#thats how you fill out leather trousers

[galaxymagick]

230106 ING: As Always Concert | ©FuocoLeone2016

[2jaeh]

TEACH ME I  TEN LEE

Genre: smut, mature themes

Warnings: corruption!kink

Stripper!Ten , Innocent!Reader

Word Count: 2,2k

Author SIN

What happens when the best dancer at your club offers you an offer of a lifetime, a lap dance, private and free off charge..

—————————————————————————

“Table number 4” you heard the bartender call while your eyes were fixated on the crew setting up the stage in front of you. “Oh, yeah” you received the tray of drinks from him and sauntered over to a table in the far left corner.

You cleared your throat as you noticed the person who you were serving was your boss Miya, the owner of the club and a handsome young man dressed in a red leather suit. “Oh Ten! You dont know y/n right ? she's new here” Miya pulled out a chair for you to take a seat.

“H-hi” you nodded nervously as the red suited man's lips turned into a cat-like grin.

“This is Ten Lee” Miya introduced, “He used to work here a few years ago until he became famous” You watched as the man became bashful and shook his head, “I'm not famous, I'm just getting started.”

“Y-you were a waiter or-” your words were cut off by Ten’s laughter as he marvelled at your innocence. What was a girl like you doing in an all-male strip club ?

“Ten was our highest priced dancer, usually booked for the expensive bachelorette parties” Your boss explained as you mentally dissed yourself for even thinking he could've been a waiter.

You were extremely new to this world after all. One of your uni friends had you cover for her at this club not too long ago and the boss took a liking to you. She admired your patience with the drunk women who cried in the bathroom stalls and how you always worked hard even if the club barely had customers.

“Hey, I'll be with you in a bit Ten, I need to meet with the bridal party.” Your boss excused herself and jogged over to her office.

You sat in silence, your head down as you watched your fingers twirl in your lap. You knew he was staring at you. Ten scooted in the chair next to you and you heard him sip on his drink and exhale deeply,

“Ever had a lap dance y/n ?”

Ten sucked in his bottom lip and you felt your heartbeat race as he placed his arm on your chair, his eyes narrowed and his smile turned into a smirk,

“Babygirl you're so cute, do I intimidate you ?”

“I'm just a little awkward I guess” you tried to ignore the little pet name he had given you but it sent chills down your spine. Ten’s demeanor changed and his eyes seemed softer, he swiveled his body to face you and his bright smile shone in the dim lighting.

“I'm here for a special request, there's a rich bride who hired me and I'm going to be performing for her” Ten explained, you could see the excitement in his eyes like a kid in a candy store, “I want you to watch my performance”

“-but I’ll be working tonight-”

“No no, I’ll tell Miya to give you a chance to be part of the audience” Ten waved his hand and chugged his drink, “It’s not everyday I get a first time viewer, especially one thats as innocent as you”

“I have watched the shows before…” you swallowed as you noticed his eyes had darkened again.

“Yeah but you haven't watched me, now have you ?” Ten wet his bottom lip with his tongue and reached for your hand, “I’ll tell you what, if you enjoy it I’ll give you a private dance free of charge”

Your eyes widened at his offer. What does a star performer like him want to do with someone like you ?

“W-why ?” you managed to say,

“I dont know y/n you're just so goddamn cute it drives me crazy.”

The club lights finally turned on and it glimmered shades of pink and purple as the bridal party made themselves comfortable up front, already on their third round of drinks. You were amazed that women indulged in things like this much like men, but this atmosphere was better, more wholesome. It was one of the reasons you decided to take the job. You were quite awkward being open sexually, and everyday you learnt from the women who came in that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Okay ladies, now you know you're in for a treat” Miya said into a microphone as she walked onto the stage. The women went crazy, already pulling out stacks of cash from their designer bags and gathered around the stage in anticipation.

The lights dimmed and you nervously took a seat just behind the bridal party as requested by Ten and pursed your lips, not knowing what to expect.

A sultry beat filled the room, you could feel the bass under your feet as the women screamed their heads off when a few regular strippers gathered on stage in police uniforms. The men danced around, discarding various pieces of clothing but this was all too familiar to you. Nothing really stood out from other shows that you had seen until Ten appeared.

Ten emerged from the smoke, dressed in black leather pants and a matching jacket that showed off his bare chest adorned with a harness. He pushed back his hair as he slowly walked down the runway, the screams from the women obviously not being new to him. Ten got down to his knees as he looked over the bride-to-be, his eyes were mischievous as he slowly rid himself of his jacket and threw it into her lap. You watched intently as he ran his hand down his body, pushing his head back as if he were in ecstasy by his own touch.

You were hypnotized, watching his every move as he swayed his body along with the music and touched himself in the process. It felt so dirty to watch but you couldn't help yourself, you were intrigued, you wanted more. Ten wasn't as naked as the rest of the men yet you could tell that all eyes were on him and him only. He climbed up the pole, moving his hips against it, making love to it in front of everyone. You unconsciously squeezed your thighs together as you noticed his eyes on you for a brief second as his feet reached the floor and began grinding on the pole.

You felt light headed to the point of rushing to the bar and grabbing a glass of water, not realizing that the show had now come to an end and Ten was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s good huh” The bartender chuckled as you cooled yourself down,

“Oh yeah he’s really good” you sighed and you heard a snicker come from behind you.

“Well thank you” Ten grabbed a glass of water from the bartender and leaned on the counter to face you, “ready for that lap dance ?”

You found yourself nodding and Ten smirked, holding out his hand “Shall we ?” You took his hand and he led you upstairs where the private rooms were located. You never had a chance to check them out since they were rarely booked out because they were so ridiculously priced.

“Baby can I ask you one more question ?” Ten purred as he set you on the fluffy pink couch and stroked your cheek as you looked up to him and nodded,

“Y-yeah sure”

“Are you a virgin ?”

You shook your head and Ten raised his eyebrow, “Oh baby is a little naughty then ?”

You felt your face burn up and shook your head, “It was only with my ex-boyfriend and we didn't do…..much”

Ten placed a kiss on your hands and made his way to the cd player, ready to pick out a song. You sat awkwardly as he removed his jacket, standing in the middle of the room with just his leather pants and harness.

“Dont worry, I’ll only fuck you if you ask me nicely” he smirked, you swallowed hard as he swayed his hips and made his way over to you. Ten smirked as you sunk into the couch, your eyes practically devouring him as he danced slowly and sultry, concentrating on his hip movements as you bit down on your lip.

Ten got down on his knees and his hooded eyes locked with yours as he continued to sway to the music and his hands danced lightly over your thighs sending you into a frenzy. He pushed your legs apart and used his hands to lift himself off the floor until he was hovering over you, his eyes scanning every part of your body.

You leaned back so he could straddle you, allowing him to grind his body against you until you felt every part of him. “You can touch me if you want y/n” he whispered into your ear and you already found your hands on his waist, enamoured by how perfect his body was.

Ten wrapped his hand lightly around your throat and looked at your lips, waiting for a confirmation from you. Already nodding, Ten pressed his lips against yours passionately, literally and figuratively taking your breath away.

“Ten-I want you to…” you tried to speak against his rough kisses.

“Want me to what baby, use your words” he growled against your ear,

“What you said earlier….I want you to-”

“I said use your words tell me what you want me to do or else you won't get it babygirl” Ten squeezed your throat a little harder, smirking when he heard your pretty moan for the first time.

“I want you...to fuck...me” you finally said softly, Ten groaned at the sweetness in your voice. It sounded so innocent yet so vile at the same time and he couldn't contain himself any longer.

Ten ripped open your white dress shirt and skillfully pulled off your trousers, leaving you on the couch in just your matching lilac underwear. His smirk grew as you slowly reached for his pants, helping him unbuckle it.

He discarded his pants and propped your legs up on the couch as you sat there, spread open for him, wanting him. Ten got to his knees and took the sight in, the way he looked at you was absolutely filthy. He cocked his head to the side and took a seat on the floor, resting his hands behind him as he stared at you,

“Take off your underwear and touch yourself”

You swallowed hard at his words, you had never done something like this before and just him watching you like this made you slightly nervous. You played with the hem of your underwear and you noticed how intently he watched you, eager eyes and wet lips waited for you.

You gathered up the courage and slipped them off, bringing your fingers between your legs and hesitantly began to please yourself.

“You don't like to be touched, or do you want me to do it ?” Ten’s dark eyes bore into yours, “do you want me to teach you how to do it?”

Without giving him an answer Ten got in between your legs and his hands ghosted over your inner thighs, sending a shiver down your spine. He watched your eyes close as his fingers inched closer to your heat, dancing around but not close enough to where you needed him to be.

“Please” you whimpered as he teased you, placing soft kisses on your thighs as his finger finally entered you and your beautiful moan echoed throughout the room. Ten slowly withdrew his finger and inserted it at an agonizing pace, adding another when he felt you shift in your spot in frustration.

“Someones in a rush” he cooed as he slowly fingered you, bringing you to your breaking point multiple times. Ten finally decided to quit his games and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he used his free hand to discard his boxers.

Once you licked him clean Ten positioned himself in front of you with his tip at your entrance. “If it's too much tell me to stop okay, I can be a bit….rough” he ran his fingers through his hair and winked at you.

He pushed himself into you with one thrust and you threw your head back practically screaming his name. Unlike his fingers he wasted no time in bringing you to your climax with his fast sharp movements, hitting that sweet spot every single time.

You felt your orgasm build up rapidly and you threw your hands around his neck as he only moved faster, the room filled with your whimpers and his soft grunts. Ten dug his nails into your waist as he came undone with you, it had been a while that he actually felt that type of euphoria, and all he wanted was more, more of you.

“There's a lot I need to teach you y/n” Ten sighed as he took a seat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, “Do you want to learn from me?”

You nodded already feeling yourself wanting him inside you again,

“Good girl.”

[liliah39]

Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background *

My Other Half (Roger Taylor X Reader One Shot)

Full Ask/Plot:  Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background *  I was thinking about Rog and the reader being steady for a while, so he is thinking of proposing to her, but one day he sees her (at a diner or a shop, maybe?) talking to this other guy and gets more than jealous, he feels really bad about it? I guess this is going to turn out a little angsty 😅

Word Count: 7.2 K (its even lengthier than the last!)

Warnings: None really, mentions of sex. Swearing. Some angst. Thats it!

January of 1977, interview with the boys in Chicago while on tour:

“So Roger,” The interviewer asked. “We understand your girlfriend Y/N has been in the news a lot lately. What’s your life and relationship with her like?”

“Well she’s not my girlfriend,” Roger nervously laughed.

“She’s not?” 

“Well if I may interject,” Freddie said. “She basically is his girlfriend, they’re just an odd bunch who says “oh we’re not dating, she’s not my girlfriend, we’re just in a relationship.” 

“Fred,” Roger blushed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I must say he’s quite in love with her. They’re really the perfect couple.” John said. 

“Yeah we love Y/N,” Brian started. “The two of them are pretty much inseparable. They’re a package deal, you can’t have Roger without her. I’m not quite sure why they don’t ever say they’re dating. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long? They’re great though.” 

The interviewer laughed. “So, Roger. What is Y/N like?” 

He smiled when he thought of you. “She’s the definition of the word rock star other than the whole being in a band thing. Plays guitar sometimes though.” It was visible to anyone watching him that his head was in the clouds. “We’ve been best friends since college, and then our relationship kind of just blossomed from there. You know; people always say opposites attract but-” Freddie cut him off. 

“Oh not with them, Darling! I swear they’re the same person sometimes.”  

Roger laughed at his friends comment. “Yeah, that’s what I was getting at. I mean we just always have fun together. Of course we have our quiet moments too, but we just really get each other; rarely fight. Always have a good time.” 

“She’s the most wanted model in England right now, let alone the whole world. How does that make you feel?” 

Roger smirked. “Well she ‘ain’t a model yet, mate.” 

“Yeah, but I mean you two did that photo shoot together, and then all of a sudden everyone knew her name. Why hasn’t she taken any of those modeling deals?”

“Oh I don’t know, but she has an interview back home in a couple days. I don’t want to speak for her or anything, you know. I’ll let her say.” 

“Then what made you do that photo shoot?” 

Roger laughed. “Well I think any guy can understand where I’m coming from there, mate. If you’re a rock star and you’ve gotta do a solo photo shoot for your new song, (which I didn’t want to do, may I add) and you’ve got a hot significant other, you have her do the shoot with you. Plain and simple.” Everyone laughed at his blatantly honest statement, and the interviewer continued asking the rest of the band questions. 

After the interview, the guys were in their shared dressing room, Roger fixing his hair at the mirror and Freddie and Brian gushing over pictures of John’s baby who just learned to walk. 

“Guys,” Roger started with a clear of his throat. 

They all turned up to look at him; it was obvious he was stressed about something. “Well you all know, uh. Y/N left to go back home the other day, and tonight is our second to last show in the states, and in like five days we go home, and do one more show in London to end our this tour, you know?” He was clearly sweating, scratching the back of his neck as he talked around what he was trying to get at. 

Deaky nodded confused, Freddie said “Yup?” 

“We know our schedule, Rog. What’re you trying to say?” Brian encouraged. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I miss Veronica too, even though you saw Y/N two days ago and I haven’t seen my wife or children for four months, but yeah, I get it.” Deaky added. 

“No, no. I um, uh-” Roger could barely form words. He covered his smile with his mouth as he looked down blushing. Unable to get out what he was trying to say, he unzipped the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small black box. “I’m gonna do it.” He laughed, opening it to reveal a huge pear shaped engagement ring. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me!” He smiled, his friends congratulating him with a huge hug. 

“Wow, you really went all in for that ring, didn’t you, Rog?” Brian asked. 

“Yeah, bought it on Rodeo Drive when we were in California at Cartier. You know how she is, the bigger the better. Had to impress my girl.” he gushed. 

“Well I’m so happy for you, Rog. She’ll definitely say yes. I see the way she looks at you.” John added. 

“Of course she will!” Freddie exclaimed. “Though I must say; I expected Brian to be the next to get married. Honestly thought you’d be the last. You just have that free attitude. I mean, you’re only 27, Darling.”

“I know, I know. I thought the same thing. But I’m just so happy. I never want to lose her. I know we’re young. We’re both free spirits, but together we ground each other. It’s just one of those things that works, you know?”

“When you know you know.” 

On the way back to the hotel room Roger couldn’t stop smiling, his years with you replaying in his head, going all the way back to the day you two met.

~~~~ 

It was an intro to dentistry class, only the second day of freshman year, and all the seats were filled in the lecture hall except for the one next to Roger. He knew everyone had been there the day before, so tried to figure out who was missing. Suddenly, you burst into class clad in your rock star aesthetic, popping your bubblegum ever so confidently, as you said, “Sorry I’m late,” to the professor. 

“You know, Miss...” He started.

“Y/L/N”

“Miss Y/L/N, if you were here maybe you’d know that chewing gum isn’t good for your teeth.” 

“Well Professor,” you started, noticing the teacup on his desk as you walked to the only open seat near the back. “Neither is tea; it stains them. Yet we all drink it anyways.” You smirked, plopping in the only free seat next to the wide eyed blonde boy. You relaxed back in your chair and put your feet up on the chair in front of you, red heels popping out of your black leather pants which you paired with a black leather jacket, some layered necklaces and a Led Zeppelin shirt. 

Roger was absolutely smitten. He loved your attitude. Finally, he thought, someone to rival him. Someone equal to his level of strong headed-ness. Then he noticed what you were wearing. He almost wore the same bloody thing. He had on his black leather trousers, red converse, a Led Zeppelin shirt (thank god it wasn’t the same one you had on), his gold layered necklaces and black leather jacket. You were missing the sunglasses though. Was he looking at an alternate version of himself?

“Hello, Love. I’m Roger.” He smirked. 

“Hi,” you smirked back, noticing how attractive he was. “I’m Y/N”

“Not gonna compliment my outfit?” 

“Huh?” You asked, confused. 

“Look at your outfit, Love. Now look at mine. See any coincidence?”

“Oh!” You laughed. “God, what’re the odds.” 

It was silent for a couple minutes until you let out a groan of exhaustion. “I don’t want to be here, my parents are making me go to school to be a bloody dentist. I just want to go home and get ready for tonight.” 

“Same thing is going through my mind, Love. I’ve got a gig tonight.” 

“Oh really? I love music. What do you play?” 

“Drums and sing a bit too.” He proudly smiled. 

“That’s great. Wish I played something.”

“I can teach you,” he encouraged. 

“I think I’d like that very much.” You smiled. “Where are playing later?”

“Imperial hall. You-“

You cut him off. “Really? You must be joking. You’re in Smile?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why I was saying I wanted to go get ready for tonight! I’m going to your gig!” 

“What are the odds?” He mimicked, making you giggle. “Hey, I’ll make sure you get a front row seat. Really, I mean it. I know how crazy those can get.” 

“Thanks.” You smiled as he put a strand of hair behind your ear. 

After class he called, “Hey, Y/N! I can't help but want to get to know you better. Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve gotta say I’m more of a whiskey girl than I am coffee.” 

God, she’s perfect. He thought. 

“Then the bar down the street it is.” Roger smiled. 

Your relationship didn’t turn romantic after that for a couple years, you and Roger were just the inseparable friends who spent at least two hours together every day, and everyone thought were twins because of how similar you were. You always flirted and held hands, but kept it platonic until about a year after Queen had formed.

You and Roger were living together as friends, and one night after a Queen gig got wasted playing truth or dare with Freddie and the rest of the band. You had on a tight, revealing red dress. Knowing you could never pass up the riskiest of questions, Freddie said, 

“Alright. We’ve been playing classic truth or dare for a while now. It’s time to spice it up. Who here is brave enough to do a truth and a dare that are connected at the same time?”

“Me! I’ll do it!” You burst up, making the four of them laugh. 

“Alright, Darling. I was hoping you’d chose to participate.” Freddie was trying to get you and Roger together. “Of the four of us, choose who you like the most and want to be in a relationship with the most, straddle them and make out with them for a full minute, and then tell us the truth of why you chose them.” 

“Deal.” You rose from your chair, gaze shifting between the four of them. You knew you’d choose Roger; had been in love with him for a while, but things had been going so well between the two of you for so long as friends you considered choosing Freddie just to make everyone laugh and not mess up anything between you and Roger. 

But you couldn’t do it. 

You turned to your left, locking eyes with your roommate as you straddled him, smirk on his face as your arms went around his neck, his hands reaching to your hair as your lips connected. The kiss was drunkenly passionate, the other three cheering the two of you on and counting to sixty as Roger’s hands roamed your back, your hands now tangled in his hair. You opened your mouth, his tongue immediately slipping in. 

“58!”

“59!”

“60!” They cheered as the two of you breathlessly broke away. 

“You chose me?” Roger questioned, astonished. 

“ ‘Course I chose you.” You smiled, turning around on his lap to face the other three, his arms still tightly wrapped around your stomach. 

“So,” Freddie smiled. “Why our Roggie boy?”

“God this is so embarrassing.” You blushed.

“Get on with it!” Deaky slurred.

“Firstly, you’re just as good if not a better kisser than I imagined,” you confessed, everyone laughing. “But I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, Rog. I’ve just never been able to tell you. So scared I’ll mess everything up. I mean, you’re my best friend, and my roommate. I could really screw up my whole life if you didn’t feel the same way. Do you know how hard it is to confess you’re in love with your best friend and have been for the last four years?”

“Yeah, I actually do.” Roger laughed, making you flick your head at him in shock. “Wait,” he said in realization, the alcohol impairing his thinking. “You’re in love with me too?” 

You nodded, smiling. 

“So we could’ve been together all this time, but we were too scared to mess anything up?” He said in disbelief. “God I’m such an idiot!”

“But you know now,” you teased. “And besides, relationships are better with an established friendship.” 

He sat there silenced for a couple moments, trying to process what had just happened. You and the other three couldn’t stop laughing at his thought process that was visually represented on his face. 

First he was shocked, then happy, excited, confused, angry, annoyed, shocked again, and then it just kept going in that order until he had a look of realization, standing up as he grabbed your hand. “We, um, we gotta go home. Kay bye!” He said, rushing out with you in tow, leaving you and the boys laughing like crazy. 

That night was a passionate night as soon as you had stepped through the door. The two of you had sex at least three times, maybe even more. After that day, you never really slept in your bedroom anymore. You gradually moved your things in with Roger, turning it into a spare room as your relationship blossomed. You never really had publicly described your relationship status, which was fine. To any outsider you were dating, and that’s fine because you essentially were, but really, the two of you were madly in love, and really that’s all that mattered. 

~~~~

Back in England, you just finished getting dressed, ready to walk onto the set of Good Morning Britain in a half hour. You were nervous; knew criticism was bound to come from your outfit, but it also gave you an adrenaline rush. You always liked some excitement. Your hair and makeup were styled impeccably, and you wore a pair of tightly fitted black jeans which were slightly frayed at the bottom and stopped at your ankles to show off your new sparkly heels. You paired the whole ensemble with a leather jacket; one that you found in Roger’s closet back at home, and that was it. No shirt, no necklace. Nothing. Just an open leather jacket to drive the modeling agencies crazy with your cleavage - but tastefully. Of course it was taped down with double sided tape, but one wrong move and you’d flash everyone. 

To calm your nerves, you decided to call Roger’s hotel room even though it was two in the morning back in the states. 

