The battle was won, Erebor reclaimed, and thanks
to the amazing healing power of the elves, everyone got out with their
lives. Sure, Thorin had to use a cane to
walk and Fili had some back problems now, but they were alive, and that was all
It is what brought the company to this day. It was about a week before the big
celebration. They were going to call it “Thorin’s
Day”, to honor the bravery of their new king as he faced the dragon and
reclaimed his kingdom. Many argued, and
by many you mean Nori and you, jokingly, that it should be named “The Company’s
Day” but it didn’t have the same ring to it.
Planning and preparations were in full swing, the
food being planned, wine and ale purchased, the now golden floored hall being
decorated, it was a site to see. Now
that the other dwarves had returned, life was bustling once again in Erebor, it
was great to see the carefree smiles that no longer held worries of dragons and
death, but instead were optimistic of the future.
Warning: angst, a scene where reader get’s physically harassed.
A/N: A huge thank you to @yourtropegirl & @heyitssilverwolf for beta-ing this first part. You’ve helped so much!
Summary: It started with a blind date. A date you had skipped out on, but fate had led you right to the man you stood up. Steve Rogers, a man small in stature but big in heart. A chance meeting set everything in motion, but decades later when he is unfrozen, he has been told you have died. But when a mission to retrieve Hydra plans turned up some interesting information, Steve’s left to wonder whether you are still alive. Or is this all just false hope?
The air was cold and dampened as the group infiltrated the small Hydra bunker. Their recon mission was to retrieve Hydra’s plans for a new facility that was to be built somewhere in Bulgaria. Steve ordered a quick sweep of the place, each one of them taking a different room. Bucky had gone into the room to the right of him and immediately came face to face with a small- framed man, who threw his hands up in the air. Bucky grabbed him by the throat and pushed him down on a chair. Seeing the man in a Hydra facility only fueled the pent up anger in Bucky. He squeezed his titanium hand tighter around the man’s throat, the inner ruthless soldier within him starting to come out.
“Please!” the man croaked out desperately, his hands thrashed against Bucky’s chest. “I-I have vital information.”
Bucky grunted and squeezed harder, “What do you know?” “Y/N Rogers, I know where she is.”
The Winter Soldier’s eyes went wide as he let the man fall to the ground, watching the man as he rubbed his throat to soothe the bruises that were forming. Bucky yelled out to Steve, who was in another room interrogating a Hydra personnel.
“What it is, Buck?” He called out.
Bucky yelled his name again, his voice weak and tight, the feeling of uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. Immediately, Steve ran into the room and looked at Bucky’s pale face and the gasping man on the ground. Steve hesitated as he walked closer, afraid Bucky had taken it too far and now was in distress.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked with a look of compassion taking over his normal, stern look.
"Tell him,” Bucky growled, looking down at the frightened looking man on the floor. But the man stayed silent, so Bucky grabbed him roughly by the arm and hoisted him up. “Tell him, now.” The threat in Bucky voice was all the encouragement the man needed. He cleared his throat and looked up at Steve, opening his mouth to say the words not even Captain America would be prepared for. “I know where your wife is.” Steve glared into the man’s eyes,chest heaving up and down. “Yeah, I do too,” Steve’s eyes flickered to his friend’s and back to the man. “She’s buried in Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, New York. I bring her favorite flowers to her, purple tulips every Sunday." He does his best to keep his voice from trembling and to mask the pain he felt, the pain that kept him awake almost every night.
"No, she was never buried there,” the man stated. “She’s alive, you’ve been wasting your Sundays, bringing flowers to an empty grave.”
Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder as the he lunged at the man. “Steve,” he said calmly, trying to get his friend’s attention. “He’s lying!” Steve yelled at Bucky, his hand reaching for the man’s throat, but a metal hand held Steve back from the man who was cowering back.
“You go sit in the next room, do not move a damn muscle.“
Steve watched as Bucky spoke into his comm, telling Natasha to make sure the man didn’t leave her sight. She questioned why, but Bucky just groaned and told her, "Just do it, we need him.” Bucky released his grip from Steve’s shoulder and sighed, “What do you think?” “Come on, Buck. He’s lying, Y/N is- she’s gone,” Steve resigned with his eyes closed. He could still picture the day the two of you met, one of Bucky’s double dates fiascos back in 1940.
“Chin up, kid,” Buck patted Steve’s back. “She’s going to like you.” “I’ll be glad if she just doesn’t run away,” Steve tucked his hands into his trousers pockets. “She’s a real fool if she doesn’t like you,” Bucky smiled at his friend. “Let’s go, don’t want to keep the girls waiting.”
“I don’t want to do this, Rose,” you complained slowing down behind your friend, her brown locks bounced as she halted and turned to you. “Don’t you dare back out now, Y/N!”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” you held up your hands in defeat. “Tell this Bucky guy I’m sorry, his friend too.” You spun around and walked toward the subway. Rose called out your name but you kept walking.
“I’m sorry Steve, she wasn’t feeling well,” Rose said sympathetically.
Steve smiled softly and shrugged. “It’s not because she saw me, is it?”
