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overdrivels · 4 years

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The Way to a Heart (18)

<<Chapter 17

With you being escorted back by Zenyatta and Dr. Ziegler and the last of your smile lingering at the edges of his memory, he’s left alone with Genji.

The sun warms everything despite the lateness of the year, but it could not even touch the frost that has settled in Hanzo’s bones. Two bracing breaths later and he forces himself to look at Genji and is stricken with a bout of nausea that makes his blood rush and mouth water. He desperately hopes his discomfort isn’t showing on his face.

Maybe he’s tired from his trip with you or from the stress of the past few days (weeks, months, he can’t be sure—he’s never been good at determining when he’s stressed anyway). He finds he’s unable to string together a coherent thought amidst the building chaos in his mind.

The seas, the sky, the ground all cracks and begins to fall apart piece by piece with each step Genji takes. It leaves him in a void, the direction he thought he may have found, lost. A small hysterical rise of panic presses up against his stomach.

Genji wears a confusing mix of casual clothes and armor that Hanzo can’t be sure isn’t a necessary part of him. It’s not something Genji has ever worn in their youth before. There were expectations from those around them to dress a certain way, and Genji toed those boundaries constantly, but never so blatantly. In that way, Hanzo could separate the Genji before him and the Genji of his memories.

But the way he walks—quiet and light, ready to flee (or jump straight into the fray)—and how he keeps a careful distance that’s barely outside of Hanzo’s own range makes that separation that much more difficult.

Genji stretches out his hand. It looks and feels too much like an olive branch, a beacon in the right direction as he free falls through the dark. Hanzo fixates on it until it twists and bends, becoming flesh and human and covered in blood. Alarm bells ring in Hanzo’s head, self-preservation instincts screaming until he can hear nothing else.

“Here, let me take some of those bags—”

“No.”

Even to Hanzo’s ears, the response is too quick and too sharp, barbed with fears that he is not yet ready to face.

The word ‘coward’ echoes loudly between his ears.

Even louder are the words unspoken in the curling of Genji’s fingers as he very slowly withdraws his hand. Hanzo does not look directly at Genji’s blinding green gaze, but feels it searing his skin, reaching deep and attempting to set the ice inside him on fire. He swallows the slick lump in his throat, feeling it stick in his chest where it wouldn’t budge.

His brain scrambles desperately, seeking out the words that could fix this. Despite having all his time at Overwatch to think and practice what he would like to say, and despite everyone’s meddling insistence, he has nothing.

‘Say something.’

The silence drags on.

His brain digs and digs, finding nothing but dust until it reaches the wall around his heart which houses the memories of well-rehearsed words spoken to an empty grave and altar where no god or spirit sits.

Things were fine when he didn’t register the machine in front of him as the same boy who did as he pleased and left Hanzo dealing with the messy aftermath, who made Hanzo’s ascension so much harder by disobeying and rebelling against all that the clan stood for, who was untouched and unbothered by the scathing remarks from friends and clients alike.

Acknowledging now that they could be—are—the same person makes it hard to remember what he wanted to tell him.

He reluctantly hits upon ‘I’m sorry’; a phrase too simple and too flimsy to hold the weight of a lifetime’s worth of dues. But his mouth does not form the words.

“Fine.” Hanzo tries not to grimace at how resigned Genji sounds. “Fine. Be that way.”

It’s inane, but something cracks.

Everything Hanzo holds drops to the ground as ten years worth of resentment rises from the grave at the bottom of his heart. His brain, in searching for something worthwhile to say, found something else instead.

“And whose fault is it that I am this way?”

“What way do you mea—?”

“If you had just killed me, we would not be having this conversation.”

“And what would that have done? I am not like you.”

“Like me?” A hollow laugh escapes Hanzo’s throat. “No. Because if you were, you would have had the decency to do the proper thing.”

“I am trying—” Genji stops, realization dawning on him. Even with th evisor in place, it is clear Genji is squinting at him. Anger creeps into his voice with each word. “This isn’t about now, is it? This is about the past.”

“What difference does it make? You have never done the right things then, I should not have expected you to do the right thing now.”

“And what about you? Look where ‘right’ and ‘proper’ led you.”

Hanzo snarls. “I had to! I was protecting the clan—”

“It was always about the clan’s reputation, wasn’t it? No, you only ever thought of yourself and your own reputation. You are only here for your own self-fulfillment.”

And then something breaks.

Hanzo roars, the force of his voice barely managing to drown the noise in his head. “What could you possibly understand!? You spent your whole life running away from your responsibilities!”

“And what do you want me to understand, brother?”

“You—” Hanzo chokes on the many grievances that fight for life in the form of words he won't be able to take back.

They all well up rapidly to the forefront of his mouth, trapped together like a dam in their attempts to be given life first. The gaps where kinder, smaller words may escape are sealed with the dark, sticky emotions that have been suppressed these past ten-plus years. It undulates, twisting in on itself, gives itself shape and life and strength at an unyielding pace.

Hanzo clenches his fists so hard, they shake.

“You ungrateful brat. I paved a path of success and all you had to do was follow!”

Genji laughs, the sound harsh and tinny. “Success? You call this”—he gestures up and down at Hanzo with a hand—“success?”

“It would not have been this way if you just listened. We could have had an empire! We could have ruled over Japan.”

“And that was your dream, brother, not mine.”

“It should have been your dream! After we raised you so carefully, too—”

“You did not raise me. They tried to raise another puppet.”

“A puppet?!” Hanzo heaves, jaw aching from the tension. “If only you’d ever listen, you’d know what’s good for you.”

“‘Listen’? And be a ‘good little boy’ like you? Would they have given me my freedom then?”

“You could’ve had freedom if you only did what you were told! You don’t know the humiliation I went through because of you! You always did what you wanted without considering the consequences.”

“And you never gave a shit about me or what I wanted.”

“What could you have wanted? We had everything!”

“I wanted my own way. Away from outdated traditions and the roles the clan assigned us.”

Red hot anger forges Hanzos words into weapons. “And did you think trash like you had the right to defy the clan?”

All at once, Genji’s body tenses and sags as though exasperated. Circular vents on Genji pop out, steam hissing violently as it escapes. The brief lull allows Hanzo’s words to bite him full-force with the weight of his own sins.

“And did you think I enjoyed being called ‘trash’ and the embarrassment of the clan, Hanzo?”

The way he says it takes the wind entirely out of Hanzo’s sails. The anger and hate freezes over in an instant. Reason returns briefly. That he would have these feelings after so long just means that these years after leaving the clan have meant nothing.

He never changed.

“Look.” Genji’s tone turns placating, but still dry and weary. “I know what you wanted. I know what father wanted. I know our ‘face’ and our image was everything. But what does that mean now? You’re not a part of the clan anymore. You’re not in Japan anymore. You’re Overwatch, now. How long will you hold onto the past?”

“...”

“Think on it. Whatever ‘proper’ and ‘right’ is for you, what are you doing now?”

Hanzo says nothing, the floor taken out from under him as he realizes it’s almost the exact same words he imparted onto you.

Genji leaves him with those words and traces the path you and the others took, only taking a look back once. Nothing comes out of it and Hanzo’s left alone.

The entire argument was uncalled for and reminds Hanzo just how much of a brat Genji could be. If there was one thing he hasn’t outgrown and one thing that absolutely affirms the Genji here and the one from his memory are one and the same, it’s that audacious attitude that had made the younger man the target of the clan’s scorn—Hanzo’s especially.

He had no issues with the assassination order. He wholeheartedly welcomed it, in fact.

Elder siblings are supposed to guide their younger siblings. Those who saw Genji roaming around freely, disregarding the unspoken and spoken rules of conduct, framed it as an older brother’s incompetence. An accomplished role-model like himself watching over the shame of the clan with no results to show for it speaks volumes of Hanzo’s shortcomings. Regardless of his personal accomplishments—of which there were many—the fact that he could not clean up his family's image was seen as pitiful.

And Shimada Hanzo, newly installed head of the Shimada clan, should not have to take such an insult.

The mockery, the poisonous whispers, the lofty attitudes of those around him were silenced the moment he killed Genji. It was peaceful.

No. Not peaceful. Oppressively silent.

The type of silence that kept him awake. While voices of the present did not speak to him, the voices of the past did. Just as his deeds granted him more power and more authority in the daytime, the voices gained it in spades behind closed doors.

Was it worth killing the last of his family?

No matter how much shit was thrown at his face, no matter what everyone said about him and his abilities, was it really enough to make himself the last of the Shimada bloodline?

At the time, yes.

After having done it, he didn’t have an answer and the doubt began to eat at him every night until it and the voices were too much. They chased after them for ten years. But never once did he think too deeply on what Genji may have wanted, only what Genji should have done to avoid being placed on the proverbial chopping block.

And after so long, did Hanzo really even know what Genji wanted back then and now? Does Hanzo even know what he himself wants?

Slowly gathering all the items, Hanzo makes his way back into the Watchpoint, weighed down by more than the bags he holds. Each step he takes echoes loudly in the empty hall like a death knell. What he wouldn’t give just to drop everything and run away from this awkwardness, from himself.

Athena’s voice is like cool water. “Welcome back, Agent Hanzo,” she says as he shoulders his way through the swinging doors of the kitchen. It’s strange to think that not too long ago, they would not budge for anyone other than you.

He drops everything off onto the nearest surface and unpacks. Miraculously, the eggs are intact and didn’t suffer any from having been unceremoniously dumped onto the ground during his outburst.

Everything you both bought covers half the length of the counter, and he can’t be sure if this is a lot or not enough. Every other item he pulls out is a mystery—ingredients that he’s sure he may have eaten before, but isn’t sure how to prepare. The sheer number of these unknown specimens is intimidating, a test for him, asking him if he knows how they should be kept.

The thought of asking you briefly crosses his mind, but he stamps that down hard. Instead, he separates the ingredients he needs, leaving yours in a neat deconstructed grid.

Heading to the nearest sink, Hanzo sets his mouth in a line, determined to throw his whole self into his new work. His own destructive thoughts and fight with Genji can take a backseat.

Breakfast is a disaster.

And it has nothing to do with his recent spat.

While the thoughts do not make a comeback, head buzzing with a droning static, he soon realizes he is woefully outside of his element and the kitchen is unkind to those unfamiliar with it.

No sooner had he finished washing his hands, the cafeteria comes to life with early risers who may as well be zombies. Very demanding and snappish zombies, some who can barely form a coherent sentence.

Hanzo can’t say he’s ever had to make coffee for anyone other than himself before, let alone use a commercial coffee machine. Under less pressing circumstances, it would be a novel experience to grind his own coffee beans and smell the aroma that comes out into his waiting bucket. Instead, he’s silently begging the machine to grind faster, leaving before it is completely finished and allowing leftover grinds to spill everywhere. (He promises himself to clean it once the coffee is made—he doesn’t.)

No one told him it takes about eight minutes—and those may as well be the longest eight minutes of his life—to make such an amount of coffee either.

It’s lucky that Torbjörn fixed the hot water dispenser, otherwise he might have had to make coffee by hand. Again, a novel experience he might’ve enjoyed under any other circumstance if the dispenser didn’t also spit boiling water at him. It’s also lucky that Fareeha did not barge into the kitchen herself to strangle him to death for making her wait for her caffeine (she does, however, abuse the service bell and manages to get it confiscated.)

The tilted screens sitting atop the service counter window blink incessantly at him, reminding him he’s dawdling. It’s there he learns of everyone’s beverage preferences.

(Half-caf coffee for Reinhardt—Athena tells him to give him full decaf because his stomach can’t handle it otherwise, and then he has to waste another few minutes making decaffeinated coffee—black coffee with four shots of espresso and one sugar for Fareeha, black coffee for Soldier: 76, etc. Hanzo grimaces and mentally apologizes to you for having criticized your commitment to their nutrition and for having to deal with them.)

With the agents briefly sedated, he moves into his next order of business. Actual breakfast. Food-wise, he had planned to make a less risky version of tamago kake gohan or just a soft-boiled egg over rice.

His first, unexpected hurdle is the lack of a rice cooker (or clay pots or microwaves—not that he planned on microwaving raw rice; it was an appliance he is more familiar with, at least more familiar with than this ‘pressure cooker’ that Athena suggests he use).

There are far too many things in this kitchen he doesn't know the uses for—differently shaped knives, pans of different materials and sizes, even the plates are oddly intimidating. Everything serves to remind him he should not be here.

Left with little choice (and a lot of choice words for the lack of a rice cooker), Hanzo settles on making rice in the largest pot he could find.

It’s filled with cup after cup of rice—a rough estimation of one cup of rice per person gives him sixteen cups—the sounds of cascading rice a small comfort, soothing in its rhythm. The grains seem to glitter and he pours it over his hand, the physical feel of it is as soothing as the sound.

For a moment, Hanzo thinks of you, thinks of the sparkle in your eyes as you impart your knowledge, the warmth of you so close, the feeling of your finger tracing shapes through the rice in his hand. The motion was tender. It may have been the gentlest touch he’s ever received from anyone in recent and not-so recent memory.

And it frightens him to think he would like more.

Violently, he shakes his head and hand. He doesn’t have time for this.

Hanzo rubs his hands vigorously to rid himself of the phantom touch that still sends molten syrup through his veins. Even running his hands through water doesn’t make the sensation fade. Instead, it just makes him all the more conscious of how warm his ears are.

Water goes into the pot, and Hanzo vaguely recalls the ratio of water to rice should be 2:1. It should be embarrassing that a man of his age doesn’t know how to prepare something he’s been eating all his life, but in his defense, Japan has no shortage of readymade foods and he’s never stayed anywhere long enough and far away from civilization to warrant learning how to cook rice from scratch.

While he lets that come to a boil, he prepares another pot of water and dumps in a dozen of the eggs you spent so long arguing with the shopkeep about.

Carefully, he keeps watch over both pots, leaving only to grab an overly large serving spoon to mix both with. The last thing he needs is burnt rice.

Genji used to like scorched rice, clamoring for a piece of it whenever they had the opportunity to eat rice from clay pots, often cutting the roof of his mouth on a particularly sharp piece of rice. He’d complain about it until it healed and then do it all over again the next time.

Briefly disgusted with his memories, he buries them along with the rice, willing himself to focus on the outcome and not the unnecessary things associated with it. But no matter how much he mixes it, it doesn’t become the fluffy grains he expects.

He’s left with a white, mushy slop; a mixture of overcooked and undercooked rice whose integrity is so compromised, he cannot even in good faith call it rice porridge.

The rice serves as a fresh reminder that he is a failure. Even the eggs do not come out unscathed. Instead of the soft, jiggly whites and golden lava of yolk, the whites are tough and rubbery, and the yolks are ashen green and smell distinctly of death and sulfur.

All twelve eggs go into the furthest trash can and the rice follows painfully after.

You were right. Two dozen eggs would hardly be enough. At least a quarter of the rice you’ve bought is gone with nothing to show for it.

There’s no time to mourn or for self-flagellation. The other agents, no longer pacified with coffee or warm beverages, are irritatingly loud in their demand for food.

Hanzo hastily puts together charred, buttered toast with overdone slices of pork and watery miso soup sans tofu or seaweed topped with crudely chopped green onions. (He nearly slips while entering the walk-in freezer for his troubles.) It’s barely passable, but it seems other people feel otherwise.

“Would you like me to have a go at it?”

“Could you kindly get th’ hot sauce over there?”

“I regret to inform you that I do not eat meat.”

“Sooo…this your first time cooking or…?”

The comments he gets range from superficial thanks to outright criticism. The worst, though, are those who say nothing. He can feel their pity radiating toward him, and he’s never been more glad the service window isn’t high enough to show his face or theirs.

Hanzo did not expect words of overflowing praise or for people to drop at his feet. Criticism and scorn is familiar to Hanzo. It is the building blocks of his foundation, it props him up and drives him to be better, to be stronger. This quiet sort of feedback where people just resignedly accept what is given strikes a sour chord in him.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it as the agents come in a continuous wave, some begrudgingly returning for more only because they need whatever calories they can get regardless of taste. Breakfast would have spilled into lunchtime had Athena not said anything to him.

Lunch is no better.

After his failed attempt at making rice, he scraps his plan for riceballs. There are very few things in his repertoire that would be universally accepted. He didn’t want to chance the issue with Satya again.

“Athena. What are the other agents allergic to or are unable to eat?”

She pauses and Hanzo could hear the reluctance that accompanies her answer. “Please turn your attention to the screens.”

On them, a flood of information takes over where the orders would be.

Disgust and a dose of paranoia crawls up Hanzo’s skin as he realizes he’s now privy to information that some of their enemies would pay an obscene amount for. A person’s likes or dislikes has always given Hanzo an edge in either negotiations or threats. Allergens even more so. It wouldn’t be difficult to use this to his advantage should he have been in any position to do so.

Not for the first time, he realizes the disturbing and tremendous power chefs have at their disposal. An incredible amount of trust is placed in your hands, money-laundering aside. One mistake or one slight from you could easily take out an agent or a whole Watchpoint. You played your part in keeping everyone healthy and fed. Everyone trusted you to do so.

It’s only a minor consolation that he does not find his name up there. Or Genji’s. Genji was known for eating anything. But now he’s not sure if his name was not there because he does not eat or simply because he has not developed any allergies in his later years.

“Would you like a list of preferences as well, Agent Hanzo?”

“...no. This is enough.” He tacks on a “thank you”.

Eventually, he settles on sandwiches for their versatility. Katsu sandos, egg sandwiches, croquettes, and succulent, sweet fruit sandwiches come to mind, but having not anticipated making any, he doesn’t have the ingredients or the know-how to improvise.

There were the ingredients you bought, but he doesn’t want to impose lest you need them. But when he looks at the ingredients he’s picked—all with specific purposes and none too forgiving with his menu change, he inevitably pilfers from your stash, a silent promise that he’ll replenish it when he has the time.

Shredded cabbage, tomato, and cucumber go between two pieces of chunky buttered bread. The least controversial meal he could think of while respecting everyone’s dietary restrictions.

The reception toward his new creation is only marginally better, and that’s not saying much. (Reinhardt in particular expresses his disappointment in a manner unbecoming of his stature.)

It only serves to remind him that he is out of his element. He is not Lúcio who makes home-style meals for crowds like it's second nature. He's not you who does this for a living (though how much you're actually living is debatable). He's Shimada Hanzo. An assassin, a brother-killer, and most definitely not someone who caters to others or seeks their approval. He has a job to do and he must do it well even if it is outside his expertise.

Luckily, there are markedly fewer people in the afternoon. Either because people are engrossed in their work and are forgetting to eat or they have decided to follow Soldier: 76’s original lead of eating only MREs. Even with fewer people to cater to, he still finds himself without any time.

It’s only when it gets too late for lunch but too early for dinner does he have a moment to himself.

In his mind, Hanzo heaves a heavy sigh that deflates everything holding him up, and he gradually drops himself to the ground. His skin buzzes with a strange mix of emotions he can’t put a name to, accompanied by a fog in his mind.

Gravity holds him down with little effort and he can’t remember the last time he was this tired. The lull makes him more aware of how much his ankles, knees, and lower back hurts. It’s a deep exhaustion, not only physically, but one that wears down his mind and soul.

He casts a weary eye around the kitchen.

At all angles, all he can see is a mess.

Coffee grounds on the floor near the drinks station; shreds of cabbage around him that he’s nearly slipped on; stacks of trays, plates, and utensils that have sneakily turned the dishwashing station into a garbage heap with the guts of half-eaten food spattered. He doesn't even have the energy to get angry at having his hard work wasted.