“Hello?” He tiredly said, half awake. His groggy voice put an immediate smile to your face. Roger was always so adorable when he had just woken up. Took him a bit to come to his senses sometimes. He always said the funniest things. 

“Hi, Baby.” You cooed. 

“Y/N?” He asked, clearly still kind of confused. 

“Yeah it’s me, Rog.” You giggled. 

“Do I need to come pick you up now?” He slurred. 

“What?”

“What?” He tiredly echoed, making you laugh.

“Roger wake up, it's me, Y/N.”

“Oh, oh. Sorry, sorry. I’m here now.”

You laughed. “What was that all about?”

“What was what about?” He said completely awake now. 

“You saying you had to come pick me up?”

“Oh, yeah. Think I had a dream where you were at a bar or something and didn’t want to leave and I had to go back and get you. Gimme a break, Love. It’s two in the morning here, you know.” He teased. 

“I know,” you smiled. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Miss you.” 

“Well I miss you too, my Love. It isn’t just a saying. The bed really is much colder without you.” 

His comment made you laugh. “You think that’s bad, try our bed back at home. It’s bloody awful.” 

“You know,” he yawned, “you’re usually pretty good about calling at a decent time for us both. Why are you calling so early?” 

“Nerves. I’ve got my interview in a half hour.” 

“You’re the most headstrong person I know beside myself. You’ll be fine.” 

“I know, but I never really do interviews. Just say a word or two when someone shoves a camera in your face. Never had one where I’m the Roger.” 

“The Roger?” He laughed. 

“You know, the famous person.”

“Ohh, righttt.” He smiled at your adorable comment. “Just keep your head together, be the personable girl you always are. Be the Y/N I know and you’ll be fine.” 

“What about the questions?” 

“Just answer the ones you want to, but answer them truthfully. You’re usually blatantly honest, so if you don’t like a question just tell ‘em. Or you can just dodge it. Both work equally as well. Being honest will show people your personality the best.” 

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And what if they ask about my modeling career?”

“Like I said, be honest. Tell ‘em you’re not a model. Tell ‘em about us, how the photo shoot came about.  All that.” 

“And if they ask if I have a manager?” 

“You don’t.”

“But-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off, “you don’t even work or have a job. I pay all the bills, which I’m completely fine with and don’t want to stop doing. I love providing for you. But like I said, don’t lie to say what they want to hear or they’ll just prove you wrong.” 

“Can I say you’re my manager?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, “Roger Taylor the best friend, manager, and uh,” he was unsure what you considered him in your eyes. 

“Boyfriend?”

“You consider me your boyfriend?” He asked, shocked. 

“Yeah,” You laughed, “you basically are anyways.” 

“Alright, I like the sound of that. Roger Taylor the boyfriend. So what’s your outfit look like? Sure you’re all dolled up per usual.”

“Oh, um,” for some reason you were nervous to tell him. Your outfit was something that's usually a bedroom thing between the two of you. You didn’t need his added comments to your nervousness right now. “Black. All black.”

“Ooh,” he cooed. “You know how much I love you in black. Take a picture for me.” He imagined your in a tight, straight fitting, lace, black dress. 

“Of course.” Although it’ll probably end up on the news in America later if I get the shock factor I’m looking for, you thought. “I’ve got those new sparkly heels on you got for me too.” 

“I’m sure you look gorgeous.”  He yawned. “Alright, Love, I had a show tonight and I have another and some traveling tomorrow. I’m exhausted and really need some rest. You’re gonna do great.” He smiled. 

“Thanks.” You smiled back. Though neither of you could see, you could hear the smile in each other’s voices. 

“Goodnight, Baby.” 

“Goodnight Rog, sweet dreams, Love.”

Just as you hung up you heard, “Miss Y/L/N! Five minutes!” 

~~~~~~

The woman sitting across from you shook your hand as you sat down, eyes slightly widening from the shock factor of your outfit. 

“So good to have you here with us this morning, Y/N.” She smiled. 

“So good to be here,” you smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be on the morning show ever since I was a little girl.” 

“So the last couple weeks have been crazy for you, haven’t they?” 

“Oh yeah, total change in my life.” You laughed. “I mean, I was kind of used to the cameras from Roger, but it was never like it is now. I mean they’re everywhere. Everyone has a question, I’m on covers of magazines. It really makes you want to look your best all the time when people are constantly taking photos of you and publishing them.” 

“And the calls?” 

“Oh yeah, that too,” you continued, kicking yourself in the head for not adding that in. “Course that has been crazy too. The phone’s literally off the hook. I just got back from tour with Queen in America a couple days ago to come here today, so I mean of course I was getting some while I was there, but I assume it was harder for the agencies to locate me then. Now that I’m back home it’s just non stop modeling agency after modeling agency ringing me up, one offering me more money than the last, all trying to get me to sign a deal.” 

“And you haven’t accepted one yet,” the interviewer, said perplexed. “Do you realize you’re being called the most beautiful girl in England? Some sources even say most beautiful girl in the world. Why haven’t you taken this opportunity?”

“Oh I don’t really know,” you laughed. “The game of continuously turning them down is kind of fun to me, I must admit. But really, I’m happy with the way everything is. I mean being a model is every little girl's dream, but I’ve never been looking to make a career out of it. I don’t need it. Roger and I are happy just the way everything is. We don’t need anymore money. If the right one comes along, then sure, maybe I’m interested. But really it just was never part of my plan.” 

“Can you explain how this craze to get you to sign a modeling contract came about?”

“Sure,” you laughed. “Sorry, it still sounds so funny to me. Well, Roger has a solo album coming out soon, and he had to do some promotional pictures.”

“For those who don’t know, could you say who Roger is to you?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “well I’m in a relationship with Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen. We’ve been together for a while now, and have been best friends even longer. Can’t imagine my life without him.” You gushed, earning an “awe” from the studio audience. “Anyways, he’s coming out with his first solo album soon and had to do some promotional photos, which he hates doing, so he asked if I’d go along with it, so I did, and then it just kind of expanded from there. We went all out.” 

“I’d say you did,” the interviewer smiled, holding up some photos of you and Roger in the photo shoot, (I imagine Kylie Jenner and Travis Scott’s GQ photoshoot) earning hoots and hollers from the audience. “What made you choose the outfit you’re wearing today?” 

“Well that’s a rude question.” You retorted. 

“I-I’m sorry.” The interviewer stumbled. “I like your outfit, I was just wondering how you chose it.” 

“Oh, well, wanted to show a little more. I mean you are all referring to me as a model after all; might as well dress like it. And besides this is Roger’s jacket.” You said, tugging lightly on the collar. 

And then you felt it. The release of the tightness on the skin of your breasts, the double sided tape breaking loose from your breasts from the change in pressure from your slight pulls. 

And then it happened. The right side of the jacked flew open a little bit.

And you noticed. 

The interviewer noticed; you saw it on her face. 

The crowd noticed; you heard it from the gasp. 

And the camera caught it. 

The camera caught you flashing all of Britain on live television. 

Hey, you thought in a state of panic, at least it was the good side. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Knock, knock, knock.

Roger groggily awoke from his sleep checking the clock. 

3:30 AM. 

Only an hour and a half after you had called him. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Roger, darling. You’ve got to turn on the news. It’s Freddie, Brian, and John.” He said giddily. He was excited about something. 

Roger stumbled out of bed, unlocking the door and flopping back onto his pillow as Freddie grabbed the remote, hurriedly putting on the news. 

“Look, Rog!” Freddie encouraged. 

And then he heard it. 

“Roger Taylor’s girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N flashes all of Britain, and now the world on her interview with Good Morning Britain.” 

Roger shot straight up, watching it again and again. It was being blown out of proportion, yet at the same time was extremely noticeable. It made him turned on while also making him extremely jealous.  

The whole world just got to see something that was only supposed to be his. 

~~~~ 

You cried to Roger on the phone after his concert that night. How embarrassed you felt. How sorry you were. 

He did his best to calm you down, almost blowing up at one point, but he kept his emotions in control. Decided he couldn’t start a fight with you if he was going to propose soon. 

It was just the idea that the whole world saw something that he considered his, saw a part of you nude made him upset. 

It made him jealous. 

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

Two Weeks Later: 

Roger had been home for a week, and you were feeling on top of the world. It was nice to not have to worry about traveling for a little bit, about where he was and if he made it there safely. It was nice to feel like a normal couple that lived together for a little bit. 

The media had been ruthless. You took it hard at first, all the media calling you a slut, a whore. Saying Roger had been dating a prostitute and that the two of you tried to cover it up. You stayed in bed for a couple of days. Didn’t want to leave the house, turn on the TV, or look at the newspaper without Roger. You didn’t answer the phone to anyone. Only called Roger once a day. When he came home he found you in bed looking like a complete mess. Dark eyes, only wearing one of his sweatshirts. Glasses of water around the room, an empty bag of chips on the end table. The lights were dimmed and there was a box of tissues on your chest. He didn’t say anything when he saw you, and he didn't have to. He just held you in his arms as you cried. 

It was all over soon enough though. As Freddie assured you, any media is good media. It brought attention to your name. Soon enough, your were out of your funk and getting free things from big designers in the mail. It all ended up alright. 

Roger told you he had to run out and do a couple errands, and to be ready for dinner at six. He said he had some surprises coming throughout the day, so to be prepared. Little did you know he was planning on proposing that night. You awoke to his absence, still in your lingerie from the night before to a new, versace, fluffy bathrobe with a note on the hanger hanging from the bedpost across from you. It read:

“Love you more, xoxo, Roger.” 

You smiled as you put it on, hearing the doorbell ring and starting the trek through your mansion to the front door. 

“Oh my god, he didn’t.” You said to yourself as you stepped out of the master bedroom.  There were photos covering the floor everywhere. Photos of the two of you. You picked one up. It was of a day you and Roger went on a hike back in college. It brought a smile to your face as you stuffed it in the pocket of your robe. You walked a little further, looking over the banister into the living room and foyer and down the stairs. At your feet was a photo you took of him when you went skiing last winter. Everywhere was covered with photos of the two of you. There were repeats, but it didn’t matter. Of course there’d be some repeats, he had a lot of floor space to cover. The pictures on the stairs made you smile the most, or instead just picture, singular. The stairs were covered in Roger’s favorite picture of you, a photo of you upside down, playing Tenement Funster on the guitar, which he had taught you because he thought it was the easiest to play. He took copies of that picture everywhere. Kept one in his pocket, one in his wallet, one taped on the side of his drum. One stuck in the mirror in your bedroom, one framed in the living room downstairs, one framed in his music room. It was everywhere. He said he never wanted to forget it. There was a poster board taped to the wall to the side of the stairs with “The love of my life, Y/N” and an arrow down written on it in sharpie, which made you giggle. Little by little, you picked up your favorite pictures, some of which you didn’t know existed, and put them in the pocket of your robe. 

You made your way to the front door, unlocking it to find a huge bouquet of roses. There were easily six dozen roses, maybe even more. God, he was extravagant. But it made you smile. The card on top read, “Love you most, xoxo, Roger”. 

Man, he really knew how to make a girl swoon. Around one, someone came with a dress bag. “Miss Y/L/N?” They asked as you opened the door. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m with Versace. Mr. Taylor designed this dress for you.” 

“Oh!” You said, clearly shocked. “Thank you,” You smiled, taking the bag and tipping the man. You hurried upstairs, careful to not trip on all the photos, and hung the dress in your walk in closet, eagerly unzipping the bag. 

It took your breath away. 

There was a strapless, scoop necked satin, floor length, white dress. It had a high slit on the left side with a black stripe. It was gorgeous. It came with a matching black handbag and strappy black heels. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. 

“Wear this to dinner tonight, there will be people coming to do your hair, makeup and nails at four, I’m coming home around 5:30. Love you to the moon and back, xoxo, Roger.” Read a note that fell out of the shoe box. You went downstairs to eat lunch, gathering some more photos of you and Roger as you walked past them. 

By four you were in your dress, literally feeling dressed to the nines, the stylists setting up camp in a spare room upstairs so Roger wouldn’t see you until you got ready. You heard him come home at 5:30, just like he said. He sounded so excited as he talked to you through the door, telling him you were almost done as he retired to the master bedroom to get on his tux, praying that everything went well tonight. 

The stylists left around 5:50 leaving you with long, wavy curls, a beautiful, glammed up makeup look, and a white and black French manicure. Roger was waiting for you downstairs, pacing back and forth from his nerves. 

“You ready down there?” You called. 

“ ‘Course! Been dying to see you all day.” He smiled.”

“Okay then,” you said, opening the door to walk down to him, his head flicking up as you appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Wow.” He said, breath taken away from him. 

You lowly made your way down, careful not to slip on any photos as he picked you up off the last step, spinning you around as he kissed your cheek. 

“You look gorgeous. Just like I imagined this dress would look.” He gushed. 

“So you really did design it?” 

“Yup.” 

“Wow.” You didn’t know what to say. “Not that I want you to stop, but why all the gifts today?” You smiled, caressing his cheek. 

“You’ll find out later.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple as he grabbed your hand, leading you out the front door to his car. “Hey, has anyone ever told you that you should be a model?” He joked. 

“Oh shut up.” 

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

He brought you to the Cordón Bleu, the most expensive restaurant in London. As he pulled up, he said, “You go inside, Love. I’m going to park the car. I’ll be in in a minute.” The two of your separated with a quick kiss as you strutted inside, cameras flashing in your face.

When you walked in, the receptionist at the front desk called your name, shocking you. “Y/N?”

“Oh my god, Mark?!” You ran over to him, embracing him in a hug. You and Mark hooked up a couple times in college when you and Roger were still just friends. 

“Hi! You look amazing!” 

“Oh, thank you! So do you! How’s life?”

“It’s alright,” he laughed. “You seem to have made out much better than I did.”

“Well, Roger made out well. I just happened to be his girlfriend.” You laughed. 

“Yeah. Believe me, I know about that.” He laughed. Just then Roger walked in. “But everything they’ve been saying is true. You’re really the most beautiful girl in England.” 

Roger heard what he said. Saw who it was. Mark. His blood boiled in his veins, fist wrapping tightly around the ring box. 

“Thank you,” you blushed, as Roger’s arm snaked its way around your waist. 

“Oh, Darling look! It’s Mark!” You smiled. 

“Hey.” Roger stated, monotone, as he stuck out his hand to shake Mark’s. 

“Hey, mate! Great to see you again. You music with Queen is some of my favorites. Always gush about how I went to college with you two! Anyways, Y/N. I saw your interview the other day, for your first interview you did great. I was very interested.” He smiled. He didn’t mean it maliciously at all, however Roger took it the wrong way. 

“Thank yo-” You started, but Roger cut you off. 

“Hey, Mark, was it? I’d really prefer it if you didn’t talk about my girlfriend’s tits in front of me. Or actually, how about you just don't talk about them at all?” He snapped, catching you and Mark off guard. 

“I-I wasn’t.” Mark stuttered. 

“What has gotten into you?!” You whispered in Roger’s ear as he grabbed your hand protectively as he approached the host table which Mark stood behind. 

“If you don’t mind, mate, I’d like to be seated now.” Roger coldly insisted.

“Of course, you had the private room upstairs rented out, right?” 

Roger nodded.

“Alright then, this way.” Mark said, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Actually,” Roger interjected, “would you mind if she brought us to our seats? I don’t need someone from my past ruining this day for me.” He said, coldly snapping at Mark. 

Mark looked at him, confused to say the least. Your expression matched his, astonished that Roger could be so rude. 

“Excuse me, Ann. Mr. Taylor would like you to bring him and Ms. Y/L/N to their room.” he said. 

“Sure, right this way.” She smiled, leading the two of you to the stairs.

Roger’s grip on your hand was tight. You followed the hostess first as he trailed behind you, leaving one last dig as he said, “Oh, and Mark. Make sure you’re not our waiter.”

You gasped back at him in disbelief. 

The room was gorgeous, there were roses everywhere, a table lit by candlelight waiting for the two of you in the center. Roger pulled out your seat for you, sitting across from you as he looked down in concentration. 

Avoiding looking at you. 

He tapped his fingers on the menu to keep himself occupied, his nostrils flaring in anger. The silence in the room was deafening; you could literally cut the tension with a knife. 

“Roger,” you tentatively started, “Darling, I think you might be confused. That was Mark, remember? Remember how we used to all hang out in college?”

“I remember hearing you scream his name on the other side of the wall as he fucked you to sleep each night for a couple months.” He snapped back, eyes locking with yours. 

“Okay, what is your problem? We never fight like this, we tell each other everything!” You exclaimed. 

“You want to know my problem, Y/N? Tonight was supposed to be perfect, but that asshole just went and ruined it. Showed me we’re not actually exclusive.” 

“What’re you talking about? Roger we’ve been exclusive for the last three years!” 

“I knew I should have properly asked you out so you knew we were in a relationship. Then other guys wouldn’t think you’d just fuck them behind my back.” 

“Roger! How dare you? I’d never cheat on you! We’ve lived together for eight years. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“Obviously not; I saw the way he was flirting with you.” He whined. 

“So what if he was flirting with me? I wasn’t flirting with him! That’s what’s important! And I wouldn’t flirt with him, or anyone else for that matter, Roger, because I’m in love with you. Besides, if I’m going to be a model, you’ve got to get used to people hitting on me, and be confident that I love you and only you. What more do I need to say?” You said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” You sighed. It was silent for a moment as the waitress came in to pour your champagne and take your orders, then silent for a little while longer. He broke the silence.”

“I’m sorry, Love.” He finally muttered.

You looked up at him, awaiting more of an apology as two salads were placed in front of the two of you. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he continued, “I had such a perfect idea of today in my mind with the photos, and the flowers, and the dress, and dinner, and then, well you know, but then I saw him. Saw the way he looked at you, remembered how he made you feel all those years ago, and I just couldn’t handle it. I’d never been more jealous in my life. I don’t ever want to live without you.”

“Rog,” you smiled, reaching across to grab his hand. “I don’t ever want to live without you either. You don’t have to worry, Baby. I’m not going anywhere.” You finally had brought a smile to his face. “So what if there was a little hiccup in your perfect day? There’s been so much good, it doesn’t even matter.” You smiled. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning across to peck your lips, deciding to wait until the end of the meal to pop the question. 

