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mythrilhusk · 3 years

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Our World - Chapter One

Technoblade-centric; obligatory Greek Pantheon/The Office AU, No shipping, Not RPF

2.4k words, slightly funny (maybe?), AO3 Link,

Features ND/Schizophrenic!Technoblade - (Written by myself, an actually schizophrenic/neurodivergent person... Neurotypicals/Non-psychotics should not attempt this.)

CW: Intrusive thoughts/visions/urges, auditory hallucinations

Elysium's smallest company branch rests unobtrusively in the town Oneiros, buried in some backwoods county. Technoblade reads through the list of employees once more as his taxi weaves through a mountain pass. His equipment sits on the seat beside him, while the rest of his luggage bounces in the trunk.

Elysium's CFO, some guy named Eret, hired Techno on the spot when he came to the interview. Seemed kinda desperate, but eh, so was Technoblade.

H's not entirely sure why they would only hire one guy to do this job. Eh, work is work, and they sure pay well enough. They're providing an apartment, too. An actual roof over his head will be nice, for however long Techno can keep the job. He bets a week, tops.

The narrow road crests over the top of the mountain, revealing the town beneath sprawling in the valley. The Elysium office building juts out of the south side of the town, an ugly block of concrete and glass. Technoblade wrinkles his nose in disdain, silently agreeing with chat as they mock the displeasing aesthetics.

When his taxi pulls up into the parking lot, Technoblade piles his luggage and equipment on the sidewalk before paying the driver. He adds a tip, too, though he can barely afford even that much. The driver's pale cheeks stretch in a nervous smile as he clutches the money; he's too afraid to protest the miniscule tip. Techno doesn't make an effort to smile back, too busy ignoring visions featuring the bloody crunch of the man's neck between his thirsty teeth.

The taxi peels away, leaving Technoblade alone in the chilly mountain air. With ringing ears and a heavy huff, Techno gathers his stuff and heads into the building.

The receptionist plays on his phone, ignoring Technoblade even when he raps his knuckles atop the boy's shaggy brown hair. "Tubbo," He grunts, recalling the appearance from the employee list.

Tubbo starts, staring up at Techno with wary intensity, like a tiger cub encountering a wild boar for the first time. Techno smiles wryly at the boy, who must still be younger than eighteen. Chat clamors for blood, urging him with the weight of his knife, but Technoblade doesn't entertain them.

"Technoblade." Tubbo regains his composure and holds out a hand. "I'm so glad you're finally here, big man, we've been waiting."

"Why the rush?" Technoblade snorts, ignoring the proffered handshake. Physical contact irritates him.

Tubbo drops his hand. "We just really like documentaries about ourselves, yeah?"

"K." It's not his place to question a gig, although chat goes wild with suspicion. "Where am I staying?"

"Oh, right, you'll be staying with Philza. Heh, try not to piss him off. Or do, it'll be funny." Tubbo waves to the rest of the wide room. "Phil! Your roommate's here!"

"Fuck off, mate, I told you bastards, I don't want a fucking roommate." Techno recognizes the man who speaks as the dude in charge of customer relations: Philza. His golden hair glints with hints of fire, setting off his blue eyes, as merciless as the stars.

Chat froths, raging for blood, blood, blood, but Techno mentally bats them away. "K, welp, I was promised boardin' with this gig. I don't really care where; just get me a place to stay." Technoblade shrugs, baring his teeth in a smile that's just south of friendly.

Philza smiles too, showing off his fangs. Tubbo holds up his hands, saying, "Woah, woah, here. Phil, it's your turn. It's not gonna last long, anyway."

"Heh? Turn?" Technoblade chuffs, even as the cacophony that is chat hisses, technodead, technodead, lmao, RIP- Shut up, chat, we are not dead yet.

Philza's grin widens maliciously. "Oh, did Eret not tell you?"

"That dude told me the bare minimum, man, I dunno, I dunno what you expected."

"You're not the first film crew he's hired," Tubbo says with a faux apologetic shrug. Before Technoblade can protest the use of crew to describe one man, Tubbo continues with the barest hint of a smirk. "But the other ones died, just like you will."

Technodead, technodead, EEEEEE, RIP, RIP, F, EEE, lmaooo, F, rainbowchat- "Get outta here," Techno drawls, narrowing his eyes. Not for the first time, he wishes chat had a physical embodiment he could punt. "Technoblade never dies."

"We'll see," Philza muses, his eyes twinkling with the apathetic amusement of an ancient god toying with mortals. Hazing, that's all this is. Phil hands Technoblade a business card. "Don't be late."

Techno scans the card, appreciating the flaming torch insignia etched into the bronze-inked paper. Ares, god of war... Chat hisses the allusion, seeming in awe of this man who has taken a god's symbol. Techno flips it over to find the address, and then raises an eyebrow at Phil. "What time?"

Philza picks up a stack of papers from the massive copy-printer and strides back to his desk. "Before evenfall."

Welp, that's that interaction over with. Technoblade notes how all the other office workers are studiously ignoring him. He turns to Tubbo. "Where's the boss?"

Tubbo puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Are you, are you going to complain to our manager, mister?"

"Yeah," Technoblade plays along. "I'm giving you a three star review."

"Oh, that's not bad."

"Out of ten."

Tubbo's visage darkens, and Techno gets an uneasy feeling like a hurricane is about to hit. The feeling passes, though, as Tubbo pouts. "I deserve more than that, man! Give me six stars, at least!"

"Tell ya what, if you show me where the regional manager's office is, I'll raise my review to seven stars."

"Done!" Tubbo cries, and points to an inconspicuous pair of doors on the other end of the room. "One leads to Manager Puffy, the other leads to Manager Schlatt. Choose wisely, good sir."

Techno hums approvingly, then draws out his pad of stickers from his coat pocket. Tubbo's eyes widen and he gasps, bouncing excitedly as Techno sticks a sparkly gold star to his forehead. "Good work, nerd."

Tubbo just stammers, plopping back into his chair with a blissful expression. Heh. Stickers work every time. Chat begs for stickers of their own, beg to be called nerds, beg for even a little taste of blood, but they don't deserve any rewards after being so bad all day.

Techno strides over to the managers' office doors. Each has a whiteboard on the front, with various scribbles over them. One has a fluffy sheep, and says in swirly script, //The captain is IN//. The other has various dicks doodled on it, and the only word written is, //Candice//. Chat breaks down in immature giggles. Technoblade opts for the former.

He knocks politely. A woman's voice replies, "Enter."

Opening the door, Technoblade scans the room. There's a full bookshelf covering one wall, and a low bureau across the opposite. A bay window sheds light across the manager's desk, tinted by the grey-green curtains.

A woman rises from her chair, her expression hidden by the sunlight behind her. Her waves of hair-- half brown and half silver-- sparkle with the dewdrop diamonds haphazardly woven in.

"District Manager Puffy?" Technoblade bobs his head to her.

"Call me Captain Puffy," Puffy replies, and her teeth glint in a wild smile as she tosses her head. "You're the new film crew Eret hired?"

"Uhh, apparently." Technoblade appreciates that she doesn't hold out her hand to greet him. "He never specified what kind of film he wanted, though, so-"

"Don't worry about that," Puffy tuts, "I'll give you instructions when you're settled in."

"K." Technoblade can respect this kind of person. Chat has been subdued and pouting for the past few minutes by his refusal to give them any sort of attention. He takes mercy on them and stares at the model ships on the bureau, letting them coo over the complexity and aesthetic.

"Uh, Mister Blade?" Puffy's voice intrudes on his appreciation of the ships.

"Just Techno is fine." Techno refuses to look away from the ships, since they're keeping chat happy for the moment.

"You'll be assigned a desk tomorrow, and you'll be given tasks around the office to, to acclimate and get to know your coworkers. Later, you can start filming random candid moments. We want a sort of documentary detailing our office lifestyle." Puffy hands a paper flyer to Techno.

Glancing through it, Techno frowns. "What exactly does Elysium sell?"

"We need a better PR team, which is why we've hired you. Elysium strives for the betterment of lives and the strengthening of minds." Puffy completely fails to answer the question. Chat calls her a sussy baahka, and Techno shoots a pointed glare at the bookshelves. He's definitely not giving chat any stickers tonight.

Puffy seems ready to dismiss him, so Techno bobs his head once more to her and opens the door. A strange noise, like the crashing of waves against a rocky shore, resonates through the air, halting him. Her eyes snap wide, glittering with something cold and unforgiving, yet somehow comforting and protective. "Pray to your god for mercy and it shall be given."

Technoblade chuckles, smothering the fire lit behind his eyes. "I'm kinda an atheist, Brizo; if there are any gods out there, they'll be begging me for mercy." He realizes too late that his extensive knowledge of the ancient Greek religion has escaped his tongue. Chat screams with excitement as they put together the allusions to the referenced spirit, Brizo, patron of sailors and prophecy. What a bunch of nerds.

Captain Puffy stares at him, her smile twinkling: sun rays piercing through storm clouds. "Of course, Hades."

Technoblade smiles back at the retort-- he's always been partial to the god of wealth-- and he bobs his head in deference to her once more. Any fellow partaker of old stories easily gets put in his good book. Puffy bows back, and Technoblade takes that as his cue to leave. He closes the door behind him.

Spotting the break room, Techno makes his way towards it, weaving through the desks. He pulls out his last, wrinkly dollar and slips it into the vending machine, then selects one of the bags of cookies. Sitting down with it, he inspects the coworker who's followed him in. "Tommy, right?"

The youth-- the sole employee in HR-- scowls, his ocean-blue eyes narrowing with scorn. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Technoblade??"

"Heh?" The teen's aggressive tone sets him on edge: hands itching and teeth aching and eyes burning for blood, blood, blood- no. No more of that. "Tommy, I just, I just got here? What are you upset at me for?"

"I'm just askin', Techno. Who do you think you are?" Tommy juts his chin out challengingly. "There can only be one boss man here."

"You wanna be the boss?" Technoblade rips open the bag of cookies.

"Well, obviously."

"Best me in single combat and we'll see." Technoblade is only jesting, of course. Even if the kid agreed to the fight, it would be unfair.

"Yes! Meet me in the parking lot in thirty minutes, idiot, and I'll fuckin' wipe the pavement with your ugly face!!" Tommy whoops and skips out of the break room before Techno can explain he was only joking.

Great. He's going to be fired for challenging a coworker to a fight, now. This will officially become the shortest job he's ever held, beating his last record by three hours. Technoblade munches his cookies and refuses to listen to chat as they bully him for making such a mess of his last chance.

When he's finished his cookies, Technoblade goes down to the parking lot, figuring that if he's going to be fired, he'd better do it in style.

Tommy waits for him, the breeze whipping through his blond hair. "No weapons, no magic, just me an' you, Technoblade."

"K." Technoblade shrugs, not seeing any point to telling the teen that magic doesn't actually exist. It was probably a sort of ironic joke, anyway.

Tubbo stands on the sidewalk, cheering for Tommy. Another teen leans on the wall behind Tubbo, seeming paler than should really be healthy, with a mop of black hair covering their ears.

"En garde!" Tommy cries and leaps to punch Techno.

Swaying to avoid the blow, Techno jabs Tommy in the gut with his knuckles. The youth staggers back, face distorted in pain. Technoblade remains relaxed, raising his hands. "Feel free to back out any time."

"Fuck you!" Tommy roars and charges, fists flailing. The picture of waves recklessly dashing themselves against an implacable cliff comes to mind.

Technoblade deflects the first fist and takes the wrist of the followup, twisting his arm behind his back. Tommy shrieks in rage and attempts to rip his arm away. Techno releases him and steps forward. "Sorry, but you ain't winnin' this."

"I will fucking end you!" Tommy once more flies into the fray.

Technoblade decides to go slightly harder on him. He sends Tommy stumbling with a single smack to his shoulder. When Tommy tries to flail fists at him again, Techno trips the boy. Tommy's back slams into the pavement, air whoofing out of his lungs.

"Y-you fuckin'-" Tommy wheezes for air. "I will not lose to you-"

"Looks like it's too late for that," Technoblade chuffs, watching the boy as he struggles to his feet.

Tommy sneers at him. "I, I'm feeling fuckin' merciful today. I won't kill you this time."

"I suppose I can return the favor." Technoblade smirks. He turns his back on Tommy to rub in how little of a threat the teen is. Not that Tommy will understand the gesture, but it boosts Techno's ego and makes chat jeer.

Tubbo and the other youth, a sales rep by the name of Ranboo, stride over. "That was sick!" Ranboo cries, eyes aflame with hero-worship as he stares at Technoblade.

Tubbo smiles implacably as he pulls Tommy to his feet. "Win next time, big guy. I lost five dollars to Ranboo on that."

"Fuck you, Ranboo," Tommy snarls, clinging to Tubbo's arm even as he's standing. "Bet on me, next time!"

"But you lost! I think that's pretty funny." Ranboo glances back up at the windows of the office. Several pairs of eyes seem to be peering down. Great. An audience to Technoblade's last few moments of employment.

Tommy grumbles as he storms to the doors, "I'll fucking beat you next time, Techno, see if I don't!"

The phrasing seems odd, in that it implies Technoblade isn't about to be fired for beating up his teenage coworker.

#long post #technoblade #dream smp #ao3 link #dream smp au #not rpf #2.4k words #fanfiction

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cryptidshuffle · 3 years

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the less we say about it the better - chp 1

ao3

Rating: Teen Fandom: Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware Relationships: Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman (pre relationship) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary Character Death(its benrey dont worry hes ok), meta about deaths and respawns, arguing about the rules of uno, gay pining, Mutual Pining, fellas is it gay to comfort ur friend who u love and are both boys?, also fair warning it'll eventually be a poly ship with benrey, Autistic Character, Autistic Tommy, ADHD Gordon, everyone is gay and trans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: “after everything we’ve been through we deserve a few mental break downs.” they are trying to recover after black mesa, but recovery is hard. especially when one of you is still dead

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They had been out of Black Mesa for a few weeks now. It was difficult trying to acclimate to life after the incident, but they were all making it work.

The science team had gotten together for some sort of game night, something cathartic about being around others who share the same trauma. Anyways, snacks and Uno was just as chaotic as one would imagine with this group of chucklefucks, with competitive tensions high on the last round of the night.

“You can’t stack the draw 4 cards, Gordon,” Bubby argued, smacking Gordon’s hand just as he placed the card.

“Says who?”

“It’s literally against the fucking rules of the game,” Bubby said back.

Tommy agreed with, “It is in the official rules, Mr. Freeman, they- Mattel confirmed it on Twitter.”

“But that’s dumb!” Gordon argued back, “I’ve always played where you can stack those, why change that now?"

Bubby retorted, “Well maybe you’ve always been playing wrong, huh? Ever thought about that, smartass?”

Dr. Coomer chimed in with, “Well on the official page for Uno (card game) on Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit, it states that

The following official house rules are suggested in the Uno rulebook, to alter the game:

Progressive Uno: If a draw card is played, and the following player has the same card, they can play that card and "stack" the penalty, which adds to the current penalty and passes it to the following player.[4](Although a +4 cannot be stacked on a +2, or vice versa.)[6] This house rule is so commonly used that there was widespread Twitter surprise in 2019 when Mattel stated that stacking was not part of the standard rules of Uno.[6]”

“Well, there you have it,” Gordon exclaims, interrupting Coomer’s Wikipedia infodump, “Just because it’s a house rule doesn’t mean it’s not a legitimate way of playing."

“What if I don’t want to play with that rule, that’s fuckin stupid,” Bubby grumbles.

“Jesus ok, I'll play a different card, happy?” Gordon says dejectedly, taking back his controversial draw 4 card for a more innocuous one. “It’s your turn anyways.”

