jayandthevoid

[jayandthevoid]

Your Guardian Angel: Chapter Three

In which Gabriel screws the pooch and Jack pays for it in multiple regards. (Side pairing Anahardt in this chapter!)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, PTSD, Nightmares, Angst, Unhealthy alcohol consumption, Reference to Alcoholism, Reference to old wounds

Start from the beginning: x

“I’m having some friends over.” Jack’s trepidation is obvious in his tone, and Gabriel merely raises an eyebrow before leaning on the kitchen counter. He says nothing about how Jack’s just caught him rifling through the cabinets. Again.

“If you’re trying to prove to me that you don’t talk to your imaginary buddies while you think you’re alone, there’s no need. I never doubted that you have at least one friend.” That one digs deep. Jack talks to himself, yes, but not often. When he wakes up with his eyes blown wide after another nightmare, he hugs his own body and whispers apologies to those he watched die, those he killed. His eyes always squeeze shut after a while, and he breaks down into silent sobs.

He talks to himself when the silence is so overwhelming in his tiny living space and he needs something to break up the monotony so the memories don’t crowd his mind like an angry mob. Though, he supposes with Gabriel around there hasn’t been much silence lately. Only the dreams. It’s been difficult, he admits, to keep himself quiet while the other man sleeps on the couch. He’s not used to closing his bedroom door to muffle the noise of his middle-of-the-night breakdowns.

He never knows if Gabriel actually sleeps. He’s pretty sure angels don’t need to rest, seeing as they subsist off of Heaven Energy or whatever the fuck it is. He has caught Gabe napping from time to time, though. Whether he’s doing it because his human form needs to take a break or he’s just faking it to spy on Jack, well, he’d probably never tell.

Jack sighs. He’s doing it again. Letting the conversation drop because he’s too lost in thought. Gabriel is staring at him expectantly, and he even looks a little, dare Jack say it, concerned. As if he’s grown used to the veteran reacting to his cruel jokes and quips. He hasn’t apologized once, though to be fair, Jack hasn’t shown him what the bad days are like. He’s had them. Nothing the angelic presence can do to fix that.

Keep reading

[jayandthevoid]

It gives me life, then immediately takes it away... ;-;

[jayandthevoid]

Your Guardian Angel: Chapter Two

Usually, supernatural beings don’t stick around to answer all your questions. Jack’s lucky in that regard.

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, More references to PTSD, Very brief mention of semi-graphic violence, Like one sex joke

Start from the beginning: x

As Jack quickly finds out, Gabriel is a bit of an annoyance.

The angel insists on taking up the entirety of the couch, even when Jack wants to have a seat so they can discuss ground rules. He doesn’t leave, or that’s how it seems. When Jack goes out job-hunting, he has the strangest feeling of being watched, yet he comes home to that same infuriating face regarding him from his furniture.

“It’s a small space designed for one person,” he urges one day while Gabriel looks on, utterly disinterested. “I can’t have you just sitting here mooching off me all the time. My grocery bill’s doubled since you showed up. Can’t you just… go back to where you came from when you’re not helping me?” Jack isn’t even sure how the angel being here is supposed to help him, anyway. Gabriel seems intent on just using his apartment and not doing whatever his job is supposed to be. At least he hasn’t commented on the nightmares. Yet.

The angel regards him for a moment before turning up the volume on the small television Jack took with him from his parent’s house when he moved in. “No can do,” he says offhandedly. “That’s not part of the deal. Guardian angels hole up with their sad sacks and make sure they don’t go doing anything drastic, and then we kindly fuck off when we’re done.”

“That doesn’t sound very cinematic,” Jack muses. What was that one Christmas movie called? Couldn’t Gabriel just mysteriously disappear and then come to Jack whenever he needed a friendly hug or something?

His thoughts are interrupted by an ugly snort from the angel using up his couch space. “You’re joking.” He moves his legs for the first damn time and Jack takes the opportunity to sit down right where the appendages have just vacated. “You, a man who’s seen the worst humanity has to offer, have just turned to me and suggested that I should poof in and out of existence willy nilly just so you can have your alone time.” He retaliates by propping his feet up on Jack’s thighs.

