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xhaotixaesthetica · 5 years

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Property of the Pirate King

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains abuse, abusive relationships, threats, violence, major character death, kidnap, human slavery, emotional manipulation, disturbing sexual themes, and profanity. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life ATEEZ are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Author’s Note: @zafira-profundis Thanks so much for requesting and liking my work, you’re my second ever request and I love you :3 I didn’t feel qualified to make the reader fully blind, because I’m not and I don’t know enough about it. So I compromised and gave them really bad eyesight, but it doesn’t come up much in the story. I’m not particularly happy with this, but I really tried my best and I hope everything else is in line with your request and you enjoy the story!

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3.1K+

You are in: The Golden Wasteland Star System

Every second that you spent at Lord Yang’s side was like agony to San.

He hated the way he would touch you. Hated the way he put his disgusting mouth on you and give you sloppy, wet kisses full of tongue that you obviously didn’t want but were unable to refuse.

Ever since Lord Yang bought you two years ago from a group of sketchy, no-name traders on the eastern border of his sand land, all San wanted to do was lock you up and have you for himself.

Like him, you were born a slave. Beaten and weary from everyone who’d ever owned you and all the people who’d tried to take advantage of your impaired eyesight. San was trained to kill and fight for his master since before he could walk while you were a personal slave, bound to serve the needs of your master, whatever they may be.

The desert lands that you were born into were scorching, exhausting, and ripe with death, evil, and danger, things that San was well familiar with.

But you...you were like the moon to him. Like a cool oasis in the nighttime. Just seeing you calmed him down and gave him the strength to survive another day.

You never talked to him. There were few words you ever said and few people you ever spoke to. And somehow, you still managed to be the object of San’s obsessions. The thing he’d chosen to latch onto in his mind’s last-ditch effort to stay sane in these hellish sand-dunes.

San stands ram-rod straight, a posture that was beaten into him long ago, in the doorway of one of Lord Yang’s many parlor rooms while you sit in Lord Yang’s lap, both of you bored and stiff after so long of hearing the old men converse with one another on various sordid business affairs.

Your eyes are glassy and far away as you try to ignore your master’s fingers rubbing slow, sickening circles onto the bone of your hip.

San stares at you out of his peripheral vision, something he’s gotten very good at in the last two years.

It’s any other day: hot, stifling, and miserable until San hears the words fall from his master’s lips.

“Gentlemen, I’ve come to a decision that it would benefit me to sell some of my pets. As a token of my respect to our close business relationship, I’m offering you first pick.”

You showed no movement. You’d been sold many times before and you were used to owners growing bored of their playthings and exchanging them for newer, more amusing ones until the cycle would repeat itself again.

San, however, was very on-edge.

He’d feared these words since the day his master bought you. But you’d been here for two years. Longer than any of his other slaves.

He’d just assumed that, like him, you were there to stay.

Surely, Lord Yang couldn’t mean that he was selling you?

Oblivious to the dilemma of the killer in the corner of the room, the five other men hummed appreciatively. “Which ones are you looking to get rid of?”

It was rare for you and San to ever make eye-contact, but it happened at that moment. You both knew. You could feel it in your bones.

“Ah, the older ones. Momo, Aisha, Yunho, Y/N, and a couple of others.”

With those few words, San could feel his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. If it hadn’t been for his years of training in mastering his facial expressions and body language, he would have crumpled to the floor and cried.

You were leaving him. You were being sold and you would leave him.

“They’re still young, very pretty. They’d fetch a fine price. They’ve just been with me for too long. I’ve grown tired of them.”

San decided right then and there that he’d kill every single man in this room.

No one would ever buy you again.

He’d kill them all and take you with him.

He couldn’t be without you, he just couldn’t.

Without his oasis, he’d die. He’d burn to death from the inside out in this wretched, wicked wasteland.

San had always been Lord Yang’s favorite. He was faithful and loyal. His duality amused him, his normally smiley disposition masking a hidden dark persona that was released when he fought and sometimes at random throughout the day. Plus, the boy had grown up by Lord Yang’s side, learning to protect his master and guard his life before he could even speak.

San was simultaneously like his favorite dog and the son he’d never had.

And San savored the look of betrayal in his eyes when they shot open in the middle of the night, right after San had taken his blade to his throat.

The same blade that had been the demise of so many at his master’s bidding, was now his undoing.

The night air was cooler, the sand still warm under your feet from the heat of the day as you trailed behind San.

You didn’t know how he’d managed to do it. To kill not only your master, but five other powerful men without any of their bodyguards being alerted and still find time to steal water, provisions, and equipment for the long journey ahead.

San’s first priority was you and he knew he might not be able to sneak you out if he tried to wake and free every single slave. So he settled for freeing you, Yunho, Mina, and Aisha.

Mina and Aisha went in separate directions at the beginning. They, like Yunho, were stolen and were not born slaves. They had families to return to and mouths to feed.

Yunho trailed alongside you and San for about an hour before he, too, had to diverge his path from yours.

Yunho had been a slave for three years and you hoped with all your heart that he reunited with his mother and younger brother, Jongho, even after so long.

You and San were the only ones with no home to return to.

You didn’t know where he was taking you and you hadn’t asked, but you suspected he was trying to escape the desert.

Few people had ever made it that far, but there were plenty of tales to tempt them. Tales of lands with an abundance of water and plants. Where there were no sand lords like the late Lord Yang and people were free, without being slaves.

You doubted that there even was anything beyond the sand lands, but you were willing to try. You had a better chance of surviving with San than you did by yourself, and it’s not like you had anywhere else to be.

Days passed with the consistent cycle of sleeping during the day and traveling at night with meals and water in between.

It was tough getting used to San being so close to you. You were used to his bright smile and bubbly disposition and random fits of anger and silence from two years of serving the same master, but it was different experiencing it up close.

You were the only ones you had to talk to now and San’s chatter never ceased, you didn’t even know what he had to talk about, you were both in the desert for god’s sake.

But as annoying as he could get, you much preferred this San to the one that would make an appearance sometimes. That rarer San was quieter, yes, but he stared at you with the hunger of a predator, licking his lips like you were something to eat.

As the days dragged on, you were beginning to think you were right.

You and San passed sand land after sand land, not seeming to be any closer to getting out of this scorching hell-hole.

But the more towns you passed and the more black and white flags with orange stripes that you two saw, you were beginning to have other things on your minds. There wasn’t a single person in any part of this desert that didn’t have their blood turn cold at the sight of those flags.

They’re the mark of Ateez and the Pirate King.

If there was anyone’s territory you didn’t want to be caught in, it was the Pirate King’s.

“It’s ok,” San said one day as you both laid in a sand cave to get some rest. You were too far from a sand land to find an inn and even though you were very exposed like this, there was no other option. This was better than getting second-degree burns under the hot sun.

“I’ll protect you,” he told you with a bright smile and a giggle before turning over.

You weren’t so convinced, lying awake for at least a couple of hours before you finally managed to fall into a restless slumber.

There was a bounty on San’s head for the six important men he killed, and most likely one on yours too for running off with him. If the Pirate King decided to turn you both in for the money, you didn’t stand much of a chance.

San was an outstanding fighter, but he was still just one man. Every man has their limitations.

San, as you would come to find, did not know his.

“How many kids do you think we’ll have?” he asked one day at one of the rare oases you’d been able to find.

You paused from where you were washing off some of the sand and grime that was quick to build upon your skin.

Had you just heard him correctly?

“I....I don’t want kids,” you said quietly. Not here, in this cruel desert wasteland. You’d never bring a child here to have them ripped away from you and sold off, as so many were. And you certainly wouldn’t have one with San.

The minute the words escaped your mouth, you could tell that his entire demeanor changed, even without being able to really see much more than the blurry blob of his frame at this distance.

His eyes seemed to be darker and his movements a bit jerkier as he looked at you blankly before a smirk slowly spread across his lips.

“We’ll have three. Yeah, three’s a good number. And the first son will be named after me.”

You said nothing as San switched modes again, voice soft and melodious once more as he went back to washing his hair.

You knew that whenever you two reached your destination, you had to find a way to get away from him.

The longer you stayed with him, the more delusional he seemed to become.

The first time you see the Pirate King’s face is a few days later when you wake up and see him leaning over you with a smirk.

It’s hard to make out any of the details of his face when you pair your fear with your strained and impaired eyesight, but the one thing you so recognize is his hair. It’s an intense blue, the color of the ocean it’s rumored he sailed on from the island of his birth.

“Hello kitten,” he drawled.

You looked frantically around the sand cave that you and San had decided to camp out in for the night.

He was nowhere to be seen.

And neither was the cave. Or the clothes you’d been in.

You were in a lavish room, your body decked out in fine silks and sparkling jewelry. Things you’d wear when you were in the presence of your slave owner.

How long had you been asleep? How had he done all this without you noticing? What had he done to San?

“S-San,” you sputtered out to him, unable to see the way his expression darkened at the name. “Where’s San?”

