#midas writes

[genlosscharliie]

hello countryhumans fandom tumblr.com. i make an offering to you. same fic under the cut but the formatting is better on ao3!

It wasn’t that you knew where it was, not by sight anyway, but you still remembered the steps. You let your memory guide you throughout the woods, half surprised they hadn’t been burnt down by now. As quickly as you could without Iran losing you or with your crutches giving out on you, you tried to make your way.

It had to be near here somewhere.

—

The eighth of October, nineteen-eighty, is when your relations with him improve again. You hadn’t wanted them to thaw in the first place, but you could not control all your government decided or saw as right—you just listened to them. You just didn’t think it made sense to distance yourself from that important of an ally.

It was not like you could find allies in your fellow Arab nations, really, either. Reaching out to foreigners was your best call here. What was the point of aligning yourself with your kind if they only brought your people strife? Playing a puppet again? Stupid thought.

Moscow is where you are requested (and requested is a light word, but you were never one to disobey your actual leaders) to accompany your leaders to, to finalise this treaty. The Union will be there, too, they said, try to be pleasant.

He is holding something, some small box, when you spot him as you enter and wave at him. He does not wave back, but he offers you a glance and places the box on the table.

The meeting is all you could expect of it: talking over points, laying out details, writing down things. Nothing in particular stands out in it, until you are dismissed at least.

“Could I have a moment of your time?” he asks when the time comes, and you agree with a healthy amount of wariness. You’d taken a liking to the man in the past forty years of cooperation, but you couldn’t help but be skeptical of your allies nonetheless—especially one as young and ambitious as Soviet is.

He gives you the box the moment the room is emptied, tells you to open it. You do. A present, then? Strange, but you weren’t going to just turn him down.

In it sits an eyepatch. Black cloth with a single, green star atop it. It matches with Soviet’s, and one of those kids’ he had separated from the other.

“Huh,” is your response, but you couldn’t force the smile that rose back down, “Thank you.”

Later, he helps you with getting the bandages you usually use as eye covering off and cleaning out the wound slash gaping hole slash empty socket that once held your eye, then assists with actually getting the patch on.

It looks nice, you think. He gives you a thumbs-up when you ask him; it looks a bit comical with how stoic he still looks as he responds

—

You could hear Iran tapping the shovel against the exposed roots of a tree behind you as you tried your damnedest to remember what direction you were meant to go in to arrive there. It would have been incredibly awkward to claim you knew exactly where this thing was and then get lost.

Eventually, you decide that heading north is the most correct option. You continue in the same direction you were going already.

—

Soviet has a lot more connections than you do, you quickly realise the longer you are affiliated with him. It is most apparent when you are invited to an event that was apparently reserved for the Second World.

You are pretty sure you have seen at least one nation from every single continent, barring Antarctica, and yet you are somehow his only pair of eyes and ears in the Middle East.

Notably, you feel disconnected from the rest present. You suppose that is your own fault for distancing yourself from most of your kin. Eh, not like they would accept you right now, not most of them.

The only people you know here are Soviet himself and the few that had made independent efforts to become acquintances with you (though, the latter was mostly just Korea).

In the evening, you are invited to a walk with Soviet, and you gladly accept. After all, it would be rude not to when he was hosting all of you for this time, would it not?

It is a cold, late-autumn day. Nearing winter. There are small, thin sheets of snow where you walk. You don’t get to see that very often.

He says that he expected you to fare worse under such vastly different conditions. He speaks in Arabic, or his accented, mispronounced-here-and-there version of it.

You respond to him in Russian, your own knowledge of his language equally challenged as his of yours, that your home doesn’t have insulation; it’s easy to deal with it when you have to spend your winters like that back home

The conversations continue from there, drifting from topic to topic, with each of you speaking one another’s language and offering corrections when especially egregious mistakes are made.

You arrive back in your country a day or two later, and are glad to be closer allies—friends, you dare say—with him.

You should’ve probably asked him why he knew Arabic, but with the way he was, he probably would’ve only asked you why you knew Russian.

—

“And you’re sure that you know where it’s buried?” Iran asked as he helped you get back up from where you had collapsed.

You did not speak Farsi, and he did not speak Arabic. It was almost ironic for Russian to be one of the languages you had in common.

“Yes, I am. Shut up," you responded. You were close, you could tell. How, you didn’t know, but you knew you were getting closer.

—

It’s eerily quiet. No one wants to be the first to speak here. Nineteen-ninety-two, January second, is when Soviet’s funeral takes place. You doubt that his body is actually inside the casket. Does he even have a corpse?

The thought isn’t one you want to have here, amidst the crowd. Citizens, human ones, and nations like you alike are present. Some look more upset than others do, some look like the only reason they aren’t openly celebrating is because they’re in public.

You whisper a prayer to him under your breath. Soviet didn’t believe in a God, but you did, do. You get a side-eye from the person to your left, someone you do not recognise and could care less for. They are bearing a flag you don’t recognise off the top of your head, so they are unimportant to you.

You stay longer than strictly necessary, unsure of when these customs—unlike yours—ended officially. The funeral only lasts a day, hardly that, even. It is odd to you, especially for someone so important.

When you come back home, it’s like a wall of emotion you didn’t even know existed came crumbling down on you. So that was the last of your friend, huh?

A few days later, you discard of the eyepatch and instead leave it to detoriarate over time in a desk drawer you would not look at if you got the chance to. You return to bandages to cover that half of your face, only with a crudely drawn star atop them this time around. It’s silly, but commemorative enough for you.

—

Iran shouted at you to duck a second later than he should’ve, and you end up whacking your head against a particularly low-hanging branch of a tree. You really should’ve brought your walking stick with you, instead of depending on blind (hah.) muscle memory.

You offered him—his general vicinity—a glare that was entirely useless considering your blindfold. You hoped he got the memo anyway.

—

You can see the writing on the wall, you are not stupid. You are not unaware of your people’s turmoil. I t acts like a parasite, how could you be?

A combined anguish, an anger and a sense of mourning you hope is displaced, all of it boils under your skin, bubbling and popping and threatening to escape any moment, to come to a point where your people could not keep a lid on their ideas and follow in their neighbours’ footsteps.

It is inevitable. You are not unaware. They believe you are, but the crows had started circling long ago and you have kept a silence about you when it came to it.

Your allies are closer to you now. This does not matter in the present. Iraq and Iran and Palestine will not save you from a fate of near-death and sickness and collapse, they will not just like Russia and Venezuela and Korea will not.

You wished you had more time, at least, to prepare.

You dig in your pocket for the worn eyepatch, extracted from the drawer hours ago, when you had began your departure for this forest. So far from your home, it had to be safe, didn’t it? You hope it stays in-tact as you stuff it into as secure a container as you could find on short notice.

It is just over midnight, the moon shines on you like she knows of all your misdeeds and your sins and how you have mistreated your people in favour of an unjust ruler. You deny the notion vehemently, peer up at her with defiance unlike that you can muster around the people you hate.

You dig your shovel into the earth, drive it in again and again and again like you are burying a body you came across and not one of your stupidest, most sentimental possessions that you have not touched in since nineteen-ninety-two. It is the late two-thousands now.

Dirt stains the inside of your nails and your palms and your trousers as you kneel down on the bare earth, depositing the triply-checked secure box into it. You heave in air as you force yourself back to your feet rather than collapsing here, or in the grave.

You pour the dirt back over it, praying for a thousand different protections over it as you smooth down the mound that forms. You do your best to make it look like untouched ground.

You will not be safe from the violence that is coming, the unrest, but it will be, and for tonight, you think that is enough. Just for tonight, that is enough, you think as you begin the long trek to your own house.

—

The only good thing about being unable to see was the fact that you could get Iran to do this one thing for you, you thought, listening to the crunch of metal being shoved harder than was needed between dirt.

After a handful of minutes of waiting around, circling around the same tree six times, he announced that he had found something as a sound distinctly unlike dirt was heard from where he had dug it in.

You made haste to get over to where he was standing, crouching beside him to feel into the cavity now present there. You had forgotten just how deep you had buried this thing, but that mattered little as your fingers found purchase on the container—edge of it, anyway—and latched on.

You dug it out with your bare hands now, Iran standing off to the side and watching. You thought your hands were shakier than normal, but whether that was a result of finally getting this thing back, or exertion that wasn’t exactly healthy for you to commit to in this state, or something else, was entirely unknown to you.

You opened it without thinking much for it, getting it into your hands at least. It had been so long since you had gotten your hands on it. Iran piped up with a “Didn’t think it was real,” somewhere behind you.

You traced your thumb over where the star was embroidered, the one that wasn’t scarred enough that you would’ve hardly made out the bumps from them. One of the threads was loose. You felt over the string. Also worn.

Huh. That was a bad feeling. You’d let it get too ruined, one of the few gifts you actually cared for getting (and one of the few, in general, that you had even gotten). How time flies, or something. It made you upset, why did it mae you upset?

Iran placed a hand over yours before you could too in your head about it. “You sure that thing’s even wearable?” he questioned, the sorry state of it probably even more evident to him than to you. He didn’t sound genuine in his asking, so you didn’t bother with responding.

A beat of silence passed before he shifted to put an arm under yours, hoisting you up suddenly and getting you to nearly drop the patch in your surprise.

“Come on, we’re going home," was all Iran said to you, helping you in getting your crutches from where you had discarded of them in favour of digging like a dog. You didn’t respond, only nodding with your lips pressed into a thin line as you pocketed the eyepatch.

You followed him this time around, he seemed to remember the way back. Your mind conjured up the image of Soviet’s ghost watching over the two of you, like some guardian demon. You mentioned it to Iran and earned a laugh from him. That improved your mood slightly.

It was... well, it was definitely not fine, per se. But you would live, you thought. You’d lost much more than a gift before, hadn’t you?

[crimsonbubble]

Ok you wanna know my horny thoughts? I want Midas Fortnite to turn my insides golden. I just know the tip is gold. I have needed him carnally since I first saw him. One chance Midas please

cw. nsfw, gn!reader, creampies, office sex, light gun play *not proofread, just pure horny

[HES SO KLVFDNSUOGVSH IM GONNA SHAKE HIM LIKE A MARRACA]

It didn't feel real.

Your mind is too floaty to understand the gravity of your current situation fully. It's wet, hot and messy. Midas’ chest is heaving with each harsh intake of air, his golden hands resting on your hips.

