tinyoctopuswrites

[tinyoctopuswrites]

Someone to Lean On

Title: Someone to Lean On

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Reaper76

Summary: After a long mission, the sight on the living room floor was the last thing Gabriel Reyes expected. Still, he didn't mind it at all.

Tags: Golden Age of Overwatch, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort, Pillows & Blanket Forts, Explicit Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Off-Screen Hurt and On-Screen Comfort, Dramatic Irony, Character Study

[ Read on Ao3 ]

Gabriel paused in front of the door, not hesitating, no, merely taking a moment to savor the feeling of finally returning home. Even if the journey hadn't taken ten years, it had still felt like a motherfucking odyssey all the same. In hindsight, considering the size of the post-op paperwork, maybe it would have been easier if he'd just sailed his way back.

The extra time and distance would have only delayed the inevitable, but fuck, if it wouldn't have helped. Sure, at some point, he would have to sit down and detail how Blackwatch had gotten fucked over six ways to Sunday, but that was a fuzzy, uncertain point in time. He could put it off indefinitely, just to stay in this moment for a little while longer.

Gabriel scrubbed a hand across his face. The report could wait until morning. Right now, all he wanted was to eat, shower, and get some well-earned sleep. Oh, and involve Jack in as much of this plan as possible.

As soon as Gabriel reached for the handle, his earpiece crackled to life. He silenced the comm with a satisfying grind of his finger, cutting off the speaker mid-word. Overwatch, Blackwatch, and the rest of the motherfucking planet could handle themselves until morning. If not, they shouldn't have worked so damn hard to save the world in the first place. They had earned an evening or three to themselves by this point.

Gabriel set his hand on the door handle and waited. As per fucking usual, the DNA lock took its damn sweet time to disengage, impervious to both his scowl and his silent encouragement to hurry the fuck up — or else. When it finally clicked open, Gabriel hurried inside. The unexpected — but not unwelcome — change to their living room made him pause in the entrance. Gabriel stared, transfixed, until the door attempted to close through him for the absolutely last fucking time.

Despite two of the most important men on the entire goddamn planet filing multiple requests, maintenance orders still occurred on a schedule known only to God himself. If Gabriel had to live with a broken sensor on his door for one more day, he was going to burn the entire Overwatch Headquarters down to cinders and ash.

But first… Gabriel rubbed away the dull pain radiating out from his shoulder. His gaze swept from one end of the room to the other. The furnishings failed to explain what had transpired in his absence — besides the obvious, of course.

A patchwork of shadows yawned up the wall beside him, streaked through with thin bars of late evening sunlight, fainter now than when his squad had touched down. Gabriel studied the terrain with a careful eye, taking in the hazardous spread of cushions, quilts, and — if the familiar herringbone fabric indicated anything — their duvet swallowing up the floor. The holoscreen, the sole source of illumination in the room, defined the impressive bulk of pillows and blankets in flickering shades of blue.

He would have to be careful crossing the room unless he wanted to break his nose… again.

Path decided, Gabriel deftly navigated along the outskirts of the makeshift structure until he reached the low table shoved back against the couch. He set down the bags of takeout, fingertips tingling as the circulation returned. Then, he turned around. Despite the loud rustle of paper, plastic, and cardboard, the pillow-and-blanket fort motionless, the game on the screen continuing without interruption.

Interesting.

Jack was completing this section faster and — if he had to be honest — better than him. Yeah, well, it still didn't mean the blond would be able to find all the collectibles on his own. Gabriel and his patient ability to find guides on the internet still had a purpose in Jack's life. Oh sure, they both knew it was just a flimsy excuse to spend what little time they had together, but lazy Sunday mornings and bi-weekly date nights had ended over a decade ago.

They never had enough time these days, but someday, they would retire to a quiet plot of land in the middle of bumfuck Indiana, the rest of the world a distant worry. They'd have a house with enough room for a garden and those expensive-as-hell goats Jack had told him about while they were puking up their guts into a shitty toilet in a shitty government facility that didn't — and still doesn't — exist. Oh, and alpacas, too. Gabriel had made up his mind at the age of five, and no, Morrison, he didn't fucking care if they were temperamental assholes. Alpacas were as cute as fuck and he wanted them, so there.

Gabriel crouched down and studied the outermost layers of the fortifications. He skimmed a finger across the hem of a colorful quilted blanket to test the stability. After locating a suitable breach point, he crawled inside, bracing himself for retaliation.

It never came.

In the muted darkness, Gabriel found Jack hunched low over a controller, hyper-focused on the game playing across the holoscreen. Beneath the hood drawn tight over his head, tufts of blond hair poked out at odd angles. The glow of the holoscreen highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, the lines creasing his forehead, and the pale, translucent quality his freckled skin gained after too little time in the sun. This close, Gabriel recognized the sweatshirt stretched tight across Jack's shoulders, and while he was positive he'd thrown it into the laundry basket before leaving for Baotou, he understood the desperate need to shrink the cold, terrifying expanse of a half-empty bed.

Without hesitation, Gabriel curled himself around Jack and tucked the blankets firmly around them both, ignoring the sweat already beading across his brow from their trapped body heat. Jack stiffened when Gabriel shifted him into his lap, and then, he leaned back, falling boneless and slack within the familiar circle of Gabriel's arms.

Taking his cue, Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw. His first attempt caught the drawstring of Jack's hood between his lips, and with quiet huff of laughter, Gabriel tried again. His second attempt yielded the taste of warm, stubbled skin, and Gabriel couldn't resist a third or fourth or fifth kiss, greedy and self-indulgent after being denied for so long. Jack, it seemed, felt the same way. When he was finally satisfied, Gabriel pulled away and leaned his chin over Jack's shoulder so he could watch.

Jack continued to play the game, his heartbeat steady and even in a stark contrast to the action flashing across the screen. Gabriel tried to pay attention, but he found it difficult to focus on anything other than the warmth seeping into his body wherever they touched. While he couldn't remember precisely when his eyes had drifted closed, Gabriel allowed the soft, plastic clicks of the controller and the overwhelming scent of home to lull him into a fuzzy, grey-edged peace.

Here and now, cloistered away from the rest of the world, nothing else mattered. Time slid sideways, immaterial and inconsequential.

Gabriel blinked when cool fingers tickled across his scalp and opened his eyes to a save screen, the timestamp of Jack's file significantly higher than before Gabriel had left. Too high, in fact. Before he could ask Jack how many twenty-four hour periods he had spent mind-numbingly distracting himself from whatever the fuck had happened, Jack pressed chapped, worried lips against his own. Fucking cheater. Jack tasted of tobacco, burnt coffee, and sleepless nights, but his mouth was warm and wet and perfect.

"Welcome home," Jack said when they parted, his voice roughened and hoarse as if he hadn't spoken aloud in a while.

"I missed you." Gabriel knocked their foreheads together, noses touching. "When'd you last eat, hmm?"

"Can't remember."

"Uh-huh." Gabriel clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I'm sure you don't know when you last slept either." He pulled back to better study Jack. "It's becoming a pattern, Jackie, and I'm starting to—" Gabriel cut himself off when Jack buried his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck.

Fuck.

That bad, huh?

Gabriel held himself perfectly, absolutely still. His hands hovered mid-air, uncertain where to hold Jack oh-so the fragile, oh-s0 fucking breakable moment remained intact. He lowered his hands to his sides, utterly and profoundly useless.

Gabriel should have turned on a news feed, checked the obituaries, or paid more fucking attention once he arrived back on base because of course something had gone wrong while he was away. It was a reminder for the next time if nothing else because there would always be a next time.

Gabriel wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders, careful and slow so as not to startle the other man. All he could do now was hold Jack close. At least, after so many years of practice, he couldn't fuck that up.

"I had a rough week," Jack murmured into his clavicle, voice hitching on the last syllable.

Ladies and gentlemen, they had a contender for the motherfucking understatement of the year. The lie rang hollow in the small, muted space between them. Gabriel stared at the fraying seam of Jack's favorite pillowcase, tracing the dangling thread from where it had pulled free of the fabric until he found the right words. Fuck, he had never been good at this kind of thing. Jack always knew precisely what to say to make things right, how to smile and charm the brass, but right here, right now, Gabriel was on his own.

"I'm here, Jack, and I always will be. I promised you that a long time ago, and I'm not gonna break it now." Gabriel hoped — for once — he had said what Jack needed to hear.

Jack didn't answer. He didn't respond, remaining still and unresponsive, as if he hadn't heard Gabriel speak.

Apprehension wormed its way into Gabriel's stomach. The silence stretched between them. The dark, enclosed space grew claustrophobic, all the air sucked out. Gabriel trembled with the effort to restrain himself before he made yet another mistake. Right now, more than anything else in the whole fucking world, Jack needed him.

Seconds before Gabriel acted on the desire to fuck everything up and tear open the cocoon of pillows and blankets, Jack cleared his throat. "Thanks, Gabe," he murmured, his words barely audible over the distant noise from the holoscreen.

Air rushed from Gabriel's lungs with a forceful exhale, the sudden relief knocking through him like a physical blow. He squeezed Jack tight, the distance between them nonexistent.

"C'mon, Jackie, let's get some food into you." Jack nodded his head in agreement but then he paused, frowning at the pillows and blankets around them. Gabriel followed his gaze. Ah, now he saw the problem. With a soft, thoughtful hum, Gabriel began to puzzle out how to shift them without destroying Jack's handiwork.

Just as Gabriel settled on a plan that would probably work, however, Jack's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can we eat in here?" he asked, the question so tremulous, so fragile and raw, there was only one possible answer.

"Of course, Jackie. Whatever you need."

"You don't mind?" Despite the unruly blond curls obscuring his view, Gabriel could see the uncertainty on Jack's face: the narrowed blue eyes, the downward twist of his mouth, the pinched skin between his brows.

On some level, yes, Gabriel did mind the added mess — even as a hypothetical, distant possibility — considering how Jack had seemingly emptied the linen closet, stripped the bed, and scavenged their entire living quarters for his construction materials. It was going to make such a fucking mess, but none of that mattered.

"The worst thing that'll happen is more laundry," Gabriel reassured him, rubbing circles into the small of his back. "That's all."