“Don’t worry about him, love,” he said, the underlying tone of malice and warning in his voice made you tremble.

“I’ve been watching you for the past couple of days. I know who he is and what he’s done. If I left you with him, you’d be running in circles the rest of your life, sleeping in caves and wondering where your next meal was going to come from as you tried to avoid the bounty hunters that want to bring the sand lords San’s head on a silver platter.”

He was closer now, so close you actually see how dark his eyes were as he caressed your cheek.

“You deserve more than that, kitten. Now that you’re mine, you’ll have everything that you could ever want.”

Everything but being away from you, you whispered in your mind, not daring to speak the words aloud.

Being a sand lord’s slave was one thing, but the Pirate King...You’d heard of the things this man has done, the atrocities he’s committed. The Pirate King is a monster.

His world was a lawless, bloody web of death, chaos, and misery that you could never escape from.

You thought escaping from Lord Yang was a good thing, but if this was where it landed you then you desperately wished you could take it all back.

And what of your traveling companion?

He was a mad man but he’d risked his life protecting you on multiple occasions and you were scared of what would happen if you were left along with the man in front of you for even a second longer.

“I want to see San,” you whispered with all the courage you had welled inside of you, eyes squeezed shut and already flinching away from Hongjoong’s reaction.

It was silent for a beat before he scoffed, ignoring your yelp of shock as he hauled you to your feet.

“OK, kitten. Let’s go see San.” he laughed, a cruel sound that made you feel like hail beating against your ears.

You were halfway out of the door when a force suddenly slammed you against the doorway. It was Hongjoong, eyes glaring at you, dark and cold and furious. His hand was locked around your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply, his grip so tight that you felt your feet start to lift from the ground.

His voice was sugary sweet, words far too slow for the rate at which your lungs were starting to burn.

“I’ll let you have this one thing, kitten. You don’t know me and I haven’t trained you yet, so it’s ok.”

Your nails dug into his skin, a fruitless attempt to get him off of you but he just kept going like he didn’t feel it. The sweetness was gone from his voice now. It was cold and monotoned as he slammed you against the wall, your body going limp for a moment at the pain that exploded in your skull.

“I’m your owner. You do what I tell you, understand? From now on, you only want what I say you can want. Do you understand me, kitten?”

You nodded frantically and he let you go, looking at you in disgust as you collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping for air and whimpering at the pain in your head.

Hongjoong just nudged you impatiently with his foot.

“Get up. You wanted to go see San, remember?”

Hongjoong made you hold his hand as you walked down the many corridors of his palace and you obliged out of fear of both him and all the vile, suspicious characters he seemed to have lurking around his otherwise immaculate architecture.

Minutes passed before you and Hongjoong entered a courtyard in the center of the palace. It was dark and cool, a dome of black glass overhead shielding you from the beaming sun and plants even grew here.

But you didn’t like the way everyone leered at you, whispering about Hongjoong’s new Pirate Queen as he marched you both up to a stone dais where an immaculate golden throne sat on the far side.

It was only once the Pirate King had seated you on his lap and you looked around a little that you realized San lay in chains on the other end of the dais.

Instantly, the thought struck you that the man before you, probably about to be killed, was undoubtedly the one you were better off with.

San knew it too. You couldn’t really see his face, not at this distance, but you could just tell in the way his dark-clad blurry figure moved.

He chuckled darkly as Hongjoong’s guards shuffled him toward the center of the dais. The silhouettes of the tons of people in the room were moving wildly, your ears ringing with cheers as people clapped for the most action they had seen in a while.

They didn’t care that a man was about to die. Death seemed to be the status quo under Hongjoon’s rule, not only an everyday occurrence but a pleasure.

“I love you!” San cackled wildly.

No, you don’t, you wanted to say as tears streamed down your cheeks. You don’t know how to love anything. But you don’t know hate either and that’s why I’m scared for you to leave me here with him. You’re the lesser of two evils.

But nothing would come out.

You were acutely aware of the man whose lap you sat on. You knew he was watching you and you knew you would be already be punished for shedding tears for another man.

As the cheers rose, you were infinitely glad for your terrible vision. You already wished you couldn’t hear, not because of the crowds but because of San’s terrifying laughter as he was pushed onto his knees and surrounding by jeers for his death.

You’d never heard a laugh that sounded so little like a symptom of happiness. San’s laughter was something that could bring the end of days and for a moment you wished it did.

And then it was over.

Not really, they hadn’t killed San yet. It seemed like they were planning on drawing this out as long as possible.

No, the laughter was over. San was crying now. Sobbing. Begging.

“Y/N, I don’t want to leave you!”

“Please help me, it hurts!”

“Don’t let them hurt me, you’re supposed to love me!”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you heard his voice, so soft and sweet and sad. So different to the bone-chilling laughter that had just escaped him moments before. He almost sounded like a child. Like someone that even the most cold-hearted of people should never be able to hurt.

But Hongjoong can. And he will.

You didn’t love San and you never had, but he was about to be killed because of Hongjoong’s obsession for you and he was begging you to save him and you just can’t.

“No, no, kitten,” Hongjoong’s hands are rough and not gentle at all as he snaps your head back into position, forcing you to look at the blurry sights of a tall man standing over San’s hunched, chained figure with something long and and shiny.

“You’ll see every detail of his death that you’re able to. After this, you’ll really be mine. The property of the Pirate King.”

The Golden Wasteland Star System

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

#yandere #yandere kpop #yandere hongjoong #yandere san #yandere ateez #yandere seonghwa #yandere mingi #yandere yunho #yandere wooyoung #yandere yeosang #yandere jongho #genetic mutation #golden wasteland

207 notes · View notes

minsyal · 5 years

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Mutual Feelings Pt. 10, [Revali x Reader]

Summary: Read it yourself, lazy

The sun was unbearable. It had been a minute since you last visited Gerudo and the desert was even hotter than you last remembered. The City was cooler, but when you couldn’t bear to be within the City walls knowing you would have to sneak out at night, it was off limits. There was no way you were going to have the guards stopping you as you left only for Urbosa or one of the others to find out what you were doing. They’d think you were insane. To risk your life in the Yiga and monster-infested desert, especially at night, for a mythical flower would be idiotic.

Kara Kara was as lively as you recalled. With tired travelers lining the oasis, horny boys looking to sneak into Gerudo City, and hustlers insisting you purchase their goods it made for quite the atmosphere. Urbosa and Daruk greeted everyone with open arms as you pulled a small container from your satchel and handed it to Mipha. She cocked her head to the side, eyeing the thick liquid quizzically.

“It’s for your skin. It’ll protect against the sand and heat. Plus, you’ll be able to safely travel in the desert if needed without worry of dehydration.”

She nodded, securing it to her side, before turning her attention to the princess who was laying out the game plan. Zelda spoke quietly, wanting the conversation to remain as inconspicuous as the group could possibly be. There was no way to ensure clan members weren’t around and listening.

“I think we should split into two groups. One led by Urbosa, one by Revali.” Revali agreed with the princess, the suggestion inflating his ego. “Urbosa knows the desert better than anyone and Revali can easily navigate the skies if you get lost.”

“Sounds good t’ me!” Daruk pounded his hand on his chest.

“I’ll be traveling with Urbosa and Link… Mipha, would you mind joining us?” Mipha opportunely agreed to her request. “That leaves Revali with Daruk and [Name].”

“A good choice in pairing.” Urbosa noted, a knowing smirk on her face as she eyed you. “We should leave as soon as possible. The desert gets cold at night. I suggest we meet at the Outpost before sunset to report what we find.”

Traveling with Daruk and Revali proved to be difficult. Daruk could easily work his way through the sand but threw up large clouds in his wake. It was just your luck that you happened to be behind him. No matter the direction you stood, you struggled with the bits of dust and dirt that were attracted to your burning tear ducts. Revali flew from above, remaining suspended in the air just out of the sand’s gritty grasp.

Your shoes weren’t crafted for desert travel. They sunk down with each step and pulled a pound of sand up with them. At some point in the day, you became separated from the two. You could see Daruk’s cloud appear and disappear as he rolled through the desert. He stopped a few times near what looked like shrines. They shifted and waved in the excruciating heat. Revali vanished in the sky too, dipping down every now and again as he likely did what Daruk was doing.

You were perfectly fine being alone at this time. You had a different mission, a different undisclosed mission. Sand had not yet permeated the pages of your journal. By the end of the day, you imagined you would be brushing the thing out. You can only imagine how long you’ll be finding the stuff crushed and stuck down in the page’s crevices.

According to the book Sopho gave you, the flower should bloom in or near an oasis. It should be uplifted from the ground, on a plateau for example. This is to provide it with the best possible protection against those who wish to harvest its power. You squinted, brushing the line of sweat that dripped from your brow as you studied the pages. It was almost impossible to read your handwriting in the blinding daylight.

