Small request- brainweird symmetra and Junkrat sharing tips and tricks (how to fight overstimulation, ocd frustration, etc.)? Your posts have me craving this weird ass friendship between the two and I can't get enough honestly
He liked the workshop. It was dark and cool there, shiny tools in neat rows. It was easy to lose hours down there, tinkering with his bombs and mines till Roadhog showed up to drag him off to dinner. It was his domain. Alright, he’d grudgingly admit Torbjorn had been using it longer, and the bots drifted in and out for repairs, but in his heart of hearts, it was his safe space.
The door opened and he shot it an offended glare.
“Hello, Mr Fawkes.”
‘Metra. Didn’t know it was you.”
“Am I intruding?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
She took the spare bench next to his, the others crowded with Reinhardts armour, awaiting repairs. Mechanical hand glowing, she conjured a seat and a turret, setting to work. Junkrat found his eyes drawn to the turret, a shining treasure that would have been stolen within minutes back home.
“How do those even work?”
She summoned one on the desk in front of him, eyes still locked on her work.
“Feel free to examine it, if you wish.”
There were no seams in the little thing, and he was forced to shatter the casing with a hammer to fiddle with the glowing wires. A soft noise caught his attention, and he glanced over. Symmetra was rocking gently in her seat, swaying more pronounced as she lost herself in her careful adjustments. Looking over, she caught his glance and froze like she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Oh! P-please forgive my dreadful lapse in concentration. I don’t know what you must think of me…”
Junkrat shrugged, reaching into his pocket.
“No worries, mate. I getcha. 'Ere, have a look at what Roadie bought me a while ago. Called a “stim cube”.”
He tossed the grimy little cube at her and she primly caught it in a field. Buttons, clickers and rollers occupied each side of the little gadget.
“'E said it was better than me getting riled up and blowing something up. I still blow shit up, mind, but not so much these days. Ya can keep that if you like, I can get another.”
A flick of her wrist had a perfect hardlight copy floating next to its grubby twin, and she sent the original back.
She held up the little cube and turned it over in her hands. It had smooth edges that felt good against her fingertips. Her thumb found the roller and the motion appealed, smooth and even and repetitive. A rhythm to it, almost. She found herself humming softly as her thumb worked the roller and her free hand made adjustments to her work.
She could get used to this.