#i guess it could be because the paper is a bit too thick but ive literally used this paper on this printer before with no issue

[sonknuxadow]

printers are so annoying theyre like Ohhhh i got a paper jam :( like 500 times Get over it and print the picture i know you can

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Ten) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten...

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf @mcuclintasha @8crazy-freak8 @peepeepoopoobutt @crazyunsexycool @moneyoverl0v3 @alixxhere @allthetroubleiveseen @dxrkymxrchy

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, angst, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), gunshot wounds, swearing, coma mention, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: This gif is was SOOOO hard to find. But the vibes properly address this newest part. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it was necessary. Hopefully, this will make it better :) Thanks for reading !!!]]

"I win!" Carl grinned, crossing through the x's on the grid with a sort of satisfaction -a brightness in the otherwise dim room, curtains drawn and machines beeping.

You hummed, peering over the paper with an exaggeratively questioning brow, "Did you, really? Let me see-"

"Fair and square," he spoke -defensive and puffing up his chest ever so slightly.

Handing the paper to you, your eyes slinked over the grid -tucking your pen back into the scrub pocket with a soft smile, "Hmm, I guess you did! Fair and square."

Carl smiled to himself, running off to Shane -who stood by the door, eyes laid heavy on the hospital bed. He was eagerly pointing, and nearly jumping up and down -Shane with ease knelt down to get a good look at what he wanted to show him.

"You-" Lori spoke, suddenly at your side -her mouth hidden behind her hand, "-You'd tell me, if it wasn't good, right?"

You took a glance at the IV, making the note to replace it soon, before turning to the woman -lowering your voice, "Of course, Mrs. Grimes. It's just. It's too early for any news at all."

"And the-" she started, swallowed, as her voice echoed shakily, "-the fluttering behind the eyes?"

"It's something pretty run of the mill," you answered -regretfully, "-patients in a comatose state can have some instinctual movements, muscle spasms, it's not... It's not conclusive."

"Right," she echoed -exhaling a sort of shaky breath out of her lungs, "-I guess I just- I don't know what to do. What... What would you do?"

"Ma'am-"

"Please," she voiced -tone thick but intentional, "-call me Lori."

"Lori," you corrected -heavy and trying to guide her, "-I can't make that decision for you. But-"

You turned her attention to her son, as he seemed to be recounting the game of tic-tac-toe to Shane -all happy, bright, hopeful energy, "-It's too early to let him lose what he has."

"Hope," she answered -a little desolate in tone, and you could tell she'd already lost it but Carl... Carl hadn't.

"And," you added with a bit of a laugh, "-if Rick's as stubborn as you say, I'm sure he wouldn't go down without fighting."

Lori smiled, hand tender on his -fingertips rubbing at the ring that stayed there, "He wouldn't."

"So, hold on for him," you echoed, placing a single hand on her shoulder, "-okay?"

That evening, when the visiting hours closed, you checked up his room -quickly switching out his IV and running through his vitals. You don't remember when it had started, but you'd begun talking to him -maybe it was because of Carl, the bright boy that was so sad. You weren't sure.

Flipping through his clipboard, you spoke, "Looking good, Grimes. Let's keep you breathing today, hmm?"

Roaming closer, you watched the beating of his heart -steady and consistent. Noting that you moved over to another monitor -one with his brain activity. It was a bit of a confusing sight to anyone who couldn't read it, but there was a spike -good. Never dipping.

"Dreaming well?" you smiled, scooting back and taking him in -laid completely motionless, and the flowers by his bedside still vibrant. It was always a sight that twisted your heart, even after the times you'd seen it before.

Something so desperate about the dark room and the beeping machines -lights a mere flicker. It was lonely, most of all, and part of you wished he'd had warm dreams. Cliche meadows, smiling, and family memories-

"Rick," you echoed, sitting into a chair -the one right next to him, "-I just want you to know that you have a wonderful family waiting for you here. But I-"

His chest moved in a rhythm, up and down.

"-I don't know how long they can wait."

Part of you wished to see anything different upon his face, anything, but there was nothing. He was still the same, curls tenderly brushed to the back of his head, and ring glimmering in the lights of the monitors.

"So," you cleared your throat -wiping at your eyes (this job never got any easier), "-just try and wake up soon, yeah? For them."

There was a whiteness that took over your mind then, bright beyond belief, and a sting flushing over your skin, hurt -dousing it in what felt like ice-cold water. Like you'd fallen to the ground, the concrete ground-

"Hey, hey-" there was a voice, one you recognized, brown eyes and long hair -Daryl, "-ya with me?"

There was a searing pain in your shoulder (the right one -your mind meekly noted) so overwhelming that it felt like your mouth couldn't work. It was like the sting of a million bees, nerve endings firing off -you couldn't see straight.

"I-" you tried, but it broke off -curling into some sort of slurred speech as it peaked in pain. Was this what it felt like to die?

Something in your brain was firing, as you tried to gather your words -fighting against the instinct, blinking back tears, "He... missed...?"

It was all breathy, and slurred, but you saw them pass over an understanding on his face -still somehow able to understand, "Yea, just- just hit y'er shoulder."

"Fuck," you echoed, flinching as the words seethed through your teeth, "-does not feel like just my... shoulder-"

Daryl merely looked over you, hands lifted and suddenly so bloody -it made your head spin. You were used to it, but not to yourself. You weren't usually the patient, not like this-

"I don't see anythin' else-"

"O-Okay," you swallowed back a groan, maybe even a scream, "-can you just put-"

Without a warning, his hands came to your shoulder -pushing (stopping the blood, something in your head remarked). You bit your lip so harshly that you tasted iron, "Shit, maybe warn me next time-"

"'Sorry," he retorted, fairly bland -but you could see the panic in his eyes.

You laughed, even though it hurt -each exhale met with a harsh inhale, "No you're not."

Daryl let out the smallest of smiles, and you counted it somewhat as a win. Even then, until your ears focused in, honed in on an extra voice.

"Shoot me, sheriff-" he echoed -grating on your ears, "-shoot me."

"What's-" you started -breaths heavy and eyes woozy, "-where's Rick? What's happening-"

"Breathe-" Daryl echoed, tone gruff and straightforward, "-you can't move like 'at."

"What's..." you took a deep breath in -quick and rushed, "-what's happening? Daryl, tell me-"

The world was getting spotty, white splotches smeared in your vision -it seemed so easy to sleep then, to rest your eyes. But your heart was racing against your chest, heavy beats echoing even larger than life, was he okay-

It wasn't worth it, if he was hurt -had he been shot? You couldn't stand it-

"Hey, hey, sweetheart-" a new face detailed in your face, blue eyes -you inhaled a gasp, "-I'm here, I'm here."

"Are you-" you spoke through ragged breaths, "-are you... okay? Are you hurt-"

Rick sighed -tears were in his eyes, you could see them, "I'm fine. 'Should be worryin' 'bout yourself."

You inhaled -a shaky sort of breath, as Daryl's hands stayed pressured -the sear of the pain so stinging that your head spun. But you stayed, trying desperately to stay present, to stay with him.

Distantly, you felt this might be it. You didn't want to miss him now -not now.

"Bandage," you spoke, through the heavy breaths -labored, working so hard to merely speak, "-somethin', something to wrap it with. Bleeding... stop the bleeding-"

"I kno'," he responded, quick as his hands moved to the ends of his shirt, "-I kno'. Just stay with me, 'kay? Keep y'er eyes on me."

He was rushing, a distant rip echoing through your head -he was using his shirt, you guessed. You merely followed the movement, eyes languid on his face -memorizing the push of his brow, the pull of his mouth. Despite the pain, something so wonderful about him being there -right in front of you.

"I missed you," you spoke -slurred and oh-so tired. But it felt necessary, built up deep in your chest -wonderous feeling busting at the center of your ribs.

Rick, who was busy with the fabric of his shirt, turned his eyes to you -blue eyes set upon you like you were the only thing in the world, "-I missed ya too, darlin'. Let me help you for once, 'kay?"

He mumbled something to Daryl, replacing the pressure with the tight wrapped fabric -your breath hissed out, flinching ever so lightly at the shift in feeling. Rick flicked to you for a second, eyes doused in a sort of deep concern -gently smoothing over your skin.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. 's gonna hurt-"

"I kno'," you spoke, muffled and murmured. You were so tired.

"Hey, hey-" he started, tiltin to meet your eyes -hand soft against your skin, guiding, "-stay with me."

"Rick," you hummed -pain a mere deafened noise in the back of your head, "-just so tired. I'm tryin'-"

"I kno', I kno', sweetheart," he echoed, a beautiful sort of thrum against your skin, "-just a lil' longer. Why don't you tell me somethin', anythin'-"

"I remember you, in the-" you interrupted, tone limp but still there, "-in the hospital. I used to talk to you then-"

"Did ya?" Rick responded, moving around and you could feel it. It all blurred to the background, "-what about?"

"Depends," your eyes scattered along his face, "-sometimes told you to wake up, and other times just complainin' 'bout somebody. There used to be- There used to be this lady, came in everyday. I'm so sure she hated me-"

"Really, you?" he hummed, "-Imma pick ya up, okay? Get you where you can get some help-"

"Tried to complain that I was flirtin' with 'er husband," you murmured -the shake of your head as he gathered you up, pulling you close to his chest, "-was jus' bein' nice."

"Were you? Flirtin'?"

"No," you stressed, a little defensively, head leaning against his chest -the deep thrum of his heart rumbling against your skin, "-no, you kno' that."

"I do," he echoed -tone fond and it sent something warm down your spine, "-don't I."

And maybe your head was a little woozy, but you couldn't hold it back then -all slurred words and white splotches in your vision. The thrum of his heart beating you a lullaby, your eyes found themselves is a bleary haze.

"I love you, you know 'at."

And maybe he said something in response, you felt the rumble in his chest. But you... you hadn't felt safe enough to sleep in awhile, and gathered up in his arms -a familiar woodsy smell surrounding you, you had. It was like a bubble there, all cooped up with the pain a distant thrash, and somewhere deep in your head, you knew he'd keep you safe.

With that final thought, your eyes drifted shut.

[multiverse-of-mischief]

missed a day so catching up!

24 April:

How did your fine motor skills develop? Were you one of the first kids who could tie their shoe laces or do you think you'll probably never learn it? This is an "open question", if you want to ramble, start rambling.

i couldn't tie my laces for quite a long time, though i eventually learned when i was about 9 i think, im still not great at it though and it takes me longer than other people haha! honestly i don't remember much to do with buttons or anything else, but i do know about handwriting.

i have always struggled with handwriting, it used to be really big (and i also wrote in all capitals) for longer than it should have been lol, i eventually got "alright" handwriting when i was like 12 maybe? i could never do cursive as a kid, ever, although now it can be a stim for me and distract me from things because of the concentration and effort it takes. my writing is now legible (most of the time) and if i try really hard, it can be neat for like a couple lines lol. when i need to be faster or don't care as much, my writing is all over the place but still legible and it takes me a bit longer than the average slow writing person, i almost got exam accommodations for this, but it was just too fast which was very frustrating because i then had to push myself writing in exams 🙄

i can actually write super small if i want to, im usually the only one that can properly read it because of how small it is lol, i often did that on worksheets in class

writing really hurts my hand and ive never had good pen posture, i end up with callouses on my ring finger knuckle because of how hard i push haha, my ex used to try and hold a pen like i do and she couldn't do it at all, no one really knows how i ended up doing it (i swear it's not even that weird) but i can't hold it any other way. i also struggle with the pressure of my pen and i push too hard, which ends up making my lettering harder to read because of the thick lines (i tend to write pretty small now actually unless im really rushing). overall, writing hurts and i don't like it, i also need to bend over so im like 5cm away from the paper or i can't write properly, no idea what that's about but i used to lay on my desk while writing a lot in school lmao. it's strange because i really love drawing! i do struggle with the same things though (pushing too hard, muscle pain after a short amount of time, etc)

25 April:

How did your gross motor skills develop? Did you walk early or did you struggle to walk (if you can walk)? Do you have a bad posture? This is another "open question".

i learned to walk really early! i skipped over the crawling stage too, just went straight from tummy shuffling to walking lol

while i can walk well (in terms of motor abilities, im leaving pain and fatigue out of this), i struggle to walk slowly; i see myself as kinda like a bicycle haha, i need to walk at a certain minimum pace or i start to topple. i don't know how to describe why other than just my feet don't move automatically when i walk slow and i have to think about each step, i trip over my own feet and lose my balance a bit. i also tend to bump into people a lot and can't walk in a straight line very well (yay poor proprioception lol); my ex used to say that id never convinced people i wasn't drunk lmao and i have to agree, i wouldn't believe myself either honestly [lighthearted, self teasing]

my posture has always been awful i think, although ive gone through phases of having amazing posture from constant conscious effort (i think i was trying to copy my favourite character lol) but that ended up really hurting my back and taking too much mental energy so i stopped.

similarly with walking slowly, i struggle to stay standing still and often need to lean on something like a wall or i'll start to stumble and topple over. as i said in a previous post, i do actually have good balance, i guess i just have to focus on it more or something, strange bodies.

oh, throwing too! i can catch well (and really enjoy it, i loved practicing catching a ball in class) but when it comes to throwing the ball back...yeah. i don't know what it is about it, my arm just doesn't listen to me properly lol, my teachers got very frustrated with me for that and honestly i got frustrated with myself! i really wanted to play cricket and dodgeball so it sucks that i lack a crucial skill for them :(

this could just be down to my amnesia but ive also struggled with swimming, i find it difficult but manage to learn after a while, and then when i try again, im back to square one! my family is baffled and often don't actually believe me that ive forgotten. again, it's one that im pretty upset about because i enjoy swimming despite the sensory difficulties of after getting out

[izepeche]

I am new to the strange obsession, but oh my gosh your works are amazing. I just want sinister strange to do whatever he wants and for me to say thanks afterwards.

I dunno what to say omg thank you thank you thank you love 🥺✨ im honestly surprised ppl still show up on my blog lol

I have so many things I wanna do but with my condition i can’t do much but i should be fully cleared to go home by tuesday ✨

but i agree. i was never really into Strange until this movie. i mean i love his design and ive drawn him many times before but idk he just didnt speak to me before now.

i have the filthiest shit to write and draw i am so vile and feral because of it but so is he. they knew exactly what they were doing when then designed him omfg. i have a HC that he’s really into bondage (including self bondage) and its killing me. its killing me that i cant write it all rn.

you did not ask for this, so i apologize in advance. but ive had this little thing rolling in my head so -

Sinister seems like he used to be a professor and its driving me crazy thinking about him in a AU being the low toned sort of teacher who everyone respects. never raises his voice (and doesnt have to) to get his pupils to behave because he’s also silently terrifying. you can hear a pin drop in his class, even when its a study period and he’s sipping his coffee and reading a book. could probably make a student cry without even trying, without even looking at them (tho he will glance to see the tears) and would secretly enjoy it because he’s a bloody bastard. takes no shit and is clearly passionate about teaching and I just wanna see him in glasses and at a desk fiddling with papers? like look-

In this Professor Sinister! AU id say he definitely smells like dark roast coffee and old books. wears a sort of musky, old timey smelling cologne with spicy citrus notes. keeps to himself, doesn’t really interact with the other professors, but may strike up a short conversation with maintenance or the cleaning staff in the evening. even though he’s a strict man he sports a more casual appearance than one would think. im thinking just regular slacks n shoes, rolled up sleeves to his forearms, usually wears a black turtleneck or dark button down shirt with a few too many buttons open if the AC is busted (again), thick salt and pepper hair slightly tussled as its been run through by his fingers because these fucking kids can’t even double space their essays how did they pass high-school.

crystal eyes lingering a bit too long on an unsuspecting pupil who is always well behaved and attentive. openly teases them to the point of hot embarrassment when they ask to be excused to the restroom, even though they asked so nicely and they really have to go. but ,” ah, ah, not until i say so.” “you know you just went 10 minutes ago” “you took too long last time”

purposefully writes comments on their papers ‘see me after class’, even if its the most well-written dissertation he’s read all year. he’s rather knowledgeable and will always find something to offer correction on. as ‘punishment’, he tells them to help him prepare for the next class by writing what he tells them on the chalkboard. this is when his usual low key tone, shifts to something else.

