the man once called him a muse

Heart of the City (PREVIEW)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: Spider-Man!Jungkook / Fluff.

Summary: When the mysterious vigilante known as Spider-Man starts making himself known around the city of New York, you can’t help but be entirely intrigued by him. Little do you know that he and the shy boy-next-door named Jungkook have a very similar secret that they aren’t so sure they want you to figure out just yet - if at all.

You see Jungkook every night without fail.

When the sun has set below the distant horizon and plunges the world into a formidable darkness and drives most ordinary civilians to seek shelter in their homes, he stumbles into the cafe tucked cozily on the corner of a busy street in Lower Manhattan. The concrete city is still very much alive in a harmonious mix of sirens and the hum of cars but is subdued, muffling under the night sky and is most susceptible at this time to misconduct. Usually, at this point of night, the cafe you work at is nearly empty, save for a few stragglers that huddle tiredly at certain round tables. Most times, these are students from the university you attend just around the bend, whose weary eyes peer over the laptop in front of them as they meticulously work on an essay due the next morning, only fueled by the cup of coffee next to them.

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You’re the Reason I Come Home (Part 2/2)

Summary: You and Bucky have been through a lot together. But when things become too much and Bucky breaks up with you, you find that you could lose him completely.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Language, slight mention of injury (nothing graphic), mention of death, slight depression, & OH GOD THE ANGST. (but stick with it, I promise)

A/N: This fic got a lot more recognition than what I was expecting, so thank you for that!! It’s almost to 300 notes now, so that’s pretty crazy for my first fic after hiatus. But I hope you guys enjoy this just as much (or even more) than Part 1, as this part is definitely my favorite. It was awesome to write & to be narcissistic, I kinda teared up a bit while writing the ending scenes. But I hope everyone enjoys this just as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

Originally posted by oursisthefvry

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Kitten: Part 2

Hi! I’m sorry to say there is no smut in this part but lots of fluffy bonding, I hope you like it! I don’t really plan on doing a part 3 but if I think of one I’ll definitely do write it! Please let me know how you all feel about it!

“We have a guest,” Kyungsoo groans, but he doesn’t move away from where we are tangled together on the large couch in his living room. I hum snuggling deeper into his side, not to happy about the idea of him getting up either. I’m completely exhausted from the hours of, um, activities with Kyungsoo. There is a knock on the door, we both glance at it. “Go away,” He snarls without hesitation.

“Hyung,” A familiar voice whines. I sniff the air and recognize the scent of the pale man I had seen the night before. “You owe me something for leading you to your mate.”

“You are lucky you aren’t dead.”

“Does it help if I say it’s work related?”

Kyungsoo scoffs, “You don’t work.”

“I’m coming in!” The younger announces, stupidly ignoring the horrifiying growl coming from his hyung. The door opens revealing the hot blonde I was expecting but in a neat suit compared to the shredded outfit from before. I click my tongue, he cleans up nice.

“Do you have a death wish?” Kyungsoo snarls, shifting slightly so I’m pressed up against the back of the couch, hidden from his brother.

The younger coughs awkwardly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you guys were naked.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I just wanted to check in, the others were curious and you weren’t answering your phone…”

“Don’t you think there was a reason I was ignoring you?”

The younger huffs, “You never have very good reasons.”

“I have very important things to be doing!”

I chuckle, shoving Kyungsoo off me a bit to pop my head over the edge to smile at the blushing man, “Hello again.”

He jumps back a bit, “Um…Hello.”

“I’m the very important thing incase you were wondering,” I muse with a glance over my shoulder at a frowning Kyungsoo. “Why are you pouting?”

“I want him gone.”

“He’s your younger brother, stop being so hostile Kyungsoo. We can’t just block out the whole world.”

“He tried,” The brother muses. “Called into work, took all week off, turned off his phone, put extra security around the building, he really tried.”

“Yet here you are,” Kyungsoo snarls once again. “I figured you would have gotten the hint that I want some alone time with my mate.”

“Is he always like this?” I ask his brother.

He nods, “Yea but this is a bit more extreme than usual and you can assume why.”

“An unmated alpha in the room with a naked omega, I can understand.”

“That reminds me, the others want to meet her,” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Not a chance in hell,” Kyungsoo deadpans.

“Who are the others?” I whine at Kyungsoo, “Why can’t meet them?”

His eyes shift to me and automatically soften, “Because Kitten, I don’t want those dirty wolves anywhere near you. At least not for awhile, I want to keep you all to myself for as long as I can.”

“You can’t just keep me locked in here.”

He chuckles, “Says who?”

“Kyungsoo,” I warn.

“Okay, Kitten I’m just kidding. At least, sort of… That reminds me we need to talk about a few things. You,” He looks back to his brother, “You need to leave.”

His brother his whole time has been watching our interaction with wide eyes, “She called you by your name… no oppa or ssi… no formal speaking at all… how old is she?”

“I’m 23!” I answer happily.

His jaw drops, pointing a finger at me and stomping his feet, he looks like an upset child, “And you don’t speak formally to me either!”

I look to Kyungsoo confused, “What’s the big deal? He can’t be that much older than me, can he?”

My mate chuckles, “He is almost 900 years old.”

“What?!” I yell, nearly jumping to my feet if not for his arm around my waist. “Than how old are you?”

“Use that brain of yours, you are a smart little kitten. You know a lot about our politics and rules, how old could I be?”

My jaw drops, “To be a council member you have to at least be… 800 years old…”

“My smart kitten,” He muses, rubbing our noses together before nosing along my jaw to my neck.

“This is making me sick,” The brother pretends to throw up.

Kyungsoo glares at him, “Than go. I’ll consider taking her to the pack house later this week but for now, I’m keeping her here.”

“Fine. But if Chanyeol hyung pops up and mobs the girl in excitement, I warned you.” He turns back and grips the door handle, “One last thing, they need your signature on a few things before today is over.”

Kyungsoo groans, “Why didn’t you just bring them with you?”

“I forgot.”

The next roar has the younger scrambling out the door, I chuckle as he goes. My mate groans once again, shifting himself closer to me and burying his face into my neck. My fingers tangle through his hair, “So what are these things we need to talk about?”

“How about we talk over breakfast? I can’t have you starving on my watch,” He kisses me softly before standing up, leaving the blanket with me, confident in his naked existence. I watch him disappear down a hallway and emerge a few minutes later wearing a pair of black boxers with a shirt in his hand. “Arms up,” He commands softly, even though he didn’t use his alpha voice I quickly obey and throw my hands above my head so he can slide the shirt on for me. It’s obviously his, I crawl over the back of the couch to follow him into the kitchen, noticing how the hem of the shirt reached my mid thigh. His wolf notices to and purrs in approval.

“What’s for breakfast?” I plop down in one the tall chairs at the breakfast bar.

“Nothing too fancy, eggs, toast and fruit sound okay?” He pulls out a fry pan and some eggs from the fridge.

I nod, “Better than what I usually eat. Do you need any help with anything?”

He hums eyeing up the knife block on the back counter, “How good are you with knives?”

“I have worked in a kitchen before, I know my way around them, what do you need me to cut?”

“There is a watermelon in the fridge, if you want to grab the cutting board from under the middle cabinet, I’ll grab the melon.”

I jump up from my seat and find the cutting board in seconds, taking note of all of his fancy pans and appliances. “You cook a lot don’t you?” I question once I have my station set up, a large knife in my hand. He sets the decent sized melon in front of me before quickly rushing back to the stove where the eggs are cooking.

“I find it relaxing.”

I hum as I quickly chop the melon into triangles. It doesn’t take him long to finish the eggs and grab a few slices of bread. It all feels weird, so domestic, like we’ve done this a million times before. My heart flutters in my chest, something he quickly notices, he stops and looks at me with concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

I smile up at him, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing those beautiful lips softly, “I’m completely over the moon.”

He fights with himself to pull away from the kiss, “Eat first. I know were tigers are strong but you need to eat.” He pulls me back to where I was sitting before, placing a plate with two fried eggs, a slice of bread, and a couple slices of watermelon, he stares at me expectantly.

“You eat too.” It only takes him a moment to make his own plate and take the spot next to me. We eat for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying the others company when I remember, “So what are these things we need to talk about?”

“Well firstly I would like to apologize for being such an ass last night. As an older man I should have been in control of my wolf and should have stopped myself from basically kidnapping you last night.”

I shrug, “I went willingly. There is no need to apologize. No matter how old you are, you got excited when you saw me, I get it. My friend’s mate was no different when they met.”

He nods, obviously thankful for my understanding, “So I wanted to ask you a few questions that I should have asked last night. Like what is your surname?”

I chuckle realizing we really haven’t done a proper introduction, I turn to him with my hand out, “Kim, Kin Eunbi, and you are?”

“Do Kyungsoo,” He shakes my hand with a small smile.

“Well Kyungsoo, as an old man what do you do? Seems like it will be important.”

He nods, “I am the head of the Do group. CEO Do industries.”

I click my tongue, “Wow, my mate is pretty damn impressive.”

“And you are a dancer?”

“Lets not talk about me now, my life just looks sad compared to yours.”

“I have had a long time to get my life together, you are still just a little kitten. You have plenty of time to grow.”

“Thanks for inspirational words. Next question.”

“Of course, I hope you don’t mind my asking but about your ears…” He stares at them for a moment, I forgot that my wig had fallen off last night. My hands automatically go up to caress the soft fur. He watches me, his hand twitches in his lap making me chuckle.

“You can touch them,” I lean my head towards him. He is hesitant at first but once I lean closer he lets one hand graze them slightly. A purr begins to go off in my chest as his fingers gently caress one of my ears. “When I was little something happened to one of my human ears and I got scared and was only able to partially transform at the time, hence cat ears. I have tried getting them back to normal but I can’t so I just wear wigs to get people to stop staring,” I shrug.

He hums, staring at them with some kind of adoration in his eyes.

“Any other questions?”

“I was wondering about how you wanted to do things after today,” He looks down at his food, suddenly bashful.

“What do you mean?” I frown, thrown by the question. He made if very clear last night and this morning that there is no if, ands, or buts, about it, we are mates. Did he not want me as a mate? Did he want me to leave or something?

“What I said earlier, about keeping you here all week, I don’t want that-”

My heart stops. I can’t my mouth to open, I just stare at him, is he rejecting me?

He gives me a side glance when my breath hitches, “Please don’t be mad, it’s just how wolves are. We are possessive creatures when it comes to our mates. If you don’t want to move in that’s-“

“Wait a minute, move in? I thought you were going to kick me out!” I snarl, ready to murder him for giving me a heart attack.

“No, no, no, of course not!”

“Well you just said you don’t want to keep my here all week.”

“I want to keep you here forever!”

“Oh.” Now I feel like an idiot.

