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"Cheers, love! The cavalry's here!" lena "tracer" oxton of overwatch. independent + private written by hawke please read rules.

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   >> i tried to remain true to my muse and main reaper but

   im a much better reinhardt

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get on my fuckin level, scrublord

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@reaperborn [ x ]

    The creature-- man? -- appearing from the thick black smoke has her stopping in her tracks, her hands clutching the pulse pistols tightly, her fingers twitching on the triggers. Those shotguns look absolutely lethal, and she has to remember that she has a bloody target on her chest. The light glows a few shades brighter as she braces herself.

     “You’re not getting off scott-free, you bloody codger.” She hisses it, and does a masterful job of hiding her fright. “Put the guns down and come quietly.”

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i’ve been playing nothing but ffxiv for two days and i feel the overwatch itch coming back if you want my battletag now’s the time to ask

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“Who were you with?”

four word prompts [ accepting ]@reaperborn

     “Nobody you need to know about.”

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                                       ZARYA of OVERWATCH

                                                                    Written by Lexie                                                                                (cred)

[brideake-deactivated20170125]

i havent drawn pairing art in 50 years. here have this zarya/tracer

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Four Word . Prompts

“Please, come with me.”

“You’re always number one.”

“I can’t do this.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Maybe I’m just crazy.”

“I’m not even sorry.”

“Honestly, just stop it.”

“I believe in you.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Who were you with?”

“Please talk to me.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“I need you, though.”

“Don’t be fucking rude.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“So, it was you.”

“I need to go.”

“Just stay with me.”

“You can trust me.”

“Alright, I love you.”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Will you help me?”

“You’re a terrible cook.”

“Can you shut up!?”

“You love me, right?”

“I really need you.”

“I don’t love you.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“I really need you.”

“You don’t want me.”

“Let me help you.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You think you’re funny?”

“Hey, I said stop!”

“Will you marry me?”

“Wanna go out sometime?”

“I don’t want this.”

“You always this quiet?”

“Are you fucking insane!?”

“I don’t want you.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“This was never right.”

“You look really tired.”

“I’m out of here.”

“You need to go.”

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       Oi! This is no time for STANDING AROUND!

                             ( independent tracer. )

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    The suggestion of course comes only as a secondary thought to the training Zarya’s mentioned in the hopes that Lena might just oblige her - after all, it’s an exciting thought to share what she loves so passionately with another, even if it’s only just a few exercises rather than weight lifting. However, no such disappointment ever comes across her expression, looking as cheerful as one can be so early in the morning when the sun has barely peeked out from beyond the horizon in the east. 

   “It is learned to be liked,” Zarya adds, shrugging massive shoulders. In all her years, she has always pushed herself to be better, to be the best of the best, and while she can only encourage, she cannot force, but she can still hope that one of these days she’ll at least get one work out in. Even if it is only the bare bones basics. “But it cannot hurt once in a while, hm?”

   The suggestion of pancakes gets an eyebrow raise and a slow wide spread grin that follows through with the very thought of something so delicious that Zarya has not had in quite some time. “Not if we go now.” She comments, deciding that now breakfast should take priority. While she doesn’t mind sharing, first come first serve has always been her method with having several siblings to deal with. She starts with a few steps ahead of Lena towards the mess hall - likely to be empty at this hour - and turns her head over her shoulder. 

   “You certainly have good tastes.”

   It’s rare to hear such a compliment out of battle, but she means it in full. The suggestion never would have come to her to have something beyond the pre-made rations, given her experience in the defense forces, but now there’s almost an excited beat to her long strides, doing her best to keep it a little quiet in case they do accidentally wake anyone else up.

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    “Learned to be liked.” Tracer repeats after her, almost passively, considering the taller woman’s words with an expression that is nothing short of disgruntled. That’s a familiar thing to her; in fact, the pilot’s quite positive she’s heard the same thing from every sort of authority figure in her life. It’s good for you, you should do it! “Oi, Zarya, you ever tried endurance running?” Now the woman grins, placing her hands upon her hips. “Now that’s something I learned to like.”

    She was, at heart, a runner; it had started out as something to keep herself in good shape for her piloting exercises, before she’d ever been considered for the Slipstream. Now it was rare she didn’t do the entirety of a goddamn marathon whenever she set out for her runs-- granted, with the level of activity Overwatch missions tended to require, Lena hadn’t risked anything as lengthy as she usually enjoyed. Gunfire made it difficult to think of leg cramps, but she’d rather not have to deal with the leg cramps in the middle of a fire fight to begin with.

