#fictober17

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

Imagine a Date With Yakuza!Hanzo Going Terribly Wrong, but He’s Still Trying to Make the Best Out of it (Fictober):

A/N: Alternative title: “Imagine Burying a Dead Body With Yakuza!Hanzo”

“You do still look incredibly attractive in that outfit, you know.”

You glanced over your formerly expensively nice, now grime-covered attire before looking up at Hanzo with a glare. “Really? Right now?”

“Just trying to keep the romance alive,” the equally nicely dressed but now dirtied man responded, raising his hands in defense. 

You rolled your eyes before getting back to work; unfortunately, Hanzo wasn’t the one standing in a freshly opened grave. You grabbed your shovel again and used it to pry open the old, weathered coffin you’d both just finished digging up. After doing so, you assessed the container’s contents--some poor sap who’d withered away to bone a long time ago--and what space was left. After gauging at the spot was appropriate, you gave a curt nod and scrambled out of the deep hole.

“Alright, let’s get the body chunks and bury this guy,” you said, as if that were the most normal of phrases, “You owe me dinner.”

Hanzo flashed you a smirk as he picked up the first of several degradable bags laying nearby, tossing it into the open coffin. “I do love it when you take charge.”

“Would you like to join the grave party? Because I can make that happen, then treat myself to dinner, and a shopping spree.”

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

Imagine Decorating Gabe’s Reaper Mask for Halloween (Fictober):

@cinnasnake20 said: “Hello! This is my first request on tumblr. Okay, I’ll get straight to the point: Festive Halloween imagine with Gabe, The Shimada bros and Brigette with a crush/SO who is a very talented costume + makeup designer who goes all out for Halloween every year!

A/N: I know it’s short, but I hope you like it nonetheless! Also, for whatever reason, Tumblr’s not letting me tag you, so I apologize for that. >->

You were the middle of finalizing your secret project when Gabe caught you in the act.

“[Y/N], is that my mask?”

“N... No...?”

The fearsome mask of Talon leader Reaper was now delicately painted with bright colors and paisley, flowery patterns. The mask now seemed reminiscent of a painted skull. It also shiny, caused by the final layer of varnish you had just added, in order to make the painting permanent.

Glancing from the mask to your scowling partner, then back and forth a couple more times, you offered him a sheepish grin. “You have other masks, right?”

“No.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and slowly moved the mask to cover your face, partially to hide and partially to show off your work. “Happy Halloween-slash-Día de los Muertos!”

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

Imagine Looking at Halloween Decor With Soldier 76 (Fictober):

You were sitting in the driver’s seat of Jack’s truck, legs sticking out the window and lightly leaning on your lover’s shoulder. You had sacks of candy on your lap, meant for the Trick-or-Treaters the next night, but you had one open and were popping a treat of your own into your mouth on occasion as you pointed out the various Halloween decorations on display. 

“Oh, look at that one,” you exclaimed, pointing a house decked out to the nines with Halloween gear. 

In response, Jack slowed the truck to observe the house of attention, squinting against the abundance of orange, purple, and white lights. “Impressive, but loud.”

“Rating?”

Jack contemplated his answer for a moment, taking a hand off the wheel to scratch his stubbly chin. “7.5? Good decor, but they went way overboard on the lights.”

You nodded in agreement, opening a candy and hovering it over his mouth to bite. After he bit half of it off, you popped the rest into your own mouth and gestured for him to continue driving.

“I don’t think anything will past that haunted house a couple blocks back,” you commented. “That place looked wild.”

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

Imagine Having a Prank War With Junkrat (Fictober):

With strategically placed banana creme pies, food coloring, and a tripwire, you’d finally won. The battlefield was horrific, the carnage of your plastic skeletal foes and allies scattered among the remains of weaponry and ammunition: feathers, whipped cream, glitter, trash... Used tricks, both successful and failed, as far as the eye could see.

Your foe, Jamison Fawkes, hated by some, loved by a weirdly large amount, was laying face down in what seemed to be a sea of colored whipped cream. His legs were still caught in the tripwire you had laid out, and even the embers on the ends of his hair were fizzled out, put out by banana creme. He laid still, his body twisted unnaturally in the mess.

“Trick and treat,” you commented victoriously, reaching down a wiping a bit of whipped cream off the man’s shoulder to pop into your mouth.

Your wrist was grabbed mid-swipe and the last words you heard were “Not even my favorite kind of pie” before you met a banana, whipped creamy demise of your own.