#vague r76

[wing-dingy]

spent a lot of time on this yet bullshitted the entire background to make it vaguely r76 cosmic horror lmao

idk the idea was Soldier 76's messed up eldritch arm painfully acting up, maybe it happens whenever reaper's around? 🤷‍♀️ It's like a horror version of those soulmate aus jhfgbjhg

I just wanted to draw the skin it's one of my fave soldier skins

[heavysass]

came back here bc i had a work related offline week and caught myself missing the old comforts of tumbly lol

ok so

life is the same as it ever was. might be more neurotic but thats expected of moi

i been spending too much time on twitter going insane over my rekindled interest in overwatch

yes, the ow brainrot is back. REAL back. reaper is once again my number one waifu and he won't get out of my head. difference is i am now addicted to r76 when back then i was neutral about it. tf2 persists as my home, heavymed as my heart. i am quite in love with dunmeshi but thats not special rn. been doing a lot of disco elysium posting. i let go of my gachas and petsites, they were too time consuming. still vaguely appreciate dislyte and the beloveds in there but i refuse to let myself go back. thats pretty much it as fandom activity goes

i will tidy up my blog later, review sideblogs and see to the ancient messages and asks when i have time. hopefully follow more people because my dash is a graveyard rip 💀

i havent been active here since september 2022 lmao and yet theres new anon hate on my inbox glad my aura is quite putrid even during my slumber

[mc-dude]

home

The sky is overcast, when it finally happens.

He thought it would be clear– the sun would come out, clouds would part, birds start singin’, etc., etc.. Had envisioned that the weight would lift off of his chest and he could finally take a unhindered breath for the first time in seven years, imagined some kinda cosmic entity would descend from the sky and tell him rest now, gabriel. You’ve done enough.

But there’s only a light drizzling of rain and a pile of bird shit precariously close to his coat, the fumes of distant smouldering buildings melting into the skyline. He snorts. Typical. His right heel clunks against the perforated concrete as he swings his leg out and in, out and in.

The world never gave a shit about him or his fucking problems, and it’s not about to start now.

A purple clad thigh settles down a respectful distance away from him.

“Well, that was almost disappointing,” she sighs, haphazardly waving her hand in the air in emphasis, “how easy they fell.”

Gabe huffs, leaning back on his forearms, eyes still trained on the billowing plumes of smoke in the distance. “It’s a lot easier to behead someone once you’ve removed all their limbs.”

“Eugh, asqueroso,” she pinches her nose. “I’m glad I can count on you to provide the vivid imagery as usual, amigo.”

His nose itches. It’s something he’s long ignored, the constant mending of his skin, the way it destroys and rebuilds itself over and over in a disgusting mockery of biology. The constant pain has become something of a reassurance– it means he can still feel something. He leans back on aching wrists, angling for a distraction.

“Did you dump the info online?”

“Por favor, who do you take me for? I did it ages ago. It’s trending on every news site worldwide.” She pulls up a holoscreen, shoving it in front of his nose. “This one is even calling for a post-humerus pardon for one Commander Gabriel Reyes.”

“Hmm. A bit late.”

“The common folk are always such, amigo. Can never see what’s right in front of their noses.” She reaches over to boop his nose. Gabe swats at her hand without any real vigor.

“So,” she starts, hesitating just long enough for Gabe to know whatever she’s about to say he’s not gonna like. “What are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Die, I guess.”

“Dios mío, you’re always so fucking dramatic.”

Gabe ignores her. He always thought this fight would end with his (second) death, splattered against the floor of some forgotten warehouse, alone and forgotten. Now that it‘s over, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do.

That’s a lie, an annoying voice whispers into his ear. You know what you want to do. He tells that voice to shut the fuck up and flops back against the rooftop, hand rubbing at his temple.

“Here I thought you would settle into a nice retirement– ” Gabriel catches the incredulous laugh that bubbles out of his throat before it leaves his lips “ –get a nice quiet house in L.A., adopt a dog. Maybe take up cross-stitching.”

“Hilarious.”

“I wasn’t making a joke.” She stands up, stretching her hands above her head. He trains an eye on her as she perches on the edge of the roof, arms outstretched to keep her balance. Adrenaline junky, he grouses to himself. Gonna get her killed.

“You’re right, Gabe,” she says, quietly. Serious, for the first time in a while. It makes him lift his head to give her his full attention. “You’re done. This long war you’ve been raising, it’s over. You deserve a little R&R.” She turns to him, smirk on her face. She taps her lips with a finger as if in deep thought. “Maybe a vacation? Somewhere sunny with a nice view.” She points her finger in the air, eyes going wide with a wicked sort of delight. “I know this great place in Gibraltar–”

Just like that, his amicable mood sours. He throws his arm over his mask with a groan. “Shut the fuck up, Sombra.”

“No, I’m serious. Hear me out– you’ve exposed them!” She pauses, spinning around on the edge and walking back the way she came. “Well.. I did, because I’m awesome and the security on that omnic’s hardware was hilarious bad, but that’s besides the point.” She turns and spreads her arms wide, gesturing to the horizon. “They know now. Everyone knows what really happened, what caused the fall of you’re little club.” She takes a few steps closer to him and kneels down so that they’re on a more even level, her voice growing quiet again. “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

Gabe stares at her. Doesn’t have to hide. What a joke. His nose itches again. He wiggles it in annoyance. Tired red eyes glance back up at the overcast sky. A drop of water lands on the eye hole of his mask, rolls down until it hits his decaying skin and evaporates. A wisp of smoke rolls off the point of impact, fading into the skyline. The exhaustion hits him all at once.

