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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years ago

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the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.V

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A new chapter for my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with the amazing @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

See the second art piece by @gen-syz-art right here

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After they finally leave the dining table, Jaskier takes the witcher on a tour of the gardens, telling him about all the trees and bushes and flowers he can think of, and by the time they reach the far end of the fence, the mansion is lost in the greenery.

The last time Geralt was here he knew that the gardens are big but had no idea just how enormous they actually are.

He wants to ask about how many people it takes to keep an estate like this in perfect condition but that feels impolite, so he doesn’t.

On their way back, they take a different route, and at about a halfway point come across a small pond, just as perfect as everything else. Lucio’s ears perk up but Jaskier gives him a little glance and the dog stays by his side.

“Washing them after they get wet is a nightmare,” Jaskier laughs. “That fur requires a lot of work.”

His eyes light up every time he talks about his dogs and most people would probably find that childish, Geralt assumes, but not him. He knows perfectly well that an animal can be so much more than a pet, so he listens with interest, following Jaskier half a step behind.

He should probably go, he knows it. It’s been hours since he’d arrived and he wasn’t supposed to stay in the first place, but Jaskier doesn’t mention it, doesn't seem uncomfortable, and so Geralt allows himself just a little more self-indulgence, deciding that he’ll leave at sunset, so that he can be back in the little town before midnight.

He doesn’t really have a plan, after this.

He could head to Gelibol, look for a contract or two there, it’s only a few days away now, but when he thinks of it, he realises that on his way to the mansion, he didn’t think about his next destination at all. Like all that mattered during those days on the road was getting here, and what came after was mostly irrelevant.

And that’s… not right.

Not the way it’s supposed to be, not the way he’s used to it being. He’s a witcher, not a simple wayfarer that can afford not knowing his next destination. A life on the Path is a life that has to have all the next steps planned out, drawn on a mental map. In late autumn, he’ll have to head to Kaer Morhen and if he’s not careful enough, if he allows himself to get so involved in something that isn’t work, he might not get to the keep at all this winter. It’s only a matter of days that Kaer Morhen gets completely cut off from the rest of Kaedwen by snow.

No, he shouldn’t do this anymore. Shouldn’t concentrate on anything other than the monsters that need to be killed.

He will stay until sunset and then leave. Leave for good this time, if he wants it or not. Making connections is just too much for him to afford. In the end, he will always only bring pain, he knows it a little too well, because what else can a witcher give someone?

Jaskier seems to notice that he’s gone quiet, because Geralt is pulled back into reality by the feeling of the younger man’s warm fingers on his wrist.

“What are you daydreaming about?” he smiles, suddenly standing very close.

Geralt blinks, shaking his thoughts off, and for a second just stares at Jaskier’s hand on his wrist. He’d taken his gloves off when they were in the library, and now the feeling of skin on skin almost startles him.

“Nothing,” he finally makes himself say. “I was just thinking about how useful some of these plants could be when making elixirs.”

That seems to light another little fire in Jaskier’s eyes, because he asks almost immediately:

“Do all Schools use the same elixirs? Or do they wary, like armour and swords?”

It looks like it’s Geralt’s time to talk now, and, well, he’s not opposed to satisfying Jaskier’s appetite for knowledge.

“It’s all the same,” he says, almost tripping over his words when Jaskier’s fingers slip down from his wrist and brush over the back of his hand. It’s just a heartbeat, how long it lasts, and then they’re walking again. “Different Schools could have a different reaction, though, because the Trials and mutations differ.”

He tells Jaskier about the most predictable elixirs - such as Swallow or White Honey - and the most unpredictable ones, like Thunder. Tells him about the way Cat works, allowing him to see in complete darkness, and about the way Black Blood helps fight vampires, though it tastes worse than most of the elixirs combined.

Jaskier listens without interrupting, just wrinkles his nose when Geralt tells him that some elixirs call for components like nekker hearts.

He walks closer to the witcher than before, and though they’re still separated by Lucio, who partially has Jaskier’s attention, Geralt can almost feel his warmth and that makes him think about what would happen if he was the one to reach out and touch. Would Jaskier flinch away, like all people always do? Or would he allow for it, even though Geralt has no right?

By the time they get back to the mansion the witcher manages to drive himself half-insane with those thoughts.

“It will take us the entire rest of the day to make our way through the mansion, but if you want to, I’ll show you around,” Jaskier says when the front door closes behind them.

Geralt hesitates for a moment.

If he agrees, he’s going to have to leave right after go through all the floors, but if he doesn’t, they’ll settle down somewhere and he’ll have to do something with this itch under his skin that makes him long for just one more touch. It doesn’t go away when they walk, but it’s easier to ignore.

And, after all, he does want to see the mansion.

“Well,” he says, smiling just a little. “I was wondering how do you not get lost in these labyrinths.”

Jaskier laughs, ruffling his chestnut hair, and the sleeves of his chemise shimmer in the light that pours in through the windows.

“I do, actually,” he says, adjusting the cuffs that wrap tightly around his wrists. “Sometimes.”

***

Geralt counts twenty-six empty bedrooms as they make their way through the five floors of the mansion. There are also music rooms, study rooms, balconies, three more libraries, though much smaller than the one on the ground floor, a studio with canvases and paints, a ballroom, a little in-door garden filled with light from a glass ceiling, and a separate room with everything one might need to take care of Asra and Lucio. Aside from all that, there are dozens of other rooms that Geralt can’t find the right name for or simply can’t keep track of.

All the rooms are impeccable, not a single cobweb or even the thinnest layer of dust, and Geralt can’t even imagine how many people must work here to keep it that way.

Geralt tries to keep count of all the paintings and other pieces of art that he sees but loses track somewhere on the fourth floor. They’re all beautiful, though, he can’t deny Jaskier that.

The mansion doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore, at least not in the way it used to, and by the way they get back to the library which seems to be Jaskier’s favourite room of the entire estate, Geralt feels like some sort of weight has been taken off his shoulders.

It is, however, just a little before sunset, and the room is painted in bright golden light that makes it seem, though for only a few short minutes, like the time has stopped. Jaskier’s eyes, when they catch the light, are even brighter than usual, and Geralt catches himself looking at that cornflower-blue for a little too long.

He wonders what Jaskier would say if he were to tell him that he looks beautiful like this, but instead if being thrilling, the uncertainty feels terrifying, so Geralt bites his tongue and keeps his thoughts to himself.

He does, after all, have to leave.

“It’s getting late,” he says carefully. “I think it’s best if I get to the inn in town before minding, so I should--”

Jaskier doesn’t quite let him finish, turning around from where he’d been basking in the sunlight by one of the windows.

“Oh, don’t you start with that again,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You can stay here. Arthur had arranged for the room that you chose last time to be prepared hours ago.”

Geralt falters.

He shouldn’t stay. He shouldn’t allow himself to stay again, to go back to that room, to that bed with its silks and velvets and cushions. He shouldn’t allow himself to stay here with Jaskier because this is not what he’s meant to do.

He’s a witcher, his life is destined for the Path and the monsters that he comes across while travelling it, not mansions and this aching, suffocating feeling somewhere deep in his chest, like he belongs. Like there could be more to life than just hunting and contempt.

His emotions must show, because Jaskier takes a step closer.

“Oh, come on,” he persuades. “There is a wyvern in the nearby forests, I’ve told you. It’s already getting dark, if you leave now, I’m gonna be worried about you.”

Geralt wants to tell him that wyverns aren’t nighttime predators. That he’s going to be perfectly safe on his way back to the town and that even if the creature was to strike, he knows very well how to deal with one of those.

He wants to tell Jaskier that he shouldn’t stay because he’s not meant for any of this, but before he can, Jaskier takes another two steps towards him.

“Stay,” he asks, reaching out to take the witcher’s hands into his own.

And against that, Geralt is powerless.

He looks down at their hands, Jaskier’s perfect skin standing out against his own, rough and covered with thin, barely visible scars. The warmth of the younger man’s touch radiates through his entire body, now that there is no leather of gloves to separate them.

He shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t allow himself this but he can’t bring himself to take his hands away and turn towards the door, not with that gleam of hope in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Alright,” he nods, finally. “Wouldn’t want you to worry for me, would I?”

***

It’s only after midnight that Geralt finally bids Jaskier goodnight and makes his way to the same bedroom that he’d stayed in the last time.

He undresses and quickly slips under the fur blankets, escaping the night cold. Now that he doesn’t feel like an intruder in the mansion, the bed seems even more comfortable.

Geralt settles among the pillows and cushions, listening to the trees behind the large windows rustle and whisper in the breeze.

It feels both right and wrong, being here.

Jaskier is so… kind to him, but whatever he does, Geralt can’t figure out why.

After he’d agreed to stay for the night, they stayed in the library until nightfall, just talking and keeping themselves warm with the sweet herbal tea that Arthur had brought them, and then, when the moon was already high in the sky, went out to check on Roach and other horses. Geralt supposed that they’ll go back indoors as soon as they leave the stables, but instead, Jaskier chose the porch of one of the garden-facing doors to settle down on, and pulled Geralt onto the wooden steps alongside him.

The gardens held some special kind of beauty to them at night, and for a few long minutes, they just sat in comfortable silence, not close enough to touch but enough for Geralt to feel the warmth radiating off Jaskier.

He wondered then, in the very back of his mind, what would happen if he was the one to reach his hand out, feel that warmth closer, but of course, he couldn’t. Whatever the younger man’s motives were for all of this, Geralt was still a witcher, and Jaskier didn’t need touches from him.

But it was nice, just sitting there together, looking up into the dark sky, filled with shimmering stars, and not thinking about anything else, if only for a few moments.

Geralt sighs, turning to lay on his side and pulling the covers up to his shoulders, the furs pleasantly warm against his bare skin.

It’s quiet, like the mansion is entirely separated from the outside world, and it’s such a contrast to the noisy inns and taverns, or the forests where everything comes alive at night, that Geralt, for once, almost feels peaceful.

Peaceful, if just a little lonely.

After spending the entire day with Jaskier and his seemingly constant attention, being alone again, in such a big room, almost feels… cold, somehow.

Geralt knows he shouldn’t think about it, shouldn’t even entertain the thought, but he still wonders if he’ll ever return to this room again, if he’ll ever spend another night in this bed.

He should leave in the morning and not come back anymore, because being here makes him feel in a way he’s not supposed to. In a way that probably wasn’t even close to reality.

Jaskier had told him that he’s interested in witchers, that it’s been that way ever since the Academy - which, Geralt assumed, was about eight or ten years ago - so this is probably all he was to him - an academic interest.

What other reason would he have to invite Geralt into his home not once but twice? Why else would he insist that he stays until morning?

But even as Geralt thinks that, he still knows - somewhere in the back of his mind - that that’s not true. Not entirely, at least.

Jaskier barely asked him any questions about his training or anything else that could provide him some insight into the life of a witcher. He didn’t even ask about his hair, just looked, and Geralt answered the unspoken questions on his own volition. Because Jaskier looked at him with genuine curiosity rather than contempt. And it wasn’t because Geralt is a witcher, but rather because he simply… looked different.

Silver, Jaskier said, my dogs are white and your hair is silver.

No one has ever said anything like that to him before.

Silver, he supposed, was a beautiful colour. Certainly more beautiful than grey, which he’d heard his hair referred to much more than once.

It wasn’t that he cared that much about the colour of his hair, for he’d grown to accept it as it was decades ago, it was that Jaskier saw it differently than everyone else. Saw him differently.

Silver.

Like one of his swords. Like the medallion on his neck.

Geralt turns to lie on his other side, his thoughts making him restless in a way that he can’t call unpleasant.

He thinks back on all of those little touches and smiles that Jaskier had given him, thinks back on the blush on his cheeks when Jaskier asked him whether or not his shoulder is healed yet and Geralt, for reasons still not entirely known to him, had decided to tease him about his choice of words. And even then, Jaskier had won that little battle.

“You had me half-naked in this very chair half an hour after meeting me last time, and now it’s inappropriate to talk about my physique?”

“It’s not like I was looking! I’ll let you know that I’m a very responsible man and I was only focused on the task at hand.”

“Of course. Very focused on me and my built shoulders.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to believe.”

Oh, Geralt thinks, sitting up on the bed with the force of the sudden realisation, Was he flirting with me?

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

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littlekatleaf · 5 years ago

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Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (part 3)

Part One

Part Two

“Did ya see that shit,” Junkrat said as he squeezed close to the door to let Roadhog have room next to him. “Bloody fuckin’ bonzer, mate. Blasted those dipsticks back to the scrap heap. An’ the fire, what a beaut.” Only had to blink to feel it again. The weightlessness of flying. The OR14 exploding into scrap. The whooshing rush as air filled the explosion’s vacuum. The flames. The burn. The acrid stench of sulfur and potassium. “Fuckin’ did it. Fuckin’ won!”

“For the love of God, shut up.” Roadhog interrupted and only then did the silence of the others register.

Tracer’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw clenched. Mei stared out the window, pointedly ignoring him. Even Lucio and D.Va were quiet.

He frowned. Missed something, somewhere. Cast his thoughts back. “No one hurt?” Assumed someone woulda said immediately, or just gone without waiting for him and Roadhog.

“None of us,” Mei said shortly, emphasizing the ‘us’.

“Someone else?” Flash of Emily and Tracer forehead to forehead.

“Don’t know. Tracer can’t reach them on her com.”

Junkrat sat back. “Shit. Didn’t think...”

“Of course not! You never do. An idea crosses what passes for your mind and you’re off doing something on your own - something incredibly insane and dangerous - and paying no attention to what you’re supposed to be doing. What you were ordered to do.”

“Coulda left me.” Came out a little more defensive than he meant it, but hell, was true.

“And the team’d be two men short because Roadhog was trying to keep your stupid, scrawny ass alive.”

“What if you’d gotten hurt? Or Roadhog? We wouldn’t have known or been able to help you,” Lucio added, quietly.

“Been fine on our own plenty of times.” Swallowed hard as he said it - hadn’t really thought about Roadie gettin’ hurt. Mei’s right - you never think. Rubbed his forehead, as if he’d get rid of the voice that way.

“It’s not how we do it, Junkrat. You know that,” Hana said. The disappointment in her expression was a kick in the teeth. Rather have Mei yellin’ at him.

He did know that. He’d just forgotten. Or maybe not really understood. Made no sense. Sure Roadhog saved his ass any number of times even when it put him in the line of fire - but that was a job. Doing shit for dosh, made sense. This? This made none. Mei didn’t like him, Tracer didn’t seem to have an opinion either way - he sure as shit wasn’t as important as her Emily. An’ while he reckoned Hana and Lucio liked him fine enough, they’d known Emily and Satya far longer. Just stood to reason they’d add it up and let him ‘n Roadie fend for themselves. Simple matter of maths. Apparently he’d missed something in the calculation. Mei tallied it for you - six necessary to succeed. Subtract two and you fail. Really, Jamison - must you be so stupid?

Tracer parked the ute where it would be hidden by the Orca. The brilliant blue sky glared down at them; sun reflected off the metal of the ship and the snow covered trees and into Junkrat’s eyes. His head throbbed and he squinted against it. Adrenaline still fizzed through him, making his teeth want to chatter and his hands shake. Or maybe it was the cold again? The sweat of the fight had cooled in the winter wind. Shoved fists into his pockets, followed Roadhog and the others, head down.

Silence. No sign of bots; no sign of Emily or Satya neither. Least the traps hadn’t been tripped. Tracer reached out and rapped a pattern on the door. No more than a second passed before it was yanked wide and Emily fell into Tracer’s arms.

“You’re all right!” Emily said, breathlessly.

Was like Tracer faded into Lena as he watched. The tension bled from her body as she held Emily close. “So are you,” she murmured into Emily’s hair.

“What happened,” Satya asked, putting an arm around Mei and drawing her inside. They all followed.

“There was an attack, like Morrison warned. But the settlement was deserted. No one’d been there in weeks. Lena thought it meant they’d be coming for you and Emily. You are okay?” Mei studied her carefully, like she might be hiding something.

Satya nodded. “We are. It has been quiet.”

“So much for a relaxing vacation.” Mei gusted out a breath, laughed, and just like that the tension dissipated. Lena and Emily disappeared to their room, likely to have a naughty. Satya and Mei lingered for only a second before disappearing as well. Hana and Lucio took over the vid screen for a game. Roadhog picked up his book, but Junkrat could tell he was watching Hana play more than actually reading.

Suddenly feeling like a puppet with its strings cut, Junkrat slumped. Adrenaline’d been the only thing keeping him going and now that it was gone he needed to crash. Made his slightly unsteady way to the bedroom, stripped off his shirt and pants - reeked of sweat and explosives - and flopped onto the cot without taking off his prosthetics. Waking up so early after late night whiskey was kicking his ass. He’d just rest a minute, til the headache fucked off.

“Junkrat? … Hey, Junkrat?”

“Mmf…?” He surfaced from sleep like he’d been underwater, disoriented. Where…? He squinted at the sunlight streaming in the window, then discovered Emily hovering in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. Right - Taos. Vacation. And, if the way he felt at the moment was any indication, a burgeoning case of the wog. Just fucking aces. He resisted the urge to sniffle and raised a brow at Emily. “Needed somethin’, mate?”

“Um. Roadhog asked me to wake you - food’s ready, if you’re hungry.” Her gaze skittered over him, and he realized somewhat belatedly that the sheet’d slipped low over his hips. Least his bits were still covered.

“Be there in a tick,” Junkrat said. He sat up, snagged a t-shirt and yanked it over his head. “Tell him not to be such a bloody bludger next time.”

