#hanzo shimada self care hours

[thepayloadisgay]

Since you say requests are open... May i request something relating to Hanzo self-care, nsfw or not? Whatever you're in the mood for, just some soft Hanzo. Thank you <33

Some self-care, solo Hanzo.

Starts off a little melancholy, but gets better I promise. Ship(s) alluded to slightly, but no-one named. Fill in the gaps yourself if you want and enjoy :3

NSFW 1700 words

----

Hanzo plucked his arrows from yet another body. Two. Unusable. Snapping what he couldn't remove, stuck too deep.

It was more a ritual, than anything else. One close look and they'd immediately know death by arrow, head of one sunk so hard it peeked through one of the assassin's throats.

Sometimes he kept what wood he could salvage, scraps repurposed into other things. Feathers a new arrow, even if bloodied.

Knees to stone, he shifted the bodies to rest. Closing eyes if needed. Then sat in shadow, tucked in a corner of an open tower, bow in hand. Arrow loose, but ready.

He breathed deep, the sea air of Esperança had settled too long in his lungs, and this had been the price. For a while, he listened.

Rattling of the trams, their tracks. People staggering after a late night, walking to work after an early morning. Shouts from the bakery a street over. The coffee shop shutters four doors along. A bicycle bell. Bird wings.

He tucked away his arrow. Collapsed his bow, stowing it in his bag. And stared again at the bodies by his feet.

No matter who he killed, when, how many, the same face always looked back up.

----

He tried to avoid habit, but it always happened.

The same stand for coffee. The same shop for fruit. This time though, a different route up the hill to the trees. The east side, through the winding streets. Wonky cobbles beneath, tall, colourful stone buildings above. Splits of the rising sun blooming through the gaps as he ascended, turning sharp corners, ducking through shortcuts he'd learned -a broken iron gate, a hole in an ancient wall, push aside the overgrown ivy- and he'd almost left the throng of the city to where he wanted to be.

The path was nature, now. Worn, not made. Desire, not direction. Hanzo enjoyed the feel of the large, uneven stones beneath his feet. The weight of the woods underneath. Around, the further he walked. Heavier, the deeper he breathed.

Sound changed. Metal dissolved, morphing to creaks of wood. No language to speak, here. Only for you to listen. Air that tasted sweet, at first. Flora, fauna.

Decay, the longer you cared.

Esperança was surrounded by water. The sea yawning at its edges, kissing the rocks, bubbling where you touched. But up, up, deep within the woods, its wilds, miles from the edges and stone, there's a small waterfall rolling to a lake, clear and beautiful, edged in rock and bloom.

A last sip of his coffee, and he tucks away his cup in his bag. Europe did coffee well, and he'd grown, well he wasn't sure if the world was like, maybe accustomed, attached to it.

Late nights, early mornings, sleep a luxury. There were few things that were a comfort anymore, but just necessity.

Except this.

This place wasn't a secret. Many steps had walked back, forth here. But so early, barely dawn, no-one else cared but Hanzo.

Bag, arrows down, his jacket follows. He rolls his shoulders, stiff from waiting for earlier's company. His t-shirt, tight, rolls with him, stuck to muscles too tight. But there's no-one to touch them anymore.

(your hands moved like art, shaping my body into a vision that was yours, and yours alone. if you only asked, i would have bent. if you only asked, i would have broke)

T-shirt off. Shoes kicked to the side.

And a stretch. Tall and on his toes, dawn sighs over Hanzo's skin, dipping in, out, over his muscles as he breathes in-

-out.

His fingers brush the tip of a branch, dusting in pollen, pulling gentle at a leaf, but not enough to pluck.

He stares at his hands, stretched to the flowers, dusted in pollen, eyes following the dragon on his arm. And he tries to remember the last time he felt its roar; the brush of its scales; its fangs, ready to bear.

Hanzo wonders if he left it behind, fangs sunk in Genji, a killing blow, goodbye and apology, all for you.

There's little ceremony with the rest of his clothes. But he pulls out a small hairbrush as he lets his hair down. And naked, knees to grass, the water's edge his reflection, he starts to brush.

More grey than before. His sidecut grown out too long. He tugs at a knot that hurts, unwinding it with fingers, patience. Another he just cuts off. It's gotten so long, almost at the dip of his back. He knows its impractical-

(i've let two people brush my hair like this. i never told you, just let you, like it was nothing. because you're fleeting. you don't even call me my name. i decided to not cut my hair after that night. i never saw you again)

Eyes closed, to open. One hand brushes his hair, the other stretches over his thigh, a reach away from his half-hard cock.

But he pulls away. Brushing hair with fingers, bristles. His reflection warping when a leaf falls, petals scatter.

There's more strands in his brush than last time. He wonders if one day he'll touch his hair, and a handful will just come with it. Or if there's already a patch he can't see. It's half the reason he's shaved off the sides. Paranoia won.

He rolls his neck, relief at the loud click. At the ache as he stretches it side, to side. Another roll of his shoulders. A stretch of his arms. A dip of his head, child's pose. Fingertips skating the water as he holds.

Holds.

Breathes the earth.

Hears memory.

Sees you.

It's always cold when he first steps in. A sharp gasp. A shiver. The water covers him at its deepest, but he keeps to the sides. it skirts his waist. Sometimes his nipples, droplets turning the scales of his tattoo, diamonds.

The drone of the waterfall louder, now.

Hanzo treads the water, ends of his long hair ink beneath. They could be shadow, seeping from underneath his skin, an exposé of what he keeps below. But not today.

Today, they're just something beautiful.

He looks up, the sun still dawn, split through the canopy, leaves backlit to black. Petals sometimes fall, coating the water until lost under the roar of the waterfall.

Hanzo scoops up a handfull of water, soaking his face, rubbing his tired skin. His beard that needs trimmed. A cut, healing by his neck. A bruise on his pec. A new scar on his shoulder.

Another splash of water. He pulls the rest over his hair, before he just dips beneath the waterfall, and can't breathe.

He always likes to stay beneath for as long as possible, before that last minute where he needs to inhale. When he's dizzy.

Pushes out. Soaking. The weight of his hair, heavy. It sticks to his skin, black silk. Mimicking the shapes of his dragon tattoo; some places, just the shape of his dragon. Drops of water, constellations on his skin. Maybe gems to be plucked by someone.

But Hanzo just pulls a hand over his chest, pressing deep into muscle. Finger catching the nipple piercing (impulse). Over arms he flexes, droplets shaking off. Relaxes, kneads with his strong touch.

He's by the edge before he knows. Comfortable. Stretched back against the stones. Moss. Crown of reeds.

The sun finds him. Warm. A gentle spotlight for no-one.

He wants a reason to touch, but his hand is already there.

He sighs. Back against the edge, watching the way the water laps his chest, his hand, hard cock, distorted beneath the way the water moves, here. Rippled from the waterfall; from the way his hand moves under the water.

Over thigh, first.

That thick scar, where skin is thinner. Sensitive. A peek into death that when he touches, a quiver.

A dip in the break between pelvis and thigh.

(everyone found that spot. magnetised. i didn't have to tell you, you just touched and I succumbed. you'd made some sweet quip about the way I looked beneath. do you know how you looked, beneath)

The last time he'd touched himself had been here, too. It was a ritual, of sorts. Sacred ground where he was allowed to be.

Other people had touched him in the city, he'd touched others outside its walls. But hand to self was different. With someone else, it could be anything else.

There was nothing else but you, here.

He missed it more everytime.

So he came back more.

Touched more.

Loved, more.

He moves slow, at first. Hand feeling the thickness of his cock, warm in the cool water. A soft moan, lost in the roar of the waterfall.

So, a louder moan. Vibrato against his throat; a throat lined in the wet ink of his hair, bleeding to the water at his shoulders, a dance as he moves. Breathes. Snaps another moan.

He knew, often, that he was restrained. Love, contained. But here, he moves.

Legs stretch. Toes drag along the bottom of the lake. Catch reeds, flora. Kicking up stones. He drags a hand over his chest, leaving behind a dragon's claw.

Faster, now. Thumb pressing over his thick tip, and down. Repeat. Repeat.

Over chest again, catching the bar in his nipple, and he tugs. Enough that he bites his lip, moaning something he almost wishes he hadn't heard. But it doesn't stop him.

He feels how fast his heartbeats, the way he breaths as he wraps his hand around his throat. The sound of his moans, the way they shape against his fingers, mark his palm.

Faster. Louder.

Hanzo arches off the bank, eyes half lidded, half desperate to watch himself wet with bliss as he pulls his cock harder.

There's no-one to hear when he cums, loud and a voice that breaks, dragging fingers from lips to throat, over a chest that's almost split from the thump, thump of his heart.

His body shakes. Arm moves, hand rolling over his cock again as he sinks in the last waves of his orgasm. Dizzy. Dewey.

Head back, the moss is a pillow as he stretches out, a leg out of the water, foot dripping diamonds in the sun.

Hanzo reaches out to his bag, pulling out a small punnet of strawberries, and lies back, punnet balancing on his pecs as he begins to eat.

A leaf falls, lazy, landing on his chest. A petal, his cheek.

[wellthebardsdead]

Overwatch nighttime routine Headcanons: Hanzo

Had this idea floating around in my brain for a while now and decided to start off with my fave boi ~Bambi

Youth

Sleep? What’s that?

Eye bags for days

Being the heir to the shimada clan, a massive criminal empire, expectations were heavy on his shoulders at all times. On top of being his fathers shadow and having to perform at his very best every single day at any given moment he was also expected to get perfect grades in every single subject. From trigonometry to the multitude of languages he was forced to study, everything had to be perfect or the consequences would be severe. And When he wasn’t worrying about all that he was picking up the slack Genji kept dropping. Everyday up until the clan simply gave up on trying with the younger shimada, Hanzo would do his homework for him. Sneak him his answers for tests, and would frequently drop his own work to make sure his brother didn’t get into trouble.

It only got worse after the death of their father when he was suddenly expected to run everything with no help, all on top of trying to keep his hot mess of a brother safe from the elders while begging him for any type of assistance.

And thus his bed time routine was simply a shower, brushing his teeth and face planting into bed. Usually around 1am only to wake up a few hours later for training or to pick up his intoxicated party boy brother from wherever he’d end up on any given evening.

Post incident/Pre-Overwatch

Sleep continues to be an enigma.

Major case of puffy eye bags

Hangover McDonald’s breakfast will be needed.

Spending a decade on the run haunted with nightmares of what had happened and with assassins hot on his tail at any given moment, survival definitely took priority over rest.

However when his body would inevitably force him to rest it was usually in a dingy hotel and often only for a few hours.

His dragons would guard the door while he’d shower, the hotel water would most likely be cold or lukewarm but he’d reason he’d somehow deserve it.

After brushing his teeth he’d dress in something comfortable like a t-shirt and sweats, something he could easily spring into action in incase of a late night ambush. Something he learned the hard way he’d have to be prepared for.

he’d then spend the next few hours drinking heavily just so he could finally pass out into hopefully a dreamless sleep, praying for a painless death if it comes in the night.

Post-Overwatch

Soft boy, sleepy, sleepy boy, only knows comfort, only knows rest.

Hanzo joined Overwatch in less than the best condition and Genji immediately took to fussing over him and his health and his self care.

No more alcohol induced sleep, both Genji and Angela made sure of that. (She nearly had a stroke when she took his blood alcohol levels) instead he has tea before bed, usually camomile or honey and orange blossom.

Genji spared no expense when it came to making him feel secure and safe in his new home. A big bed with a nice wide frame and comfortable mattress to make him feel nice and tucked away, extra big fluffy pillows, snug duvet and plenty of throw blankets.

Now feeling safe and in a healing environment with a healthy support system he absolutely pampers himself every night.

His hair gets a mask once a week to keep it healthy and shiny.

He loves fruity shampoo and conditioner but is partial to anything rose or camomile scented.

He has a nice long shower followed by a bath usually with lavender and rosemary salts. Tea is best enjoyed at this time in his opinion… usually with a biscuit, a tip he got from Lena and Jamie.

Fluffy bath robes and slippers are an absolute must!

After brushing his teeth he usually spends 5 to 10 minutes moisturising.

He definitely gives himself a simple manicure job every week or so, maybe a top coat to keep them strong with all the climbing and fighting.

It’s become a ritual for him to snuggle into bed with a good book while the dragons make biscuits with the blankets. He knows he’s not supposed to look at his phone before sleep if he wants a good rest, but he’s been texting the resident cowboy in favour of reading as of late 👀

He often sleeps until noon, his body’s just come out of nearly 30years of fight or flight mode and he’s healing from it. He complains he feels lazy because of it but Genji and zenyatta both highly encourage he let his body do what it needs to.

[nitewrighter]

Hiya Nite! I was going through some of your Rei fics (because I LOVE THEM SO MUCH YOU'RE SUCH A GREAT WRITER AND I LOVE REI) and I was wondering if you've ever written Genji & Mercy's reaction to Hanzo telling Rei about the whole ✨attempted fratricide✨ thing? Because I couldn't remember if you'd said somethin about it or nah

Thank you so much!! I did have a short dialogue written up here, but I do think there’s more to unpack there, so I should actually expand it into a fic.

Continued from ‘Storytelling.’

----

Mercy stood in the darkness and smoothed Rei’s hair as she slept. Those Shimada brows that she hadn’t quite grown into yet were furrowed against thick dark eyelashes. Mercy wondered if she was having nightmares, how much anger and heartbreak fit into that little body. She pulled the comforter up over Rei’s shoulder and Rei curled a little more tightly around her Midori Rider action figure.

Mercy walked out of Rei’s room and closed the door behind her before looking out at the living room. Hanzo and McCree were sitting next to each other on the couch, with Genji leaning against the breakfast bar of the kitchen. She took a steadying inhale.

“I feel like I’m fairly relaxed when it comes to babysitting instructions,” she glanced over at Genji, “Genji, am I relaxed?“

Genji coughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Well...” he trailed off.

“Just three rules,” said Mercy, “No junk food, no more than 2 hours of holovids, and bedtime at 8:30. I feel like ‘Don’t traumatize my daughter’ shouldn’t need to be said.”

“She asked–” Hanzo started.

“She’s six!” said Mercy, “And we agreed we’d tell her this story in a controlled environment where we could all support her!

“We worked it out—” McCree started.

“And what if you couldn’t work it out?” said Mercy, “What if, god forbid, she got scared Hanzo would hurt her? What if she thought she wasn’t safe here?!”

“Angela!” Genji cut in.

“You know he’d never–” McCree started.

“Rei is a child,” Mercy went on, “You can’t expect her to respond to traumatic stories like a mini-adult. She’s not you. And she’s certainly not you when you were a child.”

“No,” said Hanzo, looking down, “No, she isn’t.”

“But she’s tougher than you’re giving her credit for,” said McCree.

“Jesse,” Hanzo put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s fine.”

“Hanzo...” McCree trailed off.

“She’s right,” said Hanzo, “I overstepped. We should have waited until you were here to discuss it with her. I put my own guilt over her wellbeing and I apologize.”

“You just--” Mercy blustered for a few seconds, still stuck with a directionless fury that was still fizzing over and couldn’t be focused on Hanzo now that he had apologized, “What on earth were you--Why would you---!?” she huffed, “Was this you hitting self-destruct?”

“What?” said Hanzo.

“Are you starting to feel smothered so this is your way of putting us back at arm’s length? Of putting Rei at arm’s length?” 

“Jesus, Ange...” said McCree.

“No,” said Hanzo, “No I... it wasn’t that. If it was, it... wasn’t conscious,” he glanced down at his hands and ran one thumb over the other thoughtfully, “I just... couldn’t brush the question off anymore. Not when she looks at me like... like I never...”

“She looks up to you,” said Genji, “And that scares you.”

“She needed to know,” the words came out of Hanzo quiet and defeated.

“Look, what matters is, I was able to explain things to her. And we’ll be right here for her now that the truth’s finally out,” said McCree. He looked at Mercy, “And I think deep down we all know we’re kidding ourselves if we think she’s going to have a normal childhood. We can do our best to give her a normal childhood, but we got Talon and Vishkar and Null Sector and Ninjas and god-knows-what-else breathing down our necks. So we can’t all be jumping on each other’s throats every time she catches a whiff of that. The best we can do is prepare her. And like I said, she’s a tough kid! She just keeps goin’!” 

Mercy’s lips thinned and she glanced down. Genji pushed off the breakfast bar and walked over to her, gently cupping his hand to the side of her face. “Angela... she will be all right, She’s strong, like you.”

“Just because I know we can handle that kind of pain doesn’t mean I’m willing to let her go through it!” said Mercy, not making eye contact.

“I know,” said Genji, “But we get to be there for her in ways our parents weren’t, so she at least has that.” 

Mercy took him up in a hug, burying her face in the point where his neck and shoulder met, and he returned the embrace.

“And she’s got us, too,” said McCree, “Though uh... we’ve probably done enough for one night.”

A grim half-scoff half-chuckle fell out of Hanzo. “Yes we should... probably give this whole situation some space for now.”

“Hanzo--” Mercy pulled out of Genji’s embrace slightly, “I know... I know you’re only trying to do the right thing--”

“It’s fine,” said Hanzo.

“It’s not as though they have chapters on ‘Ninja Family Drama’ in parenting books,” said Genji with a sigh.

“In any case, it’s getting late,” said McCree, “We should probably be letting you guys get some rest.”

“I’ll walk you back to your apartment,” said Genji. He glanced back at Mercy. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes,” said Mercy, “I want to be around in case Rei--” she nearly said ‘Has a nightmare’ but caught herself, “...in case Rei has trouble sleeping.” She looked over at Hanzo. “Take care, all right?”

Hanzo gave her a nod.

----

“Man, I thought she was scary before,” said McCree as they walked over to his and Hanzo’s apartment, “That Mama Bear instinct’s no joke, huh?”

“She had a point,” said Hanzo.

“Look, you don’t have to keep beating yourself up,” said McCree putting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

“You said yourself, Rei is tough, it takes a lot to make her cry,” said Hanzo.

“Yeah, but it’ll get better--Little kids ain’t got much reference for anything, so everything just... overtakes ‘em. it’s like Tinkerbell, y’know?” said McCree.

“Like what?” said Genji.

“Y’know, the fairy? ‘Fairies are so small they only got room for one feeling at a time,’” said McCree, “Or somethin’ like that...”

Both Hanzo and Genji looked at him blankly.

“You’re telling me neither of you read Peter Pan?” said McCree.

“We’ll add it to Rei’s read-aloud list,” said Genji with a slight smile.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am she’s finally past that accursed ‘Lamby’ book,” huffed Hanzo.

“Hey! Little Lamby Lambkins is worth a gotdamn Nobel Prize in literature!” said McCree as they finally reached the front door of McCree and Hanzo’s apartment. 

“Um--McCree,” Genji started, “Could Hanzo and I--?”

McCree gave a glance to Hanzo who gave him a nod. “You got it,” said McCree. He kissed Hanzo on the temple, “I’ll warm up the sheets for ya.”

Hanzo smiled a little huffed through his nostrils in response as McCree headed into the apartment. As the door clicked shut behind him, both Genji and Hanzo leaned against the guardrail of the upper-floor walkway.

“How are you feeling?” said Genji.

“I’ll be all right,” said Hanzo.

“Hanzo...” Genji looked at him, “I know talking about that didn’t just hurt Rei, I know it hurts you too.”

“I said I’ll be fine,” said Hanzo, “Besides, the fact that her first reaction was shouting that she hated me means that you two are raising her right.” He chuckled a little.

“Don’t,” said Genji.

“What?” 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that. That doesn’t help you, and it doesn’t help Rei. A child’s love for you isn’t something you can just sacrifice on the altar of your own self-loathing,” said Genji.

Hanzo blinked a few times. 

“And for that matter, you can’t always count on McCree to do damage control when you hurt someone like that,” said Genji, “I know you love each other but you can’t put that on him. Yes, there is such thing as empathy, as shared pain, but you also have to figure out how to differentiate between your pain and someone else’s so you know when you’re putting more on them than they can bear! She’s six, Hanzo! Six!” He caught himself. “I’m... I’m sorry... I don’t mean to come off so harshly.”

“No,” said Hanzo, “No you’re... you’re always so... supportive. It’s... kind of refreshing to hear you get angry with me.”

“I just... we said we’d do this together. I didn’t look forward to facing it, but I wanted to face it together.” he huffed, “I’m not just upset on Rei’s behalf, I’m also hurt by the fact that you think you still have to face stuff like this alone...”

“To be honest, I... didn’t really think of it as ‘facing it alone,’“ said Hanzo, “...I suppose that’s a side effect of being alone for so long. But mostly it was Rei.”

Genji tilted his head. “Mm?”

“You do realize you’ve managed to make someone as stubborn as Angela and persistent as you, don’t you?” he huffed, “I know that’s hardly an excuse and you have my word I’ll do better but...” 

“...if we aren’t careful, you may just end up spoiling her,” said Genji with a sly grin.

“If we aren’t careful... and if she ever wants to talk to me again,” said Hanzo.

“You found your way here, right?” said Genji, “We’ll figure it out.”

“...and you’re sure there are no parenting books on ‘Ninja Family Drama?’” said Hanzo.

“I keep looking,” said Genji with a hapless shrug.

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

The Boys With a Medic S/O

Does anyone know why I say “ish” or is it just something I started throwing in and have never explained so people are confused?

This one got a little long with all the characters, so everyone else is under the cut!