Bubby throws down his last card onto the pile. “I win fuckers!!!! Ahahahahaha!"

“You wouldn’t have won if you let me stack the fucking cards,” Gordon said as he threw his losing card pile onto the coffee table.

“Don’t fret Gordon! Bubby is just extremely good at card games,” Dr. Coomer replied.

“You're forgetting I’m a goddamn genius, that extends to my sick-ass Uno skills,” Bubby bragged.

Gordon chuckled, watching the two older scientists get up to leave, and watching Tommy remain, quietly cleaning up the uno deck into neat piles to place in its box.

“Well gentlemen, it’s been fun, though I think it’s time Bubby and I better get going!” Dr. Coomer said.

“No problem, don’t want you two to be late for your old man early-bird breakfast at Golden Corral tomorrow!” Gordon teased.

“Shut the fuck- I’ll kick your ass,” said Bubby.

“Hello Gord- Actually our old man breakfast is not until Saturday! It’s the one day a week I let loose and unhinge my jaws at the buffet like a Burmese Python!” said Dr. Coomer as Bubby grabs his coat and keys.

“That sounds absolutely horrifying,” Gordon laughs.

“It really is,” says Bubby. “Well, see you later asshole,” Bubby says, herding himself and Coomer out the front door.

“See you guys later,” Gordon says.

“Goodbye, Gordon! Goodbye, Tommy,” Coomer also says, before they leave Gordon’s apartment.

Tommy had yet to get up to leave, he stayed sitting in his seat staring into space, and fiddling with the Uno card deck.

“Hey Tommy, you alright man?” he asked gently. At the mention of his name, he was shaken a bit out of his stupor.

“Y-yeah I'm fine Mr. Freeman, why do you ask?”

“I mean you were kinda just staring into space for a bit, and you didn’t say anything when Bubby and Coomer left.”

“Oh shit. Sorry about that, I’ll get out of your hair,” Tommy said, starting to move to leave.

Gordon placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Hey, if something’s bothering you, just know I’m here if you wanna talk about it,” Gordon comforted.

Tommy blushed slightly at the contact and nodded.

“Thank you. I-uh… I’ve just been thinking about things that happened back in Black Mesa and, you know,” he pauses to think for a bit, and sighs, “honestly I’ve been thinking a lot about Benrey.”

Just at the mention of him, Gordon felt his stomach drop with the weight of too many emotions.

“Yeah...I uh… I understand,” he responds with a sad sigh, “anything in particular you’re thinking about him?”

“I don’t know just kind of- Earlier I started thinking about how much he would enjoy game night. And then I started to miss him and realize that- that he’s not here. I feel guilty about killing him and upset at what he did. He was still my friend and I just- I want to know why he did what he did. I just want to understand,” Tommy said.

Gordon looked away as he thought about his own emotions regarding Benrey. He was undeniably angry with him, for getting him ambushed by the bootboys, for getting his arm cut off, frustrated with the constant taunting. Yet… he also felt guilty for some reason and he couldn’t quite place why. Gordon really didn’t want to feel guilty.

“Yeah…” Gordon sighed, “I'll be honest I do feel guilty about it too. I don’t know why because I feel like it should be justified since he did try to kill us. But there were times when him pestering me about my arm felt like… like sincere questioning? I still… I don’t know.”

“Yeah… I think-” Tommy cut himself off, staring at a fixed point in his vision, trying to decide whether or not to bring this up.

“I don’t think Benrey understood how human mortality worked.”

Well, that wasn’t what Gordon expected. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he was from Xen, Mr. Freeman, he wasn’t human. It was different for him. You remember he did die several times, but he came back eventually. He had to wait for his form to regenerate.”

“Wait-” this time Gordon cut Tommy off, “Oh shit, that wasn’t a joke? For some reason I just assumed his talking about respawns and shit was part of his Epic Gamer bit?”

“I mean it was a little but I think… there’s probably a reason Benrey attached himself to video games so much, yeah? He can see himself in the structure. Like, uh- something he can relate to.” Tommy says. “It doesn’t excuse what- what he did, but I feel like knowing why things happened makes- makes them more understandable.”

Gordon leaned back on the couch blown away by the revelation. In hindsight it wasn’t that surprising but it took him a few seconds to come to terms with the reality.

“Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess it does make a lot of sense. Wait though, I swear to god all of you have died at least once, but you guys aren’t from Xen?” Gordon said, now confused about the seeming metanarrative of the mortality of his friends.

“Yeah, but those were weird Black Mesa things, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said, not elaborating any more than that.

Gordon waited a beat for Tommy to explain more but he said all he needed to.

“I will ask you more about that later, but I do not have the energy to unpack all that right now,” Gordon said with a gentle laugh.

“Wait, getting back on topic real quick, why couldn’t Benrey just... respawn now? Did we really get him that good?”

Tommy looked incredibly sad when Gordon said this, and he regretted it immediately. ‘Damn it Gordon, Tommy’s clearly upset about Benrey, you don’t gotta be an insensitive dick.’

“Well Mr. Freeman, that’s kinda why I’ve been thinking about him,” Tommy said, “I’m not sure. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to respawn. Depending on the amount of damage it takes longer but… It’s been a while and what if- What if he is back but he is mad at all of us and that’s why we haven’t seen him? Or what if it is taking a really long time because we hurt him a whole lot. Or what if we…”

Tommy got quiet for a few seconds, the silence in the room was deafening. For an instance Gordon felt as if making a sound would shatter the air like glass.

Tommy finally said with a whisper, voice thick with choking back tears, “What if we killed him for good? And I don’t- I never see him again?”

It honestly broke Gordon’s heart how distraught Tommy was. Pushing his own complicated Benrey feelings aside, he was gonna focus on Tommy here and now.

“…Tommy, is it ok if I hug you, man?” Gordon couldn’t think of the best way to comfort the other man with words, but physical comfort he could do.

Tommy looked a little surprised at this ask but nodded. Gordon leaned in to hug the other scientist and Tommy collapsed in his embrace, completely breaking down.

Gordon just sat there and held him as Tommy sobbed into his shoulder, trying to comfort the crying man by rubbing circles into his back.

Gordon’s brain processed the things Tommy had said. Was Benrey really gone? Why did he feel guilty about the idea of having killed Benrey, he was fine with the concept during the final boss fight on Xen but now… the thought made him feel… sad? Regretful? Even his seemingly rational justifications didn’t seem as clear at the moment, only thinking of his fonder memories with Benrey.

‘Fuck this,’ he thought as he felt his own tears well up, ‘this isn’t about me, I need to focus on being there for Tommy,’ pushing his own feelings to the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

Tommy eventually calmed down enough where his sobs turned into sniffles, and he started to pull away from the hug.

“S – sorry for having a – a breakdown on your- on your couch Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said, the post-crying mental fog making his stuttering more noticeable. Tommy didn’t really have the effort in him to care.

“Don’t worry about it, man, after everything we’ve been through we deserve a few mental breakdowns,” Gordon joked trying to lighten the mood.

��Oh, that was nothing, Mr. Freeman, in terms of mental breakdowns that was as mild as a first-grade pizza party in the eye of a hurricane,” Tommy compared in a way that made little sense to Gordon, yet ridiculous enough to cause the man to burst out laughing.

“Alright I’ll take your word for it,” Gordon said, still laughing.

“I’m serious Mr. Freeman, once you have a meltdown so intense that you accidentally teleport yourself to an inter-dimensional void, the rest is a cake walk at the school fair,” Tommy said.

“Waitwaitwait- teleport?” he leaned back to look at him in surprise, “Since when could you fuckin teleport!” Gordon asked caught off guard.

“You know, learned some things from my Dad,” Tommy said, again failing to further explain himself.

“…Well alright. Yeah that tracks.”

Gordon was quiet for a moment before responding with, “You know, Tommy, I want you to know I’m here for you if you need anyone to talk to. You were there for me when I was at my lowest in Black Mesa, and I wanna be that friend to you if you need it,” he said giving the other scientists hand a comforting squeeze.

Tommy smiled, “Thank you, that means a lot Mr. Freeman.”

“You know you can call me Gordon, you don’t have to be so formal all the time Dr. Coolatta,” he teased.

Tommy blushed, ‘dammit why did he have to be so cute?’

“Wow Mr. Fr – Gordon are you really gonna make fun of my doctorate that I worked very hard for,” Tommy teased back, still a bit sniffly from crying.

“Dude, I cannot imagine you in college for some reason, what was your doctorate even in” asked Gordon, semi-jokingly, but still a bit serious.

Tommy laughed a bit, wiping the remaining tears away with the back of his hand. “Bio-chemical engineering. Creating Sunkist was for my thesis project.” Normally Tommy would be more then willing to infodump about the topic but he found his energy to be draining fast.

“What the fuck, that’s cooler than mine was. Us nerds in the Theoretical Physics department didn’t do any crazy shit like that,” Gordon said.

“Bold of you to assume I was a nerd, G-Gordon. I was the craziest guy in the frat house,” Tommy said.

Gordon’s memory vaguely recalls Tommy’s insistence that he “do something crazy” when drinking Darnold’s Potion of Grow Gun Arm.

“You know what, yeah, surprisingly I can see that image vividly in my head,” Gordon said. “Real talk though…” he said changing the subject and putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “Are you- uh, ok? Like feeling better?”

Tommy was quiet for a second, eyes flickering down to look at his fidgeting hands in his lap, before replying with, “I’m ok. N-not great, I don’t think, but I will be.”

Gordon nodded. “Tommy, if there’s one nugget of wisdom that I have to share, it’s that healing takes time, things usually turn out to be ok in the end. No matter what’s going on with Benrey…it'll be alright, I’m sure.” Gordon patted his shoulder for emphasis, “not the best advice out there but it’s the best I can come up with straight off the dome. And I don’t wanna seem like I didn’t try to help you out."

Tommy laughed gently, “Thank you Mr. Fr- uh, thank you Gordon. You did help. Even if- if your advice was a bit cheesy.”

“Whatever man, you can’t blame me for trying,” Gordon laughed, playfully shoving Tommy where his hand had previously rested on the other man’s shoulder. Tommy laughed in return. He only noticed the warmth of Gordon’s touch once it was gone.

Tommy absentmindedly noticed the time on the wall clock in Gordon’s apartment. Jesus, 11:30? When did it get so late? The older scientist really hoped he wasn’t overstaying his welcome; While he would love to just stay here and joke around, he had already bothered Mr. Freeman enough and was already exhausted.

“I- I’m probably gonna head back home now, I didn’t realize how late it was,” Tommy said, standing up from his spot next to Gordon.

Gordon nodded. He had the passing thought of offering for Tommy to stay but… maybe that was a step too far. ‘Tommy probably wants his space,’ Gordon rationalized to himself.

He nodded, “Alright, don’t let me keep you,” he said, getting up as well to help Tommy gather his belongings. Which, to be honest Tommy didn’t bring much but some snacks for the group, but Gordon just needed an excuse to do anything.

Gordon walked Tommy to the front door of his apartment, like the good host he was, opening the door for him.

“Thanks for coming over Tommy,” he said.

Tommy nodded. “Thank- thank you again for letting me talk about Benrey, I know it was kinda rough there at the end, but if you ever need to talk about anything… I'm here for you as well.”

Gordon smiled, “Thank you Tommy, I'll keep that in mind.”

Tommy smiled in return, “Have a good night G-Gordon,” he said turning to head to his car.

“Goodnight Tommy.” Gordon turns to head back inside, but before he does, he can’t resist one more jab.

“Thought you could teleport?” he calls out teasingly.

Tommy flips him off, which causes Gordon to laugh harder. “Gives me a headache,” Tommy called back, trying and failing keep a straight face.

Gordon laughs as he waves a final goodbye, turning back inside and closing the door after Tommy waves as well. His thoughts race as he gets ready for bed, trying to ignore his fluttering heartbeat as he lays down for the night.

Tommy shuffles his thoughts in his head as he drives home. The emotional rollercoaster of his already draining social interaction meter from the science team, his Benrey guilt, and his small crush on Gordon was just too much for one day. His hands clench and unclench the steering wheel, looking forward to collapsing in bed for the night, hoping his dad won’t notice he'd been crying.

Somewhere, in an interdimensional void far away from this reality, someone begins to shift awake.

#fanfic #hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #freelatta

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queenharumiura · 3 years

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Continued from: [x] @belacedia

Ehhhhh so---- deal with this however you want. Treat this as a standalone, reply to it, whatever. I felt inspired to write a thing so--- yeah. It uh... yeah. Got long.

Her smile never leaving her features, the only thing that could clue anyone in to her mental process were her eyes, which were blinking in confusion. She didn’t know what exactly she expected reaction-wise from the Prince, but the scene unfolding in front of her had never come to mind as a possible reaction. ‘Wait—was I wrong? Was this not the answer he was waiting for? Was I misunderstanding something?’ It couldn’t be? She may play dumb a lot, but she wasn’t actually dumb. She couldn’t have possibly misunderstood.

Reflecting on his tone, Haru reviewed the mental notes she made for future use. If she had to guess, it was a matter of being unaccustomed to receiving true affection, and not knowing how to acclimate to someone bestowing affection upon himself. Having joined the Varia from a young age, it would make sense that in his early formulative years, he missed out on some crucial socialization that would explain his lack of social understanding. Despite how anyone acted tough, humans in general craved socialization to a certain degree. Much more, people often yearned for something they lacked in themselves—and in his case, it may be love and affection.

Seeing tears fall along his cheeks had Haru silently gasping in shock, freezing like a deer in headlights. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and it took her a moment to process what she was seeing, doubly shocked upon seeing his eyes that he normally kept hidden. She quickly averted her eyes to avoid staring at his eyes to respect how he normally kept them hidden. Sure, she’d already seen his eyes as a child, so there was no real point in pretending she didn’t know what they looked like, but it was a matter of principle. ‘What, was my confession that bad he had to cry about it?’ She wasn’t serious in her thought, but she mentally resorted to a joke as an escapist habit.

She rummaged through her pocket for a handkerchief, about to wipe his tears away when he spoke again, his voice starting angrily. This prompted warning bells to ring in her head, her slumbering instincts finally clamoring at her to run, but her heart too worried about Belphegor kept her rooted in place. It was a rare moment in which the logical and sensitive parts of her brain tugged her to the very edge of her mentality, neither giving way to the other, causing her to mentally stagnate in shock. “Mn…” This really didn’t go the way she thought it would.

Well, she normally resorted to escaping via playing dumb, but this situation didn’t call for it. Also, Belphegor didn’t need her to play dumb like the others did for their own sake of comfort. “Join me.” She motioned for Belphegor to follow her to the couch in the center of the lounge. Noting that he was sensitive at the moment, she kept to herself, not wanting to set him off from physical contact. The crown she brought was nestled back in the box, to see the light of day another time. “Where to start?” She wistfully looks at the ceiling, as if searching for answers written in invisible ink. “I guess for now, just listen.” Her voice was calm and measured.

Just like she would coax the kids those many years ago, she kept her tone relaxed and gentle as to not set anyone off. “’Why’ is a short question that has a disproportionally long answer. There is so much to say and many things that can’t be put into words. I suppose, one of the big things is the fact that you seem to accept me for what I am, and who I am. Unlike the others, you don’t try to put selfish expectations on me. Not to say I wouldn’t do anything for my friends, because I do step up to the plate, but it is burdensome at times.” Like her, a good majority of the 10th generation guardians grew up as civilians. Kyoko and Haru for a majority of their youth served as a reminder of an everyday life the guys fought for.

