#only one man has succeeded in rendering me speechless

[sparfloxacin]

I miss Olli so much 🥺

[nicawlette]

Me too, she wants to say, but doesn't. It hurts to think that they'd plagued each other's minds so tortuously for such strikingly different reasons. There is some comfort, however, to know that her effect on him had not dissipated, even if the memories had. Regardless of anything else, Nicolette had succeeded in carving out a place for herself inside him.

There was twisted satisfaction knowing it would be left empty without her there to fill it. It was only fair. After all, he'd done the very same to her.

Wang Yi's tentative confession renders her speechless— a rare feat to accomplish. Others have offered their heart in much grander displays, and she has cruelly proven it to be a mistake. But none have known her as he does.

For as much as she lies to herself, Nicolette can't ignore the way his words leave her aching for something that had once seemed so impossibly out of reach. ❝ Wang Yi, I... I think— ❞ She stops, lips pressing into a firm line as she hides her face against his chest. It burns terribly, as do her ears. ❝ No... I like you. Too. For awhile. ❞ There is no need to think— not for her. This feeling cannot be anything else, but she dares not speak a heavier word. Not yet. Not now.

❝ I may know what it is... but I don't know what to do with it anymore than you do. I've never... I didn't think I was allowed... something like this. ❞ Nicolette forces herself to unfurl from her hiding place, peering up at him with uncharacteristic insecurity and fragile hope. ❝ It's okay, ❞ she whispers, smiling softly upon seeing his fraught expression, sliding a hand from his back to cradle a cheek in her palm. ❝ I can teach you what I know... and everything else, we can learn together. As long as I take up the biggest space... we can keep getting worse. ❞

His wasn't a bold declaration of love, nor did it hold the warm affection of a romantic film's leading man, but how could she ever be disappointed with this? After all, one day implied a future. It was an unspoken promise, same as her willingness to wait for it.

He tenses at the puff of air past his skin, but it isn't unpleasant. Something curls in his gut as he simply continues to hold her, content in their proximity.

"I've been thinking about you the whole week," he murmurs back. Even before he got his memories back, she was in his head, in one way or another. He just hadn't realized why.

"On the way here too."

"And outside just then. I was figuring out ways to get in your window, then wondering what I'd do if you kicked me out anyways. Or maybe you'd already moved on...stupid things like that."

In hindsight, that was belittling them both.

"Nicolette, I uh..." This was going to sound stupid too, especially after all the other stuff they've been saying back and forth, but he feels like it's important to get it out nonetheless.

"...I think I like you. For a long time now." It sounds even worse than he imagines, but Wang Yi soldiers on.

"At least...I feel something towards you. I'm not—I've never been good at expressing this stuff but, you know? It's different than being friends. Um. I think before we go crazy again or anything I should let you know, because I can tell it's getting worse—no, I mean better, uh..."

He trails off, looking guilt-stricken again.

"Maybe one day when I get it, I can say it to you properly."

[boop-le-snoot]

If life gives you melons...

Ship: Loki x F!alt! reader

Rating: Explicit / word count 5,5k

Summary: You've heard about meet-cute, how about meet-ugly? Reader has tattoos and a tongue split. There's this joke that "bisexual alt girls go looking for a girlfriend and end up with sad, tall and skinny white bois" and boy did that hit home. Inspired by this cringy video of Hiddles [youtube link].

During a panel at a comic con, Loki notices reader and they go on a date, reader gets railed: top!Loki, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, all the good stuff. Open ending, with a bonus of reader and Loki pranking Clint.

x. I usually fancy they/them pronouns for Loki but seeing as it's a smut-shot, I decided to go along with he/him for the sake of simplicity. Loki's at least 6'4 tall and you can fight me on that. Also, I write like a Tony stan - I feel the need to apologize to Loki stans for that. I love you guys! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

The long line of people appeared to be neverending. Loki was an enhanced, as the government recently had adopted a politically correct term for Earth's non-human inhabitants, but even his enhanced endurance had begun waning due to sheer amount of people wanting a piece of memorabilia signed by The God of Mischief. Loki had gained a considerable amount of fans after doing his part in killing the mad titan Thanos and by extension, saving the world. It turned out, humankind was a sucker for a good redemption arc.

Loki's hands ached where they wrapped around the pen that he'd been using for nearly 4 hours to neatly place his name, written in neat runescript, on various pieces of merchandise that his fans (and wasn't that a strange thing!) presented to him. He used to think that he would have actually succeeded conquering the earth if he had a grasp on how to use social media and his charm; now, he just wanted the torture to end. An involuntary sigh left his mouth when he saw another print of himself in full battle gear being placed in front of him by a reasonably attractive young woman.

"Um, thank you," She stammered, giggling softly, and Loki spared her a painstaking smile, scribbling his name once again. The woman briefly caught his eyes. "Um, you're the reason- the inspiration for me. I became a stripper."

Loki blanked, feeling his eyes widen and blink on their own accord a few times. He wasn't sure if he heard the woman correctly, as the unusual statement made his brain freeze.

Loud snickering from behind the blushing woman interrupted the system error that he was experiencing in his head. It wasn't often that somebody managed to render him speechless. It looked like whoever was in line behind the stripper woman had taken advantage of that. Loki's eyes snapped to the short-haired person, who looked torn between cringing and breaking into embarrassed laughter.

The stripper left without a word, and as Loki picked up the cursed writing instrument once again, the short-haired person smiled at him kindly. "That was a little weird," They snorted, "And thanks, have a nice day Mr. Loki."

"When life gives you melons, you might be dyslexic," Another woman, that appeared to be the short haired person's friend, deadpanned and gave a cynical side-eye to the departing stripper. Loki heard snickering coming from the short-haired person and quietly joined himself. The woman noticed it, winking at him as she collected the newly signed t-shirt. "Bye," She smiled kindly.

It was a split second decision, really. Something about the cheeky way she addressed the situation sparked Loki's interest. "Wait, you forgot something, darling," His baritone called out to the departing woman. She turned around, confused, and hastily grabbed the standard issue photo that he was holding out to her. With a final grateful nod, she smiled and left.

If Loki's smile had returned for the time being, none of his teammates made any remarks on it. Only his brother, Thor, gave a couple of knowing looks to the Asgardian sorcerer.

The woman in question didn't think twice about the photo that she stashed in her backpack along with the signed t-shirt. The Comic-Con had been full of people and the lines were unfairly long. The sheer exhaustion after attending a 3-day long convention had set in and she was eager to simply come home back to her apartment and crash on the nearest soft flat surface. Upon arrival, she did exactly that, flopping down gracelessly on the couch, her backpack landing next to her with a careless thud.

Unloading her trophies was a short time affair: a single white tee with a dozen signatures on it, written in what she hoped was waterproof Sharpie; one mug, shaped like an Iron Man helmet; one poster, showing Spider-Man on a picturesque NYC horizon and a signed photo of one Loki. Strangely enough, she did not remember requesting it - not that she was complaining. Free merch was free merch.

The front side wasn't signed whatsoever. Overcome by curiousity, she turned it around. A phone number was written on the back of it, the handwriting neat and the letters obviously being inked out by a thinner, more sophisticated pen than the one Loki had used for scribbling on the tee. The woman gaped silently, not believing her eyes. Did Loki himself had given her his phone number?

One margarita and a hefty helping of Chinese takeout later, the numbers persisted staring back at her mutely, the neat cursive being almost mocking in its quiet. The woman's smartphone had found a comfortable place right next to the photo, equally mum regarding the unusual situation.

An additional margarita was needed to gather the courage required to actually type out the number in the receiver box. Fruity alcoholic concoction in one hand and phone clutched in the other, the woman's eyes squeezed shut tightly as soon as the dreaded "Hey, got your number today! :)" read delivered. She'd typed and erased the message several times, groaning in embarrassment. How the hell does one approach an alien god?

"Hello! May I ask your name?" The response came after a brief moment - a moment the woman had suffered through by taking too haste sips of her drink, her common since screaming her to not overdo it and wait at least a full minute before replying. Everything felt awkward and misplaced.

In no time, she was sending the screenshots of the conversation to her girl-advice group chat that consisted of her closest friends. Chatting with Loki turned out to be surprisingly easy and he was great at upholding conversation, something that couldn't be said about all those Tinder matches she had had back in the day.

Even if using proper grammar during a text message conversation was something she had to reacquaint herself with, she was glad he wasn't just another boring, shalllow, condescending-ass white boy. Despite the cultural differences and his lack of knowledge of things like pop culture and music - something he said he was working on since New Asgard became a sovereign state on Earth - they bonded over music and tattoos and generally being rebellious against society's standarts.

The invitation to dinner didn't come as a surprise for the woman. She agreed happily, looking forward to continue their conversation outside of the internet - if Loki's part of the chat was anything to go by, not only was he charming, but also quite intelligent. And easy on the the eyes, too. They had traded selfies at some point and the Asgardian didn't look any worse in a hoodie and sweatpants than he did in his battle leathers. Loki had appeared to truly have had integrated into Earth's society.

The night of the date, the continuous text exchange did very little to calm her nerves. Loki texted as much as an overeager teenage boy: every now and then he would double-text and grossly overreact to her sending a simple meme. In fact, he smugly conveyed the fact he'd single-handedly started a meme war between the Avengers and even Steve was forced to participate; something that was, allegedly, out of character for the blonde man.

She didn't mind. Not like she had many friends to have so much fun with. Even if it took her twice the time to do her favourite eyeliner style, it was worth it. She hoped Loki would appreciate the bold, but classy make-up and the dress and shoes combo that accentuated her assets. Her date expressed curiousity about her tattoos and the difference between her preferred style and the humans he spent most time with. She guessed secret agents were not particularly fond of anything that made them memorable so she held out quite the hope for... Showing off some of her tattoos in a more private setting.

In other, simpler words, the woman came in prepared for both a friendly, leisurely stroll and a quality night. Either way, it would be a time well spent.

Loki's shiny, raven hair was impossible to miss as he towered over the rest of the people waiting by the restaurant's entrance. He wore tailored black trousers and a simple cashmere sweater, perfect for the evening's damp, cool air. Tall and lithe, Loki was mouthwateringly handsome.

"Come here often?" She wormed her way through the crowd, causing the man to smirk down at her. Her cheeks flared from the tiny gesture alone.

"Just waiting for a friend," Loki uttered lowly, extending an arm towards the woman, which she gracefully accepted as they made way towards the entrance. "Reservation for Loki," The Asgardian stated to the hostess, who, after a rapid doube-take, led them to a private, secluded area in the back of the restaurant.

Loki shouldered the slightly awkward interaction with grace, paying no mind to the girl. His focus was solely on his date and he was nothing but gallant as he took the woman's purse and held out the chair for her to comfortably sit down. As a prince, he was taught well, she mused.

"Usually I would ask 'what brings you to our little ball of water and dirt?' but I think we can skip that part," The woman stated with a sheepish grin, idly flicking through the menu and curiously eyeing the items that were unfamiliar. The desire to try something new fought with the possibility of accidentally ordering something too far out - like snails or other things that rich people fancied, for some reason.

Loki's greens briefly appeared over the top of his menu, grateful and sparkling. "I think it's best if we do just that," For a second, he looked away, before returning to the menu. "I can think of better things to discuss. I recall you didn't finish telling me about that college friend of yours, who was an anarchist... I'm dying to know..."

The waiter came and went, barely noticed by the pair, as they both poked at something that sounded the most familiar for both of them. Stoically, Loki admitted that Tony Stark did the booking for him and the woman reluctantly acquitted she wasn't very familiar with upscale establishments, being of middle-class background and working a middle-class job.

Interrupting the story she began telling hours ago, the woman took the time to point out the things she was familiar with on the menu and advised Loki to stay away from - like the aforementioned snails, and other things, slimy and salty things that she considered to be 'disgusting but rich people liked it for some reason'. The conversation slowly progressed into Loki telling her the mischief he got up to at the feasts Odin threw. The Asgardian shared the woman's disregard for influential people doing gross things to show off.

The food was good - it was really hard to miss with a traditional Italian lasagna - and seeing Loki shovel an obscene amount of food was an experience, but she didn't comment on it, tactful enough to consider his alien biology might have different dietary requirements that her human one. It was great, really, that she could order dessert and not feel guilty about it.

The gelato melted in her mouth like sweet ecstasy and she moaned with her next bite, only partly aware of how obscene really was the noise.

Loki's hand stuttered on it's way to his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared at her lips, at her mouth, where her tongue lapped up the small drops of dessert from the spoon. "Why the split tongue?" The Asgardian finally gathered his wits, having had a good look of what he was sure was a trick of the eye at first.

She grinned, acutely aware of the effect that particular body modification had on men. "I like being different. I embrace the weird." She giggled, not at all ashamed, sticking out her tongue and wiggling both parts of it teasingly.

Loki's Adam's apple bobbed; "Weird?" He raised his eyebrow, fighting to maintain his previous cool composure.

She nodded. "Weird," She retorted coyly. "I usually don't divulge the details at least until the third date. Wouldn't want to scare my potential suitors off," The playful wink was the proverbial cherry on top. He was hooked, his eyes darkened, following the plump arch of her lips as she took another spoonful of the treat and savoured it, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

It was pornographic.

"Obviously, Midgardians don't know what's good for them," Loki scoffed in his usual bored monotone, fully aware of how fitful his attempt to conceal his excitement was. He sounded needy even to his own ears.

"And you do?" She pushed away the empty plate, chastely patting her mouth with a napkin. The raised eyebrow and the little smirk spoke volumes.

The grin he wore was hardly anything but feral; he asked for the waiter's assistance by flicking his wrist in an impatient fashion. Once the bill was paid and the woman's cardigan found its rightful place on her shoulders, Loki once again took hold of her arm, this time holding her smaller body against his larger one, taking care to slow down and keep his strides shorter.

She found the coolness of his presence refreshing in the moist, heavy air of the New York city.

"Where to, milady?" Loki asked her, looking down at the woman fondly.

"My place is a block away. Walk me, good sir?" She gave a delightfully easy smile in return.

He nodded, letting her lead the way, allowing himself to get a little bit lost in their shared presence, a little bubble of them in the middle of a busy city. It was as if someone had quickly turned down the volume of the honking cars and noisy pedestrians around them, leaving the soft breeze and the sun slowly descending below the skyscrapers. It felt far too short, partaking in the comfortable silence together, skin tingling under the thin layers of cloth where they were touching.

The sun was trapped in the strands of her hair as she smiled at him from her doorway, worrying her lip between her teeth. It was a bittersweet moment.

"A kiss good night for the good sir?" She asked hopefully, eyes darting between his face and his mouth.

Loki obliged, resting his palm flat on the door frame, towering over the woman as he gently slotted his thin, cool lips against her warm ones. The woman stood on her tippy toes, eager, placing a hand on his chest. The pair melted into the kiss - it had no business being this mind-blowing, brain-freezing for two people that have not met until that very day. The woman didn't refuse when Loki probed with his tongue, requesting entrance to her mouth; she licked into his own with fervor, fisting her hands in the soft fabric of his sweater.

With the hand that was free, Loki pulled the woman flush with himself, feeling the heat of her start a fire of its own inside of him. Her breathing rapid, the gesture only served to tighten her hold on his sweater, until a soft, barely audible moan slipped into his mouth, causing his brain to quickly reassess the situation.

Regretfully, Loki pulled away, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," He meaningfully looked at the array of doors around them.

"I thought you'd never ask," She retorted with a fond eyeroll, tightening the grip on his sweater once more, to pull him inside her apartment and shut the door behind her. The awkward moments were few and in between; neither knew who reached for the other first, mashing their mouths with less grace than before, clutching at the other's arms and hips with hunger.

This time, Loki didn't hold back his own muted groans of satisfaction, shivering when the woman's hands snuck under his sweater and the simple tank top he wore underneath. Blunt nails scraped along his abs.

Step by step, she pushed him further inside her apartment, determined in her small quick strides. There was no mistake of their destination; no mistake in her desire: she was as hungry and as impatient as him. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, long arms extending to unzip the top of her dress to reveal a simple but tasteful black lacy bra covering her breasts. The woman barely noticed the action, stepping out of her dress as soon as it hit the floor.

He admired her. Inches of soft skin covered by intricate ink, some patterns bizarre and complicated, some beautiful in their simplicity. Loki couldn't wait to find out about the meaning behind every one of them, to trace the lines with his tongue and sink his teeth into the heated flesh.

The hands that were holding onto him for dear life tugged on his sweater and he chose to simply vanish it, too preoccupied with looking at the view in front of him. She gasped and her eyes met his: uncanny, magnetic emeralds shone with magic and power and desire.

"Fuck," She more mouthed than said, walking backwards in a trance until her shins hit the bed.

Loki grinned, advancing on the panting woman with the grace of a predator. "Darling?" His tone was innocent; his expression was anything but. His large hand encompassesed the side of her face, thumb running over her bottom lip in a possessive gesture that had her squirming in her place. He loved the way she just melted into his touch.

Their lips met again, slower this time. The kiss was once again graceful and unrushed, allowing them to explore the softness of each other's skin, mapping the arches and valleys with gentle strokes of their palms. The broad expanse of Loki's back was uneven, riddled with scars and blemishes, and she mapped every single one, blunt nails raking down it as she pressed into him, arching into his hands where he held her.

The soft flesh of her ass, barely covered by a scrap of black lace, was shamelessly grabbed - the woman didn't doubt there would be marks left - letting her feel his arousal pressed against her belly, hard and twitching. She didn't resist her desire to ge handsy and palmed it, taking note of the gasp and the twitch coming from the man occupied with the clasp of her bra. In no time, it flew away, forgotten somwhere the very moment Loki's palms took over her breasts, running a careful thumb over each nipple.

"Fuck," She parroted her previous statement, equally breathy and considerably more aroused.

"That's the plan," Loki's chuckle was hoarse.

She huffed, biting her bottom lip before reaching out to swiftly pop the button of his trousers, smirking at the hiss the friction of her palm produced against his cock. It shouldn't have surprised her that Loki was a commando kind of guy, but still, she gasped, partially from the ministrations of his clever fingers, partially from the mouthwatering sight in front of her. The thick, flushed length made saliva gather in the corners of her mouth.

He must've heard the audible swallow. "Not so haste, darling," He tutted, giving her relaxed body a gentle push, causing her to land on her back, heated skin against the soft duvet of her bed. "Let me taste you," A thud; Loki had dropped to his knees, using his large palms to spread her legs, opening her up to his eyes.

If his previous work hadn't made her so pliant, so aroused, she'd have been rendered speechless; instead, the woman arched her back, presenting herself and the desire that had pooled down below. The Asgardian chuckled, fingertips soft against the scratchy lace.

"Tease," The woman moaned, outstretching her arm to guide him but quite unable to reach him. She had to settle for squirming in her place, receiving a fraction of the desired traction against her swollen lips.

"Am I, love?" Loki asked her sweetly, caving enough to dip a single finger to run along the outside of her slit. It glided easily thanks to all the moisture gathered there, lips parting easily before his touch. The panties were vanished away promptly, another finger joining in immediately to rub slow, precise circles around her clit.