The professor not so subtly stares at them, scrutinizing their handwriting and how their dainty wrists move under his command. no, Professor Strange definitely does not get off to how they struggle when he asks them to write higher, up on their tip toes and a bit wobbly. he’ll make them erase a whole line if they make a single mistake in their penmanship (which is easy because of how tired and cramped they are getting). he’ll cruelly mock them, “are you getting distracted?” “we can try something easier if this is too hard for you” “why are you stopping, you’re not finished yet” “i mean, Jesus, it looks awful. but i guess if that’s the best you can do-“

and if he’s feeling particularly snippy he’ll snap a ruler on his desk to startle them, possibly messing them up further, barely bothering to stop the smile dancing on his lips. he still throws in a smart ‘thank you’ when theyre done that definitely doesn’t make up for his brash behavior. its hard to tell if his harsh interactions are serious or a ploy of flirtation, but its intense enough to get under the skin every time that they are completely flustered when they gather their things to leave his room.

its wrong to be tormenting his own innocent pupil like this- many would say the poor thing doesn’t deserve it and the professor's intentions aren’t noble. but its not wrong if they keep coming back, right? not that he gives a damn, nor gives them much of a choice; he’s not exactly a model on morality. besides, a man can have a little fun, no?

i just- love him. i love him i love him

as soon as i saw him i knew it was curtains for me. he is utter perfection because sinister is just so fucking broken and deliciously unhinged and loosely disguised as a quiet gentleman. i love the fact he’s self aware enough to know he’s a filthy bastard but he just. doesnt. care. and like great! neither do i sweetheart. id beg this man to break me, and like please sir call me all the names.

[deripmaver]

4 5 6 for ALL OF THE CaPri FANFICS

LKSJMDHGVLKSJ ALL OF THEM???

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? 5: What part was hardest to write? 6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

Ink On Paper (tongue fic) 4. lmfaoooooooo there isn't a whole lot of dialogue in this one oop-

Laurent nodded. The wax softened as he pressed his hand into it, erasing his previous message. Soft, warm, melting under his touch. He wrote again, I need someone who is not afraid to read out the insults I make towards the idiots at court. You have been fired, Damianos.

i guess it technically counts lmfao. i just wanted to show laurent post-trauma still able to make jokes and snipe at his husband so it wasnt all doom and gloom 5. i'm not sure exactly what "hardest to write" here means because like... a lot of these fic have serious gore or otherwise upsetting content, but both emotionally and actually writing wise i find that kind of thing actually pretty easy to write hahahaha. i think i got stuck with the chronology and the decision to make it non-linear made it flow a lot better. for the record writing laurent getting raped and then having his tongue cut out was actually very easy to write, i think i got it out in basically one go. #cancelme the more fucked up and intense the easier i find to nyoom through it 6. my first ever fic in the capri fandom!!!! hehehehhehehe <333333 Level Of Concern (plan B fic) 4.

Before Nicaise could say anything, Laurent spat, “Does he know you had your first heat?”

SURPRISE nic was the one who was pregnant the whole time!!!!!!! 5. this one i banged out REALLY quickly so i cant think of anything here 6. capri omegaverse!!!!!!! i wish there was more of this 🥺🥺🥺 Like Me (what if Auguste was also abused fic) 4. ******CW INCEST MENTION CW ABUSE MENTION******

“Your brother’s stuck his dick in every single member of your family,” Auguste spat out, laughing, crying, and so miserable he thought his heart would stop. His voice rose again, and he felt something burst from him as he screamed for the whole world to hear, “Did you know that? Did you, huh papa? Did he fuck you too?”

dude this line is so fucked up lmfao but i enjoyed writing it so much. actually this entire scene where auguste is having his breakdown was really intense to write and im really pleased with how it came out OR

Auguste grabbed him suddenly, looking up into his grief-stricken face desperately. “Please, Laurent,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Please. Don’t let him end up like me.”

i felt entirely too clever with this line lmfao. i was like ~ooooohhhhh title drop~ im so dumb 5. i just remember this one like. dragged on for some time. i couldnt figure out what to do with it, how to get everything to coalesce around the final reveal about auguste 6. plot twist!!!!!!! plus auguste angst. i really enjoyed this one, i wrote it after watching the movie Spotlight which is one of my all time faves Softly, Gently 4.

“My King has been overexerting himself again, I presume?” Paschal sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “When have I ever done that?” Laurent cocked his head to the side, a wry smile on his face.

hehehehe sassy laurent my beloved <33333 5. honestly im just going to skip this one from now on lskjghmvlksjhglkvsjhdl i just get "stuck" sometimes without rhyme or reason and its usually on boring stuff, but then i cant remember later. the hardest part for me is when my dumb fucking adhd brain wont let me focus on writing but once i overcome that its usually pretty smooth sailing 6. horny omegaverse.................... my beloved............... giving men vaginas for horny reasons my beloved......................... Water of Life (birth fic)

“Do you want to hold him?” Erasmus breathed, eyes glassy. The baby cried, Erasmus bouncing him tenderly in those sunkissed arms. He looked apologetic. “Only for a moment, it’s not quite over yet.” A playful smile danced on Erasmus’ lips, and he brushed away a slick, damp curl from the wailing baby’s head. “A head this big, he certainly takes after Exalted.”

a cute, fun lil line in the sea of horrible angst lmfao ORRRRRR

Erasmus knelt before Damen, before Laurent. He said, “Exalted… Can you command his Highness to push?” Damen froze. “Do you mean…?” Erasmus nodded. “Alpha command.” Damen’s expression crumpled. He said, in a voice that shattered Erasmus’ heart, “I can’t. I can’t do that to him.” Erasmus licked his lips. “Exalted, in this state, he can’t push. His contractions are weaker. He’ll-” “I can’t,” Damen cried, clinging to Laurent’s limp body like a lifeline. “He’d… He’d never forgive me.”

damen is so sweet........ he loves laurent so much...... ORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

He stopped at the doorframe, turning to face Laurent with tears in his eyes, and whispered, “How long does it take, your Highness?” Laurent, shocked enough to respond, hissed, “What?” “I still wake up in the middle of the night thinking of it,” Erasmus said, voice thick in his throat, tears burning at his eyes. “How long until it’s over?”

real sad hours if u up click like. i love erasmus and laurent bonding over their shared trauma <33333333333333333333 laurent and erasmus friendship propaganda 24-fucking-7 bay bee!!!!! 6. unironically this is one of my fav fic ive ever written skdljmfhgvlksjdhflmgkvjshldkjfghvmls call the midwife is one of my favorite shows and writing this made me look at birth as something visceral and possibly horrible and traumatic. i wanna write more fucked up birth scenes, SO MANY MORE. ridley scott knew what he was doing Sandalwood (erasmus/kallias my sweet boys i love u so much) 4.

“I do,” Erasmus breathes, ducking his head, flushed as though embarrassed. “In the gardens, the perfume from the orange trees all around us on those summer nights.” Kallias smiles behind him – Erasmus knows his body so intimately he can feel it in how Kallias’ posture changes, though he can’t see the soft turn of his lips. “The scent was so cloying I thought it would drive me mad. It made me want to kiss you senseless.” Erasmus laughs, breathlessly, imagining the warm heat of Kallias’ mouth against his. “Don’t blame that on the orange trees, dear one.”

beloved..................... im weeping.......... 6. these two make me fuckign CRY ON THE REG I LOVE THEM SO MUCH MY SWEET BOYS YOU DESERVE THE WORLD- Wisps of Smoke******************* (lauguste fic) 4. ***CW EXPLICIT INCEST*** (i mean....... obviously lmfao)

“Call me what I like,” Auguste growled against his ear. “You know what I like.” He did. Laurent did. He knew everything Auguste liked – the slow flick of Laurent’s tongue on the underside of his cock, that tender spot behind his earlobe, the way Laurent’s thighs looked straddled atop him like his horse – and this. “Brother,” Laurent gasped, desperate, “Brother, please, harder. Harder.”

i wanted the incest to be explicitly part of the kink here lmfaoooooo 6. hehehehehehehhehehehhehe lauguste................... i need to write more of u But I Love It (laurent is allergic to latex fic) 4.

“Laurent,” Auguste said, voice high in warning. Laurent braced himself, stiffening visibly. With what seemed to be monumental effort, Auguste continued, “You know, Laurent. I’m proud of you.”

IM A SOFT BITCH OK???????????????? auguste is PROUD of his baby bro for overcoming his sexual trauma and getting that fat dick 6. SLJHVDLMKJDHGVLK PEOPLE FUCKING LOVED THIS FIC i tried to be funny and i think it worked. plus some softe bits thrown in. i also kind of see lots of humor fic where its a no abuse au, but i wanted to write something comedic where the regent still. existed u kno????? anyways hahahahha i dont think i can write anything like this again but im glad y'all liked it Is It Cold In The Water (slice of life fic) 4.

Laurent opens his mouth to say something cheeky, but instead, what comes out is: “Do you think Aimeric had the right idea?” Damen is quiet for so long, gaze serious and framed with his long, dark lashes, that Laurent wonders if he’d spoken aloud at all – and when he’s sure he had, he realizes Damen had remembered Aimeric after all. When he speaks again, the sleep is gone from his voice. “Laurent,” Damen says carefully, as though approaching a spooked horse, “Is something wrong?”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 soft,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 6. ruby likes this fic lskjdvhmflgksfjdhmvglkjsdhflkvgmjhlekjfhdvlgskjfhv im a SIMP- The Devil's Got Nothing On Me (AIMERIC FIC LEGGOOOO) 4. there are lots of lil nuggets in here!!!!

Aimeric blinks, and all he can think is, you knew? He says, "I – I just." "I am a patient man," Guion breathes, "I support everyone in my household. Everyone. But Aimeric, you are truly testing my patience. Your mother came to me in tears, begging me to find you. Look at what you did to her! There was nothing I could say until we found you!" "I'm sorry," Aimeric whispers, looking at Loyse, "I'm-" "Look at me," Guion roars.

this conversation was inspired by a very miserable encounter with my boss lmfao. fuck that guy and fuck guion

The regent, blue eyes sparkling - and Aimeric has never thought eyes could look just like a summer sky until now - says to Guion but really to Aimeric, "I was thinking I could take little Aimeric riding tomorrow. Just the two of us." Loyse says, before Guion can speak, voice trembling with relief, "I think that's a wonderful idea, your Highness."

~dramatic irony~ lmfaoooooooooo. WE know of course that this is a bad thing, but it's always fun to have characters make bad choices that they have no idea are bad. i also did this briefly in "Like Me" with auguste's ex wife taking nicaise to church because she was so overwhelmed at home and he offered to help. of course, the regent is always happy to help out. evil evil evil

"-was worried it might be difficult for him." A soft, lilting laugh. The guards had said the regent was in the library, and then there is Guion, right there with him. Aimeric is suddenly angry, not sure why his father is with the regent, who is his and no one else's. The regent responds, "I daresay it's been perfectly easy. It seems you've done most of the work already."

i wanted to highlight the fact that it was aimeric's neglect that lead him to the regent in the first place. hence "youve done most of the work already" - guion by ignoring and neglecting aimeric created the perfect environment for the regent to sweep in and take advantage. like leaving food out btwn 40-140 F is a perfect breeding ground for bacteria LOL. the books touch on that but i wanted to make it explicit

He is so, so ashamed. It's unbearable, the thought of her kind eyes, the way she cried for him, the way he pushed her away. Before he'd left to join the prince's guard, she had taken his hand, kissed it, and said in a voice fragile as glass, "It's been such a long time since I've seen you smile like that," but in that moment he could think only of the regent's letter warm in his pocket.

6. honestly i know ive sounded super conceited this whole time but i kind of tear up whenever i read through the end of the fic lmfao. aimeric is just so fucking depressing as a character and i love that i really got to explore that in this fic. he really didnt have anyone, did he????? he's like a tragic greek character where you just watch him stumbling towards his inevitable end and it hurts the whole time. its even worse on the reread ANYWAYYYYYYY thats it. thanks so much for the ask anon!!!!!!! feel free to send me more!!!

[oimoi-op]

when were you diagnosed with t1d?

Ok, so storytime! Short answer is, as of today, barely over two months ago. 

(Very long post warning y’all, contains hospital mention and extensive, possibly upsetting descriptions of health conditions, specifically DKA)

My family doesn’t really have a history of T1D or even T2D, though my second-cousin-once-removed has had T1D for over a decade now. So, there was never any reason for me to try and get tests done for it. The only sign I really had up until last semester was two copies of a variant of an HLA gene that I knew about from a 23andMe report (which, according to the report, put me at a higher risk for celiac’s and nothing else), but of course at that time I had no idea that that could mean anything serious; after all, that sort of thing only happens to other people, right?

My college started in-person classes in the latter half of August. By October, I started feeling tired, having a lack of appetite, and needing water very, very badly. I actually went to my school’s clinic, and my erratic heartbeat prompted the doctor to recommend me for a Covid-19 test. My school’s protocols meant that I had to quarantine at my home (since I live within two hours of campus) until I got a negative test result. At home, I was drinking water all the time and sleeping constantly, and my parents had commented on how I’d been losing weight. I thought these were all good things. I had been slightly overweight at my high school graduation, and I’d always heard that drinking a lot of water is good for you, so I thought I was actually in excellent health even if I kind of felt like shit most of the time.

Well. Uh. I was wrong.

When finals came around in mid-November, I was just fucking tired. I’d get a decent eight hours of sleep and still have to take naps during the day. Hell, I was even late for work because I slept through one of my nap alarms. Studying was a pain in the ass. Attending classes was a pain in the ass. Staying awake for Zoom classes was a pain in the ass. I was waking up at 5 am to go to the bathroom, and then I would drink the rest of my water, refill it, drink half of it again, and then go back to sleep. Finally, November 20th rolled around, and I got to leave campus. It was my birthday (yeah I am a Scorpio and that weirds all of my friends out lol), and my parents took me to Fusion. And I just...couldn’t eat at all? I love hibachi, but I couldn’t even eat half of my food. The chef even got me a delicious banana split that I had to basically bully my younger sister into eating with me.

For the next week, I was sleeping about 18 hours a day. I didn’t think this was weird because I’d just had finals so yeah, it makes sense that I would be tired after exams and whatnot. I went shopping with my mom, sister, and sister’s bff. We were only out for a few hours, but I was fucking wiped out y’all, like in pain. Thanksgiving arrived, and again, I love food, I love eating, but I was not hungry in the slightest. I basically had to force myself to eat some of my favorite holiday foods just so I wouldn’t offend my mom, and then I didn’t eat for the day.

The very next morning, I was puking my guts out.

This started a pattern for the next few days: I would eat chicken noodle soup or some other food, sleep like the dead, and throw up every morning and every night. I started chugging large bottles of Gatorade constantly (which, if you know about diabetes and its health complications, did not help my situation in the slightest). I started breathing erratically after very little exertion. Like, I’m talking standing up and stretching brought about heavy, labored breathing. I weighed myself on my parents’ scale, and I was under 130 lbs. Now, for some people this might seem like a lot, but due to my height and build I could fucking see some of my ribs. That was when I started to realize that something was very, very wrong, but “losing weight is good” and I didn’t want my parents to laugh at me for voicing concerns (though, for all their faults, in hindsight, I doubt they would’ve). Yeah. Don’t do that, folks, that’s not a good mindset to have. 

On Sunday, my mom took me to town to get tested for Covid. This was despite me saying that I didn’t have symptoms (which I knew very well due to some of my friends catching it at school). Rapid test came back negative, so I did a culture test. Hell, while I was sitting in the damn chair, I was about to pass out. I asked for a nausea pill but my mouth was too dry for it to dissolve. I got a cup of water, downed it all, and felt like my throat was on fire. For the rest of the day I felt so, so awful. At some point I was walking toward my bed in my room and I fucking fell. I’m fucking lucky there was carpet. 

Regarding the rest of that night, things start to get blurry, for the lack of a better term. I legitimately cannot recall everything that happened that night or the following two days, so I will just try to explain it in the way I remember it best.

Around...midnight or one??? I was on fucking fire, so I went to my bathroom and decided to lie on the floor. The floor was hardwood and not at all cold, and it wasn’t fucking comfortable even in that state, but I was just in so much pain I didn’t even care. My mom must’ve heard because she found me there and asked me what I was doing. I said something about the floor. She asked me to go back to bed, but I must’ve scared her because she asked me if I wanted her to lie in the bed with me. I don’t remember what I said to her, but we were in the bed and she was trying to hug me, but she was too warm and so I told her to stop. I kept feeling this burning just below my chest, like there was acid in me (which I guess wasn’t too far off), so I would randomly sit up to try and alleviate the pain and not cry. I remember asking my mom to take me to the hospital in the morning.

My mom put me in the truck (I think around 5 am is what she told me). I remembered hearing my dad. I was lying down. Then I was awake, but I was on the floor. I thought this was wrong so I tried to tell my mom that but I guess I couldn’t talk. Then I was in a hospital bed, the ER I assume. My mom gave me some water with a sponge, and I was just so fucking thirsty. Then I was in the ICU hooked up to a bunch of machines. I didn’t know what was going on, but my mom kept giving me water with that sponge. That is all I remember from Monday.