“I’m tired, Somb.”

“I know,” she coos, patting the top of his hood with fondness. “And now you can rest. Reconcile. Relax.”

Gabe glares at her. “You think it’s gonna be that easy? Forgiveness doesn’t just happen overnight.”

“But they must have read the news, must have realised by now what you’ve been doing–”

“Who said I was talking about their forgiveness?”

“Gabriel,” she says softly, tentatively.

He sits back up, wraps his arms around one of his knees to rest his chin on it. The fires are starting to die down, now just a whiff of smoke lazily drifting towards the sky. He can hear sirens in the distance, muffled by the thick fabric of his hood.

“.. you know what Talon did to me. You read the files.”

“I recall skimming the procedures done to one Subject 002 while I was carefully reducing their supplies of relevant pharmaceuticals over time, yes.” She pauses. “.. but you remember, don’t you? Once the sessions stopped, once the drugs were so watered down they had no effect on you anymore.”

“Bits and pieces,” he admits reluctantly. “They’ll come back to me in dreams, sometimes. Never know if they’re fucking real.” He kicks at the wall again. “The anger stays, though. The betrayal. All those years of having them feed that shit directly into my brain. Those aren’t so easy to get rid of.”

“You read the reports yourself, Gabe. What they did to you, what they made you think. What they did to make Jac–”

He glares at her sharply. “Don’t,” he rasps, low and dangerous.

Sombra puts her hands up defensively. “I’m just sayin’. The data doesn’t lie.”

He sighs, the exhausting eating away at his bones like it always does, making him hunch over like the old fucker he is. “I know. But this–” he taps the side of his skull. “This does.” A whiff of smoke rolls off of the impact, sifting into the air like a disease. “Who knows what fucking side effects I have from the shit they did. Some kind of programming to hurt someone after some predetermined conditions are met.” He tries not to think about the way they found Gerard, lying in a pool of his own blood with a single bullet hole lodged neatly between his forehead, a peaceful smile on his face. Of course, of all the fucking memories he got back, that is the one he can remember with perfect clarity. “Maybe by killing them all I just triggered something,” he says darkly, cautiously, “and one day you’ll wake up to see me hovering over your bed with a shotgun in your face.”

Sombra tsks, disgusted. “Like you could get past my security.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You know what I mean.” He kicks his feet again. “It’s better if i just– fade away. For everyone.”

“Hmm,” Sombra sits down next to him, neatly folding her feet under her legs. “For you, maybe. Not for the people who still care about you.”

Gabe huffs. “No one cares about me.” Sombra taps her chin.

“That’s weird, then what’s the recorded 248 hours of log files I found on a certain swiss doctor’s computer of her running simulations on how to reverse your condition? The last one was made, oh,” she checks her arm display, “two days ago, by the way.” She opens a holodisplay of a white lily and waves it in front of his face. “Or the flowers that get sent to your sister’s fabric store every other month? There’s no name, but I traced the account to a bank in Cairo.” Gabe tenses up, fingers curling into the concrete. It crumbles beneath his grip. “Or should I tell you about a certain old man with a receding hairline who visits your grave every third sunday of the month–”

“Enough.“

“Oh, and then there’s a certain renown hacker who has been assisting you with your fucking mission for the past few years, you absolute moron. I know we don’t talk about feelings much, but you have to know that I care about you.”

Gabe tries to uncurl from where he’s been cradling the panging in his chest. “You care because I’m useful,” he spits between clenched teeth.

Sombra laughs. “Just because you’re useful doesn’t mean I don’t care. What’s the point of friends if you don’t help each other out?” She leans over to bump her shoulder against his arm. The impact makes him wince. “Nice attempt to change the subject, by the way.” She leans in closer, wrapping her fingers around the cuff of his jacket. “What are you so afraid of, Gabriel? That they won’t accept you, or that they will?”

His hand is shaking as he reaches for his mask, unclipping it and unsteadily pressing his knuckles to his forehead. “Fuck.” He hates how fucking perceptive she is. He used to have so many secrets before he met her. Smoke drifts away from a hole on his face, a haze of nanites that remind him just how fucking hopeless his situation is.

“They’ll never accept me looking like this.” He feels a third eye erupt from his forehead, world tilting with an infrared hue that he'll never get used to. He trains it on Sombra (as if to say see?) who doesn’t even flinch, just shrugs.

“Pff, come on. I’ve seen pics from when you were younger, Soldier 24.” He instinctively bristles at the name. “You were super hot. I’m sure the good doctor will be able to fix you up.” She pats his thigh amicably and reaches for a pouch on her belt to pull something out, hiding it behind her back. “Okay, hold our your hand.”

Gabe narrows his eyes. “Why.”

Sombra pouts. “Because that’s what you do when you’re accepting a gift.”

“I don’t want any of your gifts.”

“Always so difficult. Here–”

Sombra reaches out for his hand and places a light metal object in it. Gabe turns it over in his hand.

“.. and this is?”

“A phone. Come on, I know you’re not that old–”

“Sombra,” he interrupts with gritted teeth.

“It’s secure. My own work, of course. All you have to do is hit número uno on the speed dial.” She pats his hand one more time and springs to her feet. “For when you’re ready.”

If his heart still beat he’s sure it’d be bleeding out of his chest by now. He tries to clear his throat, but when he speaks it’s a barely audible rasp. “Ready for..?”

Sombra smiles at him before spinning on her heel to the fire escape, one hand waving casually over her shoulder.

“To see your family again.”

