#i would never spit in Alex's tea

[jennylikejerry]

Honestly, guys I would be too scared to tell Dr. Alex Fierro I had a headache, I would be afraid he/she would decapitate me.....

[myteavsricochet]

Favorite firstprince fanfics, an incomplete list:

One shots:

All the Stars We Steal From the Night Sky :

Alex is quiet, and something is wrong.

Or, Alex struggles with emotions and Henry is there to help.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Just Them Being Soft, Alex is struggling, Henry helps)

In His Wildest Dreams

Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. Pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process.

(Please, look at the tags carefully, this fic is very soft, very hot and very consensual but may not be for everyone: Consensual somnophilia, Kink exploration, Porn with feelings, Smut)

5 times Alex called Henry baby ‘casually’ and 1 time it was (definitely) because of love

How did “baby” become a thing in the film universe? When did it become a thing in the film universe? Fine, I’ll answer these questions myself.

(Additional Tags: Overuse of the word "baby", Pet Names, Fluff, Angst, 5+1 Things, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort)

Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

Alex has always been too much. Objectively, he knows this. He talks too much, his volume is too much, and the fire under his ass is too much. So, when he’d met Henry, when he hadn’t cared about Henry’s opinion and had been his real, authentic, annoying self, and Henry had liked him anyway? It was something Alex struggled to wrap his head around. It started in kindergarten.

Or: A look at Alex's childhood and how hard it is always being the too-much person in any given room.

(Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Childhood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, So much comfort)

Déjame Ver Cómo Es Que Floreces

Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, ��Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

-

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

(This fic is absolutely amazing ❤️

Additional Tags: Humor, Fluff, Family Fluff, Pre-Engagement, Mexican-American Culture, Mexican OC's galore, Drinking, Family Bonding, Karaoke, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Alex Claremont-Diaz Speaks Spanish)

Forty-Four Days

"God, I haven't seen you in forty-four days," Alex suddenly spits, and Henry feels the pain of his words in his own chest, like ice replacing the blood in his veins. Because that's it, isn't it? Forty-four days of separation. Forty-four days of waking up to an empty bed, of making coffee along with his tea only to realize that Alex isn't there to drink it, of long meetings without any of Alex's witty jokes, of cold hands on chilly autumn walks because Alex isn't there to warm them up.

Maybe it's the simple fact of hearing for the first time, or maybe it's the tipping point of the taxing day, but Henry feels something inside of him snap, and —

And all he knows is that he needs to see Alex now.

(Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Separations, Separation Anxiety, Late Night Conversations, Minor Character Death, but it's nothing to worry about I PROMISE, Reunions, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Mild Sexual Content, they love and miss each other, that's the plot, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

A Mind That Never Sleeps

Five times Alex stays awake with Henry, and the one time he coaxes him back to sleep.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Insomnia, Sleepless nights, Piano, Weddings, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, that's really all this is, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

talk too much

Alex has his wisdom teeth removed and Henry takes care of him, fluff ensues

(Additional Tags: wisdom teeth removal, not bloody or graphic, just fluff, pure fluff, No Angst, Henry Pov, firstprince, living in the brownstone, FLUFF I TELL YOU, Henry taking care of Alex, and Alex taking care of Henry too hehe, You’ll see)

silk and steel

Thanks to a welcome day off, Henry and Alex spend a lazy morning in bed. Soft, mid-morning cuddles escalate into semi-soft, mid-morning sex.

(Addictional tags: Morning cuddles, Morning sex, Body worship, Light dom/sub, Praise kink, Established relationship, Top Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Bottom Alex Claremont Diaz)

I don't wanna dance, if I'm not dancing with you

"You want me at a ball?"

"I want you with me as often as possible," Henry says, immediately, as if it's obvious. Maybe it is. "But yes, it would be nice to have you there. I'm not necessarily actively trying to anger my grandmother, which you being there might, but... Well, she hasn't exactly extended an invitation but I have just as much right as anyone to bring a date and--"

"Baby." Henry's rambling stops short on what nearly sounds like a gasp, and Alex grins to himself. Sometimes, his boyfriend is too easy. "Do you want me there?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there."

----

or, Henry wants Alex at a ball and Alex is anxious about it.

(Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Ballroom Dancing, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Hurt/Comfort)

If You Hold Me Without Hurting Me, You’ll Be the First Who Ever Did

Henry feels himself aching for Alex—this Alex, the one who’s at home in Texas, the one who’s vulnerable and free—and he sees the ache reflected in Alex’s eyes.

The first night they spend at the lake house, before Alex wakes up with Henry's swimsuit tangled around his elbow.

(Additional Tags: Emotions, Anal Sex, Bottom Henry, alex calling henry baby, henry calling alex love, Boys In Love, Porn with Feelings, Henry Pov, so it's a wee bit angsty)

love dares you, to change our way of caring about ourselves

Henry has read it all: fairy-tales of princes and their courters, unsung histories of kings and their secret lovers, and he has read all their happy endings. But he is not a prince in a fairy-tale, and he has always thought his own secret love story was likelier to end in tragedy.

Perhaps it’s time that changed.

(Or, Henry’s POV the morning after The Great Claremont-Diaz Ambush at Kensington Palace)

Let Me Hold Your Head in My Hands

Alex has a migraine.

Henry takes care of him.

(Additional Tags: Sickfic, Sick Character, Boys In Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Idiots in Love, Headaches & Migraines, Tooth-Rotting Fluff,Domestic Fluff, Bathtubs)

you would not believe your eyes (if ten million fireflies)

Alex and Henry are staying at Alex’s house in Texas. Henry has never seen fireflies before, and Alex can’t let him get away without the experience of catching one.

Or,

Alex is helplessly in love with Henry.

(Additional Tags: Fluff, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Summer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, firefly catching, Fireflies, Lightning bugs, Texas)

Promises, Promises.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes again.

The corner of Henry’s mouth does the thing it does. His walls are back up.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he mutters, before turning on his heel and marching down the hall.

——

OR

Alex has never felt so horrible. And 3 days is a long time.

(Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Fights, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Stressed Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Anxiety, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Abandonment Issues, Leaving Home)

The Red Side Goes Up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

(Additional Tags: Smut, Rimming, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Post-Canon)

(all of me changed like) midnight rain

“They’re fighting again,” he whispers instead. Henry’s eyes are sad.

“I know, love.”

Or, 5 times Alex believes his relationship with Henry won't last, and 1 time he knows it will.

Or, 5 times Alex doesn't believe in love because of his parents and 1 time Henry proves him wrong.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, Canonical Divorce, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Song: Midnight Rain (Taylor Swift), Depression, References to Depression)

We'll Get Together Then

5+1 times Oscar was a good dad to Henry (ft. Abuelo Oscar)

(Additional Tags: Henry and Oscar bonding, 5+1 Things, I have Feelings about their relationship, Arthur's death is mentioned)

The Bet

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

(Additional Tags: Bets & Wagers, No sex bet, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but it gets resolved eventually, Wet Dream, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Porn With Plot, like it kind of has a plot, Mostly just porn though, Kissing, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Riding, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

What Kind of Day Has It Been

Even after thirty-odd years of being together (twenty-five of those married) Henry still has to drag Alex away from his desk and up to bed. Even just a few days after routine surgery Alex can't help himself.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Kissing, Married Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

take a bite, babe

And, well, Henry can no longer lie to himself. He couldn’t be more in love with Alex if he tried.

Or: five moments Henry notices Alex’s eyelashes (and falls a little more in love).

I miss you, i'm sorry

"I—I’m killing myself trying to make this work, trying to make both you and my family happy, living on planes, and it’s still not enough for you? I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to be with me,” Alex says bitterly, wiping furiously at his eyes and refusing to meet Henry’s.

"Alex—"

“No,” Alex interrupts angrily, “get it off your chest! I can’t wait to hear all about how much work I am to be with. You know what, if you’re just gonna leave me again then you might as well go ahead and do it now. Save us both the hurt.”

Or: the fight.

(Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Fighting, Healthy Relationships, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Comfort, Healthy Conflict Resolution, Conflict Resolution)

Too Much

Okay, so maybe Alex talked too much for them. It was fine. He could still sit with them at lunch, he just had to make sure not to talk so much. Just listen to them. He could do that.

The next day, and the day after, Alex sat with the same group of kids. Only, he no longer went on rants about movies or books or what he saw on the news that morning or what his parents talked/argued over at dinner.

Alex stayed silent, desperate to not be too much.

***

OR 5 times the people in Alex's life thought that he was too much + one time Henry assured him that he wasn't.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Projecting, author's first fic)

the common tongue of you loving me

Where did kissing come from? Henry has always wondered. Why kisses? At the beginning of history, which long forgotten person, which ancestor of all mankind, was the first to press their lips to another’s in a declaration of their love?

Was it a lover, perhaps, so consumed with devotion that they sought to use lips as well as fingertips? All followed the base urge of their bodies — the innate knowledge that the pressing of lips was the highest form of touch. But no one knows why.

Except when Alex quirks his cupid’s bow, licks into Henry’s mouth and lets his bottom lip rest on Henry’s, and oh. Henry knows.

(Additional Tags: Kissing, henry has so many feelings about kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Grinding, Frottage)

All Your Closets Of Backlogged Dreams

It’s not that the loss of the President’s oldest child is a secret. It’s just that nobody talks much about the death of Catalina June Claremont-Diaz.

It takes Alex years before he talks to Henry about her.

(The painful story no one asked for that ties June into the movie.)

(Additional Tags: Past Character Death, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing)

He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

(being with you) makes the flame burn good

“Ah, would you look at that,” Alex says hoarsely, breaking the kiss, “Looks like you got a bit of batter on your neck.”

He lowers his head and licks a stripe up Henry's neck until his tongue reaches the spot below his ear and Henry shudders slightly in his arms.

“Tastes so good, baby,” Alex teases and fits his thigh between Henry's legs, feeling how hard he is and how immediately he grinds against Alex's body, searching for any form of relief.

“Oh, piss off,” Henry breathes and tangles his hands in Alex's curls, fisting his hand lightly and moving his hips a little faster.

(Additional Tags: Married Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Kitchen Sex, Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Laughter During Sex, Body Worship, Sort Of, Hickeys, Begging, Praise Kink, Nipple Play, surprisingly there's NO food play in this, Dom Alex, Sub Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

we thought we ruled the world

Alex stares down at his latest text from Henry. A link to an article he’s seen about ten versions of so far. He’s managed to resist clicking on any of them, but now Henry is sending it, so he supposes he should at least give it a skim.

How Prince Henry’s Relationship With FSOTUS Lost Ellen Claremont The Election

............

Or, what would have happened if Ellen lost.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, mostly happy at least)

pictures of you

Henry has seen photos of Alex before, of Alex’s easy grin and disarming smirk, wild curls awry and lean muscles on casually stretched biceps. He’s seen countless photos of him before.

But.

Alex has never sent him a photo before. Not like this.

---

Five times Alex sends Henry a selfie from bed (+ one time Henry sends him one)

the dresden dilemma

The Crown had expectations when it sent a member of the royal family abroad but after a handful of years navigating said expectations, Alex and Henry had become adept at circumventing them when possible. Like tonight: They were supposed to be in Berlin for the weekend, but after a bit of needling and a lot of promises to behave, Alex had convinced Shaan to arrange for them to spend at least one night outside of the city.

Dresden, Alex had argued, was close enough to Berlin that they weren't really disobeying the Crown and besides, what harm could a single night in Dresden do?

(Additional Tags: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Established Relationship, Alex Claremont-Diaz has Trauma, cause he's an american kid and who doesn't, or at least he thought, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Fireworks, School Shootings, implied/referenced anyway, Guns)

the clementine thing

And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company.

Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him.

-

Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor

(This is one of my favorites, please read this ❤️)

In the Low Lamp Light, I Was Free

“You wanna go again?” Alex asks, pressing the back of his head into the pillows, offering his throat more fully to Henry’s hungry mouth, and when Henry laughs and retrieves another condom and the little bottle of lube from his toiletry bag, he adds, “I had a thought, though. I thought, maybe… you could be inside me this time.”

(Movieverse; there were two condom wrappers on the floor in Paris.)

he is exactly the poem i wanted to write

There is no Turkey in Alex's room this year, but there is a prince.

AKA, Henry spends thanksgiving with Alex after the election and reflects on all of his dreams coming true.

(Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, so fluffy it borders on worshippy, Porn with Feelings)

we might fall

A little ficlet of Alex and Henry in the hammock. Metaphors about falling.

lifeline of mine

Henry hates hospitals, has hated them since he watched his father wither away in one that smelled just like this one, that had the same unsettling chill in the air. And every time he walked into a hospital after losing Arthur, he would see his father’s ashen face, would feel the ghost of his cold skin prickling his own, would hear the slowing beep of his heart monitor. And now, it’s Henry in a hospital bed, not knowing what’s wrong with his body. And he’s scared, and he’s thinking about Arthur and…

“I saw him,” Henry whispers.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Hurt Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Worried Alex Claremont-Diaz, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Forehead Kisses, Fever, Angst with a Happy Ending)

please don't ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

Alex’s love language is physical touch.

Henry knows this—has known it from the first moment he’s met Alex, all wild curls and bright eyes and a smile that could breathe life into Henry’s little, fragile hife. He’d stuck out a hand at that first meeting, dejected when Henry didn’t even take it. Found a way to poke and prod Henry every single time they’d met after, sharp jabs hitting his shoulder and rough hits shoving him around.

Now, Alex’s fingers are gentle as they lace around his. His arms hold him tight to his chest. His hair tickles the nape of Henry’s neck, and the couch is entirely too small for the two of them but Henry doesn’t have the heart to kick him out.

Or, 5 times Alex clings tight to Henry and 1 time Henry finds out why.

Bear with me

The first time it happened, Henry was not having it.

“For the last time, I’m not helping you shave your arse.”

—

In which Alex is very hairy, and Henry sort of has a thing for it. Not that he'd admit it, though.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Canon - Book, But can fit the movie verse too, tzp is a walking thirst trap, this was supposed to be crack but became quite serious real quick, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Sex, No Smut, Body Hair Appreciation, Healthy Relationships)

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie)

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

but i'd put you first a million times over

Henry first noticed it shortly after the Waterloo incident. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough to thrust all their private thoughts and emails into the public eye; they had to be thrust into the limelight as well.

Or the 5 times Henry asked the Crown for better security, plus one time he no longer had to.

(Additional Tags: Protective Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Paparazzi, Hurt/Comfort, 5+1 Things, Hurt Alex Claremont-Diaz, Post-Canon)

in every scenario

Henry can practically hear Alex thinking. They’re curled up in bed, Alex’s head resting on his chest, and his mind is so loud. He can hear it in the rustling of the sheets, in Alex’s hand skating up his ribcage; the anxious curl of his toes against Henry’s ankles. He’s nearly vibrating with thought.

Henry’s hand tucks into the base of Alex’s spine. “Love,” he murmurs, ducking his chin to look down at his boyfriend. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

-

Or, Alex has something important on his mind.

Long fics:

all that glitters (is not gold)

Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

—-

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

(The masterpiece. The firstprince sequel. The canon sequel.)

But I love him, whether or no.

Henry moves to New York City to help Pez with the opening of his new bar in the East Village. The location—fortunately for business, but unfortunately for Henry’s sanity—is directly across the street from a fire station. The sound of sirens is bad, Alex the gorgeous firefighter is worse. But when Alex helps Henry avoid a near catastrophe the night of the bar’s opening, the two form a tentative friendship that starts to develop into something more.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Firefighter!Alex, Canon typical mental health issues for Henry, Canon typical struggles with grief for Henry, Canon typical child of divorce issues for Alex, Canon typical struggles with sexuality for Alex, Firefighter injuries, Hospitalization, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

the poem you make of me

After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention.

Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

God Save the Blessed American President Mom

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.”

“June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.”

“Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”]

***

On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life.

Alex gets shot instead.

How wonderful life is (while you're in the world)

The corner of Henry’s mouth. It’s disappeared now, covered by the oxygen mask fixed securely around his head, but if Alex concentrates hard enough, he can see it sprawled out in front of him. Every ridge, every bend and edge and turn of it.

He knows Henry’s heart. And that’ll be enough.

(or: the one where henry gets shot and alex is a goddamn mess.)

[cha-melodius]

Oh my goodness, I've just seen your fic festival request post and am excited to sneak in to participate before it closes. I love your writing and your stories so very much!

My prompt suggestion is... firstprince in Edinburgh, Scotland... in particular, the Edinburgh pride parade (if I may be so oddly specific). AU welcome, canon welcome, makeouts welcome, ahem.

Thank you and good luck wrangling everyone's prompts!

(Firstly, I have to say I love your url and your profile pic! Secondly, this is heavier on the Pride and lighter on the Edinburgh as far as the details go, but I hope it delights. Inspired in part by a tweet shared on tumblr; rated M for dick jokes. Happy Bisexual Awareness Week!)

Something To Be Proud Of

(firstprince, 3.3k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Henry stares at the carbon copy of the email in his inbox and wills time to go backwards. Just a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Enough time to go back and keep autocorrect from transforming whatever he’d typed after ‘he’ in his pronouns after his name into… that.

Thank you so much for all your help. Together we can make this a truly exceptional Edinburgh Pride. Regards, Henry Fox (he/hung Sent from Outlook for iOS.

How had he not seen it before he hit send on an email going out to every volunteer on their mailing list? How had he not noticed?

Maybe no one else would notice either. No one looks at email signatures that closely, right?

~~~~~

Ok, he’s not delusional enough to think that no one noticed. He had, however, naively believed that everyone would recognise it for what it was and politely ignore his gaff. He gets away scot free for a few days, and then, at the end of an email sent by a volunteer that is mostly as expected, he sees:

Best, Alex (he/him) PS: not sure I did the pronouns right. Does ‘Pride’ over here include being proud of your big dick?

It’s a damned good thing that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at the time, or he might be wearing it instead. Once he’s finished choking on nothing and perhaps isn’t quite the colour of a tomato (oh, who is he kidding, of course he still is), Henry professionally answers Alex’s questions about the schedule for the day of the march. He pauses before the sign off, wondering if he should acknowledge the flub or pretend it never happened. In the end, he writes:

Regards, Henry (he/him) PS: Your pronouns look correct to me, but they are, of course, your choice.

He only checks the email about ten times before he sends it. Hopefully, that should be the end of it.

~~~~~

It’s not.

Apparently, Alex has more questions. Apparently the law firm he works for is one of this year’s sponsors and is interested in potentially running a free legal clinic associated with the festival. A noble endeavour, which Henry is only too happy to assist with. He makes a mental note to look into logistics with Kate, the event’s chair, and continues reading. Finding out that Alex is apparently mature enough to be a lawyer lulls him into a false sense of security, though. At the tail of the email, he finds:

PS: regardless of the size of your dick, I’m impressed by the balls it takes to not acknowledge the typo. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? PPS: I’m trying out new pronouns. How do you think (daddy/sir) would go over?

Henry does spit his tea all over his phone this time.

He doesn’t email Alex back right away, but that’s because he has to wait to hear back from Kate. It has nothing to do with the fact that the prospect of dragging this interaction out longer is both horrifying and vaguely thrilling. Henry has noticed that he uses Americanised spellings in his text, which seems to fit with his general demeanour. It piques Henry’s curiosity, even though the thought of actually having to face Alex in person still makes him flush automatically. Eventually he gets an email from Kate that includes additional questions for the firm, as well as telling him that he can pass it off to someone in sponsor coordination. He is, after all, just the volunteer coordinator for the march. This need not involve him.