“And besides, the sex with you has always been much better.” You winked.

~~~~

Your meal was great, honestly the best food you’d ever had. Roger’s mood improved drastically as the night went on, the two of you joking and laughing per usual. At the end of your romantic dinner you were sharing a huge piece of six layer chocolate cake, Roger putting Fred Astaire’s version of The Way You Look Tonight on the record player in the corner of the room. Roger kept taking photos of you with his Polaroid camera, made you laugh by saying you could add them to the floor when you got home. You could tell he was nervous about something, kept stuttering on about every word he said, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered, blowing out a huff of air and catching your attention. “So I’m sure you’ve realized this isn’t your normal date, right? I mean I think I’ve managed to go a little more “all out” than I usually do, right?”

“Yes, Roger.” You laughed. “Look around us. Look at my dress, my makeup, my nails. You’ve certainly set the standard for the best date ever.”

“Good, good.” He looked down, nodding to arrange his thoughts. “Okay,” he said, getting up and grabbing your hands as he pulled you up, walking to the window to overlook the city skyline. “Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you, that first day back at uni. You’re the only girl I’ve ever been nervous to ask out and, hey, I guess I never did.” He said, making the two of you laugh. 

“What’re you doing?” You said, choked up as you knew what was coming next. 

“But I never had to ask you out, Love. That’s what makes things so great between us. We just work. But I don’t want it to be like that for the next big milestone in our relationship, that’s why I’m doing what I am now, because I want everything to be perfect. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on inside and out, and I can’t imagine spending any day not waking up next to you and I don’t want to. You’re my other half, Love, you complete me better than anyone else ever has and I’m never going to let anything change that. I’m so happy at where we are now and I’m ready to start a life with you start a family with you, Y/N. I know we’re young but that doesn’t change the way I feel for you. So, Darling,” he started, getting down on one knee as you gasped. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, please baby, please do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the world, by being my wife. Y/N,” he said, taking a box out of his pocket and opening it in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” You gasped, tears openly flowing down both of your faces. He looked nervous, unsure of what your face meant. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You screamed, as he scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around as your lips connected passionately. 

“Oh my god,” you continued, smile never leaving your face. You were shaking from shock and excitement. “It all makes sense now,” you laughed. “Why you got so jealous. It doesn’t matter. I love you so much.” You smiled, connecting your lips to his. 

“You gonna put it on? Spent a lot of money on it, it’s the least you could do.” He joked. 

“Of course.” You smiled. “Wait, my hands are too shaky I don’t wanna drop it, can you?” You asked, making him laugh as he took the ring out of the box. 

“Sure, Love. You’re too cute.” He chuckled. “And look, there’s our initials on the inside of the ring.” 

That just made you cry of joy even more as he slipped the ring on your finger, the two of you a crying, smiling, laughing, kissing mess. 

Roger paid the bill and the two of you walked out laughing together, hand in hand. He scooped you in his arms bridal style as you stepped out of the building, cameras immediately in your face, photographers screaming,

“Y/N!” 

“Roger!”

“Mr. Taylor, what’s the occasion!”

He set you down as you walked to Vogue, the biggest editorial that was there. 

“You wanna know what’s going on?” You asked, silencing the crowd and chorus of questions along with it.  

“We’re getting married!” You said, shooting your hand out as countless cameras were snapped, the photographers taking your “engagement photos” all of which actually came out well. You were mailed the prints a week or so later. 

“Thank you!” They shouted after the two of you. 

“Thank you, Miss. Y/L/N!” 

“Hey!” You turned around, looking at Roger as he read your mind, knowing what you were about to say so he just said it for you. 

“You can start calling her Mrs. Taylor.” The two of you smiled, Roger scooping you up to bring home his fiancée. 

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

A/N: I’m also so proud of this one! As always, send an ask of a plot and I’ll write you a oneshot, and let me know what you think of this one!

[minnimari]

Enderal Character Ask – Fill it out yourself or reblog as is to use as an ask meme. Have fun! <3 So i start to work, but only in short answers :D ————————————— 1. The basics – name, age, etc… Her name is Mya Megles, 28 years young, female and quite normal.

2. Describe their appearance. I would say her hair is dark brown with little bit red. The red you can see in the sun.

3. How do they like to dress? She likes to wear trousers best and a linen shirt. Leather shoes not more. Yaaa.. its not special, but the most comfortable without armor. And dressesonly for nice occasions.

4. Do they have any markings (scars, tattoos, birthmarks)? Hehe.. a heroic scar on the face from a fight with a domestic cat ;D Big scar on the hip and a few small strokes through the birth of son.

5. What are they like? Describe their personality (use whatever tools you like- MBTI, D&D alignment, astrological signs, Hogwarts house, words/phrases): Ouw yes this ancient civilication. They call them starlings, i thing. So the stars are really beautiful, and plants, right. Astrology, Symbols and all this magic things.

6. How would they describe themselves? Mya is a little bit shy, but a happy person. She loves beautiful things such as sunsets, candles and flowery meadows. Just an almost typical woman. As far as trust in others is conserned, she is rather careful, because shes been hurt badly in the past.

7. Education level? On a scale from 1 to 10 she is a 7/8. Mya is a "Bookworm" and reads everything she can get her hands on.

8. What are they proud of in themselves? What are they embarrassed about? Proud? Rather happy to finally be able to decide for yourself about your own life. And possibly ashamed of being laughed at because of their height. Not to be taken seriously. As they are now by most in the Sun Temple ;D

9. Do they know any languages other than Inal? Only Inâl and native language.

10. What, if any, aspects of their mother’s culture influenced them growing up? Mother always sang songs about the old gods, no matter at what time. It always cheered her up. Mya´s forgotten many things in recent events :(

11. Name a song (or a few) that remind you of them. Almost all songs remind me of previous life with my family.

12. Speaking of songs, can they sing? What is their voice like? How about instruments? Mya can sing, but she doesn´t like singing in front of people. She´s got a deep voice for a woman. Hm.. She doesn´t know much about music, and she doesn´t play any instruments.

13. What was their life like before coming to Enderal? Before we noticed the real war, it was a nice quit life with son Kaleb and partner. Since he disappeared and mother died of a serious illnes and old age. She was lonely with son for short time until she met Sirius.

14. How did they decide to leave Nehrim? When Sirius opened Myas eyes to begin a new life. Kaleb (4) was too young to make this journey. With a heavy heart she placed him in a kind of monastery. The abbot knew her and her mother from befor. Now she doesn´t even know if Kaleb is still alive. Not a day goes by without thinking of him. The plan to go to another country came from Sirius. Different perspectives, different opportunities. He never told her how old he was. She suspected he was younger than she was. He had a lot of plans for the new life.

15. Describe their relationship with Sirius. Sirius will always remain Mya´s best friend, or like a brother. He was the only one she could trust after the thing with Kalebs father. Mother said she couldn´t sit in the house forever, she´s still young. So she made contacts with the outside world. They understood each other from the beginning.

16. Who do they blame for what happened to their family? Hmm... fate? The Nehrimese? Why must we always look for fault in others? Perhaps there were reasons for what happened.

17. Apart from stowing away, have they ever broken the law? On the run, Sirius and Mya stole to keep from starving. They couldn´t take much food with them on their journey.

18. How honest are they? Under what circumstances would they lie? She would only lie if the lives of the innocent were at stake. Better to be honest and hurt, than to be dishonest and have a bad conscience.

19. Worst memory(s)? Best memory(s)? Worst: mother on her deathbed with that whitegrey face. When she brought Kaleb to the monastery. Best: Mother always cooked and sang, and everyone laughed. Even Sirus was there. The birth of Kaleb. 20. Fight, or flight? Fight!

21. Describe their combat style. In short words: defensive and with full energy!

22. Have they ever killed before? What is their reaction to combat? She killed, yes. The blood is shocking at first. But it was easier to get through, when you were distracted.

23. How do they react to having magical abilities? Do they use them? Mya uses Restoration- spells after combat. Thats all she can take. She can´t handle potions. Fear of arcanistfever is very real. 24. What do they think of Enderal? Enderal is a beautiful country. Big Forests, great coastlines... The people are a little too much led by their trails. A little limited in their ability to think ahead. :D If she wanted to live in a place like this, it would be the Sunshine coast.

25. Did they do the Biggest Egg Hunt Ever quest? Of course! She got all the eggs Kurmai wanted.

26. How do they feel about joining the Order? What do they think of Arantheal? About the joining the Order, uh... it all happened very quickly. There was no time for Mya to get at least a little bit of information about it. She could have simply accepted smaller tasks, like Jespar. The life of a mercenary. A beautiful title. Myas opinion about Arantheal is very divided: He´s a nice guy, could be Myas grandfather. Strange was only that he put so much responsibility and trust in her. Apart from that she is a foreigner and has no idea. But she soon realized that he was selfish.. The opinions of his advisors were not important to him at all.

27. What is their opinion of the gods (or lack thereof)? The people of Enderal would be better off without the gods. They´d just ahve to learn to turn their own heads. That´s what it´s for. Each man should choose his own path, decide which vocation is best. A mayor or king would be quite sufficent for rules.

28. Wine, or pipe? Both! More wine, less pipe. Mya´s only weakness.

29. Do they spare or arrest Hallys, the farmer-turned-bandit in the quest, Deus Ex Machina? Why? Arrest him! He puts his own life before that of 100 poor people. The family should go to the food bank itself. If they´re not too proud.

30. What are their feelings and opinions about the Undercity? Mya´s disappointed about the undercity. The roads are destroyed. The "houses" aren´t even made of stone. It stinks everywhere. In the uppercity not a word is spoken about it. This is no life for a human being. If Mya could, and had the means, she would change so much. Not to see herself in a better light, but to prevent suffering. At least for the children or the sick.

31. How do they react to the beggars of Ark? When Mya sees a beggar, she supports him/her. Either with food or coins.

32. Where and how do they spend their time when in Ark? She´s home a lot. Sometimes in the dancing nomad with Jespar, when he has time. When Mya needs her rest, she also goes to Undercity in the Tavern.

33. What would they do with three wishes? Good Question. She would save them for important moments.

34. How do they feel about death? Do they fear it? Fear death? No, he´ll come one day anyway. Or if you´re not careful.

35. What (else) do they fear? Mya´s afraid of spiders. Big, hairy spiders... Fear of heights.

36. Do they have any secrets? Secrets, yes... Everyone has their secrets... :P

37. How is their behavior around people they like? People they dislike? If one of her loved ones needs help, she is there. But when she really likes someone, she shows it with little gestures and specific word. If she does not like someone at all, she tries to avoid them as much as possible. For example Natara.

38. What is their relationship with the companions? Who, if anyone, did your prophet romance? It´s difficult. Mya was initially very fascinated by Jespar. He is a good friend. Both have the same view of freedom and relationships. It is always an adventure to travel with him. He always has something to say. But Mya is not sure if she wants to start a romance with him.   As for Calia, besides Arantheal, she was the only person of the holy order who talked to her normally. She´s like a sister. Unfortunately, she is too devoted to her sacred duties. So spending time with her is very difficult. In herself a beautiful woman and very trustworthy, but not suitable for a romance. Now Esme: She doesn´t really know anything about Esme. She is a nice girl yes, but she is too attached to her partner. Esme and Mya finished a mission together, but when they finally met at the Tower, there was not much to talk about. The ways parted. Let us come to Tharael.. If Mya had never entered the arena, she never would have met him. In short words: He´s an asshole, but one with good intentions. Mya always wonderes if he had ever seen the uppercity. In all his conversations, everything he said referred to the Undercity, the father and the bad sides of the people. He definitely needs to relax. ;) Finally Dijam. A very strong personality, very dominant. The meeting with her were pleasant. But Mya can´t imagine spending a few days with her. Dijam is always convinced of her opinion, so Mya would never dare to speak her own mind. It would definitely lead to a fight. Currently, there is no Romance with Mya.

39. Was there any non-companion character that they were close to? That they particularly disliked? + Konstantin was an old unfriendly guy, but still quite cool. If Mya was interested in magic, he could be her mentor. She´s still wondering, was he like that in Nehrim? -Natara didn´t even knoe Mya and thougt she was going to be judged. Does she really think that Mya chose this path?

40. How do they feel about myrads? They are respectful animals. Loveable if domesticated, as the keeper said. Mya prefers the horse because of her fear of heights.

41. What dreams or ambitions did they have before coming to Enderal? What about afterwards? She never had big dreams. Just a simple life with her son.  Now her only dream is not to be alone and see Kaleb again. Maybe there are bigger dreams and Mya just doesn´t know it yet.

42. Do they like cities? Or do they prefer the country? Is there a region of Enderal that they like or dislike more than the others? It´s too loud in the city. Life in the country is much more relaxed. The suncoast was impressive from the beginning...

43. What do they do to lower their considerable stress? When Mya comes home after a mission, cooking something or meditating by the fireplace.

44. Describe their perfect day off. There are so many things you can do. Like take a bath in a water hole. Or lying on a flower meadow by the lake with a good book.

45. List three of their favorite things. Three things they hate? Her favourite things are her books. She likes listening to other people´s stories. Wine!.. hehe What she does not like are loud noises, ignorance and bad food :D

46. What’s in their pockets? Oh it varies from trip to trip. Myas diary is always with her. A few coins. Food. Everything you find interesting on a mission.

47. Pets? Mounts? Treasured possessions? A cat that always hides in the house. Then there is Hurricane the horse. Myas prized possessions are her books. Nothing about material things is more important to her.

48. How are their cooking skills? For regular food, Mya cooks very well. She learned that from her mother. She likes to bake things.

49. Do you consider any particular quest or side quest to be definitive for your prophet? Which one(s) and why? Every secondary task that involves making decisions is difficult for her.

50. How forgiving are they? For example, if they were yelled at in a brothel after searching high and low for this little sh*t, how would they react? Hm. It depends on what situation Mya´s in. If she sees a boy steal an apple, it´s her. But if she sees someone taking money from the poor. Then Mya´s not forgiven. (Hallys)

51. What do they think of the Veiled Woman? The first time, Mya thought she was in another dream. Whether she´s s ghost or a god, it doesn´t matter. When the veiled woman really plays a major role in this matter, why can´t she help? It will always be a mystery. She has no opinion for her. She doesn´t show herself enough.

52. If they had been a victim of one of the black stones, how would it have affected them? What would they have used its power to accomplish? Similar to little Rhyneus, she would have created a world as it was before. When everyone was alive and with her. Sirius, Mother, Kaleb,... In the end she would go crazy, because it´s all up to her wishes.

53. What was their reaction to the Black Guardian’s revelations? Do they accept or reject his offer? Even though it all sounds very lgical what the black guard says, she refused. The reason is: If he really comes out of that device/Goliath( How ever;)), the whole thing would start all over again. He would be a "god", yes. People would be subservient. And as it was depicted in the Star City, it would all happen again. Over and over.

54. How does their story end? With Mya, the story will never end. All solutions have good and bad sides. If she doesn´t start the purification and the construction of the beacon, everything is fine. All her loved ones stay alive.

55. Do they change over the course of the story? In what ways? No.

56. Anything else you’d like to share about them? At this moment, not no.

I am not a big writer but... enjoy it, please :D Big Thanks for @enderalappreciationblog

[jjang-jjang-hope]

Miss Independent I Yoongi

Welcome to Chapter 1 of my newest series. This is going to be a High school bad boy AU, because i’m just a sucker for them. Hope you all enjoy! 

pairing: Yoongi x Reader

summary: Angst & Fluff; High School AU; Y/N’s used to moving around a lot, and bouncing from school to school. This one was different. This one has Min Yoongi.

Y/N made her way through the bustling halls of her new school, everyone too focused with getting what they need for the day to pay her any attention. She walked with her head held high as she made her way to her classroom. As her classmates made their ways to their classrooms they began to take notice of the stranger that was wearing their uniform, the basic blue plaid skirt (or black trousers for the boys) with a white button down and a navy blazer. Everyone looked the same in Y/N’s opinion. After glancing at her new students form to triple check her classroom number, she made her way into the room. The few students who were already seated and studying glanced up as Y/N walked past them all and claimed a desk in the back. Seated two rows up and three over was a boy with glasses and fluffy looking light brown hair that kind of made him look like a poodle. He kept staring at her, not even trying to hide the fact that he was. “What?” Y/N asked, glaring back at poodle boy. The boy jumped back slightly at her sharp tone. “Its.. you’re sitting in his seat.” He mumbled, breaking eye contact as he began looking around the room. “ Who?” She questioned, trying to get the attention of the boy back on her. He continued to ignore her, turning his back fully to her and going back to his school work. Y/N rolled her eyes as she dug through her bookbag and pulling out what she needed for class. As she glanced over the syllabus, someone cleared their throat, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up to see a boy with bleach blonde and shaggy hair, but still cut in the same bowl style as the others. Her eyes traveled down, skipping over the features of his face to see him in a leather jacket instead of the navy blazer. “Can I help you?” She asked, bringing her eyes from his jacket back to his face. “You’re in my seat. Move.” He hissed back at her. “No thanks, it has the perfect view of the board. Besides, why would anyone like you want to actually pay attention to what’s going on.” By now the class was beginning to fill and their eyes fell upon the two in an argument in the back.   “What do you mean by ‘anyone like you’?” His eyebrow raised in curiosity, wanting to see if she would actually fight back or bite her tongue. “One that doesn't care, but still has to be different.” Her eyes never left his, the two locked in a silent showdown. The mysterious boy was more in shock than anything, no one had dared to say anything like that to him before. “Fine. Take the seat.” He huffed as he took the seat next to her and dropping his bag to the floor. She brought her eyes back to her notes, looking over them to be prepared for the day. Class began seconds later, as the boy still fumed in his seat, too distracted to focus. By the time the first break came around he had already planned a witty comment to shoot back at her and had ran the whole conversation out in his head. But before he could open his mouth the girl turned to him and apologized. “Look, I know what I said was rude or whatever, and if you asked politely I would have moved over to where you are. But because you decided to shove your entire foot in your mouth and be a giant fucking dick about it, I stayed.” She said, never breaking eye contact with the boy in the leather jacket. Y/N could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed the apology, after what felt like a half an hour, the boy just rolled his eyes and huffed before turning forward once more. “Whatever. It’s not like I wanted to see the board anyway.” He mumbled as he looked through his bag and pulled out his phone. “Alright, are you usually like this or did something crawl up your ass and die?” He rolled his eyes once more, his eyes still glued to his phone. “I could ask you the same thing Princess. You’re not very lady like are you? Were you raised by wolves?” “First of all, don't call me Princess unless you want me to punch you in you're fucking throat. Secondly-” “Save it Princess. I’ve heard it all before.” Before she could get another word in he tuned towards her and leaned in so that he could whisper into her ear. “You should watch your mouth Princess. It’ll come back to bite you in the ass.” The teacher made his way back into the room to start the next lesson. Both Y/N and the leather clad boy turned to face the front. A slight blush had appeared across her face, as hard as it was to keep her face forward and focused on the board. What she didn’t know was that he was in the same predicament, though instead of focusing on the lesson, he placed his head on his arms and fell asleep.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the next week, Y/N would get there early just to keep her seat. It was an unspoken game between the two. On the second day she learned his name. Min Yoongi. He learned hers as well, but refused to call her anything but Princess, seeing as how it would make her squirm in her seat and piss her off at the same time. 

The two of you developed a routine in that week as well. She would get there earlier than him and sit with her headphones in, usually doing an assignment or studying. Each morning he would come in and sit down, only after ripping one of the headphones out of Y/Ns ear to say good morning. He thought it was rude to not at least greet one another since the two of you did share a desk. Throughout the day, he was constantly getting her in trouble as well. His favorite thing to do was to grab the pen from her hand as she wrote, drop it on the floor, and kick it across the room.

During breaks, they would get into verbal arguments with one another as the class watched to see who todays winner would be. By the end of the week the both of them had ended up in detention once the teachers caught wind of the things the two of them would say to one another.

As the bell rang, Y/N made her way to the library to attend the detention the oh so great Min Yoongi had gotten for both of them. She pushed her way through the sea of students heading the other direction, trying to get out of the hell hole and enjoy their friday night, as she should be as well.

“Stupid Min fucking Yoongi,” she cursed under her breath. As she rounded the corners to the library she heard voices in the almost deserted halls. To the left of the doors stood his group of friends. Y/N never learned their names since she didn’t have class with them and is glad she didn't have too. Yoongi was hard enough to handle.

“So do we finally get to meet the girl thats been making you angrier than usual?” The tallest of the group with candy colored purple hair asked. Y/N rolled her eyes as she continued to walk towards the doors, ignoring the boys eyes as discussion as much as she could.

“Speaking of the devil,” Yoongi said as he detached himself from his group, only to come up to Y/N and throw his arm around her shoulder.

“Ready for detention Princess? It’s just going to be three hours of just me and you. It’s just the best way to spend our Friday night.” This caused her to stop dead where she was and just glare at him.