“No! Honest! She sends her apologies,” Rose insisted bringing a hand to Steve’s shoulder before looking to Bucky. “We can arrange this for another time.”
Steve watched Bucky’s face drop but quickly recover, “Yeah, sounds good.”
“No, you two go on. I’m going to head home,” Steve urged the pair but Bucky hesitated.
“Sorry Rose, how about tomorrow night? Me and you, doll?”
Rose smiled widely, “It’s a date, I better go check on Y/N. See you fellas.”
The two men watched Rose stroll off, Steve smiled to himself, “Y/N’s a nice name.”
“She sounds like a damn fool, if she passed up a date with you. Come on kid, let’s go watch a movie.”
You were taking the trash out from the bakery where you worked. It was the last duty of your shift. You wanted to go home, but as soon as you stepped foot in the alley behind the bakery; you knew trouble was brewing. A young man was leaned against the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette. Eyes watched you as you disposed of the trash. You held your breathe, hoping to go unaccosted. Throwing the trash in the bin, you quickly turned to head back through the bakery’s back exit, but two pair of hands grabbed at you.
“Come here, beautiful,” the man’s voice was deep, gravely, and filled with venom. You tried to scream but he clapped his hand over your mouth. “Oh come on. Be nice.”
He pushed you up against a wall, as you tried to fight him off. You kicked his shins, causing him to jerk back.
“Get away from me!” You screamed edging toward the door, but he lunged at you.
“HEY! LEAVE HER ALONE!”
A man’s voice grabbed your attention, it was a small-framed fella. His fist up in the air, as though he was ready to fight. Your heart dropped, afraid your assailant would hurt the fragile looking man.
“Mind your own business, kid,” the man yelled, moving toward you once again. You stepped backwards into the trash bin, your eyes flickered to the blond man. His eyes were filled with confidence as he stepped toward the other man.
“Leave the lady alone,” he demanded.
“What’s a stick like you going to do?” The man sneered, looking the young opposer up and down.
“You’d be surprised,” he answered with a smirk that angered your attacker.
“You little shit,” he growled as he landed a punch on the blond man’s face. You yelled and jumped on the back of the attacker, trying to pull him away from the young man.
“HEY!” A loud voice had you whipping your head up, a handsome brown haired man ran toward the commotion. He grabbed you off the man and quickly punched the man in the face twice.
“Get the hell out of here, before I call the police!” His voice was strong, filled with anger. You watched as the man scurried away, pushing the blond man out of the way. Immediately you ran to him and cupped his face.
“Are you okay?” your eyebrows furrowed in concern.
His blue eyes looked at you and something clicked inside you, he winced when you touched his bruising cheek.
“Couldn’t be better,” he joked, wincing when you touched his cheek.
“Listen,” you looked over to the brown haired man. “Give me a minute, to get my things. My apartment is a few blocks away, I have a medical kit at home.”
Both men nodded and watched you run into the bakery. You clocked out, grabbed your coat and purse; you were afraid the blond man would be gone, so you smiled when he stood there next to the other man.
“Come on, it’s the least I can do,” you motioned for the two men to follow you., each flanked you at your side.
“Y-you don’t have to,” the blond mumbled.
“Come on Steve, let the pretty lady take care of you,” the brown haired man chuckled. Your eyes flew to the blond man, he gave you a small smile.
“Listen to your smart friend, Steve,” you nudged him lightly. His piercing blue eyes gazed at you, causing warmth to blanket over your body.
Within a few minutes, the three of you were inside your small basement apartment. You told the two men to make themselves at home, while you went to get your kit. Steve looked to his friend, who was walking around the apartment. There were canvases everywhere, beautifully painted. Steve walked over to a canvas that was leaned against the window, it was a portrait of an older woman; her green eyes were bright and her smile soft. Steve’s hand moved toward the painting, his fingers inched from touching it when you walked in.
“It’s still wet,” you smiled at Steve and held up the first aide kit. Bucky stood by as you motioned for Steve to take a seat on the blue couch.
“It’s my mother,” you touched his chin and turned his head slightly. “She passed a few years ago.”
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
You rubbed gently at his cheek and let out a soft sigh, “Thanks, but I don’t wallow. She taught me better.”
He smirked, trying to think of something clever to say, but instead remained silent. You took out a cotton ball and dabbled at the blood on his cheek, he winced and you couldn’t help but laugh. Steve’s eyes moved to his friend, who was looking at his watch.
“Got somewhere to be, Bucky?” he questioned.
Your eyes shoot over to the man standing, “Barnes? Bucky Barnes?”
“Guilty,” he smirked.
“You never called my friend Rose back,” you stated. Steve grinned up at his friend, eager to witness how he would see his way out of this one.
“Well-” he started but you shook your head.
“She was so devastated, she ran into the arms of Todd Johnson,” you placed a small band aide on Steve’s face and closed the kit.
Bucky sighed, “I guess it’s my loss.”
“Well,” you admitted, “It’s probably my fault, I was suppose to go on that double date she had set up with you. But I don’t like blind dates, they make me nervous and insecure.”