She keened low and long, fisting the fabric in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Loki knew what he was doing. It didn't take him very long to slide his long digits to the welcoming heat of her opening, dipping them inside until she began to make the noises he so craved. His mouth followed after that, long agile tongue drawing senseless shapes on the inside of her labia and dipping deeper, where her clit stood out engorged and slick.

He could smell the bittersweet of her arousal, mouthwatering and hot.

"Loki, fuck," She moaned, only half-coherent and partially aware of her own hips following his every stroke, every flick. He only advanced, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every stroke; the sparks traveling up her spine quickened with each time she changed his name like a prayer. "Loki, Loki, Loki..."

He growled, attaching his mouth firmly to her clit, and she arched for the final time, coming undone, squeezing around his fingers and gushing in his mouth, the obscene sounds covered by her own scream of delight and his impatient growling. The growling that sent shivers of aftershocks throughout her body.

"Darling, you taste so sweet," Loki groaned, still panting.

She took the time to open her eyes: Loki looked comically out of place in her bedroom, he dwarfed her bed and made her feel small, but it didn't matter at all at that very moment. His erection stood out hard and proud; despite the leg-shaking orgasm just moments ago, she wanted more, she wanted to taste him, she wanted to feel him inside-

With unsurprising agility, one swift motion was all it took for her to rest comfortably against the pillows, his throbbing member resting against the juncture of her thigh. She tasted her own release on his lips, however brief, whispering a weak, "Please," aching to feel the emptiness.

"As my lady wishes," Loki's cool breath ghosted over her cheek. She waited with baited breath until the tip of his manhood breached her, exhaling a moan into his neck and immediately wrapping her lips around a patch of skin as he stretched her so sweet.

Loki's arms shook slightly as he waited for her to adjust. He kissed her, soft and sweet; there was something vulnerable in him, something as sweet as the ache he'd taken away. Once he began to move, slow and fluid, all there was left was an all-consuming need to feel. As graceful as dancer and with a deadly precision, Loki pounded gasps, moans and screams out of the woman's slack mouth, kisses turning hungrier and sloppier by the second.

"So sweet," He cooed, relishing in the snug grip of her cunt around him.

She only keened in approval, too far gone and unused to the intensity of the feelings from a man with centuries of practice and the power of a god.

His thrusts slowed gradually until he was rutting into her, grinding his pelvic bone into her clit. The gasps and screams turned into drawn-out, longing moans; her hips followed his, meeting in a slow, sensual motion.

Loki was not a patient man. He withdrew - she gasped in protest - flipping the woman over on her fours with ease, taking but a split second to admire the curve of her body presented on display for him. Just for him.

With that thought burning in his mind, Loki sheathed his cock deeply inside her spasming cunt. It was nearly unbearably stimulating and only his own desire to prolong the bliss held back his own impending orgasm. That, and his own ego; he was naught if not a generous lover.

She slurred something, quiet and incorrigible, fucking back onto his cock as eagerly as he was plunging into her heat. The hand he'd placed on her shoulder promptly wrapped around her throat in hopes of lifting her close enough for him to hear the words but instead, it sent a full-bodied shiver throughout her. Loki grinned, tugging her that much closer.

The arch in her back looked quite uncomfortable yet she didn't mind; it was the exact opposite, in fact, her cunt tightened around him, drenching his shaft down to his balls. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his thigh, the sting of pain going straight to his cock-

"Loki, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-" She slurred, gasping for air.

He weakened his hold on her throat enough to let her gulp the so-needed oxygen. It was her undoing: was it the rapid pace of oxygenated blood traveling to her brain or was it his cock, mercilessly pounding against her g-spot - she was violently spasming around his cock, much like she did around his fingers not too long ago.

It felt like ages, her crescendo coming in waves with no signs of stopping any time soon. Loki's continuous thrusts, his hips slamming into hers, her skin feeling like molten lava.

"Gonna fill your sweet cunt with my seed," Loki moaned lowly, holding her up by the throat, the other hand leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the outside of her hips. "Mark you from the inside out," His voice had gone into primal territory, growling filling up the room.

"Please..." The woman rasped, oversensitive.

And he pleased, with a series of sharp thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt in her, the force of his release making her shudder and moan once against, going limp in his arms. Loki kept her in her place until every drop was inside of her cunt. Nothing was sweeter than that.

The Asgardian didn't bother with getting under the covers to hold her, conjuring a soft, comfortable throw in modest green, to cover their nudity. He didn't need the extra warmth but his companion was by far more fragile and sensitive to these things- Loki's fingertips traced the array of bruises he'd left in the wake of their passion, expression surprised as he found the woman smiling.

"Feels nice," She supplied meekly, eyes half-lidded, face trusting and open towards him.

He gave a small grin in return, placing a chaste kiss atop her head. "Yes, it does, darling."

Time after time, she didn't expect much out if their date. The sex was nice, nice enough for both of them to want seconds and thirds after their rushed first time - but it wasn't like she expected him to hand around. It was a pleasant change from the usual mutual ghosting she'd done with her previous partners, but Loki had texted again and they had resumed their conversation via text like nothing had happened.

No, that would be incorrect. Now, she had a wonderful friend who was a great conversationalist and an even better lover. There was no pressure to put a label on their relationship so the woman didn't bother with it; it didn't seem like Loki cared about the label, either, so she left the topic alone and enjoyed things the way they were. It wasn't like she had a line of suitors anyway.

She couldn't help the smile that creeped onto her face when she unlocked her phone and saw a video call request from other than Loki himself. She still had thirty minutes worth of lunch break to waste and this was a wonderful time to chat with a friend.

"Stark, hand it back or I swear to Norns-" Loki's voice sounded agitated and far away, accompanied by sounds of a struggle; the bearded, smug face on the screen was not who she expected at all. Only years of customer service and low bullshit tolerance combined stopped her from freaking out seeing none other than Tony Stark smirking at her from the screen of her phone.

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow, taking note of the anger of Loki's tone.

"Hi, I don't think I need to introduce myself," Stark babbled, eyeing her - disheveled and with a wall full of sticky notes and miscellaneous items acting as the background to her video. "Reindeer games refused to show you to us so we decided to persuade him," Tony's grin grew wider, muted whispers being rapidly exchanged in the background all the while Loki screeched "BROTHER!" and various expletives at the top of his lungs.

"You could've, I dunno," She paused, unimpressed. "Asked me to dinner, like a normal person. Instead of stealing, you know, like a thief," The eyeroll that she performed had the team worried her eyes would fall out of their sockets.

"I merely borrowed his phone, don't be dramatic," Stark huffed, and for a moment, she could see various other people trying to look at the screen and by extension, at her. "So, what is it that you do? Because Smurf over there wouldn't..."

"Oops, bad signal. Sorry, can't hear you properly," Her side of the call suddenly shook and in a moment, she ended the call, not at all willing to deal with people that lacked boundaries. Sure, it might have been Iron Man, but if he was planning on being a snooping asshole, she wasn't gonna go down with that easily.

Exactly five minutes after she had clocked out, an incoming call from Loki had her equal parts excited and mortified. What if..? But he was apologetic. And very angry, swearing in his native language - something that he'd promised to teach her at some point.

"So, Clint did it?" She sipped her beverage, strolling home with the phone pressed snugly against her ear.

"Most of it was his fault, yes," Loki grouched on the other end of the call.

"I vote we get back at him. Invite me over, if he's so inclined to see me, and watch him get humiliated in front of everybody," It wasn't a secret she had her own mischievous tendencies.

"As much as I appreciate your vigour, darling, I doubt the Widow will appreciate you verbally castrating the Hawk in public," He replied sourly, his voice still betraying the faint notes of interest.

"I have a backup plan!" She stated without a hitch. "He'll embarrass himself and I'll be your alibi."

"I'm listening," Loki perked up immediately.

They decided to not to stall and schedule the 'family dinner', as Thor himself dubbed it, for the next available weekend. Loki had made sure Tony's AI had been made aware the trickster would be gone all day, and it took him very little magic and effort to pop in and out of the tower for the five minutes that were needed to execute their prank.

His friend barely managed to keep the snickering at bay as they ascended the elevator to the common floor where the dinner was being held. Not only that, but the woman spouted an area of dark purple love marks, barely obscured by the low turtleneck of her blouse.

She made her introductions and they made theirs. "This affair could use some background noise," She remarked off-handedly, casting a meaningful glance at the TV.

Tony Stark was known for being a great host so he entertained her wishes, flicking on the huge flat screen with a flick of his wrist.

The team froze.

"I... -" The woman stared at the screen, mouth hanging wide open at the scenes that played out. "... am not going to kinkshame, but please turn it off," She stated in a small voice, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the mass of tentacles commencing erotic assault on a woman's body.

Wordlessly, the TV shut down, immersing the room in stunned silence. Loki face-palmed, the slap of his palm against his face echoing in the eerily quiet room.

"Loki!" Captain America, red as a tomato, instantly accused the most obvious person.

Except, he had forgotten one thing. "Loki was with me all day," The woman replied, unkindly. "Do you need more proof?" She tugged on the hem of her turtleneck, exposing an inch of skin marked blue.

The good Captain's face changed the shade once again, venturing very well into beetroot territory. "Who was the last one to use the TV?" Rogers asked, now with a hint of anger, as he stared at a guffawing Bucky.

"I believe it was Mr. Barton," The AI piped up, mechanical voice sounding almost insinuating. Or, perhaps, it just appeared that way.

[puckinghell]

Why (Won’t You Love Me) | Elias Pettersson

Summary: Time and time again, Elias watches you get your heart broken by guys who aren’t worth your effort, and he just can’t help but wonder why you can’t love him instead.  Words: 3,5k Note: Based on the 5sos song with the same name. 

--

There’s a glow on the pavement, fresh from the rain. Dark clouds are still packed together in the sky when they arrive at the plane, but the rain is mere drizzle now, and Elias doesn’t bother with an umbrella as he hauls his bag over his shoulder.

Brock, of course, has the hood of his jumper pulled tight around his face, and he looks absolutely miserable. Normally Elias would tease him – probably something about his hair – but today he’s not in the mood.

He’s pretty miserable himself.

“Petey, hey.” Brock runs to catch up to him, as they approach the plane. Elias should’ve known Brock would notice: his best friend always seems to know when he shouldn’t be alone. “What’s up, dude?”

Elias huffs out an indignant sound that’s not resembling any English words, and not really any Swedish ones, either. He pulls his eyebrows together in a frown and makes a frustration motion with his hand.

“Y/N…” he says, your name falling off his lips a little rough. “She’s having guy trouble.”

“Ah,” Brock says, like he understands. He probably does.

It’s not the first time Elias is in a mood because of your ‘guy trouble’.

Now it’s not really fair to you, he knows that. You’re not actually aware of the fact that you’re hurting him, by talking about other guys, so he can’t hold it against you.

It’s just…

“Why won’t she love me?” he finally says, as they stand in front of the stairs to the plane, waiting for the others to go in first.

There’s no use pretending, not with Brock. Brock knows him better than anyone and he knows how far gone for you Elias is, how much it hurts that you don’t feel the same way. 

Brock shrugs. “She loves you,” he says, but he doesn’t sound quite so sure.

“Not like that.” Elias can’t help sounding a little mopey, and Brock slaps his hard across the back to show his support, in the way that bros do, sometimes.

“Sorry, man,” he says, and he sounds genuinely remorseful.

Elias met you right after he arrived in Vancouver, and he knows it’s cliché to say, but he immediately knew that you were it for him. You made him laugh with some snarky remark at a rude customer in the coffee shop, and that was it. He was sold.

It’s not become anything but friendship, though. And sure, it’s a friendship Elias holds dear to his heart, but he’s not afraid to admit he’s always wanted it to be more. It’s just, he’s never been able to find the words to tell you that.

In the beginning, he blamed his lack of English, but now he knows it’s just you.

You render him speechless. When you look at him with bright eyes, when you say his name. And whenever he thinks about telling you, and thinks about the look of pity on your face and how you would say “Elias…” like you’re the bearer of bad news, he feels like his throat has swollen to the point where talking is impossible.

So he says nothing. But he hates himself for it, every time you sit on his couch and tell him about your failed dating endeavours.  

He sits down and takes his phone, to put it on airplane mode. Brock is humming under his breath next to him, and it’s distracting enough that he nearly misses the text notification.

Nearly, but not quite.

Sorry for crying on your shoulder again the text reads.

Elias thinks back to last night, when you’d showed up at his apartment, nearly in tears because the guy you’d gone on a few dates with had cancelled your date and said he’d rather be friends.

“When they say that, they never actually wanna be friends, Petey,” you’d sighed, your bottom lip trembling.

And he’d pulled you inside, parked you on the couch and made you tea, and then you’d watched MasterChef together, your body curled into his, until you weren’t so sad anymore.

He always tried everything to stop you from being sad, and he usually succeeded, too. Taking care of you is one of the things he’s best at, in his opinion. 

“I guess finding a decent guy to love around here is just too much to ask,” you’d said, after at least an hour of comfortable silence. “Well, at least I’ve got you, right?”

And Elias had to bite his lip so hard he can still feel where it’s sore, only to stop himself from asking:

Why won’t you love me, instead?

He stares at your text now. Behind it, his background is still visible: a picture of him and you, that he likes to look at when the road is a little too lonely.

“You gotta turn it off, Pete,” Brock says, and that’s when Elias notices the plane is already about to take off.

He quickly texts back “No worries” and switches his phone to airplane mode. The glass of the little round window is cold against his cheek when he leans against it.

It’s gonna be a long road trip.

--

The bar isn’t busy, but there’s a constant hum of chatter around you, and you try to use that to quiet your mind.

It doesn’t really work.

You’re a few drinks in, and there’s tears burning behind your eyes.

Normally, you would’ve called Elias. But now you don’t feel like you should, anymore.

Elias has been different, since he got back from what felt like the longest road trip in history. He’s been dodging your calls, not texting as much, and you have only seen him once since he got back a week ago, which is not normal for you two.

If you knew why he’s been avoiding you, you could fix it.

But you have no idea.

“Excuse me, can I borrow this chair?” a voice asks. A girl has her hand on the empty chair opposite you, and she smiles at you when you look up.

You open your mouth: something inside of you says no, but you know that’s ridiculous. This is a table for one, tonight.

“Sure.”

It’s not like that guy is gonna show up three hours after he was supposed to.

It’s not your supposed-to-be-date, that you’re thinking about though. Maybe you should be sad about him, because he just stood you up, but instead you’re thinking back to the last time you saw Elias, when he’d just come back. They had won two out of three road games, so he’d been in a good mood, and when you went to his house for pizza and Netflix he’d been chatty and filled with laughter all evening.

His good mood dimmed, when you mentioned you had a date planned.

“Do you know this guy?” he’d asked, and there was a hint of judgement in his voice that instantly got you defensive.

“No, my friend set us up,” you said. “But it’s not like I have a choice, Elias. Time is slipping away from me, and I can’t just sit here and wait for the love of my life to show up while everyone is getting married. It’s no fun being lonely.”

“No,” Elias had said, a strange look on his face. “It’s not fun.”

You would’ve asked him what he meant by that – surely he wasn’t lonely, being Elias Pettersson in Vancouver – but there was something about him that stopped you.

For the first time since you met him, it felt like there was a wall up between you, and it felt like for every stone the wall was made off there was a matching stone in the pit of your stomach.

It felt like you did something wrong, but you can’t put your finger on what. You hadn’t lied to him, although it hadn’t quite been the full truth either. You can’t tell him the full truth, because the full truth is too pathetic.

The full truth, of course, being that when your other best friend Liza got engaged, you realized that everyone had someone, except for you. You just had Elias, and that has always been enough: until you sat there staring at the giant diamond on Liza’s finger and realized that Elias was never going to feel that way about you.

He’s your best friend, and although you’d want him to be everything, if he was interested in more, he would’ve done something by now. And so you decided you had to stop waiting for someone who would never love you like that, and find someone who would. 

You haven’t found that person, yet, and you haven’t gotten over Elias either. 

You look at your phone now. It’s 2am, and you probably shouldn’t call him, but…

But it’s Elias. He’s your best friend and you know he cares for you, even if he is mad about something.

You just got stood up, and it’s late, and you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and you don’t really want to have to walk yourself home…

“You can always call me if you need anything,” Elias said all the time. “Even in the middle of the night.”

So you call him.

There’s no answer. There’s no answer the next time, or the next, either. 

You throw some money on the table. It’s time to take yourself home: after all, you’ve always been able to take care of yourself. There’s no reason for this burning feeling behind your eyes. 

He’s just a friend.

The next morning, there’s two texts waiting for you when you wake up.

3 missed calls? Everything OK?

Sorry I missed them. Have to go to practice now, talk later.

There’s no smileys, no familiar XO’s that Elias has been using since Brock forced him to watch Gossip Girl, no love you at the end.

So that’s how you know something is really wrong.

--

Creating some distance between you is harder than Elias had thought.

“She hates me,” he grumbles. It’s probably not the right time to do this, in the middle of practice, but he’s been distracted and since this is all Brock’s fault, he figures he should just say that.

“She doesn’t,” Brock says. “Also, how is this my fault?”

Elias leans on his stick. They’re both waiting until it’s their turn to do the drill. Jake skates past, shoots on Marky. Scores.

“You said I needed some distance. You said to put my phone on airplane mode every now and then. Last night she called me three times and I didn’t answer, and now she hates me.”

Brock rolls his eyes, ever so slightly: but enough for Elias to see, and he glares at his best friend.

He feels a little vindicated when Brock flushes red and shuffles a little away from Elias.

“Look, bud, I said that because you’ve been miserable.” Brock’s face is gentle. “But since this is clearly not working, have you thought about just talking to her?”

He has thought about that. A lot.

“Absolutely not,” Elias says. “She’s not interested in me, she’s made that clear by dating half of Vancouver.”

Brock laughs. “I didn’t know Vancouver had 6 people living in it.”

“Shut up.” But there’s no heat behind it, and Brock shuffles closer again.

“Petey.” He sounds remorseful. “You haven’t scored even once today. And Marky’s not even trying. You need to fix this.”

At that moment, his name gets called, so Elias shoves Brock aside and skates up to the puck, taking it with him towards the goal.

He shoots wide.

Fuck. Maybe he does have to do something about this.

Elias may have decided he needs to talk to you, but he sure as hell doesn’t have to do it right now. He’s allowed to go home and get changed first, because he’s not going to confess his love and get his heart broken while wearing a Canucks tracksuit.

Unfortunately, it ends up not really being his choice, because when he walks into the hallway of his apartment you’re sitting on the floor, leaning against his front door.

Elias stops dead at the end of the hallway.

You’re doing something on your phone, not noticing him right away. You look tired, and your hair is a mess, and it squeezes something in Elias’ heart.

You look… kinda like shit, and whereas Elias knows he probably doesn’t look much better himself, it’s worse when it’s you.

Suddenly, guilt washes over him like a tidal wave. You needed him last night, and he wasn’t there for you. It was 2 am when you called him: you could’ve been anywhere, anything could’ve happened, you could’ve gotten hurt.

Suddenly he’s walking, faster and faster, until he reaches you.