Your knees have gone numb a while ago but it doesn't matter when Midas is the one who’s lifting and guiding your hips over his. Your arms are resting on his shoulders as Midas moves your hips for you.

His hands were cold, in contrast to your heated skin. His low groans were slowly turning into laboured moans muffled against your neck. His office was the best and the worst spot to have sex, but his desires got the better of him.

He can’t help himself when you’re prancing around in your fitted clothes, moving from one task to another like it was nothing. His lips found yours again, swallowing down each hiccuped moan you let out. You helplessly grind yourself into him, shuddering as his tip presses into your sweet spots.

Midas grunts, standing up abruptly. He places you on his desk after swiping the papers off of it. His hands clutch at your thighs, holding you open as he relentlessly thrusts his aching cock into your tight heat.

You blindly hold onto the edge of his desk, letting him push and pull you to his whims. With a harsh knock on his office door to interrupt the harsh sounds of skin on skin and moans, Midas lets out an annoyed groan.

Without missing a beat, he steadily takes the recoil from firing a bullet into his door. The bang made you jolt, clenching around his dick even tighter. Midas trails the now warm barrel of his gun down your body; from your cheek to your lips, to your neck and stomach, letting the nozzle of his pistol rest below your belly button.

“Oh don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will bother us for a little while longer.”

[piepiepiemag]

Blown Cover

Montague (Fortnite) x !(GN)Reader

Summary: you're a silly spy, on a silly mission, getting caught by some silly french dude.

Tags from AO3: No Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hostage Situations, Touch Starved Montague (Fortnite), Touched starved Reader, Codependency, Everyone in this fic has BPD, Whatever the opposite of a slow burn is, Proofread (but badly), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POC Friendly, Unhealthy Power Dynamics

The mission set out for you was by no means easy, but at least he instructions were simple enough. Enter the Grand Glacier Hotel. Get your hands on Montague’s relic. Return back to the agency.

You were sent out for a reason, your boss completely trusted that you could finish the job without a single problem, so the fact that you got caught while still on the first step of the plan was unbelievably embarrassing. You were by no means a rookie, but you definitely felt like one now.

This guy was too smart. All of his abilities way beyond yours. You practically lost the game the moment you decided to play it, and now there you were, captured in the vault below the hotel.

As you slowly came to, all you could see in the dimly lit room was the man in front of you, and the lustre of the artifact hanging from his neck. It was so close. If you could just reach out your hand and grab it, it would all be over.

But alas your hands were tightly bound behind your back. Same with your legs, making you sit in a somewhat uncomfortable position while leaning your back against the wall.

Your captor pulled out a chair from the far end of the room and brought it in front of you, sitting down in complete silence.

“Why did you come here?” - his voice was less intimidating than you expected it to be, it was almost soft, with a hint of a french accent. You just stared at him, wordless.

“What was the goal of your mission?” - he asked again, his face slowly contorting in frustration. You didn’t say anything. That’s what you were taught to do in a situation like this. Cooperation wasn’t your strong suit anyway. - “Did you come here for this?”

He motioned at the diamond relic but he was met with nothing once again.

Montague was getting increasingly fed up with your silence, pulling his pistol out of its holster and pointing it at your forehead. For a few seconds you still considered if answering would even be worth it, warranting him to dig the barrel of the gun deeper into your skin.

“Yes, for the artifact.” - you groaned, the sharp pain making it even harder to think. - “But I don’t know what it was for. I was never told.”

You lied without even a flinch of your face. You obviously knew what it was for. Even if your boss didn’t tell you, you could guess. It was an attempt to combat his curse. If it was as powerful as they said, then maybe the diamond relic would be able to help him control his golden touch.

You were willing to do anything in your power to help him. And look where that got you.

“Good job.” - he said as he withdrew his gun voice almost sultry. The sound of that made you feel kind of gross, but you had to consider if this could be your way out. Just maybe he would be low enough to fall for it.

“You know, i could do even better if you got these cuffs off of me..” - you batted your eyelashes as you whispered in a low tone, motioning at your hands behind your back.

He looked back at you, his face showing utter horror and disgust, like he was trying to say “How dare you even assume i would do something like that?” with just his eyes. He took a few seconds before regaining his composure.

“The Rules of War are a thing for a reason. Don’t even try.” - with that he got up from his chair and walked over to the desk at the far end of the room. Worth a try anyways.

He looked over all the things he had taken off of you. Guns, guns, more guns, your earpiece, phone, emergency med kit and various other items. Most of these have been taken apart while you were out cold, to see if they had any tracking devices inside of them. Unsurprisingly, a lot of them did. Montague left them on on purpose. He mused over them for a few more minutes before turning back towards you.

“Give your boss a call for me, will you?” - His voice sounded more threatening now, obviously not willing to take no for an answer. You didn’t even want to try. With your earpiece having been disassembled and laid out on his desk he had no choice but to grab your phone.

He grabbed it, then leisurely walked up to were you were sitting. He reached behind you in an attempt to activate the fingerprint lock but you stopped him.

“Won’t work. My fingers are fried” - you wiggled your hands for good measure as you sighed, recalling the pain of having your fingerprints permanently removed. The scars were ugly too but it is what it is. You were a spy after all. Things like that were necessary. Just a part of the job.

He thought about it only for a second before holding the phone in front of your face, activating the face id system. It unlocked without a hitch and he started scrolling through the contacts.

“Under M. He’s the only one.” - you said as he followed your instructions. He swiped his finger on the screen a few times before finally settling on the one he needed.

“Midass?” - He raised an eyebrow and you would have laughed if it wasn’t for your current predicament. You just nodded.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Agent?” - on the fourth beep he finally picked up, his voice echoing through the room.

“Midas-” - you gasped out instinctively, almost falling over as you struggled to get closer to the phone, like reaching it would save you. Never in your life would you have thought you'd be so happy to hear his voice. You quickly stopped in your tracks as you felt the cold barrel of his gun press against the back of your head, as if to signal “stay in your lane”.

“I have something dear to you. If you want it back, i’d suggest getting it yourself. Come alone and unarmed” - and with these simple instructions he hung up.

Shit. You should have know Montague didn’t want a ransom or anything superficial like that. Not only did you cause trouble for yourself but the agency and your boss too. You could only imagine the talk he would give you afterwards. Of course, you would have to return alive for that. And the chances of that were dropping lower and lower by the minute.

Would he even risk it to come and get you? Right now, you were as good as dead.

Montague glanced over the items on the desk again, eyes wandering to the rest of your gear on the floor, including your shoes. He turned his gaze towards you.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been caught if you wore normal shoes.”

This fucking guy. Not only was this situation insanely humiliating, no, he also had to jab at the thing you’re the most sensitive about. Those platforms were an extension of you at this point. You had to beg Midas on three separate occasions to be able to wear them to missions, and now this pompous french fuck decided to roast them as well.

“Insecure I’m taller than you with them?” - a truly weak rebuttal left your mouth as you grumbled to yourself. He was already pretty tall, but you just couldn’t let this one go without saying anything back.

He let out something that almost resembled a genuine laugh, before turning on his heels and heading towards the door of the vault. Good riddance. His shoes looked even dumber than yours anyways.

“I’ll be back.” - with that he opened the door and two guards walked in, taking his place. He left to god knows where and now you were there with twice as many eyes on you. It would be stupid to try anything sneaky like this.

The guards were silent, not even chatting amongst themselves, and for a while you just sat around and watched them. They seemed even less willing to communicate than you, so not having anything better to do you slid down against the wall and closed your eyes. Whatever they used to knock you out with still lingered in your system, making you more tired than usual. Just a moment of rest won’t hurt.

The next morning you woke up to the loud creaking of the vault door, the reddish gold sunrise barely creeping into the dark room. In the doorway stood a figure that you could only barely make out, a tall man in a suit, and your heart almost skipped a beat.

Was he..?

Your hopes shattered just as quickly when he stepped closer.

It wasn’t Midas.

Without his long coat Montague’s silhouette looked eerily similar, but maybe it was just the weirdo rich guy aura they both exuded. Imposing, elegant in their every move. Heads up their own asses probably.

He was carrying something in his hand but you didn’t care to look at him any longer after that. You lowered your gaze to the floor as you turned your whole body to the side. The severity of your situation was quickly dawning on you.

It must have been at least 6 hours since the call was placed. If he hasn’t gotten here in that time there’s a chance he never will. Maybe you weren’t as important as you thought you were.

“Expected someone else?” - Montague asked in his usual prickly way but you tuned him out entirely. You tried to keep it together as best as you could but it was futile. Who cares about protocols at this point. You just wanted to cry.

“Hey..” - he approached again, tone much softer this time. He kneeled down in front of you, getting dust and grime all over his expensive pair of pants. You immediately tensed up as he reached out towards you, only for him to wipe the wayward tears, that you couldn’t hold back, off of your face. - “Maybe it’s a long way here.”

You shrugged out of his touch. The last person you wanted comforting from was the guy who got you into this mess to begin with.

At the same time, it wasn’t all bad. You couldn’t recall the last time someone touched you like this, trying to be comforting, without any malice or intent to hurt.

It was pathetic, but you almost craved more.

After a bit of silence, that probably felt longer than it was he spoke up again.

“I brought you breakfast.” - his words finally piqued your interest and you looked up at him. In his hand was a small plate packed with exquisite looking pastries and fruits. You also had access to expensive looking food at the agency but you never really had time to treat yourself to breakfasts there. Work always came first.

Up until this point you didn’t really consider just how hungry you were. He could have offered you moldy bread and you still would have taken it. Unless there was a catch.

“You’re going to poison me now or what?” - you scrunched up your nose at him, voice still a bit hoarse from crying. He didn’t seem too phased by it, at this point you just looked like a sad, wet kitten he found at the side of the road, trying to keep up a tough act.

“Would it make sense for me to poison you before your boss even gets here?” - he gave a knowing half smile before picking up one of the croissants from the plate and taking a bite. You studied his face, making note of every move as he chewed and swallowed his food. That was enough to convince you and you sat up, struggling a bit against your bonds.

He picked up the other pastry from the plate and reached it towards your mouth, unwilling to untie you just yet. You thought about it for a second before finally taking a bite.

It was really good. So soft and sweet, nothing like the ones you were used to before being hired by the agency. The days of eating cheap, cardboard flavoured croissants were long gone, yet you could still recall them like it was yesterday. This job and by proxy your boss really saved your life. You felt like no matter how much work you put in, it was never enough to repay him for it.