“No. It’s fucking not. I get to miss the one day a month I get to talk to my father, to spend with some deadbeat fucking loser that got me in this mess in the first place. So fuck you Yoongi.” She stated as tears welled up in her eyes. Yoongi stood there frozen in place, his jaw slightly open as the girl walked into the library with her head down and hair covering her face. He stood there for as long as he could without realizing it, until the teacher came outside looking for him. When he got back in he sat all the way in the back next to Y/N, with his head hung low.

“Please just go away,” she said with a shaky voice and her head in her hands. He reached out, moving the stray hairs that had fallen out of the way, his fingers dusting lightly over her skin as he did so.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. Please let me know if I can do anything to make it up to you. I mean it, I truly do.” His voice was soft and comforting as his left hand rested on her back as he slowly moved it in hopes of comforting her. As her shoulders began to shake, he could hear the quiet sobs and see the tears that fell from her eyes, onto her hands and through her fingers. He quickly pulled her in for a hug and began to stroke her hair, trying to be as comforting as possible.

After a few minutes she began to calm down, going still in Yoongi’s arms as he continued to hold her.

“I’m so sorry. I truly am. And not just for getting you in trouble and not being able to speak to your father, but for all the arguing and being a dick.” She began to squirm and dry her eyes on her sleeves before looking up at him with puffy red eyes.

“Thank you...for apologizing...and calling me my name and not Princess.” He laughed at her comment and pulled her closer to his chest and into an actual hug. They stayed like that for no more than a minute before Y/N began to move around once more, unable to sit still.

“How come you can only speak to him once a month?” His curiosity got the best of him as he looked over at her.

“He’s in the air force. I’ve moved around a lot and because of it, I developed a thick skin. Mom and I barely get to talk to him, only one day a month. We both miss him so much...” She continued to avoid eye contact as more tears rolled down her cheeks. Yoongi pushed his chair back, the feet scratching on the hardwood floor, causing Y/N to jump in her seat. As he made his way to the teacher at the front he planned his words carefully.

“Sir?” He began, getting the teacher to look at him. He sighed and placed his phone down on the desk.

“What do you want Yoongi?” He asked, looking up at the younger boy.

“I think you should let Y/N leave. She only got in trouble because of me and because of it I’m making her miss her skype session with her dad.”

“Yoongi, it doesn’t matter. She’s still in trouble. She has to stay in detention.”

“Sir, her dad is fighting bravely for our beloved country and she only gets once a month to speak with him because of it. If i had known earlier, I would have never gotten her in trouble. Please just let her leave. I’ll even take double the detention next week if you do. Can’t you see that she’s been sobbing this entire time? She even ruined my shirt! I’m going to have to get it dry cleaned to get the mascara stains out.” The teacher looked back at the now puffy faced girl in the back and sighed.

“Miss Y/N. Is what Yoongi is saying true?” He asked, his eyes looking at hers.

“Yes sir.” She responded in a hoarse voice. After sighing once more he nodded and looked back to Yoongi.

“You’re serving another day of detention for this, understood?” He asked the younger boy in front of him

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

“Y/N you can go.” She rushed to gather her things and rushed out the door and to the bus station. Yoongi made his way back to where the two of you were sitting and sat in silence for another two and a half hours with only the teacher to keep him company.

[imagine-wannaone]

Bae Jinyoung Royalty Au

(Excuse the messy header (As always rip)) So or 1k this is a slightly longer fic I guess?? I fill like it’s in a different style but it’s probs not. Anyway, thank you~

> • You didn't want to steal, and you certainly didn't think theft was a clever or good thing to do, but in dire circumstances humans do whatever they can to survive, > • You tried not to steal anything of much worth to anyone, nothing that'd change their life, > • An apple here, a slice of bread, a ring or a necklace, maybe some clothes if you were feeling r i s k y, > • You'd grown up in the poorer part of the city with your parents, struggling to make it until they couldn't and you had to on your own, > • So you just floated, I guess, taking whatever odd jobs you could get your hands on, > • Which wasn't really enough, so as much as you hated it, you became kinda really good at thieving and pickpocketing, > • Some of the poorer kids relied on you for food, so you were really kinda trapped in this way of living, > • So you try to think of different ways you can get some food, because you really shouldn't stay to the same tactics or people, for they had a job to do and families to provide for aswell, > • So your mind turned to one target, one that you knew wouldn't notice if a few pieces of food and maybe a cloth went missing, > • The palace, the royal family, > • A hugely risky target, yes, but at this point you were desperate enough with not a whole lot to lose, > • So you plot, plan and scheme because, although you couldn't graduate from your secondary school from being caught up with trying to survive, you're crafty; wise, > • So you manage to find some blue prints of the palace after trading your shoes and a block of cheese, > • You then spend the rest of your spare time on the roof of the highest building in the city, watching the patrol patterns of the guards and memorising it, > • As well as the blind spots for cameras and where the shadows lay at what time, > • By the end of the month, you were pretty prepared: the map of the palace printed to memory, the kitchen was the main place you needed to navigate to, > • You set out, clothes black to blend in and without shoes for silence. You were confident in your plan. > • And it works, > • You sneak from shadow to shadow and manage to slide in, > • And never have you seen anything so grand, red carpets laid lazily for hallways and hallways, it seemed to relax the setting with high ceilings and painting and vases, > • It made you angry, how people could live so luxuriously while people like you had no choice but to steal, > • You pushed down your unprofessional anger and slipped into the kitchen, > • You nearly froze when you saw the absolutely extraordinary range of food the royals had, some of which you'd never seen before, > • You took a little bit of everything so they wouldn't notice anything had gone, before you left silently the way you came, unknown and unimportant, > • And that night you, or any of the street kids, weren't hungry for the first time in a long long time, > • The food you'd taken lasted around a week before you were forced to take an apple from a stall again, and the guilt you felt overwhelmed you, turning the apple sour in your mouth, > • You felt no guilt stealing from the royals, so you decided maybe you could go again, > • And again, > • And eventually you went roughly once a week, pushing your luck further and further everytime, waiting for the guards to finally find you or pick up on your movements, > • Waiting to be caught, > • But it's about 2 months before something does happen, > • You're creeping your way out of the kitchen, now armed with a black bag attached to you, a new black shirt and leather black trousers, having traded something fishy smelling from the palace to a merchant for your outfit, > • When you hear the guards marching in sync towards the area you were slipping from, > • You panic, and although your heart starts beating a mile a minute, you're a street kid, you can always find a way out, > • So as the marching sounds approach at an all too fast pace, your eyes scan the perimeter for an alleyway to run or a box to hide, > • But just as you're about to take your luck with the shadows, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull quickly, and you stumble, > • You're pulled into what you can only describe as a broom cupboard, a wooden door quickly, quitely closing behind you as you're tugged against a body, a hand over your mouth in the darkness, > • Who does he think you are, you're not so amateur to scream when there are guards nearby, > • So you rip the hand from your mouth, only to hear a soft 'ssshhh' before behind you, the breath tickling your ear, > • You do as commanded, not stupid, standing still and quiet, > • You hold your breath as you hear the guards march through the kitchen and out again, completely on edge, but the warmth from the body behind you is strangely calming, their hand still on your wrist rubbing anxious circles in the back of your hand and an arm around your waist to keep you still, > • The silence settles and you wait for 5 minutes before you spin away suddenly to stare at whoever saved you for some reason unbeknownst to you, > • His face is small and handsome, his hair neatly cut and his features perfect, skin clear nails cut perfectly, > • His good looks would be daunting but he's so cute it ruins the effect, > • As well as the fact that he's wearing a huge pink shirt that makes him look smaller than he actually is and wow, > • A whole ass cutie right there, > • He looks so young as well; you're about to ask him why he isn't in bed - he needs his beauty sleep, > • Although you predict he'd probably still be beautiful without sleep, > • From his appearance and the situation you're in you come to realise he's one of the princes, > • You only ever recognise around 3 of the princes, the older ones, because the younger ones aren't ever seen outside of the castle, > • So although you know the boy infront if you is infact a prince, the posture and look in his eye is a giveaway just by themselves, you have no idea which one, > • "Who are you?" > • The question comes out quick in a low whisper, > • "I think I should really be asking the questions here," > • He says it with a gentle time but you know he's right, you nodded your head only because you know he can't see you properly since youd walked back into a shadow, > • " You know, I watch you around once a week slip into this kitchen to take whatever, but I'm still clueless to anything about you," > • You hum lowly; you knew it was too lucky to not have been seen before, so the fact that this prince has in fact noticed you doesn't come as much of a surprise, despite being a little unsettling, > • I mean being watched is creepy as hell even if the watcher is cute, > • Beauty does not excuse him of his crimes, > • But then you're a thief soooo . . . > • You're just plotting how and when to escape when his hand wraps around your wrist again, almost as if he can read your mind, > • You're slightly upset you're so easy to read, > • "Hey, I have a deal I think you'd find very interesting," > • He whispers and his eyes sparkle in excitement and as if a decision was made within those few seconds in his mind, > • "Oh?" > • You raise your eyebrows, slightly intrigued but guard still up, you do not trust the royals, > • "First, what's your name?" > • You contemplate the question, whether to answer the question truthfully, and you figured there's not a lot they could learn about you with your name, > • And, annoyingly, something about the prince infront of you made you want to be truthful and honest, > • You hate it, > • But you answer truthfully anyway, > • "Not many people know but the younger princes aren't allowed out of the palace, at all, but I think thats stupid. I want you to help me out every now and again, show me the city, the world," > • The tone of his voice breaks your heart a little, and although you don't live a great life, you love the city for the people and the variety and the secrets it holds, you can't imagine not being allowed out, > • But you know the request isn't as simple as it seems, > • "Why should I?" > • you whisper it quietly is a tone that's soft, half way through to giving in already, the situation the prince is in unfair even by your eyes, > • "Because I asked, and because I watched you stealing from my house for a solid 2 months and said nothing," > • The fact the prince doesn't threaten to call the guards, the fact that he doesn't resort to forcing you to do it makes you decide instantly that you're going to help the boy stood infront of you, > • "Meet me here, next week at 2 am, come in black, a face mask and cap maybe. A tiny amount of money." > • You slide towards the door, ready to return to your hut for the night, > • "It's Jinyoung, by the way," > • You smile a little before slipping, > • (Almost literally at the smile he sends you) > • Into the night, > • You spend a good amount of time plotting what to do before you return to the castle the following week, slipping into the cupboard silently, praying this isn't a trap, > • When the door cracks slowly open a few minutes later you're ready to pounce, but relax slightly when Jinyoung wonders in, a smile tugging at this mouth the minute he spots you, > • He does in fact follow your orders, wearing  matching black shirt and leather trousers, > • The look would be mysterious or threatening, daunting or scary, but with Jinyoungs soft face his aura doesn't change, > • It really blows you away, how he can make anything stylish and cute, > • What warms your heart is the small, tightly packed bag Jinyoung holds out to you when you greet him, packed to the brim with food that could last you a few weeks on end, > • You want to hug him but then remember you're supposed to be a mysterious hardcore thief, > • But he thought about you and gave you a life line, so you wrap your arms around him anyway, and he seems to invite the hug, even from someone so low down on the social status as you, > • You sneak out at the beginning of the next round of guest patrols, and you help Jinyoung climb over the fence, > • When you land safely on the other side his eyes light and his shoulders relax, a carefree happiness settle in his eyes and you decide the risk is definitely worth it, > • So you lead Jinyoung to the west side of the city, where the night market brings the place alive, > • Because jinyoung can't go out, not many people would recognise him, and the cap to cover his clean cut hair, the mask to hide his face, he's just another citizen, > • His eyes sparkle with the bright lights, the variety of people, the smells from all the fried food stalls and loud haggling, > • The place to you was somewhere you used to love, easily blending in and stealing small items without the blink of an eye, some people would even give you something small for free, > • But only now, with Jinyoung by your side, do you take in the bustle of the place for the first time, > • It's alive and that makes it special, > • By the time Jinyoung arrives at the palace safely again, he's high on life, stuffed with street food and eyes holding the neon lights, a small keep-sake tucked into his pocket, > • And this continues, around once a week or two, you take Jinyoung to see a different part of the city, > • It takes a whole month to plan, but you manage to sneak him out one day as well, taking him to all the shops that do the best things for the lowest prices, the cafes with the best pastries, the best people to chat to, > • You take him to the rooftop to see the stars and even push the boat to watch the sun rise, > • And he surprises you every time, how he brings down your thoughts of the royals, being kind and gentle and thoughtful, > • He really captures you attention, you find yourself simply staring at his profile, taking in the details of his face completely as you know that one day you'll have to stop this, you want to remember his every detail, > • He knows you're staring a lot of the time, perceptive to his surroundings, but doesn't mind at all, although occasionally a light blush dusts his cheeks at the intensity, > • Sometimes he turns to stare back, and you sit just looking at each other, > • "Y/N, why do you never take me to your place?" > • The pure innocence in his voice makes your heart crack a little and you breath in quickly, > • "I'm not sure it's a place you'd like to see, my prince," > • He leans against your shoulder and hums, the sound rattling through your own bones to rest in your heart, lodging itself there, > • Jinyoung knew you probably didn't live in the nicer parts of the city you'd shown him, since he knew you where a thief, but pressed Anyway, > • "Y/N, if I have any say in this country in the future, you cannot just show me the good parts, as I will not be able to help the worse parts. Please," > • The look he sends you makes your heart melt and the thoughts in your head to loose their direction, and you nod you head slowly, understanding his viewpoint, > • So you lead him to the worst part of the city, pointing out certain people and what they do and you show him the kids, who are still awake telling stories only kids can find humour in, and he passes them some food out of the bag he always packs for you so they instantly love him, > • Showing him your part of the city is like opening a part of your heart to him, and that there may be hope for the future, when Jinyoung gets a say in what happend to the city, that he could help, > • The way he doesn't look down on anything there, the kids too skinny, the broken clothes and tired laughs, the tiny room you call your home, makes hope flame in your heart, and that's the most powerful thing you've ever felt, > • So you decide, the next time is the right time to show him the most breathtaking part of the city, the most underrated part, > • The city sits next to the sea, used as a port for trade, > • But there's the small beach, your favourite place, somewhere many people think isn't big enough, grand enough to be worth anything, > • But you watch jinyoung's eyes as you show him the cove, sand covering the ground, the sea a dark navy from the night sky, a few stars fighting against the darkness with a few large, odd rocks bopping out from under the sand, the moon hazy ahead, > • And you can see he understands the small beauty of such a place, he just gets it, > • So you settle down on one of the rocks, dropping your feet a little into the water, leaning back to relax, Jinyoung making you the most relaxed you may have ever been, > • You feel him drop down next to you and copy your actions, your heart warms tenfolds, incredibly fond of this royal, > • Which honestly shocks you to pieces because weren't the royals awful and selfish? > • Is Jinyoung even a royal? > • At this point you didn't care, he was Jinyoung, he didn't care for the label added to his name so neither did you, > • "You are, perhaps, one of the most interesting people I have ever met, Y/N," > • You don't call out the fact that he probably hasn't met that many people, trapped in the castle, > • You move to look that him, the outlines of his face visible and the moon in the background, > • Jinyoung was a picture you never wanted to stop looking at, > • "Oh?" > • You smile softly as his gaze shifts to you, his handsome face coming into your view, another picture you're going to save in time as one of the parts of your life, a strong friend, > • "You put your life on the line for me every week, and what do I give in return? You really make me feel like there's no one else in the planet who matters," > • You can't say you felt butterflies, or bees, or any sort of animal in your heart or your stomach, but just a complete sense of safety, > • "You give more than you imagine Jinyoung, you bring a warmth to my heart I haven't felt for a long time, a happiness in my stomach, a dizziness in my head, a reason to wake in the morning," > • In that moment, you acknowledged this was a conversation perfect for your surroundings, > • for what else should you talk about in the dead of night, the sea beneath your feet and moon above your head? > • "Well you've helped me discover more than I thought possible, as well as my own heart," > • The shy smile encourages you to pull forwards into his warmth, > • And under the dark sky, the world falls apart as your lips touch with the promise of discovering a lot more.

[thebigdeepcheatsy]

Here’s an ancient fanfic I’ve been saving on my iPhone for years!

Flick's Revenge

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

I Guess Even Love Has it's Problems

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The sun slowly crawled up the pale blue sky. The last star vanished with no trace. Flowers took their time opening, sending spurts of bright colour scattered across Hyrule Field. It was ten years after Link's adventure in Termina. A sharp whinny filled the air. Link gently kicked Epona in the sides, holding loosely on to the reins. "Thats great, Epona! 'K, how 'bout a trot?" Tightenig his grip and shortening the reins, Link grabbed the neck-band and kicked Epona sharply.

They raced through the trees, branches and leaves smacking Link's face. It made it difficult but Link somehow managed to rise up and down with Epona. As he sped across a wooden bridge, sharp hooves clacking, Link vaguely saw a figure with a shock of green hair as they sped into a canter. Link stopped at the end, and tied up Epona. Then he reached his destination: Kokiri Village.

Saria ran straight for him. Laughing, Link swung her high into the air, whirling her around. Then he tickled her in all her ticklish spots. Saria flicked a green strand into Link's eye.

"Take that!"

"Oooh come here!!" They spent all morning playing, and at 5 to 12 the Kokiri gathered around him, begging him to stay. Link laughed, patting a girl on the head. "Nah sorry, kids. I'm having lunch with someone." They were immensely disappointed, but Link faithfully promised to visit soon, and they cheered up. Link pulled out the Ocarina of Time, and played the Requiem of Spirit.

"Link! Hi! You arrived by ocarina, I see!"

"Hey Nabooru!" Link smiled as he drew nearer her.

"Hey--I got a table set up in that room there. I'll just be a mo putting starters on, 'K." As she left, Link thought once more about how beautiful she was. So fiery. So independent. Link loved her sooo much. As she returned, Link desperately tried to NOT cry out: "I love you!!" but he failed. The Spirit Temple was silent. The usual soft music hummed quietly in the background, and Nabooru just stood, and stared. Then Link dumbly held out his arms. Nabooru giggled uneasily, like laughing at a joke made up by someone with a poor sense of humour. She walked towards him slowly, arms out. She looked a lot like Frankenstein and that kind of worried Link but his love for her was too great, to be afraid.

They dumbly hugged each other. Then Link gazed into her yellow eyes, and touched her lips softy with his own. They finished all three courses in silence, but when Link arrived at Lon Lon Ranch to get some eggs, he leapt up with joy as he told Malon. "...It was just sooo wonderful! She's like...like...heck, she's as pretty as Zelda!"

"Despite her nose." spat Malon acidly, who loved Link more than anything else.

"Ah her nose! The centre of ALL her beauty!"

'YUCK!' thought Malon. But to Link she said: "Really? You have an ODD way of looking at things, Link..." Malon fluttered her eyelashes at him, hoping to catch his attention of HER beauty, but he was babbling on SO much about his dear, sweet, GORGEOUS Nabooru, that she decided to ruin their relationship, but how?

~5 Months Later~

Nabooru squeezed Rauru's hand. Rauru patted her gently on the shoulder, as he led her up the aisle. The Requiem of Spirit was being sung by the monks, who usually sang the Song of Time. Link stared at Nabooru. She was wearing a pure white veil over her mouth, and her long, red hair hung loose. She was wearing a skanty white top with a triforce embroidered on the top. Her trousers were slightly different, they were a little slimmer, with a triforce sewn onto the seat of them. She wore golden shoes instead, and her belt was a PURE huge rupee. She was wearing her usual white gloves and heavy jewellery.

Link's mouth hung open. She looked AMAZING!! Link looked pretty good, too. White tunic and cap. With gold silk hose and shirt. His belt was highly polished brown leather with a gold triforce buckle. And, lastly, his boots were bright red (again with gold triforce buckles) and his gauntlets were the Golden Gauntlets.

Nabooru smiled shyly. The wedding was wonderful. But Malon sat, in her black mourning clothes, glaring all the way through. After the wedding, Nabooru took Link to Gerudo Fortress, his new home. They entered Room 500, Nabooru's 'flat'. It had a bedroom, a kitchen/Dining room, and a bathroom. Link nodded at all Nabooru's stolen riches, though most of it was passed down through her family lines, and she had promised not to steal anymore. "Breakfast is served at 8:00--9:00. If you miss it, theres a perfectly good kitchen here." Link nodded and grinned, and they got into bed...

"Link, I keep getting sick in the morning!". Link looked up from cooking lunch.

"What should we do, Nab?"

"Call the docter! Quick, for godesses sake!!" Link nodded and sped out the door, down the stairs, and rushed into the docter's room. Rita--the docter--looked up and smiled. "Yes, sir?"

"Rita! *splutter* Oh Rita--Come QUICK! *Gasp* It..it's *Pant* Nabby!" Rita grinned from ear to ear.

"Uh-huh? 'K, let's see our leader. hmm...I wonder...?"

Link had to wait outside while Rita inspected Nabooru. It was AGONY. The waiting was, anyway. Rita's grin was even WIDER when she came out. "Link--your wife wants to give you the good news, I think." Link entered, sweating slightly, heart pounding. He smiled shakily. "Y...yes, love?"

"Link, how would you like to be a father?"

"A...a father? Uh, yeah! I'd love to! Those sweet li'l Kokiri--they're sooo brill!"

"Well, congrats, Link--'cause I'm pregnant!"