You look up, and when you see him, there’s a small smile curling at the edge of your lips. But you don’t look happy, and Elias’ worry only intensifies.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out his hand. You let him help you pull you to your feet, but then you drop his hand right away.

It stings.

“Can I come in?” you ask. Your voice is small and you’re fretting with the edge of your shirt.

“Of course.” Elias opens the door, lets you walk in first. Normally, you would kick off your shoes at the door and throw yourself on his couch, or immediately dive head first into his fridge. You don’t do that now, and it’s wrong: everything feels wrong, and Elias hates it.

If he could make it go back to the way it was, he would do anything for it to stay that way. He would ignore his feelings, he would push them away. He would answer the phone.

He wouldn’t hurt you like this.

“Are you okay?” he blurts out. He regrets it instantly, because your face falls even more.

He should’ve eased into it. He should’ve let you say what you came to say, first.

“I’m so sorry for not answering the phone,” he continues, helplessly, because you’re not saying anything and the silence is too much for him to take. “I put my phone on airplane mode and I shouldn’t have done that, you needed me and I should’ve been there for you and…”

“Elias.” Your voice is soft, but stern. Your hand reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. “Calm down. I’m fine, nothing happened last night.”

Something heavy dissolves in the pit of Elias’ stomach, and for the first time that day, he feels like he can breathe.

“I’m just…” you pause, sigh. Then you stand a little taller, something determined settling over your features. “I just want to know what I did wrong.”

“Huh?” Elias can imagine he must be staring at you pretty blankly, but he truly just doesn’t get it. “What you did wrong?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re mad at me. So tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”

Elias can feel it: the energy shifting in the room. There’s something harsh in your eyes, and he knows you came here looking for resolve as much as you came here looking for a fight.

Fighting, he figures, is a way to feel things, too. But he’s not about to let you do that to yourself, especially when it’s his fault. 

“Y/N,” he says, softly, and then he shakes his wrist out of your grip and takes your hand in his, instead. Your hand is cold, skin soft, and he immediately decides he wants to hold your hand for the rest of his life. “Come sit with me.”

You let him lead you to the couch, and sit down next to him, body turned away from his.

Once again, you’re sitting on his couch, on the verge of tears. But it’s different, this time. You’re not crying over guys that aren’t worth your time, you’re crying over him, over Elias, and he has to fix this one even more than he did all the other times.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Elias starts. This time, you don’t fight him on it. “It’s me, actually. I think I did something wrong.”

You look up. There’s a hint of fear in your eyes when you ask: “What?”

Elias sighs. It’s hard, to get out the words, even harder than he was worried about. He doesn’t know what to say, how to say it, or how to make you understand.

“I made a mistake,” he says, carefully. “I thought I needed some time away from you, but that wasn’t right.”

“Away from me?” The look of hurt on your face doesn’t pass by Elias. “Why?”

“Why?” Elias repeats. “Because it’s too hard sometimes. It’s too hard to hear you talking about all these guys you’re dating, and how they always hurt or disappoint you.”

Your eyes are fixed on the floor. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” you mutter.

“You’re not, that’s not what I meant.” Elias takes another breath. There’s something about the way you’re sitting here, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around yourself, that gives him the courage to say: “You talk about them, but you always come back to me.”

You look up at him, eyes swimming with questions.

“Whatever guy you’re with, no matter how lonely you say you are, how many dates you go on; you always end up coming back here, to hang out on my couch. Why?”

“I mean,” you start, then stop yourself.

Are you really gonna tell him?

You think back to months ago, when Liza had asked you to picture your perfect guy.

“I can’t set you up if I don’t know what you want,” she’d said. “So, close your eyes, and picture yourself happy, in the future. You’ve got a house, and a dog, and a job. You’ve got a partner. What do you picture when you think of the partner?”

Elias. 

You hadn’t said it, you’d said something about blond hair and kind eyes and someone who always makes you laugh, but you’re not dumb enough to deny that it was Elias that you were describing to her. That you pictured, when you closed your eyes, an alternate reality in which Elias was yours and you were his.

But you clearly can’t say that to Elias, because he’s not interested in you like this, and you don’t want to ruin this friendship. Not when it means the most to you. 

You’d give anything to be able to hold onto Elias, and have him hold onto you. 

So you say nothing, just stare at Elias’ hand, which has come to rest on your thigh. His fingers are long, slender, and you miss the feeling of them tangled with your own. You wonder if you could get away with grabbing his hand, every now and then, just as friends. 

“Y/N,” Elias repeats, and this time he sounds a little desperate. “You’re always saying you’re lonely, and you want someone to love you, and you need a decent guy, and I don’t know what you’re waiting for but…”

I’m waiting for you, you think.  

“But I’m right here.” Elias sits up a little straighter. There’s determination in his eyes, a quiet conviction that he usually reserves for hockey. “I’m right here, and I’m a decent guy, and I love you, so why won’t you love me?”

Time freezes.

You’re pretty sure if Elias had a clock you could look at, you’d find the hands of the clock not moving. If you looked outside, the cars would be stationary, the birds would be frozen in the air.

But Elias isn’t frozen. He’s somehow closer than he was before, and he’s moving closer, still.

“Stop me,” he whispers. “Stop me if you don’t want…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Doesn’t have to, really.

Because there’s a million things running through your mind, things like because I’m scared and he loves me and we’ve wasted so much time but at the end of the day they all lead to one single conclusion.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

So you launch forward, crash your lips against his in a feverish desperation to finally, finally make it right. He moves back from the force of it, but then his arms are wrapped around you and he’s pulling you closer, into his lap.

He slows down the kiss, softens it. The way he kisses you has your toes curling in your shoes, your heart beating in your throat, because he kisses you like no one has ever really kissed you before.

He kisses you like he loves you.

When you pull away, gasping for air, Elias’ eyes are soft when they lock with yours.

“Yeah?” he asks, and it’s hesitant, careful, like he’s still waiting for you to close the metaphorical door in his face, to take his heart and break it in two.

“I thought it wasn’t possible,” you admit. “I thought you would never want this.”

“Always,” Elias mumbles, and he leans a bit closer, presses a kiss against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted this.”

Always. He’s always wanted this and you were both too dumb to see it, both too dumb to connect the dots. You can’t believe you lost so much time, and you can’t believe it took so long.

Why did it take so long?

“Why didn’t I…” you start, but Elias cuts you off, kissing you once more. Gentle and short, this time, but still just as loving.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “What matters is that I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, allow yourself to press your lips to his collarbone.

Maybe the why, or the how, or the when, doesn’t really matter in the end. Maybe it’s about the happy ever after.

And you think you found that, now.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Hopeless (A Bucky Barnes one-shot)

Summary:

Takes place right after civil war, slightly altering the events at the end. Written in first person (which I never do, but here we are)

My hopeful nature has always been an asset, and as Steve brings Bucky to our newest hide-out, I thought it would help him. I thought I could help him.

Words: 2633

Ship: Bucky Barnes x Reader, though platonic. 

Warning: Sadness, depression, mental health issues/

A/N:This was literally written in such a short amount of time, but I wanted to post it anyway. I might dislike it in a little while, but I've hardly written anything since I finished the long way home...I just wanted to write. And though this'd not work out at all how I had imagined after thinking up those first few lines, I think this suited me better at this moment. I guess I'm not in the right state of mind for lighthearted. Anyway, let me know what you think of this one.

***

It’s a nice feeling, the first time your heart skips. That initial moment that you realise someone has that effect on you. As a teenager it used to make me incredibly nervous, effectively rendering me speechless. I would simply stare at the guy in question and hope he would notice me, eventually speak to me. Always too scared to be the first to speak myself. 

I can’t tell you how often that worked against me.

These days it still makes me nervous, but doesn’t leave me speechless. Instead I can manage a sentence, a conversation even. Making getting to know someone a little easier. 

What it does not help with though, knowing if the person in question returns the feelings. Those budding ‘ oh that person is cute’ feelings. When you want to know if flirting is the right call. 

So when Bucky was first brought into the building by Steve, and my heart skipped a beat, I decided to slow it down. He had been though so much and didn’t need to know that I thought he was gorgeous. In the past I had jumped into these things. However, in those instances the receiver of my budding affection had not been through hell. I could not be sure how he would react to someone complimenting him, flirting with him. I could be sure that it was not what he needed. What he needed was normalcy, time to ground himself. Time to catch his breath. The space to rediscover himself. Perhaps he could even use a friend.

So I squashed my crush. Ignored it. It wasn’t too hard, since I knew nothing about him and it was all very superficial. Instead I was patient, kind and welcoming. Offered him friendship, distraction from his wandering mind and a place he could call home. The entire team worked on that. Our love and respect for Steve was enough to want to act as a warm blanket for his oldest friend. 

That first day, as he sat stoic in a chair at the table, anxiously looking around at the faces in the room, everyone tumbled over themselves to tell him he was welcome. Looking back on that now, I realised we might have overwhelmed the poor man. 

Bucky was distant, keeping everyone at bay. Wary of any form of attention. Often he stayed in his room throughout the day, not even coming out for food or drink. Steve tried so hard. Tried to help him, give him space, be his friend, but it soon became clear that he was unsure of how to proceed. Bucky was so withdrawn and it was difficult for him to figure out a way to get through to him. Steve had confessed that even when his friend allowed him into his room, there was little conversation. Bucky seemed to have forgotten how to connect. To anything and anyone. 

Eventually Steve simply began to leave things in front of his door. Hoping to show instead of telling that he would be by his side. He left food, beverages, mementos of their shared past. It always made its way into the room, though nobody saw Bucky open the door. 

It wasn’t until one night after a particular long mission, where I had tried and hopefully succeeded to put the government on a wrong trail, I found myself unable to sleep, and wandered through the farm we called home at the moment. Careful not to make a sound, I walked around on sock covered feet. Midnight snack in hand, music in my ear, I made my way to the balcony that overlooked the surrounding fields. The balcony was on the second floor, right of the attic that we now used as an office. Usually the doors to the balcony remained closed, but you risked the exposure as you unlocked them. 

It was a warm night, clear skies offering a beautiful view of the trees, sunflowers and grass illuminated by moonlight. It was my favourite place of all the hide-outs we’ve had so far, especially in the silence of the night. Stepping onto the cold weathered wood, I shivered before sighing deeply, taking in the scene before me and letting the fresh air wash over my aching body. My racing mind instantly seemed to clear up. 

Lazily I leaned forward on the railing, staring up at the full moon, when movement below the balcony caught my attention. For a moment I was on high alert, fearing for a hostile break in. Then I recognised the long dark locks of the silent figure, as he sat down on the overgrown lawn. I watched as his fingers absentmindedly moved through the grassy greens, while he stared straight ahead. It took me a moment to realise what he was doing, not until his flesh hand angrily wiped at his face. He was crying. Dumbstruck I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move an inch, simply staring at the lone crying figure. 

A few moments passed before I was able to remove myself from the scene. Turning around I silently walked back through the double doors and walked straight to my room. He didn’t need an audience. 

After this I began to notice his movements more. As soon as people had gone to bed, he would leave his room. Sometimes to run, crossing the surrounding fields, running until he had exhausted himself so he could hardly move another muscle. Other times he would sit outside on the grass, staring straight ahead. I wondered what went through his head in those times, for he seemed so lost in those moments. Stuck in a state of constant torture. It was clear that he had trouble adjusting to this new life he had been given. 

With my room next to his it was easy to hear what went on in his. More than once had I heard him cry, rage and scream. His pain was eating at him, keeping him awake at night and isolating him. 

He was struggling and needed help, but I wasn’t sure how to offer any. If he wasn’t accepting it from Steve, why would he accept any help from me?

Still the next sleepless night, I waited for him to leave his room, before following him outside. Hesitation halted my steps as I watched him sit down in his usual spot. Finally I took a deep breath and opened the door to follow him, making sure to made a sound so he wouldn’t spook. At least if he heard me coming, he would be able to take himself out of the situation. 

His head perked up, but he remained seated as I moved closer. 

“Hi” I said softly, lowering myself down on the grass next to him. His eyes shifted over to me, but he didn’t say a word. His shoulders were tense and I knew I had to say something to make him relax. 

“Sorry to invade your space. I just…” for a moment I wasn’t sure what to say next, “I want to help you” 

“Help me?” His voice surprised you. It was soft, gruff and uncertain as he looked at me. Emotions seemed to wage a war behind those beautiful blue orbs and it took me by surprise. I’d never seen such devastation in a person before. Finally I could see just how broken he really was. It only made me want to help him more. 

“I’ve seen you come here. I’ve seen you struggle. I’m not trying to pry or make you do anything you don’t want too, but I’m told I’m a good listener.” Stopping a moment to look him in the eye before I spoke the next words, “I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this alone.” 

He didn’t say a word, but his shoulders slumped and his eyes moved straight ahead again, where he seemed to take in the dark shadows of the sunflower fields that surrounded the farm on three sides. 

After what seemed like an eternity he moved again, looking at me, and he opened his mouth. Nothing came out and he closed it again, looking down at his hands. Sensing he wanted to talk, I stayed silent as I watched him struggle to get words out. It took him a while, but finally he seemed  to figure out what he wanted to say. 

“He gave up everything for me. All of you did” he began, “I just don’t think I’m worth all that”. He sniffed and a single tear rolled down his cheek, effectively breaking my heart. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand in both of mine, holding it close to me. Surprised his looked down at our touching hands and I followed his gaze. I’d grabbed his metal arm. He seemed shocked by that fact. Not letting it go, I looked him in the eye. Hoping he could see my determination, my drive to truly be of help. 

“You’ve been through hell and back, you deserve better.” 

“I did horrible things” his voice cracked and it took all my willpower, not to hug him. He’d not been around kindness, touch must be difficult. Grabbing his hand had already been a bold move, huddling him could easily push him further away. I didn’t want that to happen at all. 

“You weren’t given a choice.” He shrugged at my words, as if that didn’t matter and I realised that in his mind it probably didn’t. He still had to live with the things he had done even if it had not truly been him. 

“Bucky listen to me” using one hand to turn his face in my direction, “I know you must feel responsible for all of it, but you are not. Your hands were forced, your mind was erased more times than any of us can even imagine. For years you had no control. You were tortured and forced to live a certain way. That is not on you.” 

“Then who?” He asked.

“It doesn’t matter who. Hydra was discovered and they will be dealt with. You need to focus on you now. Realise that you are a good person. Worthy of help. And you are only responsible for the moments where you had a choice.” 

He didn’t speak and I allowed the silence to sit between the two of us for a moment. His breath came out ragged and I began to draw circles on his back with the hand that had turned his face in my direction, while my other hand still held his cold metal hand close. 

“You’ll have to figure out who you truly are, without the strings hydra has been pulling for so long. I don’t think you can if you pull away from everyone. Let us help you” 

Releasing his hand, I impulsively pressed a kiss to his temple and got up off the ground. Without looking back, I walked back inside and went to bed, hoping that my words would have effect. 

The next morning as we sat in the attic, discussing our next move, the creaking of a floorboard caught our attention. Silence took the room immediately and Wanda quietly moved towards the stairway, hoping to get a feel of however was moving in our general direction. Soon a soft smile played on her lips as she moved to open the door that as blocking our view of the culprit. 

“Come in” her kind smile beaming at the intruder. As soon as she had begun smiling, everyone had instantly relaxed, she was the best judge of character anyone could ask for. And when Bucky hesitantly stepped into the room, a collective sigh passed. Steve moved quickly, enveloping him in a hug. Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky caught my eye and I smiled at him, grateful that he took a chance. 

Over the course of the following two weeks, Bucky made an effort to be around the group an hour or two a day. He still wasn’t comfortable, but he was trying. Steve had been rejuvenated by the progress, walking with a spring in his step. Eager to figure a way out of their dire situation. Steve knew that they could not run forever. Yet there wasn’t a clear path to take. They were still wanted criminals, all of them. But they were human beings who had walked away from all the family they had known. Wanda was missing Vision more and more each day. Sam was going stir crazy, as was Natasha, especially with Clint gone. And the constant moving wasn’t easy on anyone.  We were all becoming increasingly tired. 

Those first two weeks, I had been convinced that I was helping Bucky. That being amongst the group would help him. I thought he was getting better. That he would start feeling better. Not until I caught him sitting outside of our current hideout in a small European town in the middle of nowhere, tears streaming down his face, that I suddenly realised he wasn’t mending. He was breaking. Seemingly conflicted as he sat there, his emotions clear on his face. 

Confronting him he had confirmed as much. He didn’t dare trust himself. He was afraid of his own mind. It was still so easily manipulated, since so little was known about what hydra had done to him. The trigger words that Zumo had used, they were still in there. If anyone else found out about them, he could easily be turned against anyone. He didn’t feel safe. He felt a danger to everyone that was trying to help him. He was afraid of himself and everything, since nothing in the world seemed familiar anymore. He was anxious all the time. 

Though I had wished to give him hope, wanted to help him, there was nothing I could say to ease those fears. Those were some well founded fears. And as hard as I tried, this was not something I would ever truly understand. I never had to be afraid of my own mind. It had never betrayed me like his had. Control had never been taken from me in such a massive way. 

All I could do was hold him, promising I would try and find a way to help him release those fears. 

And there was only one person in the world that I knew could help. 

The next morning I suggested we’d move south, to Wakanda. There we could recuperate for a moment. Allow ourselves to finally relax after weeks upon weeks of running. T’Challa had promised us a safe haven and we needed it now more than ever. Though I did not tell them just why. 

If I had known the choice Bucky would make over the following days, I’m not sure I would have made the same choices. Seeing Steve’s heart break over his friend, so shortly after thinking things were getting better, was hard. His fallen face and slumped shoulders were fixed in my memory. And as I said my goodbye to Bucky, right before he went back into cryo, my hopeful nature took a huge hit. I thought it had been my greatest asset, but it had been so wrong this time. Seeing the good in Bucky had not been enough. Trying to get him to see the good had not been enough. 

And now he was lost to them once more and the fight they had picked over him had suddenly seemed useless. 

It was hard telling myself that the fight had not been solely about Bucky, even though rationally I knew the truth of it. Right now it just seemed too difficult. 

And as I tried to comfort a crushed Steve, I wondered if I would feel that flutter in my heart again…the one Bucky had caused when I first laid eyes on him. 

[myxcenterxstage]

“ Marry me. “ (from Goodsir ofc!!)

Traik: There is Wonder Here. A KimbleSir Fanfic.

by myxcenterxstage (and some contributions from brassandblue!)

Prologue: [link]

~*~

‘Sleep, I’ll carry you. You can carry me later,’ Harry had insisted.

‘But how can I possibly carry you…?’

Comforted in his arms, Priscilla mumbled in groggy exhaustion as she clung to Harry for dear life. Her tired eyes looked up at Goodsir a moment, before closing once more. As he walked on, the freezing winter air burned through the shield of layers of fabric wear to their cold forms. Her face buried into the crevice of his neck and shoulder in search for any trace of warmth against the Arctic tundra.

The Arctic was merciless since their narrow escape from Hickey’s Rescue Camp. They had hoped at some point to reunite with Crozier’s group. And feared each night to fall prey to the Tuunbaq. But their trail had been one of solitude. They were the only man and woman in all directions the eye could see to the horizon. It almost felt as though they were the only two people on the planet at times.