Steve’s eyes widen to his friend, who smiled like a big goof.
You looked from Steve to Bucky, “What?”
“You’re Y/N,” Steve spoke softly.
“How did you..”
“I was your blind date,” he confessed quietly, hoping you wouldn’t be disappointed.
You looked to Bucky for confirmation and he gave you a curt nod.
“Wow,” you sighed out loudly and reached out for Steve’s hand. “I’m a damn fool.”
The team was back on the aircraft headed back to the States, after completing the mission. Steve was staring out the window, thinking about the day he had met you. The way you looked at him in your small apartment, it had shaken him to his core. And when you asked if he would like to go on a date, he thought you were kidding. You laughed and told him if he didn’t want to, it was fine. Of course he practically jumped out of his seat and told you that he’d love to take you out. He remembered the walk home after he left your apartment with Bucky, he felt like a million bucks. Like the luckiest man alive and he was, because you had loved him in a way no one ever did, or could. The clouds cleared and he watched the world down below him, wondering if what the man had said was true.That you were out there somewhere alive. Guilt betrayed him, when he thought for a moment how maybe he didn’t want to see you. You’d be at least 99 years old now, would you even know who he was? Could he face you, after all this time? Would you be angry?
“Steve, what should we do? ” Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t know Bucky,” he sighed. “How do we know he’s telling the truth?”
“We don’t, but don’t you think we owe it to Y/N to find out?”
“You were always on her side,” Steve replied trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, well she was cuter than you,” Bucky smacked Steve on the back playfully.
“She was amazing,” Steve whispered out, his eyes locked on the Earth down below. He felt determined then, to find out if you truly were alive somewhere. And even if it meant that he’d only get a small amount of time with you, he’d take anything. If it meant seeing your beautiful face again.
height/weight: 5’ 4"/108 lbs
blood type: B
romantic/sexual orientation: biromantic/bisexual
yaoi type: switch
hobby(ies): singing, dancing, plotting, pranking, scheming
personality: she’s a loveable character, but don’t let her charm and seemingly innocent personality fool you. she carries many dark secrets, one of which she will describe to you in the game as an easter egg on the 3rd night. she’s one of those very persuasive and convincing ppl, that makes you believe everything you hear. this makes trust a giant issue and makes her quite a trouble-maker. she has a bad habit of manipulating ppl. her biggest trigger is when ppl. don’t take her seriously and mistrust her. she is indeed guilty of clara’s death, whose soul isn’t left behind to roam’ it mysteriously vanished, leaving her mangled body nothing more that a bloody husk. the other soul, from baby’s first body, lingers around her reminding her of what she did. this happened bc beatrice had haunted her for killing her friend, clara. despite this, baby still smiles. that fake grin she wears is her biggest charm, even though it somewhat expresses her sinister nature in a weird way..
- BEATRICE MULBERRY
height/weight: 3’ 7"/ 70 lbs
b day: 1953
blood type: B
hobby(ies): singing, sleeping, playing outside
siblings: vincent, connor
personality/story: the middle child and sister to vincent and connor. she’s a fairly quiet individual who doesn’t speak unless she needs to. after waking up to vincent and connor’s banter in his bedroom, and creeping in to find her dead older brother and her little brother writing messages, in his blood, on the wall, she was promptedw/ severe anxiety and constant snapping under pressure. at connor’s funeral, she sprints up to her brother’s casket and runs out, dragging his body behind her and screaming about what she saw that night while escaping through the entrance of the funeral home. beatrice’s parents and relatives soon caught up to her and brought her down. she was hysterical.. she was immediately sent to the hospital and waited to be admitted to a mental institution. days later, the authorities found her dead in the hall’s bathroom. she had slit her throat open w/ a razor. w/ her soul free she went on to avenge her friend, clara afton (who had died the day beatrice was admitted into the institution), by possessing baby’s scrapped body, which made baby sometimes her clara’s scream when she killed her. that body was later recovered, given green eyes, and kept stored away in the circus baby entertainment and rentals building. she now plots in secret and aims to leave by using you throughout the week, only to betray you in the end…
height/weight: 6'2"/ 123 lbs
blood type: ???
romantic/sexual orientation: heteroromantic/asexual
yaoi type: switch
personality: they’re very quiet and rather insecure, for the most part. bc of this, it rare to see them smile, unless the ends their mouth is stitched to their cheeks. at times though, they can be out of control. the knowledge of 4 different minds melded into 1 makes them even more unpredictable than baby alone. ennard has an ability that not even mariah or vincent can perform; they can change between soul and ‘human’ form, shifting between the fifth (the solidarity) and sixth (the infinity) realities. the catch is that they can only travel, and are practically stuck between 2 of the 6 realities. the tattered cloth ennard drapes over their body covers 12 retractable metallic tentacles on their back and the body he inhabited was indeed mr. afton (william). his son was taken over by vincent some years later… in 87, vincent kidnaps micheal afton, another security guard on day shift duty, strips him for his suit as a disguise, and dresses afton into his street attire. while micheal’s unconscious, vincent releases half of the purple flame into afton’s body. he releases the other half into stacey’s body. after vincent commits suicide, his and stacey’s bodies are recovered and taken away. micheal wakes up and recovers soon afterwards. one part of the flame was to hibernate and lay dormant for quite some time. that part was given to stacey, the active half was given to micheal. w/ this, and a built personality already engraved into it, vincent was able to possess micheal’s body and carry on w/ his objectives, but he knew that he now wasn’t able to return to the death revolutionists. he was on his own again, he slowly began to go mad, bc of the only partial amount of the flame afton received affecting his body. he finds ennard, still in his soul underform, in the same body. the two battle for control for quite some time, until vincent manages to eject ennard from william’s body.