"Really? Wow. That's great, Nab!"

~9 Months Later~

"Rita! Rita, Nabooru's water broke!!"

"Really? Let's go!!"

Nabooru went into labour about half past four, and the baby came out quarter past nine AM. When it was finally over, Link gazed at his baby. She was just like a gerudo--except for three things. 1. Pointed ears. 2. Blue eyes. And 3. Link's nose.

"What'll we call her?"

"Saloolu."

Malon now knew that she could NEVER have Link, and Talon was bugging her to marry.

"C'mon Mal, I wan' ya t'be safe, hon."

"So?"

"So ah'm yer father an' ya gotta obey me."

"Tough."

But eventually she married a young man named Tirong. And soon they had a son named Mirong. In time Saloolu and Mirong grew up. Saloolu was 21, and Mirong was a year younger. One sunny day Saloolu was walking with her parents (who, like Malon, were in their early forties, and were still quite active. They met Mirong, and immediately the two young adults fell in love. Nabooru winked at Link and they left Saloolu with Mirong. "See ya, Salli!" they called. "He'll be a nice friend for you!"

"Hi..." Blushed Saloolu. She wasn't that used to men outside her family, being a gerudo.

"Hey..." said Mirong.

"So..."

"Princess of the gerudos, eh?"

"Kinda."

"I'm Mirong."

"I..."

"Saloolu?"

"Ummm...yeah."

"MIRONG!!" called a new, sharp female voice. They turned around. There was Malon, hands on hips.

"Hi, mum! Hey--this girl is--"

"A no good gerudo!!"

"Hey, she's p...part Hylian...too.."

"Get to the ranch--NOW! And you." Malon turned to the startled Saloolu. "Shoo! And if I see you NEAR Mirong..." She left the rest unsaid.

Mirong stared sadly at the night sky. Grounded. The moon and stars seemed to smile at him. EVERYTHING reminded him of Saloolu. Especially Saloolu, standing below his window...SALOOLU????!!!!???? He looked down. There she was, beckoning him with a long, painted nail. He nodded, and climbed down. When he reached her, they hugged. "S...sorry about my...mum."

"It's OK."

"Still...I'm sorry."

"Y...y'know...I've been kissed by mum on the forehead by mum, and on the cheek by dad...but..."

"S...same with my parents..."

"I...I've never..."

"Not my first...my first...

"PROPER kiss..."

"We could..." Mirong looked at her...They pursed their lips...Slowly they pressed them together...They stood there together for a minute or two, before breaking away...

"Thanks, Mirong..." They joined hands and walked down to lake Hylia. The night sky was reflected in the clear, glassy lake. Special night flowers--Feldas--started to open. The flowers were pink, purple or blue. Princess Zelda's favourite colours. Mirong picked a blue one, and gave it to Saloolu. Saloolu smiled at him, staring at the starry night. Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder. Startled, Saloolu looked up. There was Malon, glowering at her. She shoved poor Saloolu into the lake, snatching her Felda. She then grabbed Mirong, and gave him a sound beating. Both verbally and physically. Saloolu thrashed wildly in the water. She was about to give up when a strong man in a Zora tunic lifted her into his arms.

"Dad..." Nabooru worriedly wrapped a red blanket around her. Rita came running forward, saying something. Everything was so hazy...

"...she's...she's DEAD!"

"Link, don't worry. I'm a PROFFESONAL docter! See, listen to her breathing."

"Rita...she's r...right Link..."

"Hey, you're worried too!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"D...da...dad...m...mum..."

"Saloolu!"

"She's safe! Oh Link she's SAFE!!"

"See, fine. Goodbye."

"P...please don't argue..." Saloolu was close to tears.

"Hey, shush, darling. You're OK."

"What happened?"

"W...well..." Link frowned as he listened.

"I knew it..."

"Knew what, Link?"

"Nabooru--she hates us and our daughter. She's JEALOUS of you!"

"Oh my..." Suddenly a fire arrow flew into the room. Saloolu stared. The place was alight!

"Nabooru--get Salli outta here! The chamber of Sages! I'll get the gerudo kids out. The nursery maids'll help me. And the gerudo's will stop the fire. GO!" crying, Nabooru took Saloolu to the chamber of sages.

All the sages were there--Zelda on the triforce symbol. "Nabooru--Malon's gone mad!" Zelda said. "Her love has become hatred and she'll do ANYTHING to kill everyone who likes you and your family!!"

"She's already killed Link--my son" sobbed Darunia.

"And my dad!" cried Ruto. "Along with half the Zoras. Me and some others only just escaped!"

"She set Kokiri village alight." whimpered Saria.

"And gerudo fortress." said Saloolu.

"And part of Hyrule castle market town." sighed Impa.

"And..." began Zelda gravely "she opened the evil realm." The chamber was silent. Saria whimpered.

"Daddy'll have t'kill Ganondorf again."

"That won't be easy..."

"Then I'LL do it!" Everyone stared, astonished. Zelda smiled.

"In a dream I saw you and Mirong sealing Malon and Ganondorf in the evil realm. I'll get Mirong and Link." When they appeared, Zelda explained.

"Are...are you sure?"

"Yes Mirong."

"Then I'll do it."

Malon and Ganondorf were cackling, sending Lighting bolts hurtling towards Lake Hylia.

"Hold it, mum!!"

"Mirong!"

"We're here to stop you!" said Saloolu coldly.

"AHAHAHAHAHAAA! Hey Malon, let's teach 'em a lesson, yeah?"

"'K. SUMMON KOUME AND KOTAKE!!"

The witches appeared, circling around Saloolu and Mirong's heads. The two gripped thier swords, thrashing the women and deflecting their attacks. They combined, 'excellent' thought Saloolu 'easier to pick off!!' That was certainly true! Then Ganondorf created a giant Red Chu-chu! They'd never seen one before, and they hacked helplessly at the pink goo. Then Mirong had an idea. He hacked through the disgusting gunge, and reached the heart. He equipped the Biggoron's sword, and slashed away at it. The chu-chu exploded. Disgusting! Then Ganondorf became Ganon and morphed with Malon!!

"What on Hyrule!!" It sent radioactive Lon Lon milk at them! The battle was awful! Their weapons did NOTHING!! Then Saloolu realized what she had to do. She had taken the Golden Gauntlets. So she put them on, grabbed a chunk of the ranch wall, said a prayer to bless it and...WHAM!

"NOW!!" boomed Mirong, and the sages sealed the two in the evil realm with a big explosion. It was beautiful. Saloolu smiled weakly. The people who died couldn't be raised, but all the damage was repaired. The sages and Lonk matierialized. Mirong was bent over Saloolu's body. She wasn't breathing. Slowly, with tears in his eyes, he bent down and kissed her lips. A great hole in the sky appeared and sent down a red light, a blue one and a green one. It filled Mirong, who passed some on to Saloolu, raising her!! They hugged, and a fortnight later, they married! And had twins. Sirong and Taloolu.

One night Mirong was gazing at the stars, and he sighed. "I guess even love has it's problems..."

~The End~

[larissaloki]

lost 5

“Hey punk you there?!” Bucky shouted as he walked a small ways into the jungle. The sun had only been in the sky 2 hours but Steve insisted in going out early, hoping to find tracks from the fleeing omega from last night. Unfortunately so far they had found nothing, not even after splitting a small ways to try and cover more ground. A muffled call comes from up in the tree, forcing Bucky to look up, craning his neck uncomfortably. Up high in the tree he can see the blond tuff that’s Steve’s hair through the leaves, it moves as Steve makes his way down. “I’m coming now! Can’t see anything!” Not that Bucky was surprised by that. With a frustrated sigh he looks around from the base of the tree. Not only had the two spies gone missing, but now they have no idea how friendly the omega is and if there’s other’s. Dropping down heavily besides him Steve wipes an arm across his forehead that’s dripping with sweat already with the humid heat. “There’s nothing, I can’t even find anything to give us clues on Natasha and Clint. Why would they go so far...? “ with a sharp narrowed gaze Steve turns to him. “I think there are more out there Buck. We have to be more careful...” Nodding, Bucky keeps looking around the trees in a futile attempt to find anything new.  “We need to get off the beach Steve, look for a more defensible spot. We’re to out in the open out here like this.” “I know. Where can we move to though Buck? We have no idea what the area is like. We need to scout out in small groups. Look for any possible places to set up.”   “You sure spitting up, even if only into two groups, is wise? I say we should stick together punk.” “It will slow us down Buck...” “I rather be slower but better chances to live punk..” Sighing Steve nods in consent, together they head back to the beach to pitch their plan to the others. On the beach Thor and Tony were trying, and failing, to catch fish from the sea. “Tis much harder than I thought would be...” “Shut up Thor...you’re barely even helping!!” With a frustrated growl Tony glares over his shoulder at the mostly useless god. Thor stood on the beach as he kept causing to much disturbance. Rubbing a water wrinkled hand over his face to try and compose himself, Tony turns his attention back to catching something. “Any luck there Tony?!” He heard one of the super soldiers from the beach call out. Not bothering to turn he waves a hand to tell them to bugger off. Keeping still he finally sees a small school of fish and guides a net, thats already in the water, around the fish and after a quick count, pulls it tight. Shouting in triumph he pulls the net up and makes his way to shore. Proud of his 7 fish he’s managed to nab. “Take that nature!! I got them!” Laughing joyfully he hands the fish to Bucky. Who took them away to properly prep them for them all to eat, being the best with a knife. “So did you two find Clint or Natasha?” Looking at the super soldiers Tony anxiously asked for the other two teammates. “What about Bruce?” “Sorry Tony...we couldn’t find any tracks for any of them. We want to ask all of your opinions on an idea me and Buck came up with.”

Moving as a group, they all moved to where Bucky is gutting the fish and settle in a circle so everyone can hear. “We think we should move off the beach, find a better spot to take shelter” Steve looks around the group making eye contact with each of them. “It’s to dangerous to stay out here-“ “What about the other’s?!” “Tony...they are all smart, they will be able to find us, we can leave clues around to help them. But there are creatures on this island that we have no clue as to what they are. There are potentially other people out there as well. We need to try and get better baring’s. At least find a more reliable source of fresh water rather than waiting for rain.” “Our captain has a point friend Tony...” Grinding his teeth Tony nods knowing that he’s out voted. “I just...we should try and stay in one area, optimise the chances of them coming across us...” Fists clenched tight Tony looked  up at Steve with a glare, letting it be known that he hates this plan. “However, you’re the Captain...” “Tony...don’t...I’m trying to decide what’s best here...” “Sure thing Cap” With a frustrated look Steve shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. At least Tony hasn’t outright refused to move. “Tis is a hard decision friend Tony but it’s the safest for us all” Nodding curtly at Thor, Tony feeds the fire more wood, nursing it to get bigger. Ready to cook the fish he caught. After eating the fish and scattering the fire remains after letting it burn out, they pack up what they can. Making piles of useful scrap metal for Thor to carry, Bucky carrying any large rope like cables and tools. Steve and Tony are left to carry any luggage that they may need and other supplies. Making their way into the jungle, slowly walking as a group, determined to find camp. “Tell me why again, why couldn’t we have left our crap on the beach?” “Because Tony” hefting the load a bit Steve responds without turning around. “The others on this Island may try and take it.” “...ok thats a good point...” Chuckling Bucky looks back at the genius, a stick in between his teeth to keep his mind occupied. “I think the heat is getting to you doll” Blushing at the teasing tone, Tony wink’s at Bucky. “Nah, it’s your ass thats distracting me babe~”  Laughing lowly Bucky faces forward again giving his ass a small wiggle causing Tony to laugh.  3 hours pass with only short breaks to drink and piss, taking a systematic route so as to make sure no hidden paradise is missed. It’s at the end of the 3rd hour that they come across a clearing, more accurately an old camp site. Broken down rudimentary huts are in a small cluster. The floor is littered in plant foliage and what was once benches and baskets around the centre of the cluster. Possibly the fire pit thats now grown over and filled up with weeds. None of the huts look liveable as parts have rotted and fallen away due to elements, others look like they have been purposely destroyed judging by the few knife marks they can make out. Cautiously, the group walk into the clearing. “What the hell happened here...” Tony muttered under his breath as he bends down to investigate what looks like a...bone? “A massacre is what happened here.” A smooth British voice speaks from behind the group. Twirling  around, dropping their burdens, the super hero’s get into defensive positions. Pausing when they see Loki standing there. Dressed in a simple green tunic that dirtied with sweat and mud, supple leather trousers and similar material boots. A shit eating grin on his face, long once lustrous hair is ruffled and dirty, at odds with his usual pristine appearance.   “Brother...? I thought you dead!” Shocked Thor moved forward as if to engulf his brother in a hug, but stopped short unsure how it would be received. “I am fine brother, a few scratches and bruises but in one  piece.” Moving towards the group Loki looks around the camp with distaste. As if it has personally offended him. “Please do not tell me you plan to stay here?” “Good to see you too Loki, what do you mean there was a massacre? Have you seen Clint, Natasha, or Bruce?” “I’m afraid not my good captain, as for the massacre- follow me and I’ll show you why I know that” Turning he heads off back into the jungle, clearly expecting the group to follow him. A small walk from the camp they come to yet another clearing. “Damn...this is a party that’s gone terribly wrong...” Swallowing thickly, Tony looks around the clearing as they have all frozen at the edge of it. The entire clearing is filled with bodies. Or rather. Skeletons of once dead bodies. Taking a deep breathe, Steve took a few steps, carefully, into the clearing to look around. Who ever these people where, they had gone down fighting. “Things just keep getting better and better...” muttering Bucky joins him his eyes clouded with concern. “Looks like we were right to leave that beach Stevie...that native we saw...could have been part of a group that did this...” “Native?” Confused Loki looks between them all for an explanation.

“Aye, a native saved us from a giant beast last night.” Humming Loki seemed to mull over this information. “Loki, have you come across any safe places to take shelter?” Turning back to him Steve quickly gets out o the clearing. The whole place feels creepy, he just wants to get out of here.

“Of course, where do you think I’ve been staying?” scoffing at them as if they are imbiciles, Loki walked away again leading them in a new direction. 20 minutes later he leads them to a cave opening.

“In here, there’s a waterfall inside for fresh water” Quickly the group get inside. Walking down a narrow walk way for about three meters, they stumble into a sudden rounded chamber, high above they can see the sky through a natural occurring skylight. On the far wall opposite the entrance is a crystal clear small waterfall with a small pool at the bottom. A tiny stream leads away into a hole in the wall allowing the excess water to filter out.

“Oh thank god!”

“You’re very welcome~”

“Shut up rock of ages...”

Grinning like a lil shit that he is, Loki winks at Tony who’s giving him an unimpressed look. Gratefully, they all move to separate areas dropping their stuff and collapsing onto the ground. Thor moved to the water’s pool to start collecting water in empty bottles for the group and passing it around.

“Thankyou for showing us this place Loki, I’m glad we found you.”

“As am I Captain. There’s a lot of dangerous creatures out here. Some are even able to become near invisible in the trees to catch unaware prey. There will definitely will be safety with numbers.”

“You met some of the creatures here? Can you tell us anything about any of them?”

“Unfortunately not, Most of the time I have had to run.” At this he holds up his left wrist, showing his magical restrainer. “Without being able to use magic I have no means of defence. Only advice to always keep watching your back. A lot of the creatures here hide up in the trees.”

Cracking his joints Bucky sits by Steve humming in thought. “ Must be to avoid that beast from last night, if I could I would stay up high from that” Nodding his agreement Steve looks down at the small dead fire pit that Loki had made in here.

“We best find the others quickly...”

[midlifes]

<p>He opens his blinds.<br /></p><p>The string is tough and stiff between his parched fingers, and skin tears away slightly with the pulling pressure, red marks welling up like bloody handprints. A crystalline light floods in, seeps into the details of the floor and throws open closed shadows, revealing sprinkles of dust and dries flooding shadows swamping the corners of his stagnant room. For a moment, his room is still, black stains on the covers glinting as if still fresh and clothes piled next to his mirror curled in a disturbing imitation of a body.  </p><p>His tomb now appears as merely a room.</p><p>He lowers himself down onto the bed covers, stares hard at the sheets picturing nights spent here fingering at his bones, feeling that ache in his eye sockets that called to him something of lost sleep.  It doesn’t feel good, like a relief – not anymore. It appears as wasted opportunities, frustration, a waking moment from a long dream. </p><p>When he raises his hands to his face, appendages alight with the bright morning blaze and the slight smell of Derek’s shower gel gently emanating from his skin, he doesn’t count his fingers.</p><p>Instead, Stiles rubs the sleep from his eyes.</p><p>+++</p><p>Time is available to him now in amounts he cannot fill.</p><p>Everything once foggy and heavy is strangely clear, no longer can he be lost in the feel of ribs and the acrid smoke of the bonfire site to the side of his spaced out neighbourhood. He watches from fatigued eyes, sees a horrible clarity to a situation he had previously acknowledged but was content to leave.  He doesn’t know where to start fixing this, feeling the fragments of his life splintered off and sunk deep in his flesh. </p><p>It could be too late.</p><p>Scott’s number is alike to a brick in his pocket. Its mere existence is a constant presence in his mind, fingers twitching at half composed texts floating in his mind that he will never send – “I’m sorry.” “I know it was my fault,” “I can never replace her. I want to take it all back.” </p><p>(I’m better off dead, you didn’t deserve this, I need you right now, buddy)</p><p>He sends nothing. By now, Scott will know about his wings. About the imperfections that haunted him from the beginning, the lies Stiles has been shielding away under layers and layers of cotton and polyester. It must seem an awful lot like betrayal. Selfishness would be to hound him further about it, to dig the sword entwined in his guts deeper still.</p><p>Scott doesn’t deserve that. None of them deserve the reminder. He knows now by shadowing them as he did, trailing along like the mockery of Allison’s ghost did nothing but prolong their grief, their pain.  Drag it out into an endless tedium.</p><p>Without the threat of death, the steady knowledge of his decaying being, a knowledge he now recognizes as something of a past comfort, it seems he is oddly adrift, a boat without a anchor. He pulls his sheets from his bed, screws them up and fantasies of tearing them, burning them, throwing their scattered remains out to a foreign ocean; but finds that instead he lies on the stripped naked mattress and listens to the small sounds of his father below.</p><p>Beneath his hands the mattress is scratchy, and this is a sensation he concentrates on as he mulls over the twisted strings of his relationship with his father - <i>Dad</i> - and how far away yet impossibly easier it appeared to cry in his arms, covered in disease ridden blood. There was a simpleness to dying that he missed, to knowing that it didn’t particular matter what his actions were as he was unlikely to see the consequences, or that any consequences would possibly be minor in the face of no longer being alive. </p><p>Below, Stiles heard the rustle of a plastic bag. </p><p>The sky outside is a peculiar gold, the aged kind staining old photos of young boys with bowlcuts on unicycles; it is the colour of sentiment, uselessness, nostalgia. Trees reach towards it, twisted arms branching as if to embrace it and falling short, mourning in fallen leaves and broken branches. It is at odd with the boyish twist of the curtains that frame this window-bound scene, a binary blue thats furiously male neutral and uncharacteristic. It isn’t the perfect moment. The discord is painfully dull.</p><p>He presses his face further into the covers, closes his eyes to the mounting hindsight and dusty sheen to the air. His back prickles with a slight chill incited by the thorough spread of paste over the struggling expanse of his wings. They are limp and sodden, oozing a trickle of antiseptic into the dips of his back as it drips from the downturn of remaining fatigued feathers. He should pull them out – promote growth, clasp his hands together in mock prayer, fingernails digging harshly into his skin, and hope they grow back in boring greys.</p><p>Bland. Conventional. </p><p>Fading.</p><p>A door slams, his father clears his throat and dust filters into his breathing air.</p><p>+++++++++++++++++++</p><p>It’s not a thing people talk about a lot.</p><p>He’d noticed. The focus kept its glassy gaze locked down on The Event, the reason for this chain of emotions and events. All the brochures and websites and quaint little get togethers say they promote healing, moving forward, looking to the future – but the inbetween?</p><p>There is a disconnect between now and the future, a bridge laden with broken boards and frayed ropes, one that stretches out over something dark and cold and steep. Stiles leans over the edge again and again, each aborted text a hand upon the bridges shaky sides, but as the chasm gapes out in front of him the gaps between each step seem wider and wider. </p><p>Stiles doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be mourning, now. Things were clearer when he was younger, but there are unreadable emotions which manifest themselves in ways he must second guess, interpret as if they are not his to own. To feel.  It makes his hands curl into tight fists, symbols of anger, if it were not for the nails that gorge small pools of blood into wrinkled life lines, cutting them short in mocking imitations of an action he cannot bring himself to. </p><p>He fears existing. Fears going downstairs and greeting his dad, making food, eating food, sleeping, doing work, having friends and responsibilities – leaving behind questions, responsibilities, promises. Concreting where he is now, though that is all the he can think to do.</p><p>So, he gets out of bed. The wardrobe is closed, still mockingly clean, and the clothes lined up inside appear alien. Bright shirts with comic book print, hoodies sporting Hoard symbols and crumpled formal wear; Stiles cannot imagine buying another comic, logging onto WoW or some other game and making up excuses of where he’s been, raiding with his guild and laughing over TeamSpeak. They wouldn’t have to know the truth.  It would be easy.</p><p>It all seems trivial in the face of the sheer amount of everything that has happened since he last sat down and did something he enjoyed. Something fun to pass the time. He can’t bring himself to care if his guild might have kicked him for inactivity when he’s died, murdered and almost killed himself in the time inbetween. It doesn’t matter he hasn’t caught up with any comics for months, he can’t bring himself to feel excited the book he’s been waiting on for three years has finally come back and it just fills him with an empty, grappling despair to consider going to the cinema alone to see the new Marvel movie.</p><p>Stiles finds he just wants to lie down. Just for a moment - but there never seems to be one long enough.</p><p>All it means it that he’s tired. All the time. Too tired to overthink wardrobe choices. He sighs to himself, and tangles his hand into the hanger of a blessedly plain t-shirt. Automatically, he pulls it on over and blindly grabs at a pair of trousers. They’re an off-grey while the polo is black, and where both were once well fitting they hang hauntingly from his body. He tries not to look in the mirror as he lifts a plaid t-shirt from over the cupboard doors top, ignores the flash of bone white arms and straining tendons as he slides his arms into the garment. It reaches mid-thigh, loose, and he wonders blithely where all of him went.</p><p>When he’s coming back.</p><p>His dad isn’t home, and Stiles moves slowly, joints pushing against water rather than air.  His bones are condensed matter, impossible to shift and digging into his internal organs, puncturing his lungs and filling them with coppery blood as he tries to breathe, ravaging his muscles and scraping at the inside of pale epidermis. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, and he’s not out of breath but he’s horribly worn out in a way that can’t be fixed by sleep or rest. When he tries to recall the journey down the stairs, his mind comes up with nothing and he pushes away the sickening dread as he reaches for the door.