#like im not claiming any moral high ground here im sure at the right time in my life with the right ship i..... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harryseyebrows · 2 years

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Omg a letter? I must read it immediately Liz I need to know what your going to tell him

im gonna stick this under a cut bc it’s long af

:readmore:

Why is this not workingggg ahhhhh

I am moving out September 6th. I’m sure this comes as a huge relief to you, as you won’t have to deal with me ever again. Because once I move out, I no longer want any sort of relationship with you.

This is a difficult decision for many reasons. Firstly, because I love Chunky very much and like to think we have developed a bond over the past two years, as someone who has cared for him and loved him since day 1. I wish it could be different, and that I could see him after I move out, but I don’t think it is worth sacrificing my mental health in dealing with you, regardless of the reason. It upsets me to think that Chunky and Murray won’t be able to see each other again, but this is ultimately what I think is best for everyone.

This brings me to my second point: it has not been easy having our decade long friendship deteriorate right before my eyes. We were once very close and could talk about anything. We were always there for each other when we needed it, and it makes me sad that there is no version of our current reality where I can imagine us being like that ever again. Because the dynamic changed when I moved in here, and you seemed perfectly content letting me shoulder the majority of the work in this apartment. And my anger and frustration has been less about your actions or what you don’t do, it’s been your responses. The cheap deflections of statements like “well I don’t expect you to do these things” or “I’m sorry you feel that way” or “well I wouldn’t be able to see it anyway” (in reference to my question of if you have ever had to worry about stepping on or encountering a booger from me while using the shower). You have been physically unable to confront the true issues at hand without throwing out things like “because you’re such a good person” in response to me trying to explain why I don’t nag and remove myself from the situation. I have never claimed to be perfect. And I apologize for not always having the best approaches when I get frustrated and upset about things around the apartment. All I have asked for from the very beginning is a bit of respect and decency, for you to try and understand my feelings without getting defensive or rolling your eyes or storming out of the apartment like a child not getting their way. I have never told you how to live your life, I have never told you that you need to do anything different with your spaces like your desk or your room. But the reality is that the rest of the apartment is a shared space with one kitchen and one bathroom and one living room. When you yelled “I’ll get to it” about the cats’ litter box, I argued “when?” because I have waited. I’ve given it a day or two. I’ve tried to relax and think “it will get done - it doesn’t always have to be my responsibility”, and I’m always left disappointed.

I have tried explaining to you that I make time for the things that need to be done, and you have always found a way to make me seem like a bad person for wanting basic cleanliness in the place where we live. And I do not say this wanting a pat on the back or to try and seem like I’m speaking from some moral high ground. But I have always tried to be as conscious and as courteous as possible to you, by making sure the toilet is clear when I am done using it, by respecting the shower as a shared space and using it and cleaning it to reflect that, and by cleaning up after myself to the best of my abilities and for the time I have available to me in that moment. I have tried to find a good balance between tasks around the apartment and things I want to do for myself, but have struggled because I have no help, ever. You have asked me if I needed help exactly two times, and one was after a phone call where I mentioned that I couldn’t leave quite yet because I had cleaning I needed to finish up on. I’ve expressed frustration in the past about you offering to help, and my explanation was misconstrued and twisted. However, I stand by it. You do not need to offer to help, because I will not let you think that I am doing things that I simply want to do, and you are only offering your assistance. Cleaning should be a shared responsibility. I am not a parent asking you to do your share of chores. You should know what needs to be done. You should already be doing them without me reminding or you having to witness it. Cleaning your toilet is basic hygiene. Cleaning your shower is basic hygiene. Cleaning the counters is basic hygiene. Washing the air fryer after cooking chicken in it is basic hygiene. Vacuuming. Scooping the litter box. Etc. We are 27, not 18 living in a college frat house.

I truly cannot stress enough that I make time for these things, that I prioritize them over watching movies or whatever else. And I am not saying that you need to do the same - feel free to continue to do whatever you want whenever you want. You have said in the past you don’t do certain things because I have “my way of doing them and you don’t do them right anyway” and it is a cheap excuse, plain and simple. Any amount of effort would have gone a long way in your favor but you have proved time and time again that you let stubbornness rule your decision making.