By the time you finished that thought your food was gone as well, and Montague reached for the bright red strawberries that were laid out in a flower like shape on the plate. You watched as his hands moved down so delicately, then up towards you. You caught his gaze, fixed right on you and your stomach churned a little.

Being hand fed like this already felt almost intimate, but the way he looked at you just made it so much more worse.

Seeing him from up close, you could really tell just how attractive he was, not like it was hard to tell beforehand. His mismatched eyes were captivating on their own, but his features made them even more striking. He was a very pretty man, and he knew it. If he told you he was a model you wouldn’t even question it. Not even the scars across his face could ruin this perfect image, they only enhanced it further.

You tried to shoo these thoughts away as you continued to eat, even as his fingers slightly brushed against your lips occasionally. Getting flustered over the man holding you captive would be the lowest point of your career. Even lower than getting caught upon entering the location of your mission.

“Was it good?” - he asked with a small smile on his face. It was probably easy to tell by the way you ravaged that croissant, like it was your last meal on this earth.

“Yes, Sir.” - you face immediately turned pale as you realised what you just said out loud. You coughed a little to clear your throat before your voice fully left you.- “No I mean- Sorry just- Force of habit.”

He found it amusing enough, laughing a little to himself. You must have looked real stupid there. Almost a freudian slip. You decided to change the topic immediately lest he decided to ask about it.

“Can I have a cigarette please?” - you mumbled in a tone much meeker than you usually would. He nodded, rummaging through his pocket before pulling out a small black box. Treasurer. Is this really what all the rich guys smoke? You shouldn’t have been surprised, but at least this one was familiar.

Montague leisurely reached into the box, pulling out a cigarette fully coated in black. It looked cool, you’ll give him that. He held it towards your mouth and you parted your lips just enough for it to fit. Then he pulled out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it a few times before it finally lit up, the golden flame taking over the once dark cigarette. This felt even weirder than being hand fed.

You inhaled slowly. A habit this nasty shouldn’t feel this good. But after what happened yesterday, this was exactly what you needed. You exhaled the smoke, trying not aim for his face since he was gracious enough to share it with you. He reached for it and took it out of your mouth to flick the end off. This continued on for a little before he spoke up.

“It must have been uncomfortable to sleep down here. I’m willing to lend you a room up in the hotel, if you wish so.” - his face was devoid of any malice but you didn’t trust it for a second. Why would he want to do that for his hostage? Out of the kindness of his heart? Most definitely not.

But he was right, the vault was cold and dark, despite its lavish looks. You were used to camping out in uncomfortable places from time to time, but the thought of sleeping in a normal, warm bed was just too enticing.

“What’s the catch?” - you asked bluntly, studying his face, waiting for the moment he slipped up. This sounded way too good to be true. Such an easy bait, something only an idiot would fall for.

“Must there always be one?” - he gave you a half smile but he quickly realised you weren’t buying his theatrics at all. You saw right through him, though it wasn’t that hard.

You took a long drag from your cigarette in place on an answer.

“I’ve looked through your records. You seem quite capable.” - he said, very matter of fact. You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with this, so you just stared at him, somewhat confused. - “I want you to join my team.”

He must have been out of his mind to even suggest that.

“You want to hire me even after I got caught by you?” - you huffed out a strained laugh, raising an eyebrow. This must be some sort of a sick joke on his end. A way to further humiliate you. And yet he seemed so strangely sincere about it.

“Oh, don’t take that to heart.” - he laughed, swiping his thumb over your cheek. So demeaning, but almost comforting in a way. - “You had no chance against me.”

What a punchable face he had.

“You must be real stupid if you think I’d betray my boss for you.” - you blurted out. You squinted your eyes, full of anger at the implication. The fact that he even thought about it for a second pissed you off, let alone presenting it to you as an option.

He took a firm hold of your chin as to not let you look away. He wanted all of your attention on him, and for you to know who’s still the one in control. You felt chills running down your spine.

“No no, who said betray? Take it more as.. cooperation between two parties. A truce if you will.” - that sly smirk on his face made you all the more frustrated. Just what did he even mean by that? A truce for what exactly? Your head was running wild with ideas, but either way, it was not like you really had a choice.

“So?” - his voice interjected into your racing thoughts, as you were trying to imagine every scenario and how they could play out based on your answer. None of the ones where you said “no” ended well.

“Fine, I’ll do what you want.” - you sighed in defeat, lowering your gaze as much as you could, while he still had a hold of you. - “Just don’t hurt anyone from the agency. Please.”

“Mhm, good. I can do that. That is, if they don’t attack first." - he stroked your cheek a few more times, almost sickeningly affectionately. Then his grip on your chin lessened and soon enough he let go of you entirely. It was good to know that you were both on the same page about the possible rescue efforts. If Midas was coming to get you he was definitely not coming alone, no matter what the conditions were. But it didn’t seem like he minded that. Maybe he was betting on that possibility.

Montague put out the remainder of the cigarette on the ground, smearing the ash across the expensive looking carpet. He would have to get that replaced.

He leaned in closer to you as he pulled out a small, shiny switchblade from his pocket and reached for your legs, cutting the rope around them with a few calculated motions. For a moment you though he was going to cut clean into you, but clearly this wasn’t his first rodeo. Either way he seemed a little too confident in his abilities.

He took his time untangling the rope from around your legs, making sure to take in the sight in the process. He reached for your shoes and promptly dropped them in front of you. The moment you managed to struggle yourself into them the world seemed just a bit brighter. Comfy, at last.

After he was done he stood up and dusted off his pants. Those needed to be replaced as well.

He reached out his arms towards you, taking a firm grip on your shoulders as he pulled you up from the ground. Your legs were still too shaky for you to stand, after being cramped in one position for so long, but he expected it, pulling you just a bit closer to himself for balance. Too close. You could practically smell the expensive cologne he was wearing, something with sandalwood and a touch of vanilla. You swallowed hard. If you let your mind wander just a bit too long you might have rested your head on his shoulder.

His right arm snaked around your waist to get a better hold on you, and for a second you almost thought it felt nice. That was until you felt something cold and metallic press against the other side of your body. A gun. Of course. Even if it was just for show, it still made you consider every step you took. You were still planning to use those organs he was aiming at.

The walk up to the first floor of the hotel was long and awkward. You didn’t exactly have the time to look around and take in the sights when you first got here, so you tried your best to memorise where everything was.

The hotel was beautiful and lavish, all the walls and pillars trimmed in gold and decorated in a way that just screamed rich. Some of it was definitely expensive just for the sake of it, but the end result was still impressive nonetheless.

A vacation here would have been nice. Guess that’s off the list now.

He finally stopped in front of a door that didn’t seem any different from the others at a first glance, pulling out his keys from his pocket and unlocking it.

The moment you stepped in you noticed just how suspicious it all was. Guns and weapons mounted on the wall, an expensive looking laptop and monitors sitting on the desk, the luxury clothing peeking out of the halfway open closet.

So there was another catch. This must be his room.

Your racing thoughts got even more hazy as he stopped in front of the king sized bed, motioning for you to take a seat. You reluctantly did so.

“It would be inappropriate to keep you tied up now that you’re a part of my team.” - he said, pulling out his switchblade and reaching towards you back for your hands. - “ I’ll take this off, if you promise to behave.”

“I’ll try to..” - you sighed, leaning forward a bit to give him better access. He cut through the rope in one swift motion, slicing through it like it was melting butter. Just how many times did he have to do this..

You pulled your hands into your lap, hissing in pain as you ran your fingers over the rope burn. You might have struggled too much for your own good back at the vault. It didn’t matter though, you were at least free now. In theory.

Montague’s gaze softened as he reached for your hands, cradling them in his own, something close to actual remorse flashing over his eyes for a second. You weren’t sure if you should buy it. You couldn’t tell if anything he ever said was truly genuine. A flurry of thoughts raced through your head.

You could kill him right now. He’s defenceless. Distracted. You could snap his neck any second. And yet you decided not to.

He sighed quietly, pulling your hands up to him before placing soft kisses all over your torn skin. His lips were so warm, it made you feel dizzy, unable to pull your hand back, and unable to want to as well. You stared at him, expression unchanging and mind blank, but unable to hide just how hot your face was getting. If this was his way of apologising, then he managed to do a good job.

After a few seconds he pulled away, turning towards the entrance and promptly locking the door.

“I’ll run you a bath if you want.” - he said, walking towards the bathroom door. He opened it, revealing a large room full of white and greenish furnishings, packed to the brim with bath and beauty products. - “Im sure it would feel nice to relax a bit. I can bring you clean clothes as well.”

You were still a bit too starstruck by his previous actions to react, staring at your bruised hands, mind replaying the image over and over again. It took you a moment before you finally managed to get your head straight and answer him.

“Will you be watching me or..?” - you raised an eyebrow, finally back to your suspicious self. Montague chuckled, visibly unsure about you being truly serious. The tides have turned.

“Of course not. You said you would behave, haven’t you?” - with that he walked into the bathroom, towards the white marble bathtub, opening the tap and watching the hot mist rise up from it. - “Besides, this room has no windows. I trust you won’t break down the wall while I’m not looking.”

He smirked, unaware of the fact that you have in fact done that on more than one occasion before. You didn’t have the explosives, nor the nerve to do it in such a cramped room though.

“Thank you..” - you muttered, unusually quiet. You got off the bed and walked towards the room, closing the door and twisting the lock quickly. You scanned the door with your eyes, leaning in close to make sure you couldn’t see through any of the cracks.

Next you strolled around the room, checking for any possible places a camera could be hidden. All clear. Maybe he did do this out of the kindness of his heart for once. It never hurt to be cautious though..

You walked up to the bathtub and stripped of your dusty clothes, leaving them in a pile as you stepped into the water.

Many different brands of shampoos, conditioners and body washes lined the side of the tub, but the ones that caught your attention was the bath salts. You opened them one by one, smelling them and pondering on the best choice. Once you picked the winner you poured probably more than you should have into the tub, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere it brought.

You did the same for the rest of the products, deciding to waste as much time as you possibly could. It was nice to have some time for yourself for once, even if it had to come at a situation like this. With the conditioners applied, you sunk down into the tub, laying your head on the edge and closing your eyes. You kept wondering about how all of this had happened.

Why were you immediately suspicious to him upon entering the hotel? Your best guess was that he must have already had some info on you, but you couldn’t be for sure.