He still emails Alex back with the questions. And:

PS: Although I support your creativity, I am concerned those pronouns may not be appreciated in a professional setting such as, for instance, a court of law. Just a thought. However, I do suspect they might be rather popular at Pride.

~~~~~

They keep on exchanging emails, even though Henry should have sent Alex’s contact info to sponsor coordination ages ago, even though it becomes clear that Alex is not the one who will be ultimately responsible for the clinic either. On every one, there is a postscript in which Alex makes some kind of joke about the size of Henry’s dick.

do you have to get all your pants specially made with extra room in the crotch

do you have to check your dick as luggage when you fly

have you ever used it as a tripod

is your dick in another time zone

do you call your dick Sir Richard because it’s that prominent

In turn, Henry responds as dryly as possible, which only seems to encourage him. Oddly for someone who is volunteering at the event, Alex seems to have a lot of questions about Pride itself, as though this is the first one he’s attending on any continent. They exchange emails almost right up to the day of the march itself, but if they do taper off, Henry is too busy to notice. Coordinating volunteers for something as big as Edinburgh Pride is intense, and the days tick by before he even knows it.

He’s standing off to the side at the volunteer check-in tent on the morning of the march, going over some last minute logistics with one of his staff, when a voice carries over the hubbub, deep and rich with an out-of-place American accent.

“Sorry, but I was hoping… is Henry here?”

Henry straightens up and turns toward the voice only to find perhaps the most stunning man he’s ever seen standing at the front table. Dark, curly hair, a sharp jaw, big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Henry has ever seen— he’s actually impossibly beautiful. Unbelievable, really. As is the fact that he’s asking for Henry.

“Hello,” Henry says as he walks over to the front. “How can I help you?”

The man’s eyes snap over to him, and he very clearly looks Henry up and down and swears, “Jesus fuck,” under his breath. Then his eyes come back up to Henry’s face, and he swallows. “You’re not Scottish.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Neither are you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just— need to adjust what you sound like in my head,” he says nonsensically. “I’m Alex?”

Oh.

Oh, Christ.

Henry should have known, because how many other Americans could there be volunteering at Edinburgh Pride? That reality does nothing to help him cope with the situation presented before him, though, in which this is the man who’s been teasing him about the size of his dick for the last month.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently as he tries to pull himself together. There are far too many people standing around watching this exchange. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Did your firm get everything sorted with the clinic?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking. “Yeah, thanks. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something for you?”

It kind of comes out as a question, and he’s scratching the back of his head uncertainly, so even though Henry has no idea what’s coming, he nods. Then Alex reaches into his pocket, fishes out something small and round, and places it on the table between them.

It’s a button. A pronoun button, not unlike the one Henry’s already wearing, but instead it reads: he/hung.

Henry’s eyes snap up to find Alex grinning at him with the kind of mischief that Henry honestly should have expected from him sparkling in his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were prepared,” he says with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Then he takes his volunteer t-shirt and saunters off—and Christ those jeans are ridiculously tight and doing everything for his arse—leaving Henry gawping after him. A moment later, one of his regular volunteers, Robin, bustles by, catches sight of the button, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a cackle.

“My god, it’s perfect,” they say. “Did he really make this for you?”

Henry can only sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “It appears so. Robin, can you do me a favour?”

“Make sure you’re working the same stations all day?” they surmise. Henry doesn’t need to look to imagine the knowing grin on their face.

Henry wants to say no. Just because Henry’s already managed to combine the affection engendered by their previous email conversations with Alex’s stunning good looks into a powerfully intoxicating cocktail of a crush—well, that’s on Henry and his poor decision-making.

Instead, he says: “Yes, exactly that.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Alex had only signed up to volunteer at Pride on a whim. He’s always complaining that he doesn’t know anyone in Edinburgh outside of his coworkers, and one such coworker—someone that he could safely call a friend—suggested that getting involved in the festival would be a good way to meet people. Alex had tried to explain that he wasn’t actually queer, but she’d just given him an odd look and told him that allies were welcome at Pride too. It had felt a little weird signing up despite her assurances, but also kind of good. He was finally going get out there and have a life beyond his job.

He certainly hadn’t expected to strike up a prolonged email exchange with the volunteer coordinator, Henry. He also doesn’t really know why he kept finding excuses to send him new messages, except for Henry’s responses to Alex’s stupid jokes made Alex imagine him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh, which only egged Alex on further. It was fun. That’s all.

Nothing about any of this made him prepared to show up to the volunteer check-in tent  today and be plunged directly into a sexuality crisis. But that seems to be exactly what’s currently happening now that he’s been confronted by quite possibly the hottest man he’s ever seen. Alex doesn’t even get it because it’s not like he hasn’t been able to objectively appreciate attractive men before, and blond hair and blue eyes have historically never really done it for him. Even if they are combined with swooping cheekbones, and broad shoulders, and obscenely full, pink lips.

All he knows is that as much as this doesn’t make sense, it also suddenly does. Why he’d felt drawn to sign up in the first place. Why he spent the last month reading about the history of Pride in Edinburgh and around the world. Why he’d gone on a deep dive doing research about different sexualities, brushing it off as wanting to be informed before meeting new people.

Why he was so obsessed with Henry’s dick.

Jesus fuck.

He thinks he manages to hold a short conversation. Somehow he even gives Henry the custom button he brought as a joke, smiling the whole time like he’s not moment’s away from dropping to his knees. He flees the table safe in the knowledge that Henry will likely be too busy coordinating stuff all day and Alex probably won’t see him again. That confidence is shattered when, not even an hour later, Henry shows up at the station Alex is supposed to be working. He’s even wearing the joke button, under his regular pronoun button and next to a little rainbow flag pin. Alex is going to die.

“Oh hey,” Alex says in a reasonable facsimile of nonchalance. “Did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” Henry replies. “I’ll be working this station too.”

Yeah, Alex is definitely not going to make it through the day.

~~~~~

It actually turns out to be not as bad as he feared, despite how Henry’s volunteer t-shirt is probably a size too small (never mind that in the context of everyone else at Pride he looks downright conservative) and Alex keeps getting caught staring at his shoulders or his back or his waist. Henry keeps on giving him weird looks at the beginning, probably because he’s expecting Alex to be cracking crude jokes. Too bad Alex is way too wound up in his own head to think of anything at all.

They’re pretty busy all day, but they do get a chance to chat occasionally, mostly small talk stuff about jobs and how they both ended up in Edinburgh. Henry is there for grad school, apparently, and has been volunteering for Pride since he moved out from under his grandmother’s restrictive shadow. In turn, Alex tells him about applying for the law job on a whim, desperate to set himself apart from his parents, and how much he likes Edinburgh (despite the weather). As the day stretches on and the streets fill up, Alex feels himself relaxing into his skin again, undeniably enjoying the festivities as well as Henry’s company.

See, the other thing he never, ever expected is how good it feels to be here. All the people around him loudly comfortable in themselves, and the color and glitter and celebration— it’s amazing, but it’s not just that he’s watching other people be happy. There’s a kind of ecstatic joy that bubbles up inside him at the fact that he’s part of it, one that he feels down to his bones. A sense of belonging that he’s never really experienced before, and that, more than anything else, makes him more certain of his newfound revelation.

Straight people probably don’t feel like this at Pride.

At the end of the day, he’s helping pack up the main volunteer tent when he comes across a table full of pins depicting different pride flags. He dimly remembers seeing them when he’d checked in and thinking that none of them applied to him. Now, he stares down at them and bites his lower lip uncertainly.

“There’s a box for those under the table,” Henry tells him from across the tent, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Alex says, and Henry’s already turning back to whatever he’s doing when he manages to continue, “Hey, can I— um, can I take one of these?”

Henry stops, his brow creasing as he tips his head slightly. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Right, thanks,” Alex says with a tight smile.

He puts his hand out, hesitates, then picks up one with pink, purple, and blue stripes. Stares down at it for another moment before he realizes he’s probably being weird and he’s pretty sure Henry is still watching him. He swallows hard, then pins it to his shirt next to his pronoun button.

No one jumps out to call him out for being an impostor. Henry offers him a careful smile, then turns back to his work like he knows Alex needs a moment to himself. He lets his fingers rub over the surface of the pin, feeling the little enamel ridges, and something settles under his skin, like an itch he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

He feels almost normal by the time Henry walks up to him once they’re finished and everything is packed away in someone’s car.

“Thanks so much for your help today,” Henry says. 

“It was my pleasure,” Alex replies, and means it more than he can say. “I’m really glad I decided to sign up.”

“I realize you may very well be tired of my face at this point, but if you don’t already have plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink?”

Alex would like to make a joke about how it might be literally impossible to get tired of Henry’s face, but at this point he’d probably fuck up and confess his undying love for a guy he just met. “Sounds great,” he says instead, looking around at where a few of the other volunteers are lingering nearby. “Do y’all usually all go out together afterward?”

Henry coughs slightly and glances down at the ground for a few seconds as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “Well yes, a group of them usually do. But I was actually asking if you wanted to go out with me,” he says. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as his stomach decides to do a backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Spending all day volunteering with Henry was fun. Going on a date with Henry, being the sole focus of his attention, is intoxicating. Alex feels like he could sit here all night listening to Henry talk about his research on queer history, although that’s far from the only thing they talk about. As the night wears on and the pub slowly empties, Alex is buzzing with a few drinks and the euphoria of really clicking with someone, already wondering when would be too soon to ask Henry out again.

Henry shifts slightly so his legs press against Alex’s where they’re tangled together under the table—have been for several hours, actually. He’s playing with the stirrer in his empty glass, and a little teasing smirk sneaks onto his lips as he looks up at Alex.

“So you made me a custom pronoun button but forgot your own?”

“Ah, you know,” Alex replies with a shit-eating grin and a one-shouldered shrug, “thought it would be too distracting, what with how everyone would be hitting on me all day.”

Henry hums thoughtfully, biting back a wider smile. “If you wanted to avoid that, you probably should have chosen some looser trousers.”

“That’s fair. I suppose you had to go for the room in yours.” Alex pauses a beat. “You know, on account of the size of your dick.”

That makes Henry actually laugh and shake his head fondly. “I was waiting all day for that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex says, chuckling along with him. It does feel like he owes Henry something of an explanation of why he was so weird all day. He looks down and licks his lips. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course,” Henry answers with a small, encouraging smile.

“A friend of mine suggested I volunteer for this because I wanted to meet people. Make new friends. But until today I actually thought I was… mostly straight?” Alex admits, trying not to wince as he stares fixedly into his empty glass. “Being part of this made me realize why I always felt a little like I wasn’t my whole self. So I was… kind of going through it a bit today.” He pauses, then adds, “Also you’re so ridiculously fucking hot that you kind of melted my brain.”

Henry laughs again, but it’s softer this time. Gentle. Alex kind of wants to sink into the sound. Henry’s cheeks are slightly pink as he extends a hand across the table, and Alex doesn’t hesitate before he slides his hand into Henry’s and links their fingers together.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” Henry says. “I mean, the feeling like your whole self part. Not the brain melting part,” he adds, and Alex can’t help but laugh with him.

Henry doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and once they’re alone on the sidewalk he uses it to pull Alex close. He puts a hand on Alex’s hip and Alex has to tip his head up to look at him, and it’s a lot but he’s also pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Henry’s lips pressed against his.

“I have a confession too,” Henry murmurs as he stares down into Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the very first moment I saw you.”

Alex lets one corner of his mouth tug upwards. “What’s stopping you, baby?”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry breathes, looking momentarily overwhelmed, but then he’s pressing his lips to Alex’s, and Alex feels his blood sing. It’s brief and chaste and leaves him aching for more, but then Henry looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes and asks, “Given your recent personal revelations, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you back to my place?”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” Alex replies, then he reaches up to touch the side of the ridiculous he/hung button that Henry is still wearing for some reason. “I wanna find out how accurate this button is.”

(It doesn’t take long for him to find out that the answer is: extremely.)

[nurseprigs]

The Tea Club meeting with the new member began at the end of a cold afternoon. Kylie was preparing tea for what was possibly the last meeting before the new year.

"How do you like your tea, Dulce?"

"With two sugar cubes and some milk."

"Two sugar cubes? That probably takes away from the real flavor of the tea." Commented Kylie preparing her friend's tea.

"How was the birth?"

"Painful and not at all quick. But special in so many ways. Her name is Felicia Morris."

"A little girl! I would bet she has her hair on fire."

"Oh you would lose the bet." Dulce said laughing. "She is the spitting image of her father."

"You can't imagine how being the spitting image of a father is all I need to solve the problems in my life." whispered Kylie.

"What do you mean by that?"

"After the incident at the Burton' wedding, my husband suspects my child is not his."

"Perhaps because he never looked at the little boy. When I first saw him, I saw Henrique. He looks so much more like Henrique than you!"

"My torment will only end when he grows up. Henrique refuses to assume his role as a father until he is sure…"

"I'm so sorry, Kylie. I had a difficult first child myself and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But he will win Henrique's heart like Alex won mine. Does he have a name, by the way?"

"Emmanuel Edwards."

"Edwards?"

"When Henrique can recognize himself in my son, he will give him his last name…"

Dulce wanted to say how her story and Kylie's took the same path. Although not a word was said aloud, Dulce knew that Henrique was treating little Emmanuel like a bastard, the exact reason that made this same family kick Dulce out of her own lucky years ago. It would be comical if it were not tragic.

Begin || Previously || Next

[thebookofthefaeries]

dumb shit my friend have said v2

"i hate those fucking jesus emails"

"he gets us is so dumb i swear they're infiltrated reddit i'll never be ok again"

"we should do shit like that"

"what?"

"Hi would you like to hear about our lord and savior violence?"

*tea spitting*

"ALEX OPEN THE SPAM EMAIL"

[pinkcandyclouds]

It was a good thing Alex had swallowed his sip of sweet tea before Wyatt dropped the news, because if he hadn’t there would’ve been a movie-worthy spit take. Instead, he stayed silent for a good minute as he tried to process the information. Part of him wanted to laugh at the thought of not changing his plans considering this life-changing news.

He had always wanted to be a father ever since he knew what that would mean. It had been all too easy for him to dream of the perfect nuclear family life when that had been what he’d grown up with. He’d never imagined it like this. They weren’t even in a relationship, had literally decided they shouldn't be in a relationship, much less married. Alex was still living in LA, which was not his top choice of place to raise a family to say the least. While LA definitely had its perks, he couldn’t imagine raising a family around the hustle and bustle of the city. There was so much to think about, and he had no idea where to begin. Or how he was supposed to finally let go of the life he had wanted now that this was happening.

He nodded, more to himself than Wyatt, pushing himself to speak. “Okay. Um… okay.” Alex took a deep breath. “I guess that means you’re keeping it, then. How far along does that make you?” he asked.

Wyatt nodded when he offered to grab a table, ordering Alex his usual and herself some tea, feeling a little too nauseous to eat just yet. Order in hand, she moved to join him and sat down, taking a sip of her drink before biting her lip as the nerves built. "So um, a few weeks after we broke I found out that I'm pregnant." While saying it out loud didn't entirely take away her anxiety, it did take some weight from her shoulders. "I was going to call you during the week and I know you're planning on moving to Texas. I'm not asking you to change your plans or anything, I just, you deserve to know. Deserve the chance to decide if you want to be involved or not."

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 4

Content warnings:

Graphic depictions of gore, blood, smoking, lady dimitrescu washes the readers mouth out with soap and a horse brush so watch out for that, mentions of taxidermy, mentions of meat preparation (skinning), mentions of murder, aftermath of murder

“How dare I?” Lady Dimitrescu said, then her face split open in a wide smile and she threw her head back and laughed. It was light and hysterical, and she covered her mouth softly with one hand. Her bedroom was lit only with candlelight, her pet cowering on the other side of the room by her bed.

You glared at her and she met your eyes gleefully, striding over and grabbing your face in one hand. She squeezed your jaw and forced your mouth open, then rubbed your teeth through your cheeks. You grabbed her wrist and dug your nails in, but she didn’t so much as flinch, smiling at you with all the grace of a lion with an antelope in its mouth.

“Pet,” She called, and you glared, “Go fetch some soap and water, separate bucket for each.”

You glimpsed at her, at her smirk and her pose, the way it accentuated her perfect posture and the perfect way her hair fell and curled. The sleek stitch work of her hat, her cream dress, the strokes of her makeup brush that painted her white. Perfect, down to the last cell.

Lady Dimitrescu walked with you struggling against her, dragging your feet over the well-polished floor and well-appointed carpet to her bed. She sat down and pulled you forward with a quick yank, forcing your stomach against her knee. She reached over you to her bedside table, where she kept a specially designed toothbrush for her horse, Matthias.

“This is such a lovely little knick-knack,” She said pleasantly, twisting the dark wooden brush to catch the light, “It’s a shame I barely use it, don’t you agree?”

You grabbed her wrist in both hands and clawed and, though she swayed slightly, she manhandled you right back where she wanted you with ease. You grunted and she tapped your lips with the brush.

“Now, now, Wesker, no need to act an animal,” Her pet came back with a bucket of soap and a bucket of water, “Excellent choice, pet.”

Last year Lady Dimitrescu had taken to the scent of vanilla, and the smell was thick and syrupy the moment it was set down near you. She used a soft soap that gouged, somewhere between sloid and liquid, and pungent enough to drown your nose already. She scooped some onto her fingers, smiling, then looked at you with a grin crawling up her cheeks. “Try not to swallow.”

You took a quick breath, and she shoved her fingers into your mouth. The soap taste was unbearable, and she took obvious pleasure while she rubbed the soap onto your tongue. The taste filled your mouth, your nose, and no matter how hard you bit her hand she never wavered. She hummed a pleasant tune, tapping her feet beneath you while you struggled against her. When Lady Dimitrescu pulled away to grab the brush, you pulled in a breath and gagged.

She looked down at you, trapped against her and gasping between your violent gags, and smiled.

She tapped your cheek with the brush, and you flinched away from it.

“What a shame,” Lady Dimitrescu mused and tilted your chin up to watch the soap foam drip down your chin. She smiled slowly, her eyes widened softly, and she pushed the brush into your mouth. She scrubbed your teeth harshly, then your gums, your tongue and as far down your throat as she could push you before you were clawing desperately at her hand. She scrapped the brush against the inside of your mouth until you bled, until you had clawed holes in the skirt of her dress, until tears rolled down your face flatly and all you could smell, or taste was iron and rosemary.

By the time she had deemed your mouth clean, suds and spit covered your chin and her skirt. She released your jaw and let you sink to the floor and pushed the bucket of water over to you with her foot.

“All this, because you can’t listen,” She mused, taking her quellazaire from her pet. She turned to the tongueless woman and said, “Inside the bathroom, pet.”

You spat out a mouthful of blood and bristles, your hand shaking, running your tongue over your teeth and finding a few loose. Lady Dimitrescu was never gentle with her punishments to her staff, only her daughters were ever treated gently. She had told you not to cuss once before, in passing.

