Me when I say I don't care about the demons but then the demons won (the demons is ramattra overwatch)
place to occasionally post some rambles/unfinished drabbles + reblogs
Heyo! I made this blog in order to archive my ramattra overwatch centric ficlets/wips/writings (usually from twitter) and maybe rb some ow things o7
Void | They/Them | Adult | All writings are tagged with #void writes
I mainly write about Ramattra and omnics, I'm multipship / very flexible w/ headcanons which my writing will likely reflect 👍
Open to requests o7 can't promise I'll finish them or finish them quickly if so but down to give things a shot, though I will not write r/eader, n/sfw, p/roship, etc.
Ships that'll be here for certain jsyk: Ramyatta | Sigmattra
An exchange written by my friend and I from our AU (that I have normal feelings about <- lying) where Hanzo and Ramattra meet and travel together as close companions before the formation of Null Sector and Overwatch's recall. Another thank you to my dear friend @victorygrasped for not only Ramattra's part, but also for encouraging me and holding my hand about posting my writing.
Characters: Hanzo, Ramattra, mentions of Genji
Pairings: can be interpreted platonically, or as Ramzo / Bowstaff
Word count: 693
A private conversation in the dead of winter. Ramattra asks Hanzo about the brother he never speaks of, and the other allows himself a chance to reminisce.
"Tell me," he spoke suddenly, breaking the silence with as much decorum as throwing a hammer through glass, "About your brother." It was a bold question, he knew, and yet Ramattra did not falter, turning to stare directly at the archer, "I do not mean whatever... might have occurred between the two of you," there was a pause, his tone softening for a brief moment, "That shall always be your decision to make."
He caught himself, letting out a small sigh of static as he ignored the implications of his comfort and carried on.
“No, I mean something…. Day-to-day,” it was a practice that Mondatta had imparted with him, as bitter as the thought was now, to find beauty within the past so that he may learn to respect it. At the time, it'd been one of the few lessons he'd struggled to understand the true purpose of, and yet, there he was. Repeating it now, “A... habit, he had. Or a memory where you were both amused. Something inconsequential, whatever comes to mind first."
The sharp intake of breath that punctuates the question is Ramattra’s only indication that Hanzo has heard him, the archer otherwise not even turning to acknowledge him from where the omnic stood beside him.
In the silence of his mind, Hanzo attempts to stir up age-old recollections, grasping for an answer, something to tell his companion— struggles, and fails. Genji’s face blurs in every scene, shaky smears across the canvas of his memory that refuse to focus and take shape. He remembers a time when he would have given anything to forget his brother’s face— but now, the prospect terrifies him. How could he forget?
The pair are briefly enveloped once more in wintry quiet, silhouettes painting solitary figures against a backdrop swallowed in white by snowfall. Hanzo interrupts this time with a quiet huff that has the air misting around him in the cold, gloved fingers rubbing absently over the bridge of his nose.
“In our youth, our father would often send me in search of my brother. He was… seldom home when he was needed.” Hanzo begins hesitantly, “Reliably—around this time of year—he could be found at one of the izakayas in town.
“The noodle shop that he frequented was a shared favorite, the Rikimaru. It was his preferred haunt after a night out drinking or wandering the party districts. I had the opportunity to dine with him on one such occasion,” a flake of ice drifts from his eyelash and into the palm of his hand as he blinks slowly, “I had caught him during the early hours of the morning and had intended to drag him back home.
He crushes the cold shard between two fingers.
“Instead, I stayed and shared a meal with him.”
Genji tilts his head from where it rests on his knuckles, momentarily quiet as Hanzo finishes eating. There is a loose-limbed, self-satisfied glow about him, and a smudge of rouge just under the curve of his chin that Hanzo has to stifle an urge to wipe away. The soft crinkle at the edges of his lips betrays his intention to speak before he even opens his mouth.
“You won’t tell Dad, will you?”
