jesse made this

aerihead  asked:

hi hi! its me again with a question if thts alright ;w; i was wondering if all the older members of overwatch, like gabe, ana, and mei, are wardens or if its just a select few!

ok im on mobile on a bus hurtling through the japanese countryside so here’s hoping MY DATA DOESN’T CRAP OUT AGAIN and this actually posts: Ana is the warden that stopped the Blight, with Fareeha as a sorta Kieran deal. She, like Morrigan, escaped off to Orlais after her “death” into hiding. Gabe is a High Enchanter (who had a Bad Time with a Demon and becomes an abomination oops Reaper) and Jack is like, the Templar head honcho, and Reinhardt is a Seeker of Truth a la Pentagast cuz dragon slayage. Torby is a surface dwarf who invents stuff- he designed Jesse’s prosthetic (but Jesse hides it cuz he uses magic to control it) and he also made Jesse’s crossbow, Peacekeeper, which is basically Bianca. Am i missing anyone??? dont think so…


Mchanzo Week- Canon Divergence/AU

In which the hunter falls for the lord of wolves~

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If you ever want to make yourself really depressed, just do an Until Dawn playthrough with Jess as the lone survivor. Not only is the child a complete wreck by the end of the game, but she has no idea what happened. Imagine her finally getting out of the mines, bleeding and concussed and probably with a broken rib or four, limping back to the lodge only to find the place is burning to the ground and all of her friends are dead. 

Then the police show up and take her to the station and pummel her with questions, and all she can say is, “I don’t know…I don’t know.” She would probably even be the top suspect for a while, at least until the cops start to find bodies and realize a teenage girl who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet could physically never have done that

Imagine her attending seven closed-casket funerals, people staring at her the whole time, whispering behind their hands. Imagine the survivor’s guilt, the sessions where a mild-faced therapist tries to convince her it wasn’t her fault. Imagine her staring blankly over the therapist’s shoulder and remembering the moment when she first dreamed up that prank, putting the note down on the table where Hannah would be sure to find it. 

Imagine that while she was being dragged away through the snow, she tried to fight back against her unseen attacker. All of her flailing and scratching had no effect, but the police scrape under her fingernails for residual DNA anyway, just to make sure. It takes so long to hear back that she almost forgets about it, until weeks later, when the cops tell her that, somehow, the trace under her fingernails came back as a match to Hannah Washington.

Imagine that she sleeps with a lamp switched on for the rest of her life. It still doesn’t keep the nightmares away: dreams of being dragged through the snow, unable to see anything but bits of dark sky and spindly tree branches, Hannah’s laughter echoing all around.