You wiped the spit off your chin and threw it into the bucket, your hands shaking, and your breath laboured. Rosemary tinted your every breath in when you heard the bathroom door shut.

“I would do that to Mother Miranda,” She said wistfully, relighting her cigarette, “if I could get away with it.”

“She’d kill you,” You choked out, coughing up a chunk of soap, “Speaking to her might help.”

“Mother Miranda doesn’t listen to me,” Lady Dimitrescu took a drag from her cigarette, “not anymore, at least.” She smiled at you, small and bitter, then turned her attention to the bathroom door and frowned.

You stared at her, and the bloody bristles covering your palm. “I know she doesn’t.”

“She speaks to you, a human—”

“Not a human.”

“A mortal,” She corrected absently, moving your chin towards her with the tip of her shoe, “is told over me. Does that seem… fair to you?”

You didn’t answer and she tilted her head as she took another drag from her quellazaire. Then she laughed, soft hiccup like chuckles more bitter than the taste in your mouth, smoke leaking from her ruby red lips.

“I’m obsolete.” She said, turning her eyes to the ceiling and then she laughed again.

“You are not,” You said, the words spilling blood from your mouth onto her shoe, “You have some uses.”

“Oh, thank you for the assessment,” Alcina crooned sarcastically, “It is ever so helpful.”

“I’m not good at this. And you scrubbed my mouth out with a horse brush.”

She pushed the tip of her shoe into your neck, just above the skin that hid your oesophagus. Her golden eyes glowed, “And you were just commenting on my daring, were you not?”

You glowered, then lowered your eyes to your murky reflection. “Yes, Madame.”

“By all means,” Lady Dimitrescu said, flicking ash onto the floor, “Speak.”

You picked up the still glowing end of her cigarette with a handkerchief and spat a glob of blood to smother it with. It was too late, predictably. The carpet was already ruined, “You are a hypocrite.”

“Hm? Did I not scrub hard enough?”

You pulled another bristle out from between your teeth.

“You never told me you had children.”

You dabbed the inside of your cheek with another handkerchief, pulling out a loose tooth as you did so. “I only had one.”

“You lied to me.”

You looked at her and shrugged, “I lie about a lot more than that.”

“Yes,” Her fingers tightened around her quellazaire, “I am aware of that.”

You looked away, into the bucket, then at the door. “It isn’t any of your business.”

"The lives of all my staff are my business."

“But I am not just yours.”

She leaned back a little, cocking her head to the side and smiling, “Yet.”

You glimpsed at her, at her smirk and her pose, the way it accentuated her perfect posture and the perfect way her hair fell and curled. The sleek stitchwork of her hat, her cream dress, the strokes of her makeup brush that painted her white. Perfect, down to the last cell.

“I know plenty about you,” She said, “A Frenchmen, a biologist, a test subject.”

“Easy things to learn from a file.”

“You hate the smell of brandy,” She continued in a dreamy sort of tone, “and acorns, whatever those are. You hate kidney beans and men who smoke. But you like cooking and you like me.”

You wobbled to your feet and took a few shaky steps away from her. She watched you and the blood that dripped down your chin with razor focus.

“I will likely be leaving.” You said, though it was much quieter than you would have preferred.

Lady Dimitrescu saw through your basic attempt and hummed, the sound reverberating through your bones. Then, mockingly, “Oh, are you afraid of dying?”

You looked at the draping on her bed, “You aren’t?”

“I am immortal,” She said, taking a drag from her cigarette then cocked her head, “Get out.”

…

You didn’t sleep that night.

So, after a few hours of soothing the pain in your mouth, you redressed and went into the kitchen. Alex was there, skinning whatever the Lady had deemed to her palate, so you moved to help with the vegetables. You didn’t speak for three hours, not until the prep work was done and the silverware was shining bright enough to blind.

You nodded as the other kitchen staff entered, “Ensure everything is perfect.”

And then you went to start your day.

You put your room to rights, cleaned the table, fixed the bedding and refolded any loose clothing. Then you moved into the dorm rooms for the other maids and roused them up fifteen minutes before six. You cleaned away the last remains of the five that had been eaten last night and dictated tasks down to the rest. Once the dorms had been cleaned to standard, and new bedding was placed on the once used beds, you moved to meet Mihaela at twenty past six and handed off the schedule for Lady Dimitrescu’s morning before Vanessa arrived.

Afterwards you sought out the three Dimitrescu daughters, who slept until half past seven before they deigned to rise. They kept their rooms warm as melted butter, with enough blankets to burn the scales off a rattlesnake, and you took a breath before entering. They were, as ever, aggressive but for Daniela who practically jumped into your arms. She smiled her wide smile and, after a little prompting, began talking excitedly about the necklaces she had made using your teeth.

You brushed their hair, first Daniela, then a yawning Bela and finally Cassandra who flopped half off the bed and snored while you fixed her hair. Once they were dressed, and their necklaces comfortably on their necks, you opened the doors and had breakfast brought in. The ate the dog meat with friendly chatter and warm tea. They weren’t as picky as their mother, nor as reliant on human flesh, and enjoyed tasting different meats when the opportunity presented itself.

But always you knew that they would bounce back onto human flesh. Such was their nature.

You took extra time to clean up their room as quickly and quietly as possible while they talked amongst themselves. Cassandra had disappeared immediately after breakfast, as she always did before you were finished cleaning and never returning until well after dinner. She was, as the other maids had told you, doing something in the opera hall and had barred all entrance into it while she was working.

Lady Dimitrescu always came to say good morning to her children, just after she had finished balancing her accounts and fielding any emergency phone calls. They calmed her considerably, and they talked while you cleaned around them in a flurry of movement. You did catch her eye one time, just as she was leaving, and she smiled at you with more mania than you had seen from her in a while.

At twenty-three past eleven, you went to clean the lower bedroom that Lady Dimitrescu worked in and found her pet hanging on the hooks with her chest broken open. Her ribs had been removed and you could clearly see her lungs inflating and deflating while she noisily took in breath. She would not live another minute, not with the glaze in her eyes as she reacted to your footsteps, especially not with the flies that buzzed out of your skirts and onto her neck. You watched her breath once and then turned your attention to the mess that was Lady Dimitrescu’s desk.

She had small roses made of glass, stuffed rodents that Daniela had made for her, flowers that Cassandra picked for her each morning from her private garden and small statues made of clay that Bela had made for her. And all of it was covered in blood which you would need to scrub and bleach from it all.

“At least you don’t have to deal with this.” You said to the hanging corpse and got to work.

When Vanessa did finally arrive, at one in the afternoon, you had been so thoroughly distracted by your work that you had run your fingers until they were bright red and throbbing. Lady Dimitrescu had watched you from her couch, tilting her head this way and that with feline laziness to track your every move.

Vanessa took tea with Lady Dimitrescu when she arrived, drinking the blood infused blend with a brave face and healthy smile. She always did have a stunning smile, matching to the Lady’s that you now worked under. The business they discussed, and discuss they did, loudly and bordering on obnoxious, was you. And Lady Dimitrescu twisted it into your past with almost reverent ease.

She was always too good at getting information from people.

“Cryogenically frozen?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, her smile stretching a tad too wide, “My, my. I had no idea.”

Vanessa smiled, and you could see the ticking of her brain as she tried to worm her way out of the current conversation, “Yes, it’s a fascinating process.”

“That sounds like quite the ordeal.” Lady Dimitrescu leaned forward, resting her head on her chin and you dug your nails into the platter you were holding.

“It was,” Vanessa said, “There are so many components that can go wrong.”

“Do tell.”

And so, it went on and on and on for two hours. By three in the afternoon, Lady Dimitrescu had weaseled herself into your personal life with as much finesse and subtlety as a charging rhinoceros, not that either you or Vanessa could divert her interest away from the topic. So when she left for work, brushing her hand under your chin as she went.

You watched her go for a moment too long, before Vanessa threw her arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek.

“That is quite enough.” You said and shook her off.

Vanessa laughed and you went over to the dirty table and began stacking the dishes away. “Oh, come now, I haven’t seen you in twenty years!”

“That was on purpose.”

She sat back down while you cleaned, tossing her dark hair so that it caught the light brilliantly. She didn’t wear perfume, which made the room seem empty now that Lady Dimitrescu had left, and she seemed cold compared to the Lady. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I hope you’re quite finished.”

“You talk like that giant bioweapon.”

“She is,” You said severely, picking up the full tray and wiping down the table, “by definition, not a bioweapon.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Be more precise with your language.”

“Now you’re nit-picking.”

“Please, stop talking.” She smiled gently and you relented. “Fine. I missed you.”

Vanessa threw her arm around your shoulders again and gave you another kiss on the cheek. Daniela appeared before you and placed her sickle against Vanessa’s temple.

She scrunched her nose and her tone was soft and confused, “Why are you touching our things?”

[trixicbean]

ok so what if lena and kara adopted someone from argo city

They hear about it from Alura one night while they are talking through what is essentially a space phone that Lena created. it's the devastating news no one wants to hear, the numbers in Argo's orphanage were on the rise again. The High Council weren't sure why but they suspected it was just a side effect of their rising population and change in policy to allow interplanetary travel. There was more danger.

Argo's orphanage wasn't bad, it was amazing quite frankly, but Kara looked at that empty room next to hers and Lena's, ready for the baby they kept saying they would have but never got round to and guilt would crush her. The orphanage didn't give the kids one thing and that was parental love. She and Lena could do that.

When Kara suggested it, it was on a normal Friday night. Lena had just finished writing a speech for Monday and Kara had been reading over her shoulder and providing suggestions as she did. Lena was opening an extension to the children's wing at the Luthor Hospital. Kara brought it up as Lena had shut the laptop and gone to make herself a tea and Kara a hot chocolate.

"Do you think we will ever fill that room?" Kara asked. She hoped it was obvious what she was talking about. There were only two empty rooms and they were both set aside for kids.

"You can move your art studio inside if you want, darling, I don't mind," Lena smiled from the kitchen. Obviously, it wasn't obvious.

"No no no," Kara rushed to say, speeding over to the kitchen and sitting on the counter behind Lena.

"I'm talking about upstairs. The rooms for- Do you want to- Because we both have our work schedules under control and we can't definitely afford it and Alex," Kara became so lost in her ramble she didn't notice Lena slowly turn around to face her or the hands she placed on Kara's thighs or the way she pushed herself up on those hands so she could press a kiss to Kara's mouth to make her shut up. Kara didn't expect the kiss and her eyes flitted back to her wife.

"Are you asking me if we should have a baby?" Lena asked her, raising that singular eyebrow. Kara just nodded and Lena smiled brightly.

"Well," she grabbed Kara's hands and pulled her down from the counter, "Then," she wrapped her arms around Kara's waist, pulling her close as Kara did the same to her, "My answer is yes," she whispered before she stole a quick kiss from Kara's lips.

It was Kara who made it quick, pulling away with a smile. "Iwasthinkingwecouldadoptfromargo," she rushed to say, the words tumbling over each other in her attempt to get them out.

Lena paused for a second, thinking before she looked back at Kara in the eyes and smiled softly, "I think that that is an amazing idea,".

Six months later, their daughter, their eldest, just four weeks old, was curled up in Lena's arms. Kieran. Her little features already carved out, button nose and shining green eyes, tan skin and jet black hair, chubby cheeks and grabby hands. Kara just wanted to shower her in love for the rest of her life. Her heart was full.

She took a step closer and brought her wife into her arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head, their baby now gently sandwiched between them. They both looked up at the same time and for just a second locked eyes. "I love you, darling," her wife whispered.

"I love you too," Kara smiled. They managed to bring their daughter home two weeks later and two years later, they got a call. There was another baby that needed parents.

He was six months old and so perfect. They called him Kiley. He looked different to his sister, more pronounced features upon paler skin with blonde hair and hazel eyes. Lena said their whole lives that he was a spitting image of his Jeju. He came home just a week after they met him and their lives were so much fuller.

But not quite full. That came when they adopted their final child. They named her Finley. Kiley was three and Kieran was almost five when they adopted her. They all came to Argo together and watching not only her wife but her kids interact with their baby made Kara fall in love with her family even more, and she didn't even believe that to be possible.

[imagine-lcorp]

Between Two Lungs (One Shot)

A/N: Hello dears, so here it is the infamous fic I’ve been writing. I really hope this fullfils my dream of crushing your hearts once again and that you have a fun time agonizing over this final choice. Because yes, I’ve made this a multiending fic...As always, remember to tell me what you think, is it something you want me to keep doing for other fics? Also, how did you feel after this? pls let me know. Also i made this PLAYLIST if you want to add some feeling to this while reading... Enjoy! 

Lena Luthor x R/Hanahaki AU//Word Count: 3,464

-------------------------------------------------

It is possible to die of a broken heart.

You look it up somewhere in the internet. It's similar to a heart attack, caused by a very strong and emotionally stressful event. The death of a loved one, a breakup, a betrayal. It's treatable and rarely fatal. Following the recommendations of your doctor, you can make a full recovery within weeks. Still, it is possible to die of it.

You don't have a broken heart. You wish you had one. Because love, the one only you feel, is growing inside of you and it is much worse than that.

Thankfully, compared to others your condition it's not as painful as it could be.

You have heard about people with roses inside them, how their thorns puncture their pharynges with every breath they take. Others don't get flowers. They get apple or cherry trees with their fruits pouring juice inside their lungs and out of their mouths. Some others have pines and spruces, with cones constricting their organs and rib-cages until they bones break.

So you look at the small white petal that lays in your hand and think that, in your case, it is something almost magnanimous.

Plumerias have no thorns and, even though some can be a bit thick, their branches are soft enough to bend around your heart and lungs without much trouble. Their petals, small and delicate, rise easily up your throat without lacerating it in a coughing fit.

Maybe, you want to think in a very optimist way, if you can keep that love from growing further, you won't have to suffer through it.

Maybe.

So you prescribe for your own heart solitude and abstinence.

The first one is the easiest.

You tell your friends you are sick and need some time to recover. Most of them get worried as they don't know yet what illness has fallen upon you in these troublesome times.

"You know, If you wanted, I could get you a full medical examination." Alex offers with a raised eyebrow, giving you the look of the always concerned big sister.

"Thanks, but it's alright." You assure them with a smile. "I was thinking about spending some time at home anyway."

After a lot of questions you manage to dodge in the end, they decide there's no reason to doubt your intentions. So they leave you to your own devices.

Homemade remedies, or herbicides depending on who you ask, seem to help as you spend your days at home. Drinking some salt water with lemon in the morning, or a couple of vinegar tablespoons in a cup of tea before going to bed. They don't taste that bad once you get used to the flavor and these help you ease the new bitterness that you taste in the back of your throat.

The second is a bit harder.

You have to stop yourself from dreaming her, thinking her, missing her.

She has texted you a few times already, wanting to know how you're doing and offering her help if you don't feel like you're doing okay on your own. You handle it as best as you can. You text back, consistently enough and with measured time and words, so you don't raise any red flags. When you don't seem to answer she calls, but just thinking about hearing her voice makes your chest hurt a little.

You never answer. She doesn't try to call again. You spit your first handful of flowers after that.

It's all fine, you lie to yourself, at least until the pain reaches your insides and white petals come out of you mouth dappled in red.

"You need to tell her." Kara says softly as she pats your back after another coughing fit.

You cover your mouth with your hand, making sure there are no signs of blood or petals as you tight it into a fist. "Tell who what?"

"Tell Lena about the flowers." She sighs when she fells you freeze under her touch. "Sorry. Alex told me if I could get a clear shot at your lungs maybe we could figure out how to help. I didn't expect it to be... well, flowers."

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but you are still amazed at how easy it is to forget Kara has x-ray vision when she's not wearing her suit. With or without it, she's still the same caring and protective person you have always known. It also explains why she has been so adamant about having lunch together, at least once a week, after your failed attempt at convincing her you were doing well after a month alone. You couldn't expect less from your best friend, you remind yourself as you catch your breath.

"How do you know it's her?" The taste is bitter as you swallow the rest of blood and petals in your mouth.

"It's plumerias, isn't it?" She rubs your back again as you regain you posture. "They are her favorites."

There are a couple of red tainted petals in your palm when you open your hand. "Yeah, they are."  

Kara looks at you and you see something in her you don't think you have ever seen before in the Girl of Steel. But you recognize it, because you feel the same way. Hopeless. Helpless. Powerless.

"(Y/N)." She says like she's already grieving. "It's spreading fast."

The easiest way to get ride of the disease is by removing its seed from your heart, the doctor says. No more than an hour in the operating room and your respiratory system would be as good as new. Common symptoms after the surgery can include aches between your shoulder blades, ribs, back of the neck or chest, weakness and hoarseness in your voice, and, in general, some memory loss and the inability to experiment intense or deep affection towards another person. Most of these stop shortly after you recover, except for the last one.

More experimental methods have been developed with the help of biotherapy. Experts in Japan are said to have reduced the spread of the flowers with other plants like kudzu or barberry, while someone in Europe has been using thrips to eat the plant and control its growth. It's like using maggots to eat your wounds, the doctor explains more enthusiastic than you feel.

You could, of course, try the simplest of things and confess your love.

It only takes to be loved in return for you to heal before any permanent damage is done. The seed that grows in your heart will almost instantly wither, the cough will purge the last of the flowers out of your lungs, and your recovery will last only a couple of weeks. You will breathe again.

But, if your love goes unrequited, you'll reach your fatal end in a matter of days. Doctors will give you a double dose of morphine or induce a coma trying to ease your pain. Flowers, fruits and cones bloom, branches and thorns grow. You convulse and gasp until your last breath when the biggest flowers come out of your mouth. All until your thorax is transformed, beautifully and violently, into a garden of flesh and blood.

Anyone who has seen it happen will tell you, how shocking it is to witness such a thing.

Whatever the case, this only serves to confirm what you already know. You can't be optimistic anymore.

You're dying and you will die, soon with flowers in your lungs or after many years with a loveless heart. Because this life and death of yours, you think, cannot be, shall not be, decided by a coin in the air.

And yet.

"It's flowers...in my lungs." You can almost tell which direction the flower stalks take inside your chest as the words form in your mouth.

"Oh." Lena says as she starts to fidget with her hands.

The anger, that had been growing inside her after weeks of vague replies and evasions, vanishes in her eyes the moment she understands what you're going through.

"Have you...talked to the other person?"

"No, not really. Not yet." You try not to lose your composure as you feel the flowers threatening to rise up your throat.  

"Will you?" She asks.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity pull your already heavy heart down. "It's plumerias."

"Plumerias?" You can see the moment it dawns on Lena, and the look she gives you makes you wish again you could die of a broken heart instead.

"Miss Luthor, I'm sorry but the board meeting will start shortly."    

Jess opens the door a second later and it gives you time to look at the other side and place your hand in your chest. As if that could possibly stop your heart and lungs from collapsing.

"Thank you, Jess. I'll be there." Lena dismisses her with a nod and looks again at you.

She doesn't say anything else and you feel a coughing fit building in your lungs. Stronger than you have ever felt it.

"(Y/N)!" She leaves her chair, running towards you.

You cover your mouth as your chest feels like a boxer is using it as a punching bag. I doesn't feel like it will end quick and when it finally does the only thing that remains is pain.

You thank the chair that holds you in place as you catch your breath.  

"I'm fine. It's fine." You don't want her to see it, but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bloody petals that cover your palm once you recover.