“Might, if I had the first clue what that means.”

Junkrat laughed. “Just sayin’ he’s a lazy bastard, making ya do his dirty work.”

“Not a big deal,” Emily shrugged. “He’s in the middle of a game with Hana.”

Soon as she was gone, he let himself slump back on the pillow again. His head felt heavy, thoughts slow and muddy. Truth was, he wasn’t hungry. Would really rather go back to sleep, but then they’d figure out something was wrong. He was always hungry. So he pushed himself to stand, tugged on a relatively clean pair of pants, raked a hand through his hair and headed for the stairs.

Unfortunately, standing up seemed to redistribute the congestion in his head and his nose prickled. Tried a small sniff, but it didn’t help, the sensation only increased. He hunched his shoulders, pinched his nose and squelched the sneeze into silence. Fuck it hurt, always felt like he was exploding his brain when he did that. But was better than anyone suspecting. He knuckled his nose roughly, and the itch faded.

Someone’d made brekkie for… well, whatever meal it was. Maybe scrambled eggs and toast wouldn’t kill him. And coffee. Needed fuckin’ loads of coffee. Snagged a chair between Roadie and Lucio.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Hana said, toasting him with her coffee cup, then narrowed her eyes. “Mostly, that is.”

“Yeah, you look rough, man. You okay?” Lucio asked.

“’M fine. Little too much ta drink last night, reckon.” Felt Roadie giving him a look behind the mask. Ignored him.

Lena laughed. “I’ve seen you drink way more than that. Sure you didn’t get hurt blowing yourself up?”

“Fuck no. Done that millions a times. Worked up mines special. Wanna try it?”

“Fuck no,” she echoed and he laughed.

“It’s a rush. All that power… Closest thing ta flyin’.”

“I’ll stick to the Orca, thanks.”

Waved away her concern. “Ah, it’s safe as houses.”

Lena looked meaningfully at his mech arm and he faked an expression of affront.

“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with me own work. How could you even think it?”

“How did it happen, then,” Mei asked, like she didn’t believe him.

Yes, Jamison. Tell them how it happened. Mouth went dry and it took him a second to swallow the bite of eggs he’d taken without choking. Cleared his throat. “Not really a story for dinner table convo,” he managed and took a long drink of coffee.

“A better story is how he got the gold tooth,” Roadhog said and launched into a woefully unembellished tale of the bar fight and subsequent need for a replacement tooth. Somehow this led to other stories about heists gone wrong in various ways … your fault… and the others were laughing and sure he’d laughed at his own cock ups plenty of times but there was an odd echoing edge of this laughter and it scraped against his skin like sandpaper. Rubbed a hand through his hair. Leg started jittering. Got up, took his unfinished plate and Roadhog’s empty one and left them in the sink, trying not to notice that his hand was shaking.

Listen to them laughing. You think you can trust them? In the joke, you’re the punchline. Ain’t the way it is. No? Wait until they see how weak you really are. See if they keep you around then - or if it’s just Roadhog they want. But we’re a…

A what, Jamison? What are you and Roadhog?

... A duo. Where I go, he goes. He’s my… my bodyguard. And when he gets a better offer? One where he won’t have to put up with you? Suddenly a hand touched his arm and he jumped.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucio said apologetically. “You sure you’re okay?” He frowned, reached toward Junkrat’s forehead. “You feel a little warm.”

Junkrat stepped back, out of reach. “I’m f…” but even as he was saying it, he realized he was about to sneeze. Shit. He just managed to twist to the side, ducking away from Lucio. “Ah’Riiish!”

“Santinho,” Lucio said.

Only a second for a breath before another hit. “Ah’Riiish-iish!”

“Deus te ajude.”

Another breath, another sneeze. “Ah’Riiish-uh!”

“Deus, te faça feliz.” Lucio handed him a tissue.

Junkrat blew his nose. “What ya sayin’, mate?”

Lucio shrugged. “Just what my grandma used to say when I was a kid. Don’t usually get to say all three, though.”

“Aww, you got Roadhog’s cold,” Hana said. “How’d that happen?” Her tone was teasing, insinuating. “No, ‘m fine,” Junkrat said, but spoiled it by sneezing again. Least this time he had tissues.

“Gross, you’re like a plague rat,” Mei said and Hana actually laughed. See?

“Rack off,” Junkrat said. Hadn’t thought Hana would laugh at him. Not really.

“She didn’t mean anything by it.” Satya looked at him flatly.

“Fuck you.”

“Rat.” Roadhog’s voice was low, warning.

“Nah, fuck this.” Out out out. Had to get out. Get away. He turned and, yanking his jacket from the peg by the door, slammed out.

#snezfic #oversnez #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #finally got there #rat what is you doin #haha messed up my own title

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celestialarcana · 5 years ago

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Night Terrors

Author’s Note: So I started this well over a year ago when I first got into The Arcana, but as all things go I fell out of it for awhile. With the promise of an upcoming Lucio route though, I felt like I finally had to finish this piece of him and my fan apprentice.

Takes place Pre-Route, but after his wedding to Nadia. Let’s just say these two have a long history together.... that I might actually fully write out one day...

Hope that anyone who reads this enjoys!

Standing barefoot in the doorway of her shop, Catherine blinked away the sleep in her eyes as she yawned deeply and took stock of the people who had come banging on her door in the middle of the night. She had a good guess as to who she would be opening the door to, and upon seeing the infamous uniforms of the palace guards she just sighed, looking at them expectantly as she leaned on the doorframe and ran a hand through her hair.

“I’m needed?” She said without a hint of any emotion as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders.

The shorter of the two guards quickly began to speak, asking that she immediately come with them to the palace. She sighed as she turned on her heel when the man spoke up again, the tone of his voice shifting from informative to vaguely threatening with his declaration of, “It’s not wise to turn away. You do understand who invited you, correct?”

Catherine whirled around then, her eyes wide and alert as if that statement immediately woke her up. She took a step towards them as she appraised them, realizing that she had never seen this shorter guard before. He seemed to falter under her gaze, causing her to smirk as she looked him over again, turning to the taller guard that she had recognized from other visits. “It’d be wise to train the new guards on who I am,” she said as she placed her hand on the door, staring at him authoritatively as she continued, “So that the next time they don’t try to intimidate me with their meaningless threats.” Yawning again, she quickly said, “I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” and closed the door on them, the short guard’s eyes widening in fear, or awe, she couldn’t tell, as he turned to his partner.

She had said ten and she stepped out in eight, a new outfit on and her bag packed with various bottles, trinkets, and other things that she might need for the duration of her stay. As she walked towards the carriage, the short guard bowed his head as he opened the door for her and she slid in, the other guard inside to keep an eye on her, as if she needed the protection. As the door closed and she felt the carriage shift from the man settling down in the seat, she quickly asked, “What am I tending to tonight?”

There always seemed to be something that he was convinced only she could fix; a restless night where the horrible deeds he’d performed would play on a loop interrupting his sleep, a random pain where his left hand used to be that he should not have felt, a black eye from rough housing with Mercedes and Melchior, the reasons she had been called through the years varied from the ridiculous to the severe. She could fix these pains, she could cause him to fall into a deep sleep, these were easy to remedy.

“The Count’s mother is rumored to have been seen in the neighboring kingdom,” was all that the guard said before he turned away and looked out the window, ending the conversation.

Catherine stiffened at the blunt declaration and turned in silence to look at the city passing her by as she took in that information.

This was not simple, this wasn’t an ailment that could be easily fixed.

Fear is a powerful force. It drives people to edges they didn’t know existed, forces them to examine their own lives, and can overwhelm even the most powerful.

It isn’t something that magic could just fix, and as she sat silently in the carriage she felt slightly numb herself.

“How will I even be able to care for this?” she’d wondered as they pulled up to the palace which seemed even quieter than it usually did at this hour. Usually when she was called there would be a small brigade of servants waiting for her, all curious as to what the magician was going to do to “fix” the Count but this time she was greeted by silence, Nadia not even making the trek from her wing to escort her to the Count’s.

The same two guards silently led her through the palace she knew like the back of her hand, even with the renovations that had happened since she had left, and upon entering the Count’s wing, the halls fell even more silent. As they walked down the hall she felt her heart starting to race, starting to feel the oppressive power coming from the room she assumed he was in, and when the guard unceremoniously stopped and opened the door she felt a rush of fear, pure unadulterated fear for the future and the unknown that is death pour out of the room.

Nodding to the guards, she entered the room and waited for Lucio to address her as the door closed behind her, used to his hysterics when sick, but unsure how to act in the face of this. The room was dark, the only source of light the light of the moon that fell in through a window and a slowly dying fire, but she could tell that things had been knocked around, items shoved out of place and other objects of great value strewn across the room with abandon. She felt a pair of eyes on her and as she scanned over the room her eyes fell upon a pair of heeled boots and she paused, knowing that she had finally found him.

He was seated on a couch in a darker corner of the room, far from the window and the waning fire in the fireplace nearly covered in the dark of the night.

“You’re late,” he sneered from his perch, not making a single move towards her as he stared her down.

“Can’t be late if you don’t give me a time to get here,” she said as she walked towards him, knowing that he fully expected her to, stopping a few feet away from him as she sighed, putting her hand on her hip. “And to be frank, calling me away from my home in the middle of the night usually means I get here in record time.”

“You should always be ready. I can call you whenever I want you know,” he said, head tilting back a bit as he closed his eyes before quickly opening them and resuming his gaze on her.

She looked at him, eyes narrowing as she took in his crumpled shirt, his unkempt hair, and his golden arm, the outer fixture stripped off, taking away some of his seeming cruelty. There seemed to be something more human to him when he was no longer bearing the claw that at least to him represented power, control, the ultimate object to fear, and was simply stripped down to what he was, a man who had lost his arm in brutal combat and had to live with that memory for the rest of his life. Ignoring her thoughts and own memories of that, she dropped her bag on the nearby ottoman and walked closer to him, looking down when her foot kicked something hard. An empty wine bottle rolled across the floor and towards another one, knocking that down only to reveal that it too was empty. Once again she simply sighed, “Doesn’t mean I have to come.”

They looked back at each other, her with an impassive look and him with a glare only reserved for those that truly crossed him. He opened his mouth, ready to throw a sharp barb her way but she simply rose a finger to her mouth and he immediately shut his, holding back whatever he wanted to say as she approached him. She didn’t need to use magic on him, she knew that he would listen to her without the threat of a spell. As she approached, she leaned over him and plucked the nearly full third bottle from his side and the glass that he had recently poured and moved it to the table on the opposite side of him. He went to protest again but she simply shot him a look and he shut up, looking away annoyedly as he muttered something about how that was his wine that she didn’t respond to.

She sat down next to him, took a large sip from the glass she had just confiscated, and looked over to him, her gaze softening as he turned to her and she crossed her legs and leaned back, taking yet another gulp before she set it down and spoke again.

“How are you?”

He sneered and looked away again, the smell of wine reeking from his as he began to speak. “Who does she think she is, approaching my domain? I should have her hunted down and killed for this.”

“What good will that do though?”

Lucio scoffed, almost as if she had offended him by simply asking. “She’ll be gone Catherine,” he said, drawing out the ‘gone’ as if he was explaining to a child, or talking down to someone in his court. “She’ll be dead and I won’t have to worry about her ever again. Hell, I could even take my claim as the rightful heir to the tribe.”

“Again, what good will that do?” she asked yet again, just as calmly as before as she leaned on the arm of the couch, eyebrows raised as she finished the wine in the glass and turned to pour herself another.

Lucio’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “W-why you! You know what that will do! I can continue on with my life, I can reach my full potential, conquer more than she ever could!” He lunged towards her, arm reaching out before she turned towards him at lighting speed and quickly lifted her leg, pushing against his chest with her foot and effectively knocking him down with one move. “You brat!” he shrieked as he sat up, staggering as he did so, from his drunkenness or the force of her kick he would never admit.

“Before you say another word, I’m going to tell you to not call me that. Also, you’re drunk, I’m not letting you have anymore,” she said, leaning towards him as she brought the full glass to her lips. Staring him down, she lifted it up and drank the full contents of it before she let out a satisfied ‘ah’ and put the glass back on the table. Leaning back into the plush couch, she looked back to him and rolled her eyes as he stared at her confused. “I know you weren’t aiming for me, just another drink to try and dull whatever it is you’re feeling.”

He mumbled as he shuffled around on the couch, turning his back to her before he quickly dropped his onto her lap and threw his legs over the edge of the couch.

“Ah! Warning!” she said as she quickly tried to readjust herself so that he wasn’t crushing her.

“No,” he said back, perpetually a spoiled child as he turned and nuzzled his face into her stomach. “Pet me.”

She looked down with a grimace only to see him looking up at her with a blank look. She hesitated for a moment with her hands hovering above him before his gaze turned into one of begging the longer they sat there in silence. She slowly lowered her hands to his hair, running her fingers through it a few times to break up the styled pieces covered in product that already weren’t messed with causing Lucio to let out a contented sigh as he closed his eyes and smiled. “This isn’t so bad, is it Catherine?”

“You didn’t need to summon me to do this,” she muttered as she took in his features, surprised as always to see how his features softened when he laid there with his eyes closed, when a small smile spread across his lips.

“But I want to. And even though you said you don’t have to come you always do,” he said smugly. She removed her hands and his eyes shot open but it was her turn to smile down at him as she reached over and poured herself another large glass, emptying the entire bottle. “Ah, you must be feeling it already if you’re this eager for more,” he teased, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as she rolled her eyes, taking a sip before dropping one hand back to his head and resuming her small actions.

“Shush,” she chided as he pressed into her fingertips, slightly hissing from the pressure being applied. As the sound escaped his lips a small frown dropped on hers. He acted as if he hadn’t been touched in years, as if he hadn’t felt any sense of affection in years. She lowered her hand from his head and pressed it against his cheek, causing him to open his eyes wide as she leaned over him, closing her eyes as she took a large breath in.

Fear. Pain. Anguish. Panic. Confusion. Longing.

The emotions came flowing from him into her and they raged through her in a rush causing her to let out a shuddered breath as she opened her eyes and looked down to him. He was looking up at her with a slight frown, and she gave him a lopsided smile as her thumb grazed his cheek. “Sorry, I promised I wouldn’t use that on you, but I can’t help you if you aren’t open about what’s going on. This isn’t something magic can fix.”

“I hate when you do that,” he said as his eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

“What good would come from you killing your mother?” she asked again, her voice softer this time as she kept her hand on his face.

He looked away, but she could tell he was thinking over her question this time instead of pushing it away. “I won’t have to be constantly looking over my shoulder. I could sleep easy, not wondering if she’s going to somehow end up in my room and kill me in my sleep. I mean it when I say I could be a better ruler than her, I would finally have done something she hadn’t, I would be the last one standing, I would show her that I’m no weakling.” Dropping his voice, he muttered something under his breath, and with a soft,” Hm?” from Catherine he sighed out, “I would finally be free of well, a lot I guess. Maybe I could finally leave the confines of this city’s walls. Maybe we could.”

He looked back up at her. His eyes, usually prideful and full of contempt for those around him infinitely softer than she had expected, and she turned away from him, taking a sip of her drink as she thought about what he had just said. “You’re drunk,” she whispered, taking another sip to try and now drown out her own confusion, tinged with anger towards him for even suggesting that.

“And soon you will be too,” he countered. He uncrossed his arms and brought his hand, the one of flesh and bone that he always reached out to her with, to the one that had just left his face. Grasping it gently, he brought it down to his chest and closed his eyes. His heartbeat slowed down the longer they remained in silence, him coming down from the frenzy he always threw himself in when stressed. She continued to drink, downing the glass faster than usual as they reversed roles. Her heartbeat only kept rising as she thought over his statement to her, one that only a fool would even suggest. But if he was a fool then she had to also be one, since for a fleeting moment as she finished the glass she entertained the idea of them leaving Vesuvia.

They could go anywhere, be anyone. She wouldn’t be “The Count’s Magician” and more importantly he wouldn’t be “The Count”. Well, unless he intended to always return to his title, his riches, and his people who adored him despite the state parts of the city were in. That was always a thought in her mind- would she be able to escape that title, or was she relegated to it for life? Still unable to look at him the glass was emptied quicker than she thought it would be she could only place it on the table, letting out a deep sigh as she felt her head to begin to swim and her thoughts continuing to stray back to the past.

Breaking the silence, she let out an angry laugh, “Guess you were right about being drunk.”

“I told you so,” he said in his usual pompous tone as he looked up and gave his trademark smirk to her. “You should stay the night, you can’t go back to that shop of your’s in this condition.”

“I can with your carriage.”

“Well, you can’t use it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh as he continued, his words now slurring as he tried to look at her seductively, but failing miserably, “We should move to my bedroom.”

“Not happening.”

“Alright, your room.”

She startled and looked down at him, a questioning look on her face as she muttered, “My room?”

“You think I would get rid of that? You’re still the Count’s Magician, of course it is still there. And we should move there now.”

“Same answer; not happening.”

Here he turned pouty, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms as he looked at her indignantly, “Fine then, we’ll go to a guest room.”

“One last time Lucio: Not. Happening. You’re married.”

“And you know that means nothing.”

She sighed as she herself crossed her arms, her own words starting to slur as she began to regret drinking that much wine at that speed. “But you know it means something to me. I won’t do that even if others have no problem with it.”