Hanzo hums, setting down his lacquer chopsticks on the rim of his now empty bowl.
“There is very little he does not already know.”
“He could stand to worry a little less,” ventures Genji, “and so could you, anija,”
“If you expect for me to turn a blind eye over a bowl of ramen, dear brother,” warns Hanzo, “you will find yourself sorely disappointed.”
This coaxes a laugh out of Genji—each one bubbling out of him always like they take him by surprise—and he finds his resolve softening in spite of himself. Haloed by the warm haze of electric lights, knees bumping together under their cramped table, Hanzo has never wanted to forgive anyone so badly.
“Then the next ones will be my treat.”
(If Hanzo had bothered to remember, he would recall it as the last time they would eat a proper meal seated together.)
He wonders, distantly, if it too is snowing over Hanamura.
Tell me, then, how to share a heart that must ache
Because I feel like it, shares a ficlet I wrote some time ago for my beloved friend for our beautiful AU that we've been ill about for the past months, wherein Ramattra and Hanzo meet at some point after Ramattra leaves the Shambali, but before the formation of Null sector, and the two travel the world together for some time before parting ways due to circumstance
pairings: Left vague, but implications of Ramyatta and Ramzo, with a focus on Hanzo from Ramattra's perspective
word count: 1517
A conversation between Ramattra and Zenyatta, taking some time after Null Sector's Invasion, regarding the situation between himself and Hanzo.
The question arrived on the dawn of the spring's equinox. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Zenyatta had chosen the day on purpose. As much as Zenyatta was averse to metaphors, Ramattra knew intimately that the omnic happily indulged in his fair share of poetics. Especially when it was to make a point.
“He is important to you.”
It was said as an observation, not a question. Neither of them required clarification to who the 'him' in question was, and yet Zenyatta deigned to provide one anyway, as silence lingered for moment too long.
“Genji’s brother, Hanzo Shimada.”
“He—”
He doesn’t enjoy that. Shimada.
Ramattra stopped the words from falling out, fingers twitching from where they rested in meditative pose at his need for correction. He hesitated and, briefly, he considered lying. Avoid the topic for fear of what it could entail, return them instead to the idyllic nothings they had been exchanging mere moments ago before the lull in their conversation had given Zenyatta his opening.
He could, the temptation fleeting, yet he knew he wouldn’t. It had only been a matter of time, and he was not fool enough to believe he could hide his heart from Zenyatta. The world? Unquestionably. But not Zenyatta. Never Zenyatta.
Letting out a quiet, resigned, sigh, Ramattra gave the answer they both already knew.
“Yes,” his voice quiet, tinted with static. A confession, “I suppose he is.”
He paused, a moment of contemplation. Part of him felt… uncertain. His trust in Zenyatta ran deep, he knew there was no reason for him to feel so tense. Perhaps it was only natural, It would be the first time he’d been asked such a thing so directly.
Even between Hanzo and himself, it had all simply... happened. They had never truly discussed the nature of their situation. There had been no need to, when their eyes had been on each other and the horizon before them, ignorant to how each step brought them closer towards cliff's edge.
It was unfamiliar, trying to say with words that which they had only ever said with actions.
“Genji has told me much about Hanzo. Your paths have a number of similarities,” Zenyatta eventually continued as silence stretched, gentle as he could be with his words. An effort Ramattra was grateful for, as much as it sickened him with shame, “And yet... I would not have expected it. Especially considering his attempt on your life.”
That caught his attention. Ramattra's head snapped up away from his hands to meet Zenyatta's gaze.
“How—”
He bit down his words and the tremor of bitterness threatening to encroach into the conversation, if it had been Zenyatta's… student, who told him of such detail. As much as he wished to avoid questioning, the day had been pleasant. He did not wish to ruin it further when he had already ruined so much when it came to Zenyatta.