Gabe watches her walk away. He glances back down at the phone in his right hand. His mask is still in the other.

He stares at the both for a long time, until the sun sets behind the distant hills and the moon peaks out behind a sudden gap in the clouds. The moonlight gives his mask an almost ethereal glow. It’s well-crafted; hand-sculpted carbon fiber, built in holographic display with all the latest tech. He vaguely remembers the day he got it, handed to him by some dead guy with a smug look on his face. A new face for the new you. We can’t have you scaring the populace, now can we, my dear Reaper.

Fuck, he hated that guy. The shotgun blast to the roof of his mouth was the least he deserved. He curls his fingers around the edge of the mask.

It’s transformed from something they forced on him to something he’s chosen to hide behind, something that keeps him safe from prying eyes. He doesn’t remember the last time he took it off, before now.

You don’t have to hide anymore. Gabe pauses. Considers.

“Fuck that,” he announces with finality.

He takes one last look at the mask before curling his arm back as far as it can go and launching it into the distance.

He lets his coat and gloves dissolve and tugs the hood from his hoodie up over his head. He palms the phone, chest clenched with indecision before powering it on and hitting the 1 button before he can stop himself.

The dial tone rings once. Twice. Someone picks up.

“.. Gabriel.”

Not a question, not a statement. Just his name, spoken from lips he hasn’t heard it from in years. His knees almost give out and he sags heavily against the wall, hand clenched over his mouth to muffle the sob that works its way up his throat.

“Are you ready to come home?” No nonsense, straight to the point. Just like she’s always been. Gabe lets out a shaky laugh and stands, wiping his palms on his pants.

“Yeah,” he makes for the fire escape, making sure his hood is tugged snugly on top of his head before opening the door. “I’m ready.”

[mercenaric]

Just like old times

[dimigex]

Aftermath - R76

This is a snippet that came from a prompt that @cinlat sent me. This image from @robotsinlace inspired the look as well. 

AO3 / Fanfiction

Acrid smoke filled the sky, making it difficult to breathe. Coughing, Jack fought to pull air into his lungs. When he couldn't, panic suffocated him further. Training ticked away the back of his mind, trying to calm the fear so that he could assess the situation. Each inhale stabbed through his chest like a knife. When he gasped in a shallow, insufficient amount of air, some part of him recognized that he could, in fact, breathe. It was too little, not enough to expand his chest fully. Collapsed lung, his mind suggested distantly.

Jack couldn't focus on the soft voice through the coughing fit that gripped him. Head lolling to one side, he spit blood and grit from his lips. When it passed, the man struggled toward a sitting position and ignored the waves of nausea that rolled through his stomach. Frothy bile gagged him, and something warm glued his shirt to his side. Jack reached toward the heat, and his fingers came away stained crimson. If he'd had enough breath to spare, he would have cursed.

Blue sky peeked through the columns of black and grey smoke overhead. Jack couldn't make sense of his surroundings no matter how much he tried. Alarms blared nearby. He should probably do something about that. Reaching for his hip, Jack's fingers brushing an empty holster. He frowned, wondering where his sidearm had gone. A vague memory of drawing the weapon pressed to the forefront of his mind.

Jack had been standing in his office, reaching for the gun when-when what? How had he gotten outside? Pain lanced through Jack's temple when he tried to force images to surface. His blurred vision focused on the rubble beside him, recognizing the frame of his information wall, glass shattered and broken scenes flickering fitfully in the gloom. Dizzying recollection flooded through him; he was lying in the remains of his office. Jack peered through the rapidly darkening smoke and realized that it wasn't just his office. It looked like the wreckage of the entire Swiss headquarters.

Smoke swirled to Jack's left, coalescing into deeper shadow. A ghost stepped through the broken bits of building, gliding closer. Only the crunch of glass beneath boots warned Jack that it wasn't some apparition coming to punish him for his sins. The figure paused, and a pale mask swiveled toward Jack's prone form. Flames danced across the ivory surface, before disappearing in soulless black eyes. As the form took on the shape of familiarity, fear and fury soured in the pit of Jack's stomach. The emotion escaped his lips in a low growl.

"There you are," a disembodied voice taunted, arrogance dripping from every word. The man leaped over a fragment of the command table. "I didn't think you'd die that easily."

"Sorry to disappoint," Jack answered. He poured every ounce of sarcasm and anger into the words, but they rasped out barely above a whisper.

Though Jack didn't know what the man looked like behind the mask, he was certain that he smirked at the comment. The shadow towered over Jack without fear or remorse. A boot came to rest on the center of Jack's chest. His pain doubled, tripled, until blackness ate the edges of his vision. Even the shallow breaths that he'd managed earlier seemed beyond his body's power now.

Jack sagged against the masonry where he'd been thrown during the explosion. Explosion? A fragmented memory of searing heat and weightlessness threatened to swallow him, but he pushed it away. Jack ran his tongue over his lips, hoping to impart enough moisture to curse the man who had taunted him for years. "Reaper," he spat the name like venom. The terrorist had dogged Jack's every movement, striking when least expected. He'd nearly dragged the organization to its knees, nearly. "You can kill me, but it won't kill Overwatch. They will find you-"

"Care to wager on that?" Reaper raised one gun to rest on his shoulder. Jack stared at the inky coating, wondering why it looked so familiar, but he couldn't place it. The second nestled against Jack's chest, muzzle over his heart. "Not that it matters, you won't be around to see it either way."

"Overwatch is bigger than me," Jack wheezed, ignoring the dizziness that triplicated Reaper above him. The man's images swayed, meshed together, then broke apart again. Even if Jack had access to a weapon, he wouldn't know which to shoot.