     The chronal accelerator harness’ light glows a few shades brighter as she blinks forward to end up ahead of Zarya’s long strides, managing to keep up. She’s pleased to have the other woman call it a good idea, and it shows in Lena’s expression. “I make very good pancakes, love.” She states it as a fact, smirking as she does. Keeping up with Zarya alone is making her have to keep up, and her mention of endurance running to the bodybuilder suddenly seems like a poor decision. “I can probably manage to make enough with the flower we’ve got to at least stop anyone complaining they didn’t get any...” Here, she pauses, a tilt to her head and a gleam in her brown eyes. “If they know about them, at least.”

    Tracer laughs, and gains a little bit more ground by blinking forward again, only halfway allowing Zarya to lead.

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i’m quite possibly the slowest partner ever, rip; my health’s been shit the past couple of days so i’m struggling to sleep well and be productive but i’ll be back here asap bc i’m less than happy that this kicked in as soon as i started a new blog

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When I was a girl, I had a fear of spiders. I was told they felt no emotion, that their hearts never beat. But I know the truth. At the moment of the kill, they are never more alive.

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    “My pistols aren’t made to be accurate, love, they’re made to unload about forty shots in a few seconds. More important for me to hit something than to be accurate!”

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       Oi! This is no time for STANDING AROUND!

                             ( independent tracer. )

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  Of those Zarya has come to know in her short time serving as a member of the Overwatch, Tracer is someone full of energy in battle, unique in her skill set, and while she has yet to truly witness her capabilities up front when not preoccupied with her own tasks, the soldier knows she is a vital member of the team. Even here, her demeanour is something refreshing despite the seriousness of their missions, present and future.

    This place is nothing like the front in Russia where devastation is a familiar setting; watching it as a child became her motivation to act when her home was attacked, and it never gets easier to see people displaced and homes destroyed in warfare. In the very least, she can respect having a place to stay that provides shelter and warmth where needed, but for her it isn’t necessarily a necessity when so much more is at stake. “No, it is… well it is what it is.”

    The grin shifts into something of a smirk, green eyes settling upon Lena as she draws closer, turning her head to look downwards. “It’s nothing complicated! It keeps your mind sharp and your muscles in shape. There are no weights here, besides the cannon but that might weigh even more than you do.”

  There’s another pause, her gaze shifting upwards as a stray strand of pink is blown away from hanging in front of her eyes. When it doesn’t go away, she settles for her hand to run through her hair. “Besides, a bit of muscle training is always good for keeping in shape for battle.” There’s another pause, hand returning to her hip. 

         “Or, you don’t have to if you do not like. I was thinking breakfast might be nice         - before the others are awake to take the good rations first.:”

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    She’s staring. More than that, she’s aware she’s staring, and is doing a spectacular job of failing not to. Tracer chews on her lower lip for a moment, her head tilted slightly, and her hand trailing from the chronal accelerator around her chest to move and place her hands on her hips instead. It might be read as unconscious mimicry, but Lena thinks nothing of it.

    “Nothing complicated?” Her tone comes across as somewhat dubious; after all, Zarya is a bloody body-builder (last she checked, at least, and didn’t that gun weigh a damn ton?) and Tracer has no doubt in her mind at all that the woman in front of her could likely single-handedly tear apart the base they’re in, including the rivets keeping the walls up. Wishful thinking, maybe, but Lena’s had a few looks at the other in combat, even if Zarya hasn’t seen her; she has exceptionally fond memories of watching Zarya punch someone in the face hard enough to break a few teeth.

     “Muscle training.” She makes a face. Strength training had been a necessity while an Overwatch agent, but truthfully, Lena hated it. She enjoyed exercise, of course, but her favorite training days were for endurance running. She could go for quite a long time, even without her abilities, and it was vastly preferred. “I’m better with cardio, m’afraid. Enjoy it more, too.” She chuckles, wiping the last of the sleep from her eyes, and presenting Zarya with a merry smile at the mention of breakfast instead.

    “Oooh, that’s better!” She laughs. “I think I could dig up some flour and put together some pancakes, but that might wake people up and mean we have to share, ey?”

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   The crack of the soldier’s shoulders resonates in the near empty room that had formerly been some sort of office space but cleared of most of the furniture, save for a broken chair and a desk that had been knocked over, likely as a form of cover. In most circumstances, she would continue her routine, moving on to find something for a pull bar, but given the area, there isn’t likely anything that will hold her weight should she try it.