"Okay," Jack mumbled, and Gabriel let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Between the two of them, they coordinated how to slip the takeout bags into the fort without causing any lasting structural damage. Once they resettled back inside the warm, half-darkness, they divided the food between them without a word, bumping elbows and knees as they passed the containers back and forth. The only problem happened when Gabriel realized he'd gotten an odd number of spring rolls. After a moment of silently shoving the spring roll back and forth in the container, they reached a compromise and messily split it between them using their chopsticks.

Jack snorted when a sliver of bamboo fell onto his lap, no doubt incensed by the mix of horror and disgust etched onto Gabriel's face at the splatter of sauce. When Jack began to laugh outright, almost choking on a mouthful of rice in the process, Gabriel couldn't help but join him, caught up in the sheer absurdity of the moment. Still, he double-checked to make sure that no, Jack wasn't actually in danger of choking.

"Wouldn't that be a headline," Gabriel said once they had both calmed down. "'Strike Commander of Overwatch struck dead by Chinese takeout. Who will the mysterious assassin target next?'"

"You've had worse," Jack pointed out, a lopsided grin cracking across his face.

Gabriel began to protest, thought about what he could say in his defense, and then shoveled the last bite of rice into his mouth. Yeah, he'd inspired headlines scandalous enough to cause an international incident or four, so he had no grounds to argue.

Jack still looked like death warmed over, but now there was a flush to his cheeks and the harsh lines framing his eyes seemed softer. In that moment, Gabriel wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him right then and there just to see if he could erase the last of Jack's tension away, but Jack, unfortunately, had enough presence of mind to fend him off until he could clear away their empty plates and food containers. Even in the midst of an emotional breakdown, Jack was still the responsible one. If Gabriel didn't love him so much — if Gabriel didn't know how much it helped to have a modicum of order when the rest of the world spiraled out of control — it would be disgusting. Jack banished the takeout bags outside their fort with a rustle of paper, plastic, and cardboard.

Rather than settle back into Gabriel's arms like before, he reversed their positions. Gabriel leaned back against the pillows with a soft sound and let himself be held. Between one slow breath and the next, he lost track of anything beyond the steady rhythm of Jack's heartbeat. His eyes slid closed.

"We could stay here forever," Jack murmured. Gabriel shivered as warm breath tickled over the sensitive skin of his nape.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Though—" Gabriel opened his eyes at the frown in the blond's voice. "—you stink."

Gabriel snorted, anxiety melting into the warm, humid air. His eyes drifted shut once more, and with an unintelligible sound, Gabriel turned around to pillow his head against Jack's shoulder. His head bumped against the decorative sham forming the bulk of their ceiling. "Like you smell any better."

"I suppose," Jack said, after some thought, "we could both use a shower." Gabriel could hear the gears turning in his head. Maybe it was just the holoscreen humming along in the background.

Or both.

Probably both.

"Y'think?" Rolling his eyes took too much effort. The mere thought of it, in fact, was exhausting. Yet somehow, with the sort of herculean effort deserving of a motherfucking medal, Gabriel mustered enough energy to lift his hand and poke at Jack's side for emphasis. Of course, the blond idiot used the opportunity to lace their fingers together like a fucking sap. Gabriel found himself as a loss. How was he supposed to punctuate his sentences now?

"Later," Jack clarified. "We can shower later, Gabe. If you want, we could even go and—"

Since Jack was somehow willing and able to keep talking, Gabriel leaned up to kiss him. It took a few attempts to get it right. His lips dragged against Jack's forehead, over an arched brow, and rasped against a stubbled cheek before they found their intended mark. Besides, he was aiming with his eyes closed and Jack was of absolutely no fucking help either. Gabriel withheld this observation in case the warm, distracting fingers combing through his hair stopped their gentle massage.

"Later," Gabriel emphasized, "we can do whatever you want. Right now, I wanna sleep. No point in moving either since our bed's mostly here."

At least, that's what he tried to say.

Thankfully, Jack seemed to get the gist. Of course, he'd had over a decade and a half of deciphering the slurred, "no, 'm naw drunk, Morrison, jus' tired, so shaddup" English Gabriel devolved into whenever he was too tired to give a damn.

"You know, you never did ask."

Gabriel inhaled a breath through his nose and exhaled it longer and slower, giving himself the time to piece together the meaning behind Jack's sentence. "About?"

"The living room."

"Don't need t'ask," Gabriel said. "Just need t'listen 'n help if I can."

With that, all of the quivering, pent-up tension in Jack's body relaxed.

"Hey Gabe?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Speaking of help, is your offer to shoot the Sec-Gen still valid?" At Jack's question, Gabriel blinked hard, willing himself awake and alert. He only managed to get halfway there, but it was enough that he would remember this conversation in the morning. Hopefully.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Well, duya want me to do it?"

"Yes." A pause. "No, no." Jack sighed. "I just… I thought you should know, it helped a lot. Before, I mean." Gabriel waited for him to elaborate. Jack took all the time he needed to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "I was standing in the elevator after the conference call, and then out of the blue, I remembered your offer. I laughed so hard, I worried Athena." A thread of panic entered his voice, and Gabriel squeezed his hand. Jack returned the gesture, applying enough force that Gabriel's joints creaked. "It would be a terrible idea, of course, even if you could do it without getting caught."

Gabriel grunted.

"Sorry," Jack corrected. "I mean, it would be a terrible idea. Overwatch must uphold the highest of moral and ethical standards and we must resort to violent retaliation only as the absolute last resort." There was his Strike Commander voice, practiced and polished to a mirror-slick shine.

Sometime later — when it was safe — Gabriel would find a way to point out how often Jack slipped into that leadership role even when he wasn't wearing his hideous blue duster. While Gabriel understood how fucking difficult it was to compartmentalize when your job concerned literally everyone in the entire fucking world, he wanted to share a bed with Jack, not the Strike Commander of Overwatch. "Besides," Jack added as an afterthought, "you're too good to ever get caught assassinating anyone, Gabe."

"Damn straight."

Jack laughed. Warmth settled in Gabriel's chest and fuck, he'd missed that sound. Jack didn't laugh enough these days, and Gabriel resolved to fix it. "Neither of us has ever been straight."

"Yeah, well." Gabriel was too close to drifting off again to come up with a good response. "Go to sleep, Jack, before I shack it up with that hot new chick in Accounting."

"I'm pretty sure that doesn't change my point, Gabe."

"'M gonna shove the ceiling in your mouth if you don't go to sleep," Gabriel grumbled, his voice too soft and fond for the threat to be anything serious. He groped above his head for the decorative sham, then gave up when his arm refused to cooperate. Instead, he tucked his arm around Jack's waist, right where it belonged.

"You know, in any other situation, that statement would make zero sense."

Gabriel groaned and thumped his head against Jack's shoulder in wordless protest.

"Fine, fine." Gabriel could hear the smile in his voice. Jack leaned back and squirmed until he made himself comfortable. Of course, he was oblivious to how his elbow dug into Gabriel's side until he was poked and poked and poked a third time before he finally got the message. "You know," Jack said, "I was joking earlier. Please don't shoot the Sec-Gen."

Another lie, but Gabriel let it pass. Right here, right now, Jack needed him. Killing the Secretary-General of the United Nations involved leaving their blanket-and-pillow fort — and more importantly, Jack. Tomorrow, he'd consider it, just to prevent whatever the fuck had happened from ever happening again, just in case it distracted Jack long enough so he could remember how to really smile again. And if Jack actually, truly wanted him to do it? Well, he'd need time make sure he did it right. After all, he had a reputation to uphold and a promise to keep.

Gabriel had only been half-joking, even when he made his offer the first time, all those years ago. A well-placed bullet solved many, many problems where traditional diplomacy failed, and whatever Jack could plausibly deny and publically disavow wouldn't hurt either him or Overwatch. In the end, that's what mattered the most, and Gabriel would make sure it stayed that way.

But until then — and maybe even after — the pillow-and-blanket fort could stay.

[tinyoctopuswrites]

[Dungeonwatch] The Dread Witch of Petrișa

Title: The Dread Witch of Petrișa

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Reaper76

Summary: In which a fatalistic paladin undergoing a crisis of faith and an acerbic wizard who isn't actually a wizard attempt to break a curse plaguing the village of Petrișa.

Tags: Alternate Universe  — Dungeons & Dragons, Ravenloft, Dark Fantasy, Gothic Horror, Barovians Being Barovians, Crisis of Faith, Banter, Xenophobia, Pyrrhic Victory, Ravenloft Being Ravenloft

[ Read on Ao3 ]

A sudden gust of wind slammed the tavern door open, silhouetting a lone figure against the frostbitten gloom.

"Get inside before you let in the cold," the man seated by the hearth grunted.

The newcomer latched the door shut against the blizzard outside. "I appreciate the warm welcome," he called back. Stamping his boots against the straw-covered floor, he shed snow and ice from his clothing.

"The ale tastes like horse piss, but it'll warm you up more than kind words," the other man said, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his tankard.

"I appreciate them more than most." The newcomer crossed the room and stopped behind one of the stools cluttered near the fire. "Rare is the outsider welcomed with open arms."

"Even when they answer calls for aid."

"Just so." The ghost of a smile flickered across the newcomer's lips. "May I keep you company 'til the innkeeper returns?"

"Fire's large enough to warm us both. Help yourself." He shrugged.

The stool creaked as the newcomer sat down. "In this land, I am known as Gabriel."

"And in others, you go by a different name? Wise choice." He raised his tankard in a mocking toast. "Most call me Jack. At least, when they're not dishonoring my mother by calling me a bastard."

"Does that happen often?"

Jack tucked a lock of hair behind a pointed ear. "You would know, wouldn't you?" His blue eyes caught the firelight and held it, ethereal and bright.

"What gave it away?"

"Unless you have a caravan hidden within your cloak, you're traveling rather light. I've never witnessed a full-blooded Vistana travel alone, but there are many strange things I've not yet seen. Just so that you're giomorgo—" Here, Jack grinned, lopsided and sharp. "—as it means you understand what it’s like to be split between two worlds and fit into neither."

"Perhaps," Gabriel said, wary and guarded.

Jack leaned back, the empty tankard hanging loose his hand. "You know, only fools and those who don't need a weapon go unarmed. So, Gabriel, which are you?"

"I have a knife." Gabriel gestured to his belt.

"And in the hands of most, this is simply a very sharp, very large knife." Jack thumbed at the leather-wrapped sword hilt at his own waist.

"I see your point."

