#char: jesse mccree

[oswaldsleeping]

Series: The Strange Case of Mr. Shimada

Chapter Title: no one said living in the forest is a good idea

Chapter(s): 2/3  Rating: E Wordcount: 5461 Warnings: sex, blood, gore (the three things that make life interesting jk) Summary: it’s their own little slice of paradise Author’s Notes: someone needs to get mccree a bandaid

  “Do not give me that look.” Genji frowns. He's got a light-up collar in one hand, the scruff a very big, very hairy, very whiny wolf in another. His jacket and boots are soaked, snow sliding down his neck, “I told you if you did it again, I would make you wear this.”

The werewolf in question whines again, practically pouting. But he sits still as Genji slips the collar on, pressing the “On” button. Bright blue begins to shine around the collar's center. “If you did not attempt to attack me every time I came back, you would not be wearing this, McCree.”

Jesse makes a cacophony of grunts and whines, trying to explain his point without using his words.

Well...speaking with a muzzle must be pretty difficult, Genji will give him that. Besides, he can make out the gist of what Jesse's saying.

“That may be, but I do not need to be “kept on my toes”,” he leans down to gather the tossed-away jar of peanut butter. The oranges have rolled down the front steps, “If anything, you are the one that should be practicing, you mutt. You're getting lazy.”

Jesse snorts, plucking the cluster of bananas from the bushes and trotting into the cabin. They make quick work of it together, getting the groceries off the ground and into the kitchen. The eggs are (mercifully) intact, even if the cereal is a little worse-for-wear.

  In this form, Jesse may trot on the ground, but he can stand on his back legs should the need arise. His front paws can still open doors and manipulate handles (however, he's pretty poor at delicate tasks – he's broken plenty of forks this way). This comes into handy when Genji hands him the last bag of groceries and turns to to put the kettle on the stove.

“I got another request,” He says after a moment, listening to Jesse struggle to put a bag of rice into the rice container (they have containers for everything – cereal, rice, coffee, milkbones – a place for everything and everything in it's place, right?) Jesse huffs, deeming the rice to be a lost cause and trotting back to Genji with the half opened bag.

“Get me the tea box, won't you?” Genji takes the bag and puts it aside, turning back to the kettle. The water has begun to bubble, “I am glad they appreciate my work. I'll have to send word to Zenyatta, I keep forgetting to send his in the mail.” He takes the tea box (in reality, a particularly pretty box that once held papers and is now holds little tin boxes of loose leaf teas) from Jesse's jaws, searching over the little containers for the right one. Jesse huffs again, laying besides the stove, his feet tucked neatly underneath him (he looks very much like a cat when he does that, Genji thinks).

One ear perks, his tail beginning to thump against the ground. It's been awhile since Genji's spoken of his old master.

“He mentioned visiting the next time he gets to the states. It would be nice to see him again.” Genji pulls the desired tin out, measuring out the leaves and taking a clean mug. The peppermint leaves crackle in the hot water, “Would you like to?”

Jesse gives a soft woof and a yawn, his tail still thumping against the floor. Years and years ago, he'd met Genji's former teacher and good friend Zenyatta. Jesse mentions him from time to time - the monk had made quite the impression.

  Genji takes his tea to the front windowsill, settling in to watch the snow. From the side of his eye, he can see Jesse's back leg shaking – he looks like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to fly.

  “Do not leave for too long.” Genji says, taking a sip – Jesse gives another woof and barrels out the door.

  - - -

Mating season for North American werewolves starts in the middle of winter, when the forests are quiet and the nights are cold. It's a kind of twofold effect: fertile werewolves will produce litters in the late spring and it creates a tight bond between the mated pair. Things are...different for werewolf/non-werewolf partners. There's a slim-to-none chance of litters being produced. The few that are often are born too early and born sick. Furthermore, most non-werewolf partners have a hard time keeping up with their more energetic partners.

Ergo, most of these partnerships don't work.

But, clutching a cup of steaming tea and watching Jesse frolicking in the falling snow (actually frolicking - considering he's a full grown werewolf, this looks just as silly as you think), it seems so worth it. Genji sits against the windowsill, one leg tucked under him, the other swinging back and forth. He gets a weird sense of joy seeing Jesse chasing shadows, his collar a streak of bright-blue in the ever growing darkness. If you'd asked him ten years ago if he thought he'd ever feel so at home, he would have have laughed in your face.