They were symbolic of what once was. The life they fight to have. Allowing the girls to become more involved in the Mafia would mean they would both lose some of that innocent spark that gave the guys an emotional resting place to return to. As if it were a tradeoff, Haru adopted a habit of playing dumb, casting an illusion of what they wanted of her. If they needed something to cling to, she could do that for them. Contrary to that, Belphegor didn’t need any of that, and that felt refreshing. She didn’t have to walk on eggshells around him on the premise of making someone ‘worried about her.’

“Though I’m sure there are a lot of things you need to sort through, I do think at the core of it all, you just need someone who can stick by you, and is willing to walk alongside you through the good and the bad.” Objectively speaking, he likely reached out to her because he may have felt that she could give him what he craved for, sincere affection and care. It’s easy to say that it’s wrong to seek someone for your own selfish needs, but it coincided with Haru’s own needs. “You know, I suffer with feeling not good enough. I worry that one day I won’t be good enough and will be discarded, left in the dark. I’m not sure when exactly it started, but I have this incredible desire to be ‘useful’ else my anxiety sometimes acts up.”

Was it weird to want to be used? Probably, but being discarded because she was useless, and therefore more of a bother to keep around was far more a terrifying thought to her. Haru brought her knees up to her chest as she curled up into a ball on the couch, resting her chin atop her knees. She looked and felt very small, but the gentle smile on her face suggested she felt anything but small in that moment. “I think, we would work together in that way.” Using each other. From an outside perspective they may only see that Haru is putting her all into ensuring Belphegor felt loved and to put up with his mood swings, but they wouldn’t see the underlying need for her to feel useful, to feel as though her existence was actually necessary. That her disappearance would actually change something.

“You’ve always been sincere when dealing with me, being outright with me. Though you could have given up, you were patient with me. You humored me, and you consoled me when I needed it. That blunt sincerity was so… refreshing. I’ve seen some sides of you that put a lot of things into perspective. Sure, there are things relating to your profession that contrasts my commonplace morality, but, in the underground, everyone is bound to a new set of morals. I’m not blind to it.” She says quietly, as she starts fiddling with her fingers absentmindedly. “My resolve when I chose to become more involved with the Mafia isn’t small. There’s a lot that I had to forsake for this.”

Did she dislike the concept of killing others? Yes, but she wouldn’t outright denounce it. Things were different in the underground and she understood this. She’s never said this to the others (as she would do her best to play the part of the innocent caged bird), she would kill if the situation called for it. No, she didn’t think any less about the importance of life, but she knew that in the underground, it was kill or be killed. Sacrifices were necessary, and if it came down to it, self-defense would be utilized. Though she’d understand killing for the sake of the end goal, she would still frown at senseless killing.

Before she’d sink too far into her thoughts, she shook her head, abruptly stopping the budding afterthoughts in favor of a new topic. “I know I’m not exactly meant for this way of life, but I’m doing my best in my own ways, though I’m met with some opposition,” clearly referring to the others who worried too much about her, trying to keep her a caged bird. “I don’t think you’d cage me. Rather, I think you’d allow me to see just how far my wings can take me. I guess it’s a contrived way of saying that you respect me in a way that many others don’t. You may not understand, but—it meant a lot to me.” Perhaps what started all this was the fact that she’d expected for Belphegor to turn her away when they met during a mission—but he didn’t.

He allowed her to come along, and he was willing to trust her enough to allow her to dab her pheromone mixture onto his skin for her butterflies to track. For a Prince, he showed moments of agreeability. “It felt like I could finally get a chance to prove something. To make something of my efforts. That mission let me feel a lot of hope and confidence.” Her smile grows a smidge wider as she casts a sidelong glance his way, “Maybe I feel like I can improve as a person when I’m by your side. I feel like I can learn to feel like I’m ‘good enough’ when I’m by your side. I don’t feel… useless or replaceable when I’m with you, is that weird to say?” She quietly chuckles. She was revealing a lot of her thoughts to the Prince right now and she was hoping he was listening to some of what she was saying.

“I’m sure that someone may yell at me, saying that you’re ‘too dangerous’ or ‘a bad influence,’ but that’s for me to decide on my own. Who in the Mafia isn’t dangerous? Who isn’t going to be a bad influence? It’s a spectrum. Of course, I’m not being ignorant about some of the… more… darker aspects of who you are, and why your reputation precedes you.” She says meaningfully, but she allowed the thought to float in the air. “Things like relationships aren’t meant to be picture perfect. To me, it’s more meaningful if you can work on it. It’s a journey you’re meant to travel with another.” In other words, she was very well aware that there would be things that the two may butt heads about.

There were things that they won’t understand about the other, but Haru wasn’t going to feel overly frustrated over it. That’s what a relationship is about, working through things and learning something new. “I’m not sure how you objectively see yourself, but in my eyes, there are a lot of aspects about you that are attractive. You’re surprisingly patient sometimes, and you do care, though you may be rough about showing it. You’ve proven that you’re capable of being considerate towards others, albeit infrequent, it’s still valid.” Haru’s eyes go back to looking up at the ceiling again.

She giggles, “Ah… I’ve been saying so much. I wonder if I bored you yet. I guess, if I had to summarize everything concisely…” She hums a single note. “I can see the potential of this lasting a long while. I think if we can occasionally compromise with each other, we can turn into something worthwhile. So as long as you don’t turn your back on me, I won’t turn my back on you. I’m here for you until you tire of me, I guess. I guess I forgot to mention it before, but along with being territorial, I’m quite clingy. Is it too late to admit that? Good luck getting rid of me, Bel.”

Did that help answer ‘why,’ and reassure him that she didn’t intend to leave him? Well, there was plenty of time moving forward to further persuade him if not.

#Belacedia #(Beauty and the bird. BelHaru)#((Muse; Belphegor))#((I really don't know what to tag this as hngggg))#Long Post tw #((I just really went out on this one i'm sorry))#((Feel free to just treat it as a standalone or w/e))#BATBtag

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

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What are some physical things your muse does when they want someone to sleep with them?

Love like We Love || Accepting

“What makes you t’ink, Eddie, dat I do anyt’ing of a sort?” She smiles, and it’s the way her lips draw together and faintly to the side that suggests she’s teasing him. Furthered by the way that she doesn’t shift from where she’s sitting on the couch, feet tucked up on the cushion behind her, one elbow bent so that her head is leaning into the knuckles of that hand but she still manages to reach out across the space between them and gives his knee a little push.

She can’t say that it’s touching someone. It’s an instinct she’s had since time immemorial, the need to make physical contact with the world around her and all the things in it. There is nothing more rewarding nor explanatory that skin to skin contact; words can be twisted, misconstrued, made up on a whim, but touch never lies.

There is scent, too, the want to breathe in the other person’s essence which in her culture, and in most Polynesian tradition, is done with the greatest respect and familiarity, sharing and trading the breath of one’s life. In her opinion, western culture lacks the patient understanding of Ha, and usually comes to the wrong conclusion.

Admittedly, women can often be hard to read, and Beth more so than most. When a single look can have a hundred underlying emotions behind it, it’s like putting together a puzzle with no edges, no picture, in the dark, with oven mitts on. Not just for the other person but also herself. “I...uh...sexual attraction isn’t...well. Was nevah some kine I t’ought I was capable of. Took me a real long time an’ a’ couple good t’erapists an’ friends willin’ to explain an’ experiment wi’ t’ figure out...how I am. No can say I’m real sure, but...” She shifts closer. The cushion beside him dips with negligible weight and her arm snakes its way to rest behind his shoulders. For a long moment head is cocked to the side and she watches hims with an intensity so rarely found in her. It isn’t unusual for him to see her making cross country treks between his eyes and down to his mouth. She reads him like a foreign film, the world narrowed down into hyper-focus just to get by. Second nature to get around the things about herself she has no control over, can’t change no matter how much she’d really like to. But this is different. The tip of her tongue flicks slowly out to dampen her lips and when it retreats, the petal-coloured tiers remain parted. Even her breathing changes, becomes shallower and maybe a little faster as dopamine and norepinephrine start to race through her.

Nerves, pure and simple.

Because this is not something she is familiar with. Even the faint few and fumbling attempts have always been reactions to things happening to her, often as a result of miscommunication or the fact that some people don’t know how to take ‘no, thank you’ as a legitimate answer,and not really anything of her own volition.

Her hand comes to rest on the centre of his chest. Her head dips just so much and when it comes up again the tip of her nose follows the line of his jaw and the dark stubble from several days growth that lives there. A caress that is feather soft and cinnamon sweet as she exhales a small sigh. Lashes drift closed shutting away the green of her gaze but not soon enough to hide that the amber is starting to eclipse it.

She’s trying to acclimate. To drown in his textures of warmth and sound and feel. Wants to draw out that little murmuring rumble he makes sometimes of its own accord, sometimes amending a certain word or phrase. Her fingertips glide up, over his throat, the faintest of pressured grazes. Manicured nails in place of feral claws. The pads of which trace the shape of his mouth. Softer than they might be expected, on first look. And she’s moving again. Drags her own mouth along his throat before baring her sharp little teeth. The kiss is a little sloppy, lives on the corner of a lick and the memory of a brushstroke before those teeth follow. It is neither bite nor nip though it could easily become one or the other. The hand so lately at home on his lips moves to the far side of his jaw and hold it there. “D’you wan me f’ stop?”

#Mahalo!M <333 #Between Here and There|Eddie and Beth #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #tangleweave

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alexicervantes · 4 years

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WOR Task 003. Palace Profile.

BASICS

Full Name: Alexi Luis Cervantes Pronunciation: Uh-Lex-ee Aliases, if any: Lexi, Lex Date of Birth: May 1st, 2091 Age: 29 Gender: Male Nationality: Russian Religion, if applicable: He’s more spiritual than anything. Alexi did go to church on Sundays with his parents and was raised Catholic but he doesn’t go often anymore. He believes, he just doesn’t like the pressure that his religion put on him while growing up so he practices his faith at home rather than inside the church. Parents’ names: Father - Eduardo Cervantes, Mother - Alanna Cervantes Siblings: Brother - NPC, Sister - Rebel Cervantes (Adopted) Current relationship status: Single Previous relationships: Penelope Buchanan (Didn’t have enough time for each other)

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Height: 5′8 Build: Athletic Hair colour: Brown Eye colour: Green Glasses/contacts: Not needed. Tattoos: None Piercings: None Typical clothing style: T-shirt and jeans are his got to when he’s not in his work uniform. He can’t really afford much else. He has a few dress shirts for the ‘fancier’ occasions. Distinguishing features (scars, birthmarks, freckles, etc): His hands are calloused pretty badly from working on the farm most of his life. There’s also a large scar on his left forearm from an accident in the fields where a blade got him. Dominant hand: Left

HEALTH

Health issues or illnesses, if any: When he was younger he had a lot of issues with his sinuses. Bloody noses were common, he had his tonsils removed, and his adenoids as well. The surgeries didn’t completely end his issues so he still gets pretty bad sinus infections during those seasons. Allergies, if any: None Exercise habits: He works out but he’s not obsessed with keeping extremely fit. He gets a lot of his cardio from his walks to and from the castle. Dietary habits: His diet consists of a lot of traditional Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Russian dishes. His mother made sure to incorporate every ounce of their heritage along with acclimating them to the Russian culture as well. He refuses to eat at the castle most of the time, not because he doesn’t think Sasha or Bastien don’t cook well but because the food is too rich for his taster. Everything is too much, too decadent, too decorated, and he hates it.

PERSONALITY

Accent: He has a very thick Russian accent with a tinge of a Mexican one slipping in now and then. He grew up around mostly Russian people but his parents influenced it as well. Speech style: Every now and then he can’t think of the right word to say in English so he’ll mess them up and call himself out for it. When he’s speaking Russian or Spanish he’s faster with his words if only to make it harder for others who don’t speak the languages to understand him. Most used word or phrase: "I hate this.” Or any form of complaining when it comes to the castle. Do they curse?: Every now and then but mostly in his native languages. Any secrets? His growing feelings towards a certain princess. And the fact that he likes to snoop in the Royals things. He holds more of their secrets than his own. Top priority/ies: His family. Everything he does is for them. He knows his parents are not in the best place physically so he’s taken over the caretaker role. Most treasured possession: He doesn’t have much that he holds precious when it comes to material possessions. He’s someone who like to hold onto memories aside from things. But there is a special arrowhead that he holds onto, one he found his first day out in the fields with his dad. Addictions, if any: The fuel for his royal hating fire? Phobias: Losing his family. He’s lost his future and most of his possessions, they’re the only ones he had left. Compulsions/ habits: He tends to look people straight in the eye when he speaks to them. He feels like people can hide a lot but their eyes tell their secrets or at least when they’re lying. Zodiac Sign: Taurus Jung personality type: ISTP-T (The Virtuoso) Moral alignment: Neutral Good Primary intelligence type(s): Visual/Spatial, Bodily/Kinesthetic, Naturalist Love language(s): Encouraging words. Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

PERSONAL

Job Title: Housekeeper Education level: Finished high school. Languages spoken: He’s fluent in Russian, Spanish, and English Special skills: Hard labor Hobbies: He doesn’t have many but he’s starting to get into movies.

#wor.task #{Alexi: is it better to out monster the monster or to be quietly devoured}

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cassiopeiassky · 6 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 48

Look ma, another update!

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 4828

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Not much...mentions of blood. Maybe some anxiety. Sass because she’s resilient af. Fluff. You’re welcome.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Maybe we just leave it in there. Her artery should eventually heal around it,” Sam muses as he does God knows what.

“No…they coat their bullets in lead. If they cannot cause death they are usually more than happy to cause suffering.”

“Bastards. Well, we’ll have to worry about that after we get her home.”

Home.

You try to focus on that word, on home, instead of their talk of clamps, needles, potential avascular necrosis, and blood transfusions.

The word echoes as consciousness fades.

You awake with a start, noticing immediately that Bucky isn’t there. You hear talking outside and tense up before you recognize Steve’s voice, then Nat’s.

Right. You’re safe now.

Their voices calm you somewhat as you look around to get your bearings.

You’re lying on your back and covered in heaps of blankets, and there’s throbbing ache in your right thigh. You remember your escape with Bucky and your subsequent air rescue with Tony. You remember Sam…and a woman you’ve never met? Her details are hazy and you can’t pull anything specific other than a soft voice and light hair, so you wonder if maybe it was actually really Nat. You haven’t seen her since that day in the Krakkens’ manor when they’d had that video conference, so it’s possible she dyed her hair blonde. You remember cold mixed with pain, shivering violently as your body acclimated to the warmer temperature of the room you’re in, and then just pain as the cold finally faded. Someone – Nat? It doesn’t seem like Nat but you distinctly remember that it was someone with a feminine voice – helped you remove your coat and snow-damp jeans and into a pair of loose sweatpants. If it wasn’t Nat, then was the woman a dream? You suppose it’s possible – between the cold and shock it’s no wonder your brain wasn’t working at full capacity. Hallucinations wouldn’t exactly be impossible.

Right now, though, your still sleepy mind feels clearer than it has in ages and it feels good. Not being under a constant threat of violence and a cloud of fear feels great.

Blinking, you turn your gaze to the side. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace across from you, a window to the left of it, and a door with a window to the right. Against the adjacent wall there are a couple of chairs with a little wooden table between them. It could pass for a cozy living room if it weren’t for the massive amount of weaponry, gear, and electrical equipment lining the walls of the small space. If you twist your head a bit to look behind you it looks like the living room flows into the kitchen, and there are some darker spaces that you can only guess are halls or doorways to other rooms.

As you struggle to leverage yourself on the couch to move to a seated position, you end up knocking a glass of water off the table that you didn’t know was behind the armrest; the voices outside go quiet at the noise.

