust me, we know which shoes need something done about ’em. But anyway you took a major wrong turn at the elevators.”

“Did I?” Helena resumed staring at Myka. Wrong turn? The turn I took was in no way wrong. Or it was, because I am seeing a sight I never thought to see again, and it is reminding me of things I cannot bear to be reminded of.

“You want the bigwig offices. Other side.”

“Do I?” Helena asked. I don’t think I do. I think I want to take up residence right here... or rather, in the past. The part of the past that involves this person who is right here.

“Yeah,” he said, but a bit heavily, as if he had heard her thoughts and wanted to honor them. “Because we’re just certification and compliance.”

In response to that, Helena could think only, Of course you are. Or rather, Of course she is.

She hadn’t seen Myka... since.

Helena’s then-employer had been looking into the acquisition of a company. Helena was sent to visit that company for some days in order to see what best face it could put on for an acquisitive outsider... and what could be extrapolated from that about its value. The books were being gone over by others, and they would provide useful quantitative data on corporate health, but Helena’s nose for frailties was unsurpassed.

All the meetings she attended were watched over by a rotating cast from the legal department. Those types always thought themselves hawklike, their senses finely tuned so as to correct any employees’ statements that might give Helena the wrong impression. Helena was fully prepared for whatever “clarifying” interruptions they would offer.

She was not at all prepared for their intern.

“This is our 3L from Stanford,” said one of the lawyers, explaining that intern’s presence at one such meeting. “Myka Bering. She’s trying corporate on for size. We’re hoping it fits.”

Helena took Myka Bering’s hand for what was meant to be a simple business shake. But at the touch, something happened to her breathing: in-out became out-in, and she coughed. “Sorry,” she said, then coughed again. “Does it?” she asked, sounding nothing at all like herself. “Fit, I mean?”

“Still trying it on,” Myka said, and with a little duck of her head—she was tall—she stepped away, toward the back of the room, a movement that said I know what my place is here.

Helena knew what her own place was, and she tried to occupy it appropriately, sitting in a position of significance at a not-quite-sturdy conference table. Yet throughout the meeting, her attention was drawn to Myka, who was not at the table but in a chair against the wall, drawn to her serious brow-furrow as she took notes. At one point, Myka looked up from those notes, meeting Helena’s eyes, and after a blink of connection, she performed the duck of head again.

Helena spent the remainder of the meeting hoping that some similar blink would reconnect them... well, not only hoping, but also attempting to magically will or engineer it into happening. She took no notes of her own, and when she saw blank paper in front of her, once the meeting’s participants were released at its end, she had to acknowledge, certainly to herself if no one else, that she had been thrown entirely off her stride.

That wouldn’t do, so she had to do something about it.

For a day and a half, the “something” she did was “ignore it aggressively.” If she concentrated solely on the professional tasks at hand, she would surely forget the stumble Myka had brought to her breath. She would surely forget that blink of connection and would give up wishing for it to be repeated. Surely that was what would happen.

As a strategy for regaining her stride, aggressive ignoring was unsuccessful.

Helena then told herself that if she sought Myka out, that if she talked to her one-on-one, whatever momentary spell had been cast would surely break. Myka would show herself to be merely a law student, and Helena could... put her in perspective. She made a plan to catch Myka at the end of the day, which would allow her to dismiss this spell for the mirage it was and start fresh the next morning. Surely that was what would happen.

As a strategy for breaking the spell, seeking Myka out was unsuccessful.

Myka was exiting her small closet of an office when Helena approached her, ready to say a simple “hello” and inquire about her internship. But when she was once again the focus of Myka’s attention, Helena was barely able to choke, “The other day. In the meeting.” (She could not even say, “The meeting about,” because she did not know what should follow “about,” because she did not know what the meeting had been about.) She continued, inadequately, “I... noticed you.”

“I noticed you too,” Myka said. “I mean, you did sit at the big table. At the front. And you did some talking.” Helena did not remember doing any talking. “So of course I would have. Noticed.” Playful? As if she knew that Helena had wanted their eyes to meet again. “Plus we were introduced. Before it.”

If Helena had known she needed to brace herself against so much today, she might have been able to do it; her spine might have remained straight. Instead it bent her body toward Myka’s so that she could murmur, “Would you... would you want to have a drink with me tonight?” Bent so she might now magically will or engineer her into saying yes.

Myka didn’t say yes. What she did was lean back a bit and give Helena a look of appraisal. What followed was a surprise: “When was the last time you had a meal cooked by someone you know?” she asked.

The seeming non sequitur was strangely calming, and that calm gave Helena space to consider how to respond. She contemplated a boastful answer, one that might remind both herself and Myka who they were in relation to each other: “Certain restaurateurs with Michelin stars know my name and have recently cooked meals for me.” She then pondered an attempt at humor: “The chef at my hotel knows that I’m demanding when it comes to room service.” No, the latter was asinine. And the former made her sound like... well, it made her sound too much like the person she wanted to be most of the time, the person whom others feared. She didn’t want Myka to hear that. As it happened, she wanted, uncharacteristically, to tell Myka the truth. “I can’t remember,” she settled for saying.

More appraisal, as if Myka had been waiting for Helena to decide on an approach and now was deliberating in advance of her verdict on the choice. And Helena’s breathing might have faltered in response to Myka, but Myka’s, here in response to Helena, was resolute, measured. Helena watched her body inhale and exhale, once then twice, two very full breaths. Then Myka said, “I do want to have a drink with you. But I think you should let me cook you a meal instead. Or also. Nothing fancy; all I’ve got is some pasta and cheap wine.”

She could have said she had stale saltines and grape juice. Cardboard and lukewarm water. All Helena wanted was to be in her presence. You really shouldn’t do this, some vague conscience-voice said, altogether inadequately.

TBC

In place of a tag essay: This is a short part because my ability to sustain thoughts is limited. But did you see the reveal coming? I thought I leaned on it so hard in the first part, but maybe I should have leaned harder... anyway, I’m going to try to get better, structure-wise, going forward, but that is going to depend very much on the state of the world. With regard to that state, I want to say out loud that everyone in the Bering & Wells community is precious to me. Precious. So please stay as safe as possible: wash hands, physical distance, stay home if you can. And if you’re on the front lines, doing essential work, my gratitude is boundless.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #part 2 #AU week

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thronesofshadows · 4 years ago

Text

First Impressions || Roland & Evelyn

TIMING: Last Week PARTIES: @sgtrolandhills and @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Roland is a good and upstanding citizen. Evelyn, not so much, but she fakes it well?

Duty wasn’t something that just left Roland when he checked out of the station for the night. It was something he lived and breathed. Even in his personal time, if there was a way he could serve his community, he was usually open to it. It was why as he was walking back to his car, takeout bags in hand, he paused as he heard whimpering nearby. It mattered little that he was off duty. If someone needed his help, he was going to do what he could. He peeked around a corner onto a dimly lit street and saw a young woman with a much larger man. It sounded as if the whimpering was coming from her, but he swore he saw the man crying. He blinked slowly, trying to get a good grip on the situation before he called out, “What’s going on out here?”

So Alain knew what she was and there was no going back from that. That didn’t mean that she had to stop being who she was, though. She still needed to feed, and Evelyn still got a thrill out of certain other methods of feeding. Of giving those who most deserved it their dues. The man in particular today reminded her of a less well-kept version of many of the patrons of her own bar. She hadn’t even had to invite him out, this time. He’d followed her after she’d left Dell’s and that was how they’d ended up in their present situation. He’d made some stupid comment about her hair and had asked her some question she hadn’t paid attention to, and because she was someone who could deal wth this sort of thing with a fair amount of ease, and so she’d grinned, a perfect smile flashed before she ran her hand along his arm and looked right into his eyes. She couldn’t paralyze with her gaze, but that didn’t mean that it was any less terrifying to experience. He began to whimper and she felt a small smile creep over her lips before she heard someone else’s voice. Shoot. This town was too nosy for its own good, sometimes. Her facial expression dropped and she let her eyes grow wide, brushing her fingers against them and putting the contacts in. “He followed me.” She blinked - once, twice, three times. “I don’t even know his name.” The man was backed against the other wall now, taking heavy breaths. His fears had hardly been worth it. Some ridiculous deal with heights. Dreadfully plain.

While he was off duty, Roland was still in uniform as he hadn’t yet been home from work. It seemed lucky he caught this before anything further progressed. While the woman explained the man had been following her, he still seemed to be frightened for his life. Something wasn’t adding up and he didn’t like it. He supposed the woman could have stood up for herself which may have come as a shock to the predator. She hardly looked like she could do much harm. “Where did he follow you from, ma’am?” If this guy was stalking her with intent to harass, something would need to be done. He carefully looked between the pair and did his best to keep analyzing the situation.

As the other man came closer, Evelyn could see that he was in uniform. Shoot. Whenever the police were involved, things got a lot more complicated. Except with Marley - Evelyn knew that she could trust her, but everyone else there was up in the air. Which meant she had to tread carefully here. She twirled the ends of her hair around her fingertips, every mark one of nerves. “You do not need to call me ma’am.” She offered him a kind smile. “But - he followed me from Dell’s.” She glanced down at him, the urge to kick him to stop the whimpering - though ever since she’d broken eye contact with him, at least the whimpers had lessened. “To be quite fair, I did not even notice him, and I might have reacted rather strongly.” Another shrug as she bit her lip, “my boyfriend has been teaching me judo, so perhaps that startled him.” She took a few steps towards her new company. “I am ever so grateful you happened by, though.”

It brought Roland a sense of relief to know this woman had some basic self defense skills. He truly believed it was vital for everyone to have some know how when it came to fending for ones’ self. Back in Boston, he’d even taught classes to help with as much. While he wasn’t on duty so he couldn’t do much, he shifted the bag of food in his arms and responded, “I’m glad you were able to handle yourself at least. I’m off duty at the moment, but I can radio someone to come pick him up. Stalking is a serious offense.” One he would not tolerate. He nodded along as she explained her boyfriend had been teaching her judo. By the looks of it, she was certainly good at taking care of herself in that regard. The man who once thought he’d have power in the situation was now reduced to tears as if his digressions hadn’t been shameful enough. “Look at me,” he demanded as he knelt down, “Were you following this young woman?”