Also, so sorry if the quality of the piece gets worse as it goes on, I’m writing the second half of this at two am. <’D

~~~

Akande

Whether or not you’re a medic doesn’t really change your relationship at all

The same soft, casual, romantic ish regardless

Though, being a medic, you’re probably an early riser to get to work

Akande, who’s always an early riser, spends the morning with you eating, getting ready and all that, then walks you to the med bay if he doesn’t have his own business to attend to at the time

Always pops in the med bay to chat for a bit if neither of you are busy

Escorts you to the cafeteria or takes you out to lunch since the two of you have the same break

Packs your lunch on the occasion of you being super busy to make sure you still actually have food and don’t just work through the lunch hour

Makes sure you don’t overwork yourself or get yourself stressed out; being a medic can’t be an easy job

You’re his go-to medic

Baptiste

Working together!!

That type of couple that works together like a well-oiled machine

Either of you need an item? The other’s already handing it to you

You have a question? You don’t even need to finish the phrase before you have your answer

Need someone to help you with something? Jean’s already being called for you

Working in the same space? You work and move together like, well, a well-oiled machine

Ultimate medic power couple

Teasing and chatting and smooching when things aren’t busy

One of you always has a lunch packed for the both of you

Taking care of each other to make sure neither of you gets overworked

Jean jokes and teases a lot about needing a doctor

A love doctor

Jean, stop, you nerd

Genji Shimada

Just because he’s a cyborg doesn’t mean he’s not going to pretend he has injuries just to come see you

“Genji, I’m not even that type of medic; I literally couldn’t help you even if you were injured.”

“... But you can kiss my scraped elbow better.”

“Your elbow is metal; a scrape would not hurt you.”

You say as you grab his arm to kiss his elbow anyway

Unfortunately, with his traveling and your line of work, you don’t get to see other very often

However, you still keep contact with heartwarming letters and the occasional pressed flower

Genji often sends you little knickknacks and other items that he thinks you’d like during his travels

They often hint to where he’s at, as kind of a game between the two of you

More than once, he’s brought a broken soul to you for help and a bit of fixing up

A kind, strong-willed soul yourself, you take these challenges in stride

When he gets home from traveling and you’re still at work, he’ll meet you outside the compound to reunite and perhaps to go on a date before heading home

Not being together as often makes the reuniting and the time you do spend together that much sweeter

Hanzo Shimada

Whether or not you’re a medic means very little in the relationship

The biggest thing is that he’s hella respectful of your workplace

To the point where, if you wanted a kiss, you’d probably have to convince him that “Hanzo, it’s fine, I’m on break, no one c a r e s”

“Hanzo, you are allowed to come into the med bay, it’s a public area”

“Hanzo, you literally came to pick me after work. There’s no one here, you’re allowed to hold my hand.”

At least he’s respectful, though

Trusts you over other medics and straight up requests you

He could be bleeding out and be like you guys can take care of me for now but as soon as they’re available I want my s/o

He’s That Bitch

Once he got injured pretty badly on the field and while he was high on pain meds dude was the most affectionate and touchiest he’s ever been in his lifetime

Despite the situation that got him there, it was the best and funniest event to happen in your workplace and you never let him forget it

Junkrat

Poor you

But also great for him

You get visits or calls from him several times a day

Dude gets into trouble constantly and you bet your ass he tries to take advantage of this and you being a medic to get your attention

Even for the littlest things

“Jamie, that’s a paper cut. You do not need full medical attention.”

Even for things that are not in your profession

“Jamie, I can’t make you a leg; that’s not my profession.“

Of course, if you’re having a rough day or show your irritation towards his antics ever, he apologizes and tones it down

Tells you that he just wants to spend time with you as much as possible

Tries to cheer you up whenever you get overwhelmed or stressed from a busy day

You always take care of each other

He protects you and tries to make your days more lighthearted

You make sure he takes care of himself as much as the trashman is willing to, and bandage and smooch the smallest of scratches

Especially at home; it’s a whole fluffy, mushy thing

Roadie hates it when he’s around

Lucio

Thinks you being a medic is hella cool and respectable

At one point has probably had you show him some of the basics so he has that information in case something happens and you’re not around to help

Always tries to make the home space cozy and pleasant when you get home because he knows working in a med bay, with injured and sick people a lot of the time, can be taxing

The softest and sweetest of boys

But when is he not

When he has to leave for shows or tours, he always tidies up the house and stocks the fridge and whatnot so you don’t have to worry about that stuff while he’s gone, at least for a while

While on the road he always sends you clips from shows and videos of him singing to you, and sometimes just “miss you!” selfies

Speaking of that, he almost always pulls you into dancing around the house when you get home from work

Sings to you a lot too

McCree

Thinks being a medic is a great and hella respective profession

But will also totally take advantage of it to spend time with you

Usually, he doesn’t like to go to the med bay unless he absolutely has to

However, now

Comes in even with minor injuries

Frequent overall health checkups

Calls you or shows up when he’s been drinking a little to much or got into a scuffle with some douche

You can’t exactly complain; he’s taking better care of himself than he ever has in the past

All under the idea of just doing it to see you

Not to mention, being in a small, enclosed area with a pretty shirtless cowman who continuously compliments and flirts with you isn’t often an unwanted event

However, if you’re busy during his drop-by, he often tries to put the facade back up and leave again

The other medics have learned to hold him hostage until you’re free again, unless it’s something serious

Does his best to make sure life outside of work is lighthearted and comfortable as he can, though there’s still the occasional scuff

Tries to keep in tune with your emotions during and after work so he doesn’t overstep and make life worse for you

Reaper

Get that bread

Highly respects your profession

Never bothers you at work, which is probably a little disappointing on occasion during times where you’re free for lunch and your breaks line up

However, you can’t really be mad

You’re often the one going and checking up on him when you have free time

The man does a terrible job of taking care of himself, being self-loathing and also throwing himself into his criminal work almost 24/7

You bring him snacks and water and the like on breaks if you can track him down

Often goes to pick up dinner after work and then comes back to hang out and eat with him at the office while he works late

Rubbing his stiff shoulders and back and arms while he’s hunched over his desk doing paperwork

Or rubbing the pieces that haven’t smoked off his body, that is

He loves and appreciates you so hard, but lowkey feels bad that you feel like you have to take care of him alongside your other business

It takes some convincing, assurance, and maybe even a little scolding to get his brain off such thoughts

Giving him smooches and making sure he takes breaks

You’ve fallen asleep in his office only to wake up in your comfy bed at home more than once

Reinhardt

The perfect balance of respecting work boundaries and being a sweet, sappy man

The two of you share breakfast together before work, if you both have the time

Picks you up for lunch almost every day, and visits you when he’s not busy with his own business

If you’re busy, depending on the task you’re dealing with, he’ll either wait for you to be free or leave a message with another medic and drop by later

Always picks you up after work

If he’s gone on a trip for work, he leaves messages for you to read on your breaks and calls or video chats you during lunch

Always asks about your day and makes sure you’re doing well and taking care of yourself

Roadhog

Is overall indifferent to the situation

He finds it mildly pleasant that, should anything direly serious happen (as rare of an occurrence as that may be), he has someone trusted in the medical field he can do

Worries on occasion when you come home from a particularly taxing and/or gruesome day that looking like a tired wreck

Does his best to comfort and soothe you in his own quiet way

This mainly involves cuddling and massages and ordering good food

Then there’s the days you come home with fire in your eyes, overflowing with pride as you talk about your work

He knows he doesn’t have to be too worried when he sees you like that

Soldier 76

Finds your work very honorable and respects it a lot

Probably told you this when the two of you first met and that’s what caught your attention

Thinks much more highly of you than himself

He probably catches you in the hall during work or pops in when he sees you free through the med bay window, but otherwise doesn’t often bother you during work

Occasionally takes you to lunch or walks with you to the cafeteria if he’s too busy to eat lunch that day

The two of you kind of take turns taking care of each other

Helping each other through everyday stresses and making sure you’re both treating yourselves healthily

He makes sure you’re eating and staying hydrated and you make sure he actually goes home instead of working through the entire night

The occasional smooch or handhold

Zenyatta

Similar with Genji, Zenyatta’s travels and your busy schedule make spending time together difficult on occasion

His permanent home is a sanctuary, so you’re often not alone with him either way

Not that you mind; you love to help take care of people there

Plus there’s various pleasant, relaxing things to do there, such as meditate or tending to the gardens or simply chatting with the visiting people and sharing a bite

Regardless of how frequently the two of you are physically together, you keep in touch

A constant stream of letters and when he has the time and service, Zenyatta often calls to check up on you

Tries to always call in the morning, on your lunch, and at night but different time zones and both of your works being pretty fluid, that’s not always possible

If you want some time truly alone together, your place is the spot to go

Lots of cuddling, smooching, and catching up

He always brings one or two small gifts for you when he gets home from a trip

If he gets home during the day, he’ll either catch you during your lunch or go to your home and tidy up while your away, then surprise you by waiting on your doorstep when you get there at night

[overdrivels]

Impressions

Man, I think this’ll be the first time I write something using pronouns of my own accord. I don’t know if anyone’s ever noticed, but I’ve worked actively in most of my writings here (and in TWtaH) to never allude to gender or physical appearance. Forgive me just this once, I really want to indulge.

I didn’t proofread this, I just wanted to fight writer’s block and write something really, really self indulgent. I’m really not strong enough to abstain or to control my own bullshit. It’s like 4k of unorganized thoughts loosely strung together.

——

You came to the Watchpoint one chilly summer night, wearing a proud grin that the heavy pelting rains could not wash off. The upward turn of your lips stood out in sharp contrast to the deep droop of your loose clothes, more vessels for water than for you. Over the sounds of thunder you had boldly declared to everyone who came to see who was so brave and foolish as to come during this weather: “I’ve come to save you from yourselves.”

First impressions are everything, the clan had taught him that. But Overwatch taught him people are more than their first impressions. 

Hanzo’s impression of you, the first (tracking mud and rain water on freshly cleaned floors), second (curled in the corner of the kitchenette, asleep and blocking the way to the kettle), and onward (not bothering to change after spilling coffee all over yourself, sleeping just anywhere you please and on anyone you please and at any time you please), was as lousy as the last.

‘Slovenly’ would be a good word to describe you and the way you carry yourself. Everything you did was haphazard and barely put together in the way that Hanzo would've been scolded and beat for as a youth.

Placed side-by-side, it's clear you're exact opposites. Hanzo, while approaching the end of his midlife crisis at a breakneck speed, still maintained some of the decorum that shadowed the immaculate side of himself that he had worn everyday for most of his life. You, on the other hand, looked like you rolled out of bed regardless of occasion without a care in the world or for how anyone might see you. It vexes him that people could call you a 'hero' or find comfort in your existence looking and acting the way you do.

Even McCree and the Junkers have more tact than you who sits in on the meeting in your pajamas and a crumpled parka meant to cover the fact that you were not wearing proper pants. At least they look battle-ready. You look like you're four seconds away from rolling back into bed.

"--we will require everyone's attendance. There will be many dignitaries present,”--Hanzo does not miss the way Winston seems to look at you—“so we ask you please be on your best behavior. The dress code is, of course, white-tie formal, though your tie may be whatever color you wish." 

Winston chuckles a bit at his own joke, though it falls flat in the face of everyone else who seems more dismayed than anything at having to attend a formal party doing, arguably, the opposite of their jobs. 

Hanzo can't help but glance over at you. Your head rests precariously on your palm, elbow threatening to slip out from beneath the weight. You're barely even trying to pay attention. 

The thought sends an exasperated fire through Hanzo's veins and he forces himself to look away. His old habits of correcting people and instilling discipline were coming back to haunt him in spades. If he keeps paying too much attention to your lackadaisical manner, he fears he'll lose all the progress he's made since he's joined Overwatch--he'll relapse and soon have a sword in hand again. 

Luckily neither of your paths crossed often. He still has no idea what you do. Your hours are unusual. You do not go on missions with them. You do not participate in combat drills. You do not voice your opinion on anything during meetings and no one mentions your seemingly lack of participation. Instead, you’re usually locked in your own room or get chauffeured around by Lena, disappearing for weeks at a time before returning with things like a golf bag or suitcase meant for vacationing. It's unclear how you're meant to 'save them from themselves' when you do nothing of value in the first place. 

It’s good that he barely sees you except for times like these when everyone’s collective presence is required. Neither of you have so much as exchanged more than a sentence, but he’s overheard you jabbering once or twice that didn’t change his mind that you were useless and an irritating existence. 

Beneath his skin, the dragons draw a slow, undulating spiral. Restless, but comfortable, drawing his attention away from the reminder that he is still no better of a person than he was before. 

Winston explains the expected attendees of the party. All of them are high-profile figures with significant influence over their own spheres of influence. There are specific people he would like them to get on good terms with: the head of the United Nations; leaders of specific human rights movements; leaders of countries with pro-omnic rights. All agents should remain in groups and only designated people should seek conversations with specified individuals.

The most important thing is to project the image that Overwatch is back and united. Gaining support is just a parallel mission. 

Everyone is dismissed, the weight of the briefing dragging down their moods. It’s a high stakes mission with a lot of risk. Throwing all of them unsupervised and untrained into this situation is too reckless.

For the sake of Overwatch, he hopes you'll at least wear something appropriate. Watching you leave the meeting with your lazy shuffling, and shoulders slumped to the point your parka is struggling to remain on your person, he has some serious reservations.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Lucio delicately readjust your parka like you’re a child to be looked after. The DJ had mentioned he took care of kids in his neighborhood--a natural big brother figure--so it’s natural for him to notice such things and take it into stride. Even so, there’s a limit to these activities.

You're an adult. He does not know your exact age, but he knows you should be old enough to not require the pampering of others. Snorting to himself, he turns away, determined not to let your existence bother him. 

But that proves difficult. 

The day of the party looms over everyone’s heads, rapidly drawing near. Tensions are palpable. Agents run to and fro, fretting over what is appropriate to wear and how to act that wouldn’t embarrass or threaten Overwatch’s existence. 

While Hanzo isn’t worried about how to act during the party, one thing does weigh on his mind. You. 

He hadn’t seen you since that meeting ended, explaining the party, and it’s already the eve of. He was too busy helping the other agents figure out their attires and manners to care, but now that most of that is sorted, he realizes he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you. 

It’s not that he cares. He doesn’t. Not about you anyway. 

Winston tells him, “She’ll meet us at the party, not to worry. Her current mission will end just as the party starts."

"Current mission? I was not aware she did any work." If Winston noticed the amount of malice in those words, he didn't say anything about it. Ana, though, laughs into her hand. 

"Oh yes, she does a lot for Overwatch. Not that you and everyone else doesn't, of course! Her activities are a little different than ours, so I haven't had a chance to pair her with anyone here so far. But rest assured, everyone is doing their parts to help."

It doesn't answer his question and Hanzo's not sure if Winston is being purposefully evasive. Not that the scientist has a single deceitful bone in his large body. 

"And what exactly does she do?" 

"Now, now. Let's save that for later." Ana steps in between them both. "We have other things to worry about. Did you study up on your target?"

"Of course." 

He's memorized the dossier on the person he is supposed to make contact with at the party. She is the head of a for-profit charity organization. While her operations are small, they receive a considerable amount of support and boast of a large network of benefactors that Overwatch themselves can benefit from. He has no plans to mess this up. 

"Very good. You're dismissed then." There's a hardness to her eye that forbids any further backtalk and Hanzo has no choice but to withdraw and ponder on the nature of your job. 

In the end, he has to believe that you wouldn't be an embarrassment to Overwatch, especially not during their first public debut. No matter how unkempt you are normally, he knows you take your job seriously. Winston said as much and Hanzo has never once actually heard anyone complain about you. It's the only reason his irritation hasn't gotten the better of him. 

—

The party itself is rather impressive, on par with the ones that he attended when he was still considered the scion of the Shimada clan. The hall is large and well decorated with arched ceilings and a live orchestra filling every crevice with music. 

Paparazzi are ready for them, swarming immediately as soon as they step out of their rented hoverlimo. It takes the combined efforts of himself, McCree, Fareeha, Zarya, Roadhog, and Soldier: 76 to part the crowd and get into the venue.  

Many of the guests are distinguished. Hanzo recognizes many of them as leaders of countries, a few as CEOs of national companies, A-list celebrities and holovideo personalities. Overwhelmingly political, though. 

Dr. Zhou seems uncomfortable with the attention, shying away from conversation and making herself as small as possible. Winston is right beside her, equally awkward despite the gungho attitude he had about it in the beginning. At least they have Zarya and Fareeha with them to detract from any unwanted conversation. 

Surprisingly, Reinhardt and Soldier: 76 blend right into the crowd, making pleasantries like it’s second nature. Even Ana is taking a large brunt of conversations relating to Overwatch, stepping in gracefully when needed, standing down and merely watching with an unapproachable aura when she wasn’t. 

There are others who seem to disappear in the crowd. Satya, Genji, and McCree all seem to have made themselves scarce. Not that he has any room to talk--he’s made himself a home behind one of the many pillars in the back of the hall where he has a great view of most of the venue.  

Everyone else is prim and proper and their suits and dresses as though it didn’t take them all about six hours to get ready. 

In the back of his mind, he thinks it would be better if you couldn’t make it. 

Not even an hour into the party, some commotion by the door catches his attention. Paparazzi, likely sensing the presence of a scoop, all swarm toward the arching entryway, excited murmurs buzzing throughout the hall. What could possibly get the attention of all these vultures?

He's half-curious, but he suddenly has his hands full running after Junkrat who decides he no longer likes his bowtie or the fact that the first four buttons of his shirt are closed. 

It takes him a little while with McCree’s and Zenyatta’s help to calm Junkrat down--and he never realized just how tall the man was until he had to wrestle the Junker to the ground. By the time he’s done fixing himself up, the paparazzi crowd has dispersed and his hand is now occupied with champagne instead of rowdy children. He scans the crowd, seeking out his target for sweet talking. 

But someone else catches his eye. 

A figure in a dress no more fancier or elegant than any other attendee’s, but there’s just something about how the person holds themselves that gives him pause and puts him on edge as though the claws of a particularly dangerous animal were pressed against his neck. 

Hanzo damn near drops his champagne glass in surprise when he’s able to put a name to the face. 

It's you.

He has to do a double take and squint. 

No, he has to be dreaming. This is a dream. 

But no matter how much blinked or tried to clear his vision, you remain with the exception that you are more regal and composed than any time he's ever seen you. It's as though he's never known you at all. And maybe he doesn’t. 

At his elbow, McCree whistles, catching your attention. Even your smile is refined, thinned and polite. You seem to politely fend off all the interested parties with ease and make your way over, shoulders held back and chin lifted, each step sure and crisp. Even your footsteps radiated authority and an unshakeable confidence not normally found in your daily life. 

Up close, he can see you put immense thought into your appearance. Your make-up is sharp and meticulous. The dress is well suited to your figure and skin. Everything is composed to give you a fierce presence that cannot be ignored even by laymen. If he had to put your appearance into one word, it would be ��beautiful”. 

Why you never pay attention to your appearance normally is beyond him. 

"You clean up nicely," McCree remarks as he hands you an extra glass of champagne. Gingerly, you take it between your fingers, tilting your head just so in appreciation with the crinkle of your eyes to match. Natural, but calculated. "What's your secret?"

Simply, you reply, "I had help.” Then: “You look great, yourself. I’m not sure if I like the rugged look or this side of you more. Both are handsome.” 

“Much obliged.” 

Clinking your glasses together, you raise yours at Hanzo. Autopilot kicks in and Hanzo politely meets your glass with his. Words escape him and a sip of champagne fills the void.

It cannot be you. You, who shows up to meetings in pajamas. You, who slouched on every sittable surface like it was your personal couch. You, who can’t even be bothered to put your clothes on right without someone else fixing it for you. 

But you’re right here, making small talk with McCree like you were meant to. 

“Hanzo, you look great, too. Very gorgeous.” 

“Not as much as you,” he responds almost automatically. He clenches his jaw and hopes that he doesn’t look as panicked as he feels. This situation is just too strange. 

Your eyes twinkle and you laugh. It sends a shiver down his spine. The sounds of something dangerous draws near and the sense of danger against his back presses itself harder against him. “Silver tongues everywhere. But I appreciate it. How are you enjoying the party?” 

“As much as anyone else.” 

“Not at all, then.” 

“Come on, when are we ever going to have such fancy food?” McCree says, waving at the trays of hor d'oeuvres being carted around by bots. 

“Soon, if our mission goes well.” 

Again, you give him a look that he’s wary of. 

Just what have you been doing all this time to be able to look like this? You seem to have no problems blending in to the crowd here as though you belonged with them. If he didn’t know you were a part of Overwatch, he would’ve mistaken you for a target. 

