#junkenstein verse

[genyatta]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Blinding by Ora (Finale) on AO3. Junkenstein verse. Warning for Symmetra/Mercy (is... there a ship name for them?).

[comingupexxplodey]

@cryoprotector liked for JUNKENSTEIN

He’d been working on something, not entirely sure of it’s purpose as if yet, his mind fogged, trying to think of ways to impress his Lord. To entertain. To be useful in some form. He did not hear the entrance of someone to his abode, which was keep under the castle, the good doctor locked away, certainly suffering from some form of Stockholm Syndrome after so long of being down there. No one ever came down here, that were not guards at least, so he most likely thought it was his mad imagination, playing tricks.

It was not until he heard a voice, and a FEMALE one at that, that he JUMPED almost out of his skin, his metal hand slamming the equally metal table, peg-leg almost giving out from under him, all in an attempt to gain leverage and posture, in case the leg decided it didn’t want to hold him up anymore. After his initial shock and a contained gasp, he whips around, sliding his goggles from his eyes to his forehead.

“ Who are you-? ” 

[comingupexxplodey]

@cxplcsivc​ liked for JUNKENSTEIN

“ AND NO EMERGE FROM YOUR QUATERS UNTIL YOU MAKE SOMETHING TRULY AMAZING! ”

A voice BOOMED as the door flung open, a poor man being practically thrown in, slipping on the small few steps beyond the heavy wood and stone door. Luckily his peg leg had not caused him to fall. He glanced back with a forced glare, which held hurt and grief under it’s thin layer of hatred.

Brushing himself off, he limped over his work desk, hunching forward to put his head in his hands, letting out a shuddered, strained breath. His fingers dug into his hair, to his scalp, body tensing as he growls and whimpers to himself, broken and frustrated.

But then there’s a sound.

It’s small, something being knocked over. The spark of a wire. The scattering and skittering of something behind high towers of machinery and devices, partially covered by a dirty white sheet, still powered as lights blink and flash faintly next to designated knobs and switches. He stands up straighter, squinting as he carefully removes his goggles to slide them up to his forehead. All grieving was replace with scattered curiosity.

“ Who’s there? ”