The laughter escaping Jack’s scarred lips sounded strained, as if he had forgotten how to shape the sounds. "That was a terrible jest," he accused.

"Yet you enjoyed it nevertheless." Gabriel's teeth flashed in a lupine smile.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and the tavern-keeper stepped out of the blizzard.

"Boyar Antonescu did not wish to brave the storm," she called over, discarding her snow-heavy cloak, "so instead you are stuck with old Katya." She poured three tankards of ale. "The boyar boasts you are but the first of many to arrive. I am not so hopeful. We have little gold to entice those with the means to help us, and rare is the one who saves others out of the goodness of their own heart."

"'Tis gold enough." Gabriel glanced over at Jack as the blonde man grabbed one of the new tankards and said nothing. "Tell us what you know."

"You are good people." Katya sighed. "Generations ago, Petrișa had such a person here, but one day, children began to die. Our ancestors burned this woman at the stake. As the flames licked at her feet, she swore to make the villagers of Petrișa pay. Her curse would claim seven children every seven winters.

"The years have not been kind to us," Katya continued. "Famine and plague have taken too many. We have grown desperate. Ioane vanished into the darkness a fortnight ago—the sixth child this winter. Magda, the miller's daughter, is the only child left."

"I will aid you in any way I can," Gabriel said. Jack stared into the depths of his drink.

"Your silence says much," Katya told Jack, rising to her feet. "I do not blame you for your distance. If you wish to wait out the storm, we have rooms," Katya said as she began to collect the empty tankards.

When she stepped out of earshot, Jack spoke. "Don't look at me like that. Why should I help them? They brought this on themselves by killing an innocent woman. They deserve her vengeance."

"You came here, did you not?"

"I took a wrong turn on my way to Zeidenburg."

Gabriel snorted. "Petrișa is in the exact opposite direction of Zeidenburg."

"Several wrong turns, then." Jack shrugged.

"Across the courtyard, there is a war horse stabled beside a shield—"

"How do you—"

"—a shield," Gabriel continued, "bearing the emblem of a simple, rose-tinted disc of gold. Last I heard, the Old Svalich Road was blocked by an avalanche. Only a fool or a brave man would travel a treacherous mountain pass in the dead of winter." Gabriel smiled. "So, Paladin of the Hopeful Dawn, which are you?"

"That man is dead."

"Really?" Gabriel's dark eyes glimmered. "He seems very much alive to me, but you would be the expert on such matters."

"As if you know nothing of the undead yourself," Jack said, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

"We can quibble over the nuances of magic after we break the curse," Gabriel offered. "At the least, you have smiled again." He raised his tankard.

For a long moment, Jack simply stared into the fire. "You know what they say," he said at last. "There's no point in being sad. We're all going to die in the end—best enjoy the time we have left." Jack stood and met Gabriel's gaze. "If we're going to venture out into the storm, the least you could do is cast a spell to keep us warm."

"Of course," Gabriel said with a smile.

"I doubt the curse will break merely because we keep the child alive," Jack murmured, his voice pitched low so as not to wake the sleeping girl.

"Shall we do nothing instead? Besides, which of us is the expert on the arcane?"

Jack crossed his arms. "If it were that simple, the curse would have been broken long ago. I'll believe it when—"

"Excuse me?" a quiet voice asked.

Both men turned to see Magda sitting up in bed.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked.

"I need to go." Magda slid from beneath the covers and moved towards the chamber pot. When neither man moved, she stomped a bare foot. "I need to go!" she repeated, louder. "I can't go while you’re watching!"

In the half-darkness, the men shared a glance, red-faced, before they hurriedly exited the room, leaving the door ajar.

Just as they settled themselves on either side of the door, a metallic crash filled the air. Magda let out a high-pitched screech, and they raced back into the room. A dark, feathered shape reached in through the open window and lifted the child with ease. Jack lunged forward, failing to grasp her foot before it cleared the windowsill.

Rushing outside, Gabriel followed the creature’s tracks. Jack swore when he spotted blood in the snow and quickened his pace as Magda's cries filled the air. The pair left the village behind, racing through the forest until they reached the skeleton of a single-room hut. Jack and Gabriel paused just before crossing the threshold, the air too quiet, too still.

"If we slay the beast, we can save Magda." Jack drew his sword.

Gabriel shook his head. "T'will not necessarily break the curse. Assuming a spell created the creature in the first place, at best it would twist into a new form. We should—" Gabriel cut himself off as the paladin charged forward. "Jack! What are you doing?"

"Leave this place," a voice hissed. Jack stopped and squinted up at the rafters, sword raised. Where the blade caught the moonlight streaming through the holes in the rotten structure, it glowed. "Outsiders caused enough harm to my mistress, burned in the name of seven slain babes. Long after her passing, I remain here. Her final wish: revenge."

"Would it appease you if we gave her a proper burial?" Jack asked. "Atonement for the sins of the villagers."

"Never," the familiar said. "Never again will outsiders soil my mistress' memory. Seven children from each generation shall I claim—seven children each winter 'til Petrișa's last hope dies!"

Jack heard the rustle of feathers too late. A bone-white face swooped down out of the darkness, and behind him, Gabriel cried out in pain. The owl flew skyward, dodging the bolts of flame streaking from Gabriel's fingertips.

One blast connected, singeing the familiar's left wing, and as the owl plummeted to the ground, Jack lunged forward. Steel rent flesh, his sword pinning the screeching familiar to the ground. On contact, white-tinged flame smoldered it away into trails of black mist. The air burned with magic.

Gabriel collapsed to his knees with a hiss. When Jack moved to help him, Gabriel waved him away. "Find the girl first."

"Right." Jack scanned the room. "Magda, where are you?" he called out.

Frowning at the lack of response, Jack followed the footprints limping across the dust-covered floor, leading deeper into the hut. Blood drenched the floorboards, and Jack fought down the fear strangling his throat. He halted before the ruins of a bed, braced himself, then peered behind the wreckage.

He should have known they would fail.

Jack turned, pale-faced and trembling, and stumbled back to the entrance where Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, clutching the front of his tunic with a white-knuckled fist. He met Jack’s gaze with an unspoken question.

Jack shook his head. "Let me see your wound," he rasped out, throat tight.

Gabriel’s arm dropped to his side. Jack set a gentle hand on his shoulder, a warm light radiating from his touch. Gabriel sagged into the doorframe as the magic flowed through his body and his wounds knit themselves closed.

"No need to strain yourself over a shallow wound," Gabriel chided.

"You have a unique definition of shallow." Jack pulled away and stepped outside. The first rays of dawn peered over the horizon, painting the sky with smears of rose-gold and orange. Despite the dust and grime of long travel, his hauberk gleamed in the sunlight. "We need a shovel."

Gabriel snorted, then inhaled a slow breath. On the exhale, the air hummed with magic. The ground rumbled beneath them, and a wave of soil and snow surged skyward, engulfing the hut. Moments later, the pillar of earth collapsed in on itself, leaving behind only a neat square of dirt.

Jack stared, slack-jawed.

Gabriel smirked. "You have met precious few wizards if that impressed you."

"In my defense," Jack began, toying with the hilt of his sword, "few advertise themselves, and fewer are as handsome as you."

Gabriel opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, then cleared his throat. "With time, the forest will reclaim the plot, and the wounds will one day heal," he murmured, staring down at his boots.

"The clerics used to say that with death came new life," Jack bit out, "as if death was a reward for a lifetime of suffering." He spat on the ground. "Though we broke the curse, Petrișa has lost its last child. We failed."

"Did we?" Gabriel met his gaze, steady and even. "Petrișa no longer suffers. Whether it thrives or its people scatter across the land has little bearing on what we accomplished today: a victory."

Jack laughed, harsh and bitter. "Even the darkest night cannot last forever," he recited, voice pitched low. "Dawn approaches, and I am its herald: bearing hope, salvation, and surcease to those lost in the eternal night." Jack turned to Gabriel. "I speak those words each sunrise, though most days, I do not believe."

"Lift your head, Jack — 'tis all we can do. No more, no less."

"You sound like the clerics." Jack fell silent and watched the sunlight spill across his shield, the glare bright enough to make his eyes sting. "I'll try to remember that."

"If you forget, I will remind you."

"Will you?" Jack raised a brow.

Gabriel looked away. "We should return to Petrișa."

"And after?"

"I suppose you shall simply wait and see."

"Will I?" The corner of Jack's mouth curved upward. Despite himself, a huff of laughter escaped his lips, the sound less strained than before. "I look forward to it, then."

Without a glance behind him, Jack turned and started the trek back toward the village, Gabriel at his side.

[tinyoctopuswrites]

Dungeonwatch Hype: So, Why Ravenloft?

Pre-orders for Dungeonwatch fanzine are now open! Place your pre-orders here.

Despite no one asking, I wanted to share some of my thoughts behind the writing process for my submission for the Dungeonwatch fanzine. This story idea has haunted me for months, and now that pre-orders are open, I can finally talk about it!

Hmmm, what if I actually am being haunted? The local Priest of Ezra cautioned me against visiting the graveyard last year, but what can I say? I needed to catch a glimpse of the fabled Woman in White...

Jokes aside, for my Dungeonwatch submission, I wanted to pay homage to Dungeons and Dragons and in particular, the Land of Mists, as they each shaped my love of fantasy — and its darker aspects — from an early age. You may wonder why in the name of the Morninglord I thought the dark, oppressive Gothic fantasy tone of Ravenloft would mesh well with the science fiction kitchen sink (warning: TvTropes link) setting of Overwatch, and the answer, dear reader, is one simple word: theme.

In both settings, heroes rise up against seemingly insurmountable odds to do what they think is right and damn the consequences — even when that brings them into conflict, both with each other and themselves. During the First Omnic Crisis, Overwatch formed to save the world when no one else could, and decades after its success, Overwatch maintained this peace and prosperity. Of course, it wasn't meant to last. Under the Petras Act, Overwatch disbanded, and since then, the world has fallen into chaos and disarray; Winston, in his recall message, perhaps says it best. In present day, Overwatch has reformed (er, will reform? Timelines, Blizzard!) because the world needs Overwatch and what it stood for — above all else, hope.

Within the Demiplane of Dread, the Dark Powers — enigmatic, unknowable beings who shape the world based on their whims — draw irredeemable figures from other planes of existence to torment them forever as punishment for their crimes. These cursed and twisted Darklords rule over their own personal domains and wield powers the average inhabitant can barely comprehend. Indeed, even the exemplary hero stands little to no chance at defeating them, yet many still try.