"No, it's not, (Y/N). You're dying and I-"

"It's not your fault." You cut her off, shaking your head and taking a little napkin from you pocket to clean yourself as best as you can.

The death, the break, the betrayal. You feel it all as worry and pity finally merge in her eyes. There's also guilt when she looks at you. It is there along with everything else she doesn't feel for you. So you don't want an apology, especially not from her, especially not like this.  

"You're my friend and I just- I wanted you to know. I got my surgery already programmed."

"Surgery?" You watch her draw back a bit in surprise.

"I'll be fine." You lie again.

"(Y/N), I-"                            

"Miss Luthor, the board-"

"I know!" Lena snaps and, when she realizes the magnitude of her reaction, she retracts, taking a deep breath for herself before answering. "Sorry, yes. Do you think you could hold it for a minute?"

"You should go." You say with a small voice before any of them can say more. "The meeting, sounds important."

"(Y/N)..." The way she pronounces your name makes you want to be over with this already. You just can't stand it anymore.

"We'll talk later." You say. "We got time."

She wants to argue, you know, but you won't, can't, do it. Still, you pull a little smile for her.

"We'll talk later." She replies with a nod.

There will be time for another conversation. There will be time. There will be time. There will be time. You repeat it like a mantra to help you carry yourself out of her office.

Everything else after that passes like a blur.

You know you reach the front door of the building, with the voice of the receptionist behind your back offering to call for help. You stumble on the sidewalk trying to hold onto light poles and signposts to keep yourself from falling. You clutch your hand in your chest as the pain reaches its peak. Flowers come pouring out of your mouth and you gasp for air as you finally fall.

You're delirious by the time you land on the hospital bed.

Many faces come and go then, doctors, nurses, friends, ghosts, both the living and the death. The only constants are your dying gasps and the painful beating of your heart until the morphine does its work. It helps you see, with certain clarity the only face that can make a difference.

"You listen to me, alright? I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier." You open your heavy lids at the sound of her voice, and you see those emerald eyes for what could be the last time. "I love you, (Y/N), please, I love you."

You hear her words, or you don't, or it is simply to late to care anymore. The coin is in the air and there's no more time.

***

☞ You let yourself drift into darkness as the plumerias are pulled to a better light. The garden is gone and what is left behind is only an empty carcass. You cannot stand the emptiness and your heart does what it should have done from the beginning. It breaks and breaks and breaks...

***

☞ Your mind tries to grasp her words but you find your heart too weak to keep a hold of them. So you let them pass through like a shadow. No need for them anymore as the anesthesia and the scalpel give you a break from all this suffering. There will be no flowers and it is, truly, not as bad as it could be...

***

☞ Her words suddenly hit you in their full meaning and your mind does its best to keep and save them into your heart. Even through branches and petals, it has the effect of an echo chamber, repeating those words like a healing prayer. I love you. I love you. I love you...

[aquietwritingcorner]

Writers Month Day 23: Truth/Arranged Marriage Word Count: 9084 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Alex Louis Armstrong, Roy Mustang, Olivier Mira Armstrong, General Grumman, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Mama Armstrong, Scar, Edward Elric, Rebecca Catalina, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery, Sheska Warning: Summary: The Grummans were once a powerful family in Amestris. With the knowledge of who his granddaughter is becoming known, he sees a path back to social and political power. Not everyone is on board with this plan though—especially when they weren’t informed they were part of it. Notes: Based off a headcanon slinging session with @canisfuria and it blew itself up into this! One day I’ll go back and do this properly. AO3 || ff.net

 ____________________________________________________

 Truth/Arranged Marriage

Riza glanced over to where Fuhrer Grumman and Alex Armstrong’s parents were talking. This was the third time this month she’d been drug here by Grumman, and then shunted to the side and expected to spend the entire time talking to Alex. She eyed them. They seemed to be deep in conversation about something, and she had no idea what it might be, but she was suspicious anyway. She felt like a child who had been told to go play while the adults made plans, and it ate at her. People making plans for her had never ended well.

“Are you alright, Miss Riza?” Alex’s voice, gentle and kind rumbled next to her.

She turned her attention back to the large man and gave him a smile. “Yes,” she said. “Just distracted. And suspicious.”

Alex looked over at his parents and the Fuhrer. “Yes, well… I can’t much blame you there. More tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” She waited a moment while he poured her tea. “You know you can just call me Riza in moments like this, don’t you?”

Alex smiled at her as he put the teapot back down. “Yes, you’ve told me. But it isn’t considered proper. If I remember correctly, your grandfather wanted you to learn the social graces.”

Riza made a brief face. “Honestly, all of these high society rules are for the birds. No offense, Alex, but it just isn’t for me.”

“No, I understand.” He sat down next her on the small couch. “It can be stifling. Sometimes I think that’s part of the reason Olivier got out and stays away.”

“That… makes sense,” Riza said. She took a sip of her tea and looked around them. “To be honest, it’s hard to imagine her in a place like this. She’s always been General Armstrong to me.”

Alex chuckled. “I can see why that would be hard. But my big sis can be just as terrifying in a ball gown and sharply applying the social graces. I sometimes think that if she had stayed, she would be the most formidable woman high society has seen in quite some time.”

Riza’s lips tipped up at that. “Somehow, that last part doesn’t surprise me. Still,” she sighed. “I don’t think this is the life for me. It’s definitely not how I grew up or been part of my plans for life.”

“It was quite a surprise when Fuhrer Grumman was revealed to be your grandfather,” Alex said. “I can see how that and the introduction to high society would be jarring.”

“It was a surprise to me as well,” Riza admitted. “It raises a lot of questions. How long he’s known, why my mother left, why he didn’t try to find her, why he didn’t tell me…” she shook her head and looked over at them again. “The tricky old coot won’t tell me anything,” she scowled.

Alex chuckled again. “True as that may be, it’s probably best that you don’t refer to the Fuhrer that way in front of people.”

Riza snorted lightly. “Well, I can’t bring myself to call him ‘grandfather’ so I suppose just ‘Fuhrer’ will have to do.”

Alex opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the sound of his father calling out to them.

“Alex! Miss Hawkeye. Please come here a moment.”

“Of course, father,” Alex said, sitting his teacup down.

Riza had already sat hers down as well, but Alex stood and politely offered her a hand up. Riza took it, as, she had learned, was polite, and then the two of them made their way over to the three older individuals in the room. The three of them looked quite pleased and happy, and Riza was sure that she could see tears the elder Armstrongs’ eyes. Grumman looked far too pleased with himself, and Riza was immediately suspicious.

“Alex, son, we have been talking,” Philip began, “and observing, and I think we’ve come to an arrangement that is most agreeable for all parties.” He reached out, and took Alex’s hand in his, and then reached for Riza’s putting the two of them together. Genevieve Armstrong let out a sniffle. “A marriage arrangement between the two of you has been set. Congratulations!”

For a moment, there was a silence in the room, the only sound Genevieve’s sniffles as she cried at the occasion.

“What?!” Riza’s voice broke the silence, and she wrenched her hand free of the hold it was in. “What do you mean, a marriage arrangement? I didn’t agree to this!”

“We have the blessings of your grandfather, dear,” Genevieve said. “He is, of course, the head of your family, as you have no other living relatives. He’s within his rights to find and provide for you as best he can.”

“I don’t care about that!” Riza snapped out. “It isn’t his decision to make!”

“It is, actually,” Grumman said. “Once you were declared my heir, legally, this is something that I can arrange.”

“I refuse,” Riza said.

“Now, now, Alex is a smart match for you,” Philip said. “We’ve been watching you two. It’s obvious that you get along quite well. It would be advantageous for both families.”

“It would provide you with money and social clout. With just a word anything or anyone you support would have backers behind him.” Grumman said.

Riza stared at him for a moment. She understood what he was saying. If she married Alex, then she could catapult Roy to the top. Fury filled her as she swept her eyes over the three conspirators in the room, and then she switched her look to Alex, demanding to know if he had anything to do with this. He looked just as shocked as she did and shook his head a small amount.

Rage filling her, Riza stood stock still and straight, and then she turned on her heel and began walking away.

“Where are you going?” Genevieve asked her. “There’s still the meal to celebrate.”

“I’m leaving,” Riza said. “I’m going back to the city.”

“That’s a long walk,” Grumman said. “Wait until after the meal, and then we’ll—”

“No.” the word was spat out. “I’m leaving, even if I have to walk the whole way.”

And with that, she made her way out of the door, leaving them all behind.

Alex looked over at the other adults in the room and made a decision himself. “Riza—Miss Riza, wait!” he took off after her, leaving the three behind.

Riza was, it seemed, fast and had a good memory. She had already found her way outside and was going down the steps of the front door by the time Alex caught up with her. She was clearly angry and clearly determined. She reminded Alex so much of his sister in that moment. A strong, beautiful woman rejecting the decisions others had made for her. He admired that about both women, just in different ways.

He caught up with her as she walked—practically marched—down the long drive, her heels in her hand, pantyhose stuffed inside them, walking barefoot. “Please, Riza, wait a moment.”

She didn’t slow. “Did you have anything to do with this,” she demanded of him.

“No! No,” he said quickly. “I knew my parents were looking for a match for me, but I didn’t expect this.” He shook his head. “If this had been an option, I would have approached you beforehand to make sure that you were receptive to it. But I would never ask this of you.”

“Why not?” she demanded again, “This society seems dead set on making decisions for me.”

“Because I see what you and Roy Mustang have, and I would never ask you to give that up.”

She startled at that, and looked up at him, shock on her face as she paused. He held out a pair of shoes to her.

“Please,” he said. “Will you put these on? It will be better than walking in your heels or barefoot all the way back to your apartment.”

She sighed, and then reached for the shoes, sitting down on a small wall to put them on. “…I’m sorry for being angry at you,” she said as she pulled them on and adjusted the ties. “This was just… very unexpected and not at all what I wanted.” She looked up at him. “You’re a fine man, Alex. But you’re not the man for me.”

“No,” he said, “I’m not. That man is Roy Mustang, and Fuhrer Grumman knows it as well.”

Riza sighed and stood back up with the new footwear on her feet. “I need to tell Roy. And we need to make it clear that this idea of a marriage between us is not happening.” She started walking again.

“There may be ways around it,” Alex said. “I can do some research and we can talk to them.” He began walking beside her. “Tomorrow we can plan more. I will find a way out of this for us, Riza. It isn’t fair to you to be thrust into this world and its expectations and rules.”

“We’ll find a way,” she said. “I don’t want to take away your shot at happiness either.”

He rumbled an agreement, and the two kept walking, discussing what they might do in the next couple of days to end this before it became a problem.

They were not fast enough. News of their engagement was in the papers the next morning and announced on the radio as well. It was, naturally, the talk of everyone. Riza couldn’t take ten steps without someone congratulating her or questioning her. By the time she arrived in the office, her face was thunderous, and she still had her team to deal with.

As soon as she entered all eyes were on her. No one said anything for a moment.

“…So…” Havoc said.

“It was not my idea,” she spat out. “And no, it wasn’t Alex Armstrong’s either.” She marched over to her desk and all but slammed her bag down. “It was Fuhrer Grumman’s—apparently, my dear grandfather,” the words were spit out with more sarcasm than anyone in the room had ever heard her make, “can make these kinds of arrangements for me, seeing as I’m his heir or something because of some arcane law.”

“Wow. That’s… messed up,” Havoc said.

“What are you going to do about it?” Breda asked.

“Well, I’m not marrying Alex,” Riza said.

“Obviously,” Breda replied.

“What does he think about all of this?” Fuery asked.

She sighed, a little of her anger melting. “He was blindsided by it too. Neither of us were expecting this. He has more knowledge of high society and its rules than I do, so he’s going to look into what can be done. We just didn’t expect the news to drop this soon.”

“And Mustang?” Havoc asked.

“I told him about this last night,” Riza replied. “So, he’s not unaware. But this whole thing is a mess.” She stopped and let out a sigh. “If this is what Grumman was like as a father, I think I understand why my mother ran away.”

“Well, the boss wanted you to go in and see him as soon as you got here,” Havoc said. “He called for Armstrong too.”

Riza sighed. “Right.” Straightening her back, she went into his inner office.

This was going to be a long day.

Needless to say, the day did not go well. There was no easy way out of this that would not end badly in some way shape or form. Grumman had, as usual, played things to his advantage. If Alex refused the arrangement, he was bringing shame on his family, his parents, himself, and the Armstrong name. That would impact the influence that he was bringing to the restoration of Ishval. If Roy pressed or made some sort of big deal out of this, it would hurt his standing with the public and with society, which would negatively impact his chances for Fuhrer and the restoration of Ishval. For Riza to back out would bring shame to her, make her seem ungrateful, and bring negative consequences as well. Riza and Roy running away together, as her own mother and father did, wouldn’t bode well either.

They could take it to the courts, but by the time anything as far as Riza’s legal standing as Grumman’s heir was concerned would be resolved, the wedding would have long since passed. And, unfortunately, there were legitimate benefits to Riza marrying Alex, namely in the influence she could bring to Roy and to his causes. And, of course, it sent Grumman back into high society himself.

By the end of the day, all three were worn out and stumped.

“I think,” Alex said, “We need to talk to Olivier.”

Roy groaned from his chair, his head on the desk. “She hates me.” He lifted his head. “But do you think she would help Riza?”

“Yes, she would,” Alex said. “She likes Riza. But more than that, she hates the idea of anyone being forced into something they didn’t agree to.”

Riza let out a huff. “Isn’t that what arranged marriages are all about? The fathers get together and pick out where the girl should go—like she’s a prize or something to be given away.”

Alex shook his head. “I can understand why you feel that way, but it is supposed to be a much different than this has turned out. The idea was that loving parents would find someone for their child that would love and protect them. The children trusted that the parents would have their best interests in mind and would give the other person a chance. Even if there wasn’t love to start with, many of these marriages, when done the right way, have worked out wonderfully. The problem is, of course, when the system is abused.”

Riza shook her head. “Perhaps you could trust your parents that much, Alex, but I’ve been used too many times by people that were supposed to look out for me and didn’t. I’m not giving up my agency.”

Alex looked at her, compassion in his eyes. “I understand. And I believe Olivier will as well.”

Two days later they managed to get a hold of her. Alex, Riza and Roy gathered at a small cottage on the Armstrong estate, one far enough removed from the main house that no one would bother them. It took some time, but they did eventually get Olivier on the line.

“Took you long enough, Alex,” she said into the phone. “I assume Hawkeye and Mustang are there with you.”

“Yes, Sister,” Alex said. “They’re here as well.”

“Good.” She paused. “I read about your engagement in the newspaper. I wondered how long it would take for you to come to me.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Riza asked.

Olivier paused again. “It is… a difficult situation,” she finally said. “Our parents are right—It’s a smart match. Hawkeye is a decorated war hero, helped to save the country, is known for her intelligence, high level of skills, and is beautiful. Her connection to the Grumman name is also a boon, as it brings in more family ties and money to the family. Alex is now seen not as a disgraced soldier, but as one who tried to speak out in Ishval. He was heavily involved in saving the country as well. He’s strong, capable, intelligent and considered attractive. The Armstrong name is a boon in and of itself and would definitely bolster the faded Grumman name. As an added bonus, the two of you are already familiar with each other and get along. Logistically it is a good match.”

“I don’t care if it’s a smart match,” Riza said heatedly, “I’m not marrying Alex!”

“Yes, I assumed as much,” Olivier drawled. “Everyone knows you and Mustang are in love.”

“You’re the head of the Armstrong family, though,” Roy said. “Can’t you do something about it?”

Olivier snorted loudly enough to be heard over the phone. “All that grifting, and you still don’t understand high society.”

“Arranged marriages are a norm,” Alex explained. “They are something that parents are allowed to set up for their children.”

“It goes back to a very old law that was never changed,” Olivier said. “Most of the members of high society never saw any reason to change it. There’s very little recourse to it.”

“So there’s nothing you can do?” Roy asked. “Even as the head of the family.”

“Can you tell them that you don’t approve of the match and end it there?” Riza asked.

There was silence from the other end. “That… is tricky. Typically, the parents or guardians are the heads of the families so there’s no conflict. This situation is a bit more difficult. I am the head of the family, which means I have the final say in many things, and that my opinion carries a lot of weight. However, our parents are the ones who get the final say in these matters, unless they are declared incompetent or give up this right.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Riza asked, desperately. Roy reached for her hand, and she held it tightly. “Or anything I can do?”

“I can contest it on the grounds of not being informed as head of the family. That will give us a review period that will delay things,” Olivier said. “It’s only a delaying tactic, though. I’m having Falman do a review of the law to see if there’s anything we can take advantage of.”

“I’m having Sheska do the same,” Alex said. “Ross and Brosh are helping her out.”

“The team has been seeing what they can find out or do as well,” Roy said.

“Rebecca is making waves where she can as well.” Riza said.

“Good,” Olivier said. “The more people working on this the better. If public tide can be turned against it, that will help as well. Hawkeye.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I don’t like people being manipulated like this. We will find a way to help you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Olivier did as she promised, and any further announcements or celebrations were put on hold. That didn’t stop Grumman from assigning Riza and Alex to work together on things, nor did it stop them from being pushed together in high society moments. The tabloids were all over this, managing to grab pictures of private moments between them. The moments, in full context, weren’t romantic, but that didn’t stop the tabloids and papers from spinning them that way. Alex and Riza were seen together more and more often, and they were quickly becoming the media darlings that the country had been hoping for.

It wasn’t going much better in the legal department. There was a chance that the mess could be untangled in the courts, but it would take years, which was something that they didn’t have. Olivier even came down to make the case against this to her parents, but they would have none of it. It was looking like there was no choice but to either go along with it or run the risk of disrupting everything that had been worked for.

At least, until one day when Falman, who had come along with Olivier, and Sheska came running into Mustang’s office. They had a nervous but excited energy about them. The team, Olivier, and the Elrics, who had come when they heard all that was going on, were in the office, trying to brainstorm.

“Sir!” Falman said, “We might have something.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

“You do?” Mustang asked.

“Well, maybe,” Sheska said. “We’re not entirely sure, but it might work, if everything lines up correctly.”

“For lack of a better word, we’re calling it the ‘truth clause’,” Falman explained. “It basically boils down to this: have you ever told the truth about your love?” Falman asked.

Roy and Riza exchanged looks, but Olivier was frowning. “That sounds too easy. If it were as simple as that, hundreds of arranged marriages would have been absolved. What’s the catch?”

Falman and Sheska exchanged looks.

“There are conditions,” Sheska said. “It has to have been a declaration of love to someone else that’s not part of the marriage arrangement within the past three years. It had to have had witnesses, clergy is especially encouraged, and been proven and shown to be true again and again before, during and since the declaration.”

“Sirs, if I may,” Falman said, “we’ve seen evidence of how much you love each other for years. No one who knows you doubts it—including, I’m sure, Grumman himself. The main question is, has there been a confession.”

“And were there any clergy involved.” Sheska added.

Edward perked up. “Alright, problem solved,” he said, and then blinked when everyone just stared at him.

“What are you talking about, Brother?” Alphonse asked him.

Ed swiveled his head back around to look at Roy and Riza. “…Are you serious? That whole business in the tunnels underneath Central on the Promised Day? Did you forget that?”