They both fell silent again before their arms fell slack and her head tilted back and sank into the cushion of the couch. Her eyes closed and Lucio took his time to take her in, having not been able to see her in this state for years now. She had always been able to fall asleep wherever she was, one of her better talents she used to claim, and she looked peaceful as her breath slowed down and her hand started to grasp the hem of his shirt, fingers twisting around it delicately before she stopped, her fingertips a ghost of a whisper on his waist.

Lucio smiled to himself and turned back to her, wrapping his gold arm around the back of her waist and bringing his other towards her hip. Shooting up she looked down at him and he remained there with his head in her lap and back to resting towards her stomach. “We’ll just have to stay here then,” he said, satisfied with himself for coming up with a compromise.

“I shouldn’t,” she started but he tutted at her and laughed.

“You’re drunk, and already able to fall asleep, and I would be a horrible host if I didn’t give you a place to stay. And since you’re oh so adamant that we shouldn’t go anywhere else we will stay here.” He smiled smugly as he tightened his grasp on her.

She went to speak but was interrupted by his quick “Oh!” Rubbing her face she looked down again as he proudly proclaimed, “And you can’t even tell me this couldn’t be comfortable for me. You know this arm can’t fall asleep.”

Pausing for a moment, she let out a drunken snicker before it turned into a full laugh. Lifting a leg that he rested on, she hooked the edge of the table on the toe of her shoe and pulled it closer, kicking her legs onto it and reclining a bit more into her seat. She let one hand fall to his hair and the other remained close to his hip, and he pulled her closer to him, grip tight and unyielding. With a wave of her hand, the curtains were drawn, covering them in the darkness of the room as their breaths slowly fell in synch with the other’s.

#count lucio #count lucio x apprentice #fan apprentice #count lucio x mc #the arcana lucio #don’t be mean hahahah #the two of them have known each other longer than even lucio’s known julian #And while she doesn’t know everything about him and vice versa she knows a lot of the horrible things he has done for power #but the strings of fate keep them here like this #yah I should give more details hahah #my writing

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icecreambeach · 7 years ago

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Prompt: An unexpected hug, McHanzo.

This was fun! Trying something with more conventional OW tropes, turned into something I really did not predict. Unexpected hugs and more! Tried not to spend too much time on it cuz you KNOW I’ll turn it into a monster if I don’t. :] thank you mataglap for my first prompt!!!

People more or less take one look at Hanzo and assume he doesn’t want to be touched. Everyone in Gibraltar is worldly enough to know that, culturally, it just isn’t a big thing, and Hanzo is nothing if not a traditionalist. That and the forty foot wall of spikes that is his general personality make it an unspoken assumption that anyone who might think of patting him on the shoulder, or rubbing his back, or playfully touching him in any way should expect to leave the encounter without a hand. Even Reinhardt, who treats everyone from small musicians to floating robots like members of the same bizarrely-close football team, followed suit from their very first encounter. Everyone gives Hanzo a wide berth and he does nothing to contradict them – if anything, he seems proud to be singular, to be afforded the kind of wordless barrier often associated with passing royalty. He wears his physical isolation with a raised chin and guards his alone time like a precious commodity. Exposed tattoo like a warning: beware of dragons.

Which is why Jesse, despite fucking Hanzo every night for going on two months now, doesn’t so much as stand within five feet of the man in public. It’s definitely not for lack of wanting – even looking at Hanzo puts all kind of romantic impulse in the gunslinger’s fingers. But Jesse’s been through too many haphazard ‘relationships’ to screw this one up now – not when their connection seems so tenuous already, not when his heart is so far out on a limb. His rapid-fire approach to everything cannot be allowed to burn through this tender gift he’s been lucky enough to receive in this, a relatively late part of his probably-short life, when so much else has already been turned to ash.

That, and he’s not even sure Hanzo wants people to know they’re together. Everything the archer does is well-thought-out, purposeful. Even when he walks, he never wavers or stumbles. It’s one of the things Jesse loves most about him, but it also means that if he’s not making eyes or asking outright, then he probably wants Jesse to follow suit. He’s amorous enough when they’re alone – if a little rough and to-the-point. Jesse can deal with the lack of touch the rest of the time.

Except that he really, really can’t. He’s been a hugger since he was little and physical affection was a missed commodity during his bounty hunting days. In Overwatch, everyone��s a soldier, and that implies a certain closeness inimitable in the outside world. Jesse could easily be labeled as ‘handsy’ when it comes to his fellow teammates (especially the old guard) and no one seems to mind. Far from it – they practically encourage him. Lena is always throwing her arm around his waist, Angela is always giggling under his bear hugs, Genji actually holds his hand now and again, Lucio gets a big kick out of linking their arms like a gentleman, and he’s smacked Reinhardt’s ass so many times, he hardly realizes he’s doing it anymore (though he can barely withstand the reciprocation). His magnanimous lack of personal boundaries is so famous that every time he falls asleep on the rec room couch, he usually winds up waking to someone else resting on his shoulder, or in his lap, or, like Hana did that one time, snoring atop his chest, using his pecs as pillows.

The burning fact that Hanzo is the only one willfully left out of this touch-circle is how Jesse winds up burning his and everyone else’s breakfasts one steel-gray morning. Earlier, the archer heard someone knocking at Jesse’s door and basically hid in the bathroom while Angela poked her head in to remind Jesse that it was his turn to cook. He was out of there as soon as she left, not a touch nor word exchanged. Not even a look. Since leaving his dorm, it’s all Jesse’s been able to think about, and now he’s snarling down at a cast iron pan full of burnt bacon.

He scoops it up, dumps its contents into the trash and then lets it slam back down on the burner.

Lena, used to the gunslinger’s short-lived bursts of temper, sidles up to his side and rubs his arm. “Oy, it’s alright. There’s more bacon in the fridge.”

“You mind taking over? Sorry, I just,” he sighs, rubs his barrel-chest through his white tee, “Not feeling myself this morning.”

“Sure. Go and sit, lad. Let Auntie Lena handle this. You like beans, right?”

“Love ‘em,” Jesse sighs, seating himself beside Genji. More people trickle in, but Jesse keeps his head in his hands.

“You look like you had another late night,” Genji remarks, that usual coy, leading tone. “Thought Angela said to ‘take it easy’ with the hard stuff.”

Jesse glares, rubbing his trapezius. “What’re you, her enforcer?”

“Yes,” trills Angela, ruffling Genji’s hair as she passes him on the way to the coffee maker. “Genji is my enforcer.”

Genji, with his visor lowered, is even more insufferable with the doctor around. But he gestures kindly at Jesse, wordlessly asking him to turn around and face the ovens. “Let me show you something Zenyatta showed me.”

Too tired not to trust him, Jesse straddles the table bench and lets Genji sink his hands into his shoulders. The relief is instantaneous – nothing like a dexterous pair of metal hands to ease out the tension – but, if he’s being honest, it’s not very deep. Jesse’s back has got more knots than a bondage party.

“Ah, you should try it like this!” Jesse hears Reinhardt behind him, then a larger hand is clasped at the back of his neck, working its side muscles. “This is what they do in the spas in Berlin!”

“Ow,” says Jesse, though he’s leaning into Reinhardt’s hand.

“If you want a really good massage, you should let Lucio try,” says Lena, half-turning as she cracks fresh eggs. “He’s got a healing touch!”

“Why, thank you, Lena,” says Lucio, also from behind Jesse. “Scoot over, Genji. See, man, it’s the lower back you gotta focus on, that’s where it allllllll happens…”

Jesse laughs low in his throat as now three men all address his mess of muscles. He lowers his head, obviously in ecstasy. Glowing at the attention. A neat little buzz leaks into his bloodstream, renders him light-headed. “Y’all're gonna kill me.”

“Such great teamwork,” laughs Mei from somewhere to his right.

“Hey, I better be next,” says Hana from somewhere to his left, cracking open one of her carbonated tea drinks. “You know how sore I get playing games?”

“Perhaps we should look into a full-time masseuse,” drawls Angela, drinking her coffee near Lena. “Or maybe Winston could design one.”

“Robotics are not my forte,” says Winston, somewhere near the pantry – Jesse assumes he’s building his own breakfast, “And it seems like… you’ve… got it all figured out…”

His drifting off doesn’t register until Jesse glances up at Angela and Lena’s semi-stunned faces, both focused somewhere over his head. Already in a daze from the endorphins, he raises a brow, but doesn’t truly notice something’s off until all three pairs of hands leave his body at once. He doesn’t even get the chance to open his mouth – two hands, feels like Genji, return to knead hard into his neck, making him issue an involuntary groan and tip his head forward again. Typical Shimada – incapable of sharing.

Angela continues, totally unperturbed. “Anyway, it would probably be an unwise allocation of resources. We still have to repair the security drones, don’t we?”

“Actually, those are all done,” Winston says, cheerful. “Torbjorn finished them last night.”

“Where is that man? Sleeping in?” Reinhardt joins Angela in Jesse’s line of sight, also getting more coffee. His gigantic mug is shaped like a very cute lion. “Another one staying up all night?”

Genji’s hands on Jesse’s back lower from his neck to his shoulder blades, working in seamless, soothing patterns. Lingering on the toughest spots. Jesse will owe him big after this, and he says so – or, he thinks he does. It’s getting hard to focus.

“You are one to talk,” Angela hums, holding her mug like it doesn’t have a handle, pinky out. “I heard you hammering away with Brigitte into the wee hours of the morning.”

“And how would you know,” laughs Reinhardt, “If you were not also awake to hear us?”

Genji’s hands work down to Jesse’s sides, folding and squeezing over his love handles. Okay, getting a little handsy there, Genj…

Lena, stuck in the middle, looks back and forth between them, pretends to move the pans like they’re about to fight. Angela smirks: “I’ve been caught.”

“I think we’ve all got a few more late nights ahead of us,” says Winston, who seats himself on a stool fit with wheels – the bench tables don’t quite agree with his physique. “But it shouldn’t be for much longer. Now that Athena’s running at full capacity, we don’t even…”

Jesse kind of blurs out after that. Genji is digging his thumbs into Jesse’s lower back in a way that’s making him have to hold in the groans. He actually lifts up his right hand to bite the knuckles as the ninja shoves his own knuckles against the bunched muscle just above Jesse’s glutes. God, he’ll get Genji whatever he wants after this. He hasn’t been touched like that in ages.

Except that his groin is starting to pay attention, and that just ain’t right. Genji’s hands are smoothing up and down his back now, slow and absorbing, with considerable affection. It’s enough to pump something warm and syrupy throughout the gunslinger’s muscles, down to the tips of his toes and back up again.But it does seem like he’s finally finishing up. Good, that was getting a little –

Then his hands circle around to the front and he hugs Jesse, head on his shoulder, warm and secure – possessive, even. Rubbing his jaw into his neck.

“Alright, now,” Jesse grunts, “That’s a bridge too far, there, Gen–”

Then he turns his head and stops just centimeters short of Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo, head over Jesse’s shoulder, smiles and pushes his forehead into his neck. Now that the stupor is passing, Jesse can smell his fresh shower, feel the warmth of his firm arms, sense the embarrassment that urges the archer to give Jesse one final squeeze before standing up and sitting proper at the table.

Everyone eats, everyone talks, but Jesse spends the entire time hyper-focusing on the touch of his thigh against Hanzo’s beneath the table and avoiding Genji’s annoyingly smug glances.

- - -

“Hey, c’mere, you.”

Hanzo turns with a raised brow as his wrist is seized and pulled. Jesse tugs, and he allows himself to be tugged, until their chests are pressed together just outside the mess hall.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, yourself,” Jesse hums, his eyes dancing with energy. “Feel like I just had one-too-many shots of espresso. Baby – where’d you get hands like that? You got dragons in your fingers, too?”

Hanzo chuckles, strokes Jesse’s beard. “Maybe.”

“I mean it, Hanzo, that was something else. Is that…” He suddenly looks down at his arms around him, “Is this okay?” He glances to the side, where the others are filing out of the mess hall at their leisure.

“Of course,” Hanzo mutters, assessing Jesse’s shoulders with more rubbing hands.

“It’s just you – I know you don’t – wait, why you been so stand-offish then?”

“I had thought… you did not initiate anything in front of the others. I assumed you wished to be discrete.”

“Well, shit, I thought you wanted that! You didn’t initiate anything, either. And you ran outta here this morning like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

“You are the one who is always…” Hanzo sets his jaw, raises a brow. “You always have your hands on everyone else.”

“Again – I thought you wanted me to keep my hands to myself.”

“I thought you would…”

“What? Just do whatever the hell I want?” Jesse chuckles, looks at Hanzo like he’s ludicrous. “I wanna give you what you need, Han. I ain’t gonna start pawing at you if you don’t say so. Y’seem to like your space.”

“I do,” Hanzo strokes up from his shoulders to his jaw, “I also like when you invade my space.”

“Lord have mercy,” Jesse groans, halfway to scooping Hanzo up entirely, “You’re a goddamn heart-breaker. Always surprising me.”

Hanzo only chuckles, not quite knowing what to say to that. There are many things he doesn’t understand about Jesse, apparently – he’d assumed, all this time, that the gunslinger did not want his open affections, and that he preferred his status as a flirtatious yet independent loner. That they were better off keeping to their own respective status quo. He’d never been one for public displays of physical affection (or even private ones, for that matter), but something about Jesse makes him want to try new things. To take a few steps beyond the boundaries he’s known for so long.

“So, what? You saw me getting a back rub and got too jealous to resist?”

Hanzo scoffs, thumbs Jesse’s nose. “Am I to stand by and watch you be manhandled by my brother and two others?”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to chuckle, pulling Hanzo fully into his chest for a proper embrace. Gliding his natural right hand across the shaved hair at the back of Hanzo’s head, holding tight around his waist with his metal arm. Breathing him in.

Hanzo splays his hands across Jesse’s back, breathes back. “Thank you.”

“For what? Being wrong all this time?”

Hanzo reaches up, re-adjusts with both arms around Jesse’s neck. “For trying.”

Jesse holds Hanzo around his middle, smiling against his head. Finally feeling him in his entirety; meeting him where he’s at.

#mchanzo #mchanzo fics #mchanzo prompts #writing prompts

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daggersandsparks · 6 years ago

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💀

- Catching her Kill [accepting] : @cicero-the-assassin -

Sometimes, the problem with using live bait for Deathclaw hunting was that they didn’t die as easily. It was always hit or miss, really. But it was just frustrating.Peering down the scope of her rifle, she let out a sigh. The Deathclaw next to him was dead. He’d managed to kill it before it took him out, and now he was looking around like he was looking for someone. She frowned.

Hadn’t he realized it was her that had taken a shot at him?That thought made her scoff. She scanned the area, finding nothing to prove the assumed theory. This could be interesting. She sat up from her hiding spot, sliding her rifle over her back, and made her way over to her ‘bait’. She approached him slowly, her shotgun held in one hand. He turned towards her as she got close enough, his gun in hand. And he looked visibly relieved. She didn’t have to ask before he started explaining.

❝Jack, I think we got company, someone shot my leg!❞ He explained, motioning to the wound. Using her old Raider name. That was definitely her work. She squatted down next to him, a concerned look painted on her features.

❝Do you know where the shots came from?❞ She asked and he shook his head. ❝Can you walk?❞

This time he paused at her concern, looking at his legs before he began to try to stand.

❝I think so…❞ He started. She hummed before pointing her shotgun at his other leg and firing, blasting through the flesh. He screamed.

❝What the fuck? You fucking bitch, I’ll–❞ He started to reach for his gun and she moved quickly, smashing the butt of her gun against his face reaching for his gun, taking it from him and tossing it out of reach. He held his bloodied nose and looked at her through the pain. She smiled gently at him.

❝500 caps on your head, love.❞ She told him, her voice far kinder than she usually spoke with, sounding every bit as sincere as if she was doting on him for his wounds. ❝But they told me some of the why and I gave ‘em half off.❞

She explained. His eyes went wide. He started to say they were lies. He grabbed her wrist, trying to keep her from aiming the shotgun at him again. She sneered, dropping the gun, twisting her arm, and wrapping it around his. She sent the electric jolts through his arms, pushing him forward, pressing him into the ground. She stopped the shock, letting him writhe in the pain as his synapses fired, causing his whole body to twitch and flail on their own. She pulled out her knife as she waited for him to settle. Eventually, he did. He was muttering incoherently at that point. She frowned slightly, looking down at her hand. The skin was already looking slightly burnt. Perhaps she’d sent more into him than intended. She shrugged, pressing the tip of her knife to the hollow of his throat.

❝I really don’t–❞ She began, but that was when she heard a noise. Crouched behind the Deathclaw’s corpse, she was out of sight of most. She was unlikely to be noticed. Except– Except of course the man let out a pathetic, strained scream. And the noise came to investigate. She pressed the blade against his throat, letting the electricity flow from her hand and the blade to spark and bite at him, and reached for her shotgun, taking aim at where she heard the stranger’s slow steps.And she blinked in surprise when it was Lucio standing on the other side of the Deathclaw. She frowned, looking at the scene for a moment from an outside perspective.

❝I’m working, Old Man.❞ She muttered, dropping her shotgun back towards her side. She didn’t like an audience though. She paused, turning off the electroshock in her arm with some effort before she flipped the knife closed. With a sigh, she aimed the shotgun at his forehead as she grabbed the necklace from his throat. And pulled the trigger. Blood and gore spraying from the wound. She grabbed the small bag he carried at his side as she stood, facing Lucio with a frown as she pocketed it.

❝Did you come looking for your puppy or something?❞

She teased, not acting any different from whenever she’d have seen him any other day.