I remember a little bit more from Tuesday. My mom said something about diabetes, but that didn’t make any sense to me because I wasn’t “fat” and I’d been losing weight, even! What had I done to get diabetes? I was thirsty and tired, so I slept a lot. At some point I really needed to use the restroom so I unhooked my IV???? (I mean I must’ve disconnected myself somehow but I can’t remember the details) which set off a shit ton of alarms and people were Very Concerned and kept asking me Why Did You Do That? But I just needed to go to the restroom, and they told me to use the Red Button to Call the Nurse (it was already there, and I now realize that we’d probably had a similar conversation about the Red Button to Call the Nurse possibly multiple times before this) in the future. A Chopped Teen Tournament from 2017 was playing on the TV nonstop. There were commercials for CGMs. I thought that God wasn’t being very funny about the whole thing.

As of now I remember even less of Wednesday, but I know that felt better. There was this diabetes specialist who kept talking about insulin and life at college moving forward, but I wasn’t really there, either because of being so out of it for health reasons, disassociating, or a combination of the two. My mom told me she had emailed a professor so he would give me an extension on an assignment that was due by then, and I remember crying because I thought that was just so nice of him. That night, this guy got me in a wheelchair and put me in another room, which I would later learn was the ACU. My night nurse was this nice woman named Tanya, who had a very thick Eastern European accent. She got me orange juice to take some potassium pills, but it felt like swallowing rocks. I didn’t really get a lot of sleep, so I was awake when the nurses changed shifts. I remember one of them expressing surprise that I was out of the ICU so early.

My mom took longer to come that day because nobody had told her I’d been moved. I’d had plain Cheerios and orange juice for breakfast, but I couldn’t really eat because my throat hurt so badly. I talked to a lot of doctors. I guess at this point or somewhere near it I accepted that I had diabetes, but it wasn’t really real until the same diabetes specialist was going over carbs. I thought I was never going to eat shit I liked ever again. I really wanted a fucking McChicken sandwich. I signed some papers for Medicaid because I had aged out of the CHIP while in the hospital. I finally texted my friends and explained to them what had happened. I was so fucking tired.

I got out the next day, so that was Thursday. Normally, I would’ve been in the hospital much longer (especially because my Medicaid hadn’t been approved, meaning no insurance had approved of my insulin yet), but Covid cases were on the rise and the hospital wanted me out of there. The diabetes specialist and one of my nurses snuck me two fast-acting and two basal insulin pens, and I was out. I ate half a McChicken, a small fry, and drank my first Diet Coke. It tasted like diesel mixed with piss. 

That’s the gist of it. The hospital staff was very nice and thoughtful the entire time, I think. I felt as though everyone involved cared about my health a lot. 

For those of you who aren’t T1D or just don’t know, what I experienced is called DKA, short for diabetic ketoacidosis. To simplify, I was very close to entering a diabetic coma. My sister later told me that our dad had said (I assume a doctor had told my mother, who, in turn, had told him) that I was “approximately 45 minutes” away from death. DKA happens when a diabetic (usually a T1D like me) has too much blood sugar in their body due to them lacking the insulin necessary to break the sugar down, so their body breaks down their fat reserves and muscle to get the energy it needs. This is why I lost around 50 pounds over the course of a few months (I was 118 lbs. when I entered the hospital, the lowest I’ve been since grade school). I was officially diagnosed with T1D on November 30th, just ten days after my 19th birthday, which is a little older than normal I believe. It’s...well, it’s not fun, but I feel very grateful for my large support system, and tomorrow I’m trying out a CGM for the first time and applying for both it and a pump, so things are really looking up 

[sorry-apsalar]

See You in a Bit Chapter 4/4: You Got to Fix Him

Fry woke up in a hospital room, a real one, not the sorry excuse for a medical facility that Zoidberg ran in the Planet Express building. He still hurt but not nearly as bad and his head was clear. An IV was in his good arm, his hand and wrist wrapped in thick bandages, his broken arm in a proper cast. And he was utterly alone. Which didn’t mean Bender hadn’t been repaired, he wasn’t exactly the type to sit at anyone’s bedside for longer than a few minutes at most. But Fry needed to know fore sure he was okay as soon as possible.

Shaking off the last dregs of sleep, he sat up and looked around. His personnel effects had been placed on the bedside table, including his wallet and phone – put on charge by a kind soul – and the bag he’d taken from Bender’s chest compartment. If Bender had been here, surely he would’ve taken it back, right? … Perhaps Fry hadn’t been out for long enough for him to have been fully repaired, probably, right? He’d been pretty beat up so it made sense that it’d take a while to have him up and running again.

Fry gingerly grabbed his phone off the table and turned it on. After some consideration, he quick dialed Leela’s number; if Bender wasn’t fully fixed yet, his number wouldn’t work and Farnsworth rarely answered his phone, especially when he was working on something. She picked up on the second ring.

“Fry! You’re awake, how do you feel?”

“Uh… better.” A lot better but that didn’t matter right now. “What about Bender? Did the Professor finish fixing him or is he still working on that?”

“The latter.”

“Oh uh… that’s fine. How much longer is it going to take?”

“I don’t know. But Fry, you know he only said he’d try, he might not be…”

“Welp, I gotta go and get checked out of the hospital and stuff. I’ll see you at the Planet Express later, if you’re there.” Fry hung up.

 -

As always getting checked out of the hospital was a pain and took longer than it really needed to but finally, he was free. He went straight back to the Planet Express building and soon as he was inside, he beelined for the Professor’s lab once more.

Farnsworth was in of course and working on something, presumably Bender. Venturing closer for a better look revealed that that was indeed the case. Bender’s body was in even worse shape than before. His head had been removed, normally not at all a difficult or violent thing to achieve it was supposed to be able to come off, but the way it had been pushed in meant the Farnsworth had had to slice up the upper part of Bender’s body to get it out. Bender’s head had been split open and hollowed out. A bunch of technology stuff that Fry had no clue what did but could only have come from Bender was spread out across the table.

Bender had been utterly and completely dismantled. A rather unsettling and unpleasant sight but one that should be only a stepping stone to him being put back together and made whole again. So, swallowing back his hesitation, Fry stepped forward again. “How’s it going? How long before he’s up and running again?”

“Hmmm… well, I don’t know. There’s no guarantee I can…”

“I’ll leave you to it then. Call me when you’re about to start him back up, okay?” Fry was likely to only get in the way and make it take longer so he quickly left.

He didn’t have anything else to do but wait so… he went to the break room. Leela, Amy, Hermes, and Zoidberg were all already in there, looking up at him as he came in with sympathetic looks.

Zoidberg was the first to speak. “Sorry about the robot. He was a good friend.”

Before Fry could reply and say that such words weren’t necessary because Bender was going to be fine, Hermes stood up. “I already took the liberty of going over his will,” he said as he strode over to Fry. “You probably won’t be surprised by what’s on it. Here is an official copy.”

He handed Fry a piece of paper. ‘BITE MY SHINY METAL ASS’ was scrawled on it in large sloppy letters. Bender had signed his full name under it in messy barely legible cursive. Which was indeed not at all surprising. It probably would’ve been funny under different circumstances.

“But as his husband,” Hermes continued, “all his stuff should by default go to you, unless he had debts that need to be paid. Come talk to me in my office later when you’re ready to fill out the paper work for it, I’ll help in any way I can.” He awkwardly patted Fry on the shoulder before going back to his seat.

Fry glared down at the paper again. “You guys don’t seem to have much faith in the Professor being able to fix him.” How dare they give in that easily? Bender was their friend too and they’d all been working for the Professor long enough to know he was capable of almost anything he put his mind to.

“Robots aren’t designed to be easily fixable once broken.” Amy made it sound as if that automatically meant that there was no hope for Bender. “Especially the models meant to work in factories and stuff like Bender. Think about it, the company makes more money if you’re forced to buy a whole new one every time one breaks instead of fixing it.”

“That… that’s really fucked up.” No wonder Bender often said stuff about hating humans if the people who’d made robots were doing shit like that.

“Yep, I guess so. But that’s just how it is.” Her expression and voice softened. “Sorry about Bender though, I know he meant a lot to you. We’ll all miss him.”

Fry should tell her and all of them that they were wrong and that Bender was going to be okay, the Professor just needed some time to do the repairs. But… but… what if they were right? What if not even Farnsworth could fix him? Fry had initially decided on this course of action as a long shot but had somehow convinced himself that it was the most likely outcome when it… actually probably wasn’t, huh? Which meant…

“I believe the Professor can fix him,” Leela said, drawing Fry’s gaze up to her. “If anyone can it’s him.”

Fry nodded, swallowing back the tears that had threatened to form at the line of thought he’d been going down. There was still hope even if it wasn’t much but it was there so no use giving up on it yet. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Now come sit down and tell us what happened.” She and Amy scooted to one side of the couch, making room for him.

“Yes!” Zoidberg agreed with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Tell us about your adventure. How’d it happen?”

With a sigh, Fry awkwardly folded up the copy of Bender’s will and put it into his pocket before walking over and sitting down. “There’s uh… not really a whole lot to say. I… did something dumb and got beaten up and arrested for it, thrown in jail and stuff. They were going to execute me but then Bender broke me out. To do that he had to make the guards that were guarding the jail and stuff leave by making a big distraction somewhere else. He said he was going meet me back at the ship in like an hour but… he never showed.” Instead Fry had fallen asleep like an idiot. “So, I went looking for him and uh… found him like that. I had to drag him through the desert heat back to the ship which is why I’m all sun burnt and stuff.”

“What’d you do that go you in so much trouble?” Amy asked because one of them was bound to.

Fry could try to lie and try to make himself seem marginally less stupid but he was bad at the kind of thing. Might as well just get it over with instead of them catching him at a lie, forcing him to admit it anyway. “I… well… uh… The aliens were sentient plants. And um, turns out they sleep in little clay pots with soil in them and they look an awful lot like a standard potted plant when they do. So uh… I was sent in to see their monarch to deliver the package, only one person is allowed in to see them at a time for some reason. And uh… they were napping so I thought I was alone and… well, I really needed to pee. There weren’t any bathrooms around so a potted plant would’ve been a good place to do it, right? So I just kind of… you know… They weren’t very happy about it and ordered their guards in to beat me up and drag me to jail to be executed later.”

There was a general murmur from all four of them, even Zoidberg, that that had been exceedingly stupid. Which was a hundred percent accurate because it was probably one of the dumber things Fry had done. Probably far from the dumbest though considering the large breadth of things he’d done while working this job, sometimes with Bender or at his suggestion, that had proven to be less than smart. But this was undoubtedly the worst because it resulted in not just himself getting hurt and almost killed but Bender actually getting killed. And there was a good chance even Professor Farnsworth wouldn’t be able to bring him back to life.

“Yeah,” he said looking away from all of them. “I shouldn’t have ever insisted on leading that mission. I’m clearly not fit for anything other than following orders. And even that I’m bad at.” Why had he even been kept around for so long? He should’ve been fired ages ago.

“Well,” Leela said, “other than the whole insulting an alien race’s ruler by peeing on them while they slept which is terrible and astoundingly stupid, I think you did pretty good. You did manage to fly the ship safely back home even despite having a broken arm and burnt hand.”

“Not to mention,” Hermes added, “delirious from heat stroke, dehydration, and grief.”

“Yeah, I for sure couldn’t do that,” Amy said. “So good job on that part at least.”

“I… guess there is that, huh? The autopilot probably did most of the work though.” He didn’t even remember the flight back. His memories between finding Bender’s body and begging Farnsworth to repair him were foggy at best, he’d been quite out of it. “I did land it in the hanger without crashing though, somehow. But uh… still next time someone needs to come with us to supervise. I’m too stupid to be trusted and Bender would get us into trouble by getting caught stealing something or saying something rude to the wrong person.”

They all murmured some kind of agreement to that. Not even bothering to try to claim he wasn’t stupid because it would’ve been a lie. … Hopefully there would be a next time with Bender though.

 -

The next few weeks were probably the worst Fry had ever had to endure. Modern technology made healing fairly fast but painful and unpleasant buy hey, at least he was out of the cast and bandages in just over a week instead of however long it would’ve taken to heal without such technology. They even had a fix for sunburn so even if it still hurt like hell, it was for a shorter time. But dealing with all that paled in comparison to waiting for news about Bender, good or bad.

With every day that passed Fry became more and more sure that Bender couldn’t be repaired. And yet, until Professor Farnsworth declared he’d failed, there was still hope and thus Fry couldn’t begin to grieve properly even if he’d wanted to. All he could do was wait and hope for good news while dreading the worst.

All the while his guilt weighed on him as if he were still dragging Bender’s mutilated corpse through the desert sands. If he hadn’t gotten himself into trouble in the first place, Bender would’ve never had to break him out. If he’d just not fallen asleep while waiting for him, he might’ve been able to go out and save Bender before it was too late. Or heck, if he’d just not insisted on proving himself to be capable of leading a delivery mission every once in a while, they never would’ve ended up in that situation either. So really it was all his fault.

He didn’t dare venture into the lab to ask for an update again for fear of what he might see or be told. Instead he hung around the Planet Express building, waiting for Farnsworth to come out. He didn’t even go home other than for two lonesome awful nights because it was empty, way too quiet and had too many reminders of his life with Bender. The others expressed concern over this behaviour multiple times but he wouldn’t be able to rest properly until this was resolved one way or the other.

His guilt and growing fear that this ‘adventure’ would have a sad ending kept him up at night. Which served him well as he was lying awake on the break room couch sometime past midnight when his phone rang. Bored and lonely enough to answer even a scam call, he rolled over to grab it off the coffee table. … It was Professor Farnsworth. He almost never called so…

“Hello.” Fry tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. The call might not have anything to do with Bender and even if it did, it might not be good news. So he shouldn’t let his hopes get too high. … He couldn’t help himself though, he wanted Bender to be alive again so bad.

“Good news Fry, I’ve finished reconstructing Bender.”

Fry froze, almost not daring to move lest it prove to be a dream and moving too much would break it. “Really?”

“Yep.” He was likely intending to say more but…

“I’ll be over right away.” Fry hung up and quickly stumbled off the couch to run to the lab.

“Oh, that was fast,” Farnsworth said, turning to fac Fry as he burst through the doors.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been sleeping on the break room couch since I got back. Where’s Bender?” Even as he asked, he got his answer.

Farnsworth had built Bender a whole new body. The design was mostly the same but sleeker and shinier, to the point of being almost reflective. Not yet powered up, he lay on the table face up.

“Since it’s impossible to purchase a blank bending unit, I had to make a whole new one,” Farnsworth said, gesturing to him. “And while I was at it, I made some improvements to the design, expensive ones mind too so you two owe me. He’s made of sturdier, lighter metals, and is far more fuel efficient. Also, he’s got…”

“Awesome cool, let’s start him up.” Fry was tired of waiting, he wanted to talk to Bender again right now. They could hear all about Bender’s shiny new improvements later.

“Yes, yes, but before we do that. While I can promise a functioning robot with Bender’s base personality code, these things weren’t exactly meant to be repaired so I had to replace a quite a few things. Where applicable I transferred as much of the data from the old damaged parts onto the new better parts. How much the corrupted data I couldn’t transfer or the parts being new and different will change things, I can’t say until he’s been up and running long enough to get some data on it.”

“So… what you’re saying is he might have amnesia?”

“Definitely not full amnesia, but partial perhaps, or he might just no longer be able to recall a handful of random events. Or something else about him may be different. I literally had to rewire his whole brain basically, it’s hard to do that while keeping everything exactly the same.”

“You tried your best though?”

“Of course.” He sounded offended by the mere suggestion he might not have. “What do you take me for? A lazy nit-wit like yourself? Never. If anyone can repair a machine’s mind that’s been damaged beyond repair, it’s me.”

“All right.” That’s all Fry could ask for and anything was better than nothing. “How do we turn him on?”

Farnsworth reached into his lab coat and pulled out a palm-sized remote. “Here.” He handed it to Fry. “You do the honors.”

The remote had two buttons on it, one that had the universal symbol for power which hadn’t changed in more than a thousand years printed on it, the other read ‘SLEEP’. Fry pressed the former.

On the table, Bender’s eyes opened, revealing that they looked same as his old ones. It was several long tense seconds that felt like forever before he moved though. “What’d you do to me?” He gave Farnsworth a suspicious stare as he slowly sat up and shifted to sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the table.

“He fixed you,” Fry answered as he stepped closer. “How do you feel?”

“‘Fixed’ me?” Bender slid off the table and shook out his limbs a little as he looked down at himself. “Ooh, I’m all shiny and sleek now. It’s like I’m brand new but… newer.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Farnsworth cut in before Fry could say anything more.

Bender paused and was silent for a few seconds before responding. “Something that I shouldn’t have survived.”