“We could never forget that,” Roy said.

“But what does that have to do with anything?” Riza asked.

“Geeze, look, if that wasn’t a love confession in your own weird way, then I don’t know what was.” Ed said. “You two weren’t even pretending anymore.”

“Wait wait—what went on in the tunnels?” Havoc said. “I’ve not heard this.”

“Well, he,” Ed pointed at Roy, “was chasing down Envy after Envy confessed to killing Hughes. Only it wasn’t to bring him to justice, it was in vengeance. Hawkeye caught up to him just before he was going to kill Envy and held a gun on him. She pleaded with him to stop, reminding him of some sort of promises they had made to each other years ago and saying that she would take care of Envy for him. It didn’t seem to do anything, and Scar and I put in our two cens as well, not that it made much of a difference.  Hawkeye pleaded with him again, only much more personally, as if they were actually a couple. He asked her what she would do after she shot him, and she said that after the battle was over, she’d kill herself because she had no intentions of going on alone. He surrendered to her after that, saying that he couldn’t lose her too, and apologized her hurting her again. They both lowered their weapons and sat down right there together. It was practically a love confession.”

“Woah.” Most of the individuals in the room looked at each other in shock, even while Roy and Riza looked at each other, clearly wanting to say more.

Olivier, however, was looking thoughtful. “When the sacrifices caught up with the rest of us again, the way the two of you addressed each other was incredibly informal—as one would address a longtime lover, or a spouse, not as a subordinate and commander. That too can be taken as proof.”

“Edward,” Sheska said, “You said that Scar was there, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t he a priest or some sort of clergy of Ishval?”

There was a moment of silence before the room went wild.

“Wait, wait!” Falman said and waited until everyone had calmed down. “There’s one more thing. It has to be public. The declaration didn’t have to be, but the acknowledgement of it does.”

A hush fell over the room.

Roy and Riza looked at each other.

“What would that mean for us working together, sir?” Riza asked. “I made a promise to you.”

Roy looked at her, and then reached over for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “I know. And I made one to you. We’d have to figure it out.”

Olivier looked from them to Falman and Sheska. “What do the fraternization regulations say about two people who are in love?” she asked them.

“Oh, it says nothing about them being in love,” Sheska said. “It talks about romantic relationships and marriage. Love is implied, but not specifically stated.

Olivier nodded. “Are you two in a romantic relationship?”

They both shook their head. “Until our work is done, we’ve denied ourselves that. It’s more important than us.” Riza said.

“Then by the letter of the regulations, you should be fine.”

“…You know,” Fuery spoke up, “I still have friends at Radio Capital. They let me do a show there every so often or fill in. I’m sure they’d love to interview the happy couple of Alex Louis Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye. Especially as an exclusive.”

“If we can get Scar to agree to be on the show—” Roy said.

“I’ll be a witness,” Ed said. “Maybe Al can talk to the chimeras.”

Al frowned at his brother’s choice of words but nodded. “I’m sure they’ll want to help.”

“I can find the Central soldiers who were there,” Rebecca said.

“I’ll call my men from Briggs who witnessed your reunification,” Olivier said.

“You’ve also got all of us to give you a hand about the past,” Havoc said.

Riza looked around the room at them all. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all so much.”

It took a couple of weeks for all of the plans to fall into place, but that gave Radio Capital time to promote and advertise. It was the talk of the country and by the time the day came, nearly everyone was tuned in. Everyone wanted to hear this interview.

“And now the interview everyone has been waiting for. In the past months an engagement between Alex Louis Armstrong of the Armstrong family and Riza Emmaline Hawkeye, who was recently revealed to be our Fuhrer’s granddaughter, was announced. It was unexpected and caused quite a stir, especially since no interviews or further announcements were made. All the public had to go off of were the pictures that tabloid photographers managed to take.

“But the couple has agreed to give Radio Capital an exclusive interview on how this engagement came to be, what the future holds, and the thoughts and opinions of many of their family, friends and coworkers. We’ve got a high-profile line up for you tonight, so hang on, folks and stay tuned in!”

“Alright, welcome back from the commercial break, folks. With us here to start off are Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong and Captain Riza Hawkeye. Tell us, how did you two meet?”

“The first time we encountered one another was in Ishval. The interactions were brief, as I was a state alchemist, and she was a sniper.”

“I see. So, you didn’t really get to know each other there, then.”

“No. And our tours didn’t overlap by much.”

“That’s right, Lieutenant Colonel. You were sent home early. The common belief was that you cracked under the pressure of war. That is obviously not true.”

“It is, in a way. When I saw the atrocities committed there, I found that I could not stand the thought of being party to them any longer. Unfortunately, instead of standing up for what I believed in, I ‘cracked’ and allowed myself to be removed from the battlefield. It’s one of my biggest regrets, that I didn’t do more to speak up then.”

“But if you had, would it have made a difference?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that I should have tried.”

“I see. Now, Captain Hawkeye, I’m told your experience on the battlefield was different then the Lieutenant Colonel’s.”

“Yes. I was pulled from the academy to serve as a sniper on the front. Snipers are solitary creatures, so we don’t interact much with other soldiers or make many friends. Compounding that, to survive the war with my sanity intact, I pulled my emotions back and built-up walls. Not many people managed to get close to me.”

“Not many. But there were a few.”

“Yes. Most notably was then-Major Mustang. He and I had known each other in the past, but we managed to find each other on the battlefield. He introduced me to Maes Hughes, and he became a friend as well. We grew close, and that closeness remains to this day. I’m certain that if Hughes were still alive, he would be close with the both of us still.”

“Interesting. So, when did the two of you really get to know each other?”

“…I suppose it was just from all of the times working together.”

“Did that happen frequently?”

“Brigadier General Hughes was my direct commanding officer in Investigations. We did a lot of work with General Mustang’s unit when we were in the East.”

“Hughes used to say that Roy attracted trouble like a magnet.”

“That he did.”

“So, you two got to know each other over the years. Was there any time there seemed to be more frequent encounters?”

“Hm… I suppose in the year before the Day of the Eclipse. Roy—that is, General Mustang—had been concerned about a plot in the military. That only grew with the passing of Maes Hughes.”

“I was brought into the fold mostly because of Hughes, as well as because of the Elric brothers. I was more fully inducted after Mustang supposedly killed Maria Ross, who was one of my subordinates.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No, it was all a ruse, and he found a way to let me know.”

“In the planning leading up to the Day of the Eclipse, Alex became a point of contact for many things, mostly because of the connections his family had. It was after that, when we started to become more friendly. When it was revealed that I was Fuhrer Grumman’s granddaughter, Alex helped me negotiate my way through high society.”

“I couldn’t leave Riza to navigate that minefield alone. I knew I could help her.”

“I see. And that’s when romance began to bloom.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s nothing between Alex and myself but friendship. I value and cherish that, but there is no romance here at all.”

“Surely there must be. You two are engaged, after all.”

“It was the idea of my parents and her grandfather. We were not consulted on the matter at all.”

“Not at all?”

“Not one bit.”

“That seems… unreasonable.”

“I thought so as well.”

“It’s a fairly common and well-used method of high class. Most marriages are arranged. I expected something similar to happen to me one day. However, I did not expect for myself and the potential bride to be completely excluded from the process.”

“Is it common for the children to be involved when the parents are arranging these marriages?”

“It’s typical that the children know and understand that the parents are actively considering someone as a potential partner. Even though there were meetings and outings, neither of us were aware that they were to see if we were a good match.”

“I see. Captain, this must have all be quite a shock to you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Were you aware of this custom of arranged marriages?”

“I come from a very small town in the east. As a child, I remember marriages being arranged between daughters and sons, but it was a dying way of doing things. Most of the time, if a boy and a girl showed interest in each other, the parents would get involved, just to make sure that the children would be able to work well together and take care of each other.”

“Did you ever expect anything like that to happen with you?”

“…I was unsure, truthfully. My mother passed when I was young, and my father was too focused on his work to care much about me. I was never sure if he would have just ignored me or if he would have married me off to get me out of the way. However, he passed when I was sixteen, so I suppose I’ll never know.”

“It doesn’t seem like either of you are too excited about this engagement. Do you think it was rushed into, and that you won’t work well together?”

“It actually is a smart match on the part of our elders. I am very fond of Riza, and she has said that she feels friendship for me. It’s obvious that we get along, and we have enough common ground that we can work well together. The tying together of the two families and what could be done with that power and influence is also a great boon to either of us. The marriage would be advantageous, and I believe that we would get along.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s in love with someone else.”

“…that does change things. Do your elders know about this?”

“I believe that my grandfather does, yes, although I’ve never said so directly to him.”

“I see. Is this a new development for you?”

“No. I’ve loved him for years.”

“If you’ve loved this man for that long, why haven’t you married him?”

“Our positions wouldn’t have allowed for it, not if we wanted to keep moving forward with our work. Married couples aren’t allowed to work under each other due to fraternization regulations. As much as we loved each other, we felt that our goals were more important.”

“I see. And what were these goals?”

“To make sure that another Ishval can never happen again. To keep power in check so that no one man or group of men can order the murder of innocents again. To rebuild Ishval and do all that we can to pay back the harm and pain that we caused.”

“Captain… with what you’ve said here, it sounds like…”

“Yes. I am in love with General Roy Mustang. I have been for years. Even if I can’t marry him, I’m not going to betray that love by marrying someone else.”

“Does he love you as well?”

“Yes. He does.”

“And you’ve always kept this hidden?”

“No. There are people who know—people who have seen our confession to each other. People who have seen our actions towards one another. People who have heard our words to each other. It isn’t well-known, but it is known.”

“….well, with that listeners, we’ll go to commercial break. But expect more when we get back!”

“Welcome back, listeners! We’ve given the Lieutenant Colonel and Captain a bit of a break after the last segment, and now we welcome two more guests that know them well. First Lieutenants Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda. Both have worked under General Roy Mustang for quite a while, and, going along with that, Captain Hawkeye. Tell me, boys—were you surprised at all by the captain’s confession a few minutes ago?”

“Naw. We all knew that there was something between them for a long time.”

“They’re not as good at hiding their past as they think they are.”

“What made you think that?”

“There were these little things. Looks, the way she’d indulge him, the way he would give into her… I mean, it was clear there was some kind of a past there.”

“They kept it professional, though. They didn’t do anything romantic in sight of anyone.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There was never any hand holding, sweet words, talks of plans together. While it was obvious there was a history there was never any solid clue as to what kind of a history. They could have been childhood neighbors.”

“Yeah, but after the Day of the Eclipse, things changed. They were, I don’t know… more touchy? Although the General was blind for a while there, so he kind of needed touch so that he could get around and—"

“Please hang on viewers, someone is pounding on our glass—it’s a woman. She’s coming in now and—”

“Jean Thaddeus Havoc! You take all the romance out of everything!”

“Aw, Bec, come on. I was just saying—”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Rebecca Catalina, Captain Riza Hawkeye’s best friend. And honestly these two don’t know how to tell a good story—especially a true one.”

“Catalina, we really don’t need—”

“Don’t you start in with me too, Red! Alright, let me tell you how this really goes. Riza and I, we were roommates at the academy. I didn’t get shipped out with her, but before that we were roommates, and after it too. Let me tell you, that girl is good at holding her emotions in. Fortunately, I’m good at noticing them anyway.”

“Please go on, Lieutenant.”

“I’m pretty sure that Riza and Mustang knew each other beforehand. But after Ishval they started working closer together, with her as his adjunct. I knew from the get-go that there was more to these two then met the eye. Oh, of course it wasn’t romantic at first, but there was a connection of some sort there. Over the years I saw it develop into fondness, and then to outright love.  Yes, they both dated others—Mustang more than Riza ever did—but they always ended up back with each other again. Riza would never tell me who she was in love with, but I know a woman in love when I see one! It didn’t take me long to figure it out. And after the Day of the Eclipse, it was even more obvious.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not entirely sure what happened in the tunnels below Central, but I do know that some sleezebag tried to use Riza against Mustang by slitting her throat open, and that whatever it was he tried to force Mustang to do didn’t work. I’m so glad that little pink princess from Xing was there to help them out! She saved Riza’s life! What I do know is that when I saw Riza again, the doctors were trying to keep her from bleeding out again, and one of the first things she did was ask about Mustang. She wouldn’t settle down well until after she had found out that he was alive and relatively okay. When I found Mustang, he wouldn’t settle down until he was sure she was alright. They both had to know about the other first.”

“That wasn’t anything new.”

“Hush you! I’m telling a story!”

“Please go on, Lieutenant.”

“Anyway, they were just worse in the hospital, always asking about the other until the staff finally got tired of it and just put them in a room together. I mean, Mustang was blind, it wasn’t like he could see anything anyway, and Riza—yeah, yeah, Riza, I see you threatening me through the glass, you know you love me—would be able to rest her voice more if she wasn’t constantly asking about him. But honestly, whatever happened down there, it changed them. They were both more driven, but also more open with each other and themselves. To anyone who knew them before, the way they look at each other, the way they talk to each other, the way they support and care about each other—they might as well be confessing.”

“Interesting! So, you three say that you know without a doubt that Mustang and Hawkeye are in love?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Definitely.”

“Alright, well, we’re up against a hard break, but when we come back, let’s hope we can hear more about what happened in those tunnels!”

“Welcome back, listeners! We have quite a treat for you! Sitting before me are two people who I never thought I’d have sitting in my studio, much less together! The Ishvalan known as Scar, and the former Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric! Welcome, both of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“So, my producer says that you two know what went on down in those tunnels?”

“Yeah, we were there—although I wasn’t there for all of it, because I didn’t see the part where Hawkeye got her neck sliced open.”

“I witnessed that.”

“So was there something else that happened in those tunnels? Something before then?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

“…You heard Hawkeye mention Maes Hughes earlier, right? Well, what she didn’t say was how close he and Mustang were. When Hughes was murdered, it set him off. He was determined to find Hughes’s killer. The individuals in the conspiracy tried to pin it on Ross, but Mustang saw through that and saved her instead. But he kept looking for the killer. Down under Lab 3, he found the killer, who confessed. Mustang then set out after him—but not to bring him to justice. It was vengeance, plain and simple.”

“Vengeance?”

“It was. I saw it on the Flame’s face when he had captured his foe.”

“Scar’s right. It was obvious to all of us, but especially to Hawkeye. When Scar and I got there, the suspect had already injured Hawkeye, and Mustang had started to take his revenge before Hawkeye stopped him. I took control of the suspect then, getting him away from Mustang. Mustang demanded him back, and I refused. He threatened, and that was when Hawkeye started talking to him.”

“Oh? What did the captain say?”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it. Hawkeye and Mustang had always been incredibly formal around me—around everyone. She always called him ‘sir’ and by his rank, and kept her tone very professional. Mustang called her by her rank and last name, also, professional, usually. But it was like at that moment, they dropped all pretense. They spoke to each other like… like…”

“Like a wife to a husband, like a husband to a wife. They spoke as equals who loved each other deeply and were hurting each other deeply.”

“What do you mean by hurting each other deeply?”

“Captain Hawkeye was pleading with Flame not to kill the individual that we held captive. She said that she would take care of it, but that she couldn’t allow him to walk down the path he was heading. He refused to listen, and Elric and I both spoke up. Elric told him to take a good look at his face, and I told him I had no right to tell him what to do. Captain Hawkeye then pleaded with him again. She spoke of promises made—promises, I could tell, that were as deeply held as any marriage vows.”

“It’s the only time I’ve seen Hawkeye’s hand shake while holding a gun.”

“Flame asked her what she would do after she shot him. The pain that crossed her face was deep and grief-stricken. She replied that she had no plans on going on without him, and that after the battle she would end her life. Flame let loose with an explosion down a side tunnel, and then turned to her. He declared that he couldn’t lose her. They lowered their weapons and collapsed together after that. It was an intense moment of confession between two people who share a deep love.”

“That sounds like an incredible moment you witnessed.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’d ever seen two people show that kind love and devotion.”

“Was that where the captain got her throat slit?”

“No, because I was still there. It happened after I was separated from the group.”

“I was there, though.”

“Can you tell us what happened then?”

“We were captured. A man demanded that the Flame preform human transmutation. When he refused, the man had one of his subordinates slit the neck of Captain Hawkeye to ensure that Flame would perform it. She encouraged him not to give in. In a display of strength, he honored her wishes. I believe that she somehow knew that there were allies waiting for their chance and somehow communicated that to Flame. It was shortly afterward that these allies dropped from the ceiling. As soon as there was an opportunity, Flame was rushing to her side, ignoring all else. I could hear him calling to her. Mei, the Chang Princess from Xing, was able to do something to help stabilize her. When the battle was over, Flame was holding Captain Hawkeye closely. The tenderness was obvious.”

“So you’re saying that you have no doubt that they were in love even then.”

“They were clearly, deeply in love, and confessed it in front of me.”

“Have you seen love confessions before?”

“Yes. Before the destruction of Ishval, I was a priest. I saw many love confessions while serving in the temple. Since returning back to my roots to restore and rebuild my people, I have, again, taken up some of my duties. What I witnessed was as clearly a confession of love as anything I have ever seen.”

“What an incredible story, folks. But hang in there. More is to come!”

“Alright folks, we’ve heard from Alex Louis Armstrong and Riza Armstrong themselves about the way their engagement came about, and why they don’t want to go through with it. We’ve learned that Captain Hawkeye and General Mustang are in love and have been for years. We’ve heard about the way they’ve treated each other over the years from various coworkers, about the confession they had in front of Scar and Edward Elric, about the way they addressed each other as lovers on the Day of the Eclipse from Briggs soldiers and civilians who were involved, about how they loved each other early on from the wife of a close friend, and many others. Now we’re going to hear from the head of the Armstrong family herself, Lieutenant General Olivier Mira Armstrong. General, we’d love to hear your opinion on all of this as the head of the Armstrong family. Were you aware of this? What are your feelings on the matter?”

“This is a complicated situation, mired in old laws and societal rules that are, quite frankly, outdated.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As my brother stated earlier, arranged marriages are common in high society families. I understand why, in the past, they were common. It was a way for families to ensure that their daughters would be well cared for in a world with limited options, as well as to strengthen ties between families. Ideally, the parents would also be looking out for the children’s best interests as well, including if the partner would be a good one.”

“I see. So, you don’t approve of arranged marriages then?”

“I neither approve nor disapprove of the practice in general. It’s the execution of it I often take issue with, as well as the legally binding ways it can entrap people—especially women—in a day when there is no need for a woman to rely on a man, especially not a woman like Riza Hawkeye.”

“Do you approve of the match between your brother and Captain Hawkeye?”

“I think it’s a smart match. Hawkeye is smart, capable, sharp, and independent. She would be a good compliment to my brother in many ways, and I think that she would adapt quickly to high society life. She would be able to live well and, if I am honest, I wouldn’t mind having her for a sister-in-law. Alex would, in turn provide and care for Hawkeye, and treat her exceptionally well.”

“So, you’re for the marriage then?”

“No. I’m against it.”

“But you just said it was a smart match.”

“It is. However, it isn’t something that both parties want. Hawkeye is clearly in love with Mustang. To force her into a marriage that she does not want would be cruel and would take away her autonomy. My brother would never want to do that to her, or to any woman. He is not willing to marry a woman that does not want the marriage.”