Why? Because — simply put — that's what heroes do.

In the Land of Mists, heroes face down fear, horror, and madness, and they resist the sweet, seductive urge to use their powers for evil, harmful purposes — after all, the Dark Powers tempt everyone within the Demiplane of Dread — lest they become the both literal and figurative monsters they are fighting against. If and when the heroes do succumb and fall from grace, it's a hard-earned battle to find their path once again. The road to redemption, however, is far from pleasant and it's certainly not easy. Some may argue it's even impossible but I'll stay in my corner and cheer for Soldier: 76 and Reaper to redeem themselves.

That’s probably why it was important for me to make Jack a paladin in service to the Morninglord, a Chaotic Good deity of hope and optimism — a noticeable contrast against his fatalism. At one point in his life, Jack believed in the Morninglord, and in spite of what he says, he arguably still believes in him, since he still has his powers. Maybe, at some point, he’ll lose them. After all, the Dark Powers love to test the resolve of paladins in the Land of Mists. It’s why few exist at all, let alone advertise themselves.

For Dungeonwatch, I had a blast trying to write a gen-fic featuring Jack and Gabriel, though your mileage may vary on whether I succeeded. In my defense, earlier drafts had far more overt Reaper76 undertones, and I worked very hard to remove them — not only because the focus of the ficlet wasn't on their relationship, let alone any romantic undertones, but simply because I had no space. For someone who has fallen out of the habit of writing flash fiction, 2,000 words isn't a lot of room. At all. And in my submission? I had to establish the character motivations, provide enough backstory to make sense of the plot, have a plot, resolve the character arcs and the plot, and leave the ending open enough to make the reader wonder what will happen next. Either way, death of the author. If you want to see subtext in Jack and Gabriel's interactions, I'm sure it's there. I can only hope, however, that a few nods towards the Reaper76 pairing won't deter anyone from purchasing a copy.

But if you ask me? 

I consider my submission the 'Meet Cute' moment of Jack and Gabriel's relationship. Quite literally, my piece details the first encounter between them in the Land of Mists, and in my humble opinion, both Jack and Gabriel are pretty cute. (What do you mean, I'm not supposed to take the names of romance arc beats literally?) At the 'Meet Cute' stage in a romance arc, however, the characters have only just met. They’ve established themselves — both to each other and the reader — but they are far from ready to have a romantic relationship together. They still have a lot of decisions to make and a lot of room to grow as people.

Sure, at the end of my piece, Jack and Gabriel decide to travel together after they realize they have good chemistry together, but let's be honest here: even if it's not stated in the text, it's safer to have someone to watch your back, especially if they can cover for your weaknesses and they're not an idiot. In this particular case, it's just an added bonus that they apparently have the same horrible sense of humor, so at least they can laugh together in between encounters.

On a much broader level, my submission serves as the prelude to a much larger adventure set in the Land of Mists where I may or may not have a more traditional romance arc, assuming the characters follow my outline. They never do. Or, y'know, several adventures, since I roll a natural one on any Will saves whenever the plot bunnies sense my weakness. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[tinyoctopuswrites]

Ahhhhh, the pre-orders for Dungeonwatch are almost here! Is it June 18th yet? 

These past few months, it has been an honor and absolute privilege to work with this talented team of content creators on such an amazing project. Dungeonwatch combines everything I love — Overwatch, Dungeons and Dragons, and medieval fantasy — into a single package. As the previews show, there’s a breathtaking blend of unique styles and interpretations from each of the writers and artists on the simple premise of combining Overwatch and Dungeons and Dragons. Whether you’re a fan of Overwatch or entirely fandom blind, if you enjoy high fantasy — especially tabletop roleplaying games — you will love the gorgeous art and narratives within Dungeonwatch. 

This has been such a well-run and highly organized project, all thanks to @studiozines’s amazing professionalism and clear communication. I must say, the bar has been set very high for any future fan projects and fanzines. Many thanks to @soapasaurus for their invaluable help beta-reading my rough draft. Also, allow me to express my usual gratitude to the community on the r/fanfiction Discord server for their kindness, patience, and repeated reassurances that yes, I can have iron hooks near the entrance of my tavern if I want them to be there. 

Wait, what do you mean all your dice has been banished to dice jail?  Come on, it’s time to roll for initiative!  Dungeonwatch will be open for preorders in less than one week, on June 18th!

You can check out the previews here, and be sure to check out @studiozines to make sure you stay up to date on all of the town crier’s news.

———-

@fandomzines @zine-scene @zinefeed @zineapps @overwatchzinecollection @overwatchevents

[tinyoctopuswrites]

Bed sharing under fire.

During the middle of the (First) Omnic Crisis, Jack and Gabriel find themselves separated from the rest of the strike team during a mission to scout out the Siberian omniumand it -- of course -- goes disastrously wrong. They wind up cornered by omnics in the remnants of a housing complex for shelter. The safest, most structurally secure house can barely be considered a one-room building, but they’ll make due with any sort of protection from both the omnics and the harsh elements. There’s only one bed that hasn’t rotten through. As evening falls, the already freezing temperature drops and while they manage to locate a source of heat, it’s not enough. It’s only practical they have to share a bed while they wait for an evac to keep each other warm, and they’re certainly not cuddling in the midst of a fire fight and reassuring each other that they’ll survive because they’ve endured worse together. It’s a quiet, soft moment in the midst of blood, chaos, and a desperate war of extermination -- the kind of peace they haven’t experienced in a while, even considering the distant gunfire and crash of mortars. And since they may not make it out alive -- because nothing is ever certain these days, and they’ve watched too many people they’ve cared for die -- it’s a good chance to talk about the obvious deeper feelings they have for one another. They’ve never had a real chance to discuss them -- something has always gotten in the way -- and it’s something they both desperately want to address. ...and of course, it’s not like this time will be any different. But maybe, just maybe, this time they can express their feelings for each other right before a squad of omnics interrupts their not-cuddling. 

[tinyoctopuswrites]

I blame Owlish because I want to play this game, too. Ask away! It looks like a lot of fun. Disclaimer: given my fanfiction inclinations, it will most likely be Reaper76 orientated, and I make no promises about whether I'll actually turn the premises into a fic, but who knows -- anything is possible when you're a tiny purple octopus.

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story. 

Historical AU 

Royal AU 

Modern AU 

Coffee Shop AU 

Bar/Restaurant AU 

Bookshop AU 

Florist AU  

Hospital AU 

Dance AU 

Airport/Travel AU 

Neighbour AU 

Roommate AU 

Detective AU 

Bodyguard AU 

Criminal AU 

Prison AU 

War AU 

Circus AU 

Summer Camp AU 

Teacher AU 

Dystopian AU 

Space AU 

Performer AU 

Soulmate AU 

Fairy Tale AU 

Massage Fic  

Sick/Injured Fic 

Proposal Fic  

Wedding Fic  

Holiday Fic  

Birthday Fic 

Pregnancy Fic  

Baby Fic 

Vacation Fic  

Bathtub Fic 

Text/Letter Fic 

Coming Out Fic   

Grief Fic  

Survival/Wilderness Fic  

Almost Kiss 

First Kiss 

The Big Damn Kiss 

Dance of Romance  

Flowers of Romance 

Chocolate of Romance  

Blind Date  

Not a Date  

Fake Dating 

Fake Married 

Arranged Marriage  

Accidentally Married 

Marriage of Convenience 

Mutual Pining 

Secret Relationship  

Established Relationship 

Awful First Meeting 

Forgotten First Meeting  

Accidental Eavesdropping  

Interrupted Declaration of Love 

Poorly Timed Confession 

Love Confession 

Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C)  

Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple 

Star Crossed Lovers  

It’s Not You, It’s Me 

It’s Not You, It’s My Enemies  

Character in Peril 

Heroic Sacrifice 

Flirting Under Fire 

Locked in a Room 

Twenty-Four Hours to Live  

Stranded on A Desert Island 

Stranded Due to Inclement Weather 

Huddling for Warmth 

Bed Sharing  

Did They or Didn’t They? 

In Vino Veritas  

Above the Influence  

Anger Born of Worry  

Green-Eyed Epiphany  

The Missus and the Ex 

Second Love  

Intimate Artistry  

Married to the Job  

Innocent Physical Contact 

I Didn’t Mean to Turn You On 

Aroused By Her Voice  

Erotic Dreams 

First Time 

Unexpected Virgin 

PWP 

Kink 

Makeovers 

Hair Brushing/Braiding 

Sleep Intimacy 

Scars  

Time Travel  

Curses 

Magical Accidents 

Accidentally Saving the Day   

[tinyoctopuswrites]

A Hard Egg to Crack

Title: A Hard Egg to Crack

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Reaper76

Summary: In which a missing ovate anal plug leads to an eggcellent eggsperience and Ana is definitely going to kill them if she ever finds out what happened.

Content Warning: This is the angstiest piece I have ever written. Also, there are egg puns.

Tags: Golden Age of Overwatch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Easter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Bad Puns, Banter, Sex Toys, Bondage, Anal Plug, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/ Denial, Blow Job, BYOT: Bring Your Own Tissues

[ Read on Ao3 ]

Oh, Gabriel was going to love this, Jack was absolutely, positively certain.

Grinning to himself at the display, Jack finished tying the ribbon around the Easter basket with two quick tugs. Anticipation simmering low and warm in his veins as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Really, he was the best husband ever and he should be rewarded for his thoughtfulness. When he next saw Gabriel, he would be sure to point that out.

Aside from the expected holiday-appropriate chocolate, Jack had filled the colorful woven basket with four of every kind and color of Peep, and enough Kinder Eggs that Gabriel probably wouldn't hoard them. Probably. If he was lucky. This year, there were hopefully enough sweets that Jack could actually eat some before they disappeared into Gabriel's secret-but-not-so-secret stash hidden inside his sock drawer. While Jack had assumed he had permission to take an occasional square of chocolate—what with them being married and all—he hadn't quite realized that the 'Reyes Emergency Comfort Box' was still off-limits even after over a decade of cohabitation.