Montague was a frustrating enigma. On a first glance you wouldn’t have written him down as a master thief and manipulator, maybe just some rich pretty boy with a strange taste in jewellery. That just meant he was good at his job and even better at hiding his darker side.

Half the things he said he did so with that annoyingly charming smirk, like he knew he was playing everyone in the room and he just couldn’t help but let it slip sometimes. He was a true megalomaniac, but you were somewhat familiar with his kind by now.

His relic was even more of a mystery, it’s origin and full properties and powers all unknown. According to one witness he could turn his body parts into pure diamond with it. Some said his whole body can be transformed into it. You had to wonder if it he might harm himself while doing that. If the diamonds might stay lodged into his skin after. If it ever leaves a scar..

Your mind wandered, trying to imagine where his scars could be formed. Maybe across the arm he uses? Maybe on his chest, where it’s the closest to? Maybe through his legs, running down his thighs or-

You shot up from the water, snapping your eyes open, having had just about enough of those fantasies. You were certainly out of line now, the nagging thoughts in your head reminding you about how he also takes baths here, pushing images into your mind, not making your situation any better.

You washed your hair off and pulled the plug, letting the now colourful water flow down the drain. You reached for the towel that was previously placed by him on the sink. Relishing in its softness, you stepped in front of the mirror, beginning to dry your hair, using all the products laid out for it.

Once you were done with that you finally took a close look at the massive skincare collection standing in front of his mirror, which you have been eyeing the entire time.

It was a lot. By any standards. You carefully looked over and studied all of them before deciding on what to do.

You took them one by one and applied them, having the time of your life in the meantime. You were honestly kind of jealous of his collection. This time you didn’t exactly care about how they would affect your skin, you were hellbent on using up as many as you could. Have a little revenge. Make him think he’s safe when he’s reaching for his favourite lotion, only to find out that it’s empty.

Once you were done with your petty crime of passion you looked towards the door. Maybe he forgot about the clothes. If push comes to shove you could wear the same ones again.

“Can i have the clean clothes please?” - you raised your voice loud enough for him to hear. You heard faint ruffling from the other side before he got close enough for you to speak.

“Open the door and i’ll hand then in.” - you considered your options before twisting the lock. With the door slightly agape, you saw his hand peek in, holding onto a pair of greyish black clothes. The moment you took it from him his hand retracted and you shut the door again.

The clothes were plain but cute. Not exactly your style, but you still found them charming. You got dressed and looked at yourself in the mirror. This change in looks made you feel somewhat uncomfortable. It was like you were looking at a completely different person. Your old uniform and disguise filled you with a sense of belonging, like you were tied to the agency as long as you had it on. You didn’t want to think about it much so you headed for the door and stepped outside.

Montague was sitting at his desk, busy looking over the security camera footage displayed on his monitors, and what looked to be your files open on his laptop. That was not a flattering picture. It must have been taken close to when you joined the agency, based on the hair style you had.

You walked up to the bed and sat down on the edge, dangling your legs in the air absentmindedly. He seemed so occupied with skipping through the cameras that your weren’t even sure he noticed you coming back. You glanced around the room, looking for anything interesting you could occupy yourself with.

Your eyes landed on some magazines on the bedside table, the image on the cover already intriguing. It must have been an older picture, based on the fact that the Montague you saw on it was more younger looking, his face softer and his scar nowhere to be seen.

So he was a model.

You flipped it open, Montague quickly looking over his shoulder towards the noise. He took a long look at you before giving a half smile and turning back to his work. Reading through the pages seemed to be less rewarding than you imagined, most of it only talking about the fake persona he built up to the public.

His rags to riches story told in there was interesting, for sure, but knowing the real details made the false tale far less awe inspiring. He didn’t just climb the ladder of society like the papers said, he practically stole his way to the top. Unethical, but the truth was far more impressive to you.

You felt like you had it more easy compared to him, coming from a similar background but being taken under by someone who was already powerful, while Montague had became that powerful person by his own hands.

In the end, both of you had to do bad things to get to where you were now. Even then, you never once regretted joining the agency.

Lost in thought you stared at the picture in front of you, only seeing him get up and sit next to you from the corner of your eye. You closed the magazine and set it aside, looking up at him, having a question you wanted answered for a while now.

The air seemd to grow heavy as you two stared at each other, neither of you breaking the silence. You traced the scar on his eyebrow with your eyes, running over the jagged lines over and over again. You needed to focus.

“Why did you want me on your team?” - you finally managed to force out the question, eagerly waiting for his reaction. There was really no good reason for him to do that. You’ve shown yourself to be unreliable and a clutz by getting caught so early. He could have just asked for the agency to cooperate and give you back to them. No matter how many times you thought about it, there was no good reason.

“I like you.”

Oh.

His answer was curt, almost surprised that this wasn’t clear to you. It felt like a molotov has just been thrown into your brain, your frenzied thoughts getting even more incoherent by the second. Did he? Was that why he was so nice to you? That didn’t seem right and even if it was true what would that even change and how-

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction as you just sat there staring at him, face noticeably red. You sighed, nodding your head in understanding, unable and unwilling to say anything in case that would make things worse.

You knew how you felt, it was obvious, and if he was good enough at reading people then he probably did too.

“Why are you so devoted to your agency?” - he changed the subject, taking your question as a green light to dig into you and unearth your secrets. You didn’t really mind it.

“It’s hard to explain..” - you sighed, scooting up towards middle of the bed and sitting cross legged. He looked at you for a second as if to ask for permission and you nodded, letting him sit on the bed properly and a bit closer to you. - “My boss, Midas he’s.. he’s just done so much for me.”

“Like mutilating your fingers?” - Montague asked, raising an eyebrow. Your expression immediately changed, not expecting him to go there.

“Not that’s-“ - you gasped out, tone very defensive. You turned your palms towards you, looking over the scar tissue that was left behind, speaking more quietly now. - “You misunderstood, it was never his idea. I did it because i wanted to do a better job.. for him…”

He gave you a small nod, understanding but not fully satisfied with the answer. You continued.

“He helped me out of a bad living situation by offering me a job at the agency. I was able to achieve and learn so much thanks to him.” - you smiled a little to yourself as you recalled the memories. It hasn’t been that long since you were gone, but you missed your team so much. - “I’ve been trying to do my job perfectly but i felt like no matter how much i work put in i would never be able to repay him. And now i’m here, getting myself in trouble and giving him more work..”

“If he truly cares, he will come and rescue you, no matter what.” - Montague sighed, raising his arm towards you and gently stroking your cheek. The sudden closeness made you freeze up for a second. - “And if he doesn’t.. this isn’t the worst place for you to stay at.”

His words and actions were so comforting, you almost forgot this situation was partially his fault. You stopped blaming him for it a while ago, even if you couldn’t trust him fully you felt like you could at least relate to him, and that made you feel a bit better. Getting pulled out of your comfort zone like this wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, now that you two were on better terms. It was hard to admit, but you enjoyed being around Montague.

You looked back at him but he didn’t say a word, he was staring at you intently, his eyes flickering across your features.

The tension was thick enough to cut at this point. You caught his glance again.

“What is it?” - you questioned with an almost dumbfounded tone, unable to imagine what was going though his head. His gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh.

Oh.

That strangely blunt question, his careful tone, his half smile, that stupidly charming face, all of it was too much. You just stared at him, face hot and mouth slightly agape.

It’s not like you weren’t thinking about it since the moment you laid eyes on him. Even if you knew it was selfish, careless and very very dumb, your body was telling you the complete opposite.

“I mean.. if you.. yeah..”- you turned your eyes away from him, onto your slightly shaking hands. God, you were acting so idiotic. Like a teenager upon being faced with their first crush. It was almost laughable.

He reached out a hand and lifted your chin up so you could look at him again. A sense of danger coursed through your entire body as he leaned in closer, so close that your faces were almost touching.

“Please say you want it, then.” - he said, leaning in closer to your neck, almost begging, voice low and hoarse. Your head was spinning, all rational thoughts leaving you behind with each shallow breath you took. You could feel his hot breath tickling against your skin.

“Please kiss me.”

He raised his head and you could see his smile widen as he closed the distance between you two, his lips meeting yours so softly that it almost hurt.

He closed his eyes as his arm trailed down to your neck, then your shoulder, his other hand tilting your chin up just enough to reach him.

You kept your eyes wide open, almost frozen in place for a second. You wanted this so badly, so why was every cell of your body suddenly screaming for you to stop?

He noticed your shock just as quickly, pulling away immediately upon sensing that something was wrong.

“You’re.. supposed to close your eyes, you know..” - he huffed out a laugh, trying to break through the awkward air that sprung up around you two. His eyes were looking you up and down, trying to understand what the problem was. This wasn’t the right situation to mess around in, for sure, but he thought you were both on the same page.

“…sorry.” - you finally spoke up, looking at everything in the room except him in the process. - “Im just.. a little nervous.”

That was an understatement. It’s been so long since you last felt the warm hands of another person on you like this, it was almost alarming now. You frequently began to associate that feeling with an attempt on your life, which wasn’t the most unusual in your field of work. The better you got at your job, the less people managed to reach you. Familiarity was only to be found in the cold, dead touch of those who stood in your path.

He nodded, thinking about your words, body language and everything else that could have been unsaid. He decided to pull his hands back and place them in his lap, almost as if he was waiting to be cuffed. He was surprisingly good at reading people.

“No need to worry, sweetheart.” - he smiled softly, leaning back a little as he sat. You groaned in annoyance, the nickname making you blush even more and sending swarms of butterflies to your stomach. - “You’re the one in control here.”

That seemed to have calmed your nerves a little. You took a deep breath as you got up, debating for a fraction of a second if you should sit on his lap but ultimately deciding against it. You still had a bit of your common sense left after all.

You sat down on your knees in front of him and reached your hand out, caressing his stubbled face in an amused way.

“You’re really pretty.” - you mumbled, almost too quiet for him to hear. His eyes crinkled as a genuine smile peeked through his facade. You wondered what he really was like under all these layers of lies, if he was truly trustworthy, or someone more despicable than you could ever imagine.

Only time would tell, and you decided to shove those thoughts away for now. You leaned in closer, your lips melting in a warm embrace.

Your left hand trailed behind his neck while your right found its way into his hair, playfully ruffling into it. He laughed into the kiss and your heart almost skipped a beat. This whole thing was honestly comedic but you didn’t care. You never realised how much you actually craved this. Just to have someone treat you like you were precious. Let it be a lie or not.

