#scrapxrat

Send ⁇⁇ and my muse will blurt out any and all questions they’ve always wanted to ask yours.

starter for @scrapxrat

The meeting the gorilla called them for was a dull one that Hanzo could muster little interest for. What his attention was taken up was the man sitting on the farthest end of the room from him. 

The junkers from Australia naturally caught the eye - they were eclectically dressed, filthy from head to toe, and simply so big in presence that whenever Hanzo cast his gaze around the room, his eye lingered on them a few seconds longer. Roadhog. Junkrat.

Originally, you weren’t that angry. He’d gotten your bike wrecked, gotten the two of you stuck in a strange town, yes. But he had the audacity to tell you it was YOUR fault, to try and punch you in the face under some delusion that you caused this. That’s what set you off. 

You stare at him for a few minutes, surprised.

Surprised that he’d make such a STUPID mistake.

You round on him immediately, headbutting him in the face with your heavy left fist following up not far behind as you jab him in the stomach. The Junker is slammed into a wall and you’re in his face, snarling. Another headbutt, and while the kinetic response hurts him worse, there’s still some recoil that gets you back. 

Broken nose aside, you grab a handful of what’s left of his hair, forcing him to look at you.

“Y o u      s t i l l       t h i n k       i t ‘ s      m y      f a u l t ?” When no response comes-- probably from him being dazed, you’re slamming him into the ground, kicking him in the ribs with your steel-toed boot.

Roadhog started to reply but the sneeze that forced its way out of him was gross sounding and he was lucky to have a tissue on hand because it only ended up super gross when he pulled the tissue away. Ugh... He hated being sick. Even if it was just a really bad cold. 

“Yeah...”

“I’ll stop treating you like one when we get the hell outta here. I ain’t lettin’ ya just parade around when yer in heat like some sorta dirty buffet.” 

Roadhog growled as he tried his best to usher the bratty younger man back to the bike. The last thing he needed were other Alpha’s encroaching in when their cover had yet to be blown. Anyone with a brain would know who Junkrat was when they got close enough. 

An irritated growl leaves you, but you obey, beginning the slow process of spinning your hook to get some momentum going.

When you let go on the final rotation, you keep the momentum, letting the chain itself hit Jamie rather than the hook, with coils easily around the Junker, the hook locking into place on one of the loops.

@scrapxrat 

Running through cornfields is, arguably, the perfect pastime.

It isn’t your farm, but it’s fuck all in the late night as you charge through the saw-like leaves and stalks. You’re cut the fuck up, blood oozing from a plethora of cuts adorning your marred features. You pause when you reach a tiny bit of clearing, stopping to catch your breath and clean the spiders and caterpillars off of yourself.

It’s only when you look around do you see the creep scarecrow effectively crucified on the wooden post.

Is that real?

Junkenhog scratched at the areas where his mask was haphazardly stitches into his skin. Sure with a few tugs he could get the mask off and let his cold skin beneath breathe. Yet his mind was hazy with ideas of him thinking it best to not remove it...

Lest he upset his Master.