“I just don’t know how to say it without sounding like some crazy obsessive beast.”

“How about saying, ‘hey, we are mates, how about you move in since we are destined to be together forever anyway?’”

He pouts, “I didn’t know how well over that would go.”

“Well better than sounding like you were trying to get rid of me.”

He turns to me, “I would never try to get rid of you Kitten, understand? We are mates, you are going to be lucky to get away from me at all, okay?”

“I understand.”

“Good,” He kisses the top of my head. “So is that a yes?”

“I need to talk to my roommate first. I’m 100% sure her boyfriend would take over my half of the rent but I also want to let her know that I didn’t die.”

“We don’t have to go today,” He almost whines.

“Soo,” I warn when his hand slides up my thigh, “If we don’t her and her boyfriend are going to go to all alpha and murder someone trying to find me.”

He sighs, “Fine.”

“Now the only probably is I need some clothes since mine aren’t even whole enough to be consider clothes anymore, not that they were much before.”

“Just wear mine.”

I shrug.

He goes back into his room while I finish my breakfast, I’m not surprised that his plate is already empty, freaking wolves. He returns five minutes later in another nice suit with a pair of sweatpants in his hand.

I groan at the sight of him, “Why do you get to look so hot while I look like a bum?”

“I have to stop at my office on our way back so the suit is required. Plus I love the idea of you wearing my clothes everywhere,” He hums coming to stand in front of me. His hands rest on the breakfast bar, locking me in place, “Tells everyone who you belong to.”

I have to bite my lip to keep myself from whimpering. I push him away with all of my strength, only getting him a foot or two away, “We don’t have tome to go another round right now.”

He straightens his suit and clears his throat awkwardly, a pink hue gracing his cheeks, “You are very right. We should get going.” He hands me the pants, allowing me to pull them on myself. His eyes scan the doorway and down the hall, “Where are your shoes?”

I scoff, “I didn’t have any. I was being dragged along barefoot.”

Without a word he scoops me up bridal style and carries me out of the apartment. We take same path as last night, down the hallway, down the elevator and into the, I’m assuming, private garage. He gently places me in the passenger’s side seat before closing the door and going to his own door, grumbling something under his breath.

“What was that sir?” I raise a brow at him as he begins driving.

“I’m damning myself to the lowest part of hell for being too angry to even realize that you didn’t have shoes on last night. I pulled you across that dirty club floor and parking lot, there could have been anything on that floor! Glass, needles, vomit, anything!”

I laugh, “You worry way too much.” I place a hand on his thigh, “Kyungsoo I’m fine. I can handle walking barefoot, it’s actually what I prefer, you know basically being a cat and all. Now lets for get about it and turn here!” I frantically point to the left, realizing he has no idea where I live. I feel like we’ve known each other forever, not that we just met last night. He turns and listens quietly as I babble on, giving him directions as needed. You can tell the moment we switch to the slum of Seoul. I sense his anxiety rising, noting his hands tight grip on the wheel but choose to ignore it. I know I live in a dangerous area for a small girl but it’s all my friend and I could afford so I didn’t have much of an option. When we pull up to my building Kyungsoo is fuming.

“You live here?” His distaste and concern is written all over his face.

I sigh, “Yes, I know it’s shitty but it’s all I can afford, now do you want to stay in the car or-“

“You don’t think I’m letting you go in there alone do you?”

“Of course not,” I roll my eyes, “It’s not like I haven’t been doing it for the last three years.” He climbs out faster than me and once again picks me up like a princess. He carries me up the three flights of stairs and down the dirty hall littered with trash, his nose scrunched up in disgust. It only gets worse when we reach my door and I stretch my hand out to knock only to get pulled away right away after. Kyungsoo snarls, his teeth bared, eyes fixed on the door, his arms around me tighten. “Whoa there boy what’s with the teeth?”

His eyes glow red, “There is another alpha inside. The whole place reeks of him.”

“It’s-” The door rips open revealing another snarling alpha, this one a bit more familiar. “Yongguk oppa!” The other alpha’s eyes scan the situation in front of him for a  moment before yet another alpha appears, this one smaller, “Hyorin!”

“Eunbi!” My friend yells happily, reaching for me only to be pulled away by her mate. “Ya!”

“Who the hell are you?” Yongguk snarls.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Heel mutt,” Kyungsoo seethes back, his eyes glowing more intense. Two alphas seem to enter a trance automatically going down on one knee and tilt their heads to the side, bearing their necks.

“What in the world is going on?” I demand, slapping Kyungsoo’s chest lightly.

“It’s a trick you pick up as an older alpha, you can make younger or weaker wolves submit without fighting.”

“Well stop. This is my roommate, and best friend, Hyorin, and her mate Yongguk. They are both very nice people.”

He growls again, “His scent is all over this place.”

“Yea, it’s how we keep other alphas away, Yongguk is pretty strong, at least I thought he was, he has helped me out a lot so stop this.”

“Fine,” He grumbles, he stops growling allowing his eyes to go back to normal ad allowing my friends to snap out of their trance. Hyorin shakes herself out of it before glaring at Soo, she reaches for me but once again I’m pulled away. “No touching.”

“Soo,” I whine kicking my legs, “Let me down.”

“Bi, you going to explain who this strange wolf carrying you is?” She questions.

“Oh yea! Oppa, Hyorin, this is my mate Kyungsoo. We met last night at the club.”

Hyorin nods, “And also broke a bouncer’s hand.”

“Yea he did…”

Soo pouts, “It’s because he was going to take you away.”

“I know, don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

“So, mate?” Yongguk eyes the older man up.

“Does this mean you are going to move out?” My friend pouts.

“Yea, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Her mate smiles, “I can finally get her to move in with me and you both can get out of this dump.”

“Great, now that all of that is settled, grab your things so we can go,” Kyungsoo finally puts me down past the thresh hold.

“What’s the rush?” Hyo muses, wrapping an arm around me almost possessively. “I would like to get to know the man who swooped up my best friend. You are an old powerful alpha from what I can tell, who exactly are you?”

He doesn’t answer, just glowers at her.

“Do Kyungsoo,” I answer.

Her eyes go wide, both her and Yongguk take two large steps away from me. “Do Kyungsoo? As in the councilmen?”

“Yes?” I look at him confused, “How big of a deal is that for other wolves?”

“Bi! You aren’t speaking formally to him! What the hell?” She warns, full of panic.


“It’s a big deal to other wolves but please don’t worry about it,” He admits but shrugs it off. “Now please gather your things. Are you going to need help?”

“No, I don’t have much. You should come along anyway,” I hold my hand out to him, which he quickly takes. I lead him through the small apartment into my tiny bedroom which only has room for a twin sized bed and a dresser. I grab my only large duffle bag and begin cleaning out my drawers.

“How long have you know them?” He asks suddenly. I turn around to see him sitting on the edge of my bed, his eyes fixated on me like usual.

“Um, for about six years now. I met Hyorin in high school and she met Oppa right after we graduated.”

“You seem really close.”

I nod, “We were all we really had at the time.”

“What about your family?”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, “My dad, who is a were, hooked up with my mom and ran away right after she found out she was pregnant with me. My mom took care of me until the whole thing with my ears happened. She didn’t want to be know as the woman with the freak child so she gave me up when I was about 5. After that I went to a home for were children and I just kind of took care of myself after that.”

He is right behind me in a second, his arms wrapping around me tightly, pulling me into a soothing hug, “I’m so sorry Kitten.”

I shrug, “I’m over it now.”

He kisses my shoulder a few times before licking the bite mark on my neck, “You will never have to deal with things like that again.”

“I know,” I turn around in his embrace and kiss his lovely lips softly, “Thank you.”


“Wow,” I whistle at the sight of the massive building across the plaza. “That’s yours?”

He nods proudly, “My office is on the top floor. Over there,” He points to another skyscraper on the left, “Is Kim Industries. They are our partners and pack members. Than over there on the right is Wu, our Chines pack members. Behind them is Park.”

“All of them are part of your pack?”

“Yes, the Wu’s have four sons, Park two, Kim also four, and that leaves Do with two also.”

“So the twelve men in the council are you and your friends?”

“Yes, now do you want to come in with me?” He offers but looking down at my outfit I grimace and shake my head. I changed at my place but my outfit probably doesn’t fit the requirements to go inside, even with the boss on my arm.

“Next time I’ll wear something more appropriate so you can show me off without me feeling like an idiot.”

He chuckles, “You look absolutely beautiful.” His eyes scan over my pale blue jean and ratty black t-shirt down to my black heels and looks at me with so much adoration I feel like I’m wearing a ball gown with a full face a makeup.

“Thanks Soo but I’m just going to wander around the plaza for a few minutes, stretch my legs and enjoy some fresh air before we get home and lock ourselves in again,” I smirk at how his breath hitches and his eyes flash red.

“I’ll be back as fast as possible,” We both get out of the car, he walks with me to the center of the plaza but I shoo him away to do his work. He is hesitant to go but after a few kisses and a kick to the butt I get him going. The minute he is gone I feel eyes on me. I am out of place in the business centric plaza but I ignore the looks and begin to take a small stroll around the area. My eyes scan over the tall building that belongs to one of his pack members, Kim, I believe, before wandering over to Wu and even glancing back at Park. I thought they would all be the same boring inside but each has their own style, ranging from modern to classic to edgy. I feel tempted to wander inside but from the dirty looks I’m getting from the receptionists through the glass I have a feeling I’m not welcomed. Staring up at the top of Soo’s building I wonder if he’s watching me now or if he’s focused on work. I don’t feel the tingling down my back like I usually do when he stares so I go with the latter. So distracted by my thoughts I don’t notice the man on his phone walking my way until we are slamming into each other.

“Sorry,” I mumble stepping away quickly, noting it’s another wolf and don’t want his scent anywhere near me.

“Bi?” A familiar voice muses.

I look up and automatically grimace at the sight of an old customer, “Hello Jay.”

“What are you doing here?” He grins wide at me, completely ignoring my obvious distaste for him. We ended our client dancer association after I found out he was mated to a pretty little wolf, actually I ended it after she came to the club bawling. The alpha didn’t seem phased by his mate’s tears, he makes me feel disgusted with myself for not seeing his asshole ways earlier.

“I’m waiting for my mate,” I answer sharply.

He sniffs me, “Do I smell a wolf on you?”

“Yes,” I grit out between my teeth when he takes a step closer. Forcing me back a few more. “He should be back soon so get out of here. We are no longer acquaintances.”

“I would say we were more than acquaintances.”

“No. You were my customer until I banned you from the club, now we are nothing. Got it? I have a mate.”

He rolls his eyes at me, “Cats don’t have mates, you know that. It’s a wolf thing. Who is this wolf you fucking? Is he good? I thought you wouldn’t do it with a wolf? Are you expanding your clientele? Could I get a little taste?” He winks at me, making me feel sick, “How much?”