The world around you ceased to exist for a moment, just you and him, in this fucked up situation, breaking all the rules you set up for yourself.

You pulled away for air, both of your faces flushed, his pupils wide like he just sampled all the drugs money could buy. It was almost silly. You swiped your thumb over his face, whispering praises in your native tongue that he didn’t need to understand.

Amused, you wiped the small string of saliva from his chin.

“Mon Dieu..”- he groaned, mouth agape, almost unable to find his words. - “Please do that again.”

You smirked, leaning back to him. You teased him for a few seconds, grazing his lips with yours, not fully giving in, until he looked up at you. His eyes half lidded, but face screaming annoyed. You huffed out a laugh. He was so stupidly attractive, it was almost surreal. Of course you couldn’t help but want to play with him a little.

You smiled a little, amused by his reaction before finally kissing him again. You felt like you could stay like this forever.

Until a strange sound caught your attention. You weren’t exactly sure where to put it, at first it sounded like drilling, or rattling outside. You tried to ignore it and focus on him, but the more you listened the clearer it was.

Your heartbeat started to quicken.

It was a car.

The realisation crossed your mind and you shot up from the bed, leaving Montague confused until he finally caught the sound himself. He knew damn well what it was and what it meant.

He got up from the bed and grabbed his jacket, hurriedly putting it on, his shoes following after. He leaned over his desk to look at the cameras, but couldn’t find a thing on them.

You reached for your platforms and slid into them as quick as you could, watching from the corner of your eye as Montague stuffed something into his pocket, but paying it no mind.

You were barely able to think, completely forgetting about the weather and putting on something warm before walking towards the door. He opened it wordlessly and lead you down the stairs, towards the entrance of the hotel. Everything was eerily quiet in the hall, somewhat usual for the late evening.

You stepped out of the golden trimmed gate and the chilly air suddenly hit you. This kind of weather wasn’t exactly what you were used to. You tugged at the hem of your shirt in an attempt to cover yourself up a bit more, eventually groaning defeat, a small mist cloud forming from your breath. It reminded you of the time when you were only pretending to smoke as a child.

Lost in thought you vaguely focused your eyes on the horizon, almost jumping as you felt something touch your shoulders.

“You’re going to get cold like this.” - Montague sighed, wrapping his long coat around you. You grabbed the edges and pulled them even closer to yourself in an attempt escape the biting cold.

The coat smelled like him. You closed your eyes for a second, imaging his arms in place of the soft fabric.

This distraction wasn’t long lived though, as you noticed something glistening in the distance, the sound growing closer and closer by the second.

The source of the noise finally dipped into view over the horizon, it was the roaring engine of the pitch black sports car that you were oh so familiar with. As it got closer you noticed how more than half of it was glimmering gold in the sun’s light, almost blinding to the eye. It was shocking to say the least. You couldn’t see through the darkened windows but you had a pretty good idea of who could be driving it.

It took a sharp turn then came to a sudden halt in front of the stairway, drifting through the dirt and ripping up the layer of snow that sat on top of it. A man in a suit jumped out hastily, and you swallowed hard.

It was him.

It really was him.

He didn’t leave you behind.

One look at him sent shivers down your spine. His hair was a mess, falling on his face and in front of his eyes. His tie was halfway undone, his jacket, the cuffs of his sleeves, and his pants all speckled and tainted gold. And the look on his face…

You’ve seen him angry plenty of times before, but never like this. He looked terrifying. The knot in your stomach tightened as a he took a few quick steps forward, looking up at the top of the stairs where you two were standing.

“You..” - you could hear him groan through gritted teeth. In the flash of an eye he pulled out a golden pistol and aimed it at the man standing next to you. Your eyes widened.

“Wait!” - You could barely react as three shots rang out and you quickly snapped towards their target.

The bullets fell to the ground, clanking loudly as they rolled down the stairs.

Montague’s face screamed shock, even though he most likely expected this scenario. It all happened so quickly, almost too fast for him to react. His chest rose and fell under the heavy weight of the protective diamond barrier he created just in time. He laughed out as Midas lowered his gun.

“What a rude introduction..” - he was immediately back at his usual snarkiness and you had to wonder if he understood just how close to death he was right there. He was good at hiding it, but you could see the drops of sweat rolling down his cheek, and how his hands were shaking ever so slightly. That first shot landed a little too close for comfort.

Midas’ face hasn’t changed for a second, his tired eyes focusing only on Montague’s every move, watching him like a predator waiting for his prey. If you hadn’t stopped him, he most likely would have torn him apart by now. If there was one thing he despised, it was others taking what’s his.

Montague cleared his throat.

“Your agent has already agreed to my deal. I’ll let them go for now, in exchange for you lending me some help. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?” - he smirked, his words making your stomach churn. You did agree, yes, but it’s not like it was a fair deal, nor did you know the full extent of it. You wondered just how badly you might have messed up this time.

Still, you were glad he didn’t attack Midas right after he tried to shoot him point blank. Maybe your words actually reached some part of him. Maybe he understood how important he was to you.

“And what the catch?” - Midas asked immediately. Montague just scoffed, you two really did think alike. He raised a hand as if he was making the offer of a lifetime.

“They will stay as a part of my team, while your agency aids me in dethroning the gods. That is also your goal, yes?” - his tone turned serious, his face losing the fake smile just as quick.

So that’s what this was all for. You could barely believe it, he was crazy for sure, but going up against the gods still seemed too far fetched. Midas on the other hand didn’t seem shocked in the slightest. He looked intrigued as he took a few moments to think before answering.

“In that case, I agree to your deal.” - They were both out of their minds. You took a few deep breaths, taking all of the information in. You understood Midas’ reasons very well. He was kept locked up by them for so long after all, of course he would want to take his revenge. If that’s what he truly wanted, then you would throw your life on the line as well.

“Mhm, good.” - Montague smiled, content, as he nudged your back with the gun he was hiding behind himself. Some things never change. - “Go on.”

And just like that, you were free. Truly free this time.

Your thoughts finally cleared as the stress and worry of the situation slowly left your brain. All you could focus on now was the man standing at the bottom of the staircase.

You broke into a sprint, almost tripping at the speed you were running. You ran as if your life depended on it, like he would disappear if you didn’t reach him in time.

Tears pricked at you eyes as his face softened, and against your better judgement you practically jumped into his arms.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I thought you’d never come, I’m sorry, I’ll never make a mistake like this again!” - You sobbed against his chest, words held back for so long finally spilling out all at once, your tears staining the expensive material of his shirt. You held onto him so tight your muscles started to hurt, all signs of professionalism thrown out the window by now.

“Careful! I’m barely able to-“ - He quickly raised his hands to avoid touching you.

“I know. I’m sorry, Sir.” - You sniffed a little as you let go, trying to regain some of your composure. This would definitely not be allowed in the office. But he didn’t look like he minded it much, he just seemed glad that you were alive and unharmed.

In truth, all he wanted to do was to run his fingers through your hair and make sure you were truly okay. He knew better than to do that though, not in the state he was in. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“It’s okay now. I’m here.”

The plan was in motion. Everything worked out just as he had wanted it to. And yet Montague could not shake off the uneasy feeling he was having, digging his nails into his own skin so hard that it drew blood. It all went well, and yet he was still so worked up over you clutching onto that man, like he was your lifeline.

Several other people got out of the car by then, a lady in black, a girl with dark braids and a tall cat. You waved and ran up to them, crying even more than before.

He couldn’t fully hear what you were saying, but he could guess. A tearful reunion, a beautiful way to end things. It’s been a while since he last felt emotions this strong and overwhelming. He was overreacting, and he knew it, but he was still unable to get himself to think straight.

He had you in the palm of his hand, and he was not willing to let you go now. That soft gaze, those gentle touches, the taste of your lips, he wanted it all for himself.

Maybe an unforeseen accident, a terrible tragedy, a mistake that would cost his life or maybe…

He saw you turn around and look back at him, a soft smile on your face. You were smiling at him. A genuine, kind gesture. It made his heart flutter.

…maybe those won’t be necessary.

[j0nesy]

Midague but where Montague gets jealous of the affection Midas shows Meowscles, so he tries to make him jealous by being with his cat. But Oscar is a lot less cat like than Meowscles so it fails, and Oscar just does not like Montague.

[snippydippy]

~Heart of Gold~

An "excerpt" of a much larger Fortnite story I'd love to write in it's entirety. Midas has something he needs Montague to know.

Quick shout out to @corvidazed & @stuffule for encouraging me to finish this after losing it to a power outage the first time. Love you guys! <3

Midas paced the floor in Montague's office, waiting for the man to finish his meeting with Oscar and Nisha so the two of them could speak. The tightness in his chest and buzz in his mind were almost as disturbing to him as the realization of his feelings for the Diamond Thief in the first place. Despite living a very long life, Midas had never felt quite like this before. He'd never been so entirely stricken by love. At least not that he could remember, and certainly not in this way that so perfectly fit the way people described it. He had been in many relationships, and had cared deeply for those involved, but not like this. Never once had he counted his footsteps for nerves while preparing to lay himself bare to anyone. Midas had been on the receiving end of such confessions a handful of times. For better or worse.

He hated this. He hated the spark of doubt that seemed to be trying to burn a whole in the back of his mind. It wasn't like himself to feel nervous. At the absolute least, this aggravating fear of rejection gave him some reassurance that his feelings for Montague must have been real. Not that there was much doubt in that regard at this point, he'd certainly spent enough sleepless nights ruminating on his emotions before deciding it was necessary to declare them.

Regardless of the outcome, he'd finally be able to move on from these childish feelings. He'd be able to stow the memories of the kiss they'd shared that constantly ran through his mind. He could put to rest the way he longed for more every time Montague made eye contact with him, touched his shoulder to get his attention, or when the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips before he remembered to be annoyed by flirtatious remarks.

Midas was thinking of that smile when he heard the door open and close behind the man who entered. The two exchanged a nod before Montague made his way behind his desk. He didn't sit, instead standing and looking over the map of the island displayed on its digital surface. He tapped at various points of interest to leave red pings.

"I'm afraid we don't have much time before we need to meet with Jones and the Banana. I'll need you there to make sure things go smoothly." He said, not looking up, "What did you need to discuss with me?"