#✧ what you’re runnin’ from #cicero the assassin #murder cw #violence cw

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reversewatch · 7 years ago

Text

Situational Counterparts

(post submitted by anon)

So I’ve just been poking and prodding at the idea of the r!guys meeting their situational counterparts, like r!Genji to c!Hanzo and vice versa, r!Sym to c!Lucio and vice versa, etc. I have no idea if any of this is going to be correct or accurate, but …

Okay, so for Hanzo and Genji. Personality-wise, c!Hanzo and r!Genji don’t really jive, because of course they don’t; they didn’t in their respective universes and there’s no reason that would have changed. But I’m guessing that r!Genji kind of sees c!Hanzo as validation. Like, I knew you were going to kill me if I didn’t kill you and I was right, everything I did was in self-defense and I did nothing wrong. To r!Genji, c!Hanzo is confirmation that he has no blame in the mess (and probably something that helps reaffirm his conviction after the whole “hey guess what your brother’s not dead” thing). As for r!Hanzo meeting c!Genji, well, you’ve already answered an ask like this but yeah, r!Hanzo would be horrified. He’s very much Not Okay with his situation and knowing that he did the same thing to his brother would really rattle him. I honestly think c!Genji could be good for r!Hanzo though, given that he’s had experience with the whole thing and kind of is handling it. Better than Hanzo, at least.

r!Zen doesn’t really have a counterpart, other than c!Mondatta, who would obviously be horrified by him. But you could position c!Sombra as a counterpart to r!McCree and vice versa. With r!Sombra and c!McCree, the two would get along like a house on fire, which is to say that they would be having a lot of fun and everyone else would be terrified (and since personally I’m a large fan of both Blackwatch family relationships- tired Gabe is just trying to mitigate the damage). I might make another submission soon that gets into some personal headcanons about r!Sombra and some others, but I’m already word dumping here so, um, one thing at a time I guess? With c!Sombra and r!McCree, you’d probably get much more of a mutual acknowledgement of I don’t quite trust you but you’re a good ally and we’re not quite friends but we spend time together.

r!Reaper (or should we just call him Reyes?) would probably just find c!Soldier sad. I mean, in the r-verse, Reyes and Morrison kinda stuck together because morals. They were never really betrayed- they lost close friends, but their personal falling-out never really happened, and I think they’re a lot more hopeful because of that. They made it through SEP, they made it through the Crisis, they made it through the fall of Overwatch, they’re sure as hell making it though this. This also might end up leading to Sombra sticking with them? Since I’m putting her as McCree’s counterpart and McCree left because he was disgusted with Blackwatch, except in the r-verse Blackwatch probably wouldn’t have ever gotten that bad. So maybe r!Sombra, r!Reaper, and r!Soldier just become a little vigilante family of sorts? I don’t know. r!Soldier, however, would probably be a little shaken by meaning c!Reaper- since both r!Soldier and r!Reaper made it together with the trust between them relatively intact, seeing how utterly it shattered in canon-verse would be a little disturbing, at best.

And then we get to r!Symmetra and r!Lucio and their counterparts and. There’s a lot here? Like, not so much for c!Symmetra and r!Lucio; although I can sort of see c!Sym being a little unnerved by r!Lucio’s methods, she still believes in Vishkar really strongly, even with her small crisis of faith in the “A Better World” comic. Then again, r!Lucio is working for Calado, isn’t he? So that could be a point of contention, although if Calado is basically doing what Vishkar is and creating order, it might not be very big. (On an unrelated note, I wonder what might cause Lucio’s crisis of faith and journey to eventually leaving Calado, similar to canon Symmetra.) Depending on whether he’s had that crisis, he and c!Sym might react differently to each other- a r!Lucio who’s kind of struggling with his company’s morals and a c!Sym who’s doing the same thing could find confidantes in each other, if they were ever willing or able to trust one another enough to reveal those doubts. But between r!Symmetra and c!Lucio, I get this feeling that r!Symmetra would just be a mess. Like, no, she doesn’t agree with this green DJ. She thinks he’s too chaotic and unstructured and “out there”, but at the same time she feels chaotic and unstructured and “out there”- she’s kind of desperate for someone to give her a play-by-play of how to do this. Like, what are the rules? Where is the “How To Take Down A Corrupt Company 101” book? And I’m assuming Lucio, as a people person, is having more success than she is, I can definitely see her kind of looking to him for guidance- and also hating that she is, so then there’s this anger because of all that. c!Lucio probably supports the heck out of r!Symmetra but might not think she’s doing enough. I’m just guessing here- I’m realizing I tend to focus a lot more on the r-verse people’s reactions. Also, I really really REALLY want r!Sym and c!Lucio to just bond over music. Is that in character? No. Do I want it anyway? Yes.

So, um, yeah? Not sure how you’ll react to this cause it is weird and probably way too long but there you go!

#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#the r!sym c!luc analysis is also giving me feelings #i really want some version of these characters to be bffs #submission

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freshwatercroisant-blog · 7 years ago

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Junkrat X Reader: The Bomb!

Here’s my first fan fiction for the blog. Some fluff, SFW. Might be a little too long, sorry ;-;

I hope you enjoy!

The sound of your sneakers and Mercy’s heels filled the medical bay as she finished up the last bits of your physical. This was the last step to becoming a member of Overwatch – something you’ve wanted to be part of ever since it was mentioned to you. It has heartbreaking when they disbanded, but the news of them joining back together once more was all the encouragement you needed! Excitement rushed through your body as Mercy set the rather overstuffed folder down by her computer.

“Everything looks good, _____,” She gave you a warm smile. “I’m glad to see so much energy coming from a new recruit.”

“My physical, it went well?” You asked, almost not believing her joyous tone.

“Of course. I just need to put everything in the system and you’ll be good to go.” She sat down and began leafing through the papers. “Now, if you go towards the front of the building, Morrison should be waiting for you. He’ll show you to your room. I believe your boxes have already been moved.” You nodded and thanked her, quickly walking out of the room.

Long hallways and an abundance of doors made the building seem like a labyrinth, you thought. The natural light pouring in through the large windows took away the enclosed feeling of it. Mercy had told you that the building was constructed to room all of the Overwatch members, as well as providing a dining area, a training area, and a shooting range to accommodate everyone’s needs. You were excited to meet everyone!

“Ah, _____,” Morrison acknowledged you as you walked up to him. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your room.” He adjusted his jacket and headed down the hall.

The walk was rather quiet; you could already tell he was a man of few words. You did attempt to make small talk, mentioning how much you looked up to the Overwatch crew even after they disbanded. That seemed to make him go even quieter, if that was possible. He replied in nothing more than hums and grunts.

“Here’s your room. The junker boys brought your boxes in, but uh…” He trailed off as you opened your door. You looked back, waiting for him to finish. “Just check your boxes to make sure everything’s there. We’ll be having lunch soon, you know how to get to –”

“I know, I know,” You assured him. “Thank you, Mr. Morrison. Training after lunch, correct?”

“Yes,” He answered, closing your door. You turned around to grab a thin jacket when you heard him open the door back up. “Also, just ‘Morrison’ is fine.” He said through the crack, leaving soon after.

You made your way to the cafeteria, and as you approached the double doors, you could hear some yelling. Nervousness crept up your spine, accompanied with chills, but you braced yourself and opened the left door, only to have the right one slammed open by an angry-looking cowboy who adorned a lovely shade of mashed potatoes across his chest in a sloppy splatter.

“Oi, McCree! Wait!” The charred Australian caught your eye as he cackled, “Don’t you wanna play ‘hot potato’ anymore?” He busted out in laughter once more, only to earn a shove from the heavier-set masked man beside him.

Morrison caught your attention with a throaty yell. “Jamison!” He stomped over to the lanky man. “I told you to set an example for the new –”

“Hiya!” The troublemaker waved excitedly at you as he interrupted the angry man. You weren’t too sure if you were to wave back or not as Morrison glanced over to see you almost frozen in place. Assuming that ignorance was the best option, you shoved your hands in your pockets and walked as quickly as you could manage to grab yourself a tray of food.

Before you had a chance to sit down, you could hear the same Australian yelling for you. Looking over to the source, you could see him violently shaking his arms in the air, gesturing you to come over. You decided that it would be best to see what he wanted before he dislocated his shoulders.

“Hello there,” You greeted awkwardly, still standing in front of them. “Is there something you needed?”

“Yeah, yeah, si’down! Take a seat!” He waved his hand at the chair across from him. You looked around, and with Morrison out of your sight, you decided it couldn’t hurt to at least try to talk to them. “Name’s Junkrat, mate,” He smiled a toothy grin that was somewhere between manic and goofy. “This is m’pal, Roadhog! Say hi, Roadie!” The larger man sighed heavily and raised his hand slightly.

“_____,” You replied. “I, uh – are you two the ‘junkers’?” You guessed, using the lanky man’s name as a clue.

“The two and only!” He cackled again. “We’re the ones who carried all your stuff to y’new room!” He posed heroically, causing a small giggle to come from you.

“Oh, ah, thanks guys, I appreciate it,” You began eating.

“You excited for training?!” Junkrat asked, almost to excitedly.

“Well, I’m still new, so I’m nervous,” You cleared your throat. “I don’t know who I’ll be working with yet. Morrison said it’ll be randomized.”

“Ah, don’t worry, darl’! After all, you’ll probably end up with one or both of us. We’re a force to be reckoned with, we are,” He nudged Roadhog, earning a nod. You nodded as well, still not too sure of what to say, and continued eating.

“Alright, before we start, I’m sure the news has reached all of you; this is our new recruit, _____.” Morrison gestured to you. “_____ has already had some prerequisite training, but it wouldn’t kill you guys to provide a little guidance.” He pulled out an envelope and announced the teams.

“Tracer, Lucio, _____, Junkrat, Reinhardt, Hanzo. You’ll be defending.” You saw Junkrat’s expression fall when he realized his friend’s name wasn’t announced with his own. “Roadhog, myself, McCree, Mercy, Pharah, and D. Va will be attacking. Get to your assigned area and we’ll begin.”

You followed your team, listening to them as they explained what they can do for the team. Strategics were key and the main focus; Junkrat had you following him, showing you where he was putting his traps and bombs. He seemed rather serious after getting into a battle setting.

“You got y’self an explosive weapon there, mate,” He looked at your gun as you rolled your eyes at his pun. It was a bit smaller than Morrison’s but fired the same. “We’ll make a great team!”

You smiled at his energy. You didn’t think someone would take you under their wing so quickly. You nodded to him as you heard the countdown begin.

Rather than sticking by Junkrat’s side as he suggested, you found yourself practically glued to Reinhardt’s side, finding comfort in being behind his shield. He teased you about it and would continuously make comments about how fearless you should be, as he was in his youth. Your team was doing fairly well, considering the objective was only contested two times.

Time was running out and the other team began gaining on yours. Reinhardt’s shield kept breaking and Lucio was attacking more than healing. You found yourself hiding around a corner alone until you heard the familiar uneven footsteps of Junkrat.

“Ah, love! Whaddaya doin’ over here? I thought they blew you up…” He was panting and covered in more soot than before. You looked at him, almost terrified. “You know it’s not legitimate ammo, right? We’re training. It’s just a really painful paintball game!” He chuckled, showing you his side that was covered in streaks of blue paint and bruises. You felt a great weight lifted off of your shoulders, as you reloaded. “Now, don’t go runnin’ out there like a dummy, you’ll… blow it!” You shot him a look that told him to cut the puns, but he brushed it off and urged you to follow him with a sly grin on his face.

“The others are gaining on us bad, _____,” Junkrat hummed, a metal finger tapping his chin. “Nothing’s gone explodey.”

“I don’t know how to get them off of there!” You hissed, thinking he meant for you to fix the problem and knowing that this was no time for his puns.

“But I do!” His sing-song voice certainly concerned you as he grabbed the tire from his back and set it on its side. “Get ready for a shock…”

You watched in amazement as he pulled a chain from the tire, sending it flying from the balcony-like area you two were on, just barely hidden from the other team. It quickly exploded, covering Morrison, Roadhog, D. Va and McCree in red paint.

You looked over at Junkrat, your jaw hanging open. “Oh – oh my god,” You started giggling. “That was AWESOME!” You shouted, bursting into laughter. You fell onto your ass and held your sides; seeing the oh-so-serious Morrison yelling angrily at the final move of the junker was too much. Junkrat’s eyes lit up from your compliment and excitement, and he joined in with the laughter as you two jumped down.

Junkrat approached Roadhog with you beside him and caution thrown through the window. “Hey big guy, how’s about a hug from – ACK!” Roadhog grabbed both of you, smearing red paint all over the front of both of you. More laughter ensued as the others began to walk back to the base, shaking their heads.

The three of you walked back together as Junkrat shared his experience with his friend.

“Oh, and Roadie, the – the look on that cheeky bastard’s face! Ha! I knocked that stupid hat right off his head, didn’t I, _____?” You nodded with laughter still making its way through your curled lips. Junkrat didn’t seem to be as bad as his first impression may have implied. He just liked to have a good laugh, it seemed.

After you got cleaned up, you were out your door and headed to dinner when a robotic arm was slung over your shoulders. “I really gotta say, you still did pretty good for your first session,” Junkrat wiggled his brows at you.

“I’ll get better,” You laughed, swatting his arm away.

“I really mean it!”

“I’m sure you do.”

A smug grin was on your face the whole time he tried to give you a compliment.

“Y’know, _____, I’m just tryin’ to tell you how well y’did out there,” He pouted as you two made your way to the table, Roadhog already well into his meal. “Wasn’t she great, Roadie?!” Even the silent man gave you a thumbs up.

“Well,” You started nonchalantly, ready to return a compliment in a way that only he could appreciate. “I might have been good, but… you, Junkrat… were the bomb.”

And not the biggest explosion could compare to how much his face lit up the moment the shitty pun left your lips.

He exchanged wide-eyed glances between you and Roadhog, his almost unhinged jaw curling into that goofy smile. He bounced in his seat like a child restlessly awaiting to open a gift. “You – You really mean that, darl’?” He waited for your comfirmation.

“Yeah, you really blew away the competition,” You added. He hunched over and laughed so hard you thought he was going to fall onto the floor. Roadhog chuckled at the interactions between the two of you. “Too much?” You giggled.

Junkrat straightened himself up, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, no, that’s perfect,” He replied, slinging his arm around you again as his laughter settled.

While you all finished up dinner, Junkrat was finding every excuse in the book to have some kind of physical contact with you. Lightly punching your arm, to pointing at something on you, you name it. You couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him, and Roadhog as well.

As you got up to leave, Roadhog whispered something to Junkrat and promptly left, leaving you and the lanky blonde behind. “So, eh… I’ll walk you to y’room?” He suggested. You hesitated, but agreed, jokingly putting your arm around his when he offered it. You feel that Morrison had the wrong idea about the adorable dork.

You made it to your room and you opened the door, Junkrat mindlessly following you in when you left a lingering touch on his arm. You turned to close the door and came face to face with him. “H-Hey there,” You chuckled, stepping back a bit. He laughed nervously and took a step back as well, putting his head down as if to apologize.

“Well, ah… I’ll be going,” He pointed to the door behind him. He turned on his heel and grabbed the door knob.

“Hey, Junkrat?” You started.

“Yes?” He turned around almost too quickly.

You opened your mouth to say something, but got trapped by his deep, amber eyes. “Oh, I – Thanks. Thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it,” You took a step towards him, butterflies and bravery filling your chest. “I got more scared than nervous.” You admitted, your face feeling flushed.

“Me too,” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. He jumped a bit as if he didn’t expect for those words to leave his mouth.

“Why would you have been nervous?” You smiled, unsure of what either of you were going to do next.

“You’re quite the bombshell y’self, _____,” He grinned. You giggled at his compliment but quickly stopped, not realizing how close you two were. You looked up at him, your face only a few inches from his. You felt his metal hand brush against yours, and you cautiously reached your hand to hold it, using that as a chance to move a little closer.

You looked down from his eyes and muttered an apology, pulling your hand away from his as your courage faded. “I’m sorry if this is weird, I know we just met, and…” Your voice trailed off when he grabbed your hand again, this time intertwining his fingers with yours. He gazed into your eyes as you looked back up at him, almost hypnotized by the warmth they provided.

It seemed like forever had passed, leaving you two alone with only the sounds of quiet breathing to fill the silence. You leaned in ever so slowly, feeling the heat radiating from his body. He dipped his head down and gently pressed his chapped lips against yours. It was chaste, to your surprise; you hadn’t expected such intimate behavior from the same man who is normally robust and yelling around about explosions and puns. Your lips parted slightly as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” Junkrat rubbed his thumbs across your hands as he spoke uncharacteristically softly.

“Not in the slightest,” You mused. Your arms snaked around his sides as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. “Makes for an interesting first day if anything.” You smirk against his freckled skin as a laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Whaddaya say we hang out sometime, then?” Junkrat stepped back, still holding one of your hands. “I think I might like you or somethin’,” A contagious grin made its way onto his face.

“I’d say that’s a bomb-ass idea.”

#junkrat #jamison fawkes #overwatch #junkrat overwatch #jamison fawkes overwatch #junkrat x reader #reader insert #overwatch x reader #sfw #fan fic #fan fiction #overwatch fanfic #jamison fawkes x reader #fluff #overwatch fluff

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galpalaven · 7 years ago

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7 with nox and julian? :>

7. “Is that blood?” “No?” “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”

This was, unequivocally, a terrible idea.