This has never been about us having conflicting and differing ideas of what clean is, it has to do with you not wanting to be wrong, told what to do, and laziness. This has never been a shared apartment. This has always been your apartment, and me an unwelcome nuisance of a guest, who has things to say about you not cleaning the litter box for days on end leaving snot in the shower for me to deal with. You have made it perfectly clear to me that you don’t care how I feel, you don’t care about our friendship being destroyed, and that you have no intention of changing your ways. That is fine. I have made my peace with that. My concerns are for Chunk and his health and well-being under your care alone. Because despite your best efforts to throw me under the bus about “leaving for long stretches of time”, I’ll have you know that when I’m gone, I come back every day or every couple of days to make sure the cats have water and food and to change their litter box, not for a pat on the back or for anyone to sing my praises, and I’m not telling you this not for those reasons. I’m telling you because all of your leverage points on why I’m the bad guy, are weak and misinformed. I do the things I do because I care about the cats and want their quality of life to be good, because they can’t feed themselves or wash their bowls or clean their box. It’s up to the people who take care of them to make sure that care is consistent and timely. Everything is superfluous, but it doesn’t change the fact that normal, mentally well people try their best to keep their homes tidy and clean at a very, very basic level that you continue to refuse to believe.

As someone who used to drive you to work and drop you off back at home when your own family wouldn’t do it, looking for nothing in return, it hurts especially so, that you won’t even treat me with basic human decency. As someone who’s family offered you a place to stay when you needed it, it hurts that you have let this relationship devolve to a point where we don’t speak to each other, one where my parents won’t come inside if you’re home, because they don’t recognize this person you’ve become and don’t want to see you or engage with you. As someone who was there for you, and when you were there for me when I needed it, it hurts to know that you’re so quick and willing to villainize me and write me off as this horrible, bitchy person. I wish you no ill will and hope you find happiness in your life. Best of luck with your endeavors and please keep Chunky safe and take care of him to the best of your abilities. That is my final request.

#hopefully the weird spacing goes away #if not sorry kfjdkdksk #anonymous

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roughentumble · 3 years

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ok NOW. i am done having opinions on it. merry xmas

#like im not claiming any moral high ground here im sure at the right time in my life with the right ship i.....#well. i'd say i wouldnt be any better but i dont recall ever being a truther abt any ship??? so idk....#(if any of my friends out there can contradict me on this: sorry my memory is crap but thank u 4 remembering my sins <3)#but i just. its. *waves hand vaguely*#this is all A Lot #ok im done now. ive said my piece #peace? piece. idk which one is in the saying #anyway

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mbti-galaxies · 3 years

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hello! sorry if this is bothersome, but i was wondering if you could help me distinguish between infp and isfp?

i’ve thought i was an infp for years now, using cognitive functions even. im definitely no expert, just kinda vaguely know what each one is, but i went through it using several sources i and was like “oh yeah oh yeah this is it” but i dont think it’s It anymore ??

i got diagnosed with adhd in december and ive been taking medication, so it’s been a lot easier to be able to distinguish what’s actually my personality and what kind of just comes from adhd. i think that i might actually be isfp. i think i related a lot to high Ne because with adhd youre always bouncing around restless wanting to do all the things, and youre brain’s always on rapid fire mode. but since ive been on meds ive been less like that and more grounded (i still do drift off a lot ofc cause that’s just how it is). and ive been able to realize that i dont actually get caught up in my thoughts a lot,,,,like i dont uhhhh care very much,,,i am not concerned with the future very much? i think im very in the present, and i kind of just do whatever is in front of me. whatever im in the mood for. sensory stuff. i love piano, ukulele, video games, drawing, etc. doing stuff with my hands. im also a dancer; it’s very fulfilling to be able to engage in something so physically stimulating and be creating art at the same time.

anyways this is so long but im very very leaning towards isfp. it’s crazy cause i used to think i was so head in the clouds but actually??? i love to be grounded?? i love to feel and see and observe things instead of be imagining and thinking about abstract stuff?? im very in the present and i Do Not think about future stuff at all? i really dont think about the big picture at all?????

i know you dont know me so you cant really tell me what my type is, but any input or other differences between infp and isfp would be so helpful!! i also just dont really trust myself and im seeking validation or correction lmao. thanks so much for reading this i appreciate you a lot

Hey!! You're not bothersome at all, I love getting asks and talking to people about their types so thank you so much for sending this!

Obviously I don't know you personally so I'm not going to claim I'm 100% sure of what you are, but right of the bat I can tell you that based on your explanation you definitely sound more like an ISFP rather than an INFP.

(I'm gonna put the rest of my thoughts and stuff under a read more cuz my response is long too lol)

First of all the fact that you mentioned being diagnosed with ADHD is actually really helpful because over the years learning about psychology (I'm majoring in it in college) and the MBTI Personality Theory I've definitely noticed that neurodivergency/mental disorders/mental illnesses play a huge role in how people interpret their type. It's really hard sometimes to tell the difference between whether a trait is your actual personality or something else going on in your brain. This is one reason why a lot of extroverts mistype themselves as introverts because they have social anxiety disorder, a lot of sensors mistype themselves as intuitives because they have ADHD(like your situation), a lot of thinkers mistype themselves as feelers because they have depression, etc.

Alright so now let's get into the major differences between ISFP and INFP.