“Oh,” Evelyn bit her lip. “I mean, you don’t have to do that.” She looked carefully at the policeman. “I know you all stay incredibly busy, and the last thing I want to do is add unnecessary work onto your docket.” Not to mention, if he talked too much, she could find herself in trouble. “I am aware it is an offense, but I think he was just being a jerk.” Then the policeman had to bend down and talk to the man and he looked over at Evelyn with a glare, muttering that she’d done something. “He is lying.” Evelyn lied through her teeth. “Anything I did was out of self-defense.” Or prevention. Giving him a taste of his own medicine, no matter how clichéd that phrase may be. “I think I would feel most comfortable if you and I just walked away from him.” The man let out another scream and Evelyn felt her hands shoot up to her ears. “Perhaps sooner than later?”

“Are you sure,” Roland questioned. If this was the type of man to follow women from bars, he wanted him to be brought in. If the woman wasn’t pressing charges there was little that could be done anyhow. “We do stay busy, but any public threat is worth examining.” Stalking went way past being a jerk in his book. These were people that felt they were entitled to people they were infatuated with just because they wanted them. That wasn’t how the world worked and delusions needed to be broken before it was too late. While the man did seem genuinely alarmed, somehow his allegations seemed frantic and nonsensical. Great, another town drunk. If leaving the man behind would make the woman more comfortable, he’d lead the way. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and frowned at the man, “He can figure his way home, I imagine, even if he does seem entirely too wasted to be out in public.” Once they were a safe distance away and standing under the glow of street lights, he shifted his bag of food to his left side and extended his hand, “I’m Sergeant Hills, by the way, but you can call me Roland. Are you close to your destination?”

“Yes.” She nodded. For all that Evelyn often found the police department’s incompetence when it came to the supernatural infuriating (and the very reason that Melanie’s killer had never been dealt with), she found herself incredibly grateful for it this time. It meant that he could pass it all off as just being typically weird. Evelyn bit her lower lip, fighting away a smile as the man continued to whimper. “Thank you.” She took another few steps closer to him, giving a sharp nod. “He deserves that, after all.” Perhaps her words had too much of a bite to them, but in this moment she could not find it in herself to care. “He does at that.” One of the many reasons she often chose bars when she needed to feed - or wanted to, even, Being drunk was an easy excuse to wave away anything that anyone said. “I am Evelyn Hoffman. You are welcome to just call me Evelyn, though.” She tucked another strand of hair behind her ear and nodded, “well, not to my destination but my car is not too far away. I reside on Harris Island.” She began walking, before adding on, “do you usually make a habit of working to save the day, even when you are off-duty?”

While Evelyn’s words were a bit harsh, Roland could understand. Men like this were infuriating and he’d much rather bring him into the station, but he’d respect her wishes. It wasn’t like she had called the police to the scene. He’d just happened to be walking by. There wasn’t much he could do now as they walked away. He nodded slowly and followed her steps. “Evelyn, it’s good to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were better.” Everything about her seemed prim and proper despite how he’d found her in the alley. It was a relief to hear her car was not too far away, he could make sure she got there safely. “May I walk you to your car, then? I’d like to make sure that drunk doesn’t try to follow you again.” It was no surprise to hear she lived on Harris Island. That was the nicer part of town. At her question, he shrugged. It didn’t seem like much to stand up for people in need when he saw me. “I guess you could say I do. I take my duty to serve the community seriously. I also just prefer to do the right thing when the opportunity presents itself.” He paused for a moment. “I take it you’ve gotten pretty good with the judo?”

“I do as well. I would have much preferred to meet you in just about any other way.” She offered him a wry smile, followed by a light shrug of her shoulders. Evelyn straightened her posture again. “Well, if you wish to make them better at any point, you are free to come by my bar. The police department are not my most frequent guests, but I welcome anyone, and you seem to be a good person.” She nodded, “yes, I would be quite appreciative of that, if it does not cause you too much trouble.” Adjusting the fit of her dress, she continued to walk, “though I do not think he should bother us again.” She fought away the puzzled look that threatened her face. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with people who were aware of the supernatural, at least in part, so much so that she forgot just how many people were entirely unaware. Forgot how much that could benefit her. She wasn’t about to feed on the man who’d come upon her, though - he had been nothing but kind, and though she knew some people she fed from were properly good people, doing that to a police sergeant who’d just offered to help her out was not the sort of person she was. “Well, I think more people should be like you.” She flashed him a grin. “Oh! Judo? Yeah, I guess? I mean, I’m not on the level of my boyfriend at all, but I know some basic moves. I think I surprised him more than anything else. I mean,” Evelyn gave a small shrug as they turned a corner, “I do not exactly look all too threatening.”

What was done was done, but Roland did figure it would be nicer to meet Evelyn in a more proper fashion. Anyone with her self defense skills was someone worth knowing. He wondered if her or her boyfriend would ever consider joining him for some of the free self defense classes they offered for the community. “I think I’d like that. What bar is yours? I’ve admittedly not been to many of the bars since I’ve moved here. And thanks,” he said calmly now that there was more distance between them and the drunk. It was also a relief he could make sure she was getting to her car safely. “It’ll be no trouble at all,” he assured her and let her lead the way to her vehicle. As they walked toward her car, Roland was on high alert and was actively making sure no one was approaching. It seemed the drunk man remained in the alley, not surprising as it seemed he could not get up from the ground. Maybe after all this, he’d go back and check on him. Hopefully, a woman standing up for herself taught him a lesson. He noted a streetlight in front of them was currently burned out. A mental note was made to call Public Works about it in the morning. “Still, you knew enough to keep yourself safe. I’m actually looking to get more free self-defense classes going for the community. If your boyfriend was ever interested in volunteering, I’m sure others could learn a lot from him just as you have.” Maybe more self defense would help combat this town’s insanely high fatality rate. “Not to make you or him feel pressured, I just like to keep people aware of the opportunities available through the community center. I know many find volunteer work rewarding.” He let out a small chuckle and added, “You definitely don’t. That makes it all the easier to disarm someone.”

“The Artesian.” Evelyn offered him another smile. “Might I ask where you moved from? I am quite clearly not a native, either. I myself am a bit of a dead giveaway, though I suppose I could have been raised in America and still have this accent.” Though Evelyn was not able to pick up fear by random happenstance, only when she actively fed, she could tell that he was certainly paying more attention. Which meant that she just had to keep playing human as much as was possible. She found herself grateful that she had far too much experience in doing just that, but at times like this, it was easy to work a situation to her benefit. “Well, though it may be no trouble, I am still grateful. Not everyone does these sorts of things out of the pure goodness of their heart, no matter what storybooks may have implied.” She let herself laugh for a moment, permitting a moment of levity between them. “I do. Oh? Well, classes are always good. I know someone else who runs a self-defense course, but I can ask after my boyfriend, see what he thinks. He does seem to enjoy helping the community, so I bet I can persuade him to do something at least.” She gave another shrug. “It does at that. Not that I make a particular habit of it, mind you, but I like to be prepared.”

“I think I’ve heard of it before,” Roland responded with a small grin on his face. “I’ll have to check it out.” He always assumed he’d be a little out of place. It sounded fancy, but if the owner was inviting him, surely he couldn’t be too much of a sore thumb. “I moved here from Boston back toward the end of April. It’s definitely a different world here,” he answered, “Where are you from? By the sounds of it, overseas, I’m sure.” It would explain the posh nature she had about her. He wouldn’t be surprised if that drunk had also wanted to rob her. He was happy that wasn’t the case and by all indications, no one was following them. That didn’t make him any less aware of their surroundings. Her praise still felt slightly odd. He was proud of his work and what he did for his community. He knew it wasn’t for everyone and that fear and pain often inspired people’s choices, but to him, it just seemed natural. He was much like his father in that way. “You’re welcome, then. I know storybooks are hardly realistic, but I guess I’ve just been lucky enough to have good role models in my life,” he explained with a shrug. “If it’s not something he’s up to, that’s totally okay. Me and another one of the detectives at the station take turns running it. Occasionally, a local martial arts instructor comes in as well. I think it’s a good experience. Helpful and a good way to connect with the community.” As they rounded a corner, he added, “Always better to be safe than sorry.”

“Well, I am pleased that you have heard of it. Save for one incident, we have quite the pristine reputation.” Evelyn nodded. “Let me know, and I will be sure you get in. We often have a waiting list, but as the owner, I can make exceptions as I see fit.” At his question she gave a nod, “good observation skills. Yes, I am from London. Moved here four years ago. Incidentally, also in April. Must be a lucky sort of month for moving here.” Though he was likely human (she always assumed this, unless given reason to think otherwise - because this town, for all that it brought the comfort of the supernatural, there were still a great number of humans). “That is quite lucky. I have been fortunate to have a few of those myself.” She wondered, for a moment, if he was the sort who would help her if she came to him with Melanie’s case - though she knew that she could ask Marley for help with that at any point, perhaps not all of the police force were entirely incompetent. Even if most would never believe that hunters existed, and even if her physiology would be explained as nothing more than a trick of the eye. “I am happy to check with him regardless. Sometimes he is rather shy about how lovely he is, so perhaps this will earn him well-deserved greater appreciation. Besides, he truly does know his stuff. It is both of those things,” the turned the corner, “this town likes to throw surprises, and I was always taught, even as a child, to be prepared.” Her car was hardly too far away, now. “Can I ask, if you do not mind, what you think of this town? I know that when I arrived I heard all sorts of incredibly wild tales.”