Never mind that she should have told him to get the hell out when she ran into him, somehow, just barely outside of the edge of the palace grounds, or that she probably should have asked for more of an explanation than the, “Uh… flowers for… Mazelinka?” answer he gave. She’s even willing to ignore the fact that he was skulking around the gardens in the dead of night like some kind of criminal (haha), but stumbling into the abandoned wing of the castle really is just plain stupid of the both of them.

She hadn’t actually been to this part of the building yet, since she’d come to the palace, and had actually been looking for a back entrance into the area, avoiding the weird dogs in the hall. A murder investigation is nothing without a crime scene analysis, after all, right? There had to be clues somewhere in there as to who or what killed the Count.

Nox just… wasn’t expecting one of the clues to be the convicted suspect wandering around like he was looking for something important.

The Count’s wing is dark when they finally manage to get into it–drafty and cold as the chill of death seemed to settle over every corner of the marble hall. Beside her, Julian is tense, drifting a little too close to her as she activates the flame rune on her palm. A little bit of warmth falls over them from the little ball of light, but the fire only pierces a little bit of the oppressive darkness around them. Beyond the circle of light, the dark is thick and almost pulsing, shifting as though there are creatures lurking just past their line of sight, ready to pounce.

“Well,” Nox breathes, pulling her hand away from her face when the flame shivers horribly, threatening to go out. “This is awful.”

“It’s… darker than I remember,” Julian replies just as softly, warm breath washing over her neck.

“That does happen when people stop taking care of parts of a building.” Or when someone has been murdered in cold blood, she thinks dryly.

Carefully, Nox takes a few steps forward, eyes locked on the wall of shadow in front of her, almost expecting something to jump out at her. The atmosphere in this part of the palace is almost alive.

Alive and hungry.

Behind her, Julian’s footsteps are nearly silent as they wander towards one side of the hall.

“Oh, god, the eyes.”

Nox turns away from the shadows reluctantly, looking up at Julian for an explanation and following his gaze to a line of portraits on the wall.

Every single one of them has had its eyes gouged out, thick, jagged claw marks on Count Lucio’s pretty face.

“I’m… going to assume that isn’t your handiwork?” Nox asks, and her voice shakes a little as she reaches up to trace her fingers across some of the scratches.

He mimics her movement, trying to match up his longer fingers to the claw marks–but even his hands aren’t big enough to match.

“What could have done this?” he murmurs, glancing down at her like he expects her to have all the answers.

She blinks. “Ohh, I don’t know. Angry poltergeists, restless spirits. A demon?” She lets out a shaky breath, shrugging. “I don’t think his freaky dogs could reach up there. Or make marks like that.”

Julian frowns, opens his mouth like he’s about to make some kind of complaint, and immediately pales when some kind of growling sounds from somewhere down the hall. It’s deep and low, almost moaning in the dark, and Julian and Nox find each other’s hands, panic settling uncomfortably somewhere just under the ribcage.

“Who’s there?” Nox manages to call after a beat, voice much steadier than her heartbeat in her chest. “Show yourself.”

Briefly, she wonders what she’ll do if it’s just some guards messing with her, how she’ll get Julian out and back to safety if they’re caught. Even with their shared memories and newly reformed friendship, Nox doesn’t think she’d be able to talk Nadia into letting him go if she managed to catch them down here.

Luckily, she doesn’t have worry about that, because there are no guards in this hall.

There’s only–a strange puddle of something dark, seeping towards them from the other end of the hall.

“Is that… blood?” Julian asks warily, hand tightening painfully around hers.

Nox takes a hesitant step forward, holding her free hand up to shine the light farther down the hall. The liquid shimmers with the warm light, but it doesn’t really look–red at all.

“…No?”

“That’s really not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question,” Julian hisses.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you!” Nox hisses right back, turning to glare up at him. “It’s–”

“Still making house calls, Jules?”

Whatever Nox had been about to say crumbles to dust in her head, as she and Julian stare at each other, both terrified to turn their heads and look to see who is talking.

Or, what is talking, Nox adds, hesitantly turning towards the sound.

At first, there’s nothing there, and her shoulders relax just a tad. Maybe it was just their imagination?

…Nope.

“Hello there, Nox. Do you remember me?”

A figure begins to form out of the murky shadow before them, starting from the strange puddle on the floor as though it’s rising straight out of it. In the back of her mind, Nox realizes that maybe that puddle really was blood. The presence fills the hallway, nearly suffocating with its overwhelming aura. It’s something white, she realizes as it becomes clearer.

The creature is hunched at first, its breath ragged and and loud in the quiet hallway. It lifts its head, and great horns swirl into existence from the darkness around it, long and sharp in the flickering orange light from the flame in her hand.

Glowing red eyes lock onto her face, and there’s some kind of laughter shining in those eyes. Stretching a single, clawed arm towards her, the voice speaks again.

“You should remember me. You look at my mark every day in the mirror.”

Her hand flies to her right cheek then, tracing over the long scars there. She’d always assumed that was from–something else, but… since she couldn’t remember…

The creature doesn’t get to get another word in, as Julian snatches her hand back and drags her back up the hallway and out into the night without another word. They barely pause to catch their breath, not even when they have to sneak around patrols, trying to find their way back into the city without getting caught and ending up in chains.

They’re panting when they finally slow to a stop in the slums, hands still intertwined. Nox vaguely recognizes their surroundings, and eying the alley where she knows the Rowdy Raven is in contemplatively, she sighs.

“Well. I think I need a drink.”

Julian laughs quietly at that, nodding in agreement. “Yes, that sounds–like just the thing. I’ll buy?”

“You had better be buying,” she grumbles, drifting closer to his side to bury her face in his jacket.

He’s still grinning when they get to the door, and the sight is so nice in the warm light of the tavern that she can almost pretend that she doesn’t still feel eyes on her back even now.

She refuses to look back as she lets the door fall shut behind them. Lucio will just have to find someone else to bother.

“You’ll be back. They always come back.”

Nox still hasn’t technically seen Lucio, if we’re going by the One Route Per Apprentice canon. I’m excited to see what they actually do for this in Julian’s route, but this was fun!

Prompt List!

#katearcana #kiana answers #the arcana #julian x apprentice #my writing #eyy #the arcana fanfiction #nox pendragon #nox the apprentice

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greybat · 7 years ago

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Memories - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Been Thinking Ao3 Link

Story Summary: After months of research, Asra and Xixa may have found a way to return lost memories! What happens when those memories bring pain, betrayal, and confusion for Asra, Julian, and Xixa, though?Eventual Julian x MC. Asra is here, too, but I’m not sure what to do with him, yet.

Chapter Summary: After the confrontation with Asra, wherein Xixa tells him to leave the shoppe, she seeks out Julian. At Mazelinka's, the two have a discussion on what to do.

As soon as she got dressed, Xixa made her way to Mazelinka’s home. She assumed Asra would lock up the shop when he left. If he didn’t… She sighed, thinking over the confrontation with him. It didn’t end the way she wanted it to. Xixa wanted answers, wanted closure from Asra, wanted to be able to move forward. How could she do that if he didn’t seem apologetic?

“Told Ilya not to fret about you,” Mazelinka opened the door before Xixa even had a chance to knock. “Boy was up all night, worrying himself to death, so I put him to work cleaning. My floors are going to be cleaner than the palace’s.”

The old woman cackled to herself as she motioned for Xixa to come inside. As Xixa entered, her eyes adjusting to the change in light, her gaze fell on Julian. He seemed intent on his work, scrubbing at the floor. A ragged kerchief was tied hastily around his head, keeping his hair from his face as he moved, and the arms of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He looked positively domestic.

Xixa watched him for a beat, a wry grin on her face. Finally, she had to ruin the scene. “You have dirt on your cheek.”

Julian started, jolting to his feet. His head smacked on the dirt ceiling, dirtying his face more. Flushing in embarrassment and frustration, the man stooped a little, rubbing ruefully at his head. “Mazelinka, you need a taller ceiling!”

“You need shorter legs, boy.” Mazelinka parried, swatting Julian with a rag. After making a comment about needing to check out the Market, the old woman left the hut.

As soon as the door shut behind Mazelinka, Xixa edged closer to Julian. She eyed him, up and down, seeing the old and new doctor at once. But, that didn’t change her desire to touch him, this time. The witch looped her arms around his middle, hugging him close.

Julian arched over her, his arms coiling around her body. Gentle hands stroked her back for a breath, simply enjoying her heat against him. However, things had to be said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Xixa murmured, cheek pressed against his chest. His chest hair scratched at her skin, sending pleasant prickles down her neck.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned back, trying to get a better look at her face.

With a heavy sigh, Xixa pushed away from Julian. For some reason, she wasn’t completely sure how the doctor was going to take her news. “I kicked Asra out of the shop.”

It took Julian’s brain a few seconds to process the information. Xixa shifted uneasily in the quiet. Still, a flat and flabbergasted grunt left his lips, “What.”

“Asra’s gone.” Xixa had to force the words out, a knot in her stomach tightening with each syllable. She threw Julian a tight smile, trying to alleviate the tangle in her tummy. “I thought you’d be clicking your heels with delight.”

“Well…” That would have been true before regaining their memories. But, something had reawakened in Julian. A fondness for Asra? Remembering the situation he and the magician were in during the plague research, before, in its entirety had clicked a few pieces into place. “What happened?”

“We talked about the operation. He kept saying things like ‘I did what I felt was best’ and ‘that’s all anyone can expect of me.’” Xixa could feel her ire rising as she repeated Asra’s words. Tension raked over her muscles. “It’s like he was going out of his way to not apologize.”

Julian’s mind was swirling with thoughts and digging up the revived memories, fighting off years of natural deterioration. At times, he followed Asra around like a puppy, wanting more and more attention. Back then, he didn’t recognize – or maybe didn’t want to see – the discomfort it caused the magician. There were a few instances where Asra just disappeared on their ‘dates.’ “I’m guessing you and Asra had some history before that day.”

Xixa glanced to the floor, before returning her gaze up to Julian. It was a bit shameful, looking back, but it was the truth. “…yes. He said he had a partner of sorts, but just needed a break sometimes.”

“I’ve been thinking, since I couldn’t sleep.” Julian sardonically motioned toward the clean home. “Asra and I weren’t the greatest. I lavished him with affection that he didn’t really want, while hoping for some small scrap back. I was so hungry for anything from him.” A pained expression crossed Julian’s face as the feelings washed over him, refreshed from the memories. He shook his head, clenching his hands on his knees. “But Asra did a lot of work to help you. I’m not sure what, of course, but he kept you close-”

“And kept erasing my memories.” Xixa interjected, bitterly.

“-to keep you safe.” Julian threw Xixa a mixed look, of understanding and exasperation with a cocked eyebrow. “He didn’t know his mistake until it was made. And then the problems just piled on one another.”

There was a beat of silence as Xixa mulled over his words. Julian tensed, waiting for her response. There were so many different directions this could go.

“Are you seriously making excuses for him?” Xixa snapped, crossing her arms, nails digging into her skin. Fire roused in her chest, she could barely believe she was hearing this lecture from Julian. Her head was beginning to pound with agitation.

“No,” sighed Julian. Suddenly, it seemed like the lack of sleep was catching up to him. “But I can understand wanting to save someone you love, no matter the cost. Asra probably realized all this would happen if your memories returned. Your anger, your resentment, your potential abandonment.”

Julian had mulled over these thoughts all night, while scrubbing dirt and grime from Mazelinka’s wood floors. Imagining Asra tormenting himself with thoughts like that, for years, was something Julian could relate to. “He wasn’t close with me, though he agreed to be with me. But you?”

He turned, catching Xixa’s opalescent gaze. His heart twinged with guilt, recalling last night’s water works. The tears, the pain. Residual aches still sliced through his chest and throbbed through his head. He had held the scalpel to her flesh, her skull, her brain. If he thought hard enough, he could remember the squish and the crack and the sensation of metal through grey matter. He couldn’t even imagine how much more painful everything would have been had he known Xixa before.

Yet, he would have done as the Count told him. Just as Asra had done. If only to save Xixa from Lucio’s retributive rage had they spared her the surgery.

Faintly, Julian wondered if Asra recalled how it felt to pierce magic into her skull, but he shook the treacherous memories away. Most likely, the white-haired magician did, and drowned in shame every time he looked at her. At least, that’s what Julian wanted to believe.

“There was no formal commitment between you two, but he stayed with you. He stayed, suffering with his own past memories of you, still trying to save you, while you grew and changed and… got involved with his former lover.” At this, Julian gave a wry smile. Xixa smacked him on the shoulder, which only broadened his grin. Shaking his head, Julian finished, “I think he loves you, dearly, and leaving is going to kill him.”

Silence descended on the pair. Xixa’s eyes trailed from Julian’s serious face to her feet. The doctor had good points. Deep in her heart, a mixed ache churned. Anger, frustration, and betrayal still hovered in her thoughts. However, a part of her – the part of her from before – thought of Asra fondly. That section of her mourned their possible parting. Heavily.

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Xixa’s arms tightened around herself, her gaze flicking to Julian. He stared at her, the dark circles under his eye deeper than yesterday. Sourly, she grumbled, “Abandon you and give him the flouncy happy ending he always dreamed of?”

“Well, now, I didn’t say that.” Julian’s lips twisted into a devilish grin. He leaned toward Xixa, putting his arms around her, “I’ve been playing with an idea, but I don’t know how welcome it’ll be.”

Xixa raised her eyebrows, curiosity piqued. An idea that may not be welcome? Knowing Julian it could be anything. Plus, who knew what eccentricities were revived with his memories? Leaning into his body, his heat eased her tensions. Closing her eyes as she pressed her head into his chest, Xixa sighed, “You’re full of those sorts of ideas, Julian. Let’s hear it.”

#the arcana game #thearcanagame #julian devorak #xixa #asra #memories #my writing

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fanscrit · 7 years ago

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To the Rescue

Fandom: Overwatch Pairing: Mchanzo Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: Superhero AU (Day 2) Warning: Angst

A/N: Sorry, it’s what I do best. Sorry for being late

Since he was a small child, Jesse McCree loved to watch the Gibraltar news reports of the superheroes going out to save the day. Seeing his favorite heroes like Striker 76, Lionheart, and Angel go out into battle to save innocent lives was inspiring. He dreamed of one day getting the chance to fight side by side with them, but he knew it would never be. You had to have powers, and he was nothing like them. Didn’t quench the fire burning in him to do good, though.

Jesse joined the police force and put his shooting skills to the test. He made first response and excelled. No one could match Jesse when it came to the gun. He never missed if he could see you. Some of the guys on the force joked that he was a Super himself. They even gave him his own name: Deadeye.

Jesse complained and said it sounded more like a crook than a hero. Secretly, he loved it. Captain Reyes agreed, and whenever he used the dispatch, his boss never failed to joke around about it either. Here, he felt at home. He truly felt like he was where he needed to be… but something was missing. He couldn’t understand what it was.

Half a year into his time on first response, he was accustomed the ins and outs of Gibraltar. The dispatch crackled as the word came out.

“We have a robbery on 6th and Hanamura Avenue, Payload Industries. All patrols, converge on the site. I repeat…” Jesse drowned out the sound of Orisa dispatch interface. Putting the lights on so he could avoid traffic, Jesse made for the destination.

When he arrived, there were two visible figures among what appeared to be hostages. One was a Hispanic woman in a purple jacket and leggings. He’d read up on her, Sombra was an elite hacker, and with her powers she could control anyone. The other man was new, though. Asian, by the look of it, with black hair, rugged features, blue attire with an asymmetrical chest cut, and a bow.

Jesse looked to his hostage negotiator, Lucio, who looked like he was about at wits end. The poor thing was new, just into his second week, and while he was good in normal circumstances, Supers were a whole other breed. This was his first time with them too. Jesse patted him on the back.

“What’s going on here, partner?” Jesse quipped. Lucio looked close to tears when he turned to face Jesse.

“Deadeye, she’s impossible! I’ve tried everything, and she just tosses it around and leaves me all tongue tied. Nearest Super is 20 min away, but she’s gonna set her hound on them in the next 10. I don’t like it,” the man whined.

“Now I don’t think Hana would like hearing about you getting tongue tied by another woman,” Jesse joked, “so let’s see if we can wrap this up before time’s up.”

Lucio’s dark skin grew heated, “Yeah, okay. There’s a roof entrance accessible by ladder, you can sneak in and get them that way.”

“Gotcha, keep Sombra busy while I head in. If I can get rid of the muscle, we should be fine,” Jesse took off in the direction of the building, avoiding the glass walls on the second floor.

Jesse got in easily enough. The building was three floors high, so he needed to head to the stairs and wait for the signal from Lucio. He saw terrified employees on his way through, innocent people waiting to be saved. All he could do was give them a fighting chance till a Super would show up.

He made it to the stairway door and tested the knob. It was unlocked, good. He needed it to be accessible to make this work. Jesse took a deep breath and turned the handle, gun in hand. He had not been expecting someone on the other side, but within seconds, a bow notched with an arrow was pointed in his face.

“Hey partner, now let’s just take a minute to think about what we’re…” Jesse’s words trailed as he took in the intricate Dragon tattoo on the man’s exposed left arm.

“What is your business here?” The strong Eastern accent made Jesse focus on the man in front of him again. He stared the man down, watching his stern, solid gaze for weakness.

“I reckon I take issue with that question,” Jesse laughed, “seeing as how you’re the one not meant to be here.”

The archer’s eye twitched in annoyance, “I will play no games with a cop. State your business or die.”

“But we were getting to know each other so well,” Jesse poked, hoping for a response.