Reaper laughed, a sound that set chills racing down Jack's spine, and holstered one of his weapons. The other remained steadfast on Jack's chest. There was no getting out of this one; it was really over. Reaper scoffed under his breath. "You still don't understand do you? Overwatch will burn. Too bad you won't be around to see it, Boyscout."

Reality cracked, splintering down the center. The breath in Jack's lungs froze as pieces fell into place with deafening clarity. Suddenly, he understood why Reaper's stance looked so familiar, why the way he walked recalled a tingle on the tip of Jack's tongue. He saw it in the spread of the man's shoulders, the arrogant saunter, and the way he handled the weapon. How had he not noticed until now?

Nausea squeezed Jack's stomach until he wanted to bring up every meal that he'd ever eaten. He wrapped a hand around the leg that pressed him to the ground and levered himself closer to the man he'd once trusted. Blood coated his tongue, making it difficult to speak, but he had to know. "Why, Gabe?"

The weapon nearly crushed Jack's chest when Gabe leaned into it, using his free hand to remove the bloodless mask that covered his once familiar face. The man tossed it aside like an afterthought and leaned closer. "It was you or me." Reaper's jaw clenched, then his finger moved to the trigger. "It has to end this way; choose your last words carefully, Strike Commander."

Jack swallowed around the betrayal that threatened to choke him. Without the mask, he couldn't reconcile his one time lover with the notorious Reaper. He'd known Gabe for the better part of thirty years, allowing him closer than anyone else. Jack had been a miserable, homesick farm boy until Gabe took him under his wing. They'd lived through the hell of SEP together, surviving inexplicable odds a dozen times over. Then, Overwatch. And, Jack didn't need to close his eyes to remember the sweaty nights spent wrapped around each other. He saw it all in Gabe's face.

Maybe this fight was as inevitable as Gabe thought. Every decision that Jack had made over the years pushed them toward this point. He'd distanced himself from Gabe after Blackwatch fell from grace. Would it have made a difference if Jack opened up more? Could he have changed the outcome?

Swallowing blood with his regrets, Jack lifted his head. He searched the wild brown eyes above for a sliver of the man that he knew. There was nothing left. I did that, he realized. Now that it had slipped through his fingers, Jack ached for the time he'd wasted. He could curse Gabe for everything that happened, or focus on the parts he wanted to remember.

Hope swelled in Jack's chest, the warmth temporarily smothering his pain. Maybe it wasn't too late to change things; he knew what he needed to say. Jack forced himself to smile despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I love yo-"

Pain obliterated Jack's world and darkness swallowed him.

[kommunisti]

"I’m operating under the assumption that by the year 2080 everyone will just be casually bisexual." lmao fucking shoot me

[nitewrighter]

fic title game: "Would I Lie to You?";"I think your love would be too much";"Electrify my Heart" ;"I hear your eyes, I see those cries"

“Would I Lie to You?”

Moira and Gabe centric fic. May be vaguely Moireyes?? But mostly R76 and Moira and Gabriel’s weird combination of kindred spirits and mistrust. Moira sincerely does want to help Gabriel, but she knows Jack influences a lot of his decision making. She’s willing to give him plausible deniability. She’s willing to be the bad guy, because she knows what Gabriel really needs in the end. Gabriel knows too. He knows he could shut her out. Knows he could cut her off--but he knows what she can do is too valuable to do so.

“I think your love would be too much”

Kid Continuity. Marsey. Marti and Seye get... more than a little distracted during a mission and both have to do damage control with their teams. Samir and Rei aren’t having it with Marti and Marti’s forced to actually address her feelings for Seye. Can she still be the team leader with her emotional compromise?

“Electrify My Heart” 

Spiderbyte. Bride of Junkenstein x Comtesse AU. Probable smut. Bride Sombra has just been resurrected and keeps giving off electrical discharges, which makes physical affection with one particular vampire comtesse more difficult than anticipated. But maybe Sombra can work this to her advantage...

‘I hear your eyes, I see those cries” 

Bunnyribbit. While visiting his apartment in the Rio De Janeiro, D.Va manages to stumble upon Lúcio’s first fumbling attempts at songwriting. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But somehow she loves him more because of it?

[mc-dude]

sulphur

also on ao3

He can’t feel his arms.

That’s to be expected, her voice chimes in, long nails tapping against the data pad with a faint click click click.

You can’t feel what you don’t have.

The particles dissolve in front of his eyes, swirling in slow, twisting patterns that make him feel lightheaded. A red light on the wall catches his eye and he frowns. How did I get here?

He glances down at the swirling mass of nanites pooling around him. It looks simulated, almost– unnatural in a way that makes what’s left of his hair rise on the back of his neck.

Something’s wrong.

His eyebrows furrow, teeth grinding together. What’s wrong?

Everything is going according to plan, Reaper.

Reaper. That’s him, isn’t it? The Reaper, Talon’s most efficient operative. Kill count above three hundred, mission success rate of 97%. Serial number–

A spike of pain lances through his skull and he tries to cry out, but his throat isn’t working. He looks down. His throat is gone, only a black void remains. Panic envelops him until he can barely breathe, and then he’s not breathing, can’t breathe because his skull is disintegrating into a nauseating spiral of particles, what is happening to him–

“Gabriel.”

His eyes snap open. Too many of them, too many eyes– the color of the room pulses from gray scale to red, back to musty brown, red, infrared, overlaps on top of each other– he snaps his eyes closed again, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his own body rotting around him.