At least, of all persons, Priscilla was so grateful to be with her last living closest friend. Dr. Harry Goodsir.

[more under the cut!]

The pair had formed a special bond since the halcyon days in Baffin Bay. Staying up til well past the first watch, discussing every topic under the sun on the natural studies and arctic marine life. (As well as zoological, anatomical, and pathological observations.) He was the first to be bold enough to ask her for a dance at the expedition’s first Winter celebration. And they had always found a sure solace of comfort in each other’s company in the consecutive days of grief that occurred all too often on this voyage. Goodsir was fiercely protective of her at the Mutineer camp. And that continued through these many miles distance.

In the quiet hours, they had bared their souls to one another. That raw, exposed, and open truth that was all that was left of their humanity. Speaking of childhood. Their hopes and their dreams. Priscilla even confessed her scandal and its consequences that awaited her back home in London. To her surprise, without any further explanation, Goodsir expressed that she was innocent on her part, furthermore to him it sounded like none of it was her fault entirely. And in fact, he assured her it was impossible for him to think any less of her.

Come morning, Goodsir would remark, “There is wonder here. This place is beautiful to me, even now.” To which Priscilla nodded in silent awe, much to her surprise how optimistic he could still remain.

Tragic how the effects of their turmoil would inevitably catch up with them.

It had taken its toll on Priscilla first, being the more frail bodied. However, perhaps it wasn’t only the lead, the malnutrition, the Arctic conditions killing her. That lingering darkness that crawled in the back of her mind. The agonizing burden of grief that weighed her down with every waking moment. That, when paired with all pains of imminent death, it had finally succeeded in robbing her of her smile. And it was next targeting her very will to live. Cooing that there was a home waiting for her in name only.

And even when the willpower to live felt crippled against the reality of their condition, one look to Harry and his stubborn determination to clinging to whatever hope to survive they had left was enough to tell her she had to press on in spite of it all. His arms that carried her felt more like home. And so did the sound of his voice.

In her half-slumber, she let out a soft grunt at the familiar sound. Were those… birds?

Priscilla found herself jostled awake when they suddenly fell.

“Harry!” she shrieked in panic, seeing his face to the ground. “Are you all right?!”

Fearing the worst, she helped him sit up, brushing the dirt off his face with her hands. “What’s wrong, Harry? Why are you crying?”

His words finally made everything clear what had happened. She stared at him in disbelief, then at her hands - that was dirt on her fingertips - greenery! The breeze carried the salty air of the ocean. Was it all a dream? A hallucination?

For the first time in weeks - Priscilla smiled.

Finally, a broad genuine smile. A tear streamed down her cheek, and then another, and another. Until she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around Goodsir’s neck into the tightest embrace. She let out a choked exhale, a release of relief as she broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

They made it, they finally made it.

“I can’t believe it, we’ve done it!” She could barely speak. The scurvy made all movement unbearable, but it was hardly noticeable compared to the abounding joy they shared.

“We’ve done it, at last…!”

~*~

Priscilla would never forget that feeling of exhilaration and overwhelming joy in restored hope when they had finally reached the sea. When Goodsir showed her how the lichens were edible. Her exclamation of cheer to the first fish he managed to catch. His wide and almost childish grin across his face to his triumph, followed by moments of their pensive observation as to the exact type of fish, even if it was for a few fleeting seconds - the naturalists that they were, of course - before consuming it. A feast, they’d always remember, followed by their long overdue rest.

They were later reunited with the other remaining members of the expedition and they aided them to some modicum of better health.

And eventually, a whaling ship finally spotted them and brought them all to safer harbors.

So here they were now. Having crossed the Atlantic ocean, almost home. England’s shores would be on the horizon at any moment. And then…

And then what? Was that it?

The chapter of the Franklin Expedition would be concluded? They had found the Northwest Passage in the end… but at what cost? Too many were lost. Too many tears were shed…

Apparently, the extraneous journey had come to an end. They would all return to their respective homes, return to their lives. She would face her scandal equipped with the knowledge she learned to survive against the worst of the Arctic itself.

But that wasn’t the worst of what was to come. To Priscilla’s chagrin, that would also mean having to say goodbye. How she didn’t want to… these men were no longer ordinary men when they first voyaged in 1845, but were now extended family.

And there was one, in particular, she would have the most difficulty parting with…

“—Doctor Goodsir!” Priscilla chirped as Harry arrived. Inexplicably she had found herself in an inescapable daze all afternoon, but the sight of him instantly brought out her smile as he joined her side.

He had been so doting to her to ensure her recovery from the lead poisoning and scurvy would be a sure one and was persistently very protective of her. She always had a sense of transparent ease around him, a certain sanctuary in each other’s company. His same tenderness with which he carried her across those last miles…

Their conversation had begun as the usual - Goodsir’s concern for her health. She inquiring of his own. And it soon progressed to how glad they were to finally return home. Priscilla expressed how bittersweet it all felt - after so long to return to some semblance of ‘normalcy’ and having to reluctantly say a final goodbye to everyone once they reach the docks.

“Promise that you’ll always write to me, Harry?” she asked poignantly.

It was then that their conversation had taken an entirely unexpectedly different turn.

‘Marry Me?’

Priscilla’s blue eyes widened. Had he just — Her face glowed a hot red blush. — Proposed to her? She was momentarily rendered speechless, studying his face as to what could have prompted this.

“That is, I, I—“ Catching himself, Goodsir stammered to find his tongue again, realizing his sudden outburst to declare so great a question. “Miss Kimbleton.” He swallowed. “— I find myself greatly fancying and admiring you.” His gaze never left hers. “As we walked these hundreds of miles together, I would be happy to walk beside you for the rest of my life.”

“Harry…!” Tongue-tied herself in a flustered state, Priscilla searched for his hand to hold - only to realize to her surprise that their fingers were already subconsciously intertwined.

This was followed by a flurry of Goodsir profusely apologizing, his internal thoughts in upheaval at what he has done. “I had no intentions to put you in the position to answer that kind of question —“ The doctor confessed his worry that they would never see each other again, and that after all they had been through - how he didn’t want to lose her. Someone who he so cherished. “But if you have no inclination to accept, I should still wish to remain friends, Miss Kimbleton.”

“No, no! On the contrary!—“ Her heart began to race. With her mouth slightly ajar as she listened to him. “Dearest Harry…” She bashfully looked down and looked back up at him with a warm, bright smile and adoring expression. “It’s something I’ve secretly wished for you to ask me for so long. Yes! My answer is yes!” she repeated, chuckling. “I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”

Harry’s face luminated, holding her hands tighter, “I want to take you with me to Edinburgh. To meet my family.” he chuckling with her “— I want to travel the world with you! To see all the world’s beauty… together.”

“I would be honored, Doctor! Your heart is so brave, and mind so brilliant, and character so giving. You see the best in people, and I always felt…” She blinked back tears, “Those hundreds of miles on foot we’ve crossed together… you’ve seen me in my darkest hours. You both accepted and supported me - and were the first to express my innocence to a past that’s only haunted me. And when I thought I couldn’t walk another step…” Her gaze lowered, the experience would follow her like a shadow, it seemed.

Smiling tenderly, Harry cupped the side of her face to lift it “I’d gladly carry you for miles all over again to ensure you’re safe.”

Priscilla stared at him a long while, taken aback with the same look of gratitude when in that Arctic tundra after she confessed her scandal and he expressed how nothing she could have done, past or present, guilty or innocent, would diminish his respect for her. “What have I done to deserve someone as goodhearted as you?”

“I could very well ask you the same.” Goodsir stroked her golden hair with his other hand before resting it to cup her face with both hands. “I love you, Priscilla.”

Priscilla’s eyes sparkled, “Oh Harry, and how I love you.”

After a long exchanged look of adoration, they kissed.

“You were right all along.” Priscilla whispered, gazing up into Goodsir’s eyes, “There is wonder here.”

[krat395]

Tickle... or Be Tickled!! (Chapter 4)

Now that Frisk is tickling Asriel, it's time for "Tori the Tickler" to make her dramatic entrance and join in on the fun! ;)  Undertale(c) Toby Fox.

******************************************

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

****************************************** TICKLE... OR BE TICKLED!!

Chapter 4: In This Family, It’s Tickle… or Be Tickled!!

 Upon hearing what might just be the most adorable laughter in existence, Toriel made her way over to the basement door. And then not too long afterwards, she crept slowly down the stairs and all the way through the hallway of the basement itself to get ready to initiate a surprise tickle attack on her primary target. And to Toriel’s delight, the closer she crept towards both Asriel and Frisk, the louder Asriel’s adorable laughter became. And quite frankly, it was music to her long droopy ears as Frisk continued wiggling and squiggling her fingers all over his fluffy torso and blowing consistent raspberries over his naval. :)

 Asriel: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!! GAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!!!!!

 Toriel: Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! *laughed Toriel “evilly” as she made her “dramatic entrance” into the basement living room*

 Frisk: Aaaaaaaaaah! Oh my god! *shouted Frisk a bit nervously as she stopped ticking Asriel for the time being*

 Asriel: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! *bleated Asriel a bit nervously as his laughter gradually died down* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *SNORT* Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha!!! *snort* Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Ahahahaha!! Ahaha!! Haha!! Ha! Ha! Ha.

 Due to not expecting Toriel to enter the room laughing so “evilly”, both Frisk and Asriel were rendered a bit frightened. But as soon as they figured out that it was their mother however, their frowns immediately turned upside down and then they both asked her at the same time in perfect sync,

 Frisk and Asriel: Mom, what the heck was that all about?!

 Toriel: Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, Mom? Who’s this “Mom” you speak of, you precious children?

 Frisk: Why, we’re talking about you of course! You’re “Mom!” *replied Frisk, playing along with Toriel*

 Toriel: Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! No, I’m not, little girl! I’m “Tori the Tickler,” a “wicked old witch” that feeds on the laughter of children! Especially adorable ones! Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

 Frisk: Oh, really? *asked Frisk, playing along with Toriel once again* Well, you’re in luck then. Because it just so happens that I’ve got one right here. *said Frisk all singsongy as she poked Asriel’s tummy and bellybutton a couple of times* Heeheeheeheeheehee!!!

 Asriel: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHHAA, BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, I DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHHOHHON’T WANNA GET, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA, TICKLED AGAIN!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA~!!! *lied Asriel through his laughter*

 Toriel: Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! Fantastic, little girl! Now, be a dear and step aside for a while, would you? *asked Toriel as she proceeded to hold Asriel’s arms down* I’d like to tickle this handsome young man myself for a little while before the two of us start working together.

 Frisk: Sure thing, “Tori the Tickler.” Heeheeheeheeheehee!!! *giggled Frisk as she got up off of Asriel*

 Asriel: WAIT, WHAT?!! *asked Asriel very nervously all the while his mother kneeled directly over him*

 Frisk: You heard her, Azzy! Right after she’s done with you, the two of us are going to tickle you together! And we’re gonna tickle you until you can’t feel a thing too! Mwahahahahahaha! *teased Frisk “evilly” as she sat down on the floor in a cross-legged position at least two feet to the right of Toriel and Asriel’s current location*

 Asriel: Um… a… well… um, good luck with that! Because as of right now… I’m not ticklish! *lied Asriel and not fooling anyone with his lie* So, um, I probably wouldn’t try tickling me if I were you! Just saying!

 Frisk: Pffffffffffffffffft!!! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! You?! Not ticklish?! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Azzy, that’s like saying your fur isn’t white and fluffy! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! I know, right? And don’t forget that that’s also like saying he’s not super adorable… and squishy! *said Toriel while squishing Asriel’s cheeks together a few times*

 Asriel: *muffled speech*

 Toriel: Oh, hee hee hee, I’m sorry. What was that, sweetie? *asked Toriel after she stopped squishing Asriel’s cheeks together*

 Asriel: I’m being serious! As of right now, I’m not ticklish! *lied Asriel once again* So, um, because you won’t get a single reaction out of me, like, at all, um, could you, could you let me go? Please, Mom? Pretty please, with a cherry on top?

 Toriel: Um… no, I will not let you go, my child! *exclaimed Toriel without any intention of offending her son* Because I know very well that you’re lying to me about not being ticklish (and you not wanting me to tickle you)! And lying to your own mother is something that should not go unpunished!

 Frisk: Oh, you are so gonna get it now, Azzy! Mwahahahahahahaha!

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! You’re so right, Frisk. Mwahahahahahahahaha! Now, before I start, is there one last thing you’d like to say, Asriel?

 Asriel: Please don’t tickle the precious goat child, Mom. He’s very sorry he lied to you. *said Asriel worriedly*

 Toriel: Oh, sweetie, it’s too late for apologies… because my mind is already made up. …You’re going to be tickled by me whether you like it or not. But before I officially start, how about a little teasing first?

 Asriel: *gasp* No, no teasing, please? That will only make things worse!

 Frisk: Hahaha! Well, all the more reason to do it then! Am I right?

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! You most certainly are, little girl! And I bet you know how effective it is against him too!

 Frisk: I do! I totally do! No doubt about that! So, uh, care to demonstrate?

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! Certainly! Hold his arms down, please!

 Frisk: Heeheeheeheeheehee!! No problem!

 A few seconds later, Frisk held down Asriel’s arms and then Toriel let go of Asriel’s arms and officially began teasing him by wiggling her fingers right in front of his face, by wiggling her fingers as closely as possible to his fluffy torso without touching it, and by telling him what she’s going to do him shortly in a singsongy voice that sounded like that of a typical loving mother.

 Toriel: I’m gonna tickle you everywhere, little boy. Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! …I’m gonna put a big smile on the cute little face of yours. …I’m gonna make you squirm in my clutches. …I’m gonna make you laugh until you lose your voice. …I’m gonna tickle you until you can’t feel a thing… But most importantly, I’m gonna bottle up all of your precious laughs so I can listen to them any time I want! Because that’s what “Tori the Tickler” does! Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! Now… feel the almighty power of “Tori the Tickler!”

 With all of that said; Toriel finally initiated her “deadly” tickle attack… on the armpits of… FRISK?!!! :O

 Frisk: PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! *Frisk, who is currently in state of complete shock, laughed very hysterically* NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA, DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T TICKLE MEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!! *pleaded Frisk though all of her hysterical laughter as Toriel fiendishly wiggled her furry fingers against her extremely sensitive armpits* BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!

 Asriel: (Holy crap, I’m so speechless right now!!!) *thought Asriel to himself in a state of complete shock as his mother got up off of him so she could pin Frisk down against the floor on her back to continue tickling her instead of him*

 TORIEL LIED!!! :O That entire plan she came up with to tickle Asriel together with Frisk; that was all made up in order to set Frisk up for another tickle attack from her herself! And since Frisk didn’t suspect a thing and is currently a laughing loon, that means Toriel succeeded! :) But Toriel doesn’t want to tickle Frisk by herself, however. She wants some help. And lucky for her, there just so happens to be an adorable fluffy shirtless boy that can put his fluffy and tickly fur to good use in close proximity. ;)

 Frisk: AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAM, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE HECK ARE YOU, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA, DOING?!!!! *asked Frisk, who is still in a state of complete shock, through her hysterical laughter as Toriel continued tickling her armpits* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA~!!!!

 Toriel: Why, I’m tickling you of course, my child… as more fun and playful revenge for what you and Toby did to me last night, something of which I’m sure you told Asriel about! Right, Asriel? Did Frisk tell you what she and Toby did to me last night?

 Asriel: …Y-yes, Mom, t-the whole thing! *answered Asriel, who was still in shock after witnessing his mother tickle Frisk instead of him*

 Frisk: AHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! YOU LIED TO MEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! YOU TOLD ME, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA, WE WERE GOING TO, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, TICKLE AZZY, AHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAAHA, INSTEAD!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!! OHOHOHOHOHOHO THE DECEPTION!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! THE BEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEETRAYAL!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!! I CAN’T BELEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEHEEHEEIVE YOU TRIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHHIHIHICKED ME LIKE THAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!

 Toriel: I know, not so fun being on the receiving end of it, is it, my child? Now you know how I feel whenever you kids lie to me! Hee hee hee! …Say, Asriel, do you happen to know what time it is? *asked Toriel with a massive smile on her face as she continued tickling Frisk*

 Asriel: Um… maybe. *responded Asriel a bit hesitantly*

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! Come on now, don’t be shy, sweetie. I know you know the answer to this question. *winks at Asriel several times*

 Asriel: Um, princess tickle time? *guessed Asriel as he stood up off of the floor*

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! Yes, you’re right! IT’S PRINCESS TICKLE TIME! *said Toriel all singsongy*

 Asriel: *excited gasp* Really?! …Oh my god, we haven’t done that in, like… forever!

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! Well, in that case, care to join me?

 Asriel: Yes! Definitely! Absolutely! *shouted Asriel excitedly as he kneeled to the left of Frisk (Frisk’s right) and began tickling her belly while Toriel continued tickling her armpits*

 Frisk: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! AZEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEZY, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHO!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHHHOHOHOHON’T HEHEHEHEHELP HER!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!  PLEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEHEEHEEHEEEHEEASE, DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, HELP HER!!!!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* WEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE~!!!!!!

 Moments later, Toriel and Asriel stopped tickling Frisk. But only long enough to tell her exactly what “Princess Tickle Time” is, however.

 Toriel: But if Asriel doesn’t help me, my child; then that defeats the entire purpose of doing “Princess Tickle Time” in the first place!

 Asriel: Yeah, it totally does! And we can’t have that happening because it’s been like… forever since Mom and I last did this little family tradition of ours!

 Frisk: Um, no it hasn’t! *said Frisk confusedly under the assumption that “Princess Tickle Time” is when Toriel and Asriel work together to tickle either her or Chara* Because if I’m not mistaken, didn’t you two already do something like this to Chara last Saturday morning when I was at one of those political meetings with Dad?

 Toriel: Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Frisk; what Asriel and I did to Chara was regular tickle time! In order for it to be “Princess Tickle Time,” HE has to join us! *claimed Toriel as she pointed her right index finger towards the dark basement hallway to signal a third tickler, a tickler that she, Asriel, and Frisk know all too well*

 Upon receiving Toriel’s signal, a massive figure emerged from the darkness of the basement hallway. …KING ASGORE DREEMURR aka THE TICKLE MONSTER!!! :D

 Asgore: ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!! You’ve awoken the TICKLE MONSTER, little girl!! And he is STARVING for your laughter! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!! *exclaimed Asgore playfully as he stomped slowly towards Frisk*

 “Princess Tickle Time” is the cherished pastime of Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel teaming up and tickling Chara to precious pieces. And in a few moments, they are about to relive this cherished pastime with Frisk in Chara’s place. X33

 Frisk: *gasp of pure delight* Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Mom, Dad, Azzy, I love you guys so much right now! *exclaimed Frisk excitedly while tearing up* Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

 Toriel: Oh, you are most welcome, my child. You’re such a wonderful addition to our family, how could we not? Hee hee hee!