“No we were not.”

“But we could, if you wanted,” Jesse gave the man a winning smile. He watched the man’s brow furrow for a momemt.

Jesse coughed, “Let’s start with names. The name’s… uhhh… well most just call me Deadeye.”

The eyes narrowed, as if looking for a trick. After a tense moment, the reply came.

“Stormbow.”

“Well, sounds nice and tough if you ask me,” Jesse eyed the tattoo again, “What’s with that on your arm?”

“Why do you care?” Stormbow questioned. He was getting suspicious. His gaze turned to a clock on the wall. He needed to hold out for a few more moments. He needed a bold move.

He relaxed his grip on his gun and pocketed it in his holster. He held his hands up a took a step forward. Stormbow backed into the wall.

“Come on, I’m sure your girlfriend down there is nice, but a friend couldn’t kill ya, right?” Jesse mused.

“She is… we a have strictly professional relationship,” the man corrected. Jesse would deny that his heart did a flip when he heard that. He had assumed they were a power couple. It wasn’t uncommon. Why was he so happy to hear that…?

Jesse through caution to the wind and took a few more steps until he was right in front of Stormbow, “Well maybe we can have one a little more… off the books?”

Stormbow turned a shade of red that was completed confusing to Jesse until he went over what he’d said. His cheeks burned as he tried to back track his words.

“I mean, not like that! Not that there’s anything wrong with that at all, I mean I just don’t know you well enough! You’re probably a great guy and all but I just got away from a bad break up and I’m in no position to-”

“Storm, we need to go, did you get…” the voice, belonging to none other than Sombra, trailed as it looked up at Jesse. Immediately, her eyes went wide and she threw up her hands, glowing a dark purple.

Jesse suddenly found himself on the floor in a crumpled mess. He couldn’t move his limbs at all. Sombra must have hacked him! He struggled to move but failed again and again.

“I’ve got you in my sights!” The call denoted the arrival of Striker 76. Stormbow and Sombra whipped around and the man himself was at the door to the second floor steps. Sombra cursed.

“Mission failed, we need to go. Say goodbye to you friend,” she snarled as she typed into the holopads she created.

“He is no friend of mine,” Stormbow snapped. He did, however, look back at Jesse with a look of confusion.

“Whatever, translocating,” and with that they disappeared. Seconds later, Strike 76 appeared. Jesse craned his neck to look up at him

“Does this wear off or am I stuck like this?”

Jesse started running into the pair all over the place. And each time, he would run into Stormbow again and again. He had to admit it was something he looked forward to. Jesse was man enough to admit he was smitten with the man. Just a crush, though, nothing more. It wasn’t like anything was gonna come out of it.

Each time they talked, he learned a little more about the man. Like that he loved seafood and cheese, that he had recently discovered jazz and was quite fond of it, and that he’d been trained in archery since he was a child. Each time, Jesse fell for Stormbow harder and harder.

It got to the point that at the last time they had a run in, Jesse had yelled dinner reservations at the archer as he sped away. He’d received no confirmation about if Stormbow would even be there, but he made the reservations anyways. His friend’s mother, Ana Amari, owned a four star Egyptian cuisine restaurant that he convinced her to get them a table at instead of waiting weeks for the reservation.

Jesse made the reservation under Deadeye since he hadn’t given Stormbow his actual name. He was smitten, not an idiot; he still had his gun on him. It was the longest hour of his life. So many feelings went through him, from anxiety to fear, disappointment to embarrassment.

When we was all but ready to call it a night with he head in his hands, Jesse heard a chair being pulled back. He looked up to see the refined archer in all his formal attire. Jesse had never been a man to have a particular interest in a man in a suit, but the one before him truly made him reconsider it.

“You came…” Jesse was not a fan of how surprised and afraid he sounded in that moment.

“You made it sound so important, I decided to see what this was about,” Stormbow quipped back. The familiar banter helped ease Jesse’s nerves.

“Well, I guess you could say that, but it’s not really-”

“Ah, so I was right then. Good,” The Asian pulled a wicked smile and Jesse’s face turned beet red, “So Deadeye, tell me-”

“Actually, it’s Jesse,” he hadn’t meant to go there, but some part of him wanted this to feel real and Deadeye was a joke. Stormbow laughed.

“Hanzo. So Jesse, tell me,” his ears burned and the sound of his name coming from Stor- from Hanzo. He could get drunk off the sound alone, “what is it that you want? Info on my partner? Her powers? My cooperation in a takedown on her?”

Jesse’s eyes widened, “No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to get to know you a little better… see where things go. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression from what I was looking for here.”

Hanzo didn’t move, didn’t speak. Thankfully, the waitress saved him from embarrassing himself further by ordering wine and some appetizers. When she left, he turned back to Hanzo to see a face of stone. Jesse panicked inside. What had he done? Was this a mistake? Maybe he should go?

“I can leave if you-” he made to rise and leave the building but Hanzo stopped him with this hand.

“I am not opposed to getting to know you,” he started.

“Good,” Jesse breathed, taking his seat again, “cause I wanna know all about you.”

They spoke on many things. Hanzo would laugh when he told a joke, and Jesse would let Hanzo try what he ordered since Hanzo wasn’t as familiar with Egyptian food.

Halfway through, a storm kicked up and Hanzo excused himself to the bathroom. As soon as Hanzo turned the corner, Jesse broke out in a sweat. He was hooked. Everything about Hanzo made him desire the man more and more. He was obsessed. He wanted the chance to really know who he was.

After several minutes had passed, Jesse got up himself and went to check the bathroom to make sure Hanzo was okay. When he found the restroom to be empty, Jesse became immediately concerned. He found Ana in the kitchen and asked if she had seen anything. She shook her head and said to check the upstairs hall before the doorway too the roof.

Jesse hopped up toward the roof and came to the door. He put his ear to the door and listened for words. Maybe Hanzo was making a long phone call, or maybe he was just as nervous as Jesse was. He could pick up distant yelling.

“What are you doing,?” It was Sombra… Jesse’s heart skipped a beat in panic.

“I never wanted this! I did not ask to be here with him,” It was Hanzo, and what he was saying… Jesse was close to tears. He really was stupid if he thought this would work.

He kicked the door in and pointed his gun at Stormbow, “Sorry, didn’t realize I was that bad of a date.”

“Jesse…” Stormbow took a step forward but Jesse fired a warning shot into the ground in front of him.

“Don’t you dare!!” He lost it, “so what was it, huh? Bad conversation, poor food, or was I just a side piece till the main course came back around?”

“Jesse, please, let me-” the archer tried again, but another warning shot fired closer to him.

“It was from the start, right? All the talking and back and forth was a lie, right?” Jesse couldn’t tell if it his blurred vision was from the rain or the tears, but his heart snapping in two definitely felt like it was the tears.

Sombra laughed, “What, you thought you would make him fall in love with you, make him leave everything behind to be with you and you both would love in peace? How small minded. Stormbow, kill him and let’s go. I’ve had enough of this.”

“No one moved, Jesse pointed his gun at Stormbow’s head, waiting for him to make a move. Slowly, he notched an arrow onto his bow.

"Jesse, please understand…”

“Understand what, that you made a fool of me? Did you get a good laugh? Did it make you feel like you were a man? I’m done talking, I don’t wanna hear anything you got to say. You make me sick,” with each word, Jesse’s voice began to break. He was all but sobbing. He was worth less than nothing foretting the enemy use him like this. He was more angry with himself than anyone else.

Stormbow didn’t make a move to shoot. He turned to Sombra, “No.”

Sombra whipped around at him, “What was that?”

“I refuse. I will not take his life, I will not make the same mistake twice. We will go and-”

“No, you will do as I say and get rid of him, he knows too much. My operation will not fall because of some cliche romance,” Sombra snapped.

“I said-”

“No I SAID he dies!” Sombra ensnared Jesse in her hack. The cop glowed a sickly purple as he dropped his gun to the floor. He felt as if he had to retch.

Stormbow made as if to shoot Sombra, but she was one step ahead of him. She pulled her own gun from her side and aimed at Jesse. Stormbow hesitated.

“Nope, not gonna happen,” Sombra cackled. She made Jesse wall to the end of the building. He stood, overlooking the busy street below.

“Now, let’s have some fun, since you don’t seem to understand who’s in charge here." She released Jesse from her control. He turned to see Stormbow glowing a sickly purple, bow drawn at him.

The first one launched, embedding itself right into the crook of his elbow. Jesse hollered in pain while Sombra laughed.

"Stop this!” Stormbow yelled.

“I can. But you have to ask me to kill him. Otherwise, I’ll turn him into a cowboy pin cushion,” Another arrow went into his shoulder. Jesse buckled down onto his knees. His vision was hazy. He couldn’t feel his arm at all.

Another hit his thigh, and a fourth one punctured a lung. He was all but dead on his feet. Jesse was a mess of tears and blood being cleansed in the rain.

“Just, may I have a moment? Please, I wish to say goodbye,” Stormbow pleaded.

“Sure thing, cabrón. Hurry it up.” She walked Stormbow over to Jesse, who lay there on the ground, breathing heavily.

"I am forever sorry, I never intended to hurt you. I merely deluded myself into thinking I could have something I always wanted,“ Jesse turned his head and looked deep into Hanzo’s eyes. He could feel something just beneath the surface.

"Huh, what’s that?” Jesse coughed.

“Happiness,” tears fell from Hanzo’s eyes and he brought himself down to kiss Jesse. It was sad, as if two long lost lovers were saying goodbye once more. Jesse sighed into the kiss and reached to hold Hanzo’s hand. The sound of the rain seemed to stop as he lost himself in were his final moments.

He felt something enter his grip and looked down. It was his gun! Jesse barely had enough time to think before Hanzo whispered in his ear “Shoot me.”

Whatever was beneath Hanzo’s skin started to roar, to Jesse it felt like the world was shaking.

“Do you feel that?” Jesse sputtered.

“Do not worry, it is of little consequence. Just do what you know you must,” Hanzo smiled as he squeezed Jesse’s hand.

He could feel in inside him, begging to burst free. He needed to let it free.

Jesse leaned leaned up into Hanzo’s face, “Let the dragon consume.”

Hanzo looked at him in shock. Jesse shook his head. Where had that come from? But his hand burned with raw energy. It wanted out.

“I’ll point and shoot, you just say the words,” Jesse coughed.

“They speak through you, with you…” Hanzo closed his eyes. When he opened them, he had a look of determination, “Very well.”

Jesse gripped the gun and with what little strength he had left, aimed the barrel at Sombra.

“Now Hanzo!” Jesse screamed.

“Ryuga Waga Teki No Kurau!”

Electric power rushed through his entire body, traveling through him all the way out through the barrel of the gun. Jesse pulled the trigger, but no bullet came out. Instead, a dragon the size of a baseball sped out of the pistol. It moved so fast, one would mistake it for lightning. It hit Sombra dead in the chest, causing her to stumble back in agony.

Hanzo took the distraction, took Jesse in his arms, and ran for the hallway. Jesse faded in and out of consciousness. He remembered seeing Ana and her scream. The police and ambulance carrying him into the van. Hanzo praying ‘please do not leave me, please, not when I am finally ready to be happy again.’

When he fully awoke, he was in a hospital bed. He looked over to see Hanzo passed out beside him. His fingers were intertwined with his. Jesse smiled as he felt sleep try to take him once more. He whispered to Hanzo in his sleep.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here, with you. Always.”

#mchanzo #mchanzo week 2017 #day 2 #fanfic #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #fanscrit

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drxpthebeat · 7 years ago

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I think all the ‘sweet, cute, innocent’ Lucio stuff is adorable, BUT

He started a fucking REVOLUTION that got VISHKAR-- a company that saw opposition and solved it by blowing the fucking competition up and starting a fire that fucked up the favela they were trying to “fix”-- to back the fuck off. You CANNOT convince me he never had to kill anyone to do that. Or that he never saw anyone die. He fucking STOLE the hardlight tech, fashioned it into something he could fucking use-- having to teach himself how the shit that tech works and then being able to alter it to his liking-- and WON.

Lucio has seen some shit, man. Lucio saw a problem and opted to fix it not with peace talks, but with WAR. He FOUGHT Vishkar to save his home and his people and his culture.

So, yes. He is smol and adorable and happy and cute. HE IS ALSO fucking badass. He is also someone who will mother fucking FIGHT when he sees reason for it. He’s a good person, but being a good person doesn’t mean he’s all rainbows and cute frog things and sweetness. Lucio is a man who has stolen shit. Who has most likely fucking killed people. Who has inspired others to fight for what they believe in.

But he’s a healer-- healers aren’t violent and mean D: you might be saying to the screen right now. Or not. I don’t know; I don’t know your life-- but I’m gonna assume SOMEONE said it and reply anyways. Lucio supports others; he’s the leader of a revolution and he supports that stand with him. He is mobile; his stuff is area of effect because if you’re with Lucio you get healed-- or sped up, which is also helpful. He doesn’t care who you are; if you’re with him, you’re getting healed.

This is pretty fucking practical when going up against a corporation that’s MOST FUCKING LIKELY muuuuuuch better armed than a bunch of people recovering in an impoverished war-torn area. That isn’t a statement of not wanting to fight or hurt others. It’s a statement about supporting those around you who are also willing to stand up for shit. If he made a weapon to kill, he’d take out some Vishkar people, but ultimately get fucking murdered. He was smart. He made something that will help keep himself and those with him alive long enough to do enough damage to convince Vishkar that continuing isn’t worth it. To make them back down and fucking LEAVE.

Sorry if this makes no sense; I get kinda incoherent when I’m passionate and ranty. But, still. I just wanted to throw that out there because I feel like Lucio is another victim of fandom oversimplification and... I guess... memeification? Like they did to D.Va and Dad76 and stuff. I feel like Lucio is cute and he’s a good guy with a fucking huge heart; but he’s also so much deeper than that and it hurts my soul when people don’t recognize that he’s had to do some fucking SHIT to get to where he is now.

I also headcanon that the drugs thing helps him cope with that shit. Also it’s part of rave culture so there’s that. I can’t imagine him anti-drug.

#♪Public Service Announcement (O O C)#♪Superjet (L u c i o)#oh look; probably unpopular headcanons #idgaf this is how i see the frog boy xD

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 8 years ago

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Junkrat Headcanon

He has a bad memory, patchy really. There’s a big old void in certain places, and at best, other bits get filed in the wrong places sometimes...

He might tell you a story six or seven times, and never remember you know it.

He might be asked a basic question, and blank.

Sometimes he turns to Roadhog, because the man is usually in the vicinity, for answers. The taller man’s ability to just produce all the facts, stories and things Junkrat can’t recall, after a few seconds’ thought at most... it always left Junkrat in awe of him. Like he was some mythical being endowed with some great ability to know-all or something...

He does tell him that... a few times, because the thought surfaces a few times, and Junk never quite remembers he’s said it. But Roadhog always laughs, good-naturedly, and lets the statement float away on the breeze uncontested. Sometimes Junkrat worries he puts too much on Roadhog, asking him to be the repository for both their memories... as much as he can be, but Mako never seemed to mind. And openly says so more than once, when Jamie needed to hear it.

But the thing is... while Roadhog will always be there to quietly remind Junkrat of a fact or memory he forgot, or just listen to the same story a thousand times, because he KNOWS Jamie and understands it upsets him to realise he has forgotten again...

Perhaps, when they join overwatch, the others aren’t as fast on the uptake as Roadhog. [And Roadie was whipsmart, despite what people always assumed (because of his appearance), the man could size up a situation or opponent in a heartbeat and crack skulls in the next...]

“How can you not know how old you are?” asks Mei, puzzled, as Junkrat scrambles to recall. He ends up so stressed out he can’t get a sentence strung together, trying to recall.

Besides, you never tell someone a weakness unless you can trust them completely and they’ve been at base a day or so.

It leaves the cryogenics expert with a less-than-stellar perception of him; thinking him evasive. Especially since he couldn’t answer any cursory questions with any real certainty...

But he was telling the truth.

Why would no one believe him?

“I think he’s just faking it...” Mcree says to Hanzo, when the pair accost him to ask about the treasure and the omnic secret. But he can’t recall it, off-hand... he did have prompts in the sidecar, and Roadie knew what it was... but Jamie couldn’t remember.

“I’m telling the truth!” he insists, but their expressions hit home more than their words. The disbelief. “I ain’t lying!”

“Oh yeah... prove it!” comes the challenge.

But he can’t. They keep asking the same questions, asking the wrong way, not leading anywhere but in circles.

“You will tell us.” Hanzo assures.

And they won’t accept, “But I can’t...” as an answer.

He’s so tempted to use his bombs to get out of this confrontation, but that Soldier guy looked like he’d get real mad if Junkrat blew up another wall; and he didn’t wanna get thrown out. Roadie seemed to like it here, and they had clean stuff, real food and beds!

They have him backed into a corner, literally and figuratively. And he kinda wishes there was a good lie he could tell the bounty hunters to make them back off... but it was hard to be deceptive if you might accidentally tell the truth or something along those lines. The logistical thinking tended to get muddled.

It was why he liked technology, explosives, machines... so ordered, diagrams were absolute; he could follow them and understand without too much stress. Tended to remember pictures better, anyway.

And maybe, he could have just stood up straight and walked away, ‘cause they weren’t exactly the tallest on the team or the burliest... but the thought is buried under all the additional processing happening internally.