“You’re awake,” Nat says as she comes through the door, bringing the chill air of Siberian winter with her. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Sore,” you mumble. You intentionally focus on the physical to ignore the emotional; you’re not ready to deal with that shitshow. Not yet. “Fucking leg hurts. Where’s Bucky?”

Steve and Nat share a look, and you’re suddenly wide awake.

“Where’s Bucky? How long have I been out? Where is he?”

“He’d been radioing in and checking in on you regularly; wouldn’t stop until Sam told him that you were stable.” Nat is attempting to use some of her spy superpowers to pacify you with her voice.

It isn’t working.

“That wasn’t my question, Nat. Where is he?”

Neither of them answers you.

You fight against the rising panic; why won’t they tell you where he is?

Steve avoids your eyes as he helps you get to a seated position, and then sits at the end of the couch. “Steve…” you’re ready to beg for information at this point. “Where’s Bucky? Why isn’t he here?”

“He went to make good on a promise. He’ll be back –“

“When?” The panic threatens to swallow you whole – Bucky is strong - so strong - but he’s still human. There’s a limit to his incredible strength and the past few weeks have been just as bad for him, if not worse in some ways, than for you. He’s tired and worn, both emotionally and physically, and you simply cannot believe that Steve is here instead of with Bucky.

Steve sighs in resignation. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” You lean forward in an attempt to make him meet your gaze.

He trades a look with Nat before answering. “Once he got word that you were stable, he went silent.”

You wait for more explanation, but when none comes, you explode, “Oh my God! Steve! Why are you making me drag this out of you piece by piece? Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Steve raises his hands in a gesture meant to placate. “I understand that you’re upset, but you’ve been through a lot, physically and mentally, so we need you to –“

You stop him with an upraised palm. “Steve, if you’re about to tell me to calm down, I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell you that I’m about to shove your shield up your ass. I’m not a child, so don’t treat me like one.“

“Hey now,” Sam comes into the room from a side hallway, motioning for you to sit back. “You should be resting, and for the love of God don’t move that leg unnecessarily. We patched you up as best we could but it’s just a temporary fix.”

“Sam,” you plead, now on the verge of tears, “where’s Bucky?”

He shoots a look to Steve and Nat, who have the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “Really? You haven’t told her? Because with all the shit she’s been through in the past few weeks, you think this is what would break her? Seriously?” He shakes his head and clenches his jaw as he kneels in front of you. “Ignore them – they mean well, they’re just being overprotective because we just got you back. As far as we know, Bucky’s fine. He’s got both Tony and Clint with him, and we’re still in intermittent contact with them.”

“But not Bucky?” You still struggle to make sense of the few details you’ve been given, but you’re grateful that Sam’s telling you something.

Sam shakes his head. “Once he knew you were okay he turned his radio off. He’s kicking some ass and didn’t want any distractions. And before you yell at me for not being there, you should know that I’m here because as a former pararescue I’m medically qualified to handle your wound. Bucky asked Steve and Nat to come back here to make sure you were safe - he didn’t want to take any chances with the Krakkens’ men slipping past him and following you here. And he’s not alone – along with Tony and Clint we have some allies here that we’ve been working with, so there are at least 20 more people with him eliminating the remaining threats. He asked me to tell you that he loves you and will be back as soon as he can.”

You finally exhale and allow yourself to sit back into the cushions. “Oh.” You let the information sink in. You don’t like it – you’ve been away from him long enough and you want him here - but now you know.

Breathe.

“Was that really so hard?” Sam glares at his teammates as he takes your blood pressure. “Seriously. She wasn’t a damsel in distress before, she sure as hell isn’t now.” Sam turns back to face you with a completely serious look you rarely see in his eyes, “You do need to take it easy though, they are right about that. You’ve still got a bullet fragment in your leg that’s plugging an artery, and it won’t take much to do more damage.”

Well that’s…not great, but you suppose you got off pretty lucky, all things considered.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” The last thing you want to do is sit in silence; silence means you have time to think. And you really want to know when you can go home.

Steve glances at Sam as if he’s looking for some sort of confirmation. “Well, the timing of everything is up in the air, because we have to make sure you’re okay to fly; we might have to wait a day or two just to make sure you stay stable. It’s probably gonna take that long to line up transportation anyway; the quinjet we took to get here isn’t exactly ideal for taking you back to the tower – yes, the Avengers’ tower,” he clarifies at your questioning look, “because although we could technically make it work, you’ll be much more comfortable in a private jet.”

It occurs to you to argue the point that you’d be fine in whatever they have here just for the sake of moving, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s a battle you’ll lose – especially when Bucky gets back. So you save your breath and move on to the next question: “Why the tower?” You just want to go home.

“You still have to have surgery on that leg to remove the bullet,” Sam at least looks apologetic as he speaks. “I’m a pararescue, not a surgeon. My job is to get you patched up until you can get to someone that can fix you permanently.”

“And we have access to some of the best doctors and equipment – not that the doctors in your area aren’t competent, but they aren’t the best.” Then Nat does what she does best and makes your mind up for you, “If we take you to the tower for your medical care, we can pretty much guarantee that you’ll heal better and faster, which means you’ll be up and running with Artie and Jimmy in no time. You can do a week’s stay at the tower and be at 80% when you get home with another two or three weeks to get to 100%, or we can take you home for local treatment and you’ll still have a hospital stay, your total recovery time can extend to 12 weeks, and you might have to live with permanent nerve damage. It’s your decision, of course.”

You weigh her words and come to the conclusion that she’s right. Going home right away doesn’t guarantee that you’ll get to return to your boys any sooner – it hurts to wait but another week won’t kill you if the last three haven’t already. Plus, you really don’t want your boys seeing you like this, or in a hospital bed. And you haven’t looked in a mirror, but you’re pretty sure you still have visible bruises on your face and neck. “Fine.” You narrow your eyes at Nat suspiciously. “I can’t tell if I really made that decision myself or if you just manipulated me.”

“No one ever can,” Steve mutters under his breath. Nat just smirks. “Are you hungry? We have –“ Steve stops himself as he tilts his head; a second later his lips turn up in a smile. “Copy that. They’re on their way back – Tony figures they’re about 10 minutes out.”

You heave a sigh of relief as Sam presses something cold into your hands; you take one look at it and try to give it back. “What the everloving fuck is this?”

Nat barks out a laugh as Steve tries to hide his with a snort while you stare disdainfully at the glass in your hand.

“It’s a smoothie.” Sam sounds positively offended.

“It’s green.”

“It’s good for you.”

“I don’t care. And are these chunks?” No. Nope, no way. Nuh uh. “Isn’t being smooth one of the defining characteristics of a smoothie?”

“You need to get something in your stomach so we can give you something to keep your pain under control.” At your look of disgust, Sam continues, “Look, you can either drink this or you can deal with Barnes when he gets back, and you know damn well that he can be a little extra when it comes to you. If it’s him, you’re gonna end up with twice the amount of smoothie.”

“…Sam.” You know he’s not wrong. Bucky would never force you to do anything, including eat, but he would damn well give you the big baby blue puppy dog eyes that you could never really say no to.

He regards you with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. “It’s up to you, but I should warn you - Barnes’ smoothies usually need to be chewed.”

Oh gross.

“I’d start drinking if I were you, they’re gonna be back soon.”

“Now, actually,” Nat says, as she looks through the window.

Steve joints her, pulling back the curtain on the other side and you realize you have no choice.

“I hate you,” you mutter as you lift the nauseating concoction to your lips and begin to chug.

Sam smirks when he takes the emptied glass back. “You and Barnes are made for each other.”

There’s the sound of booted footsteps and then the door finally opens; although there are two people standing there, you only see one.

Bucky pauses in the doorway as his eyes dart around the room, frantically searching for you. In that split second you see that he is covered in blood and your heart plummets to the floor under your feet; it’s a good thing you’re sitting, because the sight of him as he is would have made you fall to your knees had you been standing.

You’re about to get up to go to him when he finally finds you, and his empty blue eyes fill with emotion before he crosses the room, stumbling in his haste. Bucky collapses to his knees at your feet, arms encircling your waist almost uncomfortably tight while he buries his face in your stomach.

Holding him close and tangling your fingers in his hair, you look up to see the other silhouette still standing in the doorway and recognize it as that of Iron Man. His already red suit is a darker crimson than usual, and it takes you a moment to realize that the deeper shade is not from the dim light, but rather from something splattered irregularly all over the metal. Blood.

Tony heaves a sigh as he removes his faceplate - he looks tired but resolute. He meets your eyes and, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, steps back to remove his suit before coming in through the door.

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Nat cuts him off as she listens to something in her earpiece, “Clint will be here in a minute – he wants to do one last perimeter check.”

No one says another word until Clint walks through the door and breaks the silence as he whispers to Steve, “It’s done.”

“Is he hurt?” you ask no one in particular. Bucky has yet to pull away from you, and you can’t tell if any of this blood belongs to him.

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Kiddo, maybe a scratch here and there, a few bruises, but nothing serious.” he gently reassures you. “Clint and I kept an eye on him when we could.”

“So this…” you hold out your hand – It’s sticky and red from being in Bucky’s hair.

“Hard to tell for sure exactly whose that was,” Clint drawls with a distinct note of satisfaction, “but it isn’t Bucky’s.”

“He’s extremely efficient…when he wants to be…but very messy,” Tony interjects dryly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Steve looked back and forth between the three men. “So if he was so ‘efficient,’ what took so long? You should have been back over an hour ago!”

“I said he was efficient when he wanted to be…he didn’t always want to be,” Tony explains with a shrug. “Said he had some promises to keep,” he adds with a glance your way. You’re pretty sure that last comment was intentionally vague for your benefit, although you now have a pretty good idea about what happened while you slept. “Oh, by the way I took the opportunity to mess with their intelligence,” he makes air quotes and makes a disgusted face, “system while I was there. I can’t say with one hundred percent accuracy that Krakken’s associates will never come after you – he had a lot of power, a lot of people, and a lot of business contacts – but we left a pretty clear message. I’m pretty confident that they’ll just cut their losses and move on at this point. It’ll look like Bratva infighting to the rest of the world, but the ones that need to know better, do.”

Nat nods as she thinks. “What about the HYDRA connection?”

Tony shakes his head. “Providing the extra people to track her down when this all started was just a personal favor from one of the higher-ups – HYDRA itself had no stake in this. From the looks of it he didn’t really know what Krakken’s end game was, otherwise he likely would have gotten HYDRA involved and become a very big problem.”

Nat nods again and looks around the tiny room at all the tired people. “Did you send Yakov and his men home?”

“Yeah. They did what they came to do; there were minimal losses on our side. I think they’re probably celebrating right about now.” Tony pulls the curtain back and looks out into the darkness. “There’s still a couple hours until daylight – we should get some sleep. And give them some space,” he nods towards you and Bucky. “FRIDAY, expand the perimeter to two miles and let me know if anything crosses.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark.” Tony and his ever-present, omniscient technology.

Everyone files out of the room in an exhausted haze, and it’s just you and Bucky.

Bucky.

You don’t say anything, you just keep stroking his hair. It’s pretty obvious that he isn’t ready to let go yet, and you’re okay with that. He’s here with you, in one piece. It’s enough just to hold him. Humming his lullaby is second nature by now, so it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest when you catch yourself doing it. His tense shoulders slowly begin to relax under your gentle touch.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from you after a few minutes. “I gotta take a shower, Sweetheart. I…I don’t want their blood touching you any more than it already is.” His haunted eyes are so exhausted that you don’t bother to argue that he needs sleep more than anything. “Have, uh, have you eaten? You should eat.”

Thinking of the nasty sludge you can still taste, you nod. “Sam made me something. I’m good. What about you?”

“Not hungry,” he mutters. Bucky rises with his customary grace, even if his shoulders are slumped, and helps you to stand so you can use the bathroom first and wash the dried blood from your hands.

“Buck, I can get back to the couch myself,” you murmur as he lifts you when you exit, apparently deciding that walking the 15 steps to the bathroom was 15 too many. It’s so clear that he is so worn, so tired, that you don’t want to add to it.

But he whispers hoarsely, “Just…please let me do this.” So you do; you couldn’t deny him if you wanted to. He slowly carries you back, covers you with a blanket, and presses a kiss to your forehead before returning to the bathroom.

He makes quick work of the shower as you stare at the fire still burning in the fireplace; it’s died down quite a bit, but it’s still enough to keep the room warm and dimly lit. His familiar footsteps – God, you’re so incredibly happy to hear them again – approach slowly.

It stays silent for a moment or two, so you turn toward the hall to see him watching you. The shower must have helped to ground him because although his eyes are somewhat reserved, even cautious, they no longer look haunted.

“Hey.” Your soft murmur is a quiet invitation.

“Hey.” He pads over to you, dressed now in a simple tee shirt and sweatpants. Bucky reaches for your hands and you immediately oblige him; he helps you to stand before pulling you into a tight hug and resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you okay?” Your hand reaches up to gently cradle his cheek; God, how you’ve missed this.

“Mmm hmm. I am now, Sweetheart,” he mumbles as he leans into your touch, bringing his hand up to yours before turning slightly to kiss your palm. “I am now. How’s your leg?”

You shrug. “It hurts but I really don’t care. You’re here. Nothing else matters right now.”

Bucky smiles and releases you to start rearranging the pillows on the couch. He stops before doing the same for the blankets. “Um, would you prefer that I sleep on the floor? I, uh, I don’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Bucky,” you softly chide, taking his hand into yours, “I already told you that I’m coming home with you. We’re going to get through this. Together.”

He nods silently, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“You didn’t lose me, and I refuse to lose you. I’ll tell you that every hour of every day if that’s what you need, and I know you’ll do the same for me. We save each other, Love. That’s always been our thing, even from the first week we met. We’ll take it day by day, okay? Just like we always have.”

“I love you,” he exhales shakily as he nods.

“I love you. Always.” You gently pull his head down to press a kiss against his forehead. “Now, there’s absolutely no point to you sleeping on the floor when there’s a perfectly good couch that can hold us both.” You stop and eyeball the piece of furniture since this is the first time you’ve actually looked at it; it’s a bit on the narrow side but it’s long enough, and it is fairly comfortable, but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘sturdy’ with its spindly legs. “Well, maybe it can hold us both…I’m really not sure this couch was built to hold a Bucky much less a Bucky and another person…”

A soft laugh huffs out of Bucky, and it’s the best goddamn thing you’ve heard all day. “We’ll make it work, Sweetheart. How’s that sound? I plan to hold you the entire time anyway, so if something breaks I’ll take the brunt of it.”

“Always my hero,” you grin as he goes to make himself comfortable. Once he’s settled, he opens his arms for you. You use your good leg to kneel on one knee between his legs, carefully lowering yourself so that you’re lying against his chest with your ear pressed above his heart and your arms to either side of him. Slowly, you twist your bottom half so that your injured leg is facing up and resting over his thigh.

“Mmmmm…I’ve missed this,” he mumbles into your hair, arms already around you as he softly strokes your back with his fingertips.

You’re about to agree when a loud crack snaps though the room, causing you both to violently start. You stare up at him, completely afraid to move. “Was…was that the couch?”

Bucky stares back at you, eyes comically wide. “Well, my butt is now about two inches lower than it was a couple seconds ago, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Bucky’s chest twitches, and you abruptly dissolve into helpless giggles as his laughter begins to echo through the room.

“Are you alright, Love?” you somehow manage to get out.

“Yeah, believe it or not, I’m actually more comfortable now.” At least you think that’s what he says – it’s kind of hard to be sure with his sputtering laughter.