 Since Frisk has been a Dreemurr for seven months now and since she, Asriel, and Chara all have such a huge fondness of tickling and being tickled, and with the newfound knowledge of Frisk referring to Asgore as her father, Toriel decided to put aside her differences with Asgore long enough to team up with both him and Asriel and give Frisk the tickling experience all three of them used to give Chara on many occasions when both she and Asriel were little. And that happens to be one of the things she discussed upstairs with Asgore in addition to Frisk and Toby tickle torturing her last night. And after being informed of Toriel’s plan of having Frisk experience “Princess Tickle Time,” Asgore made absolutely no hesitation to be a part of it. :) It was Toriel’s plan all along to tickle Frisk with help from Asgore. But she didn’t want Frisk knowing that, however. So, because she didn’t want Frisk knowing what her true plan was, she lied to Frisk by telling her that she wasn’t ready to tickle one of their children with Asgore yet when in reality, she actually was. :)

 Asgore: Hohoho! Asriel and I couldn’t agree more, Toriel. Hohoho! Right, Asriel?

 Asriel: …

 Asgore: Asriel?

 Asriel: …Oh, um, yes. Yes, you’re right, Dad; but…

 Toriel: But what, sweetie?

 Asriel: Don’t you think Chara should be here with us to help tickle Frisk? Or, tickle both her and Frisk at the same time maybe? …Don’t get me wrong, what we’re about to do to Frisk is going to be great and all but… *sniffles* I feel kind of bad that Chara isn’t here to relive one of our most cherished memories with us, you guys. *sniffles*

 Toriel: …Oh, Asriel, your father and I had a feeling you would be concerned about that. …Don’t worry; everything will be ok. We’ll make sure of it.

 Asriel: *sniffles* You, you promise?

 Toriel: Of course, sweetie.

 Asgore: Yes, my son.

 Asriel feels kind of bad that Chara is unable to participate in “Princess Tickle Time” with him, Asgore, Toriel, and Frisk today. (Chara is absent today because she’s currently at Alphys’s house spending some quality time with Alphys herself and MK, her two favorite lizard monsters. :)) So, because he feels this way, Toriel, Asgore, and Frisk all felt that they should shed some light on the current situation for the next couple of minutes. And so they did. They told Asriel that it was a spur of the moment decision due to Frisk’s suggestion to Toriel from earlier this morning (the suggestion of having both Toriel and Asgore tickle her in order to REALLY make her learn her lesson after tickle torturing Toriel last night); it will make Frisk, Chara, and Asriel even since Frisk didn’t participate in family tickle time with Asriel, Chara, and Toriel last Sunday and since Asriel didn’t participate in the tickle war Frisk and Chara had with MK, Blooky, and Mettaton last Wednesday when Toriel wasn’t home (the latter of which surprised Toriel since Frisk, Chara, MK, Blooky, or Mettaton didn’t say a single word about it to her until today); Chara’s absence makes Frisk able to experience it the same way Chara did for the first time (1 human girl getting tickled by 3 monsters rather than 2 human girls getting tickled by 3 monsters or 1 human girl getting tickled by 3 monsters and another human girl); it’s additional (playful) punishment for tickle torturing Toriel last night with help from Toby; etc. etc.

 A few minutes later…

 Asriel: Ok, that all makes me feel so much better. Thanks, you guys!

 Toriel and Asgore: You’re very welcome, sweetie/my son. *said Toriel and Asgore in perfect sync before looking at each other confusedly*

 Frisk: Yes, Azzy, you’re welcome. (Wait, did Mom and Dad just… Nah, don’t worry about it, Frisk. It’s probably nothing.)

 After a brief moment of silence, Frisk, who was incredibly eager to experience “Princess Tickle Time” for the first time ever, proceeded to ask Toriel, Asgore, and Asriel all curiously and excitedly,

 Frisk: …So, um, are you guys ready to start now?

Toriel and Asgore: Oh yes, very much so, my child! *answered Toriel and Asgore in perfect sync before looking at each other confusedly once again*

 Frisk and Asriel: (Woah, what the? Huh, that was weird, but at the same time, really cool!) *thought Frisk and Asriel confusedly and happily to themselves*

 Toriel and Asgore: *stammers* Um, we mean, it’s “Princess Tickle Time!” *said Toriel and Asgore all singsongy and nervously at the same time*

 Asgore: ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!

 At that moment, Toriel resumed her ticklish assault on Frisk’s armpits and Asgore began wiggling his fluffy fingers and scratchy nails against every inch of Frisk’s thighs, knees, calves, and ankles, sending the young human girl into absolute hysterics despite the fact that neither one of them is touching her bare skin... yet. ;) Frisk is extremely ticklish. Not quite as ticklish as Asriel but ticklish enough to laugh, squeal, shriek, and snort from some of the very lightest touches to her sensitive body depending on the location (primarily her belly).

 Frisk: PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT, BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! THAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANKS, YOU GUYS!!!!!! *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!

 Asgore: (Golly! She’s more ticklish than Chara! Way more ticklish!) *thought Asgore excitedly to himself*

 Toriel: Hee hee hee! You’re very welcome, my child! Hee hee hee! Tickle, tickle! *replied Toriel before increasing her tickling speed on Frisk’s armpits* Kitchie kitchie koo!

 Frisk: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHA!!!!!! *SNORT* NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAM!!!!!! AHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!!!!!! DON’T TICKLE ME FASTER!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* SNORT* GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!! *laughed Frisk even more*

 Asgore: Hohoho! Yes! More laughter! Hohoho! But, not quite enough for the Tickle Monster! ROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!! *shouted Asgore before increasing his tickling speed on Frisk’s legs*

 Frisk: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* NOHOHHOHOHOHOHHOHOHOO, DAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAD, AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAA, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, NAHAHAHAHAHAT YOU TOO!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!

 As Toriel and Asgore tickled Frisk, Asriel, who was still kneeling to the left of Frisk (Frisk’s right) but wasn’t tickling her at all, watched both of them in complete silence with a massive smile on his face. This was partly due to listening to some of the most angelic laughter he’s ever heard and seeing some of the most priceless expressions he’s ever seen but mostly because of how exciting it was for him to see both of his parents tickling someone together for the first time in years! :D

 Toriel and Asgore: Wait, Asriel? Asriel, why aren’t you tickling Frisk with us, sweetie/my son? Is there something wrong? *asked Toriel and Asgore in perfect sync as they both stopped tickling Frisk for the time being* (*gasp* Oh my goodness! Again?! What is with both of us today?)

 Asriel: …

 Toriel and Asgore: Asriel?

 Asriel: …

 Toriel and Asgore: ASRIEL?!

 Asriel: Huh? …Oh, n-no, not at all, you guys! …S-sorry, it’s just, it’s just so incredible watching both of you work together, that’s all. *replied Asriel with a massive smile on his face*

 Frisk: (I agree with you 100%, Azzy! X3)

 Toriel and Asgore: Because it reminds you of all those times we worked together to tickle both you and Chara back then, doesn’t it, Asriel? (And there we go again! Seriously, what is with both of us today?! :/)

 Asriel: Yes! Exactly, exactly! *replied Asriel excitedly while tearing up a little*

 Toriel: *sniffles* (Oh my goodness, try not to cry, Toriel!) W-well, don’t feel the need to not include yourself in this for that reason, sweetie. *said Toriel while trying hard to hold back tears*

 Asgore:*sniffles* (Oh my goodness, try not to cry, Asgore!) She, she’s right, you know. *said Asgore while trying hard to hold back his tears* “Princess Tickle Time” isn’t the same without you, my son. So please…

 Toriel and Asgore: Feel free to jump in at any time!

 Asriel really struck a nerve there with both of his parents! Because for the first time in years, Toriel and Asgore worked together to tickle someone, something they didn’t even realize they were doing until Asriel pointed it out! And at the same time, the two parents began realizing that they share the same thinking after all these years too, which might possibly explain why both of them keep talking in such perfect sync! This created one hell of an awkward and surprisingly emotional situation for both Toriel and Asgore, causing the two boss monsters to actually consider ending “Princess Tickle Time” entirely! …But, rest assured, that is NOT going to happen! Because they’re doing this for Frisk! And that reason alone is enough for them to see this through. But, in an attempt to help ease the current situation, Asriel may want to consider joining them real soon. And that’s not going to be a problem… because he’s ready! :)

 Asriel: Well, how about right now then?!

 Frisk: PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! AZEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEZY, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE BELLY!!!!! *Frisk pleaded falsely through her absolutely precious laughter* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!

 At that moment, Asriel began wiggling his furry fingers teasingly against Frisk’s extremely sensitive belly. And despite the fact that Frisk’s shirt is still covering up her belly at the moment, Asriel’s fingers still tickle like hell, which Frisk doesn’t mind one bit, actually! ;)

 Frisk: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!

 Toriel and Asgore: Hee hee hee/Hohoho! Thanks, Asriel! And good job! (*gasp* Really?! We’re talking at the same time again?! My goodness, this is getting too out of hand!) *stammers* I mean, it’s “Princess Tickle Time!” *said Toriel and Asgore all singsongy and nervously at the same time yet again* Again! Hee hee hee/Hohoho!

 Then, just then, Toriel resumed her ticklish assault on Frisk’s armpits and Asgore resumed his ticklish assault on Frisk’s legs. And they continued doing so for 2 minutes. All while Asriel focused on her extremely sensitive belly.

 Frisk: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!! FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! OHOHOHOHOHOHOHO GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT ALL AT ONCE!!!!! *Frisk pleaded falsely through her absolutely precious laughter once again* EEEEEEEEEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* OOOOHOOHOOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* BWAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!!

 2 minutes later, all three boss monsters stopped tickling Frisk. But only long enough for them to get ready for phase 2 of their assault. And to get ready for phase 2, Frisk’s shoes need to be removed. ;)

 Frisk: Hey, wait, what the… Dad; Dad, what are you doing?! Don’t, don’t take my shoe off! *pleaded Frisk nervously as Asgore slowly removed her right shoe but not her right sock… yet* Dad, please don’t take my shoe off!

 Frisk doesn’t actually mind that Asgore’s currently taking off her shoes. She’s just pretending she doesn’t want him to take them off in order to fuel his desire to tickle her even more, that’s all. ;)

 Asriel: Don’t listen to her, Dad! *shouted Asriel despite knowing very well that Asgore will listen to him*

 Asgore: Hohoho! Worry not, my son, I don’t intend to. *assured Asgore with a ginormous smile on his face* Hohohohoho!

 Moments later… after Frisk’s right shoe was removed…

 Frisk: Dad! Dad, you put that back on right now! You hear me? You put that shoe back on right now!

 Asgore: Dum dee dum. *hummed Asgore as he ignored Frisk’s continuous pleads* Hohohohoho!

 Frisk: Hey! No! Don’t take the other one off too! Please don’t take the other one off too, Dad! *pleaded Frisk nervously as Asgore slowly removed her left shoe but not her left sock… yet* Please don’t! Seriously, Dad, please don’t!

 Moments later… after Frisk’s left shoe was removed…

 Frisk: Dad?! Dad, come on, this isn’t funny! You put back both of my shoes back on right now! Please! I don’t wanna get my feet tickled, gosh darn it! *lied Frisk*

 Toriel: Oh, you poor little girl. *teased Toriel as she crawled over right next to Frisk’s feet where Asgore is currently sitting* That’s too bad. …Because when it comes to tickling, we Dreemurrs have one mandatory rule. And that rule is:

 Toriel, Asgore, and Asriel: THE FEET MUST ALWAYS BE TICKLED!!!

 Frisk: *nervous gasp* You wouldn’t dare!

 Toriel and Asgore: Oh yes, we would! Hee hee hee/Hohoho!

 While Toriel and Asgore were talking just now, Toriel lifted Frisk’s right leg off of the floor and then proceeded to wrap her left arm around her right ankle, trapping her right foot in the process. And at the same time, Asgore lifted Frisk’s left leg off of the floor and wrapped his right arm around her left ankle, trapping her left foot in the process.

 Asriel: Oh, you are so gonna get it now, Frisk! Heeheeheeheeheehee!!

 Frisk: No, no, please! Goat Mom, Goat Dad, please don’t tickle my feet! Please don’t! *Frisk pleaded very nervously*

 Toriel and Asgore: Too late, our minds are already made up, Frisk. These little feet of yours are going to be tickled… whether you like it or not! Hee hee hee/Hohoho!

 Frisk: A-Azzy, Goat Bro, p-p-please do something! Anything! Oh, I know! How, how about you turn against them! Y-yeah, let’s work together, you and me, brother and sister side by side! Come on, what do you say? Parents vs. children! It’ll be fun!

 Asriel: NO! *replied Asriel with absolutely no hesitation* Sorry, Frisk, I can’t. …Because… in this family, it’s TICKLE… OR BE TICKLED!! *shouted Asriel as he began digging his fluffy fingers into Frisk’s ribs and as Toriel and Asgore began tickling Frisk's socked feet with their free hands* Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!!!

 Frisk: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE FEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEET!!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAM, DAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!!!

 Toriel and Asgore: No can do, Frisk! Like Asriel said, in this family, it’s TICKLE… OR BE TICKLED!! Hee hee hee/Hohoho! *shouted both Toriel and Asgore in perfect sync yet again as they sped up tickling Frisk’s socked feet*

 Frisk: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!!!!! *laughed Frisk frantically, hysterically, maniacally, and preciously all at the same time for two whole minutes as she squirmed and thrashed in her parents’ and brother’s clutches with surprisingly heavy movement for a girl her size* NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* *SNORT* GAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! SKFDJKJFVIELRBVUSDFNBXKHFVJSRBEUGESUBFYAERSIDFREAJIUFBEQLW!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! DFBIWRUESRGYQOIWEOFRSBRHKVBDSHXJBFKNGBSJVNRBFVHDKBXNZHJ!!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!! *SNORT* *SNORT* FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!!!!!!! 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[margarethelstone]

That Hopelessness of Mine

She was weary, she was sick, she was completely unable to focus. She, the Astrid Hofferson, the most hard-working student the University of Berk had ever taught, suddenly appeared to be perfectly indifferent to what was happening around her. Her life was an utter mess – and a ridiculously handsome, green-eyed stranger was the last person she needed to meet.” Hiccstrid modern AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Chapter 4

“No, no, no… No!” she cried out in desperation a moment after her discovery, rummaging through her bag, frantically searching for the item she hadn’t even thought about half a minute earlier. "It has to be here! I put it inside this morning, and I had it with me at the University, it couldn’t just disappear. It must be here, somewhere!”

But it wasn’t.

Feeling herself on the verge of tears – again – Astrid grabbed her purse in both of her hands and turned it upside down, letting her belongings fall on the soft surface of the sofa, still fooling herself that it would allow her to find the wallet that was otherwise escaping her notice. She threw the empty bag on the floor right after and focused on going through its contents once more, and every next second just made her more convinced that it was indeed just another hopeless business.

“Alright, Hofferson, calm down,” she ordered herself eventually, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, hoping to at least get her own nerves under control. She wouldn’t resolve anything in a state of such panic anyway. “Did I really put it in my bag in the morning? Wasn’t that yesterday? I don’t use the bus and I didn’t visit the library today, so I really might have missed the fact that I didn’t have the wallet with me. Oh, and I haven’t eaten anything for the entire day, either -”

You did down that huge coffee in the afternoon, though, and it certainly wasn’t Ruff who paid for it.

“Oh, shut up,” she answered her own mind that apparently decided that she didn’t deserve that last resort of hope she was clinging to so fiercely, as she plopped down on a chair and slouched, hiding her face behind her trembling fingers.

She knew she was naive to think of it in this way, but it was just too much. Why did it have to happen to her? Now, when she had finally found some peace, when she had allowed herself to relax a little, this had to happen, shattering all of the prospects of spending at least a few idle hours without stressing over how pathetic she was. Now, however? No chance she would get any of that.

Her money, her tickets, her ID cards – they were gone, all because she couldn’t have crossed half kilometre long distance without losing her balance and falling on the ground like the miserable idiot she was.

She jerked up her head, eyes wide in astonishment.

Certainly, she must have left it there! Just a few hundreds metres away, where her bag strap had fallen off. Maybe she was being childish and naive again, but if she hadn’t noticed the wallet lying anywhere close to where she’d stood, it was more than possible that no one else had. It must have landed between the rotting scrubs that she knew grew next to the footpath in that particular place, and, apparently, neither she or her saviour was perceptive enough to have noticed it earlier.

Of course, her own silly agitation at the time didn’t help with that.

In a sudden rush of energy, Astrid jumped from the chair and hurried to the door, barely remembering to put on her shoes and coat before she left. Her hair was still wet and tangled, and she still didn’t have a hat to put on her head, but it didn’t matter. Right now all she cared for was her phone, her keys and this little bit of luck she needed so much.

Still, her wallet wasn’t there.

Not on the pavement, not in the bushes, not anywhere close to either of them. Like with her bag earlier this evening, she searched and searched, checking every inch of the ground twice, praying that she would at least find her ID cards if nothing else.

Screw the money she thought, pretending like she didn’t care, screw the tickets, the photos, the slim, flat flash drive I never used anyway.

Screw the green-eyed, handsome jerks that made her lose her common sense.

“What is wrong with me?” she groaned as the realisation dawned on her, making her despise herself more than ever before, clenching her fists and kicking the kerb, indifferent to the pain that spread over her foot in result. “He took it. Of course he took it. He played his role of a decent guy, gave me back all of the worthless notes and pens and kept the only thing worth keeping. And to think I was grateful to have met him today!”

Oh, she wasn’t pathetic. She was just plain, plain stupid.

“Did I really blush and stutter for this?”

Or maybe she simply was both.

She groaned for what felt like a millionth time that day and returned to massaging her temple, desperate to at least soften the pounding headache that was only growing with the passage of time. She no longer tried to fight her anger, knowing that it was the last thing that still kept her from giving up to the final frustration – frustration that meant nothing but tears and resignation, not to mention even worse physical condition. So she kicked, and she hissed, and she kept cursing the previous encounter that had undoubtedly lead to her current state.

It had taken good few minutes and a couple of snorts before Astrid calmed down enough to make any sort of decision. She looked around in the last impulse of hope. Nothing was there – and she painfully realised that it would remain in that way, no matter how much she wanted it to change.

Her sigh was almost theatrical this time.

“I really should stop that,” she muttered under her breath, tucking her lose hair behind her ear, brushing away her fringe that was getting in her eyes. She was surprised it hadn’t frozen by this time but then again, not much made sense on this sad winter evening.

Some December that was.

Refraining from scanning the area again, the girl turned around and, slouched under the heavy blasts of the howling wind, she took the first of the many steps towards her apartment.

Alright, she thought as she walked past a group of students who must have just finished the last of their classes. Alright. If that’s how it must end, then so be it. The best I can do is to get back inside and call the bank, the police, or whatever institution that could take any interest in me losing my documents. And then it’s bed, and it’s for real this time, and I am not letting anything else get in my way again -

Goodness gracious, she almost sounded as if she’d had anything to say about this.

“I do,” she drawled through her gritted teeth, gaining herself a startled look from a very surprised passer-by. She ignored him completely. “I might be talking to myself, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind, and until that happens, I’m the one deciding what and how to do about my life. And since I can’t do more than those calls, I won’t worry about it, not for a second longer. Good Lord, I really need some sleep.”