Beneath the impressive assortment of chocolate and other sweets, Jack had hidden a few surprises for them to enjoy when they could find some time to be alone. They were two adults in a sexually-active and loving marriage and it was his goddamn right to splurge on kitschy, holiday-themed adult toys for them to test, inevitably bitch about, and then laugh over together, like they'd done over the chocolate-flavored lube Gabriel had bought for Valentine's Day.

It had tasted like chemicals and turned into a tacky, God-awful mess that required at least three cycles in the wash to get out of the sheets, so hopefully the brand he had bought for later would be different. If not, Jack would make it up to Gabriel by letting him paint him with the edible chocolate body paint. This time, he wouldn't even complain when the other man drew dicks on his ass, assuming he actually cleaned them off with his mouth this time.

Cellophane crinkled as he shifted the carton of egg-shaped cock sleeves to the side, trying to hide them more discreetly beneath the giant dark chocolate bunny. Jack frowned when a shower of smaller, thumbnail-sized chocolate eggs rolled into a conspicuous divot in the plastic fake grass lining the bottom of the basket. That was strange. There shouldn't have been a—wait. That was the only thing missing. He knew he had put it inside the basket last night, so where the hell had it gone?

A few weeks ago, he'd bought a new vibrating plug for them to try out, the kind either controlled by an old-fashioned remote or an application on a tablet. After Jack had broached the idea several months prior, Gabriel had said it would be useful for making sure Jack paid attention in the meetings or when either one of them went off-base. Jack had thought Easter would be the perfect time to give it, as the plug was rather egg-like in shape—if nothing else, Gabriel would have gotten a laugh out of it. His pulse began to race as he removed the basket's contents, searched through them, and replaced them back inside. The plug wasn't anywhere to be found.

He wasn't going to panic.

After all, he had probably left it in his office, and when he went to check his desk, he'd no doubt find it in the top drawer. He still had time before the Overwatch Easter egg hunt around the base they had organized for the agents' children—and on further consideration, for the employees as well, since their parents would no doubt participate and 'help' their children collect the greatest amount of plastic eggs. Because Easter egg hunts were Serious Business™ on the same level as recovery from natural disasters, anti-Omnic protests, and ending global poverty.

A series of sudden, loud bangs drew Jack from his thoughts, and before he could so much as glance at the door to his quarters, it slid open with a metallic hiss. Another time, he would ask how Fareeha managed to override the lock—no doubt, he knew, with help from Brigitte—but he hurried to block the basket behind him, in case he hadn't quite been able to discreetly hide the adult presents beneath enough chocolate to avoid her notice.

"Uncle Jack, Uncle Jack!" she exclaimed. "Come quick! Uncle Gabe is sick."

Jack's brows drew together as he followed her out of the room. "Fareeha, what happened?" Gabriel had been fine this morning.

"I was showing him the rabbit I had gotten in my Easter basket. We put the batteries in the remote, but it wouldn't turn on no matter how many times I tried to turn it on! All of a sudden, Uncle Gabe groaned in pain and fell to the floor." Fareeha looked up at him, her eyes wide. "I've never seen him make that face before. He said to get you, Uncle Jack, since you'd know what to do. He said it was an emergency, and that you were the only one who could help."

Fareeha led him to one of the lounges, and the moment he saw Gabriel kneeling on the floor, he rushed over to his side. The other man hunched over, arms hugging his middle, the knuckles white and trembling where he gripped the fabric of his shirt in a too-tight grip. His eyes slit open when Jack set a comforting hand on his lower back. This close, Jack could hear his heavy breathing punctuated by the occasional groan.

Had he eaten something bad? Jack wracked his mind, trying to remember what they had eaten for breakfast. Even if Gabriel had scarfed down five pounds of chocolate like he'd done the first Valentine's Day they'd spent together, he wouldn't get a stomach ache. Since the SEP, neither of them had ever gotten sick. It just wasn't something that happened anymore, right along with them trying—and failing—to get drunk unless they downed copious amounts of pure alcohol.

"Gabe, what's wrong? Fareeha said you'd suddenly collapsed. If you're still injured from that field mission, you should be taking it easy. Why don't you—"

"Jack," Gabriel cut him off and dragged him close, his voice pitched low enough that Fareeha couldn't hear. "She has the wrong remote. The one for her toy is in the kitchen. The one she has is—" Gabriel hissed out a breath, teeth gritted together.

For a moment, the Strike Commander of Overwatch sat there, blinking at his husband in disbelief. Surely, he had misheard him, or more likely, he was misinterpreting the implication.

Oh, fuck. Ana was going to kill them if she ever found out.

"Stay here," Jack said as he scrambled to his feet.

Gabriel slapped his shin none too gently, and as Jack turned to herd Fareeha out of the room, he thought he heard him growl, "Where the exactly am I going to fucking go, smart-ass?"

Once outside the lounge, Jack knelt down so he was eye level with the child. "Fareeha, bring your rabbit to the kitchen, okay? The remote for your toy is there, and Uncle Gabe assured me he put in the right batteries. He's not feeling too well, so I'm going to take him back to our room, okay?"

"But what about this remote?" she asked, holding out the familiar device for him to inspect.

"That remote is for… oh! It's for one of our toys. May I please have it back?" He held out his hand, the palm flat and open. Thankfully, Fareeha put the remote down, and Jack quickly flicked the switch to turn the plug off, tucking it back into his pocket.

"Oh!" Fareeha exclaimed. "What kind of toys? Can we play with them together later, Uncle Jack?"

Internally, Jack winced. Think of something, think of something… "Unfortunately, Fareeha, you have to be older in order to play with those toys."

"But I'm almost five! That's old enough." She pouted.

"I know, sweetheart. You're growing up so fast. If you really want to know, why don't you ask your mother to explain?" He rose to his feet and ruffled her hair. "Now, run off to the kitchen and get your rabbit to work, okay? The egg hunt is going to start soon, too, and you don't want to miss it."

"Oh, right!" Fareeha raced off down the hall, her shoes squeaking against the floor. With any luck, she'd be so distracted by the festivities of the day, she would forget all about the incident this morning.

Heaving a long sigh, Jack turned back to the lounge where Gabriel had dragged himself to one of the couches.

"Better?" Jack asked, walking over to him.

"You know already the answer to that." Gabriel shuddered and adjusted the front of his jeans, where he was still half-hard. "She kept turning the damn thing up and down. Thought I was going to cream my pants like a fucking teenager." Gabriel rose to his feet with a wince. "I'm going to head back to the room and get this thing out. Want to help?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Like you even have to ask, Gabe."

Gabriel grinned at him and sauntered out of the room, the exaggerated sway of his hips very, very deliberate. Thankfully, they didn't encounter anyone else in the hall, and despite Jack wanting to pin his husband against the nearest hard, flat surface and kiss him until his fluttering nerves settled, he resisted the urge until they stepped into their shared quarters.

As the door closed behind them with a metallic hiss, however, Jack decided to change his plans when Gabriel motioned for him to wait.

"I had it all planned out, y'know," Gabriel said, his voice low and husky. "Noticed the basket last night after you left the room to get those chocolates from your office, and I couldn't help myself. Of course the first thing I saw was that new plug. How the fuck could I not?" Gabriel shifted his weight, a shudder rolling through his entire body at the memory. "Slipped it inside this morning while in the shower, and when the time was right, I was planning to hand you the remote all casual-like, just to surprise you. Been wanting to try it ever since you let it slip that you wanted to experiment with this sort of thing. The damn thing is so fucking quiet, you could tease me all fucking day and no one else would notice unless I—" Gabriel cut himself off with a gasp of breath as the rest of his sentence dissolved into a strangled moan.

Jack smirked from where he leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest, the remote in hand. His thumb rolled over the dial with a casual ease, adjusting the the strength of the vibrations, eyes fixated on the man half-bent over in the middle of their shared quarters. He felt like a predator inspecting its prey and his grin widened.

"Oh, you don't have to worry, Gabe. Rest assured, I'm going to enjoy playing with you until you can't come anymore, much less remember your own name."

"Jack, you goddamn tease, I'm going to—fuck!" Gabriel's knees buckled as Jack turned up the dial on the remote to the second-highest setting.

"Trust me, Gabe, that's eggsactly the plan I have in mind." Jack turned to input the security code into the panel beside the door, hearing it lock with a cheerful beep. Behind him, Gabriel's labored breathing and muffled moans drowned out the buzz of the vibrator. Jack heard him muttering curses, and he strained his ears to catch something about filing a divorce if he said one more pun. "Athena?"

"Yes, Strike Commander Morrison?"

"Apologize to Ana and everyone else for me, please? Unfortunately, Commander Gabriel and I are going to be indisposed for the rest of the day."

"You know, Gabe, I would have thought you would have stopped trying to egg me on by now," Jack idly remarked. He didn't look up from his holopad, even when Gabriel moaned. Instead, he hid his smirk behind the edge of the screen, one side displaying the settings for the vibrating plug in Gabriel's ass and the other side scrolling through the climactic chapter of a self-indulgent romance novel he'd purchased on a whim. After all, he needed to keep himself occupied with something something while he waited to see what would last longer: his patience or Gabriel's endurance.

So far, he was winning, but not by much.

"How else am I going to get you to pay attention to—God fucking dammit, Jack!" Gabriel exclaimed. The mattress creaked as he shifted his weight, rocking his hips in the air in a desperate attempt at getting any kind of friction on his aching cock. "You've been teasing me for hours. First with the fucking plug shoved into my ass and then by making me watch you fuck one of those goddamn silicone eggs. And then you couldn't even—" Gabriel hissed as Jack set the vibration pattern to random, the expression of pained pleasure on his face downright intoxicating to watch.

"You couldn't even come on my face like I asked, you bastard," Gabriel continued. "You've made me come so many times, I think you fucking broke my dick. Aren't you tired yet?" he panted out through gritted teeth, struggling against his bonds. The handcuffs rattled against the headboard and Gabriel whimpered. Oh, sure, he could break them if necessary—and in their youth, they'd learned precisely what their enhanced bodies could handle—but that wasn't the point to this exercise, oh no.

Jack snorted and shook his head. "Only if you are. You good for another round?"

"What do you think, asshole?"

Jack glanced over at the man bound to their bed, and he swore under his breath at the sight. Gabriel knelt there, thighs spread to display his half-hard cock, tear-stained cheeks flushed a dark red. When Gabriel caught his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes bright with eagerness, gaze fixated on him of all the possible things, Jack reached down to squeeze his own cock, thumbing over the leaking slit.