“Studying on the job, eh?” Revali appeared out of nowhere, taking his wing to block the sunlight from your eyes as you pivoted to see him. He wore his typical smirk. “You should be searching for shrines.”

“It’s hard to when your whole team leaves you in the dust,” you rubbed your eye, “literally.”

“I am surprised Urbosa assigned you to join Daruk and I, considering we’re the fastest travelers of the bunch. And you, well,” he put his other arm on his hip, “you’re a bit slow.”

“My bad Hylian’s don’t have a fast travel system. Some of us can’t fly or roll really fast.” The hand at your eyes continued rubbing.

“Stop doing that.” Revali scolded, moving to hold on your arm. “You’ll scratch your eye.” Still seizing your arm, he rustled through his own bag to pull a small canteen of water. “Look up at me, keep your eyes open.”

Doing as he said, you focused your gaze on him as he worked diligently to remove the cap and grasp lightly under your chin. He steadied your head, eyes flickering from yours elsewhere. When the chilled water poured from the cap, you flinched.

“Hold still, or I’ll leave you with sand in your eyes.” He instructed, grip tightening on your chin. “I imagine the walk back would be difficult when you go blind.” His hold lessened as he washed the dust from your eyes, and finally let go when he was pleased with his work. He stood back, moving to return to his former position of sun-blocker. Blinking the remaining water away, you wiped your face and dried your eyes with the loose fabric of your shirt.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“Revali?” You started, waiting for an acknowledging hum in response. “What did you want to say a few days ago at the castle?”

His head rose, chin lifting to aim his gaze upward. He took a deep breath as if thinking over the events of that night, before deciding against it and exhaling loudly. “Nothing you need to worry about. Some things go better unsaid.”

“It’s not good to keep secrets.”

“Interesting that you’re the one lecturing me on that. It’s not a secret, just,” he stopped, biting the inside of his mouth, “an observation. Anyway,” he motioned to the vast desert ahead of you. “Shall we?”

Traveling with Revali while he was on foot was strange. He walked slower to match your pace strutting about with his arms behind his back. The majority of his time was spent with closed eyes, not even attempting to locate anything. Maybe he actually enjoyed the heat. Daruk was nowhere to be seen, and likely wouldn’t be rejoining the group. He had told the two of you he may go rogue but be assured he’d find his way back. If not, Revali could find him with ease.

“Why aren’t you searching for shrines?” You asked, folding your book closed before tucking it back into your satchel.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’m trying, but like I said… it’s kind of hard.”

“You and I both know,” he stopped walking, “we’ve identified all the shrines in this desert.” He continued on toward a rock in the distance. “So why are we all out here today? Simply to waste time? Or mayhaps to appease the princess’s desire for adventure?”

“I’d say the latter.”

“Well, at least we’ll be returning with some information.” He pulled out his own notebook and tossed it in your direction. You scrambled to catch it, becoming annoyed to a chuckle that escaped his lips. “We’ll turn this in and call it a day. The princess can barely comprehend my calligraphy anyway.”

“Is it because it looks like you coated your talons with ink and stomped on the page?” You twisted and turned the pages this way and that, trying to read what on earth he wrote. It looked like chicken scratches. “Is this really the best you can do?”

“No, but it’s the most work I’ll put in on something we’ve already done.”

“Thank Hylia, I’m not receiving letters from you.” You handed it back to him. “I would never figure out what you remotely wanted to say.”

“Like you wouldn’t want letters from me?”

“I’d want legible letters.”

“So, you admit that you would enjoy receiving a letter from me.” He hummed to himself, pleased with his ability to talk circles around you. “I’ll have to drop one in the post when I return to the Village.”

“I don’t,” you defeatedly sighed, “shut up.”

The sun moved slowly through the crystal blue sky, hiding behind clouds every now and again before peeking back out to warm the land. Walking with Revali was becoming unusually relaxing. He spoke every now and again, bringing up the few oases that littered the dry sandy Sahara. You took mental notes of their locations, deciding that the Southern Oasis matched the description of where the flower would bloom. It was only 6 hours until your window of opportunity would open. You wouldn’t miss it.

“I’m calling it a day.” Revali said as he spied Kara Kara in the near distance.

“I don’t feel like we accomplished anything.”

“I could leave you out here if you truly wish to continue this hike.”

The rest of the Champions waited at the Outpost. Gathered outside, they were enjoying a platter of refreshing fruit purchased from a delighted hustler back in Kara Kara. Zelda and Mipha both looked exhausted, lying on their backs next to one another, shielding their eyes from the now-setting sun. Daruk was content, chattering away with Link about how “the food is good, but not nearly as good as what Goron City has.” Urbosa sat quietly, satisfied with the sounds of the palm tree leaves rustling against one another as the nightly breeze set in.

“You two enjoy yourselves?” She asked, the same smug smirk on her lips. “You took quite the walk out there.”

“We gathered what information we could.” Revali handed Zelda his notebook, appeased when she interestedly started ruffling through the pages. “I, for one, would greatly appreciate turning in for the night.”

“I second that!” Mipha laughed, sitting up and resting her arms on the ground to support her. “The desert is so different from the Domain.”

“Well, it’s made of sand, dear.” Revali noted, bringing a hearty laugh from Daruk who slapped Link on the back, prompting him to politely join in.

Zelda, Urbosa, and Mipha all retired to the safety of the City after a small feast was brought out to the Outpost for everyone. Daruk and Link wanted to sleep outside near the door, resting on the large rock that served as a foundation for the Outpost. Revali opted to claim the tower as his, cozying up at the top. That left you with the one bed inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us inside?” Mipha asked, pulling the loose wool blanket closer to her body as she, Zelda, and Urbosa started for Gerudo. “It will be much colder out here. You should join us.” Zelda added.

“I want to go over my notes once more tonight. I’ll be less of a distraction out here. I don’t want my candle-light keeping you awake, especially after today.”

The girls nodded understandingly and left, but not before Urbosa could add her take. “Try not to spend too much time up on the tower, tonight. You’ll catch a cold.”

You pressed your hand to your blazing cheek, your hands cooling the skin to the touch. Why did she always have to make comments like that? She took enjoyment in making you blush.

Quietly, you closed the door to the Outpost, ensuring you hadn’t woken the two sleeping nearby. You watched as your footprints disappeared behind you as the harsh winds filled them with sand. Tugging the strap of the backpack up, you trudged forward. The Southern Oasis wasn’t too far away, maybe an hour’s walk at leisure, thirty minutes at a fast pace.

During the day, no group had reported on any sightings of the Yiga Clan or other dangerous monsters lurking in the desert. Night proved to be no different as you made your way peacefully to the oasis with no threats but the blowing wind and icy winds. It was different, the desert, at night. The moon illuminated each and every shadowy hill that you had to cross. There were no heat-caused waves or illusions of waterholes. There was only sand and sky.

The Oasis was difficult to climb, but you made it up after a few struggling minutes. There were glowing flowers all over the grassy plain. A small trickling stream cut through the middle of the plateau that hot-footed frogs took to with their chirping croaks melding together in the lively area. Crickets hopped from bushes into trees, hiding in the deep green brush.

The plateau was small, small enough to take off the carrying case for the flower and have no worries of losing it. You placed it down at your feet, twisting it into rest supported by the little sand that was up here. Opening it, you began examining each flower. The first had no gold speckling, as did the second, the third, the fourth, and fifth. The sixth was yet another silent princess, and the seventh was no different.

You sighed, having worked up a slight sweat. At this rate, you’d never find it. It had to be here. All signs pointed to this being its location: the oasis, the plateau, hell… even the desert. After an hour of carefully inspecting the flowers, your eye was caught by the slight gold glitter of something in the corner of your eye. It shone and sparkled like a diamond, the moonlight bounced off its petals, reflecting like a thousand mirrors on the palm leaves. There was something almost ethereal about it. The way it gave off light where there was none was magnificent. That had to be it.

Carefully, you scooped your fingers into the dirt, unbothered as it dug beneath your nails. Carrying it slowly, you lowered it into the case and gathered water from the oasis to pour into the bottom compartment. The walk back would feel longer than that out there. You had no more drive now that the mythical flower was in your possession. You felt like you could finally relax. She would be okay.

Your feet hit the ground below the plateau, indenting in the sand. Each step back seemed longer and longer as you slogged back with a considerably heavier pack attached to your back. When the ground rumbled, you shrugged it off as exhaustion finally getting to you. When it rumbled for the second time, you assumed it to be a small earthquake. They weren’t uncommon in Hyrule. A guttural growl alerted you to it being more than a natural occurrence. The large lump that slunk below the sand, causing you to rise as it swam below, confirmed it wasn’t natural.

There were no monsters lurking in the desert, at least there were no monsters you knew of other than lizalfos and the occasional bokoblin that lost its way. A monster than used sand like water was new to you. You watched as it swam away, only to turn in your direction and charge at full speed.