“Oh my God, we broke the couch!” Your mortified stage whisper only makes him laugh harder. “No one’s going to believe that we weren’t doing anything but lying here!”

It takes a full minute for Bucky to compose himself enough to reply. “Nah, you don’t have to worry about that. They all know I wouldn’t take a chance with moving that bullet in your thigh and having you bleed out.”

Bucky’s comment sobers you immediately. “It’s really that delicate, huh?”

“Well, yes and no. Wilson said that nothing should happen as long as you’re careful and don’t exert yourself. A big enough increase in blood pressure could potentially cause it to shift, or if you hit your leg, but as long as you move slowly and carefully you’ll be fine.” He smiles softly at you before continuing. “I trust Wilson – he’s good at what he does.”

“Okay. ” That’s actually really reassuring. But… “Okay wait, did you actually talk to Sam about us…um…”

Your comment, of course, kicks off another round of chuckles. “You are aware that they already know about us, right?”

“Well, I know, but –“

“You’re blushing.” Something in the room shifts with the way he’s looking at you with his soft smile and warm eyes. Bucky shakes his head slowly as he watches you with something close to wonder. “With everything you’ve been through, you still have that sweet, sort of shy innocence.”

“Innocence?” you all but snort. “Yeah okay, if you say so.”

“I do say so. There’s more than one kind of innocence, you know. What I’m talking about is how you can still blush at the idea of someone else knowing about us being intimate. How you saw the best in me when we met, even when I told you about all of the worst in me. How you were so quick to get over your anger when you found out how I’d been lying to you because you saw the intentions behind my actions, even though some of those actions hurt you. How you can still love me, without reservation, after what we just went through.”

“Buck –“

“That’s not me getting down on myself, Sweetheart, that’s just me saying how it is. There’s lots of people in this world that wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me if they’d been in your shoes. But you…when you said before that you’d tell me every hour of every day that I didn’t lose you, I could see in your eyes that you were telling the truth, that it wasn’t just lip service to get me to shut up. I guess that my point is that you’re still you. I,” Bucky pauses for a moment as he searches for the right words, “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna come back to you tonight. What you went through is enough to break most people, and I wasn’t sure if the woman I came back to tonight would be the same woman that loved me on Christmas day. But you are.” His smile is so bright that you can’t help but smile back. “You just went through hell, but you welcomed me with open arms and held me when I came back. You comforted me. There’s no doubt in my mind that you need comfort too, but you put that aside to make sure I was okay.”

“Of course I did, Love,” you manage to choke out. “I’m just so happy –“ your throat is thick from the tears you’re trying to hold back, and it’s making it hard to talk, “I’m just so happy to have you back.”

Bucky smiles softly as he tucks a renegade lock of hair behind your ear. “And that’s what I mean by innocence. Even though you’ve now witnessed some of the horrible things I’m capable of doing, you still don’t see those things when you look at me. You know they’re there, and you accept them, but they don’t change how you see me. You don’t see me as a monster.”

“Because you’re not.” Your tone dares him to argue with you. He doesn’t.

“Since we’re kinda on the topic…is there anything you want to talk about? Is there anything you need from me?” He strokes your back comfortingly, and you feel safe – as safe as you ever have with him.

You allow yourself to sink further into him as you exhale. “You’re doing exactly what I need right now by just holding me. I’m not,” damn it, there’s that thickness in your throat again, “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You know damn well that you can open up to him, and you will, but right now you’re just too fragile. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll put you back together when you break, but you’re just not quite ready to do it yet. You’ve been free for less than 12 hours – everything is too fresh, too close.

As he presses a kiss into your hair, you know that he knows what you can’t say, and you know that his tender kiss is a silent promise to be there for you when you’re ready.

With his strong heartbeat for a lullaby, you allow yourself to drift off to sleep.

Tags: Tags: @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire @learisa @widowvinter @kaaatniss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @denialanderror @k-nighttt @givemethatgold @manders2487 @afangirlrambles @polkadottedpillowcase @msshadowboxer @bluebrrn @saysay125 @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508 @scarlettsoldier @natalie-nightcourt @im-beautifully-sewn @lovemarvelousfics @feistytravel @tbetz0341 @nearly-whitches @jamie-leah @shliic @dessinemoiunehistoire @lucywinchester2000

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #my work #when everythings made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am)#WEMtbB #part 48

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peachyteabuck · 6 years

Text

vanilla

summary: after some heckling from clint and sam, you and steve discuss your kinks

pairing: sub!steve rogers x dom!reader

words: 3243 (oops)

trigger warnings: mentions of some really dirty stuff.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You were trying to find something to eat in your fridge, scanning the various tupperware containers for anything edible. You sighed deeply. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, it’s just that you weren’t hungry for anything you already had. Finally, you decide on a bowl of cereal and almond milk. You forgo walking all the way to the dining room table for simply eating at the counter, something your mother always scolded you for.

You were halfway through your second bowl when Clint and Sam came bursting out the elevator, followed by your boyfriend, a furiously blushing Steve Rogers.

“I can’t-” Clint stops in his tracks, clutching his stomach and almost falling to the floor.

Steve is still red in the face, and can barely get a word in before Sam interrupts him. You eat calmly, hoping the loud interaction quiets down soon. Those three could badger each other for hours, and right now, you weren’t having it.

“Seriously bro, c’mon! You really thought between nineteen-whatever and now, that sex would stay the same?” Sam is almost wheezing by the end.

You rolled your eyes, finally understanding what they were laughing at. Ever since Steve had discovered what PornHub was (which was about...three weeks ago, you had no idea how it’d taken him that long, honestly), they had been merciously teasing him.

You sighed, stood up, and used yourself as a physical barrier between your boyfriend and the others.

“Guys, leave him alone,” you scolded. “Don’t you two have training sessions with Nat?” You raised your eyebrows, daring them to disagree with you. In truth, you didn’t know what either of them had on their schedules today. And, in truth, you didn’t care. You just wanted them to stay off of Steve’s back. You know he got insecure about these things, as you’d imagine anyone would if they had to go through what he did.

They both gave out one last chuckle and scrambled their way out of the elevator. You and Natasha had worked closely throughout your time at for Stark Industries. They knew that even if they didn’t intend to spar with her, you would make it so (and maybe you whispered to Natasha to go extra hard on them, but just maybe).

You had worked with him (and a group of other therapists) extensively in an effort to get him acclimated to the 2010s, but sex, and everything in relation to it, didn’t make the cut. Maybe you thought it would be too awkward, maybe he thought it would be too awkward, maybe you were too busy explaining the anti-vaccination movement to him.

Either way, he was stuck on his own when it came to him, his dick, and what he did with it.

This also meant that you two had barely had sex in your eight month relationship. It wasn’t something you needed to have to be happy with a person, but it would...be appreciated. Still, you stuck by your man, and if he didn’t want to have sex, you didn’t have sex.

Additionally, Steve trusted you to answer any question he had (about anything he wanted to know) honestly, and to keep the conversations you had private.

So, when Steve came to your office during work hours, you didn’t really bat an eyelash. You were currently looking over some paperwork you could probably pass off to someone else, trying to figure out whether or not you should increase Bucky’s weekly therapy sessions.

Steve cleared his throat once, simply standing there, taking up almost the whole doorway. You looked up at him and smiled, inviting him to come in.

He knows the drill. He flips over the sign on your door from “COME IN!” to “DO NOT DISTURB,” and sits down on the overly plush couch across from you. You stay in your swivel chair, facing him.

“Sam and Clint asked you called me ‘daddy’ when we have…” Steve isn’t meeting your eyes as he speaks. Usually he’s pretty confident, or at least good at faking it.

Now he’s looking behind you, staring at the adornments on your desk. You know he’s looking at all of the pictures by the angle of his pupils.

His eyes catch on a few particular ones. Your childhood dog as a puppy, a picture of the skyline of your hometown.

You laugh a little, unable to contain it. It’s a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

“Do you want me to respond as a therapist with a PhD in trauma studies, or your loving and dedicated girlfriend?” you ask.

Steve meets your eyes now. He was just about done with the line of pictures and would’ve had to look up next. Your diplomas and awards are at an awkward angle, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to turn his neck like that.

He rambles. “I don’t know...you know I love you, right? Like, I really do. And I know we’re going slower than...than other people...but you understand, right? You understand that it’s not...it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s just...I just need…”

While he speaks, his chest rises and falls at a rapid rate. You go over to him, pulling his head to the crook in your neck.

Rubbing his back, you shush him. “I love you, too, babe…” he visibly exhales at that. “Listen, I love you, too. And I’m here for you. Don’t worry, if you want to wait, I’ll wait. I’m with you because I love you, not because I want a quick lay.”

He pulls away, smiling a little. “Thank you...let me, let me thank you…”

You’re about to protest, but he immediately stops you with one of those million-dollar smiles. “Not, I don’t mean like that...let me take you out on a date, to that restaurant you like?”

You bite your lip and smile. “That’d be great.”

The date is nice, just how everything with Steve is. That man is perfect, a ray of golden light illuminating your life.

You two speak the next morning at breakfast. You’re eating a bowl of cereal again, Steve is making an omelette. That fancy bastard.

A comforting silence falls over you two. The scrape of the whisk against the bowl, the chopping of vegetables, the sizzle of the pan.

Steve is the one who speaks first. He calls out your name softly.

“(Y/N), can I ask you a weird question?” Steve is still facing the stove. You can see his back muscles ripple through his worn pajama shirt.

You swallow the too-soggy cereal before you snap yourself back to reality. “Uh...sure.”

Steve clears his throat. “What does ‘vanilla’ mean?”

You’re shocked. You cough a little, causing half-eaten bites of your breakfast to shoot up your throat. This makes you cough viciously.

Steve turns around, going to make sure you’re okay. You can barely meet his eyes, even as you wave him off and assure him you’re fine.

You set your bowl in the sink, and hop back onto the counter.

You’re unsure of how to answer the question. It’s obvious he means vanilla in bed. It takes you a minute, but you figure brutal honesty is best, as it always is with him.

“It means,” you pause. He stares deep into your eyes. God, he’s so handsome. “It means...it means you’re not kinky.”

He turns back to the stove, turning it off. The omelette is burned a little due to your choking escapade. He still plates them before asking his next question.

“What does ‘kinky’ mean?” he takes a bite of the eggs. Chewing slowly, he watches your every move.

You speak slowly, carefully. You now understand why your parents were so awkward when you asked where babies come from.

“It means you like...you like a lot of different things in bed…” you chew your bottom lip. You have zero idea of the proper way to answer him. Explaining how much phones had changed, or what computers were, was easier than this.

“What do you mean…’a lot?’ Like, what are those things?” He asks. His voice is small, quiet. Anyone who was walking in from the common room would only be able to hear you.

In an effort to not lose your mind, you revert back to the way you taught everything to Steve: simple, small things first, then build up to more complicated ones.

Finger in the butt, and then suspension. Oral, then anal. Handjobs, then electrocution.

You take a deep breath before beginning. “There are some people who like to be...spanked...and there are people who like to spank…” Steve’s eyes are wide. He doesn’t say anything, though, so you continue. “There are also people who like to wear collars…”

After a while, Steve’s eyes go back to normal size. After going over the basics, you take his relaxed stance as a sign to go more in depth. “There are people who like to dominate, ‘dom’ for short and there are people who ‘sub,’ or take the submissive role. The dominate takes more authority, they’re in charge of the other person, or people. The submissive role is…”

You look him up and down. You’re standing now, he’s leaning against the counter. All of the food has been consumed, dirty dishes placed in the dishwasher.

You balance on your hands behind you. “Am I make sense? Should I slow down?”

Steve shakes his head. His talent for unwavering eye contact is unprecedented, and this time you’re the one who looks away. You shouldn’t do that, you’re a professional. You’re the one who explained to Steve the Civil Rights movement, both landmark Rodriguez Supreme Court cases, and yoga pants.

This shouldn’t be this hard.

But here, in this kitchen, you’re not one of the best trauma specialists in the Western hemisphere. You’re not the woman with the PhD. You’re not the highly decorated therapist. You’re not a published author.

Here, in this kitchen, you are the girlfriend of Steven Grant Rogers. You are a flustered girl attempting to explain to your boyfriend how BDSM works.

Your conversation (which barely meets the threshold for one, since you’re doing ninety-nine percent of the talking) is only ended what feels like hours later when you get a text from Stark, asking you to meet him up in your office.

It’s that night when you’re about to go to bed that Steve finds you again. You’d assumed that, after what you had told him, that he would want time to process everything. So, you made your way back to your own apartment and got ready for bed.

You’re halfway through brushing your teeth when you hear a knock on the door. When you answer it, Steve is hunched over in the doorway. His face mirrors that of a kicked puppy.

You feel terrible.

“Did I do something wrong?” He mumbles.

Immediately, you melt. You feel so, so fucking bad.

“No,” you tell him. “Of course you didn’t.”

Steve sniffles. “Then why didn’t you come to my apartment after your meeting with Tony?”

“I thought you needed some time to process everything we talked about…” you answer honestly.

Steves shrugs. He doesn’t meet your eyes. He looks behind you again. This time, it’s not at pictures, but at your messy apartment. You practically moved into Steve’s, most of your clothes were there, most of your stuff was there, too. It was almost bare. It looked like you didn’t live there.

Truly, it was because you didn’t. Your heart and all your crap belonged with Steve and his crap.

He shakes his head. “No...I mean, I do, I need time to process, I need time to think about everything, I mean, you know this...how long, do you remember how long it took for me to figure out you weren’t lying about the water bottle industry?”

You laugh loudly at that, snorting a little. It took him months to figure out you weren’t joking, there really were people who sold water in small containers that couldn’t be reused or recycled. Truthfully, you hadn’t used a single one since. “Yeah, that did take awhile.”

Steve sighs. Not the sigh you use when Tony refuses to see his therapist, or when Wanda steals your coffee cup from your hands. This sigh is loving, it’s relieved.

His hands come to cup your cheeks. They’re warm, firm. “Let me come in, or come up to mine. I’ll make you something, and we can take a hot bath, or whatever. I just don’t want to be not around you.”

You nod, wanting to be around him, too.

Later that night, you’re sitting in bed. He’s reading, you’re emailing back and forth with some magazine about an interview. The only sound in the room is music quietly coming from your phone on the right bedside table and your typing.

Steve is laying against pillows, while you sit upright at the end of the bed.

Just like before, Steve is the one to break the comfortable silence.

“Hey, (Y/N), you trust me, right?”

You don’t look up, thinking nothing of it. Steve, like anyone who’s been through one-sixteenth of what he has, needs a lot of reassurance. “Of course, babe,” you tell him.

His voice is more stern the second time. “(Y/N).”

You roll your eyes, but still don’t meet his. You’re not even sure what you’re looking at on your laptop screen at this point. “What?”

“Not like, ‘Oh, yeah, I can trust you not to cheat on me or murder me in my sleep.’ I mean, you do trust me?” Steve’s eyes burn into yours, and you can feel electricity dance across your skin. This must be how it feels to be struck by lightning.

Your face feels hot. You gnaw on your own lip in an attempt not to moan.

“Yeah,” your voice is just above a whisper. “Yeah...yeah, I trust...I trust you.”

Steve takes your now-closed laptop (When did you shut it? Did he close it? Did you close it?) and places it gingerly in its assigned drawer. Then he mutes your phone.

He remains laid back against the pillows and headboard, legs crossed languidly. You suddenly feel a cosmic pull to him.

Placing yourself on his lap, facing him, is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done. This really, truly, can’t get better...until it does.

“Tell me what you like…” Steve whispers it to you, but it feels it’s a megaphone in your ear. “Tell me your kinks.”