Ultimately, however the other knew of that particularity held no real importance, and if the need rose, there would be time for to ask later. Letting out a small huff and forcing away the tension that'd spiked within him, Ramattra averted his optics once more, mind turning towards the past instead.
“Make no mistake, it'd hardly been in my expectations, either,” he allowed his tone to go wry, faint trace of amusement finding its way into his words, “It hadn’t occurred to me that it could even be a possibility until long after it had already happened.”
Perhaps that was exactly it had happened. It was such a ludicrous idea, for him to have grown... for him to have found companionship in the human, that Ramattra hadn't been unable to to defend himself from it, the lack of foresight voiding any chance for preparation.
“In hindsight, the transition from him being merely some human, to…” his voice softened without his awareness, laced with unspoken thoughts he himself would fail to understand, “Hanzo, was so unremarkably mundane, it took some time for the significance of it to process.”
More accurately, he had not allowed himself to process it, as if avoiding its mention, avoiding pointing out each time where Hanzo took a step closer and each time where Ramattra had allowed him, would have preserved the peace they'd somehow carved out in an unforgiving world.
It wouldn't have been until much later, as he attempted to rip each trace of it out his chest, did he allow himself to realize how fool he had been.
He had been a fool, yet he knew it could have very well been worse had he dared to bring light it. Like this, they could at least pretend to others it had never happened. Like this, the world could remain ignorant. Like this, Hanzo could be safe.
“You... speak of him with familiarity,” there was hesitation in Zenyatta's words and posture, uncharacteristically uncertain.
Ramattra could hardly blame him. After all, how could Zenyatta know? Zenyatta, who had been there to witness his love for humanity be chewed up, spat out, and stepped on, time after time? Zenyatta, who had been his resentment grow with each day, the only one there who held his hands as they shook from ill contained fury and discord, terrified he might snap within Monastery walls?
The very notion of Ramattra having possibly found connection with a human... Zenyatta was neither shallow nor a fool, but it was only natural for him to have been surprised at such notion. He knew plenty well just how stubborn Ramattra could be.
And yet, Hanzo... it had all occurred long after Ramattra had left the monastery, unable to bare another day within its walls at the knowledge of his people suffering at human hands. It had all occurred long before he had waged a war, liberation, against humans in desperation to save his people.
All that had happened in between... all that could have been... all that had been...
At the end of the day, it meant nothing. Their paths diverged, as his and Zenyatta's had. It was pointless to ruminate on the past, the thought clawing into his chest in painful insistence.
It mattered not, how guilt and regret may threaten to drown him, so long as they didn't. He had left Zenyatta. He had left Hanzo. Left behind those days where he could have pretended to be something other than what he was in reality, because he could no longer stand to indulge himself as his people relentlessly suffered around him.
It didn't matter how good of a thing it had been. It didn't matter how much he might have missed them. It didn't matter that it had nearly shattered him to be on the other side of the battlefield from them.
It didn't matter how often he had to break his own heart if it was a means to an end. His duty, his fury, his love gave him the strength to continue forwards and that was enough. Ramattra was secondary to his people, those he loved and grieved. It was a truth he could never change.
“You speak of him with familiarity,” Zenyatta repeated, tone quiet, questioning, drawing Ramattra out from his spiraling thoughts, “As he speaks with of you.”
The thought of Hanzo still caring, for all of the evidence he'd been provided, continued to twist an arrow deep within Ramattra's systems. What could he possibly say to that? He was at a lost for words, something that had begun to grow disconcertingly common.
How could he possibly explain it all to Zenyatta?
That Hanzo had been the only human to meet his gaze without disgust or range and not flinch away, that Ramattra had only ever seen such boldness from Zenyatta before?
That Hanzo's trust had been intoxicating to have, that every time the archer had fallen asleep resting against his chassis, it had burned and left him wanting?
That he had been happy? That through Hanzo's eyes, Ramattra had almost begun to remember why he, for all of its cruelty, had once loved the world he'd been Awakened in?