“I see. So, are you absolving the agreement then?”

“I don’t have the authority to do that.”

“But you’re the head of the Armstrong family.”

“Yes, I am. However, arranged marriages fall under the purview of the parents or guardians of the individuals in question. Usually, the parents and heads of family are one in the same, so there is no issue there. The Armstrong family situation is unique.”

“So, you’re saying that both your brother and Captain Hawkeye are trapped in this engagement? That has to be difficult.”

“I’m certain it is. This is why I would encourage more communication before such arrangements take place. There are only two ways to absolve the engagement in a lawful and honorable manner at this point.”

“Oh? What would those be?”

“One would be for the parents or guardians to absolve it themselves. However, neither the Fuhrer nor my parents seemed willing to do that.”

“What’s the other way?”

“For there to be a history of one of the parties being in love with someone else. There has to be evidence of it, a confession, preferably in front of clergy, and a public declaration of the matter.”

“….you mean such as coworkers who have worked with the individuals for years speaking up about it, and Ishvalan priest seeing the confession and it being broadcast on the radio.”

“That would be an acceptable manner in which to do it, yes.”

“So does this mean--?”

“This means that legally, according to the law, my brother and Captain Hawkeye are free to absolve their engagement.”

“Folks, you can’t see this, but through the window to my studio, there are a number of happy people out there. I think this is a good time to take a break. But stay tuned. We’ll have more on this when we return!”

“Alright folks, in studio we have Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong, Captain Riza Hawkeye, and General Roy Mustang. It’s been quite an evening for you all! An engagement, a confession, and now a broken engagement. Tell us, General—do you really love Captain Hawkeye as she loves you?”

“I do. I have for years.”

“How did you feel when you found out about the engagement?”

“Riza called me the night it happened. She and Alex were going to work on ways to quietly try to break it off. Unfortunately, the announcement the next day made that difficult.”

“I can imagine! How do you feel now that the engagement has been broken?”

“Relieved.”

“Captain Hawkeye, how about you?”

“It’s as if a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

“You weren’t happy being engaged to Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?”

“Alex is a fine man and will make a wonderful husband one day. But he’s not the man to be my husband. I hold no ill will towards him. Instead, I’m grateful for all that he did to try to help me out of this situation. He respected my own autonomy, and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

“As will I.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, how are you feeling about all of this?”

“A marriage will not work, arranged or not, if the people in it do not want to be in it. While I will always cherish the friendship that Riza gives me, I am more than happy to help her find her way to her happiness. General Mustang, I know that Riza can take care of herself. But now as this is over, I am entrusting her care to you. I know that you two will take care of each other.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Thank you, Alex.”

“I feel it’s time for me to take my leave of you then. I hope all of your listeners have a marvelous evening.”

“Yes, thank you for your time, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong has left the booth and now I’m here with Captain Hawkeye and General Mustang. So, after this confession, do you think you’ll be allowed to work together?”

“We should. The regulations only speak of marriage and dating relationships, not of people in love.”

“So, you two aren’t going to get married?”

“Not at this time. There’s just too much work we need to do and need to get accomplished.”

The door to the studio closed softly, and Alex Armstrong walked over to stand next to his sister. The murmur of voices could still be heard through the window, and Roy and Riza could be seen, hands intertwined as they enthusiastically talked about their plans for the future and for the rebuilding of Ishval. Olivier was standing to where she could look into the window, observing. Behind them, the murmur of other guests could be heard, all of them excited about what they had managed to pull off. Olivier wasn’t celebrating with the others. For a moment, they just stood there.

“…you would have loved her, wouldn’t you?” she finally asked him, speaking too softly for anyone else to hear.

“Yes. I would have given her the world.” He replied.

Olivier hummed. “But the world wasn’t what she wanted.”

“No. All she wanted was him. And so, I found a way to give him to her instead.”

Olivier said nothing, but just stood there. Finally, she let out a sigh so soft that Alex almost thought he imagined it. She turned, pausing to put a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Alex. One day the right woman will come along for you.”

Alex said nothing for a moment, and then only responded with “Thank you, Sister.”

Olivier didn’t acknowledge his words, just walked away, and that was good enough for Alex. He didn’t need any more than that anyway. With his own internal sigh, he turned away from the window, determined not to let Riza know how he truly felt about her.

Before he could go too far, though, something ran into his leg, and he looked down to see a ball, with a little pigtailed girl running after it. Elicia Hughes.

“Sorry, sir!” she said. “It got away from me.”

“It’s alright,” he said, kneeling down. “It’s not the first time a ball has run into me.”

“Elicia! I hope you’re not bothering the Lieutenant Colonel.” Gracia hurried up to him.

“Oh, no, please, it was no bother at all.” Alex said.

“Still.” Gracia looked at her daughter. “You must be more careful. Especially if we go to the restaurant.”

“Restaurant?” Alex questioned.

Gracia nodded. “They’re talking about a celebration at a restaurant. It’s just been decided.”

“Oh! Sit with us!” Elicia said. “Please?”

“Elicia!” Gracia scolded again.

Alex smiled. “I would be honored to.”

Gracia looked up him and smiled herself. “Well in that case, you’re welcome.”

Alex glanced back at the window, and then back at Gracia.

Even if he didn’t have love, he at least had good people in his life. And that would be enough for him.

[mrsluthordanvers]

Day 14: Midvale

Read on AO3 + my kofi

I’m Supergirl.

I’ve always been Supergirl.

I should’ve told you so long ago, I know that. I just kept making up excuses, because you’ve been hurt so many times. And...I convinced myself that I was protecting you.

And then one day you were so angry with me…with Supergirl…but you still loved Kara. And I just kept thinking if I could be Kara…just Kara…that I could keep you as a friend. I was selfish and scared…and I didn’t want to lose you. So, I kept pretending…and I never stopped. Every time I kept my secret from you, I wasn’t protecting you, I was hurting you. Just like everyone else. And I am so, so sorry.

I am so sorry.

Please say something.

Kara’s words ring in Lena’s head. The pain in Kara’s eyes haunts her dreams.

They haven’t said two words to each other in weeks.

Well, Lena hasn’t said two words.

But there’s a month's worth of text messages from Kara in her phone that have gone unanswered. They haunt her too. But nothing more than the eerie silence that eventually followed them.

The text messages gave her something to focus on, they fueled her anger and her pain. They gave her something to silently rail against. Without them, it becomes increasingly obvious how big Kara’s presence has been in her life since she moved to National City. Without them, she’s left alone with her anger and her pain and a Kara sized hole in her life.

She starts working through her lunches again, pretending to eat when Jess orders food and leaves it on her desk. She buries her phone in the bottom of her purse, so she can pretend she’s ignoring it instead of facing reality. She works deep into the night, only going home when she starts to fall asleep at her desk.

She starts making rash decisions. She knows she’s making rash decisions, but she can’t stop herself. She snaps at her employees and shuts herself away. She can feel the atmosphere she’s worked so hard to foster, shifting around her.

She’s angry. She’s angry at herself for letting things get this far. And she’s angry that this is the fight the girl of steel chooses to yield.

She wants a fight.

She wants to scream and cry until there’s nothing left inside her to be angry.

And then she wants Kara back.

It’s that realization that leads her to Kara’s door seven weeks after Kara told her the truth.

“She’s not here.”

Lena’s hand drops from the door as she turns towards Alex leaning against the wall in her jeans and a leather jacket.

“Then why are you here?” It comes out cold. Harsher than Lena intends but there’s no stopping it. They lied to her. They all lied to her.

Alex doesn’t seem bothered by Lena’s reaction. She lifts her eyebrows slightly as she watches Lena. It’s only a moment before Alex pushes off the wall.

“She asked me to water her plants.” Alex replies casually, stepping around Lena to unlock the door, leaving it open behind her.

Lena lingers outside the door. It feels different now, entering Kara’s apartment.

“Do you know where she is?” Lena asks, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Yes.”

Lena sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as Alex makes her way around the apartment carefully watering each plant.

“Where is she?”

When Lena opens her eyes, Alex is watching her again.

“She tried to talk to you.”

“I know,” Lena says quietly, shifting her purse. It feels heavy with the weight of her phone, “I wasn’t ready.

“Are you ready now?” Alex asks seriously, putting down the small watering can and crossing her arms.

“I don’t know.” Lena answers honestly, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.

“Midvale.” Alex reveals in a soft voice.

Neither of them says anything as Lena nods and leaves the apartment.

---

Lena drives in silence the entire way. Staring vacantly at the winding road and following the automated GPS without much thought. She barely registers that she’s turned onto the Danvers’ stone driveway until she’s put the car in park.

An older blonde woman stands from the porch swing watching her. Lena can’t help but think how much more she looks like Kara then Alex as she leaves the car.

“You must be Lena.” The greeting isn’t as cold as Lena expected, but it’s not very warm either.

“And you must be Dr. Danvers.” Lena lifts her chin letting Eliza inspect her.

“Kara’s in the back.” Eliza says, leaving behind her coffee mug as she takes Lena through the house to the back porch. Kara’s standing with her back to them, wrapped up in a cardigan as she looks through a telescope lens.

“I believe you two have some things to talk about.” Eliza looks pointedly at Kara when she turns her head before leaving them alone.

“How did you know where I was?” Kara sighs after a moment of silence, still fiddling with telescope.

“Alex.”

They stand silent for a few more moments. Kara staring out over the backyard. Lena watching her closely, absorbing this new person. This blend of Kara Danvers and Kara Zor-El.

“What do you want Lena?” Kara sounds as tired as Lena. When she finally turns towards her, Lena can see the bags under her eyes.

“We need to talk.”

“I tried talking to you. You ignored me.”

“I need to talk.” Lena corrects, hating how intentionally level her voice sounds.

Kara gives one jerky nod, as she takes a visibly deep breath.

“Do you remember when you finally told me you were Supergirl?” It’s the first thing Lena can think to say, and it instantly fans the flames. Her anger roaring back to life.

“You cried when you told me. But I had already cried, for weeks.” Lena spits.

“How long had you known?” Kara whispers, her brow furrowing.

“Since the day you fought Lex.” Lena lifts her chin. “You didn’t kill him. I did.

He used his transmatter portal to escape. I knew where he would go and I was waiting with a gun ready. I knew the world would never be safe, my friends would never be safe if he lived. So, I pulled the trigger.” Lena hiccups. “I shot him in the chest, his final words to me were that I was a fool. That my best friend had been lying to me for years. He told me that you were Supergirl." 

“I let you in.” Lena’s voice shakes, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You were warm and earnest and you convinced me to trust in people again, in friendships. I told you that everyone in my past had betrayed me, how much it hurt to have someone you love lie to you and betray you. I told you over and over again, begging you not to violate my trust. Begging you not to show me that once again I was a fool.

You told me you would never lie to me. That you would never hurt me.”

They’re both crying when Lena stops to take a breath.

“If you hate me so much, why did you come?”

“I don’t hate you Kara.” Lena sighs, “I’m in love with you. Since the moment you walked into my office.

I came because I miss having lunches together. I miss having my phone blow up with notifications from group chats and pictures of cute dogs. I miss watching movies together, and game nights.

I miss you.

But you broke my heart.” Lena shudders. “And then you ran away.

I’ve seen you fight until you’re within an inch of your life and not give up. The girl of steel. But you barely even tried to fight for this.”

“I was scared.” Kara takes a tentative step forward. “I was trying so hard to give you your space. I almost flew to see you everyday but Alex stopped me. Then she said something that made me need to think.” Kara whispers as she takes another step forward, almost encroaching on Lena’s space.

“You couldn’t think in National City?”

Kara shakes her head, “I needed some space too.”

“Have you had enough space to figure it out?” Lena asks softly.

“Yeah I have.” Kara nods, a shy smile turning up her lips. “I love you too Lena.”

Kara lets out a deep breath out as Lena lets Kara pull her into her arms. The two of them burrowing into each other’s shoulder.

“I’m glad to see you two worked things out.” Eliza says as they both turn to find her watching them holding two cups of steaming tea.

“There’s still somethings we should talk about.” Lena pulls away from Kara to accept a mug from Eliza before she smiles in Kara’s direction. “But I think we’re on the same page now.”

[florencewritez]

The cycle

AN: hope yall doing good, i am tired and listenting to kids by mgmt and only kids by mgmt.

WC: 1543 Words 

WARNINGS: lowkey toxic relationship but lowkey the point. alexs jumper gets ruined

"I can't wait to do this again." That's what he'd said the last time we broke up, messing with his hair and casually scrolling through his Instagram. I'd rolled my eyes at the time, saying it was the last time he'd ever see me long enough to say a word to my face. He didn't even look up from a screenshot of a football match, barely even hummed.

At the time, I'd believed my words, pushing past a very confused Alex holding two cups of tea, mumbling an apology before I slammed the front door closed and fell to my knees crying. I hadn't stopped crying till a deliveroo driver had to awkwardly sidestep past me and asked if I was waiting for the food. The taxi drive home had been silent, only noises being my sniffles and incessant typing on my phone.

Y/n: I broke up with George for real this time.

Will: You always say that

Will: By the way did you spill tea on Alex? He's very upset about some expensive hoodie being stained or something

At the time I'd left Will on read, sending Alex a half hearted apology with a few hearts and clicking off my phone. It was then the taxi man turned in his seat and asked if I had had a rough day. I just nodded back, sniffing extra loud for dramatic effect. Yes, I had the worst rough day ever. First, George forgot we had a date, again, and I had to go to his flat to remind him. Then it turned out he'd forgotten to book the damn restaurant and we had to just go back and order takeout. It started with a simple comment of "Maybe we'd be eating actual Italian food and not fucking dominos if someone had remembered to book the restaurant," and spiraled into an extremely heated and quick argument that I can't remember half of. It was just spitting words in each other's faces, not meaning any of them, a crappy movie playing in the back. At one point, Alex came home and attempted to solve things with reason. Of course, such things aren't welcome during stupid fights and he quickly made himself busy with 'editing' in his bedroom.

By the time I'd stumbled in my apartment door, giving a half assed explanation to my very stoned roommate, the idea it was over cemented itself in my head. This time, I'd told myself, biting my lip till it bled, this time I'm not going back.

Easier said than done considering we're in the same friend group and have to consistently film together.

James: Hey y/n, Will wanted me to ask you to come over to his today to film if you're free

Y/n: Yeah I'm free. What's he need me for?

James: Probably a reddit video knowing him though the fact he asked all of us over is a bit suspicious, not to mention he made me text you instead of doing it himself

Y/n: What do you mean he asked everyone over?

James: Haven't you seen the groupchat? Alex, George and Mia said he asked them too. Knowing Will he'll need us for two minutes and then abandon us to edit or something

Y/n: Oh how lovely :)

And now I was here, sitting on Wills couch in between a very scared looking Alex and my ex of two days, listening to Will explain his video idea in great detail. I wish I could lie and say I was listening ever so carefully and definitely not hyper focusing on how George's fingers kept brushing against me accidentally as he moved to drink, wasn't taking notice of ever slight movement of his leg, inching ever so closer to mine. Every so often I'd dare flicker my eyes to his, always at the exact moment he happened to be looking my way. I'd just stick with Mia I told myself, hand curling into a tight fist and gulping, Mia would understand.

"Right so I'm going to film quickly with Mia first because she has to mind her nephew later, can't be late. Shouldn't be too long though so no one get any ideas and leave," Will announced, stating a wiggly Alex down at the last part. Mia stood up, saying she was fine with that. I gave her a pleading look, begging her to stay, to make an excuse and make someone, anyone else, go first. She only gave me a guilty smile back, following Will up the stairs, patting the watch on her wrist. Of course Will chose to film the one day Mia wasn't free for the day.

As soon as they were gone, Alex and James shared a look and quickly excused themselves to the kitchen, Alex nearly tripping over himself as he scurried away. Great friends I have.

For a moment, an awkward silence filled the air, heavier than any scientist thought possible. I gulped and tried to subtly move to where Alex had been sat before but only managed to make a disgustingly loud noise as the leather squelched under me. Curse the summer heat and it's strange sweat noises.

George looked at me properly for the first time, stupidly perfect blue eyes settling carefully on mine. "You look nice."

I squirmed. "Thanks. New skirt."

"Yeah I know, I bought it for you last week." Ouch. I physically cringed and heard George sigh beside me. "Can we talk?"

Crap, the true signal the cycle wasn't over yet. There was always the beginning, crazy and wild and perfect, the pinnacle of a young couple in love in the city. Then came the coziness, nights out turning into nights in and bars turning into movie nights. After that came the fizzle down period, usually lasting for about two weeks before one of us snapped and said it was over. A week later, someone would say can we talk then two minutes later it was back to heavy making out and laughter as the cycle begun again.

Of course this time would be no different, what was two days ago me thinking? This thing with me and George had been going on for nearly three years now, pissing off friends and fans alike with our mysterious relationship status. Still, it suited us pretty well huh?

So, I let out a breathe and nodded, curling my legs under me as I turned to face him.

"Okay fine," I agreed, resting my hand on the couch just near enough his for him to notice. "But only if we take it seriously this time."

He nodded, smiling softly for the first time I'd seen that day, lips turning up at the end and my stomach went all dopey, any hesitation melting away. He'd always have that effect on me it seemed.

"I'm sorry for forgetting about our date, I've just been pretty stressed lately with my upload schedule and stuff and it slipped my mind. It won't happen again." Of course it won't. Every-time we broke up, we never repeated the mistake again. Maybe one day, we'd run out of mistakes to make and things would be the perfect couple we wanted to be.

"And I promise I'll be more reasonable next time something upsets me. We should have mature conversations about stuff like this, like normal couples do." And I would if it meant never feeling that strange tightness that had filled me the past two days without him. One day, we'd get it right, I was sure.

"So does that me-" I cut him off with a quick peck to the lips, laughing when his eyes widened.

"Will you be my boyfriend George?" He didn't reply and only repeated my peck, my hands coming to rest in his hair as I deepened it to something more. "Do you think we'll actually make it to the end?" I asked between kisses, mumbling dangerously close to his lips, having swung my legs over his already.

"Jesus Y/n we haven't even been dating for two minutes yet, might be regretting my decision already." I chuckled, knowing that was his off handed way of saying 'yes of course'. I leaned back in, feeling his hands pull my waist closer before we heard an extremely loud sigh.

"Right next time you break up, wait until I put on something cheap yeah?" Alex groaned, turning back around and walking straight back into the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea again.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing, leaning my for head against George's and relishing in the warmth that came with the contact.

"You know there's a new club open near here. We could go later?" His hands somehow found themselves intertwined with me. It was the same thing over and over again, the same old cycle.

I smiled. "My roommates gone for the night, you can stay at mine after."

It was the same cycle over and over and I lived for it, every part of it. One day, we'll get it right and maybe most of the excitement comes from wondering it this is the time we do everything perfectly. A spark in his eyes reminds me I won't care anyways.

I'm addicted to the cycle as long as it's with him.

[mybrokenpieces]

End. 

    “I think I might have done something stupid.” Placing the phone on the bathroom counter, I wipe my tears one last time and press send. Deep breaths, Beth, he’s never going to be able to tell your parents he’s a thousand miles away.  

I lay back into bed listening to the phone buzz repeatedly. With a heavy sigh, I pull myself up from the warmth of my mother's blankets to see what he had to say this time. 