He’s reminded of the few mafia bosses he’s met in life who would greet him wearing jinbei instead of the expensive suits Hanzo was accustomed to seeing. People with so much power that they don’t care about appearances anymore-they have nothing to prove to anyone. 

Are you the same? Or was the Watchpoint just your way of unwinding? 

Soon, Lena and her girlfriend join the conversation. Lena looks delighted at your appearance, a large grin spreading across her face. 

"Lookin' fancy, love. Was wondering if you’d even make it."

"Thank you, Lena. And is this Emily? I've heard so much about you, Lena just won't stop gushing." 

“What does she say?” 

“Hey, hey! Ix-nay on the irlfriendgay.”

Seeing this side of you puts him off kilter. He’s not quite sure how to reconcile the image of you that he’s accustomed to and the person in front of him. He’s used to people hiding their true natures and donning personas, but this contrast is just too jarring.

Luckily, he finds his break when he spies his target and with an “Excuse me” makes his way to her. He doesn’t turn back lest he makes a further fool of himself. 

“Are you enjoying the party, Argus Twenty?” he asks. 

The omnic’s lights blink as though scanning her memory bank for his face, but seemingly comes up empty. “Very much so. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Shimada, Hanzo. Overwatch. At your service.” He bows slightly at the waist. “I have heard a lot about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.”

“Only the best. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your work and if there was anything Overwatch can do to help. We seem to be of similar ventures.” 

Even without facial expressions, he could tell she’s smiling. “In that case—” 

It’s much easier than he expects to talk to her. She’s refreshingly straightforward and objective, presenting her troubles and solutions with tact. He even gets her to speak of the power dynamics and relationships in her organization, and how they could help each other. 

Somehow, he feels like he already knows her. 

The time passes easily (as does his mission). 

When Argus leaves, she gives him her business card, inviting him to the restaurant that is the organization’s main headquarters. Hanzo promises to visit to further build on this relationship. Now he can tell Winston they’ve secured another means to support. Another job well done.

As he searches for Winston, he sees suspicious movements from the corner of his eye. It’s Mei and Hana, cornered by someone who looks to be twice their age combined. He can’t exactly see who it is, but he can tell the two are uncomfortable. 

"I want to hear all about it. My villa is open to you ladies anytime."

“Thank you, we’ll have to check our schedules.”

“Oh, but I insist. I’m sure you can free up some time.”

No one else is close enough to interfere. He resigns himself to what would undoubtedly be a difficult time. Squaring his shoulders, he raises his head, donning the air of authority that he once wore like a second skin and makes swift strides toward the trio, fully intending on breaking up the one-sided 'conversation'. 

Someone else bears him to the punch. 

"Have you been hiding from me all night?"

Your smile is dazzling as you smoothly and loudly interject, extend a free hand toward the man. "Mr. Drumph, what about my invitation? We haven't spoken since that time in Washington, beginning to think you've forgotten about me."

The man's face screws up into a tight smile. 

"Long time, my friend!" He grasps your hand with both of his, giving it a firm shake. "Was just inviting these ladies to my villa. Great views. Great food. Nothing better. You’re invited, too, of course."

“Of course. When’s a good time for you? I’m fully booked for the next five months, but I will clear my schedule for you, just tell me when.” 

“You know, if I could just get those lobbyists off my back, I could probably do two weeks from now.”

You tsk, a derisive smile on your face. "From the OmniCore, right? I could lend you a hand, you know. They do owe me for that one case, you know, with LumeriCo?"

"That’s right, LumeriCo. You have connections with them, don’t you?” 

“I can arrange for that right now. Give you some breathing room for a month.” You take out your communicator, already texting. “You know, I remember your golf course is near your villas. I would love for you to show me your short game again. Maybe even invite Sam this time.” 

“Sam? Remind me again...”

“President of HardBank.” A guiding hand turns the man around, gesturing at some vague figure in the crowd. You shoot a look at the frozen Mei and Hana, gesturing with your eyes for them to make their escape. 

The two give you a thumbs up, shuffling away. 

“Oh, yeah, her. She was involved in the acquisition fiasco with BioTech—” 

“We all benefited from it. I think she can lend us a hand this time, too. HardBank’s the main sponsors of OmniCore. I’m sure she can call things off for a bit. Come with me to the bar, I see you could use another drink. Have you ever tried a boilermaker?” 

The two of you slowly start to walk, drifting into the thick of the party like old friends, Mei and Hana quickly forgotten. Hanzo watches as more and more people begin to take notice, likely seeing Mr. Drumph's presence at your side as permission to approach. It’s not long before you’re laughing it up and chatting with other, equally powerful figures. You blend right in with them, feeding them the same poison they dish out. 

The sight is painfully familiar. 

Hanzo stands there, determined not to feel impressed by your handling of the situation and instead goes to check on the two. 

— 

As the party winds down, Hanzo finds you resting in one of the more secluded areas of the venue. Even half-hidden like this, you’re still sitting with your back straight and eyes sharp, ready to jump straight back into the socialite persona you’ve displayed this entire evening. 

Wordlessly, he hands you a juice which you take without looking at him. 

“Thank you.” 

He says nothing, looking down at your head and studying your features. 

Truly. If you dressed like this and acted like this all the time, he wouldn’t have wasted his time worrying about you and the potential shame you would bring upon Overwatch. Now he feels liek a fool for having been concerned in the first place. Winston would not call back anyone who isn’t qualified to do their jobs, and Overwatch, despite being defunct and having lost its way prior to the Fall, did employ some of the most brilliant of each field. It serves to reason that you are no different in that regard. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask quietly.

“Hm. I just was not aware you had experience in something such as politics. It’s a bad hobby.” 

"There is no good or bad in politics. Just self-interests."

"I am inclined to disagree."

"Disagree then. It doesn't change the fact that I get more done at golf courses and resorts than in an office."

"And what exactly have you done for Overwatch?"

You raise a pointed eyebrow as if asking if he were serious. A sly, calculated smile slowly worms its way into your face. There's a new shine in your eyes, mischievous and mocking. 

"If you don't know, then there's no need to worry yourself about it."

Translation: Your lowly rank does not permit you to know. 

Before he has a chance to retort, Winston jumps in, seemingly a little more tipsy than when Hanzo first saw him.

“Please allow me to explain then.” Winston puts his finger in the air. "Overwatch is currently in need of financial and political support. We can continue doing our deeds, but there’s a risk it won’t be perceived well. We needed someone to handle that side for us, hence…” He gestures at you, nearly hitting you in the face, and the party. “All this.”

It's true. None of them are suited for the tedious backdoor dealings of the political world. Hanzo is the closest candidate, but his ties mean nothing here. (Not that he wants them to in the first place.) And he can’t think of anyone else who would be willing to spend the time cultivating these relationships. 

“Cat’s out of the bag then.” You smile that well-practiced smile, swirling your juice. "I've been a political aide for a long time. When Winston asked me to come back, I spent months going around and establishing political ties. Now I handle most of Overwatch's advocacy. Your good deeds will only go so far. To change a corrupt system, it's best to either dismantle it or take control of it."

"And which are you doing?"

The flute touches your lips and your smile turns sly. "Which do you think, Mr. Shimada?" A sip of your drink prevents you from answering. Not that he was expecting it, not after seeing what you do. 

“Hm.”

“Well, don’t worry about it too much. As long as you accomplish your mission, there’ll be plenty of opportunity for you to get involved in mine.” 

You laugh and instantly go back to your professional self, having spotted another target of yours. Excusing yourself, you approach a couple with smooth compliments and sinister whispers as you attempt to secure another backdoor deal. 

Again, Hanzo tries not to be impressed with the words coming out of your mouth and the ease with which you wield these promises. 

Truly, his impressions were wrong. 

— 

Hanzo sees you again at the Watchpoint, weeks after the party. 

You're back to your usual self, dragging a blanket around your waist, probably in lieu of actual pants. Unconsciously, a disgusted noise escapes his throat. But he doesn’t forget that beneath that sloppy facade is the mind of a person willing to put themselves at political risk for Overwatch and that whatever his impressions of you are, they’re wrong.

But it’s hard not to go back to being annoyed with you now that he’s had a glimpse of what you could really be.

First impressions are lasting, after all.

[vaguely-concerned]

Overwatch cookbook lore thoughts

b/c I’m not proud, I’ll be excited beyond reason for any scraps of lore and these are actually really fun

- let me open by saying that “A longtime resident of the Southwest, where cultures collide and outlaw justice prevails, Jesse McCree built his own personal brand of right and wrong. Also born out of a complex history, these cookies have a decidedly old-world flavour with a twist” are the greatest lines ever conceived in the English language, and I am tempted to put my pen down for good in the face of it. Nothing I write will ever be as good. ‘also born out of a complex history, these cookies’ what more could I even add

on a further personal note: I can’t fucking believe I actually hit on the emotional implications of the cookies thing like two years ago! between that and the was-temporarily-a-farmboy vindication I can keep warm on cold nights for approximately fifty years, thank you, my AU is at least canon adjacent in ways I didn’t expect lol

also the idea of him starting the day by downing a drink that handily combines alcohol and caffeine makes me feel honor bound to reiterate that young jesse living off of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and adrenaline must have been a wild-eyed, wildfire clever, awesome-in-the-original-sense sight to behold. I am laughing and crying simultaneously, which is the mood he habitually inspires in me god bless him  

- for some actual new info and not just my rambling internal monologue: Torbjörn’s wife Ingrid is a genius chemical engineer! One gets the feeling the Lindholm household is very warm and loving but exhausting to anyone without the genes for constant curious tinkering and experimentation

- There are very clear, very intentional mentions of both Vincent and Emily, which has me so sad all over again that this development team is housed in a company that actively sides with tyranny and human rights abuses (as opposed to the more tacit complicity of the rest of the industry, which remains shitty but at least most of them don’t cheerfully double down on it in public. ah ain’t capitalism grand fuck blizzard as a company, sympathy to the good people working for blizzard it must be a uncomfortable place to be) 

- winston dipping bananas in peanut butter pudding to get them down fhdskjafhsakf now I don’t know how aging actually works for borderline-my-god-what-has-your-science-wrought biological experiment gorillas, but he! is! such! a! teenage! boy!!!!! the sweetest hairiest teenage boy! give him his family back! dr. winston sr used to make them cookies ;o;

- Reinhardt remains indecently wonderful and delightful. ‘Beneath Reinhardt’s armor is a jovial man with an insatiable zest for life’. poetry. 

- ‘Though she had little time to cook, Ana could put together a comforting lentil soup even on nights when Fareeha insisted she needed nothing. A mother always knows best’ 😭😭😭😭 I am practically allergic to mother figures but you know what for all her faults ana amari is the actual best and I love her so much, they somehow managed to convey through fareeha’s recipes how much she misses her mom,  h e l p  

- D.Va’s entries are just. harrowing. I like that they don’t look away from the horrible inhuman weight on her shoulders every hour of every day even in this lighthearted cooking book, that was real nice of them 

- jack morrison is an absolute sweetie pie and it hurts me. seems like he’s one of the few heroes who actually does some cooking, along with reyes! also that little tidbit about him and ana eating breakfast together back in the day (and him absolutely doing the cooking in that duo)... BrOTP 4ever, between that and the mention of reyes, amari & morrison eating churros together after missions I am emotionally compromised

- I’ve seen Genji’s before actually but for some comments: a) the fact that across the lore one of his most consistent Things is that on some level he just... really wants his big brother back? even after everything?? is an eternally bleeding wound in my heart that never heals, b) the shimadas had a dedicated family chef! and it sounds like they had a slightly closer relationship with the boys than what’s implied to be the case in the ogundimu family, for example, and c) genji is one of the characters who’s mentioned the most in other characters’ recipes, predictably! I like that he learned to like the healthy muesli... eventually lol (also I feel like the canon has vacillated on whether he actually eats and drinks stuff still, but all this seems very settled that he does and has the whole way, even under Mercy’s care)

- can u believe... that hanzo’s idea of a simpler, happier time involves him overachieving enough to let him have a few minutes to himself and a meal alone. how does he do that. how does he break my heart at every turn. why is ‘diligently completing the tasks his father had set out before him’ so crushingly achingly sad. he just wants to eat nice simple foods in peace everyone leave him alone I will fight talon I will fight the shimada clan pls just let something nice happen to him Y______________Y

- GLØGG GLØGG GLØGG GLØGG! secondhand scandinavian joy (the book neglects to mention that it’s a drink heavily associated with christmas/at the very least wintertime, it would feel super weird to drink it during the summer lol) also ‘saft’ seems to be called ‘squash’ in a lot of places in English, I had never thought to translate it before it’s just such an iconic childhood staple lol 

- I love that sombra’s show how much of a fucking nerd she actually is. being an elite amoral-ish hacker is 2% cool parkour and glowing implants and 98% sitting in the dark in front of a screen with snack food for days at a time 

- I don’t like Ashe very much, but BOB making comfort food for her unasked and her parents having ruined most desserts for her through emotional neglect and general shittiness are both undeniably heartbreaking

- *mercy, dead eyed, pouring brandy into her chamomile tea* self medicating (I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS ACTUALLY CANON IT IS SO FUNNY)

- Roadhog conscientiously writing down Junkrat’s -- let’s generously call them ‘recipes’ -- just in case he’ll want them later is the most weirdly heartwarming thing I have ever heard 

- “They’re a great dessert to share anywhere, including at clandestine meetings for plotting the next world crisis” allow me to just... savour this mental image of talon members eating sweets under doomfist’s watchful eye for a bit (also... beneath the tough man act he is  s u c h  a rich fuckboy. he prefers gin because he thinks it’s more sophisticated oh my GOD)

[aiutantedivinodiriso]

Hanzo’s character sheet.

DO NOT REBLOG WITHOUT PERMISSION.

FULL NAME Shimada Hanzo (島田半蔵) NICKNAME(S) His father used to call him ‘shinkenna kao’ (‘straight face’) but beside that he has never been a nicknames fan. ALIAS(ES) He uses a second identity, Sato Ryusei. TITLE Leader of the Shimada Clan. OCCUPATION Wanderer, mercenary, deckhand. AGE 39. DATE OF BIRTH January 5th. NATIONALITY Japanese. ORIENTATION Greysexual, demiromantic. GENDER & PRONOUNS Cis male. He/him. RELIGION Atheist.

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

FACE CLAIM Hanzo from Overwatch franchise / RL faceclaim: Masami Kosaka. (Young Hanzo FC: Haruma Miura) HEIGHT 170 cm. WEIGHT 85 kg. EYE COLOUR Dark brown, hard and cool toned, toughened by his troubled past and his hundred sins. While he is not ashamed or afraid to establish eye contact, it is very rare for him to look at someone in the eyes: either he trusts that person completely or he is angry with them. HAIR COLOUR + STYLE Salt-and-pepper hair, dead straight, naturally shiny, worn long, usually tied up in a high ponytail. DOMINANT HAND Ambidextrous. Born even handed. DISTINGUISHING FEATURES None. ACCENT + INTENSITY Slight Japanese accent, especially in his manner of speaking. Sometimes his accent may grow thicker when he is feeling a particularly violent emotion. It’s not unlikely for Hanzo to mix up languages. TATTOO(S) A wide-spread irezumi of a dragon navigating a stormy sky in dark blue and ochre tints, starting from his left pectoral to his wrist, circling the whole arm. SCAR(S) He has a quite rough scar marking his entire stomach horizontally and a little one he got from appendix removal surgery. PIERCING(S) When he was younger, he used to wear earrings, but nowadays the holes have just healed over. GLASSES None.

PERSONALITY INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE ISTJ. MORAL ALIGNMENT True Neutral. ANGER Hanzo will usually be more irked than really angry. When it does happen though, Hanzo will burst as violently as a volcano, shouting and pacing around. He is very likely to say things his usually politer self would never dare to (and, if the target of his anger is a person he cares about, things he will regret for a long time). If someone gets him angry enough to get physical --- they won’t survive it. What will immediately trigger his anger, though, is a display of racist behaviour. APPROACHABILITY He is normally stoic and unapproachable. This behaviour is only enhanced during his dissociative events (see further down). INTELLIGENCE TYPE Bodily-kinesthetic intelligence. IQ~ 80 NEURODIVERGENCE(S) PTSD, ADHD, DPDR. Read here. AT RISK None.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

HOMETOWN Hanamura, Kanto, Japan. CURRENT RESIDENCE He is a wanderer, but it is very likely to find him in Taipei, Taiwan. LANGUAGE(S) Japanese, Mandarin Chinese, English, bits and pieces of other languages (Filipino, Cantonese Chinese, Hindi). SOCIAL CLASS Low. LEVEL OF EDUCATION Average. He has always been a terrible student. PARENT #1 Sojiro Shimada, father. PARENT #2 Keiko Shimada, mother. SIBLING(S) One younger brother, Genji Shimada. PET(S) He wishes he could adopt 10 Akita Inu. PRISON TIME? Once in Taiwan for disorderly intoxication, he spent a night in prison to sober up.

VICES + HABITS

SMOKES? No. DRINKS? Yes, and he is an indulgent drinker. It is safe to say Hanzo is an alcoholic. DRUGS? No. VIOLENT? Not regularly. (see above). ADDICTION(S)? Alcohol. SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes, although never enough to be considered ‘suicidal’. He has quite many unhealthy behaviours (drinking, disturbed sleep patterns, unsociability) but he stops right before the brink of the void. HABIT(S) Can one really be considered an early bird if they rarely ever sleep? When he can afford it, he is a creature of habit: he eats at the same hours every day, he takes tea halfway though the afternoon, he goes to the same places. He enjoys doing things he knows he likes. HOBBIES It’s something he rarely has time to practice, but Hanzo loves finger painting and painting in general. He is not a very good artist, he most likely ends up drawing basic shapes in bright colors, but it really soothes him. Practicing his bow skills is also something he enjoys greatly. LIKES He harbours a great passion for martial arts and he practices different disciplines (his close combat style is a mixture of Karate, Kung-fu, Taekwondo and boxing), but his true love lies in kenjutsu even if he hasn’t gripped a sword in the last 19 years. He likes grooming and generally taking care of his appearance (his mother was always very passionate about this) although some days he will be too tired to keep up with the whole routine. Sensorially speaking, his favourite smell is fresh, clean water and cut grass and he prefers savoury food over sweets. His favourite dishes are ramen, wonton and katsudon. He is a Chinese tea junkie. DISLIKES Small talks, social events with people he doesn’t know or doesn’t care for, talking about himself or his past, people referring to him as “weird” et similia. He hates racism with a passion (see here). Because of his dyslexia, he has grown a little prejudiced against reading. He doesn’t like very soft or gelatinous food (except jam). He doesn’t particularly enjoy fish. TIC(S) He tends to do a lot of sounds with his mouth instead of actually speaking (‘tsk’ indicates scepticism, ‘tsz’ is negative for something, ‘mh’ on the other hand is the positive, and so on). He plays with his beard while he is thinking. He bites his nails a lot. Bruxism. OBSESSION(S) Finally making peace with his past, proving to himself he is not an evil man (although he is scared to find out he may not be a good man either). COMPULSION(S) Forcing himself not to sleep.

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

HOGWARTS HOUSE Slytherin. ARCHETYPE (I can’t find a fitting one damn it) ZODIAC Capricorn. VICE Sloth. VIRTUE Prudence. ELEMENT Water. ANIMAL Wolf.

[thedevilinherself]

He was drunk tonight. But then, he was drunk every night now. Beer cans and sake bottles littered the floor of his room, all empty and forgotten for the next drink that would slip him away. You came to him this time, wanting to spare him the embarrassment of staggering the halls and the scolding lectures that would incur in his pursuit of your comfort. He wasn’t as drunk as he had been the night before, not yet any way, but he was still more far gone then you had seen him in all the years you had known him.

Hanzo Shimada did not get drunk. Hanzo Shimada did not lose control. Hanzo Shimada did not cry. The staple of strength and power, he never showed weakness, never lost face. But you didn’t find him as the clan leader, you found him slovenly and drunk, a broken husk of a man as he drank and wept his pain into the night, his only friend now.

You could hear him angrily cursing under his breath when you entered the room, quickly locking the door behind you. His words were cruel and hateful, even more so then was normal for the man, only this time they were aimed at himself. Though over the last five days, you had become acquainted with this side of the man, you couldn’t help but gasp at the state you found him in tonight.

Hands trembling as his tongue spew self destructive poisons, he knelt on the floor, strong arms hacking away violently at his once beautiful hair. Each swipe was so sloppy, so ferocious, you felt your knees grow weak at the idea he might hurt himself in his brash fury.

“Hanzo!!” Shouting, you were to him before he could take another swipe at his head, wrapping yourself around his arm in an attempt to still the blade. His once silky locks lay strewn about the floor, tangling in between your toes as you wrestled to take the knife from him. “Hanzo, stop!” He would not look at you, eyes shut tight and tears streaming thick down his cheeks as he attempted to shake you off of him. But you would not be moved.

With great effort, you pried the knife from his hand and flung it aside, out of reach and out of sight of the man as he continued to drunkenly fight you.

“Leave!” His voice was cruel, so much more so then you had ever heard prier. “I did not call for you. I don’t need you, whore.” Despite his force, there was a tremble in his voice, a tell of his suffering. As he tried to shove you away, you slipped past his arms, straddling him in an attempt to gain some leverage, hoping his drunken state would aid your undertaking.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” As his hands continued to clumsily grab at you, hoping to throw you off of him, you seized his face, forcing him to look at you. “Hanzo! Stop it.”

When they at last met you, his eyes were piercing, unwavering, just as they always were. But there was a wildness in them now, a festering hatred that frightened you more than scolding eyes had before. But despite the rage that blazed like hell fire within his eyes, the man was soon once more overcome, and his eyes weakened, falling downcast on the floor, unable to meet yours. His hair was horrid now, chunks missing as it stuck out in every direction in its mangled state, only adding to the deranged look of the man. Brushing the mess back with your fingers, you cleared his face so that there was nothing to impede your view of his reddened cheeks and swollen eyes.

“You can’t do this to yourself.” Your voice was soft, gentle as you wiped at his tears with your sleeve. His hands now rested weakly on your hips, their tremble not going amiss. “You’re destroying yourself.” Biting his lower lip, the man’s expression was stretched, gaunt, his grief clear and his sorrow more bottomless then even the ocean, and just as tumultuous.