You ran faster than you ever had before. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as your legs threatened to lock beneath you. Your knees ached from the trek you made at day, and your ankles burned to high hell. It felt as if your shoes had been set on fire. Your arms weighed down on you, quickly turning to ten-pound weights that threatened to topple you over. The Outpost was still a mile away. You could vaguely make out the outline of Daruk peeking out from the front corner.

The strap to the case harboring the flower loosened, prompting you to swing it to the front of your body. You hugged it tightly to your chest.

You continued running.

Your knees locked.

You fell.

The monster approached fast, the sound of sand falling like water was the only thing you could hear.

You closed your eyes.

A horrific, excruciating sound of agony howled through the desert. The sound echoed off the mountain walls in the distance, bouncing around in the canyon. The ground shook once more before all was still. Opening your eyes, you pulled the case closer as if to hide behind it. There stood Revali, breathing heavily as he lowered his bow. His back facing you.

“What on earth were you thinking?” He asked calmly, not daring to look in your direction. His voice slowly rose becoming furious. “Are you brain dead? Sneaking out at night like some foolish teenager. Leaving the safety of the Champions. For what?” You could see the rage in his eyes when he finally found the courage to face you. “If nothing, this proves you aren’t meant to travel among us. This type of recklessness will not be tolerated any longer after your last incident. What is so important it means dying?”

You opened your mouth to speak but was met with him cutting you off.

“No, I don’t want you to speak.” He huffed. “You’re an idiot.” He pursed his lips, eyes tearing away from your fallen figure. “Come on.” He began walking back to the Outpost. “Come on or I’ll leave you here for the next thing to kill.”

Silently, you pushed yourself from the ground, not bothering to brush the dust from your clothes. Revali walked ten steps ahead, turning briefly now and again to make sure you were still following. He was fuming. You were tired. The eventful night only accelerated your exhaustion, making every movement feel like the last.

“I’m going to save you.” You reminded her as she beamed brightly at you.

“I know you will!”

“Oh yeah? How are you so confident?”

“Because you’re a Champion. Champion’s don’t let people down.”

The Outpost was quiet, unbothered by the shaking ground or loud sound that settled over the desert. Slinking inside behind Revali, you held your head low.

“Go to bed.” He instructed, folding his arms over his chest after he threw the blanket back. “Did you not hear me? I said,” he stopped.

Water streamed from your eyes, soaking the hem of your shirt as you focused on the still-glowing flower. Tears fell in big drops, leaving slick trails as they raced down your face. Everything came collapsing in as the mental barrier you had set up months ago fell. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry no matter how difficult things became. The emotions, everything, you felt from the fear to the joy and the sadness that was pooling in your chest finally burst. The dam that contained this calamity of passion was crumbling. It felt good.

“Why are you crying?” Revali said in a hushed, more calming, tone. He crossed the room, taking the case from your quivering hands and placing it gently on the desk. You crashed to the floor, your knees giving out.

“She’s going to be okay.” You got out between sobs.

“She?” He contemplated before it all snapped into place. The puzzle pieces finally matched up. “Keumi.”

“She’s so sick, Revali.” Wiping at your eyes was futile, but you continued to do so. “She’s so sick, and that flower is going to save her. It’s going to cure all her hurt and pain… She can finally just be a kid.”

Without another word, he understood. Hesitantly, he took you in his arms, pulling your shaking figure close as he rested his head atop yours. At some point, you moved to the twin-sized bed in the corner of the room. You relaxed into his chest, finding solace in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Why are you always so hard on yourself?” He wondered to himself, his voice coming out at no louder than the squeak of a mouse. He must have assumed you to be asleep. “I care about you, a lot.” A breath of air passed his lips as his heartbeat rose. “Of all people.” He tsked himself. “It had to be you.”

The two of you fell asleep, a calm peaceful sleep with no jittering kicks or unnerved grunts. It was quiet. It was nice.

“Have you seen [Name]?” Urbosa hollered from outside the Outpost to a groggy Daruk who shook his head and looked to Link who did the same. “Revali isn’t up on the tower, and I just worry that something…” She opened the wooden door to find a predictable scene, at least predictable to her. Rays trickled in from the window shades, the subtle glow giving the room enough light for her to make out the silhouettes of yours and Revali’s figures lying in the bed. The soft snores emitting from your direction made her smile.

“Find them?” Daruk rubbed his eye as Link rolled back over.

“No, but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

#revali #botw revali #revali botw #revali x reader #revali imagines #botw #tloz #tloz breath of the wild #breath of the wild fanfic #botw fanfiction #botw fic #loz fanfic #loz fic #revali x you

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seeaddywrite · 5 years

Text

bitch, i’m a monster [part II]

(read Part I first or you’ll be very confused!)

a/n: this is the second part of the AU that will not end. One more after this, & i’ve got a definitive end in mind so i SWEAR it’s only one more. & i resisted the urge to end this on a cliffhanger, so you can probably pretend it’s finished already if you want. :) once again, this fic wouldn’t exist without @soberqueerinthewild & her A++ cheerleading. also, title suggestions are welcome, because i think i might be stuck with this one if left to my own devices haha.

The pain in his leg becomes harder and harder to ignore the longer they walk, and Alex knows he’s got a limited amount of time before Michael gives up on pretending he hasn’t noticed out of respect for Alex’s pride and starts asking questions. They’ve been trudging through the red dirt for hours in almost total silence, both too tired and too uncertain of where they stand with each other for much chatter, but Alex is observant. He’s caught the quick, worried glances Michael’s been tossing in his direction every so often, usually after he slips on an unsteady patch of rock or sand and can’t subdue a grunt of pain. Frustration mounts as he continues to struggle over the uneven terrain; one of the few benefits of vampirism is that he’s not supposed to have to deal with this shit.

So, naturally, he’s distracted enough by that misery that Alex barely notices when the itch in his gums starts. In comparison to the throb in his leg, it’s such a minor irritation that it shouldn’t matter -- but it does. That itch signals the appearance of fangs, which are difficult to hide at the best of times. It also signals an alarming loss of control, one that’s rather unprecedented, at least for Alex. He’s rarely allowed himself to get this far past a scheduled meal without drinking blood. Not when he knows what happens next. The transformation will force itself, with or without his permission, and there will be no more pretending at humanity in front of Michael. He could maybe keep the teeth hidden if he was careful not to speak, but red irises and the awful, sprawling black veins that mar his otherwise cadaverously pale skin aren’t subtle. He’s glimpsed them in the mirror before, after nightmares have robbed him of his impeccable control, or on the rare occasion that he’s been unable to drink regularly, and the sight makes him uncomfortable. He can only imagine how Michael would feel.

“Stop.” Michael’s in front of him, half-turned and gaze focused on Alex’s bad leg critically. It makes him squirm a little, to be the subject of such intense scrutiny, especially since he knows how good Michael is at solving problems. He’s going to arrive at the wrong conclusions, though, since he doesn’t have all of the facts, and Alex feels sick to his stomach at the thought. He doesn’t want to tell Michael the truth. He’s spent the last year in Roswell doing his best to stay away from him, to keep him safe and sheltered from the dangerous truth of Alex’s existence, and now, Jesse Manes has put them both in an untenable position.

“What is it?” Alex asks shortly, rather than dwell on the helpless fury starting to rage in his chest at the thought of his father. The question turns out to be pointless a moment later, when he turns to face in the same direction and finds a small copse of bedraggled trees and browned grass beneath an outcropping of rock. It puts the small bit of foliage and greenery in the shade, which Alex supposes is how it’s been able to thrive - but he’s not a naturalist, and doesn’t much care how it’s possible as long as he’s not hallucinating from hunger.

Which, unfortunately, is a very real possibility at this point. His skin is stretched too-tight over his bones, and his head throbs in the sunlight. Usually, direct sun doesn’t cause him a problem, but he’s never spent hours beneath it with no blood, no shade, and no escape, either. Alex imagines he can feel what little blood is left in his system boiling away, leaving nothing behind but starving tissue and the feral, animal instinct to tear into the nearest living thing with his teeth in order to feed himself.

“Look.” Michael gestures at the shady area with a jab of his thumb, and Alex does his best to ignore that he’s stopped with less than a foot separating them by focusing on the little oasis. “We can rest there for a while. It’s not perfect, but at least we won’t fry in the sun if we take a nap.”

Logically, Alex knows that stopping is a bad idea. They’re still miles from town, at least, and if they’re going to get back before he loses his mind entirely, they need to keep moving. But he’s worn out and in pain, and Michael doesn’t look like he’s much enjoying their trek through the desert, either. He’s probably starting to dehydrate, considering his higher body temperature, and rest is quickly going to become a necessity, rather than choice.

So Alex nods, and trails Michael to the shadier area. He sits with his back to the largest tree-like shrub; it bends slightly beneath his weight, but not enough to convince him to move. Michael joins him, sitting a bit more gracefully on the ground a few feet away. That distance between them has become the new normal, at some point, but Alex is intensely aware of it today, when he’d appreciate the physical comfort that Michael’s always doled out so easily.

“Are you going to be able to keep going?”