Keep reading

[jayandthevoid]

Your Guardian Angel: Chapter One

Sometimes, guardian angels appear in a flash of white light and pick your life right back up in a gesture of good faith. Other times, they scare the shit out of you and eat all your food.

Ship(s): Reaper76, other background ships in future chapters

Warnings: Brief reference to PTSD, Non-graphic mention of violence, brief angst, Gabriel not giving a fuck

At 8:55 AM on Thursday, Jack Morrison is awake.

At 8:56 AM, he realizes that he’ll be late for work.

At exactly 9:27 AM, he stumbles into his office, tie askew, briefcase soaking after he dropped it in a puddle on the sprint over here. His boss merely growls at him and shoves today’s paperwork towards his panting frame. That’s the second time this week. Not that anyone cares about the reason. Being overworked doesn’t matter when your HR department is missing the “H” part of the equation.

At 10:04 AM, Jack takes a break for coffee. He hasn’t had the time to brew it today since he collapsed from exhaustion last night and woke up with 5 minutes to spare. As horrible as the sludge here is, it still smells appetizing until it ends up splattered all over the floor and the left side of his shirt. His shoe is perpetually sticky for the rest of the day, and a bit of rage coils deep in his gut aimed at the guy who didn’t even stop to help clean up the mess he caused.

At 12:00 PM, he leaves for lunch. His favorite sandwich place is closed.

At 12:47 PM, he returns from his break to see a fresh pile of work on his desk. As if he didn’t already work overtime every other day of the week. His face is as red as the pretty little burn on his side from the damn coffee. He didn’t come back from three tours for this shit. He’s staring at his unfinished work long enough for one of his coworkers to poke their mean little fingers into his burned side, right on the coffee stain. He elbows them in the face out of instinct and spends the next five minutes apologizing while simultaneously trying to get the memories of gun barrels and dead comrades out of his mind’s eye.

At 12:59 PM, Jack Morrison packs his supplies in a spare box and leaves the office. He wears a shell-shocked expression as the words “Temper management issues” flash before his eyes. This was supposed to be the job where he made it, where he’d get back to the real world and start making a life for himself again. Though, if he thinks about it, five years without a raise should’ve given him a clue.

The walk home is agonizing, and every odd look from the passing pedestrian rubs salt in the wound Jack is already aware of. The sun shines as if to mock him, high in the sky. He slams the door to his small apartment and drops his box on the kitchen counter, flopping onto his bed and letting out a dry sob. The world isn’t like they show you in the movies. There’s no heart-filled expression on the villain’s face as tear-jerking music swells in the background. Nobody suddenly relents and recounts their tragic backstory as he’s rewarded with everything he’s ever wanted for his efforts.

There’s just him, the dying plants he promised himself he’d take care of, and the silence. What would he tell his parents? “Mom, Dad, the money you scraped together to get me back on my feet and help me move to downtown Bloomington went to shit.” Like that’d go over well. They’d watched him pack his bags all those years ago, his mother in tears raving about how her son was going to be war hero. Maybe he should’ve put some more thought into what he’d signed up for before joining the army.

With the buzz of anxiety tugging at his brain like a hyperactive insect, Jack drags himself out of bed and cracks open the fridge. Not like there’s much to be had. There’s some milk, a few beers, some vegetables that he should really check the due date on… at least there are a few frozen dinners in the freezer and a lot of canned food in the cabinets. He settles on some alcohol, needing to just sit and process what’s happened.

He kicks back, nurses a cold beer, and thinks. Was there really anything for someone like him? He wasn’t a genius child, he wasn’t the class favorite, his claim to fame was his stint as Quarterback in high school. Angela tries to convince him to go into modeling every time she sees him, but he’d rather keep his body the way it is. They can’t hide all the scars, and he wouldn’t want them to. They’re little reminders of everything he’s gone through, no matter how much the world refuses to pay attention to them. He probably wouldn’t like the parties, either.