“So what if I am?” He hissed, teeth grinding as he shook with the tension restrained in his torso. “My brother is dead. And at my hands. What right do I have to go on living?” Breath ragged and anger growing as memories tore through him, the clashing sound of metal, the cries of pain, his own brother’s blood warming his hands. Hot tears began to flow again, dripping from his chin to dot the fabric of your dress.

“So your just going to drink yourself to death? Slowly waist away? What will that solve, Hanzo? I know your in pain but yo-“ You were cut off as the man threw you on your back, pinning you to the floor with is weight and his massive hands.

“You know nothing of my pain!” Roaring down at you, his eyes wild and primal, you feared him in that moment. But not for his anger, not for his strength and his rage, but for his pain and his isolation.

Chest heaving, the man pressed against you, hands bruising your wrists in their hold as he bit at the soft flesh of your neck, seeking a false comfort. He took you there on his floor, surrounded by the shredded locks of his hair that, like his sanity, had been so violently torn form him.

It was not pleasant, it was not tender. He ravaged you tonight as he had done every night since the death of his brother. Not out of passion or lust, but in search of distraction. You might as well have been another empty bottle on the floor when he was done. And as he finished, falling heavy upon you in exhaustion and despair, he wept, soft and broken.

You cried as well now. Cried for what remained of the man you held so dear, cried for what his clan, that he had devoted so much to, had made him do, cried for the loss of the only person Hanzo had probably ever loved. When his hands released you, you did not push him away, but instead held him close, rubbing your hands along the tense muscles of his back as you whispered soft words of comfort in his ear. They did not reach him, but the sensation of your palms easing his strain, and your warmth soaking through him served to keep him tethered to reality, at least enough to keep the man with you.

You didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, must have been at least an hour, but as darkness overtook the room, and the sounds of night slowly set in, your master at last stirred. Sitting up in sore and troubled movements, the man’s head hung low, weariness and shame heavying his eyes so that they were cast upon the floor. Raising yourself up, you tried to ignore the pain in your neck left by the bitemarks, as well as the ache in your hips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Running your fingers through his butchered hair, you offered up kind eyes that went unnoticed. “I’ll draw up a bath, and then I can cut your hair properly. A new look might be good for you.” Still no reply as the man isolated himself in his grief.

Your heart trembled at the emptiness that sat before you, just a husk of the once proud and noble man. Yet still, you helped him to the bathroom, where you trimmed him up the best you could, and lowered him into a warm bath. You slept with him that night, a decision Hanzo never would have approved of, but you didn’t care about his approval at the moment. Indeed, you decided that a great many more nights would be spent like this, until this man that you loved so much had a chance to heal. Till he could again be strong. Till he was able to forgive himself.

[overdorks-blog]

(Blind date anon!) i was thinking probably more focused on Genji and dva!

Oh! I got it now. Thanks! 

Request: Mchanzo blind date where Genji set things up on mccree’s side and dva set up on hanzo’s (but of course they stalk the date and sit in disguise a few tables away to make sure it goes well)?

this was so great to write, except the dialouge. It’s so irritating because the shimadas dont,,, use,,, contractions when they speak. I also edited it a little because I thought it would be more fun this way :3

____________________________________________

-1:23 A.M, Watchpoint: Gibraltar-

ginseng: you up?diva: duhdiva: what would make you think I wasn’t? ginseng: your stream activity indicator was offlinediva: so?diva: you and i both know that means literally nothingginseng: yeah i guess thats trueginseng: anywayginseng: i was talking to mr. grumpy hakmadiva: oh boydiva: …diva: waitdiva: you did NOT tell him about my collenction of unflattering candids of himdiva: did you?ginseng: what? ginseng: no shut updiva: …ginseng: thanksginseng: as i was sayingginseng: apparently Hanzo hasn’t been on a date since his last omaiai diva: youre serious?ginseng: dead.diva: wowdiva: no wonder he’s wound so tightginseng: I knowginseng: it’s ridiculousginseng: we need to do something about itdiva: uh, Yeah!ginseng: I think i have an idea. diva: ?ginseng: shooting range tomorrow, ten sharpginseng: and get some sleepginseng: we cant do this if youre tireddiva: ewdiva: okay diva: goodnightginseng: goodnight hana

-10:09 AM, Watchpoint: Gibraltar (Training grounds)-

“Are you kidding me? This is your big plan?” Hana demands, crossing her arms. A stray bot whirrs by, and a shiruken buries itself into the back of it’s head. She scowls at it, turning slightly from the bot to look at Genji. 

“Why not?” He shrugs, twirling one of the sharp blades between his fingers with a practiced ease, looking over the balcony of the training area to the man in front of the practice targets. The cowboy hat made his silhouette unmistakable. “Why not!?” Hana seems incredulous.  “Okay, there are plenty of reasons why not. We can start with the fat that this is Jesse. He knows better than anyone else what you went through! He was the closest thing you had to a best friend at the hardest point in your life that was caused by your brother! If you really think Jesse hasn’t taken that into consideration when Hanzo came here, then…well. I don’t know. But I know how much Jesse cares, and I don’t think-”

Genji raises a hand, and Hana falls quiet. “I have made my peace with my past, and McCree knows this well. The anger he may have felt in his heart for my brother spawned from my own. As mine has passed, so has his. Jesse is much more of a forgiving person than you mat realize.” Genji smiles behind his visor, standing straight from where he had been leaning against the railing. “I know my best friend, and my brother. I believe that this will work.” 

 The pilot doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods anyway, rolling up the sleeves of her jacket and retrieving her blaster from the pocket of her hoodie. “If you say so,” shaking her head, she pills her blaster out of her pocket and points at him in a playful accusation. “I’m trusting you.” 

Before she can blink, she’s lifted off the ground by strong arms, and she squirms, laughing and pushing at him. “I have had your back more than you realize, Hana!” Genji teases, and she really can’t do anything but giggle as he swings her in a circle, setting her down gently after. She grins, arms tightly around his shoulders. “-And I’ll have it here too. This will work, I promise.” 

She can only hope he’s right. Infighing, in a place like the newly reformed and still unstable Overwatch…could be disastrous. “Okay. I trust you.” She nods, pulling out of the hug. she gives him a little wave as she heads for the stairs and down into the range. After all, where better to talk to Jesse than over some target practice?

——————————

This was such a bad idea. Why did Hana even agree to this? In fact, the idea is so bad, that Hana briefly wonders if there might be a consequence for misuse of comms devices. 

Since Genji isn’t exactly covert, or easy to disguise, it’s left to Hana to secretly chaperone the date. “This is absolutely and entirely rediculous.” sne mutters into her cup, the mic in the charm of her bracelet catching her quiet words. She has headphones in, plugged into a laptop that’s open to some random fashion blog. 

‘But it’s working.’ comes her answer, into her headphones, and she rolls her eyes. ‘If nobody has recognized you as D.Va in two hours, then there is no way they will notice you, either.’

She sighs in defeat. What he says is true enough. She looks nothing like her usual self, even in her time off. Her hair is tucked up into a mildly toned beanie, and she’s wearing plastic glasses and a flannel that’s just a bit too big for her. she looks like an entirely different person.

 ‘Here they come. You are doing great, Hana.’

Damn right she is. It took her talking to McCree for multiple hours on multiple days to coordinate this. Not that she dislikes the cowboy, but there’s only so much Clint Eastwood quotes she can take in such an expanse of time. Sighing, she sits back and sips from her drink again, cradling the warm cup in her hands like she’s cold. “Party in sight.” she murmurs softly.

‘…You know you do not have to use foraml code, right? it is not like this is an actual mission.’

“Well, next time you can be the sit-in, then.” She hisses, and sets her cup down, hunching over her laptop a little bit to play her part. She messes around, typing some nonsense into a text box, and clicking into Yuna’s stream to drop a good-natured challenge and watch her chat go wild. She smiles a little, but her amusement is short lived. 

‘Hana!’ She blinks, instinctively looking up. ‘pay attention!’ Genji chides, and she make a face, clicking open their private chat and tapping out a message.

diva: i cant like, stare at them!diva: theyll know! 

There’s a groan through the earpiece, and she looks over to where Jesse and Hanzo are sitting. Jesse says something, and Hanzo’s eyes go wide, and then narrow, and he looks away, face dusted pink. she snorts and shakes her head a little. 

diva: i think we have this in the bagginseng: are you sure?diva: if them flirting like schoolkids is ant indicationdiva: yesginseng: finally!

[dykezo]

live or die, but don’t poison everything

sThe winter of 2076 is a hard time for King's Row. Relations between omnics and humans are worsening, and peaceful protests often go wrong. In the middle of this conflict is one Hanzo Shimada, 'undercover' Overwatch agent, taking refuge in the lower part of London while he pursues professional help with a therapist.

He is suddenly thrust back into action when Winston sends a team containing one Agent Jesse McCree to his tiny little apartment with the news that the latest protest will end in violence. Hanzo, lead of the mission, is charged with stopping it. It was a simple mission with set perimeters. Easy.

He fails to complete his objective. Everything after that? Less easy.

(Jesse McCree only complicates it more).

this is my work for @mcbigbang ~! lots of love for my artist, @syzgy-y-y ~! be sure to check out their art on their blog

London was nice enough.

The rain was the most notable of his residence there. It rained like it was attempting to wash away the crime and Queen with inches upon inches of soggy, sad rain by the day. When Hanzo left his apartment,  he often found himself splashing around in a gutter. Murky water wet his jeans and ankles. He hardly could leave the house without an umbrella shoved somewhere upon his person; but the rain could not deter him. After all, life goes on. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, time marches on, the world still turns, and still crime lurks in the shadows of London.

But Hanzo does not do anything about the crime.

When Oxton had suggested that Hanzo take half-permanent leave of Overwatch to serve as a ‘sleeper’ agent of sorts in London, Hanzo had thought that it would be more like the undercover jobs he took on as a young assassin in the Shimada-Gumi. His work would be silent, deadly, and then Hanzo would blend back into the rush of everyday life with the blood hidden up his sleeve. He was prepared for complicated solo-night ops, intel laundering, getting deep into the King’s Row underground and espionage work like he hadn’t seen since he was twenty-three.

He did no such thing.

In fact, he went to therapy.

Three times a week.

And his therapist was very earnest and understanding, which made it exceptionally hard for Hanzo to hate the experience. It was almost cathartic to talk to a stranger who had not seen the aftereffects of Hanzo’s actions. Dr. Phao was a quiet, naturally inquisitive woman who asked questions that made Hanzo actually think about what he said. If pressured, Hanzo would even say he liked her. Whenever he walked into her office, she always had tea waiting for him in a genuine porcelain cup. She curled her feet under herself when she listened and talked more with her hands than she did with her words. When Hanzo had first expressed disbelief in her ability to comprehend his actions, especially considering she was what Hanzo considered a civilian, she confided that she had been Overwatch agents’ therapist almost since the conception of the organization. When Hanzo vehemently denied being part of Overwatch (as it was still very illegal), Dr. Phao raised her eyebrows and nodded knowingly. “Of course,” she said dully. “You are just another soldier, aren’t you?”

It took fourteen sessions for Hanzo to finally tell the truth. Beforehand, they danced around the subject like it was venomous. Hanzo would allude to nightmares, be forthright about his drinking, even confess his suicide attempts in a moment of weakness-- but whenever Dr. Phao would ask why, shame would crowd so violently in Hanzo’s throat that he found himself out of words. How to explain to someone so---so sincere, so unknowing of the dark past that even Hanzo had nightmares about? He almost wanted to hide the fact. Pretend he wasn’t a weak fool who betrayed the only one he had ever trusted or perhaps even loved, and for the meager price of power. But that thought only made the ignominy crash over him like a tsunami on the low shores of Japan; who was he to deny the truth? His weakness? He was not the injured party. He had failed.

It was as simple as that.

So he told her.

Her told her in excruciating detail that he had not even vocalized to himself, explained how the blood turned Genji’s hair brown, how he came from the brawl trembling, how he woke up the next morning believing it to be a nightmare and going to greet his brother. How his brother’s last rattling words were so thick and watery, like mucus, that Hanzo could not even make them out, and how he had more nightmares about his final words afterwards than the deed itself. How if he looked too closely, he could still see the blood under his nails, and often he awoke feeling sticky dried blood--- how he could never look at a sword the same, or one shade of vibrant green just brought to mind the tatami black with thick blood.

And when she asked, he told her the before. He told her about his father dying, his crumpled warm body slung over Hanzo’s shoulder like discarded rice, about how angry he had been-- his brother should have been there, why was he never there when Hanzo needed him, and oh, he had needed him then. He told her about the scathing looks Sojiro sent him. He told her about the frequent nights he spent alone when he was young; his father working and Genji cradled to his chest like a sick kitten, Hanzo all of nine and Genji only six. Their mother, well-meaning but stuck with the burden of children, a year dead from the omnic crisis. He told her about the beatings he would get for his insolence, the long hours he would sit seiza on ice for one moment of impertinence. You do not say no to me, boy.

Genji never had that experience. Hanzo was sure of it, and aside from that: Genji’s rebellion was entertaining. Hanzo’s was unacceptable.

And he told her about the time when everything had almost been perfect. Sojiro Shimada was alive and well, Hanzo was young, Genji had not discovered the temptations of cocaine and meth and LSD and heroin and the human flesh, and the two of them could play video games and goof around and pretend that their life wasn’t written for them like a twisted prophecy. He told her about the nicknames he had for Genji (carrot-boy, greenie, otouto). About the hair dye he would sneak him, his own hands stained green after Genji had ruined his bleach job. About the bets on if so-and-so would win in this spar, or if so-and-so will get them for lessons this time. About how when Hanzo was eighteen and the rebellion had not yet been beaten out of him, he went and got his bridge pierced and Genji held his hand the whole time. While Hanzo fiddled with the  fresh piercing, Genji danced around him with his phone flashing, chanting “Vogue! Vogue! Vogue!”

He wondered what happened to those pictures.

And with more prodding, gentle prodding, like the careful pacing of a camera man about the last rhino alive, Hanzo told her about the after. He told her about the bloodtrail he left behind him when he escaped that night, about the bodies razed like a wildfire guided his sword, about how he awoke the next day eight hundred miles away and so confused that he jumped at his own shadow. About how he grew to detest even the little things--- the sculpted muscle on his arms, the way his voice would catch in his throat, the harsh tone he found using with the most undeserving. What did he hate most? He could not even begin to tell. And all of this was held tight to his chest, like a poisonous ball of the strongest venom, boiling his blood down to syrup; it fluctuated, expanded, compressed, and by the time Hanzo hit thirty his chest held the pressure of the Mariana Trench. His hair-- he confided--- was perhaps the most undue target for his abuse. He cut it. Burned it. He pulled dull kitchen knives through the silky tresses through burning, tear-filled eyes, and he came out of it like a barbie doll put through the most rigorous course of children. Some strands were long, silky, others bent and broken, cut at angles so extreme it was almost a sheer drop, other places so close that he nicked his head in the act of shearing. Hanzo motioned to the mess by his ears, the last harrowing result of the last time the Mariana Trench within him imploded.

If the Mariana Trench was inside him, above the Mariana trench was a concentrated bomb of self-loathing and regret and nightmares and alcohol. Like the calm surface of the ocean right before a storm. The sky bleak and gunmetal above the still waves. No sound. Like a strange filter, blue light that offered visibility but dampened life. Dead. Dead. Dead. So much water, so many miles, and all of it silent and lifeless. Any rock dropped in it would not make a splash or sound, it would just be pulled down into the murky depths, compounded in the Mariana and never seen again.

What about now? All these years-- thirty, thirty-two, thirty-five, thirty-eight-- what does it feel like now?

It took several sessions for Hanzo to find an answer for that.

It felt like the ocean was draining, and the dark oil of his insides had finally seen the light of day. The mass wanted to claim, and strangle, and it was easy to imagine disappearing into it, and it took so much out of him to not dive in that sometimes all he did was lay in bed.

Dr. Phao took notes only when he paused. Perhaps Hanzo had his father’s knack for stories.

Somehow, talking about it made it easier. It reminded Hanzo that there were good times. That he perhaps was a good older brother at one time in the distant past. That perhaps he was unfair to himself. That perhaps, perhaps, perhaps the Mariana was all in his head, and he wasn’t just a skeleton at the bottom of ocean, brittle bones being used for another’s life. Perhaps.

Hanzo ran out words, eventually. It seemed like all that could have been said was said. So Dr. Phao gave him words to use.

She explained things like grooming, and PTSD, and the difference between blame and responsibility, and suicidal ideation, and made Hanzo rethink all the things he thought. Why do you think that? She would query over and over. Hanzo would have to stop and reconsider, and sometimes things clicked. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes Hanzo took an angry break, because why didn’t Dr. Phao get it-- it was his fault, all of it-- and after about thirty one sessions, he stopped resisting.

This would be his 73rd session.

As per routine, Dr. Phao fetched him from the waiting room where Hanzo sat patiently on his phone. Hanzo tapped out a quick goodbye to Hana in the messenger app and stowed it away, where it continued to vibrate in his pocket. . They made small talk and spoke about simple things in her life. She described her weekend. Hanzo queried after her wives. It was simple. When Hanzo was finally sat in the chair in the corner of her office and clutching his cup of tea, Dr. Phao finally got down to business.

“How is your depression medication working?” She asked, holoboard clutched on her lap and her legs folded underneath her.

“Fine,” Hanzo answered. “Whenever I miss a dose or am late, my drowsiness increases, but I hear that is common for this medication.”

“It is,” Dr. Phao agreed. “But you are usually very punctual about taking it, so I am not too worried. What about the nightmares?  Have they improved?”

“I still have them on the semi-regular, but the exposure therapy worked, however resistant I was to the idea.”

“Now, I won’t say I told you so,” Dr.  Phao trailed off with a mischievous look on her face. She swiped at her holoboard. “And the mood swings?”

“The Clozaril works well.”

“Good! Good,” Dr.  Phao’s face was absolutely glowing as she put her holoboard on her desk. Then she leaned onto her fist and said, “Now tell me about work.”

Hanzo recounted every detail about the omnic rights scene in King’s Row. It was almost too simple to become involved with this intensely passionate community. Always there was another front to fight on, and when he simply slid into line, no one questioned him. He met an omnic-human couple who recounted their tale of being at the forefront of almost every conflict in the last ten years. Hanzo learned from them that legends died with a single sound, and their crumpled bodies almost looked peaceful sprawled in the limo. He attended regular meetings with them, lobbied, protested. Perhaps he would call them ‘friends’, but to do so brought forth a sense of guilt. He was using their ferocity and hard work and passion for a mission. It was disingenuous, but Hanzo had little choice.

Recently, it had been headlining that the employment rate of crisis-era omnic models had been at a terrifying 22%. Employers discriminated against the models, who often had been produced after the ceasefire by God Programs who still seeked to create, or had been reprogrammed after the end, or had been simple blue-collar labor models who hadn’t harmed a singular soul. Poverty and violence was on the rise, and repeated appeals to get the laws changed had not worked; a parliament member had been recently elected despite their violent anti-omnic platform. A large protest was planned outside the King’s Row courthouse in order to encourage the parliament to take action and enforce stricter laws. Hanzo told this all through the lens of an observer, not as an active participant. It would be dangerous to explain when and where protests would take place.

Eventually Hanzo drifted off to describe the daily calls from his brother and the occasional streaming with Hana and his plans for Christmas. He was unable to join Hana on her streams as a guest, but he worked as a mod whenever she needed him too. It was easier than expected, although Hanzo often had help from the other mods with the functions. Mostly he moderated the use of abusive language, spamming, and the occasional heckler who would insult Hana’s sex, ethnicity or nationality. Sometimes Genji would make an appearance between missions, but he mostly just stayed in the chatroom and spammed different reactions.

He and Genji talked often. In the beginning they had argued, often, especially after therapy appointments that left Hanzo feeling rubbed raw. It brought him great shame to snap at his brother, who often did nothing to warrant it, but as of late they had been getting along better. They still argued. Iit would be naive to assume that all of the wounds of their past would heal in a span of six months, and often Genji was too overwhelmed with bitter memories to talk casually. Sometimes, the pain was too bad that day. Sometimes a nightmare would make the air tense. But they were working on acknowledging these things as inevitable; what Hanzo did was done, and it was necessary for them to accept the after effects.

Dr. Phao and Hanzo talked about whether or not he would stay in London for Christmas or if he would return to Gibraltar. Hanzo wanted to stay in London. Dr. Phao suggested he visit Gibraltar. “There is no point,” Hanzo said idly. “It will just be Genji, Winston and I. Most everyone had families. Hana will be in Korea visiting her mother.”

“But you will not let Genji visit you here,” she said.

“It is expensive and will blow my cover. And we are Japanese!  Why even celebrate?”

Dr. Phao, who was very attached to Christmas, tutted.

They had not reached a conclusion when Hanzo’s phone began to buzz in his jean pocket. Dr. Phao stopped mid word and looked up at him, eyebrows raised. Hanzo never looked at his phone or allowed it to distract him during appointments; he nodded apologetically and pulled it out to quickly check the screen. Genji and Hana knew better than to call him during therapy sessions, though occasionally they did the timezone math wrong and called during an inopportune time. Hanzo would dismiss the call and reach out later, but the number on the screen was an encoded one Hanzo knew well. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, and he stepped outside the office to answer.

He clicked the green button and cradled it to his ear as he picked at his nail. “Hanzo,” he greeted dully.

“Howdy!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, although it was less irritated than it was almost fond. “This had better be important,” he drawled blithely. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Therapy session, I reckon? I wouldn’t interrupt that if I had a choice, but somethin's popped up all sudden-like and you just happen to be in the right place, compadre.”