"Just wanted to make sure," Jack murmured, closing out of the reading application without taking his eyes off of the sight of an absolutely fucked-out Gabriel spread out on their bed. Neither of them were going to last much longer.

"Yes, yes. You're a wonderful Dom, the safe word is 'butter dish,' and no, that doesn't count as me saying it," Gabriel ground out, his dick twitching with every useless thrust of his hips. "Now come over here and let me suck you off already, since you can't be bothered to shut me up any other way. I've been dying to get my mouth on your cock since this morning, so hurry the fuck up already!"

"Fuck, Gabe," Jack breathed out as he rose to his feet on shaking legs and stumbled over to the bed. Once his knees brushed against the mattress, he reached over and twisted the chain of the handcuffs free from the headboard, allowing Gabriel to drop his arms. "Come here."

Gabriel scrambled to the edge of the bed, leaning forward without any further prompting. He slides his mouth onto him and Jack groans, one hand fisted in the sweat-slick curls atop Gabriel's head, the other clutching the tablet for dear life. Jack looked down and met Gabriel's wet, pleading eyes, deep groans punctuated by loud smacks of his lips as he swallowed Jack down to the root.

"That's it, Gabe," Jack encouraged, shuddering when he noticed Gabriel cradling his own cock between his bound hands, thick and leaking onto the bed sheets. He slid his thumb across the smooth glass screen and Gabriel wailed around him as the vibrations of the plug increased to the highest setting.

Jack came with a shout, fucking deep into Gabriel's throat. The other man swallowed down his release with a practiced ease, tonguing across his cock to chase the last droplets of his come when he pulled out. Jack sank down to his knees on the bed and knocked Gabriel's hands out of the way to finish him off.

He didn't—couldn't—have lasted long, even if he hadn't come so many times before.

Gabriel's come dribbled out of his spent cock, joining the drying, tacky come splattered across his stomach and hips from earlier. He slumped forward, utterly and completely relaxed, his eyes sliding closed in bliss as Jack worked him through his final orgasm. Jack caught him and guided him down to the bed, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

Jack reached over for his tablet and shut off the plug. He rolled Gabriel onto his side and carefully worked it free, making a soothing noise in his throat when Gabriel whimpered from the overstimulation. When Gabriel held out his bound hands, Jack opened the cuffs, set them aside, and massaged the reddened skin of his wrists, pressing gentle kisses to the bruises. They would heal within a day, but that wasn't the point.

When Gabriel seemed relaxed enough, Jack reached over for the damp towels resting in a bowl on the nightstand and slowly began to clean him up, murmuring quiet words of encouragement and praise as he worked.

"Next time, I'm going to tie you up, slap a cock ring on you, and not let you come until I finish my AAR," Gabriel grumbled.

"Oh?" Jack raised a blond brow as he began to wipe the washcloth across Gabriel's torso, taking care to keep the pressure gentle against the other man's over-sensitive skin.

"Uh-huh. You can sit there all nice and pretty beneath my desk and suck me off like a good little cock warmer, and if you're good, I'll give you a reward," Gabriel purred, the effect ruined when Jack smoothed the washcloth over his chest and he let out an undignified squeak when the rough material caught against a sensitive nipple.

Jack snorted at Gabriel's indignated pout. "Let me guess. You saw my wish list?"

"Guess you'll just have to wait and find out, huh?"

Jack laughed and pressed a kiss to Gabriel's cheek. "I'm looking forward to it, but let's keep our toys away from Fareeha next time, okay?"

Before Gabriel could reply, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the air. Jack reached for it on the nightstand and answered it without thinking to check the name on the screen: a grave mistake.

"Morrison here. What's the situation?"

"Jack," Ana greeted, her voice sweet and deceptively calm, "Fareeha told me the most fascinating story. I just had to check up on you two after she asked me a very strange question. So tell me: how is Gabriel feeling?"

Oh, fuck. She knew.

[tinyoctopuswrites]

I mean, it’s a happy ending if they’re all still alive, right? innocent blinking Just think: it could always be worse.

Me as a writer: Gotta add a little bit of fluff, a handful of laughter and sarcasm, and just a dash of angst.

Also me as a writer: Just. A. Dash. Of. Angst.

[tinyoctopuswrites]

Ahhh! *hugs with all eight tentacles* Wait 'til you see the finished product! ♡ Really, I'm so lucky to be working with this grouop of lovely writers and artists. It's been such a wonderful experience so far, and I'm honestly having so much fun working on my submission. Which is why I now have an extensive Ravenloft AU, of course.

A huge thank you to all the amazing contributors who will be part of DungeonWatch!  I’m already blown away by everyone’s work, so please check them out and keep your eyes peeled for more!

Artists

Sidd / Wyntera / Xie / Caramujo / Knife / Starfish / Kino / ARTeapot / Ssaravinter / Ecchima / NuryFury / Giza / Nate / Crimson_Valkyrie / Tori / Derse / BirdyStark / Ammy / Sarah Lindstrom / Lily / Emily L’Orange / Cat Bat / Alex Gilbert / Chum / Xiliati / Cakelets / Fig / Colleen / Hikari Kobayashi / Cynvii

Writers & Beta

Xie / Wyntera / TinyOctopus / Akiko Natsuko / Aughtpunk / OrenjiKitty / Sadina Saphrite / Soap

Host

MagicalZombie/StudioZines

[tinyoctopuswrites]

It There May Bloom

Title: It There May Bloom

Rating: Teen & Up

Characters: Gabriel Reyes/ Reaper

Summary: To Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison will always be a hero. Companion to In Memoriam. 

Tags: Post-Fall of Overwatch, Canonical Character Death, Angst 

This late in the day, the Arlington National Cemetery quieted beneath the mottled grey sky. Visitors hurried back to the entrance where the land of the living waited, but rather than follow them, the man in black wove between the headstones, one more ghost among the dead.

He stopped a distance away from his destination, hidden beneath the shadow of a leafless tree. Narrowed eyes considered the small crowd gathered around the grave—students and their teacher on a tour, it seemed.

The guide pointed down to the slab of white marble as she spoke. "Here, you can see the grave of Jack Morrison, the Strike Commander of Overwatch. A veteran of the United States armed forces, he—alongside Gabriel Reyes—saved the world during the Omnic Crisis."

"My dad says he was a war criminal," one of the children said. "I'm glad he died."

The man's fist tightened around the flowers. Beneath the tree, the shadows grew darker and longer.

"I shook his hand after a speech once! He signed my notebook!"

"Shut up, Susan! No one cares. My uncle worked for Overwatch, and he said that Reyes deserved the position more. He was the real hero, so Morrison can—"

"Well then," the tour guide interrupted, "why don't we head over to the eternal flame before we head back to the bus?" The woman walked away and the children followed—all except three.

One ripped down the flag hanging above the grave, the orange and silver insignia bright against the blue field. Another kicked over the flower arrangements, porcelain shattering against unforgiving stone. When the third child brought out a permanent marker, something in him snapped.

The dead man closed the distance between them, trails of black smoke whispering off his skin. With the cowl of his hood casting his face in shadow, he loomed behind the children: an apparition formed out of the grey mist. Sensing his presence, the children looked up, suddenly face-to-face with a ghost made flesh.

"Go. Away," he said, soft and serious.

They ran.

Once alone, the dead man knelt down, the stiff grass yielding to mud. "Kids these days," he sighed out, more to himself than the man in front of him, patient and unflinching despite the chill in the air. "You ever wonder if we saved the world too well?" He snorted and then shook his head. "Nah, don't say anything. I already know your answer: you never once questioned it." His lips turned downward in a wry smile.

"It's why you're such a good man. Oh sure, you have your days when you start to sound as cynical and jaded as me, but then you bounce right back. It's usually a little thing, too, something small and otherwise insignificant, like that time I found you at your desk, reading a hand-drawn thank you letter from a child who can barely spell your name. You are—" The words caught in his throat. "You were such a good man. The best I've ever met. The world doesn't—didn't—deserve you."

With trembling fingers, he gathered the rain-marked slips of paper into a neat pile. Out of curiosity, he opened one of the cards, lips quirking into a wry smile when he read the illegible text. He should have known better. Whatever the words had once said, time and the elements had washed them away. Shaking his head, he righted one of the vases and set the heavy ceramic down on top of the pile to keep the cards in place.

"I don't know what to do now that you're gone."

He stared down at the trampled flower petals, straining to hear heavy footsteps, the rustle of a bright blue leather duster, a familiar laugh.

He waited and waited and waited—just in case.

...but nothing happened.

"Can we start over?" The dead man inhaled a long, slow breath, exhaled, and then smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. When he spoke again, his voice was warm and gentle. "Hey handsome. Long time no see. If you missed me half as much as I missed you…" He laughed, fond and warm. Then, his words—so often spoken, they were practically a script unto themselves—sank in. His smile vanished.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "I'll have you know, I had everything all planned out. Thought I'd surprise you with flowers just like old times—a dozen red roses. Sappy, sure, but can you blame me?" The dead man picked up the bouquet, the crumpled paper smeared with mud, and held it out. He grimaced at the sight. "I know, I know. They're not the best—sorry about that. Only two of the roses opened up, but I'll make it up to you on our next date, even if I have to go through the entire flower shop myself." He set the flowers beside the flat grave marker.

"What have I been up to since my last visit? Hmmm." He rubbed a hand across his chin, fingers rasping over his beard. "Not much. I slept a lot, ate when I could remember. It's been a slow week. I blame the weather." He pointed up at the overcast sky. "What else. Let's see…"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh! I finally watched that speech you gave in Prague. You know, the one where you talked about standing resolute in the face of adversity, how you believe in the mission statement of Overwatch, how you've tirelessly worked to make the world a better place for well over a decade. It was a great speech, definitely one of your best. Wish I’d been able to take my head out of my ass long enough to hear it in person, but I think I was still pissed about Blackwatch's suspension back then."

He shook his head.

"God, I was so angry at you then. Still am, if I'm being honest, but I can't yell anymore. I did enough of that for one lifetime." His breath puffed out into the cold air, thick with the late autumn damp. "I always feel worse after I calm down, you know? Sick with regret. I never mean any of it. All of it—it's just bullshit. I'm sorry—again—for what I said." His breathing hitched.