There’s a burst of warmth on his cheek and he sucks in a ragged breath, a shaky whine piercing through the room as he latches onto it, nanites clinging to the source like he’s drowning. The warmth makes the buzzing stop, makes the pain in his skull die down to something bearable, so he cautiously pries one eye open. The room just looks like– a room. He lets out a sigh of relief. He lets his eyes drag down the source of the warmth. A human arm, connected to–

“Sombra,” he grits out, head drooping so that his chin hits his chest (his whole chest, his normal, human chest, but his arms–)

“Hola.” She pats his cheek again. “You with me, amigo?”

He shakes his head against the rising, sickening pulse of the headache coming back. “I– I don’t–”

“Gabe, come on. Look at me.”

No, he doesn’t want to. Too many things to see, too many eyes, too many things that are wrong–

“Ugh, dios mío. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

Someone slaps his cheek. He flinches backwards, head banging against the wall.

“Soldier, present yourself,” someone says, tone laced with authority. His back straightens automatically.

“C–” the word gets caught in his throat. That’s not right, that’s not right. He shakes his head. “I don’t–”

“Serial number. Now.”

He pauses, frantically trying to remember. It’s like someone has placed his brain in a fucking bubble, insulated on all sides, cut off from what’s real–

Another slap. He shakes his head, nanites by where his arms should be pulsing and throbbing with every breath.

“Name, rank and serial number.” The warmth is back on his face, cutting through the fog and making his eyes water. Why is this so fucking hard?

“C-” he clears his throat. “Commander–” is that right? Is he a Commander? It sounds right, it feels right. He coughs, ignoring the black phlegm that bubbles out of his mouth. “Commander Gabriel Reyes,” he manages, the words like muscle memory, and the words feel right, they’re the only goddamn thing that’s felt right since he woke up here. “Commander Gabriel Reyes,” he says again, firmed this time. “Serial number–” come on, come on “– serial number zero six zero zero two–”

Another slap, but lighter. “Wrong. Try again, soldier,” the voice says, kinder this time.

Gabriel sucks in a slow breath, ears ringing with quiet click click clicks. He grits his teeth, trying to sift through the shattered fragments of his thoughts, what is the goddamn number–

A flash of a smile, and the color blue, bright blue like the sky on a clear day, and then–

Seventy-six, huh? Aw, you’re just a baby.

Shut the fuck up, Reyes. Let me guess, you’re number one.

Ha, no. He’s fucking dead, dude. You’re looking at soldier number–

“Serial number zero six zero zero zero zero zero zero two four,” he manages, head lolling back against the wall in exhaustion. “Fuck.”

“Welcome back, amigo.” Her hand pats his cheek fondly. “You wanna pull yourself together? Looking a little like melted ice cream there.”

“God,” he groans. “Fuck off.” His head feels like it’s about to split open. He bangs it against the wall, once, and then again, harder. The pain helps him focus. He reaches out to the nanites in his arms and slowly, achingly slow, begins to knit them back together, one by one until he has something resembling an arm. Then he does the other side. And then his legs, all the way to his feet. He’s panting with exertion by the time it’s done. Sombra hands him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” he croaks, downing the drink like a dying person. The description isn’t that far off.

“Anytime,” she says, mouth quirked in a soft smile like she actually means it. That smile quickly turns into a smirk. “You know how much I love slapping you around.”

“Fuck off,” he says again, quieter and without any real intent. He doesn't know where the fuck he’d be without her. He hates being so utterly dependent on someone. “Goddamn brat,” he huffs, shoving the empty cup towards her without any finesse.

She puts her hand over her chest. “I’m hurt. And here I was going to give you a new firmware upgrade that has some very, ah, interesting information attached to it.”

He raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the empty cup of coffee, back up to her face. Sombra rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. You and your fucking caffeine addiction.”

She’s back from the coffee maker in less than a minute, but it feels like a lifetime. He snatches the cup out of her hands before she can give it to him, some of the liquid sloshing over the edge and onto his faded black hoodie in his desperation. He downs the last of it before letting the mug clatter to his side, thumbs rubbing at his eyeballs ineffectually. His arms drop, and he finally meets Sombra’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, almost a whisper. God, he’s so fucking tired.

Sombra smiles at him again, tongue poking out from between her teeth.

“You can thank me by telling me about the coffee,” she pauses, spinning her finger in the air, “about why you drink it like it’s the last thing you’re ever gonna do.”

Gabe snorts, fingers fiddling with the handle of the mug. He knows what she’s doing, trying to get him to remember, trying to keep him grounded in who he really is. He plays along, mostly because he’s fucking terrified of slipping back into what they made him into.

“Any soldier would do the same. You shoulda seen the amount of coffee we all drank during the war,” the Omnic War, the group he led, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Liao, Ana, Jack–

He shakes his head, blinking a little too fast. “We used to crush up caffeine pills and spike the instant coffee just to keep going. Felt like it was the only thing keeping us alive, back then.”

A lifetime ago. Back then, he wouldn’t be so willing to share, would keep his secrets close to his chest, protect them with his life. The only ones who ever really knew him were Ana, because she could call him on his bullshit with a single look, and Jack–

Gabe lets his eyes slip closed. Better not go there. He doesn’t have any secrets anymore, anyways. Sombra already had a two petabyte folder on him before he even met her. He rolls his eyes. Fucking snoop.

Sombra grins at him like she can read his thoughts, and then pushes herself to her feet in one graceful movement.

“Well, that’s suitably horrifying. Fits you’re whole aesthetic, I guess, so props to you for being consistent.”