Hanzo examined his cuticle in feigned disinterest. He would not claim that he and McCree were now close, but… It was hard to think of the man in the same hate-fueled way when he clearly made such an effort to repair bridges. Despite Hanzo’s spiteful behavior in the medical bay, McCree’s effort to comfort him through indulgences of his hobby was appreciated. The books had a special place at Hanzo’s bedside. As time went on, McCree and Hanzo began to bond over their shared history and friends rather than bicker over their irritable attitudes. They shared emails and texts sparsely. Sometimes Hanzo texted him pictures that reminded him of the vaquero. Dr. Phao encouraged him to be more open with his thoughts, after all, and when Hanzo was so bad at starting a genuine friendly conversation, sending pictures of a man with a huge dick-like cactus cradled in between his legs made sense.

(He regretted it seconds after he pressed send. Later, he received a vine of McCree excitedly showing the picture to anyone that would look and Genji’s beleaguered expression).

“I understand. What is the matter?” Hanzo answered.

“Heard word of a protest tomorrow outside the courthouse considerin’ the employment rate of Crisis-era omnics models. Y’heard of it?”

“Yes,” Hanzo answers curtly. “I mentioned it in my last mission update to Winston. It has been planned meticulously.” He should know. He suggested the date to the organizers.

“Well, a lil birdie told us that there’s a couple of Talon agents in the crowd wantin’ to stir up trouble an’ make it into a full blown revolt. Drag in the riot troops from the police. Mass murder. You know how it is.” The babble in McCree’s background grew in crescendo.

“Is that Hanzo?” A voice Hanzo recognized as Lúcio said. “Tell him I said ‘what’s up!’ We miss his grumpy self, you know!”

“Hanzo?” Oxton echoed. “Tell him I said hiya, too!”

“Lúcio and Lena said hello,” McCree told Hanzo.

“‘Greetings’.”

“He said ‘Greetin’s!”

“Regardless,” Hanzo interrupted. “Who is this informat? That is very delicate information to release.”

“Not a clue. Got it from our last mission in Germany, was sittin’ in a server practically unguarded. Told Winston it was too easy but he figured it’s too good to let up.”

“Suspicious. I will be there.

“Now hold your horses, sugarpie. Me an’ four other people are gonna crash at your place tonight and rendezvous at the protest tomorrow to make sure this thing don’t go up in flames.”

Hanzo sighed. He was not sure what Winston was thinking, letting them all crash at his place. He was an ‘unemployed’ immigrant in one of the most expensive cities in the world. He did not have a lot of space. Regardless, it was not like he could argue, so Hanzo just accepted his fate. And it had been a while since he had seen everyone. “Understood. Estimated time?”

“About 2100 your time. Have dinner ready for us!”

“You are a full grown man. You may make dinner yourself.” And Hanzo hung up. He stepped back into his office to find Dr. Phao aimlessly clicking around on her computer.

“Dr. Phao,” he said.

“Yes?” She answered quickly, as if she was not just googling dog pictures.

“That was work. I apologize for my rudeness,” He sat himself back down in the chair. Dr. Phao nodded.

“It cannot be avoided. Work is work. May I ask what is the occasion?”

“I am to expect company tomorrow,” Hanzo replied. “A few of my coworkers are going to be in town so they will all stay with me while business keeps them.”

“Is it your brother?”

Hanzo paused. “I do not actually know,” he confessed. “I did not ask. I suppose I will just have to wait and see. I do know that McCree will be there.”

“The cowboy?” Dr. Phao asked loyally, as if she did not know that McCree was a multi-million dollar wanted man.

“Yes,” Hanzo replied. “He said to expect himself and four other people. He even had the audacity to tell me to have dinner ready for them.”

“And will you?”

Hanzo refused to answer that. “Regardless, I think that in case of the absolute worst, to hold my appointment Friday as a strict maybe. Perhaps you can take time off, spend a day in with your wives.”

Dr. Phao laughed and shook her head. “No, no. They are busy Friday, and I have a pressing paper to write on the prevalence of mental illness in omnics that worsens over time, and I think I just found the perfect way to prove it develops not as a mechanical malfunction but as a malevolent reaction to unhealthy surroundings and/or a reaction to stress.”

“Interesting. You have never gone in detail about your paper before. In fact, I believe I might know someone who will be delighted to help you with that.” And then they drifted in and out of conversation. A few more idle minutes was spent talking about nothing before Dr. Phao clapped her hands and looked at her watch.

“Before we run out time, I want to talk to you about this upcoming job. Is there anything you are worried about?”

“The nature of my work is often rife with worry.”

“Not like that, smartass. I mean other than that.”

Hanzo pauses. He leans on his knees and puts his face in his hand. “I think that maybe they will not all fit in my apartment,” he confesses. Dr. Phao nods and leans back in her chair, idly kicking her small legs around and around so that she spun.

“I see. Let me get a little more specific. McCree-- you do not talk of him much.”

Hanzo shrugged. “There is not a lot to say. We had an initially antagonistic relationship, and through acknowledgement that we were coworkers we were able to become less actively aggressive, but I believe the relationship took a more amicable turn sometime after my hospitalization. I send him pictures of dogs sometimes.” And giant dick-shaped cacti.

“Does he like them?”

“He responds with heart eyes. I know his favorite breed, but I do not think that we have had a serious conversation in more than two months. And what serious conversation we had did not have much emotional depth. I was angry, and mourning in a way. We just do not…,” Hanzo trailed off, snapping his fingers. “We do not… I cannot think of the English word.”

“Click?”

“Connect, but yes, thank you.”

-----------------

Soon enough his session with Dr. Phao came to an end and Hanzo found himself traipsing through London with rain drizzling on his umbrella deep in thought. Not about anything specific, or deep. He was actually considering dinner.

Well, he did not want to prove McCree right and actually make dinner. But he also did not want to have to drag out the whole motley crew to find food, and also did not want to have to make do with his built-for-one refrigerator. He decided to meet in the middle by buying heaps of Indian takeout that could be warmed up later. By the time he was walking up to the steps of his apartment complex, cooling Indian in his hand, it was nearing near 6:00 pm and the sun was setting. Hanzo idly thought of the dishes he had to do and then the nap he might take before McCree and crew arrived.

But when he paused at his door, key ready, he heard scrabbling behind the door. The door was undisturbed. He did not have a window big enough for someone to crawl through unless they were the thickness of a noodle. Hanzo pressed his ear to the door, and wrapped his hand around the knife he kept secured on his belt.

Was that spurs?

Hanzo unlocked the door, turned the knob and opened the door. “Ow! Shit!” cried someone who did not own spurs. The previous quiet murmur grew to somewhat of a dull roar as Hanzo pushed the door all the way open. Lúcio danced out of the way, hands clamped over his nose.

Like parasites, or perhaps a flock of bats, Genji, Mei, Lúcio and McCree were cradled in Hanzo’s tiny living room, pressed near shoulder to shoulder in want of space. The noise ceased. Silence ruled.

Lúcio dripped nose blood onto Hanzo’s clean floor.

“Heeeeeeeeeey,” Genji finally crooned. “We’re here early!”

After three hours, Hanzo managed to rearrange all of his furniture and push together enough makeshift chairs so that everyone could sit in the living room in some crooked semicircle. The attempt at redecorating was frequently halted by everyone’s inane need to distract him with conversation, and the worst was Genji, who trailed after him being wholly unhelpful, chattering all sorts of questions and well-wishes. The largest one of the group was by far McCree, and even he was comfortable enough crammed between the wall and Genji. Hanzo claimed his armchair for himself. He wasn’t sharing. Then the (now cooled) Indian was passed around.

“Hanzo, How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.Your hair changed, it looks nice!” Mei said as she tries to stealthily sneak a spoonful of his curry. He slapped her wrist.

“I have been fine, thank you for your consideration, and yes, I shaved the sides.”

“It does look nice!” Genji added in. But he had no ulterior motives. “And the knot on the top keeps it traditional. Very classy.”

“How do you tie your hair up like that?” Lúcio asks.  He pulls his own dreads over his shoulder. “Man, now my dreads gotta be like this to keep the stereos in, but back before--- Dude, I had the best hair. I coulda outclassed any of you clowns any day. No effort required.”

“Your hair really is very nice, Lucio. Very well maintained! I have been trying some of Hana’s new products, do you want to feel?”

“Yeah, lean over. Ooooh that is nice, Mei, how did you do that?”

“I just followed the instructions on the box!”

The talk ended up becoming very domestic as Lucio regaled Mei with tales of permanent hair treatments, Lúcio searched his phone for selfies of his previous hair, and even Genji got in the conversation to talk about the joy of semi-permanent dyeing. He didn’t mention that Hanzo was the one who did all the dyeing, but still. Hanzo was content to watch.

McCree caught his eye from across the room. He made a motion as if he were drinking something-- Hanzo raised his unopened water bottle in question. McCree shook his head. Ah. Liquor, then. Hanzo politely excused himself to tend to his guest’s needs. In truth he had been trying to cut back on the drinking, but his demons dogged his steps and sometimes you just needed liquor. A sleeping demon was not a felled one, but he was no Odysseus and his troubles were no giants. Slowly, slowly.

Hanzo emerged out of his shotgun kitchen, Kokuryu sake clutched in his hand. A wide wolfish grin spread across McCree’s face just at the sight. It was almost infectious, and the motley crew spent the night drinking lightly and telling bawdy tales. Hanzo was even spurred into telling them of his greatest act of rebellion; his piercings he got in between training and learning that he somehow conned his father into letting him keep. For a short time, anyway. Just until the hole healed.

‘“So here I was, teriyaki all over in my face, in my ears, a hooker on one arm and my girlfriend on the other, this guys humongous knife pointed at me. I could barely stand at this point, much less try to do anything defensive--,”

“His hair was blonde at the time. He was in this phase, but the problem was he did it himself, it truly it was a horrendous orange shade. It got sticky and red with teriyaki all over it.”

“Thank you for the imagery, Hanzo, it is not like I am already embarrassed enough. Anyway! So I am covered in teriyaki, high off my firm, plush ass, and I am pretty sure I am going to die at the hand of some confused bartender. Then Hanzo busts in, quite literally kicking down the door. I do not know where he has been this entire assignment, but all he has on is his expensive blazer, slacks and some strippers lingerie!”

The group around them exploded into laughter. Mei had gone silent by this point from the mere force of her laughter, just shaking Jesse in disbelief. The cowboy shoved his face in his hat and giggled helplessly.

“And he points his gun at the bartender and he says, in the most awful Arabic I have ever heard,” Genji cleared his throat and put on a terrible accent. “‘Shoot that man, and I will shoot off your dick but leave just enough for you to pathetically present to your wife.’”

Hanzo slipped down the couch in shame, hands pressed tight over his face. Lúcio looked at him, scandalized. “Hanzo!!!” He cried.

Hanzo did not even have the energy to explain how much cocaine he had consumed that night.

“The man drops the knife. I do not know why he’s cowering in front of  Hanzo, because it looks like he might literally pop out of his stupid little bralette at any given point. And he starts begging for his life, in Japanese, but he is just saying ‘Say sorry! Say sorry!’ over and over again. Hooker gets sense at this point and knees me so hard in the dick I abstain for the next week and escapes. Girlfriend, poor thing, loyal to a fault, stays there while my stupid brother in lingerie is---,” Genji’s automated voice trails off as he helplessly tittered.

“Stop emphasizing the lingerie!”  Hanzo demanded. In return, Genji moves his hands to mimic the bralette. He collapses in more laughter.

Hanzo covered his face, a long drawn out groan escaping him. The group was so busy laughing that Genji was unable to finish his story. When Hanzo finally surfaced from his hands, McCree had slumped onto the floor and curled into fetal position, Mei excused herself to the bathroom to try and recover, and Lúcio was fearlessly repeating the motion of ‘popping out of his stupid little bralette’.

Hanzo took away the alcohol and escaped to the patio to drown his embarrassment. He made a few long draws before he was finally joined by company. Genji slid out onto the tiny little balcony with his mask off and a green face mask on.

“Hello, grumpy,” He greeted cheerfully.

“I am not grumpy. I am hoping to drown my embarrassment in this bottle and then hopefully tumble off to a quick and painless death.” Hanzo motioned seven stories down.

“What if you startle a passerby?”

“Oh, all the better. Collateral damage. Misery does love company. ”

Genji chortled and dragged over the little crappy table Hanzo left out there to sit on. The night was still young, after all. They continued on with smalltalk that didn’t feel satisfying over the phone. Genji motioned to her face and thanked him for the advice on skincare. Hanzo shared his own troubles with acne; he used to sit at a mirror and pick for hours which led to some gnarly scars that had to be fixed with a dermatologist. It was only then that he started to get serious about his skincare. As a young gangster, his face was one of the most important things to rely on. It was harder to take a teenager seriously when he had acne.

The night dragged on. The rest of the team gave Hanzo and Genji their space. Eventually Hana paused to bring out The Question. “How are you? Really.”

Hanzo had to pause to consider that question. He briefly considered brushing him off, and then he remembered her screams like the edges of a nightmare.

If you keep it to yourself, you will become ashamed of it. And there is no need for shame.

 “I just am. It seems the more I talk, the more work there seems to be, and the more I question if all of the work is really worth it. If I will just be like this forever; unapproachable, finicky, prone to moods, and ready to die at any moment,” Hanzo looked at his bottle and swirled it, like the cheap liquor was fine wine. “Then I think of you, and Hana, and I realize there must be more to life. This is certainly not a life to write books about, but I believe it is satisfying either way.”

Hanzo risked a glance at Genji. He was listening intently. He did not make a peep or even blink, her eyes trained unerringly on Hanzo.

There was a rock in his throat that seemed to get heavier the less Genji said. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the night, maybe it was the stress. Hanzo swallowed the stone.

“I know I have made errors,” Hanzo ventured. “Many which hurt you, or caused you distress. Despite this all you have stood next to me, even when I was difficult and it would have been easier to give up on me. Thank you, Genji. There is no way to repay you for your steadfast loyalty.”

Genji did not even take a moment to consider. “There is no need to thank me for what I did selfishly,” He interrupted. “Hanzo, you are my brother. I do not believe that family trumps all, but I believe that you tried your best when many in the family had already given up on me.” He jiggled his leg anxiously. “I know now, that the expectations of us were different. At the time, I did not, and it angered me. I wanted to know why I was not treated like you, the golden son, the son who could never mess up. I was never punished for my actions, but  I was never taken seriously. Father treated me… as entertainment. As if he could have fun with me, where he could not have fun with you.” Genji clasped his hands together and his voice became tear-strained. “We were both used and then discarded. Like toys.” Genji took a deep, shaky breath into his hands. “I could not accept that.  I wanted to know why. Why was I not worth it? Why was I not worth protecting? Why was I the first thrown to the wolves, and why were you the one made to do it? It was cruel, and thoughtless, and I was consumed in my rage. But I was angry at you, for your nature. For obeying. Why was it as easy for you to obey as it was for me to disobey?” Genji wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head.

“And I still do not understand,” he finished.

Hanzo opened his mouth to say something, anything to justify himself, but it seemed that everything fell short.

“I will never understand. I have gone through every circumstance, but I can never understand how you could raise your weapon to me. But I accept it. I accepted your nature, as it was then, and I accept your nature as it is now, because no matter what you were still my brother. You still are.” Genji clapped his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shake, a thin watery little smile on his face. “Think about it, loser.” Sniffling, Genji snapped his mask back on, rose and walked back inside.

As Genji exited, McCree entered. He rubbernecked as  Genji brushed past him brusquely. “Interruptin’ something?” He asked. Hanzo shook his head, face hidden by his hand as he looked down at the street as if he was interested.McCree shrugged and leaned against the railing. He pulled a cigar out of his front pocket and lit it up without asking permission.

The two stayed on the balcony for minutes afterwards, Jesse lounging on the wrought-iron gating and huffing his cigar, and Hanzo sitting on his sub-par little chair and trying to deriddle think about it, loser. About halfway through his smoke, McCree asked, “So, how do you spend your time here?” Very polite. They are sharing space, it is only natural to talk.

“Well, I--,” Hanzo started, willing to repeat the same thing he’s repeated four times tonight.

“Oh no, non’a that briefin’ shit. Rally here, main leaders them, yadda yadda yadda. I mean like, what do you really do? Them civil right leaders are only people an’ even they got other stuff goin’ on. So what about those hours? Y’know, that mission logs don’t really care about.”

Hanzo looked at him.  McCree looked back at him. Eventually, Hanzo fired back, “What do you do in the hours that mission logs do not care about?”

McCree took the reflection in stride. “I like goin’ out and about, when I can. My bounty is high, which means I can’t do it as much as I want to without disguise, but there’s somethin’ to be said about that those small restaurants. You know, authentic food, not like westernized bullshit. And when I ain’t doin’ that, or smokin’, or drinkin’, I’m…,” McCree stopped to consider, tapping his cigar on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Hm. Truthfully, ever since I gave you that poetry, I kinda… Picked up some myself. Not writin’! Lord, not that, jus’ reading.” He popped the smoke back in. “Genre’s so big that I didn’t even know where in sam’s seven hell’s to begin, so I just went backwards. Right now I’m hoverin’ right around the golden age of cowboy poetry,” He spread his hands apart to signify the golden age. “An’ you know what, Hanzo? I am right embarrassed I gave you Milk and Honey.  I hardly even looked at the thing, didn’t even read the back, but now that I gave it a gander I cannot believe I truly, sincerely, gave you a book that was all about the emotional ‘speriences of bein’ a woman.”

Hanzo let out a titter, that grew into a snort, which rolled into a laugh. Hanzo nearly slipped off the side of his chair from the force of his laughing.

A little grin, half-crooked, half-toothy grew on McCree’s face. When Hanzo risked a peek, McCree’s warmed eyes were looking just at him. “It ain’t that it’s badly written, not at all, it’s real blunt and poetry shit that I can see myself bein’ partially amiable too an’ everythin’, despite all of the debate over the content, because I gave it a google and trust me Hanzo there is debate, it’s just that,” McCree deflated, a tanned hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t be able to relate to the subject matter, bein’ that you ain’t a woman or generally ‘feminine’ in the least. I mean, not to imply that that’s a bad thing, in some fashion, though it could be, I mean like, look at ya!” McCree gestured to Hanzo in his entirety. Hanzo looked at himself. It was a button down that Hana had bought for him and black jeans.

“You’re on glorified desk duty an’ you still look like you’re straight outta one a’ th’ old Vin Diesel films. Jeeee-sus, jus’ lookin’ at your arms in a shirt is enough to get me feelin’ a certain kinda way. I mean,  I gotta work out an’ get on this stupid diet with boiled chicken an’ cauliflower to even get a lil’ bit of ab. So you ain’t not-masculine! In the least! An’ you’re a real take charge, stereotypical boss kinda guy, right, so I do not know where in the hell you’re supposed to relate to some flowery poems about like the power of vagina’s or whatever. Implyin’ that havin’ a certain set of parts dictates that or whatever, real outdated shit like that…,”

The more McCree tried to justify himself the harder Hanzo laughed. At the beginning he tried to keep it in to save McCree’s pride, but in the end even a little breath could make him laugh. So he laughed all the way through. “And it ain’t like it’d appeal to you! Like half of that shit about love, feel like it’s comin’ straight outta a straight woman’s mouth, way she talks about him this and he that. Not sayin’ you ain’t been in love, that’d be awful assumptive of me, I’m tryna say--,”

When he finally got a chance to breathe, he said, “McCree. It is alright. I enjoyed the book, and it is not all about a ‘woman’s’ perspective. Some of it is about trauma, though I admit the parts about love are rather melodramatic.”

“Yeah, I saw that, but a lot of those old literature folk like to argue that it’s feminine-coded or some other such bookish bullshit,” McCree replied.

“Old literature folk will argue. The fact of the matter is that poetry, much like art, is an individual experience we all have to conquer,” Hanzo moved over to the only other unoccupied chair, leaving McCree room to sit. “And her lines on love, while flowery, I feel echo my experience of love. Your first love is always the dramatic one, yes?”

McCree took the seat. “Tell me about ‘er, then.”

“Him,” Hanzo answered with a moment of hesitation. His sexuality was something he was coming to terms with. He knew was gay, and had for a long time, but was still coming to terms that he was allowed to be. There was no clan to continue now, was there?

“Him, then!” Something like interest lit up McCree’s eyes.

“He…,” Hanzo leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. How would he proceed? “He was a grunt from a distant family in the Shimada Clan. The way our clan was built was with blood relatives, and then smaller factions that were either absorbed when we obtained their territory, sworn in, or had married in. He was someone whose grandfather had sworn in, forever long ago. Sanada Kakeru. We worked together on one assignment when I was seventeen and I grew enamoured with him,” Hanzo let out an embarrassed huff and pressed his forehead into his hand. “He was very much into men, and one of the first I met who was so forthcoming about the issue… It was not necessarily taboo, but if you were expected to continue your family name it was shameful to admit. He was the youngest of three, and thus it was not a problem. He very quickly charmed me, and we dated for almost a year. Secretly, of course, Father would never have let me continue… He just assumed I had finally made a friend. He was fun, and made me laugh, and it seemed that I needed no more standards than that as a teenager.”

“Did Genji know?”

Hanzo stopped. Did Genji know? He honestly could not remember. Genji had gotten involved in his own interests and vices during that time, and most of the time the time they spent together was focused on Genji’s life rather than his own. “No,” Hanzo said slowly. “I do not think he did, but if he did know, I do not recall him confronting me about it. Anyway, it was short lived. Kakeru tired of being in the closet. I could not dare come out of it, nor could ever entertain our relationship in a serious aspect. I was engaged to some girl in Tokyo. He ended up cheating on me, and afterwards we never spoke again.”

McCree was quiet for a long moment. “Oh, damn. That sucks, sweetheart. Sucks real bad.”

“I need no sympathy. It is an old wound, and I was vindicated in my revenge. He, nor his family, would enjoy any upward movement in the clan. They were stuck as grunts as long as I lived, and no one would ever know why.” McCree let out a holler and began to smack Hanzo’s arm in earnest. “You really did that? That was amazin’! Great! That’ll learn ‘em.” Hanzo hid his giggle in his chest. “And you, McCree? Have you been in love before?”

McCree let out a noise somewhere between embarassment and reluctance. “Naw, nothin’ like that… Had some flings, maybe, been real interested in people without them even givin’ a half glance at me, been with people more interested in me than I am them, a couple of rolls around, some fun dates… Nothin’ real serious-like. Which hurts, Hanzo, I consider myself a real once-in-a-lifetime romantic.”