Knowing he had to be quick about this did nothing to settle the hammering in his chest. Midas clenched his fists behind his back, willing himself to stop being ridiculous. He had very little reason to think Montague would refute him. And even if he did, oh well. It would be settled either way, and he would not walk away from this like some spurned teenager.

Midas took a step towards the desk, also looking down at the map. He spoke in a leveled voice, "I wanted to talk about us."

"Us?" Montague looked up, meeting Midas' neutral expression with mild annoyance before he sighed and raised an exasperated hand to rub his eyes, "Midas, we have talked about 'us'. I've already told you I cannot afford to be distracted--"

"I know what you said." Midas replied, not allowing anything other than resolve to creep into his tone, "I don't wish to talk about us in the context of a fling. I'm not suggesting we continue in the same vein as the…encounter, we had before."

"Encounter. That is one way to describe it." Montague huffed before he came around to the other side of the desk and stood beside Midas, "Fling or otherwise, I cannot prioritize a relationship. We do not have time for this."

Midas turned his body to face him, and a beat of silence passed between them as he thought about his next words. Montague went to speak again, but before he could say anything likely to reiterate him as a distraction, Midas let his shoulders relax (despite the vice grip he held on his wrist behind his back).

He spoke softly, calmly, "I love you, Montague."

Montague blinked, standing stiff, still and silent. The seconds that passed counted by the thudding of Midas' heart in his ears.

"You…" Montague finally let out a humorless type of scoff, "You what?"

A laugh of any kind was not the reaction Midas had wanted, but he supposed it could have been going worse. He wasn't being yelled or swung at, insulted, or told to vacate his office immediately. He took a step forward, closing the gap between them a fraction, but not breaching personal space just yet. Midas took pleased notice of how the other man did not step away. He still spoke softly, but with purpose, "I love you. I have taken time to try and understand what it is you stir in me, and I've realized it is my heart. You are my heart."

"Midas." The expression on Montague's face was difficult to read. Mostly, he looked surprised, if not a bit confused. However, the slight furrow of his brow while he looked off to his desk read to Midas like…sadness, of a kind. Another reaction he hadn't wanted. He watched as the other man sighed and brought a hand up to run it through hair that Midas yearned to feel nestled against his neck every night from now on, "I don't know what to say."

"Say the truth." Midas did reach out then, taking another small step forward to place golden hands over the other's waist. Montague said nothing, laying his own tentative hands on the other's arms. No matter how much all of these feelings perturbed him originally, the Golden King could do nothing to stop how they consumed him in this moment. He allowed a touch of the intensity he was feeling to seep into his tone, "Tell me you love me too."

Montague's eyes flicked about Midas' face before uncharacteristically casting down to the floor. This wasn't going exactly the way Midas had wanted, but he could fix it. He could convince Montague his feelings were true. There was no longer a spark of doubt in his mind, Midas needed Montague to reciprocate. Based on his behavior while they were alone together up until this point, he was certain he would.

"Or don't." Midas said, hesitating.

Montague swallowed and finally met his eyes. What Midas saw in them was so, complicated. Feelings almost as different as the color of his irises themselves. Midas moved in closer, their bodies together as his hands slipped around to the small of the other man's back. He continued, whispering as if saying it at a normal volume would be too convincing, "Say the words. Say that you don't want this. That you don't want me, and I will drop this forever. We will never speak of this again, I will forget, and we will be partners in business only. But…I need to hear you say it. If you can't, I will continue to love you until the day I truly die."

Montague remained silent, his body relaxing in the King's arms, eyes closing, and his hands languidly sliding up to Midas' shoulders.

A moment went by like this, and Midas' felt a relief--an elation, wash over him. Were it not for the armor he wore, Midas would believe the steady pounding of his heart could've been felt through his chest against Montague's. It wasn't the verbal affirmative he'd been hoping for, but he'd take an inability to reject him as an approval of sorts. With this, Midas knew Montague wanted him for something, and this delighted him. He smiled and pressed in closer still, their lips ghosting together as he whispered, "Monty--"

"I don't want you."

The words were as sharp as the diamonds Montague could coat himself in. Loud and clear, and yet they struck Midas dumb anyway. The hard rhythm of his heart seemed to cease entirely as his body froze. He didn't have any time to process before Montague spoke again, his tone as clear and calm as Midas' confession.

"I don't love you, Midas."

Midas pulled back just enough to look into Montague's eyes when he opened them. What he saw before was replaced entirely by the same steely gaze he'd seen the thief use in his business dealings. Something inside the King ruptured. The pain that came with it sending a shock through his limbs, numbing his fingers. A tremble might have started through him if he had any less control over himself.

Montague must have seen a shift in his expression, because he gently pushed back on the other's shoulders to replace some of the gap between them. Midas fought against the instinct that made his fingers twitch with the desire to hold Montague as close as he wanted to. Hands again settled on his waist, Midas desperately searched Montague's face for anything he could use to salvage this. He raked over his features for any sign of doubt or regret. He found nothing.

Midas closed his eyes and took in a long inhale to try and calm the raging storm brewing in his mind. He then stepped back, straightened, and his hands retreated back behind him. When he exhaled and opened his eyes again, Montague was mirroring his stance.

"Alright." Midas said plainly. Montague raised a brow at him, but he only gave a placid smile in return. He would not allow any of what he was feeling to show through. He could not. He extended his gilded mechanical hand to the other, "Partners it is then."

Montague studied the hand extended to him, and then the man behind it. Midas would later wonder if the other man's expression was as impossible to read as it seemed, or if he himself was simply too bereft in emotion to glean anything at all. The relief he felt when Montague did finally shake his hand was abysmal. His fingers were still numb when they let go, the thudding of his heart evidently serving no purpose but a futile attempt at mending itself in the moment.

"As it has been, call me whenever you need. I will be by your side at a moments notice." Midas spoke steadily. Montague nodded curtly before moving back around the desk, eyes cast to the map once more.

It took everything Midas had just to will himself to move, and even then he only managed to turn his head to look at the other, "I'm afraid my first act as solely your business partner will be to disappoint. I won't be able to attend the meeting with Peely and Jones."

Montague looked up at him, annoyance painfully clear on his features. Midas continued, "They have already agreed to aid us against any lingering gods. I'm sure everything will go fine in my absence." He finished before heading for the door.

"Midas, wait!" Montague called sharply, "Where are you going? I need you for this."

Midas stopped with his real hand gripping the door handle. He looked back with the same calm smile, "Montague. I told you I will move on from this, and I will. I did not say it would be easy."

There was a moment of silence, Midas did not bother trying to read the other's expression, "I need time."

"How much time?"

The question sent a flash of annoyance over Midas that quickly muddled together with everything else. How was he to know when he'd feel normal again? This was the first time he'd have to contend with heart break of this kind. And it had only just shattered, "Not long. A couple days."

"Fine." Montague said before his expression fell into something the King deeply resented, "I'm sorry, Midas."

Hearing this only compounded everything. Instead of allowing himself to boil over, Midas let out a single laugh, "You have nothing to apologize for. I asked for the truth."

Montague's eyes fell away from him. Midas opened the door then, not looking over his shoulder to say, "Don't pity me, Montague. It doesn't suite either of us."

He did not close the door behind him, a layer of gold having bloomed over the brass and wood.

[crowleyramwire]

hey guys do we fw the midague ship art.

i got commissioned 15$ to draw this.. so!! I never draw people, like ever, so this is my first time in a while drawing humans. the warrior cat artist will always live in my heart !!! I have an extremely unhealthy obsession with Montague and Midas so yeah!!!

you can use my art as a PFP, banner, on TikTok videos, I don't care as long as there's credits LMFAO (crowleyramwire) ! <3

shaded version too

[bellatrixnightshade]

Earthlings and Aliens

@liketwoswansinbalance

here it is!

Well, this was actually an experimental bit of writing I published so it isn't technically finished, and this AU is more "free range" for now. It has endless possibilities and plots I would like to use, so I don't think I will write a strict storyline to it.

Midas couldn't believe his eyes when he found the Rhian from the stories standing right in front of him.

An actual extraterrestrial being.

Midas had always heard that aliens were grotesque and strange creatures that looked nothing like human beings, yet here Rhian was, no older than he was.

Granted, Rhian still had certain vibes that could not be from this planet. Unearthly beauty. His blue eyes had some sparkle in the irises and the puplis, like miniature stars in the evening sky. His wild blonde hair and his skin also had touches of sparkle and shine. And were those antennae? Midas was not hypnotized or impressed, to Rhian’s misfortune. In fact, he was filled with distrust. He didn't trust this stranger, much less one who was ogling at him.

Rhian, on the other hand, was enchanted by Midas at first sight. The boy didn't look like the other Earthlings– so common and uninteresting. He could have been the child of either sun or moon: his sweet looking gray eyes and his terracotta skin and copper curls made him look otherworldly.

"I don't want to go to your school," he snapped. "It isn't worth leaving Bongo or my home."

Rhian smiled, and this made Midas bristle. What was so funny? Was he really so inconsiderate? Being kidnapped by an alien was an Earthling's worst fear.

"Don't worry," he said, aiming a glowing finger at Midas to stun him, "you will be treated well on the way there. Wouldn't that be nice, to ride in an actual spaceship?"

"I don't know. I'm warning you, don't let my father or a safety official see you. Once they see an alien, it's over. The governments of Planet Earth are terrified of aliens. They think people like you will bomb us and annihilate us. They believe you will bring strange drugs and your people here." 

Rhian was about to laugh. 

These Earthlings were the most stupid people he had ever encountered. A toddler from his planet could easily destroy this neighborhood. And Rafal, RAFAL, the logical, cold, calculating, intelligent twin actually believed in these idiots, in their so-called potential. Maybe Rhian needed to take Rafal to the doctor. Maybe he was becoming sick in the head.

A snake slithered across the grass and Midas bent down to stroke its head. He glowered at Rhian. "I'm telling you, my dad's coming home any minute and when he sees you, he will-" He was interrupted by screams and his neighbors calling each other.

Midas left his backyard to his front door to get to the source of the screaming, stamping,  and unusual noise, traveling two blocks away. Arabella's house? Midas thought. Did she purchase drugs or something?"

Rhian was about to trail after him, but he turned to a giant screen. On display for the public view, were three disabled androids on the street. 