“I’m gonna shower,” McCoy says and rolls up to sitting. The sheet rumples at his waist and provides Spock with a study in contrast between white cotton and the length of his tanned and freckled back.
“Do you always announce your intentions for the morning?” Spock asks.
“You’re mouthy when you’re naked.”
“It is a simple inquiry.”
“Simple,” McCoy repeats in a mutter. Spock does not bother to pretend he is not watching the play of muscles in McCoy’s thighs as he walks to the bathroom. “I was going to invite you to join in, but now I’m thinking better of it.”
“Are you planning to declare your aim of eating breakfast and then beginning your scheduled shift?” Spock calls after him but is either ignored or unheard over the rush of water McCoy turns on.
“It is not warm,” Spock says when he has disentangled himself from the bedding and come to stand before the shower stall. There is no fog clouding the glass, nor clinging to the mirror.
“A good wake-up,” McCoy says. Rivulets run over the ridge his collarbone to the slope of his pectorals, and down the flat line of his stomach to-
“Perhaps you should consider sleeping more.”
“Didn’t hear an argument from you last night,” McCoy says.
“Showers are supposed to be a pleasant temperature,” Spock says, but is disregarded as McCoy squirts an unnecessary amount of shampoo into his palm.
Spock will shower in his own quarters under the sonics. He has neither a clean uniform here, nor a toothbrush, and the morning’s… prevarication renders him not precisely late for his duties before his own shift begins, but not early either.
Water streams down McCoy’s raised arms as he rinses his hair, tiny rivulets finding the hollows and dips of muscle. Spock leans back against the sinks allows himself another moment to contemplate McCoy’s clearly unsound reasoning.
“It’s tradition,” Sulu says, which Spock highly doubts.
“C’mon, it’s fun,” Jim says and skims his shirt over his head.
“It’s a thing that we do,” Nyota says and shrugs, at least apparently aware of the inanity of their plan, even if she clearly is collaborating.
“It is illogical,” Spock says but what he truly means is insane.
“Good for the nervous system,” McCoy says. His breath puffs white in front of his face.
“You are a doctor,” Spock says. “Surely you are not intending to jump into a nearly frozen lake on a planet with permanent winter, where the mean temperature is so grossly below what is bearable for humans, let alone sustainable for-“
“-Come with us,” McCoy says and steps out of his boots. “We’re just dipping in there for a few seconds.”
“There is snow,” Spock says and this should be clear. Apparent. Obvious, as it is currently falling from the sky, borne in on a frigid wind. “And ice. And furthermore-“
“-Good God it’s cold,” McCoy says and shucks his pants off.
“Precisely,” Spock says, but it does little - nothing - to dissuade the group of them as they sprint for the shoreline.
Humans, Spock thinks.
“If you’re going to just sit there, grab me another one,” McCoy says from the edge of the hot tub he has arranged himself against and Spock frowns when he shakes his beer bottle towards him.
“Drinking alcohol while submerged in heated water leads to dehydration which in turn leads to-”
“-Oh, quit yapping and get in, would you?” Water seeps through Spock’s pants to his thigh when McCoy lays a wet hand on his leg. “And if the water’s so warm that I’ll-”
“-It is not warm,” Spock says. McCoy squeezes his leg. Jim tips his face up out of the steam that rises around them and mutters Gross.
Drops of water roll down from McCoy hairline, a slow meander down his neck. Later, Spock will lick at that same trace of tendon and muscle that slopes to his shoulder and taste the faint bite of chlorine.
“When you are suffering the effects of this ill advised evening tomorrow morning, I will remind you of this moment.”
“You two are cute,” Jim says. McCoy huffs out of a snort of a laugh. Spock stands to retrieve the requested beer. His leg is still wet.
The warmth of the sun is agreeable. Even the beach is enjoyable, with its roll of waves, nearly cloudless sky, and crab-like creatures that skitter in the foam of the surf.
What is not to Spock’s liking, however, is being dripped on.
“The water’s nice,” McCoy says again, and again, Spock refuses to allow himself to be levered up by the grip on his wrist.
“You’re burning up sitting here.”
“A gross exaggeration.”
“There’s nothing to do if you’re not going to come swimming.”
“Untrue,” Spock says for it discounts the rather gratifying experience of watching McCoy swim. “My shirt is now wet.”