Hanzo reached over and snagged a cigar from McCree’s open package and lit it on McCree’s lit cigar. “A romantic?” He queried disbelievingly, tucking the cigar into his mouth. He did not see the way McCree’s eyes followed the curve of his lips.

“Sure am! One day, you’ll see.”

“How unlucky will I be to witness your declaration of love to your suitor, then.” Hanzo flipped his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You said you were reading poetry. What do you think?” He was quick to change the subject.

McCree took the change in stride. “It’s interestin’. The civil rights movement was an interestin’ one, as they really just threw rhyme out the window and emphasized the rhythm. Right now I’m hoverin’ right around the 1930’s,” McCree wiggled his hand around to signify the abstractness. “Which is a lot rougher than it sounds because a lot of men wrote sad poetry about World War One. Much of it substantial, but I jus’ can’t relate to people who went to defend their country as I’ve done no such thing so I can’t really see the whole ‘went to serve my country and saw the worst of humanity, what the fuck’ kind of vibe. The 1930’s I like. The great depression, the dust bowl, all these other events were tyin’ into a very… uh, gloomy? Dead landscapey vibe, which reminds me a lot of home. Y’know, New Mexico.” Hanzo had not known, but now he did. Thankfully he didn’t have to blunder into a faux pas like that. “Grew up in a pretty poor place, Mom left Canada an’ her reservation to be with someone she thought was the love of her life who just ended up dealin’ drugs an gettin’ mixed up with Deadlock gang. Typical sad thing like that. Maybe I jus’ missed the desert,” McCree rambled on, perhaps assuming that Hanzo was not listening intently to every word. But Hanzo did hang on to every word as McCree went on to talk more about the desert and what he liked, and the pictures that he could relate too. His eyes lit up with passion as he spoke of his homeland. Whenever he told a story, he build the setting with the sway of his body, the spacing of his hands. Hanzo found himself smiling unconsciously.

“And, believe you me, I’ve seen the worst these poor rural folk can offer but you can’t deny that they are some of the hardest worker’s I ever did see. I knew moms and dads by the dozen who would bust their ass nigh unlivable conditions--- 16 hour days, unsafe, unregulated heat, you name it--- just to put food on the table and air condition’ in the house. Even then, the education had the reliability of bein’ subpar, at best,  so they get labeled as hillbillies an’ hicks and whatnot--,” McCree shook his finger. “An’ I’ll have you know there is a difference between hillbillies an’ hicks, thank you kindly, but anyway but they’re just poor, stuck in a racist environment and given the lowest kind of education you can legally give a kid and told to run with it. Crime’s high because crime pays bills that minimum wage workin’ doesn’t, guns’re high because legislators don’t wanna deal with the cost of roundin’ up out of date arms and there’s a lot of crime, police are corrupt to here and back arrestin’ us brown kids unjustly… Damn, Hanzo, believe you me, that place was like a serpent devourin’ it’s own tail with how shitty it is. Glad I left. But I ain’t ever gonna stop missin’ the childhood sights I grew up with before I realized how miserable everyone was. That’s why I think that cowboy an’ dust bowl era writin’ was so particularly interestin’, because it paints all these honest, hard-workin’ folk as victims to this higher power or nature or some other uncontrollable beast an’ they jus’ had to deal. A lot like my hometown.” He jolted, as if he suddenly remembered he was actually talking to someone and not just talking aimlessly on his own. His face turned ruddy. “Oh, shit, I’ve been ramblin’. Sorry.”

Hanzo, instead of reprimanding him, simply leaned his on his hand. “No, it is not rambling. It was interesting to hear you speak so forthcomingly about your past, and it was flattering for you to look into an interest of mine. I am glad you enjoy it.”

McCree let out a low laugh. “I ain’t gonna lie t’you Hanzo, there’s more to it than bein’ curious. I wanted to-” Again the hand went to the neck, this time tilting the hat so that it concealed McCree’s eyes. “Truthfully, I wanted to give us somethin’ to talk about. You seemed reserved, an’ I believe we’re similar but you don’t start a friendship with ‘our emotional baggage is compatible, wanna hang?’ So…,” McCree trailed off into silence.

Hanzo paused. A little voice in the back of his head told him not to do it, but his mouth moved faster. “Our emotional baggage is compatible, would you like to ‘hang’?” He asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Another smile lit up McCree’s face, his teeth peekin adorably onto his lip from the face-splitting grin. He stuck a hand out to Hanzo, and confusedly, he shook it. “Partners!” McCree declared, and dragged Hanzo in for a hug. Before he could even realize that it was happening, it was over.

“I can think of a few newer age poets that you might like,” Hanzo continued awkwardly.  “Truthfully, many ‘newer’ poems are focused on a gender-relative and LGBT basis, and then there is of course the omnic crisis, but I think you would like Proxies. By Blanchfield or something else.”

It was getting late. Hanzo got up to go to bed else he wakes with both a headache and feeling groggy from his sleep medication. McCree stood up and got out of the way, leaving just enough room for Hanzo to squeeze by his large, bulky frame. “What’s it about?”

“Remembering the past.” Hanzo stopped to consider. He turned to look at McCree over his shoulders, found him hunched to the fencing and clutching his hat to his chest like a lifeline. “I think a tumbleweed makes an appearance.” And Hanzo went inside.

[alexiela73]

Hello! I loved your imagine about Hanzo’s daughter dressed up as a dragon. The line about her bringing out the most protectiveness & tenderness from him is something I agree with; he would be very affectionate w/ his child b/c it’s probably not something he had a lot of. Could I request headcanons or an imagine about Hanzo’s general interactions w/ his daughter? Does he shamelessly coo at her & kiss her even when at work, etc. Lol does he get her a binky that looks like a dragon? Thanks!

Thank you, and I love Hanzo soooooo much that I’ll do something unusual and do a hc and a small fic. Hope these are okay.

Fic:

The night was quiet and stars shone bright in the sky. The moon was only half full, and a soft breeze caused the branches of the cherry blossom tree to dance gently. It’s peaceful, Hanzo thought to himself, content as he meditated below the tree with his eyes closed.

The last seven years had been probably the best of his life. After meeting his lover, the two had gotten married and something had happened that Hanzo had never dreamed possible, something he never thought he deserved.

The two of them had a child.

Hanzo had known for the longest time that he wanted to have a family, where he would be free to raise his children as he wished and could lead a life without any doubt. After living as he had, having to uphold the Shimada name as was expected and living a life ruled by others…Hanzo wanted a family that was not held hostage by expectation or honor.

No, the elder Shimada wanted a family that was raised and led by love. As much as Hanzo had lived his life cold and full of remorse, led by a steady hand and a burning self hate….Hanzo had know, especially as the engagement ensued, that if he was ever lucky enough to have a family…he wanted to be different from his clan. Different from his father.

Different from the man who had tried to kill his brother. 

Now that the two were reconciled and nearly comfortable together, Hanzo’s next big step in life had been when you had told him of your pregnancy… So many fears had run through his mind. Would he be a good father? Would his child grow to hate him, as he often did when thinking of his father? Could Hanzo make his family proud?

Hanzo had to grow out of those fears, though once in awhile he would remember something from his past and worry about his skills as a father….and then there were other moments where he could look into his child’s face, and all he felt was pride and a love so strong that he sometimes thought his heart might burst… like right now.

“Papa?” said a small voice behind him. 

Turning, Hanzo saw his six year old daughter standing there, blinking at him sleepily. She stood there wearing a pale purple dragon onesie, the hood up on her head with small little horns and soft spine flaps that went down to a little tale. Disheveled black hair fell out around her neck, and she was hugging a little stuffy that looked like one of Hanzo’s dragons.

Looking at his beloved daughter, Hanzo could remember sitting down in the weeks following her birth and taking the time to stitch it. Every Shimada was born with a dragon, but since he had turned away from the clan, Hanzo knew for sure that no matter what, he would be the dragon to protect her. 

Eyes softening, Hanzo got up. “Is it time for bed already?” he asked gently, walking over and felt his heart quicken with satisfaction as her small hand automatically grabbed his, the two walking for the house.

Immediately his daughter nodded, bright blue eyes lighting up happily. “Oh, yes Papa! Will you tell me another story?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement and she tried not to bounce in her little bunny slippers as they walked up the porch stairs and into the house.

A chuckle escaped his lips. Every night Hanzo would tuck her into bed, and almost every night she managed to squeeze a story from his lips with but a bat of her lashes. Though it took an hour sometimes, Hanzo enjoyed telling her stories and telling her of old traditions.

“Yes, my little cherry blossom. I do believe there is time for a story, but only if we can tame that unruly mane of yours,” Hanzo said, voice soft. He could hear his partner in the kitchen, and walked up the stairs to his daughters bedroom.

Beaming, she nodded eagerly. “Okay. I just need to brush my teeth!” she squeaked before running off.

It was bright green, picked out this year because it made her think of her uncle, and surprisingly Hanzo had not minded her choice. The place was littered with toys and dolls and in the corner was a child’s archery set, a gift that his daughter had picked out for her birthday.

Remaining in his heart were her words when she’d chosen her birthday present. “Can I please have a bow for my birthday? I want to be a great archer, just like Papa!” The words always stayed with him, always lifted his spirit to know that she looked up to him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hanzo waited while his daughter went and routinely brushed her teeth before running back to the bed. Instead of getting into bed, she crawled right into his lap and made herself comfy.

“So what story shall I tell you tonight?” Hanzo asked, picking up the brush from her night table and pushing down her hood. How similar we are, Hanzo thought as he carefully brushed her hair. It sometimes is like looking into a little mirror, except more precious.

Biting her lip in a manner like that of his lover, Hanzo couldn’t helping smiling as she made her choice. “The great dragons!” she exclaimed, turning her head up to look at him.

“But I have told you that story nearly a dozen times,” Hanzo said in amusement, managing to get free a few knots before brushing the hair back from her face carefully. “Are you sure you do not wish for me to make up a new story tonight??”

Immediately his daughter shook her head. “No, Papa. This one is my favorite story,” she said, sitting still in his lap like a good girl as he started to braid her hair as he does every night.

When the braid was done, it fell down to the middle of her back and Hanzo gently lifted her. Cradling her in one arm, he lifted the sheets with the other and put her in the bed, before tucking her into her quilts.

How lovely she was, Hanzo thought, knowing someday his daughter would be beautiful and intelligent, and live a long life. Too soon she would be all grown up. The thought made him sad, yet all the more determined to cherish his time with her as a child, which he could still hold and protect her. 

“If that is what you want, my little cherry blossom,” Hanzo said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently petting the hair from her face. “Now close your eyes, and picture the great dragons, high above the earth…”

Story time lasted about forty five minutes, as Hanzo once more explained the tale of the two dragons to his beloved daughter. Each time he told it, she would stare at him with these big eyes full of wonder, always eager to ask little questions. And as always, by the end she was nearly asleep.

Leaving on her night light, Hanzo turned off the main light and slowly crept toward the door, his daughter’s eyes barely open.

“Papa?” she mumbled, and Hanzo froze in place.

“Yes, my little cherry blossom?” Hanzo asked softly, turning to look at his daughter as she rubbed at her eyes, yawning.

Once more his heart gave a squeeze when his little girl offered the most serene of smiles. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered, before turning to snuggle into her pillow. It took Hanzo a moment, because one more all those thoughts flashed through his brain…then he looked at her sweet little face, heard her soft words ,and realized that there was nothing to worry about.

“I love you,” Hanzo said softly.

Ta da! There is the fic. Quick and hopefully enjoyable. Nightly rituals with is daughter, pretty damn cute. Here is a hc for this now too. Ps. I wouldn’t do fic and hc together normally and won’t do it again if asked. I decided to do this for myself.

Hanzo:

Hand stitched a little stuffed noodle (dragon) for his daughter

The day his daughter was born was the first day Hanzo cried since his brother died

When he first held his daughter, he was afraid he would break her

Hanzo was the first to hold her when she was born, and the moment he held her in his arms, it was love at first sight

Nothing had made him feel so complete

During the following months, Hanzo was up as many nights as his partner to take care of her whenever she cried

Was always the first one awake in the morning to take care of her

Her first year for Halloween his partner dressed her up as a dragon to get Hanzo to participate in the tradition of trick or treating

The two went in matching dragon onesies

The first birthday Hanzo bought his daughter a little bonsai tree to keep in her room

As she got to her toddler years, Hanzo stepped up his game. In the morning he liked to hold her on his hip while making breakfast, and at the end he’d say ‘You made breakfast!’ and give her a high five

When its nap time, Hanzo initially tried to put her to sleep in her room.

Always tired too, he’d go lay in his room but every time his daughter would come in fifteen minutes later, crawl into the bed and fall asleep against his side

Liked to go on quiet walks with his daughter by the river, taking her in the stroller on the paths there and he would show her little things (butterflies, smooth stones, little bugs ect ect)

Hanzo was the kind of dad who let his daughter braid and play with his hair when he couldn’t find anything else to amuse her

Hanzo taught her how to draw with a ink brush

He gave his daughter the nickname “Little cherry blossom’, because of how much she loved the cherry blossom tree he meditated under

Whenever his daughter came down with a cold, Hanzo was the parent who would rock her to sleep when her cold made it difficult, and was the parent who was up 20 hours a day worried about her health

When his daughter got her first knee scrap, Hanzo kissed it better and then told her that she was incredibly brave 

Hanzo taught his daughter how to love and stop being afraid of thunder storms

Once five years old, Hanzo went with her for her first week of kindergarten. He was afraid the kids would be mean to them

Instead his daughter showed in small words his tattoo and impressed the kids. Bonus: she taught him how to play with lego for the first time.

Hanzo was the parent who went to every concert and small school event once his daughter was out of kindergarten. He never clapped or jumped up, but each time he would take a picture of his daughter on the stage and every time after the concert or performance he would catch her outside and swing her into the air

His daughter loves his butterfly kisses

Every night Hanzo tucks his daughter in and tells her a story

Hanzo is a dad that dreams of a bright future for his daughter where someday she can make her dreams come true with pure willpower 

This dad loves his daughter no matter what

[overdrivels]

The Way to a Heart (12)

<<Chapter 11

Hanzo, despite his less-than-stellar display of maturity, was surprisingly granted a mission, and he had taken it with such speed, there was no time for anyone to protest (or for you to have made an appropriate lunchbox). It was merely surveillance around Gibraltar, but that must have been more appealing than remaining in the incredible awkwardness at the base.

His absence, however, did little to alleviate the oppressive air in the sparsely occupied Watchpoint. Genji had made himself scarce, and when he was available, was noticeably more distant. Zenyatta’s presence probably did a lot to ease the uncertainty that weighs on the cyborg.

Though, McCree did not know who he felt worse for: Genji or you.

The others had a lot of say about the matter, but McCree cannot consider himself so morally superior that he allowed himself to gripe. The feelings of the Shimada brothers’ are sticky in ways that even those on moral high ground should not comment on—the deed was done and over with, the main thing now is how they feel now and how they’re going to go about handling it. It’s one thing if it’s between themselves, it’s another if they’re going to drag innocent people in their cautious yet reckless game of feelings and painful memories.

You, especially.

After that fiasco, you confined yourself to the kitchens, making quick work of small talk and any attempts to coax you to come out.

McCree tsk’s to himself. You had made such good progress, too. Ana, if she hadn't been away on a mission, would’ve been proud.

It’d be a lie to say the kitchen is the most welcoming place on base. Head Chef Richard was quite generous and lavish in his own way, feeding people just the right amount (neither left wanting nor bursting) with just the right foods—but despite his creed for serving and loving his customers, his priority would always fall on the chefs he kept under his wing. Through his numerous escapades, McCree had long suspected the kitchens were built in such a way that the entire place was both a fortress and a prison, keeping out intruders and holding them in to be dealt with when the time came even without chefs inside. In some ways, this place was better safeguarded than other places in the Watchpoint.

If you really wanted to lock yourself in there, you could and no one would be able to get you out. Similarly, if you truly wanted to keep people out, the kitchen could be on lockdown faster than most would be able to react. The reason for it was assumed to be because of the ‘treasure’, but McCree isn’t so sure.

“Ain’t like you t’ be standin’ still, Chef,” McCree says as he walks into the darkened mess hall and toward the service window where you stood. If he wasn’t expecting it, it would be a creepy sight to behold: a single, unmoving figure in the middle of the brightest light in the entire cafeteria, finer features obscured by shadows. “Head Chef would throw a fit if he saw you doin’ nothin’.”

Instead of the flustered outburst he expects, you remain quiet, hands folded neatly on the counter as though waiting for something. He could fathom a guess for what—or whom.

He drags a stool to the window and sits. From this spot, he can almost see the washing station and a shocking amount of dishes stacked. They don’t seem dirty, but it just looks like they were left there after being cleaned. A troubling sign.

Gently, he tries again. “Hour’s late, Chef. Whatcha doin’ up?”

“...I’m just thinking,” you reply slowly, voice lacking in any energy or enthusiasm.

He makes a noise in his throat. “That so?”

“...yeah.”

The silence settles uncomfortably between you both. He sighs internally and decides to cut to—what he believes to be—the chase. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Your fingers twitch and your hands curl into fists before unfurling and curling again. “...how are you so sure?”

Because you’re obvious and Hanzo is not as unreadable as he believes himself to be.

“Callin’ me a liar now? Mighty bold of ya.”

Jesse expects a laugh or some sort of reaction, not the deafening silence that sounds of guilt and something all too familiar.

“It’s between him and Genji. It ain’t your fault you got caught up in it.”

“If I didn’t decide to make a group meal then…”

“It wasn’t about your cookin’ or how you did it.” It was a fine set-up and wonderfully alive. If it weren’t for the Shimadas’ issues, it would have been an excellent affair that was reminiscent of the old, old Overwatch. The stew was spicy and if McCree was being honest, he’d really rather eat that combination that reminds him of his time on the road rather than the neatly arranged meals you normally make. (Not that they’re not delicious, but there’s just something charming about eating food that is more...appropriate for his person.)

“But he didn’t even take a lunchbox when he left.” Despite how distressed you sound, he couldn’t help a smile.

“Bet you cried yourself to sleep over that.”

“Did not.”

He raises an eyebrow and the silence, a little more bearable, seems to unnerve you and eventually you concede with a huff, “I didn’t cry.”

“...but you’re still feelin’ responsible.”

You throw up your hands and begin to pace as though you’ve meant to do it for a long time. “I should have known! I—”

“Known what? That everyone was goin’ to leave that seat open? That Hanzo would react like that? That we’d have to practically tackle Genji to the ground? You almost got clocked in th’ head with a flyin’ bottle and you still feel like it’s your fault?” He scoffs. “You ain’t psychic and it ain’t your responsibility to keep track of all that.”

“But it is,” you insist. “It’s the least I can do.”

He wants to groan and slap his face and barely manages to resist doing either. “Not this again.”

“It’s true!” You stop right in front of him, slamming your hands somewhere above the partition. “I'm not a hero like you!”

“Ain't never claimed t’be one neither.”

“But you're out there”—and you gesture wide toward some unseen horizon or an imagined place that McCree is sure does not exist—“fighting and risking yourselves and I'm…”

Your hands and your whole body just slumps.  

“And I'm in here.”

The silence that follows is almost damning.

There’s always been some sense of self-imposed responsibility from the support-type staff. Well, he can’t say that he was innocent in the matter—long ago, he loathed the easy-going pace of the desk-job people and paper-pushers and those who work with Overwatch but never ever see battle. Why did they get to complain when he’s out risking his hide? Why should people get to live because they’ve got money? Why do those people get to boss them around? (It’s one of the reasons why he liked Reyes so much more than Jack. The former got his hands dirty with the rest of his crew, the latter locked himself up in his offices and meetings. Jesse didn’t care about the heroic stories he was told, he just knows what he saw and what he saw was Jack being a damn sellout.)

But meeting people like you, who are too attached to the idea of ‘responsibility’, he can’t bring himself to be upset. Everyone has their own role to fill, their own troubles, and McCree learned after several years here that people like you probably take it harder than them. He can lose himself in the adrenaline and the missions, but you can only do your best, cooking for agents who are too strung out to appreciate the power of a decent meal and fling it back in your face. It’s too easy to think of the agents’ problems as your fault when it’s their fault for not managing themselves properly.

“It ain’t like you t’ get so worked up over one person. Other people lost their minds over the food before and you didn’t act like this.”

“But that was…”

That was long ago, when you weren’t alone to bear the burden of a discarded meal, when you did not feel so directly responsible, when you had the Head Chef to buffer you. Or is it because of something else?

He knows, vaguely, what you had been doing before you came back to Overwatch. He would have guessed that your skin would’ve been thicker after your ordeals. But for a single person to rattle your cage—

“If it’ll make y’feel better, I’ll hunt him down for you, make ‘im apologize,” he offers.

You snort like you don’t think he is serious—oh, but he’s very serious, no matter how nonchalant he had tried to make the offer seem. It’d be interesting to get Hanzo speaking heartfelt apologies with Peacekeeper against his temple. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s contemplated it (but for different reasons). Jesse wonders if Genji would help, but banishes the idea quick. That might just make things more grisly than it had to.

“I think you should be the one apologizing, too.”

He starts and tries to look at you through the wall. “Me? What’d I ever do?”

“You told Agent Hanzo about the Cellar!”

“And who told you I told him?”

“Agent Genji, of course.”

That son of a—

Jesse smacks himself in the back of the neck and rubs it twice. Well, it wasn’t that much of a secret anyway. He supposes it’s his just deserts—or in this case, just desserts?  

“Guess I have two Shimadas to go after,” he says wryly, leaning against his palm, directing a smile up at you that he forgets that you cannot see. “Gotta get justice for the both of us.”

“I don’t think it’s really getting ‘justice’, Jesse.”