</p><p>Just tired. Just tired. Just tired. Just -</p><p>Derek is standing at his doorstep, hand extended. The Alpha looks just as surprised to see Stiles as Stiles as to see him, despite intuition informing him that Derek should have been able to at least hear him approach. He’s dressed as usual - jeans, a shirt that doesn’t seem to quite fit right and the same leather jacket as always. If he looked closer, which he doesn’t, he would notice the wrinkles in the shirt, the tail end of the belt hanging just short of a loop and what appears to be a receipt trapped in the zipper of one of the jackets many pockets. Indicators of tiredness, disorganization.</p><p>He does not look.</p><p>Stiles eyes flick back up to Derek’s face, and his hand falls from the space where the door once was. Derek’s own eyes are still discretely not at Stiles’s eye level, and if Stiles weren’t so utterly disconnected from the whole situation he might have been embarrassed. Or surprised. He’s vaguely aware he should say something stupid like a joke or a one-liner to greet Derek, scold him for being a creeper or over dramatize being shocked by Derek’s appearance; but he’s still floating like he’s in his own little self contained world where everything hurts and external stimulus is nothing but a passing current.</p><p>“I came to see-” Derek breaks off, pauses, “Check on you. Deaton said he hadn’t heard back…” More silence. There wasn’t a question, so there isn’t an answer. It all seems to take more effort than it should.<br /></p><p>“Stiles?” His eyes refocus on a concerned looking Derek, reading worry in slight lines and down turned lips, “Where were you going just now?”<br /></p><p>He stares back.</p><p>Where was he going?</p><p>“… Out.” His voice cracks over the word, accumulated dust in his throat breaking up and choking his words. He coughs once. Twice. Razor blades slide up the ridges of his throat, and tears that are not emotion prickle at his eyes. He was going out, and he can’t remember why, but he needed to leave. He pictures himself, sitting on that bed, the one he lies in so often - he’s sitting there, and he waves at a camera in the corner. Someone is laughing, laughing, it’s far away and it isn’t him. </p><p>“I could - give you a lift?” The offer is unusually timid, and Derek is fidgeting with his key in one hand, but his face determinedly still face Stiles, his eyes meeting his when he raises them. It’s <br /></p><p>“I-”<br /></p><p>“Let’s go eat somewhere.” Derek interrupts him, doesn’t touch him, but the ghost of a warm hand presses against his arm. It would usually be there, urging him, but now Derek just turns around and starts towards his car. It feels like a loss, a cold current, but Stiles finds he is relieved. As if physical contact is another hurdle to be scaled. <br /></p><p>He follows, because he was going to go out, and his dad has the keys to his jeep and his bike has long since rusted into the backporch. He wasn’t going anywhere, not really, and that may have been the point.</p><p>On his own, he cannot make progress. </p><p>Stiles sits down on the spongy car seat, feeling the cool leather where his hand brush against it to adjust his seatbelt. He stares down at his legs, fabric falling to the sides of their outline to reveal the true proportions of his legs. It’s sickly, haunting, and his skeletal hands stretch out on and on in bumpy bones and marked skin. He pulls down the sleeves of his shirt, covers his hands, and it’s here he remembers he has done nothing to disguise his wings. </p><p>They lurk behind him, unbound and weighty, pressing into the material of the car seat. He presses the hands he cannot bear to witness to his face, feels feathers shift against skin, and breathes in so deep the air scorches his lungs. There’s a shift deep in his chest; the arrangement of something vital, no unraveling, no biting realizations. There’s less room for his lungs to expand, and his mind fills with solutions, problems. </p><p>He could leave the car, go inside (oh god, he forgot to lock the door) and put on his binder, then come back out. He doesn’t want to talk to Derek, explain this, and what if he follows him and catches him undressing? Sees his wings? What if he’s forgotten and Stiles leaving, turning his back to him, will remind him? And if he does put on his binder, his wings could get bad again. Black liquid could cause his clothes to stick to him. If he stays - </p><p>Someone is counting down from ten softly, slowly, but firmly. </p><p>This time, it doesn’t take as long to emerge from the panic attack. This time, there is no warm, heavy weight to remind him of his physicality; only the slight cold of the cars AC and the methodical count down from ten. His cheeks are flushed, and as the hammer stops knocking on his heart a creeping sense of reality drags itself up his spine in cold, laboring sweat.</p><p>“Better?” Derek asks, softly.<br /></p><p>If there wasn’t a low, harsh buzz right behind his eardrums, Stiles might wonder how Derek could sound so sweet. </p><p>He nods, instead, and the bees in his brain shake around a little. He takes a deep breath, fixes his eyes on the buttons on the dashboard and lazily tracks the endless text on the radio screen. 07 CHEERS DARLIN - DAMIEN RICE 07 CHEERS DARLIN - DAMIEN RICE 07 CHEERS DARLIN -</p><p>Derek places his keys in the emission, Stiles clicks in his seatbelt, the music begins to play and Stiles can’t hear himself think. </p><p>++++++++++++++++</p><p>On the outskirts of town, there’s a diner Stiles can’t remember the name of. It’s connected to a petrol station, and the decoration isn’t charmingly old fashioned nor does the server have an inexplicable sweet southern slang like all waitresses at petrol stations do in the movies, regardless of origin state. He’s a teenager with acne and looks unbelievably nervous to be taking their order - it’s intrusive, note worthy. If Stiles had come here any other time in his life with any other person, they’d be joking about how the menu side sign is broken and only spells ‘me’, or about the cheap art on the walls of strange, feathered homunculi.</p><p>But he’s here, and it’s now.</p><p>The gnarled face of one of the creatures fixes him with a long dead glare from where it hangs on the wall across from him. It’s painted in greens and blacks, is pictured curled into itself in a twisted imitation of a leap with its mutated wing-like limbs almost dripping their dark feathers down in front of unsheathed claws, copper shades suggestively reflecting off the surface. A phantom prickle skims down his covered spine, the heavy weight of a secret pressing down on his expanding ribs as he watches the caricature of himself lie still in the frame.</p><p>Derek slides into the other side of the booth, cutting off the monsters glare.</p><p>“Cold?” He asks, pushing the salt and pepper pots to the side of the booth. They squeak across the plastic surface, and the coffee menu propped up against them drops on its side. A smiling pack of fries grins manically at him from its fallen position, announcing a recent price reduction in a spritzy font.<br /></p><p>He tears his gaze away, looks down, and says - “No.” Stiles feels like he’s been here a hundred times before in books and films, has been sat here at this booth everyday of his life waiting for the side character, the love interest, the bestfriend to say something that will make it all better. Something people can doddle on their pencil cases and write in their blog titles, a quotable phrase that summarizes what he’s feeling and simultaneously insinuates an opportunity to move forward, to progress. </p><p>But it’s not a film, as detached as he feels, and he doesn’t owe Derek an explanation for a single thing. The moment slides on, a truck parks outside and a deep voice calls something out in the kitchen. </p><p>By the time their food arrives Stiles can’t clearly recall anything since they arrived. Derek has a wrinkle between his eyes but Stiles doesn’t say anything, watches the cheese cool over his curly fries and drip down onto the container. There is quietness between them as neither of them eat, food acting as barrier of causality before them. Stiles wants to go home, craves the silent non-judgement of his bed sheets.</p><p>“Stiles, I… “ He’s floaty, in his placement - and is it just him, or is the cook looking at him from the kitchen? Whispering? Does he know? </p><p>“… said they should be better. But, are you?”</p><p>He flexes his hands and stares down at his order again.</p><p>“The w- … they’re better. They don’t, uh,” pause, breathe, “They don’t fall out anymore.” He glances over to the counter. The chef is gone. His skin crawls.<br /></p><p>That’s - that’s not exactly what Derek asked. And both of them know it. Derek finally bites into his burger, and Stiles tries to focus on the sound of the lettuce crunching between his teeth, and not pay attention to how his heart is horribly weighted in every pounding beat against his chest. He fights the urge to turn around, to look again. The werewolf opposite him fixes him with dark eyes.</p><p>“They miss you, you should know that.” <br /></p><p>Stiles open his mouth, and nothing comes out. Instead he blinks heavily, shivering inexplicably as a strange heat climbs and spreads across his pale forearms. He doesn’t know why he’s here, why he silently agreed to come out - not when he hasn’t in a week, not when he can barely stomach soup let alone curly fries. His wings are unbound, his vision is blurry and he hears a gasp he belatedly might be his own.</p><p><i>wake up wake up wake UP </i>-</p><p>++++</p><p>“Does this happen a lot?” Cars pass by the open carpark, segments of music drifting from their ajar windows in a strange, disjointed harmony that crashes against Stiles’s ears like the cold air on his tear stricken face. He doesn’t always cry when this happens; at least, he thinks so.<br /></p><p>“Yeah - it,” he coughs, throat blessedly wet for once but plagued by mucous, “I mean - just, uh. Yeah.” Not so much anymore. It’s not a cloying fear of death these days, it’s passed from the certainty of rotting into the ground to the paranoia of what the unknown could bring. <br /></p><p>Stepping off that crickety bridge, believing (wishing) there to be a stone one beneath you.6</p><p>“We made a mistake,” Derek is leaning full bodily on the open car door on Stiles’s side, looking out at the traffic like the tragic love story he is, “Leaving you as long as we did. We knew something was up, but Scott -” he pauses, left foot swinging back and forth where it props against his right calf, “… He’ll tell you that. It’s - you smelled like, like after the fire. All that sadness and,” <br /></p><p>Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his legs as Derek suddenly shifts downwards onto the balls of his feet, resting his warm palms on the knobbly angles of the younger boys knees. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Stiles. I know sorry will never make it right. I know saying it doesn’t change what happened, doesn’t change that we weren’t there. But you deserve to hear it.” He takes a deep breath, like he’d had it all rehearsed in his head, and leans his forehead against where his hands lay. <br /></p><p>In this position, his neck is unmistakably vulnerable.</p><p>His hot breath fans out against his leg, distinct despite the material barrier, and Stiles watches the neon lights reflect in the dark shine of the hair below him. The moment feels charged, meaningful in ways that escape him still. </p><p>“How many times did you repeat that in the mirror this morning?”<br /></p><p>Derek’s head shoots up, mildly disbelieving in yet another emotional show he never thought he was capable of, and Stiles cracks a grin he doesn’t quite mean.</p><p>Not yet.</p><p>++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p>The drive back is comforting. The seat is warm beneath his thighs, the darkness outside pressed against the windows like the fur of a giant black beast, an illusion of privacy fracturing only at its furthest edges where headlights skim across slight cat eyes and over reaching trees. That harsh freshness from the roadside stays with him as he leans against the side of the car door, head resting on a crooked arm - in this snapshot, this pause, he holds himself still and drinks in his sense. Saves this memory.</p><p><i>i must fight this sickness</i></p><p><i>find a cure</i></p><p><i>i must fight this sickness</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>+===========================</p><p>For this recipe, he doesn’t need a book. Most of the ingredients are frozen - they never keep anything in the fridge anymore, John always eats out and Stiles never eats - and he makes quick work of the preparation, only making the white sauce from scratch. This isn’t therapeutic. He hasn’t got the time.</p><p>His hands still ache from the cold night as he slips the deep set tray into the oven. It’s miles away, that car park. It’s miles away and it’s so fresh, so distant. A wake up call. A lullaby.</p><p>Stiles goes upstairs, and he changes his shirt, the mirror covered by a bed sheet haphazardly ripped from the mattress. A black stain distorts across the material. It’s these bits of himself, the things he leaves behind, dry skin and diseased blood, salty tears and bitten nails. Shards of himself torn away, discarded, and their presence is more tolerable than a peaked reflection watching him. Someone who should be him. Someone who doesn’t always feel that way.</p><p>A timer beeps downstairs, a car pulls up outside. </p><p>He doesn’t pull the sheet from the mirror, stares at the black stain that seems to spread across his vision and unconsciously touches at the angle of his wings, abrupt like a broken bone. </p><p>These are parts of him, also. Parts of his mother - parts that are not yet lost, and parts that can still be revived.</p><p>He starts with his father.</p><p>++++<br /><br /></p><p>They sit down at the table in Stiles’s nightmare. In his mothers space is nothing but air. Stiles splits the lasagna into six careful servings, feeling every second tic by in the blinks of his fathers eyes, visible in his periphery. He lays the slices onto chipped ceramic plates, tacky blue pattern blooming across like burst veins. Claudia would have produced an array of vegetable dishes to compliment the heavy meal. </p><p>Stiles stares at the singular square on his plate. He used to do better than this.</p><p> He shifts his cutlery, wincing at the sharp reverberation. Slowly, trying to keep the metal from grinding against the plate, he cuts the edge off and pulls it away. In his head, he had created the perfect meal - his mothers to the dot, a testament to something inside himself that whispered to him that he is <i>nothing </i>like his mother. That everything she was died with her. </p><p>But, he’s here because he’s not in his head. Not anymore.</p><p>“Son,”<br /></p><p>“I-”</p><p>They both halt, interrupting each other. Stiles skins prickles again with warmth in the silence, he has to -</p><p>“What the hell is going on, Stiles? I knew it was hard after, after -” He breathes out, “After Allison, but I thought things would get better. But nightmares? Never leaving the house? Where’s Scott, Lydia?” He runs his hand through his hair, had reaching for a bottle that isn’t there, “I have been worried sick, thinking you would sort through this on your own, but it’s like stepping on egg shells. You never talk, you’re losing weight, avoiding -”</p><p>“Dad, dad!” Stiles cuts through, more force than he thought he had left in his body entering his voice, “Dad it’s okay. Please, please just. Eat. I’ll… I’ll explain.” Under the table, his thighs are shaking and he feels in his diaphragm an urge to flee, to end this situation here and watch everything waste away from the safety of his room. He grips his knife and fork tightly. <br /></p><p>Dad doesn’t eat.</p><p>“The Nogitsune, uh, he- it - left something in my…” Stiles gulps, forcing himself to continue “My wings. They were rotting, and for a long time I thought it mean that, you know, it meant I was gunna die.” He stares hard at the plate, watching his dads miniature movements in front of him.</p><p>“And I think that I was okay with that.” He doesn’t let the pause continue, “I thought Allison’s death was my fault. And everyone couldn’t - didn’t - I don’t know… things weren’t the same. I thought it would be better I just…” tears collected at the edges of his eyes and the tremble of his lips made its self known in his voice, straining and warping it. “Just wasn’t. It seems like an over-reaction I know but -”</p><p>“<i>Stiles</i>,”</p><p>“But - it’s okay now. I mean, it’s not okay but I talked to Deaton - he was mum’s friend, you know? - and, and he knew and gave me this medicine and they started to clean up but I still…” his voice breaks, cracking in his dry throat and withering away.<br /></p><p>John comes run round the side of the table in an instant, grasping Stiles’ shoulder tightly, “Son,” Stiles tears up further at the word, can’t quite see through the watery blur but too unsure if he has permission to touch back to act. Social nuances seem so utterly overwhelming to read, he doesn’t know what this means, what is trying to be said. It is quickly cleared for him as is he pulled up into an embrace, comforting and desperate all at once, the sheriff murmuring into his shoulder small comforts, how if he had known he would have helped, how it wasn’t his fault, there’s nothing wrong with him; things he hadn’t heard from another for months and months.</p><p>Hours later, or maybe minutes, when they sit down to eat dinner, the cold lasagna doesn’t turn to a sandy ash in his mouth.</p><p><br /></p><p>++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p>None of this is a world-changing shift.</p><p>The next morning, John is at work and Stiles can’t get out of bed. His gaze bores into the ceiling, and he is so very tired of watching it. Waiting. His eyes feel as if they are about to disconnect from his skull to escape the tiredness, to leave behind the bloody imprints of his vision. He knows he has to get up, clean his wings and change his bed and - and nothing else. But he has to clean his wings, or they won’t get better.</p><p><i>So what?</i></p><p>Stiles rubs at his forehead with the side of his hand, the skin rough and dry against his face. A hopeless breed of frustration is rooted deeply at the back of his mind, sinking his skull deeper into his pillow; this moment felt alike to an eternity compared to yesterday. The phoenixes, the blooming stems rising from his half-existence had faltered, shriveled back from whence they had come, sheltered beneath inactivity and a deep lethargy. Safe. </p><p>Whatever energy had filled him, cleared the fuzziness from his head was now nothing more than a daydream. He couldn’t comprehend hosting such wakefulness, motivation when he was once again weighed down to his bed, ready to fade out into yet another day underlined by the dazing buzz of nothing. </p><p>At his bed side, his phone beeps. It was supposed to run out of charge days ago.</p><p>He doesn’t reach for it. </p><p>+++++++++++++++</p><p>“Hey son,” <br /></p><p>John sits at the edge of his bed. He has takeaway - a milkshake and curly fries - as an extension of goodwill. Or as a hopeful attempt at lifting Stiles’ mood. He talks normally, going over his day while taking off his boots, and Stiles hates himself for unable to smile back, engage. He glassily takes in the small details, the irrelevant details - coffee stains on a t-shirt, mud on boots and the receipt sticking from his shirt pocket that tells Stiles of a burger downstairs (he wants to joke with his dad, wants to tell him off for eating red meat when he knows it’s not good for him; but it’s been so long. Too long. Stiles has lost his right to comment on that the moment he disconnected from reality. The moment he endangered everyone. It’s not his line to say. He’s been off script for a while now. ). </p><p>“…that it could help, kid. Only if you want to. It would help me sleep a lot easier, but I don’t think that’s the problem, hmm?” <br /></p><p>He phases back in, sensitive to the question hanging in the air. Once again, he finds his eyes have come to rest gazing at his hands.</p><p>He can’t stop checking.</p><p>“Sorry? I…uh.” John’s face breaks out into a gentle smile, wrinkles slotting into place around his features. He drops his shoes to the bedroom floor, the fall soft on the carpet, and lays a warm hand onto the stark cold of Stiles’ arm.<br /></p><p>“A therapist, councilor - anyone for you to talk to. Hell, may even be some supernatural ones around. We’ll find them if we need them. I just want - need - you to be okay,” The grip on his arm doesn’t change at all, neutral, careful, measured.<i> Stepping on eggs</i>. Stiles wonders what it looks like to other people. What <i>he</i> looks like to other people.<br /></p><p>Sad? Sick? Attention seeking? His chest tinges a little at the thought, something small and bitter curling up close to his arteries. He was always desperate for attention, as a kid; that Stilinksi who broke the crayons, threw a fit in class, kept pinning his pictures up on the teachers board and the kid who shouted ‘look at me, look at me!’ in the playground. Look at me has to be a little more subtle, when you get older, look at me has to be loud jokes and getting into trouble. Sneaking out and laughing hard, desperately clinging onto the people around you in the most non-invasive way possible. If you’re fun to be around, people won’t leave, right?</p><p>Until you murder someone close to them.</p><p>His phones burns with significance at his bed side table, and a deep hollowness echoes at the hole in his chest with the mere thought of picking it up.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah… sure.”<br /></p><p>He’s so tired.</p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p>Orbs clump together on the window pane, transparent and horribly miserably, devoid of any colour but a deafening storm grey framing them from the sky above. Droplets tap heavily and persistently against the roof and window sill, only hitting the window when gushes of cold wind direct them so. From his computer desk, Stiles watches the scene blankly as his hands hovers over his charging phone, USB wire trailing perilously close to his feet.</p><p>He’s seen this moment too. In movies. </p><p>Along his bare back his wings lie, heavy with water and slimy along his the receding ridges of his spine. Sticky and suffocating, the remains of his infected being leak from the follicles of his feathers, seeping plasma and red red red as tiny, healthy pieces of him are torn away with it to run down around his toes in the shower. Infected and bedraggled feathers malt and clog the drain each time, and he gets to his reddened knees, water running cold, and scoops up these precious corpses to saviour away. </p><p>Bleed out the infection. Bleed out what’s left.</p><p>Stiles can look at himself in the mirror, and count to three, and smile. He can murmur jokes to himself as he strips his bed clean, he can imagine responses to conversations he cannot fathom even beginning. But there’s suddenly nothing left - he doesn’t know what filled this space before the Nogitsune ripped it into existence, but it’s long gone and it’s remaining traces, if any, are far too subtle to pick up on. <br /></p><p>Who is he without this? </p><p>Pale fingers clench down on his phone, and he drags his gaze from the spiralling train of thought in his head to the glowing lock screen of his phone. 1:23pm. 1 missed call(s). SCOTT: Text message. DEREK: Text Message (2). <br /></p><p>Derek’s texts date from a few days ago, and Stiles cautiously swipes over them and types in his passcode. The messenger interface instantly springs up, a few lines of grey popping up on the right hand side.</p><p>YOU NEED TO GET OUT MORE</p><p>SCOTT WANTS TO TALK WITH YOU</p><p>Stiles’ brow scrunches up at the text, something deep settling down on his diaphragm. He tries not to consider the words too deeply and brings up Scott’s chat, pushing back the mounting emotional response to get away from the little lit up screen and cling to his bed sheets.</p><p>CAN I COME OVER?</p><p>He looks up at his computer display, eyes tracing over the words of an article on anti-wing campaigns rising in the west of the state. Business’s owned by wing folk being boycotted by locals, protests outside places of law and the growing pressure on officials to acknowledge “those abominations” as sub-human beings; genetically differential enough for human law and morality to exempt them.</p><p>Him.</p><p>SURE</p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p>Siting here now, Stiles realises that in little bits and pieces he had been forgetting Scott. Foremost, he cannot recall what that crooked smile felt like when directed at him, how that warm laugh felt directed at you and only you, how comforting each small, frequent touch was in conversation, in passing, even in absence. He had been letting these details go, freeing them, making it hurt less to consider the perceived betrayal. </p><p>And it aches all over again, now.</p><p>Because Scott looks well. He doesn’t look like a Scott that has been fretting over anything, he doesn’t look overly tired or ill he even worn down. He looks healthy, happy - regretful, but determined. Stiles curls around that little rotting core of his, shelters the jealousy, the bitterness so close it couldn’t possibly escape.</p><p> People can move on, recover, accept. Except him.</p><p>“I’m glad you let me come,<br /></p><p>“I didn’t deserve to have this chance and I know - well, I think, it might have been hard for you to see me. And that’s understandable, it’s fine, I would get that.” Scott isn’t looking at him anymore, “A lot happened that we should have talked about, and at the time I wasn’t in a place where I felt I could do that. I was angry, I lost Allison… I blamed you - but I shouldn’t have, because you didn’t do it. But I did blame you then. I don’t anymore and I should have been able to see it back then that you weren’t in control, and how I felt is no excuse to how I acted. I know one apology can’t make that up to you – but I have never regretted anything more than I,” he rubs at his eyes, tears reflecting the warm orange of a nearby light.