You bite your lip again, staring deep into his eyes. You’re speechless. Your jaw hangs open and your chest heaves as you desperately think of an answer.

“I...want..” is all you can choke out. Your words catch in your throat like a fly caught in a spiderweb.

Steve kisses from the edge of your shoulder to your earlobe. Once the line is finished, he sighs into your ear again. “Tell me everything (Y/N), leave nothing untold…”

You moan again. Fuck, You think. Take me now.

Taking a deep breath, you try to speak again. “I wanna fuck you. I wanna tie you up and wipe tears from your eyes while I deny you relief. I want to see big, strong Captain America reduced to a whimpering, begging mess…”

This time, Steve moans. It’s low in his throat. You want to leave bruises on his milky skin.

Steve’s eyes are screwed shut, his head leaning back. You feel his hard on through his sweatpants and your sleep shorts, which you’ve probably soaked through by now.

“Tell me more…” he manages to get out. “There’s more...there has to be more…”

You rub against him and sigh happily. “I wanna ride you, I wanna drip hot wax down your back...I wanna hear your cries of pain...I wanna ride your face until you cum just from giving me pleasure. I wanna...fuck, Steve, I wanna take care of you after, too. I wanna draw hot baths for you like you did for me and listen to your moans of pleasure as I wipe a warm washcloth across your body to clean the sweat and tears and cum off of you.”

He moans again. “Please...please that’s what I, that’s what I want, too.”

You smile, kissing down the side of his face. Your body surges with confidence after every sweet moan reaches your ears. “All you gotta do is ask, baby…”

“God,” now his chest is heaving. You feel another shot of adrenaline, and with that, a shot of courage. Reducing a supersoldier to a whining mess is a hell of a drug.

You stop mouthing over his jugular. “Please what, baby? You gotta tell me what you want.”

Steve moans come from higher in his throat this time, and you can feel his dick twitch.

“I want…I want you to be in charge, fuck I remember the first day I met you, you were bossing Clint around, making him move stuff for you and telling him what to do. You scolded him when he dropped your shit and praised him when we did it the way you liked. Same day, you yelled at Tony to do something and he did it, just fucking did it, I’d never seen him do that before. It was, for fucking sure, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He doesn’t stop talking. For awhile in your early twenties, you were a sugar baby. You needed the money to pay for your path into social work. Once, a client paid off all of your student loans while you sucked his dick. That didn’t hold a candle to what was happening in front of your very eyes.

“Then after you started working with me, trying to get me used to everything, all you fucking did was boss me around. Told me what to do and where to go, always tell me the truth about stuff...the others, they skirted around bad stuff, but no, you didn’t. Told me everything. Once you came down to the gym to find Nat and me, and fuck, fuckfuckfuck, we were sparring and you complimented my stance. Almost fell to the floor right fucking there...right fucking there. God, I love you, I love you so much.”

You giggle, remembering exactly what he was talking about. That day, Natasha had a given you a file on Barnes that was incomplete. Whole sections of info was blocked out, obviously to keep someone without your level of clearance’s nose out of your patient’s business.

You went down to where FRIDAY had told you she was. You found her, just as Steve had said, sparring with him. He looked so good, sweaty and breathless. You had taken a leap, albeit an unprofessional one, and told him he looked nice. You thought he had interpreted it as sarcastic. Turns out, he knew exactly what you wanted.

You lean forward and press your lips to his, your noses brush. It’s not bruising, it’s beautiful, and loving, and sweet like nectar. You nuzzle forward and run your fingers through his hair, pulling a little. He moans and you smile devilishly.

“All we need is a safe word, and then we can get started.”

Steve smiles, too. His is more blissed out. He’s riding a high, and he never wants to come down.

You can say with certainty you don’t either.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #marvels the avengers #steven grant rogers #lukis writes stuff

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wileyfoxwrites · 2 years

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Alexi Luis Cervantes || 30 || Housekeeper Name Pronunciation: Uh-Lex-ee Family: One older brother, One younger sister Hometown: Khatanga, Russia Birthday: May 1st Age: 30 Sexuality: Bisexual Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Aliases, if any: Lexi, Lex Nationality: Russian Religion, if applicable: He’s more spiritual than anything. Alexi did go to church on Sundays with his parents and was raised Catholic but he doesn’t go often anymore. He believes, he just doesn’t like the pressure that his religion put on him while growing up so he practices his faith at home rather than inside the church. Parents’ names: Father - Eduardo Cervantes (Deceased), Mother - Alanna Cervantes Current relationship status: It’s complicated with Cassandra Galatas Previous relationships: TBD

Under the cut there are mentions of parental death, anger issues.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION Height: 5′9 Build: Athletic Hair colour: Brown Eye colour: Green Glasses/contacts: Not needed. Tattoos: None Piercings: None Typical clothing style: T-shirt and jeans are his got to when he’s not in his work uniform. He can’t really afford much else. He has a few dress shirts for the ‘fancier’ occasions. Distinguishing features (scars, birthmarks, freckles, etc): His hands are calloused pretty badly from working on the farm most of his life. There’s also a large scar on his left forearm from an accident in the fields where a blade got him. Dominant hand: Left HEALTH Health issues or illnesses, if any: When he was younger he had a lot of issues with his sinuses. Bloody noses were common, he had his tonsils removed, and his adenoids as well. The surgeries didn’t completely end his issues so he still gets pretty bad sinus infections during those seasons. Allergies, if any: None. Exercise habits: He works out but he’s not obsessed with keeping extremely fit. He gets a lot of his cardio from his walks around the castle. Dietary habits: His diet consists of a lot of traditional Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Russian dishes. His mother made sure to incorporate every ounce of their heritage along with acclimating them to the Russian culture as well. He refuses to eat at the castle dinners most of the time, not because he doesn’t think Sasha and the chefs can’t cook well but because the food is too rich for his taste. Everything is too much, too decadent, too decorated, and he hates it. PERSONALITY Accent: He has a very thick Russian accent with a tinge of a Mexican one slipping in now and then. He grew up around mostly Russian people but his parents influenced it as well. Speech style: Every now and then he can’t think of the right word to say in English so he’ll mess them up and call himself out for it. When he’s speaking Russian or Spanish he’s faster with his words if only to make it harder for others who don’t speak the languages to understand him. Most used word or phrase: “I hate this.” Or any form of complaining when it comes to the castle. Do they curse?: Every now and then but mostly in his native languages. Any secrets? His feelings towards Cassandra. The fact that he likes to snoop in the Royals things. He holds more of their secrets than his own. Top priority/ies: His family. Everything he does is for them. He has taken on the caretaker role for everyone. Most treasured possession: He doesn’t have much that he holds precious when it comes to material possessions. He’s someone who like to hold onto memories aside from things. But there is a special arrowhead that he holds onto, one he found his first day out in the fields with his dad. Addictions, if any: The fuel for his royal hating fire? Phobias: Losing his family. He’s lost his future and most of his possessions, they’re the only ones he had left. Compulsions/ habits: He tends to look people straight in the eye when he speaks to them. He feels like people can hide a lot but their eyes tell their secrets or at least when they’re lying. Zodiac Sign: Taurus OTHER Education level: High school diploma. Languages spoken: He’s fluent in Russian, Spanish, and English Hobbies: He’s slowly breaking into a few different hobbies since he has more time on his hands but nothing concrete right now. Biography/Headcanons -

During the war Alexi’s parents had decided that they were too close to the destruction while living in Mexico. The two of them sold their farm, one that had been in the family for generations, and moved across the world to the small town of Khatanga for the peace that the place provided. They bought a farm, settled in, and started a family that they were glad to raise away from the chaos the rest of the world provided. Alexi is the middle child and is also the one who decided to stay at the family farm to help his parents run it with hopes to one day take it over. But over the years as more farmland started to crop up around their own the Cervantes family saw a steady decline in the business they received for their produce and dairy products.

With the farm in hard times and no money coming in to sustain it, news of the Royals taking over the tiny town was the one shining light that the family had to hold on to. Someone had to provide for them, right? Which meant the farm chosen to do so would most definitely make a huge profit from them being there. It came down to multiple farms in the running for that very business transaction, Alexi keeping hope up as he was sure they would need more than one to keep up their supplies, but his hopes were dashed when his family's business didn’t make the short list. They could no longer keep up with the cost of keeping their land, especially with real estate going up due to the royal’s presence, so the Cervantes farm was sold to another that needed the extra land to keep up with demands of the castle. As a result, four of them had to live in a small cottage located in one of the residential areas while his older sibling moved to one of Russia’s bigger cities to follow his own dreams.

To help make ends meet Alexi took a job at the castle as one of the cleaning staff. It was a last resort, the man holding a lot of resentment towards the Royals while wanting to blame them for basically pushing his family into bankruptcy. Deep down he knows that none of them really had any say in where they were housed and played no part in the Cervantes’ losing the farm, something that would have eventually happened anyway, but he needs someone to blame for the crushing blow of basically losing the future he had planned out for himself. So, he does his best to find every reason he can to keep that hatred burning for anyone with a Royal title. The man tends to look through the things of the future leaders of the world as he cleans their rooms while trying to find any reason whatsoever to stay mad. He’s unveiled secrets purely for the sake of fueling his rage, never intending to spill facts that he’s learned to anyone else. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody; he just wants to keep justifying his anger.

Lately his anger has been fueled by the extravagance that seemed to follow the royal families. Too many times he’s witnessed events and simple birthdays blown out of proportion and he only saw it as wasting money that could be spent to better countries around the world. He hates how there were families literally begging for work in the streets to meet the needs of their family while the castle hosted balls for the sheer purpose of entertainment for their guests. Most of the time he was sure that anything the castle said to the town of Khatanga was a lie.

He had always been close to his siblings and considered the first blow to their farm being the fact that his older sibling left Khatanga to follow a different dream. He tries not to blame them, but he can’t help but feel some resentment towards them for leaving. As for his younger sibling, they’re close and Alexi is super protective of them. He will do anything in his power to keep them safe including keeping them away from any Royals that might cross their path.

Although he grew up in Khatanga and primarily speaks Russian, he’s also grown up speaking Spanish and more recently English. He’s not very good at the latter language and sometimes must fill in holes with Russian or Spanish words to get his point across. He also tends to not speak English very much in front of the Royals to keep conversations with them minimal.

He has no idea what he wants to do with his future now that the farm is gone. It’s basically all he’s known his whole life. And instead of seeing the situation as endless possibilities he views it as being his downfall. Alexi feels like he’s stuck now especially with his mother getting older and unable to provide due to a lifetime of backbreaking work on the farmland causing injuries that she can’t easily come back from.

Another crushing blow came when the avalanche hit his hometown. His father, alone while his mother and sibling went shopping for dinner, hadn’t made it out of their cottage before the snow destroyed it. Lexi was torn apart by this loss and now must take on the full responsibility of his household. Anger seems to be his go to emotion in dire situations so lashing out is something he had been doing a lot after his father’s death with his family and a very select few others being able to keep him calm and even sometimes sending a smile to his face.

Despite his hatred of them Alexi ended up falling for a princess. Kind eyes and an instant connection had him curious and before long Lexi was convinced the Greek woman was his soulmate. The housekeeper didn’t even try to resist her, and he’s been happy while sneaking around with their relationship but a betrothal for her and his own familial issues are threats to their relationship that he does not want to face.

Leaving Russia had never been in his plans but the salary they were offering him along with the presence of Cassandra made it too tempting to pass up. He hates that he left his family behind but it's for the better. With the money he's receiving after his raise he's able to send more than enough back home each week to help them stay afloat in their new place. He's home sick of course but he's also never been out of Khatanga and is starting to enjoy exploring some new places. Though he could do without the heat.

#Alexi: Is it better to out monster the monster or to be quietly devoured || Convos #Alexi: I'll swallow my blood before I swallow my pride || Musings #Alexi: He found peace in the burning but no relief in the fall || Memes #Alexi: My silence is my self defense || Mentions #Alexi: Infected by the sound || Ipod #Alexi: Scars staining my palms and fingers || Mirror #Verse: Wor

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nightblink · 6 years

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Blink Reads Oathbringer - Chapters 64-68

In which I adore Lift, Evi Kholin deserves So Much Better (as per usual), and we finally get the full version of that story that Sigzil was trying to tell Kaladin.

Chapter Sixty-Four – Binder of Gods

...now there's a title for you.

Chapter preface is a Stoneward pleading for someone to heal the rift between the Windrunners and Skybreakers tell them to get their heads out of their asses most likely

Ooo, we're coming back to the Honorblade, finally! Do you think you've found someone worthy to entrust it to, Dalinar?

Ishar was the one that founded the Radiants, interesting. One would assume that Jezrien, 'king of the Heralds', was the one to do so, but no, it was the patron of the Bondsmiths. Makes sense, in that they're all 'bound' by their Oaths, but that's also an aspect of Honor in general.

[snorts] Dalinar cursing by the Stormfather's name and him responding is never going to get old.

Shit, Ishar's maybe more crazy than the rest of the Heralds? That's… saying something.

THE GOD-PRIEST OF TUKAR IS AN ACTUAL HERALD. PFFFFFFT-

omg Stormfather pl e a s e they kind of maybe need that information to help save the world. It might be a good thing to know

….a party trick. What can the Surges of the Bondsmiths do, exactly, Stormfather. You've been a Bondsmith-spren before, did your memory of the Surges degrade as if you were any other spren in the Physical Realm without a bond?

OOP, CONNECTION, CONNECTION, HE MENTIONED IT SPECIFICALLY

[rolls eyes] And of course no answer on who/what the other Bondsmith-spren are, even when asked directly. Stormfather's basically giving us a RAFO.

Oh hot damn, actual information on how the highstorms Invest spheres – a function of all three Realms via the power of a Shard, even Shattered. So, while highstorms existed before the Shards got to Roshar, they probably weren't Invested before that point in time. And while Stormfather now is bound with a Splinter of Honor, he can't Invest a gem at will – that power is not within his control.

AYYYY, B4

And you're giving them the Honorblade! YES GOOD YOU'RE TRUSTING PEOPLE WORTHY OF SAID TRUST THIS TIME. It's good reasoning, too.

Once again, Rock is the voice of calm in the storm.

Are you finally going to get Gawx here? Maybe Lift too? Ahh, but at least Fen decided to set foot in Urithiru! Having another monarch at his side will probably help convince the others that Dalinar isn't the warmongering conqueror that he once was.

g od but I love Queen Fen

….Navani's sending him with lunch? I'll bet a fistful of emeralds here and now that Lift's going to eat it.

All this Dalivani PDA! [scandalized gasp]

“They can't draw in Light and become Radiant; they first must be approaching Radiance, and look for Light to fulfill the promise.” That's… a really, really beautiful line.

DUDE. Ordering the angry soldiers like a Highprince, then binding them like a Radiant. Nice.

!!!! New banner? It's traditional to change the shape of the glyphs when a new Highprince takes command? FFFFFFFT, I- Dalinar's is the Tower and Crown, and that pair won't be passed exactly as it is now to Adolin? What about the Main Clan Kholin glyphs rather than the Branch Clan Kholin – the Sword and Crown is Elhokar's, and it wasn't Gavilar's as well then? SANDERSON I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS, I NEED TO KNOW-

Fuck off, Amaram, even when you're not directly in the scene. Just. Fuck off.

Ahahahahahah, so… about Sadeas' murder…

And off to face the Azish. That 'good luck' didn't sound too ominous.

Chapter Sixty-Five – Verdict

[snickers] This time a Willshaper griping about the rules, as well as the tower itself.