He shrugs. “Someone wronged you, so it’s only proper t’get even, ain’t it?”

“I don’t���That’s not right.”

“It ain’t like it’s the first time you’ve got into a tiff with somebody. ‘Member the first time you ‘nd I fought? You kicked me and threw the whole tray at me.”

“You slapped it out of my hands!”

“And we both got a helluva lecture from your boss for wastin’ food.”

He gets something like a cross between a choked laugh and a noise of anguish. It’s not what he’s aiming for, but the night’s young.

“You don’t know it, but Reyes chewed my ass out after.”

“And Head Chef put my on cleaning duty for a week since the extra food was unauthorized.”

“Hey, I put it in the terminal all good and proper. It was one of you messin’ with me that caused all of that.”

“That’s because you tried to disguise yourself as a chef!”

The cowboy pulls out his pack of cigarillos and lights one, much to your horror. He grins to himself. Good.

“Good times.”

“Don’t smoke,” you chide with no real malice. “You’ll ruin your tastebuds.”

“Ain’t nothin’ that can ruin how I taste your cookin’, it’s just that good,” he quips, taking a loud and overly obnoxious drag just to hear you groan in frustration and embarrassment. He smirks to himself. That’s a better reaction.

You wave your hand at the smoke, trying to push it back in his direction to very little avail. For good measure, he even blows a stream in your direction, delighting in the way you swat at it. “Stop that. It’ll get into the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you clean it.”

“Oh? That’s very generous.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs and tips his hat with a grin. “I’m a gentleman.”

Grumbling, you ask to yourself, “What sort of gentleman smokes in a kitchen?” You cross your arms and he can swear you are looking down at him. “I remember when you used to use that trick to try to get in here.”

“Did I now? Can’t remember. Old age must be gettin’ to me.” Even though he clearly recalls having offered his help just so he could get one step closer to the phantasmal treasure that the members of Blackwatch kept conspiring about. It did not succeed, of course.

You make some noise of disbelief and pull out an ashtray from somewhere below the window, slipping it onto the table with a loud ‘clack’. Your message is clear, but he just waits.

And waits, and waits.

Until you cave. “I’m going to make Meatloaf Surprise,” you warn sternly. “And I’ll have Gen—Captain Amari help me.”

He can’t contain his grimace. “Please don’t.” The meatloaf is enough of a threat, but throwing Ana into the mix was just unfair even if she isn’t on base. Taking in one last delicious pull, he snuffs out the end. (Though he can’t say he’s completely displeased with the results—you are coming back out of your imposed silence.)

Seemingly satisfied with his actions, you say, “Thank you.”

He stares  forlornly at his snuffed-out cigarillo, itching to put it back between his lips now that he’s had a taste. He's sure you would actually serve him meatloaf if he did. And he would eat it.

“Chef, can I get some coffee then?”

“Use the terminal, please.” But even as you say that, you’re already moving around inside the kitchen. He grumbles a bit as he leans over the length of the counter to punch in his order. “Let me guess, a red-eye for this late hour?”

His finger hovers over the submit button. “Nah.” Beep. “‘s a dead-eye kind of night.”

You choke on a laugh, and already, the kitchen seems a little brighter with the echo of it. “Did you just—”

“E-yep.”

Then the laughter pours out as though it’s been waiting to come out this whole time.

As long as you were feeling better, he could honestly say he’s done his good deed for the day. (The day’s still early, too.) 

The days pass by in a haze. Jesse drops by often, insisting on talking with you and being a general nuisance. (Though, you can’t say you’re upset about it. The former Blackwatch agent always had a way of making you talk.)

Jesse was right, regardless. You have other priorities to worry about—you’ve never worried so much about another agent before.

But it’s also the first time—second time after a younger Jesse—you were able to be so close with your customers. Back in the day, you would be taking the orders and making them without truly knowing the faces of the people you served. You’d see their name, look them up in the kitchen’s database if you did not know their habits, and cook. There was still that gap that never truly allowed you to connect with them.   

Now, it’s different. You could actually ask them, talk to them, see their reactions, share their joy.

It’s not something you really ever thought of before, but it’s truly a truly precious feeling to have someone’s eyes and face light up when they take that very first bite. Even more so when they finish everything and ask for seconds.

—“We chefs exist for them.”—

It always sounded a little asinine, but with each day here, you think you’re getting closer to what the Head Chef once meant. You’re sure that if you never saw their expressions or received their thanks, you’d still think of food and cooking more shallowly.

Seeing Agent Junkrat lose his mind over something simple like fruit salad—or any fruit in general—was beyond endearing. You couldn’t help but indulge him if only just to see him happy (even if it did eat at your limited inventory). Agent Roadhog, as silent as he was, always seemed to take special care to eat everything clean, thanking you. Mock arguing with Agent Reinhardt about his diet was also fun. He always insisted on bratwurst and fatty substances for his physique only to concede and laugh the exchange off after a few words, leaving with less than you would’ve expected.

Agent Hanzo, though unexpected, definitely caught your attention the most. His sharp features softening into something warmer, younger when eating sweets. It was comforting to watch, strange as it sounds, to see him enjoy himself especially when he always seemed to hold the world at arm’s length.

The nights where Agent Hanzo comes down to drink tea or to eat really puts into perspective the Head Chef’s words. Just by serving him and seeing him eat so earnestly really makes you think that perhaps being a chef was a worthy cause in life if only to help these heroes through the day.

Long ago, the Head Chef would lecture about the agents. How the food you (and every other chef makes) becomes a part of them and that their bodies are made from the food you made. As such, all that they eat must be filled with love. For these agents—these heroes—miles away from home and fighting a war that most people only see through a holoscreen, can easily lose faith and forget the feeling of humanity, and therefore must be loved and nurtured lest they become nothing more than beasts.

—“Love them with all our being.”—

Though, you couldn’t say that you loved every agent.

Deadpan, you stare at the tray Agent Soldier: 76 dropped off. Even from this distance, you can see the food piled up on it, scarcely touched as always. You scrub at your face with your sleeve.

He likes nothing. Indian, Mediterranean, Chinese, French, German, Italian—none of those cuisines have ever caught his fancy, none of those foods have ever received anything more than a nibble despite having one of the highest calorie requirements among all of the agents here. How can you give anyone love if they refuse to have it? What use was pouring in effort if it’s rebuffed?

What does he even eat?

You bite back a groan of frustration even as it claws at you, begging you to voice you discontent and perhaps find Agent Soldier: 76 and give him a good shake or a whack with a ladle or maybe (as unlikely as it is) knock him out and shove food down his throat.

The thought is waved away just as quickly as it comes. No, it's likely not any fault of his own. Maybe he just doesn't like your cooking.

It’s a painful reality to admit, but it’s a humbling one.

It'd be wonderful if he could give a critique or just let you know what he likes—you can't take requests immediately, but the next shipment can be tailored to accommodate him—yet the radio silence he gives you is woefully inadequate in helping you move forward. Each week produces different types of food, but each time produces nothing but a barely touched tray. It’s past the point of being a challenge and stepping dangerously into the realm of making you throw down your apron and leaving the Watchpoint for good.

It was a dangerous balancing act where even the greatest thanks from all agents could be negated simply by Agent Soldier: 76’s apparent refusal to eat anything you make. You cannot give up just because of one person. Your mission is more than just cooking for one person, more than just cooking for a group of agents, and so you remind yourself that you must remain strong.

Resigning yourself to life’s occasional hiccups, you pick up the tray when you pause.

Curiously enough, one plate remained among the different dishes. It’s rectangular, a little smaller and half-hidden among the others, but even more striking is that it’s the only empty plate among other partially eaten dishes.

Hastily, you pick up it up, looking it over, turning it in your hands.

Just what did you…?

Apple pie. There was apple pie on this plate. A few crumbs of flaky crust left behind, but the pie itself is nowhere to be found, a clearing through a dollop of sauce that looks suspiciously like someone wiped a finger through it.

Finally.

A happiness you haven’t felt in a while bubbles up rapidly inside you, pressing up against your chest, blooming, warming everything in its path until it reaches your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you ask no one, half-hysterical.

He ate something you made. Completely.

You press a hand to your mouth, choking on emotion and a victory hard won, breath stuttering and your eyes entirely too warm.

He ate the pie.

You should make more.

Abandoning cleaning duty, you rush across the kitchen and tear into the walk-in freezer, the crisp and chilly air does nothing to dampen your newfound spirits. How many more pies can you make? Should you adjust the recipe? Oh, but you don’t know his preferences, what about the pie did he like? The flakiness? The way the apples were sliced? The types of apples that were used?

Just what did he like so much about the pie?

The fruit make their way into your arms as your mind furiously burns through the options.

If even Agent Soldier: 76 liked these, then this would surely please Agent Hanzo—

The thought of the archer makes you stop in your tracks.

Agent Hanzo would have enjoyed this, would have taken a bite that’s almost too big for his mouth and maybe smiled that secretive smile when he tastes something he enjoys, may have even closed his eyes and breathed in and sighed a little. A bitter smile crosses your face. If only he were here. You’re sure he would’ve loved this.

You shake your head. No, you have other customers to focus on.

What expression did Agent Soldier: 76 make when he ate this? Was it just as soft? Did he smile? Would he have taken a pause to savor it after the first bite?

You couldn’t help but smile wide, shouldering your way back into the kitchen with ingredients nearly spilling out of your arms. It wouldn’t hurt to make more or to go astray from your menu. Just once.

Just this once.

Nothing could bring down your mood as you began to measure your ingredients, all else forgotten.

You’re in the middle of putting the rolled out crusts into the freezer when your communicator rings. It takes a moment until your hands are free, but you light up when you see who’s calling.

“...boss?”

“Asim, good to hear from—”

“Boss.” His tone, cold and curt, makes you stop in your tracks. “We need you back here.”

“Wh—”

“Auditors.”

Your breath comes up short and the dread seeps into your bones, freezing them with full-bodied fear, and your previous elation comes crashing down.

Auditors? From what organization? And why now? The fiscal year isn’t even over yet and you’re sure that last year’s documents were submitted properly—

“They’re asking for all our documents, our ledgers, our—” He takes a shuddering breath. “Boss, you have to come back.”

Without even thinking, you utter, “Asim, don’t—don’t let them take more than they already have. Tell Argus—hold them off while I…”

You brain struggles to form words as plans and concerns flying through them at rapid-fire speed.

You need to go to them—what about your data—how long have they been there—no, you need to let Winston know—but it could be too late—you need to—but Overwatch—but the auditors—how did—

Your feet sway and you cannot decide what you need to do first.

Asim hisses, loud and insistent in your ear, “Boss! We don’t have time! We need you. Now!”

But—

You suck a hard breath through your teeth.

“I’ll be right over.”

And the communications cut off.

The freezer door rattles loudly as you slam it shut, and you almost jam your wrist trying to get the Cellar door open. The door opens then closes after you, lights flickering on automatically after you have already ran past them.

It’s irresponsible to leave Overwatch hanging, but this took precedence. You must see the extent of what the auditors have seen, what they have. If they find out about your operations, Overwatch would be in terrible danger and everything you would have done—all your sacrifices—would have been for nothing.

You could only hope that you’re not too late.

Chapter 13>>

[mlmwatch-headcanons]

Can I request the Shimada Bro's (Separate) with an autistic s/o who keeps harmfully stimming without noticing and how they react?

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while ;-; bit of a family emergency- Mod Genji

tw: self harm

Hanzo

His first assumption is that you’re doing this to hurt yourself on purpose, and he’s terrified

He sits you down with a cup of tea and just stares at the floor for a really long time, trying to think of something to say

Decides to just straight up ask “why are you harming yourself.”

When you tell him it’s unintentional the fear only increases

He is not a stranger to self harm, but intentional self harm can be controlled. He doesn’t know how to help you if neither of you know when you need help

Depending on what it is he’ll have different solutions

Scratching your arms? He’ll have you cut your nails really short and buy a small leather cushion of sorts that feels like skin for you to scratch instead

Burning yourself when there is fire or something else hot around? He’ll have everyone in the base notified to keep careful watch on anything that is hot enough to harm around you (not that he tells them why, though most of them pick up on it from seeing you do so)

Whatever it is that you are harming yourself with accidentally, he makes sure to keep ana eye on you as often as you will allow it

He follows you around the base, requests Winston send you on the same missions, and practically moves in to your quarters

People tease him that he’s being clingy, but as long as you’re safe he doesn’t really care about his reputation (plus if they assume that they won’t assume it’s because of the self harming and your secret will be safe)

If you need some quiet time he’ll agree, and either go train or meditate. He tries to keep his mind occupied so that he isn’t thinking of you but he can’t help but worry sometimes

Especially when he sees you again and sees the result of another incident, which he takes at least an hour to carefully bandage

Never blames you, though sometimes you can see the frustration building under his skin for not being able to do more to help. Those times he goes and trains until his arms are too sore to pull the string on his storm bow

He could never forgive himself if he took his anger out on you. You do not deserve it, you are his boyfriend and the love he does not deserve but cherishes. He just wants to see you happy and safe.

Genji

Is worried at first, panicking slightly (a lot), so he goes to Zenyatta

You’ve never brought it up so maybe he wasn’t supposed to know?? Maybe you’ve already gotten it taken care of?? Maybe you’ll think he’s rude if he asks??

Zenyatta makes him realize that he’s assuming way too much and just tells him to talk to you and listen to what the REAL situation is.

The real situation isn’t that scary to him, actually

He knows a million different ways to achieve that stim, whatever it is

Is surprisingly happy? 

He’s glad that he knows how to help you and wants to be a positive influence to keep you happy too.

Knows what it’s like to feel like your pain is a burden, and doesn’t want to bring that on you

Heat/burning related? One of those heat packs that warms up when you rub it. It can get SUPER hot but never hot enough to burn. He always has one on hand incase you don’t

Cutting or scratching? He buys you thick gloves or bracers (depending on where it is you tend to cut yourself on) so that you can’t feel the dig of the sharp thing but it won’t hurt you or pierce your skin.

It goes on and on. The king of substitutes.

Doesn’t want to prevent your behaviour, because he knows that’ll just be worse for you, so he finds alternatives that actually work

With your blessing he’ll bring it up to Mercy/Zenyatta, since he assumes as healers they will have better tips than him on how to deal with this

Anytime you fall back to the harming stim he’ll pepper the injury with kisses and take you to the medbay, making sure that Mercy applies the gaudiest (and cutest) of bandaids (even if a bandaid isn’t necessary)

If you have a SI? You bet the med-bay stocks your SI themed bandaids now? How’d he get them? Who knows

(Winston knows. Genji bribed him with peanut butter to order them with Overwatch funds. He’s not even sorry)

[epicwolfofdarkness]

Master post of my Genji Headcanons

Copied and pasted from a journal on my DeviantArt that I regularly keep updated/edited. I have a lot of headcanons, so let’s go :D 

First of all: GENJI HAS A FACE. Underneath his helmet visor, his face is still mostly human apart from plating on his chin, which runs along both sides of his jawline. This means that, contrary to a lot of people's headcanons, Genji's face is more or less still mostly human behind his helmet visor (albeit very scarred). His torso is also still mostly human beneath the metal plating, although that is covered in scars too from his wounds and the operation. It is also fused to artificial muscle on both sides, as well as having small metal implants embedded in it.

When Genji was rescued from death by Overwatch, he was rebuilt under the direction of Dr. Angela Ziegler (Mercy). Dr. Ziegler did not rebuild Genji herself - in fact, she was quite opposed to turning his body into a weapon. But under the orders of Overwatch, she drew up diagrams and blueprints for Genji's cybernetics and oversaw his cyberization.

In my headcanon, the first version of Genji's cybernetic body was similar to his final in-game design, except less plated and with more of his original human body intact, though scarred. (Note: see his picture from the "Recall" animated short for a better idea of what I'm talking about.) His torso and his left arm were still intact under his plating, as were his male parts.

When Genji recovered from the initial cyberization process, the head of Blackwatch, Gabriel Reyes, saw Genji as a valuable asset to his covert ops division. This in turn led to Genji being cybernetically modified to better fit in with the rest of the Blackwatch agents. This is why his Blackwatch design is different to how he looked before, with different plating and muscle and his left arm and part of his torso exposed.

Blackwatch Genji wore a different "helmet" to default Genji. It consisted of a removable metal upper and lower part, which concealed parts of his face with only his eyes showing, and was attached to his neck plating. He also had red eyes due to wearing contact lenses which enhanced his vision, instead of having to wear a coloured visor.

When Genji joined Blackwatch, he went on a mission with them to take down the Shimada Clan. This was his Blackwatch initiation, and the mission continued to be an ongoing operation for the whole of Genji's time with Blackwatch.

Genji received several injuries to his human parts while he was with Blackwatch. His left arm was severely injured on one of his missions.

About three years after Genji joined Blackwatch and went on several missions with them, including the "Venice Incident" (Retribution) and making sure the Shimada Clan was well and truly taken care of, the head of Blackwatch, Reyes, changed drastically. He gradually became more sinister and secretive (not helped by Dr. Moira O' Deorain), and tension began to increase between him, Blackwatch and the rest of Overwatch. Genji didn't agree with this. Not enjoying the secrecy, tension and near-criminal activities he was forced to take part in as a Blackwatch agent, and not liking the direction Blackwatch was going in, he returned to Overwatch's general division instead.

After Genji rejoined Overwatch's general division, he was again modified as he was no longer part of Blackwatch. This included removing his left arm, which, although it was his only intact human limb, was severely damaged due to injuries he had received while with Blackwatch. It was replaced with a fully cybernetic one so the organisation could further enhance his abilities. As well as this, he was given more plating than before as a sort of armour, and a new removable helmet with a green visor to enhance his vision, instead of having to wear contact lenses. This is how he came to look like the way he does today.

Genji was 25 when Hanzo tried to kill him, and he was 28 during the Omnic Uprising in King's Row, so that means he stayed with Overwatch for approximately four years.

All the modifications Genji went through during his time with Overwatch did nothing to help his already fragile mental state. Several months after he rejoined Overwatch's general division and helped out with a few missions (including the Doomfist mission), Genji abandoned the organisation and began to look for meaning in his troubled life. Shortly after he left, Overwatch itself was disbanded.

Even though it was never confirmed that Genji returned to Overwatch years later, in my headcanon he eventually became part of it again during the Recall (which eventually forced Hanzo to join as well due to guilt).

Genji sees Mercy as a a close ally and more than just a friend, since she was the one who saved him from death and cared for him when his mind and body were weak. Even though he didn't fully appreciate her work back then, he now loves and cares about her deeply and hopes to repay her for what she did someday.

Genji still has nightmares and flashbacks of his near-death experience sometimes, although they're not as frequent as they were when it first happened. However, they are still traumatic for him to experience.

Genji likes to meditate in times of stress or emotional difficulty as it makes him calm and brings his mind into focus.

Genji still cares deeply about Hanzo and is still extremely loyal to him. He wants nothing more than his brother to make peace with him and be as close as they were when they were younger, but it saddens him to think that'll probably never happen.

When he and Hanzo were younger, Genji liked to annoy Hanzo by calling him "Handsoap" because it sounds like his name. He wouldn't dare try it nowadays though.

Genji has always had a fear/dislike of needles, ever since he was a young child. This is part of the reason why Ana finds it so hard to heal him, since she uses darts to heal people. Genji always tries to avoid her healing darts due to his fear, even when he needs healing. (Note: this headcanon is more gameplay-related than lore-related, but my point still stands.)

Even though he is mostly machine, Genji can still feel pain and is still greatly affected by anything that hurts him. His dislike of pain goes back to when he was human, but even as a cyborg he still feels the same way.

Contrary to what a lot of people believe, Genji can still eat and drink the same way humans can. However, his sense of taste is by far his weakest and as a result, he can't taste things as well as he could when he was human. He never eats a lot at a time due to the fact that he doesn't really need to - his cybernetic body can withstand long periods without food or water, better than the average human body. He mostly just eats and drinks to feel more human.

On the topic of food, Genji still enjoys a good bowl of ramen every now and then.

When he was younger, Genji loved watching anime, cartoons and other TV shows. His favourite shows were (and still are) Naruto, Attack on Titan, Wolf's Rain, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Kamen Rider.

As well as watching anime and cartoons, Genji also loved reading manga and had quite a big collection of it. Most of the manga he read when he was younger was harem or ecchi-themed.

Genji loved playing video games when he was younger. He would often spend hours at the arcade near where he lived, or playing handheld and mobile games at home. Either way, gaming was a favourite hobby of his. For this reason, he gets on quite well with D.Va due to her being a gamer.

The reason Genji had green hair when he was a teenager/young adult is because he lost a bet. When he was 16, a girl at the arcade challenged him to beat her at one of the games, and the loser had to dye their hair bright green. Genji accepted this challenge, but lost. He grew to like the colour of his hair though, and he kept it that way for quite a while afterwards.

Genji decided to go back to his natural hair colour, black, when he was 20 after constantly dyeing it green for four years. He dyed his hair again when he was 23, and so it was still green when Hanzo tried to murder him two years later.