“And you didn’t. But Fry here dragged your horribly mutilated body back here and demanded I repair it. I couldn’t of course because not even I can work miracles, but I did rebuild you. Your body’s entirely new and only a small handful of your electronics are from your old system.”

Bender grimaced. “That means I died, right?”

“Yep.”

He was silent for a few seconds as he seemed to consider that. “Spooky. Well now I know what happens after you die: a whole bunch of nothing. I always suspected that priest bot was scamming people for money. Huh, but now that I’ve officially come back from the dead, I could probably do that too with even more success. Heck, I could probably start my own religion.” He chuckled evilly, rubbing his hands together.

It was good that he was taking the news of his death and revival so well and great to see him already ready to resume cheating strangers out of their money but Fry couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re okay now though right? Everything’s fine again?” It almost seemed too good to be true. And after what Farnsworth had said about maybe something being off with him, Fry almost couldn’t believe it.

Bender’s expression softened as he looked at Fry. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just came back from the dead so honestly, I’d say I’m doing pretty good. I feel a little weird but that’s it. So there’s not need to look at me like that, it’s…”

Fry hugged him. His metal body was cold and hard, not normally what one would think of as comforting but it was to him, even more so as Bender’s arms wrapped around him too. “I missed you so much. And I thought… I was worried that the Professor wouldn’t be able to bring you back for a while there and I just… I’m so glad you’re all right.”

Bender patted him on the back. “It’s good to not be dead anymore.”

Fry was crying again. From relief this time but still Bender would likely tease him for it later but right now he didn’t care, he was too exhausted and relieved to. The last however long Bender had been dead for was with a doubt the worst however long he’d ever had to endure.

“Well, I’ll be going then,” Not even Farnsworth reinserting his presence in the room was enough to get Fry to let go of Bender right now. “before you two get even more gross and sappy. I’ll fill in you about all the improvements I made to your design later when Fry’s not crying on you.”

Bender let Fry hold him uninterrupted for a while after the sound of the lab doors opening and closing announced Farnsworth’s departure. But he had only so much tolerance for such things. “All right meatbag,” he said eventually as he gently peeled Fry off of him, “we should probably head home too. You can tell me everything I missed while I was dead sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Fry nodded before wiping his eyes and nose with his jacket sleeve. “Okay. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” Bender took Fry’s hand as they started for the exit. If he was at all bothered by how tightly Fry squeezed back, he didn’t show it. Holding his hand like this was so much better, from here on out Fry would do his best to never take it or Bender in general for granted again.

Previous

[trillian-anders]

suspect - iv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 3k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

When the police questioned you after your Mother’s death you just couldn’t remember. You were their only witness. And you couldn’t remember.

You’d been in your pajamas, eating cereal and watching cartoons. It was the middle of the day when your Mom answered the door. A man followed her in the house. You could hear them in the hallway. And then loud noises. You remember hearing your Mom scream. And then nothing. It was quiet.

And you were found days later with your Mom’s rotting corpse in the next room.

You shake it from your head.

“It’s not uncommon for you to blackout parts of your memory that are harmful,” Bucky sighs, “Especially as a child.” You traced the words in your notebook. It made you feel useless. Like you could have put the guy away maybe. The right guy. Because you know it’s not Fury. You know it entirely.

“I’ve been in therapy for years.” You explain, “Trying to uncover the memory, trying to work through it… it’s just gone.” He nods across from you, the plates empty, and check placed down between you. The exhaustion finally hits. And you’re tired.

“I should be getting the autopsy reports back in tomorrow.” He scrubs his face, “And then I’m sure I’ll have to report to Steve and get the go ahead to come to the group meeting.” With Rumlow, which gave you pause.

“You need to make sure he knows that these are all friends and family of murder victims.” Blunt and clear, Bucky looks at you from over his fingertips. “Rumlow… he can’t come into this group meeting and be an asshole to everyone.” A nod from him.

“I’ll have to talk to Steve about his behavior tonight too.” Crossing his arms and sitting back, “It was just unacceptable.” A nod as you both drift into silence. “Did you drive here?” You shake your head,

“I don’t live far.” As you both slip from the booth to walk outside.

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, tapping his fob, the headlights of his car flashing in front of you.

“It’s honestly like, two blocks.” You point with your hand in your pocket. He shrugs, tapping the fob again locking the car.

“We can walk then.” He was insistent and you honestly couldn’t blame him. You just didn’t want to make him feel inconvenienced about it. You knew this neighborhood, it was on the cusp of being in those bad parts of town, your apartment straddling the line. You could tell he was tired. Just in the way he walked beside you.

“You really didn’t have to.” You say, reaching the steps of your apartment building. You key in the code at the door and buzz in. He follows you inside.

“I do have to.” His voice raspy with fatigue, “It’s not safe out here, why do you even live here?” The cracked linoleum, the yellow fluorescent lights. You shrug, honestly you felt like maybe a nicer place wouldn’t feel right. You’d lived in places like this your entire life. Kicking your foot against the linoleum you look at him in the harsh light. The bags under his eyes.

“Convenient I guess.” He shrugs.

“Text me when you’re in your apartment,” Gesturing toward the elevator. “Let me know when you’re safe.” It warmed your heart a little bit, the concern. He smiles at you as the elevator doors shut, and keys tossed onto the kitchen counter, shoes kicked aside you collapse into your bed.

Thank you. You draft, I’ll see you tomorrow. Send.

See you then.

Bucky sighs, stepping from the apartment building and looking up the side, the various lit windows before trekking back to his car. Today was rough, but he had the feeling that tomorrow would be even worse.

The next day the precinct was buzzing with activity. A group at the front talking to a beat cop, arms crossed and somber. He met the eyes of one. A young man, eyes red and weepy, looking just as tired as Bucky felt. Walking back into the bullpen the normal workload seeming even heavier, everyone seemed to have three things to do and three more on the backburner. Rumlow in the back room was setting up a pin board with victim one and two. And a woman with short brown hair, arms crossed, sitting back on the conference table, watching him do it.

As he approached further, he could see the FBI badge on her hip. This must be her. The agent they’ve sent because they had to.

“Barnes.” Rumlow nods at him as he enters the room. “This is Agent Hill.” The woman stood from the desk, holding her hand out for him to shake.

“From the FBI.” She looks serious, like she has to be to survive in a world mostly ruled by men. Her handshake is firm. Bucky feels sorry that she had to put up with Rumlow without him as a buffer.

“Nice to meet you.” She gestures to the board Rumlow was still working on.

“Would you say this is accurate?” The two bodies photographed right below the pictures of both girls. Always that high school graduation picture, Cheryl’s one with her kids probably done at the mall. Bucky’s hand clenched around his coffee cup a little harder. Sighing, thinking briefly about how your Mom was once up on one of these boards.

It gave him a strange feeling he couldn’t quite cope with, so he tears his eyes away.

“Yeah,” A sip from his coffee cup, “That’s about right.” A long sigh. She nods,

“Have you talked to any of the girls on the street?” It pained Bucky to tell her yes,

“But they didn’t really want to talk to us.” Rumlow said as he pinned another picture up.

“They didn’t want to talk to you.” Bucky accused. Rumlow shot him a glare. Kind of like, how are you going to embarrass me like this? Something he’d for sure bring up later.

“Do we have any leads?” Agent Hill asked, exasperated, like she just walked into a giant mess. Bucky reasoned, she did. But then he remembered you, the diner last night.

“Yes.” He ignores the look from Rumlow. “An old police cruiser, one of the girls said she saw Cheryl get into a stripped old model police cruiser.” Agent Hill nods,

“Okay, so we will see which ones have gone to auction.” A shrug, “Go from there.”

Steve’s door was closed when Bucky approached it, a knock to enter. The ‘come in’ from behind the thick oak. Steve smiles at him sheepishly as Bucky opens the door, brushing the bagel crumbs off his shirt. Bucky notices how tired Steve looks, but not a hair out of place, the bags under his eyes show the fatigue.

“You doin’ alright?” Bucky asks, shutting the door and sinking down in the chair across from his friend. Steve sighs, running his hand through his hair. A bad habit he tried to keep himself from. Bucky watched him as he silently scolded himself for it and shook more sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Gruff and unlike him usually, “Had a bit of an argument with Peg last night. She made me sleep on the couch.” Bucky barked a laugh, met with Steve’s glare.

“What did you do?” Steve rolled his eyes, “C’mon pal, I know you did something, Peg is a saint.” Steve gives him a tight smile,

“What do you want Buck?” A sigh, sinking further into the chair, Bucky looks around Steve’s office.

“Remember back in 2015 when you bought your Dad’s old cruiser?” Steve’s brow pulled together in confusion,

“Yeah, why?”

“Apparently our guy was driving one of them when he picked up Cheryl Hansen a few nights ago.” Steve sighed heavily, leaning back in his seat, thinking for a moment.

“An old police cruiser…” Shaking his head, “You’ll have to look through the old auction files,” A pause, “There were quite a few cars sent to auction.” On his fingers he counted, “I was gifted my Dad’s… I know Pierce took his old beat car, but so did a bunch of other higher ups.” A shrug, “A couple of the guys out there bought one for novelty, but I think about twenty went out for public auction.”

Bucky nods, “Okay, okay.” A tug on his lip, “We’re gonna pull the old files and see if we can start going around…” He looked across at his friend, “Is there any way you could get Rumlow assigned somewhere else?”

Steve laughed at that, “Already?” Sitting back in his chair, “I thought you would have at least stuck it out for the rest of the week.” Bucky rolled his eyes,

“The guy is a menace; I would get a girl to talk and here he would come and make some bullshit comment or stand too close.” A huff, “He’s holding me back.”

“He’s got more experience than you, Buck.” A half smirk, “And Pierce would have my head if I took him off, so I’m gonna have to say no. Anything else you want to ask?”

Bucky thought about you, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, “That reporter that was in here a couple days ago… no listen.” He holds his hand out as Steve sets his jaw. “I think she could really help.”

“Buck—”

“She runs this relief fund for families of the victims, and they meet up once a month,” Resting his hand on the desk, “One is happening today, just give me the okay to go out there and question some of the families.” Steve seemed to debate it for a moment before lacing his hands over his belly.

“Pierce said no reporters.” Firm.

“But it’s not to give her information, it’s to interview people familiar to the old case.” Steve debated it a moment more before shaking his head with a sigh.

“Fine, but no statements better show up in the paper tomorrow.” Bucky grinned at his friend, Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m serious Buck.”

“I know you are.” That grin of satisfaction not leaving his face. Steve laughed,

“Now get out of my office.”

…

Wanda seemed in brighter spirits today as she lay out the food. Pietro carrying in boxes with the foil dishes while you set up the chairs and tables. Softly music played in the background. Just something to fill the silence as Wanda unwrapped dishes of cookies and lit sterno under dishes served hot. She jokes with you and Pietro about some show she was watching last night. Something you couldn’t ever be bothered to watch yourself, but you humored her as she talked about the drama that had unfolded between two couples.

People start arriving staggered. The early ones help you finish setting up, the ones coming in later met with raucous greeting from old friends. A lot of them with kids of their own. A table set up with crafts to keep them busy while their parents mingle and chat. Spouses here to support. Friends and people struck by the cause.

While it was your favorite day of the month, it was also the most tiring. A non-stop stream of greetings and hugs, marveling at how some kids have grown, wondering aloud about activities for them for next month and seeing what they would like.

But the questions you received the most, the reason for your high anxiety about this whole day, was…

“Is he back?”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“What should we do?”

And you just didn’t have an answer. Not yet. Not today. Not so soon. Sophie didn’t show, but then again you didn’t expect her to. It was far too soon. And Christine’s family didn’t have much to do with her anyway.

You looked for him, Bucky. You found your head turning towards the door every time you heard someone come in or out. The disappointment clear in it being someone coming back in from a smoke break was alarming and you weren’t quite sure why you were feeling this way. A paper cup with your name written on in sharpie with lemonade in it held in hand you continued to make your rounds, unaware that he’d even arrived until he sought you out.

“Hey.” Breathy and it sent a pleasant chill down your spine. Rumlow standing in the doorway with a woman you didn’t recognize. Your eyes meet Bucky’s and you couldn’t help the smile.

“Hey.”

He was in plainclothes. Not the normal button down and tie he was usually wearing. But something soft. Something you could imagine sticking your nose into. Something you had to shake from your head almost immediately. Hands in his pockets he looks around.

“Good turn out.” You agree, trying to get over him in jeans and a t-shirt.

“We stay pretty consistent.” You smile, “Today has been a good day considering… So, what did the autopsy reports say?” You see Rumlow and the other woman break off into the crowd, no doubt to try to get any information. He sighs,

“Sexual assault…” Shaking his head, “But no DNA left… and the fingers are being taken while they’re still alive, both of them anyway.” A heavy sigh. “They found no ketamine in Christine’s system, but I’m thinking that maybe because it was his first kill he wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“Yeah,” You take a sip of lemonade, “That’s probably it… what about the cars?”

“I’ve got the go ahead, we are having auction records pulled… we just need someone to talk now.” He looks around the room, “Someone has to know something.”

“You think maybe there’s another witness?” He shrugs,

“I mean it’s possible,” He licks his lips, “Do you think that girl you talked to would talk again?”

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, “She wasn’t really comfortable even talking to me.” You watch him nod, “Do you want something to drink?” You lift your cup, he gives you a soft smile,

“Whaddya got?”

Wanda was over by the snack table, organizing and reorganizing. Getting rid of trays as they empty. You wished she would interact more, socialize and talk to people without the buffer of the table in between but this is what made her comfortable.

“Wanda.” She smiles softly and looks at the man beside you. “This is Detective Barnes.” The cracks there, as her smile slowly shifts into a frown and then back.

“Nice to meet you,” Holding out his hand for her to shake, which she doesn’t take. He nervously wipes it on his jeans.

“You’re going to stop him.” She says, voice shaking, “Right?” You set your cup down and step onto the other side of the table, gently placing your arms on hers.

“Wanda,” Her eyes focused on him, “Come on honey,” You look at Bucky whose face has pulled into sorrow. “I think you need a break.” Your eyes scan the crowd for Pietro, finding him flirting unabashedly with the woman who had entered with Bucky and Rumlow, sighing heavily, you gently begin to lead Wanda from the room.

“I’ll do everything I can.” Bucky’s voice firm with resolve from behind you. You cast him a glance over your shoulder as you bring Wanda into the back room, his eyes meeting yours and giving you a firm nod.

Maybe things would be different this time after all.

…

Bucky felt a guilt gnaw in his chest and he really looked around this room for the first time.

When he’d first entered, he’d been so focused on finding you. A happiness blooming in his chest as he watched you laugh with someone. A smile on your face as a little girl seemed to be telling you some animated story, amusing enough to make you full belly laugh twice before he began to make his way over to you. The luck of it being the girl parting with her father in tow as he reached you.

The flush in your cheeks just about did him in.

These people were happy, sure. As he looked around the room, he could see the smiles and cheeriness of those who have found solace in one another over such a deep rooted trauma. But there was a sadness there too.

For a moment he was proud of what you’d accomplished with this. Bringing all of these people together over what must have been your own guilt about your Mother’s death. What good had come out of it.

He couldn’t imagine, thinking about it, if his own Ma had been murdered. Let alone the brutality in those women’s last moments. The horror of it. It dried his mouth. It made his stomach churn and gave him the sudden urge to step outside and dial.

She picked up on the second ring, like she always did.

“Hi Ma.” Soft into the phone, like he was a little boy and just needed her at this moment.

“Jaime, what’s wrong?” Because she would immediately know. She would always immediately have known. He sighs,

“This new case I’m workin’ on…” He starts, “Just a little rough, I just needed to hear your voice.” She hums from the end of the line.

“Are you okay?” He rests his back against the brick of the building, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth, ripping at the dead skin there.

“I think I will be,” Scrubbing his face with his hand, “It’s just… someone’s lost their mother.” A swallow, “Just wanted to call and tell you that I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart.” It warmed his chest but made him ache at the same time. You were how old when you lost your Mom?

You never got to do this. You could never call her when you were feeling upset. You could never just pop in to go see her and she would never make your favorite food just to cheer you up.

Something sat raw and acidic in Bucky’s gut, something he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake until this guy was behind bars.

“Come see me when you can, okay?” His Ma’s voice, sweet and comforting. He closes his eyes, resting his head against the brick and fights back the tears of grief he feels for you.

“Okay.”

[adverb-slut]

Poison Apple Crêpes (Fanfiction) Part 1/2

I wrote this little oneshot initially on AO3, but I decided to post it on Tumblr, as well, since I am trying to write more fanfic on here!

Title:

Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 1/2)

Summary: 

An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger. 

(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)

Genre:

Fluff

Rating:

G

Word Count:

2011

-

Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms.  