He thinks for a moment that he should just hang it up. He’s 35, but his mother and father would always welcome him back, glad for another helping hand on the farm. His brother is off making money at the forefront of the microbiology field, he take care of making the Morrison name something to be revered all by himself. The younger son can just be ordinary old Jack, professional country hick. He can be the one that “just wasn’t right” after coming back. He can be the butt of jokes. What does it matter?

At least, that’s what he thinks until he hears something break behind him, followed by a muffled “shit.” His nerves are immediately on edge, and he slowly turns around but sees nothing through his bedroom door. The bathroom, then.

Jack carefully tiptoes to the bedroom and grabs the handgun he keeps under his pillow. How did he not notice whoever was in here when he was in the bedroom?! More importantly, how did whoever was in here not notice him?

In one fell swoop, he kicks the bathroom door open with a scream, prepared to fight whatever criminal managed to magically appear in his house… only to find that nothing is broken at all. There’s nobody in here. What the hell?

A hand suddenly grips at his arm. “Wow, they stuck me with a lively one. Y’know, you’re lucky you’re human. If you weren’t they’d call you… what was it… oh yeah, rabid.”

He panics. The arm isn’t letting go of him no matter how hard he tries, and he’s strong. Boot camp didn’t just turn out anything ordinary, and that’s something he can brag about. So who the fuck is this?!

“Woah woah, calm down, Rock Bottom. If you want me to help you, I’d suggest not trying to put a bullet in my skull. They tell me that I can get real cranky when people do that.” His head whips around, trying to get a good look at whoever’s invaded his space.

It’s a man, he can tell from the voice. Facial hair, a few scars on his cheeks, darker skin than he himself has. If he wasn’t afraid that everything would end right here, he’d say that this person was rather handsome.

“The fuck do you want,” he grits out, aware that his hands are starting to shake. Damn it.

“To help someone in need, you could say. Though if he keeps trying to shoot me, I might change my mind. Put down the gun, asshole.” Though the man restraining him is strong, not even budging when Jack uses all his strength, he seems to have a rather nonchalant attitude. Perhaps he really is just defending himself.

Jack relaxes some of his muscles. The man behind him heaves a sigh and removes his hand. Blood rushes back into the vet’s arm, and he rubs at it to get all the tingles out. He can get a better look at this mystery man now. He has casual clothes on, just a hoodie and loose pants, a beanie covering his head. He doesn’t look like he came prepared to rob someone tonight.

“Finished with your temper tantrum, Rock Bottom?” His voice is the embodiment of casual, as if Jack isn’t holding a gun. The words “temper tantrum” cut deep, though he supposes this man isn’t aware of what’s happened to him today.

“Who are you?” He’s still holding the gun, though his finger’s off the trigger.

“Your fridge is a wasteland. Ever seen one of those new-fangled supermarkets, man? They’re pretty neat, if you ask me.” Either he hasn’t heard Jack’s question, or he’s blatantly ignoring him.

“You try working without a raise on vet benefits, see how you like it.” Why is he even debating his living situation with this person?

“Ouch. I didn’t agree to take you just so I could be insulted. I’m not that much of a masochist.” The man shrugs and shoulders past Jack so he can get at his fridge… again, apparently.

Agree to take him? What did that even mean?

He finds the man drinking milk right out of the carton like some deadbeat college kid. “What the fuck, man!”

He pauses. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Well, other than a tiny smirk that infuriates Jack even more, he doesn’t. Which is surprising, considering this man has quite a thick goatee which should logically catch some of the milk he’s drinking without permission.

The thief seems to get tired of Jack staring at him. He holds the carton in his hand and leans against the counter petulantly. “The fuck is your problem?”

Jack seethes. “I’m not the one drinking someone else’s milk!”

“Oh, shit, this is someone else’s milk? This isn’t yours? I’d think you’d put your milk in your fridge, Rock Bottom.”

“You know what I fucking mean!”