The question catches Alex off-guard, and he turns to look at Michael, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “What?”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, like Michael’s trying to figure out how to best broach the subject without being condescending or offensive, and Alex isn’t sure the odds are in his favor. So, rather than wasting any time with bickering, he answers the question before Michael can formulate it. “I’ll be fine. It sucks, and it’ll hurt, but I’ll be fine.”

The words ring true, and Alex hopes desperately that it’s some sort of prescience, because in reality, he’s not entirely sure he’s being honest. His leg isn’t going to be what stops him from making it back to town, though, so he lets himself enjoy the fact that for once, he doesn’t have to lie to Michael. It seems like that’s all he’s done since he got back -- lie about what he is, about how he feels, about why he can’t give into those feelings. It’s a miracle that Alex can even recognize himself in the mirror anymore, and doesn’t believe his own bullshit, because he’s been telling those lies for so long that he doesn’t even have to think about it, anymore.

Michael nods slowly, willing to accept the answer but obviously doubting whether or not he should believe it. Eventually, his intense gaze turns from Alex to their surroundings, the analytical gleam in his eyes making it clear, at least to Alex, that he’s trying to think their way out of this mess.

Alex watches him, rather than empty space; Michael in problem-solving mode is a thing of beauty. Watching him put his intellect to work has always been a turn-on for Alex. So few people get to see it, the genius that shines through Michael’s eyes when he’s got a puzzle to put together, but it’s always been unfairly distracting for Alex. It’s worse now, with his focus already drifting, and he can’t stop himself from watching as Michael tries to reason their way back to town.

There’s a voice in the back of his mind that warns him his besotted staring is impossible to miss, that Michael’s going to notice and call him on it, and Alex will have to push him away again, but he can’t stop. He wants to reach out, to press his palms against the planes of Michael’s back, obvious through the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt, and pull him in close. He wants the overheated feel of their skin pressing together, wants to drag that impossible warmth into his own frozen form, wants to lick the blood from the cut at Michael’s temple and score new marks with his own teeth so that no one will be able to look at that beautiful body without knowing that it belongs to Alex --

Fucking hell. No. That line of thinking isn’t Alex, isn’t normal, and he refuses to let himself fall into it. Eventually, he suspects there won’t be a choice, but he’s still enough in control of his faculties to stop it, now. And thinking of Michael that way, as if he’s Alex’s fucking territory, like he has exclusive rights to his body and his blood, is disgusting. Inhuman. Already, after a just a few hours in the sun without sustenance, he’s sunk to that level.

He should be making a plan, or thinking about the fact that Michael is going to dehydrate if they don’t find water soon. He’s spent nearly half of his adult life in deserts a lot harsher than this one and knows how to handle himself, especially after dozens of SEREs with the Air Force. Alex should be more useful than this. But he’s stupid with hunger, distracted and aching with it, and he has serious doubts about his ability to be anything but a liability.

“Maybe we should rest here until the sun goes down,” Michael says, interrupting Alex’s internal meltdown. He thinks he’s done a pretty job of keeping his thoughts from showing on his face, but there’s a concerned glint in Michael’s appraising look that tells him he let something slip into his expression. “Walking will be less exertion while it’s cooler, and the less we sweat, the more we conserve water.”

“No!” Alex says immediately, shaking his head vehemently before common sense can catch up with his instincts. “We have to get back to town as soon as possible. We can’t stop for hours!”

The outburst is bordering on hysteria, and Alex wants to take it back as soon as he’s done speaking. He’s got Michael’s full attention again; dark eyes narrow on his face, bewilderment and annoyance melding in their depths. He raises both hands in a mockery of surrender, but crosses them over his chest immediately after, clearly gearing up for a fight. “Alex. Come on. This is Survival 101, and I didn’t think I’d have to tell you that. If we don’t get out of the desert in a few days, we’re going to be in trouble, yeah, but we’ve gotta make sure we don’t die in the meantime. This is smart, and we need to be smart right now.”

He pauses, tipping his head back against the thin trunk of the tree, and asks, “Is this still about Valenti? Because I seriously doubt your dad’s going after him, yet. People will notice if the only decent doctor in Roswell disappears under mysterious circumstances. Plus, Max owes Kyle, and he knows it. He’s been keeping an eye on him, and Max’d love the chance to kick your dad’s ass.”

Alex shakes his head, trying to organize his swimming thoughts into a reasonable explanation. He doesn’t know if it’s just the passage of time or the rapid increase of stress at the idea of being forced to wait longer for blood, but the hunger is roaring in the back of his head now, making it hard to think straight, let alone speak coherently.

Warmth seeps into him from a single point of contact at his elbow — Michael’s hand on his skin. Alex turns toward him blindly, blinking in surprise when he realizes that the distance from earlier is gone, and Michael’s only a few inches away and touching him willingly, now. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks, skepticism dripping from the question. “You’re really pale, considering we’ve been in the direct sun for hours. Are you dizzy? Headache?”

If Alex wasn’t too busy fighting against his own mind, he would’ve appreciated the concern in Michael’s voice and the careful, gentle touch to his arm. He’s always so damn sweet with Alex, gentle physically even when he’s yelling and furious. It’s one of the first things Alex remembers falling in love with him for, that beautiful kindness. After years of rough treatment at the hands of people who claimed to love him, it was jarring in all the best ways, and Alex had internalized every little touch, every crumb of affection he was granted. And even though that sweetness has been buried inside of Michael over the years, hidden by a rough exterior, Alex sees it almost every time they’re together and craves that gentleness for himself.

It’s not a surprise that thinking of all the ways Alex wants Michael makes the hunger worse. The irritation in his gums grows until he wants to dig his fingernails into them to stop the itching, and his stomach cramps painfully, making him shift restlessly on the ground. Some part of Alex is cognizant enough to realize that Michael’s still checking for concussion symptoms, and he almost wants to laugh. A head injury would’ve been so much easier to deal with than the truth.

“Alex!” Alarm colors Michael’s exhalation of his name, but Alex slumps to the side just the same, curling his knees into his stomach and wrapping his arms around them tightly until he’s made himself as small as possible. Fuck, this hurts. The sharp, cramping ache spreads from his leg and stomach to his entire body too quickly to track, and Alex loses time as he battles with the hissing, desperate voice deep in his subconscious that bellows for him to stop this. It would be so, so easy, to get up and push Michael to the ground, to score marks in his throat and drink his fill. Michael could barely fight back without his powers, and surely, if he loves Alex as much as he claims to, he wouldn’t deny him vital nutrients.

“Alex, you’ve gotta talk to me,” Michael’s saying urgently, and there’s a hand on his back, branding his skin with that impossible warmth. Alex groans and tries to slide away, the touch fraying his tenuous control, but Michael moves with him, leaning in close enough that Alex wouldn’t even have to sit up to bite him. “What hurts? Is it your leg? What can I do?”

Alex shakes his head, heedless of the loose dirt that flies everywhere when he does. “You’ve got to go,” he manages to say, pushing the words through a clenched jaw. He’s afraid that if he opens his mouth the whole way, there’s nothing that will stop his fangs from sliding forward and rendering everything he’s ever done to keep Michael safe useless.

“Go?” Michael repeats incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going anywhere without you!”

The entire situation is eerily reminiscent of the afternoon at Caulfield, and Alex utterly refuses to have this fight. There’s no time, not when every second sends him careening closer and closer to the limits of his self control. His muscles are screaming at him now, begging for relief as the starved tissue contracts and contorts beneath his skin, and Alex doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. “Guerin — Michael. Michael, please.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could bring himself to care about the fact that he’s got no pride left. Worst of all, he barely knows what he’s begging for; he wants Michael to run nearly as much as he wants him to stay, and that’s fucking terrifying.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Michael says again, his voice hard even as his fingers find Alex’s clamped around his legs and try to pry them loose. He ends up winning because Alex doesn’t have the willpower to fight — their digits tangle together against his good leg, and Michael squeezes reassuringly. “C’mon, Alex. We’re in the middle of the fucking desert and there’s too much we can’t control already. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on with you. We can’t afford any more surprises.”

Alex drags in a long breath through his nose and, embarrassingly enough, has to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep it from wobbling. He’s not a crier; growing up with Jesse Manes taught him to hide his tears early. But the knowledge that he’s out of options, that he’s either going to have to come clean to Michael or risk his life, hurts more than any punch or kick ever could. Helplessness isn’t an emotion Alex has allowed himself to feel in a long time, and it makes him burn with shame and impotence.

But if Guerin won’t go, Alex knows he’s going to have to tell him something before he ends up flashing fang or lifting burning, red eyes to meet his gaze. There’s no chance of that ending well, not without some sort of warning — he knows Michael, knows that he doesn’t react well when he’s backed into a corner. But a long, drawn-out explanation isn’t going to happen, either, not now.