Rafal, he thought with despair. Rafal would fight like this. Rafal was in trouble. Rhian vaguely remembered Rafal heading in that direction for his special Earthling…

Rhian desperately wanted to go to the spaceship and leave with Midas. Let his brother fend for himself. Yet, Rhian didn't have Rafal's key and it wouldn't let him activate it without the key. Plus, he didn't know how Rafal got here and what directions he used. He didn't pay any attention. As he approached the house where his brother must undoubtedly be trapped in, he heard obnoxious yelling inside. Rhian remembered to use his disguise, and his antennae curled in his hair. This was more stressful than he thought. He could even feel them become more and more purple. No wonder his brother always hid them, even at home. 

"We need to scan your chip," an android said. "For your resistance, we have called extra forces."

A woman was sobbing. "My daughter told me everything. She told me this foreign freak wanted to take her away. To God knows where!" 

Rafal refused to go near the android. He was doomed if they scanned his chip, anyway. The android came to him, scanning it without his consent.

"Identity not recognized," it said. "You are under arrest for suspected terrorism, attempted abduction, and illegal entrance into our planet. Please follow us."

"I am not following you," Rafal snapped. "If you make me, I will make sure you share the same fate as those other stupid robots."

The woman looked up, glaring at him. "They already called humans against you. They will track you down and kill you, just like your people deserve. How dare you enter our world! We have had enough wars. We don’t need anymore, much less from invaders like your kind."

Rhian was silently watching. Midas was right. He hoped his dad wouldn't watch.

"Is she your friend?" Rhian asked, pointing to a redheaded girl, enamored with his brother. To his disgust, Midas' attention was also turned towards his brother.

"We are classmates and neighbors," Midas said slowly. "You brought more aliens, didn't you? More creatures to take our people to your home."

"Oh, he's just my brother," Rhian said quickly. "He was the one who brought me here. This wasn't my idea in the first-" The helicopters landed, and Rafal ran outside as far as he could, Arabella following after him. Someone in the crowd held a jar with a tiny Marialena inside. "They are infiltrating our home!" He screamed. Rafal eyed Rhian's disguise  in the crowd. Arabella headed in that direction. Suddenly, gunshots rang out and the crowd stepped back.

Rafal was hit. The police dragged him inside their plane. He was certainly doomed. He also found Rhian with another handsome boy. Again? He instructed Arabella to go to the ship as soon as possible and he gave her the key. She made a huge mistake in telling her mother, but she didn't know any better. Now she did. In case Rafal died here, at least Rhian had the key. At least he could fly home to safety.Arabella's mother had stabbed him in the stomach with a kitchen knife, then screamed "911" at her virtual assistant. Rafal wished he had obliterated that stupid computer program. He wished he had bombed this whole neighborhood.

[beatx-mavie-archangelx]

Hey Google how do I unlearn Fortnite's storyline and lore

[razedwrong]

I HAD AN IDEA. I love the idea of medusa with a blind girl but what about medusa with the daughter of king Midas? (I think her name was Marigold or something.)

Her father accidentally turns her into a golden statue and this causes him to regret his wish for the golden touch. In most versions of the myth she gets turned back into a girl. Let's say she remains a girl made of gold but she is brought back to life, as a reminder to Midas or something. Obviously that is dangerous because there are some people who wouldn't care that she is a living breathing person and just see her as the valuable material she is made of. So Marigold gets kidnapped… again. She manages to get away but she needs to find somewhere safe. At some point she ends up near the temple Medusa is living in and notices the statues and is just checking them out. The two run into each other and Marigold freezes because, hot damn a snake woman. And Medusa is like, damn I didn't mean to turn this random lady into a statue, wait is she gold?? Marigold collects herself and is like, hi just looking for somewhere to hide. You know a spot? Medusa’s all, you didn’t turn into a statue?! And Marigold kinda looks down at herself and is like, i'm already a statue. 

IDK I just feel like they would have so much to talk about. Both women with curses due to selfish men with power. And nobody is gonna try to kidnap the girl made of gold if her girlfriend can turn you to stone. Plus a girl made of gold would be hard to kill with a weapon and could defend her girlfriend from heros.

[caliburn-the-sword]

emma made me viscerally uncomfortable from season 3-6 and the reason is because it was like watching a barbarian multiclass as a cleric. like girl stop with the magical energy blasts!! just hit him with your sword!!! punch him in the face!!!!

[genlosscharliie]

i don’t usually write on my phone but i Had to make something

The sun has not yet risen. It’s still dark outside. You lay on the floor of the room you’re meant to call your own. Your actual house—you’d had that one for so long—had been destroyed a long time ago, at this point. It wasn’t long before they found you, was it?

You thought you had a stable system; something right for once, not susceptible to fall every five years, every time any single person decided they’d had enough of the last system.

You’d been wrong, so severely so. And what had all of this been for, in the end, if you couldn’t even keep this one thing with, after so long of being terrified to even think of how it’d be to not have the land here be yours.

It’s harder to convince yourself that this had been a good thing—to make up the same excuses, when karma had come knocking at your door again, when everyone is so open in hating what makes you up now more than ever before.

How long had it been, now? How many years desperate to stay in your position, swearing up and down that you’d never again be under someone else’s rule, that you’re free and only serve yourself and your people? How much time had you spent this paranoid just for nothing? Just to be exactly what you said you were fighting?

How many had died for, against, this; you? You know every martyr; they’re sewn between your ribs, engraved there like a brand you try to get to fade, to skin yourself free of, that never actually works. (You try to ignore the thought of the other brand.)

It’s hard to feel anything but defeated now. It’s been a long, long time since you could feel any significant amount of useful.

Your allies are preoccupied—each their own fight. (It is so jarringly similar to the past, like you’d accidentally gone back to 2014 and haven’t realised it just yet.) You cannot even help yourself anymore.

You’ve here for so long; longer than damn near anyone else. Was it your time to finally pass on, let the next Syria take the mantle and replace you? A better, more beloved version? One whose people did not hate it?

Every thought that occurs to you is more bitter than the last. There is commotion outside, now, and soon it turns into banging on the front door. You do not stand to open it, it’ll be broken through in a minute anyway.

Is this what you gave up all those promises to your people for? Do you regret it? You can’t say. You’ve always been the type to cling onto a perspective.

The door of this room is being shaken. Your only move is to uncover yourself, spread your wings out on the floor so you’re no longer hidden. You’re pretty sure someone will step on them when they enter now.

Besides the ever present pain of a conflict, you can feel the parasites already digging their claws into your land; seizing all they can. The greedy asshole couldn’t even wait a day, could he? If you’re being dragged down to hell for all of this, you hope to see him there with you.

The door gives now, you think the lock finally broke, and you are proven correct in that there is immediately someone stepping on your wing when it does and barking orders at you to stand up. You wonder if you’re at gunpoint right now.

You do as you’re told and hold up your hands above your head for good measure—the less threatening you look, the better. Maybe then they’ll just execute you instead of letting you rot in a cell. (Though, you’d probably fade away much faster than they’d give you credit for, in this state.)

You are lead out of the room, then the hall, then the house. You drown out the sound of booing when you’re brought outside, rope getting tied around your wrists like you’re to be paraded about. (Again. You try not to freak out, here. And to not say anything in French, just on instinct. Or to think of him at all.)

(You’ve been here before. Captured like this, once. On the sidelines, heckling the tyrants, once.)

It’s not a very well-done knot, but enough to drag you along to wherever this was going.

You wonder what’ll be left of you; go back to only representing a city, a name you hate, or maybe you’ll just end up another part of history, or maybe you’ll still be here, the newest incarnation of yourself.

You don’t know. You wonder what everyone else is doing right now, if you’ll have a funeral for this, or just forgotten. You can only name so many that would really care about that.

Seventy-eight years independent, sixty-one years Ba’athist. And all for what?

[peitalo]

First of all, I love your ideas/fanart specifically about King Midas but a question I have is...

Does he have any lore/personality traits or will you make a character sheet soon also it makes sense for him and Illusionist to get together they both give me Eldritch deity vibes

YESSS. Thank you so much!! :} here is a very quick “get to know me” for him as there is a lot that i’ve written:

He has an extensive backstory— younger heir to a throne prone to jealousy and neglect bitter and greedy to his core etc. killed his older brother for the crown…he’s selfish…. mean……values flair and glamour over function, abandoned and destroyed his home (castletown) and had a very ugly flaunt-my-new-power eyesore built instead.

He was cursed by his brother’s blade in that final fight to be bound to the nether (this is a Minecraft oc) and it works very similarly to midas’s touch, though the deeper the curse imbeds itself the more the nether wants to pull him into it— all of the portals in the server are currently overflowing, and he is becoming less and less stable. He leaves scorch marks and fire in his wake, and his hands have burned through all the gloves he’s attempted to wear. He is an awful wretched grief ridden man and the consequences of all of his ugliest emotions are always on display; illusionist is the only “person” (if you can call her that) he trusts, confides in, and… cares… about (yuck)……in some way.

They are both so gross and their love is disgusting god bless. I hope their engagement breaks off (they have a sickening evil bond) (they’re both doomed)

Here is his playlist <3!

[piepiepiemag]

What Glitters Isn't Mine

Golden Gear Midas (Fortnite) x Young(er)!Montague (Fortnite)

Summary: midas is worried sick about accidentally turning his not-so-obvious crush into gold the first time they share a bed. surely nothing will go wrong

Tags from AO3: Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror (???), Touch Starved Midas (Fortnite), Touch Starved Montague (Fortnite), Midague, Proofread (barely), Trans Male Character, Trans Montague (Fortnite), Trans Midas (Fortnite), T4T Midague Real

thank you to my duo for always showering me with plenty of ideas to write about!! <3 this one could work as a standalone story, but i recommend reading (Lighthouse) for full context!

Sleep has always been one of those commodities Midas could rarely afford. He  tended to stay up late into the night and wake up around daybreak, running on 5 hours of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system.

It’s gotten significantly worse ever since he got a noisy roommate, who preferred to stay up even later than him, then proceed to sleep through the entire day. He couldn’t get too mad at him for it though.

Montague had it a lot more rough. His vision was healing far slower than his other wounds, and he’s been plagued with nightmares since the day he laid hands on that cursed relic. He never told Midas about it, but it was quite easy to tell. 

Most nights Midas would wake up to the sound of him suffering and crying deep in his sleep, all alone on the living room couch he used as a bed. He would wake him at times like this, but it slowly got to the point that Montague would rather sleep during the day when Midas was busy elsewhere. He didn’t want to be a nuisance, he was already staying there rent free after all.