He starts to wonder if there even was a secret, had he made it up? had Roadie told him he knew one, to placate him? Or had he lied about that? And if it was real... what was it? He didn’t have any of his usual visual clues (something roadhog had helped him devise after realising Junkrat was great at memorising or at least associating, diagrams and ideas).

A metallic fist slams the wall by his head and reality snaps back with a flinch, “What?”

And there’s a moment, between the two older men, where they seem almost uncertain. Like they were starting to believe Junkrat... but before anything can process, Roadhog comes storming in to the explosive expert’s rescue. He’s never been happier to see the guy in his life...

...or has he?

“How could you do such a thing?” Ana scolds, putting out the small kitchen fire (and to be fair it was an accident). “What would your mother say?”

It stops him dead.

...what would she say?

...who was she?

...had he had a mother, before?

...was she still out there wondering what happened to him or should he have mourned her?

...what if she was, how would she feel about her son being... this? He’d killed people... sometimes blew shit up for the fun of it...

So many questions, and none of them could be answered... all he had was a familial-shaped void where his memories of her should be...

Perhaps it was the hollow, haunted look on his face or his non-responsiveness, but Ana clearly realised something was wrong. She approached him from an angle where he could see her coming, if he wasn’t lost internally... and slowly put a hand out, eventually placing it on his shoulder.

She anticipated the slight jump, the Junkers were not yet used to having contact with anyone but each other for a long time, but their survival instincts/paranoia overrode their touchstarved-ness. At least he could look at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”

“No... ‘sokay... I just... didn’t remember I didn’t remember ‘til now.” he mutters, unusually subdued. “Can’t remember... if I had one, or her face... nothing..."

“I am sure you had a wonderful mother, who loved you as much as I do Fareeha...” Ana reassures, off-handedly thinking about how she would feel if this was her daughter, young, lost and unable to recall anything about Ana’s love or pride in her. Just the hypothetical situation broke her heart.

“...maybe.” concedes the junker, then he laughs coldly, brushing her hand off as he walked away. “But if she’s a lucky... she died long before she had to see her son turn into this...”

To that, the Sniper could not think of a comforting retort. And her hatred of the Omnics, of the damage they had wrought on so many lives, young and old, grew ever-stronger in that moment.

“...oh, did you have a sister?” asks the ever-curious DVa one day as they pass a toystore and Junkrat pauses to stare at the dolls.

He looks at her blankly, cocking an eyebrow, and says nothing.

She raises her hands in mock surrender and laughs, misunderstanding, “Dude, if you collect dolls that’s totally fine with me! I know Torb has this collection of old tech that he’ll never get to work again, but clutters up the place with anyway... and I think Reaper has glass figures or something and-...”

“Thanks... but s’not that.” he interjects her supportive speech. He keeps looking at this one doll, just a random, run-of-the-mill type, kind you’d find all over the globe for cheap. “Just... made me think I seen that before... or somethin’ like it, and I don’t think it was... mine...”

He frowns, “Least probably not... mighta had a whole collection before the world went to hell or something...” and then he makes that piercing laugh that still sent a chill through the Mechapilot’s bones. The conversation was at an end, clearly. So they both moved on... but she didn’t miss his glance back at the doll, or the confusion on his face as he tried to grasp at phantom memories.

DVa never brought it up again.

“Crikey, that’s fucking amazing, mate!” comes the booming praise, over his newest track, and the shorter of the two clicks back onto solid floor; having been practicing his wallriding in the specially-equipped gymnasium.

“Thank dude!” beams Lucio, a man who was basically sunlight in human form. His smile falters for just a second, but Junkrat sees it.

“Wot, mate? Is it the ‘fucking’? I can say ‘freaking’ instead if ya prissy ‘bout that sorta thing...” Lucio hesitates, but decides to be straightforward. “Nah, I’ve heard worse you say what you want, man. It’s just... I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the daily compliments, but-...”

And he sees Junkrat’s face fall. “I’ve... said that to you before?”

“Yeah, but it’s fi-... wait, come back!” he calls after the retreating Aussie, but Junkrat’s already gone.

Now he sees what Ana meant. They needed to speak to Mercy about this.

“...no, I meant where IN Australia?” Soldier sighs, exasperated with the new recruits. It’d been a long day of paperwork, and he was over this little game.

Junkrat shrugs, “Ya asked where I was born, and I’m 99% sure it was Australia... dunno where exactly though.”

God, this damn kid was playing games again, this happened everytime he or Reaper needed to get something administrative done with the Junkers. He should have asked Roadhog, but Mercy wanted to speak with the guy for some reason... so he was stuck interviewing the evasive explosives expert.

“Alright, fine... I’ll just put down ‘Australia’ until you’re ready to cooperate. Next question, WHEN were you born?”

“Uh...” Junkrat stalls, starting to count on his fingers. Jack could toss him out the window for prolonging this, did the Junker get perverse amusement out of this or what?

“That’s something I also ain’t real clear on, think I’m... twenty... uh, twoish?” “You’re telling me that you, someone who has committed elaborate heists all over the globe, and evaded arrest... magically can’t remember his real name, age, or birthday?” snaps the man, really losing his patience for whatever this is.

“Well... yeah,” admits the Junker, getting a little smaller as his eyes dart to the only exit in the room, flesh hand fingering one of his bombs.

“Don’t you dare blow anything else up, we’ve already replaced two walls this week!” he cautions, fingers itching to go for his blaster. Was this what Overwatch was reduced to? A handful of ragtag criminal punks being recruited to fill the gaps where good soldiers had stood, proud and willing to serve?

“...ya ain’t giving me many other options here, mate. I said I don’t know, and I don’t. Roadie might... sometimes I remember things and tell ‘im, but then I forget I did...”

The answer makes him pause. Maybe the kid wasn’t lying or fucking about.

He gives him the benefit of the doubt, “Alright, I’ll ask him. There’s still a few questions left we can try to answer... Do you have any current convictions? We can check yes automatically. Any dietary requirements?” Junkrat perks up, but Soldier cuts him off with, “Bearing in mind that requesting fried frill-neck lizard (whatever that is) be added to the rotational meal menu... is not a dietary requirement.”

The Junker deflates a little. “Then nah.”

Well, at least this was going faster.

“Okay, just a handful more, bear with me... have you had your complete medical check with Dr Ziegler, yet?”

The odd laugh he got in response stated that clearly the Aussie had managed to evade Mercy, thus far.

“Put that as a No, then.” Soldier mumbles, checking off everything n the clipboard, and hovering the pen over the next set of boxes...

“What is your preferred sex? Male, female, nonbin-...” he tries, but Junkrat’s mirthful tone cuts him off.

“Prefer it as often as possible with all of the above, mate.” The wink he adds at the end has Soldier tossing the clipboard in surrender... clearly the kid was messing with him.

“I’m too old for this...” he moans loudly, knowing Reaper was probably watching the security feed and laughing his undead ass off.

“Hey,” interjects Junkrat with a peculiarly soft tone, belied by the shiteating grin plastering itself across his soot-stained features. “I like a bloke with experience...”

He blew a rather exaggerated kiss at the exasperated Soldier, and the man just gave up there and then, looks like he was never getting a straight answer out of the damn kid. How had Roadhog survived all these years?

Meanwhile in the monitor room, Reaper was, indeed, laughing his head off. He’d never let Soldier 76 live this down.

Zarya was always aware that she cut a startling figure of a woman, tall and muscular enough to wrestle multiple bears at once. Many people tended to stare, agape, the first time they saw her, or exclaim something in surprise. Some flushed or stammered, clearly attracted, it was very flattering.

But it could grow wearisome.

Especially when it came to the newest Overwatch members.

Once again, the comment rang out about the gymnasium. “Crikey, what a beaut of a sheila!” And yes, it was flattering, intended to be, in fact. However, the reality was, she had heard it so often in the last few weeks, it was starting to grate on her nerves somewhat.

“Thank you my friend,” she acknowledges, as always. “I like the way you light up a room” she responds, smiling. And, as always, he laughs.

In fact, many on the team had tried to put out the ever-present fire, more than once; but it was just part of him. Didn’t burn anything, just sort of glowed. Zarya found it mesmerising, especially during these ‘paint-by-numbers’ sessions.

At first, she had thought it was a joke... or something between them, an ‘in-joke’ da? But, it was the look on his face when he said it that made her realise that this Junkrat person sincerely saw her anew almost everytime they crossed paths.

His face betrayed the same shock, awe and mild lust that had adorned many faces that gazed upon her in the past. Every time. And she realised that perhaps he did not remember their previous encounters...

It was less frequent, now a month had passed, but every so often, she would hear it. But pretending to be delighted, every single time, was not so heavy a burden to bear for a teammate. Zarya would play this game, until he remembered... and even if he didn’t. That was what friends were for.

Besides, it was flattering, and he was not so bad. They both despised omnics to a similar degree, and she respected his approach to battle.

“...are you aware that we have the same conversation every few days, Mr Junkrat?” Winston asks, adjusting his glasses and peering at the Aussie.

For his part, Junkrat immediately drops the wrench he was working with and tenses; his expression clouds, like he’s deep in thought, trying to run back over past situations where they’d done this.

Tracer appears by Winston’s shoulder. “Did you break him?”

“...’sfine.” Junkrat answers, bending to pick up the tool and keep working. “Didn’t realise. Sorry.”

He doesn’t respond to their overtures at conversation for the next hour, and leaves for lunch with Roadhog. But he will be back in a few days, and Winston won’t break the narrative again... it is always a fascinating conversation, even if it is easily scheduled.

“I did not build her for this, how many times must I tell you!” shouts Efi, the eleven year old genius frustrated to, once again, find one of the new ‘heroes’ trying to ride Orisa like some kind of horse.

She’d told him so many times that was not appropriate, or, inherently safe.

But every so often, he’d be there; this ‘Junkrat’, who always looked dirty and acted as if he had no idea that they’d discussed this matter before. It did not feel good to see him make such a startled expression, guilty and chagrined, until she said the words ‘again’ or ‘how many times’... which always turned it to confusion and embarrassment.

Today, she had returned to base to find him there again, Orisa trying to be patient as always. “Please cease your actions, for your own safety. I was made to protect, not to be transport, although I will be happy to carry you in an emergency.”

“Get off of her! Why do you keep doing this?” she shouts, understandably annoyed.

And the australian explosives expert freezes, his previous joviality at the challenge of trying to ride an omnic (which he had originally detested, until Efi had bridged the gap between the Junkers and her creation) evaporates. He looks suitably chagrined.

“...did it again, huh?” he says, and leaves too fast for her to answer.

Orisa narrows her eyeslits. “This is the sixteenth incursion by the new member ‘Junkrat’, and his twelfth attempt to ride me as one does a horse or vehicle.”

Efi blinks, “Oh? What did he do the other four times?”

“Memory data and visual surveillance indicates he came in, in much the same manner as usual... then paused, and stared for a long time, before leaving.” Answers the OR15.

“...memory data...” mutters the genius. “You don’t think...?”

“Observation and analysis suggests that interactions with this person are repetitious due to faulty memory collection databanks.” Orisa answers, succinctly.

“He doesn’t remember I told him off.” Efi responds, thinking, “Have you collected indications that he is able to read proficiently, in your interactions, Orisa?”

“The new member, designation Junkrat, is literate based on personnel records and observed behaviours.”

Efi brightens, “Oh, perfect!”

The next time Junkrat suddenly gets the idea to ride the Omnic team member (Orisa), he encounters a sign on the door. “Hello Mr Junkrat, Just to remind you, Orisa is a member of your team and not a horse! She is capable of carrying you out of danger if you need it, but cannot be ridden, because she was not built for that. I made this sign to help you remember our conversation about it! Thank you for understanding, Efi” He huffs out a small chuckle, “Fair enough, kid.” and leaves. But really, even if it’s a little concerning he can’t recall... he’s touched she went to the effort of making him a sign to boost his memories around the topic. He leaves himself a note to teach her how to make an impromptu explosive out of everyday items, as a sort of thank-you; after all, what harm could come from that?

“I am sorry to interrupt, but you have told me this story several times, Junkrat.” Symmetra informed, succinctly.

He just about choked on his own tongue as he swung around to look at Satya with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

She nods, once, in confirmation.

“...oh.” He rubs the back of his neck with his metal hand. “Ah, sorry. Kind of repeat stuff sometimes... didn’t realise... just tell me if I do it again, okay?”

They are in lab three, working on their weapons. Her sentry matrix needs an upgrade, and he has to make a few additions to the bomb-launcher and riptire. It was a weekly activity; everyone had staples of their battle technique and weaponry, but additionally, they all liked to improve their items where possible.

They work in silence for a long while, both caught up in different trains of thought, before Satya breaches the companionable void of sound. “You may have noticed, that I do enjoy things to happen a certain way... that I do not overtly mind repetition, Junkrat. Do not think I am angry or annoyed with you. I was merely... pointing it out.” “Ya don’t have to be nice about it, m’used to being told I already said something. Ain’t a big deal..” he finally answers. “You misunderstand me, Junkrat. There is comfort in both silence, and familiar repetition, especailly for me on occasions when battle has been difficult or a task is frustrating... while my initial statement was to make you aware you repeated stories, it was not an entreaty to cease. I enjoy listening to them, when we work. As I hope you do, when I speak of my own.” “Oh...” there was a pause. “Oh! So ya don’t mind I’m a little messed up?”

Symmetra smiles warmly. “I do not believe there is person out there who is not, to some degree. Now would you like to continue the tale, or shall I retell one of mine for you?” “You really don’t mind?” he checks again.

“Junkrat, when you look at the architecture of my home, it is grand and beautiful, intricate... and most importantly, the pattern within each design is repetitious. That is what catches the eye and captivates. A story worth telling, is always meant to be retold to those who will listen and understand.” “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever said they’re okay with me telling the same shitty stories over’n’over again... you’re one alright sheila, Symmetra!” he grins back. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah... so there I was, ‘fore I met Roadie, right? And there was this big bloke at the bar-...”

The familiar cadence filled the room as Symmetra went back to work, content at having the rhythm of things restored once more.

"I thought we had settled this...” sighed Genji, to his mentor. “Patience.” cautioned Zenyatta, unobtrusively weathering the brunt of the anti-omnic rhetoric for possibly the fifth time since the Junkers had moved onto base. “This is not his fault, not directly, and we cannot blame those who have suffered for their hatred born of fear and loss.”

“But we have done this so many times already!” sighs the youngest Shmada brother.

“And we will do it again, in future, as necessary. That is what it means to know true patience...” responded his mentor, utterly cryptically, as always. Roadhog tended to glare them down, but Junkrat was the more vocal. And they’d thought after the first few altercations and subsequent conversations, that things were finally evening out. They seemed to trust the pair enough in battle, to heal and protect, but then there would be days like this. Days when there was no recognition in the shorter Australian’s eyes, as he beheld them with shock, fury and some slight tinge of fear-laden madness...

Genji deflected anything physical, and Zenyatta provided calming words until the young man had calmed down, recalled them, or simply run out of steam. At which point he would provide his Orb of Harmony to reinstate tranquility. It was frustrating, and while Zenyatta was content to wait it out, provide a calming presence and wisdom afterwards... Genji just wanted to know why it kept happening, and how much longer they would have to bear it.

Mercy had tracked him down, eventually. For the mandatory physical (comprehensive, not the basic bioscan from their initial entry). She had heard things... from various members, both directly and indirectly; had spoken to Roadhog. And now she was armed enough to offer him options...

He resisted, as was initially assumed he would. But between her gentle persuasion and Pharah kindly carrying him there (sans explosives), they managed.

Like Roadhog, his basic biology was a little out of whack, due to the large degree of passive and direct radiation they had been exposed to over the years. Elevated heartrates, internal scarring, little things that were outside normal range by only a fraction...

She did need some help to pin him down for vaccinations, because he didn’t really see why they’d bother... the radiation took care of that sort of thing, kept the bugs at bay and all. But Mercy insisted it would be important in the long run... one the radiation was treated, which was, of course, something they could flush out using her nanotechnology and new concentrated anti-rad serums.

She was explaining them in detail, and he got lost somewhere in the technical side of things, so Mercy flat out vaccinated him against anything she could think of... he honestly wasn’t that bothered afterwards. Perhaps it had been the unknown component... there can’t be that much medical care in Australia right now.

It was then, Mercy brought up the difficult topic... of memory, and mentioned that she had spoken to Roadhog. Junkrat didn’t seem overly offended, just kind of embarrassed. “Yeah... can’t remember much...” was all he offered.

“Well, I will be honest Jamie... I cannot do much for the missing gaps in your memories, but I do happen to have a few methods available that can stimulate your neural pathways and promote greater memory retention and recall. Especially for short-term memory, like conversations and such."

“You can do that?” he asks, surprised.

“Of course!” she enthuses. “But I must caution you, the results will not be immediate... but they will improve your memory retention and recall over time. Maybe not to a perfect level, but...”

“I’ll take whatever ya got!” grins Junkrat.

“Excellent,” Mercy replies, moving over to pick up the associated devices. “Let us begin...”

Unfortunately, the team noticed. And put their noses in his business.

“No, it’s NOT!” he shouts, startling the room into silence.

He’s too angry, too frustrated, to elaborate, and storms off. Roadhog’s footfalls tart, then falter... like he’s decided not to follow Junkrat. That’d be right.

He kinda wanted Roadie to come... but he also wanted space. It was a messed up feeling Jamie didn’t have the words for...

But, as he stormed out onto a landing a few floors up, he realised he wasn’t alone.

“Do you wish to talk about what troubles you, Jamie?” Zenyatta asks, in that oddly ethereal tone, hovering nearby.