Where there isn’t clutter, there are the mismatched metals and surfaces that Torbjörn and Brigitte replaced and repaired, turning the once monochrome equipment into a strange jigsaw of colors and mismatched equipment that he’s glad you didn’t have enough time to scrutinize this morning. Wires spill out of the Cellar, the once immovable door now nowhere to be seen. At the corner rests one of Satya’s turrets, respectfully gazing away from him. A gaping maw sits in the door’s place, somehow less inviting than when the door existed. Still, they are no closer to figuring out what the treasure is.

But Hanzo thinks he knows, whatever in the vault guarded by the Junkers be damned. If his answer is right, then he hates to think of the implication that has for you and your views on this kitchen. If he’s right, then everyone is a fool and a mess.

Not that he is admitting he is not a ‘mess’; there are just some things that are undeniable and useless to argue. Outwardly, he's covered in sweat and dirty water. Inwardly, there’s everything that makes him detestable and unworthy—but not worthless—compounded by the excavation of fossilized feelings and thoughts he thought were ten years buried.

Even the kitchen itself seems to be unkind toward him, trapping him as they echo his shortcomings.

He squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head back barely missing the edge of the counter.

What would you say if you saw your normally pristine kitchen in such a sorry state?

What would you say if you saw him now?

“Agent Hanzo?”

His head shoots up toward the door, and time stops as you both look at each other. A strange cocktail of hope, relief, shame, and fear spills inside his chest, floods his body.

"Chef." It’s almost embarrassing how breathless he sounds. "What are you doing here?" he demands as though he isn't the one trespassing.

“What are you doing on the floor? It’s unsanitary. Here—”

You reach out a hand.

Genji’s tentative olive branch from this morning overlaps with yours.

Hanzo instinctively slaps it away. The sound echoes loud and slow in his ears like a sonic boom, and time itself slows as he processes the shock on your face and then the flinch of pain before you take a step back. Time sucks itself forward. Guilt floods in, sour bile rushing up into his throat.

He scrambles to get up, already cursing himself.

“My apologies, I—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it is not!”

The brief flash of anger is just that, brief. Against all sense, you still approach him with a gentle, but cautious look.

“Did you eat yet?”

He squints at you, trying to untangle the innocuous but unexpected question. When was the last time he ate? “No. No, not yet.”

You smile and then make a complicated face as you look around the kitchen, eyes bouncing from area to area. Eventually, everything about your body language changes. You hold yourself a little taller, a little more authoritative.

“Why don’t you grab a chair from the front and bring it in here?”

“A chair?”

“It’s a special exception.”

He doesn’t understand what is exceptional about bringing in a chair of all things, but he’s in no mood to argue. He’s had his fill this morning.

By the time he returns with one of the bar stools in the cafeteria, the kitchen has transformed.

In appearance, nothing much has changed except for your presence near a stove. However, the previously oppressive and stale air is banished and replaced with life and sound.

You’ve donned an apron and neatened yourself, making swift work of a fruit on a cutting board. <>Thack-a-thackathackathack. The sounds skitters up his neck, buzzing around his head. Around you are the tools of your trade and several ingredients, some he recognizes as things you bought this morning.

“Put it over there and sit down for a bit. I’ll be done in about ten minutes.”

Hanzo sets down the chair and slowly drops himself onto the seat, hands fisted on his knees as he waits. It’s easy to lose himself in his observations when he does not have to entertain or do anything.

Finally being able to see you at work up close is different than sitting outside the service window. He can listen to the most minute sounds, smell new flavors before and after they get blended, but most importantly, he can feel and see performance.

Your hands don’t stop, one step connected to the next. From knife to pan to ingredient. There’s something cathartic about watching you slip back into your own world. It’s not until this moment he realizes how right it feels to see you like this: assured and confident in your next steps, how much he misses watching you cook. It’s a far cry from your bedridden self who could only lament the lack of power and control you had over your situation. It’s much more than he had when he was cooking, that’s for certain.

It’s over all too soon when the ring of a familiar bell rips through him; a strange feeling of calm drags the exhaustion out from the marrows of his bones.

You bring over a tray and set it down in front of him.

Slices of pear are fanned out on top of a bed of milky white something with a thin drizzle of honey on top of a long slice of bread cut up into little triangles. On the side, a steaming mug of what smells like milk tea.

“This is…?”

“Your lunch,” you announce with a smile. “Ricotta and pear tartine with teh tarik. I thought something light would be good for your stomach right now.”

“I didn’t know pears were in season.” It’s not what he wants to say, but steering you into a conversation about why you’re doing this seems inappropriate for the time being.

“They’re not. The person I got these from runs a greenhouse for fruit trees.”

“You can grow trees in a greenhouse?”

“Sure. You can grow almost anything as long as the conditions are right. We actually hav—” You clear your throat. “We actually used to have a contract with some of these greenhouses. Back when, you know, we had more people.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at your suspiciously awkward smile but says nothing, the food in front of him too enticing to ignore.

He picks up one of the warm triangles, watching as a drop of honey drips tantalizingly slow onto the heated plate. An audible crunch resounds when he sinks his teeth into the open-faced sandwich, and a noise unconscious escapes his throat. The pear is refreshingly cool, and the cheese smoothes over the combined sweetness of pear and honey. There’s an underlying tangy flavor he does not have a name for that occasionally cuts through the veil of cheese.

The drink is also warm, rich in direct contrast to the sandwich. It settles comfortably in his stomach, loosening every tense nerve in his body and softens every muscle, and he allows himself to sit heavier in his seat.

It takes him no time at all to finish, and he licks a droplet of honey from a thumb, wondering if there might be seconds.

“Why did you do this?”

His question seems to have caught you by surprise and you scramble for words, a reddish tint to your cheeks and neck. You hastily gesture at him with a wave of your hand. “Your hands were shaking.”

As if to confirm your observations, he looks down at them. They were indeed trembling ever so slightly, but it shouldn’t have been noticeable.

“When people are hungry, or low on blood sugar, their hands shake,” you explain as you take away his tray. “So when people are hungry, it’s my job to feed you.”

A job. Somehow those words sting a little more than they should given it's the truth. But there is some part of him that had begun hoping that it was more than just a job to you.

“Thank you for the meal, Chef. I should get back to...work.” It’s embarrassing to call what he’s been doing so far ‘work’ when he sees what you can do with only a few ingredients.

“Would you like some help?”

“You’ve already done too much.” He adds, “You’re supposed to be resting.”

It would be terrible if Dr. Ziegler came by and found you working when you shouldn’t be. She’s already a menace in the mornings—he swears she slipped a small bottle of whiskey into her coffee when he gave it to her, but he couldn’t be sure with McCree bumbling into her for his drink. He doesn’t think he can handle her when she’s angry.

“I feel fine.” As if to prove your point, you drop everything in the washing area and turn around, opening your arms for him to see.

Appearances is often deceiving, and the memory of you approaching him with your face screwed up in pain and the floor-pulling feeling of knowing that he is the reason you’re like this and if he didn’t agree to bring you outside, you wouldn’t be collapsed against him without your wits about you or suffering.

He scowls, stamping down the rise of concern that threatens to make him sick again. “Get out.”

The irony of those words could not have been lost on you when you take a defiant stance, crossing your arms.

“Make me.”

The sheer audacity should not be so amusing. Perhaps it’s because you’re so brave even though you both know he could carry you back to the medbay where the careful eye and quiet wrath of the good doctor will confine you. Or perhaps it’s simply because it’s you.

Pride and concern weigh themselves against the other, the common denominator of ‘responsibility’ sits firmly between them, screwing the scale tight and disallowing it from tipping toward either side. If he wanted dinner to be a success, having you here would be beneficial to him, but if you were to fall ill again, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to look you in the eye no matter how much you wanted this.

Hanzo makes the mistake of meeting your eyes—earnest and determined—and sighs internally, cursing himself for being soft.

“Our conditions from this morning still stand, and you must return to the medical ward as soon as the cooking is completed.”

The conditions have you beaming, and a little bit of Hanzo’s resistance crumbles in the face of it. “Thank you.” Almost immediately, you turn back around to spray down the dishes.

A noise of acknowledgement comes out of his throat but nothing more as he tries to silence the rise of elation that tries to make itself known on his face, tempering it with realistic expectations. If something happens to you, one of the greatest doctors in the world is just several halls away. He should get your help where he can so that if anything does happen, he would not be at a loss.

Gathering his courage, and bracing himself for the sting of ridicule, he calls out, “Chef. I require your assistance with making rice.”

“With the pressure cooker?”

“Yes.”

Rather than the mockery he half-expected for not knowing how to make rice despite having eaten for over thirty years, your face turns professionally authoritative.

“Use the electric one over there. Go for eleven cups of dry rice. Rinse it with cold water until it runs clear, and put it into the pressure cooker with eleven and a quarter cups of cold water. Add a few pinches of salt, if you want. Set it to ‘rice’ and it will take care of itself.”

He’s about to argue the amount of rice and water, but he stops himself. He has no right to be arguing with an expert who has been cooking for them long before he’s even set foot in the Watchpoint.

Obediently, he follows the steps you’ve laid out, measuring out the exact amounts of rice and water. With a container of salt in his hands, he has to stop and ask.

“How many pinches of salt?”

“A few.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Four or five.”

“Four or five?” he asks impatiently.

“...four.”

He doesn’t understand why you can’t say that in the first place, tossing in the required amount. Closing the lid, he presses the button and sets the lid with minor trouble, and waits, staring at the machine. As expected, it doesn’t do anything spectacular. It’s just a pot with extra knobs on its lid. Will it really make proper rice?

Barely a minute passes before you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the rice.”

Your eyebrow goes up. It’s funny to see your inquisitive look directed at the behemoth of a dishwashing machine instead of him.

“You’re not here to look pretty. What are the ingredients for your curry?”

The unexpected compliment sets his ears on fire and takes the floor out from beneath his feet. Something sensitively warm blossoms in his chest and he has to fight to keep a straight face. Hanzo had been called many things (and he had his preferences), but ‘pretty’ was not one he associates with himself. It’s equal parts embarrassing, flattering, and awkward.

He's sure you don't mean it in any deep way, not with the ease in which those words leave your mouth, but it lingers in the back of his mind, and makes his fingers shake when he produces some folded papers from a hidden pocket in the depths of his clothes where he kept his recipes. They are few, but they’re the closest things he has to the tastes of his childhood. Hanamura does not change often, but he can’t say that he’s had much opportunity to stick around and eat his childhood dishes.

He clears his throat in a vain attempt to brush off your comment and pretends he doesn't feel a little lighter because of it.

“Pork curry; white pepper, garam masala…”

The list is long and full of spices that he has some minor issues translating. You seem to understand it well enough, making noises of acknowledgment above the sounds of splashing water where appropriate.

“The recipe calls for pork bone broth and actual pork, and some of the agents can’t have that,” you point out at the end.

“I am aware,” he says regretfully. “However, pork is essential to the recipe.”

Each spoonful of curry is supposed to have chunks of succulent cubes of pork that barely holds itself together when one presses a spoon against it. It makes the curry so much more hearty, and he’s sure the added meat only enhances the robust flavor of his childhood curry.

“You can create a version without pork.”

“And not compromise the integrity of the recipe?”

“No,” you admit as you shutter the walls of the machine closed. The dishwasher is jarringly loud when it gets to work, and you have to raise your voice over it. “We can make do, but we’re running out of time.”

“...if we must,” he grumbles. He didn’t truly expect to be able to taste his childhood here today, but something close would have been nice.

“How many does that recipe serve?”

“Serve?” This is the first time he’d be making it. There was never any time to leisurely experiment. He had always assumed it was a recipe for one person, but now he’s not so sure. “I do not know.”

“If you read out the whole recipe, I can make a rough guess.”

Slowly, he translates and reads out the instructions to you. Objectively, he understands the words, but none of the measurements or steps actually mean anything to him. Luckily for him, you’re not the same.

“That sounds like eight to ten servings,” you mutter to yourself, abandoning your work to check the pile of goods Hanzo had picked out. Bag after bag of spices pass through your hands before you return to your original task. “I think we have just enough to double the recipe.”

“You can tell from holding them?”

“Sort of? I weighed them with my hand. We should have a scale over there.” You point at a stack of plastic drawers off to the side. “Use that to measure everything out first, doubling everything. Sort out your mise first and then we can start cooking.”

“Meez?”

“Mise en place. Cooking is about preparation. Measure out your ingredients and have them ready. You can use the prep bowls over there. Measuring cups should be over there if you need them. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

It makes sense. Those cooking shows he used to catch glimpses of would always have all the ingredients lined up in neat little bowls for the host to use. For some reason, Hanzo could never picture that happening in a real kitchen. Maybe it’s because he’s never actually seen anyone prepare the ingredients in such a way, hidden behind curtains and doors.

As Hanzo gets to work, you occasionally give out pointers even if you’re on the other side of the kitchen, reorganizing and cleaning.

“Turn down the heat and jiggle the spices, we just want them lightly toasted to bring out the aromas.”

“Speed up your stirring a little; the roux is starting to burn.”

“If you don't want to use a knife, use the mandolin. Make sure the guard is on properly.”

“Make sure the grated apples are cleaned up, Jesse is allergic to uncooked apples.”

It’s an unnerving skill that makes him think that if you had chosen a different path in life, he may have met you sooner (and perhaps under better or worse circumstances).

Strangely enough, he finds he doesn’t mind your interjections. There was a time he did not take orders from anyone. No one dared give orders to the head of the Shimada clan, but he also remembered the brief feeling of being in freefall without anything to guide him other than a singular mission of ensuring the clan’s prosperity.

With this, he only has to focus on doing the job you’ve given. He doesn’t have the luxury of thinking of anything else, not when you give him direction after direction. Eventually, he eases into a vague rhythm of listening and letting his hands move clumsily. Occasionally, he poses questions to you that you answer in detail befitting of an expert.

Before he knows it, the kitchen feels less like hostile territory. Perhaps it's because the master of the space is back, or perhaps because he has an instructor, or maybe it’s because he’s working in the capacity of a chef.

Eventually, the curry takes on its signature aromas and color. A quick taste test confirms that it is not the same thing—not enough body, not enough texture, just a little too watery, and not salty enough—but nonetheless tasty. It’s the best thing he’s made all day.

“Do you plan on having anything else with the curry?” you ask as you wipe down another counter nearby.

“Tonkatsu.” He’s quick to add, “It’s a fried pork. However, I was considering vegetable tempura instead.”

“Oh, that sounds good. Sous Chef Mori used to make really good tempura back in the day. He used to lecture people whenever they made tempura wrong.”

At that, an idea strikes him so hard, it makes him giddy. “Shall we compete?”

“Agent Hanzo—”

“—Hanzo.”

“Hanzo. We have limited time until dinner. Maybe another time.”

He crosses his arms. Now that the idea has entered his head, he does not have much intention of backing down, especially when the potential payout is great. “Are you afraid?”

A funny noise escapes from your lips, and a cascade of water hits the bucket as you wring your rag over it. “Afraid? In my own kitchen?” The words ‘my own’ are not lost on him. “I don’t approve of wasting ingredients.”

It’s not a no.

“They’ll be used for dinner. It will not be a waste,” he reasons.

“Hm…” You pretend to think about it even as you wash your hands. “All right,” you answer reluctantly, but there’s a gleam in your eyes that tells him you don’t intend on losing. “You can be the judge.”

Hanzo huffs out a laugh. Victory of a different sort is already in sight. “Your confidence will be your undoing.”

“We’ll see about that.” Then you ask: “What sort of tempura do you like, Ag—Hanzo?”

A number of types come to mind. Poached egg tempura, pumpkin, a medley of vegetable slices—kakiage. He could appreciate a good fish tempura or perilla leaves, but nothing beats a proper shrimp tempura, succulent and juicy on the inside, crunchy on the outside with a sprinkle of salt.

Cheekily, he replies with a sly smile, “I thought you already knew all our preferences.”

You roll your eyes; a delightful new expression he hasn’t seen before. “We’re not mind readers. Should I make some pepper tempura then?”

“Your bluffs would be more effective if you actually had the means.” He gestures to the island counter where he left all your ingredients, not a single accursed pepper in sight.

You laugh lightly, making your way to the counter. “You got me. I didn't have any plans to make anything with peppers." Picking up a few ingredients, you are again serious. “We have sweet potatoes, green beans, asparagus, carrots...onions.”

"We will do whatever you deem fit.” He’s sure you wouldn’t serve anything he wouldn’t like anyway.

“Could you start the batter then? I’ll get these ready.”

You have all the ingredients prepared in half the time it takes him to make the batter, half of which he gives to you. An arrangement of vegetables, perfectly sliced and prepared, is ready for each of you. A pot of hot oil with a thermometer clipped to the side awaits you both.

"You can go first," you offer as you put your ingredients and batter into the refrigerator below the counter.

"Hmph."

You may have the experience, but he knows the recipe. He has no intention of losing without having put in some effort.

With the oil heated at a perfect 175 degrees celsius, he throws half of his ingredients into the batter and drops them into the pot. The effect is near immediate, bubbles angrily swarming the surface like a school of sharks. With his tongs, he shuffles them around the oil when they look like they’re beginning to stick together. At a respectable distance beside him, you work quietly with a gentle smile.

The feeling of cooking like this is different than before. Strangely enough, it could even be thought of as enjoyable.

When the battered casing turns a tannish-color, he picks several pieces out. Immediately, you have a plate with a circular rack and a pair of chopsticks for him. It should surprise him, but at the same time, he didn’t expect anything less. Gratefully, he accepts it and lays out his finished products.

Disappointment does not even describe the feeling in his stomach when he looks at them. The ingredients are wrapped in the tempura like a person bundled in winter; the skins too puffy and obscuring the entirety of ingredients like it has something to hide.

The deciding factor for food, however, is always taste. He picks up a sweet potato slice, bites into it, and his mouth is filled with oil and instant regret. The tempura batter is simultaneously crunchy and soggy, coating his mouth in an oily sheen that feels like it’s trying to suffocate him. The next bite extracts the chewy potato entirely from its tempura shell, and he resists gagging.

As he mulls it over, you pass him a cup of tea. He doesn’t know when you could’ve found time to make this. “Have some pu-erh tea; it’ll help.”

“Thank you.”

The smile he gets in response is too disproportionate to his thanks. He gulps it down faster than appropriate and almost burns his throat in the process, but it’s worth it for the way it refreshes his taste buds. His empty cup is instantly refilled, and this time, he takes his time sipping the astringent tea. You probably knew it was going to turn out this way.

“I believe it is your turn.”

This is a good chance to see how differently a professional would handle it.

He is not disappointed when your shoulders drop and a shroud of calm envelops your expression.

There’s a pause and you take a breath before you begin. Hanzo follows the rhythmic bounce of your arm as you scoop out the stray tempura curds and discard them, then another bounce as you lean down to turn down the fire to the refrigerator below. The plates and bowls come out all at once, a quick whisk of the batter with your hands as your foot firmly shuts the door below. You jump from strainer to tongs to ingredient to powder to batter, and then the shining oil sings softly as you gently lay your ingredient—a slice of sweet potato—to rest.

There’s a split-second look of satisfaction in your eyes that Hanzo nearly misses before it’s hardened back into focus.

Even a chef has pride in their work, he realizes. As they should, but that pride is no different than him when he bests an opponent or accomplishes a difficult feat. Truly, he is watching a master at work. Even as you wipe down your counter, you're no less attentive to the pot, fishing out your piece at just the right time

And what comes out is very different from his. You lay your offering next to his own tempura as if to rub in the absolute differences in skill.

Crystalline batter encases the sweet potato slice sparingly, allowing the vibrant orange to show through. The quiet crackling sounds of oil on the surface hint at just how hot it still is. As cliche and stupid as it may sound, the tempura seems to sparkle.

You gesture toward the plate, face carefully neutral.