He flips her off. Sombra just cackles, cracking her knuckles above her head. She moves towards the door, looking back over her shoulder with a indecipherable look. She hesitates a moment.

“You remember your mission, Soldier 24?”

He knows what she’s asking. You good? Gabe looks down at the floor between his legs, frowns for a moment, and then pushes himself to his feet with a shaky hand. He lets out a breath and feels the shotgun coalesce in his hand. He hefts it over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“Who’s next?”

Sombra smirks. “I already flashed it to your HUD. Jet’s waiting.”

Gabriel lets his coat materialize around him, grabbing his mask from the floor and slipping it onto his face.

They have work to do.

[ow-anteater]

Give me soft, loving, domestic R76 or give me death. They loved each other and they also shyly held hands in an overwatch backroom and shared silly, private jokes in bed together on the rare occasions they didn’t have to get up at 5 am to save the world or something

[lacertae-dreamscape]

one of the main things i seek in fandom is the ability to have content for the characters i like

not just to be able to create content for them, but to *consume* content, usually in form of fanfics (because fanart is great, but fanfics are the thing that nourishes my soul)

so like

the fact that i can’t go in the zenyatta tag anywhere and find things i can enjoy where he’s the protagonist, the focus, the important part

just hurts a lot?

i feel like there’s a hole where a huge part of my fandom enjoyment usually is and i can’t find any way to fill it because like.

the ao3 zenyatta tag (english-works only)

isn’t really what it seems like.

most of these are fics where he’s mentioned once or appears as a prop or side-side-side-side character. (there was one memorable mchanzo genyatta fic where zenyatta was one of the 4 character listed and HE NEVER EVEN APPEARED NOR WAS HE EVER MENTIONED BY NAME IN THE ENTIRE THING and i’m sure there’s more of these)

just taking out two of my notps for the fandom, which i won’t mention but are main ships people love that have nothing to do with zenyatta, and then taking away Genji/Reader tag also

we get to this.

and in the first 20 results of the first page, four are Jesse/Reader or Jesse/Original characters or Jesse/Hanzo fics,  one is a gen where there’s 10 characters tagged and zen is somewhere at the end of the list, implying he’s not a main character here either (and there’s 1 chapter only available so far),

one is a R76 focused fic, one is a Reaper/Reader fic, a Soldier/Reader, a gen Soldier and Junkrat fic, a gen ‘older charas as parents fic’ focused mainly on the old group, a mchanzo again, a hana-centric gen fic, a collection of nsfw ficlets of various ships, a mchanzo centric au,

my cultist and sentai fic, a roadrat, a gencio-centric fic, a moira and fareeha fic w moicy and pharsym that seems to have orisatta as side ship at some point somewhere (i need to check this one out bcs i ship moicy n pharsym...) a bastion/soldier oneshot bastion-centric and an emilena oneshot.

refining this list by taking away a few /Reader ships, since i don’t read those... and two more ships that i don’t wanna read about

and still the first page is full of stuff that barely has zenyatta mentioned anywhere in the fic. if i had to take away one of the main ships (mchanzo) that seems to be the focus of a lot of fics and is tagged all the time, i would possibly remove a few fics that are equal in their attention between genyatta and mchanzo but i also would not know if the fic is even interested in the genyatta part as more than a mention or a side ship, and even then, if the fic is focused on zenyatta

(hint: it usually isnt. usually it’s more into genji anyway)

but if we were to remove mchanzo anyway we’d get

and of those, the first page has exactly 3 fics where zenyatta is a focal point character. one of which is mine, one is a short one-shot i’ve read already (very good) and one is a very short drabble collection focused on genji.

the other 17 fics on the page are about other characters and ships and he’s just a vague appearance character.

it’s virtually impossible to find fics that are about zenyatta or focus on him. and even if you had to work by using specific ship tags for him

it would mostly be genyatta, and most of the fics are genji-centric anyway, which defeats the point of me searching for zenyatta-centric stuff to begin with.

this is frustrating, and sad, and honestly zenyatta deserves better :(

[blackwatchbastard]

know what i hate? jeff and the majority of the ow team prob want to confirm r76 as canon and thats why they put out so many hints that basically make it canon. but they hesitate, and they don’t confirm it bc they know that a large portion of their fans are pussy fuckboys who will be like “ugh, they just had to make a pOliTicAl sTaTeMeNT and make these MANLY MEN gay” and then refuse to play the game. and the team doesn’t want to lose fans but it fucking sucks to see them cater to /those/ fans smh

This excuse doesn’t really fly for me even if I think a lot of people, like you, assume it is why they’re dancing around the topic. If the team really, truly wants to confirm r76, or even just Jack or Gabriel as lgbt, they are fully capable of doing it without even getting a lot of backlash. Because think about it; what percentage of the fans you’re talking about even pay that much attention to the lore? I don’t imagine it’s many. I know the dudes like that, they’re just there for the game mechanically and maybe think one of the ladies is hot or have an attachment to one of the dudes they play a lot.

Now think about the amount of *in game* content we have surrounding Tracer being a lesbian. It’s a spray and a single interaction mentioning Emily; optional content that, without context, could literally be any number of things. It is entirely possible to ignore the fact Tracer is gay in game because Blizzard is skirting around censors in other countries and shit. We don’t get her with a big lesbian pride flag cape in game because Blizzard is playing to the fans and masses that don’t like it but we still have full confirmation from the team via fan interactions and a comic that she’s gay. And even if it got some negative responses it’s not like a majority of those dudebro gamers a) care about the lore or b) are going to stop playing because the fictional girl they were ogling happens to be a lesbian. (Plenty of real lesbians will tell you that almost Never stops dudes from ogling when they wanna do it.)