[cackles] They're very, very jumpy, likely because he's Dalinar more than because he appeared from nowhere out of the Oathgate. There are probably oodles of out-of-proportion rumors about him this far west. (Even if they weren't exaggerated, this is still Dalinar – the man who was the Blackthorn.)

[cackles even louder] You're still ingrained in your Vorin ways, even the merest hint of religion intertwined with politics is strange and anathema to you, even if the visiers and scions don't quite serve the same function as ardents.

!!! Spiritual Adhesion! To make Connection! Oooo, we're getting to see some of the unique Surges now!

omg the poor soldier, 'HE'S GOT ME CAPTAIN WHAT DO I DOOOO'

“The warlord speaks Azish?” this entire chapter has me nonstop laughing, I swear

An essay as the weapon of choice. Perfect for the Azish. And of course the Thaylen Queen would suggest to argue for economic benefit.

A second essay. GLORIOUS.

A THIRD ESSAY.

BY JASNAH.

This just keeps getting better and better. I feel like they should get a room alone with Jasnah's essay. Honestly.

Uh oh, buried memories about the Rift are trying to surface again…

Protestors attracting logicspren! I love it.

[winces] The Alethi/Vorin class system is nothing to brag about, Dalinar, even internally and not out loud to the Azish.

I… oh my god, the Azish Parshmen argued by the Azish legal rules. Which makes sense, as they are still Azish, just not human-Azish. Ah! And Dalinar's actually noticing that fact!

Oooo, and now you've got yourself questioning not only the power of the sword versus that of the pen, but also the strict Vorin division of gendered disciplines. Good.

LIFT LIFT LIFT

Lift, how I missed you and your delightful approach to things. You are just the person to state things in blunt terms for Dalinar to confront and mull over.

Speaking of delightful, his description of the Azish decoration is great. Back in Alethkar, Adolin probably sensed his thought and felt a moment of despair.

THERE IT IS – 'TIGHT-BUTT'. Bless u Lift

“And your order?” More food.” I am never going to get tired of their interactions.

AYYY, THEY DECIDED TO ACCEPT HIS OFFER. And with the Prime of Azir are coming all sorts of other leaders. For once, things are actually looking up! (Bets on how long that's going to last, anyone?)

Uh oh. That answer of hers - “an animal” - that triggered a resurging memory.

'He remembered what had happened to Evi.'

Well, fuck.

Chapter Sixty-Six – Strategist

Flashbaaaaack~

...does. does 'strategist' here apply to Tiny Adolin (who, at nearly-thirteen, is probably just about to be not-so-tiny). 'So full of energy.' My little ADHD prince, yessss. Look at this boy, look at him learning so enthusiastically! Attending tactical meetings, soaking up everything Dalinar's trying his best to teach him.

Suffer all the hugs, Dalinar. Suffer them. If anything else, I'm glad that you haven't steered your sons away from hugs.

All these years, and Evi still hasn't acclimated to the cold. How cold is eastern Roshar as opposed to the western side? I know they've got the Frostlands bordering Alethkar to the south and southeast, but what kind of average temperature difference are we talking?

Ohhh, Evi's trying, trying so hard to be a Good Vorin Wife, even if she's not particularly interested in reading and other pursuits that the Alethi expect of a woman. She's given up so much of herself and her people to try to fit in. And with Dalinar out on campaign, she tries to divide her time between wherever he is and Kholinar, but he doesn't let Renarin come along? Because he's 'unfit for battle'? Fucking hell, Dalinar – and oh, Evi, separated from one of her sons or her husband no matter where she is! I can't even imagine the stress she must be going through, trying so hard to make her marriage work and care for her sons, all in this cold land that she ran to, that she still might not even consider home despite all the years spent in Alethkar… She deserves better. Evi deserves better than this.

Dalinar's the 'strategist' referred to by the title, of course. Looks like he's finally settled into more of the role we knew him in at first, even if he's still The Blackthorn rather than The Highprince.

Three years since he and Gavilar last met up face to face? Daaamn. And I'll bet in those intervening years that Gavilar's become more and more invested in his 'Sons of Honor' goals. It's, what, only about three years until he gets assassinated? He's probably putting plans in motion already to attempt to bring about the next Desolation.

The whatever-was-so-terrible event that happened at the Rift is looming on the horizon. This is going to be more than just 'putting down a rebellion'.

“I doubt we will ever settle back in Kholinar again.” Oh, that's… that's not good.

Shit, she's crying.

Seven years. “Yes, I married a soldier. It's my fault for not being strong enough to deal with the consequences. Thank you, Dalinar. You've made that very clear.”

Oh, Evi.

This has been an argument long in the making. She's put up with so much, set aside her own wellbeing and happiness for his sake, and for what? For what.

(Toh is apparently living in Herdaz. I wonder if he's still there in the present time.)

'The argument was her fault, as were the repercussions.' Oh you fucking brick-headed dumbshit sack of trash. GET OVER HERE SO I CAN PUNCH YOU

Chapter Sixty-Seven – Mishim

[squints] 'Mishim' is the name of one of Roshar's moons, isn't it? Alongside Nomon and Salas. Huh. Maybe this means a nighttime mission?

...a Skybreaker notes that 'this generation has had only one Bondsmith', stating it as a Bad Thing, and speculating that it has something to do with Honor. They didn't say which spren it was – the Stormfather or another – so perhaps this was around the time of Honor's Shattering.

Shallan is shaking off her own murder remarkably well, all things considered. She believes the figure she saw in the mirror to be the presence of the Unmade, though, which I hadn't even considered.

[rolls around in glee at the casual, fond Shadolin physical contact]

[facepalms] Elhokar, you really are stuck in denial at this point. Aesudan is either under the influence of the Unmade or dead at this point; there's really not much of an option that she'd be able to resist it.

Gavinor. For once, you say your son's name. I think this might be the first time we've actually heard you say it.

This all sounds like a fairly sound plan. I'm actually rather impressed; Elhokar is doing much better now than he was before. He's much more stable emotionally and has more confidence in his ideas. A gloryspren at a compliment from Adolin, though? I… huh. He really values his cousin's advice and approval. H e r alds I need to write more exploring these two (my kingdom for an Elhokar RPer, seriously)

He married Aesudan for her strength – because of her ambition, not despite it. I really hope we get some more insight into that whole relationship. Gavilar's marriage to Navani didn't exactly give Elhokar the best example to model his own marriage on, and seven years away at war definitely didn't foster any closeness between them.

(considering his Very Obvious Crush on Kaladin, I still wonder if he's gay and only married for the politics and an heir)

Cultural Note: at the tailor shop for women, there's a woman handling the money and a man doing the tailoring work. Looks like in Alethkar those likely aren't gender-locked roles/professions

So. There's at least one food stockpile in this area. Still don't know where it came from, but it's under the control of a minor lighteyes – one whose soldiers and scribes aren't the best at their jobs.

'Storming lighteyes'. Veil. You may be a personality that Shallan based on her understanding and imagining of a darkeyed Alethi woman but that's still Shallan's perception. Kaladin – and his more-than-justified dislike of lighteyes – you ain't. Be critical of the lord's practices all you want, but remember that you're a lighteyes too. You can't erase that fact.

Those altered angerspren are… thematically appropriate, but also creepy as fuck.

HOID. WIT. WIT WIT WIT

Oh! This is the story that Sigzil was trying to tell! But, true to form, Hoid does it with a vivacity and flair unlike any other.

Interesting – the Rosharans, or at least the Alethi, personify two of the moons as female (Mishim and Salas) and one as male (Nomon).

Wit can Lightweave, and he definitely uses it in some of his storytelling, but this – this is skill of the hand (and maybe something a little extra woven in). He's pretty much immortal, so he's definitely had time to practice!

….what did you see in your pack, Wit. Do you have a Radiant-dar.

HAH. Whether he does or doesn't, he just saw right through Shallan's illusion – either literally or figuratively doesn't matter – and she knows that he knows.

WAIT HOLY SHIT IT'S SHALLAN AGAIN, I JUST REALIZED. WHERE- [flips back a few pages] Wit's voice. She was Veil before that, and as soon as we got 'What was that sound?' she immediately shifts back to Shallan again.

I am loving the mythology behind the Natan people's blue skin. We may not have an actual explanation for that yet – knowing Sanderson, there is one – but I am definitely content for now. We got a Hoid Story, after all, and more cultural worldbuilding on top of that.

“I miss my flute.” GO BUG KALADIN FOR IT ONCE HE GETS BACK

You do have a Radiant-dar. In a jar.

Chapter Sixty-Eight – Aim for the Sun

Coming from a story about one of the moons, now we have a chapter title referencing the sun? (I will not yell about characters I associate with the sun and this being a Shallan chapter, I will not-)

This Elsecaller's recording sounds like it could be Jasnah from another place and time. What is this 'Sibling' that they mention though?

Shallan's observation notes the Alethi proprietor of this place as short, but honestly, for an Alethi, that just means around five-ten to six-foot, right?

I have missed Wit so much. So much.

Ooop, guess you should be taking thieving lessons from him, hmm?

I'm not sure the universe knows why it puts up with you, Hoid, or even if you do yourself.

“The persona...fled once you recognized me.” You mean Veil dissipated when your subconscious realized it was Wit's voice you were hearing – perhaps because of the safety/assurance you associate with him? Because these personas are protecting you – a more solid form of a mask against the world, so that you don't have to deal with things like your lighteyed privilege and lack of knowledge about people and the world in general (Veil) or your trauma regarding Pattern-as-a-Blade and killing your mother with him (Radiant) – once you heard Wit, that mask just wasn't there. There was no transition, nothing. Just… poof.

….I suddenly have a mighty need to hear about these seven time you got mixed up in religion, Hoid.

The way he speaks makes me wonder if Wisdom is a Shard, and Shallan just isn't hearing the capitalization.

Oh, we haven't seen her get in a back-and-forth this delightful since back with her early times with Jasnah, maybe even as far back as the first book! I'm getting the feeling that this conversation is really pulling the Shallan part of Shallan to the foreground.

OH MAN WIT DIDN'T KNOW SADEAS WAS KILLED. “Storms, no. I'd have applauded.” And perhaps even composed a jig on the spot in memory of the occasion.

[hums] There's the title drop, and in a much more understandable context than my silent screaming off to the side.

Oh, Shallan. As composed as Wit seems to be from the outside, once again your perception remains remarkably superficial. Did you catch nothing from the moment that you looked into his eyes and saw mountains crumbling? Though the ability to “change things”… yes, that'd be an enviable one. Even so, the way that Hoid does it isn't the way that you necessarily should.

“For men never see as far as they think they do.” Ooof. And isn't that the truth. Even ones like Dalinar who try to change it for the better don't know how that stone will eventually end up.

He's right. Be wary of Hoid, Shallan. He may be an ally, but he would let Roshar crumble to save the Cosmere. What he might in the end term the best and most necessary way to handle things may not be in the favour of you and yours.

“The Heart of the Revel”. The Unmade. So. It has influence over the members of the cult, and especially so over those of… perhaps not the inner circle, but 'those in the know'. Even if Wit can get you in, it won't be an easy infiltration.

“You already know how. Learn why.” Oh, now there's a question to ask. This being Shallan, she'll internalize and contemplate a question like that better than she would an outright story and Hoid knows it.

“He said he'd treat me like a king.” [SNORTS] Considering how he's treated kings in the past? You're getting off well on this one, good innkeeper.

Hoid feels like a spren to Pattern? Or by 'one of us' does he instead mean like a Radiant – that's the real question.

#blink reads oathbringer #oathbringer spoilers #also I squint at Shallan's unhealthy coping mechanisms #and fervently wish for an Elhokar RP-er 'cause could you /im a g i n e/#h e ral d s but I want to explore his character so much deeper

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ashapon · 7 years

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Never a King

Summary: Part 1. Being cursed for decades means that Prince Reyes is a long way from feeling at home.

Tags: Reaper76, Overwatch AU, Spanish Prince!Gabe, Security guard!Jack

Word Count: 3,966

Notes: This piece was written as a commission for a friend.

The castle was every bit as grand as the books had described and through his first tour, Jack found himself nearly lost admiring the sand-colored bricks and steepled archways. He stopped short of the entrance to the castle’s grand library, peering in at towering shelves stuffed with an array of books.

“Most of it’s history,” one of the site’s tour guides - a young woman by the name of Marina Delgado - supplied. “Otherwise it’s filled with a bunch of classical stuff. Stories the royal fam might enjoy, if they were still around.”

Jack didn’t fault Delgado for her flippancy; he supposed he wouldn’t be pleased if he was instructed to give an after-hours tour of the site to fresh blood.

He stepped into the library for a moment, eyes scanning a ceiling interspersed with skylights, packed bookshelves that centered around a functioning fireplace and what appeared to be a modest-sized portrait of the royal family.

Jack recognized the faces immediately from the texts he’d perused. King Andrés Vinicio and Queen Lucila Irma standing tall and proud behind Gabriel Zacarías and Isabella Leticia, son and daughter, prince and princess. All of them were suited in garb traditional of their time, flowing coats and dresses, crowns and jewels, gold and red and other brilliant shades.

He heard Delgado step in and shift beside him, folding her arms as she looked up at the portrait with him.

“In all their glory,” she hummed. “Word is our fashionable prince hated having his portrait done. Might even cringe if he saw it today.”

Jack laughed, observing the stern set of the prince’s brow, the poorly disguised frown painted on his lips.

“This was before the princess fell ill?”

Delgado nodded.

“You’ve done your research,” she replied, waving him from the library with manicured nails. “Sunset isn’t going to wait for us to finish this up. Don’t want to get lost on your first night, do you?”

“I’ve got a feeling-” Jack said under his breath, tearing his gaze from the dark eyes of the prince. “-it might happen, anyway.”

---

Jack strolled the halls of the castle’s north wing the instant the clock hit eight with nothing but an empty gun holster, a baton, hand-held radio, and a flashlight. He was informed by the large and boisterous head of security that break-ins were fairly common - nothing violent, only theft - so the odds of physical confrontation were minimal.

Most thieves were either captured or spooked without hassle. If that was true, Jack felt a bit guilty about the ease of the work.

From the tour and the map he’d been given days ago to study, he knew that the sections of the castle that he was responsible for consisted of the throne room, a private library, and the largely off-limits royal family members’ bedchambers. The most valuable artifacts within this space were a complete set of four jeweled crowns, the enormous collection of dated texts from the library, and original portraits.

The crowns themselves were encased in glass, an alarm only he and the other guards knew the code to threatening to blare from something as simple as a loose breath.

Jack checked in on those first, the beam of his flashlight catching on solid gold and brilliant rubies while he checked that the alarm was still set. He made his way to the library, where he gave the room a full once-over before his eyes landed on the portrait.

The moonlight cast peculiar shadows on the faces of the royal family and, if he were the skittish type, he might have sworn he saw Prince Reyes’ eyes moving.

He shook his head, radioing to the other guards that his initial check was complete and tucking the hand-held back at his side.

Jack heard a sound behind him then, like someone bumping into a table, harsh whispered tones in a foreign language, something toppling. He spun, clicking his flashlight on and aiming the stream at the doorway.

If he had not been gazing up at the portrait moments ago, he would have needed to double-check, triple-check for certain because the man standing before him, cradling an intricate Spanish florero, looked remarkably like the prince himself.

Jack stood still for a moment, blinking hard, positive he must be hallucinating.

The imposter stared back, wide-eyed, the expression painting him in a completely different light than the stone-cold frown in his portrait.

Except that it couldn’t be his portrait, that would mean Prince Reyes was alive after centuries had passed.

Jack opened his mouth to speak when the imposter shifted, sliding the unbroken vase back onto the table he’d knocked it off of, straightening it.