“Go ahead.”

Quietly muttering his thanks, he picks it up with his chopsticks.

When he takes a bite, it is soundly crisp. The delicate, lacy batter is clear and light on his tongue, bereft of excess oil and weight. Stream rises and swirls around him, saliva filling his mouth. It gives way easily like shattering glass to the dense, but soft interior. The sweet potato truly lives up to its name—it may not be the same white versions of the same name in Japan, but it is delicious, nonetheless, accented by a faint touch of salt.

Tempura is almost always synonymous with spring when he’d be able to get his fill of fresh vegetables, when everything starts anew, when the most serious argument he’d have with Genji is what condiments should go with tempura.

(Genji, for some reason, favored it with tonkatsu sauce—they’re not even for the same meals, damn it—which masks the taste of the ingredient and cheapens the experience. Hanzo was of the more sensible ‘salt’ camp.)

If only he had sake or a dry beer to pair with this, it would be bliss.

It’s not his intention to be shown up by you, but the way you take his ingredients and transform them into something else entirely is deeply impressive and makes him laugh a little at himself. He never stood a chance.

Losing like this doesn’t feel so bad.

Finishing off the rest and raising his hands in surrender, he declares, “I concede.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the triumphant grin that spreads across your face. It’s so bright and warm, his breath stalls.

“Do I win a prize?”

He quickly gathers his wits about him, hoping his voice is casual. “Do you have something in mind?”

Your grin turns mischievous. “I’ll think about it.”

A normally dangerous answer that’s rendered harmless by your flippant attitude. He’s sure you have no intention of cashing in on it. Even if you did, Hanzo highly doubts he’ll mind doing what you ask.

Despite the actual outcome, he was the true victor.

“What did you do differently?”

“I made some adjustments,” you admit excitedly like a child. “I added cornstarch to the batter and thinned it out with more water. For the vegetables, I salted them to draw out excess moisture, patted them down, and threw them into the fridge to get them ice cold. After that, I turned down the heat a little bit so nothing would burn, coated it in cornstarch, and then put it in the oil.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Could you demonstrate again?”

The smile you give him is brilliant. “Of course.”

One demonstration turns into two, into three, and so on, Hanzo having snatched several more pieces of tempura which disappear almost as soon as they hit the plate, the burning of his mouth be damned. If his behavior displeases you, you say nothing. As a matter of fact, that you haven’t stopped him or scolded him shows you do not mind much.

All good things must come to an end when you decide there won’t be enough for the other agents (but not before he sneaks in another carrot stick for himself behind your back).

“You should check in on your curry sauce,” you say as a way to get him to stop pilfering the delectable treats. You even have the audacity to whack his hand, albeit lightly, with a ladle when he attempts to grab another. He grabs your ladle instead—something he should have done the first time you brandished it at his as a weapon, and tends to his curry.

The dark amber sauce is still bubbling at the sides, a skin having formed from being left alone for so long. He gives it a few stirs and a taste.

Tempered by time and slow flames, the flavors have taken on a new form. The saltiness he thought the curry lacked returned, pulling in other more subtle flavors to the forefront that is accented by a hint of spiciness that lingered pleasantly on his tongue. It’s not as heavy as the curry from his memories, lacking the meat component, but he can’t say this is bad either. It is likely leagues better than what he might have been able to accomplish alone.

Determined to repay you for your patience and instruction, Hanzo grabs a small scoop of rice, almost blasting himself in the face with steam when he depressurized the vessel. The aroma of rice mingles with the spices in the air. Already, he can tell the rice is leagues better than his earlier attempt. Sneaking a burning pinch to confirm his suspicions, he finds he’s correct—each grain bounces as though to assert their presence against his teeth, rolling against his tongue with a subtle sweetness only found in rice.

He quickly prepares a plate of rice, pouring a careful river of dark amber sauce onto it. It’s unfortunate he’s eaten all of your tempura, but he takes your batter and instructions and makes a new batch to add to your plate. They’re leagues better than his first attempt, but still nothing compared to yours.

And that comparison holds him captive. You’re a chef who cooks better and has likely tasted far superior foods than his meager attempt. Any compliments you give would only be superficial, borne from politeness and a misplaced respect for the heroes you work for—work with.

Before he could allow his doubts to overcome him and chide him for such an audacious idea, Hanzo calls out, “Chef, I have something for you.” There’s no time for him to regret or take back his words.

“Two seconds.” You set aside the broom you’re using, wiping your hands on a rag hanging from your apron, and approach him curiously. “Yes?”

“This is for you.”

Pushing down his unease, he forces himself to slide the plate in front of you.

“Oh.” You look between him and the plate. “That’s...a lot for a tasting. You didn’t have to give me this much.”

“Tasting? No. This is for you to eat.”

“For me? To...eat?” The words come out haltingly like they’re foreign in your mouth. “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t understand your hesitation. The presentation isn’t pristine or worthy of being in a Michelin Star restaurant, but you didn’t have to insult it in such a manner. He begins to draw the plate back. He should have never offered.

“If you prefer I throw it out…”

“No! Wait, I’ll eat it!”

The dish is snatched instantly and held close, partially shielded with your body as though it were something precious.

“It’s for me to eat, right?”

“...yes. It is yours.”

An expression of wonder falls on your face and you look at the curry rice like it’s the first meal you’ve ever seen in your life, a slow smile forming on your face, one fundamentally different than all the ones he’s seen thus far. If Hanzo was confused before, he's even more so now.

You take your first spoonful, carefully scooping up an even amount of rice and curry sauce.

Nervously, he awaits your verdict, his stomach dancing and rolling around. Perhaps this is how you feel whenever you serve someone, watching their face cycle through different emotions upon first bite. Unbidden, a much older memory of a younger Genji gagging and telling him his curry is ‘shitty’ presses incessantly against the back of his mind.

Slowly you raise a hand to your mouth, eyes wide. A jolt of fear runs through his body. You’re going to be sick. His cooking has poisoned you and he’ll need to call Dr. Ziegler and explain. He’ll be known as a failure who could not put together an edible dish even with the help of a professional. He’s going to—

“This is delicious.”

Your voice is watery, almost reverent. Hanzo can’t fathom why, breath caught in his throat, all of his damning thoughts grinding to an abrupt halt.

“You exaggerate.”

You wave your hands in denial. “I’m not exaggerating! It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in a long time.”

It still pleases him to hear you say it, empty flattery as it may be. His teachers never praised him for anything—every success was met with indifference (“The heir to the Shimada clan should be able to do at least this much.”) and every failure was reviled (“How do you expect to lead the clan with this level of skill?”) .

“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but if it’s not palatable—”

“No, it’s great. It’s—”

As if you prove him wrong, you proceed to clear the entire plate with a vicious gusto that could not be faked. He could only watch, frozen, as bite after bite disappears.

It can’t be as good as you’re saying it is. The recipe isn’t complete, lacking in the meat component and the proper stock, not to mention it doesn’t have the all-important pork katsu or any fukujinzuke on the side. If it is any good, it would be because of your instruction. But he has to believe.

Not a speck of rice remains when you’re done.

You lick your lips slowly as if to savor what remains and Hanzo finds his eyes following the motion. He snaps his gaze away, mortified such a reaction was automatic.

“That was so good.”

The swell of pride expands so quickly in his chest, he has trouble breathing.

“That’s because of you.”

“Nothing I’ve ever made for myself tastes half as good as that.”

The revelation is so absurd, Hanzo blurts out, “Lies.”

“It’s true. Food never tastes as good when I make it for myself.”

There is no trace of dishonesty in your eyes. Earnest and pure, a trait he has seen so few times he would have forgotten it had he not come to Overwatch where people like Winston and Mei exude it in spades.

“I suppose if you find it so agreeable, I could cook for you again," he mumbles casually. “If you do not mind, of course.”

“I’d love to have your cooking again.” Struck by a thought, you look up. “Oh! Agent Genji would like this, too. He used to complain about not having enough Japanese food.”

At the mention of Genji’s name, he stiffens, his good mood plummeting back to depths unknown to you.

“Sometimes Agent Genji is difficult to pin down especially if he’s somewhere Athena can’t see him.” Your voice drops to a whisper, edged with mock spite. “He used to turn off his communicator so no one could find him and then complain that no one told him dinner’s ready. Why don’t you go find him and let him know?”

His knee jerk reaction is to be defensive and suspicious of your intentions. Seeing your face, however, he knows it’s not the case. Sighing mentally, he tries to think of a way out. It’d be beyond embarrassing to let you know that he doesn’t want to because of a fight.

“He can eat this?”

Innocently, you reply, “Of course. He can’t eat a lot, but he eats sometimes. I’m sure he’ll love what you’ve made.”

“It’s not professional.”

“Professional or not, it’s the taste of home and no one can resist that. Besides, it’s great.”

“I still need to make the dishes for the others.”

“If it’s serving, I can do it since you’ve made most of it already.”

“I believe our deal is over the moment you finish cooking.”

“Cleaning is a part of the cooking process,” you answer, pointing to your dish and the dishwasher.

“I will handle it.”

“And serve at the same time?”

“I’ll manage.”

“It’ll be easier if you have someone who is used to doing both at the same time here.” It’s a very roundabout way of telling him that he was not able to manage such a thing, but he cannot argue such logic. His arguments are running thin, and he has to confront the possibility that he may have to meet with Genji, if briefly.

Doubt and the branching paths of an uncertain future weave a suffocating web around him. There’s little telling what would happen if Hanzo were to face Genji now. What if he’s with that master of his? What if he is with Dr. Ziegler? What if he wants to be alone and is waiting for an apology that Hanzo is not yet poised to give?

He’s saved when Lúcio appears at the service window.

“Hey, Chef, you in here?” he calls.

“Agent Lúcio?”

“There you are. The doc told me to get you.”

You pause, a pout slowly forming on your face. Hanzo has to clench his jaw tight to stop himself from smiling or laughing. “I’m still working, though.”

Lúcio’s voice goes stern. “And I don’t remember giving you the all clear to work.”

“Are you kiddi—” A garble of noises pour out of your mouth as you look for some rebuttal. Finding none, your whole body slumps down in defeat as you grab your empty dish and place it on a spiky grey rack before you shuffle your feet to the doors. You take one forlorn look at the kitchen and meet Hanzo’s eyes. A slight jolt goes through his stomach when your eyes connect.

“Take care of the kitchen, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You wait for him to nod and then you're gone.

A few moments pass and Hanzo breathes a silent sigh of relief, believing himself the winner of what would be an uncomfortable task. He returns to his curry, but something is off. The kitchen feels colder and a little more foreboding as though it just remembered Hanzo is a stranger to this place and should not be here. In part, it may be because Lúcio remains at the service window, leaning a cheek against his palm as he stares right at him.

He can’t imagine Dr. Ziegler asking Lúcio of all people to find you when Athena has eyes on everyone. Hanzo can only deduce that he is here for a different reason.

“Can I help you?” Hanzo doesn’t really mean it, keeping busy and making sure he strikes the sides of the pot extra loud as he stirs, hoping the man would get the hint.

“I was just thinking the chef’s a real workaholic.” Lúcio’s grin and tone is fond.

Hanzo’s inclined to agree especially since Lúcio hasn’t known you for any notable length of time, but he says nothing, stirring just as loud as before. It doesn’t seem to bother Lúcio or deter him in the least.

“You guys ever tell Chef it’s okay to take a break? Maybe let everyone else cook every once in a while?”

“The kitchen is normally off-limits to agents.” Even though it shouldn't be. “This happens to be an exception due to the...current situation.”

“But every day at any hour? And while injured? Man, that’s gotta violate labor laws in every other country.”

It’s an issue that Hanzo himself is all too familiar with. “It is not uncommon in Japan. That is why there is an issue with karoshi.”

“‘Boyfriends?’”

Hanzo looks incredulously at Lúcio who only blinks at him, unaware of his blunder. “That’s kareshi. How did you even—no, karoshi. Death from overwork.”

“Oh, yikes. Well, that’s what I’m here for. At least until tomorrow’s mission. Gotta make sure Chef is taking it easy and not feel so responsible and learn how to enjoy freedom.”

“Freedom?”

There it is again. The idea of freedom. Since coming to Overwatch, he’s finding himself contemplating simple words and concepts. At first, love, and now freedom.

Hanzo half-expects some flippant answer from the DJ, something about free love or going on adventures or something grandiose yet unobtainable except in the imaginations of children. However, his lower lip purses, and he looks genuinely pensive.

“I guess freedom isn’t the right word. It’s…” He waves his other hand in the air as though an answer will materialize. “Liber—lib...liberdade e responsabilidade. Liberty and responsibility. That’s it.”

“Liberty.”

“The freedom to do what you want. Chase your dreams, having the ability to just choose instead of having someone tell you what you should do.”

The answer is unexpected, but he often forgets that Lúcio was a freedom fighter before becoming an international entertainer.

Hanzo could not truly relate to this idea of ‘liberty’. Genji would have. If Hanzo were still the leader of the Shimada clan he may have found Lúcio’s actions and ideology repulsive and disruptive to the status quo. His dreams and wants were determined the moment he was born. Sit above all others and lead the Shimada clan to prosperity. Expand and build upon the current empire. Be better than everyone so no one is able to look down upon you. Chasing after all that was all he ever wanted, and now he might never be able to have it.

And Genji, who chased after this vague idea of ‘freedom’—not knowing the word to express ‘liberty’—at reckless speeds, achieved nothing but a near-death experience.

He laughs bitterly under his breath. “Freedom is never so simple. Or desirable.”

Lúcio rolls his eyes. “Pfft. That’s why it’s liberdade e responsabilidade. You can’t have one without the other. Liberty without respecting your responsibilities and boundaries is chaos. It’s also disrespectful and asking for an ass-whooping. But having responsibilities without enjoying yourself isn’t liberty at all; that’s self-oppression.”

Yes. Genji yearned for this freedom, this sort of ‘liberty’, but never respected any of the responsibilities that came with it, doing things without regard for consequences or the people it would inconvenience. Maybe if Genji understood what Lúcio did at that age, Hanzo wouldn’t have had to cut him down.

But maybe he didn’t listen hard enough or understand well enough, this foreign concept of ‘liberty’. He had always framed it as Genji’s fault—Genji was the reason for his own demise, everything he had done was wrong—but never once had he ever thought that he himself might have faults that led to the incident.

He stops stirring the pot, no longer willing to keep up any pretenses.

Now, there is no collective named the Shimada clan that he or Genji is beholden to. Instead, they are both working for Overwatch. Whatever issues and differences they had—have—they must resolve them if they are able to work together here. Genji has already tried. Now it’s Hanzo’s turn. No matter how painful or embarrassing or awkward it may be, Hanzo must now make the next move.

“Did you come up with these ideas yourself?” Hanzo asks.

Lúcio raises his arms above his head, stretching. “Psh. Nah. I blame my mestra. She beat a lot of it into me. Literally.” He drops his voice to a whisper conspiratorially, making a show of looking around. “Might’ve been a little bad in the roda, so she taught the lesson early.”

Hanzo chuckles. “She must be a wise person.”

Lúcio grins proudly. “That’s ‘cause she carries the lineage of Palmares.” He says it like it means anything to Hanzo. He humors Lúcio anyway, nodding as though he understands.

“I’m back,” you announce breathlessly as you appear beside Lúcio.

“Did the doc let you out that quick?”

You put a finger to your lips, smiling sheepishly. “She was busy with Capt—Agent Ana, so I came back.”

Lúcio tsks. “You should’ve just waited. Or interrupted her.”

“I have to put away the dishes.” You point at the dishwashing machine which at some point had stopped running. Turning to him, you say with a purposeful edge to your voice, “I can handle it from here for a little while. You should go, Hanzo.”

Hanzo sighs deep through his nose, nerves rattling in his chest. He is not ready. He cannot do this. He shouldn’t have to do this. Sweat forms in his palms as his mind begins to again map out scenarios of a future that has not yet happened and how he may save face at every point.

No.

That’s what landed him in this problem in the first place. If he continues to think in the same way as his past self, he will only be repeating the same mistakes. He is not his past self. This should have been taken care of ten years ago, and should not be delayed a moment longer. This would be the ‘right’ thing to do.

Against all his misgivings and the wall of reluctance that has been protecting the status of ‘coward’ in his heart, Hanzo flicks off the fire and waits for you to enter the kitchen before he makes his way out.

As you suspected, it does not take Hanzo long to find Genji sitting atop the highest point of the Watchpoint. While they both developed the love for high places at a young age, Hanzo thinks his reasons for enjoying the height may now be very different from the reasons Genji did.

His jaw is tight and throat dry. There’s a chilly strumming alongside his heartbeat, and his nerves feel too raw. But this is necessary.

“Genji.” He swallows down whatever hesitations and pride he has, throat clicking. The buzzing in his chest consumes his hands. His breaths come quicker, more shallow. “Dinner’s ready.”

It’s not anything. It’s not the right thing to say, but it’s something.

For a while, Genji does not move. Silence holds them both captive, daring one of them to break it first. Hanzo flexes a hand. Then, the lights to his visor flicker on, the glare softer than before. Genji turns his head, watching Hanzo from the corner of his vision.

“Thanks. What is it?”

“...curry rice. With tempura.”

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

Hanzo nods numbly and Genji turns back to look out across the city. Taking that as his cue, Hanzo takes a step back, turns and jumps off the point, hoping the feeling of free-falling will let him outrun the terrifying feeling of moving forward toward an unseen destination.

Chapter 19>>

#my writing #the way to a heart #oh boy this one took forever #this thing went through so many different iterations #my writing process consists of nuking multiple WIPs no matter how many words they have #i have such strong feelings about the tempura pictured in the Overwatch cookbook #I think several thousand words were nuked in the making of this thing #this whole thing has just become a personal contest with myself to see how much shit i can fit into a fic

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bluesunsdusk · 4 years

Text

Sigma in different setting verses and family

Strap yourself in, this will be a long post.

Main/Overwatch

I imagine my Sigma to have had two brothers, both older than him, but both also ultimately shorter. Wouter, the eldest brother died in the Omnic Crisis while he was working for Lucheng Interstellar, which created friction between him and the family, as they felt rather upset at his absence during this very tumultuous time despite the fact that his research served to improve the chances of survival for those back on earth. The other brother, Joris, became a sheep farmer, because he had fanciful ideas about living the farmer lifestyle up north. Siebren was surprised that he manages to get a husband, in all honesty, because he hasn’t a clue who would want to live on a farm far removed from any bus stops and towns.

Anyway, after a while, the tension brought on by Wouter’s death dissipated, since people knew very well that Siebren cares a lot about his family. He just wasn’t as lovey-dovey as some people and showed his care through things like developing protective measures in his lab that can be used down on earth. It wasn’t like anyone would benefit from him buying candy or some shit. Leave that to Joris. Besides, what was he supposed to do if he had stayed on earth? Take the missiles in his brother’s stead?

Sometimes, he would try to assist in looking after the children of the family, despite only being able to use long distance communications.

He travelled away from the family home on many school trips and went into an apartment when he entered college. Being as distracted by/focused on his studies as he was, it could be hard to manage his time between his studies and his family, so he would not visit as often as they would like if he wasn’t reminded to do so because he had a hard time missing people. He had a hard time with emotions in general and was prone to tunnel vision that made him lose track of broader time.

He loves his family, he just doesn’t spend much time with them, and he clearly loves his direct family (brothers, parents) the most. Honestly, he sometimes forgot others and had to put a lot of effort into keeping them in mind early on, especially with the limited energy he had for social interactions. That being said, the children usually did enjoy his company, which made it a lot easier to remember contacting the family, especially for the children who contacted him or asked their parents about him.