McCoy flicks even more water onto him with whisk of his fingers. Spock grabs his hand.
“Sit with me,” he says.
McCoy sighs, an exaggerated blow of air. “Fine.”
Sand coats McCoy’s feet and ankles, and drops of water coat the rest of him, dripping down to where the elastic of his swimsuit rests low on his hips. When Spock leans over, the corner of McCoy’s mouth tastes of the ocean and the tang of sunscreen.
“You’re boring as all hell,” McCoy mutters and angles his chin as if he is not intending to allow Spock to kiss him properly.
“You have made me quite aware, thank you,” Spock says and leans further over until McCoy capitulates with another sigh, kissing him back with salty, sun warmed lips.
“I don’t want to hear it,” McCoy says and holds up a finger that Spock supposes is intended to be threatening.
“Hear what?” Spock says.
“Anything.” McCoy leans back and shuts his eyes. Bubbles cling to his chest above the lap of water. His fingers, where they rest on the sides of the tub, bear wrinkles and prunes in skin that has grown pale from waterlog.
“Activities such as bathing are generally intended to improve one’s disposition,” Spock says.
“Shitty day,” McCoy says.
Spock studies the sight before him. The poke of a knee through the surface of the water, the curl of damp hair at the nape of McCoy’s neck, the red flush across his chest and throat.
Spock turns on the tap. For a moment, the tableau remains quiet. Peaceful. Then, McCoy yelps.
“Goddammit, are you trying to turn me into a lobster?”
“I am simply raising the temperature to a more tolerable level,” Spock says and removes his shirt. “Sit up.”
“This isn’t big enough,” McCoy says as if he is not leaning forward in invitation.
“I quite agree,” Spock says and in the slippery negotiation of knees and thighs and “Dammit Spock, I don’t bend like that”, bubbles and water splash to the floor. He will clean it later. He pulls McCoy back against his chest.
“This is remarkably unpleasant,” Spock says into a curved ear and McCoy’s body lurches with his short laugh.
“It is, isn’t it,” McCoy says and settles back into him.
Valentine’s Day. It is one of the busiest times of the year, at least for waiters and waitresses. Ah yes, workers like them do not simply get the day off, but it is not like Baekhyun would want to be anywhere else, especially on a day like this.
“Hey, Baekhyun? Could you manage a number seven to table three?” Johnny, one of his coworkers, asks him from the window separating the kitchen and the counter.
“Coming right up!” He starts to jumble around a few ingredients and pours them in a bowl of noodles. When it is ready, he goes through the double doors and into the floor of love struck couples and heartbroken wallets.
After he hands table three their order, a blond woman with large, ebony rimmed glasses and a pink envelope comes towards his direction; a scene in which has occurred almost every day of his life since he had began working there.
“Hello… Baekhyun,” she sent him an upturned smile, all shy and delicacy. “I was wondering if you could be my valentine.” She stretches the envelope out and Baekhyun takes it, regardless of his true feelings. He would never put down all of these confessions and embarrass the poor souls, so taking them would cushion the fall.
“Thank you, but I am not interested. You seem like a very nice girl, though.” That is his way of cushioning the fall, and it is one of the reasons why all these girls are so persistent with him. Out of all the waiters who work there, he is the only one who would turn them down so kindly. His smile is all it would take to mend their disappointment.
“Oh… thanks anyway.” She upturns her lips uneasily and turns away, leaving Baekhyun to head back to the kitchen. However, as he walked up to it he stumbles across the tall, auburn haired, and majestic honey eyed waiter– Park Chanyeol, or better known as, the reason for his frequent heart lurches and broken dishes.
Speaking of which, as they meet paths Baekhyun forgets that he still has the tray that he used to serve the dishes with, and it slips out of his hands when Chanyeol decides to stop in front of him. Just in time, though, the double door behind Chanyeol opens and collides into his back, causing him to drop his own dish and glass all over the wooden floor.
The noise is overwhelmingly loud, and all eyes are on them, as per usual. This occurs too much, and Baekhyun can not stop cursing himself each time it does. Dang you Park Chanyeol and your devilishly handsome looks!
“I-I’m s-so sorry.” Both voices say in unison, cheeks tinted and grins nervous.
They bend down to pick up the respective pieces, but before Baekhyun can touch a shard of glass, Chanyeol holds onto his wrist and stops him.
“Don’t, you can cut yourself. Let me do it,” he says, making it harder for Baekhyun to gather words out of the air in his lungs. Are the walls closing in or is it just him?
He swallows and pulls away slowly, “Are you sure? It doesn’t make sense if you end up cutting yourself too.”
“Better me than you,” Chanyeol looks up at him and their eyes lock– motionless and yet, so full of booming emotions.
Baekhyun’s vitals go haywire and he springs upwards, which does not go in his favor as he ends up knocking into another waiter, whom falls to the ground with– you guessed it– another plate to add onto the shattered mess.
After that, the rest of the day goes on with desperate attempts to hide oneself, short glances, and small palpations of the heart.
“You are so ridiculous, you know?” Johnny says when they are in the break room, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Just make out with him already.”