“I don’t know how to tell you,” he mumbles into his knees, focusing on keeping his breath steady and the way that Guerin’s fingers feel in his own, rather than the fact that he can hear every beat of Michael’s heart, every pump as it pushes blood through his veins. “I don’t want to tell you! I kept you safe for three years, and he fucking ruined it.” Alex has to stop and swallow against a sudden swell of pain or risk crying out, which he won’t do, damn it. He won’t.

Michael’s obviously not following. He shifts in the dirt, dragging himself closer to Alex’s curled form. Would he do that if he knew the truth? Would he dare get so close if he knew that at any second, Alex’s control might snap, and leave him fang-deep in Michael’s carotid? Alex doubts it. God knows he wouldn’t do it, were their positions reversed.

“Alex, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guerin tries, and for the first time, he sounds hesitant. “But if you’ve been keeping me safe for that long, then I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to return the favor.” Heat caresses his spine, starting low on Alex’s neck and sweeping down in slow, broad strokes that remind him of summer nights spent in the bed of Michael’s truck, sweat-sticky and sated while they stare up at the stars. Michael had stroked his back like this then, too, usually after a particularly bad night with Jesse, when words just didn’t cut it.

Strangely enough, it’s that memory that gives Alex the strength to consider telling the truth. Michael has been his safe place for well over a decade, whether Alex could physically be in his embrace or had to content himself with the mere memory of Michael’s arms around him, and if Alex allows himself to hope — maybe his revelation won’t be the end of that. Maybe it’ll be the start of something different, something new.

Another cramp tears through his body, and Alex’s arms give out, releasing his legs as his entire body arches with the electric jolt. His mouth falls open on a silent moan, and the decision of whether or not to explain is ripped from him as his fangs tear free of his gums. The transformation takes less than a second; Alex’s visage shifts from his usual, human appearance to something demonic in the space of a blink. His vision shifts, going from basic 20/20 to good enough that he can see each individual grain of sand beneath him, and an ant crawling up the trunk of a tree twenty feet distant. His head throbs with the sudden influx of new information, and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the scent of Michael’s skin and the blood beneath.

“What —” Guerin’s soft, shocked question is aborted before it even really begins, and Alex swallows convulsively against the fear rising in his throat. He doesn’t need to look over to know that Michael is afraid, not when he can hear his heart thundering in his chest, can feel the tension in his frame even from a foot away, and Alex doesn’t think he can bear to open his eyes and see the rejection in Michael’s expression. So he presses a hand over his face, hiding the blood red of his eyes and the black veins that spiderweb around them as best he can and tries to focus on steadying his own breathing.

“Vampire,” Alex whispers, in answer to the unvoiced question. The word is clear, despite the awkwardness of speaking around his fangs, and it hangs in the stagnant air between them. “I’m a vampire, and I’m fucking hungry, okay? That’s what’s wrong!” His throat is raw around the words, his voice hoarse from everything he’s not saying. “Now will you just go? I can’t —” He swallows again, breath turning ragged as he struggles against tears and that same, all-consuming hunger that’s been plaguing him for what feels like days. “I can’t control it. It hurts, Michael. It hurts, and I can’t control it.”

He’s ready for the sound of Michael getting to his feet, but his heart still breaks a little when it comes. Alex squeezes his eyelids that much tighter and ignores the tremors starting in his fingers, bracing himself for the moment that he can no longer hear Michael at all— until there are suddenly warm, calloused hands covering his and pulling them carefully away from his face. Panic surges, and Alex tries to jerk away from Michael’s careful grip. It doesn’t work; instead, he ends up staring up into Michael’s frighteningly inscrutable expression as his shaking hands are enveloped in Michael’s.

“I told you,” comes the soft reply. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

#my fic #vampire AU #malex fic #in need of a real title at some point oops

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incorrect-kujo-archive · 5 years

Text

@llcebaby

Cairo. The sprawling bustling capital of Egypt; a city built and cemented in its unmatched history that blended with new-age technology to create a proud culture and limitless potential for all those who had the heart to immerse themselves within the stony sandy embrace of the population.

During the day it was business as usual for the locals. Go to work, go to the market, keep things running smoothly so everyone gets through the day in one piece. At night, the city was transformed: Jazz clubs sprung up and serenaded the night with heartfelt performances, people of all ages ventured into night markets to drink and feast at the food stalls, and of course, downtown had been turned into a more urban centralized area for the easily-influenced youth to entertain themselves. Colorful lights, loud pop music, trendy food and dens of alcohol all encompassed this urbane atmosphere.

For an abroad student, this area held his curiosity. A young black-clad Eurasian man casually strolled across the stone pavement to observe the night-life here. In Japan, the nightlife was far more reserved and contained. He was used to being limited to izakayas or late night videogame parlors. Here, there was more life and expression out on the streets. The people here were unabashedly themselves, and he found himself quite enjoying their presence. Jotaro had been left on his own for tonight, having purposely disbanded from the student group he had come on this trip with. Not that it was any concern, he knew what hotel they were at so he could always go back to let whoever was panicking know that he was still alive.

As the delinquent walked further along the stony sidewalk, the sickly sweet and spicy scent of hooka-bars and the smokey mist of grilled meat were all that he could register. It piqued his curiosity when he passed a bar that nearly blew out his eardrums...

“....”

Oasis. He had overheard a couple of people chattering by mention this place. It was supposedly the best club in downtown... curiosity took hold of him, and he soon found himself inside of that multicolored far too eccentric but clearly popular establishment.

....and now let’s cut to 5 hours later.

It started with one drink to relax, then another drink that some woman had bought for him, then a few shots that some college students treated him to, and so on and so fourth until Jotaro had consumed enough alcohol to poison a normal man. Now, we find our dear Kujo practically in another dimension. The punk was seen with cheeks as red as summer strawberries, his black jacket tied around his waist to reveal his slightly sweaty muscular form that equally drunk women (and some men) were endlessly complimenting. He was the center of attention as any new onlooker could see him screaming and fist-pumping karaoke crudely with another equally shit-faced person..

“CUZ EVERY TIME WE TOUCH, I GET THIS FEELING!! EVERY TIME WE KISS I SWEAR I CAN FLYYYY!!! CANT YOU HEAR MY HEART BEAT FAST?! I WANT THIS TO LAST!! NEEEEED YOU BY MY SIIIIIIDE!!!”

#llcebaby #rp #starter #starfish speaks

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brittywritesstuff · 6 years

Text

your heart is all i own

2.3k

Kind of canon-divergent

Warnings: Swearing, implied sex, and Dean’s a stubborn asshole

Read on AO3

It takes time, adjusting to the Happily Ever After. It’s not as easy as they make it seem in the movies. There’s a sweeping profession of love, a big, heroic gesture, the Big Finale Kiss… and then what? Then, you’re left with adjusting to this sudden shift in your relationship. The newness of it. The publicity of it. That’s the hardest part, for Dean. For someone who’s been so deeply guarded and masked his whole life, peeling that away and showing everyone his heart isn’t as easy as he’d like.

Waking to Cas in his bed is, undoubtedly, the best thing that’s ever happened to him in his whole miserable existence. Forty goddamn years of misery and pain, and Dean finally has what he wants. In quiet, private moments, he doesn’t hold himself back. He kisses Cas like there won’t be a tomorrow. He worships Cas — every inch of him. Like Dean was man stranded in a desert, Cas is an oasis quenching a longstanding thirst.

It’s the moments that aren’t so private where Dean finds the most trouble; the times he’s confronted with the most contentious part of his relationship.

“So, the waitress gave me a name and a general neighborhood, but no address.” Sam turns his collar up against the chill in the wind as he joins Dean and Cas, leaning back against the Impala. “Figured it won’t be too hard to track this guy down.”

Dean glances at Cas and nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets before Cas has the chance to reach for them. He nods politely to a couple passing by, stepping through the diner doors just behind Sam. “Okay. So, you and Cas see what you can find on the guy, I’ll check out the crime scene and hit up the coroner, and we’ll meet back at the motel?”

Sam nods in agreement, and Dean looks to Cas for approval. “Alright,” he says, and leans in.

Dean leans away, avoiding the obvious attempt at a goodbye kiss and claps Cas on the shoulder. “Call if you need anything,” he says, pushing past him. “See ya.” He slides into the driver’s seat and barely waits for Cas to push off the car before he backs out of the parking lot. He doesn’t bother looking back, because he knows he’s left Cas looking confused and bewildered, and Sam looking on with pity.

He almost asks himself why he’s like this. And then he remembers John.

It’s dark by the time Dean swings the Impala into a parking space at the motel. He take a deep breath and snatched the six-pack from the passenger seat before flinging the door open and trudging inside. He finds Cas at the table, flipping through a book, and Sam stretched out on one of the beds, poking at his laptop keys.

“Find anything good?”

Sam barely looks up, and shakes his head. “Not really. A few possible leads, but this is turning into one of those ‘could be anything’ cases.”

