Imagine being the Dumb Bitch that continued to ship Tracer/76 together after her comic reveal to be a lesbian, and now, 76 has been revealed to be a gay man.Â
Congrats, you DOUBLE PLAYED YOURSELF!
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@pharahsmom
Imagine being the Dumb Bitch that continued to ship Tracer/76 together after her comic reveal to be a lesbian, and now, 76 has been revealed to be a gay man.Â
Congrats, you DOUBLE PLAYED YOURSELF!

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âI forgive you.â [ bonjour ]
some meme i dont remember
ana amari was more than a good friend. much more.
the years blur together and widowmaker barely remembers who she was before she fired the shot that would maim her eye forever. she recalls long dark hair, gently aged features. a warm smile, soft lips. a tongue that spoke perfect french.
â je veux une famille,â amĂ©lie had said. envious of the daughter that ana had, of her motherhood. disillusioned. holding her hand, head on her shoulder, wishing that perhaps things were different.
â jâsais. et tu vas avoir une famille. je te promets. tu seras une mĂšre merveilleuse.â
â mais gĂ©rard mâa dit non. chaque fois, il dit, ânon. pas maintenant. autre foisâ.â
â ne perds pas espoir, amĂ©.â
she presses her lips to the top of her head, and amĂ©lie squeezes her hand harder. widowmaker remembers sitting there for what felt like hours, encompassed by both her own grief and something she considered to be special. something different, a stirring feeling in her gut she hasnât felt in years.
ana was the one to first place a rifle in her hand. amĂ©lie had initially declined her offer, out of the fear, uncertainty. she never liked gĂ©rardâs work, something that involved the deaths of so many people. but she allowed herself one shot.
her aim had been horrible. embarrassed, she laughed and told her,
â je nâen peux plus. câest trop difficile. â
a couple years later, it was amĂ©lieâs aim that had taken out anaâs eye.
widowmaker doesnât know what to say.Â
you forgive amĂ©lie. you forgive what happened to her.you donât forgive me.
people literally unironically using OLD ENGLISH in their narrative in RP to look sophisticated here on tumblr dot hell is truly the funniest thing i have ever seen come out of the roleplay community and the funniest thing i ever expect to see. old english. old fucking english. and lo, sasuke did drink from that CUP , && enjoyâd his beverage. you think iâm joking but iâm not. iâm fucking not. the random all caps bold words were one thing but i truly draw the line at seeing the word âne'erâ in a description in a coffee shop AU for a harem anime. i canât parse it. i go apeshit. i cannot handle seeing the goddamn sherriff of nottingham writing naruto porn. it truly is not in me and iâm just fucking waiting for it to circle back to latin
i rescind what I may have said about ana and 76 if only because of @comitatum âs interpretation of Jack and what we wrote and currently write together... and also the whole them staying in Necropolis while looking for Gabriel together...Â
you probably intended this but every time i see your url my brain goes "pharahs mom has got it goin on" which, like. it is true so i don't mind
Literally.Â
My ex made a cover of that lmao.

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thesxmmersword:
Cathrine OâConnell did not want to have to deal with one of the overwatch legends tied to a chair today. Which is partly why sheâs smoking. Sweet jesus why are men so blind stupid. âIrish hospitality, best in the world.â She mutters, stalling for time as she thinks of a way out. âWhats say we call this a cultural misunderstanding and call it a night?â
 âYou know,â Ana begins, single eye watching, tracking the other woman carefully. Sheâs been in worse situations, though with a bounty on her head this large, it isnât exactly desirable. âAre you going to untie me, at least? Iâd be much happier to set it aside.âÂ
 âYou certainly know how to make a woman feel welcome.â
Yeahh
Justice:Â Done Tits: Out
niyantran:
âHm.â
Itâs contemplative, the way she utters it and builds pressure from palate to just behind her nose, and feels the residual rumble beneath layers of muscle and skin. Again she stares at the glistening dew and listens to unknown songbirds and feels the air pre-warmed as she takes it in. Thereâs a damp feel to it. Humid. Satya glances at Ana to observe the colors of blue and grey and doesnât pretend to know what she thinks. How could she, from a woman who lives as a revived specter chasing down the ones who deserve to be. In herself Satya has her own thoughts, riddled with doubts that aches in the spaces between her joints like medical side effects. But never once would she compare herself to Ana; Ana, who knows both sides of life and death and chooses, somehow, for some reason, to dabble in both.