If contacted, he would not just ignore a message, unlike some uncles. It could sometimes take him a while to get back at a message, but he would try to get back to it.

Merfolk

Siebren has two siblings. With the lack of a war, his eldest brother is alive, but he nearly died protecting a school of merfolk from a human attack. Humans like to collect merfolk for prestige or to eat. Most merfolk cannot speak the human languages because they spend most of their time underwater and use nonverbal means to communicate. When above water, they also just speak a different language than any of the human languages, though they might have similar enough accents to certain local dialects.

He travels a lot, so he is used to not seeing his family for long stretches of time. That being said, he makes sure to visit them every now and then, and they make the most of it whenever he is by. His eldest brother worries about him a lot, knowing how close he gets to humans in his research.

When he visits, ge brings some items from his research. Sometimes, it’s items that are seen as junk to humans, like broken off parts of ships or parts of marine observation technology.

In an attempt to keep everyone safe, Wouter teaches his children and brothers how to defend themselves. Because Siebren isn’t around often, he has been taught a lot less.

Monster Hunter

In this verse, Sigma has one brother, having lost his eldest brother to a demon attack while Siebren studied different dimensions for the monster hunting order he is a part of. After his brother’s death, he continued his studies, but he was less focused, eventually having an accident that exposed him to the unfiltered energies of a demonic plane.

Anyway, he isolated himself from his family since his brother’s death. He was not at his funeral. Like in his main verse, it put a strain on the relationship between him and his brother, though his sister-in-law understood why he didn’t show up. She was just worried about him.

Like in his main verse, he is used to not seeing his family for long stretches of time, and he is aware that he may be killed in the line of duty. As time passed, he began to contact his sister-in-law more often.

Eldritch

El just... He knows he/his host has a family, and being in this body means he has a bond towards them. In fact, he cares more about them now than he did before. Eldritch just can’t visit them, because he is an eldritch host, and he doesn’t want to do harm to his family or have them do harm to him.

He is upset sometimes because he will never meet them and he is a stranger in his own body now.

Vampire

His family is his vampire clan. Anyone who isn’t in the cult isn’t his family. His brother and everyone else hasn’t heard from him since he went on his little expedition. They don’t even know he’s alive. He doesn’t even think about them, and he doesn’t miss any of them. All he cares about is the melody and sharing his blood with people.

Demon

He has been a demon for so long he doesn’t even remember his family, aside from vague things. Sometimes, he may recall a name or a feeling. He is used to isolation. Sometimes, he does feel lonely, so he seeks out mortal interaction, but then he tires from said mortals.

It’s unpleasant having a need for mortal company when having such limited patience for them. Whenever he attempts to give them a chance, they remind him of why he dislikes them.

Orc Warlock

In this verse, Sigma lives with his family in the tribe and helps raise the children when he has the time to do so. One of his brothers was killed by outsiders during an attack on their tribe before they had relocated, and the other members of the tribe offered their hands in taking care of the children while his partner mourned. Sigma was among them, despite mourning the loss of his brother as well. Back then, he had studied the arcane and partially blamed himself for not being able to fend people off well enough to protect his brother.

As one might imagine, the orc tribes are less about studying abroad or working in space. In fact, he’s spent most of his life with the tribe. It’s big on communal childrearing and exile is seen as the biggest shame an orc can have thrust upon them. The tribe sticks together and they protect each other. An isolated orc is far more prone to being attacked and killed than a tribe is.

Furthermore, he’s not exactly in possession of the privilege a cis white European man with higher education would have.

People fear his kind, though unlike with certain other races, he can understand why one may have a logical reason not to trust an orc, considering Gul’dan and the Horde in a WoW verse.

In a general fantasy setting that so happens to have the fel, which he is in, though, he believes most biases about orcs to be just that. Biases and made up nonsense, such as that all orcs are genetically predisposed to violence and inherently worst at arcane arts shouldn’t be taken as fact, yet so many do it. It doesn’t help that orcs look less than elegant to most other races, what with their sharp teeth and tusks. The hulking mass most have doesn’t help either, nor do the more extreme groups of orc that think people like Sigma should have been drowned at birth for not being born absolutely stacked.

People, especially orcs, don’t really trust mages in some places either, so he’s double fucked.

The tribe has people keeping watch all day and night, in shifts, and has wards around the area to detect and hinder intruders. When away from the tribe, he is on high alert and has trouble relaxing and sleeping. His eyes will open at the slightest noise, unless he’s with someone he trusts. This means someone he trusts to protect both themselves and him, and to not get caught by surprise. He won’t even sleep much better from putting up wards, and demons can draw attention.

Sometimes, the children will visit his shaman tent when he is doing normal shaman things instead of warlock things.

Being an important member of the tribe, he also just worries about how well his people would do without him. They already almost died a few times. He’s had to protect them on numerous occasions and the forest was chosen because it’s far from people who might harm them or try to rope them into a conflict. The demons are bound to his will, too. What would happen if he was gone for so long that they ceased to be bound? Sure, Moira is there and could tame them, but he doesn’t trust her. What if she does something that alters the tribe in a way that can’t be reversed?

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he gets anxious if cut off from the tribe. It’s in contrast with regular Overwatch Sigma, who is fine not being in contact with his family for a bit, because Warlock has hardly ever been separated from his family ever, and there is a huge mentality of loyalty to the tribe He gave his actual soul for the tribe.

That being said, even if he got a letter while away, he would not respond to it immediately if he is occupied. He will make sure it’s safe and will check it almost immediately though.

Dragon Age

The Augur of the Obscure does not remember his family, only small snippets of it, along with blurred and scrambled memories from other parts of his life. He thinks they were close when he was younger. His studies made them drift a little apart.

Naturally, everyone he grew up with is dead. It has been quite a long time ago since the first blight, after all. Perhaps, them being dead is for the best, considering the circumstances.

Verses not included:

Fable 2 and 3

Fable 3: Traitor’s Keep

Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion

Disciple of Order

Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim

Mass Effect ot

Mass Effect Andromeda

#long post #ooc #about sigma

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princessamericachavez · 5 years

Note

Since we have a week off, is there a chance you could do a top 10 Fjorester moments so far?

OH HEY THIS SOUNDS LIKE FUN YES LET’S DO IT

10. “Did you just say I’ve been with your mom?!”

This whole sequence is hilarious. Jester is clearly annoyed that this woman is hitting on Fjord (as he tries to hire company for Kiri iirc) and tries to use her mom as leverage which clearly doesn’t work but...

what really gets me is how appalled Fjord sounds. It’s not “The Ruby of the Seas” it’s not “a famous courtesan” it’s not “a big score for a sailor like me” nope nope in his head this is “Jester’s mom” and given the flirty nature of their relationship he’s clearly Not Happy with the suggestion and Idk why but the way his voice becomes high-pitched with panic is just amazing and it was one of the first moments when my brain went PING he has a crush PING

9. Turning into water

Objectively, everything about that scene was hilarious. Fjord’s tired sigh, “nope, but thank you for that terrifying thought” was so funny and bantery... but what really gets me about this scene is how honestly worried about him Jester is at the beginning, just as he wakes up, and how later she tries to lighten the air between them with a joke...

And you can tell that it works because, despite Fjord’s initial discomfort, he turns it around and he gives her a wink and a smooth line and Jester just MELTS and it really just encapsulates so much about their friendship and dynamic and this was like episode 4 or smth

8. Post-Plank King talk

So this scene is pretty good already as a vulnerable and honest talk between them but also I like it for a few particular reasons. Firstly, the context. During the pirate arc, Fjord and Jester had some issues mostly because of Avantika, and Jester was starting to second-guess just how well she knew Fjord and he was pulling back from everyone under the pressures of leading... so to see her seek him out and just ask if he’s okay and how he is feeling was a wonderful thing for both of them. Also, I love how Fjord chose to open up to her about his conflicted feelings towards Vandran and how the whole thing hurt him. It’s just SO RARE to see him be this honest about his insecurities, and it really goes to show how much he trusts Jester. I also like that she mentions the accent thing. For us, as an audience, it’s pretty indicative that the person Jester thought she knew, actually is the real Fjord. That she has known him the best from the start and kept his secrets for him because they trust each other so much.

I also love the ending so so so much? Jester mentioning his growing tusks was such a soft little thing, and Fjord in turn acknowledging how much she supports him and thanking her for keeping his secrets was so sweet.

Plus, how to forget that perfect romcom ending where they both awkwardly pretend they have something else to do? PEAK SLOW BURN ROMANCE I TELL YOU.

7. Wursh

So this is two separate things, technically. First, their first meeting and Jester obviously noticing Fjord’s discomfort and insecurities and rushing to try to cheer him up after the talk. Jester is super perceptive, and she knows Fjord better than anyone, so I really appreciate that she didn’t just notice, she went out of her way to try to address it with him.

Also, though, the second time when she low-key threatens Wursh and makes sure he’s being nice to Fjord feels my heart with joy. Anyone who thinks Jester’s feelings for Fjord are shallow or performative is missing the point that she’s doing these things in private. He has no idea. She’s doing this out of love and selflessness, just checking in on him and making sure that he’s not going to be hurt by anyone else. And the way she TALKS about him, how gentle she sounds when talking about his insecurities and how she tells wursh that she knows he has a good heart I just- dfljañdlfja

6. Meeting the Ruby

I love so many things about this meeting omg. Firstly, that after watching Marion Lavorre aka the most famed and hot and expensive performer and courtesan in the Coast —at least— Fjord’s first reaction is “Hey, Jester, would you like to do that?” Like he has full faith she totally could do that and even when she voices certain self-doubts and Beau reassures her that she’s pretty and graceful, his contribution is “your singing voice is nice” as if the only thing that could stop Jester from reaching those heights was singing because she’s beautiful to his eyes.

Further proof? This boy, meeting the Ruby of the Seas, again, most beautiful and sensual woman, and his reaction is “I see where Jester got her good looks from” like, damn son, slow down! And Marion, bless her, all flirty but also perceptive being like “i can see you care about my daughter, do you watch over her?” and nearly making him break down right there, like Marion is part of the We Been Knew club.

And AFTER though, Fjord who has all this issues with family and who longs to find them but also dreads it, watching Jester (right after Caleb pointed out that her cheerfulness is an act) and making a point to ASK if she’s okay, “how are you feeling? do you want to have a drink? a walk? a talk?” this boy always going out of his way to make sure she feels okay and making sure they fix whatever is troubling her it’s just peak soft

5.The Tree Dive

Okay so what can I say about this that i haven’t yelled about yet? Travis “No Romance” Willingham giving ups PEAK ROMCOM DRAMATIC MOMENTS that take our breath away? Check. Fjord who just recently had an epiphany as to HOW MUCH Jester means to him and how her unwavering support is the one thing he can lean on, freaking LEAPING after her when she falls off the tree? The fact that there were ZERO seconds of hesitation between her falling and his jump? Feather fall giving them one quiet floaty yaoi moment where they hold hand and look at each other right before he booms them back up? How about Jester’s shocked and scared “Fjord, you-“ once they are back up, like she just CAN’T BELIEVE what he did for her?? AND THEN THE BOY USES HIS LAST SPELLSLOT JUST TO GIVE HER A BOOST WHEN SHE STARTS TO PANIC?!

IT’S FINE IT’S FINE I DIDN’T NEED MY HEART ANYWAY

4. The Second Temple

This one is, like, especially interesting when you consider the context, right? Like, it’s right after the blue dragon fight and Fjord just spent the whole past day trying to patch things up with Jester while she pulls away… and then they are here and he’s ready to go through with this and Jester is just SO SCARED FOR HIM. She doesn’t want to leave him behind, and he KNOWS that.

The way she just sits down to talk to her god, her best friend in the world, and ask him to look after him for her just MELTS MY HEART. And you can see it melts Fjord’s too. I mean, here is a boy who grew up all alone, with no one to help him or stand up for him, who deeply believes that no one in the world would possibly care about his problems, and then there’s this girl who is so worried about him, literally praying for him. And like, just the moment when he sits next to her and he’s so soft and touched by her worry. “Jester, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. I appreciate the sentiment.” THIS IS PRETTY MUCH A STAR WARS CLASSIC “I KNOW” OKAY??’ and her quiet “i really hope he does help you” “me too”

*banging pots and pans* TRAVELER SHOW TF UP FOR YOUR GIRL AND HELP FJORD OKAY WILD MAMA BEAT U TO IT BUT YOU GOTTA STEP UP

And the last part is just so cute, like, “just, don’t turn evil to me?” “Or anyone else? just you” listen listen listen if we ever talk dark au’s this is basically the foundation, “fuck the world but i can’t lose you”

3. Tusk Talk

There’s so much to appreciate about this talk, especially with Fjord being so open and vulnerable about his past, but I’m super soft about how Jester chooses to reassure him. “I think you would look good either way, Fjord” because she likes him and not just about his body, it’s about who he IS. And you can tell how much her opinion matters to him by the way he hyper focus on Jester after that comment. Everyone else keeps talking and he’s just like “you’re saying I should grow them back?” and she just reassures him again that it doesn’t matter to her.

And he does something that is still so impactful to the narrative about 50 episodes later: he gives her control, he trusts her enough to overwatch him getting over his worst childhood trauma, and in that moment he makes himself vulnerable in a way he never has before. And she takes that trust and honors it, and she comments on his tusks now and then, she makes them a mark of pride in her tattoos, she reassures him whenever those insecurities resurface. It’s such a meaningful thing that he has chosen to share with her, I don’t think I’ll ever be over it.

2. Underwater Kiss

Again, what can I say that I haven’t yelled about before? Fjord, who just tried to drown Avantika btw, sees Jester drowning right before of him and this protective self-sacrificial boy just grabs her by the face and KISSES HER. Travis used those words exactly, hell he specifically referenced The Shape of Water. And then he gives her all of his air. HE JUST DOES THAT.

He could’ve done so many other things?! Taken the key from her? Pulled her to the entrance with his double swimming speed? AND INSTEAD HE DID THAT

AND THEY HAVEN’T FREAKING TALKED ABOUT IT

ALSO JESTER’S FIRST KISS??? AND HOW JUST ROMANTIC AND AESTHETIC AND EXCITING IT IS?

when i tell you my heart can’t take it

1. Jellyfish Talk

Of course, of course, this is the TOP Forester moment. I mean. How could it not be? The romantic light, the heart to heart, Jester first and foremost checking on how Fjord is feeling with his mission and then carefully bringing up her negative feelings, for the first time, willingly, because she trusts him so much. And Fjord, who just had Caleb open his eyes about Jester hiding her emotions, being so tentative around her, so careful. Fjord being vulnerable too, opening up about his own negative emotions, give and take, so that she will feel better opening up. Fjord being so soft and reassuring for her, coming up with crazy plans to make her laugh and cheer her up. THE SOFTNESS with which he says “Don’t be sad. Your mama is pretty proud of you, that much is clear.” He’s so gentleeeee

And listen listen listen this moment is also key because of how much it affected what came next. Like, Avantika comes and muddles everything up, but this talk lingers between them as a moment of sincerity before all the lies, and then, as soon as they move on from this hell, Fjord’s main priority is getting Jester back to her mom, making sure Jester is okay, trying to return to that point. It takes them a while, of course, but you can tell this moment is a strong foundation for them to find their way back to each other.

Because in this moment, in the ship surrounded by beauty, they saw each other without masks.

#fjorester #fjord #jester lavorre #critical role #sofia's nonsense

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aqours-remade · 6 years

Text

Thoughts on Pillowfort so far.

I’ll do more posts when the site finally stops crapping all over the bed and works but here’s my analysis so far.

I won’t lie, I discovered tumblr when I was 18 specifically for RPing, so that does to an extent make up a big aspect of my thoughts, and I want to share it with both people who intend to be regular users and roleplayers in general.

Good aspects of pillowfort:

Community system is a feature not given by tumblr or twitter, and in an era where forums are becoming more of a niche if this takes off you’ll be able to experience forum-based interaction in addition to everything else.

Community system also gives a place to users who don’t like interacting with people heavily and so publicly like twitter and tumblr a place to use the site even if their blog itself is relatively untouched.

When you delete an OP post it deletes it from everyone else’s blog too. So if something goes bad with a post or you get embarrassed, blam! Its gone everywhere. Of course, this also means we might lose some good posts now and then...

Able to make reblogs and stuff private like on twitter.

Pillowfort’s TOS protects your intellectual property as an artist.

Built-in blocklist.

You can export your blog to your new pillowfort account.

ToS regarding harassing, callouts, mob mentality and the like specifically exists to oppress kinblr for the most part is very fair and reasonable and is specifically designed to keep the site relatively drama-free and actively punishing those who create lots of problems. People who do not like the drama associated with this website or the feeling of screwing up will be relieved by that.

When it works, the actual system for styling your post basically already has absolutely everything you could already want:

Bad aspects of pillowfort:

THE SITE DOESN’T FUCKING WORK YET YOU CAN’T USE THE WEBSITE IN ITS CURRENT STATE WITHOUT IT CRAPPING OUT EVERY 10 SECONDS.

I’m not saying that to be sarcastic or anything I genuinely cannot recommend the site in its current state until pillowfort’s team can stabilize the servers. As it is I can only recommend it if you’re determined to snag a good canon url now. It has a small anime community (rn its mostly Marvel) and not too much of a gaming community yet so... if it does take off now’s your chance to snag one-word name urls and just kinda bide your time until its actually functioning, that’s certainly an idea. I’m very happy I was able to get the dream url there that I wasn’t able to get here... but with the site Error 500ing me so much I can’t really use it.

We‘re still not 100% what the NSFW situation actually is, as the TOS is vague and there are conflicting beliefs about what .io’s policy on NSFW actually is. If you’re coming SPECIFICALLY because of the NSFW ban that’s going to be implemented I would encourage you to wait until we have 100% confirmation. Personally I like it already enough even if tumblr were to reverse the situation I think I’d use this place. I think Pillowfort really needs to come clear about this very soon, because if they don’t and people learn that “oh we can’t host NSFW after all,” despite claiming it a lot of people are gonna want their money back or at least wait until its free to use. The general belief is that as long as you don’t post NSFW in tags that doesn’t belong (like porn in #gardening) then it should be fine... so they say. We really need pillowfort to address people’s concerns, even though I think it’ll be fine, as this is a major reason why people are considering the move. The staff of pillowfort have said on twitter that they are in the process of finding a new domain. As such, as of this moment, pillowfort does not allow for nsfw. However, it will in the future. The best thing to do is be patient until then, I think the goods outweight hte bads.

Even though it’ll go away in 2019 you kinda. Gotta pay to use it right now. That’s kind of a thing.

No sideblog feature nor do I believe its planned, but I do believe the pillowfort team wants a system like the twitter app to quickly switch between full blogs.

While some people might consider this a plus, being able to add onto a post with text or photos has been a staple of both tumblr and twitter since the beginning. I see this changing as a major factor of whether or not people make the big move.

MCU, Detroit Become Human, Supernatural, and apparently hockey (and maybe Overwatch?) are the only big fandoms right now. While that already appeals to a lot of people, those of us into anime and the like have relatively few blogs from what we’ve seen. While this might change as time goes on, at least for the time being, anime and video game bloggers aren’t gonna have a lot for us. On the other hand, though? This also gives you the opportunity to make your claim as a fandom content creator.

Inability to make Communities private (right now) leaves that at potential risks of being raided.

(Minor) No custom themes it looks like, but that might be fore the better in the same vain? In your blog desc you can still link to other sites so now might be a good time to get used to listography instead of relying on custom links. To an extent you can control the colors of your blog though. Some people who hate eye-strainy themes on here or autodirect themes might actually find this a plus.