<br /></p><p>“Than I regret leaving you like that. I regret every single second I treated you as anything less than my bestfriend. You were never the nogistune. You were always Stiles and that never changed. I should have been there with you, I should have been able to support you. We could have supported each other. I still see you as my bestfriend, and I know that you might see me the same and I can understand that because in your position - after what I did, what I was still doing till now - I wouldn’t have even wanted to see me. And - And you’ve always meant to so much to me. I just need you to know that I was wrong to think what I thought, and that you owe me nothing and can kick me out of this house right now if you need to,” He smiles shakily, falteringly, and looks up to meet Stiles’s eyes.<br /></p><p>“But I want to make things right. If you’ll let me.”<br /></p><p>There’s an immediate mixing of emotions in the silence that pass that is difficult for Stiles to compact solely into one expression. Scott is wrong - Scott is wrong because it was Stiles’s fault, he did kill Allison and it’s not right that he apologizes for thinking that because Stiles needs to be held accountable. And - and it’s not right. None of it is. But a small portion of his mind is wonderfully satisfied that Scott acknowledged what he did, wants to kick Scott, never forgive him - when there is nothing to forgive. Not really.</p><p>“If you need to think I can go -”<br /></p><p>“No,” his voice sounds dry even to him. “No, stay - I,” he shakes his head, grips his hair with his hands. Everything had made perfect sense until now.<br /></p><p>“You don’t…you don’t think it’s my fault that Allison…” he can’t finish the sentence, can’t work his tongue over that heavy word. Allison died. Allison was murdered.</p><p>Scott looks mildly horrified “God, no. Of course not - you weren’t even in the same body as it, and even when you were that wasn’t you doing any of that. I - if anyone said otherwise it’s not true. I was an idiot. We were all idiots for the way we treated you. Allison was your friend too, we should have…” he lapses back into silence, eyes roaming far away. There was so much they should have done, Stiles thinks bitterly. The thought is strangely distant from his own beliefs. </p><p>“You deserved better,”<br /></p><p>Stiles almost laughs.</p><p>“I really, really don’t. I got exactly what I deserved. Well - not exactly,” He smiles grimly. He doesn’t try to wonder after where that thought had come from. What drove him to say it.<br /></p><p>“You don’t mean that. God - Derek was right,” he puts his hand to the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of self comfort. Scott sighs deeply.<br /></p><p>“We made a mistake, leaving you alone as long as we did.”<br /></p><p>Stiles twitched at the repetition.</p><p>“But I want to fix that. What do you - I mean, you haven’t said much. Is this okay, Stiles?”<br /></p><p>“I don’t know, Scott,” The name feels out of place on his tongue, “I think it’s my fault. I don’t want… I don’t know, fuck.” The cloudiness is painful, he realises, it is this way because he can’t put things together. Make a clear picture. <br /></p><p>“I’ll leave, if you want. I don’t want to… I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Stiles.”<br /></p><p>He hides his face in his hands, smells copper under his nails and listens to the front door close softly.</p><p>++++++++++++++</p><p>++++++++++++++</p><p>He thinks, the next few days, he thinks and he stares.</p><p>Sometimes he has the energy to get up, and sometimes he doesn’t, and in between those two states he drifts into a strange lack of consciousness. Here he plays out the neat little apology Scott has delivered to him - </p><p><i>You were never the nogitsune</i></p><p><i>We could have supported each other</i></p><p><i>We made a mistake, leaving you alone as long as we did</i></p><p>Spoken mechanically, an apology rehearsed again and again, checked over and replaced and rewritten. It tastes too <i>plastic</i>, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. He cared enough to script it, to lick at his teeth and squint at his word choice, to go over continuously an apology that could have well been an attempt at alleviating a guilty conscience. Something insincere. Something to excuse, not regret.</p><p>It’s confusing how he feels, it’s -</p><p>A lot of nothing. Sentiments borrowed from others. His father is happy Scott apologized, angry it took that long, resistant to the idea of Stiles forgiving him. <i>Friends don’t do that</i>. Stiles thinks that he should feel relief that Scott has forgiven him, that he should grasp this apology and leech his friends kindness til he’s finally full again. Saturated. Real.</p><p>He thinks, too, that he is allowed to be bitter.  That it isn’t selfishness that makes his throat go dry and eyes crinkle when he has to cradle in his hands the fact that all this time, <i>all this time</i> he spent curled up in bed, crying and starving and numb, feeling intensely and shortly at times inconvenient to him, Scott was holding out on him. Stringing his pain along, drawing it out like he believed Stiles really did deserve it under all those pretty, perfect words. </p><p>At the moments when he is out of bed, on the back porch or standing in the kitchen, avoiding and the fridge and the table and the dishes, he can connect the dots between these. He can feel mixed, there is no right answer, no wrong response, and he’s allowed both. All. He can be bitter, he can be guilty, he can feel worthless and undeserving and angry and betrayed. The existence of one does not cancel out the other, and he hates that it can be so obvious in one second, cloudy and comprehensible in the next.</p><p>Scott said, “You deserved better.” and looking out at the sky, he can believe that. He can also believe that holding himself to any value makes him a bad person, makes him greedy, arrogant. That, after all that has happened and all he has done, there is very little that could be better. He deserved worse. But he knows, somewhere very deep and shadowed, that if Scott truly believed it wasn’t his fault, then, in his eyes, he has done Stiles wrong.</p><p>It’s a compromise. </p><p>It would be easier, if he could die. </p><p>He texts Scott, asks him;</p><p><b>> DID YOU MEAN IT?</b></p><p><b>YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN IMPORTANT TO ME</b></p><p><b>I’M SORRY I EVER MADE YOU DOUBT THAT</b></p><p>+++++++++++++++</p><p>Fluoxetine, 20mg. </p><p>Prescribed before therapy was even suggested. The next time he unwraps himself from his covers to the soft voice of his dad, on the right side of noon and time enough for a separate breakfast and lunch, even, he types it in on google. Buries himself under walls of text, </p><p>He rubs his forehead with a dry hand, feeling vaguely frustrated. He was supposed to feel better, making things better with his dad. Having emotions, confiding, giving himself some support, thought he felt he didn’t entirely deserve or need it. The notions were something that felt automatic, selfish. And he didn’t feel better, different; the fresh hope from last night has dissipated with the moon. </p><p>Everything feels like square one again. Why get better? Why treat his wings? Why try and make things okay between him and his dad, Derek and others when he doesn’t have the motivation to act on anything they say? Instigating, engaging… all signs he’s trying. But he’s not. </p><p>He holds the side effects in his hands. Thin paper, folded too many times to slot in next to two foil trays. He started feeling sick, can’t eat if he wanted to - and that’s normal. It says right there, under common symptoms. He trails a finger down the more extreme, hesitates over brain bleeds and muscle seizures, narrows in on the point between them.</p><p><i>Suicidal thoughts.</i></p><p>Stiles doesn’t think he has the energy to carry anything elaborate out. He’s vaguely disappointed when google informs him he cannot, in fact, overdose on SSRIs. That might have been nice, slow, sleepy. Or maybe painful.</p><p>The screen is still open when his dad pushes open the door, plate in hand, cup in the other. He doesn’t see it straight away, sets them down on the desk, asks how Stiles is feeling, says he’s glad to see him out of bed. </p><p>(<i>Stiles, why are you looking at that?</i></p><p><i>You can’t </i>-)</p><p>Derek is sitting at his kitchen table.</p><p>He lost time, or maybe he didn’t. His head hurts, and he remembers his fathers hands on his shoulder, a shaking from somewhere outside of himself. Cologne, a cupboard locking. Wanting to cry but being too wrung out to do so, trying to explain something no parent should have to hear -</p><p>“She helped me, after Kate. A normal person…” he hesitates, “You’d have to lie a lot. That’s not what it’s about.”<br /></p><p>Stiles stares dully at his hands.</p><p>“It’s - hard. People will say that a lot. They don’t understand, they-” His voice breaks. Stiles tucks that away somewhere, pushes back empathy that edges at his eyes; it’s different. <br /></p><p>“… She helped me. When your dad called I thought -,” A sharp intake of breath, Derek doesn’t have any fidgets, any tells. He doesn’t make eye contact, “She can help you, too. Maybe. I gave her card to your dad. I’d like… I want you to go -”</p><p>“It’s okay, Derek. You don’t have to,”</p><p><i>1, 2, 3, 4-</i></p><p>“Stiles-”</p><p>“Don’t,” he requests, softly. He doesn’t want to hear more. Can’t fit it all together, right now, slot it into a timeline of events. </p><p>“I feel like I have too.” It’s painful. His headache spikes, and he thinks of his bed sheets - unmade, as they have been for months. Thinks of pixels forming into words, a buzzing anxiety that peaks at the thought of his father, his hands - on his shoulder, against his arm, holding. Careful. His breathe, and;</p><p><i>I can’t lose you, too.</i></p>

He rubs his forehead with a dry hand, feeling vaguely frustrated. He was supposed to feel better, making things better with his dad. Having emotions, confiding, giving himself some support, thought he felt he didn’t entirely deserve or need it. The notions were something that felt automatic, selfish. And he didn’t feel better, different; the fresh hope from last night has dissipated with the moon. 

Everything feels like square one again. Why get better? Why treat his wings? Why try and make things okay between him and his dad, Derek and others when he doesn’t have the motivation to act on anything they say? Instigating, engaging… all signs he’s trying. But he’s not. 

+++

In between, anxiety worms its way beneath his skin, breaking out in cold sweats and goosebumps. 

makes dinner for him AND his dad. eats with him. lasagne doesnt rot in his moth. says wings are better - end “i have something to tell you” +is about werewolves+

—

scott knocks on door. talk - explains at the start he didnt want reminder from stiles, would rather forget how he felt about allison/everything with Kira and that it wasnt healthy. stiles says he doesnt forgive him yet, but can start by proving to his dad about werewolves.

—

have pack get together, is awkward and aware . lydia pulls himaside before and apolgies, says they’ll make up to him. isaac doesn’t trust him, but they did him wrong. stiles is still depressed, suddenly having a social life doesnt vastly improve it, reference to a prescription is made. 

(stiles starts to go uout. derek on his driveway. says he was going (…. somewhere). derek asks him to local restauarnt. stiles say no- doesn’t want to bump into anyone. derek takes him to a diner just out of town.)

(vivid detail at a diner - eating curly fries. too much vinegar. feels exposed with wings, sit into corner of booth. asks how wings are, why didnt want to eat anywhere in town. says pack misses him. 

[lokissanctuary]

Ru’s Dream Come True, Ch.14

Final chapter of an original fanfic in which Loki follows a dream of a beautful woman and ends up at a Renaissance Festival!

Ch.14.

Meanwhile, Teia and Sage have wandered off in search of garb that will make their otherworldly visitors stand out less in a crowd. The two of them hurry along the path away from the booth, coming soon to  a crossroads. 

“So, where should we go first?” Sage asks, looking around at the different shops, thinking of where they can find the best options to suit the Asgardians. Teia looks at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know…” She says slowly. They are standing in front of a shop selling hand-crafted leather boots, that are very popular at the Faire. Sage turns to Teia and asks “Did you see what they were wearing on their feet? Do we need to get them some boots?” Teia gives the booth a frown. “I think they were wearing boots already- and we don’t know their size.” Sage nods at this, already thinking of their next stop. “We know we need to hurry- lets head towards the joust field. Theres a small stand there that should have some base pieces in their size.” Teia nods at this, and the two make their way in that direction, passing more shops and a bustling pub, spilling over with drunken pirates. As they reach the narrow way past the pub, a pub crawl starts coming at them from the other side, forcing them to squeeze next the shops to avoid being trampled. As they force their way past, one of the hosts of the crawl shouts “Kilt!”, forcing all the crawlers to drink, as a man in a kilt has just been spotted. This gives Sage an idea. Once the crowd of drunkards has passed, Sage looks at Teia and says “Kilt!” “What?” Teia asks, unsure why Sage is babbling random words at her. “Kilt!” Sage insists. “We should put Thor in a kilt! I know they’ll come in his size, and its completely different from what he’s currently wearing.” Teia’s eyebrows lift in surprise at this, but slowly, she begins to nod. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.” She says. “I know, right?” Sage says. “And its right up here!” She gestures at the small hill that leads to the best kilt shop at the Faire, and the two start up it, reaching the shop in short order. Just before they go in, Sage pauses and looks at Teia. “How are we gonna know his size?” she asks, looking concerned. “Just leave that to me.” Teia replies. “I’m a seamstress, remember? I sized him up the minute we met.” “Uh huh, I’m sure thats all you were “sizing up””. Sage answers her sarcastically, as they enter the booth. Teia shoots her a mischievous glance as a shop hand rushes over to them, eager to assist. 

“How can I help you girls?” the bearded, kilted man asks, with a friendly smile. Teia steps forward to speak. “We need a kilt- I’m thinking Pride of Scotland- in about a 45?” The bearded man nods. “I’ll be right back- I believe we have that one in the back.” He disappears into the back storage room of the booth, and quickly reappears, holding a new kilt in his hands, still bound with the threads that hold the pleats together. “All I have it in is the Utilikilt- will that be alright?” Teia and Sage look at each other. “It’ll have to be won’t it?” Teia says, more to Sage than anyone, and nods. “Sure. Do you have any shirts to go with it, say a double XL?” “Yup.” comes the swift response. “You want black or white?” Sage looks at Teia. “Go with black- a complete difference from his normal look.” Teia nods at this. “Black then.” The shop helper nods again, and fetches the long-sleeved black shirt from a tall display, with the help of a long metal hook. “Will that be all?” Teia and Sage look at each other, and Teia speaks “Yeah, I think so- oh! Add a kilt pin.” Sage nods at this essential, choosing one with a triquetra on it for the Norse prince. The shop man gives them their total, and neatly bags their purchases,  waving them out of the shop with a cheery “Fare thee well!” 

Once outside, Teia glances at her anachronistic Fitbit, seeing that time is ticking away. “We need to hurry.” She says to Sage. “Where to next?” Sage thinks just a moment before replying “Renaissance Fashions- the one over near the joust field- they’ll have plenty of base pieces to fit Loki- and then we can pick them both up something from Crimson Chain.” She looks to Teia to confirm this plan. “Lets do it.” Teia says, leading the way towards the Renaissance Fashions tent. Once there, Sage speedily chooses a green tunic and black pants for Loki,smiling at the fact that the v-necked tunic has gold knotwork edging on the collar and cuffs. Dishing out more of the conjured money, the pair now head to Crimson Chain Leatherworks, where the finest leather products at the Faire could be had, and at the best prices. Stepping into the booth, they are both met with a cheerful “Hello!” by most of the staff- they are quite well-known here. They proceed directly to the side of the booth that sells mens clothes, and then they look at each other. Glancing through the racks, there is one obvious choice for the trickster god- a leather jerkin, that closes in the front with metal latches, in black with green accents. For Thor’s look, they choose a pair of black leather bracers, to go with the Scottish look they are trying to give him. Black belts are chosen for them as well, and to complete the look, they purchase them both metal tankards with tooled leather wraps- a speciality of this shop. For Thor, an image of Mjolnir, tooled on brown, and for Loki, Sage finds the last Celtic wolf in the shop, tooled on a strange burnished gold color. Bringing their armload of items to the counter, the shop manager looks pleased with how much they are buying. “Someone went on a shopping spree.” He comments lightly, totaling all their purchases together with a grin. Sage speaks first at this. “Yup- need to spoil some friends.” The man ringing them up only nods, as he begins folding things and putting them into bags. Their total comes to over $1,000, and Teia begins counting out the folded wad of cash, separating out hundreds as she goes. The sight of this much in cash actually does pause the manager, and he almost stares as Teia neatly stacks the requested amount and hands it to him. They now have a much smaller stack than they left with, but they still have quite a lot, and Teia carefully stows it away out of sight. Shaking himself a bit, the man finishes their transaction, and gives them a receipt along with their bags. “You all have a great day now.” He says, smiling at them as they depart. 

Standing now outside the shop, the two are  now loaded down with many bags from the various shops. Sage looks at Teia, and almost starts to laugh.

“What so funny?” Teia asks, a bit confused as to why Sage has randomly burst into giggles. 

Struggling to speak over her mirth, Sage speaks “Look at this- we are standing in the middle of Faire, hands full of garb we have just bought to help hide actual gods that have just appeared on the grounds. Tell me thats not funny to you.” Looking at Sage with a bit of an odd look, Teia nods. 

“That is pretty funny, actually. But right now, we need to get this to them and get them in it- and out of Holly’s booth.” Teia replies. Sage nods to this and with a “Lets go!” they both hasten back towards the booth, pushing through the throngs of people that were filling the narrow lanes. They quickly arrive back at the booth, and Sage heaves a sigh of relief as she can see Holly still in the front, busy with a queue of customers. She leads Teia to the tiny back room, where Thor, Loki and you still wait. Sage swings the door open just enough to step in, and now the room is full, forcing Teia to wait outside, holding the door open. 

You almost jump as the door opens, half-expecting someone other than Teia and Sage to be standing there. One you realize that it is them, you relax a little. You are currently cuddled into Loki where he leans against the wooden bench, and Thor is crunched under the low beams opposite the two of you. Thor beams as he sees your two friends, and he approaches them. 

“Finally! It has been too long since you left us- what disguises do you bring?” Thor’s voice is loud and merry, and Sage hurries to shush him. 

“A little quieter, please- remember, not attracting attention?” Thor looks momentarily chagrined, before smiling again. “Sorry.” he murmurs, softer this time. Teia has already begun separating out which items go to which prince, and she hands the stack of kilt, shirt, belt, and mug to Thor with a flirty wink. He gives the bold black and purple tartan a strange look, before setting it down and starting to disrobe himself. He is not at all shy, and does not care if anyone is watching. You immediately turn around, not particularly wanting to see the god of thunder naked. Teia then reaches in and hands Loki his stack of garb, the gold edging on the tunic shining even in the dim light. He gives you a truly mischievous look as he quickly removes his own clothes, showing off his slim, pale muscles as he changes. A sexy smile plays on his lips as he slowly draws up the black trousers, sliding them over himself with sensuous gestures. The green tunic seems to please him, as he runs his fingers along the embroidered edge before slipping it over his dark head. A practiced twitch of his hands settles his hair neatly over his shoulders, and he is reaching for his belt when an exclamation is heard from Thor. 

“What the Hel is this?” Thor asks, sounding outraged. “You would have me wear a skirt?” He is  already clad in the black shirt, but he is holding up the kilt, looking insulted as he examines it. Sage just shakes her head and laughs silently, while Teia explains. 

“No, no- its a kilt. Its a traditional garment from my people- the people of Scotland. Both men and women wear them- however, if you want to wear it properly, you can’t wear anything underneath it. Wearing something under it is what turns it into a skirt.” She ends this explanation with another suggestive glance, this time at Thors  currently- naked groin and then back at his face, a broad smile now on her features. The blond god looks skeptical at this, but seeing as his choices were currently limited, begins trying to put it on. His unskilled attempt at this brings Sage to even greater laughter, so much that she is struggling to stay silent. Teia moves forward, to assist Thor, and leaves Sage to hold the door, allowing everyone more room to maneuver. “Here, let me.” She says, reaching out to take the kilt from Thor and fasten it properly. “I grew up with all boys- helping with kilts is nothing new to me.” Deftly, her hands find the buckles and fasten it around Thors muscular waist, adjusting the drape and afixing the kilt pin with a practiced hand. “There- you look very handsome.” she says with a smile as she steps back to inspect her handiwork. “I assume you know how a belt works- or did you need help with that too?” She teases him gently, holding up the long black piece of leather. Loki snickers at this, having since finished clothing himself in the rich black and green jerkin, with the belt and mug hanging from his waist. He is reclining back against the table again with his arms folded, watching Thor and Teia with an amused smile on his face. 

“I know how a belt works.” Thor grumbles, snatching it from her hand rather more roughly than he may have intended and sliding it through the belt-loops, tightening it with a grumpy lowering of his eyebrows. Loki grins at this exchange, and looks to you. 

“I like her.” he says, nodding his head at Teia as he speaks. “She amuses me.” Teia gives him a sardonic smile at this, with one eyebrow raised. Looking around the small space, Sage pipes up. 

“It looks like everyone is dressed- we should tuck their other clothes in our tote box, and get them out of here, so that Holly can eat.” She looks to Teia, who confirms this, and points to the plastic tote tucked in the low corner of the booth. Thor and Loki look at each other for a moment, and then bend to pick up their clothes, Loki folding his neatly, and Thor wadding his up in an untidy ball before shoving them into the box, with Loki following and gently inserting his and closing the lid. They both then look to Teia and Sage, who then look from them to each other. The moment is almost comical, and you find yourself giggling. Sage shoots you a skeptical look, with one eyebrow raised, but then turns back to Teia. “One more thing- if we are trying to hide their identities, they should probably go by different names. “Thor” and “Loki” are a little obvious.” Teia looks surprised for a moment, but then nods at this.

 “Yes- I hadn’t thought of that.” She then turns to look at the pair of gods. “Is there anything else we can call you, that you will answer to- like a nickname?” Both princes give her strange stares, and Thor speaks first. “Why would the sons of Odin have nicknames? Our names are our identity, and we bear them proudly.”  Sage’s hand come s to her forehead in a classic gesture of frustration, and she sighs as she looks at Teia. 

 After a moment, Sage has a thought. “Maybe we could just go with it?” Sage proposes. At Teia’s confused look, she continues. “Just tell people their parents were hippies, if they even ask. Here, that’s not that weird.” Teia looks thoughtful for a moment, and then nods. 

“Sure, why not.” With that statement, Sage looks around at the assembled, and gives a nod. Everyone seems to know what she means, because as she leads the way out of the narrow door, all of you fall in a line and follow, with Teia directly behind Sage, and Thor following her, with you next and Loki bringing up the rear. 

As you emerge, you blink in the bright sunlight, and a passing group of rowdy pirates nearly bowls you over on their way to the pub. Seeing their drunkenness reminds Thor of a promise from earlier, and he turns to Teia and Sage. “I was promised some of your Midgardian ale. Lead the way to it!” Sage and Teia look at each other, and Sage gives a half-hearted kind of shrug. 