That he could have... that they could have...
“We spent some time traveling together,” Ramattra said briefly instead, unable to look at Zenyatta directly, unsure of what the omnic might be reading from his body.
There would be a day where he could dare to say such foolishness aloud without evisceration. Until then, he knew Zenyatta’s patience, and for once, Ramattra begged for it. Just once, a promise, as broken all his promises had begun to sound. Just this once, and next time, he would be brave.
“I suppose it is only natural for the two of us to learn some things about each other along the way, before…” a falter in his words, a crack in his attempt for nonchalance, “...Before.”
“...What happened?” Zenyatta's tone quiet, as if he did not already know the reason. As if the very same had not happened to him, all those years ago.
Still, Ramattra would humor him with the answer. In this, at least, he required no hesitation.
thinking ab maybe making some gif sets,,,,, been trying to refamiliarize myself with photoshop,,,,,,,,,, looks respectfully, if anyone has a cinematic / scene / moment they'd like gif'd lmk :]
Pairing: Ramattra/Zenyatta
word count: 1533
Notes:
some extracts from a hypothetical fic of my ramyatta roleswap au, ramblings/explanation ab it here on twitter!
Takes place in a time similar to current canon. Ramattra meeting Zenyatta for the first time since the latter left Shambali
There.
Hidden within the shadows of chaos and discord he noted the lone omnic. Such a beautifully simple model. Face plates serene, original purpose lost to the tides of time forever to remain a mystery.
It may have been decades since he had lived his first life as a Ravager beneath Anubis’ command, built and taught for war, but he had never truly gotten rid of the lessons he’d been bestowed from that time. Unable, and more privately, unwilling, to part with such valuable knowledge, regardless of the pain and grief they brought. to him.
Every part of him that had once been a general hummed in approval at the sheer brilliance displayed by Null Sector. After all, who could possibly suspect the ruthless and feared leader of Null Sector to be such a passive appearing garden variant omnic? A perfect disguise. Ingenious. One of the millions, doubtlessly unremarkable and unimposing to any fool who didn’t know better.
But Ramattra knew. Knowledge irreversibly and deeply etched into his code and his chassis. For a moment, he'd forgotten he lacked the lungs required to breathe, his air stolen by the mere sight of the other omnic. Wires and circuits long frayed sparking to life in answer to his awestruck state.
He stole, needed, a second longer to collect himself. Forcing himself to tear his optics away from the omnic and towards the sounds of gunfire and explosions, the rubble and ruin, just around the corner. A pointed reminder of his task at hand. Ulterior motives had to wait, he could not afford to dally when his allies and his people were in danger.
(Even as logic dictated his moves, he could not stop the sheer ache within his chest cavity. How long had it been since he'd last seen the omnic? He knew, of course, down to the last millisecond. How long he had waited for this moment, since their promise. Because it had been a promise, hadn't it?)
"I see that you've been quite busy since last we've met, Zennyatta," his voice kept carefully light as he walked into the omnic's line of sight, closing the distance between them with easy steps, his grip on his shepherd staff hiding the faint tremor that ran through his hands and discord raging within his core. He had no doubt that the other hadn't noticed him yet, that he had chosen to wait for Ramattra to make the first move and it ached.
It felt as though an eternity passed before Zenyatta turned his head towards him, looking up at him. Their kind had no faces for expressions, and though some had chosen modifications to mimic them, that applied to neither of them. Still, they had body language. They had their energy.
The relief and sheer delight in Zenyatta's form could have had him weeping, had he chosen to give himself that ability.
"Ramattra," Zenyatta murmured, and oh. How long it had been since Ramattra had last heard that voice utter his name. How dearly he had missed it.
"I don't suppose I could simply put a cease to this destruction so that we may talk in peace, could I?" wry amusement colored his tone, otherwise kept steady. For all the discord within him, he could never forget his place and his duty. He couldn't bring himself to bear the guilt of trying, as much temptation rang at his door. Years of biting his tongue, metaphorically, engrained deep. Still, he did not look away from Zenyatta, the one indulgence he could excuse. His optics carefully drinking in every inch of the other omnic, quietly, desperately.