I growl at him, “No. I have never had sex for money, we both know that. Remember all the times I turned your nasty ass down? I have a mate now so I will be finding a different job so mind your own god damn business and get on with your life.”

“You can’t talk to me like that you little-” He is cut off by a horrifying snarl from over my shoulder. An arm wraps around my shoulders, it’s a tall handsome man with sharp features, his teeth bared at the man who had been yelling at me. Jay gulps but tries to put on a brave face, “Back off man I’m talking to the bitch.”

Another man appears, this one just as tall with bags under his fierce eyes, “Watch your mouth mutt,” He snarls. His hand is on the back of Jay’s neck, squeezing until Jay yelps in pain and drops to his knees. “Apologize. Now.”

“Who the hell are you guys?” Jay whimpers. I realize more attractive men in suits have surrounded us, each looking absolutely pissed, eyes glowing red, fangs peeking out from their upper lips. Even with their deadly aura I feel completely safe under this man’s arm. Not as warm and safe as I feel with Soo but it’s similar. I notice one familiar face.

“Do you really need to ask?” The man holding on to me growls.

Jay studies them for a moment, his face pales, confirming my thoughts.

“You are the council,” We both mumble together.

“Yes. Now I’ll say it one more time before I rip your head off for attacking a council member’s mate. Apologize.”

Jay presses his forehead to the ground, crying loudly, apologizing just as loudly. I roll my eyes, what a bitch. I sigh and look up at the one hanging on me, “If I threaten him will you back me up?”

He chuckles, “Happily.”

I smirk as I crouch down closer to where Jay is bawling. Feeling brave I tap the back of his head, “Stop your bawling and look at me.” He slowly obeys, only peeking up at me, “I will forgive you on one condition.”

Jay nods eagerly.

“Stop being a piece of shit. IF I hear tat you cheated on your mate one more fucking time I will murder you. She did nothing to deserve your shit. I have known my mate for under 24 hours and it destroys me to think about doing that to him or him doing that to me. So get a fucking heart, okay?”

He nods.

“Good, now scram.”

Jay is on his feet rushing away faster than I ever thought possible, leaving me with the eleven men who came to my rescue. I bow to them deeply, “Thank you.”

The tallest chuckles, “Doesn’t really look like you needed us.”

I shrug, “It’s always good to have some muscle.”

“So you are our Kyungsoo’s mate,” Another tall one hums, this one has much softer, even child like features.

“Yes, you are his pack.”

“Yes, we are.”

“You must be head alpha,” I note, staring down the tallest.

“I’m Kris Wu,” He bows his head slightly. “How could you tell?”

“You have this thing about you, screams head alpha.”

“I take it you are a were cat,” Another speaks, this one looks young but carries himself like an older man, and by the way the others separate for him I’m going with much older.

“Tiger,” I point out, flashing my blue eyes.

“Those are interesting,” He muses coming closer to get a better look at my ears. I move them slightly making him jump back like a child. Three others come closer to stare at them as well.

“I’m Eunbi by the way,” I smile at them.


“I’m Chanyeol!”


“Jongdae,” One with a Cheshire like grin bows his head. I scan the other six who have yet to say a word.

“I already know you,” I smirk at the blond man slowly creeping up.

“There you go again,” He huffs.

“You are the only one who seems to have a problem with it.”

“What?” Baekhyun glances between us confused.

“See Baekhyun doesn’t even notice it.”

“That’s not an excuse!”

“Sehun what are you whining about now?” Kyungsoo finally appears. I beam at him and rush over into his open arms.

“Soo,” I playfully whine, casting a glare at Sehun, “Sehunnie is being mean.”

“I am not!”

“He is the youngest isn’t he?” I suddenly realize why it must be bugging him.

“How can you tell?” A pretty doe eyed man snorts.

“Is he always this childish?”

The man nods, before narrowing his eyes on me, not in a pissed way, more amused than anything, “Oh.”

“There you go,” I chuckle.

“What?” Baekhyun joins in on the whining.

“Come on Baekhyun, you can figure it out,” I stare at him for another moment before his jaw drops.


“Oh?” Sehun pouts. “She just gets an oh? No scolding or punishment? You guys would murder me if I did that!”

The others slowly catch on, Kris is chuckling at the realization, “How the hell did I not realize she was speaking informally?”

“How old are you?” Minseok questions with the same amusement.

“23,” Soo and I both respond.

“She is going to fit in well here,” Kris sighs.

“Fit in?” I look to Soo confused.

“As my mate, you are now part of our pack,” He kisses my temple.

“So that’s why all of you came rushing over, to help a pack member?”

Kris nods, “Since you are a mate the protectiveness we feel will be more intense until the rest of us find mates.”

“Wow none of you have mates? Aren’t you all really old?”

The pretty man chuckles, “You sure are something.”

Kyungsoo wraps his arms around me tight, “Yes, you sure are. You are all mine, little kitten.”

“Enough of that mushy stuff,” A tan man grimaces at us.

“Jongin is just mad he doesn’t have mate do that with,” A sweet man glares at the younger.

“You are too Yixing hyung.”

“Okay guys that’s enough,” Another calms the two, “I’m Suho, second in command, it’s nice to meet you.” The man tries to shake my hand but Soo pulling me away makes him roll his eyes. The other’s all come forward, greeting me with big smiles and attempts at hugs but stop when Kyungsoo begins kicking them away. I just chuckle as they cause a massive amount of chaos in the plaza, causing people to run away.

“As alpha of the pack,” Kris says gaining everyone’s attention, he smirks at me, “I’m happy to welcome you to the pack, Kitten,”

Originally posted by smileysoo

Moonlight Reign Ch.3

A/N: Heeeere it is at long last. I got AP exams and tests to take so it looks like it’ll be a solid month before I update anything again, gotta get my college stuff in order bleh, but I’d love it if y’all asked me questions and what not!

Originally posted by crystalerysipelas

Word Count: 2.4k

Chapter Summary: Yoongi gets answers, and it becomes time for you to say goodbye to someone

Warnings: Bones breaking, blood, violence, mention of panic attacks

You were silent the entire way home. Your brain was flushed with confusion, uncertainty, and a self-scolding voice that kicked in when you found yourself in situations like this.

“…Hoseok, he’s the guy who knocked you out,” Jin was explaining the people in the gang you had been roped into, “He’s a nice guy, really, he just is… protective,” You rolled your eyes, “Yoongi is the same way, he just really cares about this empire we got going,” Jin spoke and you noted the stark difference between Yoongi and the kingpins you were raised by, “I’m Jin, more of a corporate guy, but I can certainly throw down,” You broke a smile at his demeanor, and he noted that from the rearview mirror as he drove, Jungkook in the driver’s seat, “That about does it, I figured you should know, since you’re our nurse now.”

A nurse.

The playful nature in the car was wiped away at the reminder of all the events that went down today.

You were a fucking nurse now.

You were a fucking nurse again.


“And that’s how you do stitches, cool huh?” Your father spoke as he stitched up your leg, “It’s also a lesson on why you shouldn’t accept the challenges the underlings give you,” He grumbled, “It’s hard when the doctor is hurt.”

You giggled a bit, a 25-year-old underling bet a ten-year-old couldn’t land one slash in a knife fight, and you won with a total of 14 slashes to his one. Your father preferred you to nurse more than fight, but he was not one to completely stop you, “But I won,” You whined.

He sighed, “And just because I win chess, doesn’t mean I like giving up my queen.”

You nodded, “Why isn’t there a princess in chess?” You asked, constantly curious.

“Because the king would die before he would sacrifice her,” His lips twitched upward for a moment as he stood, “I’ll see you for dinner.”


“Y/n?” Jungkook flinched back as you were startled back into your shitty reality.


“We’re here, so did you need me to walk you-”

“What are you planning to do with Byungjoo?” You asked and Jin sighed, laying his forehead on the steering wheel.

“We can’t tell-”

“Are you going to kill him?” You choked out of your throat that seemed to be trying to let out a sob.

You were overwhelmed, to say the least. Your uncle sold you out, and now you’re in with a gang that is seeking the first man who broke your heart, your father, and you curse yourself for not wanting either shitty men to die. You wanted to cry. Crying used to make you feel so much better, but you never cried in front of people, so you were struggling to keep dry eyes.

Jungkook sighed, “Worse.”

You nodded, understanding that meant endless torture until he was begging to die. You clenched your fist as you recalled your own meeting with “worse”, “Jungkook, I need you to walk me to my place,” You whispered.

He huffed in response, “Why do I-”

“I am going to faint or go into a full-fledged panic attack, and I’d like to do that in the privacy of my home-”

You were cut off by Jungkook ripping you from your seat to the double doors of the complex.

Jungkook was well trained in your attacks since he was basically your only friend. Now he understood why certain things made you tick or freak out. Jungkook now understands why you were hyperventilating once upon seeing a man that looked like your uncle in a coffee shop, why you weren’t scared of gangs, because you had faced the scariest ones of that time, “Okay, breathe, 1, 2, 3, 4,” He whispered in your ear.

By now, he knew the general routine. He caught you if you passed out, set out water for you, put an ice pack on your forehead, and practice breathing with you until you told him to leave so you could cry with a sense of dignity. However, he didn’t know if he could help like that anymore if he’s part of the reason you’re in the state.


“Alright, Byungjoo, let’s get straight to it,” Yoongi paced in front of the man tied to the metal chair, plastic surrounding him in the room that made Byungjoo sweat, “Where is your beloved brother?” Yoongi inquired.

“He’ll kill me,” He whispered, defeated and Yoongi grabbed Byungjoo’s left ring finger, breaking it as he screeched.

Yoongi chuckled, “Not if I have you,” He spoke accurately, “You see, let me tell you a story, hm? Maybe that’ll wiggle an answer out of you,” He mused, “My parents were big technology buffs, did a lot of shady jobs, but for a big payout, you may know them, the Mins?” Byungjoo shuddered and began sobbing, as Yoongi snapped each finger on his right hand, “I was twelve when two men came into my house, and shot them, right in the head, sending a little girl with green hair to fetch me, she wore a face mask, but her eyes were so sympathetic, like she knew the situation well, and upon seeing a boy much older than her sobbing and trembling with fear, she took down her mask and mouthed the word, ‘run’ and I did, I ran and ran until I gathered up the resources to burn you to the ground,” Yoongi knelt down to eye level with Byungyeol, breaking another finger, “But you technically did that all on your own,” Yoongi chuckled as he looked at the broken man, “What a sad sight, wasted brawn and no brains, that’s what made it so easy to show the world what you and your slightly smarter brother have done.” With that, Yoongi snapped the remaining fingers like twigs.