Jack tried again.

“The castle’s open for tours from 8-9,” he said. “Now it’s off-limits. I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t want to involve the cops.”

The imposter frowned - and there it was, a resemblance so startling that it took Jack’s breath away - and folded his arms.

Jack watched with disbelief as the man rolled his eyes.

“How can one’s home be off-limits,” he huffed, taking a step closer. “I will not be caged in my rooms day after day so that anybody can waltz in and wander through my family’s home.”

Jack saw the irritation as much as he heard it, authentic or else practiced in the furrowed brow and twitch of the man’s lips. He started to reach for his radio and saw the look-alike freeze in place.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Jack began. “But I asked you to leave and now you’re coming with me.”

The imposter appeared affronted, ready to retort before both of them were startled by the high-pitched blare of a security alarm.

Jack cursed.

“The crowns,” he raised his voice. “Look, I need you stay put while I...”

Jack trailed off, suddenly alone. He looked around to find the library empty, the connecting hallways equally as vacant.

With the alarms still sounding down the left hall, Jack took off in the direction of the throne room.

---

“I heard you made a catch on your first night?”

Jack glanced up from swirling the contents of his cup of coffee, sitting up in his seat with a sigh.

The cafe was largely unoccupied so early in the morning and he was exhausted, stopping by immediately after his shift.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “Someone tried to nab the royal crowns.”

Ana Amari hummed from the seat across the table, sipping at her tea with an arched eyebrow.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she started. “But I think that’s impressive. You’re doing excellent work, Jack.”

Jack nodded, absentminded. He was glad that his first night had been productive when it could have been hours of him getting lost in his acclimating to the castle’s layout. On top of that, he only had this job because Ana had put in a good word with the head of security.

After years on the battlefield together, she was still looking out for him.

“I’m glad I could help,” he curled his hands around his drink, relying on the warm contact to ground him as he continued. “I just think I could have done more.”

Ana clicked her tongue.

“What more is there to be done?” Her expression softened. “Jack, what is it?”

In all of the excitement that followed the crown thief’s capture, Jack had lost track of the presumed imposter and forgotten to mention anything to the head of security. The guilt had put him on edge all morning.

“I messed up.” he sighed. “Someone else was in the castle last night, Ana. And they got away because I was distracted.”

Ana furrowed her eyebrows, sitting up. She abandoned her half-empty drink.

She motioned for him to go on.

Jack shook his head.

“He was... odd,” he sat back, arms crossed, dropping his gaze as he thought back on the moment. “There was something about him that seemed unreal? He was trespassing, but he was furious when I pointed it out.”

“Perhaps he was just annoyed he was caught.”

“No, that,” Jack took a deep breath. “That wasn’t the strangest thing. I had the light on him and everything and he...”

Jack leaned forward, lowering his voice.

“He looked exactly like the prince - Gabriel Reyes? I had glanced at the portrait before I spotted him and there was nothing. No difference.”

“Jack,” Ana tilted her head. “About this man...”

“It seems crazy, right?” Jack groaned, reaching for his coffee. “Maybe I’m not ready to jump to something so similar to the battlefield. Christ, and you helped me out with so much.”

“Jack Morrison,” Ana interrupted, her tone patient. “You said this man looked physically similar to the prince?”

“Yeah,” Jack closed his eyes, recalling the shocked expression. “Hair, eyes, clothing almost. Same time period, maybe.”

Ana’s thoughtful frown shifted to something exasperated.

“Hang on,” Jack said. “You’ve met him? Or you know about him? Some famous goddamn imposter that goes waltzing around the grounds?”

“Not quite,” she pulled out her phone, began typing out a message. “What time was this, did you say?”

“Uh,” Jack recalled, squinting. “Around 11, maybe? Why?”

Ana hummed; Jack found his patience thinning in the face of all this ambiguity.

“Reinhardt will want to know,” she replied. “He will not be angry, I assure you.”

Jack knew he was supposed to find that comforting, but instead he felt like there was too much information missing. Half of a whole summary that would explain the previous night. His frustration, he knew, was evident in his tone.

“The security head knows about him, too?” He frowned. “Was no one going to mention anything?”

Ana set her phone down, her expression sympathetic, but otherwise betraying no concern.

“I’ll escort you to your shift tonight,” she offered, sipping at what was left of her tea. “Security Chief Wilhelm and can fill you in, then.”

---

“Sorry,” Jack started. “You want to run that by me again?”

Delgado rolled her eyes, propped against one of the small tables in the castle library.

“I told you,” she informed Ana and Reinhardt, who exchanged a glance. “You can’t just say these kinds of things to anyone. They’ll think you’re loco.”

“It would not be the first time,” Reinhardt declared, oddly chipper. “To lose an employee to mistrust.”

“Did you not see him, Jack?” Ana countered. “Last night, in this very room?”

At the moment, Jack felt a bit betrayed. As though what he’d confided in Ana was now being turned into a joke at his expense.

In spite the likelihood of Ana not taking him seriously when he was sincere being zero.

“Right now,” he started, standing from his seat. “I don’t know what the hell I saw.”

Delgado waved a hand in Jack’s direction as if to make a point.

“There is a reason we are telling you,” Ana continued. “It is likely you will meet him again.”

“Very likely,” Delgado added. “He may be a prince, but he is not so good with rules.”

Jack, exhausted, opened his mouth to end this game, this conversation. If it was a prank, it was elaborate, and that was all he was giving them. If they wanted him to quit for some bizarre reason, he’d rather they tell him face-to-face.

He opened his mouth to express his irritation, but someone else spoke over him.

“If any of you have a problem with how I’m conducting myself, I’d rather you tell me instead of gossiping.”

Jack turned to the library entrance, where everyone had already directed their gaze, to see the very same man from the night before.

Seeing the man alone, under the glow of the flashlight was one thing, but surrounded by others, in a well-lit room, brought a whole new level of authenticity to his existence.

Jack hadn’t been imagining things; his resemblance to the prince was unmistakable. Short, wavy hair, dark eyes, strong jaw, thin scars across his cheek. His stance reflective of his higher class, but more military than Jack was expecting. Clothing in rich colors that conveyed regality, but not overwhelming opulence.

His clothes differed from the outfit in the portrait. Practical, but still polished. A buttoned military coat, pressed trousers, dark boots. A prince, a soldier, a leader.

But, Jack recalled, never a king.

“Speak of the devil,” Delgado said, far too loudly to be under her breath. “Gabe, come in. We’ve got someone for you to meet.”

Prince Reyes’ shoulders tensed, though he took a step forward and eyed Jack.

“We’ve already met,” he stated, crossing his arms. “And I don’t need you to invite me into my own library.”

“Gabriel,” Reinhardt shouted joyously. “It is good to see you. But we must speak to the incident last night.”

Prince Reyes shrugged out of the large hand on his shoulder, scowling.

“I will not,” he hissed. “Be caged in my room like a damn animal. This is my home.”

Reinhardt, sympathetic man that Ana painted him to be, softened his tone.

“We do not wish to take that from you,” he said. “But I thought we had reached an agreement.”

“Untrue,” Reyes retorted. “You had reached an agreement. I had no say.”

“The option that Reinhardt gave you is perfectly reasonable,” Ana interrupted, narrowing her eyes at the bristled prince. “While Reinhardt in on-duty, you can go about as you please. It is impossible to have him in every wing of the castle, every night.”

“This castle,” Reyes repeated. “Belongs to my family, belongs to me.”

“Actually, right now,” Delgado said, looking down at her nails. “It belongs to the city, principe. It’s a tourist attraction.”

Prince Reyes opened his mouth, affronted, but no words must have come to him. He folded his arms with a huff, remained silent.

Jack guessed now wasn’t the best time for him to speak, but he had plenty of questions he thought he rightfully deserved answers to.

“Hate to interrupt,” he started. “But I still don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to him.

Ana was the one to speak.

“It might be best for Gabriel to speak to this situation himself.”

Jack guessed that the prince opening up to him was unlikely at the moment. Prince Reyes, arms folded and lips curved to a frown, cooperating and sharing every last detail with a complete stranger seemed as far-fetched as this whole situation.

“Gabe, come on,” Delgado rolled her eyes. “If one more person knows, the world won’t crumble. Besides, if this guy knows, that means you can wander the halls of this place being all mopey more often.”

Shockingly, Delgado’s words did not comfort Prince Reyes.

Jack watched the man tear out of the room with a huff.

Delgado shrugged.

“Story time’s on me today,” she smiled, hopping up to sit on the library table. “Listen in, fresh meat. You’ll never here another tale like this again.”

---

That night, it was impossible for Jack not to be distracted by thought. He would have continued insisting that everyone stop with this long-winded joke of theirs, but they managed to coax Prince Reyes back for a few minutes to provide proof.

Apparently, the man couldn’t leave the castle grounds. Jack watched the prince completely disappear when he stepped past this ‘border’ further down the path of the entrance.

Somehow he made it through his entire shift without any trouble, in spite of his mind being in a entirely different place. He didn’t see Prince Reyes for the rest of the evening.

Sleeping was as difficult as it had always been, but he managed a few hours back at his apartment before he delved in on the research. Ana had informed him that Prince Reyes refused to talk about how this whole thing happened to him, or what it could have been.

Was the man dead? Was he still alive? Was it a curse?

At this point, Jack believed it could be anything.

Historical texts and articles revealed basic information about the royal family; the king, queen, their son, their daughter. Prince Reyes’ sister was a few years his elder and the one who took to the throne after the prince’s death.

Presumed death.

She ruled with pride, was just and fair, lived a long life before she passed and the throne then went to her son.

Another article talked about a time before Princess Isabella Reyes became queen, a time where a majority of the royal family never set foot out of the castle except on strict business. Most of their meetings would take place within the castle grounds.

Those few months were so noted, so unusual because the family adored spending time in town, attending local festivities, participating in the bustling markets. Isabella’s husband, in fact, was an entrepreneur of local trade; she had visited him often at the markets before they were married.

Not long after Los Meses Tristes, as the locals referred to it, it was announced that Prince Reyes had passed due to an unknown illness. The kingdom went into mourning. Isabella was married six months later at a quaint ceremony and she became queen.

Nothing about what really happened to Prince Reyes, because it was clear he wasn’t dead over a century later, and Jack didn’t know where to begin his speculations.

Inevitably, he packing his work things early, donned his uniform, and made his way to the Castillo.

---

The castle archives were vast and thorough; piled side-by-side on the libraries shelves was every book imaginable that spoke to this particular historical site and the people who had once lived here. Up until the last fifty years, when no heirs had been present and any distant relations had agreed to sell the site to the city for a hefty sum.

Minutes after the castle had closed to the public, and hours before he was on duty, Jack buried himself in the tomes, skimming redundant facts for any sign of obscurity. Anything that would result in, say, immortality.

Maybe he was pursuing the wrong angle, maybe Prince Reyes was dead and he was tied to the castle somehow. He wasn’t able to move on until he accomplished... something.

Jack sighed, rubbing at his temple as perused the royal family tree for what felt like the dozenth time. There was too much of the same information, too many theories swimming around in his mind.

The worst of it all was that he knew if someone asked why he was so stuck on this, he wouldn’t have an answer. History had always been interesting to him, but that could only push him so far.

There was something about the prince. If he’d been alive all of this time, he’d witnessed the passing of so many loved ones, and the castle had been vacant of family for the past fifty years...

Wouldn’t he want to know more about what happened and why? Wouldn’t he want to fix it?

Wouldn’t he be lonely?

“What are you doing?”

Jack sat up in his seat, his back and neck protesting the sudden shift. He twisted to spot the prince in the library’s entryway.

Words didn’t come to Jack immediately as he looked the man over.

Gabriel Reyes was dressed differently than he’d been on the night they first met, or the evening they’d been formally introduced. If on the last few nights, the prince had looked every bit the soldier, tonight he was a nobleman.

The dark long sleeves of his tunic were dotted with an intricate gold pattern, the same gold and similar designs weaved a thick line up the front opening of his top and wound around its high collar. Stones like pearls glinted, paired with shapes like faded gold mandalas and stretch almost like a necklace over and behind both of the prince’s shoulders.

“Johnathan Morrison, wasn’t it?”

Jack cringed a little and saw Gabriel furrow his brow - confused or apologetic, maybe both.

“I, uh,” Jack stood, offering his hand. “I go by Jack.”

“Oh,” Gabriel took his hand and nodded. “Jack Morrison. You already know my name.”

Jack was silent, taken aback by the warm weight of the prince’s hand in his. It was gone as quick as it had come.

“I was just reading up on the place,” Jack offered, gesturing to the half a dozen books sprawled across the table. “Figured it’d be useful to know some things.”

Gabriel frowned at him, squinting down at the texts.

“Why would you need to do so much research?” He asked. “You’re a security guard.”

Jack laughed a little, walking over to the table and closing one of the books he’d opened.

“I guess that makes sense,” he replied. “But I like this kind of stuff. I’ve always enjoyed history.”

That wasn’t a lie, though he never considered making a career out of it. He’d gone straight into the armed forces out of high school and had been there up until a few months ago.

Now he was here, working nights at a castle whose prince was standing before him, nearly two centuries later.

“As prince,” Gabriel interrupted his thoughts. “My parents had me tutored privately. Besides what you might expect, I learned a lot about our kingdom’s history. It was...”

He trailed off, choosing his words carefully before he spoke again.

“It was not always my favorite,” he offered. “But always important.”

Recalling what the other had said about Prince Reyes, Jack was pleased to be getting this long of a conversation out of him. He thought, equally as cautious, about how to proceed.

“What was your favorite? To learn about?”

Gabriel, who’d straightened from where he’d been leaning against a table, seemed shocked by the questions.

Jack assumed many of the questions he did receive were more related to his own state of being and how that came about. Personal, but not thoughtful inquiries.

“I did like reading,” the prince answered, arms folded as his gaze wandered the shelves upon shelves of books. “Literature, mostly poetry. I had a friend from Paris who sent me books that became popular over there at the time.”

Jack smiled while Prince Reyes continued his story, while he stood and sifted through books to locate the collection that he was particularly fond of.

Gabriel smiled, turning the small text over in his hands before offering it to Jack.

“The cover has changed,” he mused. “I originally read the poems in French because I didn’t know much English at the time. Maybe you don’t know the works, I am not sure how popular he is now.”

“Edgar Allan Poe,” Jack said, running his fingers across the back cover of the book. “I’ve read some; in America, he is considered a classic. Very dark, though.”

Prince Reyes laughed and that, coupled with a smile that shinned like the sun, seemed to make the room much brighter.

“You’re not the only one to think that,” he replied. “When Amélie first sent it to me, she wrote ‘Terrifiant et sombre. Vous l’aimerez’.”

When the prince didn’t translate right away, Jack mentioned that his French was a little rusty.

“’Horrifying and dark,’” Gabriel added, apologetic. “’You will like it’. And she wasn’t wrong.”

Jack watched for a moment, the soft smile that pulled at the prince’s lips, the fond warmth in his dark eyes.

“If you’re willing to part with it for a night or two,” Jack gestured to Poe’s collection. “I’d love to read it.”

“Of course,” Prince Reyes smiled. “Tell me what you think.”

Jack gripped the book a little tighter than strictly necessary.

“Sure.”

Once he was through with his shift for the evening, Jack declined coffee with Ana, disregarded his body’s need for rest, and ultimately ended up passing out just as he’d finished Poe’s assorted poetry collection.

#Reaper 76 #Overwatch #Poncy writes #Poncywriting #Overwatch AU #Gabriel Reyes #Jack Morrison #Fics #Ash writes #My writing #Ashapon

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