Zenyatta laughed at his quip, painfully familiar and causing warmth to bloom in his system. He hadn't even realized how cold he'd felt moments before.
"It is good to see you, Ramattra."
"Likewise," he replied immediately, because it was. Undeniably, truly, was. But his voice quieted, a heavy sigh falling out, "I only wish we could have met again under better circumstances."
"I had noticed you were not there when Brother Mondatta condemned me."
Ramattra huffed, shifting where he stood as he glanced away, "You will find that I have held… uncertainties over some of Master Mondatta's opinions for far longer than you have."
"And yet," Zenyatta's gaze passive yet sharp, "It is only I who has decided to act upon our doubts."
"Do not be so emboldened as to assume me a fool, brother," oh, if only he could smile. Image of humans doing the same dancing at the corners of his mind, thin lipped and weary. The thought brought him to a slight pause. He'd been surrounded by far too many humans of late in search of Zenyatta, "Of course I have considered… alternative methods. Not all of my pilgrimages and ventures out of the monastery were particularly peaceful. You, of all people know that."
"So you must forgive me for failing to see why you would wish to stop me."
"There is nothing of you to forgive, for there is nothing I haven't already forgiven," his voice was quiet. A terribly foolish thing to admit, but he could not bring himself to lie to Zenyatta on his. He could lie to others and to himself, but not Zenyatta.
A foolish thing. But then again, he'd always been a bit of a fool around the other omnic. Perhaps it ought to be of relief to find that that much had not changed between them.
"You fight for our people, you fight for our lives," Ramattra continued, emboldened, "I know you take no joy in the violence, in the destruction. I know that you subjugate yourself and those innocent to it not out of sadism, not out of some corrupted coding, but out of desperation. Out of fear and care. You act out of love. Love and deep grief," he was certain, because he felt the same. It was so horribly easy to see them side by side in another life, sowing discord in vain hopes to bring order and peace, "How could I possibly resent you for loving our people?"
“I only fear that you will only find pain and failure upon this path,” Ramattra murmured, his head tilting to the side. His hand curling around his crook and small whir of a sigh, betraying his unease, “I should know, brother."
“Failure is acceptable, giving up is not,” Zenyatta countered, words spoken far too artificially for him to take any comfort from them, “If I am to give up now, then what message could possibly be imparted? That the will of omnics is flimsy? Breakable?”
“That we are not adverse to peace,” he replied evenly. The implication of frustration shown in the terseness of his chosen tone, the stiffness of his body, if only his exhaustion wasn't made much clearer, "We have fought for it for far too long to give it up. It is not right of us to undo the progress that Master Mondatta and the Shambali had worked for-"
"Master Mondatta left us before he could succeed," Zenyatta said quietly, so surely and it was the first time Ramattra could remember feeling anger towards the other omnic.
"Do not try to imply that change can die with one being," he snapped, harsher than he'd intended, but the images that'd been haunting him ever since he'd realized just exactly who was in charge of Null Sector burned bright and vivid in his processors. His anger held naught in comparison to the paralyzing fear he felt at the mere idea of Zenyatta's demise.
“I can't lose you!” Ramattra snapped, hands spasming in place, body frozen from overwhelming emotions before suddenly moving, lunging forward and grabbing onto Zenyatta's shoulders. His height had him towering over the other omnic, yet still, he felt as though he were on his knees, “There is only so much I can do, there is only so much I can handle. I am sorry, I am sorry and I can only beg for forgiveness for such weakness but please,” his voice module distorting as his composure, usually so proudly maintained and kept, turned to ash before them.
Foolish. Idiotic. Truly weak. Was there anyone he could save? He could not save Mondatta. He could not save their people. And now, he was failing to save Zenyatta. How pathetic could he be? How low could he fall?