(Minor/Niche) Blogs themselves are bad for RPing if you’re into that. The forums however seem to provide an adequate place for forum-based RPing. But this would also make forum administrators responsible for upholding standards like “not jumping into other people’s RPs” and basic RP etiquette we have here. And forum-based rping would make finding RP partners outside of tags like #anime rp, #indie rp, etc to find people’s promos easier, depending on which becomes more popular. Even if you can add onto posts if you can’t trim the posts like we can on here (ty x-kit) it’d result in extremely long threads that would clog the dashboard significantly. I personally HIGHLY doubt the ability to edit other people’s posts or cut out replies will ever be a thing, so chances are RPing on pillowfort are gonna be Community-oriented and not on dash. At most people will make IC posts meant to be replied to and the like and headcanon memes while keeping actually threading in Communities, which will very well rely on the Community itself to be Not Shit.

Lacks instant messaging in its current state.

Despite the fact the bad really outweighs the good... I liked what little I could do. It genuinely feels like the only “true” tumblr alternative out there, even though its in beta. I just can’t really say much until the servers stabilize. This website is still in beta, so of course it has a lot of issues to work out, and of course it doesn’t have all the features this 11+ year old website has. I’m just stating these so people who are making the move who used this as their main website are aware of that.

I’m very excited to see this website grow, though!

#pillowfort #pillowfort.io #indie roleplay #indie rp #i'm just tagging it so ppl in tags see my opinions in general sda;lkjsf #bc a lot of people are waiting #mari explores pillowfort

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parkerpup · 6 years

Text

Hero 29 Rant & Theory

Alright so with Blizzcon coming up I wanted to get my two cents out there about who I think the next hero is, largely because I don't believe many people are considering any other candidates other than the Junkertown Queen. Who exactly am I talking about? This guy.

So in the early days of Overwatch I saw this guy pop up in the cinematic trailer among various other heroes. I always remembered him because I liked his design in that he seemed cyborg-esque like Genji but a bit messier. While he never became a hero I always kept him in the back of my mind hoping he would become a hero one day to little avail.

At least UNTIL recently, more specifically Overwatch Retribution.

That's right! I think this guy is supposed to be Antonio. I think Antonio is the next hero. But before I can explain why, first we gotta address the obvious. Could that cyborg really be Antonio? Well lets look at what we know.

We know that for a while Antonio was a member of Talon who specialized in smuggling weapons, on top of being responsible for the bombings at several Overwatch bases. To do this he sent people with robotic appendages that could store bombs yet still appear human/normal. Which by the way is an INCREDIBLY similar concept to the man in the first image. So it would stand to reason that if Antonio was behind the bombings and this was one of his goons, he would have access to this kind of technology. We could argue that this woman's cybernetics could come from another source (Doomfist or Overwatch) but Doomfist was more about prosthetics that functioned normally and Overwatch was struggling to put Genji back together with all of their technology.

So this feels unique to this girl and to an extent Antonio. So it wouldn't be too farfetched to say that Antonio would have abilities similar to this since his goon is capable of it. I mean if you're gonna make tech like that why wouldn't you use it as well? It's like how Symmetra can control light energy, therefore her boss Sanjay should be able to as well because he's her boss and they both work for Vishkar.

But then we actually look at Antonio and find some similarities to him and the cyborg guy. Both are big, stocky dudes, each with a large triangle nose and similar hair (although one being a bit messier). They may even have the same shoes (yes I've gone that deep don't judge me).

Besides the similarities we see here there's still a lot of things weird about the guy. He has copper wires on his head which could indicate some kind of cybernetic enhancement, and through some digging it looks like he may have a metal plate on the back of his neck? If these two were the same guy that could be where the tubes would connect to the back of the head but that's getting ahead of ourselves.

Also note the metal plating on the cyborg guy. He has a cybernetic eye as well as a metal jaw and metal plating on his chest. This is peculiar if you consider the fact that Antonio was shot point blank in the face with a shotgun. So these metal plates would coincide with the injuries Antonio would've had when shot.

Now at this point you may have noticed we're kinda dancing around the main issue, being that Antonio supposedly died in the Retribution event. While it's true we never actually see his body, this isn't exactly an uncommon scenario in the Overwatch universe. I mean let's be honest how many characters were supposed to be dead but came back? Solider 76, Reaper, Genji, Ana and literally anybody Mercy rezs in-game.

Jokes aside, we've seen this happen before. A character 'dies' only for them to come back with a new identity and new powers, revealing they faked their death and boom you have a new hero to play as. While it's true a shotgun to the face is pretty brutal on top a few stories fall, keep in mind Ana was sniped in the face and Genji survived with a quarter left of his body after fighting Hanzo (WHOS AN ARCHER LIKE HOWD THAT EVEN HAPPEN) and STILL survived. Basically, this wouldn't be the craziest story and it's been made pretty clear that death in the Overwatch world doesn't necessarily count out the character.

From another perspective, it would actually make sense gameplay-wise why Antonio would be added.

He has a unique, solid bodytype compared to the other characters, which game devs strive for so you don't get confused as to who is who in a fight. It's just part of good character design. Next we've yet to have anybody from Rialto join the game. Doing this would provide a character from a unique location that bonuses as a map which Blizzard is VERY much about. It's about their whole concept of making Overwatch feel inclusive. To add to that, we also haven't had a male character in quite some time (unless you count the hamster). Granted there's nothing really wrong with that! As a female myself I think it's amazing to have so many strong female characters in a game and I know that representation is very important to some people. I'm merely just stating a fact.

Also note that, judging by Antonio's build, he could be a new tank or damage character if he joined. Maybe some kind of hybrid in between like how Brigitte is a support/tank hybrid. This is a character type people have been wanting for a while and honestly it would just be nice to get another tank since we have so many damage characters.

Also take note that the cyborg guy mentioned before has some yellow tubes that connect to the back of his head. Now applying game logic could imply that if Antonio (assuming it's him) was in game he would have some kind of self-healing ability. This is because video games kinda color code things specifically so you know what's what and what you're doing. The color yellow in Overwatch always refers to healing where as purple refers to being anti'ed or being hurt more. This would be perfect for an aggressive tank character like Roadhog, or even damage characters like Bastion and Soldier 76.

To add the nail in the coffin, you also have to think about how Blizzard operates and how the characters are made.

Any character that's added to the game is completely different from the others. They all have their own unique themes, functions and looks. Blizzard tries to be very diverse with their characters as is needed for good character design and for good gameplay. Here's an example to illustrate what I'm talking about.

Both Dva and Hammond are mech characters. Yet despite falling in the same wheelhouse, both look and function completely different. They move, talk, and act differently and don't look the least bit similar. This goes for the omnic characters as well. If Blizzard adds an omnic character, they're not just gonna add an omnic that looks like Zenyatta but can actually stand. Instead they add a centaur robot with horns, a machine gun, mini gravitons and a shield aka Orisa. This is an important fact because this distinctly limits the options of potential heroes.

Sanjay's powers would likely be too similar to Symmetra even if he was a tank (same light energy theme).

Maximillion is very cool and does seem slightly possible but his differences aren't drastic enough from Zenyatta to be considered a sure in for a hero.

And as much as I would love to see another member from the mecha squad be added into the game I think they'd just be too similar to Dva. Yes their mechs would likely have different abilities but that's not quite enough. They need to be completely and entirely different, like Hammond different. Otherwise they'd just be considered "Dva, but they can do this instead of this." (which is a shame they seem really cool).

This distinctly drops the candidates to what are in my opinion three different characters: Antonio, the Junkertown Queen, or some other character we've completely forgotten about (a Moira situation basically).

To tell you the truth, I really do think the queen could be a playable character at some point. She's highly requested and passes all the other checkpoints despite being another character from Junkertown. But let me ask you this: what would shock people more at Blizzcon? The queen or somebody else?

Think back to the reveals of Moira and Brigitte, one being a highly requested character and the other completely unheard of. Now lore-wise Brigitte didn't really offer much. We kinda already new her story through comics and other characters, so the main satisfaction was in her being added in general. Now consider Moira, who COMPLETELY blindsided us, revealed new lore about how Gabriel became Reaper, gave more insight into Blackwatch and drove the fandom wild.

Now imagine if those spots had been switched, if Brigitte was revealed before Moira. Almost seems predictable doesn't it? A hero everybody had been asking for, while only offering a little bit of lore if any. Doesn't seem as exciting does it?

That's why I don't think the Junkertown Queen is hero 29. It's too predictable and it wouldn't offer a whole lot to the lore. While someone like Antonio, who has basically been forgotten on the account of him being 'dead' would SHOCK everyone, and could possibly add more lore to Talon or some new evil organization he could've been working on inbewteen Retribution and now. Even if it's not Antonio, whoever is the next hero is going to be a blindsider like Moira.

At the end of the day, it just comes down to facts. The fact that this concept of human-esque cybernetics has been around since THE VERY BEGINNING, and that said concept character looks like a guy ASSOCIATED WITH SAID TECHNOLOGY, just blows my mind and I'm just putting this out there so that people can see it too. If it's wrong that's fine, I just feel like people are missing this and I wanted people to consider this too.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk :)

#overwatch #blizzcon #hero 29 #Antonio #junkertown queen #theory #rant

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airconditionedgirl · 6 years

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Top 15 Smash Bros Newcomers Wishlist!

Okay, I do have some stuff to stay about and around the actual list, but I know you guys don’t care about all that boring stuff, so LIST FIRST!!!

15) Tracer (Overwatch) – I don’t play Overwatch, and I honestly think it’s influence on the games industry has been a net negative, something something loot boxes. But the fact remains that Overwatch is really, friggin popular, and Tracer is really friggin popular in it. She seems like a good character, and would probably work well in Smash. Plus, it would be really cool to have an openly gay character in the game.

14) Sora (Kingdom Hearts) – Sora is great, and his fighting style would be unique among the sword fighters in Smash. And considering the legacy of Kingdom Hearts as a franchise, and the upcoming #3, it seems like the perfect time to add him.

13) The TMNT (TMNT) – Though not originating in video games, these four were practically made for them, with so many classic and awesome games being made in their image. Each turtle could be an alt costume character, they’d all have they’re own specials, their Final Smash would unite them, do I even need to say anything else?

12) Steve/Alex (Minecraft) – But ONLY if they walk in the same stiff, rigid way that they do in the game! That would be both fitting, and hilarious.

11) Ribbon Girl (Arms) – I honestly can’t think of a way for them to easily incorporate her moves without making her crazy OP, but it could happen! Anyway, she’s on the list pretty much because I think she would be super fun to use.

10) Dixie Kong (DKC) – I’m not personally a big fan of DKC, but I know a lot of people who are, and who are fans of her in particular. So yeah, doeet Nintendo!

9) The Boy & the Blob (A Boy and His Blob) – The NES game would qualify it for a deep cut Nintendo lore pick, the reboot on the Wii was really friggin good, and these guys would provide a unique spin on the Two In One Fighter. Also, if this did happen, it would be absolutely ESSENTIAL that the Down B be a hug, in homage to the hug button in the Wii game. If it was the Down B, it could increase attack power briefly! Or, failing that, it could be a taunt?

8) Captain N (Captain N: The Game Master) – Yet another deep cut Nintendo lore character! This guy almost seems like he was made for Smash. His neutral B would be the Zapper, his other moves could be based on NES sprites, it would be a really cool nostalgia trip, just, ugh, so awesome. They could even build him from the ground up to be one big homage to classic NES stuff, like how Pac-Man represents a lot of arcade era Namco Bandai games!

7) Rygar (Rygar) – My last deep cut Nintendo character, but this one is the most justified out of the three, I feel. Rygar was one of the earliest NES games, it was really cool, and his yo yo shield thing would make for a really unique weapon!

6) Team Rocket (Pokemon) – Not super into Pokemon, but this seems like an obvious choice. If it were up to me, I’d go with Jessie and James as the trainers, but their game counterparts would work fine. As to the actual Pokemon they’d be using, I honestly have no idea.

5) Shovel Knight (Shovel Knight) – Once again, hella obvious. He should just be in Smash. He’d be awesome, he’d have so many cool moves, it would be awesome for the fans of Shovel Knight, it just needs to happen. The only real question here is whether Shield Knight should be included here, and them be a Two In One Fighter. The only reason why I didn’t put her on the list alongside him is because I’m honestly not sure how that would work, mechanically.

4) Impa (Zelda) -I just really want her in Smash. I honestly don’t care if they use her Ocarina of TIme, Skyward Sword or Hyrule Warriors designs. I just really love Zelda, and she would just be really, really cool.

3) Midna + Wolf Link (Zelda) – SO FRIGGIN COOL!!!!

2) Amaterasu (Okami) – Okami was a really, really good game, and Ammy in Smash would be perfect. I close my eyes, and I can picture her moves, her zipping across the stage, her barking at the other characters. And a lot of her moves in Okami could be put directly into the game!

1) Proto Man (Megaman) – I love Megaman so much. It really was amazing for me to see him in Smash, and the way they made him so accurate to the games, even though it clashed with the usual design philosophy of other characters in the Smash? It seemed too good to be true. Now, if they could just do exactly that, but with Rock's rival? That would be PERFECT! Honestly, I would be fine with him having the exact same Robot Master powers as Megaman, but there’s one thing I would definitely have to insist one, if I had any say in the matter: Proto Man is often represented as being more powerful than Megaman, but more fragile. So maybe increase his damage output while also making him lighter to represent that? Idk, but either way, I just really want this character in Smash.

Okay, first thing’s first. Captain N and the Turtles aren’t video game characters by design, and Smash Brothers has always only had video game characters. And yes, that is true, but it doesn’t have to STAY true.

Even if they’re not originally video game characters, they are inextricably tied to video games, by the premise of the Captain N cartoon, and by the fact that the Turtles have had a LOT of good games. Turtles In Time for the arcades and the SNES is considered by many to be one of the best Beat Em Ups of all time. So by the standard of being connected to video games, and to Nintendo’s golden age, they both qualify.

Moreover, I do think that Smash branching out from video game characters as candidates is necessary for the franchise to continue, if it does so after Ultimate, just as they branched out from first party characters.

Also, you may have noticed that there are several characters that are not on this list, being King K Rool, Banjo-Kazooie, Crash Bandicoot and Waluigi. That’s because I personally really don’t care about these characters. And if they did get added, I probably wouldn’t play them, just like probably never going to touch Ridley.

On the flip side of that coin, there were several characters who I REEEEEEALY want to be in Smash Brothers, but I refrained from adding them because they would either be impossible, for not especially viable. And I didn’t want to make this list a waste of everyone’s time by making it 100% self serving. Two of these characters include Fi, from Zelda, and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. I want to close off this post by saying that, even though these characters being in Smash would make my day, I honestly wouldn’t mind if none of them made it. I everything I could have hoped and more has been delivered in Smash Ultimate. I am so excited to play it, and I have such respect for Sakurai and crew, because it is very clear to me that there is so much love going into this game. December can’t come fast enough! @supersmashbroscentral

#sorry it turned into an essay by the end of it!

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dekiiru · 6 years

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okay sorry it took so long for me to write and post this, but im home now and in the silence to be able to gather my thoughts and the peace to be able to write them down. a lot of this is me working through my own thoughts as i write it so im sorry its so long, but im still a little bit confused on how to feel about this, largely, i think, due to shock.

i had no clue about almost any of the stuff julie did or said to people. i knew of the miles thing to some extent (i didnt know why miles was uncomfortable with him, i only knew about the aftereffects) and i knew about the vague story surrounding why maddy, jay and marina didnt like him, although i had never actually spoken to them before.

my initial reaction to the callout was to get defensive, because that was someone i considered my friend and although somewhere i think i knew or had some inkling that he was like this, i chalked it up to mistakes and people jealous of his popularity because i wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. but the more i read the callout (i never finished it, partially because i had to take screencaps of the posts and painstakingly slowly read through them because the nature of my work makes it very difficult to focus on things for more than a few seconds at a time and partially because by the time i stopped, i had already made my decision regarding him) the more i realized that defending his actions isnt something i can, should, or would do.

and regarding the “sc/hool sho/oter” post, i live in america. in fact, i lived about 5-15 minutes away from where one of these sc/hool sho/otings happened (i lived for several years in roseburg, oregon, and the sh/ooting at u.c.c. happened a year or two after i moved to where i live now). i knew people who went there. i knew one person who died. the day it happened i broke down in the middle of marching band because i had no idea whether or not the friends i knew for three years were alive or dead and that fucking terrified me. and when it happened, i told julie over discord (because i was working when i heard about it) that i did not condone his actions or words and that it was wrong of him to say, but (and i still stand by this), it is not the place of anyone who was not even indirectly affected by a shooting to decide whether or not someone is worthy of redemption. no, julie should not have reblogged that post and while it is totally fine for you to be uncomfortable to interact with him because of it, i think only people who have been directly affected by sc/hool shoo/tings have the right to decide if he is worthy of forgiveness - for that. the rest of it is a different matter.

a few months ago i actually went through this with someone else. i wrote a callout post for daisy, a mercy blog in the overwatch fandom who deleted shortly after i wrote it. (if any of you want to see that callout, let me know and ill send it to you. i will admit here and now that there was something i shouldnt have added in there, but it was added with good intentions, but regardless, daisy’s callout really has nothing to do with the situation with julie and nothing to do with what is happening now. shes gone. im just making a connection to this situation.) it was a very similar situation; manipulation, hypocrisy, turning people against others, saving face and caring more about reputation than anything else. and while i was absolutely terrified of daisy’s situation happening again, where i get really really close with someone and then find out they manipulated the fuck out of me, i was also scared to lose friends, and i think thats a big part of why i wanted so badly to match or whatever, because i really really really wanted a place to belong, where i felt special and unique and yet part of a group and in the end that really fucked me over and made me blind to what was happening. i defended him (albeit not for long, ive only spoken to him for a few months now) for things i shouldnt have defended him for because i was terrified of losing people and im so sorry about that.

as for the callout itself: i will say that i do think there are two sides to every story. im not saying julie is a victim in this or that he is to be sympathized with, because at the end of the day, he hurt a lot of people and its good that the word was spread before more people got hurt. i dont agree that it is “a cis persons responsibility to make sure people know they are cis” because that kind of mindset will only lead to a witch hunt, but im not going to make a fuss about this because i know some other genderqueer people are more uncomfortable about cis people than i am and at the end of the day that is a personal opinion. i think some of the callout was worded with bias which probably, in some situations, did slightly twist the truth, ONLY because it is a callout and it is really difficult not to twist the truth in them even when they are written as formally as possible, HOWEVER while most of the time i disregard callouts (because a lot of them are written entirely based on personal bias because someone doesnt like someone else rather than on an actual need for people to be warned), this one was written very eloquently and very well. as someone who has been on that side of things, im really really proud of the people who contributed to it, especially those that werent afraid of giving their names out, because that is a really really hard thing to do, especially when its for someone really popular. i remember when i wrote one for daisy, i was almost sick to my stomach with the anxiety, and really pleasantly surprised when it was received much better than i expected. i am really proud of you guys, and thank you for letting me and everyone else know the truth of what happened.

however, that callout was not an attack, nor was it intended to be, and by people sending julie hate, youre just making the situation worse. i believe, in my personal opinion, that the best thing to do is to block and move on. we can come together as a community, and while julies actions wont go away, hopefully we can heal and understand from them. and i really want to thank manny for that post, because similarly to daisy, it is the people closest to the person in question who are left most in the dark. as julies friend, i had no idea about almost anything that was there and honestly, im glad now that i do. thank you for understanding that the people who associated with him are not always aware of what he did.

anyway this is really disorganized and im sorry, thats just my thoughts on the matter (as much as i can think anyway), and i hope it makes some sort of sense. i will be hardblocking julie on all of my blogs and changing the urls to both my izuku blog and my ouma blog and my icon for this blog. if you choose to continue to interact with julie, thats on you and i wont reprimand you, block you or unfollow you for it. please do not associate me with him anymore, though, add me to any groups anywhere with him, or tag me and him in the same posts.

and, as i said before, because i really want to get this point across, if you are uncomfortable with me because i interacted with him so much and so intimately and wish to hard or softblock or unfollow me, that is perfectly fine and i understand completely. i only ask if you softblock me that you let me know so that i dont accidentally follow you again, because i dont want to make anyone uncomfortable with my presence.