She reached to the pocket of her jeans in search of her phone, curious to see how much time this unplanned escapade had taken her, only to feel it buzz in her hand before she’d had a chance to have a good look at the screen. She frowned at the sight of her mother’s photo.

Ingrid Hofferson never called without a good reason.

"Mum? What's wrong?" she asked in lieu of a greeting, already sensing the familiar knot in her stomach that appeared every time she got nervous. Normally, a call from her mother would result in nothing but her surprise but feeling the way she did that day...

...she had already come up with the most terrifying scenarios.

"What happened?" she repeated before the woman on the other side managed to answer.

She heard her mother sigh in response. "Really, Astrid, can't a mother call her daughter without a reason?"

"You never do," was Astrid's quiet answer. She tried to sound calm but at the same time she was almost perfectly sure Ingrid already knew she was not. "We both know we're better off texting and you're always busy at this time of day. So, what's the matter?"

"Don't you be so sure, young Lady, or I'll make sure to call you every two days just to stir that confidence of yours. I may be getting old, Astrid, but it doesn't mean I don't know how to surprise my family. You should ask Dad."

"Mum," Astrid interrupted, the corners of her lips twitching. Her mother was way too cheerful - and naturally so – to be herald of any bad news and the girl felt herself relax at last.

"Fine," her mother muttered in a mock-offended voice. "There might be a reason this time. But I could still call you if there wasn't and there would be nothing special about it."

"Of course not," Astrid mumbled with a smile. "So, mum, are you going to tell me what that reason is or are you going to keep me in the dark until I burst with curiosity and beg you for details myself?"

She almost heard her mother grin. "That would not be an unwelcome change, you know. But as much as I'd love to hear you plead for anything, I don't have as much time as I wish, so I'll get straight to the point – do you or do you not recall meeting any tall, dark-haired, ridiculously handsome young man today?"

Astrid stopped in her tracks, astonished, unable to utter a word of response. Her mind was blank, except for one thought that kept ringing in it.

You've got to be kidding me.

"I – I don't" she stammered, somehow managing not to stop in her tracks as she did; again, the teasing expression that undoubtedly appeared on her mother's countenance was almost audible. "I mean, yes. What?"

"Well, well, looks like after twenty years of trying I've finally succeeded in rendering my daughter speechless," came Ingrid's merciless comment. "Even though I suppose it's mostly the man's in question doing."

"Why would you even ask me that, mum?" Astrid tried to regain some of her lost dignity. "This question itself is ridiculous, not to mention, awfully specific. So, why?"

"Because he's sitting in the other room as we speak. He came in about five minutes ago, claiming that he'd found your wallet on the pavement."

Now was the time for Astrid to halt.

"What?" was another educated exclamation of hers. "How?"

"He would not share any details except that he there when your bag fell on the ground and that even though you managed to gather most of it, you somehow missed the wallet – and that you'd left the spot before he noticed it himself. Now, I won't pester about how it's possible you didn't check for the wallet in the first place, because I know that things like that happen sometimes. What I want to know, however, is: how the heck could you run away from a man like this?"

Against herself, Astrid burst into laugh. "Mum, I swear, you're worse than Ruff sometimes."

"I suppose she already shared her thoughts on the subject?"

"Yes, and she was very straightforward about it, too."

"I knew there was a reason why I loved that girl."

Astrid chuckled again, and sighed. "Alright, your comments apart – why is he there? It doesn't make sense."

"I suppose he followed the only clue he had, which is the address on your ID. And as it happens, it's still your home address."

"Of course. But -" Astrid hesitated, feeling the sudden pang of guilt as she remembered all the accusations she had already made towards the guy who truly had done nothing but helped her. "You want to tell me he drove all that way to the suburbs just because of this?"

"Seems like it."

"Oh, brother."

She pressed her hand to her forehead. She felt so happy, and surprised, and a little lost for words, not to mention, more and more ashamed of how easily she had judged the chivalrous young man. And she still needed to decide what to do with the fact that said man was comfortably seated in her mother's living room.

"Okay mum, listen," she said eventually. "This is all wonderful news but if we don't make some decisions now, I will collapse on the ground from exhaustion in moments and nothing good will come for it anyway. I am too tired to come home today – so would you please just ask the guy to leave it with you for now and I'll come and pick it up tomorrow after classes? I'm sure he's dying to get rid of it, too."

"See, that's the problem," her mother opposed. "He seems determined to only give it back to you, personally."

Astrid felt her good mood die again. She did not feel like spending two more hours in a bus today. "Mum, it doesn't make any sense. Even if I wasn't tired, it would still take me way too much time for him to wait. I'd have to go back to the flat, get some money – I am sure he has better things to do."

"He doesn't want you to come, but to bring the wallet back to you."

"To me? Wait, you didn't actually give him my address, did you?"

"Of course not," Ingrid as well as snorted. "But he says there is no point in your coming here, since he needs to get to the centre anyway; he's pretty stubborn, you know. So... Maybe just name a place and I'll tell him to meet you there? Although honestly, he seems like the kind of guy that you could safely meet in your own flat. I wouldn't mind you seeing him like this, anyway."

"Mum!"

She heard her mother laugh openly then and only shook her head at her wonderful parent's antics. She resumed her stroll towards her block. "Okay mum, I'll tell you what: today has been horrible, and I feel like garbage, and I'm definitely not going anywhere right now – so if you could just send the guy to my flat, that would be great. And if he turns out to be a serial rapist and killer... Well, at least you'll know exactly how to describe him to the police."

[mon-blanchetts]

Set If Off, Because You Know You Want To (4/?)

She’s convinced that Jon won’t fight for her, so she decides to fight for herself. He sets out to prove her wrong.

Nothing was going to stop her from getting to her chambers, Sansa decided. She kept her eyes solely in front of her, unmoved by the looks that courtiers and servants threw her way when she passed them. Her ears strained to catch the sound of footsteps behind her; she would run if she had to, appearances be damned. She needed to get as far away from him as she could, and she would do anything to ensure it.

Alys was perched on a seat when she arrived, but the handmaiden was on her feet the instant she realized who had entered.  

 “I’d like to be alone, please,” she announced before the other woman could voice anything. For a moment she feared that Alys would pry deeper; it was a complete relief when she didn’t. Sansa was sure she would have snapped, but she didn’t need to make anymore enemies here.

 Sansa didn’t wait for the door to close before dropping into a bench closest to her. Hair stuck to the back of her neck; she leaned her head against the stone walls, desperate for some respite from the flames that licked at her insides, spreading across all her limbs. She knew better than to blame the southron heat for her current sufferings, much as she wanted to.

 Jon had gone mad. That was the simplest way for her to rationalize his behaviour out there, not to mention the only explanation she thought safe to entertain. He had no right to speak of the things he’d brought up, and she desperately wanted to hate him for it. He was out of his mind if he thought he could whisk her back home where they could amend things, not when his aunt and her court were under the assumption that he was ready to offer his hand to another.

 It could have been so different, she lamented, pressing her eyes shut. There was no relief from the episode Jon had just forced her to endure; his words crowded her mind with such vivid force that he mine as well be present in her room, echoing the same sentiments he’d done earlier. It was all useless, anyway, because she was right: it was too late. Jon may love her still, but his feelings meant nothing in the face of Northern interests.

  It could have been so different.

“A pretty voice, yes, but I’m sure many would say he’s got an even prettier face,” Tyrion whispered. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

 Sansa looked away from the singer in question to spare her neighbour a brief glance. “I suppose it’s a matter of preference, my lord,” she whispered back, leaning towards him so he could hear her better. In truth, she hadn’t been paying attention to their current entertainment; it was a difficult feat, considering the weight of Jon’s gaze. More than once during the feast she’d caught him watching her, but it was even worse when his aunt caught them both. No wonder Daenerys thought she might be colluding with him.

 The singer had picked a ballad that brought light upon Jenny of Oldstones, crooning yearningly about love in conflict with royal duty before cautioning those willing to listen about the folly of the individual who believed himself above the interests of his family. Fitting enough, Sansa thought, as the performance came to an end; she added her own applause to that ringing through the gilded hall.

 “He is a handsome man,” she commented, as soon as the noise died down. “But I do like his voice more.”

 The Hand nodded beside her. “I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to hear that. You know what men like do in order to sound that way after all these years, don’t you?”

 She did, and the thought made her blush. When she glanced at her neighbour again, Tyrion was grinning at her.

 Sansa didn’t know if it was the change of setting or the potency of the wine, but it seemed that everyone was acting out of turn tonight. If this had all been Percy Falker’s intention, he’d right well succeeded, she thought, turning her head to look at their host. The wealthy merchant sat at the high table to Daenerys’s right, Jon on her other side. It was an honour of the highest calibre to have not one, but two members of the royal family in his manse, and it was clear he was determined to put his guests in awe. It had been a long time since Sansa had witnessed entertainment on this scale, even though the list of attendees was somewhat minimal. The choicest cuts of meat and the rarest of ingredients had been present, but the best of the best had been offered to the high table only.

 “How much would you sacrifice for your craft, my lady?”

 She played with the napkin on her lap. Now that the performance was over, there was no reason to talk softly, but that didn’t seem to matter to the Queen’s Hand. Sansa nearly didn’t hear him amidst the dense noise of other people’s talk and the clang of pewter.

 “I’ve never been passionate enough about any craft to know,” she answered. Gods, she was tired. Her eyes burned from the light and smoke, while the heavy jewels chained around Laetitia Falker’s neck weren’t helping. As protocol would have it, the merchant’s wife was seated beside Jon; she must have been as aware as her husband was what a position she momentarily held. To have the Winter King’s ear for the bulk of the evening—who knew what she was whispering?

 Tyrion tilted his head to the side. “But I see you’ve been dabbling in the art of matchmaking, have you not?”

 “I’ve made no sacrifices for it, my lord,” she said, in a tone she hoped referenced her boredom. A figure approaching their table stopped her from saying more.

 “A piece of the subtlety, my lady?” offered the page who had been serving Jon the entire evening. He presented a golden platter that held generous pieces of the elaborate confection exclusively made for the occupants at the high table. “His Grace says he wishes to bestow a favour upon you.”

 “Of course he does,” Tyrion quipped, leaning forward precariously in his seat to grab himself a piece. Sansa stared at the offering; without thinking, she shifted her gaze towards Jon. It didn’t surprise her that he was watching her, those solemn gray eyes boring into her own clear blue ones, silently willing her to accept what he wanted her to have. It was an explicit gesture that none around them missed, least of all Daenerys and her wealthy host. Sansa dropped her gaze as soon as she caught the displeasure on the queen’s face. She’d murder Jon for this, if she could.

 “Are you going to accept?”

 Tyrion’s question made her look up again. The page was still standing before their table, a thin sheen of sweat over his youthful face.

 “Give it to the Septa, please,” she instructed. The page bowed his head quickly before obeying; she stared at his back as he scurried off to the back of the crowded hall. Don’t look at him, she ordered herself, fisting her napkin. Don’t look at him.

 The Hand was sucking the ends of his fingers when he spoke. “The smallfolk will have you to thank when they shit gold tonight.”

 “That’s not true. They can blame His Grace for that.”

 Her neighbour chuckled. “And he has so much on his mind already.” When she looked at him, there was a curious glint in his eye that instantly made her nervous.

 “His Grace has summoned you quite a few times for a private audience, has he not?”

 Tyrion’s knowledge of that didn’t surprise her, but that wasn’t enough to ease the discomfort in her belly, a nefarious coiling she could not ignore. “Anything Jon wants to me he can say before everyone else.”

 Her companion quirked a blond eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you worried you’re courting His Grace’s disfavour?”

 Sansa held back a snort. Not when he’s already courted mine. She had vowed that their previous encounter would be the last of that sort, and so far she had made good on her promise. Being alone with Jon was too dangerous, she realized; it was even more so now that she knew how he felt. “His Grace isn’t the kind of man to be offended by such a minor slight as that.”

 “Well, may that be a good mark on his character,” he said. Light dance on his silver brooch, like magic was bringing the metal hand to life. “His Grace’s spirits, on the other hand, could use some improvement. I do hope a good match will accomplish that.”

 The corners of her lips curled up. “I said something of a similar vein to him once.”

 “Did you, now? And what did Jon say to that?”

 Sansa shrugged. “Nothing. The idea of having Arianne Martell for a bride would probablt render any man speechless, I daresay.”

 “If Jon’s bride is to be Arianne Martell,” he corrected, eyes twinkling beneath the flicker of candle lights. “Did you think your letters to the Princess necessary, Sansa?”

 She watched as Lady Hollanda approached the high table, her deep blue skirts billowing behind her. “I thought it was just another way for me to be of service to Her Grace.” She’d written the first letter that same day Jon had spoken with her, only to follow up with another a few nights later. Each correspondence contained the highest praise for her cousin, the King, most of real than not. It had given her pause to remember why she loved him so much, but what had she expected?

 “And you would make yourself indispensable to the Princess as well, once she arrives?”

 Sansa whipped her had around to scrutinize the Hand. “Are you just as worried as Her Grace is about my loyalty?” The words came out sharp, but she could still hear the exasperation muddled in her voice. No doubt Tyrion did as well.

 He shook his head slowly. “I don’t doubt your loyalty at all, my lady,” he assured, but he was looking away from her while he spoke. She followed his line of sight until her gaze landed on Jon again. Percy Falker’s wife had diverted his attention elsewhere.

 “No, I don’t doubt your loyalty at all,” Tyrion repeated, softly. “If anything, it’s him I ought to be worried about, not you.”

 The singer approached their trestle later that night, holding his cap out for any tokens. Sansa dropped in a few coins, but Tyrion offered nothing.

 “The man’s a paramour to a wealthy nobleman who just happens not to be present,” he explained, shrugging. “It pays to be warming the right person’s bed, you know, a lot more than what we put in his cap.”

  There was a tingle on her side of her face; despite the familiarity of it, goosebumps still rose along the back of her neck. She lifted her gaze to the high table—sure enough, Jon was staring openly at her now, his long face shrouded with what she could only describe as naked want.

AN: There's more to this, but I got to lazy to edit it. You'll just have to wait for the next update to read it (it won't come out next lunar new year, I promise). Thanks for all your support and comments, everyone! It means a ton to me.

[lichlover]

Hi! Sorry if I'm bothering you but I was wondering if you could do a saizet and takko taz fic? Like where takko mets saizet randomly in the market and stuff? Would that be ok???

i kinda went my own way with this, hope you don’t mind! 

please consider donating to my ko-fi!

Here’s the thing: Taako knows he’s beautiful.

Not only does he know this, but he’s damn good at using it to his advantage. Every flip of the pan is accompanied with a wink and a smile; his late-night crowds are treated to the occasional innuendo. He prides himself on being unattainable in every sense. They flock to him in droves, scrambling for a shred of his talent and charisma, and he teases them with it like dangling candy over children’s heads. Taako specializes in entertaining, but once in awhile he does have to entertain himself—and what’s more entertaining than watching envy ignite like a rogue flame in their eyes?

He’s yet to meet anyone with the self-awareness to acknowledge their adoration like an addiction; something they’ll never get enough of, that they’re content to keep chasing for the rest of their lives.

That is, until he meets Sazed.

There are always a few fans who stick around. They linger, babbling on about their latest projects or how much of an inspiration Taako is to them, asking When will you be coming back, Taako? You’re coming back, right? Because I’ve got this recipe that I know I can perfect with just a little more time, and I’d love to get your input on it—

Taako waves them off with a vague response and a flashy wink, and eventually they dissipate, going their respective ways and leaving him on his own. It gives him ample time to breathe and come down from the euphoric high of the show, and in a way, it’s as much a ritual as it is sitting cross-legged on his bed and unlacing his braid. He values his rituals, as every star in demand does. That also means, in turn, that he doesn’t look favorably on anyone who disrupts them.

So the universe will understand if Taako turns a little sharply on his heel when he hears his name being called. And there he is. Average height, average build, all-around average look. The sort of person who could deflect a spotlight if it shone directly on him. Taako looks him up and down; takes him in with a subtle curl to his lip, and says, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, yeah—” He has a nice enough smile, Taako supposes. It won’t stop a show in its tracks but, like the rest of him, it’s just enough to suffice. “I just wanted to, uh, compliment you on this whole operation. Seems like a lot to hold down, and, uh—oh, I’m Sazed, by the way.” With that same smile, just edging past mediocre, Sazed sticks out a hand.

Oh, well. He can be on for another minute or so. “Enchanté,” says Taako, easily shifting his sneer into a smile, and takes Sazed’s hand. The palm is rough and calloused against his, which shines comparatively with sealed-up scars and the odd superficial burn. “I appreciate it, my man. Takes a lot of work to maintain this—this little establishment. You must have an eye for entrepreneur… ism.”

“Oh, I do. Definitely. I just think it’s, it’s crazy how you’ve got this going all by yourself, and…” Sazed shifts his weight, and Taako has to bite back a groan, because he knows what’s coming. He’s seen it too many times before from the hopefuls in self-stitched chef’s hats and clutching Taako™ merchandise to their chests. Still, he keeps a smile plastered to his face as Sazed goes on. “That’s actually why I came up to talk to you. I had a proposition for you.”

“Well, gee,” Taako purrs, tilting his head to conceal a compulsory eye roll. “At least take me out to dinner first, huh?”

Sazed steps back like he’s been burned. “What? I meant—I was talking about a business proposition, not—”

So he’s decent, at least. This actually has the potential to be fun, and it’s been ages since he’s had a night out without having to scrape for the coin. Taako’s smile sharpens into a smirk. “I was kidding, kemosabe. Just cool your jets, alright? Tell you what.” He strips off his jacket, dusting off the blouse and slacks underneath, and tosses it into the back of the stagecoach. “I’ve got this venue rented out for the night, so what say you and I go somewhere warm, and you can give me your pitch? Break the ice with a couple drinks, maybe? I’ll even let you pay.”

The last part is usually a hard sell, but Sazed looks as if someone’s just flicked on the sun behind his eyes. “That… sounds great, Taako. Thank you so much. And I’d love to hear more about the show and how it works, y’know? Just for, uh, just for the proposition’s sake?”

One of his fans is asking him to talk his ear off, and he’s getting free drinks out of it, nonetheless. Taako can scarcely believe his luck. “Oh, if you insist,” he drawls, and flips a scarf over his shoulder. “Let’s hit the town, Sazed.”

Here’s the other thing: Sazed is nice.

It’s the kind of personality that prompts a Yes, and?; that begs complexity, that challenges depth. But as near as Taako can tell, Sazed is just—nice. He has a story so mundane it could have been used for a fill-in-the-blank: boring childhood, moderate education, parents retired in some beachside tourist trap. Thankfully, Taako only has to swallow a couple yawns before the conversation turns to him, and then he doesn’t have to fake enthusiasm. He goes on about his inspiration (Fantasy The Kitchen), his brand (“The name of the game,” he says, “is name recognition,” and Sazed chuckles), how he handles the crowds (gracefully, and with poise). The topic of his cooking is carefully skirted, as Taako isn’t big on giving away trade secrets, even to the guy who’s buying him alcohol. But Sazed is a good listener, as all lukewarm personalities demand.

