#coupla drowned rats the two of ‘em

[frnkiebby]

couple-a screamy bbys~🎃

[littlekatleaf]

Once Warmed My Hands Over a Burning Maserati (Part 1)

They were still a good hour away from home when thunder cracked overhead and the skies, which had been threatening for ages, opened up, dumping what felt like a bucket of freezing rain over them. It was, Junkrat decided, just the perfect fucking finish to a perfect fucking day. Shoulda guessed the suits’d be dicking them over. Can’t never trust ‘em. That was the first mistake. The second mistake was making the stop at Bobby’s just so Roadhog could pick up some stupid useless pachimari plush he’d ordered online. If he’d just waited until another fucking day they would’ve been home before the storm and Junkrat’d be dry and happily working on his plans to get revenge on that two-faced drongo instead of soaked and miserable. He couldn’t even curse Roadhog out like he wanted to; the rain - rare in this part of the Outback - turned the dirt roads to mud instantly and it was slippery as shit. He knew Roadhog needed all of his concentration to keep from dumping them. He knew it, but it pissed him off anyway. Everything fucking pissed him off. Including the silent judgement he could feel radiating from Roadhog. Judgy bastard. Not like any of this shit was Junkrat’s fault. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to keep from shivering. He hated being cold. And wet. His hair hung limply into his eyes and down the back of his neck. Felt gross, like old noodles. For a second he actually envied Roadhog’s pachimari plush, snuggled warm and dry under his jacket. The only one of them that was dry. Should nick a car, maybe. Pain in the ass to find one big enough for Roadhog, but at least they’d be dry. He slumped in the sidecar, closed his eyes to keep the rain out, and let himself plan. They could hit a dealership. Still a couple to be found even if they had to trek all the way to Perth. Assuming, of course, that the fucking chopper could make it that far. Piece of shit broke down more than it worked, no matter how much time Roadhog devoted to it. Hit the place late enough at night and there wouldn’t be civvies around to worry about. Blow up the offices and a few key cars out front, and when the first responders were busy with that, make off with one of the cars in the back lot. Need to gather more intel first, though. He smiled, picturing the gout of flames as the building went up. The billowing waves of heat. Could never be cold when the world was burning. Junkrat sighed - nothing beautiful as fire. Burning. Explosions. It was all bloody perfect. From the smallest sparks swirling into the sky like stars set loose, to the lick of flame dancing on the tip of a match as he set the fuse alight, to the almost-tamed fire contained in a hearth but ready at a moment to escape and light the whole house, to the conflagration after one of his explosions that roared and devoured everything in its path. He smiled to himself, imagining the orange-red glow that stained the sky, the rolling clouds of smoke… The snap, crack, pop of the flames. He painted the memory in his mind. Almost enough to make him forget the rain, forget the failure - your failure a whisper of a thought through his mind, not much more than a wisp of smoke. He waved it away. Not mine - had the perfect plan, ‘f he didn’t screw it up. You screwed it up, Jamison. You. Junkrat frowned. Fuck off. You know the truth. You always screw it up. He humors you, but that won’t last forever, especially if you keep up like this. This weren’t my fault. The suit lied and… Have you ever known one to be honest? Lie to yourself all you want, but everyone else knows the truth. Even as it gave warning, the whisper sounded pleased. Junkrat shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, silence the voice. Suddenly he realized the bike had stopped. “Gonna just sit there?” He blinked the water out of his face and realized Roadhog had parked them in the garage. Felt muzzy headed and weird. His throat was hurting, like he’d inhaled too much smoke. He rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself up. “Course not. Was just tryin’ to figure what the hell happened back there.” Roadhog shrugged. “Got fucked up. Seems pretty clear.” Junkrat’s skin prickled, more than just gooseflesh from the cold. “Told ya shouldn’t trust the fuckin’ drongos.” He pushed past Roadhog and slammed into the house. The door clattered against the wall. The noise did nothing to drown the whisper. Liar… he told you... “...” Roadhog had followed, of course, with his loud fucking silent commentary. Junkrat wished he had a clue how he did that. “Suits always only thinkin’ about themselves. Takin’ advantage of a coupla blokes just tryin’ to go straight. ‘S bullshit is what it was.” He paced from one end of the room to the other. “Gonna fix it, though. Gonna get the fucker back, that’s sure. Blow his shit to the moon. Make him regret ever meeting us.” “Maybe just let this one ride,” Roadhog said, taking off his jacket and hanging it up on the hook by the door. He took the plush from the pocket and put it on the shelf with the others, arranging them carefully. “You gotta be fucking shitting me, mate. Let him go and everyone start thinking we gone soft.” He narrowed his eyes. “‘S that what’s happening here? You goin’ soft on me?” Roadhog turned from the shelf, just looking at him. Junkrat could feel the tension gathering in him like the thunderstorm that was still raging outside. He knew there was a warning. He didn’t care. “Quit staring with that fucking mask. Doesn’t scare me.” Liar… the voice whispered. Such a liar… “...” “Think ya are, you and those fuckin’ things,” he gestured to the shelf, as though it were evidence of some crime.   “Quit being an asshole, Rat.” Roadhog held himself almost perfectly still and Junkrat knew he was pushing him too far. “Oh I’m the asshole. You’re the one playing with dolls and telling me to give fucking suits a fucking break.” “Shut up.” “Fuck you.” He wanted to make a more cutting comment but he was having trouble thinking through the smoke in his head. “Always telling me to shut up, always… Huh-Riisssh! Rissha!” The sneezes burst out unexpectedly, interrupting his train of thought and leaving him sniffling. “Stop it,” Roadhog said. “Wh… ihh ...uhh… what?” He rubbed his nose, itches still setting him on edge. He looked around for any tissues but no luck. He was stuck wiping his nose on his wrist. Gross. Roadhog just looked at him. He stared back. Not gonna be intimidated. A drip of water slid from his hair, traced a tickly path down his nose and the sneezes hit hard, bending him nearly double. “Ah’rissha-issh-issha! Isssha! Ahrisssh! Fuck.” “Just stop.” Junkrat scowled. “Sorry for fucking sneezing, mate. Can’t exactly help it.” “Bullshit. You’re faking to get me sidetracked and it’s a shitty thing to do.” Roadhog crossed his arms over his chest, picture of unmoving, unmoved. “I’m no...huh...not…” Ugh. Kept needing to sneeze. Just wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and dry off. Warm up. But he felt trapped. Stuck in the stupid argument that didn’t even really matter. “Like hell. You’re taking advantage.” See? He doesn’t believe you anymore either. Doesn’t trust you. Only a matter of time. Tick tock. Time’s running out.