“Do I?” He takes another swig before screwing the lid back on and tosses the carton to Jack, who grabs it and shakes it, silently bemoaning the fact that this thief has taken a large portion of it. He shoves it back in his fridge and slams the door shut.

“Quit playing games or I really will shoot you. Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m an angel. Your guardian angel, in fact.” He deadpans it so naturally that Jack actually believes it for a moment. He raises the gun.

“You have 10 seconds.”

“God, do you really have to take that long?”

“Fine.” Jack shoots. The bullet stops an inch from the other man’s head. It twirls in the air before dropping in his outstretched hand.

“Ouch,” is all that is said as the otherworldly milk thief tosses the bullet in the air before catching it again.

Jack lowers the gun, stupefied. What has he gotten himself into?

“Convinced yet, Rock Bottom?”

The blonde winces. “Will you stop calling me that?”

“Fine. Convinced, Jackie-boy?” That might just be worse. Though, it does convince Jack a little more, considering this man knows his name.

“Maybe. What’s your name, then?”

“Gabriel.”

“Wait, like the Gabriel?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?!”

“No. The big guy runs out of names sometimes. Of course I’m him, asshole. Buy some more food, I’ll sleep on your couch if you’re too chicken to share a bed.”

Jack just… watches Gabriel. The Gabriel, who’s just appeared in his home, stolen his milk, and is now insisting that he’s his new angelic roommate.

He can’t say whether his bad day just got worse or better.

[jayandthevoid]

Be me strolling onto the point on Anubis, casually killing everybody. Sees @pharahvi, thinks I’m gonna get the drop on them.

Nope. I got destroyed. Loved u bb ever since <3

just killed someone so hard on overwatch they sent me a friend request

[jayandthevoid]

time to become a hanzo main

I spent too much time on this.

[jayandthevoid]

sometimes, I think he’s just so in on the joke that he doesn’t want to be a part of it anymore.

[jayandthevoid]

Emily's crossed arms and narrowed eyes conveyed her clear anger to Lena. "So, do you need to leave again?"

"Yeah. Things are getting bad out there," Lena responded. She didn't dare look at the girl while she packed her bags.

"'Out there'... and you're just going to go 'out there'?" The auburn-haired female clenched her jaw.

Lena stopped filling her bag for a moment. "I... gotta, love."

"'Gotta'?" The echo of the statement carried a clear disbelief. "Says who?"

The brunette female scratched the back of her head. "It's my duty."

"Right. Soldiers of the Gods - no rest for the weary, yea?" Emily chuckled to herself, walking around Lena to stop in front of the door leading outside. "And bunk that rubbish for a sec; just how do you think the people who care about you all will feel about this whole thing?"

Despite the question posed to her, Lena didn't have a clear answer for Emily. Instead, she simply held up her pistols while she pondered over her next words. After a second, they came out as disjointed as she expected they would. "Love, I just don't-"

She was interrupted by her increasingly incensed girlfriend. "You don't what? You don't think it's dangerous?"

"Er, no, I do! It's ju-" Lena lifted her hands, dropping the pistols on the table. The sound that resulted diverted Emily's attention for a moment, but her eyes were immediately back onto the brunette.

It was just in time for her to interrupt Lena again. "You don't care? Is that it?!"

That proved to be the question that made the brunette frown. "Oi, you know for a fact that's not the case!"

Emily stepped forward, her voice raising. "Then what is it, Lena?!"

"It's my duty, Emily!!" Lena matched her lover's volume.

"What is this duty you keep gabbin on about?! What duty do you have toward these... things?!" By this point, Emily's chest was heaving. "Aren't they almighty or somethin?"

"That's not the point! It's not..." Lena shook her head, her voice lowering.

That seemed to make Emily even more angry. "Tell me the point then, Lena!"

"They're the reason you're even fuckin alive!!" Lena finally yelled, getting directly in her face. She could see that the statement induced silence in her enraged lover, but the brunette wasn't done. "You wouldn't even have a head if it wasn't for them helping me! You're so fuckin important to me that I sold my damn life to keep you safe!!"

