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I did a little drabble set for [community profile] monthlysupergo for Overwatch, both to have some fun with prompt tables (which I always liked the idea of but never actually got around to claiming back when they were big) and to try out some character combos I've not written as much. I also only actually made the claim, uh, yesterday, after I did all the actual writing, because I meant to comment before and then completely forgot. -_- I want to put them up on AO3 eventually, but I really don't know whether these should be & or / and also I hate titles.

Anyway! Here they are. Bit of gore in the Touch drabble, but otherwise they should all be pretty inoffensive.

(This is how I procrastinate on writing Chocolate Box treats, shhhhh.)

Occasionally, Junkrat almost manages to approach—well, not graceful. Coordinated, perhaps. When a bomb blows just right or they pull a heist off perfectly… times like those, Junkrat's a pleasure to watch.

This isn't one of those times.

He's cursing up a storm, covered in soot and blood, shaking a metal fist at the bomb that dared to fail on him.

Roadhog rubs his mask's lenses tiredly. “Boss. Come here before you bleed out.”



Finally, Junkrat deflates. He walks, downtrodden, to Roadhog's side to be patched up.

Trial and error, Roadhog thinks. Story of both their lives.

“It's worse than I thought.”

Lucío's flipping through Reinhardt's music player with an expression of horror and amazement. It is, Reinhardt thinks, rather unfair—he always gives Lucío's music the appreciation it deserves.

“My library is full of famous artists!”

“I need to teach you the difference between famous and infamous. This just screams 'Perils of the Oldies'.”

Reinhardt snorts. “How can you expect to build anew without respecting what came before?”

That gets Lucío to pause. “Okay, point taken. But no way that metaphor stretches to include Hasselhoff.”

“Don't worry!” Reinhardt laughs. “I'll have you liking him soon enough.”

Angela catches the exact moment Pharah realizes the bone's gone through the skin, because her eyes squeeze shut and her whole body tenses.

“Don't worry,” Angela says, silly as she knows the platitude is, “I'm here.”

Carefully, she examines the skin to either side of the puncture. The Caduceus Staff is wondrous, but it can't work miracles—for this to heal properly, she needs to set Pharah's bone.

“I'm fine.” Pharah grimaces. “Just… hurry.”

Angela finds Pharah's hand, slick with sweat and blood, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

No time to waste. She leans in and begins to work.

Genji remembers ramen.

He remembers a lot of foods, really—sake, dango, barbecue. Sometimes he even catches himself missing natto, which. Ew.

His reconstructed taste buds only know two sensations: hot and cold. Flavor is a distant memory.

“Is that going in the cart?” Zenyatta asks.

“Oh”—Genji hurriedly puts the cup back—“no, just looking. I have protein bars.” Getting caught moping is always embarrassing.

Zenyatta gives him a look. “There's no shame in reminders, Genji.”

(They buy the ramen, and a dozen snack foods besides. He never does eat them, but—it's nice, sometimes, to have them around.)

Once you learn how, Reaper is an easy man to track.

His living shadows move without the slightest whisper, and his constantly-reforming body is near impossible to follow through a sniper's scope. The scent, though—the scent always lingers.

The stench of rot fills Widowmaker's nose as Reaper reforms behind her. Once it repulsed her; now she almost finds it comforting. It means she has an ally nearby.


Widowmaker answers by launching herself off of the building.

Cold wind whipping past her, adrenaline flooding her veins, a shadow made of dust and putrefaction at her side: business as usual.
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john_egbert: Delicious. (Default)
John Egbert

September 2017

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