Assuming you're pretty sure that you're at least IxFP, I won't get into the specifics of every single letter and function here, I'll just discuss the differences between having Se or Ne as your second function in the stack. (Fi-Se-Ni-Te vs Fi-Ne-Si-Te)

Compared to INFPs, ISFPs are much more grounded. Of course they still can drift off and daydream, but they tend to focus on the present more than the future and focus the majority of their stimulation on their physical environment rather than focusing the majority on their inner world.

This seems to match up with what you said: "i am not concerned with the future very much? i think im very in the present, and i kind of just do whatever is in front of me. whatever im in the mood for. sensory stuff. i love piano, ukulele, video games, drawing, etc. doing stuff with my hands. im also a dancer; it’s very fulfilling to be able to engage in something so physically stimulating and be creating art at the same time."

ISFPs also tend to be more practical overall. They can definitely see value in abstract ideas, but they don't spend hours thinking about the big picture and wild concepts like intuitives do. ISFPs may not care as much about the meaning behind something, they care more about how it makes them feel or affects the world around them. They're much more based in reality compared to INFPs, and because of this they also tend to be a little more easygoing and willing to try new things. They like to explore and observe and need outside stimulation a bit more than their intuitive counterparts, and because ISFPs are introverts, this stimulation tends to come from creative and sensory activities such as music, arts, games, etc. (In comparison to ESFPs, who might also need social stimulation in addition to these activities)

This makes sense with what you said: "i love to feel and see and observe things instead of be imagining and thinking about abstract stuff?? im very in the present and i Do Not think about future stuff at all? i really dont think about the big picture at all?????"

Some other differences between the two:

Both ISFPs and INFPs have strong moral compasses from their dominant Fi, but ISFPs may be the less strict of the two, or they may be able to change their opinions on something a little bit faster. This is because INFPs have a major tendency to overthink everything, so when new information comes in they basically have to reevaluate a lot of things. ISFPs on the other hand don't necessarily have to think through every little action that they do, if something feels wrong or they learn that something they do is wrong it's a much quicker turnaround since they don't get caught up in their head as much.

ISFPs aren't as idealistic as INFPs. Sure they have wants and dreams for themselves and the world, but they have much more realistic expectations overall.

ISFPs display their passions and feelings through actions primarily. They focus on displaying and expressing things (show not tell perse). INFPs display their passions and feelings through words and meaning primarily. They like thoroughly discussing or thinking through the why, figuring out patterns and connections.

So with all that in mind and your own thoughts about yourself and your type, I'd say you're an ISFP. Feel free to ask more questions if you have any or if I missed something! Thank you so so much for the ask and I hope you have a wonderful day!

#asks #replies #mbti #isfp #infp

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purpurate · 4 years

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🎃 ･ . ✶ ellie bamber. she/her. bubblegum pink lipstick, perfectly manicured nails, dark purple clothing & running in heels. ━━ have you met daphne blake ? the twenty-one year old human seems to be settling in to fearplex apts unit 300 nicely . they’re known for being rather + confident & + headstrong , but seem to be - clumsy & - vain . but , being from scooby doo , they’ll fit in perfectly around here .

Hi everyone :) My name’s Sophie, I live in England, and I’m 25 years old. My activity is probably gonna be sporadic as heck, since I’ve got two jobs (as a school librarian, and a costumed tour guide) and I’m currently doing a part-time distance learning MA in Book History, but I’ll be here when I can!

Here are a few of my favourite things: Supernatural, Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Doctor Who, Elementary, epic covers of songs, finely-bound books, reading, and cats

Here’s some info on my daughter, Daphne:

BASICS

FULL NAME: Daphne Anne Blake

AGE: 21

NATIONALITY: White American

SEX: Cis female

FACE CLAIM: Ellie Bamber

OCCUPATION: Student

GENDER: Female

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

RELIGION: Vaguely Christian

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: Blue

HAIR COLOUR: Auburn

SKIN COLOUR: White

POSTURE: Graceful and poised

HEIGHT: 1.68 m

WEIGHT: 125 lbs

BODY TYPE: Ectomorph

PERSONALITY

ARCHETYPE: The Damsel

QUOTE: “There’s so many groovy things to do!“

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good

JUNGIAN ARCHETYPE: The Innocent

ENNEAGRAM: Type 1 — The Perfectionist

FOUR TEMPERMENTS: Sanguine

HEROINE ARCHETYPE: The Seductress

Here’s a short rambling bio thing:

I grew up watching Scooby Doo, Where Are You? and What’s New, Scooby Doo? so my interpretation of Daphne will be pretty heavily inspired by those incarnations, but I’ll also take inspiration from the 2002 movie, and the sequel. I’m also currently binging random Scooby Doo properties too, so expect inspo from the New Scooby-Doo Movies, Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated, and Scooby Doo and Guess Who. For a full explanation of my inspirations, check out this page

Basically, if you need a refresher: Daphne started out as a bit of a damsel in distress, and was always getting kidnapped by the bad guys, but as the team settled into their mystery-solving structure, she taught herself how to fight and defend herself. She also tended to take more of a backseat in the mysteries, and let Velma solve them all herself, but she’s smart in her own way. Velma might be book smart, but Daphne is people smart

She was definitely the maternal one of the group, always checking on the other members, making sure they were holding up on the road, and being friendly to all the people they met on their travels. Of all of them, it’s safe to say that Daphne was the most presentable member of Mystery Inc.