All that means is that it is entirely possible for Blizzard to confirm Jack and/or Gabriel (or any other character for that matter) are lgbt via a comic or short and some Tweets or forum posts and still not even have a majority of those precious dudebros even be effected by it. They toss in a vague interaction or two, maybe some sprays or matching skins, and it’s done. They’ve got the same amount of content they’ve provided to Lena and Emily, we have representation, and they’ve dodged the censors because they didn’t introduce a Reaper skin where he’s in a rainbow cloak or made it where 76 shouts “move I’m gay” every time he sprints.

So for me, it just doesn’t work. While I know a lot of people are going to assume they’re catering to the straight dude 76 or Reaper mains who are too fragile to handle the knowledge they’re playing a man who kisses men while also being able to physically break a person in half of they so chose to, in the end that really isn’t something that stops them unless they let it. There are plenty of ways for them to give us lgbt characters and content that those dudes won’t even understand or have to acknowledge if they do. But at the same time it means a fuckton to the fans like us to have that character present; even if all we get in game is a spray like Widow or Ana have of their husbands; it’s just “hey 76 has a spray of him and Reaper when they were younger in suits” and any goddamn dumbass straight dude gamer just goes “what close war buddies they were :)))” and leaves it at that and meanwhile we get to look at it and know it’s a wedding photo because Blizzard grew a backbone and gave us a comic where they kiss.

[classywastelandbread-blog]

would you be willing to do r76 for hot cocoa and tree shopping?

Good morning anon, 

It seems that there was a bit of a miscommunication when I requested prompts. Perhaps my wording was a little vague. 

The prompts you mentioned were requested without a pairing attached. For those prompts that I received without a requested pairing or relationship, I had intended for them to be written as neutral pieces or team-as-family. 

This does not mean that I am opposed to writing you a few R76 prompts if you have them! Or if you would like me to write R76 drinking hot cocoa while on a surveillance mission or taking forever to find the perfect tree (and bickering along the way) only to find that Zarya and Reinhardt had gone out and found a better one, or something completely different, feel free to jump into my ask box! :) 

[crimsonsalutations]

i complained about r76 and then 2 seconds later the overwatch twitter posted some vague shit i think i summoned them

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

Memories in a Bottle

R76 ficlet set post recall

A/N: had that very first image stuck in my head and didn’t really know what to do with it, tbh. ^^;;;;;

Resting against Jack's lower lip, the olive glass of the beer bottle looked nearly black beneath the dull, amber lights of the bar. Condensation beaded on it like the pebbled skin of a lizard. Jack was staring straight ahead at nothing of interest that Gabriel could see, smiling a vague, drunken smile, though heaven knew something in the cocktail of enhancements fortifying their bodies made getting drunk more trouble than it was worth. The corner of his mouth was scraped red and raw, his temple was mottled yellow-gray from an old bruise, and he was in need of a shave. His eyes glittered as he tapped the bottle once against his lips and said—calmly, and without care for anyone that might overhear—“I love you.” He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, upending the bottle to swallow back the last of his beer.

Hidden beneath a threadbare cot in a rundown temple in Giza, Gabriel Reyes, lately known as the Reaper, remembers the moment with heartbreaking clarity. He sees it in Jack's grip on the neck of the whiskey bottle, sees it in the overgrown stubble covering Jack's chin, sees it in the haziness of his dusty blue eyes. He watches as Jack, seated on the floor not three feet away—now far older, now grayer, now worn-down and hard-edged, all vengeance and banked fury wrapped up in a leather jacket that broadcasts his identity to the right people—closes his eyes and leans his head back, draining the last drops from the bottle he holds. He sets it aside with the others, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and tips his head back against the wall.

This is the man who used to burn so brightly that the entire world couldn't help but watch him. This is the man who was held up as the light to guide Overwatch. Gabriel knows that he, himself, has fallen a long way from grace, but to see Jack, his hope once upon a time, ground down and pared away and living simply to carry on the fight...it hurts in a way nothing else does. He is uncomfortably aware that he failed Jack somehow, that they paved their own way to hell.

The bar was the first one they'd come to that had been open to celebrate the end of the Crisis. It was crowded with jubilant, victorious humanity—cheering, crying, shouting, and drinking. It reeked of alcohol and sweat, and was loud enough to have hidden the approach of a battalion of Omnics, but all that shattered Gabriel's equilibrium was Jack's confession.

His skin was still gritty with dirt, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. His words were simple, spoken as plain truth. His averted gaze, his hands wrapped around the beer bottle, fingers smearing the condensation, were the only testament to the nervousness hidden behind his steady tone. He said that he'd promised himself that if they both survived he would tell Gabriel. “It was sort of like a lucky charm,” he admitted, with a smile that revealed he knew how absurd that sounded. “It was something I definitely had to do, so we both had to survive so that I could.”

Jack's signature, stubborn logic.

He made a lot of promises over the years. Many of them became the pointed tips of barbs flung in arguments, weapons for their fights: 'You promised me this!' countered with 'I kept my word about that!' Accusations, recriminations, debts, points scored against each other before they even began falling apart.

It's almost strange to think back to a time when everything was so straightforward between them, when things were good. These days, the memories are like shards of glass in Gabriel's heart. Jack loved him, once.