“Johnny!” Baekhyun protests as he clamps his eyes shut, only to slap the wise guy on his arm. “Don’t say that so easily.”
“He’s right, though.” A woman says, and when Baekhyun turns around, he finds the main reason as to why men frequent this place just as much as women do– Bae Areum. “About the ridiculous part, that is. You two should just focus on getting your feelings out before making out, at least.”
Baekhyun messes up his hair out of frustration, everyone seems to know what he should do excerpt for himself. “It’s not as easy as it looks. I can’t even look at him without wanting to run away.”
“How do you think he feels? He’s just as flustered as you are! Your both ridiculous in that case, to be honest. Making out does sound like a better option now that I think about it.”
“Areum!” He is exasperated as the two cupids high five one another with titters.
“Just make your move, and what better day to do it than Valentine’s Day? It’s perfect!” Johnny says elatedly, like he has come up with the best plan in the entire world.
“He’s right, take this chance and go with it.”
Baekhyun toys with the flap of his apron, contemplating. When the intimidating conversation had ended, Baekhyun went onto his duties until his shift ended at 6:00 PM.
He was in the employee lounge to grab his coat to leave, but when he came back to the main floor, the whole restaurant was empty, the lights were closed, and everything was quiet.
The only source of light that escaped was from the table in the middle, which was surrounded by a circle of lavender scented candles. There were rose petals sprawled all around them and even atop the white covered table.
Right next to the beautiful display is an even more beautiful man, his tuxedo sleek and shiny as he holds a dozen roses in his hands. Awestruck, Baekhyun advances slowly, still trying to perceive all of this, all of this amazing man.
“C-Chanyeol? What is all this?” He barely asks, as the man takes Baekhyun’s hand to place a lingering kiss atop the smooth skin. Baekhyun swears that he’s not even breathing at this point.
“Hey,” he says with a chuckle, dashing and charming. “This is my heart, I want to give it to you.”
It is hazy and oh so light around them that he feels like he could fade into the mesmerizing atmosphere. But he doesn’t, he is just so weak, so shocked, so euphoric.
“Here, I got these for you,” Chanyeol says while handing him the bokay of roses. Baekhyun’s first instinct is to smell them, but when he takes a look at them he realizes that amidst the romantic red, there is one white rose that steals the limelight.
There is a card that’s plastered right next to it, so he plucks it out and reads the soft words.
No matter how big the crowd is, you are the one that will always stand out to me.
Tears pool in his eyes as a smile tingles on the side of his lip– correction, it is at this moment that he forgets how to breathe.
He tilts his head back up to look at sweetness in its human form, but Chanyeol meets Baekhyun there and closes his lips around his in a knee bending kiss. They mold into each other as Chanyeol wraps his strong arms around Baekhyun’s shoulders, deepening the kiss and holding him close.
If he knew that kissing Chanyeol felt this wondrous and so out of this world, he would have made a move long ago.
Cullen as a templar has definitely been on my mind after a bit of comparative Cullen/Alistair meta this week so be warned, it’s heavy. And it should be. tw: blood, violence, anti-mage sentiment. 1233 words.
PS. This is in no way meant to excuse behavior, it does, however, intend to explain how religious indoctrination works. Especially when started at a young age.
People don’t usually think “oh, I’m the bad guy, doing bad things” and the ones who do aren’t usually the ones who try to change.
Those who oppose thee Shall know the wrath of heaven. Field and forest shall burn, The seas shall rise and devour them, The wind shall tear their nations From the face of the earth, Lightning shall rain down from the sky, They shall cry out to their false gods, And find silence.
-Canticle of Andraste 7:19
Cullen is eight years old when
he receives his calling, a revelation as clear as a clarion echoing out of the
summer sky, as if the Maker himself has turned his face upon him for a single
heart-stopping moment. Branson and Mia tease him; they claim he’s arrogant,
addled, a long list of names children call children who don’t quite fit in. His
parents believe he will change his mind, but Cullen is stalwart. He knows his
heart, and he knows his hands. The Maker has built them for war, and the
templars down at the chantry tell him that’s what they’re at. No matter what
he’s heard, there is a war coming, there is a war now, no matter how sad some
would claim the plight of mages. And so Cullen begs for stories, drinking up
lyrium-soaked tales of bravery and divinity from the men and women who guard the small
chantry in Honnleath.
Then he begs for training, determined to be the Maker’s arm, to
do His will.
He knows that he must prove himself worthy to serve. He shows up almost daily, swings a wooden practice sword with the devotion of a veteran. If enduring the
ridicule of his siblings and the fond exasperation of his parents is just another test, well, the Maker is not without compassion. Cullen knows he’ll
never be truly alone. Rosie understands. She says the animals call to her as
urgently, just as clearly as the Maker called to him. She too young to truly sympathize,
but Cullen accepts the solidarity for what it is. Only a decade later will he
dare to wonder if it’s something else whispering to Rosalie—some fade-tinged
temptation staring back at her from the behind the falcon’s bright eyes—but he
never has the courage to ask her.