Does she still look at her headstone when she visits the people who actually died?
âPerhaps, thenâŠâ
She reaches across herself this time to drag a hand â right â across the dew-stained grass and feel cool beneath her fingertips.
ââŠYou would like to continue this?â
For once she does not proclaim certainty. Ana is enigmatic despite her image. A face once-plastered upon walls of a woman in glory becomes intentionally obscure among deathâs pews. Now sheâs become an indescribable image, trying all once presumed true, and makes those err more to the sides of non-surety.
Those like Satya, who destine themselves to discover the undiscovered.
âIt is quite magnificent.â
She thinks Oasis would be more beautiful. Instead she settles for this â a close second-best, knowing it will never be the same again.
Waves roll and crash against a distant shore and Satya sees foam against white-colored sand. It must have the feel of sifted flour with how it seems to settle so seamlessly. One day, then, she might ask if they could go down there. Or maybe by herself, during the evening, where the sky paints her in pink and orange and makes her look like gold.
A Midas touch to make him envious, she thinks, in a moment of self-righteous glory.
Thereâs another pause.
âI wasâŠexpecting you, actually.â
It hopefully requires no further explanation.
A place of peace has its purpose. Under duress, there is no time to take in the worldâs landscapes. The Shrike is too busy to admire the world at large, fearing for her life, and pursuing the lives of other ghosts, all too often beyond the detection of adequate radar.
Here, she is at peace, relaxed and content in good company. it is so rare to simply exist without fear of being hunted, without fear of being found.Â
The sun shines down on both women, and brings out the glint in her amber coloured eye - a certain air of youth still lives on, despite wrinkles and white hair, and the years of stress buried in her posture, weighing down on her shoulders.
âI would...â The premise of a promise are laid out; were she a younger woman, she would not guarantee her permanence; as a ghost, she decides. Other obligations are so few. âI think Iâve been in need of a... break.â To put it lightly, a break serves as a place of rest and solitude, to clear the thoughts that haunt her, the thoughts that never leave.Â
Through the corner of her eye, Ana studies Satya. A proud profile is framed by long, dark hair. She is sharp but she is supple with plump lips and smooth cheeks. A woman in her prime, she is beautiful.Â
 âAh,â Ever the observer, it has been rather obvious that this is a place of meditation, of peace - one Ana has come to frequent. âThen, I donât mind your company if itâs just us. Threeâs company. Might be a little crowded.â
Even in her age, humour slips through the cracks; she can share in her secrets to a select few - and she finds Satya intriguing enough.Â

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latrodectae:
ah, amĂ©lie.Â
amĂ©lie, amĂ©lie, amĂ©lie â the name of a different woman, a dead woman, a woman buried beside her husband in what remains of that dreadful commune of lovagny. widowmaker has seen photographs of her, yes, once or twice â she was pretty, with long brown hair, bright blue eyes â always smiling. ballet instructor, wasnât she?
stupid, she was stupid. wedding photos come to mind, only twenty-one years old. a honeymoon in arles. their home in switzerland, always empty.
( you know thatâs not me, ana. you know thatâs not me. )
â do not â â she raises one finger in warning, advances closer, â â do not call me that.â
sheâll repeat it one more time, this time, her voice a little bit lower. a little bit softer. perhapsâŠ. more vulnerable.
â do not call me that. â
her fingers are so close now, ahh â ! and she wants to touch her. dig her nails into her throat, end the life she is so ungrateful to have. the urge lingers for a moment, to do something more â to do so violently, to tear her apart, piece by piece â
â i knew the consequences of your injury, ana. to âruin everythingâ, as you like to put it, was not a simple coincidence. and for that, chĂ©rie, mmâŠâŠ. je suis dĂ©solĂ©e.â
Such a name feels cut and quartered on her tongue. Out with the old, in with the new. Whatever she has become - and it is fearsome creature - it isnât the woman Ana once knew, once liked.Â
The Captain was once a woman of her pride, born and bred for greatness in the military, pushed to succession by that of her mother. Here she stands, half-blind and old - she wonders what dear old mama would think of her now, standing here with the very individual who buried her six feet deep.