  Instead, her attention returns to the other woman, noting especially her own appearance of bedhead and half-dressed outfit. A grin pulls at the corner of her mouth; her own hair, for all its shaved sides and spiked top almost remains a little flat in a brief mess of pink. 

  “Of course. Better to be awake and get things done.” Zarya states simply, and then shakes her head at the pilot’s comment, hopefully dispelling any sort of worry. Her hand also follows with a gesture. “No, no, it’s good to have company. It’s quiet here.” The base in of itself will later be active of course, but with their forces spreading thinner and thinner, it’s a wonder there’s that many to populate such a large facility, even if it’s only for a few days to resupply and rest. 

  “I was only doing morning routine. You are no bother. You could join me, if you would like.    – it might even wake you up a little!” 

She’s teasing of course - for all her brute strength and terror in battle, her sense of humour has always remained a force in of itself.

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    Lena has to grin, just slightly, as Zarya cracks her shoulders. The noise is loud, and the pilot thinks passively that she’d be surprised if anything about Zarya did turn out to be quiet. She looks the larger woman over with one hand still resting on the chronal accelerator, and her hair barely any more tamed than it had been previously.

    “It is quiet here, huh?” She echoes her with an almost thoughtful tinge to her voice. This was an Overwatch base she hadn’t previously had any involvement in; as often as she’d been stationed at Gibraltar, besides HQ for the Slipstream, few of the locations were known to her for anything past where they happened to be. Tracer had looked around when they’d arrived, assisting in the usual sweep for any hostiles or valuable leftovers, but this place was still too unknown to her to know right from left. “I mean, I know Gibraltar like the back of my bloody hand, but this is... not Gibraltar.” She laughs, a nervous little sound.

    At the mention of participating in the Russian’s workout, Lena gulps. “Morning routine, huh? What’s that ‘sposed to be?” Considering what she does know about Zarya, she has to assume it’s not exactly as simple as Tracer’s usual running laps (or blinking) around the base to get in a little bit of movement before anything important happened. “I mean, I-- I’m not much of a weight lifter, y’know.”

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@chronalsurge

The downtime between missions never fails to keep the Russian always moving, even at rest. Sitting still becomes difficult, and maintaining her routine takes precedence - even when in close quartered living situations in make-shift bases. Her size doesn’t exactly help matters, moving about the others, and having to duck her head to avoid hitting it off the top of door frames keeps her a little limited to more open spaces.

In the very least, she has her morning routine, of exercises and repetitions that many would deem obscene simply for the sheer amount that Zarya performs each and every single day just after sunrise. In the moment, she is at her one hundred and seventy-eighth push up, wearing only the clothes worn beneath her armour, arms bare to the chilled air. 

Upon the next push upwards, she happens to see movement, and halts her own, noting the familiar bright colouration of one of Overwatch’s finest offense. 

“Dobroye utro,” She says before moving for another push up. Whether it is a good morning has yet to truly be determined, but in the very least, she is now not only the only one awake in this sector of the base. Finishing for an even amount of reps, Zarya rises to her feet, a hand upon her hip. “This is early, even for you, Lena.”

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    She was not, in the thick of it, a morning person.

    Truthfully, the only reason Tracer is currently awake is simply because of a bad dream. It feels a bit silly to call it that; after all, she’s damn well an adult by now, and it seems stupid for her to be driven out of bed and out of her bunk purely because of a bad dream. Still, a bad dream had woken her up, and tired as she is, Tracer’s not about to lie still and fidget. Too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep. She’d tiptoed out of the sleeping quarters after fetching the outer part of her chronal accelerator and sped down the hallway so as not to disturb anyone.

    “Zarya!” The cockney’s tone is one of slight excitement, a grin catching her lips. She looks somewhat disheveled, her brown hair sticking up in all angles of bedhead, and she’s still clad in the under part of her jumpsuit that passes for sleep clothes come night time. The chronal accelerator glows softly from it’s place on her chest, the comforting blue light visible under Tracer’s fingers where she puts a hand over it. The Russian’s comment of it being early merely makes the woman laugh a bit nervously, her other hand coming up to try and smooth down her rat’s nest of hair.

    “G’morning. It is early, huh? I didn’t plan to get up, but-- couldn’t go back to sleep. You know how that is, yeah?” Her tone is conversational, and she bites back a yawn by clenching her jaw. “I think I’m getting ready for whatever we’re meant to do next. Hope I didn’t bother you?”

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tag dump.