Midas could tell something was wrong even if Montague never spoke about it. He shut himself away most on days, cooking and cleaning to spend his time productively, then latching onto Midas’s Xbox for comfort.

Midas was worried, but he never asked. He didn’t ask him about that night, the night Montague came crawling to his house, bloodied up and on the brink of death. He didn’t ask about the amulet he decided to wear so close to that strange scar over his chest, the one right above his heart. 

He didn’t want to bother him, thinking that he would open up with time, when he was ready.

The amulet was concerning, they knew close to nothing about its properties, besides being able to heal people fast, and turning the blood around Montague’s wounds into crystals one time. It was a complete mystery to both of them, but Montague insisted on wearing it at all times, even though he couldn’t explain the reason why.

Montague was hard to read in general, but Midas was getting better at guessing what his actions would mean if he put them into words. Cooking and cleaning probably meant something like “thank you for letting me stay here”, and so on.. This night was no different.

“It’s cold in the living room..” - montague said as he opened the door to Midas’s room. He looked exhausted, even though it was only 1 am. In his arm he was clutching his blanket, looking like a scared child who  just saw a monster under the bed.

The gears were turning in Midas’s head, he could vaguely figure what this was about. He was probably just tired and didn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yeah..” - he replied, shuffling around in his bed awkwardly. A sleepover was honestly a pretty terrible idea..

With Montague around, his golden touch was near unmanageable. Pots, pans, plates, silverware, bedding, the couch, even the fridge had to be replaced by this point. He couldn’t exactly figure out why he was losing control this easily.. Well, he had a pretty close hunch, he just didn’t want to admit it outright.

Either way, he didn’t want him to stay, not in the slightest. Just the thought of it was making him queasy, his fists balled up, focusing on not turning his bedsheets gold with every fibre of his being. 

“You can sleep here if you want.” - he blurted out without thinking, mentally punching himself in the face in the process. 

He’s probably scared of having nightmares again. What kind of asshole would let him stay alone like this..

Montague nodded, quietly walking up to the bed and throwing his blanket down. He began undressing and Midas could feel his blood run cold.

“You haven’t been sleeping in that, have you?” - the question came out far more accusatory than he intended it to, the tone reminding him of his own mother’s. He felt disgusted. 

“Ugh maybe..” - Montague said as he looked down at his binder, fiddling with his hands. Even though Midas brought him 12 new pairs as a consolation gift, he still decided to wear that silly lemon pattern hand me down all the time. The one he was given by Midas the first time they truly met. 

It was kind of sweet, Midas’s heart would always skip a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of it, peeing out from under his shirt. 

“You really shouldn’t you know.. it’s real bad for your health and-“ - midas was so ready to start his lecturing, telling him all about the safety precautions he needs to take and stuff, but he was interrupted.

“You want me to take it off?”

The question hit him like a brick to the face, the room suddenly felt a lot more hot than it did before, and he could feel gold spilling over from his hands, onto the blanket below.

Just how the hell did he get into this?

“I-“ - he began, stopping himself immediately. Yes, he wanted him to take it off, but not in a weird way. More-so in a “hey friend who i like a lot, please don’t destroy your ribs while you sleep” type of way. Nothing more. Nothing less. He started again. - “Y…yes?”

“..whatever..” - Montague muttered, his face visibly flushed as he began to peel the fabric off of himself. Midas looked away immediately, but not fast enough, catching a glimpse of him in nothing but his boxers and that relic around his neck.

This was bad. Real bad. So bad. 

When he was done, Montague climbed into the bed, cozying up in his blanket on the other side of the bed.

Midas’s worst fears were slowly coming true as he felt more and more drops of gold spill from his hands. He wiped them off on the bedsheet not so nonchalantly. If this kept up he would run out of bedding.

He was not going to turn anything to gold. Not his sheets. Not the bed. And most definitely not his-

His blood froze the moment Montague scooted closer to him, quietly draping his arm around Midas’s torso, his face inches away from his chest. He could feel Montague’s warm breath on his skin, quickly forming goosebumps all around.

They cuddled before on the couch, at times when Montague had his nightmares, but it was never like this. Those only lasted until Montague fell asleep again, and they were all dressed up. This felt more than friendly, almost intimate. And while he wouldn’t have minded it in any other situation, right now Midas was mortified.

He took a deep breath as he folded one shaky arm over Montague, strategically placing it over his blanket. Midas could see the man’s lips curl into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and he made sure to etch it into his memory.

It was nice. He wished they could always sleep like this. The only sound he could hear were the crickets outside, and Montague’s breathing getting slower and slower by the minute, him falling asleep not soon after.

Midas’s eyes were getting blurry, sleep threatening to take over him, but he just watched as Montague clung to him, his eyelashes fluttering occasionally, his face more peaceful than he’s ever seen before.

He was stupid for feeling like this, but he was beginning to like his roommate more than what you would consider friendly. He would never admit it though, it was clear to him that Montague was not interested. At least that’s what he got from it, him being so hard to read and all.

In a moment of bravery Midas raised a hand and swept it over the man’s hair, ruffling his locks softly. It was fine. Everything was fine. He kept petting his hair with a smile on his face, almost getting lost in his beauty.

Midas was stupid, but it was fine. Just for a short while Montague was his, and that was enough for him. Admiring him like this was more than enough.

Midas’s eyelids slipped shut more and more as time passed, even as he tried to stay awake and be in control until-

Montague screamed, so loud that Midas immediately jumped, confused for only second, as he caught a glimpse of glistening gold under his fingertips, intertwined in his hair.

“Wha- Stop! It hurts!” - Montague gasped and heaved as the gold began to spread, spilling over from his hair, onto his arms and back. 

“W-Wait! No! Please-“ - midas pulled and yanked on his arm but it wouldn’t budge, it was like his fingers melted into the flesh of the man next to him. 

Montague cried and trashed around in horror only for a short while, within mere seconds his muscles began to freeze up, the gold seeping into his bones and rendering him near unable to move. All he could feel was an overwhelming amount of pain and terror, he felt like his body was on fire and freezing in an ice cold lake at the same time.

Midas tried with all his power to stop, to at least slow it down or reverse it somehow but nothing was working, he grabbed his arm with his other hand but it also began to weep gold, leaving him unable to movie as well. He tried to calm Montague but it was all in vain, he couldn’t even calm himself.

The room was filled with their wails of despair until the gold finally fully overtook Montague. He suddenly stopped all his sounds, staring up at Midas, his eyes full of fear and hate as gold dripped down his face.

“WHY!?”

 “Please- I’m sorry I- Stop! No-“ - midas cried out as he tried to free his arms, glistening gold spilling out from them more and more with each passing second. Montague’s whole face contorted from the pain, his jaw looking almost unhinged as he screamed and screamed without stopping for a second. Then gold fully overtook him, silencing him as his expression remained frozen in absolute terror.

Midas stared at him in horror, before shutting his eyes, crying and screaming at the top of his lungs for help, any help, until he felt someone shake him by the shoulders.

Blue and brown eyes greeted him, inches away from his face.

“You kicked me in your sleep..” - montague stared down at him, his face back to normal, completely unharmed. Despite his cold words he had an awfully worried expression on his face.

It took Midas a moment to realise what just happened. He looked down at his hands, looking just like they did before. 

He almost felt stupid about it, before lunging forward, hugging Montague as close as he could. He was startled for a second, but he still ended up draping his arms around Midas, pulling him even closer. 

“Sorry.. I had a weird nightmare..” - midas mumbled as he buried his face in Montague’s shoulder. He never felt more relieved before in his life.

“Yeah.. i figured..” - montague replied, softly petting Midas’s hair with one hand. Guess their score was settled now.

[j0nesy]

Do you think Midas, a fallen king cursed with the touch of death, ever longs for the warmth of skin and not the cold of lifeless gold?

[golden-gear-guy]

((ooc: henlo just wanna say that i’ll stop updating this blog and leelah’s too indefinitely. i know it’s partially my fault for still being too anxious to interact but i’ve been feeling like i put way too much effort into this, only for my main rp partners to leave and fizzle out and i don’t think it’s worth doing this anymore. i had a lot of fun but i wanna put all this energy into something more fruitful if possible. i might come back later on but who knows. thanks for the fun times :>))

[ekster--exotic]

Doctor Midas’ Disquisition: Prolegomenon

   As seen to on the night of October 17th, 2024, at 20:40, I acquired a specimen of large interest. (Now known to me as the Lepirkian race.)

    It was a swift procedure of obtainment: I simply followed the target to a secluded space, then aimed a taser at his neck. (I’ve found that Lepirkians are easily incapacitated by electricity. Individual was unconscious almost instantly.) I approached with stealth and speed, however I was still detected by the specimen. His reaction time was impressive, but I was faster. (This is most likely due to the individual’s plumose antennae, which sense vibrations in the air. Further research have yet to be conducted on this attribute.)

Specimen Name: “Talisman”

Gender: Male

Height: 6 feet, 3 inches (190.5 centimeters)

Family and/or affiliated group:   Hepia Lepirkian Tribe

Specimen seems to have the closest resemblance to Tolype velleda, or the large tolype moth. Wing patterns are near identical, along with a substantial amount of fur-like scales located on his neck. 

Legs are bipedal, much like humans; however they take on a lightly curved and almost digitigrade appearance. 

Arms take on a humanoid form, albeit a few inches longer than the average person. Lepirkian hands are five-fingered and clawed. As observed on the specimen, Talisman, hands seem to fade into a black color at the fingertips. 

I have recovered a small sample of the  Lepirkian’s wing. Next, I plan to obtain a blood sample. (Wing procedure was painless and will not hinder his ability to fly in the future. Although, specimen was visibly distressed. I recognize that there were likely better, less upsetting ways to obtain wing sample, and I will try to avoid such outcomes down the line.)

Sample was observed under a compound microscope, and the results were fascinating. The wing scales showed clear similarities to smaller moth counterparts- although the scales themselves were more resistant and durable than a usual moth’s.

Hopefully I will learn the secrets of these creature’s near-immortal lives. It’s pivotal that I keep the Lepirkian specimen alive, as he is the only source of information I have. I’m in uncharted territory, and every bit of knowledge will count towards something greater. 

—Doctor K.E. Midas

@c-large-pancake-with-holes @l3m0n-c0r3 @azrael-1121 @s7nnydrop-flower @w1llow-w1sp @teddythetriceratops @stickmandennt @analoghorrorisyummy