"You know I didn't mean it, right? If I'd known that was the last thing I'd ever tell you, I would never have opened my fucking mouth in the first place. You know that. You know me. I want to take it all back. I do. If I hadn't been so stupid, if there was a way to do it, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I just—" Thunder rumbled in the distance, drowning out his next words.

He inhaled a ragged breath.

Then another.

Then another.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. "You know, Jack," he began, "I can't figure out what pisses me off more: that your next-door-neighbor isn't much company or that I'm here again, trying to make up for his empty plot." The name carved into the second tombstone mocked him.

"Not even sure what to call myself anymore. It just doesn't feel right to wear a dead man's name, you know? Bad luck and all that. Gabriel Reyes died in the explosion at the Swiss Headquarters, though no one admitted his casket was empty when they buried him beside his best friend." He snorted. "Gabriel Reyes, a war hero, a brave man who saved the world against insurmountable odds.I'm pretty sure I stole that line from a plaque somewhere." He shook his head.

"We've had so many close calls before." He laughed, soft and low. "Must've pissed off the Grim Reaper so much, he didn't want to give you back to me this time. I completely understand—I never wanted to share you either." He flicked at one of the bent flower stems littering the ground.

"You know, since I'm still alive, I keep hoping you are, too. Somehow. I know it’s not good to keep my hopes up, but can you blame me? The world needs heroes, Jack, and I'm not one of them. I only did it because of you, y'know. Because you saw the good in me. Because you made me want to be a better man. Because you loved me, you trusted me, and you believed in me, even when I gave you every damned reason otherwise. I don't know how to do it all without you by my side."

A droplet of water splattered onto his nose, and the man in black pulled his hood farther down over his head. "I better go before it starts to rain. I'll be back soon, okay?" He pressed a kiss to the cold marble, turned on his heel, and then disappeared into the mist.

Yet as that other, wandering there In those deserted walks, may find A flower beat with rain and wind, Which once she foster'd up with care; So seems it in my deep regret, O my forsaken heart, with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. But since it pleased a vanish'd eye, I go to plant it on his tomb, That if it can it there may bloom, Or, dying, there at least may die.

-In Memoriam by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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In Memoriam

Title: In Memoriam

Rating: Teen & Up

Characters: Soldier: 76 

Summary: Soldier: 76 visits Gabriel Reyes at his last known address.

Tags: Post-Fall of Overwatch, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Drinking to Cope, Suicidal Thoughts

Dry leaves crunched beneath the slow, heavy tread of the soldier's boots. The grass, stiffened by a late autumn frost, flattened beneath his weight, each footprint a visible reminder of what laid behind him. His path meandered between the rows, the destination always within his sight. There was no hurry to his footsteps, no urgency to propel him forward. After all, he had all the time in the world.

At last, he stopped before the quiet spot, shaded beneath the boughs of a velvet ash: Gabriel Reyes' last known address.

Nothing loud, no pomp or circumstance here, just a narrow lot crammed into a forgotten corner. From the abundance of weeds and overgrown grass, the soldier doubted anyone else even cared enough to visit.

Except him, of course.

Soldier: 76 sighed, the sound like the rustle of autumn leaves tumbling down a dusty road, his breath crystallizing into curls of white mist. He sat down on the frost-kissed grass, stiff joints creaking with age. The cold seeped into his bones, but he paid it little mind as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a case of beer. Delicate glass bottles clinked together as he set them down beside him. He uncapped one with a deft twist of his wrist and let the bottle hang between his fingers. After the last wips of carbonation wafted from the open mouth, the soldier first brushed aside mottled leaves to make room and then set the bottle down in front of him.

"Brought your favorite," he said at last. "You'd never guess how damn difficult it is to find this stuff off-season. Had to order it special. Hope you appreciate the trouble." He reached over for a bottle of his own and opened it.

It tasted just like he remembered. His shoulders shook with bitter laughter, a contrast to the sweetness of the strawberries on his tongue.

"Sometimes, I wish we were still on speaking terms." His thumb traced over the familiar label, the words evoking memories of a bygone age. "I miss your voice the most. Never thought I'd admit it, but here I am." He brought the bottle to his lips and drank deep. The beer burned down his throat and settled into his stomach.

He finished the bottle and opened another. His thoughts drifted to the past, just as they always did whenever he visited here.

"Beware of old men in a profession where most die young." The soldier scoffed and shook his head. "That's what you used to say, right?" The soldier finished the bottle and drew another one from the case. "Funny how that turned out."

Soldier: 76 waited for an answer, just in case.

"You're awfully quiet today. I think you might still be mad, what with this whole silent treatment. You sure picked the worst day to give me the cold shoulder." He wrapped his arms around himself and pantomimed shivering for effect. "I think it might snow tomorrow."

Soldier: 76 finished his bottle and let out a slow breath, the cold, dry air stabbing through his lungs. He welcomed the pain, a counterpoint to the healing scars dividing his face, still sensitive enough to ache when he stretched the new skin.

"Last thing you said to me, I think, was go to hell." He laughed. "Is that what this is? Feels too cold for that, you know—too empty, too lonely—but it makes sense, when you stop and think about it. Jack Morrison died, and now he's cursed to wander the grey, endless purgatory ‘til…" He trailed off and laughed into the rim of his bottle. "I forgot. You told me this a few times, too, about faith and God and His plans. Sorry I never paid more attention."

He emptied another bottle and set down beside the rest. He lifted the last one from the case and considered the glint of sunlight off the dark brown glass. "I'll take it, since you have yet to finish your first one. Guess you've turned into a lightweight after all this time." He cracked the bottle open and let it dangle between loose fingers. "To be fair, neither of us have been able to get drunk without lots of effort since the SEP. Remember that time in Maotai with that shitty Chinese vodka?" He tried to laugh.

"Sometimes, I wake up and forget. I reach over and find cold, untouched sheets, and no matter how much I pretend, they don't smell like you anymore. Not your cologne, not your aftershave, not that stupidly expensive mint soap you always bought." He tipped his head back and swallowed down the last bottle all at once. It joined its brethren on the grass, soldiers lined up in neat, tidy rows. A silent vigil.

Soldier: 76 reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. It fit easily in the cusp of his hand, the metal dulled and scratched with age. The chipped orange and silver Overwatch emblem mocked him, and the soldier closed his fist around it. Despite its small size, it weighed heavily in his palm.

"I'll find out what happened." His thumb traced the raised edge of the coin. "I promise." He brushed scarred lips over the cool metal before he bent over to set it atop the time-worn stone. Not a quarter, no, but it would suit his purpose all the same.

"When I'm done—when I've avenged you—I'll come back here to say goodbye. I didn't get the chance before. This time—the next time, I suppose—I want to do it right." He thumbed at the safety of his sidearm. On, click. Off, click. "Just one round in the chamber, quick and easy. The last thing I want to see is you. That way, even if..." His throat closed, thick with emotion; he couldn't finish the sentence. "‘Til death do us part, Gabe, just like before. We promised each other that a long time ago, and I haven't forgotten." His lips curved down into a sad smile. "Just wait for me a little while longer, and then I'll see you again. You understand, right?"

There was no answer, and he told himself he hadn't expected one. A bitter lie, but here and now, he could believe.

Soldier: 76 rose to his feet with a sigh and cleaned up the cardboard case, the empty bottles, the decaying leaves, until only the first untouched beer remained.

He straightened to attention and brought his left heel to rest against his right, a perfect forty-five degree angle. Stiff legs, level hips, lifted chest, straight back, shoulders square and even. He touched the tip of his right forefinger to the corner of his brow, palm flat and arm arranged in a straight line. He held the position until his body grew numb from the chill, until the pain in his chest dulled to a bearable ache.

The dying sunlight caught the glint of metal resting on polished marble, and he blamed it for the burn of his eyes, the wet heat rolling down frozen cheeks. Soldier: 76 turned on his heel, pivoted, and left the headstone behind. Dry leaves crunched beneath the slow, heavy tread of his boots, until at last, the cemetery grew quiet and still.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

-In Memoriam by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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[Reaper76 Week] Day 4: Defended

Defended — Defense/ Support

Summary: In which Jack and Gabriel celebrate their tenth anniversary besieged by an army of omnics and Reaper gets invited to a threesome.

The shriek of a klaxon startled Jack awake. Beside him, Gabriel thrashed, legs tangled in the mess of sheets at the foot of the bed. Heart pounding in his throat, Jack stumbled out of bed and threw on his clothes with haste, Gabriel mirroring him.

Dread settled cold and heavy in his stomach.

“Shirt’s on backwards.” Gabriel grinned as they jogged down the hall. They fell into the rhythm of an old routine with ease, a lone point of familiarity in the unknown. Sure, everyone they passed wore tactical vests, helmets, and carried weapons—an expected sight on a military base—but the unfamiliar circumstances left him on edge. He knew Gabriel felt the same way—he needed this as much as him.

Jack shoulder checked him with a playful grin. “My shirt’s not gonna matter to whoever’s gonna to be shooting at us.”

“Maybe they’ll take pity on your horrible fashion sense.” Gabriel laughed. “At least one of us knows how to dress without a stylist.”

“Your wardrobe is almost entirely black.”

“And you’ve worn an American flag on your ass!”

“On the Fourth of July—a holiday! Besides,” he said with a smirk, “you didn’t seem to mind it much.”

“Yeah.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel’s lips curved upward, and he waited until they were alone in the hallway before he murmured, “Once it was on the bedroom floor.”

“Last time I wear a speedo for you,” Jack grumbled.

“I take it back.” Gabriel almost sounded contrite. Maybe, after this was all over, Jack would forgive him.

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[Reaper76 Week] Day 3: Thankful

Thankful — Gratitude/ Admiration

Summary: In which Reaper considers death by spork.

“Lawson, stand down,” Soldier barked out.

The rest of the squad materialized out of thin air. In hindsight, they'd probably picked strategic points to study their approach and waited for the opportune moment to make their presence known. If they'd wanted him dead, Reaper would have already had a bullet through his skull. He recognized a few faces: Hendricks, Valko, and Eakman. None of them looked happy to see him, but he didn't blame them.

He kept his hands held up, the palms flat and exposed. Anyone with half a brain knew the gesture meant nothing, as he could draw a shotgun faster than they could react, but this Lawson didn't seem to know that. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Reaper noted he had some of the worst trigger discipline he'd seen in a long time. Lawson was going to shoot him—or worse, Jack—by accident.