Genji now has black hair for several reasons. First of all, he lost some of it through his injuries and the cyberization surgery. By the time it fully grew back he had just joined Blackwatch. Normally Blackwatch agents would have to get a regulation haircut as part of their induction, but Genji didn't. This is because, at the insistence of Mercy, Gabriel Reyes was fairly lenient with Genji when he first joined (due to Genji's mental state). He made a special exception for his new recruit so he didn't have to go through every part of the induction process. However, Genji was given a rule that if he wasn't going to get his regulation haircut, he had to keep it out of his way by other means and have the green colour removed. (He was okay with this, the old green-haired Genji was dead after all). So, for the duration of his time with Blackwatch, Genji had black hair which he kept gelled back like he did when he was younger.

Even though it was mostly his face that was scarred, Genji also has a scar on the right side of his head from his fight with Hanzo, which naturally parts his hair.

Genji isn't as concerned about his physical appearance now as he was when he was human. He was quite vain when he was younger, but since he became a cyborg and became more humble he doesn't focus on his looks as much anymore. He believes that what's on the inside is more important. However, this doesn't stop Mercy from helping Genji with his appearance sometimes, such as looking after his hair. Genji appreciates this (despite not caring as much as he used to), mostly because he just likes the close personal attention and the feel of Mercy's hands in his hair.

Despite believing that his physical appearance isn't important, Genji still feels slightly self-conscious around strangers (particularly ones who are not familiar with cyborgs). Most of the time he only shows his face to people once they have gained his trust, or when he needs to show someone that he's not a robot. Basically, if he shows his face to anyone, it's a sign that he trusts them.

Genji has to have regular physical examinations and maintenance carried out on his cybernetics. He doesn't really mind either of these too much though, as they are always done by Mercy. (Note: to read more about this, check out my fanfics More Than Just a Doctor and Maintenance.)

Genji still has an old Pachimari plushie from when he was a young child. He used to have quite a large collection of them when he was younger, in various different sizes, colours and themes. The only one he has left is his first one, which Hanzo got for him from a prize crane at the arcade in Hanamura. When Hanzo left the Shimada Clan, he brought some of Genji's remaining possessions with him, and this Pachimari plushie was one of them. Upon joining Overwatch, he gave it back to Genji, who was overjoyed to have it again. It is in less than perfect condition after all these years, with some loose stitching and faded, slightly dirty coloration, but Genji still loves it due to its sentimental value.

Although he doesn't like to admit it, Genji still sleeps cuddling his Pachimari plushie a lot of the time.

Genji actually has shurikens stored in both of his lower arms. However, as he is right-handed, the ones in his left arm are an emergency backup of sorts, meaning he doesn't use them as often as the ones in his right arm.

Genji is actually semi-waterproof. His cybernetic body can withstand rain and he can take showers, but it's still better if he doesn't stay in either for too long. Large bodies of water are a definite no-no. Rain and showers are okay, but Genji can only withstand being submerged in water for very short periods of time. Being submerged for too long can cause serious damage to his cybernetics, the same as it would for any machine.

Due to the above fact about water, Genji really misses being able to bathe in hot springs. He and Hanzo used to do it quite a lot when they were younger.

Due to the physical trauma of his cybernetic augmentation, Genji is unable to grow any body hair on the parts of him that are still human, especially his face. This is part of the reason why his face always looks perfectly clean-shaven (the other reason being that he has plating on his chin, so he wouldn't be able to grow a full beard anyway).

Genji actually has two layers of protective armour that cover his face. The outer layer is his helmet as seen from the outside. The inner layer consists of a snug-fitting visor piece that covers his lower face/jaw and ears (similar to his Blackwatch design). This inner layer offers extra protection to Genji's face and jaw while on missions with Overwatch. The inner visor has an inbuilt listening device, as it covers his ears. It also attaches to his chin plating. (Note: this headcanon comes from the "Dragons" animated short. When Genji reveals his face to Hanzo, he removes the outer visor of his helmet but plating on his lower face is still visible, similar to his Blackwatch design. This can be seen in the picture of his face at the start of this journal.)

Genji doesn't always wear the two visor layers. Whether or not he wears both depends on the severity of the mission or any situation he has to prepare for. This is why he wore both layers when he went back to Hanzo after all those years, as he knew his brother probably wouldn't recognise him straight away and would likely try to attack him. Sometimes he just wears the outer helmet though, as it is more comfortable for ordinary everyday wear or on certain missions that aren't as serious.

Genji can remove several parts of his helmet at a time, as well as removing it in one piece (which he usually does with people he trusts). He can remove the outer and inner lower parts of his visor, as well as the upper part of his visor. Sometimes he prefers to just wear the upper part of his helmet, showing his face, or just the part covering the top of his head. When he is with people he loves and trusts, most of the time he doesn't wear his helmet at all.

As always, more to be added later. :)

[black-morticia]

          I got inspired by that “China Dad Hires Hitman on Unemployed Son” post because of a mutual said it was the Shimadas and I decided to write a fic about it. I’m going to double post on here and on AO3. I’m not sure if I’ll just make this into a one-shot and that’s it or make it into a series called Shimada Shenanigans and be one-shots about them growing up. Kinda depends on the feedback I get on this fic or if I just wanna write about them since Blizzard isn’t giving us anything. Who knows~ 

AO3: Father Knows Best

Summary: Genji slacking off wasn’t anything new to anyone, especially not to his father. Whether it was his friends, his date for the week, or just plain laziness it was expected out of the young Shimada. So when he starts obessessing over an online game, everyone was ready to just deal with it. But Sojiro realizes he needs a new method to solve an old problem. Unconventional yes but when have parents ever made sense?

          Growing up, Hanzo and Genji would joke that every time they would annoy their father, a single white hair would grow on his head, within that very moment. And now years later in their late teens, their father’s white streak of hair was like a testimony of the stress Sojiro has endured in his 39 years. Right now, wasn’t any different.

“But dad~” Came yet another whine from Genji in the past two minutes of their already half hour long argument.

           A half hour ago, Genji “casually” brought up the fact that a few kids from his school are travelling to New York City for the summer. Hanzo already heard this speech due to Genji using him as practice before asking their father about Genji going. So when Genji waltz into the dining room, giving Sojiro a peck on his temple as he read the news, Hanzo immediately knew what was about to happen.      

“Looking sharp, father. New suit?” Genji asked, actually caring a tad bit because it was in fact a nice suit Sojiro was wearing.

“I have a meeting with the Eto clan. You know how annoying he is…” Sojiro grumbled, already dreading his day but gave no sign he was suspicious of his youngest child.

           Genji just hummed just before he gave Hanzo a wink. “So uh dad… A couple of buddies of mine are going to New York City for vacation this year.” He started out, trying to eat his breakfast as well as check for his father’s reaction.

“Oh? That sounds nice.” Sojiro answered, not taking his eyes off his papers. “Tell them to bring you back something.”

“Well actually dad. I was thinking about going.” Genji said giving his best smile despite his father not looking at him.

“Going where?” Sojiro replied.

“To New York City.”

“With whom?”

“My friends; Kazuki, Toshi, Yasou, and Goro.”

“What about them?”

“They’re going to New York.”

“And?”

“I want to go with them!” Genji yelled the last part out of frustration. Damnit, was it irritating when Sojiro would do that.

“Ohhh, I see.” Sojiro said finally putting his papers down. “No.”

           Genji blinked, while Hanzo attempted to hide his snort behind his cup. Sojiro looked at the both of them, before downing his tea, which may or may not have had a little shot of vodka in it, and standing up to head to his office.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t go!” The teen demanded, following behind their father, breakfast long forgotten.

“I will give you five. Three for the three C’s you got and two for the two F’s you got in school. And I will add a bonus. You have been slacking off during your training.” Sojiro continued walking to his office. “And until you get your grades up and actually show up for training, the furthest place you’ll be going for vacation is the front gate.”

“Oh come on!”

“Do not ‘Oh come on’ me. I am not one of your little friends, Genji.” Sojiro turned back him, to make it clear how serious he was about this. “If only you knew your homework as much as you know those damn video games, we would not be having this discussion. Which is over as of right.”

           Fast forward 30 minutes and Genji is still debating the trip with their father as Hanzo read a book as he sat on the couch. Whether or not this was even considered a debate is a debate within itself. Most debates have equal footing but Genji was nowhere near on his father’s level. But that didn’t stop Genji from continuing to push. Stubbornness was a family trait.

“God you’re being so unfair, you know that!” Genji stomped his foot like a 5 year old and not the 16 year old that he was. That alone earned him yet another sigh of annoyance from their old man. “Like grades matter when I’m going to be working in the clan anyways. I bet half the staff here didn’t even finish school.”

“Here’s the thing I want you to understand, my Sparrow. I don’t give a damn about the staff or anyone else for that matter besides my children. And to my very firm knowledge, none of them are my children. My children are you two.” Sojiro replied, finally looking up from his file that he was reading. “But that does not mean you can use your bloodline as an excuse to slack off.”

          Lord Shimada’s honeyed eyes were tired, as always, but still calm despite how long and repetitive this discussion has gotten. And beyond his previous show of annoyance, Sojiro maintained his cool composer. How their father was able to maintain his sometimes icy and distant composer was something the boys had yet to understand. They used to laugh at seeing rival clan leaders turn red with a vein bursting in their neck, as Sojiro remained unaffected by whatever insult they would throw at him. But being on the other side of it was a different story.

           Hanzo could just see how increasingly frustrated Genji was with their father. Genji was 100% in the wrong completely. But that does not mean he cannot relate to his little brother’s clear annoyance with how cold, Sojiro could be. That part he could not fault his little brother. But that is as far as his sympathy went for Genji.

“But Kazuki’s dad is letting him leave for the summer!” The green haired teen folded his arms. “And he way worse than me!”

           Hanzo scoffed. “Yeah, and Kazuki’s dad is also a 62 year old man who just married his fifth, 24 year old wife…” Genji shot a glare at his brother. “Isn’t he getting ready to go on trial for embezzlement?” As if they all didn’t know the answer to that question.

“Shut up. That’s not the point.” Genji huffed. “My point is that Kazuki’s dad-”

“Oh is that so?” Sojiro looked at his youngest son. Neither brother liked the haughty tone their father was using. “Well if Kazuki’s father is so great, why don’t you move in with them, huh?” Genji didn’t respond, unsure where Sojiro was going with this. “I am sure, him being so grand and amazing that he will have no problem moving you in, hm?” Sojiro’s smile would honestly be mistaken as genuine. “And since he is so amazing, I am positive he will buy you a new phone and car, as well as anything else, right?” In that instant, his smile dropped as he stuck his hand out. “So be sure to leave your keys and phone here.”

           The green haired teen groaned loudly, stomping his foot before storming out. Hanzo could no longer contain his laughter after the office door was slammed shut as his father pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear we need a schedule. I cannot keep dropping everything to deal with him when he’s behaving like an infant.”

“Maybe you should let him move in with Kazuki…” Hanzo said after collecting himself. “He will understand how it is to live with someone just like him.”

           If the short glare he got was anything to go by, his father did not like that plan at all. “I just don’t understand the sudden change in him…”

“You think he got back with his ex?” Hanzo suggested.

“Which one?” The elder man scoffed.

“The one you hated.”

“Which one?”

           The elder son couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair point. But honestly? It’s that online game he’s been playing.” Hanzo wasn’t sure how many times at night he’s caught his little brother staring unblinking at his screen, playing some MMO game.

“Game? What game? Those damn arcade games?” Sojiro asked.

“No. It’s an online game. Blade and Soul or whatever… Something ridiculous.” Hanzo pretended to not know, to hide the fact that he himself has taken up with the game as well. But unlike Genji, Hanzo had some semblance of self-control.

           Sojiro merely hummed as he leaned back in his chair. He knew his youngest son. Once Genji takes interest in something, it is hell to get him to not obsess over it. Whether if it’s a foolish idea, a movie, or even a girl/boy/omnic, Genji throws himself into it full force. What whatever his new special interest was, he hyper focuses on it for Gods’ know how long. And if it’s a game, then it’ll be even more problematic to get him to stop. Genji would strive to be the best. Competiveness was also a family trait.

“I need a drink…” The man grumbled. Hanzo snorted, before standing up, mumbling a low ‘I’ll get it’. Once he finally alone the first time that morning, Sojiro let out a heavy sigh. He found himself debating on actually taking back on what he said and just let Genji on the trip, maybe take Hanzo with him. Maybe then he’ll get some semblance of peace for a few weeks. But he realized once again he was going easy on them. They were spoiled enough as it is. And the Elders where wearing on his already low patience for them. He didn’t need them telling him how to raise his own kids any more than they try to.

           His eldest son came back with a glass of red wine, to which Sojiro gladly took. “Before you go, my Eldest… What was the name of the game, your brother is playing again?” Hanzo pretended to think before answering.

“Blade and Soul… I think?”

           Sojiro nodded before waving Hanzo away. Alone again, Sojiro took a gulp of his wine before going to his computer. A little research on what the hell his second son was playing wouldn’t hurt.

~

“Fuck this fucking game!” A shout from the youngest master’s room was heard through the halls. A crash was heard before Genji came storming out of his room furious. He swore up and down as he stomped to his elder brother’s room before slamming the door behind him. The green hair teen plomped on Hanzo’s bed, not acknowledging his sibling who was laying on his bed.

“Uh… Hello?” Hanzo was both annoyed and confused by his brother’s outburst.

“Did I ever tell you how much video games suck?!” Genji somewhat asked. Hanzo has heard this speech before (19 times to be exact) and did not want to hear it again.

          Hanzo rolled his eyes, realizing his moments of peace are over. It’s moments like this where he relates deeply with his father. Maybe they should make a schedule to deal with Genji… “Save me the theatrics Shakespeare… What happened this time? Game glitched right when you were about to beat a level?”

          Genji shot up to look at his brother with so much fire in his eyes. “I wish! Some asshole kept killing me!” Hanzo remained silent, looking at his sibling with a bored look. He opened his mouth to reply with a smart ass comment. “And before you give me a smartass comment. Yes, I know that’s the part of the game. But this was different.”  A silent ‘Sure it is’ was in the air. “The dickhead was a level 80 and I swear on mom’s grave he was stalking me! I could barely teleport before, he pop up and kill me in one attack. I even went to a different server and boom! He was there and killed me again! It was so annoying!” Genji slammed head first onto the bed, letting out a groan.

“How tragic…” Hanzo sighed. “Now can you get out of my-”

“You want to train?” The bratty teen asked, showing his face. “I want to hit something.”

           The elder brother looked baffled for a second. Since when as Genji ever suggested they train? Hanzo lost count at the many times Genji had to be dragged to the training room by his ear. But if his green haired brother was offering, he would not object. “Uh, sure? Let’s go then.”

~

           Dinner time in the Shimada household did not need to be as grand as it was but it wouldn’t be a Shimada dinner. Most of the guards are were out on a job so the dining hall was rather empty. Sojiro and Hanzo talked between each other, Hanzo mainly asking about his father’s meeting with the Eto clan and when the next meeting with their allies would be; A normal conversation between the father and son.

           Of course, in the Shimada household moments of peace were rare as Genji slammed opened the doors. He slugged his way to his seat, giving a few grunts to the guards who gave him their usual ‘Young Master’ greeting.

“Do you not intend to speak today? Or is this a vow of silence?” Sojiro asked, now turning his attention to his second son.

“I just read through eight chapters of that stupid book our teacher assigned for the summer.” Genji mumbled. “It’s so boring dad. You might like it.”

           With a twitch to his eyebrow, Sojiro choose to ignore that little comment. “What made you decide to read it then?” He went back to his plate of food, glancing at Genji from time to time.

“I can’t play my game anymore. That asshole-“

“No swearing at the table.” Sojiro was quick to correct. Genji rolled his eyes. “And if you’re going to roll your eyes, you can roll them right back to your room, Genji.”

Genji sighed dramatically but didn’t push. “Whatever. Some high level player keeps hounding me. I did everything. I changed servers. I changed my password, thinking I got hacked. I made a new character and somehow he still found me. Hell I even used Hanzo’s laptop and the prick still killed me.”

“You took my laptop?” Hanzo asked, already sounding annoyed.

“Anyways, I hate that game now. And since I can’t go to New York with my friends… I’ll be like Hanzo and- OW!” Genji felt a strong kick his shin. The younger sibling looked his brother with annoyance and to his father for assistance but Sojiro was too busy sipping from his glass of wine to care.

“Hm… How odd…” Sojiro said lowly into his cup.

           It was only for a split second, but Hanzo was sure of what he saw; a smirk. A rather cocky triumphant smirk from his father. He didn’t think anything of it until he started to remember the past few days. How so sudden Genji’s problem with his game started, how very strategic it was, how much of a coincidence the whole thing sounded.

Very odd indeed.

~

           Normally, Hanzo would knock on his father’s office door and wait until he was granted permission but he couldn’t wait. In his defense he did knock, but gave his father no time to even speak before he said anything. Looking over his glasses as he stopped writing, Sojiro was confused by this sudden intrusion from his first born.

“Something you ne-”

“It was you.” Hanzo declared with his arms folded and the most smug grin on his face.

“Me?” Sojiro asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. You. And you know what I’m talking about, so you should just admit it.”

“I honestly don’t.” Sojiro put his pen down, and looked his son even more uncertainty.  

           Hanzo scoffed. “You and I both know you are too smart and too prideful to play dumb. It’s not a good look for you. So quit pretending.” Hanzo was so sure of himself about this.

           Sojiro let out a heavy sigh, taking off his glasses, leaning back in his chair. “Okay fine. I was the one who cheated during last week’s card game. Happy?”

“Yes- Wait what?” Now it was Hanzo’s turn to be confused.

“Honestly, I know I am the first to talk about honor in victory but when a lot of money is on the line, honor can come second.”

           A paused ensued, before Hanzo spoke. “First off. I want a rematch. Secondly, I am talking about Genji’s stupid game. I know you have something to do with it somehow. I saw that smirk you had last night when Genji told you about it.”

           Sojiro folded his arms, looking at his first son intently before chuckling. “So what if I did? You know your brother. He was not going to listen to reason. So yes, I had to take matters into my own hands. As I always do around here.”

“I knew you were ruthless but wow…” Hanzo shook his head with a smirk. “So how did you do it? Call the game company to target Genji’s character?”

“We are a clan of assassins, my Eldest. I merely hired an outside party. It was not hard to find the top players of the game and ask one of them to handle Genji’s character every time he logged in.”

“I can see the headline now… Japan Dad Hires Virtual ‘Hitman’ To Take Out Lazy, Video-Gaming Son. Catchy huh?” That smug grin on Hanzo’s face was starting to bug Sojiro. He could feel it in his wallet.

“Not as catchy as Japan Dad Hires Real Hitman on His Rat of a Son for Snitching on Him.” Sojiro hissed out.

Hanzo shrugged. “Hm… Mines better. However I’m not going to tell Genji…” Sojiro patiently waited for the ‘but’ in that statement. “But I will expect a raise in my allowance by this week.”

Sojiro scoffed, waving his son off. He knew his wallet was going to be affected by this. “Yes, yes, yes. Fine. Now shoo. I have a lot of work to do.” Hanzo gave his father another smile before heading out. He’s positive that a white hair just sprouted in his father’s hair just now. Lord Shimada huffed, shaking his head as he turned in his chair to look out his giant window. He couldn’t help but scoff.

“Gamers…”

[thatonehiddenbladeingibraltar]

Heya! Can you do headcanons for dating young genji and a fem!S/O? Thanks a lot!

Of course, love. Enjoy!

Be prepared to get a lot of jealous looks along with sneers and jibes

You do question why self-proclaimed playboy Genji Shimada would want to be with you of all people, but when you catch him giving you a genuinely adoring look, all your doubts wash away

PDA™

Genji’s always burying his face into the crook of your shoulder or running a hand in your hair

Expect to wake up with his arm around your waist while sleeping peacefully besides you

Loads of makeout sessions wherever, whenever

Genji’s favorite spots are in his room and in the spare broom closet at school

You’ll never tell him, but you swear he moans like a porn star every time you nip at one of his particularly sensitive spots

Speaking of which, he really loves it when you bite his lip or his neck

He’ll be putty in your hands if you do

Frequent dates to the arcade or to one of Genji’s favorite ramen bars that he always paid for

Often partnering himself up with you in school projects just to have an excuse to invite you over to his house

You have met Sojiro Shimada once and that was only in passing

It was when Genji was about to escort you home and his father had appeared with a few members of the Shimada clan flanking him

Genji’s father only glanced at you once and nodded before Genji opened the door and nearly pushed you through it

You won’t lie, you were a bit intimidated but somehow there was this feeling you got from Sojiro’s nod that made you feel accepted in a way

Lots of lavish gifts that you find in your locker or in your home that you know Genji bought for you, even though you asked him many times not to spend so much on you

He doesn’t listen, seeing as how he bought you a necklace that you stared at for a second too long

Even though he always seems to crave sex, Genji didn’t pressure you about it

When the two of you finally did it for the first time, goddamn it was the best experience of your life

Above all, Genji put your comfort and happiness and shelved his own preferences

Only when the two of you had figured out what worked in the bedroom and what didn’t, passionate vanilla sex it was

You often wonder if Hanzo would catch the two of you doing it in Genji’s room, but then you remember that you’ve never seen Hanzo around when the two of you were alone

Wonder where he goes during that hour of the night

Speaking of Hanzo, your boyfriend’s older brother didn’t seem to hate you

If anything, he actually seemed to like you better than most of the other girls Genji’s dated in the past

But you weren’t actually certain about that. Maybe there were one or two exceptions

Even then, that was highly unlikely, so who knows?

Comforting Genji after an argument with his family

Run your hands through his hair, it’ll calm him down immensly

You weren’t expecting to have such a loving and caring boyfriend when you first went out on your first date with Genji Shimada, but what you wouldn’t do to relive that day all over again

@elise-the-assassin @freedomaboveallelse