“I cannot bear the weight of your loss,” desperation poured from each of his words, yet even then, his touch remained gentle. Far too gentle. Restrained and controlled, as he was taught and as he had learned, “Do not ask that of me, I will not be able to."
He could force Zenyatta to stop. He could physically restrain the more fragile omnic and take him far away. For his own good, for all of their good.
But Ramattra would not. No matter how part of him ached to demand. To take. To be. He could not. It had been so long since he was allowed to want for himself, he had forgotten how.
“Please, Zenyatta,” he pleaded, words barely recognizable past the static, because begging was all he had left, “I cannot lose you too.”
Pairing: Ramattra/Zenyatta
Word count: 633
Notes:
Set in an undetermined time before Ramattra left the Shambali
...“Dance?” Ramattra repeated with an inquisitive tone, head tilting slightly to the side. He would not call it the oddest thing the other omnic had ever asked from him, but it was still an unusual one. The oddity of it was added to only further by the frigid night and threat of snowstorm upon the near horizon.
“Yes, dance,” Zenyatta turned his gaze away from the snowy landscape of Nepal to Ramattra, voice light and teasing, “I know you are aware of the concept, you were there when Brother Mondatta held his sermons around the topic.”
“And I’m certain you’ll recall I chose not to engage in practical element of them,” his reply dry before gesturing to the sharp winds and snow falling around them, “I would have to add, I fail to see how these are the ideal conditions for meditation or prayer, no matter the methodology.”
Zenyatta chuckled at that, a quiet sound yet clear as crystal to Ramattra. Noise that never failed to make something skip in his programming, an error he’d never quite understood nor truly attempted to figure out and resolve, no matter how concerning any problems in his system ought to be.
Then again, there was much about Zenyatta that mollified the lingering (unyielding) parts of him that demanded discord. The trust he’d built with the other omnic was far from one he took for granted, one he privately took far more comfort in than could be considered appropriate.
“No, I do not ask you for a dance with those reasons in mind,” Zenyatta continued with humor in his voice, “I ask out of a desire for… enjoyment.”
The answer startled a laugh from him, sincere and filled with warmth, a sound that was only ever privileged towards the other omnic. Shaking his head with amusement, Ramattra huffed and rested his staff against the nearby stone wall. If only Zenyatta’s rare eccentricities weren’t part of what made the omnic so fascinatingly endearing. A thought that was logically intriguing enough to be considered worthy of pondering, was it not for the way his systems twisted with discomfort at it.
“Very well, you have my attention,” Ramattra acquiesced with a faux sigh, ignoring the wayward thoughts in his mind and offering his hand towards Zenyatta, as though they weren’t both aware that it would have been his answer from the start, “And exactly which dance do you propose for us? I must admit, I cannot easily envision you as the type for tango. Or perhaps you wished to waltz?”
Zenyatta’s touch briefly rested on his wrist before taking his hand, the omnic’s optics lingering on it for a moment longer before asking, “You are familiar with these dances?
“Familiar is not the word I would use,” he amended, quietly saving a record of Zenyatta’s gaze in a database of countless other similar moments, “But you could say that I’ve studied them before, that is correct. During my attempts to… comprehend human culture, dancing had shown itself to be a rather significant element of it. I have seen many variants of it, although I myself have never engaged in the act before.”
“Then perhaps you may enlighten me with which dance you deem fit for us.”
“You drag me out here into the cold, ask me for a dance, and then demand that I be the one who guides you?” mirth belying his teasing words, reprimand nulled by the way he went to grasp Zenyatta’s other hand, leaning down so that their faces were but a spark away from each other, “I’m afraid that you will find the path to enlightenment is not upon the shoulders of others.”
“And yet,” Zenyatta hummed, tone more than pleased as he gently clanked their foreheads together, “No two journeys are ever the same.”