This brings me on to Daphne’s other defining trait: She’s the fashionista of the gang. She’s definitely not as vain as she was when she was younger, but she’s still super fashion conscious, and likes to make sure she’s kitted out with flattering outfits, in her trademark colours of purple and green, and her hair is neatly styled. Since settling into life in Halloweentown, she’s a regular at the Skull and Bones hair salon

And she has actually settled in pretty well to life in Halloweentown. She and the gang are used to weird occurrences, so she took it in her stride when she and Velma found their way here (I’m keeping their arrival pretty vague until we get more members of the Scooby gang).So, for now, I’m just saying that this is a weird, creepy, town, so Daphne decided to stay, figuring that the mystery would unravel itself in time, and she better get comfy and do her own sleuthing. So, she enrolled at the Witch University to study Journalism, which is something she always wanted to do, but never had the time, because of the nomadic lifestyle of Mystery Inc.

She’s been here for a few weeks now, and is trying to be as friendly as possible to everyone she meets, but she’s on the lookout for anyone who seems suspicious, who might be behind any of the weird goings on in this quaint, but strange, town. She’s living in Fearplex Apartments, so come say hi if you’re a neighbour

TL;DR: Daphne is a fashion conscious, friendly, sleuth, studying Journalism at the Witch University, trying to make a normal life for herself here, and uncover clues as to what is so weird about this place that calls itself “Halloweentown”.

If you want some ideas for an initial meeting, check out these ones below!

Your muse is a supernatural creature, or a generally shady person, who’s not good at hiding what they are, so Daphne is super suspicious of them, and strikes up a conversation, which quickly turns into an interrogation as she tries to nosily get to the bottom of what your muse is up to, or what they’re hiding

Your muse hangs out a lot, or works, at Lucinda’s Ice Scream! Parlour, Witches Brew Coffee Shop, or Skull and Cross Bones Hair Salon. Daphne is always frequenting those places, so they would be great settings for ice breaking chats about whatever

Does your muse live in Fearplex Apartments? This is a simple, but sweet, starting point! Maybe they’re just moving in, and Daphne can offer to help carry boxes, or she runs out of sugar and knocks on their door to borrow some? This is a likely wholesome and domestic place to start a relationship, but it could go in a lot of different directions, if we build on it

Your muse is a student at the university! On top of trying to get to the bottom of the weirdness in town, Daphne is finally taking the opportunity to do what she didn’t have time for when she and the gang were on the road, and she’s studying Journalism at the university! She could be staying up late in the library one night, and she runs into your muse, or maybe she’s just having lunch in the cafeteria, and they bump into each other? The possibilities are pretty varied

Is your muse a monster hunter, a fashionista, a dog lover, a detective? Let’s start there! Daphne would totally compliment a stylish pair of shoes, or a flashy wooden stake, and she’s stopping to pet basically every dog she sees, because she misses Scooby. So, if there’s common ground somewhere, that’s a great jumping off point! Bonus points if they’re trying to solve a mystery around town too! They can compare clues

Your muse is a supernatural creature with a thirsting for human blood! Or maybe they’re just a straight up murderer looking for an easy kill. Daphne gives off those “easy prey” vibes, especially if she’s walking home late at night in her high heels. Why not start a relationship with a fight, or an attack, and just see where it goes? Daphne isn’t as much of a damsel in distress as she used to be, so watch out (ง'̀-'́)ง

Those are all the ideas I have right now, and I’m totally open to just throwing our characters together with 0 plotting, and seeing where it heads! Feel free to IM me, or message me on Discord, if you do want to plot, or just want to chat. I can’t wait to write with everyone! And, if you’ve read this far, have a Scooby Snack! You’ve earned it.

#halloween.intro #ooc.#[warning: this is very long and rambling]#[anyway i decided to post it now]#[before we open!]

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overdrivels · 6 years

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The Way to a Heart (12)

<<Chapter 11

Hanzo, despite his less-than-stellar display of maturity, was surprisingly granted a mission, and he had taken it with such speed, there was no time for anyone to protest (or for you to have made an appropriate lunchbox). It was merely surveillance around Gibraltar, but that must have been more appealing than remaining in the incredible awkwardness at the base.

