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@thshield is where i'm at full-time now, cause i didn't/don't have the time or effort to keep up a sideblog. there's a lot of wrestling on there but i'll definitely be posting other things! 💖
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title: better to hope
rating: T
summary: genji is injured. mccree sticks around as he recovers.
trigger warnings: injury, blood, mentions of death.
notes: i was assigned to @koujakward for the mcgenji valentine exchange! this short fic (2 chapters) is posted on ao3 here, but i’m posting the first chapter here on tumblr as well.
“…lost a large amount of blood,” he hears someone say; her voice is high, lightly accented around the vowels of English. “He should … just a few hours ... don’t worry…”
A hand squeezes his. The fingers are cold and metal, scratched to hell and back again.
The world in front of Genji is a confusing blur of movement and light. When he breathes, he feels his lungs rattle, and when he tries to move, he feels every inch of his body protest in pain. Each bump of the stretcher he’s on sends another wave of pain through him. There’s blood somewhere, multiple places even; he can’t tell exactly where it’s coming from, but he’s sticky with it and the stench is more than a little overwhelming.
When the stretcher comes to a stop, somebody stoops down low to murmur to him, “I’ll see you later, alright?”
I’m not so sure about that, Genji thinks, but all he manages to say out loud is a vaguely affirming “yeah.” And that’s enough for whoever is manning the stretcher, because he’s pulled away not even a second later. The hand in his slips from his grasp, and the sliding doors to what he assumes is one of the operating rooms closes with a foreboding thud.
This is a routine Genji is all too familiar with. He closes his eyes, trying to will the pain to take him out first. It doesn’t work, though, and after all the armor is pried off his body, there’s a mask placed over his face, and the sickly-sweet smell of anesthesia overtakes him instead as he struggles against it.
In the space between awake and asleep, it’s silent, dark. Genji has a few precious moments to consider whether he’s staring into the emptiness of death.
When Genji awakens, it’s to the shaded darkness of a recovery room. The blinds are drawn tight, and the only sound is the steady beeping of his heart monitor, the drip-dripping of the IV connected to one of his many ports, and the quiet breathing of Jesse McCree, slumped in a seat in the corner of the room.
Ah, Genji thinks to himself. That’s right. I almost died.
Or at least that was how it felt.
The memories that lead up to his injury are still fuzzy. He can recall leaving on a mission with Jesse and a handful of other agents, but it goes blank before he’d even gotten off the ship at wherever their assignment was.
He wants to wake Jesse up. It’s selfish, because who knows how long he’s been asleep and Jesse has been awake, but he almost died, so that should count for something, right?
“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse. Jesse does not stir, so he repeats himself, louder this time: “Hey.”
Nothing. Jesse snores, but that’s it.
Scoffing to himself, Genji shifts, using an elbow to prop himself up. He makes it midway to a sitting position before something in his body vehemently protests, sending a surge of pain and nausea that tells him ‘lay back down, you idiot.’ So he does, and he falls asleep without really trying not even a few minutes later.
The next time Genji wakes up, Jesse is awake too. He’s pulled his chair up close to the bed, upper body bent over something with wires spilling out of it as he works at them, one by one. Reconnecting them, tying them into manageable sections – it’s all very familiar, and Genji realizes a bit belatedly that it’s his own arm.
“Hey,” he says quietly, turning his head to look at Jesse better through the gap in the railing of the bed.
Jesse startles, pulling hard on a wire and nearly snapping it. “Hey,” he says back, a bit breathless. There’s a steadily widening grin on his lips, like he can’t help but grin. “Hey, you. Feelin’ alright?”
“I feel alive.” Genji rolls his shoulders, gives Jesse a pointed look. “And like I’m missing an arm.”
“Oh.” Jesse looks down at Genji’s arm, then back up at Genji, blinking wide. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, uh, Angela asked me to – to give this a look; she said it was pretty banged up, and I was hopin’ to get it done before you woke up again, but…”
“It’s okay,” says Genji, smiling something small and careful. “Are you having trouble with it?”
In truth, it doesn’t look like he is at all, but Genji is unused to being laid out with nothing to do. There’s not much he can do with one functioning and attached arm, but there should be something—
Jesse shakes his head, setting back to work. “I’ve got it,” he says. “Gimme a few more minutes, and then I’ll get it attached to you again. Sound good?”