The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away.  Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone other than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.

However, since Mammon had no actual guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for all the brothers fell upon Lucifer.  And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed far too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.

Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased.  Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda. 

Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be this time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over.  A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.

He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, period.  The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study.  

The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase.  Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.

The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know.  This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?

Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.

He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”

It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s super-secret code phrase.  Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition.  He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one.  Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss.  

Too easy.

He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.

Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon.  His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … sleeping? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either.  Had he been here in his study all night?  

Mammon couldn’t even begin to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours.  However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake.  

“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk. 

He cocked his head.  His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy.  

Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk. 

Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor.  In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer.  He found that strange and wondered why that was the sole object not privy to the elements.  

He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame.  Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside.  

It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so.  He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old.  Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera.  Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.

Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well.  When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite.  However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes.  

He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling.  Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.

Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples.  The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender.  

His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a very long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café.  In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm.  

But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made one trip to the café in all the years since.

Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.

“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town.  Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”

“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him.  It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is—if you’d like to come.”

“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at any café in the Devildom?  It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe.  Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator, again. Would you care to use it with me?”

“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother.  She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward.  Will you join me?”

He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother.  He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.

Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer.  He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it.  He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled Mammon already signed up for tutoring ); on the back, and left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he despised the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.

He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk.  He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.

“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study.  “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”

As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket.  Now that he thought about it, he had just the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café. 

He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.

… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.

THE END

Read Part 2/2 here!

[sahbibabe]

A Mission For One

A Mission For One

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

You are given the details of your mission. It wasn't your intention to be crippling the last of the previous AVALANCHE's funding, nor was it to face the risk of seeing Hojo ever again.

RENO, JUST LIKE RUFUS had said, showed up the very next day, just shy of seven in the morning. He didn't have Rude with him, which was unusual, and instead had a lowly grunt with him. He had a briefcase in one hand and his weapon in the other, shooting you a grin when you opened the door.

     "Ready to get started?" He asked, pushing past you to set up on one of the tables. He opened the briefcase with a flourish. "Might wanna sit down because I have a lot of stuff to tell you and not a whole lot of time."

       You locked the shop door and sat down across from him, eyeing the grunt who positioned his back to it with a rifle in hand. "Was it necessary to bring the gun inside?"

      "Him? Nah." Reno pulled out a file as thick as your fingers put together and set it aside. "Right, first thing I have to tell you is to hold out your arm."

        You did so obediently. "What for?"

      "This." Reno gave you no warning other than a smirk, and plunged what looked like a five gauge needle into your wrist. He injected a clear substance into you and, before you had time to jerk away, was done. "There. Your Shinra access chip. After the fiasco with keycards and AVALANCHE last year, we decided on these bad boys to secure the system. As long as you're alive, calm, and healthy, you can get anywhere you want to. I think the boss gave you B-Level clearance until you pass your physicals, then will up it to A-Level after that."

       You felt dread settle in the pit of your gut. You had never owned anything as much as D-Level access in your entire life, and that was just to attend a small court session to set up your tea shop and legally sell tea from Shinra suppliers. B-Level was a high jump, and giving you A-Level access after? Those were the same permissions that only Rufus's seconds in command got, only less to Rufus himself.

      "Reno," you asked slowly,"what the hell am I going to be doing that requires A-Level access?"

      "A lot of things," he whistled, thumbing through a plastic card case and pulling out an ID card with your face plastered on it. "Assassination, murder, espionage, sabotage, take your pick. The things we Turks can't do and get away with easily."

       The bad feeling in your stomach told you it was a bit more than that. You let it slide when he handed you the ID, noting the fluorescent finish on it and the expensive plastic it was made of, as well as the giant Shinra logo printed beside your head with a script reading 'VIP: DO NOT ENGAGE' along with your VIP permissions underneath, which extended to free hotel stays, you noticed.

       "What's this?" You asked, watching it shine in the light. "I already have an ID."

      "Yeah, but not one that's special like that." Reno then pulled out a manilla file almost as thick as the one he had brought out before, except this one had giant red confidential stamps all over it and was sealed with Rufus's personal seal. "It can get you anywhere and everywhere, just like the Turks, and more. Flash that thing and anyone will think twice about stopping you. Murder is easy with a card like that."

      "I'd imagine," you said, a little choked. You had, quite literally, just gotten federal permission to commit murder. Freely. In an effort to distract yourself from the fact that you'd just been given a 'free for all' card, you tapped the first file he'd pulled out. "And these?"

      "Paperwork for the doctor who does the exam." Reno shrugged when you gawked at the sheer size of it. "I know. It's a lot. But it only takes an hour. Drug tests and blood tests and all that. Even STD tests."

      You placed it aside in favor of the packet he now held. "I'm guessing those are my mission details?"

      "More like your trial targets," Reno supplied vaguely. "You won't officially start them until next week. You'll have a month to finish all of them. You can read up on them and memorize them until then."

      In Reno's hands laid the lives of the people you were about to take forever. Permanently. And it wasn't even what you were being recruited for; they were tests. That was it.

      He handed it to you and you broke the seal, pulling out one of the targets. A photo had been blown up to visible proportions, blurry and grainy, but you could make out the face well enough, recognized it even: one of AVALANCHE's older benefactors, a man by the name of Michael Dallien.

       He had donated a total of three million gil to the cause shortly after the mako reactor went down, you read, and had been funneling smaller sums to them ever since under the guise of fundraisers. At the bottom, stamped in blue, was the price of his bounty: four million gil, plus a bonus for delivering visceral proof.

       Which meant Rufus wanted his head. Literally.

       "As you can see, you'll get paid more than the three million gil for whoever you kill," Reno explained, pointing to a section near the bottom. "There will be others competing with you, though, but they aren't doing it with the accesses that you have. They work for other corporations wanting to overthrow Shinra. If you get to them first, the other corporations won't be able to nab their resources and bam, you get paid and you move on to the next one."

       The more people you found in the packet, the higher the bounties became, until you came upon a bounty on Rufus Shinra himself, priced right around one million gil.

      "What the hell?" You breathed, showing Reno the picture. "What does this mean?"

      "That leads me to your official assignment." The redhead plucked the paper from your hands and pointed to the list of mercs slated for the job; you weren't on it. "Our little Public Relations guy, Heidegger, put this up a few weeks ago. I doubt he knew we bugged his personal computer, but he's enlisted several attempts on the boss's life in the next couple of months. Now, the Turks aren't invincible, some are bound to slip through the cracks. That's where you will come in."

       "You want me to protect Rufus Shinra," you deadpanned,"because the Turks can't."

       "Hey, it isn't for lack of trying. He has so many enemies it's hard to keep track of. We keep eyes on the outside, you keep eyes on the internals. Simple."

      "You mean people like Heidegger and Scarlet," you supplied, realization dawning on you. "It's not because you can't, it's because you can't do it without everyone knowing who did it."

      Reno winked and pointed a finger at you. "Bingo. I knew you'd put it together. Rude owes me fifty gil."

      "That explains the ID," you sighed, waving the card around flimsily. You tucked everything into a neat pile in front of you. "Anything else?"

      "Yep. I took the liberty of pulling some strings and getting you a female doctor to perform your physical." Reno leaned back and crossed his arms, the grunt shifting nervously behind you. "Figured you wouldn't want Hojo snooping around in your insides again."

       The sudden horror you felt had you speechless. Hojo was supposed to do your physical? Hojo had none of the specifications for that, last you had heard, and that was when he was injecting your eyeballs with some dark fluid. To have him examining you from head to toe, even for the gynecology exam because it had to be on there too, made you want to throw up at the idea.

      "Other than that, though, all you have to do is get your Shinra tech fitted and your uniform. It's all unbranded so no one will be able to trace us if you get caught, and made with synthetic material that also can't be traced. You'll have to check with the boss about your weapons. Can't go to Scarlet." Reno seemed to be checking off some list and nodded to himself. "That's it, I think. Rude will drop by later and give you your rental keys."

      You were still caught up on Hojo doing your physical exam, even after Reno dismissed himself and headed out of the shop. It disgusted you on so many levels that as soon as you tucked your files away into your floorboards and put your ID in your wallet, you went to the bathroom to hurl up your breakfast.

      None of what Hojo did to you was memorable after the initial injection, but you recalled him speaking of something like,"Let Her see through your eyes," but it was muffled behind the wall of pain you felt. You remembered the pinch of an IV, trying to open your eyes and only feeling your eyelids as swollen as golf balls, and feeling nurses walk in and out to switch your dressing gown.

      Hojo would check, occasionally, prying your swollen lids apart and testing the tears and occasional pus that would stream out, ignoring your crying and screaming indignantly. He pressed the swelling, irritated them, scraped samples from your waterline, and then fed tubes into them to drain the pus out. It never ended well, because it would soon grow clogged with that black material he had put in, like a coagulated gummy pile of rot. You never bled, but the sheer amount of tears you produced left you dehydrated and desperate for water.

      You were one hundred percent certain he had also done something to your reproductive system, because after that, your cycles just became nightmares, even more so towards you leaving after he deemed you a failure. You never checked, though, too scared and poor to afford an exam, even when you now had the money and means to do so.

     But now you had to because of the stupid physical exam. Hojo had ruined you in more ways than you could say, and it was no wonder you lied to everyone in your life. You were petrified of trust because you, once upon a time, had trusted him to help you. That had been a mistake.

       Never again.

[bibliothesoph]

these days (let’s talk about your mental health)

There’s sunlight streaming through the window––too bright for however early in the morning it is right now. Henry goes to move his arms over his eyes to block out the vicious light, but his arms won’t budge. His eyes snap open then shut again because the light is practically blinding, but he gets his vision back (for the most part) after a minute of blinking. It’s a white room which is probably why it felt so bright. There’s a window to his right letting a sunny day in New York into the room, but it’s not his window and this isn’t his room. This might not even be anyone’s room at all. Based on the weird, cheap-looking picture of a watering can full of plants, he guesses that it’s some impersonal room that hundreds of people filter through. And it smells clean––too clean. Like bleach.

Something’s beeping to his left so he looks over and sees what looks and sounds like a heart rate monitor there. There’s an IV drip, too, that he follows to the back of his hand. His hands are cuffed in some sort of white material that wraps around his wrists and tie into the bed somewhere. His feet, it feels like, are in the same boat. He tries to sit up but he can’t fucking move and there’s no one in here to help him. Where’s Alex? What happened? Why is he here and why is he in restraints? He feels his breathing go shallow and rapid like he can’t get air. He has no idea what’s happening and he’s terrified and alone and where is Alex?

The door opens and, like he somehow conjured him with his mind, Alex is standing there with a cup of coffee in one hand and cup of water in the other. He looks sad––teary-eyed, puffy-faced, downturned lips.

“Alex?” he asks in a hoarse voice.

Alex’s head instantly snaps up and looks at him. His lips turn into a slight, sympathetic smile as he moves over to the seat by Henry’s bed, setting the drinks down on the small table and taking one of Henry’s hands in his own. “You really awake this time?”

Henry furrows his brow, completely baffled. He doesn’t remember any other times. “I think so,” he says.

Alex strokes the back of Henry’s hand with the pad of his thumb. Gently––like Henry might break. “You were out for a while. I’m glad you’re back, though.”

Henry shakes his head because he still has no idea what’s going on. He doesn’t feel like he was in an accident of some kind––he doesn’t feel any physical pain. He’s got a headache, but it feels more like from his brain going into overdrive than from some sort of external damage. Also, an accident wouldn’t warrant the use of these restraints. That’s probably the most troubling part about all of this. “What happened?”

Alex sighs and leans down to kiss Henry’s knuckles. “There was a bit of an incident,” Alex explains. “You don’t remember?”

Henry shakes his head.

“Why am I here? Why am I in restraints? Alex, what’s going on?”

“Shh,” Alex coos, using his other hand to push some of the hair off of Henry’s forehead. “I’ll explain everything, okay?”

Henry nods, silently agreeing to stay quiet as Alex explains what’s going on.

“When I got home last night, I couldn’t find you for a while,” Alex begins. His voice is thick with emotions and, for a moment, Henry almost wants to tell him to stop talking if it hurts him so much, but Henry needs to know what’s going on. “I found you out on the balcony and I don’t know if you had been drinking or what was going on, but you clearly weren’t yourself. You were saying all kinds of things––worrisome things. It––it scared me to see you like that, you know? You were crying and on this long tangent about your work and the world and all of this stuff and then you just sort of…collapsed. Into my arms.” Alex pauses and wipes at his eyes. “I called Shaan because I thought he might know what to do. Like maybe this was something that had happened before? Anyway, we brought you here to see what was going on. The restraints were more of a precaution than anything because…you were pretty worked up. When you came to, you kept crying and trying to leave and you kept saying you were fine but…”

Henry squeezes his hand. He doesn’t remember a single moment of this, but he believes Alex with all his heart. He knows that he’s the kind of person to be reluctant to accept help, even when he needs it, so it makes a sort of sense to him. He doesn’t think he was drinking, though. Or, at least, he doesn’t recall drinking. Maybe he was drinking, though? Maybe that would explain the headache?

“Do they know what happened?”

Alex shrugs. “They have theories, I guess. They didn’t find alcohol in your system, though. They think it might have been some combination of dehydration and exhaustion. I had to tell them that you hadn’t been sleeping much recently and about how you feel sometimes.”

Henry nods and tries to process this. It seems possible that the way his mind is contributed to this little incident, at least partially. He’s had a few experiences with this sort of thing before––times where he isn’t sleeping or drinking enough water and his thoughts just get louder and louder until he doesn’t even remember anything but what he’s shouting at himself inside. It’s like he’s hearing himself scream over and over again but no one ever hears him––no one’s there to help him. He’s never really seen it as an issue before, though. Everyone he’s known has periods where they’re not themselves. And he’s sure he could remember what happened if he wasn’t feeling so drowsy from what was most likely a sedative.

“You okay?” Alex asks. Alex scoffs at himself and shakes his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question. I mean, obviously you’re not okay. It’s just…what can I do? Besides get you out of here?”

Henry stares at him for a moment, so overwhelmed with love for him that he can hardly stand it. “I don’t know,” he tells him honestly.

Alex nods thoughtfully and thinks about it for a moment. “Can I make a suggestion that you totally don’t have to listen to?”

Henry nods.

“I think you should see someone.”

“I’ve got a therapist an––”

“No. I mean, I’m sure that’s good, too, but I mean, like, someone that can get you help. A diagnosis, maybe? Medication?”

It’s not something he’s ever talked about. Mental health. His family very pointedly ignores and sidesteps all conversations about it because, well, he’s a prince, right? He’s not supposed to be sick. But he’s not really sick, is he? Not in the way the Queen and Philip might see it. He’s struggling––he knows he’s struggling. And medicine or at least some sort of plan on how to deal with it will probably help him. When he thinks about it, it seems silly that he hasn’t thought of it before. It’s something he should have done as soon as he came to New York and didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to go to a doctor.

When he’s discharged from the hospital, they get a referral for someone he can go meet with and talk to about how his brain works and the thoughts that sometimes drown him. Alex goes with him, of course, but waits outside with Shaan while Henry steps into the office. It’s a nice place––very private and cozy. Not half as clinical as he thought it would be. The doctor––Dr. Sanders––smiles at him warmly when he comes in and gestures for him to sit in an oversized armchair across from her.

“I have to admit,” Henry chuckles as he sits down, “I think my boyfriend will be offended that there isn’t a sofa or a chaise lounge or something in here.”

Dr. Sanders smiles at him and writes something down. “Your boyfriend might watch too many soap operas.”

“I’ll have to have a word with him about that, won’t I?”

She smiles again and offers her hand to him. “I’m Doctor Sanders,” she says as he shakes her hand. “Are you ready to begin?”

It’s only an hour-long and it’s mostly just Henry explaining how he feels and the various coping strategies he’s used in the past that don’t seem to work all that well. By the end of it, he’s holding his breath while she smiles at him and starts to tell him her thoughts and next steps they can take.

Depression.

It’s the first time someone’s said it aloud to him.

She explains what this means both in general and for him as an individual. It’s oddly comforting to hear someone talk to him about this sort of thing so openly. Alex has done a wonderful job as being as supportive and understanding as possible, but it’s not really the same. It’s not a diagnosis. It’s not a word that Henry can hold onto and repeat and know why he is the way he is. And the doctor explains that, from the sounds of it, it’s something he’s been dealing with for a while. At least since his dad died. And maybe it’s silly, but he feels like there’s a weight being lifted off his chest when she talks him through different possibilities for medications and coping strategies.

When he leaves her cozy office, he has a slip of paper in one hand and a smile on his face. Alex stands as soon as Henry reenters the waiting room and wraps him up in a massive hug.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” Alex tells him into the crook of his neck. “You’re so brave.”