“Great,” Dean grunts, shrugging off his jacket. He sets the beer on the table and runs his hand over Cas’s shoulder and kisses the angel’s head before loosening his tie. “Same for me, really. Body is mutilated, so I was thinking werewolf, but the timing ain’t right.” He doesn’t notice the way Cas is watching him curiously as he rambles on.

Dean’s wrong, and they wipe out the werewolf culprit two days later. They make the thirteen-hour haul back to the bunker in one push, all of them exhausted and ready to be home in the comfort of their own beds.

Dean’s never really sure why he attempts a stop at the Walmart on a Saturday morning. It’s always packed, and he’s always irritated.

Sam elected to take Eileen to breakfast, leaving Cas and Dean to handle the grocery run on their own. Not that Dean minds spending any amount of time with Cas. It’s nice, just the two of them.

He’s standing in the coffee-and-tea aisle, weighing the options of two different brands when Cas leans in close and presses his hand to Dean’s back gently, between the shoulder blades. It shifts downward, and Dean quickly steps away, his movements jittery and completely without grace, chucking both bags of coffee in the cart. “Saw a sale on chips. I’m gonna go check those out,” he announces, and leaves Cas with the cart and a whole lot of hurt.

Dean puts the groceries away as quickly as possible, and pushes Cas against the fridge in a heated kiss, palming his hip through the faded jeans that fit him a little too well. “I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he murmurs, diving in for another kiss.

All thought goes out the window when his fingers slip beneath Dean’s shirt. “I need a shower. Come with me,” Dean breathes as they part. He grins deviously and takes Cas’s hand, leading him to the bathroom, and takes his time worshiping Cas beneath the cascade of hot water.

“I’m confused about something, Dean.” Cas closes the door and moves toward the bed, shedding his t-shirt as he goes. Dean knows this is about to be an in-depth discussion, but shirtless Cas proves to be a distraction no matter the subject.

“Okay.” Dean clears his throat, settling back against his headboard. “What’s up?”

Cas sits down on the bed, and the mattress dips beneath his weight. “You and I are… together, are we not? A ‘couple’?” He uses air quotes.

Dean leans forward, draping an arm over his bent knee. “‘Course, Cas. Why?”

Cas seems to consider it a moment, like he’s rearranging the Scrabble squares to find the right words. “I’ve spent a great deal of time around humans over the years. And, admittedly, my experience with being a ‘couple’ is limited, I feel like there are preconceived notions I’m not able to shake.”

“Okay…” Dean draws the word out slowly, his brow drawing together. “Cas, what is it, man?”

“It’s been my understanding - from culture and observation - that couples show each other affection.”

“Yeah. And?”

“You don’t.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean? ‘Course I do, Cas. I kiss you all the time. I hug you all the damn time. If you haven’t noticed, most of the time, I can’t get enough of you.”

“But only when we’re alone.”

Dean knows he should control his temper. He knows this is brand-new territory for both of them — if not more so for Cas. The guy has forsaken his own kind for Dean time and time again. All of this, Dean knows, is a sacrifice for Cas. And he’s thankful. He really is. But, he’s Dean and Dean doesn’t react well when confronted about feelings. “Sorry, I’m not interested in fucking you in public,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately, but the floodgates are already open. The filter’s been deactivated.

“Dean,” Cas says, calm as ever. He tilts his head and sighs. “You know that’s not what I mean. I mean… it seems like you’re ashamed of this. Of us.”

Dean narrows his eyes and pushes off the bed. He’s pacing, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So you’re pissed because, what? I don’t hold your hand in public? Throw myself at you? In case you missed the memo, Cas, we’re both dudes.”

He sees it then, the heat in Cas’s eyes. Dean’s struck a nerve. “So you’d prefer if my vessel were female?”

With a huff, Dean’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding me, right? That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying, situations like you and me ain’t that common and it’s not all that welcome sometimes.”

Cas is quiet for a moment, and he nods slowly. “So, I was right.” He stands and grabs his shirt as he heads for the door. “You’re ashamed of what we are.”

“No, Cas. C’mon, I—“ He doesn’t get to finish his thought before the door closes, and Dean’s left alone with the argument on repeat and the weight of his self-loathing bearing down on him yet again.

The one person who’s stood beside him through everything is an Angel who saw fit to lay siege to Hell and rescue him. An Angel who’s chosen him over and over again, put him above all else; above Heaven itself. An Angel who, before Dean, knew nothing of love but knew he loved Dean. And this is how Dean repays him.

Sinking to the bed with his head in his hands, Dean heaves a heavy breath and swallows hard. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He spends the night alone with little sleep. The sun rises, and with it dawns the realization that if Dean doesn’t figure his shit out and change his ways, he could lose Cas for good. Not to peril or death. But to a choice — one that, Dean knows — will hurt worse than death.

“We should go out tonight,” Dean announces over breakfast a week later. Cas, Sam, and Eileen stare at him in surprise before exchanging confused looks. Dean sighs, pushing on. “It’s been a hectic few weeks for all of us, y’know? I just,” He glances at Cas and swallows, “I just thought we could all use a night off.” He wants a night with Cas, to make it up to him. A little liquid courage, and everything will be right as rain. He hopes. “C’mon.”

He’s spent the better part of this past week doing everything in his power to gain back Cas’s good graces. Cas, to his credit, is outwardly taking it in stride. But Dean wakes each morning to an empty bed, and each morning, he’s faced with his own glaring stupidity.

Sam mentioned the tension only once, and when met with Dean’s angry response, he says nothing on the subject again.

To Dean’s outburst, Sam sighs and Eileen nods. “A good idea,” she says, signing to Sam.

“Yeah, why not,” Sam says, shrugging.

Dean smiles and looks to Cas. He nudges him gently. “Whaddya say, Cas?”

Cas nods quietly. “I’d like that.”

“Awesome. There’s a bar over in Smith Center I’ve been wanting to check out. Sound good?” When they’re all in agreement, Dean knocks back the last of his coffee and grins happily. “Awesome.”

The place is packed when the foursome step through the door. It’s not the dive bar they’re used to — it’s upscale; a little hipster for their taste, maybe. A change is a good thing, Dean thinks. They could all use something out of the ordinary.

They snag a standing table in the corner, and Dean heads for the bar to grab a round of beers for them — and a couple shots of whiskey for himself. Acoustic guitar fills the air above the chatter, and Dean thinks maybe he can get used to this. It’s not filthy and they’re not here to hustle anyone. He can’t remember the last time they enjoyed a night out without an ulterior motive.

An emcee — a young guy with a massive beard and a man bun — ushers the performer offstage and takes the mic. “Welcome any newcomers to Zeppelin and Wharf. Tonight, as you can see, is acoustic open mic, and we’ve got a decent roster. Sign ups are at the bar if anyone’s interested. Uhhh, Okay. Next up, we have, uh…” The guy stops to squint at his paper. “Dean Winchester. We got a Dean anywhere?”

Dean’s face flushes immediately, and Sam and Cas turn to stare at him, both open-mouthed and shocked. Eileen, not having heard most of what the emcee said, looks rightfully confused. Sam quickly explains, and she, too, turns to stare at Dean.

Clearing his throat, Dean slips from his stool and heads for the stage, taking the guitar offered by the previous performer. He tunes it quickly and approaches the mic. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he's certain everyone in the room can hear it. “Cas,” he says. Looking up, he meets Cas’s eyes through the crowd, and Dean sighs. He doesn't know what more to say, so instead of trying, he pushes on and does what he came here to do.

He strums out the opening chords, and draws in a deep breath. “I found a love for me. Darling just dive right in. And follow my lead..."

His eyes remain fixed on Cas's, and it's like the whole world falls away.

“Well I found a guy, beautiful and sweet. I never knew you were the someone waiting for me. 'Cause we were so scared when we fell in love. Not knowing what it was. I will not give you up this time. But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own. And in your eyes you're holding mine.

“Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to my favorite song.

“When you said you weren’t enough, I whispered underneath my breath, but you heard it, darling, you are perfect to me.

“Well I found an angel, stronger than anyone I know. He shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share a home.

“I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets. To carry love, to care for children of our own. We are still scared, but we're so in love. Fighting against all odds. I know we'll be alright this time.

“Darling, just hold my hand. Be my guy, I'll be your man. I see my future in your eyes. Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to my favorite song.

“When you came back to me, looking so beautiful, I don't deserve this, darling, you are perfect to me.

“Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to my favorite song.

“I have faith in what I see. Now I know I have met an angel in person. And he’s so perfect. I don't deserve this. You are perfect to me.”

Dean strums the final notes and hands off the guitar, his eyes set on Cas’s. He steps off the stage and pushes his way through the crowd. His hands reach Cas before he does, and they cradle his face, pulling him in for a deep, passion-filled kiss. The bar patrons, watching in fascination, clap and cheer for them, though no one’s really sure why.

When they part, they rest their foreheads together, and Dean takes a deep breath. “I love you, Cas. And I’m a fucking idiot for not wanting to show everyone. I’m sorry. I was a dumbass.”

Cas laughs softly, pulling Dean in closer. “I prefer misguided,” he says, and his elated grin matches Dean’s. “Less dumb. Less ass.”

The song Dean sings is "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran, with the lyrics slightly modified to fit these two.

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risprinabeachw-blog · 5 years

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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 1 year

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A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H H

MARTYN WONNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!

I have watched Martyn's pov for every single life series

AND HE FINALLY WON

Honestly throughout pretty much the entire thing I've thought he had good chances but WOW yes :DD

Now all I need to do is catch up on BigB and watch Jimmy's lol

Anyway, as I was chanting throughout the end,

MARTYN LORE MARTYN LORE MARTYN LORE MARTYN LORE MARTYN LORE MARTYN LORE

Now I haven't seen the full summary of his lore but UMM???? HELLO??????

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Also the way how they ere all discussing how it was gonna go down and Martyn just killed them xdd I do wish he'd gone for Impulse first because Mean Gills to the end but it was the best option XD

Anyway <333 amazing session, amazing episode, and amazing season :')

Limited Life is over. It was one heck of a ride guys :D

10/10 loved it

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shisonjackss · 11 months

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themomsandthecity · 7 years

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5 Simple (and Kid-Friendly) Places This Stay-at-Home Mom Goes to Maintain Her Sanity

The morning has gone well. My little girl and I are cool. We move through our day like well-choreographed dance partners. Like a feather bouncing on the breeze, our movement appears effortless, light, without burden or rigidity. We are all flow. She is in her room playing. I am making lunch, pausing periodically amidst egg-salad preparations to check in on her because toddlers are like the ocean: you look away one minute and the next, a tsunami-size wave is coming at you. But not this day. She has turned her pink CD player on, and I can hear "Bamboo the Bear," her new favorite song. My eyes are greeted with a delightfully eccentric view. She has pulled her pink princess backpack on over her striped shirt and yanked yellow rain boots onto the wrong feet. Her unicorn hair clip is still in, but her unicorn pants are off. She is dancing around in her Doc McStuffins pull-ups, wielding a purple magnifying glass as she sings about a "giant panda from Central China." We have days like this, and when they come along, it's easy to feel grateful for the gift of being home with my girl. The season we are in is vital, fortifying, life-giving. It is when the emotional foundation of who my daughter will be gets established. To be given such a mission is a weighty privilege. Related 13 Habits of Highly Effective (and Sane) Stay-at-Home Moms And yet, I have often heard my current parenting stage - the 0 to 3 years - described by veteran parents as the "trenches." Maybe that's why you can so often feel disheveled and dirtied up, bruised and battered by the early work of shaping a human. I don't always get the feather-dancing-on-the-wind days. Sometimes, I get the tsunami. In truth, so often during this period of my life, I go out into the world mentally and emotionally frazzled, with paint or glue-stick residue on my fingers and my arms, food on my clothes, consecutive showerless days, my hair knotted up in the proverbial scrunchie-encircled bun on top of my head, no makeup. These are the ugly, beautiful days, days where my thoughts are perpetually scattered like candy exploding out of a piñata, and I am utterly beat down by the effort it takes to get out the door (dressing a toddler can be like attempting to thread a needle while someone continually smacks you in the face). But, my child is flourishing, changing, growing, an inevitable rite of passage that somehow manages to fill me with awe and wonder every day I witness it. It makes me happy. And yet, I've realized, it's good to keep a lookout for an oasis during those days when your existence feels like a desert. I have learned that these places of sanity are usually very ordinary and simple. 1. The Neighborhood Park One such place for me is a small park a few blocks from where we live. Almost entirely enclosed, equipped with a large sandbox and a slew of abandoned but still workable toys, we made this our go-to locale throughout the Summer. Sometimes she'd sit in the sandbox for 30 uninterrupted minutes, mixing up culinary masterpieces of sandy delight. There is a large hill for running up and down. Pine trees dot the top of it, providing great hiding spots for my wee one who does not know yet how to play hide-and-seek without being adorably conspicuous. The train runs nearby; always popular with the under-3 crowd. There are swings, stairs, and a slide all tailored to her size. A noticeable shift in her physical capabilities and capacity for independent play seemed to culminate at the same time during one of our visits to this park, marking it forever in my memory as the little urban paradise where, for the first time in a long while, I was able to enjoy a coffee, a thought, a long sigh, all to blissful completion. 2. Wherever Other Moms Are "Look mama! I have a swinging buddy!" my daughter observes on any given day, as another mom deposits her toddler-size companion into the swing next to us. The other mom smiles. Our kids are side by side, grinning, chattering away as the swings grind out their loud metal creaking. "How old is she/he?" one of us asks, invoking what is often a standard mommy conversation starter. The days when this typical playground preamble transitions into full-fledged sharing about our mutual adventures in toddler world, perspective is suddenly no longer elusive, I laugh a little easier. It's like the first breath you take in a stuffy room after opening the window. Fresh air comes rushing through, and the space you're in feels less confining. These encounters remind me that other moms are my fellow comrades, and they are indeed a refuge for me. Some are veterans of the toddler trenches, others still knee-deep in the muck as I am, but all are well-versed in the language of survival, which is, simply put, encouragement. The mom with older kids or more than one can tell me with a knowing authority, "honey this stage will pass." The mom who is like me, wrangling a 2- or 3-year-old day in and day out, can say "Yes! Me too!" With those few words of validation, I am plucked out of soul-crushing isolation. Related This Is What Stay-At-Home-Moms Actually Do - For the Men Who Just Don't Get It As one recent conversation with a neighborhood mom taught me, it is just as important to create opportunities for yourself to talk about things besides your kids. As we shadowed our girls running throughout the playground, we talked about writing, the craft of it, our mutual interest in memoir and short-story writing. It was invigorating, and I came away from my time with her energized and inspired. Similarly, another mom friend of mine and I recently decided to try and meet up once a month for coffee, brunch, or even just a long walk without the kids. Sounds like a recipe for sanity to me! 3. The Local Coffee Shop Frequenting neighborhood coffee shops and cafes has also been instrumental in drawing me out of the mommy doldrums. My daughter and I built up a ritual around visiting such places. I get a coffee, she gets a muffin. We got to know the people who worked in the cafes. We learned things about them, like how the owner of one shop keeps a stash of Yorkshire Gold tea - the same kind my husband drinks - to remind him of his fondness for England. Or the barista who is a fellow singer and performer of musical theater. These places have been like my stay-at-home-mom version of Cheers, "a spot where everybody knows my name," or at least recognizes my face. The brief conversations, while not always deep, still engender a feeling of community. Sometimes that's all it takes to set me right again. 4. Outside on a Rainy Day The weather can often provide a place of refuge if you are willing to let it impress its natural pause on you. Travel becomes harder. Schedules get interrupted. Days like this are often declared pajama days. We hole up and build with blocks, or color, or crank out art projects with construction paper and glue. But if we do venture outside, our activity is slowed down. The world beyond our door is wet with snow or rain, limiting what can be done. But the limitation is where I find my peace. Rainy days are my favorite example of this right now. My little love's wearing and using her rain boots. And thanks to an affinity with Peppa Pig, muddy puddles are a must on a cold, wet day. We walk around the block slowly, chatting to one another, watching for puddles to splash in. It is a leisurely stroll without the pressure to entertain. I can breathe in the smell of the rain, the brisk cold of the air. I can listen to her tell me stories in her broken toddler English about the world as she sees it. I look on as she throws her 34-inch frame into a jump. She watches her boots lift off the ground and crash into pooled water. Bits of leaves, ejected from their previous homes by Autumn's arrival, fly every which way with the collected raindrops. We are content and unhurried. Related The 1 Thing to Consider Before Leaving Your Job to Be a SAHM, According to an Expert 5. The Library Sometimes, refuge can be found and sanity maintained in spaces designed with you and your kiddo in mind, like the children's area at your neighborhood library. The activities they provide, usually free and open to the public, bring in the community at large, fostering a cheerful, warm environment. We are all here, together, in the service of our children who simply want to play, explore, and be read to. I love going to the library. Beyond the gratitude I feel toward the communal, civic willingness to invest in my child, I am filled with nostalgia for my own childhood. I recall fondly a time when the Brown County Library, in my home town, Green Bay, WI, was indeed a place of refuge because it possessed one of the things I loved best as a child and still do: books. Books of every kind. Books with pictures, books with chapters. Books that I could check out over and over and over again. When I see how excited my little girl is by the same collective literary presence - one we have unlimited access to - I feel confident I am passing on a valuable pastime that will keep her company for years to come. I hope I am also passing on the importance of self-care. I hope my demonstration of this over time is consistent enough so she will see how everyday things, everyday encounters, can sometimes take you out of the quotidian of life. In those moments, it may not seem like much is happening. But like a seed in a pot of earth, waiting in stillness, the good stuff eventually gets awakened and really starts to bloom. http://bit.ly/2AHEJFN

#Stay at Home Moms

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