His absence, however, did little to alleviate the oppressive air in the sparsely occupied Watchpoint. Genji had made himself scarce, and when he was available, was noticeably more distant. Zenyatta’s presence probably did a lot to ease the uncertainty that weighs on the cyborg.

Though, McCree did not know who he felt worse for: Genji or you.

The others had a lot of say about the matter, but McCree cannot consider himself so morally superior that he allowed himself to gripe. The feelings of the Shimada brothers’ are sticky in ways that even those on moral high ground should not comment on—the deed was done and over with, the main thing now is how they feel now and how they’re going to go about handling it. It’s one thing if it’s between themselves, it’s another if they’re going to drag innocent people in their cautious yet reckless game of feelings and painful memories.

You, especially.

After that fiasco, you confined yourself to the kitchens, making quick work of small talk and any attempts to coax you to come out.

McCree tsk’s to himself. You had made such good progress, too. Ana, if she hadn't been away on a mission, would’ve been proud.

It’d be a lie to say the kitchen is the most welcoming place on base. Head Chef Richard was quite generous and lavish in his own way, feeding people just the right amount (neither left wanting nor bursting) with just the right foods—but despite his creed for serving and loving his customers, his priority would always fall on the chefs he kept under his wing. Through his numerous escapades, McCree had long suspected the kitchens were built in such a way that the entire place was both a fortress and a prison, keeping out intruders and holding them in to be dealt with when the time came even without chefs inside. In some ways, this place was better safeguarded than other places in the Watchpoint.

If you really wanted to lock yourself in there, you could and no one would be able to get you out. Similarly, if you truly wanted to keep people out, the kitchen could be on lockdown faster than most would be able to react. The reason for it was assumed to be because of the ‘treasure’, but McCree isn’t so sure.

“Ain’t like you t’ be standin’ still, Chef,” McCree says as he walks into the darkened mess hall and toward the service window where you stood. If he wasn’t expecting it, it would be a creepy sight to behold: a single, unmoving figure in the middle of the brightest light in the entire cafeteria, finer features obscured by shadows. “Head Chef would throw a fit if he saw you doin’ nothin’.”

Instead of the flustered outburst he expects, you remain quiet, hands folded neatly on the counter as though waiting for something. He could fathom a guess for what—or whom.

He drags a stool to the window and sits. From this spot, he can almost see the washing station and a shocking amount of dishes stacked. They don’t seem dirty, but it just looks like they were left there after being cleaned. A troubling sign.

Gently, he tries again. “Hour’s late, Chef. Whatcha doin’ up?”

“...I’m just thinking,” you reply slowly, voice lacking in any energy or enthusiasm.

He makes a noise in his throat. “That so?”

“...yeah.”

The silence settles uncomfortably between you both. He sighs internally and decides to cut to—what he believes to be—the chase. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Your fingers twitch and your hands curl into fists before unfurling and curling again. “...how are you so sure?”

Because you’re obvious and Hanzo is not as unreadable as he believes himself to be.

“Callin’ me a liar now? Mighty bold of ya.”

Jesse expects a laugh or some sort of reaction, not the deafening silence that sounds of guilt and something all too familiar.

“It’s between him and Genji. It ain’t your fault you got caught up in it.”

“If I didn’t decide to make a group meal then…”

“It wasn’t about your cookin’ or how you did it.” It was a fine set-up and wonderfully alive. If it weren’t for the Shimadas’ issues, it would have been an excellent affair that was reminiscent of the old, old Overwatch. The stew was spicy and if McCree was being honest, he’d really rather eat that combination that reminds him of his time on the road rather than the neatly arranged meals you normally make. (Not that they’re not delicious, but there’s just something charming about eating food that is more...appropriate for his person.)

“But he didn’t even take a lunchbox when he left.” Despite how distressed you sound, he couldn’t help a smile.

“Bet you cried yourself to sleep over that.”

“Did not.”

He raises an eyebrow and the silence, a little more bearable, seems to unnerve you and eventually you concede with a huff, “I didn’t cry.”

“...but you’re still feelin’ responsible.”

You throw up your hands and begin to pace as though you’ve meant to do it for a long time. “I should have known! I—”

“Known what? That everyone was goin’ to leave that seat open? That Hanzo would react like that? That we’d have to practically tackle Genji to the ground? You almost got clocked in th’ head with a flyin’ bottle and you still feel like it’s your fault?” He scoffs. “You ain’t psychic and it ain’t your responsibility to keep track of all that.”

“But it is,” you insist. “It’s the least I can do.”

He wants to groan and slap his face and barely manages to resist doing either. “Not this again.”

“It’s true!” You stop right in front of him, slamming your hands somewhere above the partition. “I'm not a hero like you!”

“Ain't never claimed t’be one neither.”

“But you're out there”—and you gesture wide toward some unseen horizon or an imagined place that McCree is sure does not exist—“fighting and risking yourselves and I'm…”

Your hands and your whole body just slumps.