“He’s…he's…” Byungjoo was coughing up blood after Yoongi struck his stomach, urging him to speak, “He’s at…”


“You can leave now,” You blanched, watching the news as the noticeably worried reporter offered more questions as to what exactly Bangtan will do tomorrow, and you wished to know the answers as well, “No? Not leaving?” No reply, “Then can I talk to Byungjoo before you kill him?”

You knew Byungjoo was weak, and you knew he gave up your father’s location before Bangtan so much as made him bleed, so he had little time to live, and despite a mutual distaste for each other, it was customary to bid him goodbye, as family.

Jungkook shuffled from behind the couch you sat on, “I never said we would-”

“Please,” You cut him off, looking into his eyes, playing into whatever care he had for you, and it was working, “I won’t try to kill him, I promise.”

“Fuck, y/n, you’re really putting me in a tight spot,” He cursed and tears welled in your eyes.

“Look at me, Jungkook,” You pleaded, and he saw a girl with tear stained cheeks and nothing but pain all over, “You put me here, now please, let me see my uncle one last time.”

“I can’t-”

“Call Yoongi,” Jin’s voice rang out from the door, “He’ll allow it.”

“Y/n, you just had an episode, shouldn’t you rest?” Jungkook seemed genuinely worried, but you shook your head, “Not until I talk to him.”

“I’ll call Yoongi, okay?” You nodded, “Just go and rest for a bit at least, you need to slow down,” Jungkook negotiated and you relented, going to your room to lay down.


“What?” Yoongi’s deep voice greeted as Jungkook gulped at his angry tone

“Y-Y/n, she wants to talk to her uncle before we…are done with him,” Jungkook sighed.

“Why did you tell-”

“She’s a mafia baby, not an idiot, come on,” Yoongi sighed this time, “She was freaking out earlier, and then suddenly she was begging to talk to him.”

“She’s just trying to cope it seems,” Yoongi observed, “Bring her over, I’m sure he’d be delighted to see her with all the nonsense he’s been babbling,” Yoongi looked over his shoulder to see a crying grown man hunched over.

“She did this… it’s her fault…”

“Yeah, he may snap before I can kill him myself, he seems to have never been tortured before,” Yoongi mused, “But I got what I wanted so tick tock goes the clock, I’d head here quickly, I already sent Namjoon and some guys to fetch tomorrow’s main event,” He looked at the clock, “Once I get Byungyeol, I have no reason to keep Byungjoo.”

“Hey, Min Yoongi!” Yoongi hung up as Jungkook cursed, “Y/n, let’s hurry, now,” He called out as you scrambled to get ready to leave.

You situated yourself in the car as you reviewed today’s events to steady your mind, “Min Yoongi, that’s his full name, right?” You asked and Jungkook almost swung his head on the dashboard.

“Way to go, Kook,” Jin chuckled, “Just tell her all our secrets.”

“He’s a world-known CEO screw you,” Jungkook seethed, “Besides she’s one of us now.”

Jin simply shrugged as you shuddered.

“Min,” You racked your brain through each Min you killed, or helped kill, searching for why it is you haven’t been dealt the same treatment, why you were given a job and not a death sentence, “How unbelievably common.”

“You okay?” Jin inquired upon hearing your mumbles.

You nodded, not bothering to keep track of where you were going, because you knew this would be the first of many times you would be encased in your new main headquarters, “Did I kill his family?” Jin shifted ever so slightly, “Nevermind, you can’t answer that.”

The building that the car halted in front of was grand, looking like another company building, and in a literal sense, it was. Decked with minimal windows and a white exterior, the interior was fairly refined and modern. Too remote to stumble across, but even with, no would expect so much blood has been shed in the establishment that the walls could bleed red and no one would be surprised.

At the entrance you could see little worker bees rushing, just like a corporate office, except they were decked in various types of garb, holding various illegal substance and firearms. They stuck out like a sore thumb, but that was because no one would ever bear the pain of noticing them, even then the land was under their corporation, making the establishment legal, unlike its inner workings.

You caught the eyes of several busy bees, most likely wondering if that was the new addition they heard about, “Doesn’t look like much,” You heard a few people mumble.

“Jimin has such a big mouth,” Jin cursed.

“Yes, I do,” Jimin concurred, walking towards you, “But when we have a legend as our pretty nurse, I can’t help it,” Jimin was like a siren, beautiful, tempting, and dangerous, and he was giving you eyes that looked like a cage, “Hello, sweetpea,” He may as well have been a wolf licking his lips at the sight of a red hood, “Follow me.”

“You go with Jimin, Jungkook and I have to do some work,” Jin patted your shoulder, and you concluded Jin was trust itself.

“Don’t be creepy,” Jungkook scowled at Jimin as he walked behind Jin.

“How is he doing?” You asked as Jimin led you to the soundproof basement.

“I thought you wanted him dead.”

“He deserves nothing less than a painful death,” You clarified, “But family is family, and believe it or not, my family had some certain customs, one of which is that we always say goodbye.”

“Why is that?”

“I wasn’t picked up until I was able to walk,” You stated, since when your infamous father took in an infant, it spread like wildfire, engulfing your existence into just a mafia baby,”I was raised to only help when they figure out how to do it themselves, but if one of us never figure out how to live correctly, we have to help them say goodbye,” You explained as Jimin tried to register the philosophy, “Shit ones or not, family is family, it’s the closest bond I’ve known.”

The basement was basically a prison with interrogation rooms that doubled as torture rooms. However, the color scheme was white, like a mental institution. How cryptically perfect.

Jimin led you down the never ending hallway, and opened a door to reveal a spectator area from a one-way mirror and in front of the mirror was Byungjoo, beaten, broken, and humiliated for the first time in his life. Yoongi was standing, watching him, “He’s really lost it,” He mused, “He’s gonna be dead when Namjoon gets here or when he does something I don’t like, whichever comes first.”

“You found my father?” Yoongi took note of your mixed feelings and simply nodded.

Yoongi went to open the door to your uncle, “Be careful, he has no binding on him anymore, and I told him why he’s here,” He warned and found himself amused by your quirked eyebrow as your question died in your throat when he opened the door and closed it behind you.

Yoongi watched through the window as you stood in front of your uncle, “Byungjoo,” Your voice was firm, “I’ve come to say goodbye,” Your voice shook as you watched your broken uncle and cursed yourself for feeling bad. Sure, you were ready to kill him, but your weakness was your empathy and he was utterly pitiful now.

“I’m gonna die?” He asked, throat dry. His pure confusion was almost heartbreaking.

You swallowed, nodding, “They found father, we’re done, Byungjoo, for real this time.”

“You did this,” His voice was hoarse.


“YOU LET HIM LIVE!” Byungjoo was now the one to dive at you, hand encasing around your neck as you hit the mirror glass hard with the back of your head, alarming Yoongi and Jimin who were encased within their mindless chatter.

Byungjoo showed no signs of letting up as he squeezed your neck with a vengeance, “NOT ONLY DID YOU SHOW YOUR FACE YOU LET HIM GO!”

Yoongi gripped the gun in his hand, which Jimin took notice of, “Wait, I thought you weren’t going to kill him until he met with Byungyeol,” Jimin reminded Yoongi.

The leader stared at the scene before him, his blood unintentionally boiling, “Well, he’s doing something I don’t quite like.”

Your vision was becoming spotty as Yoongi and Jimin came running in, and you now knew why Yoongi was letting you live; you did the same for him, “By-Byunjoo-” You tried to reason with him before taking force, when he only squeezed harder, you kneed him in the stomach as Yoongi saw the chance to pull the husky man off of you. However, Byungjoo kept his grip, slamming your head into the ground you had slipped down to repeatedly, making the last thing you saw before you passed out was Byungjoo being shot in the head, the blood spraying onto your face.

I’m Home (Dad76)

Summary: An AU where Overwatch and the omnic crisis never happened, Jack suffers from PTSD after coming home from a different war. Only he is plagued by visions of a war that never happened, and of a different life than his own. Good thing he has a family to pull him back in. 

Rating: T

Pairing: Just a dad76 fic (if you squint there’s some mercy76)

Requests: Open

Jack awoke with a sudden start, a cold sweat covering his body. His heart hammered in his chest so loudly he could feel it in his head. While his senses were poised for action, the his brain was still trying to process what was around him. The first thing he realized was that he was in:


He was in bed. His head throbbed almost painfully. Dark blue eyes swiveled around the room in search of answers or a hidden foe. Though the room was clear of any apparent threats his heart still hammered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his body. He was just in a losing battle, a losing war, and now he was in bed? A bed that seemed familiar, in a room that held nostalgia to it. Something was off, something was missing but his mind couldn’t quite place it-

With a creak the door opened startling the already startled soldier further. The once incessant beating of his heart seemed to come to a sudden halt in his chest as that missing piece walked into the room.

“Mercy, no, Angela-” He stammered holding the limp body closer. A shaking hand came up to brush away the bangs from her face, “I told you to get out of here. That it was dangerous.” His voice was cracking, his whole body shaking, his heart feeling as though it had been torn in half because it’s other half lay limp in his arms. There wasn’t a light quite as bright as her, no smile could hope to compare to her smile, there was no one more generous, nor as beautiful. She was an angel who willingly flew into a hell like battlefield. All she wanted was to save lives, to live in peace yet she still fought this war alongside him. Despite being able to resurrect the dead, there was no one to resurrect her-

Yet there she stood before him, looming in the doorway almost as startled as he was. “Jack. Dear, are you okay?” Her voice was so sweet he was certain he was dreaming, “I was just coming to wake you. You slept in awfully late. Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen.” All he could do was swallow thickly and try to decipher what had happened. He was so certain she had been dead, yet she stood before him alive and beautiful. “Jack.” The bed dipped as she sat next to him, eyes narrowing into the cool concerned stare of any practicing doctor. “Did you have another one of those nightmares?” One of her hands came up to touch his cheek before slipping down to rest on top of one of his hands, a glittering gold ring on her delicate finger caught his eye, “You didn’t take your medicine last night did you?” There was more than doctorly concern in her eyes, she gave him a small sigh deciding to drop the subject, “We can talk about this later, breakfast is getting cold-” She stood up and moved towards the doorway, his hand missing the feeling of hers but the matching gold ring adorning his finger somehow made him feel better.

“We’re married.” His mind was in disbelief but his heart didn’t care, he was married to the woman of his dreams. She was alive and well. All she cared about was his well-being yet he was still brooding on what had to have been an awful nightmare. Still, the old soldier within him didn’t want to accept this dream as reality just yet…

“Oh!” Angela turned on her heel, struck by a sudden thought causing Jack to snap out of his own musings. Her lovely pink lips created a near perfect “O”, her countenance painted with such excitement that it had his utmost attention. “Gabriel called. He wanted to know if him and the kids can still come over?”

