docholligay:

110% Fresh Jet Wolf Friendship trash, with flavors of Tracer’s sassiness, Pharah’s struggles to emotion, and a garnish of hurt/comfort. happy Birthday, you piece of shit. 2,028 words, my entire OW verse is here. 

“It’ll be a slumber party!” there was nothing, it seemed, that Tracer could not make into a game, or entertainment, or find something to be delighted about,  and being holed up in Winston’s home by the multiple threats of an unusually high snow in London, a reasonably tiring battle with Talon, and the threat they still might be out there, was no exception.

“Hm.” Pharah looked out the window  for a moment before shutting the curtain. “I do not know we can have too much fun with it. Talon may be waiting.”

Time and happiness had changed a handful of things about Pharah, for the better, everyone thought, including herself, but much as there was nothing Tracer could not make delightful, there was little Pharah could not make into a potential threat.

“Fareeha, there’s 28 bloody centimeters of snow on the ground, Talon’s likely got their feet up with a bit of cocoa.” She clipped her accelerator into the base and unzipped her jacket. “Same as we might be doing, if you’d just relax. Try something new. A record, that, you know, I think Winston’s already rang Mei about it, but if it ‘asn’t we really ought to…”

Pharah scowled as Tracer’s incessant babble faded into the background of her own thoughts, but acknowledged, in her own mind, that Tracer would not have removed her accelerator if she were nervous. When she was grounded in the system Winston had created in his house, she gained the comfort of not needing to wear it, but she lost the ability to blink entirely. It only came off when she truly believed there would be no need to fight, and no risk of her disappearing.

Tracer was many things, but she was not entirely stupid, and not much of a liar.

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