“And I'm in here.”

The silence that follows is almost damning.

There’s always been some sense of self-imposed responsibility from the support-type staff. Well, he can’t say that he was innocent in the matter—long ago, he loathed the easy-going pace of the desk-job people and paper-pushers and those who work with Overwatch but never ever see battle. Why did they get to complain when he’s out risking his hide? Why should people get to live because they’ve got money? Why do those people get to boss them around? (It’s one of the reasons why he liked Reyes so much more than Jack. The former got his hands dirty with the rest of his crew, the latter locked himself up in his offices and meetings. Jesse didn’t care about the heroic stories he was told, he just knows what he saw and what he saw was Jack being a damn sellout.)

But meeting people like you, who are too attached to the idea of ‘responsibility’, he can’t bring himself to be upset. Everyone has their own role to fill, their own troubles, and McCree learned after several years here that people like you probably take it harder than them. He can lose himself in the adrenaline and the missions, but you can only do your best, cooking for agents who are too strung out to appreciate the power of a decent meal and fling it back in your face. It’s too easy to think of the agents’ problems as your fault when it’s their fault for not managing themselves properly.

“It ain’t like you t’ get so worked up over one person. Other people lost their minds over the food before and you didn’t act like this.”

“But that was…”

That was long ago, when you weren’t alone to bear the burden of a discarded meal, when you did not feel so directly responsible, when you had the Head Chef to buffer you. Or is it because of something else?

He knows, vaguely, what you had been doing before you came back to Overwatch. He would have guessed that your skin would’ve been thicker after your ordeals. But for a single person to rattle your cage—

“If it’ll make y’feel better, I’ll hunt him down for you, make ‘im apologize,” he offers.

You snort like you don’t think he is serious—oh, but he’s very serious, no matter how nonchalant he had tried to make the offer seem. It’d be interesting to get Hanzo speaking heartfelt apologies with Peacekeeper against his temple. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s contemplated it (but for different reasons). Jesse wonders if Genji would help, but banishes the idea quick. That might just make things more grisly than it had to.

“I think you should be the one apologizing, too.”

He starts and tries to look at you through the wall. “Me? What’d I ever do?”

“You told Agent Hanzo about the Cellar!”

“And who told you I told him?”

“Agent Genji, of course.”

That son of a—

Jesse smacks himself in the back of the neck and rubs it twice. Well, it wasn’t that much of a secret anyway. He supposes it’s his just deserts—or in this case, just desserts?

“Guess I have two Shimadas to go after,” he says wryly, leaning against his palm, directing a smile up at you that he forgets that you cannot see. “Gotta get justice for the both of us.”

“I don’t think it’s really getting ‘justice’, Jesse.”

He shrugs. “Someone wronged you, so it’s only proper t’get even, ain’t it?”

“I don’t—That’s not right.”

“It ain’t like it’s the first time you’ve got into a tiff with somebody. ‘Member the first time you ‘nd I fought? You kicked me and threw the whole tray at me.”

“You slapped it out of my hands!”

“And we both got a helluva lecture from your boss for wastin’ food.”

He gets something like a cross between a choked laugh and a noise of anguish. It’s not what he’s aiming for, but the night’s young.

“You don’t know it, but Reyes chewed my ass out after.”

“And Head Chef put my on cleaning duty for a week since the extra food was unauthorized.”

“Hey, I put it in the terminal all good and proper. It was one of you messin’ with me that caused all of that.”

“That’s because you tried to disguise yourself as a chef!”

The cowboy pulls out his pack of cigarillos and lights one, much to your horror. He grins to himself. Good.

“Good times.”

“Don’t smoke,” you chide with no real malice. “You’ll ruin your tastebuds.”

“Ain’t nothin’ that can ruin how I taste your cookin’, it’s just that good,” he quips, taking a loud and overly obnoxious drag just to hear you groan in frustration and embarrassment. He smirks to himself. That’s a better reaction.

You wave your hand at the smoke, trying to push it back in his direction to very little avail. For good measure, he even blows a stream in your direction, delighting in the way you swat at it. “Stop that. It’ll get into the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you clean it.”

“Oh? That’s very generous.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs and tips his hat with a grin. “I’m a gentleman.”

Grumbling, you ask to yourself, “What sort of gentleman smokes in a kitchen?” You cross your arms and he can swear you are looking down at him. “I remember when you used to use that trick to try to get in here.”

“Did I now? Can’t remember. Old age must be gettin’ to me.” Even though he clearly recalls having offered his help just so he could get one step closer to the phantasmal treasure that the members of Blackwatch kept conspiring about. It did not succeed, of course.

You make some noise of disbelief and pull out an ashtray from somewhere below the window, slipping it onto the table with a loud ‘clack’. Your message is clear, but he just waits.