"But sir—"

"I said, stand down," Soldier repeated, an edge to his voice that brooked no argument. There was the old Strike Commander; a wave of nostalgia curled low in his gut. "Until further notice, Reaper will be my guest." "Yessir," Lawson choked on the word.

"The other two lagging behind are with us as well." Soldier jerked a thumb behind him. "We encountered omnics in the area, so stay alert. Report back to Chu after you've finished your patrol."

Reaper half-expected them to salute as they departed. Jack, when he put on his command voice, could make anyone into a soldier. Some of the squad gave him final, lingering glances before they turned and marched off. He didn't blame them for being suspicious, though he wouldn't want to be caught alone near Lawson. Blood was a bitch to remove from leather.

"He had good intentions," Soldier said as they began to walk forward once again. It was the closest thing to an apology he would get.

"Tell him it's a magazine, not a clip, and maybe I'll forgive you." He snorted. "Smart enough not to trust me, but he doesn't know his own weapon. What kind of outfit are you running, Morrison?"

"Good help is hard to find these days." Passive-aggressive as always. Reaper hadn't realized how much he missed it. For now, at least, it reminded him of better times. Jack may have had his red-orange visor, but Gabriel was the one wearing rose-tinted glasses.

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[tinyoctopuswrites]

Screams of excitement are always a wonderful, validating reaction from a reader. I hope you enjoy the fic when you get the chance to read it! I would love to hear your thoughts! This reaction made my lunch break. ♥

[Reaper76 Week] Day 2: They Loved Each Other

They Loved Each Other — Love/ Affection

Summary: In which some things never change, and for everything else, there’s a nothing few rounds of pulse ammunition won’t solve.

Gabriel opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room.

He noticed the ceiling first: a faded Overwatch logo mocking him with all of its orange and off-white glory, the surrounding concrete discolored with age. From the damp musk in the air, Gabriel was somewhere underground—or in an old, poorly-maintained building. The bed creaked as he sat up, and his body protested the movement. Black spots swam across his vision, and Gabriel lowered himself back onto the thin mattress with a hiss. Fuck, he wasn’t going to try that again. Back to staring at the ceiling then.

“Stay still,” a voice growled out.

Gabriel jerked upright despite the pain, startled and combative. He stared into the emotionless mask of a man who unironically wore a red, white, and blue leather monstrosity of a jacket. Why not wear a goddamn American flag with stars and stripes instead? God, was Jack’s horrible fashion sense spreading? If it wasn’t for the age of the other man’s voice, the receding hairline, and the scar peeking out over the edge of his visor, Gabriel would have thought they could be the same person.

“I didn’t spend the past five hours pulling bullets from your sorry ass only for you to undo all of my hard work.” The man seated beside him leaned back in his metal folding chair; it squealed as he shifted his weight. “Stay still—or else.” He had the sort of voice that would turn even the kindest words into an implicit threat. “I wasted a biotic canister on you, so if you rip your stitches, you can sew them back up yourself. Between the super-soldier serum and your nanites, you heal fast but not that fast.”

“Five hours?” Gabriel croaked out.

The man beside him snorted. “Surprisingly,” he emphasized, voice dripping with sarcasm, “it was difficult to pull the bullets from your body, since it was healing itself around them.”

Gabriel allowed his words to sink in and toyed with the sheet covering him. He could feel bandages wrapped around his torso and leg, and from the rough fabric scratching against his thigh, he could tell he wasn’t wearing the same pants from earlier. It made sense, considering the surgery, but he still felt exposed. Laid bare.

If the man beside him knew about the nanites, he knew about O'Deorain. From the sound of it, he also either knew or guessed Gabriel’s involvement with the SEP, a classified, top-secret American military operation only a handful of people still alive could talk about with any sort of certainty, conspiracy theorists notwithstanding.

Gabriel, in no uncertain terms, was fucked.

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[Reaper76 Week] Day 2: They Loved Each Other

They Loved Each Other — Love/ Affection

Summary: In which some things never change, and for everything else, there’s a nothing few rounds of pulse ammunition won’t solve.

Gabriel opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room.

He noticed the ceiling first: a faded Overwatch logo mocking him with all of its orange and off-white glory, the surrounding concrete discolored with age. From the damp musk in the air, Gabriel was somewhere underground—or in an old, poorly-maintained building. The bed creaked as he sat up, and his body protested the movement. Black spots swam across his vision, and Gabriel lowered himself back onto the thin mattress with a hiss. Fuck, he wasn’t going to try that again. Back to staring at the ceiling then.

“Stay still,” a voice growled out.

Gabriel jerked upright despite the pain, startled and combative. He stared into the emotionless mask of a man who unironically wore a red, white, and blue leather monstrosity of a jacket. Why not wear a goddamn American flag with stars and stripes instead? God, was Jack’s horrible fashion sense spreading? If it wasn’t for the age of the other man’s voice, the receding hairline, and the scar peeking out over the edge of his visor, Gabriel would have thought they could be the same person.

“I didn’t spend the past five hours pulling bullets from your sorry ass only for you to undo all of my hard work.” The man seated beside him leaned back in his metal folding chair; it squealed as he shifted his weight. “Stay still—or else.” He had the sort of voice that would turn even the kindest words into an implicit threat. “I wasted a biotic canister on you, so if you rip your stitches, you can sew them back up yourself. Between the super-soldier serum and your nanites, you heal fast but not that fast.”

“Five hours?” Gabriel croaked out.

The man beside him snorted. “Surprisingly,” he emphasized, voice dripping with sarcasm, “it was difficult to pull the bullets from your body, since it was healing itself around them.”

Gabriel allowed his words to sink in and toyed with the sheet covering him. He could feel bandages wrapped around his torso and leg, and from the rough fabric scratching against his thigh, he could tell he wasn’t wearing the same pants from earlier. It made sense, considering the surgery, but he still felt exposed. Laid bare.

If the man beside him knew about the nanites, he knew about O'Deorain. From the sound of it, he also either knew or guessed Gabriel’s involvement with the SEP, a classified, top-secret American military operation only a handful of people still alive could talk about with any sort of certainty, conspiracy theorists notwithstanding.

Gabriel, in no uncertain terms, was fucked.

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[Reaper76 Week] Day 1: War Buddies

War Buddies — War/ Battles

Summary: In which Gabriel Reyes attends a field demonstration at 0500 to learn about whatever the fuck Project: Slipstream is supposed to be. Somehow, he restrains himself from weaponizing inedible coffee against his (sometimes) estranged husband and (sometimes) commanding officer.

An audible click filled the air, and the spatial accelerator began to hum. With each second, the pitch grew shriller and shriller. Gabriel could feel the vibrations in his bones, and he leaned forward against his better judgment. His eyes flitted from the unassuming crate to the square of red tape on the far side of the room, back and forth. Back and forth. He tried not to blink in case he missed the teleportation in action, because dammit, he'd grown up watching those retro-antique space adventures, and seeing the technology brought to life before his very eyes was so fucking cool.

The spatial accelerator's buzzing reached an ear-splitting tone, and Gabriel watched the wooden box flicker. He smelled the acrid scent of burnt circuitry before he heard the scientists shout, including a creative stream of Mandarin he'd ask Liao about later. Dr. Andrews rushed over to the control panel, sparing them neither a second glance nor an apology, leaving him alone with the last person he wanted to be alone with.

What perfect fucking luck.

Gabriel had half-expected Morrison to confront him once they had a shred of privacy, but when he felt a hand grasp his biceps, he twisted and threw a punch on instinct. Morrison, thank God, caught his fist and redirected the blow downward with a smoothness that would please their former SEP CQC instructor, may the hard-ass bitch rest in peace. Morrison pinned his other arm to the wall, then the rest of his body, and really, they were close enough to kiss, the space between them warm and intimate. For a moment, Gabriel considered it.

"Gabe!" Morrison hissed. “What are you doing?”

Gabriel could have said with all smug bluster and bravado that he’d wanted proof his decade-long marriage hadn’t been an elaborate hallucination, as he was once again spending an anniversary alone. Instead, "I slept like shit," blurted out of his mouth. He’d meant to say any-fucking-thing else. Once spoken, he couldn't take the words back, and his pathetic admission brought that look to Morrison's face: pity. Concern. Guilt. Fuck him and his pancake, freckle-covered ass.

...well. Maybe later.

"You know what I mean." Morrison held up his left hand to emphasize the wedding ring.

"Got lonely. Needed a reminder that I actually have a husband." Gabriel took great pleasure watching the hurt sweep across Morrison's face like a paper bag crumpling in a rainstorm.

"Gabe, I'm—"

The klaxon, sudden and deafening, swallowed the rest of his words. Probably had been an apology, too, which meant they would have been able to kiss and make up later that evening if Morrison had actually been able to finish his goddamn sentence.

Over the blaring sirens, Gabriel registered shouts from the scientists, but even if he hadn't seen every goddamn science fiction movie created in the past century, he knew nothing good was about to happen. He pulled Morrison forward, held him close, and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

Gabriel could hear the roar of the machine as the world dissolved into a blinding flash of light. Static filled his ears, overwhelming and painful. Louder and louder it grew, until he wanted to cry out, anything to make it fucking stop. Just as he felt as if his ear drums would rupture, the noise faded away to oppressive, all-consuming silence.

Then, nothingness.

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Tu Fui, Ego Eris

Reaper76 Week 2018 [ Monday, 15 January 2018 - Sunday, 21 January 2018 ]

Title: Tu Fui, Ego Eris

Rating: Teen

Characters: Jack Morrison/ Soldier: 76, Gabriel Reyes/ Reaper, Minor Original Background Characters

Summary: After a flash of light near a prototype chronal accelerator, Strike Commander Jack Morrison and Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes find themselves transported thirty years into the future where humanity has lost the Second Omnic Crisis. There, Jack and Gabriel must come to terms with their past, present, and future as they find a way to return to their own time.

Tags: Time Travel, Chronal Accelerator Accidents, Action, Adventure, Humor, Hurt/ Comfort, Fluff & Angst, Hopeful Ending

[ Information Post || Expanded Themes ]

Day 1: War Buddies  —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 2: They Loved Each Other —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 3: Thankful —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 4: Defended —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 5: Downfall —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 6: Questionable Actions —  Ao3 | FFN

Day 7: Depth of Relationship —  Ao3 | FFN