“Sure,” says Genji.
There’s nothing else he can say.
Waiting is uncomfortable. He can’t think of anything to say, doesn’t know if he should, doesn’t want to, and so he lies there, watching through the bed railing as Jesse separates the wiring into little groups, three by three with a different brightly-colored elastic band for each one. It’s nothing like the way his other arm is organized, and Genji knows this because he was the one to organize that. It was all knotted and tangled, barely held together by stretched out bands that were about ready to retire from their job.
Genji knows the inside of Jesse’s arm too, though, and it’s organized in the same way that Jesse is doing now. Should he be thankful? Smitten? Awed?
Jesse snaps an elastic band tight against the last group of wires, then slides the paneling shut. Hefting the heavy prosthetic up with one arm, he scoots even closer to Genji’s bed and lowers the railing with his other arm by leaning on it. The sight of Jesse, slowly descending upon the bed railing, is just enough to get Genji to laugh for the first time since he’s originally woken up. It’s more a huff of air, barely even a chuckle, but it’s something.
“That’s the Genji I know,” Jesse mutters, his voice smug and giddy at the same time.
“Shut up,” says Genji, but it’s hard to sound annoyed at the person who’s stayed by his bedside for an entire day at the least. “Give me my arm back.”
With the railing out of the way, Jesse can lean over to slide the prosthetic into place. It’s careful work; he has to hook the wires up with their connections, then lock the prosthetic into place before he can open up the paneling again to make sure the wires are actually hooked up into the right connections.
Genji can’t feel it when Jesse first starts checking the wires, which is a strong sign that something in there isn’t hooked up right.
“Try the red group,” says Genji, referring the bright red band around a small bundle of wires. “Those are for touch reception, if I remember correctly…”
Jesse snorts. “Considerin’ the concussion you’ve got, that may not be the case,” he mumbles, but he follows the suggestion anyway under Genji’s watchful, narrowed – albeit far from actually angry – eyes. A spark and a jolt of surprise from the both later, it’s clear they’re on the path to figuring things out.
here are 200+ 75px icons i made for a soldier 76 rp blog that ended up falling through. they’re separated by caps from the comics and his personal animated short. NO fanart was used in any of these icons. please like and/or reblog if taking these, and PLEASE LEAVE CREDIT TO @GGDVA SOMEWHERE VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG. edit them more if you want, but please leave credit. thank you very much! [ click this to download them! ]
As a child, he'd seen the tattoos that adorned the arms and shoulders of his father, and even some of his other relatives. When Hanzo turned eighteen, he too spent days under the careful hand of the artist who pricked each drop of ink into his arm and chest. Genji wasn't allowed near the room; his father had given him a wry smile and said the sights and sounds may scare him off from getting his own.
In truth, there was no getting scared off, even if he was terrified. It was expected of him. He knew why he needed the tattoo, and he knew there was no getting out of it, even if he was a flighty, reckless teenager who couldn't hold a romantic interest in someone for more than a few days, let alone handle the commitment that came with receiving his tattoo. It was more than just a piece of art committed to his skin in scarring and ink for the rest of his life. It was a commitment to a legacy, a power.
He had to meditate on where the location of his tattoo needed to be, as was tradition. He was left alone in his room for what felt like weeks on end, but when he’d emerged it had only been a few hours short of a day, and the sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon. It left him with a vague image, but that was enough.
The sun rising signaled a new day. His eighteenth birthday. As he made his way to join his family in his last meal for an unknown amount of time, Hanzo walked alongside him, talking hurriedly, quietly, as he explained again what Genji would have to go through.
His father had smiled when they walked in. He looked happy, proud, but Genji did not feel the same. He felt sick. The food was not appetizing, and he barely ate. When he left, it was in silence as hard as the kind Hanzo frequently held, and he felt the eyes of his family on his back until he closed the door behind him and took off at a brisk jog.
“You’re late,” says a voice with a familiar drawl.
Genji pauses, looking over his shoulder. His lip pulls back in a grimace, but it is hidden by metal. “Yes,” he says to McCree, “I am. Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”
“Gabe doesn’t like people who’re late,” says McCree. He grins, tipping his hat back and revealing more of his face. It’s a habit that always has Genji’s fingers curling. “You think he’ll be happy to know you missed out on half an hour’s practice already?”