And waits, and waits.

Until you cave. “I’m going to make Meatloaf Surprise,” you warn sternly. “And I’ll have Gen—Captain Amari help me.”

He can’t contain his grimace. “Please don’t.” The meatloaf is enough of a threat, but throwing Ana into the mix was just unfair even if she isn’t on base. Taking in one last delicious pull, he snuffs out the end. (Though he can’t say he’s completely displeased with the results—you are coming back out of your imposed silence.)

Seemingly satisfied with his actions, you say, “Thank you.”

He stares forlornly at his snuffed-out cigarillo, itching to put it back between his lips now that he’s had a taste. He's sure you would actually serve him meatloaf if he did. And he would eat it.

“Chef, can I get some coffee then?”

“Use the terminal, please.” But even as you say that, you’re already moving around inside the kitchen. He grumbles a bit as he leans over the length of the counter to punch in his order. “Let me guess, a red-eye for this late hour?”

His finger hovers over the submit button. “Nah.” Beep. “‘s a dead-eye kind of night.”

You choke on a laugh, and already, the kitchen seems a little brighter with the echo of it. “Did you just—”

“E-yep.”

Then the laughter pours out as though it’s been waiting to come out this whole time.

As long as you were feeling better, he could honestly say he’s done his good deed for the day. (The day’s still early, too.)

The days pass by in a haze. Jesse drops by often, insisting on talking with you and being a general nuisance. (Though, you can’t say you’re upset about it. The former Blackwatch agent always had a way of making you talk.)

Jesse was right, regardless. You have other priorities to worry about—you’ve never worried so much about another agent before.

But it’s also the first time—second time after a younger Jesse—you were able to be so close with your customers. Back in the day, you would be taking the orders and making them without truly knowing the faces of the people you served. You’d see their name, look them up in the kitchen’s database if you did not know their habits, and cook. There was still that gap that never truly allowed you to connect with them.

Now, it’s different. You could actually ask them, talk to them, see their reactions, share their joy.

It’s not something you really ever thought of before, but it’s truly a truly precious feeling to have someone’s eyes and face light up when they take that very first bite. Even more so when they finish everything and ask for seconds.

—“We chefs exist for them.”—

It always sounded a little asinine, but with each day here, you think you’re getting closer to what the Head Chef once meant. You’re sure that if you never saw their expressions or received their thanks, you’d still think of food and cooking more shallowly.

Seeing Agent Junkrat lose his mind over something simple like fruit salad—or any fruit in general—was beyond endearing. You couldn’t help but indulge him if only just to see him happy (even if it did eat at your limited inventory). Agent Roadhog, as silent as he was, always seemed to take special care to eat everything clean, thanking you. Mock arguing with Agent Reinhardt about his diet was also fun. He always insisted on bratwurst and fatty substances for his physique only to concede and laugh the exchange off after a few words, leaving with less than you would’ve expected.

Agent Hanzo, though unexpected, definitely caught your attention the most. His sharp features softening into something warmer, younger when eating sweets. It was comforting to watch, strange as it sounds, to see him enjoy himself especially when he always seemed to hold the world at arm’s length.

The nights where Agent Hanzo comes down to drink tea or to eat really puts into perspective the Head Chef’s words. Just by serving him and seeing him eat so earnestly really makes you think that perhaps being a chef was a worthy cause in life if only to help these heroes through the day.

Long ago, the Head Chef would lecture about the agents. How the food you (and every other chef makes) becomes a part of them and that their bodies are made from the food you made. As such, all that they eat must be filled with love. For these agents—these heroes—miles away from home and fighting a war that most people only see through a holoscreen, can easily lose faith and forget the feeling of humanity, and therefore must be loved and nurtured lest they become nothing more than beasts.

—“Love them with all our being.”—

Though, you couldn’t say that you loved every agent.

Deadpan, you stare at the tray Agent Soldier: 76 dropped off. Even from this distance, you can see the food piled up on it, scarcely touched as always. You scrub at your face with your sleeve.

He likes nothing. Indian, Mediterranean, Chinese, French, German, Italian—none of those cuisines have ever caught his fancy, none of those foods have ever received anything more than a nibble despite having one of the highest calorie requirements among all of the agents here. How can you give anyone love if they refuse to have it? What use was pouring in effort if it’s rebuffed?

What does he even eat?

You bite back a groan of frustration even as it claws at you, begging you to voice you discontent and perhaps find Agent Soldier: 76 and give him a good shake or a whack with a ladle or maybe (as unlikely as it is) knock him out and shove food down his throat.

The thought is waved away just as quickly as it comes. No, it's likely not any fault of his own. Maybe he just doesn't like your cooking.

It’s a painful reality to admit, but it’s a humbling one.