Emily's mouth was agape for a moment. "L-Lena... I-"

It was Lena's turn to interrupt her. "You wouldn't know that though, wouldja?! You spent this whole fuckin chat accusing me of not seeing the threat here!" She clenched her fists. "You wouldn't know nothin if I wasn't screaming it in your face, you-..."

Lena stopping herself meant that Emily had the chance to breathe. Sucking in a breath, she posed another question. "What? What am I?"

The brunette grabbed her bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder. Her head was down, and her bangs very fittingly covered her eyes. She moved around Emily, opening the door. "Bye."

When she left, Emily stood at the door with a hand outstretched toward the retreating figure of her girlfriend. She bit her lip and decided it was a good time to let the tears flow down her cheeks.

Not even an 'I love you'.

[jayandthevoid]

expect only the highest level of professionalism from these guys

[jayandthevoid]

@epsilon-writes: Why do people put glitter on their dicks? Me: I dunno fam.

@epsilon-writes: Asking the real questions here. You won’t get this in any crowdfunding.

[jayandthevoid]

It is said that, in time immemorial, the Emissaries came from Oblivion and into our world. These entities embodied key parts of the mortal experience, and permeated our hearts and minds with their wisdom and guidance.

Among them were the greatest of their kind, the Spirit of Power and Leadership, the Spirit of Love and Vigilance, and the Spirit of Life and Knowledge.

Lena nodded, reading over the text. "Knowledge, huh?"

Sitting next to her was another reader - a woman of Eastern descent who dressed in a dark blue tank top and jeans. She who seemed so engrossed that she could only respond with a hum of affirmation.

"So, say if I prayed to this knowledge bloke - ya think I'll learn how to cook?" She asked, tapping her chin.

Mei simply shook her head. "No, I don't think any amount of divine intervention can help you with that."

Lena’s brow furrowed. “Oi.”

[jayandthevoid]

Lena bounced on her tiptoes for a moment, trying to curb the overwhelming silence. Being in the presence of a godly being always made things so tense, especially when they were silent and keen on staring. "So, uh... what's an owl's favorite TV show?"

The large, owl-like being sitting on its perch cocked its head to the side. Its expressions were entirely inhuman, and thus it was hard to gauge how that question was received. "What?" He opted to ask.

"Um, hehe... Dr. Who...?" She gave a sheepish grin.

The owl blinked, then its crest furrowed.

Lena rubbed the back of her head, sweat pooling on her brow. "Wot? Not a fan of puns?"

The owl god's response was curt. "Not a fan of idiots."

[jayandthevoid]

quality

[jayandthevoid]

Next character hints.

He’s slidin’ over cars while he shoots. She thinks that he’s Tom Cruise (Tom Cruise, Tom Cruise). But, bitch, he’s Bobby with that tool.

Run up on em, act a fool.

[jayandthevoid]

Meet The Europeans

The jovial boom of the teacher’s voice interrupted the class’ talking. "Everyone! These are our new foreign exchange students. All from Europe!” He seemed to be rejoicing that fact in particular, to the surprise of approximately no one. “They'll be joining us at this school," then his tone immediately took on a darker tone. "Be nice. Or else."

He then his grinning face to the students in question. "Please, introduce yourselves!"

This would be a typical meet and greet, it seemed.

All eyes were on the three standing up front.

One was a pink-haired, rather fit girl in a white jacket. Despite the strength of her jaw and generally musculature of her frame, her skin was surprisingly clear. "Aleksandra Zaryanova. Russian exchange. Privet," she waved a hand to everyone.

The next was a leggy beauty with black hair, skin blemishless and peach in tone, wearing a turtleneck sweater and immaculate black pants that hugged her legs. Her eyes were  a captivating amber shade that seemed to regard all of the classroom as a whole rather than any individual. "Amélie Lacroix. Je viens d'Annecy. Bonjour, Mesdames et Messieurs," she gave a bow to the class.

There were a few people clapping. Lena was the loudest.