“I do not need practice.”
“What, so you're used to that new body of yours already?”
Genji falters, looks away.
The new body is different.
He cannot feel, but he still feels. It’s all data and perceptions, sensors that tell him what's there even if the feeling is vague and hard to understand, and he cannot get used to it. His performance has been off. Gabriel has been hounding him for weeks now on practicing and practicing, and Doctor Ziegler has been making changes each time they meet, three times a week – adjustments, re-wirings, re-fittings, everything. It all makes his head hurt even when it should not.
When he does not respond, McCree laughs. “It’s not a bad thing. You think anyone would be able to cope with somethin’ so life-changin’ in only a handful of weeks?” And then Genji does not respond again, so he just rambles on, as is so common for him. “Hell, it took me months to get used to this arm of mine. Gabe’s just being a dick. That’s how he is. And, lucky you—”
The sound of McCree pushing off from the wall, the sharp beep as the door to the training room slides shut, footsteps behind him as McCree approaches – it all sounds too loud. Maybe they’ll adjust his hearing tomorrow.
“—you get me as your new sparrin’ partner.”
Genji swears under his breath in Japanese, and McCree laughs again, so relaxed compared to how tense Genji feels. His shoulders square.
“I would rather go through the pain of having my limbs replaced again,” he snaps.
“Aw, damn,” McCree all but coos. He is close, but he does not touch. This man, who Genji has seen sling an arm around Gabriel Reyes as if they were the best of friends, or enclose Doctor Ziegler in a hug just because he hasn’t seen her in a few days, does not touch him. “You got my heart all a-flutter, Genji. Keep it up and you’ll do real good.”
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The upcoming Assassin’s Creed film may not be an actual game from the popular Ubisoft franchise but it’s now certainly being marketed like one, especially with Ubisoft saying there will be no game from the series released this year. Now, Assassin’s Creed has several pre-order tiers for its upcomi…
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Swords are drawn, men are shouting, and the large ship creaks and groans as it beaches, running itself into the sand. Elissa’s eyes widen; Maker, but how will they—
Suddenly, the radio is turned off.
She’s brought from her thoughts, flinching back as if shocked, and her mother’s glare would certainly be enough to do just that. Eleanor crosses her arms, takes in a deep breath that can only mean one thing: she’s going to yell, and a lot, at that. Elissa is immediately scrambling up, letting words tumble out her mouth as she crosses the bedroom — “Mother, please, before you say anything…” — and opens up her closet doors, beginning to rifle through it — “I was only listening for purely educational purposes, of course…” — for the dress she promised the night before that she’d already laid out, having had it ready to be put on this very morning without any fuss. Oh, but now there would be a fuss. A big fuss that her brother and Rory would never let her forget, surely.
Eleanor lets out her breath in a long sigh. “Oh, just get dressed,” she mutters briskly, shaking her head at the sight of her daughter, half obscured by the clothes in her closet. “Your father’s meeting has already begun. They’re only waiting on the arrival of Ser Duncan, but in the meantime your presence has been requested…” The way she trails off has Elissa pausing in her search to peer over her shoulder at her mother, and Eleanor waves a hand at her. “Keep looking! I will not have you meeting Ser [name] in one of those horrendous flapper dresses of yours.”
Elissa’s expression sours as she turns to continue on looking. “Oh, so it’s him that wants to see me, not father? Let me guess — his dear son has been quite interested in me, that little bugger, and his father is, of course, merely passing on the word! But, now that it’s been brought up, perhaps we could arrange a visit the next time my father visits Denerim? He won’t even propose that first visit! No, he’ll surely wait until the second visit!”
“Are you quite done, dear?”
“Hm.” Elissa leans back, holding a noble looking dress, styled like those from what she liked to call ’the olden days’ – all poofed skirts and corsets that made her choke – and in a rich, deep blue fabric. She frowns. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Good. Call for me when you need help with the dress.”
The door slams shut behind Eleanor, and Elissa stands there, still frowning at the dress in her hands. “Yes, ma'am,” she mutters to herself, laying the dress out on the bed and then hurrying over to her [word], to get started on her makeup.
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ty for the follows! spent today being lazy since i'll be out all day tomorrow, but i'll try to make 2 posts tomorrow night to make up for missing one today! 💕💖✨