Henry kisses his cheek and shows him the paper. “There’s a word,” he says with a smile.

Alex––still smiling––tilts his head. “A word for what?”

“For me,” Henry tells him. “For what I am––for how my brain works. I––Alex, I have depression.”

“And that makes you happy?” Alex asks. There’s no malice or judgment in his voice––just baffled curiosity.

Henry nods and kisses him. “Very.”

Alex makes Shaan stop on the way home so they can get the prescription filled. And Here knows that it’s going to be a long journey of finding the right medication and that there are some rough patches in front of him, but he’s got Alex’s hand in his own and a word he can use to describe the swirl of emotions that have been churning inside of him for so long now.

Depression.

Christ, it just feels so wonderful to know that he’s not alone––that this diagnosis puts him in a never-ending group of people who are just like him. It fills him with hope to know that there are people he can talk to about this––people that will understand his occasional bouts of melancholy and non-responsiveness. Even though he knows that Philip and his gran would never approve, he doesn’t even care.

He’s Henry, the Prince of Wales, and he has depression.

And he’s going to make damn sure that he uses that to help other people like him.

[inkstaineddove]

Renewal

Characters: Prussia, Austria; mentioned Germany and Russia

Summary:  After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Roderich invited Gilbert to Vienna in an attempt to clear the other man's mind and provide him with an opportunity to get outside. They catch up, knocking the rust off their strange relationship after not seeing each other for years.

Vienna, 1989.

Gilbert looked around, shifting in his seat nervously and absentmindedly folding and re-folding the sleeves on his shirt. How he loathed Vienna, loathed it and this ridiculous castle. Roderich’s tastes had always been too luxurious for his liking, the home decorated to be an ostentatious display of wealth and filled with antique furniture. It made him so uncomfortable, afraid that he might sneeze and be forced into debt to repay the cost of whatever he ruined.

His host returned, placing two wine glasses down before them. "Why so anxious?" Roderich didn't have to be focused on Gilbert to feel the wave of unease rolling of him. It also didn't help that he could hear the incessant tapping of Gilbert's foot, a nervous habit he'd had for years. "I would've expected you to be relieved to be out of your own country. Are we no longer good enough for you here?" His voice lilted up at the end of the sentence, gently teasing his guest.

"I hate this city. The people here have always been so snobbish. Your home looks like a poor man's idea of a rich man. It always has, it's excessive." Prussia waved a hand in a noncommittal way. "It's....everything's a lot."

As he took a long sip of his wine, Austria sighed. "Are you done?" The Prussian nodded. "I figured it would be nice for you to travel again, now that you could. I didn't think me rushing to Berlin would do you any good. You need to see what you missed of the world." It was his roundabout way of saying it meant a lot that Gilbert would visit him first.

"It's strange though. When you're in a cage for so long, you get used to it. In a certain way it even becomes comforting. The isolation almost becomes welcome or that you feel you deserved it." Prussia's eyes were burning with an indescribable emotion when they locked with Austria's. There was a flesh of desperation in them, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I can't help feeling that, in some way, I deserved it for everything. Monsters belong to be imprisoned."

That broke something in Roderich. He felt his heart throb with sympathy. He forced himself to keep the eye contact, despite wanting to look away in fear of giving away too much. "You're not a monster. And if you are, then so am I." He smiled faintly, trying to make them both feel better in vain. "All you've ever been is a bit boorish, but that's not a criminal offense."

They drank in silence. Both had been more vulnerable with the other than they'd wished. It was still too new, viewing each other as confidants and uneasy friends instead of the enemy. It felt even worse to consider them on opposing sides now, not after they'd shared so much and fought against much worse. How could they think of each other as evil when they finally knew what true evil was? It would feel like a dismissal of everything. No, they'd have to learn to get used to rhythms of this new stage in their relationship and whatever it would bring.

Roderich passively observed Gilbert. He'd never seen the man so unsure of himself. Normally Gilbert's ego suffocated the whole room. He moved in a way that commanded attention, that challenged the world to consent to his will or face the consequences of disobedience. This was not the same man. His emotions were impossible to decipher, walled off in a place deep within. His eyes kept darting around as if he was searching for the nearest escape.

Gilbert reached for his glass of wine. Roderich snatched his wrist midair. "My God, Gilbert. What happened?" Scars crisscrossed Gilbert's skin. Most appeared to finally be disappearing for good, but many remained.

"Relax, I didn't cause them." Gilbert jerked his hand away, hiding it beneath the table. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about. It's better I took a few more beatings than the others." He gave a toothy smile, trying to bring some normalcy to everything. "You're the one who said it's always what I've been good for."

A dark emotion passed across Roderich's face. A sickly feeling crept into his stomach. "I may have said so, but I never acted on it in such a way." It wasn't unusual for him to be so furious in Gilbert's presence, but it was for it to be on Gilbert's behalf. "What a barbarian. Where's the humanity? To act with such cruel disregard for other's and their sufferings? What a big man, I'm trembling." He scoffed. "To think he was the boogeyman we were all so terrified of for all these years. To be so fearful of a coward is dishonorable."

Such strong sentiments were shocking. For once in his life, Gilbert didn't know quite what to say. Unworthiness overwhelmed him. He bowed his head, staring at his hands as they played with the lace ends of the tablecloth. "You don't have to pretend to care so much. I appreciate the invitation enough as it is. Save me your mock outrage."

"You think I'm pretending?"

"Did I stutter?" It was the most Gilbert-esque thing he'd said all day. In any other conversation, it would've been a revelation.

Roderich rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. How to get it through such a thick skull? "I understand that our relationship hasn't always been on the best of terms, to put it incredibly mildly. But you have to be a bigger idiot than I ever thought possible to not realize my feelings on you have changed." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Really, Gilbert, actually think about this. After my divorce, against every possible logical expectation, you were the only one to check on me. Not only once, you made a point of visiting every month to harass me and give me some semblance of normalcy. And you never mentioned whatever it was you were doing with Erzsébet! It was the most oddly comforting thing and, to my horror, I began looking forward to seeing you." He rolled his eyes. "Let's not even mention the last war. We were thick as thieves then, running off and getting into whatever mischief was necessary."

"You only worked with me then because you had to." Gilbert remained glum, but didn’t dare to look at Roderich squarely to prevent being proved wrong.

"Oh, please. Bavaria and Saxony shot down our offer, I could've done the same to you had I wanted to. But I didn't because I trusted your judgement and wanted in on your little scheme. And I don't regret that to this day, regardless of whatever the personal costs may have been." Roderich smiled and it reached his eyes. "Whenever I had the misfortune of meeting Iv-Russia," he stopped himself, refusing to use Russia's personal name out of principle. "I would hound him by constantly asking after you. How you're doing, were you holding up well, urging him to pass on messages to you from Ludwig and me. I would do the same on Erzsébet's behalf, but you were the focus. I had visions of you trying to be her savior and winding up in an even worse position."

Gilbert bit his lip, wearing an incredibly guilty look. "How did you guess?"

“Because I know you! Every time we'd sign a new treaty or agreement, you'd be begging me to make her life better. It got to the point where I was telling my advisors to throw in an expansion of Hungarian rights before we even began negotiations.” Roderich rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that behavior would've ceased, especially under rulers with a much crueler bent? Though I appreciate that it must surely make my monarchs look so kindly and benevolent.”

There was no point in even touching that last part. Especially when Austria would have ample examples of Hohenzollern excesses to throw in Prussia's face. Instead, he focused on how touched he felt over everything. Things really had changed for them, the tables had turned so completely. A warmth spread throughout Gilbert's chest. “I had no idea you asked about me.”

“I suspected you didn't. I have no idea why Russia would be so reluctant to pass on anything to you two. We weren't trying to spread Western propaganda, or whatever he would be concerned for. The only goal was to let you both know your family still loved and missed you gravely.”

“He wanted us to be one big, happy family. To do that, for some fucked up reason, he felt like he had to constantly tell us that no one on the outside cared in order to break us down. It really got to those who only had friends on the inside regardless of whatever Erzsi or I said to them.” Gilbert shrugged, nonchalantly. Out of everything that happened behind the wall, this facet concerned him least. Its effects on him had been minimal. He couldn't believe Ludwig, no matter the bad terms they parted on, would disown Gilbert and leave him to the wolves. The kid had always been loyal to a fault. “Wait, you missed me? And consider me family?”

The vein in Roderich's forehead began throbbing. “Why is this so difficult for you to understand?’ Grumbling, he hurried off and returned with a pen and piece of paper. “I'm going to make this very simple and I'm going to speak slowly so you understand. Look me in the eyes, if you misunderstand a word of this, I'm going to hit you." Once they made eye contact, Roderich continued. “Our relationship has changed, meaning things are different now. I regard you, Gilbert, as not only one of my closest friends, but as family. And not merely the most distant of cousins either, close family, the type of family you wish to spend time around and worry for when appropriate.” He quickly wrote something on the paper before sliding it over the table. "Here. Try carrying this around with you in case you forget again."

Gilbert picked it up. It read ‚Roderich und ich sind Familie.’ He folded it and tucked it into his wallet, unable to stop himself from smiling. Perhaps his existence wasn’t so pointless, perhaps there was some meaning to be gleaned from his life. "You're actually a good guy. A really good guy. I wish I'd realized it sooner." His heart felt so full it could burst.

It was Roderich's turn to be caught off-guard. He looked away, studying the Schwind that hung on the opposite wall. “‘Good’ is not a classification I would accept so willingly. At the risk of sounding too Catholic even for myself, we've all committed sin. I'm simply trying to learn from mine, even if it's a bit late in some cases.” His lips turned the slightest bit upward. “But I do appreciate the compliment.”

"You realized it sooner than everyone else we know." Gilbert sipped his wine, needing something to do with his hands. "Don't be so hard on yourself. That has to count for something." A coy smile slipped through. "Besides, I know you hid people in your homes throughout the war. You shouldn't look so surprised; you were always asking me to help you stock up on food and clothes and you suddenly had new servants here. What other explanation could there have been?"

Despite all the time that had passed, the acknowledgement of his deed caused Roderich's heart to race. The instinctual fear at getting caught took over, regardless of there being an absence of authorities who would arrest him for it. "Well, I knew many of the upcoming Viennese artists and musicians then. It seemed...such a waste of incredible talent and life." He paused, the memories coming in vivid technicolor. "Anyone would've done the same."

"You know that's not true."

There was a point there. "I wanted to at least sound humble, regardless of whether it reflected reality accurately." He folded his hands in his lap. This was something he'd never discussed before; it was a secret he'd kept close to his heart first out of a survival instinct and later out of a desire to not be viewed in a heroic light. "You yourself noted how my last name could be perceived, as had various Jewish communities here. Over the years I'd warmed up to them and begun to count many of them as friends, those especially who easily shrugged off or accepted the nature of our existence. To turn on them in their greatest hour of need seemed to me to be beyond reprehensible. I had grown close to many of them, been invited into their homes, to witness their births, deaths, and marriages. You'll understand more than anyone else that, for my own peace of mind, I had to do what was right."

Gilbert had listened in silence. The coy little smirk never left his face. “The ice king does have a heart.” At Roderich's bewildered expression, Gilbert barked out a laugh. “Relax! I'm only kidding! You're looking at me as if I just shot your dog!” He wiped a wayward tear out the corner of his eye. “What can I say? I'm not surprised by any of this. Despite your best efforts, you're not heartless. A couple centuries ago, I could see you ignoring everything and letting the chips fall where they may, but not now. You figured out that having a little humanity isn't so bad.”

Now, that was insulting. Roderich harrumphed. “You say it’s a joke, but must you make me sound like a being incapable of the most basic of emotions?” He folded his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes in the process. Oddly enough, the prickle of irritation felt comforting. Over Gilbert’s long absence, Roderich had naturally felt annoyed at others plenty of times. But being aggrieved over America’s brashness or Arthur’s arrogance or Francis’ smugness didn’t feel quite the same. Being irritated at Gilbert came as easily as breathing air, felt like the comfort of sheets against you at night. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it till this very moment.

Apparently, his face was giving it away. “What are you staring at me like that for?” Gilbert’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Did I suddenly grow a third eye or something?”

“‘Or something’ for sure.” The corners of Roderich’s lips softened into an easy smile. “It’s nice to have you home, that’s all. It seems I really did miss you.”

Gilbert grinned, his most natural one yet of the evening. “I’m back forever now. There’s no more getting rid of me. From now on, you’ll be stuck with me till the end of eternity.”

“Threatening me so soon?” Roderich brought his wine glass to his lips, smiling. Against all odds, he was looking forward to the rest of eternity.

[mmazzeroo]

Heartstrings, chapter 22:

DANY IV - It’s A Little Dragonwolf

I'm so very sorry for the long wait. OMG! Oh well, I guess this is a gift that just keeps on giving, right? Haha..ha.. *hangs head in shame*

Anyway, @helloimnotawesome, I know you're not feeling well at the moment so I hope this can maybe provide you a little bit of a respite. Much love!!! 

Without further ado: 

---

"Happy nameday, Jon," Theon uttered quietly, a trembling hand holding out a large, rolled up sheet of paper, held together with a bit of red string.

Like a timid animal, Theon had carefully approached her and Jon as the two of them sat snuggled up together on a bench in the lemon grove. My absolute favourite part of the garden. Smells like home - and next to Jon it feels like it too.

Dany was sure the festivities were still unfolding in the dining hall. Everyone knew Jon needed occasional breaks from social gatherings, so no one in the family batted an eye when the two of them went for an evening stroll in the garden.

This, however, felt like a moment between Jon and Theon so she moved to get up and give them their space.

"No."

The urgency in his voice caused both her and Jon to look up.

Theon took half a step to the side before stopping himself, immediately casting his eyes downwards and instead taking a large step backwards. As if frozen in place he kept is head down, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere near his feet. He looks like a beaten dog that just remembered defending itself would only ensure more beating.

Viserys had warned them that Theon might not ever behave 'proper' human-like again. 'Might' being the most hopeful projection. It was like saying there might be world peace one day. It made Dany's blood boil with rage and simultaneously shattered her heart in a thousand pieces.

She still clearly remembered what state Jon had been in. He'd been all hurt, anger and outright rage. 'It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.' At the moment she couldn't remember where the quote was from but it sounded like something President Tyrell could've said. Jon would rather die fighting than not fight at all, but Theon..sweet Theon..had no fight left in him.

As a vet Dany had seen her fair share of neglected and abused animals. One thing they all had in common was how well they'd responded to some good old TLC - tender loving care - and she refused to believe that Theon's heart, mind and soul couldn't be mended, at least in part, by the same. 'You don't throw a whole life away just because he's banged up a little' - her husband's words still ringing in her mind years after he spoke them by the campfire on Dragonstone. My love, how I loved your big heart and your ability to see the best in everyone.

"Theon?" She spoke as softly as she knew how to, "please look at me, sweetheart."

He slowly looked up, staring back at her with dark frightened eyes. A deer caught in the headlights.

Dany gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "Would you like me to stay while you talk to Jon?"

A barely noticeable nod was the only response given.

"Ok, I'll stay. Thank you."

She sat back on the bench, leaning her head against Jon's shoulder who in turn gave her hand a light squeeze as they shared a small smile. Now all they could do was wait. They needed to let Theon control the speed of things.

As they sat quietly, patiently waiting for their broken friend to make a move she carefully watched Theon's face. It was clear his mind was racing. His face stoic, but those dark eyes of his were swimming with emotions. He looked as if he was on the brink of bolting, yet deep-seated fears from all the years of abuse kept him frozen in place. Dany had noticed how his eyes had gradually become more expressive over the course of the year he'd been living with them at Starfall. No longer the deep dark pits of emptiness; they were slowly beginning to show a little flicker of life in there. It was that tiny bit of life that now let her know that the haunted man behind the eyes were fighting to build up his courage.

He found it.

With a resolute look in his eyes, Theon took a daring step forward and held the rolled up sheet of paper out towards Jon. Again.

"Thank you, my friend."

At the mention of the word 'friend', Theon winced.

"You are my friend," Jon repeated emphasising every word. "You were then and you are now."

Theon jerked his head a couple of times in what appeared to be an attempt to nod. A ghost of a smile flicked across his face but was gone in the blink of an eye. Wait! Are those tears?

Quickly Dany searched his face for any other signs of emotions, but only Theon's quick swipe of his hand across the face told her she'd been right. She couldn't blame him though. Jon had confided to her how Theon used to treat him like his own personal punching-bag. At the same time though the two boys basically only had each other to depend on. Despite only being a boy, Jon had quickly understood that Theon merely did what he did to survive. He was the youngest of the Greyjoys, a family who took the 'survival of the fittest' quite literally.