It’s not just that. He’s open about his adoration. This man idolizes Taako and doesn’t try to hide it, not for Taako’s benefit or for his own pride. His honesty the one thing that sets him apart from the rest, and however much he smothers it with subtlety, Taako does love to be adored.

This is perhaps the only respect in which Sazed is interesting. It’s enough for him.

Once he’s feeling pleasantly buzzed, Taako drums his nails against the tabletop and fixes Sazed with his best dazzle-me stare. “So,” he says. “This proposition.”

Sazed looks like the proposition has been gnawing at him for the last hour, and he straightens up with a jolt at Taako’s question. “Right. Right. The proposition. Like I said, I really admire what you’ve got going on here. I think it’s brilliant, and I, uh…”

Taako preens. “Go on?”

“I’d like to get on board,” says Sazed.

Well. That’s disappointing.

Another way in which Sazed is exactly like everyone else who’s tried to get on his good side—he’s just trying to butter Taako up for a chance in the spotlight. Taako’s expression sours, and he takes a long sip of ale, wishing he’d asked for something stronger. Rejection never invites anything pretty. “Listen,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’m sure you think you’re plenty talented, that you’ve got something special, whatever. But this is a one-man show, my dude. Only room for one standing up there behind that counter. And you might be good, sure, I’ll give you that, but I’ll tell it to you straight—you don’t have the panache for this sorta thing.”

Sazed blinks. He doesn’t even have a retort, which makes Taako want to down his entire drink right then and there. This guy isn’t really going to drag it out, is he? He’s not going to make Taako sit there and listen to every reason why he should work alongside him?

But in a second, he recovers, and says, “Oh, no. You got it wrong.”

Taako doesn’t appreciate being told he’s got it wrong, but he arches an eyebrow, giving his tentative permission to continue.

“I didn’t mean—I don’t want to be on the show,” Sazed stammers. “I agree, you’ve got the flash ’n everything down pat. I just thought you’d need a… I dunno, a roadie. Stagecoach driver. Right-hand man. Like, whatever it is you need, I can do it. I’m one of those jack-of-all-trades types, right? And—and I’m a fast learner, so if you ever need me to help out with food stuff—or not,” he adds, hurriedly, when the eyebrow starts to creep higher. “But I think I’d be a big help. And I’ll just take a small percentage of the profits for my salary. Nothing serious, nothing fancy, just… me, helping you out.”

Now that is a proposition.

“Tell me this,” says Taako. “Why ambush me after a show? Why not wait ‘til I held, I dunno, job interviews for this shit? Why approach me now and try to—” He waves the glass in Sazed’s direction. “Why try to bribe me with alcohol?”

Sazed turns a faint shade of pink and takes an impulsive sip of his own drink. “I wasn’t trying to bribe you. I approached you because I was trying to be enterprising. That’s all.”

Taako squints. He can’t tell if he’s crit failed or succeeded on his insight check, but there’s sincerity in Sazed’s voice. “Okay,” he relents. “Why me?”

This is the kicker. The be-all, end-all question. Sazed sits forward in his seat, folding his hands. “You’re an inspiration,” he says. “I’m sure you get that a lot, but I’m not trying to catch any of the light comin’ off you, y’know? I’m just looking to work for someone who clearly loves what he does, because that’s what makes the job worth it. I’ll get some of my own experience, and you can keep doing what you’re good at, and we both win. ’S like you said, Taako. Sizzle It Up is a one-man show, but I think you deserve a two-man operation.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol—it is, in all fairness, probably the alcohol—but Taako is rendered speechless for a good few seconds. “You know what?” he says, finally. “I like you, Sazed. I think we’re gonna get along.”

He holds his hand out, and Sazed’s gaze flicks down to it like he’s afraid to stare. “C’mon, my man,” says Taako. “You sold me. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Shake it or leave it.”

“Oh, shake it,” Sazed blurts, and then snorts at his own blunder, and grasps Taako’s hand. They shake, quick and firm, and then Taako snaps his fingers at the bartender. “Hey!” he calls. “Two more over here, okay? We’re celebrating!”

“Thank you so much,” says Sazed from over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna let you down, I promise—”

Taako retracts his hand and glances back at him. “Hey, fella? Less talkin’, more drinkin’, okay?”

With a tight smile of acknowledgment, Sazed nods and takes a swig of ale. That leaves Taako’s attention on the bartender, but he stalls as a waiter swings by and places a fiery-hued cocktail in front of him. And Taako’s all for free drinks, of course, but he’s not about to get charged for someone’s misplaced order. “Uh,” he starts, and then, “Um, excuse me? I think you got the wrong guy.”

The waiter pauses. “A gift from the gentleman at the end of the bar.” He bustles past, and Taako catches a tiefling with an equally vibrant cocktail staring in his direction. The tiefling’s lips curl up at the sides, and he lets his gaze drift languidly elsewhere, but he’s being about as subtle as a house on fire. Taako gives him a quick once-over and files that information away for later in the night.

He turns back and Sazed’s eyes immediately dart back to Taako. “Nice,” he says. “But, uh, you’re not really gonna drink that, right?”

Taako scoffs. “Why not? It’s free alcohol! You understand what free alcohol means, right? Alcohol? But for free? Sans prix?”

“Oh, y’know,” says Sazed, and rubs the back of his neck with an avoidant grin. “Don’t take drinks from strangers, right? Could be drugged or poisoned or somethin’.”

He’s so awkward that Taako can’t help but snicker. “Humor is really not your strong point, y’know that? Thanks for the heads-up, you’re a peach.” And then he drains half of the cocktail in one go, lifts his lips off the straw with a soft pop, and glances back at where the tiefling is sitting. Sure enough, he’s staring again. Taako grins.

The strains of a piano float overhead as he hops to his feet. “I’ll be right back, mkay? Stay right there and get yourself another round. Your treat. Or something.”

Sazed huffs with laughter and rolls his eyes and gives him a thumbs-up, and Taako spins on his heel and makes his way over to the bar. He could get used to this, he thinks. He could get used to having a right-hand man who’s at his beck and call, doing what he can’t be bothered to do himself, warming his seat and whatnot. With this man in his employ, he’s even more free to do whatever he wants—including shooting a flirtatious smile and a wave to the tiefling, who gets up with intrigue glowing faintly in his eyes.

Here’s the thing: Taako has Sazed in his orbit, and he doesn’t need to give it another thought.

[rumbelleshowdown]

Pianos and Proposals

Author: Mermaidbride Prompts: piano recital; truck, signal, wind direction; never again Group: J

Roderick arrived back in Boston Saturday afternoon, a couple of hours before Belle's piano concerto. He hurriedly drove home and showered, stopping by the florist to pick up some flowers on his way to the performance. 

Butterflies swarmed in his abdomen as he took a seat in the front row. Tonight would be his big reveal, and he sensed his courage fleeing. Would Belle agree to his proposition? If she didn't, would he be able to carry on? He respired anxiously as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, signaling the beginning of the show. The concerto hosted by the university starred its alumni students. The music soothed his frazzled nerves. He glanced at his folded program in anticipation. 

Belle was up next and would be performing Pachelbel's Canon in D.

His breath hitched in his throat as she traipsed out onto the stage adorned in a strapless blue sequined gown which flowed past her knees. Her neatly coiffed curls cascaded down her back like a waterfall as she sat on the stool, poising her hands properly for playing. The music which flowed from her fingertips was clean and pristine like a gentle Spring shower bathing the earth in its refreshing cool stream. A spell was cast over the audience as each melodious chord wafted into the air. As she played her final note, she stood to her feet, bowing before the congregation which hooped and hollered with applause. Roderick joined them. She smiled broadly as her gaze caught him seated in the front row. His heart fluttered as she blew a kiss in his direction. Two more performances followed hers, but Roderick was unable to concentrate on any of them as his mind drifted to Belle.

After the concerto, he stormed to the back of the auditorium, hoping to catch a few moments alone with her before she departed. As he exited the auditorium, he saw her in the back, gazing around in anticipation.

"Belle!" he called out, hoping she heard him over the boisterous crowd. Her azure irises flickered towards him. She beamed brilliantly, motioning for him. His heart beat a tattoo against his chest as he approached her, a bouquet of yellow tulips in his arms.

"Roderick, I'm so glad you could make it! Are these for me?" she gushed.

"Yes, my darling, they're for you," he grinned, placing the bouquet in her awaiting arms.

"They're so beautiful! Thank you so much!" she fawned over them, burying her nose in a bloom, inhaling its perfumed fragrance deeply.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Belle, if you don't have any plans, I was hoping we could talk. There's much I'd like to discuss with you," he proposed, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

She touched his shoulder comfortingly, stilling his heartbeat. "I don't have any plans, Roderick. I was hoping I'd see you tonight. That's why I told daddy to head home afterward. Do you care to take me home?" she requested, the lilting cadence in her voice filling him with ease.

"Yes, that's fine," he nodded. "Shall we head to my car then?" he queried, gesturing to the exit.

"Most certainly," she said, clasping his hand in her own as they made their way to the parking lot. The warmth from her palm radiated to his heart. He noted how a light breeze tousled her waterfall curls, stealing his breath.

"Roderick, are you alright? You seem distracted," she pointed out, observing him gape at her.

"No! Everything is fine. It's just that, you look gorgeous this evening. Forgive me for staring." He blushed deeply, hastily opening the passenger side door for her; she released his hand as she slid into her seat. He walked to the driver's side, joining her.

"Thank you for the compliment. By the way, would you like to go somewhere and talk?" she queried, glancing at him quizzically.

"Somewhere quiet where we can talk privately," he requisitioned.

"How about a park?" she suggested.

"That will do," he consented, shifting the car in drive. The nearest local park was a five minute drive from the campus, and thankfully it was vacant. He parked, and turned off the engine, staring towards the empty duck pond in deep contemplation.

"A penny for your thoughts?" she probed, reaching out to clasp his hand again, squeezing it lightly.

He half smiled, bringing her hand to his lips, and brushing a kiss against her knuckles. "When I was in Storybrooke, I made a monumental discovery. Since the day I first met you in the bookshop, and we made that deal, I haven't been able to figure out why I was so drawn to you. You're attractive, so yes, that was one reason, but there was something more to you than your good looks. There are many lovely women out there, but your beauty outshines them all, inwardly and spiritually. I've never met a woman quite like you in my forty-three years, Ms. French. Those few months I fell off the grid, I attempted to dispel every miniscule emotion I felt for you because being alone was easier than allowing myself to become vulnerable. I vowed to never again become close to another human being after the loss of my son. At first I thought I'd succeeded, until I walked into the library that day, and there you were once more. Something began to stir deep within my soul, letting me know you were supposed to play a part in my story, though I wasn't sure what. I concluded it would only be a platonic relationship, but as I've become closer to you, I've began to crave more. You're the light amidst my ocean of darkness. I love you, and I want to court you properly with the intent of marrying you in the future. Will you be mine?" he proposed, procuring a black velvet box from his suit pocket.

Her heart hammered against her breast from his heartfelt confession. "Yes, Roderick Gold, I'll be yours, you silly, wonderful man!" she cried, joyous tears streaming down her face.

"Before you accept this ring, there's something else I must show you," he returned, opening the console between them. An envelope rested inside. "Open it," he encouraged.

Belle gazed at him, hesitantly taking the envelope, gingerly pulling open the flap. She pulled out a piece of paper with the name Neal Gold printed at the top. She held the letter with both hands, scanning the contents of the page until she came to the last line where her name was listed. She swallowed back the hard lump forming in her throat as realization hit her.

"My heart belonged to Neal?" she said slowly, glancing at back at the letter.

"Yes, it did, and I had no idea until I went back to Storybrooke. I told my assistant to trash the letter, because I didn't care who got his organs. He was gone, and I was grief stricken. Thankfully, he didn't listen to me," he remarked as an invisible weight lifted from his chest.

"The heart beating in my chest at this very moment belonged to your son. He was my organ donor," she repeated slowly, glancing out the window, rendered speechless by this revelation.

She averted her gaze, an unreadable expression permeating her features. He began to fear she was angry with him from her silent admission. "Belle," he spoke gently. "I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sorry if I've startled you, but please say something," he pleaded.

She began to shake uncontrollably as tears streamed down her face. "Your son has given me the most precious gift, and I'm certain that it's what brought us together." She wept into her hands.

"Neal's life may have been taken, but I'm honored to know that yours was spared because of it. He truly has given me a priceless treasure," he whispered against the shell of her ear, sweeping a cluster of errant curls away from her face, tenderly.

"And what's that?" she sniffled, wiping stray tears from her eyes, etching closer to him.

"A heart that beats just for me," he whispered, cradling her face in his hands, drawing closer to her lips, and kissing her reverently.

He pulled away, gazing at her amorously. "Will you accept my ring, Belle?" he asked.

"I shall," she breathed. He popped upon the box, revealing a heart shaped diamond with sapphires grafted around the edges. She outstretched her right hand, where he delicately placed the band on her third finger.

"It's absolutely stunning," she blushed, admiring the glimmering jewels under the interior car light.

"Not as stunning as you, my dear," he affirmed, pressing a tender kiss against her cheek.

"I love you, Roderick, and I refuse to believe this wasn't anything short of a miracle which God has granted us both," she expressed. Hearing her declare her love for him seemed alien, because it was something he didn't believe he deserved. Nevertheless, he was grateful he'd been given a second chance at new life – a life which they would forge together.

"Shall we head back to your place? I think we should tell your father the good news," he replied.

"Yes, he'll kill us both if we keep it from him," Belle sniggered.

"Agreed," he chuckled, driving them to her home, his heart feeling fuller than it had in years.

###

[littlebitoffanfic]

Luck and Morphine

Fandom: teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Characters: Raph, Donnie, Leo, Mikey Relationship: Raph/reader Request: A story where the reader got badly injured (deadly) during a fight, resulting in Raphael going berserk. The reader get "scared" of him , raph run away. The drama, misunderstanding, Angst happen.. happy end of course not fan of the smut but it's still your fic It was your own fault. You didn’t see the ninja sneak up behind you (oh how ironic it was) but you should have heard! You were trained better than this! Splinter trained you better than to let your guard down. That, and you weren’t meant to be out. You were tired. Exhausted actually. Every muscle in your body felt like they were on fire and were about to snap apart. Your heart was beating painfully in your chest and you could hear your pulse in your ears. That along with a high pitched whine from when you had had your head bash against a wall a couple of minutes ago. you had managed to persuade Leo to let you come out on a patrol (much to Raphs displeasure). But the next thing you knew, you were being attacked. 3 of them tried to drag you away from the turtles and had, in part, succeeded. You now had no idea where you were. You were in a small alley, but that wasn’t much help considering new York has as much side alleys as it does people. Or at least that’s how you felt. You had no doubt if they had succeeded in capturing you, your life would have either been ripped from you or used as a bargaining tool against the turtles. You heard your name on a roof above you. You twisted around and saw raph jumping down. You ran towards where you thought he would land only for one more of the gang who attacked you to jump out of nowhere. You felt a sharp pain in your side, like you had been hit by a train. You let out a gasp as you looked down to see the man had plunged a knife into your side. Stumbling back, you seemed to go into a daze. Like you were in a dream. A very real, painful dream. The man was then picked up and thrown against the wall. There was a disgusting cracking noise as his now lifeless body dropped to the floor and Raph now towered over you. you could feel the blood now running down your right side and due to the way you had stumbled, Raph couldn’t the knife. In fact, Raph didn’t even know you had just been stabbed. He could see the cut on your cheek and the grazes and bruising you had but not the worst of them all. All the wind had been knocked out of you and the pain rendered your speechless. In fact, even breathing was painful. You knew you couldn’t pull the blade out because that would “I told you not to come!” Raph growled, his voice deep and dangerous. A shot of fear coursed through your body and you became all too aware of how weak you were. You tried to force yourself to speak, but he cut you off. “You have no one else to blame but yourself! You know you aint good enough to deal with them! But you didn’t care! You are so careless with your life! Why did you have to be so STUPID!” Raph screamed at you, his fists clenched. You didn’t know what to do. Your body was shutting down and you felt yourself becoming weaker and weaker. The shock and adrenaline was wearing off to make room for the pain to increase. you were going to die. In an alley way. And he was right. It was all your own fault. You looked at Raph, the fear in your eyes obvious as tears started to run down your cheek. Your jaw was shaking as was the rest of your body. He didn’t know! You needed to tell him. To call for him. To call for the others. “Help!” You cried out, using all your energy. But you were quickly punished as you felt the pain in your side pulsed. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a sob of pain, now trying to not breath. You heard your name being called and 3 thuds to your other side. looking, you saw Donnie approaching first, then Leo and then Mikey. You knew Donnie could help you! He could heal you like he had done with his brothers. He was smart and knew medical procedures. Donnies eyes quickly found the knife sticking out your side and you saw fear and horror flash through him. “help me.” You whispered to him, your knees now shaking so hard. Donnie saw this and moved to your other side, trying to figure the best way to help you stay up. You watched him but as you did so, you saw Raph backing away. As your eyes met him, you noticed there was no longer anger, but regret. Then he was gone, disappeared into the night. ----time skip--------- Some how, Donnie, Mikey and Leo managed to get you back to the lair. You faded in and out of consciousness due to the pain. But you were brought back by Donnie telling you that you had to stay awake. Otherwise, you might not wake up. you were rushed to Donnies lab. Donnie indicated to set you down on a desk that was cluttered with paper, tools and odd bits and pieces. Mikey made little work of it, sweeping it all off as the other two lifted you up and lay you on the table. You lay on your left side so your right side and the knife, were up. You were facing the door of the lab. Donnie told Leo to use scissors and cut all the clothing around the area off. Following his brothers instructions, leo cut what felt like a circle around the knife. He was careful to leave you about to cover your chest but the rest was cut down to your belly button and just under your hip bone (once again, carful to leave something to cover you). Mikey was helping Donnie find medical supplies and you could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. You heard Leo. He was telling you that you were going to be alright. That they would make sure you were. That he was sorry. you lay with your left arm under your head and your right hand up at your mouth. Every time you felt yourself becoming sleepy, you bit down on your hand, nearly hard enough to draw blood. But if it kept you out of a comma, it was worth it. There was now a harsh buzzing in your ears and you didn’t notice Donnie and Mikey come back until there was a sharp pain in your side. you let out a scream, trying to move away until 2 pairs of hands held you down. You looked to see Leo holding your shoulder down and Mikey, your feet. Donnie was removing the knife. One each of their faces, was pain. Donnie was staring at you, his eyes begging forgiveness. You clamped your teeth around your hand and nodded to him. With that, he continued. The pain was excruciating. A part of you said it was worse than being stabbed. You screamed as you bit down on your hand, your eyes squeezed shut tightly. The tears flowing down your cheek like a river. opening your eyes, you saw blood pouring onto the table as it was fully removed. You let out labouring pants between your screams of pain. you didn’t know what Donnie would have to do, what he would have to check, but you had to stay awake. You felt the wound being inspected and it sent a fresh, new wave of pain through your body and you couldn’t help but cry out. You had to remove your hand from your mouth when you tasted blood and saw you had broken the skin. So you just screamed. It was the only thing you could do. But something moved and caught your attention. The door burst open and Raph stormed it. You saw him yelling, managing to read his lips. “whats going on?!” but as he screamed, Donnie stopped and you were left for a moment in the dull pain which gifted you back a little of your hearing. “What’d ya me stabbed? When was she stabbed?” Raph roared, taking it that the brothers were unable to protect you. “We don’t know! You’re the one that was with her!” Leo roared back, making you jump slightly. It took a lot to make Leo snap like that. But then again, he had just had to hold down someone he considered a sister while they were struggling and screaming in pain. You saw the realisation dawn on Raphs face as he looked at you and he seemed to slump. He started to walk to you, and you were about to tell him. To tell him it wasn’t his fault, to tell him you needed him right now. But Donnie got back to work. You let out a scream of pain and your body involuntarily shook, making Leo and Mikey press down on you to stop you. Your vision blurred but then you saw something in front of you. As you focused on that, you saw Raph had fallen to his knees in front of you. You stopped screaming to let out more labouring pants. Reaching out your bloody hand, you were grateful that Raph caught on and took your hand in his. He was shaking but before you could say anything, the pain kicked in again. You squeezed his hand, hard as you grinded your teeth together. You have no idea how long this went on for. There was words of encouragement that filled your ears from all of them. You were sweating from the pain and screaming. And the pain was a constant. But eventually, you heard Donnie say he was going to stich you up and then he said the magic word. Numbing. He was going to numb the area around the wound so it shouldn’t hurt when he stitched it. “You couldn’t… have done that… sooner?” You panted, flashing Donnie a small smile to show him you were okay. “Sorry, it take around 10 minutes to kick in. and I needed to make sure that blade was poisoned or had done any damage I couldn’t fix. You are incredibly lucky. Well, for someone who just got stabbed.” Donnie smiled as you felt him rub your back. You let out a small, breathy laugh before he gave you a shot of something that he had which seemed to instantly lift a little pain. He then moved to the other side of the room and started to fill a needle with more fluid in case your one wore off. Donnie asked Leo and mikey to go get something to help clean the blood up. It meant you had a moment alone with Raph. You looked and saw he was crying, hard. “you were right.” You mumbled, looking at raph. “I wasn’t ready. It was all my fault. I-I just wanted to help you. to be strong enough. Smart enough. To be good enough.” You mumbled, unable to meet his gaze. Despite the fact Donnie hadn’t numbed you yet, you felt the pain subsiding. Well, not subsiding, but it was less that it was. But you were able to work through it. honestly, you were tired, dizzy, scared, exhausted and everything in between. “no, I wasn’t.” Raphs voice was horse as he spoke. “It wasn’t that I didn’t think you were ready. I just didn’t want to put you in danger. And that was what happened. Because of us. Because of me. Im sorry, I should have known, I should have protected you.” Raph broke down, resting his head on yours and his hands. “I don’t know what id do without you.” You heard him mumble. “Raph-“ You were about to tell him it wasn’t his fault but he interrupted. “It wont happen again. I swear nothing will ever hurt you again. Cause i.. I love you.” He swore to you. You felt your heart swell as he confessed his feeling for you. And if you hadn’t just been cut open and your limbs didn’t feel numb with exhaustion, you could have thrown yourself at him. “I love you, too.” You smile, squeezing his hand in yours and smiling. Raph let out a small breath as he pulled your hand and pressed his lips to it. In that moment, all the pain was forgotten in a moment of pure and utter pleasure. But that was quickly taken away when you winced as a shot of pain took you out of the moment and you were able to think of one question. “Why did you leave?” You asked him, and you quickly noticed Raph flinch at the question, but he knew he had to give you an answer. “I-I thought I had scared. That I was the reason you called for help and asked Donnie to help you.” He explained, his eyes filled with hurt at the memory. “I am not, nor will I ever be, scared of you.” You smiled, noticing Donnie coming back with a needle. Raph noticed, but had been unable to look at the wound so he looked at the floor. “Can you stay? Just till this kicks in?” You asked, nodding to Donnie. “Till the very end.” Raph mumbled, only loud enough for you to hear, making you smile. “Besides, I need to see Donnie after you. I think you broke my hand.” Raph laughed, and you because very aware that when you had been in pain and hadn’t been able to bite your hand, you had been squeezing his. “sorry, I just got stabbed, you see.” You shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Despite the pain, you felt a weight had been lifted and you actually felt happier. Donnie gave you the all clear after the stiches were finished and Raph had to carry you to his room. He managed to persuade Donnie that his bed was the softest, biggest and it was nearest to everything so it would be the perfect for you while you healed. But you knew the secret reason why. It was that vow. The vow he made to protect you. and that, mixed with love, was all you needed. well, maybe a little morphine helped.