“Gabriel Reyes? The kids?”

Gabriel Reyes

His once most trusted friend, a man that Jack would have died for. Gabriel Reyes had tried to make Jack do just that: Die. All Gabe wanted was to be Commander of Overwatch and when that didn’t happen…. They damn near killed each other. As far as the world was concerned they did. From the ashes and rubble of Overwatch came two monsters that were once heroes together. Yet now they were at each other’s throats. Soldier 76 a lone super soldier, and a monstrosity simply known as Reaper. Neither could die, not without killing the other first-

“Yes. Do you know any other Gabriel’s? You think you would remember the man who saved your life in the war.” That comment alone was enough to have Jack’s jaw drop but the next nearly had him choking, “Gabe was going to come visit with Jesse and Sombra since we haven’t seen their family in a while.” Jesse? Sombra? Jack was trying to wrap his head around that when suddenly Mercy, no Angela, or rather his wife had switched right back into concerned doctor mode.

“Are you feeling okay Jack? You’re a little pale. They don’t have to come over today if you’re feeling unwell.”

“…No, no! It’s fine they can come over.”

“Hmmmm…. If you say so. Go splash some water on your face dear.”

That was a good idea. Maybe a bit of cold water would help him wake from this curiously pleasant dream, or at least help him understand just what reality he had stepped into. Getting out of bed Jack moved toward the bathroom, flipping the light on only to be taken aback a few moments later. Their bathroom was nice, nothing spectacular but like most there was a large mirror adorning the wall. The mirror itself was nothing to be concerned about but the man reflected was. Reflected in the mirror was Jack but also…. Not Jack….At least not the Jack he was used to seeing in the mirror.

He was an old worn down soldier. Most would describe him as grumpy and gruff. His hair had gone white, wrinkles forming on his forehead from years of scowling. Most prominent was the scars that littered his face. Remnants of his battle with Gabriel, the one that had almost killed him, not this strange Gabriel that had apparently saved his life. That was supposed to be what he looked like… But the man reflected in the mirror was not him… Yet it was him?

Reflected in the mirror was Jack Morrison, the golden boy. The strike-commander of Overwatch rather than the worn Soldier 76. His hair was still blonde and had not yet started receding though there were some gray hairs beginning to show. His face had no scars and only the faint beginning of wrinkles. Instinctively he knew he wasn’t quite as young as he was when he took over Overwatch but he wasn’t exactly old either… At least late thirties…? Maybe early forties but that was pushing it… Splashing the cool water on his face did little to help with his muddled head. “Damnit…” He couldn’t wrap his head around the situation at hand, everything was so perfect it had to have been a dream. Deciding that hiding in the bathroom and staring at his reflection wasn’t going to get him answers, nor would it help stop the growling of his stomach Jack had no choice but to leave.

With the scent of breakfast to guide him, Jack left his room and entered the hallway. Pictures adorned the wall. They immediately caught his attention. A wedding photo of him and Angela? A few photos over was them cradling a newborn. Memories captured by camera adorned the walls and they helped piece together a perfect life that he couldn’t quite remember. There were so many of them on the wall he wanted to look at each and every photo and cherish it but he couldn’t. Someone else was demanding his attention:

“Dad!” Came a chipper voice, that immediately had him turning his head. Before he could react arms were thrown about him and he was wrapped in a tight embrace. For a moment all he saw was a head of spiky brown hair but he didn’t have to see her face to know who she was. That still didn’t stop him from being in shock when he saw the face of Tracer… No, Lena staring up at him. “What’s that look for dad? Surprised I’m home so early? I wanted to surprise you and mum after my last track competition.” She laughed releasing him from her embrace, “It was a tough one but I’m sure I’ll qualify for the Olympics this time around.” His mind flickered back to the photos, to a young girl holding up gold medals for track and field competitions… Lena was going to the olympics?

“I’m back… I-I don’t know for how long.” Her voice was panicked, body faint and already slipping to another timeline. She was too young, they never should have sent her in that plane. She was the best pilot they had, she had a bright future ahead of her… Would she be cursed to always slip through time? “C-Commander please tell Emily that I love her… And I’m sorry if I can’t make it back home…” Lena Oxton their chipper pilot, was crying… It broke his heart to see her this way, and their best scientists were trying to fix her problem but what could their solution possibly be?

There was no chronal accelerator visible upon this Lena, she seemed to be healthy, more than just healthy. His mind tried to wrap around how and why but he supposed he didn’t need one. He almost wanted to warn her against being a pilot but at the moment she seemed to have her heart set on the olympics, which she told him chipperly as she lead him to the dining room. “I was thinking about what you were saying dad.” Solider 76 had once yelled at Tracer for jokingly calling him dad, but right now all Jack felt was warmth swell in his chest, “I think that the training with the weights might be to excessive, I don’t want to strain any muscles especially right now before the next big competition.” All Jack could do was nod unsure of what conversation she was referencing but her logic seemed fine, “Thanks Dad! Thanks for always pushing my so hard, I don’t think I would have made it here without you pushing me so much. Although cool it on coming to every meet. It’s embarrassing when you’re cheering the loudest at practice dad!” As they turned to enter the kitchen, the smell of breakfast making him salivate, another familiar voice chimed in.

“Aw C'mon Sonic! Dad just wants to be supportive!” Warm, happy, and charismatic he knew who’s voice that was as well. Sitting in their dining room, one arm curled over his chair and shooting his sister a smile was… Lucio? Headphones were looped around his neck, and he was dressed in soccer gear. He wasn’t wearing his roller blades or any of the stolen gear from Viskhar. Nor did he seem like he was international superstar but judging from the music that pumped through his headphones, Jack would’t doubt it if this Lucio was destined for fame as well.

“Listen! Aw c'mon Soldier!” He laughed holding up his headphones towards the gruff old man, “It is the sound of my country, of my people. Of the struggles and hardships we faced. I want you to hear it.” With a sigh Soldier 76 took the headphones. “You asked me why a popstar would fight?” Lucio began, eyes staring out in the distance, “I don’t want to be just a popstar. I want to make a change. I don’t want others to suffer anymore.” He was hopeful, more of a hero than Soldier 76 ever was. He knew hardships and pushed through them…

Jack watched as Lena and Lucio playfully bickered, taking his seat at the head of the table out of instinct. He heard Angela laugh, finally taking notice of her at the stove, but his attention was once more drawn to the two bickering siblings. Somehow he found himself smiling.

“Don’t be silly Dad comes to all your games and cheers just as loud. You totally get embarrassed.”

“Only when he’s hassling me to be better than Sombra.” Lucio laughed before playfully giving his father a kick under the table, “I mean c'mon dad we’re not even in the same division. She plays women’s soccer. Can’t she be the best at women’s soccer, and I’ll be the best at men’s?”

“Your father just gets to be a little competitive with Uncle Gabe.” Angela chimed in as she neared the table with a hefty plate of scrambled eggs, “But-” She gave him a teasing glare, “Last I checked someone promised me that he’d stop being so competitive with our children…” Jack scratched at the back of his head in response to her words. He didn’t need to have memories to know that he was probably being too competitive with Gabe… The two were always butting heads in Overwatch…"But I’m sure he’ll stop now right?“ Again she gave him a smile that hinted at the world of pain he’d be receiving if he didn't… Her features eventually softened as a sudden thought struck her, "Dear, could you go wake up Hana?”

“She was up late playing games again.” Lucio groaned, “I could hear her from my room.”

“Like you’re one to talk! I could hear your music in my sleep.”

“All I’m hearing is a bunch of children up way past their bedtimes.”

“Sooooorrrry Mum.” Both Lucio and Lena apologized together lest the incur the fabled wrath of their mother. Their dad could be scary when angry, but he was always a little scary anyways. Having their sweet, patient mother get angry? It was like watching an angel turn into a devil. Their mother gave them a smile, and turned that same smile to Jack as if telling him to get on with it.

Slowly he stood up, taking one last look at the trio before him. Half afraid that if he left this room his make-believe dream family would be torn away from him. That he’d be thrown back to the real world where he had lost so many, where they all had suffered more than they deserved. With his last look at them he turned and went back down the hallway. He didn’t truly know where he was going but his body lead him in the right direction. Now that Lena wasn’t there he took his time to look at every picture on the wall. Of the day Lena was born, of her first day of school, her first competition she won, her prom date with Emily, and of her graduation. He looked at the day they brought Lucio home, of his first time rollerblading, of his first goal in soccer, of his face on christmas when they bought him his first pair of headphones. Then there was the pictures of little Hana, of her as a baby, her chasing after young Lucio and Lena, her with her favorite stuffed animal, and of her getting her first video game system. The family pictures of all of them together brought a tear to his eye, even the ones with Gabe, Jesse and Sombra included in the pictures.

Eventually, pictures gave way to bedroom doors that told just as much of a story as the photographs had. The first door had Lena’s name on it and a variety of pictures, and of places she wanted to visit. The next was Lucio’s, band stickers plastered all over the door, cute stickers of frogs, and music could be faintly heard coming from within the room. The last door at the end was Hana’s decorated in pink and purple stickers, cute rabbits adorning the door. Carefully, he entered, the inside of the room dark compared to the rest of the house. Hana liked to keep her room dark because the sun bothered her eyes after a long night of gaming, the Hana in Overwatch was the same way. From his spot in the doorway he could barely make out her sleeping form. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could clearly see her features. Slowly so as not to disturb her sleep, he knelt next to the bed to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are you sure life isn’t a game Soldier 76?” She infuriated him more than any other recruit ever had before. She was cocky and young, just like how he used to be. Barely eighteen she had no business fighting in a war. She should be going to school and making friends, not piloting a mech and getting shot at. It didn’t help that she was reckless… Just like him. Headstrong just like him. He tried to look out for her, to teach her so that she didn’t end up like him. He looked at all of the young heroes as children, wanting to guide them so they didn’t make the same mistakes as him but… Hana was… the daughter he never had or would have. She was like him and not like him. Which made it all the more heart-wrenching to see her get hurt. To hold her hand as she struggled not to cry. To lie to her and tell her that she’d be fine, that they’d get help. In that painful moment he watched his little hero turn back into a little girl that had no business fighting a war, his war, his fault-

“Dad what are you doing?” Her voice was groggy and sleep filled, dark eyes just barely starting to open, “Are you crying?” Sleep gave way to concern as she sat up. When the tears had started falling Jack couldn’t say for sure but it was embarrassing. Furiously he rubbed at his eyes to hide the evidence of his weakness. “Dad did you not take your pills?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “Geez you should take better care of yourself. You always tell me to stop gaming so much and you can’t even remember to take your medicine!” Before he could stop her she pulled him into a hug, “Don’t worry Dad, the war’s over. You don’t have to fight anymore. No one else wants to say anything Mom, Lena, Luce but… You’re home now Dad. I don’t know what you saw in the war but you’re with us now, you’re home….” She repeated again, and suddenly she was rubbing at her eyes too. Like Father like daughter.