Junkrat feels the Orb of Harmony attach, it always makes you feel lighter, strangely safe. He plonks down on the ledge, drawing his flesh knee to his chest; resting arms and chin on it.

“It’s... I dunno, mate... how’m I supposed to feel?” Junkrat says, voice cold, tone seething. “Everywhere I fucking look-....! Oh, er, sorry mate, you a monk and all...”

“Think nothing of it... swear if it calms you, ‘mate’ Jamie.” Zenyatta replies, tone almost amused.

“Well it’s just like, I know me memory’s fucked up... has been for a while. Before roadie, when I was by myself, it didn’t matter ‘cause I didn’t remember I didn’t remember, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I teamed up with Roadie, and he kinda started to remind me that I had said something, or forgot something... and he remembered the important stuff... d’you know I can;t even remember how fucking old I am most of the time?” Junkrat laughs, incredulously, with a hint of anger and hysteria mixed in.

“I understand that would be frustrating.” Zenyatta consoled.

“You bet your shiny metal arse it is!” laughs the aussie.

There was a pause before Zenyatta adds, “I do not, technically, possess an ‘ass’, what else may I bet on this?”

The Junker hoots out a laugh, at the very serious tone the monk said it in, and the mood lightens a fraction.

“Heh, nah... the real problem is just... ever since we got here, everyone’s either been super angry at me or just letting me repeat stuff over and over. I don’t know which was worse, really. I mean, you’n’Genji had to deal with me yelling at you all the bloody time, and I remember that now... feel like a fucking prick about it...

But... now everyone knows they’re TOO understanding. Everytime I mess up, whether I know it r not someone’s bloody saying ‘It’s Okay’... but it’s NOT! It’s not okay... it’s... I dunno, I cant put it in words or nothing.”

Zenyatta nods. “You feel more self-conscious about your memory concerns due to the fact that now a larger group of people know, and it is frustrating, which is understandable. Our teammates are trying to help and understand, as best they can... but the concept is new to them. However, the more you remember, and the more they show sympathy to your condition by providing you friendship and insights into their own lives, the greater your awareness of what you do not know of yourself. Specifically your past, and who you were.”

Junkrat squints at him. “...did becoming a monk make ya psychic mate?”

Zenyatta hums back in amusement, his version of laughter. “Something akin to that.”

“I mean, ya right but I don’t wanna admit it. ‘Snice to have everyone care ‘n’all, still weirds me out though... and it’s... too much, sometimes. Sorta like what Symmetra says happens to her... how, suddenly, everything gets too much and she has to get away. Not that bad, though. Dunno, ‘sall weird. Do ya think I should go back and apologise or just avoid everybody for the rest of my life?” he jokes.

Zenyatta hums back again. “Perhaps we can simply sit here and watch the sunset, and decide what to do after that. If you are still feeling unsure, I do have Transcendence ready... you will be far too relaxed to worry about anything, afterwards.”

“That a threat to make me go back inside after we watch the fiery orb hit the sea?” Junkrat mutters.

Zenyatta tilts his head. “Indeed, Jamie.”

“You’re pretty fun for a monk, and an Omnic, Zen...” Junkrat says, a faint smile on his face as the frustration ebbs away under the mysterious power of the orb and good company.

“High praise, Jamie. I thank you... ‘mate’.”

And that’s how Junkrat nearly fell off a balcony, laughing at an omnic monk imitating his Aussie accent.

His memory does improve, somewhat. But the team learns to just work with it, and accept duplicate conversations as something that occasionally happened. It hurt no one, and everyone had their idiosyncrasies... who was to judge any one hero for theirs?

Junkrat, sometimes Jamie if he recalls it, feels integrated into a community for the first time since he can remember. And can finally trust other people, outside of Roadhog; though hoggie is still his go-to for forgotten facts and friendship.

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imagines-never-die · 8 years ago

Text

Drunk Headcanons- Gentlemen

“Alcohol does not change you, it just makes you lose control of your inhibitions. What those people did--it was inside them.” -Dan Howlter

Genji

Pre-cyborg? Definitely the sexual predator drunk. Can’t keep his hands off anyone, cat-calls, making offensive comments, and much more likely to make a move on you and wake up with you the next morning with no memory how he got there.

Liked all kinds of wild, new cocktails (Sakura martinis, Niagara Grapes, even Grasshoppers)

Even though he drank a lot back then, this pretty boy could never build up a proper tolerance. Two and a half cocktails in and he’s singing ebarassingly at the kareoke bar

Now, well, I’m not sure he can process alcohol in his new body

I mean, it hasn’t been explicitely said if he can eat and drink or not anymore, but I’m assuming not

This has actually been really bugging me, in one of his voice lines, he says “Ramen! *sigh* It’s just not the same anymore.”

Which raises the question if it’s just that he can’t eat or if things taste differently or don’t taste at all for him

Which then makes me wonder if he has a mouth, which I think he does uuugh, I’m so confused

And in the newest lines with him and Angela exchanging chocolates? Angela would know whether or not he can eat, so she either knows he can eat the chocolates or is just giving them to him as a kind gesture to show that even though he’s a cyborg, he still deserves the same courtesies given to regular humans

BUT for now, I’m going to assume he can’t drink anymore

Although he still has a brain, so that means his brain can still be intoxicated, so saying that he was somehow intoxicated through some other means...

He would be very unaccustomed to the feeling, after all, it’s been so long since he’s been tipsy or drunk

Gets very quiet and ponderous, examining himself curiously for any reasons why he feels buzzed (think Legolas after the drinking contest in Lord of the Rings)

McCree

As he says in the game, he prefers alcohol with more of a bite to it

So I’d say he prefers tequila, whisky, gin

Back in his Deadlock days, when he turned 16, the members probably gave him a little “initiation” involving a bottle of tequila, a lemon, Kosher salt, and a worm (look it up)

Drinking is a common part of Jesse’s life, and he almost always sipping on a glass of whisky in the evenings

Gets wasted at least once every two weeks

Not the most healthy lifestyle

But he’s pretty good at hiding that he’s drunk

Sure, he gets louder, sillier, maybe a little grope-y with his s/o, but when it comes to drunk tests, as long as there’s no breathalizers, he can walk a straight line like it’s nothing

Years of experience

He has a pretty high tolerance, he is a cowboy after all, and he can drink most anyone under the table

But after about 10 shots of tequila, he’s gonna get drunk

Reaper

Back in his Overwatch days, probably went out drinking with Jack quite a bit

These two would usually have some cold beers, but on special nights, martinis or margaritas

I’d even headcanon that he used to make the martinis and margaritas for the two of them

Can probably still shake up a potent drink even now

Used to have drinking contests every now and then with Torbjorn, Jack, and Reinhardt. He had a friendly contest with Jack, but always resented Rein for winning 70% of the time

He came close to beating him once, but...

He has a pretty good alcohol tolerance even today, it’s just that he doesn’t drink much anymore (not sure if he even can in his ghostly form)

But even if he can drink as Reaper, he probably avoids drinking simply because it interferes with his work

Doesn’t want to look unprofessional

But before the fall of Overwatch, when he and Morrison were butting heads, he probably drank quite a bit to calm his nerves

And some nights he’d just drink, and drink, and drink...

A mix of the angry, emotional, and tired drunk

Starts off really pissed, maybe throwing things, complaining about how much he hates Overwatch

Then gets really emo and mopes. Back then it’d be about how he lost his friendship with Jack. Now it’d be about living as a literal ghost

Then just collapses and falls asleep

Soldier: 76

Back in his Overwatch days, probably went out drinking with Gabriel quite a bit

These two would usually have some cold beers, but on special nights, martinis or margaritas

Used to have drinking contests every now and then with Torbjorn, Gabe, and Reinhardt

Almost always the first one out. Though, he has a decent tolerancy

Was probably still professional with his alcohol before the fall of Overwatch

He was the Strike Commander, after all

Only drank off-duty

Now, he’s a little less of gentleman and will drink beer and whisky whenever he feels like it

He’s a grizzly, war-worn old man, you think he cares?

He’s an angry and emotional drunk

He won’t start fights, but if someone says even remotely offensive about him or his friends, he’ll be up in their face!

But towards the end of the night, he’ll get really sad and will start to monologue about the “good ‘ol days”

Hanzo

Prefers sake or any smooth, sophisticated drink. Nothing with a “bite” to it like McCree likes

Has always been very responsible with his alcohol. He had an image to uphold after all, and that sense of duty has never left him

Slowly sips his sake, taking into account how much he’s had and when to stop

But he’s such a kill-joy when he drinks with friends or significant others

Always reminding them when they’ve gone over their limit, being dubious of whether or not they can handle certain drinks, and sometimes cutting them off entirely!

Very much like Symm when it comes to drinking. He’ll drink, but he doesn’t believe alcohol should be drank for the sake of getting drunk. It should be savored for its taste and history. Only drinks it to unwind

But he can still get drunk. Once he’s hit a nice buzz, his responsibility will begin to waver, and he’ll lose track of how much he’s had

Probably the emotional drunk, mumbling about how the Shimada empire was to be his, how horrible he was to kill Genji, blah blah blah...

Junkrat

Ooooh boy...Oh dear....

There is NOTHING this boy won’t drink (but it has to be confirmed alcohol. He will not drink turpentine or boot-shine just to get drunk)

But this boy won’t even shy away from moonshine!

For him, alcohol was MADE to get you drunk! Jamie doesn’t drink unless he is seriously aiming to get wasted!

But he’s not a total alcoholic. He never drinks when he’s on a heist because he knows it’ll affect his work

Only drinks when he knows he doesn’t have anywhere to be in the next 12 hours (this does not exclude day drinking)

Usually just drinks plain old amber fluid (Aussie slang for beer) since it’s the cheapest

Always makes sure his friends have something to drink along with him. Coldies for everyone!

But who said he was paying? Who said he didn’t steel the coldies?

Not sure what Jamison’s tolerancy is since he chugs his drinks too fast to keep track of. He wants to get on that high fast!

A loud, silly drunk who laugh maniacally and catches the bar on fire!

Torbjorn

Despite his size, he can drink a lot.

In his drinking contests with Rein, Gabe, and Jack, he’d win occasionally

A very loud drunk who will do drunken jigs on the table

Reinhardt

Good luck getting this man drunk. He’s drank some bars clean before

He’s seven feet tall, after all

Loves a good drinking contest since he knows he’ll usually win

But just like battle, he lives for that rush of competition as he swigs down another glass of beer, staring his opponent dead in the eyes

Prefers German beers with the occasional schnapps

IF somehow you got him drunk, I’m sorry

He’s loud and VERY unaware of his size and spatial relation

He’ll teeter around, knock things over, collapse into tables (breaking them), and knock people flat on their faces when he pats them on the back

And if he passes out, you’ll have to call a tow truck to haul him out of there

Roadhog

Doesn’t like to brag, but he has a tolerancy level to rival Reinhardt’s

Can often be caught day drinking on the couch with a coldie, even when he has somewhere to be that day (he can handle a few beers before then)

But usually doesn’t drink in front of people except Junkrat, since it requires him to lift up his mask or take it off entirely

If he were to brag about his drinking capabilities, then someone would try to get him to prove it, and he doesn’t want to take off his mask in public...

But then there’s Junkrat, bragging for him, “You wouldn’t believe how much my friend Roadie here can drink!”

“Mrrghh...” he grumble, “Shut. Up.”

The biggest, hungriest, sleepiest drunk. It’s hard to get him drunk, though

But once he is, he’ll suddenly start making drunk food decisions and ordering hugs amounts of food at once!

Then he’ll scarf it all down, let out a monstrous burp, and pass out...

You should have seen how much he ordered during Chinese New Year! Where do you think that highlight reel came from?

Lucio

He likes a good drink as much as the average guy, but he’s always sure to be careful

An all-around wholesome guy who looks out for his friends too when they drink. Reminds them when it’s time to take a break, have a snack, or maybe stop all together

His favorite drinks are Jell-O shots and he loves drinking if it involves a drinking game

When he gets drunk, though, he’ll pull out his tunes and start playing them really loud!

Eventually he’ll dig up some irritating meme music and start blaring that, laughing hysterically to it

He’s been booted from a few clubs early in his career for playing annoying music. Now he knows when it’s time to be responsible.

Zenyatta

Zenny can’t drink, but I’m sure there’s a way to screw with an omnics circuits and recreate a drunken feeling for them

And he’d be such a silly drunk! He is only 20 after all--sassy little college student...

The next morning he’d be so apologetic for anything he did. He’d say that he just wasn’t himself.

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theboomsprockets · 8 years ago

Text

Would the heroes of Overwatch punch a nazi?

Soldier: 76 - Hell yeah he’d punch one! Jack is pretty much just Captain America with anger issues.

Reaper - He wouldn’t punch a nazi. He has something much, much worse planned…….

Junkrat - Junkrat’s an anarchist, which is like the exact opposite of a fascist, so yeah. Not only would he punch one, he’d strap some C4 to his chest and blow him up with a remote detonator. Normally that would be called murder, but in this case? More like pest control.

Roadhog - He would brutally murder the nazi, carve a swastika on his forehead with his hook, then hang the body from a lamppost as a warning to the others. Roadhog does NOT fuck around.

Bastion - Bastion probably lacks the cultural context to understand why nazis are horrible, but they know when someone is saying really mean things about someone else. They would turn into a turret to scare the nazi off, but wouldn’t actually fire.

Reinhardt - Absolutely yes. The last thing he wants to see is a repeat performance of the darkest chapter in his nation’s history.

Sombra - As much as Sombra would like to “boop” a nazi, it’s not really her style. Instead, she would hack his smart phone and leak his personal information on the internet. A punch to the face hurts for a day, but an information hack hurts for far longer.

Widowmaker - Assuming she hasn’t already shot him in the head from atop the apartment building across the street? A palm strike right to the nose is her preferred method, which is often lethal as the nasal bone shatters and punctures the brain. Widowmaker doesn’t fuck around either.

Ana - Her punching arm isn’t what it used to be (not everyone’s a super soldier, Jack), so she mostly settles for tranq darting him and letting one of the others take it from there.

Pharah - Blizzard’s developers flat-out said in an interview that Captain America was an influence in Pharah’s design so HELL YEAH she’d punch out a nazi.

McCree - He’d do it, but he’s gotta set the mood first. He dons an American flag cape, eats half a cheeseburger, feeds the other half to a bald eagle, and brings out a boombox that starts blaring “Real American” by Rick Derringer. You can’t just punch a nazi, after all. There’s an art to it.

Tracer - Punching nazis is not only a time-honored tradition in America, but Britain as well. She’d be in line right after McCree, wearing her union jack cape. Her boombox would be playing “Rule Britannia” followed by the complete works of Sir Elton John.

Zarya - Punching nazis is a popular pass-time in Russia as well. In fact if anything, Zarya would get first dibs, since it was the Russians that launched the final assault on Berlin in the final days of the war. She’d have to pull her punch a bit, since a full-force punch would kill him. Maybe aim for one of the limbs.

Mei - She would probably try to talk to a nazi at first - she’s one of those “violence is never the answer” types. But the longer the conversation goes on, the more angry she would get until she eventually snaps and punches him in the face. Then would come a storm of “Sorry! Sorry!” but the others are like “Mei, no. No apologizing to the nazis.” She becomes more okay with nazi punching after that - it takes some people a while to warm up to the idea.

Genji - Genji wouldn’t punch a nazi. Maybe before he found inner peace, but now? He’s okay with just holding his sword to a nazi’s throat and politely asking them to stop talking and leave. They usually do. The dragon helps convince them.

Hanzo - Hanzo is not his brother. Similar to Widowmaker, a palm strike to the nose is his preferred method. Also doesn’t fuck around.

Symmetra - Symmetra would never punch a nazi - it’s simply barbaric. She prefers forming a hard light bubble around their heads, wait until they pass out from lack of oxygen and then removes the bubble once they’re unconscious. Much less messy.

Mercy - Mercy’s a pacifist, so she probably wouldn’t punch a nazi, no matter how vile their opinions. However, if one of her friends punches one, she’ll certainly have no objections. She would even offer to treat their knuckles afterwards. Punching can be hard on the hands, after all - she needs to make sure her patient’s fingers are still okay.

Lucio - Lucio’s not much of a puncher, but he wouldn’t think twice about using his sound gun to send a nazi flying down the street.

D.Va - She’s got a pretty thick skin when it comes to hate speech. Hell, her first reaction would be to laugh at this guy. “The white race must be preserved?” She’s heard worse things from twelve-year-olds on Xbox Live. She wouldn’t punch him, just laugh at him. But if the nazi gets pissed about the laughing and tries to start a fight, well, that’s when she calls in the MEKA.

Torbjorn - He’d punch a nazi. The nazi would learn what happens when you shout ableist slurs at someone who lives at crotch level.

Winston - Winston can’t really get away with punching a nazi - gorillas are crazy strong so a punch from him would be lethal. Instead, he mostly just roars, beats his chest, does a false charge, that whole routine. That usually scares them off. And if all else fails, he’d just go ape shit (teehee) on the nazi’s car.

Zenyatta - Zenyatta never resorts to violence first, so he offers to listen to the nazi’s troubles, believing that his hatred is simply a guise for deeper insecurities. However, the nazi would take advantage of Zenyatta’s kindness and use it as an excuse to rant about his vile views. Zenyatta, silently lamenting how some minds cannot be changed, departs from the nazi and prays that he will one day find peace.

As they part ways, the nazi fails to notice the orb of discord floating just behind his head.

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