"Ok, ok, settle down. Let us let our last friend speak," the teacher said with a laugh.

When the applause - Lena - died down, the last of the exchange students were addressed.

This one had olive skin, piercing jade eyes, short dark brown hair shaved up to the top with an excellent grade of it remaining at the summit, and dressed in a black and red long sleeve shirt with black pants. Just like the others, their skin was more or less clear. Must have been a European thing. This one, however, seemed less friendly than the other two, and only regarded everybody with a nod.

Without thinking, Jesse spoke up. "Come on, everybody else did it," the exchange student's eyes were now on him. The stare was rather cold, and he felt him almost recoil. "Yikes."

"Kyhrra Graye. Italian exchange," they said, still staring directly at Jesse as if to address only him.

He took it as a challenge. That made him smile.

Jesse leaned back in his chair. His ‘battle mode’, so to speak. "No special greeting?"

Hana looked at her brother. "What are you doing, Jesse?" She whispered.

Everyone in the room seemed equally as interested in Jesse calling out the new student. There were a few whispers before they heard Kyhrra speak.

With narrowed eyes and unrestrained venom in their voice, they indulged the self-designated cowboy. "Ciao."

Jesse felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a bit, but he didn't show any signs of it in his expression. In fact, all he did was grin. Something about this person was making him a little happier than it should have.

"Oh, that'll do fine."

[jayandthevoid]

Meet The Spider and the Fly

Lena Oxton was a very energetic thing. "Whatcha doin, love?"

Unfortunately, the people she wanted to converse with weren't usually the talkative type. As was the case with Amélie Lacroix, who was sitting with her eyes closed in a pose of meditation. "Hm."

This response never worked with Lena, who simply moved to the other side of the French teen. "Ya meditatin'? Ya gotta say 'oooohm', 'oooohm', with it!"

Amélie was silent for a moment before speaking. "Can you leave, please?"

"But love, I gotta be here. It's where I belong!" Lena chirped.

Amélie's eyebrow twitched. "Here? Bothering me?"

"I'm botherin' ya?"

A small exhalation came from Amélie's nose. "A little, yes."

"Oh, my bad. Well, um... can ya like... not do that here, then?" Lena asked with a small chuckle.

That broke the teen's meditation completely. "What?" Her eyes opened and cut to the English teen immediately. "You have a problem with my meditation?"

"Uh... kinda?" Lena rubbed the back of her head. "I mean, it's more where you're doin it than like the whole thing itself, ya know?"

Her glare intensified. "Je ne peux pas y croire, you choose to single me out for my ritual?"

"No, love, that's no-!"

"You have some nerve, imbécile," Amélie growled.

Lena held up her hands. "I swear, I'm not-"

Once again, she was interrupted by the incensed French girl. "Is that how you treat every new student?"

It seemed that they were starting to draw a crowd. People in the room were chattering, gossiping about Lena being 'insensitive to culture'. To that, she had to end this whole issue here and now.

Lena gave a small frown. "You're in my seat!"

"I... quoi?" Amélie blinked.

"My seat. You're in it," Lena crossed her arms.

Amélie was, once again, silent for a moment. "I see. Well then. You should have stated that from the beginning," she stood to her feet.

And Lena stared. "Legs..."

"What?" Amélie turned to her.

"Ah! Um... legs are used for walkin," Amélie raised an eyebrow at that. Unfortunately, Lena decided that putting down the shovel was too much work. "And that's how you'll get to your seat?"

An indignant sound came from the French girl. "How dare you?!"

Lena blinked. She wants to smash her head into the nearest wall. "Uh-"

"Hmph. I’d say the same about your... cheese shoes," the French teen turned her nose into the air and stalked off to her seat. Still in her ballet uniform.

She had a feeling that she had just made an enemy of the leggiest specimen she'd ever laid eyes on.

And she was now acutely aware of her favorite yellow pair of crocs. This was gonna be a bad day, she could tell. “I like my shoes...” She muttered.

[jayandthevoid]

U CLOD