She released him from her embrace rather quickly, before slipping out of bed. “Don’t even dream about telling mom or the others about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.” She huffed, pushing him out of her room, “I’ll come to breakfast in a minute.” She was embarrassed, not usually one to express such emotions. She preferred to tease and joke, and to infuriate others. Consoling, comforting, and crying wasn’t exactly a Hana thing. In that aspect Jack was the same, he wasn’t one for sensitive emotions. Sparing him one last glance, Hana rushed off already yelling at the others to save her some food.

Jack stayed still for a moment contemplating her words. Memories of a war and memories of this perfect life crashed in his head. Which was real? No it wasn’t a matter of which was real. He knew which one to be true. Those other memories, they were stressed induced hallucinations of a war that never happened, his worst fears come to life because he couldn’t handle the actual war he fought in. It was time he come to face reality:

“I’m home.”

okay but bisexual mark cohen

bisexual mark cohen moving out to new york because that’s where roger’s band is going and saying it’s totally for the art, man

bisexual mark cohen not making any biphobic comments when maureen breaks up with him because he knows her cheating has nothing to do with her being bi

bisexual mark cohen wincing when his parents call her a lesbian

bisexual mark cohen nursing a crush on his very straight best friend for years and maybe he can’t be his boyfriend but he can remind him to take his AZT and eat regularly and maybe get him out of the house once in a while

bisexual mark cohen making angel his muse even though angel is dating collins and trying to play it off as ART

bisexual mark cohen longing for a community of his own but its the 90s and the bi community is only just starting to be its own thing


On Lestrade, Conan Doyle, and Sherlock

It’s time to revisit this, I think.

In recent trips back through Arthur Conan Doyle’s works featuring Sherlock Holmes, I’ve been thinking of the character trajectories across the stories, especially regarding Holmes’s relationship to Lestrade (less celebrated that the brilliant Holmes-Watson partnership, but nonetheless fascinating).

“We All Three Shook Hands” by Sidney Paget, 1902 (L to R: Lestrade, Holmes, and Watson)

My thoughts are based on looking at the novels and short stories in internal chronological order (wherever it can be determined), not publication order.


Point the First: Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes is quite capable of being obnoxious in the BBC's Sherlock Cumberbatchian sense. Perhaps one of the worst affronts appears in “The Boscombe Valley Mystery” (set in 1889), in which Holmes plays his “Lestrade’s So Stupid That He Wouldn’t Understand X” game. The example he chooses, however, 1) is one that Watson doesn’t comprehend either and, more to the point, 2) is one predicated on Holmes’s own knowledge of Watson’s daily grooming habits gained only by the fact he’s lived with Watson for years. Of course Lestrade wouldn’t reach Holmes’s conclusion: he’s never lived with Watson, and thus he has no access to that data! The entire exercise is just an excuse for Holmes to show off, not an honest assessment of Lestrade’s abilities. Holmes is none too gentle with delivering the insulting conclusion of his reasoning, for that matter, and thus he humiliates Watson. If Lestrade (or Watson) appears to get short-tempered with Holmes now and again, it’s not unwarranted.

Point the Second and the More Important: Holmes shows rather compelling character development over the years (and here I’m reminded of the great man/good man point articulated by Lestrade in Sherlock), and it’s instructive to watch this unfold through his relationship with Lestrade. [1]

  • In “The Five Orange Pips” (set in 1887), when Watson asks if their unknown visitor might be a friend of Holmes, Holmes replies:
    “Except yourself I have none,” he answered. “I do not encourage visitors." [2]
  • Yet in that same year, Holmes’s professional familiarity with Lestrade leads him to treat the Inspector not as a guest who requires formal hospitality, but rather as a regular visitor free to consider himself welcome and make himself at home (in "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor”):

“Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.”

  • In Holmes’s letter to Watson in “The Final Problem” (set in 1891), Holmes admits that he has “friends” (plural) who will feel “pain” at his loss.
  • In “The Adventure of the Empty House” (set in 1894), Holmes identifies Lestrade – in front of both Holmes’s would-be murderer Colonel Sebastian Moran and, for the very first time, Lestrade himself – as “my friend Lestrade.” (He refers to Lestrade as “friend Lestrade” multiple times thereafter.)[3]
  • By “The Adventure of the Six Napoleons” (set in 1900), Holmes regularly welcomes Lestrade’s social visits (above and beyond professional meetings about their joint work on a case) with a drop-by-unannounced intimacy usually reserved for one’s closest friends and family. 

It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.

On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.

“Anything remarkable on hand?” he asked.

“Oh, no, Mr. Holmes–nothing very particular.”

“Then tell me about it.”

Lestrade laughed.

  • In the same story, Holmes even takes pains to consider Lestrade’s personal comfort, after he’s asked the Inspector to lengthen an already long day by accompanying him on a late-night expedition. Without prompting, Holmes offers food and a nap with easy familiarity: 

“You’ll dine with us, Lestrade, and then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start.”


Lestrade is practical throughout – he bristles at insults and scorns the thought of trusting theorizing over legwork, and yet he proves willing to admit his own mistakes from the very first (“I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I was completely mistaken…” in A Study in Scarlet, set in 1881) – but it’s clear that the no-nonsense pragmatism of his relations with Holmes grows into genuine warmth and affection over time. Beyond the above examples, there are others.

  • By the time of The Hound of the Baskervilles (probably set in 1888 or 1889, though possibly as late as 1899 or 1900), Holmes is requesting Lestrade’s presence (“He is the best of the professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance,” Holmes tells Watson), and Watson can see just how their chemistry has matured: 

The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in the practical man.

  • “The Adventure of the Norwood Builder” (set in 1894 or 1895) shows a friendly competition between Holmes and Lestrade in which each teases and mocks the other when the facts seem to fit his theory. (At one point, Holmes confesses to Watson, “…upon my soul, I believe for once the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong.”) But Lestrade is “a practical man,” as he admits, and when Holmes ultimately reveals the definitive truth with much added (and arguably unnecessary) drama, Lestrade reacts not with hurt pride or wounded ego, but genuine appreciation. (He also immediately gives credit where credit is due, telling the culprit, “You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If it wasn’t for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not have succeeded.”) The physical response from the normally reserved Holmes when Lestrade offers his gratitude speaks volumes: 

“… I don’t mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent man’s life, and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in the Force.”

Holmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.

  • And then of course there’s the justifiably famous exchange in “The Adventure of the Six Napoleons” (set in 1900):

“Well,” said Lestrade, “I’ve seen you handle a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don’t know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than that. We’re not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there’s not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn’t be glad to shake you by the hand.”

“Thank you!” said Holmes. “Thank you!” and as he turned away, it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I had ever seen him.

  • Note: It’s no wonder why Holmes might rely on the tenacious Inspector (in addition to his always-worthy Watson) in a situation that has the potential for real danger, such as in The Hound of the Baskervilles. After all, Lestrade proves time and again willing to confront the villains by himself without backup, including Joseph Stangerson in A Study in Scarlet and James Browner in “The Adventure of the Cardboard Box.”

    For that matter, although he’s the slightest man physically in a room of five, Lestrade is the one to bring down the “so powerful and so fierce” Jefferson Hope by “half-strangling” him in A Study in Scarlet. Holmes underscores his trust in the Inspector by calling upon Lestrade once again in “The Adventure of the Empty House,” in this case to assist in the capture of the vengeful Colonel Sebastian Moran.

Random Musings Related to ACD Canon and the BBC’s Sherlock

  • According to my calculations (which I’m happy to explain and be corrected upon), there was approximately a fifteen-year spread between ACD’s Sherlock Holmes and Inspector Lestrade, with John Watson and Mycroft Holmes in the middle. If you take the ages of the four male leads in Sherlock, there is a fourteen-year spread between the youngest (Benedict Cumberbatch) and the eldest (Rupert Graves), with Martin Freeman and Mark Gatiss in the middle.
  • Also according to my calculations, at the time of ACD’s “The Adventure of the Empty House,” Sherlock Holmes was 40, John Watson was 41 and nearing 42, Mycroft Holmes was 47, and Inspector Lestrade was approximately 55. As for BBC’s Sherlock, at the time of the filming of the third-series episode “The Empty Hearse,” this puts Martin Freeman and Mark Gatiss at the perfect ages, and Benedict Cumberbatch and Rupert Graves equally four-five years younger than their respective characters.
  • I wonder if the naming of Sherlock’s Molly Hooper is a nod to Molly Robertson-Kirk, a.k.a. “Lady Molly of Scotland Yard” (who was, after all, a contemporary of Sherlock Holmes).
  • I suspect that Sherlock’s “Greg Lestrade” wasn’t originally intended to be short for “Gregory Lestrade,” but rather for “Gregson Lestrade.” In this way, Moffat and Gatiss could seamlessly combine Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson, who are identified by ACD’s Holmes as, among the Scotland Yard professionals, “the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but conventional — shockingly so.” (A Study in Scarlet) This theory may have been Jossed by the Steve Thompson-penned third episode of the second series (in which Lestrade is cut off as he’s trying to explain that other D.I.s have consulted Sherlock besides him, and names Gregson as he’s interrupted). The full implications of this throwaway mention of Gregson is as yet unclear.

[1] There are other interesting character changes Holmes exhibits, including his evolving thoughts on justice vs. law and means vs. ends, but I’m particularly thinking of his personal, non-Watsonian relationships at present.

[2] It’s perhaps worth pointing out that Holmes describes Watson as “not a man with intimate friends” (save, Holmes implies, himself) in The Hound of the Baskervilles.

[3] Interestingly enough, Watson begins referring to Lestrade as “our old friend Lestrade” in works set in 1894 and 1895, including “The Adventure of the Norwood Builder” and “The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans.”

Beacon House

The Beacon House Massacre. A crime too horrible for words. So horrible in fact that it fled the front pages as soon as the finer details began to trickle into the public sphere. Imagine how terrible a crime must be before the pack of vultures that dare call themselves the press in our day and age will quietly allow the sensational details of a socialite scandal to slip through their grasp. An act of mass murder so horrible that without fail every first responder to the crime scene had either left the emergency services entirely or been placed on leave. Thirty Eight people, one New Year’s Eve celebration. One survivor.

One killer.

One killer who, in a dervish of blood and viscera, had stabbed and slashed and bludgeoned and burned his way through a room full of guests and catering staff.

One killer found in the garden of his expensive Blue Mountains property with a steak knife, stabbed, hammered deep into his forehead.

Self inflicted.