“You dumb bitch, answer your phone.” Yep. Same, typical Alex.  

Just as id placed my cell back on the countertop I get an incoming call from Renee, my best friend. How could I have been so stupid! Of course, he’d tell her. My palms start sweating, I feel like I can't breathe. Quick, Beth THINK, hide the bottle; they can't find it. 

I hear the familiar creak of my mother shuffling across the wooden floors, with heavy and aggressive footsteps not far behind her. Must be my dad. They know. 

I scramble to tuck away the nearly empty bottle of aspirin and get back into bed, not a moment too soon. The door swings open, with a loathsome expression draped across her face.  

“Where is it?.” She demanded, I played dumb “wheres what.” She firmly places her hands on her wide hips and shifts her weight “where the fuck are the pills, Elizabeth? What did you take.” I stay silent and shift my gaze back to jerry springer getting flashed by his audience.  

She began to look around, pushing things around on her computer desk, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her lifting the once full aspirin bottle with a loud gasp. 

“How many did you take Elizabeth?” she paused before continuing “How could you do this to me?” She was hysterical at this point, my father was angry, the type of angry that used to scare me as a child. He has these veins on the sides of his neck and forehead that bulge out as he snarls like a Rottweiler when he shouts.  

My mother yanks the blanket off of me, her sobs and tears suddenly dried up.  

“Get up.” She said in a stern, low tone. Her jaw was clenched and I could tell she wanted to hit me, but they had company over. Dragging me out of the comfort of their bed and out to the truck she continues to shout. 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Elizabeth?” She questions as we leave behind our guests and drive to the nearest hospital. “Your life is great, you get everything handed to you and this is how you repay us?” She grits her teeth and continues to berate me while I stare out the window at the passing wheat fields. “You’re such a fucking idiot, why would you do this now?!” My father was sobbing in the driver's seat. I had only ever seen him cry once before when she left us. I fucked up this time. 

 We pull up next to the hospital, go through the normal procedures, and were immediately taken to a large room with lots of curtains. The nurse clicks on a computer as I crawl into the bed next to the window, gazing at the light shining through the cherry blossom tree. 

“How many?” I hear a soft voice breaking my trance from the foot of my bed. “What?” I asked, “how many pills did you take?” I stared blankly for a moment, “24 aspirin.” His eyes widened, “you sure? 24?” I nodded in response as he added to my chart.  

Everything felt shiny; like a daydream, was I dreaming? Is this actually happening? My eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest upon my mother. She was shaking her head, watching me in complete disgust.  

“You make me sick.” She practically spits on me from across the room, “I can't even look at you right now.” Her words rang in my ears as I turned to look at the kind, tearful green eyes hovering over me. My father reaches out and takes my hand, “we’re gonna get through this together.” 

After getting settled in, they step outside for ‘a break’ as they call it, so I ask the nurse not to let them back in. He gives a gentle nod then leaves the room. I was all alone. I find myself watching the light dancing through the trees again, and for the first time, I allowed myself to grieve. Today is the day that I finally die.  

As my tears silently fell down my cheeks, I could hear my parents shouting from the hall “what do you mean we can't go in? She's our daughter!” The sweet nurse from before comes back in to talk to me “are you sure this is what you want? You shouldn’t be alone right now, they care about you.” She must not have heard my mother's derogatory comments as we came in. I nodded, “you’re right, if I die today I want my father by my side.” The nurse exits the room once more to break the news to them.  

“Really Elizabeth?! Wow.” Her voice echoed through the hallway, as my dad came in and took his seat beside my bed. “You’ve really hurt her feelings this time” he states with a heavy sigh. “Why would I want her in here if she’s just going to keep talking down on me?” I ask.  

He lifts his shoulders and shakes his head with another heavy sigh.

[30secondfics]

EAT OR BE EATEN (A/U) 6 OF 6

~ Author’s Note ~ “Before the renaissance we had the Black Plague.” 

- @thekingoflegoland

Rated M

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5a > Part 5b > Part 6

Seattle, January 2021

Gabriella Torres stepped out of her rideshare and studied the house she stood in front of. A small shingled house, hunter green, the grass browned from the cool weather and the paint of the white front door chipped from years of neglect. She knocked.

A woman with a black lacquered cane opened the door with widened eyes, pale, as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Hi, I’m looking for Calliope Torres-”

“She doesn’t live here.“

“My name is Gabriella Torres. Aria Torres is my mother—was—my mother.”

The woman sighed and eyed the young woman. “You're a spitting image of your mother. Come in.”

The sunroom of the house was clean, sterilized. It still smelled of cleaning products and polish; it was well tended to, unlike the exterior of the house.

“Can I get you a coffee or a tea?” the woman asked.

“Water, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” Gabriella answered. She took the glass the woman offered her and took a generous sip.

“What did you say your name was again?” the woman asked, taking the seat in front of her guest and leaning her cane against the side table.

“Gabriella.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

The woman paused in thought.

“I’m sorry to come out of the blue, but I thought you would prefer meeting in person rather than starting a paper trail…  Aunt Calliope.”

Calliope nodded in agreement and cleared her throat. “So how did you find me?”

“I just started grad school at the University of Washington, I’m doing my masters in library studies-”

“Impressive,” Callie nodded, glad and relieved to learn her niece was educated.

“Thank you. I was in foster care my whole life, you see, I knew nothing but my mother’s name. I swore to find her one day and I searched for her for years and years. Then, finally, I came across her obituary and I found out she lived in Miami… and, well, my research led me to you.”

“So you know who I am…” Callie cleared her throat and picked at the cotton of her pants.

“You’re Calliope Torres. You were the head of the Torres Crime family. You were responsible for the Miami Mob Massacre of 2013 when all of the heads of the city’s crime families were murdered.”

“Allegedly,” Callie corrected.

Gabriella nodded in agreement. “Early in 2014 the Feds gathered enough evidence to put you on trial-”

“Alex Karev and George O’Malley came forward and turned themselves in, in an attempt to put me away,” Callie informed. “Even after I paid them a very generous amount of money to leave town. It seemed that it wasn’t enough for two men who felt overpowered by a single woman.”

“You were on trial for 21 days,” Gabriella continued. “Until you were proven not guilty. After 21 days they were going to let you walk free, you were free—then you were showered with bullets on your way out of the Miami courthouse. A man named Robert Stark was arrested; he claimed you destroyed his life over unsettled debt.”

“And yet he’s still in jail and I am not,” Callie couldn’t help but smirk.

“My mother perished that day, and you were airlifted to Miami General with life-threatening injuries,” Gabriella added. “Some articles reported that you wouldn’t make it out alive, while others rumoured you would never fully recover. You were mentioned in the papers for months, until suddenly you weren’t. New leaders of the other crime families began to take their place, and new gang wars plagued Miami. By the time you walked out of the hospital a free woman, you were old news and the Torres empire had crumbled. You’ve been laying low ever since.”

Gabriella was nothing but correct in her explanation. The Torres empire crumbled, and it crumbled hard. In Callie’s absence, and Alex and George’s incarceration, other members of the corporation fought for themselves, fought amongst themselves, stole for themselves, until there was nothing left but a few skids of canned peaches scattered across the city. The Torres mansion was looted and then destroyed by opportunistic rival families. The Torres name became irrelevant. A name no longer feared. A name no longer remembered, despite the damage it did in the past decades. Bigger crimes flooded Miami, and though grudges still existed, seeking revenge against the Torres family was no longer a priority. 

Callie remained silent. It had been years since she lived that life, it was hard to believe its vibrant contrast to the life she lived now.

“Sorry,” Gabriella brushed. “I was just searching for my mother, I didn’t mean to uncover so much more about you.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Callie reassured. “That was my past, and I will take what I did to my grave.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“So what do you want to know about your mother?” Callie asked.

Gabriella released a sigh with both grief and relief. Grief of the loss she had held in her heart for so long, and relief that she was finally going to get some answers.

“I want to know why my mother left me at the hospital that day, knowing she had the means to raise me.”

“I can’t answer for the dead,” Callie shook her head.

“I know that, but you at least knew her…”

“And I know giving you up was probably the best decision she could have made for you.”

“What?” Gabriella asked with furrowed brows. She spent her life in poverty. She was alone. She moved from foster home to foster home. The closest thing she has to a family is an old college roommate.

“My sister Aria was… impulsive. Especially when it came to money. She and my father would always clash on her irresponsible spendings. I believe she had you the year she just about had it with our father and so she disappeared for a year to travel across the country in a van with some friends. She was in no state to raise a child, even if we had the money.”

“But I grew up poor, without a family-” Gabriella began to argue.

“Do you think a crime family would have been any better?”

“Maybe,” Gabriella shrugged.

“It cost us your mothers life,” Callie reminded. “It nearly cost me mine.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“A life of riches is far from a fairytale when it’s funded with bloodmoney.”

Gabriella avoided her aunt’s eyes.

“So if it’s money you want from me I no longer have much of it,” Callie admitted.

“I don’t need money,” Gabriella promised. “I just wanted answers.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer anymore than that,” Callie replied. “I didn’t even know my sister had you until this morning.”

“Would you have stepped in if you knew back then?” Gabriella asked.

Callie paused in thought. “Probably not,” she answered honestly. She believed the mob was no place for a child.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Callie glanced at the clock.

“Then I won’t take up much more of your time,” Gabriella promised and stood from her seat. “Thank you for your time.”

Callie simply nodded.

“Can I ask how you found out where I live?” Callie asked before the younger woman could leave.

Gabriella signed. “Seattle Grace held a Gala last week. I was sorting the newspaper section of the library when I saw your face. Your hair is much shorter now but I had studied the family so much I recognized you right away… it wasn’t hard after I ran a search for you in Seattle.”

“What newspaper published that article?” Callie needed to know: if her niece could recognize her, how many more people could.

“Seattle Local. Don’t worry, I’ve already shredded as many copies of the paper as I could find,” Gabriella reassured.

“Thank you,” Callie sighed in relief.

“Can I ask you one last question before I go?” Gabriella asked.

“You just did.”

“Do you think there are people out there who still want you dead?” Gabriella proceeded to ask.

“I know there is,” Callie nodded. “Dozens of them.”

“How do you bear it? How do you live in fear?”

“I don’t,” Callie answered confidently. “Knowing my life could end at any moment is what makes every day so worth living.”

000

There was one part of Gabriella’s story that was missing; one part of the Calliope Torres story that was very private and protected from the public eye. Down a long hallway, two feet and a cane dully tread across grey terrazzo floors. The door at the end of the hall held a plaque, yielded the Seattle Grace Hospital logo and the title Chief of Surgery. She opened the door.

Large windows letting in lights from the Seattle Skyline also enclosed the spacious and personalized office. The walls were decorated with various frames, some with photos, others with accomplishments and awards. One of which was the 2014 Carter Madison Grant and a photo of a small clinic in Mawali. 

Arizona Robbins glanced up from her laptop and over reading glasses arched a single eyebrow.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Callie apologised.

Arizona smirked and motioned for her lover to come closer with finger.

Callie rounded the cherrywood desk and gave her wife a kiss.

“Hmm,” Arizona hummed with satisfaction.

“Missed you.” She said this every day.

“Missed you too,” Arizona replied with a smile. “How was your day?” she asked, pushing her chair back to make room for her wife.

“Well…” Callie leaned her cane against the desk and pushed the laptop back to sit on her wife’s desk, “I had a visitor at the house today.”

“A visitor?” Arizona repeated, intrigued. “We haven’t had a visitor in a very long time. Who was kind enough to send you a hitman this time?” she asked sarcastically. 

“Not an assassin,” Callie informed with a small smirk. A very small part of her missed when an assassin or two would shake up their home. It had been so quiet the past few years since they moved to Seattle, Callie could almost say she was starting to get bored. She and Arizona had become so good at silently putting hitmen away; they made great fertiliser for the flowers in the back garden. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, it turns out I have a niece. It looks like Aria forgot to mention she had a kid twenty-two years ago.”

“No way…”

“She looks just like her, Arizona, if she’s a con artist she sold it really well.”

“How’d she find you?”

“She saw a photo of me in a local paper, from the Gala.”

“Oh, Calliope… I didn’t know you’d be photographed.”

“It’s fine,” Callie shrugged. “I’m sort of glad she found me. It was nice talking about Aria again.”

“Are you going to keep in touch?”

“I didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep in contact. She’s a smart girl, she’ll come back if she wants to.”

Arizona gave her wife a sympathetic smile.

“Anyways, tell me about your day…” Callie encouraged her wife.

“I think I’d rather save the talking for later,” Arizona said with a smirk.

“Oh…” Callie chuckled and moaned when her wife pressed their lips together. Arizona’s hands were on her waist and they slowly made their way up her shirt as they kissed.

“You called for me, Doctor Robbins?” Callie teased, between kisses.

“I did, and you’re late,” Arizona played along. She loved her wife for a hundred million reasons, and one of them included how ungodly good she was at getting her off.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Callie apologised in her bedroom voice.

“Y-you’d better be,” Arizona gasped when her wife’s mouth wrapped around the skin on her neck and began to suck. “D-don’t leave a mark…” she scolded, “again.”

Callie smirked and slipped her hand into the white lab coat and down the navy blue scrub top. She cupped her wife’s breast; soft, warm, and a bit more plump than she remembered.

Arizona felt wetness begin to grow between her legs. Slick. Heat. Then a gush of fluid like the breaking of a damn.

“Callie!” Arizona shrieked.

“Arizona...” Callie gasped when she felt the wetness run down her leg, “was that?”

“I think my water just broke,” Arizona said with widened eyes.

“It’s a good thing we’re already at a hospital,” Callie chuckled and took her wife by the hand before leading her towards the maternity ward to have their baby.

Callie and Arizona rushed down the aisle, hand-in-hand, away from the altar where Elvis stood to officiate. With no family left between the two of them, they spent their wedding night celebrating their rather spontaneous wedding with a rather expensive bottle of wine and room service.

Overlooking the city of Las Vegas, a city also once ruled by crime families such as the Torres’s, Callie held Arizona in her arms as they watched the night lights.

“I never pictured myself getting married,” Arizona admitted softly.

“You’re telling me this now?” Callie arched her eyebrow, taking hold of Arizona’s hand that was now weighed down by a wedding band. 

“No, Calliope, I mean… I never pictured myself getting married in the white dress and large crowd. But this… this was perfect.”

“Oh…” Callie smiled mischievously and planted a hot kiss on her wife’s neck.

“Callie!” Arizona squinted her eyes and stopped walking.

“Breathe…” Callie coached.

“I am breathing,” Arizona gritted through her teeth, freezing for a couple of minutes before gathering up the strength to walk again.

“We’re almost there,” Callie reassured.

Arizona puffed air out of her cheeks and followed her wife’s lead. Moments later, she found herself on a hospital bed, monitors attached to her belly and her wife by her side.

“Push,” Arizona encouraged.

Callie let out a long grunt as she pushed against the resistance band that Arizona was holding behind her. She took three bullets in her arm, two in the gut, and one in her femur which left her with a permanent limp. She had accepted her fate of the cane, but she had yet to give up on rehabilitating her dominant hand.

“Good,” the physiotherapist praised. “You’re really motivated today!”

“Motivated to use my good hand in bed again,” Callie pushed against the purple band again.

“Callie!” Arizona gasped, not impressed with her lover’s vulgarness in front of the physiotherapist.

The therapist couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s good to have goals.”

“Let’s see how your baby is doing…” Doctor Carina DeLuca snapped on a clean glove and placed herself between the patient’s legs. “Oh…” 

“What?” Callie and Arizona said in unison.

“When did you say your contractions began?” Carina  asked.

“I guess, this morning…” Arizona thought out loud.

“This morning?” Callie repeated with disbelief. Her wife had been in labour all day and she didn’t receive a single text of mention.

“I thought it was just a stomach ache from all the poundcake I ate for breakfast.” Arizona admitted. 

“Did you eat the whole coffee cart too?” Callie teased.

“I only had three...” Arizona defended, “this time.”

“Move to Seattle with me,” Arizona said, her head nestled on her wife’s chest. Las Vegas streets were loud but she could still hear Callie’s pounding heartbeat.

“Seattle?”

“They’ve offered me a job as an attending… if I accept it, we can have our own life there. Just you and me, far away from the craziness in Miami. You don’t belong there anymore, we don’t belong there anymore. We both need a new start, somewhere we can raise a family.”

“You want kids?” Callie asked, surprised. With all the commotion, they forgot to talk about having children.

“I want a family, whatever that may look like. I’ve never had one and I want one with you.”

“You can start pushing on your next contraction,” Doctor DeLuca instructed.

“Callie, I’m scared,” Arizona told her wife.

“You’ve made it this far, Arizona, I believe in you.”

“What if we lose this baby too?”

“We can’t think like that right now, Arizona, you need to focus on having this baby, okay?”

Arizona nodded her head and grunted as she pushed as hard as she could.

The house was so quiet.

With Lucy’s passing, there was no longer pitter patter of paws against the hardwood as she played around the house. Now their house filled with the noise of Arizona turning the page of her newspaper, and Callie watching car review videos on her phone.

“You think it’s too soon to get another dog?” Arizona asked.

“I don’t know if I want another dog,” Callie admitted.

“Can I finally have my chicken coop, then?”

“No…” Callie slowly shook her head.

“Well, we’re certainly not getting a ferret, Calliope-”

“I’ve been thinking… it’s a good time to have a baby.”

Arizona’s face brightened into a smile. “A baby?” she breathed out.

Callie nodded, “A baby.”

“Your baby is almost here…” Carina announced.

“Really?” Arizona phanted.

“Do you want the mirror?”

“Oh god, no,” Arizona shook her head in denial.

Callie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Arizona scolded her wife. “You owe me a new vagina after this!”

“I’m sorry…” the doctor repeated herself. “Please stay and use the room for as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” Arizona nodded at the doctor and continued to console her wife.

Callie watched the doctor leave with blank eyes. The news hurt her more than she thought it would. She didn’t even know she wanted kids until she married Arizona, and now that she found out she couldn’t, she was heartbroken. Her life of crime, the bullets of revenge, had already taken her sister from her; she was saddened to learn it also took away her chance of having children of her own.

“What do you need from me?” Arizona said softly.

“I don’t know,” Callie shook her head.

“I’ll have them, Calliope, I want to have them,” Arizona offered for the hundredth time.

“I…” Callie gulped to rid of the dryness in her throat, “I thought we could have some of yours and some of mine too.”

“Oh, Calliope…” Arizona sighed in defeat. “It would have been amazing to have a little you running around the house, but I promise you they will be our babies no matter what.”

“She’s here…” Carina announced.

“It’s a girl?” Callie asked with surprise, relief and excited butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“It’s a girl,” Carina confirmed.

Callie and Arizona smiled at the crying infant. Carina placed the child on Arizona’s chest and Callie wrapped her arms around her family. She was so little yet so loud, and mighty. Her hands were bronze like a Torres and her eyes were blue like a Robbins. She was there and she was theirs.

“I love you…”

“What?” Callie said past dry lips. She thought she would never see Arizona Robbins again, let alone have her visit her hospital room every day for the past three months. 