With all the other craziness that happened in the town, Roland had nearly forgotten that Langley had been stabbed by a mime at that establishment. Though Langley getting stabbed seemed to be a trend, he could hardly blame it on her decidedly not mime-themed bar. “I think I know the incident you’re referring to and that hardly seems like the fault of you or your staff,” he said genuinely. As much as he liked Langley, it seemed like someone had it out for him. “I appreciate that, but I think I can manage to make a reservation before coming in. This may come as a huge shock to you, seeing as we just met, but I’m not the most spontaneous guy around,” he joked. As they walked under flickering lights, he couldn’t help but note he wasn’t so sure his move was lucky anymore. He’d been so optimistic at that start. Maybe he could find his way back to that. “London, that would explain the accent. What brought you to White Crest?” She had a successful business here, but he had to wonder, why here? Perhaps it wasn’t any of his business. Role models always made him think of his dad which left him with something of a wistful smile as they rounded a corner toward a parking lot. “I’m glad you’ve had some of those as well. They really do make all the difference.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he spoke, but he quickly returned gears to community classes. “Being humble is always an admirable trait-- though maybe some extra appreciation from his community would do him well, too.” At her question, he shifted a bit uncomfortably. Before being trapped in that house where nothing seemed to make sense and actually talking about it with Marley, his answer would have been much more clear cut. Now, he wasn’t so sure. It all sounded crazy, but from what he saw, it was in fact, crazy. “I’m not quite sure. Still trying to find a way to explain all of the things I’ve seen here. At the end of the day, what I make of all the wild tales matters little. It’s my duty to protect the people of this town. Maybe one day, things will have a little more clarity, but until then, I still have responsibilities to uphold.”

“Thank you. I have come to be alright with that now, but I did feel quite a bit of guilt after the fact,” Evelyn shrugged. She had shrugged it off by this point - especially since Kaden had seemed to forgive her, but she still hadn’t quite figured out why a mime would target someone. Focusing her thoughts back on Roland, she grinned. “Well, I do trust you with that, and hey, too much spontaneity is not for everyone. I can be, my boyfriend is not, to each their own. Still, if you would like to, I am happy to knock some other people off the list for you. From what I can tell, you are already better company than some of my other patrons.” She offered him another shrug at the remark about her accent. “That it would.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I wanted a change of pace. Someone mentioned this town to me, told me it was beautiful, and I figured why not?” They were nearing the parking lot now and she bit her lip at his comment. “It is a lucky sort of thing to have, if I am to be honest.” He shifted topics quickly enough to spark a bit of curiosity in her, but not enough for her to push. At least not yet. “I think some added appreciation would do him well. I mean, he gets it from me, but there is a bit of a difference, no matter how much he might value my opinion.” She looked at him carefully as he began to talk. All of the things I’ve seen here. She wondered if she was about to get added to that list, though he’d seemingly taken her explanation of what went down at face value. “There are a few mighty confusing things, I will admit that. Well, your dedication to your duty is something to be admired, that much I can already tell.”

“I’m glad it’s gotten easier,” Roland replied as they continued their walk through the parking lot. Guilt was a feeling he knew well, especially as of late. No matter how many times you told yourself something was out of your control, it was never easy to shake off that feeling that maybe there was something you could have done differently. Sometimes people had to be reminded the only person’s actions they could control were their own. He hadn’t meant to let his thoughts drift so astray and he tuned back in just in time to catch what Evelyn had been saying. “I suppose you’re right. Different strokes for different folks and all that. I appreciate that you’d do that for me. Guess that just means I’ll need to come by sooner rather than later,” he responded with a small grin. It did sound like a nice place and it’d been a while since his nice not-work shirts were put to good use. Her reasoning for moving here seemed sound enough. Some really enjoyed that small town charm though he was almost positive White Crest was lacking in the charm part these days. Before, he’d seen it, even if the death rate was high. Now? He just didn’t know. The unsolved stack of cases sitting on his desk told a different story. “Well, it seems like you’ve done quite well for yourself here. I’ve heard good things about your bar.” That much was true. They were making their way further into a parking lot now and he assumed they had to be close. “Well, I appreciate anyone showing people how to keep themselves safe. Speaking of, is this the lot you’re parked in?” His dinner was long cold by now, but it was still better than Lean Cuisine and probably came with less scrutiny. “Nothing that can’t be managed with some dedication at least. Thank you, though. I try to serve my community well.” When she confirmed they were in fact near her car, he gave her a brief wave. “I am glad you let me walk with you. It feels better to know you’re safe. I’ll definitely be stopping in to see you soon.”

“Only so much I can reasonably hold on to, I think.” Evelyn bit her lip. She had more than enough about Melanie - nothing could ever surpass that, nothing could take away the guilt she felt for leaving that morning, for not finding out who murdered her girlfriend in the three years since. “Of course. Least I can do, after you have been so kind to me.” Additionally, she had an incredible curiosity about him. She knew she ought to not feel such a way about humans, but she could not help it. Especially ones who genuinely wanted to do good in their community. Who wanted to help just for the sake of helping, while asking for nothing in return. “It has been in a few magazines, and the general consensus has been positive, I think.” She smiled softly at him, feigning modesty. “Yes, it is. I am right over there,” she gave a nod to her Ferrari. “You do a good job of it, Sergeant. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

#wickedswriting #c roland #chatzy #first impressions #// i love roland and i love hannah and this chatzy makes me sad because of other recent chatzies #but it was so lovely and shout out to roland for thinking evelyn is totally normal

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twigon0metry · 5 years ago

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what’s it really like as a christian? -my faith-

Hey y’all! Sorry for not being consistent about posting--I had no motivation or inspiration for a long time, and couldn’t figure out for the life of me what to post >.<’ But anyways, I’m back now! This is a long post, so if you’re interested in reading my story, it’s all below the cut. :)

You might have come here without knowing what Christianity even is. That’s ok! Feel free to ask me anything about it, and I will do my best to answer. The reason I’m here is not to push my way of life down your throat, or try to convince you that you’re wrong. I’m here because the experiences I’ve had are like nothing else in the world, and I want to share them with you--in hopes that in some way you’ll be encouraged. (TW: suicidal thoughts, cancer)

I don’t know how many of my followers know this, but I am a Christian, and I’ve felt recently that I should be more open about that than I am. I have things I can share and use to encourage and inspire others, and I want to use them for good, and not hold them back anymore.

But what exactly do I mean when I say I’m a Christian? The world has so many different definitions of that word (some not so pleasant), and it’s part of the reason I’ve been a little nervous about sharing.

To me, Christianity is not a religion, but a way of life. It’s more than just accepting Jesus into your heart and following rules and doctrines, or just agreeing with Jesus’s teachings. It’s having a real, personal relationship with a loving God, not a God who judges.

Anyhoo, to the story. I’m that stereotypical Christian who grew up as a Christian, if that makes any sense--faith had always been a part of my family, even before I was born. I went to church on a regular basis, did Sunday School, gave my life to Christ at a young age, yadda yadda. I thought that I was a pretty good Christian--a pretty good person in general, haha. Even though I had accepted Jesus into my life, I didn’t really have a personal relationship with him--kinda took everything for granted. It wasn’t until when I was around eleven or twelve years old that I actually started to try and figure out exactly what I believed.

And when that happened, I started to doubt. I’d always accepted that God was real, but was he really? Did I really believe he existed? This doubt terrified me, because for so long I had just taken it for granted. I was also that one goody-two-shoes kid. I always wanted to be good and do the right thing. And believing in God was the right thing to do, but I didn’t know if I did or not.

I don’t remember exactly how I got through that, but I remember realizing that if the idea of not caring about God gave me so much distress, I must care about him more than I thought. And after that point, I began to make my beliefs my own--independent of my parents and family culture. I knew I believed in God, and I wanted to follow Jesus, even if at that point, I had no idea what that even meant.

A little while later, some significant struggles came into my life. I started to struggle with some undefined health issues, and although I didn’t know it yet--anxiety. I had many panic attacks, and lost weight and sleep (and to be clear, I’m a noodle, so this ain’t a good thing). During those times, I would often come to my mom, because even though she often told me the same things I’d heard before, I always felt better afterwards. She ended up teaching me about how God’s control over my life meant that everything would end up being ok eventually--because he loved me, and wanted the best for me. I learned how to pray to him and talk to him about what I was stressed about. This ended up helping me a lot, and it was a good thing, because I would need that skill later.

Around this time or shortly after, my dad got cancer. I think it was some kind of lymphoma. And the thing was, although this cancer was treated, it kept coming back. In fact, the doctors ended up telling us that it was terminal--there was no cure, it could only be treated and would just keep coming back regardless.

As you can imagine, this experience was devastating for our family. I didn’t realize the magnitude of it at first, but it got worse as time went on, as he experienced cancer/treatment symptoms not one, but three separate times over the course of six years. Yet, the strangest things happened to me during this time. First off, although I was afraid, for most of it I felt this strange, unexplainable peace. Where others would have been shook to their core, I was at rest. I was able to trust God with my dad, even though I was afraid, and to this day I don’t know how I could, especially considering the anxiety I so often dealt with. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t hard--I knew my dad could die. My mom was stressed. It was really hard to watch my dad suffer. But somehow, it truly felt as if God himself was with my family. We prayed more, and felt closer. Secondly, over time, I became more and more drawn towards God. I wanted more.

During this time I started to want to know more about God. I knew I wanted to follow him, but I had no idea how to do that. I learned that I needed to seek him, and that if I seek God, I would find him. And this proved to be true. I ended up discovering a whole new side to Christianity that I never knew before. I learned that following God is not just about the things you do, but about a relationship. God himself loved me, and everyone in the world, more than I could imagine. And he knew me, inside and out, but still loved me. He knew me, and wanted me to know him. I kept seeking, kept learning, and got baptized three years ago as a public declaration of my desire to do that. I even learned that I could hear God, if I listened close enough.

But choosing to REALLY follow God didn’t mean I became a good person. I struggled, and still struggle, in many areas in my life. A big part of life as a Christian is learning to accept yourself, and not let your deeds define you. Another big part of life as a Christian is accepting that your natural state of being will always be imperfect, and you can’t fix yourself on your own. And me, being a goody-two-shoes, still had A LOT to learn. A couple years ago, for some reason, I started to really struggle with procrastination. Since I’m homeschooled, this resulted in me being really really behind, and I always had a ton of work floating over my head, which resulted in a lot of stress for me. And it became an addiction. I could not stop, no matter what I did, no matter how much I told myself I tried to do better, or even if I actually tried to do better. I never did good enough, and I started to attach that to my identity. I was not good enough.

I ended up feeling very depressed and hopeless. Me always having work to do meant that I couldn’t spend time with others as much. My parents, my whole family, became stressed. And it was my fault, and I couldn’t stop. I got into fights with my parents, and I was told that I was wasting my life, and had wasted my life. And on top of this, God wasn’t a priority in my life anymore. A big part of being a Christian is having a relationship with God, and in order to do that, you need to consistently spend time with him. And I wasn’t doing that. All of this culminated in a lot of shame. I started to believe I couldn’t get out of my loop, and that I was a burden--and I thought that if maybe I left, everyone would be better. I was a problem, and problems need to be eliminated. I don’t know that I really would have tried to end my life, but I thought about it a lot. The only thing that prevented me from seriously considering it was the fact that I knew God had a good plan for me and my life (as he does for everyone), and that I was alive because he had a purpose for me.

That time was awful. But through it, I learned so much. And God’s love reached me in some amazing ways. One time, I had just had a lecture with my parents that resulted in them telling me to go spend time with God. I went to my room, but because I was so angry, I didn’t want anything to do with God. I actually sat there for about five, fifteen minutes doing nothing. But then, I took a piece of paper, and started to write out my honest feelings to God--even the so called sinful feelings, like being angry at him. And the strangest thing happened--I actually felt more open and less angry the more I wrote. And it wasn’t because of the things I was writing, because they were NOT peaceful at all. At this point, I didn’t even believe that God could change my circumstances. That unshakable faith I had before was gone. But God changed my perspective and my heart.

I eventually asked him something like, “How could you even change my circumstances?”, because even though God was changing my attitude towards Him, I still didn’t believe things would get better. And then I heard three words--not literally heard, but they pushed themselves to the forefront of my brain and impressed themselves so strongly I actually couldn’t even move. “Let me show you.”. They weren’t angry words, or judgmental words--I’d learned that the voice of God is never condemning. It was just incredibly strong. And in that moment, I decided to let God show me--let him help me fix my problems, instead of trying to do it all by myself.

Another time, I was lying in my bed late at night. Nighttime was often the worst for me, because I would always be reminded of the things I wasn’t doing right. This time was worse than usual, and I was struggling with a lot of shame. But then, I started to talk to God about it. Suddenly, I got this image of me coming and giving him a big hug--just like a child would with their dad when they’re feeling sad. And for some reason, it actually FELT like I was being comforted by God. This unexplainable peace came over me. God told me to rest, and I fell asleep--and even had a really good dream. And when I woke up, I still felt as if he was near me. It was really cool.

Throughout those experiences and many others during my struggle with school, I’d begun to learn that doing the right things and following God wasn’t something I could just push through and do on my own power. I had to come to him to ask for help. Contrary to the standard belief of the world, I’ve realized I can’t be a good person on my own.

This probably sounds terrible to a lot of people, and for me, it’s hard, because I’m prideful and I WANT to be good. I want to do things right--so badly. That is my way of life. But the thing is, the whole point of Christianity is that on my own, I can’t consistently do all the right things. It’s impossible. No matter how many times I vow to do better, or how much I WANT to do the right thing, I just can’t. My fear overtakes me and I procrastinate, or I lose strength. But when I came and talked with God, and read the Bible (which we Christians believe is God’s message to us), I felt at rest. I felt fulfilled. I felt like I could understand the right things better. That fog that had rested on my mind was gone, and often, I wasn’t super stressed anymore. Again, the idea that we can’t consistently do the right things on our own probably sounds depressing to y’all. But for me, it is actually incredibly freeing. Why? Because the responsibility to make myself right isn’t on me anymore. I don’t have to carry that burden around on me anymore. Because, I realized, that God is the one who fixes me and changes me so that I WANT to do the right things, and I do. All God asks me to do is follow Him, and talk to Him about anything--my day, how I’m feeling, things I’m struggling with. He asks me to walk with Him and put my trust in Him, not people, the world, or things.

And when I didn’t do this, I started to notice a difference. I was far more stressed, and my day just didn’t go right. I was more irritable, and I often had this strange brain fog that made it so I couldn’t properly comprehend what I was supposed to be doing. To be clear, this was not God manipulating me. It was just the fact that my soul, my body, and my mind, actually couldn’t FUNCTION properly without God. Deep down, I wanted to follow him, and I was denying myself the thing I really needed. Once I realized this, I knew that no matter what happened with my school, whether I failed to do the right things or not--I needed to cling to God first and foremost, above everything else. And that was the only way I would find success. I haven’t done this perfectly, but over time, God has been changing my perspective on life and my school and my anxiety.

And, now I can gladly say that the school that had been hanging over my head these past years is almost done. God changed my perspective on life--I’m no longer hopeless, no longer suicidal, and no longer do I attach my success in school to my identity. My Dad, also, is doing a treatment that has kept him cancer free for over a year now. My life, which was in shambles, is coming back together. And it is ONLY because I started to seek God and rely on Him. You know why I can say that? Because I wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for Him. I couldn’t get out of that depressive state on my own--I tried. Many times. It was only when I surrendered that I began to experience healing again.

This is my story. It’s not an easy one, or a smooth one. I am a Christian, but I am not perfect. I’m not even more perfect than people who aren’t Christian. I’m just a human, just like y’all, stumbling my way through life and hoping I’m going in the right direction.

I hope that through sharing this I’m able to encourage you in some way. I will be posting more faith-themed content along with fandomy stuff, and if you are uncomfortable with that, I won’t blame you or judge you for unfollowing me.

Also, as I said before, if you have any questions about Christianity or what I believe, or if there is something you don’t understand about what I said, please, don’t be afraid to ask me. No matter what kind of question you ask, I will do my best to answer it. I love explaining stuff like this, so don’t be shy! I want to engage more with the tumblr community. :)

Thank you for reading all the way to the bottom of this post, and I hope you have a great day!

#christian #christianity #testimony #christian experience #story #my story #tw suicide mention #tw cancer #ask me anything

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sailor-manga · 5 years ago

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Aizawa x Reader [You name her!]

Okay guys, I haven’t written for an audience in quite some time so please bare with me, ya boi is rusty. It’s also have of the reason I cut it off a little early, that way I can really tell if you guys like it, and want more.

Plot: You are a fourth year student that finally got the hang of her quirk [quirk to be determined] and Aizawa expresses how proud he is of you.. But out of all the excitement and kind words.. You kiss him?!

Trigger warnings: Semi-Public, Teacher x Student, Light touching.

The whole concept of right and wrong was foggy, she didn't realize that she felt so strongly about him until she did what she did- she kissed a teacher, her teacher. The memory was so vivid and agonizing, seeing the way his face contorted in confusion when she gave him such a sweet peck. She couldn't help it though, rather than the usual stoic persona that Mr. Aizawa had, had faded that night, and he was a completely different man.. making sure she knew that she was doing good, and he was proud of her. The flow of emotion she felt that night, was why she did it- suddenly leaning up and kissing him like a lover. The confusion on his face has been haunting her since.. He didn't say anything to it, just slowly reverted back to that calm and collected man that he usually was and shook his head. She ran out that night, and hadn't seen him since. Today was the day break was over, and she knew she had to face it soon.. But could she? Walking to his class with her head down, she'd play it cool.. She'd take her seat and say nothing. It would be forgotten, right? After all.. It was just a kiss, and hopefully he wouldn't read too much into it because she definitely regret it. Walking into class, she'd go directly to the back and take her seat, immediately pulling out a book to hide the shame on her face. Why couldn't she have done something so stupid at the end of the year? She was so close to graduating.. She went four years without any issues like this!. "What's got you all shy?" Kirishima said loudly as he plopped into the seat in front of him. Jumping, the girl would would shoot a glare at the other "Don't be so loud, I swear.. It's like your brain is made of rock as well.." she muttered before looking elsewhere. Kiri tilted his head a little and chuckled "Shy AND moody" he said leaning forward onto her desk "Seriously though, what's up?" he asked with a light smile. Kirishima had been there for her many times the past few years, but was this something she could tell him? What would he think of her? "Err.. Nothing, I guess I just didn't get enough sleep" she mumbled quietly before leaning back in her seat. It seemed the crimson haired male had let it go, she would watch him turn around, and then hear his voice.. This alone made her turn red and right away the book went up on her desk to hide such an expression. The whole class was almost traumatizing, the way he acted if nothing happened.. Well, she couldn't blame him, he surely wouldn't cause a scene in front of a class of 4th years, that'd be unprofessional on his part.

Sooner or later, class seemed to be over. Standing up she was ready to make a B-line towards the door so she could go suffer in peace- that was until.. "You, you stay" Aizawa would demand right before she was able to slip through the door. Stopping dead in her tracks she would stare ahead like a deer in headlights as the rest of the class filtered out. When they were out, the room was filled with silence for quite a few moments, until the sounds of his footsteps carried throughout the room, echoing in her head. Sooner or later, his frame would come into view as he closed the door to his classroom.

"Sit" he ordered quietly before going back to his desk and leaning against it. She knew she couldn't run, she wasn't a coward! Sucking in a soft breath she would turn slowly and walk to one of the desks in the front, sliding in and finally meeting the others stare. He was quiet for a moment, but finally he cracked a smirk "You know you have a lot of nerve, right?" he asked quietly before tapping his chin "You could have costed me my job, what would you have done if someone walked in while you pulled such a daring move?" he asked in a serious tone.

-At first she didn't answer, she was frozen with shame and regret "I-I..-" she was cut off by him chuckling "Don't even answer that, I know why you did it" he said stepping forward and taking her arm quietly. As he pulled her up, she would follow the tension. The male would lead her to the board behind the desk. Mr. Aizawa would pick up a piece of chalk and place it into her hands "As for punishment, I'm going to be old fashioned" he explained before leading her hand to the board "You will write 'I will not kiss my teacher' one hundred times" he said with a smirk. At first she didn't think he was serious, turning her head towards him she would notice the male staring intently at her, waiting.. Swallowing hard, she would lift her hand up and start the first sentence "Hopefully this will teach you a lesson" he would say quietly as he circled behind her. The girl would swallow hard and continue to write what she was ordered too. Getting to about her fifth line, she would feel his breath on her ear, causing her to shiver "Do you still want to kiss me?" he asked in soft, seductive whisper.. causing every muscle in her body to tighten up. Was this some kind of trick question? Should she answer honestly? "Y..Yes.." she muttered in a barely audible whisper. Feeling his hand snake up her back, she would let out a soft breath "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked, his lips grazing her ear now "I-I said yes" she said a little louder, her pale cheeks turning a soft rose color.

Aizawa chuckled "I suppose you better keep writing then" he said softly, his hand not leaving her back. Just the touch alone made her feel some type of way, how could she focus with him teasing her..

Going to the next row, she would continue to write with a shaky hand, Aizawa took note of this and got closer, his chest pressing up against her back "Now, now.. Your writing is going to get all messy if you shake like that" he muttered softly, his free hand sliding up to her wrist to hold her steady. "W-Why are you doing this?" she finally asked "Hm? I'm simply teaching you a lesson, pet.. You yourself said I give the best lessons" he cooed in her ear before the hand that was on her back, now snaked around her waist. This couldn't be happening. He didn't stop there, once the arm was securely around her, a hand would reach down to toy with her skirt, rough fingertips grazing her thighs "M-Mr. Aizawa!" she gasped "Y-..You can't do this" she muttered. Regardless of what she said though, her body reacted in a different way.. Writhing under his touch. "You are very confusing, you know that?.. first you attack me by surprise and now that I'm.. mm, simply returning the affections you've turned into a shy little kitten" he growled seductively.

Before she could say anything else she found his hands turning her body around to face him. His eyes were serious, but had a softness to them that she'd never seen before, and when he started to get closer, her breathing would pick up.

Now that he was inches from her face, she would avert her eyes, her hands staying at her sides.. before she could realize that he neared, her mouth was captured by his, his hands shoving her body against the wall. Whimpering against his lips she would grip onto the front of his clothing now as he lips parted, welcoming him in. Snaking his tongue past her lips earned another muffled whimper as she tried to keep up. He seemed so urgent.. Like he had been waiting for this since the incident. Finally the male would pull away, a soft string of saliva still connecting their lips as she stared up at him with bright red cheeks "Mmm.." he groaned, licking his lips before finally taking his hands off of her "This was just your first punishment, darling.. I'm going to need you back here at the end of the day to finish your detention" he said with a smirk before fixing his scarf and heading towards the door.

The girl slid down now, her eyes wide and confused.. She thought she was in trouble! And him.. he wanted her back after class? The thought alone made her thighs quiver, just what was he going to do to her tonight?..

#eraserhead #mha #fanfic #aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #bnha #bnha aizawa #shota aizawa #teacher x student

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blancheludis · 5 years ago

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A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Hanahaki Disease

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Relationship: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes Words: 8.332 Tags: Unrequited Love, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sick Tony, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary: A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre. “Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

- Tony is dying from unrequited love for Captain America, who is first a dead hero and then a very alive one just as disinterested in Tony as Howard had always promised.

---

A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre.

“Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

He leaves the room, careful not to touch any of the petals, not looking back when Tony’s breathing becomes laboured.

There is nothing he could do anyway. Love cannot be forced, not even for a dying man.

---

Tony is a special case. Once he is old enough to realize that, it does not even surprise him anymore. Starks are always held to a different standard.

His mother takes him to a doctor when he develops breathing problems at just five years old. The inhaler does not help but being away from Howard does.

He is eight the first time he coughs up a flower. It is the day he finally begins believing his father when he says that someone as brilliant as Captain America could never love someone as pathetic as Tony.

Tony knows what is happening, but he is not yet cynical enough to laugh about it. Instead, he locks himself into his room and cries, cradling the perfect blue forget-me-not.

People have always been saying he is special. He just did not think that would mean he would die from unrequited love for a dead man.

---

Tony turns ten and physicians call him a miracle. He turns twelve and fifteen and eighteen, and people call him an abomination.

His lungs do not get progressively worse. Some days he can barely breathe, choking up flowers of every colour. Some days his throat barely scratches.

Once he moves out of the mansion, Tony almost feels like a normal boy, not meant to wither before he has managed to grow roots. It is the little things that throw him back; nightmares or anniversaries or articles about World War II. Sometimes the American flag is enough to steal the air from his lungs.

He does not make sense. His chest is growing ever tighter, but he fights it. He gives up just as often but this disease has never been about what he wants.

Tony has always been Death’s favoured child. It is life that does not seem to know what to do with him.

---

The day they find Captain America in the ice, the air has never tasted sweeter. Tony feels like soaring, only marginally worrying about the crash. His heart beats strongly, pushing enough oxygen through his veins that he has the energy to smile, to hope.

The next morning, he reads an article in the newspaper, showing a picture of Howard and the Captain shaking hands. Howard is staring directly at the camera. His smile is happy enough, but his eyes seem to look at Tony alone, holding the familiar disdain.

This is not for you, he seems to say, and while Tony’s brain fights that thought, his lungs feel already on the verge of collapsing.

If only Tony could have gotten there before Howard. If only he could have managed to make his own first impression. Howard likes to say that Tony ruins everything he touches. This time, it seems, he will not even be allowed to touch.

Well, he is equally good at ruining himself. And it would be a shame for all that practice to go to waste.

---

“That is one hell of a favour, Howard.”

Tony does not mean to eavesdrop, but Captain America is in their house, and the physical need to catch a glimpse or at least to hear his voice is overwhelming. He has been wheezing all evening, unable to get enough air into his lungs. He is so used to the lack of oxygen that it is the easiest thing in the world to hold his breath as he lingers outside his father’s office.

“I know, and I wouldn’t ask if –” That is Howard. Tony would know his voice anywhere, if not this tone. It holds the usual annoyance it does when it comes to discussing Tony, but it is also so much gentler than Tony has ever heard it.

“He’s your son, I know.” Captain America sighs. Nothing good has ever come of people reminding Howard that he is related to Tony.

“It’s more of a hero worship thing anyway,” Howard scoffs, as if it is nothing. “This has been going on forever. But it’s getting worse lately.”

Captain America hums, and Tony wishes he could see his face, just to know how bad the contempt is. “Since you found me.”

Tony thinks of finding out that Captain America has been found alongside the rest of the public, although his father must have known. He thinks of all the mornings spent wheezing and clawing at his chest, and that he cannot get to the second floor of the mansion without taking a break halfway up.

It is getting worse, indeed. Even now, he feels his insides congealing and spreading roots locking his diaphragm in place.

“He is the reason I never stopped looking,” Howard says, revealing the only reason he suffered Tony’s antics at all. “It meant you couldn’t be dead, yes?”

A long moment of silence follows, in which Tony wants nothing more than to sneak forward and catch a glance. He does not know exactly what favour Howard is asking for, but it cannot be good, it never is when it involves Tony.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Captain America finally says but sounds like a man sent to his execution.

It is funny, how Tony’s lungs react to that as if someone has reached out to strangle him. All his sneaking around will not save him if he gets into a coughing fit right now, so Tony turns around to hurry back to his room, both satisfied to have at least heard the man he somehow loves, but utterly dejected that everything is already in ruins.

“Don’t force anything,” Howard says right before Tony is out of earshot. “He’s an entitled brat, he’ll have to get over it.”

He has tried so very hard. That has only ever made everything worse.

Steve does come to see him the next day, his face hard and his shoulders tense. It is obvious he is only here as a favour for Howard, and as much as Tony is thrilled to actually meet Captain America, he does not like pity. He might be dying, but he is not a charity case.

It is no surprise then that he ruins his own chances, whatever little there had been.

The first thing he tells Steve is, “My, those World War II posters did not exaggerate your shoulders-to-waist ratio.”

That just speeds up their never coming together.

Death is what they make their money with. They put weapons into people’s hands and they complain about the way the earth gets stained red. There is always a bigger stick to be had, though, and they have a knack for building that.

Tony is not afraid of dying. Death has always been a part of his life. He is afraid of dying alone, although that is what he has always known. Mostly, he is afraid of waiting for it.

It has been almost a decade since he has couched up his first petal, and he has long since given up on collecting them. He could have filled his room ten times over with that collection of tangible grief.

He has once laid out Captain America’s shield, life-sized and blood-specked. At the sight of it, he could not help but laugh. Long enough and hard enough that he could almost convince himself he was choking on laughter instead of love.

---

Half a year into their ill-advised marriage, Howard does Tony the favour of getting himself killed. There is some poetic justice to the fact that Tony outlives him after all, despite having been declared all but dead by Howard the moment he was diagnosed.

This way, he can stand next to his father’s grave and enjoy the way the air flows freely into his lungs. Tony has not contributed a single petal to the dozens of bouquets brought in Howard’s honour.

Less satisfying is the actual grief on Steve’s face, who is at the very front of the men volunteering to carry Howard’s body to its last resting place. That red-eyed expression holds more love than Steve ever showed for Tony. He can only imagine how different his own funeral will be.

It does not matter. He has outrun fate for so long already, he does not mind it coming ever closer anymore. For now, life has become so much sweeter.

“You really are heartless,” Steve hisses to him later, when the guests are gone and Tony is ready to fall into bed for the rewarding sleep of the fatherless.

“If I didn’t have a heart, I’d have so many less problems,” Tony replies lightly, looking his husband up and down to make it clear what he means. “So I’m all for getting rid of it.”

For a moment, Steve looks ready to help him with that. And he could. Those hands would be able to pry Tony’s ribcage open. He is already turning the inside of his chest into a wasteland. It is all just taking too long.

“You disgust me,” Steve says, facing him square-shouldered and unmoveable.

“I know.” That has been obvious from the very beginning.

With a shrug, Tony turns away. He has more important things to do. He now has one father-shaped problem less. At the same time, however, he gains a new one: the Winter Soldier.

He is sure that is going to blow up in his face.

---

“I found your friend,” Tony blurts out one night.

He is on his way down to the workshop and has not seen Steve in over a week. Tony makes it easy to avoid each other, which is in both their interest.

“What?” Steve grunts, not happy with being stopped in the hallway. Living together is only bearable when they pretend there is no one else in the house. “Who?”

Immediately, Tony curses himself. This is not something he actually wants to get into with Steve. It is not exactly his secret to keep, but things are easier when they do not talk.

“Barnes?” he asks more than tells. “Well, he’s calling himself the Asset these days. You know, the guy who tried to kill you?”

Steve is on him without warning, cutting off Tony’s babbling with an angry arm against Tony’s throat. “What did you do?”

Tony barely even flinches. This is the closes he has been to Steve since the wedding ceremony. He hates himself for it, but it feels good, like coming home, even with Steve’s anger pushing all the air out of his lungs.

“Careful with the throat, husband,” Tony says. Sometimes it seems like sarcasm is the only weapon he has left against the world, and even that is quickly fading, since his voice is giving out. “Didn’t anyone tell you I have breathing problems even without you threatening to beat me up?”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Steve snarls, coming even closer.

“Funny, neither am I.” Black spots appear in Tony’s vision, but he has fought past that before. He goes limp in Steve’s hold, signals defeat, because he is going to end up being beaten down anyway. If not by Steve, then by his own body betraying him. “Barnes is in a secure facility. He was wounded. And I’m vetting psychiatrists to help him.”

This is obviously not what Steve expected him to say. In his surprise, he backs up a bit, enough to release the pressure on Tony’s windpipe. Breathing does not get any easier.

“Why would you do that?” Steve asks, staring down at Tony as if he is the reason for everything bad in his life.

Tony smirks. He knows that look and latches onto it with all he has. It is better than that wounded expression in Steve’s eyes, that fragile hope that has never been for Tony. Never will be either.

“Because, in my all-encompassing love for you,” he shows his teeth, mocking himself, “I can’t stand the thought of you withering away once I’m dead, so I thought I’d give you your best friend back.”

That is enough to destroy whatever goodwill Steve might have momentarily had for Tony, for he leans down, hand hovering threateningly over Tony’s throat again.

“If you’ve harmed a single hair on his head –”

Tony has heard so many variants of what comes after the pregnant pause that he chokes out a laugh. He is unbelievably glad when no petals come up with it.

“My, you don’t sound grateful,” Tony says with fake cheer. His voice is too high to pretend that he is not half-suffocating.

“Where is he?” Steve asks, his breath warm on Tony’s skin. It flows so freely, making Tony stare in wonder.

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” he promises quietly. As much as Tony yearns for Steve’s presence, being this close to him is unbearable. “Pack something warm, honey.”

---

In the early days after being diagnosed, Tony was interested in the science of all this. How can he be dying from something inevitable? A dead man cannot love him back. It does not make sense.

And yet.

He should be dead ten times over by now. Unwanted, unloved, never good enough.

And yet.

He wants to be dead, too. Dead people do not need to breathe. He has practiced that for most of his life already.

And yet.

---

For a ghost, Barnes looks good. He has long washed off any visible traces of having been in HYDRA’s care. His hair is cut, his clothes are neat, his arm is repaired. The terror still sits deep in his eyes, but time will deal with that.

“Who’re you?” Barnes asks when Tony strolls into the room.

He sounds curious more than defensive, and Tony revels in the anonymity.

“Tony,” he says shortly, waiting for recognition that never comes. Perhaps Steve has not told his best friend about his pathetic excuse of a husband. “I helped working on BARF.”

That is the simplest explanation he can give without saying that he pulled Barnes away from HYDRA and then stayed up day and night to create something that could deal with both their nightmares, imagined and real.

“So you’re here to collect some data?” Barnes shifts uncomfortably but makes no move to stop Tony when he sits down on the couch, a good few feet away.

“No.” Tony shrugs. The data he needs is not something he can measure. It has more to do with how much Steve loves this man, enough to be almost civil to Tony, even though he can usually not stand to even look at him. “I can see that it worked. I wanted to ask if you need anything.”

Barnes’ face darkens. Somehow, Tony has managed to upset him within moments of meeting him. That truly is a specialty of his.

“People are asking me that all day.”

Tony shrugs, pretending that it does not become hard to breathe already. “Must be because you look so lost all the time.” He knows a bit about that, but he is not here to bond with Barnes, even if that were possible. Steve would never forgive him.

“Do you –”

Three things happen simultaneously. Barnes’ face grows soft and guarded at the same time. Tony’s windpipe fills up with dread and flowers. Then steps grow loud and Steve comes into view, his expression pinched and ready to start shouting.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, sidling up to Barnes, ready to jump in front of him.

What do they think? That Tony would go to all this trouble only to harm Barnes right in front of Steve? People say he is petty, but all Tony has ever been trying to do is to survive. Hurting others on purpose has never helped with that.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Tony greets with burning sweetness. “I was just having a chat with our guest.”

He leans back in his seat, making it look like insolence instead of a means to hide his trembling muscles. Steve’s hate is always making him so weak.

“How about you stay away from him?” Steve snarls. Tony would not be surprised if Steve reached out to throw him bodily out of the room.

Ironically, it is Barnes who saves him. He reaches up to lay his hand on Steve’s arm. That touch works like a miracle. “Steve, what is going on?”

When they look at each other, Tony barely recognizes Steve. He has never seen his face so open, vulnerable, loving. If he would look at Tony like that even one time, Tony is sure he would be cured. At the very least, he would die a happy man.

“Stark has a habit of ruining everything he touches,” Steve explains in a dismissive tone, reducing Tony to nothing more than his failures – not that there is much more to show anyway.

Barnes frowns and glances at Tony briefly. “I heard he found me and brought me back.”

That sounds close enough to someone standing up for Tony that he misses his chance to speak up.

“And I’m still trying to find out why,” Steve says, ruining whatever first impression Tony might have made with Barnes.

Tony’s anger is a living thing, much like the grief growing in his lungs. He does not attempt to hold it back when it roars.

“Is that how you won the war?” Tony asks, voice cutting. “By suspecting everyone is the enemy and simply punching anything that moved?” Sometimes all the derision he has for himself can be channelled against whoever is in his way. It does not help making him feel better, but he does not need any more scars either.

Getting to his feet in as smooth a motion as he manages with how weak his legs are, Tony adds, “I don’t mean Barnes any harm. Otherwise I would have hardly gone to all this effort.”

It is simple logic, but Steve is naturally immune to that. “You’re desperate,” he spits out, almost causing Tony to laugh.

Desperation is for those who still have hopes to be stripped away from them.

“Why? Because I’m dying?” Tony questions gently. He is not quite sure how he remains steady on his feet while being numb all over. “I’ve known that for over two decades. I’m just waiting for my lungs to hurry up and give out.” Oh, how long he has waited.

Turning, Tony fixes his eyes on the door. He will leave. He does not know where he will go, but it does not matter. There is no such thing as a right place to die in.

“Who are you?” Barnes’ voice stops him just before he can escape the scene.

“Tony Stark. Sorry for omitting the last name.” Just about everyone would be happier if he had a different one. If he were a different person or simply no one at all.

Barnes clears his throat, clearly aware of the minefield he is navigating. “I mean, who are you to each other?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony cannot bear to listen to him.

“Captain Spangles and I? Nothing,” he hurries to say. “We’re married, but Howard did that most likely so Steve could inherit.” Tony straightens. He has always met his fate with his head unbowed. “Smile. Once I’m gone the two of you will be dizzyingly rich.”

Sooner rather than later now. Then again, Tony has been hoping so for years.

Once he is in the privacy of his own room, Tony coughs up enough flowers to drown himself in them. He buries his face in them, smells their sweetness, and wishes he could disappear.

---

For all that they can go weeks without seeing each other, Steve on a warpath always finds Tony. There is no hiding from Steve’s temper. It is almost as if they are connected after all, pulled together but only when emotions are running high.

Tony has his own alarm system, though, and for once he does not mean JARVIS. A whole minute before the door to his study is thrown open, Tony’s throat constricts and he knows he will not get any more work done this evening.

The knee-jerk reaction of Tony’s body to Steve’s presence is immediate and terrifying. As soon as Steve fills out the doorway, Tony’s spine straightens and he leans forward, as if one inch less of physical distance will actually bring them closer together. Tony’s head might be yelling at him to call it quits, to leave and try to save of himself what he can, but his life has not actually been dictated by his head for a very long time.

Even with fury filling his eyes, Steve looks glorious. Lately, Tony has been looking more again, because Steve’s qualities are only enhanced with Barnes there to balance them out. The more often he shows himself, the more time he spends coughing up his lungs piece by piece. He used to be better at secluding himself, but something about Steve and Barnes together makes it impossible to stay away.

“What are you even still doing here?” Steve spats after glaring at Tony for long seconds.

Tony wonders what prompted this – and, a bitter voice in his head adds, whether Steve means what he is still doing here in the house or why he is still alive. Tony only has an answer to one of these questions.

“This is still my home, darling. I’m not yet dead,” Tony answers. He would be proud of how calm his voice is, if it were not due to the sudden dryness of his mouth, courtesy of the mounting pressure inside his chest.

Steve takes a step forward but then thinks better of it, as if Tony is contagious, and remains hovering in front of the only exit of the room. “You have other houses.”

Tony’s lips pull up into something that wants to be a smirk, but he is too exhausted for it. “And I like the view from this one.”

He likes the view inside it much more, but he does not say that. The fastest way to stop his lungs from cooperating at all, is to make Steve even angrier at him. Funny, how that works.

“We don’t want you here,” Steve argues stubbornly, as if want has ever made anything right. Tony is the walking definition of want gone awry.

“First off, you should stop talking for Barnes as if he doesn’t have a voice of his own. HYDRA did that long enough,” Tony says, although defending Barnes should not be at the top of his priorities. He knows what it is like to not be able to make decisions for himself. “And second, you agreed to living with me in the marriage contract you made with Howard. That means here, in one house. Deal with it.”

Right in front of him, Steve becomes livid. His hands curl into fists that Tony imagines he can already feel sinking into his flesh. It might be nice to feel some pain that does not generate from the disease growing inside his chest, to blame his misery on something not of his own making for once.

“Stay away from Bucky,” Steve orders, the words coming out flat and threatening.

“Perhaps you should tell your buddy to stay away from me,” Tony says, somehow managing to make his tone mocking, despite being almost out of air. “I’m hardly in running shape.”

“I mean it,” Steve says darkly, taking that step forward now as if he needs to loom over Tony to prove his superiority. “Leave us alone.”