“We did say he could.” she says, with a small smile. Teia sighs, having a gut feeling that adding booze to Thor could only be a bad idea, but not seeing any easy way around it. 

“Fine.” Teia says. “We’ll take them to the pirate bar.” Sage gives Teia a nod, divining her thought that that particular loud, crowded pub would be an ideal hiding place for the visitors, and they both lead the way, winding a path through the twisting lanes towards the bar. On the way, you pass many shops and people, and you stay close to Loki. You want nothing more than to be near him, and his presence is soothing to your ever-present social anxiety. You don’t run into any more people you know on the way to the pub, and you are silently grateful. One Carl was enough to deal with. 

In short order, your group rounds a corner and walks down a small hill and finds the pub. As usual, pirates are spilling out of every entryway and into the lanes surrounding it, and even getting inside proves to be a bit of a challenge. Sensing that the promised alcohol is near, Thor makes quick work of this problem, pushing his way to the front of your small group and  moving people aside as he goes. He starts towards the bar counter, ignoring the obvious line of those waiting to be served, and Teia quickly seizes ahold of his kilt before he gets too far. 

“Wait, stop.” She says. “You have to wait in line.” As she speaks, she gestures at the somewhat lengthy line that snakes around the inside of the pub. “Everyone has to wait.” She says with exaggerated patience, the way one would address a child, in response to his look of shocked outrage. You feel Loki beside you laughing, and glance over to see a small grin on his handsome face, laughing at his brothers upset. An answering smile comes across your own features, and you step closer to him, both to get out of the way of an exiting group of drunken patrons, and to feel his warmth against you. Feeling you press against him, Loki glances down at you, and the smile grows even wider. You feel his arm curl around your waist as he pulls you next to him, and you cuddle into him where you stand, sliding one of your own arms around his waist as well. 

Glancing up from where you are now holding each other, you see Thor with a grumpy look on his face, waiting in the line, with Teia and Sage near to him. The end of the line is near to where you are standing with Loki, and as he passes you, Thor asks “Brother- will you take some ale with me?” Loki looks mildly surprised at this question, but after a minute, slowly nods. 

Sage and Teia have been speaking amongst themselves, and at this moment, they choose to rejoin the group conversation. Steeping one to either side of Thor, Sage looks at you. “Sorry to cut the fun short kids, but we have to leave for parade soon.” Teia is holding her wrist aloft to confirm this, and you sigh, seeing what time it is. Part of your employment at the Festival requires you to walk in the daily parade of vendors, carrying a banner for the booth you represent. You sigh, looking up at Loki. The last thing you want to do is leave him, but you have to do this to keep your position in your booth. 

Both he and Thor look confused at this statement, and Sage hastens to clarify. “Ru and I need to go- Teia will stay with you guys, and we will regroup after the parade. Sound good?” Before they really have any time to reply, Sage nods, and goes to leave. Loki’s arm tightens around you, and he leans his dark head down to yours. 

“Hurry back to me.” he speaks softly, and his sensuous voice sends shivers down your spine. He ends this statement with another kiss- this one brief and sweet, but the feeling of it lingers on your lips . He then releases you, his arm sliding back away from you, but caressing you as it goes. Sage gives you a significant look, and reluctantly, you tear yourself away from him and proceed to follow Sage out of the pub. You would swear that you could feel his eyes on you as you hurry away, and the moment you are apart, you start missing him. Following Sage as the two of you rush through the lanes towards the booths whose banners you will be carrying, you wonder at this. No one you have ever met has ever made you feel this way- blood rushing, heart pounding, and like you always want to be near them.  Quickly, you achieve the banners you both need, and head towards the area where you assemble prior to the parade. After checking in, your mind is still spinning, and you stand quietly next to Sage. It takes you a minute to even realize that she is talking to you, and she has to grab your arm to get your attention. 

“Earth to Ru- anybody home?” She asks, with a smile, as she gently shakes your arm. 

“Huh, what?” you ask, as you come back to awareness of what is going on around you. You were lost in daydreams of dark leather and midnight hair, pale skin and emerald eyes. 

“You ok?- you look a million miles away.” Sage asks you, with a knowing grin. She clearly knows what  is occupying your mind, but she wants to make you admit it. 

“No, I’m fine.” you reply, but as you do, your thoughts turn back to him, and you can’t help the pink blush that creeps across your cheeks. Sage just gives you a teasing smile, but then turns to some other friends that have shown up for the parade, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

And what thoughts there were, that occupied your mind at that second! Your Loki, your god of mischief, your dark-haired lord that you had been devoted to for years- was now here! And not only here, but here for you! The whole idea was a bit overwhelming, and even more so, the thought of what that might mean. What did he intend for you? Did he mean to bring you back to Asgard with him? What then? To be his queen, to rule with him? That thought was a bit much to handle- you had trouble getting yourself out of bed in the morning, let alone ruling a nation by his side. And if not that, then what? What did he want from you, now that he had come all this way to find you? And whatever it was, were you capable of giving it to him? 

All of these questions, and more, crowded in your mind as the parade started. Moving through the grounds, waving at the assembled crowds- you hardly noticed any of it, as your mind was fixed on him. You knew that the parade route passed by the pub where you had left him with Teia and Thor, and as you made your way there, you spied him. He was standing just outside of the pub, a full mug in his hand, leaning casually against a support beam for the slatted roof. It seemed as though your eyes found each other immediately as you came into sight, and he stared at you as you passed, those green eyes glittering in the summer sunlight. Looking at him, you were neglecting watching the ground in front of you, and just as you passed in front of the pub, your foot caught on a rut in the uneven ground, and you tripped. You almost fell- in fact, you would have- but he was there. In a flash, faster than you could have seen, Loki was in front of you, gently catching your arm and preventing you from landing in the dirt and mud. His eyes were full of concern as he carefully helped you back to your feet. “Are you alright?” he asked, heedless of the people staring at this man who had moved faster than they could see. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” you say, noticing everyone looking at you. Some of the folk in the parade have had come to a stop because of your pause, and you need to get moving again. “Thank you.” you quickly say, as you steady yourself and prepare to walk once more. He steps away from you and releases your arm, but he is still watching you carefully. As you move away, you see Teia coming towards him, presumably to warn him against being so obvious with his inhuman speed and grace. You walk on with the others, but your mind, and your heart, are still there with Loki. The way he rescued you, in an instant- and the worry that had crossed his elegant features! You hurry to catch up with the rest of the parade, overwhelmed by all of this. The rest of the journey passes in a blur, with returning the banners and Sage talking to you fading into the background. All you want to do is return to Lokis side- and then, what? Your thoughts always stopped there. What would happen next? 

Lost in these thoughts, you almost didn’t notice that Sage was leading the both of you back to the pub until you had arrived. Once you were there, you almost didn’t want to go in- torn between desire for the god who pursued you and the insecurities and fears the now plagued your mind. Sage saw you pause on the steps, and asked you ‘Whats wrong? Come on- he’s waiting for you.” As you looked up in that moment and saw his eyes again, all your fears melted away. He was looking right at you, with one hand extended- beckoning you to his side. As you ascended the steps and took his hand, you knew that whatever happened next, he would be with you- and that would be enough. This lovely, dark, complicated man would be with you, and you with him- and that would suffice for whatever your future held. 

Feeling better, you allowed him to pull you to him and embrace you. Your head slowly tipped back to look at him, and he just smiled- a full, broad smile, more beautiful than any depiction of him you had ever seen. You couldn’t help yourself- you smiled back. You could have almost melted into a puddle with all of the happiness you felt, but you were interrupted by  Sage talking. “Ok, we’re back- wheres Thor?” She barely got the question out of her mouth before it was answered, by Thor himself, staggering towards your grouping from one side of the pub. Straightening himself, it was clear that he wasn’t actually drunk, but had simply stumbled on the uneven floor of the tavern. 

“Your ales are weak.” he declared, looking at Teia as he spoke. “We give children a stronger brew than this.” Teia looks at him with an exasperated sigh. 

“Well, that’s what we’ve got. We aren’t gods, remember?” With this statement, Teia looks about at your small assembled party. “Who else wants to get out of here? Its noisy, and crowded, and hot with all these people.” You and Sage both nod to this, and Teia leads the way out of the pub with alacrity, making sure that Thor is in fact following them by grabbing ahold of the hand holding his mug and tugging him along. Once you are all out on the path and out of the bar, she drops his hand, and looks to Sage. 

“What now?” pipes in Sage. “I assume we aren’t planning on standing here all day.” 

“No, no we’re not.” Teia says. She is looking around, as it trying to find an answer to that question. As she is looking , her eyes hit upon a not-so-distant coffee shop, with a patio behind it where anyone can sit if they wish. Looking back at the assembled party, she nods. “Coffeeshop” she speaks towards Sage, before  departing, trusting the rest of you to follow. Loki and Thor look a bit confused, but they follow along, with you and Sage closing up the rear. The coffeeshop is not far, but on the way, Teia is stopped by a friend. He works for the Faire as well, playing the village ratcatcher, and stops her with a hug and a merry greeting.

“Hey there! I haven’t seen you yet today- where have you been?” He says, while almost lifting her off the ground in his exuberance. 

“Hi Eric.” She responds to him with a smile, hugging him back. Letting her go, he notices the rest of your party, including the two newcomers. 

“Who is this?” he asks Teia over his shoulder as he goes to greet your new friends. Teia and Sage exchange a worried look, but Sage swallows hard and then speaks.

“These are some friends of ours from out of town- this is Thor, and Loki.” She gestures to each in turn, and then indicates Eric. “Thor, Loki- this is our friend Eric.” Eric greets each of them with a firm handshake, and an oddly inquisitive look on his face. Loki especially, he greets with a curious expression, like he is trying to figure something out. As he steps back, he speaks what is on his mind.

“You know, you two look like- “ Loki swiftly cuts him off here, before he can proceed. 

“Yes, we’ve been told- the characters, which bear our names. Astonishing coincidence, isn’t it?” This seems to signal an end to this discussion, but then Eric notices you, standing just too close to Loki to simply be friends. This idea is reinforced by Loki draping his arm around your shoulders when he sees Eric looking at you. Eric looks suspicious at this, and raises one eyebrow in silent question. However, he chooses to keep his thoughts private, and instead excuses himself. 

“I have to be at the front gate in oh, about five minutes- but I’ll see you ladies later.” He says, addressing Teia and Sage. “Will I see you at camp as well?” he asks lightly, now looking at Thor and Loki. Sage gives a barely perceptible nod at Loki, who responds before Thor can.

“Yes.” he says briefly. Eric nods at this, and walks away, his tattered ratcatcher garb blowing in the warm breeze. Loki then turns to look at Sage with a more serious look. “What did we just agree to?” he asks, with a darkness in his tone. 

“Lets get to the patio, and I will explain everything.” Sage assures him, and leads all of you the rest of the short way to the wooden decking. The line of you push past the folks ordering coffee and tea, and Sage and Teia start searching for an empty table with enough chairs. This time of day, the patio is busy- but you are in luck. A large group is just leaving, and they are vacating just enough chairs for all of you. The table is tucked in a corner, too- as much privacy as you are likely to get, here in this public place. Sage and Teia lead the way to the table, and they take the farthest seats. Loki seats himself between Sage and you, with Thor between you and Teia. Once all are seated, expectant eyes alight on Sage, awaiting the explanation for the end of the conversation with Eric. 

Noticing the flood of attention in her direction, Sage speaks. “Do you guys know what this place is yet? Has she explained?” She gestures here at you, and you start to nod. Thor then chimes in to this conversation.

“Yes, she has explained that this place attempts to recreate Earth history.” He seems to not even be trying to hide anymore, allowing his voice to ring out at its usual full volume. “But why are you here? And what did that man, Eric, mean by “camp?” Sage goes to answer him, but Teia speaks first. 

“We are here because we love it here. Its fun, and this is where our family is at. Everyone we love is here. And camp means exactly that- we camp on the weekends that we are here, in a tent. This place is only open on the weekends, and we live far away. Seeing as how you two are stuck with us for the time being, I figured it would be a good idea to let him know that he would be seeing you again, especially because he camps right next to us.” Teia finishes this statement and leans back, clearly awaiting further questions. Thor then turns to Loki. 

“What do you think of this, brother? Isn’t it about time for us to be returning home? You have found your woman- shall we not return to Asgard, and her with us?” At this, your heart begins to pound. Loki slowly turns to you, a question writ on his face. Would you leave with him? Leave everything you have ever known- your family, your friends, your beloved dog- and go with him? Go, to another planet? To face an unknown future- but he would be there… All of these thoughts swirl in your mind once more, before he speaks and silences every one. 

“Ru (your heart beats even faster here at this, the first time he has said your name) will you come with me? To Asgard? Will you be mine?” He has extended his hand again, the way he did in the pub, and the look on his face, and in his eyes- he is pleading with you! His blue-green eyes speak to how much he wishes for you not to refuse, but a fear lurks there too- fear that you will. It seems like this is another one of those moments where all the rest of the world fades to nothing- mere background noise, as unremarkable as the wind in the trees or the sound of water at the seashore. You can almost feel time slow down as he looks at you- like slow motion in a movie, you watch his breath come slow, and an errant breeze blow some of his ebon hair across his face. He looks sculpted from marble, so pale and beautiful, with an expression so eloquent of expectation. You vaguely hear the coffee grinders behind you, and the shouting of the joust field, and you can almost hear your own pulse, thudding in your ears. In your panic, your eyes had darted to the side, but you feel them slowly, ever so slowly, turning back to him. Almost as though you cannot stop yourself, your own hand lifts to his and gently lays atop it, and you exhale. 

Time speeds back up as you breathe “Yes.” The word is barely audible, as your throat feels constricted, but you nod to make sure he knows your answer. “I will.” This answer too, comes out as almost a squeak, but it is enough. You see his eyes flame as happiness surges through him. Still holding your hand, he rises elegantly and pulls you with him. It is as though you cannot resist his will- you rise as well. Only a heartbeat passes, before he crushes you to him with his powerful arms and kisses you once more. This kiss is long and passionate, and it takes your breath away long before he is finished. His arms around you are the only thing holding you up, and as he releases you, nearby people start clapping, as they assume he has just proposed. Glancing around at the crowd, Loki gives a smiling half-bow, and lifts your linked hands aloft. As he brings them back down, you see something glinting in the sun on your ring finger. Lifting it to your face, you see a gold ring, set with a stunning emerald. Gasping, you examine it closely, and notice that the setting is a slim gold snake, holding the gem in his coils, with tiny diamond eyes shimmering in the sun. You look up at Loki, mouth open in shock. He simply gives you a playful smile, and looks back at the assembled group. 

“Shall we?” He addresses Thor, who stands as well, moving less gracefully than Loki in the small space. Thor moves to stand next to Loki, and then he looks at him curiously. 

“Loki- how do we get home? You got us here with magic- don’t we need the same to return to Asgard?” Loki gives this question a thoughtful look, and then nods.

“Indeed we do, brother- grab on.” With this, Loki holds his other hand out to Thor, and once Thor takes it, the world around you starts spinning.  You dimly hear Loki say “To Asgard!” as everything swirls like the fastest amusement park ride you have ever been on, and then darkness descends, as your eyes are forced closed. It feels as though you are hurtling through the air, as you feel it whipping past your body, buffeting you and tugging at your clothes. You tighten your grip on Loki, fearful of what might happen if you let go, and then everything stops. 

Your feet stumble as they meet solid ground, and your eyes pop open to see the bedroom you so often dreamed about. Thor immediately lets go of Lokis hand, and steps out of the circle on the floor where the three of you have appeared. He gives Loki a sharp nod, and the two share a smile at this latest adventure. Thor then departs, presumably in search of some proper ale, and Loki turns to you, a handsome smile covering his face. 

“Welcome Ru, to Asgard.” 

[rinsatheobserver-blog]

A Silver Bird's Prayer Part 1

It was a twilight like no other on the docks of Orsia to the Whisperer's Sea. The sun was cuddling gently in the harsh edges of the Forefather's Mountains, reflecting towards the windows of the rich harbor, unseen rays of clarity. There seemed to be calm all around the small ships that were still in the bay. The atmosphere was was certainly something to remember, as Orsia, despite being a very rich Dracomorsian port of the South, it was bloated in criminals, bands of thieves and occultic societies. Orsia was a city of converging different cultures. An old elven altar, it was abandoned several hundreds of years ago, and then occupied by humans of Nordyn and Raconia. 250 years ago however, it entered in the jurisdiction of the Dracomorsian Empire, who started to trade with the nations of the southern continent, assuring a prosperous economy in this geographical point. However, since everyone could be prosperous, Orsia gathered thieves from all over the world ready to take on the imperial guards to have a taste of the folk's treasures. Thus, entire guilds of rogue bandits were started over night. Yet Mira did not come here to do such a thing. The remarkably beautiful young girl in leather brown trousers, with a long coat tied with a peculiar number of buttons, that had a pink ribbon, giving her a decievingly friendly look arrived this noon hidden in a transport ship. She was unseen and quiet as a cat. Mira was about 19 years of age, and had the red eyes of a dracomorsian. Tall, young, beautiful, with silver hair of unspeakable beauty, what was she seeking in this town as much as to sneak illegaly on a boat to get here. The thing is, she was not looking for anything in particular. She was searching someone. She had to leave that bloody guild. The girl only joined because she had nowhere else left to run. She lost everything that day. And what is lost can never be regained, so she just wiped her tears and moved on. She didn't like it in there but it paid well. It was only natural that she would leave the Dark Blue Troupe when she would find her true purpose in life... Also after making it big. She did not care that she was a mercenary and was paid to kill. All she did was for the purpose of survival. If it wasn't for him, she would starve in a corner of the street. He, showed her how to live in this world, and although it was a horrifying life, she lived to see this very day. When he was gone too, she did not need to be a pawn anymore. She had to come back for him. She couldn't leave him behind after everything.. Honor meant nothing to her. It was just one word that people used to gain comfort. What purpose stands honor when you lie on the ground with your brains out? She laughed at those knights in shiny armor who travel kingdoms to fetch things for their sovereign lord in the name of nobility, marriage and also honor. She hated those who threw their lives away for something as meaningless as this concept. Mira thought that people should live after their own ideals of ethics, but above else the purpose in life is survival. The strong carry on, and the weak perish. That is the way of the true world. Those who dont value their lives enough, should never have had them to begin with. Honour is the reason her whole life turned to ruin. When she was 12 years old, her father killed a lord of a familly that was rivalling to the emperor's favour for generations. The lord insulted Mira's mother, Johanna so her father, Edmund Sablier challenged him to a duel for his family's honor. Using a silver rapier, passed among generations of the Sablier family, Edmund slayed the man in fair combat. However, the dead lord's family held a grudge and 3 months later, on a silent night, the Sablier residence was raided and burned down and everyone, except Mira was assassinated. Left with nothing but the ashes and her father's silver rapier she escaped the inferno triggered by political conflict, she fled to the west and never looked back to her native lands. Then she met Bazordius, a war deserter who abandoned his duties and just as her despised the ideal of honour. He guided her to live in a way that she could get by and forget the past. Bazordius was a great man, who made her powerful, not only in strength but also in spirit. Disappeared in a contract in this city of Orsia, Mira had to save him. The disgusting rats in this city had him. Nasty smugglers who deserve to be crushed and rot in their gutters. She was resting on a barrel in the docks. Her beautiful white hair in the light of sunset attracted the gazes of people in the market. But her red eyes full of confidence gave her an unaproachable air. She was a strong young lady, tried by fate. Nothing could stand in her chase towards her ideals. Honor and glory made her sick, and she didn't need any more power. She simply wanted to live a quiet, happy life, outside the turmoil, wars and quarrels of her mother land. Village life suited her, but not here, somewhere in the far west, in Green Garden, where there are no wars, just very rich grumpy old men. No time for such thoughts now however. It was time to work. "Hello sir, she spoke to the Harbormaster. Busy day today, am i right?" The tired man looked at her: "Yeah, you could say that. But what is a pretty young lady like you doing in this city? Are you off on the prowl for pockets? Or is it trading and shipping that fancies you?" Mira responded: "I'm just a girl up for some adventure... But first i need to make a stop somewhere. Mind if i ask about something? You look like you know the city quite well" "Go ahead, i've got nothing better to do anyway" "I'm looking for a woman. Tall and carries a black staff all the time. She's a mage and apparently lives here. If i'm not mistaken her name is Fiossa..."said Mira to the Harbormaster. "I might know just who you are looking for. But, look, you might not want to mess around with the likes of her. She's a mage of the most peosperous thief guild here: The Putrid Rats. They are the filthies criminals in this city, thats for sure. I think you can find her at Herman's Inn." Mira nodded and thanked the old man. Then she jumped off the barrel as quiet and gracious as a cat on a roof. She looked determined towards the crowded streets filled with all kinds of people. She could already feel pairs of eyes following her as she started walking, searching Herman's Inn. She smiled; "Let them come, she said to herself, then looked at her sheated rapier. I'm a big girl, i can manage.."