“I love you,” Arizona nodded her head. She had known, deep down, for a long time. But she was at the airport, ready to leave for Africa, ready to truly move on from her tango with the mob and start a new life, a new clinic, for children in a new land, Malawi, when she saw the Torres heir fall to the ground in front of the courthouse. She hated that she had to see Calliope Torres get shot multiple times on television to realise it. She loved the notorious boss and she couldn’t leave Miami without her.

“Arizona, you can’t-”

“You’re not my boss, Calliope, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do anymore-”

“No, Arizona, you need someone... normal,” Callie defended her stance. “Someone who can give you the easy life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t have a past-”

“I know your past, Calliope, and I know the kind of woman you are deep down. Do you think it was easy to let someone else run my clinic in Africa, to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so I can spend three months in this hospital with you? I know love isn’t easy, but I choose it because—because life without it is dull and cold.”

Callie eyed her lover.

“I know there are people who want you dead...” Arizona continued, “that danger will follow you, but—why live in fear when we can take our chances at being happy?”

“Jeez, okay, enough with the dramatics,” Callie teased.

Arizona gasped, offended, then laughed. Her speech was quite cheesy.

“I love you too. I’ve known for a while,” Callie admitted. “But I want what’s best for you. That’s why I let you go...” 

“And I know what I want,” Arizona countered. “That’s why I came back...”

Callie cradled baby Sofia as Arizona finally fell asleep in her hospital bed. Sofia had that intoxicating new baby smell and Callie soaked in every minute of it. Swaddled in her hospital blanket, Sofia was content and happy to be in her mother’s arms. 

Callie glanced at Arizona and watched her peacefully rest. She deserves it. Arizona let out a soft snore and it made Callie smile. Her mob career started in her father’s hospital room. Her love for Arizona blossomed in her hospital room. Now their middle family had grown by one in the hospital room.

Callie Torres was working in a cubicle, in an office, on a floor, in a building full of cubicles. She was the daughter of a notorious crime boss and she was in an office working a nine-to-five desk job. Despite her upbringing, she went to college. She attended Penn State, the first in her family to go to college. She told herself that she needed space from the mob, but deep down she knew she left home because she resented her father for not being a good husband to her mother. Over a decade later, she still blamed him for making Lucia Torres flee. So Callie moved away, to a city where nobody knew her name, and for four years she studied literature, made an honest living, and lived a modest lifestyle. She was set. She had financial independence from her father and no ties to the life he lived.

Until a single phone call changed her projection. She came back to Miami after years of avoiding the city and the chaos within it. Giovanni sent one of the drivers to pick her up at the airport and she felt helpless in the backseat of the Cadillac. She hated it: the feeling of being the young woman with no independence, thanks to the nature of the family business. There was a reason why she moved out: to be able to do things on her own.

The short car ride felt like hours, but soon she was at Miami General: pushing through a crowd of news reporters hoping to get information and FBI agents hoping to find dirt that will finally warrant the arrest of the biggest mob boss in the city. The FBI were always around—ever since Carlos himself was a child—but they could never find enough evidence to take the family court. Thus, they tried to get close whenever they could. It disgusted Callie. Her father was ill and all people cared about was exposing him. 

She ran to his bedside the moment she squeezed past the door and took his hand into her own.

“Calliope…” he coughed up.

“I’m here, papa.” Callie soothed, combing what was left of his hair with her fingers.

“You came home,” Carlos smiled.

“Of course I did. You take it easy, okay?”

Carlos closed his eyes and nodded his head. He was weak, and he drifted off to sleep shortly.

“Miss Torres?” a soft knock came from the door. “I’m Dr. Teddy Altman, your father’s surgeon.”

Callie turned around and stood to politely shake the woman’s hand. “Call me Callie,” she insisted. “Can you tell me what happened? ”

“Callie…” Teddy sighed, “From the looks of things, your father has had heart failure for years.”

“He’s never mentioned it...” Callie insecurely crossed her arms, “Is he going to make it?”

“He’s responding to the ‘tropes, the medications we’re giving him, but that’s all I can say for now.”

“Is he going to make it?” Callie repeated.

“It’s hard to say…” Teddy trailed off, “But I can tell you that we’re doing everything we can.”

“Is he going to be treated just like everyone else?” Callie asked. She knew the doctor wasn’t oblivious to who she was taking care of. A high-profile man like Carlos Torres drew attention wherever he went.

“We provide treatment solely based on the patient’s clinical needs...” Teddy promised, “without moral discrimination.”

She stayed by her father’s side—only going home to get cleaned up and sleep. When she wasn’t tending to him, she was making sure his casinos were running smoothly. She became a frequent customer at the cafeteria, and even the girl at the coffee cart knew how she took her coffee. She didn’t know if it was love or guilt that made her stay by her father’s side. She felt guilty that she had deserted the family, all those years ago. And if she didn’t keep her head down that day, she would have ran into the blonde-haired blue-eyed surgical resident that stood in front of her while she waited for her coffee.

“How are the casinos?” Carlos asked one day, when he had the strength.

“Don’t worry about them,” Callie insisted, “I’ve made sure Alex and George stay on track; you just work on getting better.”

“You’re getting involved with our operations?”

“Yes, it’s fine, everything is fine.”

“You know, I always thought it would be you that I’d leave the casinos to…”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t cut-out to be a boss,” Callie hung her head in shame.

“Don’t say that, mija, I’m so proud of you,” Carlos admitted.

“You are?” Callie questioned softly.

“Always,” Carlos promised. “My smart, beautiful, girl.”

Callie wiped the tears that trickled down her cheeks and held onto her father’s hand.

Later that evening, Callie was leaving her father’s room to go home when she realized the watchman that usually guarded the door was not at his post. She grabbed her phone to call Giovanni and sighed in relief when he told her that he would fire the man for leaving his post and send over another member of his security team immediately.

In the meantime, Callie waited by her father. It was highly unlikely that any harm would come, but she still had an unsettling feeling in her gut—which amplified when she heard the door open, and she turned her head in time to see a grey-haired man.

“You must be his little girl,” he chuckled.

“What do you want?” Callie asked harshly.

“Well…” he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here to take him out. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but now that you’re here... I don’t have much of a choice.”

Callie stood from her seat and took a step back. She was scared—initially— then anger sparked within her. Suddenly, she wanted to get him before he could get her or her father. She quickly weighed out her options. She was unarmed, and had been for years. She knew he had a gun, she could see the outline in his pants. She glanced around the room and in a matter of seconds she had a plan.

She grabbed the flower vase from the nightstand behind her and threw it across the room. Distraction. He lifted his hands to block the glass from hitting his face, and she rammed her right shoulder into his sternum, pinning him against the wall. Attack. The impact caused a couple of his ribs to break, and the noise of the vase shattering onto the floor caused the nurses to start peering into the window. He was able to strike her cheek with the gun, causing the skin to break, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

“Bitch,” he spat, trying to point the gun at her head, but bone-breaking strength pinned his body against the wall. The Torres heir was stronger than he thought.

Callie groaned and struck her elbow against his windpipe. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of his cartilage breaking from impact. At this point, he was still alive, but the injury to his neck narrowed his trachea and he struggled to take the faintest breath of air. So Callie stepped back, letting him fall to the floor, and she kicked the gun out of his hand. She glanced back, her father was still asleep. She looked forward, the nurses had called security and they were waiting outside the door. She opened it, stepped outside, and a nurse walked to her side.

“You want me to look at that, Miss Torres?” the nurse asked.

“Look at what?” Callie mindlessly asked, still in shock from the events that took place moments ago.

“Your cheek is bleeding…”

Callie took a seat on a nearby chair, exhausted. She couldn’t believe it. She won her first fight.

“What should we do with him?” one of the security guards asked, wanting to be of assistance but also not wanting to get too involved with the mob.

“Leave him. Someone will be here to clean up shortly,” Callie sighed. It was only now that the blood from her cheek trickled down her neck that she realized she was bleeding. “I’m sorry for the noise…” she told the hospital staff, and the few patients that watched the scene unfold, “But nobody saw anything, right?”

All watching eyes turned away and went about minding their own business. Except the nurse who had offered to help, she had gone to get a dressing kit and returned to tend to Callie’s injury.

When Carlos Torres came to consciousness and learned of his daughter’s doings, that Callie was managing the casinos quite well and taking care of business in his absence, he knew what to do before his inevitable death. With her father’s ring on her finger, Callie Torres took her place behind the desk in the office she was forbidden to be in at her childhood home.

“I can’t believe she’s home…”

“I can’t believe she’s ours…”

Callie and Arizona cooed at the sleeping infant in the crib.

“We should go to bed and get some sleep while we can,” Arizona suggested. “She’ll be up wanting a feeding before we know it.”

“You go to sleep before she needs you. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case she needs anything else...” Callie volunteered.

“We’re across the hall, Calliope, she’ll be okay on her own for an hour or two,” Arizona promised. 

“I don’t mind,” Callie insisted.

“Come to bed with me, please?” Arizona pleaded.

“Arizona, I…”

“What is it, love?” Arizona asked, placing a soft hand on her wife’s arm.

“I think I’m scared…”

“She’s safe here,” Arizona promised.

“What if something bad were to happen to her, to us, to our family? I don’t want her out of my sight. I know you we’ve been safe here but you know my past-”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with your past, Calliope,” Arizona couldn’t help but smile. “That’s called being a mother. We’re going to worry about her for the next eighteen years, at least. We’ll have eighteen years to worry about her so please, can we go to bed for now?”

Callie sighed then nodded her head in agreement. Why live in fear when we can take a chance at being happy? She had chosen happiness these past few years, she took a vow to choose happiness with Arizona. Now she vowed this: if anyone laid a finger on her baby, she would hurt them before they could hurt Sofia.

FIN.

[pagingevilspawn]

Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3. 

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck. 

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.  

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.  

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.  

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.  

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?  

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.  

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries. 

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.  

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

[leilabeaux]

Luck Be a Lady

Chapter Four

Masterlist | One Two Three

Pairing: Alex x Reader

Word Count: 2161

Summary: Reader has some regrets and she learns something new about Alex.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note:  And this is where I leave you. ::tips hat and rides off into the sunset:: On a real note, sorry for the lack of updates. Work and personal life has been hectic and wearing your girl down.

----

The bright lights of the Vegas Strip illuminated the living room enough that you didn’t bother turning on any lights as you left your bedroom. Now dressed down in your worn-out, oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, you walked over to the wet bar and pulled a bottle of vodka down from the shelf, not caring how overpriced it was. You thought about grabbing a glass but instead shrugged and took a swig straight from the bottle.

Settling on the wide marble ledge, you looked past your reflection in the window to peer down at the sparse traffic on the streets. You felt so physically drained after all the tears you’ve shed. You rubbed your bare face in embarrassment, mortified over letting all your emotions get in the way and ruining what was otherwise a nice evening.

Now that you weren’t in the middle of a panic attack, you regretted reacting too quickly when you told Alex to leave. You wished you could have him come back or at least text him so you could explain yourself but you two never took a moment to exchange numbers. Not like it would make much of a difference anyway, you were sure he was grateful to get some distance away from your crazy ass.

You didn’t bother looking over when you heard the door unlock and open. The clicking of heels confirmed it was your best friend doing her walk of shame, or stride of pride as she lovingly called it. 

“So I didn’t see any sign of your Lover Boy when I snuck out of Marco’s room,” Bianca teased. You could hear her plop down onto the couch and then soft thuds of what you assumed were her shoes being dropped on the floor. “Is he here? Did you wear him out? Why are we sitting in the fucking dark?”

Light had filled the room after she clicked on a lamp. Although you were no longer crying, you knew your red, puffy eyes would give you away when you turned to look at her.

“Oh my god! What the fuck happened?” She rushed over to join you on the ledge. “What did that fucker do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” you gave a small smile, trying to put her worries to rest but as all the emotions from the night went through you again, you couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up.

Bianca wrapped her arms around you, comforting you until you were ready to talk. Her hand rubbed your back as you softly sniffled into her shoulder.

“What happened, sweetie? Are you sure he didn’t do anything? Because I won’t hesitate to put my shoes back on and kick his ass if I need to.” 

“No, Alex was sweet and a total gentleman the entire night. So you can calm down with all of that.” You pulled away from her, drying your face with the back of your sleeve before giving her a quick run through of your night.  “We were kissing and everything was good and...I don’t know. It felt familiar.”

“Familiar how?”

“It was like being with Trevor again. I know him and Alex couldn’t be anymore different but it somehow felt the same. And then all I could think of was him and how much I missed him. I just felt guilty like I was cheating on him.”

Bianca shook her head as she took your hand in hers. “Y/N, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Trevor's been gone for almost two years now. It’s perfectly fine to move on whether if it’s a relationship or just sex. I know he would want you to be with someone who makes you happy.”

“It still feels too soon, maybe I’m not ready to be with anyone. Ugh, as if being with Alex would be possible especially after I freaked out on him,” you clasped your hand on your forehead, grimacing over that memory. “And I basically told him I was married.”

“What? Why?” Bianca looked at you like you were crazy.

“He saw my ring and asked how long I was married. So I told him eight years.” It technically wasn’t a lie. You had been married for about eight years before a deputy stood at your doorstep, telling you that your husband would never be returning home. “You know I hate the pitiful look people give me when they hear I’m a widow. And I thought it would be easier to push him away if I pretended that I was a faithful wife. But fuck, man,  I couldn’t even keep that up!”

“It’s not too late to tell him all of this. I think I might remember what room they’re staying in.”

“Okay, even if he doesn’t think I’m crazy after all of that, I don’t think me and him would work. He’s young and I barely had the patience to deal with Trevor when he was that age. And he doesn’t even live in this country,” you tried to reason with her and maybe with your heart.

“Okay, he’s young and he doesn’t go here. So what?”

“I just think getting into a long distance relationship after losing your husband is a disaster.”

“Or it could be something beautiful. I’m sorry, Y/N. But if this boy could give even a fraction of happiness that Trevor gave you, then I’m all for it.”

You gnawed on your lip as you considered what she was telling you. You were too scared to take the risk. You were convinced that it would only end in heartbreak and you weren’t sure if you had enough strength to deal with another one of those again.

“I think I’m just too tired to deal with any of this right now...or ever.” You turned toward the window, staring at your worn down reflection. Definitely too damn tired.

——

The snow outside of your kitchen window was coming down hard and didn't show any signs of stopping. You sighed to yourself while emptying the remainder of the wine bottle into your glass, silently praying that you wouldn’t find yourself snowed in in the morning.

You sat on the couch, pulling the cozy throw up to your chin and trying to get comfortable while your lovable dog and cat duo, Dallas and Leeloo, were busy fighting over the spot next to you. Unfortunately for the young feline, it seemed like the elder Labrador was coming out to be the winner.

You sipped on your wine as you scrolled through Hulu for something to distract you from your headache of a night—your first and definitely last Tinder date. 

You had spent twenty embarrassing minutes waiting for your date to return after he excused himself to the restroom. There was no devastation on your part. You didn’t feel the same chemistry in person that you had over messages but you were willing to at least wish him a good night like a decent person. You deleted the app on your way out, already convinced that nothing good would be coming from it.

You weren’t even mad at this guy. All of your annoyance was aimed at Bianca who had spent the last six months encouraging—nagging and begging—you to go out and start dating. She claimed that it was officially time for you to start moving on but you suspected she just wanted you to see how wrong you were for letting the potential Mr. Right in Vegas get away.

You’d never tell her but she was right and you didn’t need a string of bad or mediocre dates to find that out. The nights you used to spend in bed wondering how life would be if Trevor was still alive were now spent thinking of what could have been with Alex. From the small amount of time you spent with him, you knew he would be the caring, supportive boyfriend who’d hang on every word you said and whisper into your ear to ease any of your self doubts and do anything to make you smile.

You had tried to search for him with the very minimal details you knew about him, during one very lonely night spent with a bottle of whiskey, but none of the Copenhagen based photographers named Alex turned out to be the one you were looking for. It shouldn’t have been too shocking but your drunk self still took it a bit hard, spending part of the night lying on the kitchen floor and crying into Dallas’s fur.

You gave up on finding something uplifting to watch and settled with the historical drama you had been slowly working your way through the past few months. You originally didn’t think a show about Vikings would be your cup of tea as you were more of a sucker for the period pieces with more extravagant, vibrant costumes but it came highly recommended by your Vegas fling. He said it was a pretty good show. After three seasons and nine episodes, he definitely wasn’t wrong.

You were down to the last ten minutes of the episode where Bjorn was going up to his brothers’ cabin. You had downed the rest of your glass only to spit it all out, your pets scurrying away to avoid the spray, when grown Ivar rolled over to show his face.

“What...the fuck?” You whispered to yourself as the scene cutaway. Your mouth hung open and your eyes were glued to the screen. 

“What the fuck?” You repeated again when you saw Marco on the screen next to Alex. “Why would they do that to his hair?”

As soon as the episode ended, you sat still with your brow furrowed. You went through all the conversations you had and didn’t remember him saying he was an actor nor that he starred in this “pretty good” show.

You grabbed your phone to do a quick google search of who played Ivar. Alex Høgh Andersen. This entire time you had access to his name. If only you had given in to your urge to binge watch the show in one sitting you would have had it sooner. 

You pulled up your Instagram and typed in his name. As you were about to click on his account, you quickly changed your mind and threw your phone next to you on the couch as if it scorched you. You weren’t seriously going to stalk this man on the internet, you were a whole grown woman who was definitely too mature to be drooling over some pictures. 

Getting up to get ready for bed, you left your phone where it was so it would be less of a temptation. But you found that you couldn’t help but stare at it through the mirror as you aggressively brushed your teeth. Your curiosity was beginning to get the best of you.

You quickly rinsed out your mouth and walked toward your couch but then turned around, shaking your head as you headed down the hall to your bedroom. Leeloo and Dallas sat next to each other in the living room, both looking down the hall and not bothering to follow as if certain you’d be back.

“I’m just going to look at a few pictures. Just see what he’s been up to,” you explained to no one when you returned for your phone. Standing in the middle of your living room, you looked through his posts from the funny videos to his beautiful photography. You thought maybe you spent too much time scrolling through when you found yourself unable to stop staring at his well defined arm as he hovered over a mattress.

It wouldn’t be too crazy if you sent him a message to catch up and see how he was doing. Or would it? What would you even say? “Hi, remember me? The woman you ate out in Vegas. You know the one who broke down before you got a chance to get it in? Oh, and remember how I said I was married? Surprise! I’m actually a widow and lied because I got scared over you being so into me and even more scared when I realized I may have felt the same.”

You kept going back and forth over what you should really say to him, typing one thing only to immediately delete it. Seemed like anything you wrote came out sounding awkward or just dumb.

“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me? It’s Y/N. The baker you met in Vegas.” It was enough to start a conversation but would he think you’re only contacting him because you now knew he was an actor. Your thumb hovered over send as you contemplated your choice.

You looked up at the clock and sighed out loud. You couldn’t afford to waste anymore time on this unless you wanted to be a zombie when you went into work in the morning.

You brought your thumb down and hit send. Fuck it.

----

End Notes: This is the last chapter of this part but not the end of their story. So don’t be too mad at me. Will Alex read her message? Will they ever meet again? Does Reader need to tell Bianca that she was right? 

Tags: @castielsangelsx @xbellaxcarolinax​ @didiintheblog​ @jzr201​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @eroguroshoujo