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rotisseries · 11 months

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idk anything about loz but do you wanna explain how hyrule is old as balls

i would LOVE to explain why hyrule is old as balls!!! this applies to both hyrule as a kingdom and the land itself

ok so. first of all. all the mainline games technically fit into a timeline. now the timeline was made AFTER most of the games came out and its clearly not nintendo's no.1 priority when they make their games (it's not mine normally either. personally my preferred interpretation is that all the games are just different versions of the same hyrulean folktale? but the timeline is fun to consider) but nevertheless it IS canonical and amazingly they don't seem to really overtly contradict each other?? I haven't played a lot of the games so I don't know for sure but it works

anyway this is the timeline

orignally published in 2011 in the hyrule historia, this is a version where someone added breath of the wild, as nintendo stated it comes at the end of the timeline. now you may notice 3 splits. that's not really super important here but botw supposedly comes at the end of all of them equally. unlikely for the one on the far right, but again, unimportant rn)

first thing to establish before we really start getting into it, with the exception of a few games with direct sequels, all of these games have new incarnations of zelda, link, and ganon. (with the exception of twilight princess, the second game in the middle line, which includes the same ganon from the previous game) I haven't played every zelda game, but the ones that I have played present you with the story of the cycle as though it is far enough back that its a mixture of history and legend. everyone who would remember the last events is dead by the time there's a new cycle. so there's at minimum, probably 150-200 years between each new cycle, keep that in mind

now, I'm starting at breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom because I wanna work my way backwards. so, in breath of the wild, it's already been 100 years since the last time anything significant happened. we're already working on a timespan of 100 years. what happened 100 years prior is that link, zelda, and 4 champions were prepping for the next time ganon rose, and then he did but he got them off guard and they weren't ready and most of them died and link had to be put asleep for 100 years to get healed while zelda kept ganon from completely destroying the world in the meantime.

NOW before THAT, the hyrule of botw's LAST cycle was 10k years ago. that is a LONG fucking time already, it's so old that this hyrule is incredibly divorced from its history, the more significant lore of the triforce is little more than a symbolic royal family crest, and it isn't directly referenced at all. all that this hyrule knows is that 10k years ago was the last time ganon rose, and hero and princess defeated him, so they know that they're gonna have to prep for it again, I also can't actually remember but I think? this may also be the first generation in a while that knows of the legend at all, hence why they're the first to prep for it. so anyway, already, at the end of the timeline, hyrule as a civilization is at a minimum 10k years old, for reference, in OUR world, 10k years ago humans were still living in caves. earth was just coming out of the ice age.

now, the latest game, tears of the kingdom actually shows us this 10k years ago, it's shown to us as the early days of the kingdom with its first king and queen. BUT it's still at the end of the timeline. how do I know this? and not that it's possibly at the start? 1. that contradicts a fair amount of previously established lore lol. in tears of the kingdom you get show this dessicated ganon mummy that's been lving under the castle from 10k years ago. if that was the beginning of hyrule entirely then it means for the entirety of the timeline there's been 2 ganons in existence. which is kind of. um. not how it works. ("but what about the ganon they fight in botw?" you may ask. I get the impression that wasn't a real ganon but just a manifestation of mummy ganon's power as he attempts to break free so its not like. a new ganon incarnation)

so anyway, it doesn't work super well if 10k years ago hyrule is actually the first hyrule, and already in the lore the kingdom of hyrule has risen and fallen countless times, it's gone through lots of wars. so I'm thinking the most likely explanation is that hyrule from any previous games fell, all memory of it died out, and then a new hyrule eventually rose in its place, hence why the king and queen self identify as the first king and queen of hyrule. so, AGAIN, the hyrule at THE END OF THE TIMELINE. is already like. hundreds or thousands of years removed from all the previous cycles.

now we're gonna work our way back to the beginning. so, there's 3 different timelines shown on the picture, but only one of them, the middle one, can actually be canonically achieved in the game they split from, ocarina of time, so we're going up the middle line. it's also the shortest span of time, so we're counting hyrule's years at a most generous minimum here.

so, there's an unknown amount of time between 10k years ago tears of the kingdom hyrule, and the last game on the middle line, four swords adventures. got no idea how much time is there but it's probably a lot, bc, again, civilization falling and rising again.

moving on, now when looking into this more, while again, I'm very rarely given explicit and specific time frames, there's generally supposed to be a few hundred years between four swords adventures and the previous game, twilight princess.

now, at twilight princess. as previously stated, that is the same ganon (this is also the first ganon to appear, all games chronologically prior to ocarina of time feature other villains) as the game before it, ocarina of time. (majora's mask, the game actually listed right before it on the timeline, is a direct sequel to ocarina of time and doesn't have significant bearing on this count) the lore of ocarina of time involves a lot of time travel, and in this center timeline, and the achievable canonical ending of the game, link defeats ganon and then goes back in time to warn the hyrule leaders, and ganon is stopped before he can ever get started. he's set to be executed, but evidently they don't succeed, because he's back at it again in twilight princess (I haven't played either of those games so I don't know the specifics) I don't know how long ganon's life expectancy is (clearly a lot though. he still looks like a middle aged man), but twilight princess has a new link and zelda, so assuming ocarina of time link lived a long and healthy life, it's probably been almost a century at minimum. this is also likely the closest gap between games.

now, from ocarina of time to the game before it. there is a vague "countless eras long" hyrulean civil war. so that's another couple hundred years between oot and four swords (different from four swords adventures)

now from four swords to the game prior, minish cap, is another vague and indeterminate amount of time, but it's for sure a new zelda and link, so that's probably over a hundred years again.

AGAIN with the unknown amount of time, we go back from minish cap to skyward sword. skyward sword is the first in the timeline, featuring the first link, the first zelda, and the earliest form of ganon, an evil god called demise who curses link and zelda to forever be reincarnated and to keep having to deal with his ass. now, skyward sword takes place in, the sky!!

the lore of this game is that, an unknown amount of time, long ago, demise cracked open the earth (already full of prospering people btw. no mention of a kingdom though. but keep that in mind. these weren't hyrulean cavemen these were societies) and monsters poured out, he was looking for the triforce, which was passed down from the golden goddesses (hyrule's creation gods) and protected by hylia, another goddess of the land, the triforce is capable of granting any wish to the person who has it. hylia took the triforce and sent it skyward on a piece of land (to be called skyloft) with the remaining surviving humans (hylians. despite the fact hylians are categorically an elven race, they are referred to interchangeably with the term human in the zelda games) hylia then took up forces with the remaining land dwellers (bc there are other races and they just got stuck on earth. fuck those guys ig) and they fought a vicious war that finally resulted in hylia sealing demise away. peace was restored to the surface, but the humans were left up in skyloft because she knew the seal wouldn't hold forever. hylia knew she wouldn't be able to defeat demise again without the help of the triforce, but a goddess can't use the triforce, so she gave up on immortality and was eventually reincarnated as a hylian. the first zelda. the first zelda is literally a direct reincarnation of a goddess. all future zeldas share her bloodline. (funny thing about this is you're never introduced to a hyrulean queen, there's only ever princess zelda and her father, despite the fact their divine right of kings follows a matrilineal line)

an unknown amount of time after the imprisoning war, we're at present day skyloft. they have little memory of the surface and the imprisoning war. og zelda ends up getting thrown down to the surface, where she discovers that she's a goddess incarnation and what her duty is. she's going to purify herself at springs and shit, while link follows trying to find her. there's a bunch of shit that happens while link follows her, eventually there's some time travel where he follows her back to when the goddess had first sealed away demise, zelda tells him she's a reincarnation, hylia intended for the triforce to be used by a chosen hero with an unbreakable spirit (link!!), she ends up getting sealed into a crystal so she can be awoken in her own time, the works. he goes back, does some other shit, part of skyloft breaks off and comes crashing down, and link and zelda decide to stay on the surface. hyrule as a kingdom is founded sometime between this game and the next.

so. to recap. the end of the timeline is already over 10k years removed from the last cycle. and then there's a couple hundred to a thousand years from THAT to ocarina of time, where the timeline splits. THEN there's another couple hundred to a thousand years from ocarina of time to skyward sword, the beginning of the cycle. and at the time of skyward sword, which is the prologue to the FOUNDING OF HYRULE. the land is already a few hundred years old ABSOLUTE MINIMUM. and had thriving and complex societies with technology BEFORE humans ever even got sent into the sky. all this together I'm estimating around 15k years of thriving society. at 15k years ago our earth had just started warming after about 100k years of ice age. and they already had technology. hyrule is an OLD ASS kingdom and all the intelligent civilizations on its land are even older. what the fuck

#I first started thinking about this a couple years ago or whatever when I watched an osp video about the history present in botw's setting #bc there's a shit ton of ruins. there's the ruins from 100 years ago and ones from 10k years ago #but there’s even older ruins #there's ruins with images of loftwings (bird creatures from skyward sword) there's a giant hylia statue like the one from skyward sword #there's so much just. unexplained stuff #bc it's older than that hyrules history #there's a mountain with a giant perfectly shaped hole shot through it. the edge of it smooth and glassy #that's never explained!!! that hole. probably shot from some great giant robot or something. is older than botw hyrule's known history!!!#and like. I'd never noticed those details BUT THEN I DID after watching the video #and it just infested my brain. I was like. wow botw hyrule is fucking old #and then started thinking about how it comes at the end of the chronological timeline. that's insane #it's something like 15k years removed from skyward sword. and there are ruins with loftwings on them #that's like if we found ruins with depictions of animals we never even found fossils for #ask #witch-of-aiaia #hi aiaia!

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zargsnake · 1 year

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Through a Blackened Mirror

Chapter 1: The Feast

Word Count: 4745 Link: Table of Contents

* * *

“In times of old there lived a king and queen, and every day they said, ‘Oh, if only we had a child!’ Yet, they never had one.

“Then one day, as the queen went out bathing, a frog happened to crawl ashore and say to her, ‘Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before the year is out, you shall give birth to a daughter.’

“The frog’s prediction came true, and the queen gave birth to a girl who was so beautiful that the king was overjoyed and decided to hold a great feast.”

-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes

* * *

Maul senses his master at the entrance to the Temple. The door opens -- opportunity, air -- smokey air, but free and wild, not the fake stuff pumped through these five-thousand-year-old vents -- then shuts again. He senses Sidious turn to check the information pouring into the ancient computers. His student is not his priority.

Maul had been reading a holobook, but the moment his master entered he lost all concentration. He does not go running to him as he used to. He reads the same sentence over and over again, unable to retain it. The emotion he feels is awful and powerful, and it fills him up so wonderfully.

He does not look at the door when it finally opens twenty minutes later. He pretends to be asleep on his hand. He senses his master take his holo from him.

“History? There’s no need for that.” Sidious erases Maul's notes. “One day, when you are Emperor, you will make history whatever you want it to be.”

“So you’ve told me.” Maul lifts his head up. “But you failed to program that fact into Sixjee.”

“The computer?”

“My substitute teacher, on your orders. My only companion for the past month and a half.”

“Oh, did I forget to unlock the door?”

Maul looks away. There is nothing interesting on this planet, anyway. It is prettier than foul Naboo, but the people-watching on Naboo is worth the smell and the blinding brightness. Throughout his latest home-imprisonment -- which he can’t imagine was not intentional -- he has gazed out the high, impenetrable windows of this Temple at the black, crashing waves below, and he has longed to go for a swim. The Temple’s pool is not the same. He has seen fires raging on woodsy islands far away, and he has tried to sense their source, but his feelings have failed him. Unsatisfied curiosity hurts worse than any other discipline.

He has felt, at the very edge of the horizon, another building, another Sith building. And the people who exist in this Temple, the dead people who linger in the Force here, who are always trying to talk to Maul and use him for their own purposes -- all the ghosts seem far more excited about the other building than they are about this one.

But he’s grown a little numb to the voices. He doesn’t really care, himself. It is only Huntt’awn. There aren’t any real people here, not anymore. The comparative merits of various relics are not particularly significant to someone this lonely.

Sidious, still reading the page his student had marked, appears distracted, even though they both know he isn’t. He takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair next to Maul’s.

“... Ah, yes, and Sixjee’s Teaching Protocol would include History, wouldn’t it?”

“Mm.” Maul affects a feminine, robotic voice. “‘A perfect recollection of your proud history, my lad -- every date in precise order -- on pain of death!’”

“Pain of death, really?”

“Her favorite threat.”

“Do you really think she’d kill you?”

Maul picks at his claws. “You have a lot of questions for someone with as dull a life as mine.”

“Mind it, boy. I shall have the History portion of Sixjee’s programming destroyed. We will make history ourselves.”

“How will you make it, Master?”

“Pardon?”

“History. What will you want to have happened?”

“I am the teacher, boy, I ask the questions. What will you want to have happened?”

You’re a lousy teacher, Maul thinks.

“I asked you first.”

Sidious looks at the cold fireplace. He feels his student’s gaze upon him, more scrutinizing than his enemies, more imploring than his voters, more adoring than his children. Maul’s gaze is like that of a pilgrim to a god, and it makes Sidious feel far more powerful than he is. He rides that feeling and shoots lightning from his fingers at the fireplace. The tiniest spark of his power is enough to create a mighty flame; heat and light reach the young Sith Lords immediately. Maul shrinks from it, but, after a couple blinks, stares back at his master.

“It is a good question.”

Sidious’ slowness to answer, and his waffling response -- however steady and snooty his tone -- fill Maul with a sense of amazement and terror. Without meaning to, Sidious has revealed a great hole. Maul looks deeply upon the object of his life, his most precious belonging, his master and his father, and -- without intention or desire -- he finds nothing. Sidious sits there, playing with his lightning, unable to come up with a single thing he thinks is worth preserving, a single thing he wants to keep.

“But not an important one. When a youngling is born, he does not know he has a grandfather. There is no reason to know. Grandfathers die, soon, anyway.”

Human grandfathers, yes, Maul thinks.

“Take the child from his past, and he loses nothing. He gains everything,” Sidious continues. “We will take our Empire from her past, cling to nothing, and burn everything. The people will hate and fear the past. Even the inevitable lingering heroes will hate and fear it. The Jedi are spoiling it very well on their own. And we will spoil it even better. It’s all part of the plan. Nobody will remember the Republic or the Jedi.”

“But how will you explain where things came from?”

“Everything will come from my grace. Then yours.”

“People won’t buy that.”

Sidious chuckles. “You are innocent. They will. You’ll see.”

“So what will students learn?”

“Not History. There are a thousand other things. They’ll learn Manners instead. Much as you should, my interrogative brat.”

Maul does not wince or show any fear, though he does convey a measure of annoyance. It is a cover, of course, but he wears it every moment, so it is not difficult for him.

“What about the people who remember?”

“Why, Maul. This is the most obvious and the happiest answer of all, for you. They die. We kill them.”

Maul feels the backs of his hands physically ache; he curls his fingers tight; a tremor zings from his chest through his teenage body; he catches his breath with excitement.

“Yes, Master.”

Sidious, pleased to have taunted the boy, says, “I think that’s all you need to know, my good little one. And I do apologize for Sixjee’s programming. The Sith teachers who built her had stupid priorities. I will look into it. Don’t let me forget.”

Maul knows his master never forgets anything.

“I have felt some of the past, myself, Master. I mean, I’ve read some, yes. But I’ve felt it, too -- the Force teaches better than anyone. I felt pain; I’ve died a thousand times or more, with our people, in their echoes from the past. You wanted me to, you led me to it.”

“Yes. That pain is all of the past you need to know. Revan, Malgus -- read it if you want -- but read it for what it is -- stories, with no bearing upon us now. Old nothings. Failures, mostly. Entirely, actually -- everything fails in the end. The past is for pain, and pain gives us power. Use it, when you need it, or even when you want it. But do not look at it. Look forward. There is no failure in the future. There is no reason our Empire won’t last one more day, and another, and another, for infinity.”

Sidious’ words are madness, and Maul knows it. But the idea of not believing in Sidious is so frightening that Maul forces himself to believe. He needs to hold onto this person, no matter how hollow he is.

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

Sixjee, from her main hub deep underground, sends sensors through the intratubes which run through every room in the Huntt’awn Temple. The sensors glow purple as they zoom past. Maul, sitting in the windowsill of a tower that overlooks the sea, notices the sensor, more by its movement than by its color with his light-poor predator’s eyes.

Exactly on time.

The computer panel in the room beeps on. It takes a couple shaky moments to boot up. Maul has not interacted with Sixjee in this room before. He supposes that this terminal has not been used in a few hundred years, at least. Sidious tends to keep his boy on the more obscure Sith planets, the better to avoid Plagueis, and Huntt’awn is no exception. Sixjee’s voice garbles through the speaker next to the panel.

“ꜱᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀᴡ-ᴏᴏʟ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏᴠᴇʀ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ.”

“Acknowledged.”

“ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜʏ. ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ?”

“Such a thing is possible, but only for those who are strong in the Force.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ.”

“The pain of death may break one’s body and mind, but a true Sith does not need these things to hold onto the Force, nor to use the Force to cling onto life. This dead Sith may exist in corporeal form, through borrowed materials, such as flesh and metal. Or, a more powerful Sith may exist in incorporeal form, through pure emotion.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇ.”

“The corporeal dead Sith must maintain his materials. The incorporeal dead Sith must maintain his emotions. A moment of distraction would end everything. He is vulnerable. He waits to be awakened.”

“ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ…”

Quickly, Maul corrects himself: “No, he acts. He finds a host and conquers him.”

“ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ…”

“He -- is not vulnerable? ... He is not vulnerable. A true Sith can maintain this altered state indefinitely.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴜɴᴋᴇ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴀʙʀᴇ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɴɪᴄꜱ.”

“... What?”

“ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ.”

Sixjee remotely activates the spikes sewn into the high tan-colored collar of Maul’s training robe; the spikes glow with a matching purple and spark with energy. Maul braces for the pain and takes it without flinching.

“ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ. ᴍᴀᴛʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄꜱ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɪᴏʀ ᴀɴɢʟᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʜᴇxᴀɢᴏɴ?”

“Seven hundred twenty.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ.”

“The sum of the measures of the interior angles of a shape is a hundred eighty times the number of sides minus two.”

“ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ–”

“And the number of sides minus two is –” Maul holds up his hands in a moment of panicked inarticulation -- “in parentheses.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ.”

“So a hundred eighty times -- in parentheses -- six, minus two -- close parentheses -- is -- a hundred eighty times four -- which is -- seven hundred twenty.”

“ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ. ʜɪꜱᴛ–”

Three dull white streaks pass over the terminal. Its softly glowing green numbers -- so briefly -- flicker.

It is the moment Maul was waiting for, the reason he chose this spot. Sixjee’s programming is powerful, and she controls everything in this Temple. She has kept every exit blocked, every window sealed.

But -- if his master had deleted the History routine of Sixjee’s programming -- and if he had neglected to delete the routine that requires Sixjee to test on what she taught that week -- then the two commands would contradict each other -- which would require Sixjee to prioritize the two -- and -- if -- Maul forced her to work through a terminal which was especially old and neglected -- and if he had given it a good beating while he waited -- not enough to cause suspicion, but enough to -- slow it down -- if all these things had come together, and if he was lucky -- then she might be -- for a moment -- preoccupied.

And she is. For a tiny, perfect second, the screen buzzes quizzically: a high note turning up, like a question, or a hook in a song.

He ignites his lightsaber during this pause and smashes the weapon through the window. He pulls his blade out -- a drop of molten glass strikes his lap -- and he stabs the window again, shattering it. He slithers through the hole and leaps out the tower. As he falls, he tears off the training robe and flips into a perfect dive. His naked entry into the tumultuous water causes the barest of splashes.

* * *

Maul generally receives "Acceptable" on verbal tests, but "Good" or even "Very Good" on physical ones. He has been pushing himself exceptionally hard in Swim for the past month: using the Force to hold his breath for increasingly absurd amounts of time; filling up the Temple pool with acid and toxins, extreme heat and extreme cold to harden his skin against the unknown variables of the wild sea; practicing with holovids of the Sith’s most accomplished swimmers -- fish-aliens, species he has never seen before, some extinct, many quite lovely to behold -- if only they could talk back.

The Huntt’awn sea is dark and cold -- not that cold, though -- and it fights to pull Maul to death just as fiercely as Maul fights to live. He keeps nothing but his lightsaber, which he holds tight in his right hand, unignited. He does not need its light to see the churning slime and racing rocks in this dead water. He dives deeper to escape the sea’s movement, and he swims for minutes at a time, heading purposefully in the direction of the other building. When he finally reaches his limit of breath, he steels himself, fights back through the currents to the surface, breaks through to gulp more air, then hurries again into the peace down below.

At first he uses only his connection to the Force as a compass, but as he draws closer to the building, he hears it calling to him, singing a whispering song in his head, and he switches his focus onto that, trusting in the building, hoping that it does not deceive him. He does not think it will. He thinks it wants him, far more desperately that he wants it.

After swimming around a jagged coral reef, he finally finds a way through without getting cut up too badly. He emerges from the waters onto a small bed of tidepools, the home of tiny lethargic creatures who suck at his feet. He walks across the disgusting beach, eyes caught on the building ahead of him. It does not look that remarkable -- top-heavy towers, rusted antennae, overblown buttresses -- but Maul is well into the habit of seeing beyond the physical; he sees with the Force.

There is something in there -- something for him, something waiting for him.

The left half of the lawn is overgrown with thorny nestles, but the right half is well-trimmed. Maul notices two droids sitting on either side of the front door. The droid on the right is curled into a fetal position in a stone recharging chamber. The droid on the left is cut in half.

Shivering in the slight breeze, he approaches the door. He glances at the still-functional droid for permission, or, better, welcome, but the droid does not move.

“Rude,” Maul says, under his breath.

He pushes the door open; it obeys with a loud creak. He shuts it behind him, happy to be out of the chill.

At his presence, rows of neglected lights ignite with a grumpy whine. After so long in the dark, Maul flinches at the lights, though, fortunately, dust in the air and floor dulls their splendor. He looks around, hugging himself with wet, red arms, his saber digging into his side.

The room is a foyer, and the walls are lined with ancient oil-holo-combo portraits of Siths -- old, crusted, universally ugly faces. They do not hold the young man’s interest.

The thing he felt, calling to him, singing to him, is not here ... not with the old guys.

He steps forward, dripping on the hard floor. These Temples are supposed to serve him. He is a living Sith, even if he’s only a student; he deserves their respect. If his master were here, the Temple would welcome him.

“... I’m ... freezing my ass off! Hello! ... I’m a Sith! Do something!”

The portraits on the walls seem to frown deeper, but that’s probably all in his head.

Then a droid built into the wall unfolds one spindly leg. The leg takes several shaky tries to get a grip on the floor. Maul gives it a couple seconds, snarls, and gives it a hand. The droid unfolds four more legs from its perch, pops its upper body out and scuttles free. It nearly trips, but Maul steadies it. The droid says nothing, but it skirts along the wall to another panel, and carefully inputs a code. Maul watches and memorizes it, since he probably will have to do this himself in the future. The panel scrapes open and reveals a rack of handsome, heavy robes. The droid flops over, exhausted. Maul kicks it, and it shatters into two pieces.

“Lots of hype over this junk,” Maul mutters.

Maul grips the rack and yanks it further out of the wall. The robes are lined with rich brown fur, which glistens in the dim light. He has never felt anything so soft. The rack also contains leather belts, dress shoes, and under clothing of luxurious quality. He dries himself with one suit and dresses in another, and selects the belt which has the best grip for a double-bladed lightsaber.

Maul does not pick the fanciest robe -- first of all, because it looks ridiculous -- and secondly, it is surely enchanted to repel non-Masters. It’s not worth the effort. Even the plainest robe on this rack is beautiful, after all. This must have once been a place for parties.

Buttoning the silk cuffs on his sleeves, he walks back across the foyer. His stomach rumbles. He brought nothing to eat, of course. Snacks are for Jedi. He knows how to starve; he always gets top marks in it. Nonetheless, a light brightens over a side door in response to the tiny noise.

Through the door, he sees a hall lined with interesting weapons and taxidermied beast heads in various stages of disintegration. There is an enormous round table set with at least fifty chairs. The table is black, thick, and somehow, no dust has settled on it; instead, the dust has rolled off and accumulated in a large ring around the sides.

He stares at the table and waits for servants to fill it with food. But there are no robots to be seen. There aren’t even any side doors to kitchens. Something is familiar about this table...

His insides churn up. He remembers this thing. Or one very like it. It is a Blood Bounty table -- there was one in the Nal Hutta Temple. His master made him bleed on it, back when he was little more than a baby. His pure, sinless blood produced rare, hearty meat for the two of them to eat. It is an awful memory, but not so awful that it has left him, as he knows other memories have.

And now he feels curious as to the quality of his current blood.

How many people have I killed since then? My first kill was but a few days following that. And now it has been ten years.

He starts counting on his fingers, trying to recall them in order. He counts only organic, sentient life, but he makes an exception for a few droids who had particularly strong personalities.

...Twenty six. No. The Huttling last winter. Twenty seven. Is that all? It seems like so much more.

He knows he cut up his leg on the coral, but that open wound is too well-dressed to access now. So he makes a new cut; he brings his hand up to his sharpest horn and cuts the fleshy part of his palm. It goes against every instinct, but hunger and curiosity compel him. He presses his bloody hand to the table. The surface sucks up the black blood, then keeps sucking at his wound -- he lets it go at it for a minute, as a plate appears before his eyes, and starts to pile up with food -- garnishes of a red leaf he has never seen before -- some sort of white mineral, like salt, but -- not -- and the main course, a slice of meat, a bit over an inch thick, half the length of his hand.

He remembers what his master said: Blood Bounty tables want innocent blood. They were using an old, kidnapped Jedi Temple Guardian’s blood until his master made Maul bleed instead. The Guardian’s blood made very poor meat, almost inedible -- or maybe it didn’t make meat at all -- Maul can’t remember.

But the food the table makes now, from his far-from-innocent blood, is not bad at all. Maul had been expecting charred bacon, at best. Twenty-seven murders, twenty-seven dead, and he is still “innocent” enough to produce such a nice cut of meat?

Is it because he is just fifteen? But -- twenty-seven dead!

Maul lifts his hand; it twitches pathetically from the pain and blood loss. He balls it up and puts it in his warm, fuzzy pocket; he checks for booby traps, then sits at a knight’s chair and eats the food with his other hand. The meat is a little overcooked, but all meat is for him; he would rather have everything raw. It does not taste as delicious as he remembers that other Blood Bounty feast, but it is still good. He sops up some of the salt-like mineral, and eats that. He wonders if it is native to his home planet, and that’s why it is unfamiliar to him. He tries to let his taste buds reawaken memories. But the flavor is completely foreign to him.

Satisfied, he exits the dining hall, his stomach full and his hand aching, his head spinning with questions. He opens the large doors at the end of the foyer, and he sees an enormous room with a vast collection of holocrons. There are holos lining dozens of shelves, and artifacts on display all around. He’s never seen so many. There was a room a bit like this in the Temple on Telos, but it was not at this scale. Just as his eyes adjust to the pleasant darkness, chandeliers above detect his presence and hum to life. He scowls in annoyance at the lights.

A terminal in front of him clicks a few times and awakens. Text appears on the screen, written in the sacred Sith language, which was enchanted long ago to never change, nor even develop dialects -- frozen in life, the better to unite an empire. Maul, of course, can read and speak it quite well, but the fuzziness of the old tech still makes comprehension difficult.

“𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰, ℌ𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥.”

“Hi.”

The screen is blank for a few moments.

“𝔑𝔞𝔪𝔢?”

“Darth Maul.”

“𝔐𝔬𝔩.”

“No, M-A-U-L. As in, to maul.”

The computer is not familiar with the modern verb, but it corrects its phonetic spelling to Maul’s idiosyncratic one.

“𝔐𝔞𝔲𝔩.”

“Yeah.”

“𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯?”

“He will be along. You answer to me.”

“𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. 𝔖𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡. 𝔉𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔥𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡.”

“Oh. Great.”

“ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔶𝔬𝔲?”

“What is this place?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔱’𝔞𝔴𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔩𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔵𝔶.”

“A library? That’s what everyone has been talking about?”

The screen is blank.

“I thought this was ... some kind of ... social area. Are there -- were there any parties here?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔫𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔫 𝔄𝔖ℭ 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫 1,547 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰.”

“Oh, a conference. How exciting.”

The screen is blank.

“...Is there anyone here?” Maul asks, desperately.

“𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔬𝔫?”

“Are there any people? Living, breathing people?”

“𝔑𝔬.”

“Is there any way to contact any living people here?”

“𝔄𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔥𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰.”

After a pause, Maul hits his head on the terminal. “I would kill you if you could feel it.”

The screen is blank.

He stands up straight again. “What may I access here, Computer?”

“𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪.”

“Good. Great.”

“𝔐𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫?”

“What kind of information is there?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔱’𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔳𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔖𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔬𝔭𝔥𝔶, 𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔰, 𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡. 𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱.”

Maul tuts. “Sure.”

The screen is blank. Maul looks over it at the shelves.

There is so much.

It is his history. His people’s history. It did not spring from his own grace, nor from his master’s. It was here first. It is their foundation. It is more than pain. It is ... something. It is not nothing. And his master has no interest in it. His master said to ignore it. There is nothing here his master wants to preserve, nothing.

But something here is calling to him, Maul.

“... Where are your records on ... Iridonia?”

“ℑ𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔞. 𝔖𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔯 43, 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔣 11.”

Tiles under Maul’s feet glow, illuminating the way. He takes a step, but more text flashes on the screen.

“𝔐𝔞𝔲𝔩.”

“Yes?”

“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 ’𝔪𝔶’ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔯. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰.”

The screen blanks. Maul stares at it.

“... That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The screen is blank.

“Thank you.”

The screen is blank. He leaves it, and follows the lights to Sector 43, Shelf 11.

Irascus, Darth.

Ireajak [weapon].

Ireajak [colony].

Iria the Bloody, Duchess.

Iridonia.

The section on Iridonia, the homeworld of his species, is far bigger than anything around it. The shelves are packed tight with holocrons slotted together, pyramids between pyramids, top to bottom. The labels are overwhelming; Maul does not know where to look first. He walks a few feet down the hall, and sees a row of artifacts between the holos.

The sight moves him deeply. The artifacts are matching small jars, no more than two inches tall. Each contains a set of baby horns.

He has a set just like this. Or his master does. Somewhere on Naboo...

He touches one. A Zabrak grew these, from their own head, a baby Zabrak who became a great Sith Lord. Darth Willog -- these dates come from over six thousand years ago. They must have been preserved. They will be here forever.

He moves the jars carefully around until he finds the M’s on a lower shelf. Madrin. Maggill. Mattear. Maver. He makes a space for another jar between Mattear and Maver.

He stands back up and looks at the jar at eye level. The horns are especially white, but with beautiful, natural brown stripes. He didn’t know horns could look like that. The label says Darth Sudette. And next to that -- Sunke.

Sunke. His damn “Macabre Photonics” got me tortured today. And he was one of us! A Zabrak!

Maul glares at Sunke’s horns. It wasn’t fair of Sixjee to put Sunke on the test. Sunke wasn’t even in any of the books. He feels those six wounds on his neck from the torture spikes, nearly two months of training in that awful tan suit. He puts his finger on top of Sunke’s jar and tips it forward. It falls and shatters on the ground.

What do Macabre Photonics have to do with life after death?

He feels goosebumps on the back of his neck. It is that song that called him here.

It is not something. It is someone. There is someone here, in this room. He can feel it. A person, a real person -- dead? -- dead, maybe, but -- real -- death is not death for a real Sith. Macabre Photonics -- whatever they are -- and life after death -- and this person wants him, Maul, wants him badly -- or maybe he wants them. Yes, he always has. He’s never been so sure of anything.

“Macabre Photonics,” Maul says out loud.

Lights below his feet guide him to the scientific section of the library, a fair walk away. Darth Sunke’s extensive works line up an entire fifth of a shelf.

One holo, in the midst of it all, stands out so starkly to him that for an eerie, empty moment, it seems to be the only thing that exists in the galaxy.

A word glows red on its side: Zaster.

#my story #my art #through a blackened mirror #darth maul #sheev palpatine #scifi #fairytale #cw abuse

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harmcityherald · 2 years

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I put my archive link up. don't lose your minds. maybe its easier to get to my prehistoric tumblr. I have been here quite a few years. I collected a plethora of content over that time. maybe its easier for you, dear readers. anyways lets see how it plays out. oh and updates to me? well 3 radiation treatments in. no bad effects. I went down today and did the treatment then came home and worked in the yard from front facade to back garden. no problem. pain management helps me in such a humongous, unparalleled way. I have more tomato!

Now it is time for some Herbal Pain Management then I'll water the garden down one more time. Seems I've found some good history shows to put on in the background as I try to fight my way through this Thoreau book. I have to remember that he's writing at such a time with some of his pretensions. by chapter4 you should be ready to build his fully envisioned hermit shack. he literally gives us a practical blueprint including a product price list. Too bad its the 18oos pov.

His view of nature is unparalleled but his view of those people in lower classes then him is grim and tedious to read. He reeks of Victorian colonialism oozing from almost every word written. So far that's my impression of Thoreau, which surprises me considering his other noteable work is something about civil disobedience AND the man was an abolitionist. perhaps I am reading too much into his views of the townsfolk he encounters, of which, at the time, were easily maligned.

but I digress.

my emily is very sick again. So my focus has been on her and will remain so until this episode passes as I am hopeful it will. I went to radiation alone today. I convinced her it would be better that way. daughter n law n granddaughter could have drove me but I felt better them here in case emily needed 911. lets hope it don't go that far this time but its usually the outcome. watching her ramp up until she can't breath at all. when shes down im there to carry her through the best I can and when cancer tightens its grip on me its always emily there to lift my hand, and walk with me through hell.

She's beating herself up over not attending a family gathering centered around her sister's death. First of all I told her she was too sick to go. She is barely making it around here and I am basically on a 911 watch. Secondly I don't think the stress level would have been good for either one of us. The family seem to brush us aside as it was anyway and maybe that's as good as you can hope for. I find that I think I'm finally as close as I can come to being surrounded by people who actually do care about me and would actually put me out if I was on fire. Having my two favorite grandchildren on hand is a blessing and I know that you're supposed to love every child the same but you know I'm on Tumblr I can tell you I've got two favorite grandchildren it's a sin of mine and maybe I'll pay for it in whatever Purgatory I end up. It very very much hurt Emily that her sister did not want her to know that she had cancer especially when we're dealing with cancer and home already as it is anyway. Her depression over this has made her not want to go to that family gathering to begin with anyway. But I'm here and she has me and I will wait on her hand and foot and make her coffee at will and just like she does for me I will offer my hand to lift her up and walk through whatever hell we have to walk through. That's all you can expect from love really. And real love is so lucky to have. Although I will not now subject you, dear readers, to my dissertations and Limitless verbosity on the nature of real love. We leave that for later chapters as I am absolutely certain to run across the slippery rocks again.

If, dear reader, you follow along with me, which I solemnly apologize for, you know my voyages across the slippery rocks are varied and dare I use the word verbose again? other times it is a reflection of the fractured emotional vessel that is my mind.

again, I digress.

play with the archive. I once posted a cop car flying off a cliff to an actual cop, so thats always fun to revisit innit? its my ups and downs. and I never promised I wasn't mentally, if not ill then remarkably bruised and dysfunctional. so saying all that, see it now from the beginning and how one man becomes problematic to a nation

one thing you are sure to see is a man honest with himself and his true nature. I examine my life. my words. my beliefs. and lay it all here for you, dear readers, to one day discover. through it I learned, but I will never shirk from telling truth of my broken past and my road through evil to get to this place of peace where the woman lying in the next room is more important to me and worriedly prominent in my every thought and emotion.

if I die it was all worth it.

but I'm not going to die. I have too many words left to torture you with, my dear lovely readers.

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steele-soulmate · 2 years

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Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 15, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink

WORDS: 2487

Peter continued to check up on me throughout the remainder of the day, monitoring me as I lazed about and napped, kissing my forehead and placing his hand over my popped out belly from time to time, being greeted with little girl’s excited punches every time.

“Christ, I can’t wait,” he murmured softly as he helped pack up for the faire shutting down until the next week. “I can’t wait to call you mine.”

I saw that he had pulled out the ring he had gotten me the day before- he had been keeping it in his wallet for safekeeping, but I saw it close up at one point, when he was paying for a snack up at the food court. The ring that he had decided on was a simple band in rose gold with green and blue detailing that wrapped around the simple wedding band. I would catch him smiling as he held the ring in his hand before slipping it back into his pocket.

~xoXox~

I squeaked as Peter lifted me into his arms and began to carry me out to Sammi’s car. I curled in deeper into his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck as I snuggled in closer to his large body.

“Love you,” I hummed sleepily before drifting off into a half awake half asleep state of mind. I could feel Peter glanced down at me and smiling.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered before kissing me forehead. “I will always love you.”

Jackie was packing up the car as Peter was buckling me into my seatbelt, making sure that it was snug, but not too tight.

“Are you ladies going to want me to tail you back to the Upper East Side?” Peter asked, placing a chaste kiss to my forehead before straightening up. “I want to make certain you three get home alright.”

“Fine by me,” Sammi chirped as she loaded the cooler into the back. “Would you mind carrying MC into our apartment when we land? If she hasn’t woken up by then, I mean.”

“Uh…” Peter stared at the two sisters as they fussed about getting the car packed. “Would she be alright with it? I mean, she wouldn’t let me know what apartment number she lives in when I dropped her off from the concert last Thursday.”

Of course I’m fine with it. you have proven to me that you are a truly good mantm. I felt his smile and knew that he had heard my thought

“You’ll be fine!” Sammi giggled as she shut the back door. “Besides, Jackie and I sure can’t as hell carry our heavily pregnant older sister up to our apartment by ourselves- eight years ago, yes. But not right at this very moment.” She handed Peter one of the walkie talkies and shooed him off to his car.

Twenty minutes later, I was fully linked with Peter as he followed Sammi as she drove back to the sisters’ shared apartment on Sweetwater Lane. I could tell that he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as I read the fantasies that his mind dreamt up- waking up to my beautiful befreckled face every morning, me cooking in the kitchen and he working the on his car in the garage, me carrying his children in my sacred womb…

Christ.

His cock began to swell up, making him scowl deeply.

Sorry sweetheart, this requires tending too, he apologized before stopping at a red light directly behind Sammi’s obnoxious bright orange Volkswagen bus, nicknamed ‘the Great Pumpkinmobile’. He reached into his pants and took out his cock, which I could tell was massive without even looking at it. He frantically began to stroke at it, eager to not feel like he was going to burst.

He came just mere seconds before the light turned green, his cream getting all over his hand. He sighed in relief, rolling down his window and flinging the handful of his jizz out the window.

“Fuck, look at what you’re doing to me,” he muttered darkly as he retucked himself back into his trousers. He pulled in behind Sammi as she parked next to the front of the apartment and got out with the walkie talkie in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing it over to Jackie before getting his soulmate out. “Ladies, lead the way.”

“The elevator’s been busted for a week now,” Jackie told him as they entered the apartment. “So we have to take the stairs on up.”

“Tomorrow, my handyman will come and take a look at it, Miss Bradley!” the man up at the front desk called out before returning to his book. “My most sincere apologies about the wait!”

Sammi let the way up the stairs, lugging the cooler up as she went, followed by Peter carrying me, and finally Jackie, toting the overstuffed laundry bag.

“Home sweet home,” Sammi sang out as she unlocked 382, pushed the door open and motioned for Peter to enter. “MC’s bedroom is first on the right.”

Peter nodded before wandering off to tuck her into bed. He entered my room and switched the light on, a smile gracing his face. There was a Felix the cat clock on the wall, which were painted a bright turquoise blue and covered with retro posters of Elvis Presley and boomerang art. The bed was tucked behind a bookcase, which created the illusion of the bedroom have two rooms.

He kissed my forehead before gently setting me onto her bed. He then removed my shoes and stockings before pulling the blankets up over me.

I cooed as she rolled over onto my side, my hand resting over swollen womb. I felt sinking down into a kneel next to my bed and placed his hand over mine, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into my stomach.

I closer to Peter as I slowly woke up again and he gently pushed me away from the edge of the bed. He kissed my forehead before forcing himself up and stood to leave the room.

“Peter?”

He turned from examining my corkboard and smiled at my sleep disoriented self.

“You were a cheerleader in high school?” he asked me as I swung my legs out of bed and stood up.

“West Side High School Knights, class of 2011,” I informed him with a soft hum as I collected my bath towel and nightclothes in hand. “I still have the uniform, though it’s a bit big on me. I lost forty, gifty pounds since high school.”

“You going to go take a shower now sweetheart?” he asked me as he took his phone out and snapped a picture of a magazine that I had up on my desk.

“Is it okay with you if I have some flowers delivered to you?” he asked me as he slipped his cell phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah sure,” I told him. “And now if you’d excuse me, I really want to wash my curls now.”

When I stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, I began towel drying my red curls as I wandered out into the main living room, on the hunt for my soulmate. I found him sitting at the kitchen island, telling an old family story that had my two younger sisters in stitches.

“You hungry MC? I’m making some pizza bagels from scratch,” Jackie said, turning as the oven beeped loudly, indicating that it was heated up. “How many do you want?”

“I’ll take two bagels please,” I requested, taking my seat next to Peter and wrapping my arm tightly around his neck and leaning my head onto his broad shoulders with a soft coo.

“Sammi, out of the kitchen,” Jackie sighed, brandishing her knife like a sword at the youngest of us triplets, who was over at the refrigerator getting herself a drink.

“Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off!” Sammi squawked, tossing her hands up. “I’m just getting a bottled water is all!”

Jackie just scowled the pointed the wicked knife she was using to cut the bagels in half to signify out now. Sammi scuttled out, giggling as she settled herself next to Peter’s other side.

“So, I take it you cook?” Peter asked politely, deciding to start up a conversation.

“I traveled to Paris to study at Cordon Bleu,” she explained. “I cook, MC bakes and Sammi is the taste tester.”

“What would you like to drink?” Jackie wandered over to the fridge. “There’s lemonade, Coca Cola, bottled water, milk, apple juice, and orange juice.”

“I’ll take a coke, please,” he requested, watching as I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Coca Cola and a bottle of lemonade.

“OUT OF THE KITCHEN!” Jackie sighed exhaustedly.

“Jack-Jack, how many times do I need to remind you that I’m pregnant, not dying?” I twisted the cap off of my drink and took a drink. “Besides, I’m hungry. Growing a human being is hard work!” I ambled my way over to the kitchen island and sat down next to him. “Welcome to the madness.”

Peter chuckled as he took a sip of his drink, wrapping a muscular arm around my shoulders and snugging me in deeper into his side.

“Salude,” Jackie cheered, clicking her water with her sister’s bottles. Not wanting to feel missed out, Peter clinked his coke with the girl’s drinks.

“What happened today that got you all wiped?” Sammi wondered as she took a drink from her water bottle.

“Emotional talk.” Peter blinked and tried to hide his red cheeks at my words.

“Uh huh,” hummed the baby of the sisters, not quite looking convinced. “Have you been pumping? I hadn’t heard that noise machine all weekend!”

“I’m just going to ignore you now, you fottuto pervertito,” I snarled.

“Oh my god, ew,” Jackie interjected. “MC, listen. As happy as I am that you found your soulmate, can you please not talk about what goes on in the bedroom? You know how much that stuff grosses me out!”

“Sammi, don’t make me change the Wifi again!” I growled. “You know how Jackie gets anytime anyone even mentions the chitty-chitty bang-bang dance.”

“Like I don’t mind if you do it- just not where I can see or hear and please clean up after yourselves,” Jackie begged, taking dinner out of the oven. “I have this weird thing about sex- it totally grosses me out. I suspect it has something to do with have seven hormonal boys in the house growing up. Mom would let us girls sleep with whoever we damn well wanted to because that meant she didn’t have to worry about the boys bringing home anyone for the night.”

Jackie slid over plates with two pizza bagels to Sammi, one with four to me and one with six to Peter.

“Order up!” she called, sitting with her own meal and digging in heartly.

“Bon to the appetite,” smirked Sammi as she took the first bite. “Delicious- as usual.”

“I slaved over a hot stove for hours today, making this meal!” Jackie teased. She leaned on the counter and took a bite. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

“Jack-Jack, you cannot possibly make bad food. It’s a proven science,” I pointed out as I chewed.

Peter smiled, one arm still looped around my petite body as he ate.

“This is better then what I cook, that’s for certain,” he hummed, taking another mouthful.

“What do you cook for yourself?” Jackie asked, curious.

“Whatever I can toss together really quick,” he shrugged, starting his next Bagel Bite. “I’m not handy in the kitchen.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “You have five sisters and nine nieces, the least you should be able to do is boil a pot of rice!”

“My dad was all ‘a woman’s place is in the kitchen’ he would beat me if I would go in to get a glass of water or whatever,” he shrugged.

“Things were the polar opposite in our house growing up,” Jackie commented, pushing her empty place forward. “Mom taught the boys how to work in the kitchen from an early age. Thanksgivings would be nuts- Adam would peel the potatoes, Caleb would jam stuff up the turkey’s asshole…”

Peter snorted.

“And mom would be glugging an entire bottle of red wine while supervising her domain,” I droned, also pushing my empty plate forward. “I’ll buss the dishes!” She hopped up and collected the platters before going over to the dishwasher. “I’m pregnant, not-”

I could only watch as the dishes slipped out of my hands and shattered on the floor.

“Oops,” I winced, standing still as I stared down at my bare toes. “Sorry- get some shoes on, there’s fragments everywhere.”

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Peter asked as Jackie and Sammi bounced up and rushed to slip shoes on.

“No.” At my voice, Peter was up and had me in his arms. He carried me to the living room couch and set me down, humming as he rubbed my back.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, kneeling in front of me and checking to see if I had stepped in any plate shards. He looked up and saw my watery sapphire blue eyes. “Fuck- it’s alright, don’t cry, sweetheart.” He made soft shushing sounds as he collected my face in his hands and met my forehead with his mouth. I felt his heart nearly swooned when I wrapped my arms around his neck and just clung to him.

“Promise?” I sniffled.

“Promise,” he whispered, letting me climb onto his lap once more and resting my head on his shoulder. He loosely wrapped his arm around my waist, his other hand cupping the back of my head as he began to rock her.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he hummed, pulling back to kiss my eyebrow.

“Don’t you ever let me forget it,” I mumbled, fisting at his hair as I began to fall asleep.

“Never,” he whispered as he stood. “Come on, sweetheart- let’s tuck you into bed now.”

Fottuto pervertito, fucking pervert, Italian

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

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PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@starchild0985

#Peter Thomas Ratajczyk #Josh Silver #Kenny Hickey #Johnny Kelly #Mary Claire Bradley (OFC)#Peter Steele #Type O Negative #Heavy metal #Soulmate AU #Age gap romance #Smut #Matching tattoos soulmate AU #Tattoos #Mentions of child rape (nothing graphic)#PTSD #Milk kink

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allisonreader · 1 year

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Tales Of A Frozen Sailor; Jessica’s Rescue

Growing up he always felt like he had an odd fascination with the Titanic. It wasn’t like he was particularly fond of history. He did alright in his history classes, but there was just something about that ship that set him on edge. Especially when they had to read Jessica Hudson’s letter. In his one class, they had been asked to write an analysis of her letter. Instead of doing that, he wrote an essay on why he thought doing such an analysis was out of place. Explaining that because she had not died in the sinking; it was an invasion of her privacy, to read what she must have thought were her last words. Ones that she had clearly intended for her family. Let alone what her family might think about being thrust into the spotlight. All because the letter revealed the fact that she was a sailor. For those reasons he did not care for that ship, nor the treatment of Jessica’s letter.

When he received the invitation to his friend’s wedding, the theme shocked him. It wasn’t the fact that the event would be formal or that it would be happening on a private cruise. It was the fact that they had decided to get married on the anniversary of the Titanic hitting the iceberg, while using the Titanic as their theme. It left him tempted to say that he couldn’t go. The thought left him a bit unsettled that they wanted to be over the wreck site for their wedding. The gravesite of so many. It was what had brought Jessica’s letter to mind again. A gravesite that had so nearly been hers.

((So to be invited to his friend's wedding that was Titanic themed and to be held on a private yacht, he was not impressed. He could refuse to go on principle. Though that seemed shallow. He’d rather grin and bear it. He cared more about his friends and seeing them married, rather than their questionable wedding theme. He would be gone a few days for this wedding. As not only was it Titanic themed, but it was also going to take place over the wreck site. On the same day that the ship hit the iceberg. Ninety-nine years later.))

Nanna knew what he thought about this wedding and the fact that he wasn’t so thrilled about going. So she took him aside the day before he was supposed to head out.

"You’ll be okay my dear boy. Besides, when you get back, we can read that mysterious letter of mine."

"Okay Nanna. You won’t read it without me?"

"Emery, I have had it for decades already. I can wait a few extra days so we can read it together."

"Thanks Nanna. I look forward to it."

"I know you are. Be safe. We all love you dearly. Phone or text us if you have service."

"Yes Nanna, I will."

Later he wished that he hadn’t been quite so flippant to his grandmother. But he couldn’t have known that at the time.

The trip started off well enough and the real party didn’t start until after the wedding ceremony. Everyone was dressed formally, as per the dress code. Some in more historically inspired outfits than others. His own suit leaned to the more historical side. Which included a pocket watch to complete the look, though it was a little unnecessary- as he was still wearing the watch his grandfather gave him.

The reception started with a five course meal, accompanied by the appropriate wine selections for each. Followed by an open bar and dancing. The music was loud, thumping and modern. The room grew hot with the consumed alcohol and fervent dancing.

He grew warm enough to peel off layers as the night went on. First went his suit jacket, then his tie, which was adorn with gold tie clip from his grandparents. His cuff links came off and into the jacket pocket along with the tie, so he could roll up his sleeves. He even took off his waistcoat, including the pocket watch.

After all of that he was still feeling a bit hot and had probably drank a bit too much himself. So he went on deck to cool down. The air was crisp and the sky was clear. He took a deep breath. No one else was close to him on the deck. There wasn’t much wind and the ocean seemed calm when he looked over the rail. He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but he found himself in the cold water. Struggling to find the surface. If he didn’t, he would die.

Nobody had seen him go over and it took them awhile to notice that he was gone. A search of the yacht began. Only after not finding him anywhere on board, did they try searching the water with low hopes of finding him. Or at least finding him alive. Unaware that they would never find him, his family having to be told that he was lost at sea.

The next thing that he knew after going into the water, was finding a solid sloped landing under his feet. He didn’t know what it was, but it had to be better than being in the water. When he surfaced enough he realized that somehow he was in some sort of white corridor with flickering lights, lined with doors, filling with water. Was he dead or dying? Falling into the open ocean shouldn’t end him in a corridor like this. The only thing to do was to move away from the water. Figuring out where he was, and how he got there could happen later. Finding safety was most important. One thing that did catch his attention was the sound of crying. He couldn’t ignore it. The sound was coming from one of the nearby doors. Though he wasn’t sure which one. After calling out and getting a response he was able to find a young lady, dressed as a sailor with short hair and no visible breasts behind a locked door. The things that she claimed didn’t make sense to him. Things which couldn’t be true. Nor did it make sense how he was on a sinking ship. How it didn’t look anything like the yacht that the wedding was on.

After he had gotten her out of the room she was locked in, all he could do was follow her through the maze of corridors. Until they finally made it to deck. It brought into focus how out of place and lost he was.

There were funnels on the ship. Four funnels. The clothing that people were wearing was like things that he had only seen in movies and museums.

It was starting to sink in. He really might be on the Titanic as it was sinking. He was going to die. Most of the men on board did and he was going to be one of those casualties. It didn’t help that he was already wet, as was the young lady he rescued. Of whom he was starting to expect was Jessica Hudson. At least if that was the case, he knew she’d live. Even if he didn’t.

She lead him to a lifeboat yet. The other sailor there relieved to see her as she took control over the man who was less experienced.

"I’m sorry, I can’t fit you on the lifeboat-"

"It’s okay- I understand-"

"Wait! Listen to me. We can’t take you now- but once we’re on the water- we should be able to take a little more weight on. Once the ship is a little lower in the water- jump- we’ll find you. It should at least give you a chance. You’ve given me a chance." She gave him a grim smile as he nodded. Her plan didn’t seem likely to work. These life vests seemed so janky in comparison to the ones that he was familiar with, but he still had put one on.

He did as she asked. It was his best chance to survive. Much to his surprise, she and the younger sailor were able to pull him out of the water. Just in time to finish watching the large ship finish sinking at the unnatural angle that would leave people fascinated for at least a 100 years.

The cold seemed to seep into his very bones as they waited for rescue. No one was eager to talk after the disaster they had just been through and were still living. Unsure if or when rescue would come. At least he knew that by the morning they would all be safe, as long as they lasted those hours. Trying to keep warm was the priority until then.

It didn’t surprise him when it was the Carpathia that rescued them. Those of them in the lifeboat who had been the wettest, needed a bit of extra medical care. Frost bite and hypothermia were the two biggest concerns. Both of which he did need looking after to some degree. He wasn’t sure how long they’d all be on the Carpathia for. It was one of the details that he was a little fuzzy about. He did manage to corner the sailor he rescued and privately layer out all he knew to her.

"Look, I know that you’re a woman-" A look of fear crossed her face. "I’m not going to say anything about such. You saved my life-"

"You saved mine first."

"We saved each other then. That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn you in. I know who you are. You’re Jessica Hudson. An able seaman, a twin- who while you were locked up you wrote a letter to and sealed it inside a bottle. Which will eventually be found and brought up from the ocean floor. Along with the rubbing of your dad’s name Henry Hudson."

"How do you know that? You can’t know that. I’ve never met you."

"You haven’t, but I do know about you. That you’re friends with a fellow sailor John Winters. That you’re older than you claim to be because you aren’t a boy-"

"Stop."

She was suspicious of him. Rightly so. His story sounded crazy. He shouldn’t know as much about her as he did. He hardly believed his story and he was the one who lived it. It still shouldn’t be possible that he was in 1912. He didn’t want to think about what his future might hold. He had nothing. Literally only having the clothes on his back. He knew no one. His grandparents weren’t even born yet. He had no place to go. Everything that he had once known, was now lost to him. All of which he told her and her friend John.

It lead to a conversation about what they were going to do with him. If they even believed his story about him being from the future. It’s not like his proof was anything spectacular. All he could show them was his watch and tell them that there’d be an inquiry when they reached shore. Though the inquiry could be easily surmised after a disaster like they just lived through. Although knowing that it would be a Senator William Smith leading such, might be a little bit more proof and truthful sounding. It was something that would only be proved on shore.

Between the three of them they decided it was the best for him to go home with John. So he’d be traveling to Maine. Where he’d meet John’s mother Naomi and his little sister Amelia. He’d stay with them until he could find a job and get himself on his feet.

He knew that as much as things might not be as completely foreign to him unlike if either John or Jessica had gone into his time, things were still going to be completely different to him. It was going to be a huge learning curve for him. Computers were a long time away and he’d probably never see the technology reach the same place he was familiar with it being. Let alone the fact that he might have to live through two world wars, the depression, and more. Also, there’d be no Star Wars or Star Trek and he might never watch either property again. He was still ignoring facts about his family. Like that his father and Nanna would never know what happened to him.

He couldn’t think about that now. Learning how to live was going to be more important.

In New York he was given a sum from the collected fund for Titanic survivors. Which would at least help him a little bit to get him off the ground. He remained in New York, waiting for "Jesse" Hudson and John Winters to be released from the inquiry. That way he could travel with John to meet his family. He would also get to say goodbye to Jessica as well then. He also took in the sights of a New York City skyline that didn’t match the one he was familiar with. This skyline was missing a couple of extremely iconic buildings that were a couple of decades away from being built yet. That was certainly an odd thought. Though it got him thinking that at least he’d have an idea of what stocks to invest in and which he’d probably stay away from. Maybe if he did well enough, he could even end up in the same circle as his family again. He could potentially see his grandfather grow up.

John’s family shocked him immediately when he met them.

John’s family was very different from his own. It wasn’t even the fact that Benjamin Winters had passed many years ago. Nor was it the fact that the Winters family didn’t have much in money or possessions. What made them so different from his own family was how close and open-hearted all of the members were. Naomi did not play apparent favourites between John and Amelia. The two siblings were playful and friendly together. Completely unlike the relationship with his sister who thought it best to antagonize him and make him a mark for bullies in his younger school days. He was pretty sure that John would fight anyone who would do that to his sister, or even for Jessica Hudson. Both things a far cry from his own mother who thought her oldest could do no wrong, while he could do no right. While Naomi had hugged him as soon as soon after she had hugged John, when she didn’t even know him. The fact that he was a stranger to their family didn’t matter. He was alone and needed help and they were going to stand up and help him. John had him explain his entire story to Naomi and Amelia. Both listened carefully and while Amelia might have tried to tease him a bit, Naomi took him seriously. Between her and John, they helped him set up his new life. He could be honest about one thing, and that was the fact that he had lost everything when the Titanic sank. Everything else besides his name was a half truth. He was no longer born in the 1980's but the 1880's. The entirety of his past had to be twisted to fit into a believable history which could fit into the time period. The Winters family helping provide him with the information that he needed to know and didn’t have. Like cutting wood with an ax, dishes, helping with laundry, cooking and other chores that he had never done before because he had never needed to. Life was different without computers and tv. At the same time as much as everything was different, it was the same. People still acted like people. Though his mother never would have just taken him in like Naomi had. Not with a crazy story like his and knowing nothing about him. Nanna probably would have. He missed her the most currently. But the Winters family tried hard to make him feel welcome and included in their small family.

It didn’t seem to matter to them that he claimed to be from the future. They just claimed him as their own and helped him get accustomed to the time and helped find him a job when he was ready. He ended up in an office doing work that probably wasn’t much different from what he would have been doing in his own time. One thing that Naomi suggested to him was to keep a journal of everything that he wanted to remember from both his own time and what was happening in his day to day life. That perhaps, if any journals were kept, they could potentially make it into the hands of his loved ones, so they’d know what happened to him. He hadn’t even mentioned that worry to Naomi when she suggested that.

It amazed him how quickly he felt a part of the Winters family. Without being able to be with his own, they filled that space and in someways better than his own family members. By far Naomi was a better mom than his own and honestly he preferred John and Amelia in comparison to Alexandra for siblings. Neither of them made fun of him for his name or not knowing how to do something. Plus Naomi didn’t play favourites between any of them. He became as much as one of her kids as either of her biological ones. There were times where he wished he could have met Ben. He had a feeling the Benjamin Winters would have been a lot like the rest of his family. Then came a day when John was going to go down to Georgia to visit the Hudson family and offered for him to join him. He was curious to see where Jessica lived, and to meet the family members who had been mentioned in her letter. They hadn’t spoken to each other since they split ways in New York, and he felt too awkward to try and write her a letter at all. He didn’t blame her for not writing him at all. He was just that weird guy who claimed things that weren’t possible. Or at least shouldn’t be. But he agreed to go with John down to Georgia, as awkward as it might be.

#tales of a frozen sailor #tales of a frozen sailor jessica’s rescue #messy draft #I can’t seem to get past this point as much as I want to

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primofate · 3 years

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Genshin x fem!reader [Volleyball Team AU - Inspired by Haikyuu!] You cheer something embarrassing + The rival team comments about it

Note: My fixation on this AU continues... I just think there’s so many scenarios to explore.

Scenario: Your friend has dared you to cheer something embarrassing for your boyfriend. Everyone hears it, including the rivalling team...

Warnings: not proofread, some swearing and profanity, slight sexual innuendo if you squint (Tartaglia’s)

Other works in the Volleyball Team AU Series: Click Here

#1 Zhongli (Captain/Wing Spiker/Ace)

Zhongli is pretty well-known among Aces.

He knows you’re up there on the stands and for him that’s good enough. Is not the type to keep looking up there to check if you’re watching. He’d rather be focused on the game.

So when you shout out his name just as they’re about to start, his head snaps towards you and you can see surprise on his face.

“Zhongli!!!” literally all eyes are on you now, the coaches, the managers, the other team. “Y-You’re--”

Your friend nudges and whispers at you “Louder you moron! He won’t hear you if you stutter!”

“YOU’RE THE CAPTAIN OF MY HEART!”

You cringe and just bury your face in your hands, your friend is laughing uncontrollably

There’s silence in the court, BUT THEN HIS TEAM GOES WILD “CAPTAIN ARE YOU BLUSHING?!” “QUICK SOMEONE TAKE A PHOTO” “HE’S MALFUNCTIONED!”

Zhongli has a blush on his cheeks but gets his team in order “ROUND UP!” but they’re all silently snickering or giggling.

They form a circle and put their hands in together. Zhongli shouts “FIGHT!” a lot louder than usual.

His team grins. Their captain is fired up, so they’re fired up too.

Just before he’s about to take first serve he makes it a point to look your way, and give you a firm nod.

Then the captain of the opposite team comments about your cheering. “Wah! I wish I had someone cheering me on like that,” is looking at you with heart eyes.

Zhongli exudes a dark aura and everyone covers their head in fear of getting hit by the ball “Eyes over here,” he grumbles towards the other captain who just smirks.

#2 Diluc (Vice Captain/Wing Spiker/Defense Specialist)

“Diluc! THE ONLY THING STRONGER THAN YOUR SPIKE IS MY LOVE FOR YOU!”

Oh yea gurl. Even your friend is embarrassed and ducks behind the railings to hide her face.

“That’s kinda...cheesy...” Kaeya mutters under his breath and scratches his cheek.

Childe is glittering all over, “It’s so cheesy but I’m kinda jealous,” They both turn to Diluc.

Yea he’s gone. From neck to hairline he’s red all over and steam is coming off from his ears.

His teammates crack up.

He’s so out of it the rest of the team needs to clap and hit his back to get him back into the real world.

“Oi, get yourself together, your girlfriend’s watching!” He snaps out of it at that and puts on his game face.

The other team comments, “She’ll find out my spike is stronger!”

Diluc is livid that they’re trying to outshine your cheers and spikes like never before.

#3 Kaeya (Middle Blocker)

“KAEYA! YOU CAN BLOCK SPIKES BUT YOU CAN NEVER BLOCK MY HEART!”

has a shit-eating grin the moment he hears it.

Cups his hands around his mouth and shouts back. “YOU CAN’T BLOCK MINE EITHER!!! I LOVE YOU!!!”

The whole team is just...what in the world is this cringey-ness unfolding in front of them...?

Team doesn’t know whether to be motivated or to puke.

But Kaeya is there to the rescue. He’s so hyped that there are flowers hovering around his peaceful face. “Come on, come on, we gotta show Y/N who the kings of the courts are here, don’t let me down,”

Half-way through the game one of the opponents ask him, “Hey, that your girl up there? She’s kinda cute,”

KAEYA ISN’T EVEN FAZED Y’ALL “She is, isn’t she?!” Probs will show you off more, to his team’s displeasure.

After the game (which they obiviously won) he bear hugs you and is proud of how much you cheered for him.

#4 Albedo (Setter)

“Bedo!!! YOU SET MY HEART ON FIRE!”

You say this just as the ball touches his fingertips, he slips up a bit at the embarrassing cheer and they end up losing that point.

“Oh crap,” you mutter under your breath and duck under the rails to hide while your friend laughs, pointing at your hidden form when Albedo looks up to the stands.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind!” his teammates slap his back to reassure him that they can get the lost point back.

Tartaglia is the one that zooms in on Albedo’s face, “How are you not making any reactions at all?”

Albedo stares at him for a moment. “...Because she merely stated the truth,”

Kazuha laughs at how logical their setter is but adds, “He slipped up, I think that’s enough of a reaction,”

Albedo pouts a little but continues with the game.

A little later on the setter of the other team tries to provoke him. “Hey, you didn’t even give your girlfriend any reaction. Watch out, I’m pretty sure I can give better ones,”

Albedo is so pissed he actually spikes the next ball with his eyes on that bastard.

#5 Tartaglia (Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

“TARTAGLIA!!! YOUR SPIKES MAKE ME WEAK IN THE KNEES!”

Another one who has a shit-eating grin on his face.

Shouts back at you “THAT’S NOT THE ONLY THING OF MINE THAT MAKES YOU WEA--” is FREAKIN slapped by Zhongli at the back of his head.

You kind of thank his captain that he wasn’t able to finish that sentence but damn it’s still embarrassing.

Kaeya and Tohma is snorting with laughter

Xiao and Albedo does not get it.

Someone from the other team begrudgingly comments, “Dude you don’t have to flex her that hard,”

Tartaglia is the type to take the bait, a dark look on his face while looking at the opponent. “That’s right, be jealous, no one’s cheering for you huh?”

Whacked by Zhongli the second time and pushes his head down and apologizes for this man-Childe

#6 Kazuha (Decoy/Middle Blocker/Wing Spiker)

“KAZUUU!!! YOU JUMP JUST LIKE MY HEART DOES WHEN I HUG YOU!”

Laughs aloud sheepishly but waves his hand at the stands where you are.

Is secretly stoked and fueled.

But his other teammates are still teasing him about it. “Wow she must be having some kind of heart attack whenever she hugs you then,” “Come on Kazuha! Show us how far you can jump!”

Laughs sheepishly again and waves his hands at his teammates, “Okay, alright, that’s enough,”

But man is FLYING during the game, literally. The team is kinda scared about how high he’s jumping today and wonders if you’ve cast some type of magic spell.

They’re all thinking ‘...if I get a girlfriend will I perform better too?’ with these glum looks on their faces.

The opposing team’s member remarks, just speaking out loud. “She’s right he really does jump high for someone so small...”

Kazuha smirks at them, although there’s still a friendly smile on his face. “Y/N knows me best,”

#7 Xiao (Libero)

“XIAO! RECEIVE THAT BALL THE WAY YOU RECEIVE ME IN YOUR ARMS!”

low-key the other teammates start to add-on to the teasing. “Wow, how DO you receive her in your arms, Xiao?” “You like cuddles or what?” “So do YOU initiate the cuddles or does she?”

“ENOUGH!” he’s a blushing mess and pushes away his team members to try and focus on the game.

He shoots you a half-glare while you’re over at the stands but later on he’s prolly gunna give you cuddles the way he likes it.

Every time they’re on time out or break the terrible two (Kaeya and Tartaglia) tease him by wrapping their arms around Xiao and repeating what you said “Receive that ball the way you receive me in your arms!!” “Hug me Xiaoooooo!”

Xiao just punches the both of them on the head.

Albedo deadpans the terrible two and says “That’s a very good way of showing that you’re jealous no one is cheering for you,”

They both sulk on the side of the court.

The other team’s spiker comments, enough for Xiao to hear. “Gee she’s kinda cute,”

Xiao doesn’t even hold back, with fire in his eyes, points at that guy. “You! You won’t get any ball past me!”

#8 Tohma (Pinch Server/Middle Blocker)

“TOHMA! YOU CAN SERVE THAT BALL BUT I CAN SERVE YOU SOME LOVE!!!”

Tohma laughs heartily and turns to his teammates, “Hear that guys? Guess it’s time for me to go and get served some love,”

He’s literally just in seventh heaven and is about to nope it out of there to meet you at the stands but Diluc grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him back. “The game isn’t over...”

Deadass pouts the rest of the game, but is so motivated to finish that most of his serves are unstoppable.

And then in the middle of the game, someone from the other team waves back at you. “I CAN SERVE YOU SOME LOVE TOO!”

Tohma serves that ball straight at the guys head, his eye is twitching in annoyance.

Is possibly the happiest that you came to his game and swings you around when he meets you. “Thanks for cheering babe!”

Taglist: @softlybeloved @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @how-simpy @atasi-luna @berryqueue @hallohun @milkypompon

Hello Hello! Technically this could be counted as fluff, but I understand that not everyone is fond of AUs, so, if you don’t mind being tagged to something like this, please fill in the survey again (I’ve added AU as an option, just click that one if you’ve signed up for the others before!)

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#genshin au #genshin volleyball au #genshin impact #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #kazuha x reader #haikyuu headcanons #genshin headcanons #kaeya x reader #tartaglia x reader #albedo x reader #tohma x reader

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

Text

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence.

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return.

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks.

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo.

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.”

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew:

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious.

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him.

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…”

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove.

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.”

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—”

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.”

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.”

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—”

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.”

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs.

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk.

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did.

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue.

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—”

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.”

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—”

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses.

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.”

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him.

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.”

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.”

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore.

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure.

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.”

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head.

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do.

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations?

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability.

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.”

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.”

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!”

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova.

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.”

You’re hearing will never be as it was.

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current.

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out.

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies.

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight.

He needed a fucking drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs.

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy.

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets.

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb.

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again.

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more.

Except… he’d been standing still that time.

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet.

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving.

“What the fu—”

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later.

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs.

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face.

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots.

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth.

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight.

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue.

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky.

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way.

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them.

Dynamight was here to get the job done.

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head.

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc.

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him.

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet.

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god.

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch.

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him.

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought.

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze.

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar.

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals.

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again.

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air.

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window.

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then…

Nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time.

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes.

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop.

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat.

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place.

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way.

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to.

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled.

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business.

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia.

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite.

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least.

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers.

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst.

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things.

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself.

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps.

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself.

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good.

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet.

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help.

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful.

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful.

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own.

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone.

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train.

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.”

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief.

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.”

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts.

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking.

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away.

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out.

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes.

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms.

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms.

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash?

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs.

That sounded… closer.

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky.

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals.

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person.

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth.

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack.

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down.

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air.

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air.

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached.

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street.

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed.

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it.

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later.

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames.

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene.

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him.

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped.

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window.

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki/reader #bakugo/reader #bakugo katsuki/you #bakugo katsuki x you #my hero academia #mha spoilers #boku no hero academia #bnha #anime #fanfic #my writings #katsuki bakugo

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allthatyoulove · 3 years

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The Perfect Spot

Fred Weasley / Reader

Summary: You get to stay an extra night at Hogwarts with no supervision. So what do you do? Play hide and seek, of course!

Includes: underage drinking, cussing, fluff, making out

Words: 3.8k

A/N: I’m thinking of doing a part two to this, let me know if that’s something you guys would like! Hope you enjoy the story! Feel free to leave any feedback and please let me know of any warnings or errors I missed! Thanks for stopping by :)

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Tonight’s the night.

All of the professors and staff of Hogwarts have gone to some motel in Hogsmeade, leaving the 5th through 7th years in the school by themselves for the night. It’s tradition for the 5th-7th years to stay the night in the school without supervision after school ends for the summer.

It’s a new tradition, so we were going to make the most of it before some kids ruin the school and it gets disbanded.

Fred and George snuck in a bunch of alcohol, spreading it around the group and trying to keep it lowkey so none of the other kids snitched or, even worse, wanted us to share.

We were all in the corner of the long corridor that the students decided to sleep in for the night. It was exactly like the dining hall, but there were no tables or stage. The windows were the only source of light as the sun began to set. We weren’t sure what time it was, only being able to go off of the moon from inside the corridor, but either way, most of the group was already plastered.

We were sitting in a circle, in the farthest corner of the room, in this order from right to left: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Me, Fred, George, and Ginny. We each had our own pillows behind us, intending for us to all sleep with our feet in the middle and in this circle formation we had created. There was one huge blanket in the middle covering all of us that George had engorgio-d so no one would fight over it.

We were lightly drinking the bottles the twins had brought at the beginning of the night, then Ginny said she had an idea but we all had to be drunk for it to be fun. So we picked up the pace, and now almost everyone was hysterical. Harry and Ron were extremely smiley, laughing at almost everything. Hermione was almost in tears, telling everyone how much she loved and appreciated them. The twins were making jokes, making everyone piss their pants over what they were saying. Ginny was being the loudest, trying to playfully argue with everyone through her laughter. Everyone was feeding off of each other's energy, which made a circle of laughing and whisper-yelling.

“-and then 50 bloody spiders the size of Hagrid started chasing after us!” Ron finished.

“Ron there were like 3 spiders, mate” Harry said, bursting out into laughter. The rest of the group clutched their stomachs in laughter while Ron’s face turned red, soon laughing along with us.

Tears started to leave my eyes from how hard I was laughing at Ron’s attempt to sound brave in front of Hermione. We all knew he was deathly afraid of spiders, so it made it all the more funny.

I was coming down from how hard I was laughing, wiping my eyes when I felt a hand brush the side of my thigh. I looked to my left, at Fred, to see his eyes on George, who was making a comment to Ron about him being a coward. The knuckles of his hand were brushing the outside of my thigh underneath the blanket.

My entire body heated up, the voices of the people around me being tuned out as I focused on his touch.

I have had a crush on Fred since I first came to hogwarts, but in the past year he has flirted with me more than ever before, touching me whenever he gets the chance whether its his knee against mine when we sit next to each other or putting his arm around me while walking through the campus. I’ve noticed it, but didn’t want to get my hopes up or read the situation wrong and make it weird between us.

But with his hand going from brushing my thigh to resting his hand on it, I don’t think it could be read wrong. His hand sat on top of my thigh, with his fingers resting on the inside, lightly moving it back and forth.

He continued to pay attention to the rest of the group, who were engaged heavily in another conversation, darting his gaze to different people and even adding in some things himself. My eyes followed whoever was talking as well, but I couldn’t hear anything they were saying. I was too focused on the way Fred’s hand slowly got closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.

“Okay, listen up you lot. I think we’ve had enough to drink, which means it’s time to share my master plan.”

My eyes shot to Ginny, being snapped out of my trance at the sound of her yelling over the laughter.

The rest of the group followed, immediately snapping out of their laughter to listen and leaning in as if she was going to tell us a secret.

“I was thinking, what if we played…”

She waited a second, as if a drumroll was playing in the background to announce her idea.

“Hide and seek.”

The entire group gasped in shock, frantically looking around at each other and agreeing with how good of an idea it is. Ginny looked proud, nodding her head in confidence as everyone got excited.

“Should we have everyone else play? I think the more people, the better.” Harry said, looking around the group for their opinions.

“Yeah I think if we had a small group of seekers and the res’ were hiders, that’d be better. We could split it evenly so we switch after all the hider’s hv’been found.” I said, getting an adrenaline boost at how fun it was going to be. There were 429 students in the 5th-7th years, but most of them weren’t convinced to stay another day after school had gotten out. So, there were about 150 students in the hall right now that would be playing. It was going to be a good game.

Everyone nodded and agreed in confirmation to what I said, and Ginny got up to yell out the directions and rules to everyone else in the hall.

We all got up, trying to gain our balance after drinking on the floor for so long and giggling when Ron almost pulled George down with him after he started to fall over. We brushed off our pajamas, hiding the bottles underneath the blanket while Ginny was giving her speech.

“Alright I think everyone’s got it. You guys can pick which team you’re on, I think they’re already splitting themselves into groups over there.” Ginny said, coming back to the group as the rest of the corridor broke out into loud conversation. George was the first to speak up.

“I’ll be a seeker with Harry and Ron. You all can be the hiders because you lot can’t even see straight”

Hermione giggled, clutching onto Ginny to stay balanced as Ginny spoke up, pointing at George.

“You’re on, Georgie. I may not be able to see straight, but…”

We waited for her to finish, as she stood there with her finger pointed at him. It was quiet in the group for a couple of seconds before everyone burst into another fit of laughter.

“Let’s just get the game started” Ginny said, turning red and turning around slowly so she didn’t fall over.

We started walking out of the corridor, following the rest of the large group of students that were headed that way as well. Everyone had grabbed their wands to use as light in finding our way around the huge castle.

Fred caught up to me, grabbing my elbow that was holding my wand to get my attention. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, careful to hide what he was saying from the others.

“Have any ideas on where to hide?”

His breath on my ear made me feel fuzzy inside, whether that was magnified by the alcohol or not, and I smiled up at him, knowing that I looked absolutely plastered.

“No clue. What’re you thinking Freddie?”

He smiled his mischievous smile and pointed with his head towards the doors we were about to walk through, leading to the hallway.

“I’ve got the perfect spot. I’ll show you.” He said, rather seductively.

My stomach fluttered as I smiled down at my feet. He rested his hand at the small of my back as we walked through the huge doors together, shuffling into the hallway with the group of kids. They were making a huge half-circle around what we could now see was Ginny, the hallway being lit up by the lanterns hanging on the wall.

“Anything outside of the castle is off limits. No Forbidden Forest or going out to Hagrid’s hut, because no one will find you and the castle is plenty big for everyone to hide. No magic cloaks or spells to see any footprints. The seekers will give you 5 minutes to find a hiding place, so make it good.”

Everyone was quiet, listening to Ginny give surprisingly good and clear instructions with how drunk she seemed to be 2 minutes ago. She was a good leader.

“Those are the only rules. So, let’s do this!”

Everyone gave a quick cheer combined with claps and talk of where they were going to hide. Some kids started to run away right away, squealing in excitement and rushing to get to their hiding places.

Fred, Ginny, Hermione, and I joined with the rest of the group while we waited for the other hiders to clear out.

“You are going down, mr. chosen one!” Ginny yelled at Harry, linking her arms with Hermione and walking off towards the stairs.

Harry blushed a little and laughed, turning in towards Ron and George, who looked like they were already coming up with a plan for attack.

Fred and I looked to each other, smirking. The alcohol definitely did nothing but amplify my attraction towards him. Seeing him in the dim light with his hair slightly ruffled, in a black shirt and plaid pajama pants while I’m drunk was definitely… sinking in. He towered over me and had his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at me with a smirk. If I’m being honest, one word from this man and I would jump into his arms. I had all night to gawk at him, and the low conversation from the people behind us reminded me that the timer was going down and we already spent a good minute just staring at each other.

“So where’s this place you had in mind, Weasley?”

“I thought you’d never ask” he said, grabbing my hand and turning to go down the hall opposite Ginny and Hermione.

We walked until the first turn, turning left and going down another long hallway before coming before a staircase.

“Just up here” He said, guiding me up the flights of stairs.

He broke into a light jog up the stairs and I struggled to keep up, trying to keep my balance. He had taken the same amount of shots I did, but he was also a giant so I’m sure it had less of an effect on him.

We reached the top of the stairs, and Fred looked all around him at the three different hallways in search of something.

“Y’know where you’re going, Fred?”

“Yeah, of course, umm….”

He looked around once more before settling on the hallway to his left, which looked like a last minute decision.

“It’s this way, trust me” He pulled my arm forward so I was now in front of him, wrapping his arm across my back and settling his hand on my waist, using his hand to hold me in place in front of him. I kept walking until he turned me, stopping us in front of a door.

“Go on, open it.”

I reached out and opened the door. It was pitch black inside, and before I could protest against going in, he ushered me inside the small space and closed the door behind us.

“Fred-”

“Lumos.” He whispered. The tip of his wand instantly lit up, brightening up the small room as I looked up at him. He smirked down at me, his gaze wandering over my face.

“Was this your plan all along, Weasley? Get me alone in a dark room?” I flirted, smirking at him as I stood on my tippy toes to look at him closer.

He faked a shocked gasp, “How’d you know, you little minx?”

I smiled at him as I settled back down on my feet, starting to fall back a bit before Fred’s hand instantly shot out to grab me and hold me in place. I didn’t register it in time, instead looking around the space we were in.

The light that Fred’s wand was supplying was rather dim, but perfect for showing the contents of the room.

Filch’s office.

There were a few dressers pressed against the wall, with a desk and chair in the middle. There were small artifacts around the room, but nothing that caught my eye. I gazed over the room, but it was all just a blurry mess to me. I turned back around to Fred, seeing that his eyes never wandered from me. I smiled up at him, looking at his lips and just waiting.

“You’re so beautiful” He said, cupping my cheek with his hand that wasn’t holding his wand.

“Not so bad yourself, Freddie” I said, leaning in.

He smiled at me, meeting me in the middle and pressing his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and leaned as much as I could into the kiss, hearing the faint sound of his back being pressed to the door. I held onto his elbows, deepening the kiss. He leaned his head forward, making me lean back. I stumbled backwards a little, and one hand left my face to wrap around my waist, bringing me in closer to him.

I softly moaned into the kiss, causing him to tighten his hold on me and lift me up completely with the arm around my waist, turning us around so I was against the door. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and both of his hands went to the bottom of my thighs to hold me in place. I heard the faint noise of a student yelling, signalling that they had started to look for everyone now.

Fred pulled away, kissing my neck instead as my hands went to his hair.

“Fred, they’re looking for us now” I said, out of breath, warning him in case he forgot that we were in a game of hide and seek, like I had.

“Mmm” he mumbled into my neck. I could feel him leaving hickeys that I would have to make up an excuse for later. I couldn’t grasp that this was happening, teetering on the line between euphoric and giddy on what I was feeling, what I was doing.

I had waited for this for so long, I couldn’t do anything but feed off his adrenaline and excitement in this moment and meet it with my same feelings.

He picked me up and pulled me away from the door, lifting his head to give me a quick peck on the lips before we were moving. My arms wrapped around his head right away, feeling the room spinning from how drunk and turned on I was right now.

His hand shot to rest across my back, resting on my shoulder as he walked over to the desk in the middle of the room. He sat me down on it, standing in between my legs. It was completely dark in the room again, Fred’s wand being the only thing turned off during this whole interaction.

He reached over and clicked on the lamp that was on the desk, both him and I turning slightly as our eyes adjusted to the dim light that filled the room. I opened my eyes slightly, turning back towards him as he did the same.

He smiled a big smile at me, nodding as if assuring to himself that this was actually happening.

“Wicked.” He breathed out, still smiling from ear to ear.

I let out a breathy laugh, pulling him in by his neck for another quick peck. He pulled away slightly and rested his forehead on mine, looking at me.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Oh don’t be daft Freddie, you’re drunk” I giggled at him.

His expression turned moderately serious right away, scaring me that I had said something wrong or ruined the vibe.

“I’m being serious, you git” He joked, smiling at me and pinching my side.

“Ow- okay, okay! I believe you! It took you long enough to show it” I said, smiling back at him.

“Whaddya mean it took me long enough? I just figured out you liked me 2 minutes ago!”

“Who’s the git now? I’ve liked you ever since I came to this bloody school” I said, leaning up slightly to kiss his cheek and smile at him.

He looked at me incredulously, freezing in place.

“You’ve liked me that long? And never said anything?”

“Well, no… I didn’t want to make anything weird if y’didn’t feel the same way”

“You’re insane” is all he said before grabbing my face and leaning in to kiss me again. I smiled into the kiss and pulled the cord to the lamp again, turning it off.

This kiss was even more heated than the last, both of our hands roaming each other's body. My hands were going from his hair to his face, his going from my face all the way down to my waist, groping and pulling whenever he could. He tasted like cherry and alcohol, and I was getting drunk all over again, this time on him.

He pulled away once again, trailing his kisses from my neck down to my chest, exploring it with his tongue.

All at once, I heard 2 or 3 people’s footsteps running from the stairway down the hallway, towards the direction of the room we were in.

“Fred, fred” I whispered, nudging his shoulder to get his attention.

“Hmm?” He hummed, slowing his actions but continuing to place kisses on my collarbones.

“There's people coming this way” I said, using the hand I had in his hair to lightly tug on it, pulling his face up to meet mine.

He pulled out his wand, aiming it at the door.

“Colloportus” he whispered, making a gesture at it before I heard the lock of the door locking into place softly.

I fake-gasped at him before whispering, “You’re cheating!”

“I’ll make it worth your while, darling” He said, smiling, kissing me before bringing his attention back to my chest.

My hand went into his hair as I gasped out his name, encouraging him.

His hand barely dipped into my pajama pants, messing with the band but never going any further. I was ignoring the footsteps of the people outside at this point, not caring about the game.

“Fred, please” I begged, trying to hint at what I wanted from him.

His fingers dipped just below the fabric when suddenly someone from the outside of the door grabbed at and shook the handle.

“Hey! Someone locked the door!”

I grabbed onto Fred’s shoulders, craning my head to look over at the light underneath the door. He did the same, immediately moving his hands around my waist as if they could burst into the room at any minute. We both sat there looking at the shadow underneath the door as they shook the handle a couple more times before stopping. We froze for a second, waiting for something else to happen before we heard them run off.

He turned to me, and my eyes had started to adjust to the dark enough so I could see him looking at me with his lips swollen and his eyes dazed. His hair was ruffled, and he looked more drunk now than he did before we came into the room at all. He looked beautiful.

We both burst into laughter at the same time, burying our faces into each other's necks. I pulled away, pulling his face up to meet mine and fixing his hair as he looked at me with admiration.

“We better get out of here before someone gets your sister and it gets awkward” I said, looking into his eyes.

He huffed in irritation, dropping his face to my shoulder. We stayed like that for a minute as I ran my hands idly down his back, enjoying his presence. I didn’t want to wait too long, though, and have to walk out with hickeys on my neck to a group of more than 100 students.

He must have read my mind, because he straightened and stood up before backing up a step and holding his hand out to help me down from the desk. I took it, doing a little hop off of the desk as I took a second to regain my balance and brush off my pajamas. I took my wand out, casting “Lumos” to look around and make sure we left everything as we found it.

“You’ve got a little something there” Fred said, pointing at my neck.

I looked at him in confusion, following his eyes to brush my neck before I saw him break into a smile and realized what he meant.

“How am I supposed to explain that, bloke? You better hope it’s dark out there!”

He just laughed as I finished my scanning of the room and came to the conclusion that it looked as we found it.

I scanned Fred really quick, letting out a quick laugh before speaking.

“I think you’ve got a little situation too, Freddie”

He raised an eyebrow and followed my eyes down, before shooting his eyes back up at me and using his hands to cover where I was looking.

“Alright, very funny.” He said, suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was standing.

“Aww it’s okay Fred, it’s totally normal”

He turned red, motioning at the door with his head.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here”

I laughed and turned towards the door, hearing the sound of him messing with his trousers as soon as my back was to him. I turned off the light at the end of my wand, unlocking and opening the door slightly, peeking out and scanning the hallway. It was still dimly lit, with no one in sight.

I beckoned Fred over with my hand as I slowly snuck out into the hallway. He followed me, softly shutting the door behind me. I stood up straight, looking at him as he scanned the hallway as well.

“I guess we better go get found then, yeah?”

“Let’s do it” I smiled at him as he grabbed my hand, intertwining them. We started down the hall and got to the top of the stairs before Ginny and Hermione came around the corner.

“Ha! Gotcha! Finally, we found you! The whole team of seekers were looking for you guys, you were the last ones!”

I laughed as Fred turned to look at me, our eyes meeting.

“I told you I had the perfect spot”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter universe #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff

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lwt28brave · 3 years

Text

LT2 masterpost

If it was up to me, we would get an autumn or winter EP. Since it’s not up to me at all, here, enjoy this post with everything we know so far of LT2, which is to say, not much at all. Everything here is hypothetical. I’ll be updating every time I see something relevant. A little disclaimer that while this is a masterpost (kinda), it could be read as discourse (duh, it’s also a theory), AND it’s also by me, and you shouldn’t expect me to be serious at this point.

Due to me restraining myself, there’s no reference to any of the times he’s mentioned his guitar skills and him improving but I hope you know I cried every single time.

I’m also linking my old pinned here. It was written before AFHF and around the free merch thing that didn’t lead to much, but I still think I made some good points.

Possible tracks:

Copy of a Copy of a Copy

Change

Faith in the future??

369??

Possible names:

369

Faith in the future

When is the album coming out?

Your guess is as good as mine

Friday 28th of January 2022. Almost two years after Walls. It’s a Friday. It’s a 28th. What else can I say?

Here you can find @want-to-be-loved timelines for every month.

Here you can find @berlinini’s timeline of what Louis has been up to this year (2021).

The rest is under the cut. And here you can find a PDF version where Tumblr can't tell me how many pictures I can add.

2020

He said back on May 2th 2020 he wasn’t writing anything new yet.

(x)(x)(x)

Interestingly enough, he’s said many times after that that the album’s not ready cause he has no new experiences to drawn from. I won’t call him out because he does it himself.

May 4th. He liked a tweet from DMA’s Johnny Took saying they had to go write together again. Louis has been credited as an influence for them and (kind of) participated in their previous record, so I’m assuming he meant for their music and not his, but you never know.

Nothing(literally nothing??? how did we survive) until 11th of July. We all know what happened that day. We all celebrated it. Nonetheless, that’s not what I’m talking about here.

(x) So, by the beginning of July 2020 he was working on concepts and ideas for the new album. That was fifteen months ago. I know perfection takes time but…

Brief summary of important things that happened from then until the next mention of new music:

Louis left Syco!!!! 10 days later he rescheduled the tour for the first time. He followed Matt Vines on Twitter, probably so we could publicly shame him into doing something. Also, the 10thanniversary. He followed more people I wish he hadn’t.

Then more nothing until September. Not even a single tweet. The first merch drop was on the 28th of August but he just RT’ed the tweet. He first mentioned Free my Meal on the 25th of September. Then on October 1st Walls hit #1 on a lot of countries and Louis was incredibly happy and excited about it ^^

And then, that same day, October 1st, 2020, he dropped this bomb:

(x)

He also said it was too soon to be sharing new lyrics with us (x)

And, obviously, this tweet which is actually what made me start this whole post. I would hope you know mate.

(x)

He also told us he was cooking "banger after banger" and that he was incorporating more social themes into his music (x)(x) (I believe any social issue is a political issue but that’s not the point rn).

COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY?!?!

These next paragraphs are brought to you by my mind not remembering things and me not having any links. I’m assuming COACOAC came from those writing sessions that supposedly happened in October. Or in LA but I have no idea if he actually was in LA at any point other than a Daily Mail article putting him there on December which would have been too late, but I do remember that someone said he was in the studio in LA last autumn???? A rumor. Maybe. IDK. Did I mention already all of this is very hypothetical?? Well, this is it. I can’t even remember if this was October or November or what. So, take this with a grain of salt.

I’m also… taking the liberty to assume, if you must, that Copy wasn’t meant to be a Walls reject because it sounds more mature and darker and it has a vastly different tone that Walls songs. I know he’s said that song probably isn’t getting into the album, but I want to have faith (in the future) that I’m getting a studio version. (But also, Louis, if you’re reading this, first of all GET OUT OF MY BLOG second of all, please don’t ever feel pressured again to add a song to the album because we have already heard it before. It’s your art and it should always be under your own terms).

So yeah, I believe that Copy is either one of those four songs (then imagine the other three??!!) or was written around the 1st of October date.

---End of the Intermission---

Then not much important (other than sharing more about Marcus Rashford fight against food poverty and the 2nd merch drop) until he announced the livestream on the 24th of November. (x)

It wasn’t until a few days before the livestream date we even thought again about new music (jk, I know we’re always thinking about new Louis’ music). So, December 9th/10th, 2020. Nine months ago. We got our first taste of new music!

He made sure we knew Copy of a Copy of a Copy isn't a cover! (x) (x)

(x)

Ok, so that’s it for 2020. (I feel like I’m missing something from September 17th because tweet was deleted but maybe he was still talking about cucumbers. We might never know. Unless I understand how Tumblr tags work). Expected, cause Walls was released in 2020. We needed to let it sit for a while.

2021

Another Summary: Louis third tweet of the year was telling the UK government off. So was the fifth. What a good beginning. On the 26th of January, he said he prefers pancakes over waffles. I hope he meant pancakes other than his own. More importantly, he tweeted the infamous “you lot read into things too much”. Don’t get me started, Tomlinson. Don’t. Then the 31st came around and Walls was one. He tweeted this. How wise. And Project Defenceless happened!!

15th of February!! Who cares about Valentine Day when the next day we got this? ♥

(x)

So…AN EP?? AN EP?? PLEASE RELEASE AN EP.

“I’m sure I will have something out this year but unlikely that will be the album”. Unlikely but not impossible. Also. A single would be good. This is the second time he mentions releasing something in 2021 and he sounds surer about it than the first time around.

He also said that he isn’t sure we will get a studio version of Copy. And that the best bridges from Walls to LT2 are Walls, OTB, KMM and Copy. Can’t wait!

Then we jump to March 6th when he announced he was going to create his own management company. “Sometimes action is needed first to encourage the motivation and belief”. As we can tell he was already manifesting some stuff which will lead us to the numerology stuff/Tesla… kidding. Or not. We might never know.

On the 22nd of March he answered some questions:

He told us music was still his main focus ♥ mwha. (x) I included this tweet to guilt-trip him into giving us music in case he’s reading this even after I told him to leave. ILY.

(x) I’d love to get a visual EP this autumn. Just saying. It sounds like a lovely concept.

(x)

…next (I will get into it, I promise. I’m just mad).

On the 25th he left for Mexico until April 10th. You could assume it was just for the documentary where we got ten seconds of footage or admit the obvious: LT2 its a Mexican baby!!

On the 26th (so, not so far apart from that first 369) we got the first Faith in the Future mention: (x)

Back then we were innocent people who had no idea what was coming upon us. We still have no idea because what the fuck does he mean with these. Please explain. I have one braincell and I don’t use it enough for this. I’m linking some theories.

On the 30th of March he confirmed he was already working on the documentary. So AFHF was already on the works. Will it take this long for us to get the Veeps numbers? We also got this tweet: "Got a decent chorus idea down" (x).

Same person that got the “something out this year” exclusive. If you know something share with the class. Also. Is this Change? I feel like this could be Change but I also assume he wrote Change after hanging out with his friends or being in Doncaster. But who knows.

(x) And the second mention to 369.

(x) 15th of April. The second "Faith in the future".

On the 19th of April he announced that he had something BIG for us later on the year which turned out to be the Away From Home Festival ♥♥ (x) I love him so much.

Then on the 28th he announced the 369 merch drop (which it’s probably the Walls drop? Except that the TOU and KMM ones were “drop 1 and drop 2” and this was drop 369 which, again, makes no sense) but we still don’t know what 369 means.

Into May’ 21 we go.

He rescheduled tour again. And dropped another bomb (x).

He announced he has signed with BMG as an independent artist by RTing this tweet on May 10th. The article also says that he’s already working on writing and recording LT2. The timing… we don’t know. What this deal involves… we don’t know either. Bear with me here because I have a lot to say about this.

I think the deal is only a distribution one, but that BMG are interested in Louis and what he (us) could bring to the table. They were either present at the festival or watching it, but officially they had no involvement at all with it (everything is credited either to Louis own company, 78 Productions, or Charlie Lightening’s company). That’s the case for both giveaways too; the vinyl one and the tickets for the festival.

I think it would be an unbelievably bad move not to test the waters with BMG now or soon-ish. At least a single, to see how it performs. Due to the circumstances, it’s obvious there’re certain limitations on place but I want to see how they push it, whether the radio play exist this time around and if the song is playlisted and promoted and all that… I would also love to know, since it says he signed with BMG UK, but it also states it’s a global deal, how things are going to go on the US and other countries.

Yes, yes. I know those are all questions and no answers. But I know the same as you, sadly. If any of you know more than you’re letting on… again, share with the class.

Where was I? Yes, on the 25th of May Louis had a great day writing (x). Since the first time he had mentioned he was officially writing to this date there’s almost eight months. And I believe he was writing before October’ 20.

He followed Robert Harvey that day and, on the 28th of May (why is it always the 28th???) he was spotted at the studio for the first time.

June was an interesting month for the fandom ♥. Lots of LHL content which I will love and cherish for the rest of times. On June 4th, June 9th, and June 10th he was spotted at the studio, but I believe he was there more days.

(x)

This was posted on June 6th and captioned Studio. Charlie also shared it with “Mega tunes being put down, can’t wait for this @louist91 #louistomlinson #LT2” as the caption. This gives me 2019 (Elton-Joint) vibes. I like it. Feels like we’re getting closer to something.

He added the Milano date on the 9th too which I’m mentioning because I’m going alone. Anyone wanna go with me please? I’m nice and I never eat anything before a concert so you can have my food. On other news. It didn’t come home.

During July he was at the studio at least three days too. Probably more. Feels like more with all the fan pictures we got. Or was that June? Anyway, July 1st and 9th we got some videos from Robert Harvey and wearesuperhi, which is who Louis has been working with the most, that we know of. I don’t know for sure they’re from that day. And on July 5th we got an article and lots of pictures of Louis looking really good outside the studio.

On the 12th of July the first fans started getting the free, 369 bucket hat and print. We still don’t know what the purpose was other than to thanks fans. Maybe that was it. I want answers and I still think it relates to a future project (see theories above), but it could also just be a bridge with the Walls breaking.

He didn’t tweet about anything interesting for a while, mostly because he lost his phone (he either throwed it in the air or smashed it who knows). Then on the 29th of July he announced the festival!

I’m glossing over it because there’s already been a lot of talk about it (rightfully) and while it was a wonderful thing, it doesn’t have much to do with LT2.

Let’s talk Change!

On August 3rd he tweeted this about the setlist.

(x)

And this (x) on the 28th! I can’t stand him.

We didn’t get it, obviously. Because who was going to get that. But we read too much into things. Alright.

On the 16thof August Dave Gibson shared this post tagged #LT2 with the eyes emojis 👀👀👀. I believe this has to do both with Change but also with whatever else came out of that Mexico trip.

(x) Last relevant tweet related to LT2 is this one.

So, on the 30th of August we got Change and we cried, and we know that Change is going in the new album. He said it. With those exact words. He also said he was “getting a feeling for it”. This has to meant he already has a general idea of the vibe of the new album and what’s going in it!!!!!! (Right? RIGHT?).

Anyway, let’s go back a few weeks because some other things happened on August. He was at the studio a few more times. Or it was suggested that he was there. On the 17th and the 18th. (Why was it so time-pressing to be at the studio instead of rehearsing for the festival? There was no studio at all on the documentary. Which makes sense, but again, then why?).

On the day of the festival we got another mention of Faith in The Future that made me feel part of a cult ngl. The words were flashing on the screen for less than a second. Okay.

And then he tweeted those words again after watching the livestream/documentary on the 4th of September (x). This is what makes me suspect it's either the name of the album or of the single.

On the same day, we got some interesting quotes about LT2 on the documentary.

“Soon I’ll have to think about me second album, which in my head I’ll get the tour out of the way and then I’ll address that. So, I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest”.

“When every day is the same is hard to feel creative and it’s hard to have any kind of proper inspiration”.

“As season started to come back, I started writing again and it was great and some of these songs turned out alright”.

And I think this is it. I might be overlooking some important details but that’s what we know and what we don’t know.

So. Conclusions. That’s what you missed on Glee. I do believe the album is, if not mostly done, partially there. And yes, this post is pointless and never-ending but it’s all in here if you need to tell Louis “Hey, you said this, mate”.

#LT2 #Louis Tomlinson #Faith in The future #369 #Louis #LT #new music #idk what this is #but it's long #pinned

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ct7567329 · 3 years

Text

Welcome Back: Fives x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+ Please! I'll mark where it starts, so you can still enjoy the first half!)

Words: 2.5k

Corellia was dark as always. You hated this. As you strolled down the crowded street, you held your breath in disgust. The filth of the planet made you gag, but, you felt as if Corellia was the safest place to be. Crowded and disgusting, the opposite of what you liked. During the Clone Wars, post wars plans were frequently discussed among your men. You often found yourself thinking about the plans the men had. Rex wanted to be a farmer, Hardcase an actor for an action packed holovid, Jesse a dad, and Fives, well, Fives didn't care what he did, as long as those plans included you.

Before you could spiral too deep into those thoughts, you shook your head, attempting to clear your mind. Order 66 had ruined all of those plans for everyone, and two years later, you still couldn't fully process that.

As you continued down the street, you constantly glanced around for imperial stormtroopers. It felt as if as more time passed from the Jedi purge, your touch with the force faded. You could no longer simply "sense" people's presence without thinking too hard about it.

Roughly one hundred yards away from you was a small group of stormtroopers. Out of instinct, you threw your hood over your head and tried to blend in as much as possible. As you got closer to the troopers, you ran your fingers along a soot covered bench and smeared it down your cheek, trying to disguise your facial features. On the rare chance any of those stormtroopers were clones, you could easily be recognized. The empire knew you were alive, and you didn't even want to think of the bounty over your head.

You wondered if any of troopers were clones. With there being only a few meters away from the soldiers, you glanced at them as any Corellian would. You felt one of the troopers eyes meet yours though his helmet momentarily. He watched you as you picked up your pace though the crowd, the slow turning motion of this head indicating this. After a minute or so of your quicken pace, you felt as if you were a good enough distance away from the solider that made eye contact with you. You paused and slid into an alley located only a few blocks from the run down apartment complex you call home. You sat on an empty crate and sighed, pulling your hood down. The last time you felt that stare was two tears ago.

Just like the last locked gaze you shared with Fives.

That last glance.

He was shooting at you. Through his helmet, you could sense his tears. Fives didn't want to hurt you, and you knew that. But, he had no other choice. You remember clenching your jaw, holding back tears. There was no escaping with him. You leapt from the building you were in and ran. You ran as far as you could. Far from Fives. Far from your life. Far from everything. Everything you knew was gone.

All you could ever wish for is that forever lasting nightmare to stop replaying in your head every time you saw a stormtrooper. But, that was a hopeless wish.

You ran your soot covered fingers through your hair and sighed. Just as you were about to stand up, the stormtrooper you locked eyes with was standing at the alley entrance, his blaster held lazily as his side. Figuring it was just a routine check, you began to reach for the identification card in your pocket. It was forged of course, but it always seemed to check out with the troopers. The trooper still hasn't spoken when you extended your arm, showing him your identification. His helmet tilted downwards as he read the name.

He chuckled, "Arilani Forrest? Creative!"

"No one has ever called me creative before," you mumbled, "but I best be on my way. I have a shift at the mining yard soon."

"Oh really?" his voice perked up, "would have never imagined you doing that." He began to walk towards you, forcing you to walk deeper into the alley.

You shrugged, "It was the best work I could get. Anything to better the empire." You HATED saying those words, "I'm honored to work for such a great-"

The trooper took off his hemet, making you stop mid-sentence. No wonder that glance felt familiar. It really was Fives.

Anger and passion fought within you as you stared blankly at him. Then fear hit. Quickly, you took a few steps back.

"Get away from me," you spit out.

Fives' smile turned to a frown, "Cyare, let me explain."

"You tried to kill me! You probably still are! And you just expect me to listen to you? To let my guard down and listen to the man who captured my heart and tear it to shreds?!"

"Don't act like that day was any harder for you as it was for me," he begged, stepping towards you, putting his blaster on the ground. "Remember Tup? I took that stupid chip out after that. That's why I cut my hair. I had to keep that a secret. For my safety, for your safety, for our safety!"

"Why should I trust you?" you murmured, trying to hold back tears.

Fives gave you a sympathetic smile, "Because you always used to tell me that I was the best shot in the 501st. You told me that there wasn't a single target I couldn't miss. If you really meant that, then why did I miss every shot I made at you. I wasn't even close. I was never shooting at you. If I didn't follow the order, I would have been killed right then and there. I knew you were capable of surviving. That's why I followed everyone else, knowing you would escape, hoping one day I could find you!" his smile grew, "it took two, long, excruciating years but you're here!"

You were quivering. As he stared at you, awaiting your response, you closed your eyes and exhaled, channeling the force. You came within arms length of him and placed your hands on the side of his head. Your heart skipped a beat at the touch. As you let the force speak to you, you soon came to realize he wasn't lying. There was no chip in his head. You let your arms fall to his neck as you pulled him close to you, your slow tears making his under armor around his neck wet.

His strong arms wrapped around your waist and pressed your body against his. The crappy armor felt uncomfortable on your cheek but you didn't mind. Fives twirled your hair around one of his fingers, the other hand stroking your back. The only reason why he "stayed loyal to the empire" was for this moment, no matter how long he had to wait for it.

Fives released your hair from his fingers and placed his hand on your chin, angling your face towards his. He took his glove off, exposing a clean hand, which he used to rub the soot off you cheek.

"Still as beautiful as ever," he murmured, studying your face as if he would never see it again.

"Fives, I-"

You were interrupted by his com link. He quickly threw his helmet and answered, explaining that he was simply doing identification checks, and he would report back soon. As soon as he ended the conversation, he took his helmet off and chucked in a nearby dumpster.

"I don't want to be a stormtrooper anymore," he sighed, his hands placed on your upper arms. "Please, get me out of here. They don't need me anymore."

You let out a small laugh, "While it will be a loss to the empire, let's get you, or, us, out of this nightmare."

The dark clouds over the Corellian sky finally began to give way, polluted rain hitting every surface. Rain on Corellia was vile, but in that moment, eyes locked with Fives, it didn't matter. He took off the rest of his armor and put it in the same dumpster as his helmet.

Digging through the trash, you found a battered cloak and threw it over him. "This will help you not stand out. I think the imperial logo on your shirt will give a little too much away. But let's get going. The rain is clearing out the streets."

He nodded in agreement and followed you to your apartment building. As you entered the elevator with him, you noticed he had a look of disgust.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fives shook his head, "would have never expected someone like you to live somewhere so disgusting."

"Exactly. That's why I'm here. You don't get options when the empire is out to kill you," you explained as you unlocked the front door.

The apartment was smaller than Fives expected. He thought the 501st barracks were nicer than your apartment, which was clearly saying something. He glanced to his right and watched you take off your robes, revealing an outfit similar to the one you wore during the Clone Wars. As much as he loved it, he hated it. He hated knowing that every other man in the GAR would stare at the way it hugged your body, making you look far better than any model on the holonet. But, he loved knowing that you were all his.

"Yes?" you laughed, catching Fives staring at you in awe.

Fives swallowed hard, nodding, "Just looking at the most beautiful thing in the galaxy." He slowly walked towards you and pressed his lips against the side of your ear, "we have two years of catching up to do."

Smirking, you hopped up to sit on your kitchen counter, "723 standard rotations to be exact," you winked, playfully grabbing his hands.

His forehead met yours as he whispered, "I think I forgot how it feels to kiss you and cyar'ika, I've thought about it every day."

SMUT INCOMING

"Then what are you waiting for," you lustfully groaned into his ear.

That was all he needed to hear. Before you had the chance to take another breath, his lips were on yours, filling your body with a euphoria you haven't felt since the order. It felt as if no time passed at all, he still had every square inch of your mouth memorized. Fives put his hands on your ass, pushing your hips into his, you both instantly feeling the heat coming from the other.

"We need to get you off this counter," he groaned, nibbling on your lower lip. You moaned something inaudible in response as he picked you up and shoved your body onto the nearby couch. Straddling over you, he took a moment to stare at the sight. He longed for the day he could see you under him again.

As Fives grinded his hips against yours, you couldn't help but notice the growth in his blacks on the brink of busting open the cheap fabric. Your hands made their way to his waistband, which you didn't hesitate to pull down, exposing a fully erect Fives. The sight alone was enough to push you over the edge.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, taking the rest of his bottoms off and tossing them across the room. But before you could respond, he pressed a finger against your lips, "Now this isn't fair is it?" he wined, tugging at the hem of your shirt. In one swift motion, your shirt and bra was next to his discarded pants. Still straddled over you, fully exposed, he gawked at the sight in front of him. As he was in la la land, you pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the same toned body that made your knees weak when you first met him. You reached up to touch his left peck, running your fingers down his chest.

"Oh my handsome ARC," you whispered, tracing the outline of his abs. Two years later, pulling rank still sent him over the edge.

"That's it," he groaned, pressing his chest against yours and grinding hander into your hips. You were gasping his name with every push, which only made him push harder. Fives slipped his fingers into your pants and softly ran his index finger up your soaked clit. He pulled his finger out, your moan being music to his ears, and licked his finger dry. Fives knew damn well he was driving you up the wall, and had no plans on stopping.

You quivered at Fives' touch, and pulled the rest of your clothes off. Fives collapsed his body onto yours, the sensation of full skin to skin contact making his body tremor. As you both laid there motionless, taking in the moment, his throbbing cock kept poking at your entrance.

"Fives," you groaned, knowing you didn't even need to finish your sentence.

Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into you, listening to you moan under the pressure. As Fives pushed in further, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He steadily thrusted in and out, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Every next thrust came faster and harder. Your jaw was clenched as you groaned, trying to hold back the orgasm.

"I know you're close cyare," he said between thrusts, "where do you want it?"

Breathing heavily, you put your hands on Fives' lower back, preventing him to pull out for another thrust, "The damn war is over and we can finally live our dreams," you gasped for air, "it's a risk we can now take." You let go of his back and he continued to pump into you. As soon as you felt as if he was on the verge of splitting you right up the middle, you let out a loud moan as your walls clenched around his cock, which was simultaneously, filling you up. Fives laid down on top of you, still inside you, as you both rode out your orgasms.

"Fives," you panted, running your fingers through his hair. He smiled and shut his eyes, placing his head on your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat.

"Oh maker, I love you," he wined, nuzzling his head into your neck. He slid his softening cock out of you and got up, grabbing a blanket from across the room. You stared at his naked body, shining with the sweat you two just created. It was like staring at an ancient god. He laid the blanket over you and sat down, pulling you onto his chest.

"Welcome back my love," you smiled, tracing your finger on his chest.

"Hope I wasn't gone too long," he winked, watching you fall asleep in his arms.

It took two years, but finally, the post war dreams you shared were finally coming true.

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