He tells himself, in the endless empty hours of the worst nights,
that he would have the strength to do his duty, no matter what.
He’s thirteen when the Order finally accepts him. Being a templar
recruit is everything Cullen ever dreamed it would be. He never quite fit in
with the village kids, never quite fit in with his siblings come to that, but
there’s fellowship here, unity, strength in like-mindedness. Boys and girls with the same calling, the same faith.
Cullen would have never said that he was lost, but he feels as if he’s come
He throws himself into study, into training. He’s desperate for
both, as if he’s been drowning in ignorance all his life and now there’s so
much air just to breathe. He gulps it all down, takes it in, makes it his own,
fills a greedy mind with books, empty hands with sword and shield and he
thrives beneath the Chantry’s banner.
They have made him who he always knew himself to be.
I know this might be a lil left field but guess who’s a new assistant? Thace!
Everyone else was hit with this curveball too
Allura had worked behind the scenes to get him transferred here after hearing of his excellent work
Oh but surprise, there’s some more going on!
Allura also hired an official finance/accountant and that person is Slav!
As well as a part time shelver to help when things get a little backed up and yoooo what up it’s SHAY!
You know what that means, folks? Time for some shifting of duties to lighten the load
Allura: Duties stay the same
Coran: Duties stay the same
Shiro: Sometimes helps at the ref desk now too
Pidge: Just a tech now
Hunk and Lance: They leave media and holds list stuff for Shay
Keith: No longer does ILL’s (thats for Thace now too) takes over as the new head person on desk since Shiro is a floater to the ref when needed
They are really weary when Thace joins the staff because he’s very gruff and reserved and also worked with Sendak and Prorok and Haggar over at Galra Public Library a few towns over and they are infamous for being very…sterile? Is that the word? Like they are strict and to the point and not very friendly to patrons and that library has a bad reputation lmao
Allura says he’s actually okay and he was very eager to be hired and hopes to help
Hunk’s really excited that Shay is here, as she and Slav were very regular patrons and they all got to know each other well over the years
Hunk and Shay try to shelve near each other and it’s precious
Rumor has it that their resident annoying patron Zarkon used to work at Galra but was ousted but they aren’t sure, they just know he likes to fuck shit up at their library nowadays
To mess with Pidge, Lance likes to sneak into their cubicle when they aren’t there and change their background on their PC to something not exactly jump scare-y but something like in your face
As Lance is cleaning the children’s area and putting away blocks, some little three year old decided to mess with im and take out blocks every time he’d put them back in for for 5 minutes they were head to head until the kid’s mom came and took them away fhdsk
Field Camp - Jimmy, Marcus and Sergeant Ong (Part 3/6)
It was then they were wrong.
The latrine was actually quite near the commanders’ tentage. In the night, any sound in the deafening silence could be heard. The boy’s love making sounds were obviously too loud. While the rest of the commanders rested for the day before day 3 started, sergeant Ong heard some sounds in the bushes and decided to check it out in case there was a wild boar that could injure the sleeping recruits.
Sergeant Ong heard some noises and followed the sounds. It was from the latrine. Not wanting to alarm whatever was out there, Sergeant Ong crept quietly and carefully, making minimal noise. To his greatest surprise, he found 2 wild recruits fucking under the moonlight instead of any sight of wild boar.
“Oh fuck Marcus, harder!”
“Shhh not too loud!”
Sergeant Ong just looked in amazement and something was stirring below his pants. He couldn’t resist it and unbuttoned his fly, letting out his 6 incher, but thick, meat.
“I’m gonna cum soon!”
“Cum on me Marcus!”
Marcus pulled out and removed the condom.
Shots after shots, Marcus cummed all over Jimmy’s body. It was evident that horny Marcus had saved up his load for a long time. 12 shots, maybe more, but no lesser.
Sergeant Ong cummed upon that sight as well, trying hard to restrain his moans.
“Eh let’s clean up quickly and get out of here. You don’t wanna get caught.” Marcus said with a slight tone of panic. Their duty shift was up and they had to report back to commanders tentage to hand over to the next prowlers.
It was a chore cleaning the mess Marcus made. Marcus decided to use his No.4 top to wipe off the cum on Jimmy’s body. “Ehhhh don’t la later your shirt smell of cum.” Jimmy was reluctant. “Never-mind la, it’s so muddy anyways. No one will notice.” Marcus reassured Jimmy.
Sergeant Ong snapped out of his daze and cleaned up the remainder of his leaking cock and went back to the commanders’ tentage quietly without alarming the wild boys.
Thank you all so, so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments or send messages regarding this (or anything else!); I love hearing everyone’s thoughts and am open to constructive (polite) criticism! Every like, re-blog, and comment gives me life. I love you all!
Warnings: Swearing, Negan being Negan, some gore, mentions of past sexual assault, PG adult consensual intimacy
Thank you all so, so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments or send messages regarding this (or anything else!); I love hearing everyone’s thoughts and am open to constructive (polite) criticism! Every like, re-blog, and comment gives me life. I love you all!