Tony smiles, feels the skin stretching over his bones. “Patience is a virtue, Captain, and it’s not going to be that much longer.”

Without missing a beat, Steve says, “You’ve been promising that for a while now.”

Tony cannot help but flinch. As much as he has been waiting for release for years now, it hits much harder to hear the man he somehow loves wish him dead. “Get out.”

“You have to –”

The pressure inside Tony’s chest becomes unbearable, but he does not want to break down in front of Steve, does not want to cough out the proof of his unmet desire for Steve to see. Eyes watering, he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste is familiar enough to ground him a bit.

“Get. Out,” he snarls. Maybe it is the ferocity in his choked voice or the blood staining his lips, but Steve turns around and leaves.

He does not have the courtesy to close the door behind him, allowing everyone passing by a perfect view of Tony dissolving into a wheezing bundle of pain.

Death should definitely hurry up, Tony decides as he lies on the floor of his study, a sea of petals around him, because this life is not one he cares to have anymore.

---

Barnes has been sitting in Tony’s workshop for hours now. Allowing him in might not be the best idea Tony ever had – his ears are already ringing from simply imagining Steve’s shouting about it – but there was no way he could turn Barnes away when he came down here, shoulders slumped and exhaustion radiating off him in waves.

Tony can immerse himself in his work easily enough to ignore someone else’s presence, but that it is Barnes of all people is just as unnerving as the fact that his throat is already scratching with the threat of coughing, even though Steve is nowhere in sight.

“You built my arm, yes?” Barnes asks after what could have been hours of simply watching in wonder – or judgement. Tony is not sure which.

Tony nods and wipes sweat from his forehead, using the motion to rub at his sternum, willing the building pressure away. “Your old one was shit.”

“That’s not –” A frown flickers over Barnes’ face. “Why?”

This is a loaded question, and Tony is not getting into that with Barnes. “Building is about the only thing I’m good at. So why wouldn’t I?” he asks flippantly, hoping to deflect.

The frown is back, harder now. “You don’t like me.”

“Wrong,” Tony says but allows himself a small smile. “I don’t know you enough to like or dislike you. Steve loves you, though. He usually has a good instinct where it comes to people.”

With some serious exceptions, of course. Howard is not a good person, no matter who says it. He might have been once, but something turned him into a mess. Perhaps that is Tony’s fault too. He is so good at that.

“And yet he doesn’t seem to like you,” Barnes says, sounding contemplative.

“Your point being?” Tony asks, turning away to hide the irritation on his face. He does not need to be reminded of that. “Anyway, does Steve know you’re here?”

To Tony’s utter surprise, Barnes’ answer is prompt and firm. “No.” It almost sounds like he is running from something too.

When Tony looks at his expression, though, it does not betray anything.

“Don’t mind me denying all responsibility for your coming here,” he says slowly, hoping to not offend. “I might be tired of living, but I don’t want to go out being crushed by a supersoldier.”

Instead of reacting with a smile or simply more of that blank expression, Barnes looks unhappy, staring at Tony like he wants to decipher him but does not know where to start.

“You love him.”

Laughter bursts over Tony’s lips, scratching as much on the way up as the flowers do that he coughs up so regularly.

“I guess so,” Tony says, mouth stretching into a dead man’s grin. “I mean, otherwise that whole suffocating from unrequited love thing would be even more ironic.”

Barnes does not say anything to that, although he looks like he wants to. Then he lowers his head and stares at the metal fingers curled in his lap.

“Do you mind if I stay for a bit?” he asks an eternity later, sounding small.

Tony knows all about sanctuaries, about safe places to hide away in. He cannot begin to explain why Barnes would choose this, meaning he has to put up with Tony’s presence, but he would not deny it to him. “Knock yourself out.”

For the entirety of the time that Barnes spends down in the workshop with him after that, Tony does not have trouble breathing even once.

---

Tony finds them making out in his living room. He does not need to see Steve’s face to recognize the shape of his back, and Bucky’s arm stands out darkly against Steve’s bare skin.

The thing is, Tony thinks first about hygiene and the poor staff that might be stumbling over the sight, before he realizes his husband is cheating on him right in front of his eyes. It is not unsurprising, nor does it hurt him worse than a thousand other things Steve has done ever since they married. The shock slams into him with unforeseen strength, though. Where he has just been breathing, his lungs are now filled with the scratching stuffiness of a sea of flowers.

The practical part of Tony’s brain finds the reaction a little exaggerated but the rest of him is rendered helpless, unable to turn his stare away from the two men moving in perfect synchrony. They compliment each other so well, it belies all of Tony’s little fantasies about being a good counterpart to Steve.

The scene before him makes him obsolete. Neither of them needs him. Nobody does in the whole wide world. Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the greatest weapons manufacturing company in the world, genius in his own right – and nobody will even notice once he is gone.

“Wanna join?” Bucky’s voice washes like dark velvet over Tony’s skin. His gaze is on Tony with a relaxed leisure of a predator already satiated.

Tony is not a danger to them. Still, when Steve looks up, there is a hunger in his eyes that has Tony shivering. If only Steve would look at him like that once. He does not, though. But his scowl does not look very intimidating in his current state, naked and utterly at home.

“Don’t tempt him,” he says, his sneer just a necessity instead of something actually felt. “Stark doesn’t have any shame.”

And Tony has not. He would give one of his limbs, perhaps all of them, if he could slip between these two men and have them hold him like they mean it.

“As far as I remember, you don’t have either,” Bucky purrs, speaking to Steve but never taking his eyes off Tony. “I’m sure you have enough energy for both of us.”

“The though alone works better than a cold shower.”

It is banter between lovers. For once, Tony is sure Steve does not aim to hurt. It still does, of course, but Tony is used to that. What is new is the longing shooting through him, not only at the thought of Steve, but at watching Bucky sprawl out right next to him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says hastily and turns around to run.

In his back he hears the rumbling voice of Steve and Bucky’s resounding laughter. It stays with him for days.

---

The first time Bucky kisses Tony, it knocks the air out of his lungs in an entirely pleasant way. Breathlessness has always been tinged with fear or panic before. Now, however, it tastes distinctly of hope – not to be cured, Tony is not as naïve as that, but perhaps to die not completely unloved.

“What was that?” Tony asks when they separate, trying not to sound ungrateful but needing to know.

“You –”

Steve bursts in, showing that Tony might not be the only one with a talent for bad timing. He stops short in the doorway, looking suspiciously at how close Tony and Bucky are standing.

“What is going on?” he asks,

This time, Bucky does not hesitate to answer. “Nothing.”

It is not nothing that Tony coughs up that night.

---

The first time Steve kisses Tony, they are being watched.

“This is just an experiment,” Steve growls, looking like he would prefer being anywhere but here.

His lips are hard and unforgiving when he presses them on Tony’s, but Tony melts into the touch nonetheless. They have not even kissed at the wedding, since Steve was too busy getting out of there as soon as the priest had stopped talking.

Tony feels something move inside his chest, and while he is used to all kinds of pains and pressures, he cannot be sure what it means.

“And?” Bucky asks when they part.

Steve’s expression says more than words. He wipes his mouth and hastily takes a step back. “Nothing.”

This has become the ultimate answer between the three of them. Still, Bucky does not react how Tony would have expected, does not turn away and take Steve with him, considering this particular matter dealt with. Instead, he looks at Tony, waiting for an answer from him.

“I don’t –” Tony starts, stumbling over the words because he cannot get his mind to stop racing. “It doesn’t react to touch alone.”

It is easier to hold onto scientific facts than to make sense of feelings. Although Tony has always been an anomaly

“I told you so,” Steve says shortly and finally turns to go. Bucky lingers as if to make sure that Tony will be all right, but leaves when Tony shakes his head.

Then they are gone and Tony allows himself to try to take a deep breath. The air catches the way he is used to but – no buts. Everything is the same. Thinking anything else would be foolish, just because he does not lie on the ground, coughing his lungs up at this newest development. That will come again soon enough.

---

Sometimes, Steve scares Tony just by being able to sneak up on him. It is not normally a problem, considering they do their best to stay out of each other’s way, but it also makes it impossible for Tony to know when Steve is coming for him.

(Sometimes, Steve does not have to do anything to scare Tony. His mere existence is enough to strike an unearthly fear in his heart.)

This time, Tony does hear Steve’s steps coming closer. He does not know that it is Steve at first, but he would recognize Bucky’s, and barely anyone else comes here. Still, it is a surprise to see Steve appearing at the door to the workshop, raising his hand to knock.

All of that has Tony immediately on edge.

Still, he lets Steve in. He is not in the habit of making things unnecessarily harder on himself, and rejecting the man he is dying for would certainly fall into that category.

“Let him in, J,” he orders quietly, making sure to keep a workbench between himself and the door. That is nothing more than an illusion of safety, considering that even without his lungs being as they are, he could never outrun Captain America.

Steve step into the workshop but stays within a hasty stride from the door. Neither of them expects this to go well then.

“Bucky told me I should apologize to you,” Steve then says, the usual derision absent from his tone.

Bucky then. Tony should have known that much. For the past weeks, Bucky has assigned himself as the peacekeeper of the house, taking on the thankless job of trying to get Tony and Steve to get along. Sending Steve here like they are in elementary school and a forced handshake would make them friends again is just sad.

“What for?” Tony asks warily, still ready for the blows that are surely to follow.

“You –” Steve pauses and looks away. Tony envies him for the deep breath he takes. “You have done a lot for us.”

A humourless smiles spreads on Tony’s lips. He and his condition have make everyone he comes in contact with miserable.

“If you mean building that arm for Buc- Barnes, he has already thanked me for it,” Tony says, biting his tongue at his near blunder. Bucky is already too friendly to him when they meet. If Steve finds out, thing will only get worse. “Even though he didn’t need to.”

“It’s not just that,” Steve replies quickly. He looks uncomfortable of all things. “You – we didn’t get off on a good start, and you still let me move in with you, even if I didn’t even speak to you.” That was a clause in their marriage contract to make Tony’s death a little more comfortable, not that it really works out this way. “You made this Bucky’s home too. You’re a better person than –” He shrugs helpless.

