I'm Trying To Make Up The Olympics Avengers And I'm Having A Dilemma

I'm trying to make up the Olympics Avengers and I'm having a dilemma

I would make Kim Yeji Black Widow but I want to make Simone Biles Black Widow (although she could also be Spiderman)

they started killing each other .1 microseconds after this photo was taken

y'know how some dogs climb up into your lap reeaaally slowly like they're being sneaky

i think pyro does that

Not gay people!!!1!1!!!!1!!!!11!!!

I drew this in an afternoon be nice to me

I may be a little late but do I care? No.

2AM Engineer mini fic thing :)

This contains our good friend the Engineer waking up at 3AM and being sad and scared. It's a little angsty, but not like... Terribly, if you know what I'm saying. Also, it was written at 3AM so don't expect a super long masterpiece written like poetry

I'll post this on AO3 at some point, probably.

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MICROSCOPE

Engineer can't sleep. Regret rears it's ugly head and taunts him.

CONTENT WARNINGS

• Mentions of Breast Cancer

• Mentions of Death

He hated these nights. They were an open invitation for the demons of his past to dig themselves out of the graves he'd buried them in over the years. It was the one problem that he had never been able to fix.

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He hated these nights. Like the universe was playing a sick joke on him, he would wake up for no reason. It was still dark. He turned over to look at the clock, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the neon red light he had turned his back on to sleep. He realized what kind of night it was going to be when he saw the lights read 3:54, which he knew meant that in actuality that it was 2:48, because his clock was always set to an hour and six minutes behind the actual time until daylight savings reared its ugly and unnecessary head.

He huffed and turned back over. He would spite whatever force decided he needed to be up at this ungodly hour, because he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with what he knew was coming. And, predictably, he couldn’t fall asleep. Instead, he wasted eighteen minutes laying in the same position. Not that he had anything to do. That would make this easier, and god knew he couldn’t have that, right? He couldn’t drown himself in work again, because he had exhausted every single thing he had to do. Every. Single. One. Pauling had even told him that he should take a break, that maybe he was working himself too hard, but he knew the truth. He needed to work. Nobody understood.

If he didn’t have anything to preoccupy his mind, it would create something to preoccupy him. That was nice when it was blueprints and ideas for inventions, but it rarely ever was, especially at this time of night. That would be too easy. Instead, it would run him ragged fearing for his life, because there were eyes and cameras watching him everywhere, and he needed to think about how he said the wrong thing to her at the place ten years ago, and he knew she despised him, and she was wishing him ill at this very moment, and she was right. He needed to be perfect in every aspect, and it bothered him to no end that he couldn’t achieve that perfection in his social life.

Where was he? His mind tended to wander, but now it was firmly cemented in place, because he could feel the eyes on his back. He was staring at the insides of his eyelids to avoid having to face them, but that didn’t work for long. He knew it was futile. Why did he keep trying that? He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He needed to turn on the light. He needed his Gunslinger, but if he moved that would be an open invitation for the intruder to do something to him. To strangle him, to backstab him like a damn snake, to hit him over the head.

This was getting to be too much. He couldn’t stay stuck here forever. He lunged for the lamp on his nightstand, his heart dropping when he fumbled and missed the button the first time, quickly scrambling to push it correctly, and he reeled back against the headboard so that there couldn’t possibly be anything behind him. He was ready to scream, it was in the back of his throat, waiting to be unleashed, as if it would do anything to protect him.

Oftentimes, the Engineer wondered what would happen if his fears actually came true. If there was a figure stalking him, and he came face-to-face with whoever, or whatever, it was. What would he do? In that situation, he figured, he would be fucked either way, no matter what he did, because he was unprepared and didn’t sleep with his Gunslinger attached, so he only had one arm. Of course, this never happened. He was always faced with a cold, unfeeling room staring at him instead of an intruder. He didn’t know which he preferred.

The Engineer was a logical man. That was why this infuriated him so much. There was no logical explanation for his behavior, and there was no explanation for his mind going haywire, and yet he could help the terror that plagued him. The human mind was a machine, but not like the ones he worked with, the ones he knew inside and out better than any other person in his field. It was simply outside of his field of expertise, and it frustrated him to know that if he wanted answers, he would have to rely on someone else to get them. It made it even more terrible that it would likely have to be from arguably one of the most terrifying people on the planet; the Medic.