#⥺ ⥼ ❛ toes ? toes ? toes ? t ( ooc. )#long post //

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kerfufflewatch · 7 years

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Touch, pt. 1

let’s do a ficlet or two about Hanzo being absolutely touch-starved because I relate to that too much because I need more of this

–

Hanzo has never been the kind of person to seek out, or even particularly enjoy, touching or being touched. Even when he was young, though he was conditioned into seeking the approval of his family elders at all times, he had never particularly craved their physical affection. He roughhoused with Genji in the way siblings did, and occasionally received a pat on the head from his father when he was small enough for it, and that was, for the most part, satisfactory. His family approved of him being distant and untouchable.

That mild aversion to touch followed him into adulthood. Other than the same romantic and sexual experimentations that nearly all teenagers gothrough, he has consistently been unbothered. (It doesn’t help that, nowadays, most of the people to get within touching distance are trying to murder him.)

He doesn’t think of himself as touch-starved in any manner–until he meets Jesse McCree.

–

The thing with Overwatch is this: almost everyone knows each other, and therefore they are all comfortable in being close to each other.

Hanzo has never had the opportunity to work as part of a team. Any alliances he forged were entirely business, conducted with cold efficiency and ended as soon as they outlived their usefulness. He learns quickly that with Overwatch, that is not the case at all–every success or cause for celebration is met with a high-five, a slap on the shoulder, a friendly embrace.

They all learn just as quickly that he will not tolerate such behavior.

Genji reprimands him for rebuffing the team. Hanzo feels a twinge of guilt; he is, after all, a barely-tolerated guest at the Watchpoint. But becoming friendly with the team does not necessarily mean allowing them to hug him every other minute, so he dismisses it entirely.

–

There is one, though, he doesn’t mind so much, and that is McCree.

He works with McCree frequently in the first few months of his stay, and they become fast friends despite Hanzo’s initial determination to avoid all such things. He likes McCree’s casual company, and is surprisingly relieved to find a kindred spirit amongst the diverse team: another man still hunted by his demons and seeking to redeem himself, someone who knows that there is no truly escaping the past. Through McCree, Hanzo becomes slightly more open to the rest of the team, and even finds himself enjoying their company, over time.

And McCree is not an actively touchy person either, it seems–he accepts congratulatory pats on the back, hugs a friend when they initiate it, but doesn’t seem to seek it out. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another, but Hanzo nonetheless appreciates it. Their contact is limited to whatever brief touches are required of working together in the field and, occasionally, handing each other bottles of beer. It suits Hanzo just fine.

–

Until it becomes a problem.

Hanzo will admit–privately, to himself, when he is certain nobody else can somehow divine his thoughts and Genji is nowhere nearby–that he has always considered McCree handsome. It’s an annoying fact, but a manageable one. He has no intention to pursue anyone, has not even thought of attempting it in over ten years, and there is little joy for him in short flings.

The problem arises on a perfectly average afternoon. McCree is cleaning his gun, and Hanzo has decided to perform some maintenance on his bow. They work angled across from each other at the same table in comfortable silence. McCree says, without looking up, “Hand me that bottle there?” and holds out his hand.

Hanzo glances over. There is a small, half-empty bottle of cleaning fluid somehow closer to him than McCree. Hanzo presses it into McCree’s palm without thinking much of it.

McCree, still not looking, absently closes his hand around Hanzo’s instead of the bottle.

The first thing Hanzo notices is that McCree is warm, surprisingly so. There is a strength to his grip, too, and rough calluses on his palm and fingers.

It lasts a fraction of a second at most. Hanzo quietly extracts his hand. McCree glances up, says, “Whoops,” and returns to what he was doing.

Hanzo tries to do the same, but his hand feels clumsy on his bow now, as though he can still feel the press of McCree’s fingers around his own. He aches, suddenly and in a way he has never experienced, to reach over and grab McCree’s hand again, to find some reason for them to touch again.

It is at that moment he recognizes the problem.

–

It is a matter of self-control, he decides. He may have feelings for McCree, and he may have random urges to touch, but that does not mean he will give in to them. He will not allow foolish impulses and wants to dictate his behavior and jeopardize his place in Overwatch and his friendship with McCree.

Unfortunately, that means nothing to his stupid heart.

Over the next weeks, Hanzo notices every bit of contact he and McCree make. Almost none of it is intentional, resulting instead from simple proximity and working together. But that doesn’t seem to matter. All it takes is a brush of their fingertips or an accidental bump of their shoulders for Hanzo to lose his focus.

Tiny touches when they pass objects to each other. A pat on the shoulder, a couple of times. McCree grasping his arm when he trips. Nothing is too little; he remembers the touches for hours afterward, phantom warmth still on his skin.

They have a mission, once, where they are discovered by Talon soldiers and forced to hide together, crammed into a tiny broom closet side-by-side. By the time they are free, twenty minutes later, Hanzo wishes he were dead just so he could forget that heady closeness, the warmth of McCree’s body and the softness of his serape and the cloying scent of his cigarillos.

Another time, he simply lies saying he can’t bandage a couple of superficial wounds on his arm after taking a tumble and bruising his shoulder. He could do it, and has taken care of himself after worse, but he doesn’t even have to finish making his excuses before McCree’s hands are on him with bandages and antiseptic, gentle and tender and sure.

He hates himself for becoming such a touch-starved creature, mooning over someone he can’t have. He hates McCree for doing this to him.

–

“You realize he thinks you are just being friendly,” Genji says.

Hanzo grits his teeth, staring out at the sea instead of acknowledging that Genji spoke.

“Or, at least, I think he thinks that. He’s very good at reading people, so I suppose I could be wrong. But not everyone knows what your version of ‘throwing yourself at someone’ looks like.”

“I am not throwing myself at anyone.”

“Well, perhaps not in the traditional sense. But you let him much closer than you do anyone else. It’s rather obvious to me.”

Hanzo does not answer. Genji is silent for a long moment. The gentle whistle of the sea breeze fills the silence.

“You deserve to be happy, brother,” Genji says softly.

“That is not the issue.”

“Is it not?”

This time, Hanzo simply can’t find an answer at all.

–

It only gets worse.

Hanzo’s imagination starts to run wild. Casual touches aren’t enough. He lies in bed at night alone and thinks of what it might be like to have McCree beside him, McCree’s arms around him, McCree’s hands on his body and his mouth on his. He fantasizes so much that he can imagine the scrape of McCree’s beard on his skin, the chap of his lips, the weight of his body draped over his own. Something clenches in his gut, a heat and an ache, painful and pleasant in equal measure every time he allows himself one of these fantasies.

He wants everything. He can have nothing.

He will never have McCree. He reminds himself of this every day, more than once. It doesn’t help.

–

Finally, Hanzo snaps. Angry and ashamed of himself, he endeavors to avoid McCree entirely. Outside of mission-related meetings, he does not speak to McCree. He certainly does not manufacture excuses for them to be close. He must get himself under control, and if isolation is the way to do it, so be it.

McCree catches on in six days.

He corners Hanzo after a mission debriefing, relentlessly following him through the Watchpoint until he stops. “What’s been going on?” McCree asks. “You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

“I’ve been doing no such thing.”

“Bullshit. You practically run screaming out of the room every time you see me.” McCree softens, agitation bleeding into hurt. “I don’t get it, did I do something?”

“It is nothing.”

“Hanzo, I ain’t stupid.”

“Are you certain? You seem incapable of leaving something be when I tell you to.”

McCree clenches his jaw. He looks off to the side somewhere, seeming to deliberate on his next words. Then he says, “Genji told me.”

Hanzo’s stomach drops, but he forces himself to maintain a neutral expression. “Told you what?”

“What this is. Why you’re avoiding me.”

“I cannot imagine what he could have told you that is different from what I–”

The words die in Hanzo’s throat as McCree leans in close. Too close. Hanzo can smell the scent of cigarillo smoke clinging to McCree’s clothing. His breath leaves him all at once.

McCree meets Hanzo’s gaze. “It ain’t his fault,” he says. “I bugged him about it because I knew he’d know. I wanted to see if you’d tell me yourself, but you just. Kept avoidin’ me. And this is why, isn’t it?” His right hand finds Hanzo’s wrist, callused fingertips settling lightly over Hanzo’s racing pulse.

Hanzo swallows hard. “You are mistaken.”

“Am I? Because I really hope I’m not, for both our sakes.”

Hanzo can’t breathe. He fears if he moves at all, his self-control will break.

“Hanzo,” McCree says, “If I’m wrong, you gotta tell me. ‘Cause if you don’t …”

There is nearly no space between them now. McCree dips his head just slightly, gaze dropping to Hanzo’s mouth, wordlessly signaling his intent. Hanzo feels faint with a mix of anticipation and terror. He doesn’t know which will win.

He sucks in a breath. “You are not wrong,” he whispers, and McCree’s mouth meets his.

If he had thought he wanted this before, it is nothing to now, as he realizes just how much he needs it and how completely, utterly wrong his imagination was. Fantasies can’t replicate the softness of McCree’s lips, or the weight of his hands settling at Hanzo’s hips, or the tickle of his hair falling forward and brushing against Hanzo’s face. The last lingering thread of Hanzo’s restraint breaks under McCree’s touch; he throws his arms around McCree’s neck, pulls him close until their bodies are pressed together from chest to knee, and takes every last bit of contact that he can get.

And McCree gives it all to him without a hint of hesitation.

#part 2 will happen whenever i'unno #typos abound probably #anyway #mchanzo #kerfuffle fic

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brianna-lei · 7 years

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Butterfly Soup Asks #17

The squad playing Overwatch, yaoi hands, and more! man I still have a lot left in my inbox after this...

I’ve spent an obscene amount of time playing Overwatch so I have many thoughts on this Neither Diya nor Noelle have ever played a first person shooter before, but Noelle studies many strategy guides and videos to prepare beforehand.

Following her research, Noelle chooses Symmetra after memorizing the optimal turret and teleporter/shield matrix placements for each map. Symmetra is a good hero for inexperienced players because she doesn’t require aiming skills, but secretly, Noelle likes her because she is focused and serious. She’s scandalized by her default outfit, but can’t afford to get the Vishkar/Architect skins

Diya sees the dog helmet on Pharah’s Anubis skin and instantly unlocks it, automatically setting her as a Pharah main. Diya is the type to happily choose Pokemon based on cuteness instead of practicality, so this is typical Diya

Min ONLY plays these 4 attack heroes, in this order of preference:

Reaper (cool and edgy)

Genji (sword is a long knife. only chosen if the above is taken)

McCree (cool. only chosen if the above is taken)

Soldier 76 (a soldier, cool. only chosen if the above is taken)

She’s mechanically very skilled, but in her 100+ hours in game she’s never even ONCE selected a tank, defense, or support hero, not even in skirmish or training, not even when she’s the last one to choose and there’s no healer. Literally 0 minutes on her career stats.

Akarsha is an ironic Torb main and also a useless Sombra. During their first game together:

Akarsha, selecting Sombra: (affectionately) it's me

Noelle: How is that one you?

In spawn, Noelle can see Akarsha as Sombra with the Battletag “RedFart”

Sombra: (smugly) Hack the PLANET.

Sombra: (annoyingly) Miss me?

Noelle: .......... (the game hasn’t even begun yet and she’s already seething)

Diya manages to get a triple kill with concussion blast through sheer luck before accidentally killing herself with her own rocket. Min constantly spams “I need healing!” in impossible to heal locations, or when she's already being healed but doesn't notice. Whenever she dies she goes “res me”. Akarsha is nowhere to be found. In the kill feed, Diya has managed to accidentally kill herself again with Rocket Barrage. Noelle switches to Mercy and Min blames her for “not healing fast enough”. Eventually, infuriated, Noelle just screams into the voice chat “FINE! DIE ALONE, YOU FOOLS!!!!” and lets her teammates at critical health perish at her feet

the match ends in defeat but Diya got POTG for her triple kill

Noelle: Akarsha, what were you doing this last match?

Akarsha: Turned invisible

Noelle: YOU'RE NOT ACCOMPLISHING ANYTHING WHILE INVISIBLE

Akarsha: There should be a card for “time spent invisible”

Only Min and Akarsha consider themselves gamers. Diya and Noelle will play Mario Kart at other people’s houses but don’t regularly play games Akarsha: besides DS games like Ace Attorney, she’s particularly addicted to MapleStory

Min: plays more console+pc games, likes CoD and Team Fortress 2

Sakura, Yuki, and Akarsha have all watched magical girl shows at some point. Akarsha’s favorite one is Madoka Magica.

Akarsha likes a lot of Ace Attorney characters and her favorite is Phoenix, she finds him relatable. However, if you ask her, she will answer “Spark Bruschel” (below)

She dreads it starting from the night before the presentation and have trouble falling asleep from anxiety. As the time to present approaches she’ll get more and more nervous and sweaty to the point that she won't have an appetite and her stomach hurts

As she's presenting, if she has note cards or a powerpoint to read off of, she stares at that the whole time and reads at lightning speed. Diya has to write down what she's going to say word for word, she can't just put chunks and phrases on note cards because she wont be able to construct a coherent sentence. her life flashes before her eyes whenever she stutters or messes up a sentence

If she doesn't have anything to read off of, she stares at inanimate objects instead of the audience, completely blanks out, and sometimes when she can't recover from that she panics and tries to end the presentation prematurely by suddenly going back to her desk. just bad all around

Noelle has good posture, the others are all pretty eh and slouch sometimes. In particular, Diya slouches a lot when she’s with Noelle because Noelle was taller than her in elementary school and Diya still isn’t used to the fact that she outgrew her.

It’s similar to how Min’s brain actually can’t fully process that she’s way shorter than Diya. When confronted directly with the fact Min will acknowledge it, but it hasn’t really sunk in, at all. Diya was only a little bit taller when they were kids, so in her gut that’s how it’ll always be. I experience this with my childhood friends too LOL I still instinctively feel like I’m taller than my friend who’s now like 5′8″ (I’m 5′2″)

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SPECIFIC ASJKDHFA

I feel like Diya and Hayden have long-ish hands because they’re big, but not yaoi hands level i dont know what to say

--Tumblr wouldn’t save my post after this, so I copied it into Word and pasted them back in. It worked, but now some of the asks ARE THE WRONG SHADE OF BLUE.....

(For those who don’t know, the song lyrics say “Her name is Noelle”) Yes, and this also reminded me that whenever Christmas songs say “Noel”, Akarsha annoyingly points it out like “it’s you Noelle”

It came from leftover dinner from the night before, which Noelle’s mom cooked

I have, I also love seeing all the different ways everyone writes the characters! Thank you fanfic writers!! ;u;

Hayden: 5′11″

Jun: 5′8″

adding this to the FAQ, thanks!

It’s not mentioned why she has a bandaid as a teenager. I have something specific in mind but it may come up in the sequel so I won’t say anything else about it

Here’s their birthdays from oldest to youngest:

Noelle: January 18

Akarsha: April 20

Min: July 4

Diya: November 26 I haven’t come up with the birthdays of other characters yet (except Jun, whose birthday is the same as Min’s haha)

Yes, stay tuned :>

Yup, that pose was reffed off of Trucy’s surprised sprite! I love how over-the-top it looks

OMG...I hate miscommunication as a cause of conflict in stories so don’t worry, there’ll never be a choice with disastrous consequences like that in any of my games!

I’m really glad to hear this, I sometimes wonder “should I have made them older?” but this is ultimately why I made them the age they are! I think a lot of people in their 20s instinctively feel 14 is too young because they’ve forgotten what they themselves were like at 14. I kept journals so I have evidence haha

You’re welcome, I’m really glad she was relatable!! Noelle has a Chinese name and goes to Saturday Chinese school, but I haven’t decided on what it is :( Maybe someday...

I REALLY want to sell Butterfly Soup merch like charms/prints/diya’s hoodie but bc I’m busy I haven’t had a chance to set it up yet >_> It’s my goal to accomplish this by the end of the year

It’s currently only available for the computer, sorry! There’s nothing questionable in this for 14 year olds -- there’s profanity, but there isn’t any explicit sexual content or nudity in it!

I’m glad that detail resonated with you!! I’m also self conscious of my hair (opposite problem, it’s EXTREMELY coarse) so I added it ^^;

A few were drawn from scratch, but most of them are at least partially drawn over photos I took

You can download it here, it’s a creative commons free song!

Yep this was fixed! I was so appalled this wasn’t caught before the game was released haha

Aw thank you!!

You’re welcome!!! The game hasn’t even been out for 2 months yet, I can’t believe people love it enough to replay it already ;u;

#my post #briANSWER #ask #homosushi #Butterfly Soup #overwatch

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olicitysecretsanta · 7 years

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OSS @lageniuswannabe (LisaAnn) Fan Fic Gift from @bandanab310

Hello @lageniuswannabe (LisaAnn), it’s your secret santa @bandanab310 (Ariel). Happy Holidays!! Here is your present: a fanfic. I like to write good amount of my fics like episodes. I think it’s because I hardly get the chance to actually write ;) Since this is a Christmas fic and we didn’t really get a Christmas episode for the midseason finale (but hey I guess a wedding reception made up for it), this is my desire for next year’s midseason finale. So it’s going to be angsty, no one’s going to die (I never want anyone to die) but some people are going to get hurt. I mean this is a made up midseason finale episode. But it’s also going to be fluffy. The title comes from one of my favorite Green Arrow comics, The Sounds of Violence by Kevin Smith. This comics villain (Onomatopoeia) is a bad guy that I would love to have on Arrow some day. He has no agenda, no ties to Oliver or his past. He is just a killer who wants to kill, and Team Arrow just represent the biggest game in town. As in the comic, which I highly recommend, he comes out of nowhere. So I hope you enjoy and once again Happy Holidays! >—>AO

Ratings/tags: Mature, mentions of graphic violence, people get hurt, but it ends incredibly happy, fluff, Olicity (Oliver/Felicity), Theroy (Thea/Roy), Wildcanary (Rene/Dinah), Next season’s midseason finale wish, Next season’s villain wish.

The Sounds of Christmas

>—>

This was going to be the first Christmas Day that Felicity and he were going to spend together with no sadness or conflict or hurdles between them.

Not spent in a hospital waiting for her to wake up and finally believe that she’s still alive.

Not separated across town from each other grieving the death of a man that she never did love the way she did him.

Not in an empty bunker with an impending conviction hanging over their heads and their team fractured and no idea what to do next.

No this Christmas Day was just going to be them and their family celebrating the love & happiness that they had fought so hard for. That they earned after all those past Christmases.

They had celebrated Hanukkah last week. Oliver and William having learned a couple more Jewish prayers and accompanying Felicity and Donna to temple on the last night. Donna jokingly saying it was a start to make up for not having a traditional Jewish wedding. (Oliver is already planning for Felicity and he to renew their vows during next year’s Hanukkah.) Oliver would forever continue to cherish and celebrate his wife’s heritage and traditions as much as she does his and their son’s.

Their son. He might never get over the happiness that he always feels when he thinks about this family of his that he thought he could never have. What a foolish man in so many ways he was. That’s another reason why this Christmas has to be perfect.