Better than what? Than Howard said? Or the gossip rags? Better than Steve feared? Better than the horrible disaster of a human being everyone thinks him to be?

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off almost gently. “You’ll think differently again soon enough. Let’s just keep things how they are.”

He does not think he could take it if they tried to turn this into something better and failed. Tony likes to know where he is at, and he can deal better with Steve’s hate than this uncertainty, ready to backfire on them any moment now.

When Tony turns back to his word, breathing as shallowly as possible to not get a coughing fit right here, Steve uses his opportunity to flee. It is bad that the walls are transparent. This way, Tony sees that Steve does not look back at him.

---

“Captain Rogers is asking whether you have time to come up for lunch,” JARVIS asks, interrupting Tony’s work.

Putting the soldering iron down, Tony frowns at the nearest camera. “Did someone break into the server room and munch at your cables?” he asks, wiping some sweat from his forehead. He does not take the request serious for a single minute.

“Not at all,” JARVIS replies lightly. With a hint of scolding in his tone, he adds, “I heard that human bodies need regular nutrition, although that might be a foreign concept for you. That is why I relayed the request.”

Tony loves how nuanced JARVIS is getting, how he uses sarcasm and trickery. Sometimes he feels more like a human being than Tony manages to be on his good days.

“You got the names confused,” he cautions, wondering whether the latest update might have done more damage than good. “You meant Sergeant Barnes.”

“No, sir,” JARVIS says without hesitation, causing Tony’s frown to grow. “Captain Rogers asked for your presence.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Tony repeats stubbornly because, frankly, nothing else makes sense. “Bucky. Dark hair, metal arm. You should have seen him around down here. Do I have to do maintenance on your sensors?”

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS answers, endlessly patient but also slightly amused. “Tall, blond and, to quote you, unbearably muscular, I’m positive.”

Tony stares. “That makes no sense,” he mutters as he waits for his racing thoughts to form into something useful, something to explain this sudden turn of events.

“Perhaps you should go upstairs and find out for yourself.”

JARVIS sounds so sure, but there is no way that Steve, who hates him, would ever invite him for lunch, not even if Bucky pushed him to do so. Steve has registered all of Bucky’s small kindnesses over the past weeks with growing discomfort.

“You wouldn’t prank me, right?” Tony asks his AI.

Entirely unhelpful, JARVIS answers, “Your well-being is my highest priority.”

Because Tony made it so. Sometimes he feels guilty for it. He created a thinking and arguably feeling person, body or not, and then commanded him to care for Tony. He would not trade JARVIS’ company for anything, but it sometimes makes him wonder whether Steve’s assessment of him might just be right.

“That could also mean you want me to smile more, which would make a prank more than possible,” Tony says dryly, not hinting at his thoughts. His kid deserves better than to be pulled into his doubts.

“Only one way to find out,” JARVIS replies cheekily.

There are more, of course. Tony could watch the camera feed from the kitchen or turn on the intercom. He even has some miniature drones lying around he could send out to spy for him. He does not.

Instead, he saves his progress and puts his tools away safely, and takes a leap of faith.

The way to the kitchen is both too long and too short. Several times, Tony has to force himself not to turn around, and yet he has not nearly prepared himself enough for whatever he might find when he is already standing in front of the door. Gathering the last bits of his confidence, he goes in.

They are sitting at the table, lunch in front of them, but they have not yet started eating. There really is a third plate, and neither of them look surprised at his sudden arrival. Still, the atmosphere is tense and not exactly welcoming.

Tony does not dare to step farther into the room. He sees everything he needs to just fine from the doorway.

“There you are,” Bucky greets him as if they have lunch together all the time.

Tony only glances at him before his eyes fall on Steve and refuse to leave him again Everything stands and falls with Steve’s reaction He already feels a slight scratchiness in his throat.

“JARVIS said you –” want is the wrong word and it does not pass over Tony’s lips, “requested my presence.”

“He told us you haven’t had lunch yet,” Steve says cautiously, “so I thought we might eat together.”

It feels stilted and formal and wrong, the way they face each other and take so much care with what they say. Tony does not move closer to the table – at least he is not running away either, although he still cannot make sense of the situation.

“Just sit down, Tony,” Bucky sighs exaggeratedly, as if Tony is the one who has suddenly turned mad. “It’s just lunch, not rocket science.”

Building a functioning rocket from scratch would still be a better prospect than sitting down to eat with his husband.

“It’s Italian,” Steve adds quietly, “Howard told me your mother was from Italy.”

Irrational anger rises in Tony at the mentions of his mother. Steve has already taken his father from him, he cannot lay claim to Maria too. Still, there is something earnest to Steve’s expression, something that has, up until now, usually been tinged with disdain but is now uncertain. Tony chances a look at Bucky and receives a small nod – which should not be reassuring, considering that Bucky is Steve’s friend not his, but gets Tony moving to the table nonetheless.

He sits and the proximity to the other man is overwhelming. All other times they have been in a room together have ended in yelling and more heartbreak. Now, they keep their heads down and their hands occupied. It is horrible, and yet the most peaceful they have ever been together.

“So,” Bucky draws out the word and waits until they are both turning towards him. “What are you working on in the moment, Tony?” he then asks, too cheerful, earning himself two incredulous looks from Steve and Tony.

Even stranger, Steve glances at Tony afterwards, almost conspiratorial, as if it is them against the sudden insanity of his best friend. The moment passes quickly, but Steve’s face still contains a trace of curiosity.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, but for once, it is not a flower making his voice hoarse, just nerves. “I’m thinking about making a phone. A mobile one.”

Nobody says anything for a long moment. They look, though, but Tony does not feel entirely uncomfortable under their gaze.

“As a weapon?” Bucky asks. He is still the spokesperson, but his incredulous expression matches Steve’s.

Howard’s entire legacy is death. Even Tony himself has never been free of it, from the world outside and within. He does not want that to be his legacy too.

“No,” he says firmly, not letting his own doubt show. “As a phone. For everyone.”

Uncertain silence falls over them, but after just a moment, a smile spreads on Bucky’s lips that has to be real, considering the way his eyes grow warm.

“And how’s that going?”

All throughout lunch, they carry on a conversation and never get stuck on complaints or accusations. If not for the ever present heaviness inside Tony’s chest, it could have been a normal meal between new acquaintances testing whether they could be friends.

Afterwards, Tony goes a whole day without the threat of suffocating on his own stupid love.

---

The first time Steve calls him Tony, the world stops turning. It feels like a punch to the gut, and yet as if he has never breathed more easily than this.

---

Sometimes it feels like a dream. Not because it is all nice and easy-going – on the contrary. But every time Steve looks at him, first with neutrality then a smile, every time he says Tony’s name or they make it through an entire conversation without hurting each other, Tony expects to wake up.

He has seen Steve sneer at him so often that every other expression looks foreign on his face. Tony cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

Only it does not.

Bucky comes more often to the workshop and sometimes Steve comes to drag them both up to eat, explicitly including Tony. Despite his expectations, his meal is never poisoned. Conversation turn from stilted to engaged. One night, Tony finds Steve cradling a flower picked out of the trash.

Then Steve starts joining them in the workshop. Other than Bucky, he is not interested in helping. First, he simply watches them, then he draws them. Later, the room feels empty when the couch is not occupied by Steve.

They spend so much time together, go out together, laugh together. Together is a concept that Tony is experiencing for the first time in his life. He does not want to lose that again. Miraculously, they do not seem inclined to let go of him either.

This is not the story Tony has always been told would be his. It is not perfect either. He would not change it for anything in the world.

His breathing does not get easier per se, but life does.

---

When Bucky kisses him again, Steve is there, watching with something of a smile.

Tony reciprocates before he remembers himself and draws back as if burned. “What?”

They were sitting on the couch together, watching some movie Tony has already forgotten all about. By now, he has become used to Bucky’s wandering hands and has not thought much about being drawn in. People always liked to get handsy with him, the multi-million dollar heir dying from a mysterious disease. Despite being a wreck, everyone thinks he has always more to give.

“Tell us to stop,” Bucky says in a low voice.

Before Tony can even register his use of us, Steve is closing in from the back, melting against Tony’s body as if they have always fit together, and leans his cheek against Tony’s. He feels trapped before he realizes that this is what he has been hoping for all his life; Steve and he so close that they could almost be one.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, panic in his tone. He expects to dissolve into a wheezing mess any moment now. His lungs are traitorously silent, though, not caring for once that he is obviously being led on.

“What I should have done from the very beginning,” Steve says.

Tony does not believe him, even though he cannot help but believe the lips touching the sensitive skin of his neck.

The knot of despair in Tony’s chest does not dissolve after this. All is not well. He feels happy, though. For the first time in almost two decades, Death does not loom over Tony’s shoulder but watches from across the room instead.

It is almost like being free.

---

“I love you.” Bucky is the first to say it.

They are sitting on the terrace together, watching the slow descent of the sun. They are not holding hands or prepare to go to bed. A few minutes ago, they have been talking about starting a small garden.

The scene is so full of domestic bliss that Bucky’s words hit Tony like a punch to the stomach. He closes his eyes and forces his face to be still. He will not take this moment from Steve and Bucky.

“You’d think the chattiest person alive would have something to say to that,” Steve teases, but falls silent when Tony still does not look, does not say anything. “Tony?” he asks quietly, nudging him.

Tony resists for a long moment longer before he blinks against the brightness of the sun and focuses on the two men beside him. They are looking at him, both smiling, although Bucky’s is tinged with trepidation and Steve’s with worry.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats slowly, never once looking away from Tony.

“And I love you too,” Steve adds, offering his hand for Tony to take, which he does, albeit hesitantly.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, his stomach dropping. That is when he realizes that he does not feel the scratching of a petal climbing up his windpipe. He has not coughed up a flower in weeks.

Taking a deep breath, he smells nothing sweet, only sea salt and drying stone. Smiling, he stares at his hand in Steve’s, and Bucky’s eyes on him.

“I love you too.”

#iron man bingo 3000 #stony #stuckony #fanfiction #unrequited love #arranged marriage #enemies to friends to lovers #hanahaki #marvel #ao3 #angst #happy ending #sick tony #my writing

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