The entire Greyjoy clan treated Theon anyway they wanted, the degrees of degrading and humiliating treatment increasing by the day. Jon had never given her details, and don't think I could ever bare to hear it now. The only one Theon had to take all his anger and frustration out on was Jon who, with a bastard's name, no one gave two shits about. Beating Jon saved Theon a sliver of dignity in the eyes of the remaining Greyjoy family; being beaten by Theon oddly meant Jon was considered Theon's property - his pet - and therefore spared beatings by the other, and older, orphan boys.

Thus, Jon and Theon developed their mutual messed up dependency on each other for the sake of survival. After being sent to Craster's Keep Jon had no idea what'd happened to Theon, but he'd confessed to Dany that he suspected it involved Theon's uncle, Euron. Her husband had labelled the Greyjoy captain 'a complete and utter psycho'. She could only imagine the kind of abuse Theon had suffered at his uncle's hands. His uncle, his own blood for fuck's sake!

Dany considered herself lucky for never having crossed paths with any of the Greyjoys as a child. There wasn't much all of Westeros agreed on, however the collective loathing of the Greyjoys - and Boltons for that matter - was one of the rare cases.

"May I open it now?" Jon smiled up at his nervous friend whose only response was a silent nod.

Carefully untying the string and tucking it in his pocket, Jon unrolled the paper and uncovered a black and white pencil drawing.

"Oh Theon, it's beautiful!" Dany marvelled at the masterpiece before her. Beautiful but heart-breaking.

"It sure is," her husband echoed next to her, voice thick with emotion, "did you make this yourself?"

Eyes full of uncertainty looked from Jon to her and back again. "Y-yes, I did," Theon mumbled, fingertips fidgeting with the seams of his pants. "Dr. Viserys said it'd be good for me."

He speaks! The few times she'd heard Theon speak more than a few words at a time, he'd sounded like a toddler stumbling its way through 'language-ing'. This however had been a full, grammatically correct sentence. The revelation made her want to jump for joy, but instead she settled for squeezing her husband's arm extra tight. Jon responded by handing her one edge of paper and snuggled her closer to him.

Now they could both examine the drawing fully. As she initially thought the drawing was a beautiful display of skill but the scene itself was harrowing.

At the centre was a large kraken. Surrounded by ships, it was clearly fighting for survival. There were spears sticking out of its body, a couple of severed limps sinking in the water, and blood gushing from a wound to the head where a large hook was attached - the crew on one of the ships pulling on ropes tied to the hook. From underneath the water, shadows were swimming up towards the struggling kraken, pulling at its arms, dragging it down. Oh sweet Theon! Once again Dany felt her heart break seeing this shell of a man attempting to convey his soul crushing pain.

In the sky a small group of dragons were swooping and setting the ships ablaze in the background. A pack of wolves stood on the shore - teeth bared, hind-legs dug in to the ground as they too were pulling on robes. Oh! The kraken had an arm intertwined with the rope the wolves pulled at. Another arm was digging into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to something. No mistaken the symbolism; he's reaching out to us.

Teary eyed Dany peeked over to her husband. Noticing his Adam's apple bop she knew she wasn't alone in battling a wave of emotions. Although I guess I could blame any momentary emotional instability on you, she bit back a smile while tenderly rubbing a warm hand over her protruding stomach.

"Do...it..," Theon abruptly stopped himself again.

"Sweetheart, you always have permission to speak here." He still avoided eye contact. "Please, go ahead," Dany gently prodded him. Jon pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

It took a couple of beats for Theon to muster up his courage one more time.

"It is ok?" He winced but continued, "d-do you like it?"

"It's amazing and I love it!" Jon took the drawing and handed it over to Dany as he got up. Two steps and he was toe to toe with Theon. "—and so are you."

Before their broken friend could respond Jon had him wrapped in a bearhug. There was a fleeting glimpse of panic before he eased into it and all but collapsed in Jon's arms. Besides the cinnabons, this was the first human contact Theon had had in years. Dany was amazed. He must be so tired, poor thing. He's taken huge strides today. Vis would be very proud of him. I know Jon and I are.

Her husband gently rocked a sobbing Theon who was clinging to him as if for dear life. She could hear Jon's calm voice quietly speaking to their distraught friend, "I got you. It's gonna be alright. You're safe now."

She remembered the night Jon had disclosed to her - laying in his arms, all tangled up in sheets - how he'd say those same words to everyone he rescued while in the Night's Watch. He'd repeat the words to them like a mantra, over and over and over until they calmed down; minutes or hours didn't matter to him - he'd keep speaking until they understood they'd been saved. My hero. If it wasn't for the sombre picture in front of her she would've giggled to herself for secretly thinking of Jon as a hero. Well, he's a hero to me and others whether he likes it or not.

Theon seemed to have calmed down. Only a few irregular sniffs could be heard now. His grip on Jon loosened but upon seeing Dany he tried hiding his face from her sight.

"No no, we'll have none of that now, young man," Jon gently coaxed Theon's head back up. "No shame in crying. No shame in having a heart. No shame in being human." Yup, definitely a hero.

Still holding on to each other, Jon took two steps back, turned around and eased Theon down on to the bench next to Dany. Jon dug out a handkerchief from a pocket, crouched in front of his friend and carefully wiped the tears from Theon's eyes and cheeks.

"Man to man; heart to heart, Theon - we're champions you and I. We made it out. We're finding our way through."

Quiet as always Theon listened to Jon speak, fingers picking at the shirt sleeves.

"I see you out there in that lonely ocean. Fighting for your life, your sanity, your humanity. Battling the demons and shadows all gnawing, scratching and eating away at your mind. I see you, my friend. I see you. I see you." Jon took a couple of deep breaths steading himself. I know this hurts you too, my love, but remember to stay calm for Theon's sake.

Silent tears rolled down Theon's cheeks once again. Dany was fighting her instinct to reach out to him and hold his hand, maybe a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It's a miracle he's letting Jon touch him and I don't want to push him.

"I'll fight for you, Theon. Till my heart is black and blue - and longer if needed. All I'm asking is you keep swimming. It's exhausting, I know-" he wrapped his hands around Theon's- "but I'll be right here with you to keep your head above water whenever you need a break, and you can rest for as long as you need. Just please keep swimming, Theon. We'll help re-attach your kraken arms—"

"I'm not a kraken," Theon hissed.

Taken aback, her husband sent her a crooked smile. So there's a sliver of fight left in the dog after all. Good!

"I'm not a kraken; don't want to be one," he confessed weakly, "not anymore."

"A wolf then?" Jon inquired.

"I'm not a Stark."

"An orca maybe?"

Both men looked at her puzzled.

"I just thought..," she trailed off. Think before you speak, Dany. Fuck's sake! She cleared her throat. "Orcas are also known as wolves of the sea. They have several traits similar to wolves: They're intelligent, curious, playful. They're loyal and fierce protectors. Loving and affectionate, and form strong family ties. Talented and ruthless hunters."

Theon had lowered his head again, back to staring at his hands in his lap. Shit! I pushed him too far.

Still crouching before him Jon was able to see his face though, and apparently it wasn't as bad as Dany feared because her husband gave her a small nod indicating she should keep speaking.

"They're survivors - known to live and thrive both as far south as the Summer Sea and as far north as the Shivering Sea. Passing knowledge from generation to generation. Adapting to their environment they utilise different hunting techniques depending on available prey."

Nibbling on a corner of his lower lip, casting frequent glances her way out of the corner of his eye, Dany could tell Theon was mulling over her words.

"—speaking of prey," she continued, leaning a bit closer to Theon lowering her voice adding a secretive aspect to their conversation, "there are interesting reports coming from the Cinnamon Straits, reports of sightings by both locals and scientists, speaking of a family of orcas who have specialised in hunting, killing and eating great white sharks."

Wide-eyed, both men turned to her. Dany looked back with a smirk on her face. That got their attention.

"I don't know about you guys but I think that's pretty bad-ass." She dared to place her hand on Theon's lower arm as she added, "-and so are you, sweetheart."

Drawing a shaky breathe, he muttered, "I'd like to believe that."

"Believe it," Jon urged, "all of it, and all the wolves and dragons you sketched-" pointing to the paper in Dany's hand- "will be right here to remind you whenever you need to hear it."

Theon was back to his contemplative silence, meaning Jon and her were back to waiting on their broken friend to decide where to go from here. He hasn't fully retracted into his shell though. Gods please let that be a good sign.

"Being an orca sounds nice," nodding to himself he added, "I'd like that."

Jon grinned, "that's settled then. C'mon let's get you two back inside - it's getting a bit chilly out here."

She's been so focus on Theon that she hadn't noticed she was shivering; no doubt her ever watchful husband had seen it from the second it began. My hero.

As they slowly made it up the path through the garden, Theon turned to her. "If I'm an orca now...," he trailed off, hesitating.

"—yes?" She smiled reassuringly at him.

"—then..what's..I mean.."

"Just breathe, dear, take your time and you can me ask anything."

Theon nodded slightly as he stared down at his feet. Glancing up nervously, he muttered, "what about your baby?"

She flashed Theon a smile before caching her husband's sparkling eyes as well. Affectionally stroking her pregnant stomach, voice filled with pride she replied, "it's a little dragonwolf."

[rogue-barnes-16]

SECRETS (part II/IV)

Summary: Detectives James Barnes and Y/n Y/l/n never really got along, despite being partners for seven months. You could say they hated each other, however, when James' past shows up threatening to break him all over again, the truth about their feelings comes to the surface.

Pairing: cop!Bucky Barnes x cop!Reader

Genre: angsty

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @sinviix @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack

Warnings: abusive ex-partner, mentions of toxic relationship, hungover, scars

A/N: I'm back from my brief hiatus(?) yayy! I'm still feeling super insecure about my writing so if you see something I'm doing wrong or something that I should improve, tell me. Tomorrow I'll post the next part of The Protege, but now enjoy <3.

Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist (you can find part I there)

The moment my eyes fluttered open, my hands gripped the sheets I had gotten tangled with, trying to suppress a loud groan the would have just made my head pound harder.

I stirred and turned my head to the man lying besides me as a proof of the bizarre events that my mind remembered from the night before.

This time I was unable to hold back a now regretful groan, which ended up shaking him awake.

"what the- Fuck" he sat up, pressing the heels of his hands against his shut eyes. "fuck fuck fuck fuck"

I shifted my position in a way that I had a perfect view of his bare back.

And that view made my heart clench, because it made me remember what I wanted to talk about without him in first place.

It also proved me that, sadly, there was no way in hell that I was wrong. The patterns of the scars were signs of domestic violence without a doubt.

"Barnes" I called him, not daring to move. "we still have to talk." my voice sounded demanding, but still tender and quiet.

"what 'bout?" his eased voice almost made me doubt my gut feeling, because after all, those scars could be something else.

But then he put his shirt faster than normal, and before even putting on his underwear.

"Dot." his shoulders tensed for a moment, but he did his best to hide it from me. "what happened between the two of you?" I didn't want to ask it directly, so I decided to take the long way.

"c'mon Y/l/n" he let out a humorless laugh, getting up to put on his underwear and pants. "You're the smartest detective I've ever worked with" I managed to hide my surprise at the compliment and I sat up on the bed. "do you really need to fuckin' ask?"

"yeah" he glared at me, leaning over the bed to grab his jacket. "Barnes for fucks sake" I let out a groan, falling back on the bed after I had seen him get out of my apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

BUCKY'S P. O. V.

I got in the precinct an hour or so before my shift actually started, but, honestly, I couldn't care less.

I made a bee line to my desk, not bothering on greeting my colleagues "Hey man, are you okay?" Wilson asked, probably noticing how bad I looked like due to the hungover.

"always" I curtly replied, grabbing the manila folders Y/n had been working on, and displaying it in front of me.

"Bucky?" I didn't even need to spare a glance at Steve to see his worried gaze. "what are you doing here? You don't-"

"got a problem" I muttered low enough for only us to hear it. "I- Y/n and I-"

"Please don't tell me that-"

"yeah" I replied before he finished his question. "we were drunk and-"

"Oh c'mon man" Steve sighed and I let myself fall on the chair while he kept pacing besides me. "with her out of everyone? You had to fuck your co-worker, who you've been pinning over for the last four months?"

"Listen, jerk that's not the important thing right here" I hissed, leaning over the desk to be closer to him. "she knows."

"she knew the moment that Dot showed up" he replied, sitting over my desk. "why does it matter anymore though? The trials start in a week."

"I didn't want her to know" I confessed, running my hands over my short hair. "not now, not like this."

"well there's no going back, pal" Steve said with a sad note on his voice. "you gotta- oh, there she goes" squeezing my shoulder, he got up and walked to his own desk. "Mornin' Y/l/n. Isn't it a bit early?"

"I have work to do" she replied emotionless, looking for the folders on her desk. When she didn't find them, she silently walked to stand besides me and, leaning over my desk, she started to grab the folders.

"I won't tell anyone" she whispered in a tone much softer than I expected. "it's your place to do it so don't worry" with that, she came back to her desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was midnight and Y/n and I hadn't spoken since our brief exchange of words in the morning. Now that we were the last ones left in the department, it was impossible for us not to chat with the other.

It was Y/n who started the conversation.

"Hey listen" she called in low voice, walking to my desk to sit besides me. "I'm sorry for pushing you. I just-" she sighed, scratching her arm distractedly. "I-I just wanted to be wrong, and then" pursing her lips, she spared me a nervous look. "I don't know"

I glanced at her for a moment and, after taking a deep breath, I spoke. "I fell for her when I was really young" I stated. "Hell, I fell hard" she peaked at me, leaving the pencil she was using over the papers. "she was so charming. We got married when I was twenty-six"

"That's..." she looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "that's nine years"

"not really" I scratched my neck, feeling Y/n's eyes on me. "we took lots of breaks" I tried focusing on the reports in front of me. "things went south during the last three years, though. We fought. A lot." I scoffed "I loved her so I always blamed myself-"

"Bucky" she cut me off in the most tender way possible. "we- you don't- we don't have to talk about it." before I could tell her that I wanted- no, that I needed to, she spoke again. "unless you want to."

I nodded. "one day I came home late. We argued and she... Uh... Slapped me." I shrugged, not daring to look at Y/n. "and I thought, she's worried, don't mind it." Y/n stayed quiet for me to tell her the rest of the story. "slaps turned into things being thrown at me, and then... Well, you already saw it."

"Your back." I nodded at her guess. "Bucky, those are some serious scars." I just shrugged, not knowing what to answer. "what the hell did she use?"

"what does it look like?"

"I didn't look at them enough to-" I started to unbutton my shirt to take it off. "you sure of what you're doing?" I nodded, leaving the shirt aside. "Okay uh" she stood up and hesitantly traced the scars with her fingers "those three ones gotta be from a belt."

"they are"

"well then she's strong as fuck" I let out a nervous chuckle while she inspected the rest of the scars. "this one... Did she stab you"

My nod was almost unnoticeable "That's the last one"

"I wanna believe that this burn here" her fingers ghosted over it. "isn't one of them." she sighed, grabbing my shirt and handing it to me.

I realized too late my hands were shaking too much for me to be able to button up my shirt. When she noticed this, she kneeled in front of me and did it for me.

"the last time we were together, she ended up stabbing me" her jaw clenched.

"I'm guessing she came here" she got up and came back to her chair. "because you brought a lawsuit against her?"

I nodded, clenching my fists a few times in an attempt to calm my nerves. "she showed up in my house yesterday. That's why I was in the bar."

READER'S P. O. V.

"what are you gonna do tonight?" That question didn't really need to be asked, but still, I did.

"I'll stay in the break room" he replied distracted. "tomorrow I'll figure something"

Without thinking twice, I casually suggested "come to my place"

He shot me a perplexed glance "and then what?" before I could even think about replying, he spoke again. "we fuck again?"

I couldn't help but snort with a note of bitterness in my laugh. "I'm trying to be nice, what the fuck was that?"

"not sure" he muttered absently, a frown forming between his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I think I'm too tired"

I sighed "yeah, me too" I looked up at the clock and, taking a deep breath, I spoke again "we should go home"

"we?"

"yeah" I got up, not wanting to face him for some reason I could not pinpoint. "You're staying at my place remember?"

"Y/n" he called me "there's still a week left for the trials"

"I think" I grabbed my things and put on my jacket "that we're more than capable of standing each other for a week"

I heard him standing up and I finally turned around to face him again. "Y/n, you don't have to-"

"Oh shut up" I said cut him off, throwing him his jacket. "I bet if it was Steve, you wouldn't be so hesitant"

"of course I wouldn't" he admitted, letting out a chuckle. "he's my bestfriend"

"then- I dunno" I shrugged with a grin on my face while we made our way out. "pretend I'm Steve, but stop complaining"

"That's-" he snorted falling into step with me. "that's so fucking weird"

"why? 'cause we fucked?" there was a beat of silence, but when I looked at him, we both burst into fit laughs.