All the papers would dare mention was madness and carnage. Photos were hard enough to come by, but I’d heard it said that the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald had declined to furnish his front page with the one photograph of the Beacon House interior that his photographer had managed to capture. Instead they played the human angle, a contrast to the savagery of the man who had brought so much misery into the world: Photos of the victims and their grieving families. Photos of the alleged Killer lying unconscious in a hospital bed, his face half hidden by a thick layer of bandages.

Malachi Durant had once been the darling of the Sydney architectural scene. Heralded as the next Frank Lloyd Wright, praised by his contemporaries for his command of ‘flow,’ 'space,’ and 'light.’ I must admit though, as a layperson I had little understanding of what those terms meant in terms of architecture. I had been assigned by the State’s Attorney as a psychiatric expert to assess Malachi Durant’s mental state before the trial. Though the prosecutor did not believe the insanity defence Malachi’s lawyers had put forward, for me there was little doubt. Sane men did not butcher their friends and family on special occasions, and certainly not in the middle of the holiday season.

The scar on Malachi Durant’s forehead was minuscule in comparison to the injury: just to the right of centre and only an inch above his eyebrow. His right eye, brown, glassy and unfocussed followed lazily behind the left one, blue as he focussed on my entry into my office on Wednesday morning. From the doctor’s report I knew that in his madness he had jammed the steak knife deep into his skull, and pounded it through the bone into his forebrain by bashing his head against a wall. Then, somehow still conscious, he had wriggled the blade to and fro until his right temporal lobe was nothing more than a mess of blood and fatty tissue.

I sat down opposite Malachi Durant: Mass Murderer. “Good morning.”

A slight movement of his left eyelid half-hidden under a curtain of limp, once curly black hair, was all the sign Malachi gave that he had understood me.

“My name is Doctor Raymond Hunter, and…” I paused. I’d given this speech to dozens and dozens of patients, but the words felt stale in my mouth, the look in Malachi Durant’s good eye demanded more than my usual faire. I dipped momentarily into honesty. “I’m here to assess your mental state, before your trial Mister Durant.” Before returning to my usual speech “I’d also like to get to know you a little better.”

Malachi Durant gave a faint smile, regret and sadness played across his expression as he watched me sit.

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closed starter for @blue-cat-blues

“… … Strange.”

The flaming bartender turned himself completely around as he found himself in this rather peculiar timeline. It seemed normal enough with the surface suburban neighborhood, but something about it seemed… inconsistent. Like everyone was made out of something completely different from the next person. Even the textures of the homes seemed different from the people. He couldn’t place it. 

Still, however, this was the surface. It wasn’t the Underground, and he could do with some sun, every once in a while. 

People seemed to look at him strangely. He didn’t mind. He was a stranger to them, and he was a man made out of fire, in a bartender’s uniform. Then again, he did just pass by a walking ice cream cone, who seemed to have melted the slightest bit upon his passing. He called out his apologies as he continued his way.

He was here to find supplies. That was all. 

Chapter Twelve

A Conflicted New Home

Previous Chapter

Ship: Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: M

A/N: I’m backkkk. 

“One of your men assisted him.” Ren corrected, his voice dripping with acid. “FN-2187. I sensed his waning compliance in Jakku.” 

You looked down at Ren’s hand as he clenched it into a fist. You silently willed him to control his anger as you evened out your paperwork and stuffed it back into your folder. You looked over at Hux, his face twisted in disgust.

“My men are exceptional soldiers. Instances such as this one have never transpired under my command.”

There is a first for everything, isn’t there?” Ren spoke harshly. You could hear the grimace in his tone behind his mask. You swallowed hard and looked down at your feet. 

“Captain Phasma assessed FN-2187 last evening when the fleet returned. She concluded that he was on edge from his first battle. There were no signs of nonconformity.” 

“Obviously, that was not the case, General,” Ren commented with agitation, folding his hands at the small of his back. Hux stood a few feet away from the both of you, his features harsh with contempt as he pursed his lips. 

“My apologies,” Hux hissed. “Upon departure, they carried off with a TIE fighter. We believe they are heading back towards Jakku.”

“To find the droid,” Ren stiffened, his deep voice rigid. “Find them and retrieve the droid.”

“We have already sent a fleet to return to Jakku,” Hux nodded his head. His face was still pinched with anger. “I will inform you if any of the circumstances change.”

Ren did not thank him as the General turned on his heel and exited the room. You watched as he turned around to his machinery that now filled the quiet room with a low humming. His shoulders hunched as he leaned against the metal. 

Suddenly, his fist pounded into the controls and you watched as dozens of small sparks skidded across the floor to your feet. Silently, you walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm, hesitating for a moment to see if he would strike again. He rolled his shoulder, a less hostile request for you to not touch him. 

He turned to walk away and you heard something hit his boot and skid across the floor, running itself into the opposite wall. You both looked down, your eyes landing on the piece of small scrap metal your father had given to you. Flustered, you quickly walked over and knelt down to retrieve it but his boot touched it before you did. 

“I’m sorry, this is mine,” you fussed, trying to take it from under the boots grasp. “It must have fallen from my pocket when-”

“What is it?” His deep voice asked you. You stared up at him, a piece of your bun falling in front of your eyes. You swallowed hard, taking your hand away from under his boot. He leaned down, picking up the small piece of metal between his gloved fingers.

“It was my father’s,” you told him, hoping he wouldn’t press you for more questions.

“Your father? The resistance fighter?” He asked, tilting his head to inspect it. 

“Yes,” you nodded your head and stood up, flattening your skirt with the palm of your hand.

“What is it?” He asked again, his voice more demanding.

“It’s a piece of metal,” you told him. “I just carry it around becau-” 

“What is it?” He took a step closer to you, pinning you between him and the wall the metal had ricochet off of. Why was he always doing this? Always pinning you against things to intimidate you? Hadn’t your relationship with him grown into something more than the intimidation game? 

“It’s a piece of the Death Star,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper as you looked down at the metal between his fingers. You stood there in silence for a moment, looking up at his mask and wondering what his reaction was behind it. 

“The Death Star,” he repeated, lowering his hand and gazing down at the scrap under his grip. He took a step back from you and walked quietly into his room. You felt your muscles relax for a moment as you leaned against the wall. Behind you, you heard the gears in Ren’s mask crank open as he took it off, followed by a pound that was him setting it down. 

“Where did you get this?” He asked you once you had turned to follow him.

“It was my father’s,” you told him again, hesitantly taking a seat across from him. His pitch-black hair fell in front of his face as he leaned on his knees, staring at it. 

“A resistance member,” Ren quietly spoke. You wondered if he was actually talking to you or himself. “A resistance member had a piece of the remnants of my Grandfathers greatest plan. Why do you have this?” 

He looked up at you, his eyes suddenly deep with scrutiny. He lifted it with is index finger and thumb, holding it in front of him as he gazed over at you.

“He gave it to me,” you told him. “When I went away to Academy.”

“What was his reasoning?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it matters to me how you think of this.” 

“How I think of it?” You repeated, confused for a moment. “What do you mean?”

He paused for a second, his features narrowing as he enveloped the metal in his palm. He hadn’t realized how large his hands were until that moment. 

“When I see something like this, I think of the power it took to build such a piece of machinery. I think of Vader and his desire to rule the galaxy. I think of authority and capability.” 

You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, unsure of how to respond. 

“You think of it differently,” he told you. It wasn’t a question like his words before. It was a statement, something he knew for a fact. 

“Tell me,” He demanded softly. “What do you think of this?”

You hesitated, looking down at your folder in your lap. How had you gotten yourself into such a situation? What kind of a relationship were you creating with him? It was so complicated, you thought. So many pieces that had created a whole in just under a month. 

“It reminds me of home and where I came from.” 

“Where you came from,” he repeated. “Your planet? Or the descendant of  resistance scum?”

You bit your tongue. “Both,” you looked up, your voice defiant. 

Ren nodded his head and stood up swiftly. Your gaze followed him as he walked over to a small curtain on the opposite side of the room. In one motion, he pushed the dark fabric back and revealed a melted piece of distorted metal. You squinted your eyes and the realization dawned on you as you gripped the leather fabric of the chair. It was Darth Vaders mask, laying in pieces of scrap metal. 

You looked up at Ren, his back to you as he placed the piece of metal in with the others. A part of you was intrigued by the memorial he had set aside for his late grandfather. Another part of you was taken aback with his fixation. It took you a moment to realize it, but it seemed as though the metal pillowing the melted mask were scraps of the Death Star, much like the one your father had given you that now laid almost unnoticeable with the others. 

He walked back over to you and you opened your mouth to protest, wanting to ask him for your small possession back. 

“You are neither of those things anymore,” He told you, the bottom of his eyes twitching as they narrowed slightly. “They have wiped you from their memory. You should do the same.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, standing up from your chair. He took a step closer to you. You tried to back away again, but he grabbed your arms under a tight grip and stared down at you. 

“Forget about them,” he stared down at you, his voice stern as his eyebrows knitted together. You searched his face in confusion, looking for any signs of what he meant. 

“They’re my family,” you returned softly. 

“They abandoned you. They are not your family anymore. Do just as I did.”

“How do you know this?” you asked incredulously. 

“I know much more than you think, [y/n].” His grip relaxed on your arms as you stared up at him. You shook your head as his eyes flickered down to your lips. Moments filled with silence beating between you. 

“What are we doing?” you asked him quietly. His lips hovered above yours and you leaned against him, not knowing why you always succumbed to him. He pressed his lips to yours, his hair forming curtains around your face. 

“This is wrong,” you reminded him against his lips, your nose brushing against his. You felt his fingers slide up your spine. 

“You keep saying that,” he murmured. “But you do not make an effort to stop.”

You sighed heavily and gripped his robe at his chest, your eyes still closed as you felt his lips brush against yours. 

“I guess your right,” you admitted quietly. You heard him groan in agreement and he pressed his lips to yours, gripping his robes as you breathed in heavily. He pulled at your uniform as he deepened your kiss, his desire growing more prominent. Quickly, he backed you up against a wall, his kiss becoming careless as he tried to undo the belt at your waist. You reached down and grasped his hand.

“Not yet,” you told him quietly. He lifted his head and gazed down at you with hooded eyes. You felt his hand leave your back and touch the side of your face. His leather thumb brushing the bandage on your cheek from the other day, reminding you of how he had saved you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned your face against his hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Your eyes flung open in surprise, looking up at him. Who was the man that everyone on the Base quivered at the name of? Was it the same one that just called you beautiful? 

Slowly, he leaned down to kiss you once more, a shiver traveling over your skin as you finally felt your body relax. 

How cliche, you mused at the feeling. 