âThen what, exactly, should I call you? A call sign is so... so impersonal.â
Her own voice drops in volume, a low, raspy tone from years of cigarettes burned and alcohol consumed. Tension in the space between them is palpable yet so volatile, it may explode at the gentlest of touches. Â
âDeath would have been easier,â She says, dares to even whisper it over the breeze, the distance sound of cars down the street. She flicks the ashes of the lit cigarette between her fingers, and offers it back - a peace offering, at best.Â
âAre you sorry? I find that hard to believe, habibti.âÂ
Her fingers dare to touch, bracing for impact.
children, behave
wingedclemency:
It was a stab in the heart â Reinhardt had always seemed so old to her, Torbjorn as well but Ana. Ana was⊠dead gone while still in her prime and somehow in that absence sheâd become shrunken and old. No, no that wasnât quite right. Sheâd become human. A harder fall than mere age for someone whoâd been a paragon.
âWinston said he was trying to hack Athena, the information he wanted specifically was the location of all former Overwatch agents.â Ire in blue eyes at that. Though Angela was herself a public figure, thereâd been no reason for the scientist and tethered AI to keep tabs on every former agent. It was dangerous and it frankly no oneâs business. Let them rebuild their lives in peace. Hadnât the investigations and pariah the world made of them been enough? âThey didnât get it, but⊠we have to assume they wanted it for a reason.â
It had to be connected. Reaper was part of a larger entity. His moved dictated by Talon â at least as Ana implied for the present time. The connection of Overwatch agents, the attack on Volskaya Industries, the rumors in Los Angeles. It was like they were looking at a puzzle with only half the pieces.
âNo he hasnât.â A strange thought in itself. She would be easily picked off. A stray shot in a warzone. A collapsed building in a natural disaster. But no, thereâd been nothing. âAnd knowing now heâs alive⊠I donât know why he didnât.â
Unless he didnât remember what had happened during the Zurich explosion? Unless he knew she couldnât help him? Unless Talon had a doctor on staff that was studying him? Unless, unless⊠more questions and little to no answers for them.
Angela sighed, an idle wonder if it was worth asking Jesse for one of his stinky cigars. Doubtful, sheâd be better off walking into Gibraltar and for something rolled and sold alongside the newspapers. Perhaps the walk alone would clear her mind and unknot stress before she got there.
âAre you done Captain Amari? Convinced Iâm not some mad scientist yet?â Â Â Â Â Â Â
  âOf course - it would be his easiest method of tracking us down.â
This information doesnât feel new - it only fills in the missing gaps that she and Jack (oh, Jack - she dare not mention his name here) had yet to procure. A part of her had wished they could track him so easily as he tracked them. Wherever they went, he found them first (and often, left his painful mark with Deathâs chill against their skin).Â
Ana sighs; her voice is raspier, quieter than it once was as Overwatchâs established and decorated second-in-command. A military woman from a long line of Amari servicemen and women had pushed herself to the top at her motherâs behest. That life was not to be for Fareeha, though even here, she knows that stubborn streak has persisted anyway.
Like mother, like daughter.
Her stubborn streak has kept Ana alive in her seven years of absence, having a few close calls in due time. Her career now is no less dangerous than it was before, if not more so.
A wrinkled hand rubs her face; sheâs exhausted. Travel has never been easy for her, despite the number of flights and drop ins to missions she has done. In her age, she cannot fight what her body cannot handle any longer. Her anger is a quick flair - it isnât entirely Angelaâs fault.Â
Itâs all of them.
âIâm done, Dr. Ziegler. I want answers where I cannot find them. At least, youâve clarified your part in this.âÂ
She should leave again, disappear into the night under cloak and dagger, but weight keeps her feet still. âYou need to watch your back, Angela. I wouldnât say so unless I thought it necessary.âÂ
anyway i sign on here again today to remind yâall that today marks the 1 year anniversary of the Reflections comic that revealed Tracer to have a girlfriend named Emily, and that Michael Chu himself confirmed her to be a lesbian. Not bisexual, not pansexual, a lesbian and if you ship her with men, i hope you choke :â)Â

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Ana Wasteland Skin ^^
if you ever see someone writing a canon lesbian character romantically or sexually with a male muse:
make them feel bad
they should feel bad
seriously, say something about it because thatâs homophobic as fuck and it should bother you
if you donât at least unfollow that person (since i know not everyone can speak up, even though iâm side-eyeing severely at this) then youâre condoning that behavior
note: this post is not for transmisogynists/terfs & includes trans women (esp who are lesbians) as part of canon lesbian characters.