BUCKY'S P. O. V.

"yeah, because we fucked" I confirmed, looking ahead of us with a smile dancing on my lips. "Where's your place, by the way?"

"what the hell? you were there last night." she shook her head a couple of times with a grin pulling the corners of her mouth. "I guess you were too drunk."

"so were you"

"yeah, but I still know where's my place" she stated proudly.

"what the f- Y/n, that's because it's your place." a snort escaped her lips. "which way, genius?"

"This way, jerk" she placed a hand on my back to guide me and, despite the thick jacket, I could still feel it's warm.

It was in that moment that I realized her touch somehow soothed me, and I found myself wishing she didn't let go of me.

[idontevenknowmanidek]

"I wanna be a star!" Pt. 1: Audition

Life as a porn star was nothing like Nita expected. She thought it was all orgasms and easy money, but her company had her working hard. 2 workouts daily, heavily regulated diet, and filming everyday. The money was good though.

From day one, everything was different than she expected. When she went to sign up to a talent agency, she thought she'd be walking in to some sleazy building filled with gross old guys, not that that wouldve stopped her from moving forward with her "acting' goals. But the building she walked up to was a tall, sleek no-nonsense type place. It was all bright and shiny and everyone there looked hotttt. It was hard to tell who was an actor and who was an office worker. She walked in to speak to the receptionist, who was a sweet, bubbly young woman by the name of Lisa, and was directed up to the 7th floor. Thats were interviews were held.

In the elevator the sounds of smooth jazz filled her ears and set her at ease. "This is awesome!" She thought. In no time, she was walking out into a well furnished office. It was somwhow dark and comforting at the same time. A man sat at the desk in the middle of the room, scribbling on some papers, but the sound of the opening elevator alerted him.

"Ah! You must be Anita Paul. Come, sit down." He stood as she approached and shook her hand. "Would you like a drink?" He gestured at a glass pitcher on his desk and she nodded. Smoothly, he poured a serving into two glasses and placed one in front of her. She thanked him as she took the glass and took a sip, surprised to taste orange seltzer water.

"Good isn't it?"

"Mhm! Wow, that was super refreshing!"

"I'm glad you like it Anita. Now, lets get started. My name is Grant Downing, or Mr. Downing if you so please. Tell me, what brings you to us today?"

"Oh, well... I'm a performer. Its all I've ever wanted to do in life, be in front of a camera. But I like having fun. Being in a drama or a rom-com doesn't interest me much, they arent as fun as... Well, this."

"Interesting. Since you like being on camera so much, would you mind doing the next section while video taped? I just need to see how the camera reacts to you, see you in action, you know?"

"Oh that is absolutely no problem, Mr. Downing." Anita adjusted herself in her armchair, flipping her long, dark hair behind her ears and sitting up straighter, so her breasts poked out a bit. Meanwhile, Grant was setting up a small tripod beside his desk. A little red light began to flash, letting her know the camera was on and rolling.

"Now, I'm going to ask you a few more questions and then, I'll run you through some exercises. Sound good?"

Anita nodded and beamed at the camera.

"So Anita, have you ever had sex before?"

The question made her smile fade a bit. It was times like this that she was grateful for her dark skin, noone could see her blush, but it didn't stop her from feeling the heat riaing in her cheeks.

"No, sir." She said, quietly.

"What a surprise. A pretty girl like you, still a virgin and at 24. Why does a virgin want to be a porn star?"

" Uhm, well... I've never had sex with another person, but ive had plenty of experience with sex toys and the like. I'm a very curious person, you see. I'm also cautious, so while the opportunity has presented itself in the past, ive never done more than hand jobs and other forms of outercourse."

"Thank you for sharing Anita. Next question. What is your sexual orientation?"

Anita let out a sigh of relief at the change of topic.

"I consider myself Queer."

"So, you wouldnt mind having sex with a man or a woman, cis or otherwise?"

"Oh not at all, Ive had partners with all sorts of different identities. Nonbinary, cis woman, trans woman, etc. I do tend to lean more femme in terms of my attraction, but i have dated men and masculine folks as well."

"Good, I'm glad youre open to different things. So, how do you feel about roleplay?"

"I think I might be most excited for that! It'll give me a chance to show off my acting chops and I'll get to try something new all the time!"

"Do you have any hard limits?"

'Hmm.. Yes, i dont think I'd like to do too much with bodily fluids or anything too painful. I dont mind a little pain here and there, but I think if it were geared towards sadism and masochism, i wouldn't be into it as much."

"Noted." Grant said, reaching over and scribbling something. He glanced at his watch. "How do you feel, Anita?"

Anita paused for a moment and thought. She felt good. Really good. She was comfortable in the chair and in front if Mr. Downing. Anita wasnt a prude or anything, but she typically wasnt the most forthright when it came to sex and her body. She guessed ti was just because it was her boss... er, possible future boss, that she was tlaking to that put her at ease. Its a job for porn, there are no secrets, she thought

"I'm feeling great, Mr. Downing"

"Good. Now, I'm going to ask you to list out some of your fantasies for me. While doing this, you may begin to feel aroused and thats perfectly okay. If you want to, you can touch yourself while talking abt these fantasies, but only above the clothes. Understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Downing. Uhm, I geuss my biggest fantasy would be a gangbang... I love the idea of being used by multiple people at once. All those hands over my body." Anita shivered at the thought. The warmth that was once in her cheeks moved lower, to a very different part of her body.

"I also fantasize about being tied up to once of those siban things, and having to ride that for a long time, orgasm after orgasm ripping through me."

"Keep going Anita, tell me more."

By this point, she was dripping with desire, it was as though a faucet had been left on.

"Mmm. I like the idea of using a double sided dildo on someone. One side in me, the other side in them and I'm using it to fuck them. And every thrust I give them, i also feel. Sometimes in this fantasy, there's someone else behind me, hitting it from the back, thrusting in time with me." Anita had begun to rub herself over her slacks. Why did i have to dress sensibly?

"Stop." Mr. Downing barked out, and Anita immediately stopped speaking and masturbating. "Thats enough of your fantasies, thank you. The question part is now over, time for some exercises."

"Stand up with your arms out and give me a spin." Without hesitation, Anita stood and spun slowly for Mr. Downing to see her. "Anita, take your clothes off." In no time, she stood before him, her slacks and blouse, crumpled on the floor before her. As her hand began to reach for her bra, he stopped her.

"Thats more than enough. Kneel, Anita. Legs spread wide." She lowered herself to the ground, settling in the position he described.

"Now we are going to see how well you can act. Grope your breasts and moan."

Her hands began to snake up her body, grabbing and pulling at her breasts through her lacy bra.

"Mmm, Ohhh." Her nipples began to harden and poked at her hands.

"Louder! More forceful. Come on Anita, you've seen porn before."

Anita redoubled her efforts moaning more loudly.

"Unnff. Yeah! MMMM!"

"There you go! Here, take it and use it. Youve got the job if you can come in less than a minute." He handed her a thick vibrator which she gladdly accepted. Turning it on to the highest setting, she got to work and starting playing with herself, moaning wantonly the entire time. 45 seconds in, she came mindshatteringly hard.

"Welcome to the family Anita. Now, take the elevator down to the bottom floor, you'll get your onboarding papers and watch the training video there."

He helped her up and uahered her towarsa the elevator.

"But.. My clothes?"

"Oh you wont need them now" he chuckled. With a smile and a wave, he sent her on her way

[valhallamercury]

bassist | boh rhap!john deacon x female!reader

Summary: Ever since you’ve met John, you’ve happily thrown yourself down the rabbit hole of falling in love with him. And honestly, how could you resist? He was kind, sweet, and not to mention handsome. Now the only problem: getting to go on a date with  A/N: The requested part two of secretary, so make sure you read that before reading this! This was so much fun to write, tell me if you’d guys would like a part three! :) Warnings: none, except that this is unedited.  Tag list: @lizgarxo @josephhmazzello @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl Word count: 1,994

After your first encounter with the dark-haired man, you had practically thrown yourself into a pit labeled “in love with John Richard Deacon.” Could anyone blame you though? Every time John came in with his friends to record their album, he always made sure to stop by and talk to you. He would tell you about the album and the boys, and you would tell him about how work was going and your pride and joy, which was your cat named Fleur. On bad days, he would make you smile. On some days, he brought you flowers, on others he brought you tea with compliments written on the cup. You dreamed of the day John would ask you out, and each day you would be let down when he didn’t. But you wouldn’t give up.

You sat at the front desk, organizing papers for Mr. Foster that needed to be done before noon. You checked the clock again. 10:34. You’ve got this, Y/N, why are you even worrying about it? You know you’ll have these done in 10 minutes, You thought to yourself. You knew the real reason behind your stress, though you wouldn’t admit it. You hadn’t seen John’s sunshine face in three days, making you worry that you had said something to upset him. A tap tap tap against your desk made your thoughts end. 

You looked up, seeing a familiar smiling face. You’re little sunshine was back. 

“John!” You exclaimed happily, his fond smile becoming contagious against your lips. “I haven’t seen you in a while, I was starting to worry something had happened.” You admitted, resting your head against the palm of your hand. Y/N, your papers, a voice in the back of your head nagged. You decided to ignore it. 

“No, no, I’m perfectly fine. Really. We’ve just been so busy with the album, haven’t had much time to chat.” He explained shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

“Well, I’m glad to see your pretty face again. I’ve missed our little talks.” You smiled fondly at John, seeing his face light up to a bright pink color. It was a fun little game you liked to play: see how many times you could get John to blush. It definitely wasn’t one-sided though, for there were many occasions where Mr. Deacon had made your face go hot. 

“I’ve missed them too.” John returned your smile, leaning his elbows against your desk as he conversed with you. You could tell something was off though; he looked as though he was trying to tell you something, but just couldn’t find the words. Finally, he spoke again. 

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering, what time do you get off?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was this finally your moment?

“I’m actually off tomorrow.” You replied, trying to remain ‘nonchalant sounding’ but you could tell that it hadn’t been too convincing. 

“Well, what a coincidence! The boys and I have a day off tomorrow as well from pumping out songs for the album,” His signature dorky smile and pink cheeks returned, “I was wondering... well, I was wondering since we’re both conveniently off, if maybe you’d like to hang out tomorrow. Like, well, a date.” 

It took all the strength in you not to jump up and down in excitement in that very moment. But, you controlled yourself. That didn’t stop the big smile stretching across your face though.

“I would love to go on a date with you tomorrow, Deaky.” You cooed. He grinned, a soft chuckle escaping through his lips. 

“Great! Great.” He coughed, trying to calm his enthusiasm. “There’s this great tea shop I know that we can meet at,” He began, pulling a sticky note from your desk and writing down the address of the shop. He handed it to you, a bright smile across his features. You happily took the sticky note, folding it up and putting it in your jacket pocket. 

“I’ll meet you there around 10-ish?” You asked, practically bubbling over with excitement. He nodded quickly, checking the time on his watch.

“I must be going, but I guess, I guess I’ll see you around?” He guessed giddily, slowly backing up as he walked backwards down the hall. You nodded, giving him a small wave. 

“See you tomorrow, Deaks.” 

He grinned, turning around completely as he ran down the hall. You watched him run, seeing him pump his fist up in delight. You saw his three friends come out from behind some furniture of the main lobby, congratulating him. You giggled behind your hand before looking back down at your paperwork once more. 

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

Tap, tap, tap, tap

You blended your base in with your fingers, making sure everything was smooth and even across your face. Even in the most stressful of times, doing makeup had always calmed your nerves. However, you couldn’t stop the butterflies fluttering across your stomach or the way your face would heat up at the thought of John and the date that was in less than an hour.

You tapped a soft powder across your face, setting the base. You smudged a shimmery eyeshadow across the lids of your eyes, brushed mascara through your top and bottom lashes, and ran a clear mascara through your brows to hold them down. You applied a thick clear gloss across your lips, swiping some off your skin when you went a bit over the lines. 

Now the only problem you were faced with: what to wear. Everything you tried on just seemed to either be too much or not enough. You finally decided on denim overalls that were embroidered with elegant pink flowers, a long-sleeved pink and red striped shirt, and red Chuck Taylor All Stars.

“How do I look?” You turned, looking at your cat Fleur, who laid sprawled out across the bed. She lifted her head up, letting out a soft meow, before laying back down. You took that as a sign of approval. 

You only had fifteen minutes or so to get to the tea shop, so you decided to head out early. 

You made your way through the bustling streets of Britain, before finally stopping in front of the quaint little shop. With five minutes to spare, might you add. 

You looked around before spotting John’s familiar long locks. The man had his head in a book, tapping his finger along to the beat of some song as he read. You smiled a bit to yourself, shaking his head. You walked over, standing in front of his booth. 

“Is this seat taken?” You asked playfully. John looked up at you, a fond look appearing across his face. 

“It’s all yours.” He joked back, making you giggle. You sat down across from him, crossing your ankles out of habit. Your Gran had made sure that you always remembered to cross your ankles, not your legs. That was the proper way to do it, you could practically hear her remark. 

“This place is lovely, the scenery is so quaint and cute.” You remarked, smiling as you looked around. The shop was decorated like some sort of Woodstock-esque design. There were posters of the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and many more artists. It had flowers of all sorts of varieties hanging from pots and vases across the store, giving it a lovely dash of color in all the right places. The room smelled of different variations of tea, all of which smelled exceptional. 

“Well, I remembered you telling me so much about how much you loved tea and flowers, so I thought this might be a good place to go.” He said softly, looking back at you shyly through his lashes. You felt your face heat up. No one you had ever been with had been this considerate. 

“You’re sweet, Johnny.” You smiled, resting your hand on your chin as you looked at the flower vase in front of you. “They really should switch the dandelions with those pink asters. The pink would compliment the goldenrods better.” You said, looking at the flowers in front of you. John raised his brows, but his smile never leaving.

“You really know your stuff, huh?”

You looked down at your feet for a moment, letting out a chuckle. “I guess you could say that. I’ve been wanting to be a florist since I was young because my Gran was a florist. She taught me all about different flowers and the way things would compliment each other and all sorts of things. My parents didn’t really think I should become a florist, they said there was no money in it and that people don’t buy flowers anymore.” You shrugged, looking back up at the dark-haired man who had been listening intently. “Besides, if I had been a florist, I would’ve never met you.” 

He smiled at you warmly, glancing at the vase. “Well, I think you should go for it. There’s no shame in trying.” He appealed, looking at you with his soft brown eyes that made you melt. “You’d be perfect at it. You have a cat named Fleur, for God’s sake.” He teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggled, rolling your eyes playfully and gently tapping his foot with your own. 

“Do not make fun of my cat, Deacon.” You scolded jokingly, a laugh escaping from the two of you. Once the laughter settled down, it was your turn to listen intently. “Well, since you know everything about me, why don’t you tell me things about you?” You asked, arching one of your brows. 

He raised a brow in return, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Well, what would you like to know?” 

You tapped your chin, thinking for a moment. “Favorite color? Favorite music artist? Hell, you haven’t even told me what instrument you play in your band.” 

“Well, my favorite color is black. Favorite musical artist? Probably Hendrix or the Beatles. And I play bass.” He spoke softly, looking into your eyes as he spoke. 

“That’s all?” You said as you looked at him, gently tapping his foot with your own. “C’mon, Deaks, there’s gotta be more to you than long hair and a pretty face.” 

His cheeks turned pink, tapping your foot with his in return. “Pretty face, huh?” He blushed, your feet now in an all right war with each other. “I was born August 19th,  1951. I have a band with my best mates, Freddie, Brian, and Roger. I like electronics. I love soul and funk music. I love to tinker. Doesn’t really matter with what, but I’m always fiddling with something around the studio. I also know that I’m on a date with the girl of my dreams and talking to her makes me nervous and giddy at the same time.” 

You felt your face heat up, you knew immediately you were giving the man heart-eyes. “You truly are wonderful, Deaky.” You smiled, reaching over and timidly placing your hand over his. He smiled, interlocking your fingers as he returned your fond gaze. 

You turned to face the window, seeing the rain pour down against the window. You took a deep breath, turning back to John with a sad gaze. “I should be going soon, before the rain gets any worse.” 

John frowned, glancing outside. “I’m not letting you walk home in the storm. It’s too awful.” He began, glancing down at your interlocked hands, before looking at you once more. His cheeks had turned an even deeper shade of pink. “My place isn’t far, if you’d like to stay there for the night. Only if you’d like though. Otherwise I could surely walk you home.” He added quickly, looking down at your hands. 

You smiled a bit at him, reaching over with your free hand and grabbing his other. He looked up at you, and you gave him a loving look. “What are we waiting for, Deaks? Let’s go.”