A/N: I really hope that wasn’t extra cheesy. I apologize if it was. I feel rusty because I haven’t written in like over a week. Let me know what you guys think. And thank you so much all of you who messaged me the other day when I was feeling down. I really appreciate it. <3 Shoot me a message and let me know if you like the direction this is going in. I aim to pleaseee :)


Pairing: Yuri Katsuki / Victor Nikiforov
Rating: K+
Warnings: Sleepy Yuris
Summary: After taking the lead in the first event in Beijing, Victor gives an exhausted Yuri a little TLC

For @victuurimarch

After the rush of adrenaline from skating and the excitement of taking an early lead with a personal best, Yuri is exhausted. He feels it bone deep, unable to stop yawning even through a late, post performance dinner at a nice restaurant that his coach had picked. When he almost falls asleep in his soup Victor laughs softly and pulls the spoon from Yuri’s limp hand, calling to nearby waitstaff for the check.

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junkboom  asked:


Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective

There’s a wildness to this man’s tone and a carelessness in his heart. You’ve only had the pleasure of talking to him once or twice, but his eccentric nature and willingness to take care of your friend makes you smile. You’ve discovered he lives life on the edge and it’s something you can definitely respect.

You can’t exactly call him a friend, but Junkrat is at least fun to bicker with. You feel as though he should care a little more for his own safety, but it’s not your place to tell him as such. You trust he knows enough about it to have lived this long. Despite your teasing you don’t think he’s all that bad of a guy, and you hope that someday the two of you can sit down and hang out for a while.

ahlis-xiv  asked:


[ Oh…hahaha… 53. my muse crying in front of your muse. ]

What had prompted it? It was hard to say. The conversation derailed. It was gone.

And so was he.

Maximiloix bottled feelings like an Ul’dahn merchant bottled cacti water and called it a miracle potion. Though every once in a while, certain words and phrases would trigger a response from him. In attempts for idle conversation, one small statement set his world on fire.

“The stars look beautiful tonight.”

The stars, the stars, his stars. Too many times had the elderly man avoided stepping out at night - the reminder was too great. The weight of a thousand deaths of one replayed in his mind, his star was burnt out. The candle snuffed by his own fingertips. Too long did he hold himself responsible. And too long will he continue to. 

One tear, two tears, three and four - they poured down his face as he remembered that damned smile.

Ten, eleven, twelve and thirteen - he couldn’t stop counting. The amount of regrets he held were the amount of tears that fell. 

In a vain attempt to cover his face, his hands, his sleeves, nothing would stop those tears from falling. She didn’t know what she had done, all she had mentioned were the stars. But the stars have done so much to and for the Elezen that sat beside her. He couldn’t help but laugh to try and mask the pain he felt.

But those laughs soon turned to sobs.

Gods, how he missed him. His stars. His moon. His night sky and morning fog.

It was startling, to see someone who bends over backwards to avoid showing emotion start bawling their eyes out like a child whom had lost their favourite toy. What are you to say to someone hurting so bad? The constant cries were the sign of a bleeding heart, in pain and in need. All she could do in her confusion was to pat him on the back. No words could be said to make him feel better…especially since words caused the pain.

And in that moment, he had been more vulnerable than he could ever imagine.

[ @ahlis-xiv gdi what is with you guys and causing the major morning feels? XD ]

Over at Lapham’s Quarterly, Alice Gregory has an appreciation of one of my favorite ever historical badasses, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester – a notorious rake who was given a pension by Charles II for his ability to bust an extemporaneous rhyme, and then eventually banished from court (more than once!) because the ensuing rhymes were so filth-tacularly disrespectful. The politician Horace Walpole, writing several decades later, called him “a man whom the muses were fond to inspire but ashamed to avow.”

Fun fact: In the 1670s, Rochester and his rowdy friends actually founded a society called The Ballers, devoted to all kinds of sexual hijinks. And you thought being a baller was a modern phenomenon!

I particularly love Gregory’s description of the relationship between the king and the poet:

Rochester received favors in the form of land, money, and women from Charles II, but the symmetry of the friendship is hard to parse. Considering the constant humiliation, disrespect, and ridicule the king endured at Rochester’s hand, one is forced to conclude that there was some sort of inconspicuous symbiosis between the two. In this light, the friendship begins to resemble one of those inscrutable wingmanships that occur at Manhattan nightclubs, wherein a socially incompetent millionaire buy drinks for a charming (but unemployed) young man.

There’s a limited amount of Rochester’s poetry that we can reproduce here without resorting to the Warning Puppy, so here are just a few lines of a satire on the king that resulted in one of many banishments from court:

Restless he rolls about from whore to whore,
A merry monarch, scandalous and poor.

You can find more of his poetry (including the infamous “Signior Dildo” here.

Wilmot burned too fiercely to last; his health deteriorated and he died in his thirties, most likely of some combination of venereal diseases.  But hey, Johnny Depp played him in a movie, and Johnny Depp can make anything look kind of hot:

External image

– Petra

The New Doctor

Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Rating: PG
Length: Just about 2k. 
Author’s Notes: I actually finished writing something for the fytopkey challenge! lol I have a billion other things that are unfinished, but here have a fluffy little piece! 

Summary: There’s a new doctor at the hospital, and Jonghyun thinks he sounds too good to be true. 

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riou’s endlessly staring, endlessly watching, endlessly finding something new to look upon in this city full of unimaginable things. this time, he’s found himself at the heels of a taller man holding something in his hand, the sight reminding him of those things that strange blonde woman had held by his sides back in muse city. 

what did clive call them again? he’d forgotten.

of course, he wasn’t even being remotely sneaky about following the man, and once he stopped, well, it was obvious that the younger boy would hit his back, tumbling for a bit as he stepped back to prevent himself from falling on his behind. 

          “ ah ! s - sorry ! “

well, so much for that.


Chapters 1-6 here

Read Part 7.1 here 

Read Part 7.2 here 

Read Part 7.3 here 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Charles sputtered, inching back as Erik loomed over him, truly afraid for the first time since he arrived in this strange place. There was something inherently wild – something that screamed danger – about his new acquaintance, the warnings from the men in the tavern ringing in his ears as he raised his hands in supplication. “Please, if I have offended you by being here, I do apologize. I mean no disrespect to the dead…only, I am searching for my sister, and I believe she may have left me a clue here to retrace her steps.”

He had hoped to conceal his unease, not wanting to increase the other man’s ire, and yet something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Erik stopped abruptly, the anger seeming to melt away into something akin to sadness, or regret. Slowly, gently, he took up Charles’ hand in his own, though he did not move away; he remained almost completely in Charles’ space, so close he could no doubt hear the way Charles’ heart raced in his chest. So close he would scarce have to lean forward, or dip his head to reach Charles’ lips—

“My family lived here, long ago,” Erik explained, and Charles barely noticed as he threaded their fingers together, so enthralled was he in Erik’s story. “Four hundred years ago, when this village yet thrived. We were a family of blacksmiths, poor but happy. It was a good life, until they were all viciously slaughtered.”

“What happened to them?” Charles whispered, stomach clenching with dread.

“They were murdered by a pack of wild beasts - every man, woman and child in the village. Torn to pieces by wolf-men who cared for nothing but to sate their blood lust on the innocent. There were a hundred people living in Meissen, and only one escaped with his life.”

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Chris came storming into the house of his daughter. A nearly lifeless Braxton in his arms. “Kelly!” he screamed through the house. Causing some crashing noises before he rushed to place Braxton on the couch. He never wanted to see this. He never wanted this to begin with. He knew the dangers of this world, his only daughter being thrown into it after falling for a wolf. He knew the dangers, but he feared it for the sake of his daughter. Never thought more of it until he saw her husband get hunted down like an animal by not only other hunters. But ones that he thought were his friends. 

He knew it was foolish for Braxton to be in full wolf form but he did it to protect his fellow pack members. Ones Chris wasn’t much aware of yet. He saw him get gun down, tortured, and treated like an animal. It was in that moment that Chris truly realized what this business he was in was really about. They were wrong. And when he saw his son in law go back to his human form. That is when his heart shattered. Once the coast was clear he attended to the young man. But he was out cold from the lost of blood and he took him to where he could think of. His and Kelly’s home. “Just hold on okay? I’m going to get you some help.” he spoke to the young man.

Once he saw his daughter he stood up and looked her dead in the eyes. “Sweetie get some towels and all the stuff to clean him up. I need you to watch him while I make a call. He needs medical attention but there is no way in hell I’m taking him to a hospital for obvious reasons.” he stayed quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry princess. I didn’t get to him in time.”

Until he became yours,

he couldn’t remember

what home felt like.

Home is no longer

wherever his parents live,

or the house he grew up in.

Home isn’t within

that false sense of security,

with that first, initial lie.

Home isn’t even

on the court,

that once treasured space.

                                                                           Home echoes,

                                                                           in your crazy laugh,

                                                                           even when you tease him.

                                                                          Home is now

                                                                          in your warm embrace,

                                                                          when you hold him tight.

                                                                          Home is when

                                                                          you call his name,

                                                                          and he doesn’t even flinch.

                                                                          He’s found

                                                                          a home in you.

                                                                          And with you,

                                                                          he remembers.

sing me no songs

an: So, I kind of just bastardized some Valkyrie lore in order to write this - this in no way follows Nordic myth at all, I just like the vague idea of Valkyrie!Emma finding a soldier who just. won’t. die. And she likes it that way. (Also Swanhwid, or Svanvít in Old Nordic, was a Saxo Grammaticus valkyrie-like character whose name roughly translates to “Swan-white” which I literally could not pass up, not even under threat of torture and death).

Sing me no songs of angels I pray
For a Valkyrie found me in battle that day

The battlefield is quiet, now, only the moans of the dead and the dying to quell the calm that has washed over this place of violent horrors, and her sisters kneel before their champions to offer them the same gift they have offered so many before. Swanhwid does not join her sisters, this day.

She has grown weary of this - this constant chaos, this reign of blood and sweat and dishonor - she has grown weary of the duty she has been tasked to perform as her sisters now do once again. There is no glory in the slaughter these men wreak, no heroics in their painful and pathetic deaths, and Swanhwid knows she will not find a warrior here today.

She does not leave her form - flies in great heavy strokes of grey-feathered wing across the charred land as these mortal forms rot on earth already tainted with far too much blood

The souls of the dead groan their weary last breaths, the Chosen grasping at the feathered cloaks of her sisters as they glow in the golden light of the new life they have been offered - in the light of Valhalla, the land she once found so magnificent and full.

Her sisters pay no heed to her flight overhead, and so none of them notice their comrade sweep the battlefield one last time - none of them notice as she scales higher and higher into the sky. None of them notice until she is gone, and for this Swanhwid is thankful. She has grown weary of this life, of this blood-soaked world that will die in fire and destruction, and as she breaks through the clouds she feels the inklings of freedom stir in her for the first time.

She does not return.

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