He has a plan. He’s going to surprise his two favorite people and skip his morning run (something that Felicity would probably say is the marker of the apocalypse) and make a big breakfast. They are going to than open presents and enjoy some time just the three of them lounging around watching more Christmas movies, the ones they haven’t seen yet during this holiday season. At night they will all head down to the bunker where Thea and the rest of Team Arrow were decorating for their team’s Christmas party, with all their families invited.

Oliver was flipping the last peppermint chip pancake when he heard his and Felicity bedroom door slide open. A quick rhythm of bare feet was immediately followed by his wife’s arms around his stomach and her lips on his upper spine. Turning off the stove he turned in her arms to face her.

“Merry Christmas, Hon.” Oliver said before giving her a kiss that she lazily reciprocated, moving her hands slowly up his body until she was framing his face.

“Merry Christmas, Babe.” Felicity replied breaking off the kiss. She looked him over noticing that he was still in his sleepwear and then the large breakfast that spread behind him and on the kitchen table before looking back at him with a questionable look. “Are you or someone else dying?”

Oliver shook his head and chuckled, “Close enough” he said more to himself before replying with more volume and lightly, “No I just wanted today to be perfect and give you and William an incredible Christmas.”

She immediately smiled and kissed his lips quickly again before stepping away and walking towards Williams room, “Don’t worry it will be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oliver asked

“You’ll see” Felicity answered with a wink.

Oliver turned back and placed the plate of pancakes on that table as he heard Felicity jumping on William’s bed shouting, “IT’S CHRISTMAS!! IT’S CHRISTMAS!!”

Yeah today was going to be the perfect Christmas.

>—>

The team holiday party was in full swing. Thea and Curtis had decorated the bunker amazingly.

Oliver watches as he leans against one of the pillars at Roy twirling Thea in the center of the main platform to the light Christmas music. Roy coming back to help earlier that year and him being cleared of charges (being Mayor did have some perks) was the best thing to happen to his sister. Thea had not looked or felt as happy as she did now in so long.

The rest of the team were still sitting at the large conference table eating the berry cobbler that Oliver had made, exchanging various presents with one another.

Zoe opened the gift from her dad. “New Headphones. Thanks Dad.” She says kindly trying to play off her air of disappointment.

“Ah Ah no pouting Zo. You know you get your big gift on Dia de Los Reyes.”

“What’s Dia de Los Reyes?” Curtis asks.

Before Rene himself can respond, Dinah next to him answers, “Day of the three kings. It’s a catholic celebration of when the three kings arrived in Bethlehem to meet Jesus.”

“Thank you, mamacita” Rene says placing a quick peck on her lips then turning back around to Curtis, “See Di cares enough to know about my traditions. I thought I could have expected the same from all my teammates.”

Before an argument, however friendly in nature, can start, Dinah interjects, “Now boys, as much as I know you two are an old bickering married couple let’s keep it civil…for the kids”. Pointing to William and Zoe who are seated next to each other.

“It’s fine Aunt Di, I think its funny anyway.” William answers before turning to Zoe. “So I guess we’re both lucky to celebrate two holidays filled with gift giving.”

“Yeah,” Zoe responds “it��s pretty cool but also frustrating because Papa waits till day of the three kings for my big gift and I know this year he got us season tickets to the Star City Wild Dogs.”

“That’s so cool, I’ve never been to a hockey game actually. Central City never had one and my dad hasn’t been able to take me. That’s usually the busy season. For both jobs.”

“You can join us for a game….I mean if you’d like too, that is.”

“I’d like that a lot….Hey also Felicity built me a PC for my Christmas present and downloaded PUBG and of course Overwatch. You should stop by and play.”

“Awesome, next week before Christmas break is over for sure.”

The slight blush rising on his daughter’s face during this whole exchange does not go unnoticed by Rene. He quickly rises from his seat and rushes over to his team leader.

“Considering who his father is, your boy there best not be getting any ideas, Hoss.”

Oliver knows that William is nothing like he was with girls at his age and is about to reassure Rene of this fact when an alert goes off throughout the bunker. Damn it this was not supposed to happen tonight.

Reluctantly Oliver walks up the platform and towards the computer that Felicity is already in front of. “What do we got?”

“Apparently our bad guy of the year doesn’t believe in the holiday spirit. Facial recognition picked up his creepy masked face.”

“Where?”

“What? Why would he be there?

“Where Felicity?

“He’s at Verdant.”

The team share confused but also worried looks after the mention of the old headquarters. Oliver breaks the spell when he starts to dictate his orders. “Thea take William and Zoe to the apartment please. Quentin can you go with them. Everyone else suit up.”

The team move together. Oliver is about to step away to get ready himself when he feels Felicity’s hand on his wrist causing him to look back at her.

“Be careful out there. This one is not like anyone else we’ve dealt with.”

Oliver knows this. This particular bad guy has so far killed and attacked randomly and has been gruesome. Leaving his victims in pools of blood or head shots in the center of the forehead. The people that he has left alive describe him as never saying a meaningful word, only mimicking the sounds his torments made.

“It’s going to be ok.” Oliver reassures his wife before leaning down to give her a kiss and turning away to get ready for the field.

>—–>

The team take various positions throughout the exterior of the abandoned nightclub.

“Green Arrow, you know this is probably a trap.” Arsenal says through the comms

“I know. Which is more reason to be as vigilant as we can.” Green Arrow responds “Overwatch how does it look inside?”

“Considering that there is no longer any workable technology in there, all I can go off of is heat signatures. Which only indicating that there’s one person in the office upstairs. Besides that you’re going in pretty blind.”

Things go wrong from the very start. As they bust in together, from their various entry points, they are all met with C4 explosions rigged with archaic (but incredible fine) tripwires. The explosions are not enough to cause fatal damage but enough to disorient and cause a few scraps on all of them. Mr Terrific and Arsenal, both entering through the upper windows, gingerly pull glass shards out of their arm and leg. By the time the team is regrouped on the bottom level, their ominous foe casually walks out of the upper level managers office above them as if he’s a simple home owner opening the door to a messenger ringing his doorbell. He greets the heroes with a simple monotone word.

“Boom” Black Canary acts first sending a powerful sonic cry towards the old and worn scaffold platform which doesn’t have a chance and immediately begins to crumble. Their bad guy effortlessly flips himself over the railing as if this is all part of a pre-orchestra stunt and lands in front of the team. Returning to his causal stance of hands in his trench coat pockets he looks back at the crumpled mess he was once on before turning back and addressing the group once again. “Screech” arbitrarily mimicking Black Canary’s Cry The team move as one beginning their attack on the masked villain, who in incredibly immediate response pulls out guns from his pocket and counters their assault.

He moves like he’s expecting their shots. Dodging. Flipping. Shooting Green Arrow’s and Arsenal’s arrows out of mid flight. “What the fuck!” Arsenal exclaims Finally Green Arrow finds his opening in the chaos and with a quick deep breath releases an arrow. It goes through the full masked foe’s left shoulder, seemingly taking him by the slightest surprise from the subtle grunt of discomfort that he makes. Green Arrow considers its enough as the masked man makes a break for it towards the back of the club. Realization of where he is heading towards immediately hits Green Arrow and he’s the first to move as he announces, “He’s going down towards the foundry.” >—>

He is the first to make it past the threshold of the door of his old headquarters, the rest of the team a few steps behind. But those few steps are enough for things to get even worse when Oliver feels more than see another thread like tripwire being triggered and a heavy door slam behind him. He immediately turns around and bangs on the door. He can hear his team on the other side. Hears Dinah’s Scream and blasts from Curtis’ T-spheres. But he knows this is not the same door that was here when this used to be his domain. No they’re in the twisted world of a madman. Oliver activate his comms, “Overwatch, any chance you can get this open” He knows the answer before she gives it. “No there’s no tech to hack. Guys there’s another entrance down there, Arsenal knows where it is.” “Copy that.” Oliver here’s Roy answer “Hang tight, Hoss.” Rene muffles through the door “We’ll be down there to save your ass in no time.” The sudden sound of static filling the space below brings Oliver back to the threat at hand. He slowly descends the stairs, an arrow already nocked ready to fire. He halts halfway down the steps when he hears his own name. “Oliver Queen is Alive.” “Oliver Queen runs for mayor.” “Is Oliver Queen the Star City Vigilante?” “Mayor Oliver Queen to run for second term. A sure fire win predicted.” “Oliver Queen freed of all charges after FBI investigation thrown out” Surrounded by several televisions playing various news reports about Oliver stands the masked man, the arrow still in his shoulder and a simple remote control in his hand. Head tilted up at Oliver on the stairs curiously waiting to see what he does next. “Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak finally tie the knot in a secret ceremony. Congratulations to the first couple of Star City on their nuptials.” This final sound bite is what causes Oliver’s grip on the bowstring and jaw to tightly set. The message is loud and clear to him. “You know who I am.” It comes out as a statement from Oliver’s mouth not a question. The silent mask only nods in answer. “Why are you doing this? What is this all about? Revenge?” A shake of a head his only answer “Then why!!” With a click of the remote all but one of the televisions turn off. The remaining TV with a clip of Oliver himself during the press conference he held after the repeal of the anti-vigilante act in May answers “With The Green Arrow and his team, Star City will always be protected. No threat will stop them from continuing to make our city safer and a place to be proud to live in.” A twisted realization dons on Oliver “Is this a challenge for you? Some sort of game?” The masked man just shrugs as if to say, “Well…” There’s a pause before he then gives an assertive nod. “Yes”

All at once there are bullets flying towards Oliver, who immediately vaults over the stairs and lands behind one of the discard steel tables. The mirage of bullets continue for another minute before the clicking of empty gun chambers sound out in the old lair. “Click?” “Click?” The villain questions as Oliver raises from his shelter. “Drop your guns.” The mask man obliges and raises his hands above his head. “Now take off the mask.” The foe begins to lift it but stops when it reaches the base of his nose only exposing his mouth. He then lifts his hands up once again. Oliver moves swiftly forward placing the arrow directly in front of the man’s face. Inches away. “I said. Take. It. Off.” Instead of moving his hands towards his face the masked man moves one hand down towards his coat pocket. “Don’t” Oliver warns. When the hand continues to move down, Oliver releases his grip on the bowstring… The shock of the image of the masked man’s hand around the arrow, the tip barely pressing into the skin below his eye, is short lived when Oliver feel three sharp pains suddenly in his abdomen causing him to sink to the floor. “Bang. Bang. Bang.” Gripping his side. Already losing the natural rhythm of his breathing, Oliver feels more than sees the shooter stalking towards him, then bend down and place the still warm barrel of the gun in the middle of his forehead. “Who are you?” Finally a meaningful word is said by this masked man. “Onomatopoeia.” Oliver closes his eyes expecting his end to come. But it doesn’t. Instead when he opens his eyes he’s alone. Keeping one hand pushing down on his side he presses his comm link on with the other. “Felicity?” He says weakly Immediately she knows something is not right, “What’s wrong?” She answers. As if on cue Oliver hears the rapid footsteps of his team. He give a grunt of pain when they take over his hands feeble attempts of stemming the blood flowing out of him. “Overwatch, Green Arrow’s been shot we need you to call the hospital.” Roy immediately orders taking charge of the team. “Mr Terrific bring the van around the back entrance of Verdant we aren’t going to have much time once we stop the bleeding as much as we can.” “Dig’s calling Dr. Schwartz, she’ll have a team prepped for surgery.” Felicity answer Roy before silencing everyone else’s comms but Oliver’s. “Oliver. We are going to get you help. Everything is going to be fine ok, Hon.” “Felicity…I’m sorry.” Oliver answers in between breaths. “Sorry. Sorry for what. You have nothing to be sorry for.” “Today was supposed to be…perfect. I jus…I just wanted us to have a…perfect Christmas.” “It is going to be perfect once you come home to me Oliver. Remember you are always going to come home to me. To William. To our family.” Felicity exhales a quick steadying breath before she continues. “To our baby. Yeah that’s right I’m pregnant. I mean we’re pregnant. That’s my Christmas gift to you. So you better not die on me Oliver Jonas Queen. Because you have one more life to keep on fighting for. You hear me?” Her question is answered with silence. “Oliver?” Suddenly static fills her ear, “Blondie,” “Blondie,” both René and Roy answer followed by an annoyed huff from Roy before René continues, “we stopped the bleeding for now. Hoss lost a lot of blood and is unconscious but I think he’s going to be ok. We’ll be at the hospital in ten.” “Thank You” Felicity answers with as much strength as she can muster “we’ll meet you guys there.”

As she turns off her comms she catch Roy no doubt addressing René “you know I was here first. Right.” >—->

Oliver stirs awake gradually. The warmth of his wife’s hand in his the final anchor that brings his eyes to finally open.

“Hey, Hey. You’re ok. You’re ok.” Felicity gentle greets him, running her hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Oliver answers. He hates being groggy from the anesthesia of surgery but he feels more safe with Felicity here with him. “What happened?”

“Our bad guy shot you three times close range in the abdomen. Two went through and through but one wanted to be a prick and stick around inside you and cause some damage. Good thing you don’t need all of you spleen.”

Oliver gives a little chuckle at his wife’s babble before he winces in pain from his recently open stomach. Felicity responds by gentle rubbing a hand up and down his arm as if to take away his pain.

In a way it does.

“What about Onomatopoeia? Did they catch him?”

“Who?”

“It’s what he called himself. Onomatopoeia.”

“Of course it is. I should have known. No. He was gone by the time the team got to you. The creep that he is though left the bloody arrow you shot him in the shoulder with in the middle of two circles made out of your blood. Just like his equally creepy mask. So yeah creepy monotone voiced bad guy who only says words of sounds.”

“Any DNA results from the arrow?”

“Not yet. But we should know soon.”

“Good.”

Felicity rests her head on his shoulder and they stay silent for a moment just looking at their joined hands, their wedding bands making that subtle clinking sound Oliver always finds peace in. He is the first to break the silence.

“So you’re pregnant?”

“Oh you heard that?” She shyly asks looking up at him

“I did.” He answers looking back down at her with a gentle smile that reflects pure love and happiness and wonder all at the same time.

“Believe me that was not how I wanted to tell you, but I had to make sure that you’d come back to us.”

“Us.”

“Yeah, me, William, and the baby.”

A slight wave of guilt comes over Oliver at the mention of his, now oldest, remembering the promise he had made to him to always be there for him, how is he supposed to keep that promise for two children when he doesn’t know if he can do it for one.

“Is William ok?” Oliver asks

“See for yourself.” Felicity answers moving slightly to give him a view of a sleeping William on a cot next to the bed.

“Is he mad at me?”

“No Oliver, you know he got over that months ago. He understands now why you do what you do and that these incidents might happen. Just as long as they don’t happen too often, he’ll be ok.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry.” Felicity mumble into his shoulder

“For what.”

“This wasn’t the Christmas that you planned. I know it wasn’t perfect.”

“Who says it wasn’t. This is our life. We are together. All four of us. Being the best people that we can be. And accepting each other for who we are.”

Felicity tilts her head up to give him a kiss and he tilts his head down to meet her lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get some sleep. I’m right here.”

“Always.”

“We’ll get him, Felicity.”

“I know we will, I’m just glad that you came back home to us.”

>—>

Unbeknownst to the Queen Family, Onomatopoeia watches on from the ledge of the building across from the window. His mask is once again lifted just enough to reveal his mouth as he chews gum and blows a bubble.

“Pop”

He leaps from his perch, landing on the ground below and stalks back into the shadows.

[End Episode Title Card. Wait Till mid-January. ;) ]

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa 2017 #olicity fanfic #olicity fic #submission

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siodymph · 7 years

Text

For @spydertiger

Hi I was your secret santa! I hope you’re having a nice holiday season and enjoy this short story I wrote! You can read it under the cut or over on my AO3!

“Late Night Talks”

Word count: 2514

(Satya and Jamison have very different opinions on the city of Oasis and end up talking about it.)

Satya absolutely adored the city of Oasis. It was a work of utter genius, both science and art drawn to their finest abilities. Truly some of the world’s most renowned experts designed and built it.

But more so, Satya admired everything Oasis represented. To her it was the absolute best in the world. The truest sign of what people could do when their passions and intellect were properly honed. What people could do when they truly rising to the occasion. It was a city that welcomed all of humanity and cybernetic-kind, of every culture and creed. A city in perfect harmony. Everyone living together side by side happily content. A city of peace and tranquility. Perfectly built and perfectly balanced.

It was everything she wanted Utopaea to become. What she always hoped for a reformed Rio…

She wished the whole world could be like this. Never in conflict. Never in war. Never corrupt or secretly cruel. A world of peace, unity and balance.

As the Overwatch team dispatched to the beautiful city her partner, Jamison, seemed much less impressed. Satya could see that bored frown settle on his face. It was a familiar one she’d become rather adept in recognizing. Whenever they went into my extravagant cities, especially places with generous incomes and institutions. He’d almost always become a mess of rolled eyes, scoffs, rude comments and dry humor. And hidden under all of that show however, Satya could always see the man’s hidden nerves. Cities like this made him nervous. After many numerous past experiences he treated any city claiming to be a utopia with mistrust, disgust and raised defenses.

It was one of the only things the pair could never quite agree on. When it came to the concept of “world peace”, while Satya held hoped Jamison held nothing short skepticism. He didn’t think such a thing was possible. And even if it was what sort of world would that be?

“Everyone sittin’ in circles, singin’ songs. Like everything’s alright. Like they ain’t sitting on old bones. And what if you don’t like things? Just spend your life tiptoing around? Swallowin’ everything down cause you say one wrong thing and it’ll all go to shit again.”

He’d told her that just a few nights ago. Before being deployed together. In the dead of night on the Gibralter base. They had been the only two up and it had been the only time when the pair had been honest about their feelings on the city. Satya had mentioned some of the dire straits she’d been raised in. How she never wanted to see another human living in the state she’d lived in or worse. She thought having more places like Oasis could ensure that became true. Jamison had mentioned brief moments of his own childhood he could recall. And as much as he’d disliked his own state of life he said he doubted anything would ever change. No matter what he and anybody else tried to do. He’d also said places like Oasis weren’t a real solution, “Just another dumb shiny city to keep people in.”

Their conversation stayed with her. And as they officially entered the city of Oasis she couldn’t help but think about his words. She couldn’t understand how someone could look at something so wonderful and beautiful and somehow see it as suspicious and ugly.

Still for so much he complained about it the nights leading up to this trip Jamison seemed surprisingly quiet now that he was finally here. Which was odd coming from a man who would normally talk someone’s ear off. But now his lips were sealed in tight frown. Being together for some time now Satya had learned to pick up her partner’s more subtle quirks. Like twitching hands, jiggling legs, shifty eyes, or the completely-extra faces he seemed to make subconsciously. It was one of the things she liked about him. While so many people would say one thing and do another, Jamison was always his exaggerated self. As strange as the man could be he was easy to read, easy to understand. To Satya at least he was.

As they walked through the city with an official guide who explained some of Oasis’s history and their mission here today, Satya kept giving Jamison quick glances. He was standing near the back of their group with his friend, Roadhog. His face seemed neutral for the most part but his eyes were shifting around. Never stopping completely to look at one person or sight, rather they rapidly bounced around as if trying to take in everything at once. At one point the two ended up making direct eye-contact and Jamison decided to give her a full grin and wave. Satya returned it with a smaller smile of her own. And another time as their guide was explaining the politics that allowed everyone in Oasis it coexist in harmony Satya saw Jamison rolling his eyes while elbowing his friend hard in the arm.

Satya could understand some elements to Jamison, but others left her completely lost. How he could somehow disrespect and hate something so noble. Perhaps it was just the fact of growing up in two very different worlds. While they’d both grown up poor, Jamison’s life had been completely devastated. And while Satya had been taken from her old life and enrolled in school, Jamison had never gotten such escape. The government of Australia, the whole world really, had done nothing to help the victims in the outback. And in turn it seemed like those people would adamantly refuse to do anything in return. It was something Satya couldn’t comprehend entirely, only picking up ideas here and there of what it might have been like.