That was why he had never once tried to fix his problem. When he came to his mother about it as a boy, she had told him that he had an overactive imagination, and that his mind was playing tricks on him. Objectively true, but unhelpful statements, as he would come to realize. The Engineer pushed aside the disheveled covers of his bed and stood to use the restroom. He might as well. He knew he would be up for at least another thirty minutes.

He could feel the eyes on him as he used the toilet, boring holes into his unprotected back. It would be so easy for them to dispatch him. He was so vulnerable. He didn’t even have a gun, or a second forearm for that matter. He finished his business as fast as he could and looked behind him, but there was no one there. He still felt that terrible feeling, though, and he backed against the wall, looking frantically to his sides, but he saw no one. Why was he surprised?

He walked briskly back to his bed, because that feeling persisted. As long as it did, all of his normally extremely logical thinking went out the window, replaced with an almost primal instinct that screamed at him to run from something that wasn’t even there.

These nights always undid years of repression he had worked so hard to build up. Memories and questions that he had drowned under a sea of accomplishment and mountains of work reared their ugly heads and taunted him while he yearned for sleep that they would hold just out of his reach.

What are you going to do after this, Dell? Why are you even here? A familiar voice hissed in his ear. He didn’t know. He felt like his skills were being misused here, which he was probably right about. He could be using his skills to revolutionize the world, and instead he was using it to fight over a useless patch of land that wouldn’t be relevant once those two old fucks died off, as they should have long ago, and he would have wasted however many years he had spent here for nothing.

Why should you have to work with these incompetent freaks? They’re just slowing you down. Some days, he just wanted to lock himself in his workshop and never come out (not that he didn’t do that most days anyway) so he could avoid interacting with the over-the-top Soldier, or the absolutely insane Medic, or even Pyro for that matter. All of the mercenaries, except for maybe the Spy and the Heavy at times, were far too over-the-top for him. Socializing tired him even when he wasn’t doing it with eight mercenaries, each with varying degrees of insanity.

As if you aren’t just as insane as they are. He would like to think of himself as a little more sane than most of his coworkers, but he knew that behind the mask of southern charm and an easygoing attitude, he was just as unhinged, if not more so, than they were. He was very good at hiding things from the outside world, though. He’d had plenty of practice.

What if your mother could see you know? What would she say, Dell? Oh god, what would she say? She’d always had dreams of success for her son, maybe even more than himself, at least when he was younger. But even more so than that, she wanted happiness for him. She’d been worried when he hadn’t gotten married, or even had a girlfriend, by the time he was thirty, she’d gotten worried when he worked himself to the point of exhaustion as a teenager, but she worried the most when he stopped talking to her other than shallow conversations that he deliberately worded to try and make sure that she didn’t get worried. Ironic.

He wished that he had talked to her while he had the chance. He curled up further into his sheets, blinking to try and prevent salty tears from escaping from his eyes, even though no one was around to see them. All she wanted was honesty from him, and he couldn’t even give that to her before she had been taken by those tumors in her breasts. Why couldn’t she have wanted something else from him?

He’d had plenty of regrets over the years, but that was the one that had stuck with him, following him around like a shadow, for the longest time. It weighed the heaviest on his chest. And there wasn’t a single thing he could do to make it right. It was a problem that he couldn’t fix. So he had buried it.

But on these nights, they would dig themselves out of their graves, and there was nothing he could do except let them eat away at him until he was so exhausted from sobbing that he would fall asleep again.

He was getting to that point now. He felt something wet begin to trail down his cheek, and his vision blurred as his eyes overflowed with tears. He buried his face into a blanket and sighed shakily.

He fell asleep thinking of his mother, and dreamed of nothing. He spent the night burying his demons again, knowing that they would come back to hurt him sometime soon, but being too tired to get rid of them for good.

He felt better the next day, but he wasn't.

I'm bored and in the car for 15 hours so

I'm not too active in the welcome to the table community but I do have a headcanon about Wisconsin someone else has probably also had

Wisconsin is a serial killer!!!!

This man is a cold blooded k-i-l-l-e-r. He acts nice and polite and all "oh hey dere! :)" but in reality he has a stockpile of hundreds of guns, bows, hunting knives; if it can kill, he has it, and is plotting the murders of every other Midwestern state as we speak. The only reason they're alive is because Gov knows how twisted he really is and threatens to cut him off from beer if he tries anything.

So he lies in wait. Satiating his hunger for blood with deer, ducks, and fish... But that can only work for so long (dun dun dunnnn)