You woke to a throbbing pain in your upper arm, groaning as you sat up in your cot. While your arm was definitely the worst, a good portion of your body was sore from yesterday’s altercation. You could have easily gone back to sleep for the rest of the day if it had been allowed, but you begrudgingly put on your shoes and nudged Matthew’s arm to wake him up for your early fence duty shift.
“Wha- huh?” He mumbled sleepily, some drool crusted to his chin. You’d never been awake before him to see this side of him, he looked like a teenager and it made you giggle. “What’s so funny?” He whispered, rubbing the sleep from his face and sitting up across from you.
When I was very young, around 5-8, there was an incident where I hit my head on a cement barrier, and woke up some time later. The duties on shift claim they had been looking for me for 45 minutes. The thing is, the more I think of it, the weirder it gets. I slipped forward. I woke up on my back. The duties claim they couldn't find me for the entire time. And, weirdest of all, the entire event is unusually sharp, cut and dry in my mind as a 30 year old. Could I have been taken by a Fair One?
Rex sticks close to Kenobi for the rest of that first duty shift. (And the following shift as well, because apparently Kenobi is a crazy person who works through his down-time and probably never sleeps. Now Rex knows where Commander Skywalker gets his bad habits from.)
Those twelve hours are the worst control Rex has ever had over his senses since he first manifested as a Sentinel. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to get lost in his head. All of his senses are clamoring for his attention, constantly focusing in on Kenobi’s scent, his voice and his breathing and the blood rushing in his veins, the shine of his eyes and the pale-on-pale tracery of scars on his hands. Barely an hour since he synced to Kenobi and Rex finds himself fighting the urge to tuck his nose under the fall of copper hair at the back of the Jedi’s neck and lick-
This is a fuck coworkers story. So I work where you get subs your way in a mall. One of my coworkers is just one of the worst people. One of those everything is handed to me. She works 10 hours a week and is pregnant with her second child acting like that is a way to support her kids on minimum wage. Then she calls out every other day saying she is sick. When she does work, you have to come in and pick up after her because she won’t clean or do the shift change duties but because she is pregnant she is hard to fire. It looks bad on all of us who actually work. But she has a kid and has no want to support her it is just angering
Daichi: Dependable father. Kinda traditional and disciplinarian. Kids love him but he’s the ultimate scary dad when you don’t eat your veggies. Takes you fishing. Reminds you to always be polite.
Sugawara: Probably spoils his kids. Gives permissions easily. “Don’t tell your mom.” But secretly tells the mom just to make sure. He helps kids study at night. Knows when you need a hug.
Tanaka: Coolest father and the funniest. Probably has the prettiest wife. Probably marries Kiyoko. lol. Proudest family man and worships wife and does the laundry. Would scare the monsters under your bed.
Nishinoya: He plays with his kids a lot when he has time. Teaches them rolling thunder. Lets kids eat ice cream at night and chocolate cake for breakfast. The type who plays with you and your friends. Loves daddy jokes but serenades mom.
Tsukishima: Don’t lie. Rule of the house. Takes family to amusement parks. Salaryman type dad but cooks for family. Brings cake because you got good grades. Takes teenage kid to gigs. Wakes up in the middle of the night to check on everybody. Seem strict but really proud of his kids. Probably has popular kids.
Yamaguchi: Dad who takes the night shift baby duties. Reads fairytales and tucks you to bed. Asks you if you’ve made friends during your first school day. Tells daughter to be more proud of her freckles because she’s beautiful and those were stars. Probably has twin kids.
Kageyama: Probably never had kids. Or maybe one. A boy. He’s the “other kid” dad. Gives wife headaches but adorable when asleep. Sleeps with kid. Tries hard to cook breakfast. Loves vacuuming. Teaches kid volleyball and competes over everything. Pretends to lose.
Hinata: Wants to have ten kids. Surprisingly capable dad. Expert at changing diapers. Has mature kids that are taller than him. Gives wife flowers every morning. Noisiest house in the neighborhood. “Careful of toilets.”
Asahi: Teaches daughter to ride the bicycle. Cries when kid scrapes her knee after falling off the bicycle. Afraid of making wife mad. Probably the “other baby” dad. Walks dog and takes kids to the park on weekends. Goes to every dance recital and volleyball matches if he can.
The story is
as old as the City. It could be older, it might even be younger, but
the legend says that as the first stone was laid for the City walls,
the story began, and that when the story ends the walls will fall and
the City will die. But that won’t happen, because its people will
tell the story as long as any of them are still breathing.
This week, when Ori comes for her
shift telling it, the story is about a young man on a journey. (The
story often is, perhaps because so many young men come to or leave
the city on journeys.) She thinks the woman telling it is a
guardhouse cook, but she recognizes her as a good teller of the
story, especially when the story needs to be happy, or funny. Today,
she’s using big gestures and there’s a group of children lingering
wide-eyed, no doubt all thinking of the tales they’ll tell when
they’re old enough.
Ori thought that too, when she was
young, but she also knows that once you’re telling the story, even if
you haven’t heard a hundredth of it, it tells itself, knows exactly
where it needs to go.