Gabriel knows they'll never again have what they had before. He's the monster under the bed, a shadow on the wall. He is rage and revenge, and although Jack has some of the same targets in his sights, Gabriel can't count him as an ally. Jack once promised to support him no matter what, but there were limits to that promise. Maybe things are different now, but maybe they aren't. He won't risk his work against Talon. He's too close, and the organization is far too powerful. He can't afford distractions.

And yet...he finds himself here, time and time again, watching Jack search for answers in the bottom of a bottle that will never be deep enough to even help him forget the questions. He watches as Jack picks himself up, falls back into the darkest shadows as Jack trudges to the cot and curls up on it. He waits and listens as Jack's breathing grows slow and even, and he lingers with no reason to stay and every reason to leave because part of him can't help but want, and Jack...

Jack has always been his hope.

The celebration carried on in the background without them, too wound up feeding on its own manic energy to take note of the two soldiers sitting quietly at the bar. For Gabriel, the world had shrunk down to Jack, almost too large for the bar stool that held him, knees drawn up so that his boots could rest on the lowest rung, head ducked between broad shoulders, eyes trained on the empty bottle held in his hands. There was a rip in his shirt sleeve, and the bandage Gabriel had wrapped around his wrist was gray with grime and in need of changing.

Gabriel didn't answer in words. He reached out and gently pulled Jack's nearer hand away from the beer bottle. Jack's knuckles were scraped, his palm was callused and ingrained with dirt and clammy from the sweat of his skin and the bottle. Gabriel laced their fingers together and let their hands rest on the bar between them. He squeezed, and Jack, eyes trained on the bar, one hand still fiddling with the bottle, bit his lip as he smiled and squeezed back.

In a run-down temple in Giza, in the witching hour when pain wakes and nightmares lurk and death comes for those of failing strength, an old soldier sleeps fitfully on a cot. His arm dangles off the side. A name falls from his lips...

“Gabe....”

...and from the shadows beneath his bed, a hand reaches out to his, to lace their fingers together.

[wengoku]

im feeling kinda hopeful but also like i wanna disappoint myself so imma go look in the r76 ao3. place your bets on whether ill come back vaguely pleased or in a frothing rage

[edgedadhell]

Hey J, for the meme: I've been curious about your outlining process for a while. Do you just throw ideas on a doc or make a list? How do you start piecing your story together? And when it comes to characterization and r76, what are your key elements?

ohhhh damn Kasi this is a really good question, hmmmm....

okay, so for outlining it tends to go two ways for me:

1. I make myself an actual outline. I have a vague idea of how I want the story to go, and so I start fleshing out ideas for scenes, progression of plot, maybe even some bits and pieces of dialogue or scene-building that I really like. These outlines tend to be much more detailed and also tend to be much more rare than my other outline process, which is...

2. I just open up a google doc and start yelling at myself, basically. It’s a lot like thinking out loud, except on paper lol. I just start writing things down that are either tangentially or directly related to what I’m hoping to write, and eventually I’ll hit on something that I think has a lot of promise. Sometimes that happens right away, sometimes I think of a few things and throw them out because they don’t work. For example, for my RBB, I started by describing @shanablackrx ‘s art to myself in my own words, because that would give me an idea of where I was in my own head with how I wanted the story to go. I then started trying to think of ways of how to tie the story motif (music) in with the other emotions the art was conjuring--melancholy, bittersweet memories, nostalgia, etc. And then I thought, oh, why not have it relate to a song in some way? So I actually ended up googling “piano and guitar duet songs” and “The Boxer” came up as a possibility, and I realized that it kind of fit perfectly with the mood of the story I wanted to write. And once I did that, the story itself kind of fell into place. My outlining process from there was very much like “okay, so I want X to happen, and in order for that to happen, then Y has to happen as well. And then Z will happen,” and so on. Not a ton of embellishment or overwriting goes into this part of the outlining, as I just want to lay out the bare bones part of the story. And then I start the fic lol.

For R76 characterization, there are a few key elements I try to focus on for each of them (and it shifts depending on if I’m writing the older or younger versions haha).

For younger Gabriel, I think I tend to write him as much more......I guess cynically optimistic? Like, he knows he’s going to reach his goals, but only because he knows that he (and the select group of people that he trusts) have the skills and abilities to make sure those goals are in fact reached. 

For older Gabriel/Reaper, I tend to write him as fully jaded, relying pretty much only on himself, but also weighed down by all of the memories and baggage that come with the life he’s lived. He’s angry, and he’s bitter, and he knows how to channel those emotions into results, but he’s also a sentimental old man at heart as well, still that cynically optimistic fool on the inside (but it’s hard to reach that part of him).

For younger Jack, I tend to write him as the biggest little shit on the planet??? I think I just saw that smugass smirk of his and I was like “oh he’s a complete asshole with a heart of gold isn’t he” hahaha. But also he’s someone who takes the power and position that he’s been granted very seriously, and he tries to make the right decisions. But even people with the best intentions fail sometimes, which is something that Jack has a very difficult time coping with.

For older Jack, he is a man who has been broken and changed by what he’s gone through, and he’s tired but he’s also angry. He wants information but he also wants revenge, and he fully expects his quest to kill him (in fact, I think he kind of wants it to kill him). He wants to divorce himself completely from who he once was, but just like Reaper, deep down inside he finds it difficult to separate himself from person he used to be. It’s why he smashes gang members’ heads into walls and then jumps in front of a grenade to save a young girl’s life. 

I hope this answers your question lol, sorry for the complete essay I just wrote for you fkasdgklasd THANK U FOR YOUR INTERESTING QUESTIONS!!!