Just like the fact Jamison may never understand exactly why Satya felt the way she did about Vishkar still. Why she’d stayed and put up with so much from the company as she was in training and began her career. Why she didn’t just leave when she found out what they had done in the shadows.

And while they both certainly cared for one another, there was no denying any of these facts.

Still they’d both learned after so much time together how to make things work. Knowing when to push ahead with a discussion and when they needed to just let certain subjects go. What really was “for one’s own good” and what wasn’t.

She wasn’t sure where Oasis was on that scale. She knew she couldn’t miraculously change Jamison’s mind after one trip here. But she didn’t want to avoid the subject entirely. Especially since their mission was protecting these people from potential terrorists who actually agreed with Jamison that Oasis wasn’t a good thing…

Later that evening, after their tour, as well as a team meeting with Winston’s going over everyone’s responsibilities for the next few days, when they finally got to their rooms, Satya went to go talk to her partner.

She knocked on his door, quick and sharp, and waited to get any response. She heard him get up, hastily put on his prosthetic and hobble to the door. And when the door opened a crack she saw Jamison’s bright brown eyes look out before realizing it was her and opening the door wider.

“You still up?” He asked, leaning up on the door frame to get as much weight off his bad leg.

Satya nodded, coming closer. It was gracious of Vishkar to provide every member of their team with their own rooms but she missed being closer to Jamison. She spoke honestly. “I wanted to check on you first. I hoped we could talk more.”

“Well come on in then.” Jamison relented, moving aside and letting her walk past. He already knew what was coming. They’d been having this conversation for a few nights now it seemed. He hoped it didn’t end in any sort or argument cause they’d be working together side by side tomorrow for sure.

“Thank you.” Satya sighed and entered a suit very similar to her own. Reclining on a sofa near a wide window she looked out at the beautiful city below them. “So what do you think, now that you’re actually here?”

Jamison flopped down on the couch next to her and popped his metal leg back off. “Still think its crap. Nice and shiny, but ya’know its crap.” He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “You thought me coming here would change my mind.”

Satya sighed, folding her hands into her lap. “I will admit I was curious to see your reaction to being here. But I honestly don’t think it would change the way you see the Oasis.”

“Well what do you see when you’re here?” Jamison asked. “A big pretty city where everyone has a grand ol’time. You really think nothing bad ever happens here? Folks just run around doing their little experiments…”

“I like to think the best in people. And I do think Oasis is a good place for everyone to rise more to their potential. If they’re willing…”

After her experience in Rio with Lucio, it had taken Satya a while but she’d come to realize it wasn’t fair to force change onto people. No matter what your motivation might be, no matter what ends you hope to achieve, the means of creating that for an unwilling people would always be cruel. She didn’t want anyone to feel like they were being forced to do something against their own will, especially not for someone she truly cared about.

“So, will you be alright tomorrow? Protecting something you consider a waste?”

Satya honestly wasn’t sure what Jamison might say. If he said no she’d be disappointed for sure, but for now she thought she’d be willing to accept his choice. But he’d already agreed to be a part of Overwatch and in turn, he’d have to be a part of their team for missions.

��Eh, I’ll be fine.”

Satya turned back to look at Jamison in surprise. There was a chance he was lying but his eyes held hers steadily, never shifting away. “Are you sure?”

Jamison shrugged, kicking up his legs and leaning further into the sofa. “I mean I already agreed to be here. And it ain’t polite to go squirming outta contracts.”

“That is more professional.” Satya agreed.

“And ya’know I don’t give a shit about any stuffy old suits but there’s kids there too, little pets and shit. I can make sure none of’em get hurt by the bad guys. Look like a real hero or somethin’.”

Jamison had never mentioned having any sort of sweet-spot for children or animals. If anything it seemed like he was just making excuses now. “I guess that’s reasonable.”

“Plus you’re here.” Jamison said, just a little softer before going back to his normal tone. “And I’ll put up with this posh mess if it means stayin’ near ya, darl. I mean, you’re willing to put up with it, how bad can it be?”

Satya gave Jamison a look. His eyes kept looking over towards the city now. During the day the sunlight streaming down made everything seem golden, and now covered in lights it was radiant. She turned herself completely to take it all in. “If nothing else, even you have to admit the city has its elements of beauty, Jamison.”

Jamison followed her eyes, taking the time to look at the city much slower. Take it in fully. Eventually he sighed and shuffled closer to her. “Fine I’ll give ya that. It’s real shiny. Some tip-top architects put it together good, roight?”

Satya nodded. “Yes you’re correct. The Minister of Architecture actually. They designed the entire city to be efficient, environmentally friendly, and culturally unifying.”

“Got a minister just for Architecture?” Jamison asked, quirking and eyebrow.

“Yes. Of every category of study… They mentioned it in the tour. You would have known if you payed attention.” She added the last comment dryly.

“Hey!” He shouted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Me and Hog listened to the parts we thought were important. It’s not like they’re gonna quiz us later!”

Satya slapped his hands away, making him laugh, which made her laugh a little in return. And when he moved even closer to hug her she let him. Physical contact was always an awkward thing to Satya, but when she was she was by herself with someone she trusted she was more excepting. It was even reassuring to her. Sometimes she wondered what a strange thing it was how she’d grown so close to Jamison Junkrat Fawkes, madman from the Outback, internationally wanted criminal.

But also one of her closest friends within Overwatch, her confidant, someone she loved.

Who was currently snuggled up to her side pressing small kisses onto her shoulder and neck.

“You know, they also have a Minister of Engineering.”

Jamison perked up at that. “Really?”

Satya hummed and settled back a little more.

“Huh,” Jamison stopped kissing her, instead resting his chin on her shoulder as he mused to himself. “I bet I could show’em a thing or two. Really show them how to make something outta nothin’.”

“You think so?”

“Ah-yep! It’s one thing to run around in some posh city running tests in a labs, it’s another to be working out in the real world.”

“That is true.” Satya admitted. “And they do say one never stops learning…”

Their conversation faded after that. They simply sat there in silence, huddled close together and occasionally going to press light kisses on one another. All while watching the city below them. The cars that seemed to never stop coming, the city seemed alive no matter what time of night. The light shining through the golden city, framed by a dark, starless sky.

Then seemingly out of nowhere Jamison piped up. “… But ya’know, could be fun.”

“What could?” Satya asked pulling back to look at him.

“Being ministers!” Jamison said, getting louder as he got more excited. “I’ll get Engineering and you can get Architecture!”

“I thought you disliked it here.”

“Oh, I do, I do. But I’m just saying if this Overwatch deal keeps going alright and me and hog end up being legit. It could be something roight? I mean, everyone’ll treat you like the boss. You get to work on whatever you want. All professional like-“

“It appears you’ve given this some serious thought.” Satya teased.

“Well- Maybe, maybe not. I mean if I had to live in a dump like this I’d at least wanna be doing something worth it. Ya’know?”

“I think I do.” Satya said, deciding to go and kiss Jamison more fully. She could feel him grinning against her lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

They spent the rest of the night together and in the morning as their teams were dispatched across the city, Satya and Jamison both held onto their conversation the night prior. And both couldn’t help but wonder what the future might have in store for them.

#symmratsecretsanta2017 #symmrat #junkmetra #spydertiger

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solarbird · 7 years

Text

The Armourer and the Living Weapon, Chapter 23: against your first and better judgement

I remind everyone - for the final time - that the AO3 archive warnings and tags are there for a reason. Please consider them appropriately before continuing. [View warnings and tags]

As these final chapters form the climax of the story, they will all be placed below cuts for spoiler protection. This does not indicate anything about whether they are worksafe, though some will not be.

This chapter is worksafe. [AO3 link]

Tracer geared up for battle, the last one, the big one, where - all goes well - Doomfist and Reaper both go down. No more double-agent I've-still-been-Blackwatch-all-along lies from Gabriel, no more let's-start-a-war from Akande, no more of... all this madness, none of which could end a moment too soon. She shook out her arms, then flipped out her pistols, which felt so nice in her hands, and flipped them back, perfectly, flawlessly, soothed.

She didn't love the kill, not like Oilliphéist did, and she didn't get the rush from it, like Widowmwaker, but she didn't mind it, either. Particularly not at this point, with so very many kills under her belt. Particularly not here, knowing who, and what, and why.

She smiled to herself, as she thought, Today... we prevent the Second Omnic Crisis.

"You seem cheerful, ma chérie," said Widowmaker, gearing up beside her. Oilliphéist flashed a smile, too, as she checked her rifle.

"Yeah," said Tracer, a bit of calm happiness in her expression, as she flipped her pistols in and out of their holsters. "A few days not bein' poked at makes all the difference in the world. And today, we wrap this up - as long as Moira doesn't bring in some stupid bloody last-minute change of plans, anyway." She grimaced, grunting a small noise of frustration. "I've got used t'her, I guess - but buggery hell, she still annoys me."

Widowmaker laughed, the sound delightful in her ears. "I know, she does. But it is amusing."

"What?" asked Tracer, half-grin all akimber across her face. "Me bein' all irritated makes you giggle? S'that what did it? Didn't even think you could giggle, six months ago..."

The blue assassin smirked. "No. It's that you always say that, and that you don't trust her, or her ideas, ever, and even with what we know, you always end up following her plans against your first judgement. That is funny."

Tracer smirked right back. "I do not."

Oilliphéist shook her head. "You do, though. Every time."

Tracer laughed, and popped her pistols into their holsters again. "Huh, yeah, I guess I..." She stopped. She tilted her head, and blinked, slowly. "I..."

The tangerine-clad assassin looked down, at her hands. They were shaking. They never shook. Not ever. They couldn't. "I..."

"Lena?" asked the Widowmaker, worried, Oilliphéist looking back up as well. "What's wrong?"

"I..." she shuddered, time after time after time flipping through her head, all at once.

Tea? No. ... Huh. A bit light for my tastes, but not bad.

This is a terrible idea. ... but... I guess so.

No. Sick a'bein' prodded. ... Fine. This work?

I'll never trust my quickness again. ... This is, this is wizard.

You call this nothing?! ... I like my eyes, doc. You got a problem with that?

I don't believe you, mate, - somethin' else is goin' on. ... I guess we're in. We're doin' this.

Her hands stopped shaking, and finally, she knew. "Bloody hell," she whispered. "...what have I done?"

"Lena?" Widowmaker stepped over, and took her hands in her own. "Talk to me, cherie?"

"I..." She braced herself, taking a deep breath. "I'm..." She looked up. "Do you love me?"

Widowmaker blinked, golden eyes reflecting her own confusion. "Of course... of course I do, you know that."

She looked over to Oilliphéist. "Do you trust me."

"Implicitly," replied the newer assassin.

Tracer bit her lip, hard. "I... I think I just figured somethin' out. Trust me, today. Follow my lead. And if y'can't follow - then just trust me and stay out of my way. Can you do that?"

"This is not the plan we've already had," her lover said, "is it."

"No. Wrong or right, that's still on. But if I'm right... we'll need to make some changes."

The senior assassin's eyes narrowed, as she considered what that meant, and widened again, as she reached the same conclusion Tracer had reached moments earlier. "...I will follow you."

Oilliphéist's mind ran much along the same path, the once-ginger thinking, Is that it? Is that... of course. Brilliant. "Tracer?" she said, firmly, gesturing to Widowmaker with a nod of her head, "I'm with her - but I'm also with you. Do you understand?"

The teleporter gave her counterpart, a long, desperate look. "...I think I do."

"Don't forget that."

Lena Oxton breathed out a heavy breath, and nodded. "I won't."

-----

"We have to rely on the fact that Lena's memories and base personality - I am now reasonably certain - were not modified. But she is changing, as she adopts to her body's new preferences. The positive reinforcement she is receiving for violence in particular is almost certainly quite strong. How quickly that's reshaping her, we cannot know."

"Even worse," Dr. Zhou pointed out, "they've been unmonitored for five days. Who even knows what O'Deorain has been doing to her - and to Danielle?"

"It is something we must keep in mind," Dr. Ziegler agreed. "But they must be ready to move at any time, and there has been no sign of any of them in Oasis, and my people have been watching O'Deorain's primary facilities quite closely. I doubt there has been opportunity for too much to be done."

"Maybe, maybe not," the Soldier said. "If she wanted to subdue them, haul them off somewhere... her niece managed it just fine before."

"That's the second time you've called Emily O'Deorain's niece," the double-agent in Blackwatch armour said. "What are you talking about?"

"Emily's her niece," Fareeha replied. "They both said so."

Reyes squinted, or, at least, looked like he was, despite the low knit cap. "No, she's not. Moira's an only child. Emily's a war orphan. Her parents were Welsh and English, not Irish."

"Seriously?" Hana waved her hands around in frustration. "Seriously?!" She went head-down on the tabletop, and screamed a little. "Of course she's not."

"Sorry - I'm Talon's chief of security, believe me, I'm sure." He scratched behind his left ear, looking down at the table. "Must be some part of keeping her compliant." He looked back up. "Gardner was," he laughed a little, "difficult to keep on a leash. Brilliant - maybe the best weapons engineer I've ever seen, but... well, we had a dedicated squadron of guards assigned to her. There were reasons."

"Before being transformed?" Winston asked, a little bit incredulously.

"Yep. Two fireteams, on alternating duty. Killed every one of 'em on the way out, too. And her psychologist. And a few other people."

Angela looked to the former Blackwatch commnder. "That... does not fit well with the person I have met."

"I agree," Mei-Ling said. "She is very strange, but she is also very nice."

He shrugged. "She could act like a normal person, when she wanted to - until you set her off. Then you needed a fireteam. Or two."

The doctor gave Reyes a considering look. "We might be able to use the changes to her memory," the doctor said. "If it isn't just an act, and if Emily is truly unaware of the changes. It might provide a wedge..."

"Stop - if she's not Moira's niece, why hasn't Widowmaker said anything?" Amari demanded. "Is she in on it?"

Reyes shrugged. "Amélie's memories got pretty hashed up. Widowmaker makes new memories reasonably well, but..." he tapped the tabletop with his fingers. "It's not hard to put one over on her if it involves the past. She just doesn't care."

"I see," Morrison said. "We haven't understood anything that's been going on this entire time, have we?"

"No," said Dr. Zhou, sadly. "We have not"

Reyes shook his head, slowly. "Neither have we. She's been outplaying me for months and I never knew."

"Winston, a sensor has been tripped," Athena said, with a chime. "Tracer has activated her Overwatch PADD. It appears to be active somewhere in Edinburgh, Scotland."

She's made a mistake, he thought, as everyone in the room reacted, sitting slightly taller. Or sent up a flare. "Thank you, Athena. Try to pin that down," he replied, before looking over at Reyes, asking, "Where's Ogundimu?"

"Moving between safehouses. I don't know which."

"Gabriel..."

He put his hands up, palms towards the ceiling. "I don't. He's taken over his own security arrangements. Given everything, I don't blame him - I would too."

"Winston," Athena broke in, "Tracer has contacted me by voice, asking that I record a message for you. She requested not to be connected."

"PUT HER ON LIVE, RIGHT NOW! TRACER, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Tracer's voice appeared over the conference room speakers. "...follow us, or try to intervene, right? Please? Just let us finish this."

"Tracer, this is Winston, can you hear me?"

"We've got our own plans, for after, once everyone calms down," she continued, not pausing. "Just... stay out of the way. Please. Things are strange, I'd explain, but we're in a rush, but we know, all right? We know."

"Tracer, please, talk to me!"

"Once we've got this sorted - and we will get this sorted - I'll be back in touch. Just... stay clear 'till then. Tracer out."

"Lena, no!"

"Connection broken at her end, Winston. I'm sorry," Athena said, with a hint of regret. "The first part of the message indicates they are moving out for the final phase of the operation."

"Were you able to pin down the PADD's location?"

"Old Town section of Edinburgh, Scotland - near the Royal Mile."

"Of course it is," Hana snorted. "Shoulda known."

"Fine. Athena, please prep the Sparrowhawk for launch." The scientist turned to the rest of the assembled Overwatch. "I'm going to Edinburgh, I'm going to find her, and I'm going to talk Lena into coming home."

Hana shook her head. "She will not come back without Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. She will not split the party. I'm telling you now."

"Maybe not. But if I approach her myself, alone, I'm certain she'll listen to me."

"You are not approaching her alone," Fareeha insisted.

"Lena would never..."

"Oilliphéist would," Morrison interrupted. "And you know it."

Reyes nodded. "Given what she was like before... if she decides you're trying to take Lena away from her? You'll be dead before you know she's there."

"Winston," Athena broke in, again. "I have a keepalive signal from the PADD. It is moving."

"...she didn't cut the battery?" Fareeha said, surprised.

"She is highly stressed," Angela said, "and said she was in a rush..."

"Athena, complete silence to her PADD. Treat it like it's off. If she doesn't notice what she did..."

Hana Song grinned, for the first time in five days. "Then we have a tracker."

Winston grinned back. "Okay! Amari, Ziegler, Morrison - be my backup? And I do mean way back. Hana, we can't take the mech on the Sparrowhawk - stay here, run tactical?"

She frowned. "I'd rather be on site, but..." She thought it over. "Yeah. It'll work."

"I should go, too," Mei-Ling said. "My data is what convinced..." she swallowed, "I convinced everyone to go along with this. I have a duty to her."

"Absolutely not, Doctor," Morrison said. "This could go well - or it could go very badly."

Dr. Ziegler nodded. "Someone needs to shepherd your data through peer review. It's too important - the future of the world literally depends upon it. You must stay here."

"McCree," he tabbed comms. "You've been listening in?"

"Yup," he said, from the observation tower. "Y'want me here on watch?"

"Please. And when Lúcio checks back in, have him get here if he can, as medical backup."

"Can do. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. Hopefully we won't need it."

-----

Reyes ghosted his way down the cliffside, solidifying at the ledge below base grounds, next to his flyer. Sitting at the controls, he punched a long sequence of codes into his comms panel, and a network of relays and anonymising nodes came online.

"Doomfist, Reaper here."

Aboard a stealth flyer somewhere across the world, a large ring on a large hand tapped its wearer, and that wearer tapped back, raising it to his face. "Hello, Reaper. Your update?"

"Overwatch is activated, on our side. They have tracking on Tracer, and they're going to try to pull her out of the game for us. Get out of the UK."

"Where is she?"

"Edinburgh, at the moment. But she's on the move, presumably with O'Deorain and her other toys."

"I am not the sort of man who runs from a fight, Gabriel."

Don't do this now, Reyes thought, tiredly. I need you alive. "We can recover Widowmaker later. Get out of the UK."

"I think not. I am done with this. O'Deorain wants a fight? Fine. If she's on the move, she knows where I am, and I know she is coming. She will get that fight."

"Akande, I am over five hours away," he lied, punching up his flyer's engines and checking tracking on the Sparrowhawk, finding the signal clear and strong. Heh, he smirked, behind his mask. Thank you, Winston. Predictable as always. Please, lead me straight to O'Deorain. To Akande, he said, "At least stay low 'til I get there."

"Do not tell me how to handle myself, Reyes. I cannot lose the respect of the board by backing down." There was a pause, for a moment, Akande presumably considering his options. "But I will take the travel time from Oasis under consideration. Keep me updated on Overwatch. I'll need to know if the teleporter is still involved."

The double-agent cut mic as his rage spiked, closed his eyes, let himself snarl over Ogundimu's bullheadedness, and then, contained it, as he knew he must. "Acknowledged," he said, thumbing his microphone with a smokey hand. "Reaper out."

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