[roguelioness]

For the writing prompts: 7. And it bears the fruit of Deceit/ ruddy and sweet to eat / And the Raven his nest has made / In its thickest shade [The Human Abstract, William Blake]

Thanks for the prompt, @thejabberwokk! I’m… not sure where I’m going with this, but I’m going to try.

For @dadrunkwriting

Neria Lavellan x Solas, post Trespasser-ish. Very non-canon!

Tangled In Lies

“I would have you trust me!” she spits out, her eyes aflame with hurt and pain and betrayal, her mind so filled with the enormity of what he has pressed onto her.

Solas cannot look at her; he turns his head away in shame. “Ir abelas,” he says, a weak offering to the injustice he has done to her, but it is all he can offer her now, even though he so desperately wants to pull her into his arms and soothe away all that he’s brought down on her.

“Tel’abelas.”  Though she is on her knees, right hand clutching the Anchor to try and stem the agony, her face is pulled into a mask he recognizes as the Inquisitor.

Once, he’d been one of the few who was allowed to see beneath it.

Once, he’d been the only one who was allowed to see what was in her heart.

You destroy all you touch, his mind reminded him.

“If you care about me, at all, tell me the truth.”

So he does. He watches as she crumbles before him, as he mercilessly rips apart her beliefs, sees the way she bows her head when he confesses to the origin of the Anchor she bears on her hand. Her face is flint-hard when he tells her that the mark - his mark - is killing her, as though she had already known.

“And if you would have succeeded in your plan? If Corypheus had indeed been destroyed?”

“I would have reclaimed the orb, and using the Anchor you bear, torn down the Veil, and restored the world of my time - the world of the elves.”

Her lips curl into a bitter smile. “So we aren’t even people to you.” It wasn’t a question, and he did not answer.

“How can you possibly claim to have loved me?” the question is quiet, so quiet he can only just hear it; it sounds as though it has been forcefully pulled from her.

“Do not doubt that I do,” he replies, desperate for her to know that; that he has to let her go is hard enough, but he cannot let her leave believing that his love for her was another falsehood.

Her laugh is mocking and self-deprecating. “But the man who loved me was an apostate by the name of Solas. You are Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf, The Lord of Tricksters; how could he possibly love?”

He flinches, the words striking deep in his heart.

“I was Solas first,” he tries to explain, “Fen’harel came later. An insult I wore as a badge of honor. It brought fear to my enemies, and hope to my friends; not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose.”

“You lied to me,” she starts to speak, but her words soon turn into a shriek of pure anguish as the anchor starts to discharge again; she falls to the ground, curling up into herself as though to try and contain the pain. 

Swallowing hard, he clenches his fist, directing his mana to the Anchor to silence it.

It takes her several moments to regain her breath, but he waits patiently. He has made her wait two years; he can afford to spare a few minutes.

“You lied to me,” she says again, holding out a hand to silence him when he tries to interject. “every kiss, every touch, every word of love you spoke into my ear was a lie. How can you call it love, when I did not know the truth of who you are? I gave you all of me,” her voice broke, “and you gave me nothing but deceit. You gave me a pretty shell, and then you broke me.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” his tone is urgent, “but how was I to tell you that I was the enemy of your people’s lore?���

Her eyes flash. “They are your people too, Fen’harel, for we are descended from your kind!” Understanding washes over her face. “That was what Cole meant. You’re real, and it means they’re real too. It changes everything, but it can’t.” she quotes back at him. “You know we are real, and you still insist on destroying this world? Why?”

He shakes his head. “You have always shown a thoughtfulness I admire, ma lath. It would be easy to tell you too much.”

“Creators damn you, Solas!” The viciousness of her tone catches him off-guard. “If you’re going to kill me, I deserve an explanation! What have I done - what have we done - to invite your wrath?”

“I am not Corypheus,” he denies, “I take no pleasure in this. But it must be done.”

She walks up to him in quick, hard strides, and strikes his chest with her good hand. “You utter bastard-” her voice catches in her throat, and he is alarmed to see defeat on her shoulders and tears in her eyes, “I shouldn’t love you, but Creators, I do. Damn you,” she curses again without heat, then slumps against him, her marked hand dangling uselessly by her side.

He yearns to hold her, but he resists, knowing that he cannot restrain himself from taking more were he to do so. Instead he lets her use him as support, letting her tears dampen the wolf pelt wrapped around him. They stand like that, ancient god and modern hero, for several long minutes, no sound other than the faint buzz of the eluvian behind him.

‘Fine,” she says at last, pulling away from him. She brings a hand to rub at her face, smearing dirt and blood across it. “You win. Do what you want, Solas.”

He’s shocked; he cannot believe she would give up, not her, not the woman who’d faced every hurdle imaginable and crossed them through the sheer force of her will.

“I’m tired,” she says in response to the question in his eyes. “I save Ferelden, and they’re angry. I save Orlais, and they’re angry. If I’m supposed to stop you,” she exhaled, “I can take the shems disapproval. Let them do what they want with the Inquisition, I don’t care. I can’t-” she cleared her throat, “I can’t be your enemy, Solas. Do not ask it of me.”

Her words render him speechless; he’d expected her fury, her sorrow, had prepared himself for them, but he had not foreseen this. “Neria-” he says, but she hushes him. “I’m dying anyway,” she points out, her gentle, accepting tone so different from the rage-filled one she’d started with. “The Anchor is getting worse.”

“I can help you with that,” he bursts out. “It will mean the loss of your arm, but you will live.”

“Why?” she shrugs. “Why do I want to live knowing that you’re just going to kill me in the end anyway?”

“Vhenan,” he pleads, but for what he does not know. He cannot deny the truth in her words; she is right - if she were to die, the Inquisition would be greatly weakened, and it would help his plans.

And yet, he knows he cannot.

She presses her lips against his, slow, soft, and it’s over all too quickly. “I will not stop you, Solas,” she says quietly, “but the others will try. I hope you have it in you to be gentle; they were your friends once.” And with that, her eyes droop and close, and her breathing hisses away into nothingness, and she slumps against him, blackened tendrils along the length of her arm and chest the only sign of the Anchor’s damage. 

He sinks to the ground with her cradled in his arms, still in disbelief. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he’s aware that he could have - should have - acted sooner.

But deception brings nothing but sorrow.

[agayhurricane]

maybe in another life (i could have you)

He didn’t want to, but the moment Alibaba dropped down on one knee and declared his love for someone else, he knew that he had to go away. Again.

The sun had already begun its retreat into the lilac streaked clouds. Ren Hakuryuu watched its quick descent, quite surprised. Had he really been there for that long? His limbs jolted suddenly, answering his question. Pins and needles prickled his nerves. A vague thought surfaced in the back of his head, something about going home before dark. The streets of Qishan weren’t known for their safety, despite the established laws in the new world.

A few more minutes shouldn’t hurt though. He wasn’t at all anxious to be reunited with the group after the recent whirlwind of events. He eyed the pack beside him that contained all his things. Maybe he should stay in a different place for the night, under the pretence that he didn’t feel so well and didn’t want the others to catch it. Or maybe he should just leave entirely. Again

He considered looking for Judar. That was a good idea wasn’t it? He would search for him, find him, and give him a good piece of his mind. And maybe a whack upside the head while he was at it. Or a punch straight to that snickering face. Maybe both. He could also use Zagan and decompose that stupidly long hair of h—

His ear was tickled by a faint rustle, coming from an alarmingly small distance away. He snapped out of his progressively morbid thoughts and turned, on guard, before belatedly realizing it was nothing to worry about.

Aladdin held his hands up, shooting him a wary smile. “You disappeared all of a sudden and your things were gone, so I came to look for you.” The blue haired boy patted the space on the stone bench. “This seat taken?”

The former emperor of Kou relaxed. “You know it isn’t.”

“Mm,” the magi sat down and pulled up his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees against the chilly night air of the desert. Hakuryuu felt him glance his way but he didn’t say anything. In the silence, Aladdin’s question sounded more like a statement. “Is something wrong?”

His answer was immediate: “No.”

Aladdin stifled a snort, “That has got to be one of the biggest lies I’ve ever heard.” He reached forward, plucking something out from the air under Hakuryuu’s nose, cupping it in his palms. He presented it to the dark-haired man, who stared blankly at…emptiness.

“What am I looking at?”

“Your rukh.” Aladdin said, matter-of-factly, “It’s blue.”

“You expect me to believe something I can’t even—”

Light flickered between the magi’s slim fingers and the unmistakable glow of a spirit bird materialized between them. Its normally glimmering white was replaced by a forlorn indigo shine, like the sea’s waves in the middle of a cloudy night.

“—see…” Hakuryuu finished lamely.

“You’ve been around me long enough to know what this means,” Aladdin blew on the rukh, sending it fluttering before dissolving on Hakuryuu’s forehead with the barest shimmer. “You’re sad.” Blue eyes scrutinized him for a second before adding: “Very.”

“Am I?” Hakuryuu asked. He wanted it to sound sarcastic, but his voice came out weaker than he’d intended. The night air felt punishing but he refrained from wrapping his arms around himself.

Aladdin frowned. “You just proved my point,” he said. The magi scooted a bit closer, worry etched in the soft lines of his face. “It’s been five years,” he began cautiously. “If this is still about… Do still feel—?”

Hakuryuu cut him off with an unnecessarily loud sigh, “I don’t, Aladdin.” He didn’t want to talk about this, not now, not when he couldn’t even think properly.

“The rukh don’t lie,” Aladdin insisted, “You still like Morgiana, I know.”

“Aladdin—”

“Please, Hakuryuu, just hear me out, I know that you feel jealous.”

He couldn’t know, he shouldn’t. There was no way he’d be telling him but for Solomon’s sake if he didn’t shut up—

“Ala—”

“We can talk things out! You can tell me anything.” The young magi barrelled on, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Hakuryuu’s complaints. “I really think you don’t want Alibaba to know—”

“That it’s Morgiana I’m jealous of and not him?” Hakuryuu finally snapped. He glared at Aladdin, too aggravated and wounded and a dozen other things he couldn’t even name to feel embarrassed. Aladdin’s lips were parted, stunned. He had asked for Hakuryuu to open up yes; he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not this.

Hakuryuu shook his head, already regretting what he had done. “I made up my mind. I’m going in search of Judar.”

That seemed to do the trick. Aladdin blinked as if waking from a particularly unusual dream. “H-Hakuryuu, wait!” He grabbed onto the former emperor’s robes just as he was about to stand.

Exasperated, Hakuryuu shook him off and slung his pack over one shoulder. “I told you, I’ve already decided,” he straightened and turned on his heel and made to depart.

Aladdin’s next words made him stop. “D-do you not plan on telling him?”

Completely taken aback by the incredulity of the idea, Hakuryuu chuckled, bitterly. “And ruin whatever semblance of happiness he has? Why would I?”

The blue haired magi was rendered speechless. What could you possibly say to that anyway? He wanted to comfort the dark haired dungeon conqueror, but he was at loss. “But you told Morgiana… before.” He argued feebly.

“I wish you would stop comparing these two instances as if they are the same, Aladdin; they are not.” He faced him. “I appreciate your concern really, but there’s nothing more you can do. And as a last request please…”

The hard, apathetic mask slipped. Aladdin’s breath caught in his throat upon seeing Hakuryuu so vulnerable, sadness and remorse written clearly on his scarred visage. “I would appreciate if you don’t tell him any of this.”

A horrible sense of déjà vu crawled up Aladdin’s spine. This happened before: when they parted in Aktia. That time, Aladdin had failed to stop him, and when they next met, Hakuryuu had already fallen into depravity. Had Aladdin succeeded in changing Hakuryuu’s mind then, they probably would be facing a different future now. Even as a Magi, he had his limits, and there was no way he could tell if letting Hakuryuu go again would be for better or for worse. Still he tried. There was still something he had to know. “Hakuryuu… How long have you felt like this? Why didn’t you tell him before?”

That gave him a pause. “I couldn’t say for myself,” he said finally and so softly that Aladdin had to strain his ears to hear him. “Maybe I always have… But I didn’t realize. By the time I did, it was too late.” The mask was quick to return afterwards, like clouds quickly gathering before a storm. “I’ve said enough.” He gave a short nod. “Good bye Aladdin. I’ll catch up later.”

Aladdin nodded slowly in return. Indecision tore at his insides, but he knew he had to trust Hakuryuu to do what he thought best for all of them. He shouldn’t impose on his choices.  A hint of hesitation showed despite his efforts when he waved his hand. “Good bye, Hakuryuu…”

Suppressing a sneeze, Aladdin rubbed his arms, channelling a bit of heat magic to warm himself up. Furrowing his brows, he belatedly realized that it was getting late. He should get going, otherwise Alibaba would worry.

Alibaba… How would he tell him?

Lost in his thoughts, the Magi failed to notice the tear that glistened down Hakuryuu’s cheek when he turned to leave. The two parted without another word, the former pensive and the latter conflicted.

Hakuryuu stopped a few paces later when he was certain that Aladdin was far away. He couldn’t keep the mask up; he didn’t have to. A sense of uncanny familiarity filled him as he wiped at his eyes, cursing himself for crying. He gathered that the frustration he felt was similar to when he was in the Dungeon of Zagan, unable to have something that was right in front of him.

The only difference was that, in the dungeon he was able to acquire the power he so desired eventually, whereas now, the thing that his heart ached for the most was terribly close yet already so hopelessly out of his reach. He remembered something that Aladdin had said in Zagan’s dungeon: “No one would want to live in hatred and suffering. That’s why, no matter what hardships we must endure, we should think about what to do. Toward the direction of light and dazzling hope… we should move forward and keep walking. That’s the rukh’s guidance. The true meaning of fate.”

Moving forward, huh. At the moment, Hakuryuu wasn’t so sure of that. He couldn’t explain why, but through the haze of his tears, he smiled. Maybe in another life, he could have him. An unexplainable sensation overflowed in his chest then, something strange but not at all unpleasant, similar to finding something new, being hesitantly curious. Like how he felt when he first met Alibaba.

Somewhere else in Qishan, Alibaba Saluja was experiencing the exact same feeling, but he wrote it off as excitement at being newly engaged with the woman he loved.

Neither of them were anywhere near knowing that someplace else, in a world parallel but completely different from theirs, a shy little prince with a scarred face just bumped into a  boy a bit older than he was, a little boy with golden hair and a smile as bright as the sun.

crossposted on AO3

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11171694