It'd be wonderful if he could give a critique or just let you know what he likes—you can't take requests immediately, but the next shipment can be tailored to accommodate him—yet the radio silence he gives you is woefully inadequate in helping you move forward. Each week produces different types of food, but each time produces nothing but a barely touched tray. It’s past the point of being a challenge and stepping dangerously into the realm of making you throw down your apron and leaving the Watchpoint for good.

It was a dangerous balancing act where even the greatest thanks from all agents could be negated simply by Agent Soldier: 76’s apparent refusal to eat anything you make. You cannot give up just because of one person. Your mission is more than just cooking for one person, more than just cooking for a group of agents, and so you remind yourself that you must remain strong.

Resigning yourself to life’s occasional hiccups, you pick up the tray when you pause.

Curiously enough, one plate remained among the different dishes. It’s rectangular, a little smaller and half-hidden among the others, but even more striking is that it’s the only empty plate among other partially eaten dishes.

Hastily, you pick up it up, looking it over, turning it in your hands.

Just what did you…?

Apple pie. There was apple pie on this plate. A few crumbs of flaky crust left behind, but the pie itself is nowhere to be found, a clearing through a dollop of sauce that looks suspiciously like someone wiped a finger through it.

Finally.

A happiness you haven’t felt in a while bubbles up rapidly inside you, pressing up against your chest, blooming, warming everything in its path until it reaches your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you ask no one, half-hysterical.

He ate something you made. Completely.

You press a hand to your mouth, choking on emotion and a victory hard won, breath stuttering and your eyes entirely too warm.

He ate the pie.

You should make more.

Abandoning cleaning duty, you rush across the kitchen and tear into the walk-in freezer, the crisp and chilly air does nothing to dampen your newfound spirits. How many more pies can you make? Should you adjust the recipe? Oh, but you don’t know his preferences, what about the pie did he like? The flakiness? The way the apples were sliced? The types of apples that were used?

Just what did he like so much about the pie?

The fruit make their way into your arms as your mind furiously burns through the options.

If even Agent Soldier: 76 liked these, then this would surely please Agent Hanzo—

The thought of the archer makes you stop in your tracks.

Agent Hanzo would have enjoyed this, would have taken a bite that’s almost too big for his mouth and maybe smiled that secretive smile when he tastes something he enjoys, may have even closed his eyes and breathed in and sighed a little. A bitter smile crosses your face. If only he were here. You’re sure he would’ve loved this.

You shake your head. No, you have other customers to focus on.

What expression did Agent Soldier: 76 make when he ate this? Was it just as soft? Did he smile? Would he have taken a pause to savor it after the first bite?

You couldn’t help but smile wide, shouldering your way back into the kitchen with ingredients nearly spilling out of your arms. It wouldn’t hurt to make more or to go astray from your menu. Just once.

Just this once.

Nothing could bring down your mood as you began to measure your ingredients, all else forgotten.

You’re in the middle of putting the rolled out crusts into the freezer when your communicator rings. It takes a moment until your hands are free, but you light up when you see who’s calling.

“...boss?”

“Asim, good to hear from—”

“Boss.” His tone, cold and curt, makes you stop in your tracks. “We need you back here.”

“Wh—”

“Auditors.”

Your breath comes up short and the dread seeps into your bones, freezing them with full-bodied fear, and your previous elation comes crashing down.

Auditors? From what organization? And why now? The fiscal year isn’t even over yet and you’re sure that last year’s documents were submitted properly—

“They’re asking for all our documents, our ledgers, our—” He takes a shuddering breath. “Boss, you have to come back.”

Without even thinking, you utter, “Asim, don’t—don’t let them take more than they already have. Tell Argus—hold them off while I…”

You brain struggles to form words as plans and concerns flying through them at rapid-fire speed.

You need to go to them—what about your data—how long have they been there—no, you need to let Winston know—but it could be too late—you need to—but Overwatch—but the auditors—how did—

Your feet sway and you cannot decide what you need to do first.

Asim hisses, loud and insistent in your ear, “Boss! We don’t have time! We need you. Now!”

But—

You suck a hard breath through your teeth.

“I’ll be right over.”

And the communications cut off.

The freezer door rattles loudly as you slam it shut, and you almost jam your wrist trying to get the Cellar door open. The door opens then closes after you, lights flickering on automatically after you have already ran past them.

It’s irresponsible to leave Overwatch hanging, but this took precedence. You must see the extent of what the auditors have seen, what they have. If they find out about your operations, Overwatch would be in terrible danger and everything you would have done—all your sacrifices—would have been for nothing.

You could only hope that you’re not too late.

Chapter 13>>

#the way to a heart #hanzo x reader #my writing #HOLY SHITTT WE'RE FINALLY MOVING THE PLOT #HOLY SHITTTT #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #THANK YOU DICKBUTT FOR HELPING ME #AAAAAAAAAA

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