“You w-will be,” his voice sputtered in a low, distorted, metallic HISS.

Winning, truly, was not Revenant’s priority in a match. HE WAS JUST THERE FOR THE KILLING. Everything else came secondary: including his own SURVIVAL. And in a state like this? He would have rather have been KILLED. Uploaded into a new body altogether.

Instead, Sparrow had insisted on dragging him out of harm’s way through the end of the match, no matter how much VENOM the simulacrum had spewed in protest . It was a wonder they had managed a win at all. But now the match was over, and Revenant was LEFT LIKE THIS, his good arm slung around the metal shoulders of his former squadmate as Sparrow proceeded to drag him somewhere else, away from the hungry cameras of the press. Off to the medbay maybe. Supplies for skinsuits and bots alike in there. But repairs at this stage would just be a CHORE.

Or, maybe it was more personal. Maybe Sparrow had some VENDETTA against him like so many others, and meant to use the situation to his ADVANTAGE. Meant to drag out his suffering in this dilapidated body a little LONGER.

They barely won this match by the skin of their teeth. Sparrow’s refusal to leave an injured Revenant to die back then should have by all account been a fatal mistake, but against all odds, a well timed bullet and sheer dumb luck had allowed them to take down the last remaining adversaries, securing their victory.

This is how he came to pass through that corridor, dragging Revenant with him toward the medbay. His “fellow” killing machine did not seem particularly happy about being denied release from a vessel that had turned inconvenient. Sparrow did not care, he was not regretting what he did.

“Is this a threat?” Through an exhausted grunt, the cyborg managed a brief chuckle. “You are welcome to try and kill me. Preferably after you are repaired, though. From you, I would expect a challenge.“

Revenant was definitely in a worse state than him, but Sparrow still felt his own body was also close to its limit. He grunted as they continued to limp together. He decided to keep talking, hoping it would let him stay conscious long enough.

“It was only once, but I too died before. I cannot fathom what it must be like, to grow numb to something like this.”

Leaning   back   in   the   cantina   chair   with   a   low   creak,   Jesse   raises   his   hands   for   emphasis   as   he   reattacks   his   point   with   a   growing   grin.   On   the   table   between   them,   half-empty   cups   of   coffee   and   what   remains   of   a   midnight   snack   litter   the   linoleum   surface.    ❝   Now   listen,   Genji,   all   I’m   sayin   is   that   Reinhardt   would   win   if   it   really   came   down   to   it.   He’s   got   a   hammer!   Winston   is   just   a   big   ol’   monkey.   ❞   It   had   been   the   back   and   forth   between   them   for   the   last   forty-five   minutes.   Reinhardt   versus   Winston   in   a   no   punches   pulled   fight.   Jesse   had   all   his   money   on   the   enormous   german   hammer   wielder.   

They had been going back and forth on this exact topic for the past hour and neither of them seemed ready to admit defeat. Genji was pretty sure he had the upper hand, though, because Jesse was now basing his arguments on weapons over physical strength. The ninja took it at his cue to finally drop the killing blow: His most airtight argument.

“I will give you that, no one other than him can swing this hammer around with as much ease. That doesn’t stop him from throwing his back once in a while, though. I still think Winston would win.”

“Do you remember when Doomfist punched me right through a car and Angela had to replace half of my organs? Before I lost consciousness back then, I got to witness firsthand someone out-punch Doomfist, and as you may recall, it wasn’t Reinhardt.”

―   break  a  leg !  mine  are  made  of  steel .

Suspicious Sentence Starters

Send me one of the following sentences regarding suspicion, trust, and paranoia.

“I’m not sure you have the best intentions.” “When have I ever steered you wrong?” “What makes you think I can trust you?” “I don’t trust you. Not yet.” “It’s hard for me to believe anything you say.” “It hurts that you still can’t trust me after all this time.” “I made a mistake, okay? Are you going to distrust me forever?” “It takes me a long time to open up to people, I’m sorry.” “There’s someone outside watching the house.” “I have a weird feeling about him/her/them.” “Why do you always think people are up to something?” “I won’t give you my trust. You have to earn it.” “You can’t live your life being suspicious of everybody around you.” “I know we just met, but you have to trust me.” “What on earth are you up to?” “So, what were you whispering about?” “You’ve been keeping a secret from me.” “I’m not crazy, we’re being watched!” “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me the truth?” “I’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to people I don’t know yet.” “I trusted you once and I’m never doing it again.” “You see that person? I think they’re following us.” “I just get this feeling that someone has been watching me.” “Who are you and why have you been following me?” “I used to be a very trusting person.” “Where were you?” “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” “You won’t call me ‘paranoid’ when you realize I’ve been right all along.” “You were right, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” “Give me one good reason to trust you.” “After last time, I’m not sure I should listen to you.” “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m not trusting another one of your bad plans.” “How can we trust this person?” “How do I know you won’t just stab me in the back?” “I’m sorry, I just can’t bring myself to trust you again.” “You were right. I was a fool to trust them.” “I’m not suspicious. I’m just cautious.” “I told you that they were bad news.” “No, facebook stalking isn’t ‘creepy’, it’s called ‘being careful’.” “I get a bad feeling about them.”

reunited

Once they arrive at their home, the storm starts in earnest, wind howling as it yanks both the door and window shutters open. Allowing Genji to enter first, they close the door behind the two of them and bolt it shut, preventing the wind from blowing it open again. Flicking a light on, they exchange their boots for indoor slippers, as not to track snow everywhere. “I am surprised you were sent out here alone. It is dangerous out here this time of year,” they remark with the curious tilt of the head. “If I did not know better, I would think you were purposefully trying to cross paths. Is Overwatch in such dire need of members that you are now recruiting hermits?”

The walk through the snow was getting rougher by the minute, and Genji could feel a dash of fatigue weight his legs down as much as the numbness that came from the cold.

When they finally arrived, he let out an audible sigh of relief. He imitated his host in removing his boots (and the part of his leg armor supporting them) upon entering, and he immediately allowed himself to go crouch in front of the closest space heater. He did not need to feel the temperatures to know the scarce flesh left on him needed it.

“I have been living with my Master in the Himalayas for a few years now. I think I can handle great colds better than most of my colleagues. As for the reason I came alone, you may call it a personal preference.” He told the other. “This is my first time having to deal with a snowstorm this extreme, though. I do not know how you do it.”

“It is true we are currently short-staffed, but pushing you to join us was never my intention, and you have made it clear enough we could be allies. Rest assured I won’t pester you with any unnecessary request.”

(promo) can you truly call yourself an Ana roleplayer until you make a dramatic comeback after disappearing for two years? probably, but that’s what I did anyway.

hi, i’m woody, coming at you with a brand new remade blog (I forgot the email to the old one :’) but if you want a glimpse of my writing, it’s here!) for a canon-compliant ANA AMARI. indie, private, mun is 25+ (she/her). 

“I hate t’break it to ya’ ━ but my record’s already baskin’ in the light of a 65 million dollar bounty.” A shrug is offered to him, crimson hues settling with caution. “Now exactly what else is it y’think you KNOW about me, cyborg?” 

“To be honest, I do not know a lot. Mostly bits and pieces I heard from a certain mutual friend of ours. He often speaks of you after going a little too hard on the bottle. It does sound like he envied your cocktail mixing skills.”

“You seem very well-informed yourself. Most people just assume I am an Omnic upon meeting me for the first time.”