They'd built the cabin by hand, cut every log in this house, sanded every surface smooth. It was theirs, theirs, this little slice of paradise. A cabin with two floors, located in the center of the forest, right across from the river. A tiny garden in the back, the stubborn pine littering the back steps with dark-green needles. Together, they sustained themselves and were happy with the life they'd chosen.

  Jesse could run around without fearing he'd become someone's rug and Genji...well Genji had peace and quiet. And that's all he'd ever wanted. It wasn't “loneliness”, like the townsfolk insisted, it was freedom. Jesse leaps, catching a particularly big snowflake between his jaws, falling back and rolling. The whole scene is really very cute, very...Jesse. It's hard to believe there's a late-thirty-something man under all that hair.

  Genji sits the cup in his lap, goosebumps rising on his arms. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the chilly glass.

    - - -

  “Come with me.”

  That's all he'd said, reaching his hand out. It must have looked so funny, this tall, burly, beast of a man standing over this tired, morose looking shell of a person, “Ain't nothin for either one'a us here.” Genji remembered the day. Hell, he could tell you the exact hour, minute, and second. The leaves were falling, the wind had been particularly nasty that day. Dressed all in black, clutching a photo yellowed at the edges and cracked on one side. Autumn smelled like rain, the ground soft and pliant and so very, very cold. He couldn't make himself turn around, couldn't make himself look at that fucking tombstone...

For a moment Genji had hesitated. He wasn't stupid, he knew how dangerous werewolves were. They were unpredictable, they were ruled by instinct, they were wild animals. This was stupid, fool hardy and practically signing his death warrant.

  “Do you trust me?”

  That was it. The thing that made Genji throw every fear, every worry, every unseeable detail out the window, because yeah, he did. He really, really did.

He trusted Jesse more than he trusted everyone else, because Jesse was real. He couldn't be arsed to lie about useless matters, had a pretty poor filter, and acted with his heart rather than his head and, Genji never felt the need to hide around him. He could be himself, giant gaping flaws and all.

So in the night, they left. Left appropriate letters to their families (well to Jesse's family; Genji didn't have anyone else) and decided to start anew.

  - - -

  And here he was, years later, sitting by a windowsill and watching his partner play in the snow. How time flies.

  His eyes flutter open. Jesse's not out front anymore, instead stomping into the house, his fur dotted with snowflakes, his tail wagging madly. Before Genji has a chance to stop him, he shakes the water from his back, sending freezing droplets everywhere.

“YOU MUTT!” Genji shrieks, nearly spilling his tea. Well, that certainly spoiled the mood. He's soaked, the flannel not doing much to keep him warm (hey, only so much one shirt can do). The almost-dead fire in the fireplace is finally snuffed out.

Jesse actually looks a little ashamed of himself, tucking his tail between his legs and laying his ears against his skull. He pads to Genji, giving a pathetic whine.

“Do not start with me. Why can you not do that before you come inside?!” Genji glowers. He feels like his mother, scolding his wayward brother and himself for something silly, “How many times must I to tell you? Not. In. The. House.”

Jesse lays his head against Genji's thigh. He gives a low grunting noise.

“You are ridiculous.” Genji pinches the bridge of his nose. Jesse pushes his head into Genji's thigh again, whining even louder. He taps his paw against the ground, nuzzling his muzzle against the inside of Genji's knee, “No, you are a grown man, I am not falling for that.”

Jesse plants first one paw on the windowsill, and then the next, raising his head to press it against Genji's chest. “Use your words.” Genji grumbles. His hands find those soft, sensitive ears, scratching in just the perfect spot. Jesse's tail begins to wag, “I would not get upset with you, if you did not shake in the house, mutt.”

Jesse gives a growly-whine, tail wagging furiously. His head drops onto Genji's shoulder, one paw swatting at Genji's shirt.

“Don't be rude.” Genji gives a him a firm tap on the nose, “Go get more firewood.”

Jesse gives another swat, ignoring Genji's request. There's something in his eyes, a feral mischievousness that Genji's oh-so-knowledgeable of. He smirks, taking the werewolf's head in both hands and holding it still, leaning down to press his nose against Jesse's cold, wet one.

“Get the firewood,” He murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “Be a good boy and go get it. And then you'll get a treat.” Jesse's off like a shot. Genji laughs, places his cup aside and walks upstairs – wolfish, indeed.

  - - -

  There's something nice about sleeping with a dog. Well, Genji knows better to call him a “dog”. Jesse's really not into that, but he's into praise, so it all evens out in the end.

It's awkward, but Genji reaches behind him to scratch one of those soft, floppy ears. Jesse huffs in appreciation. He shifts his hips, the thick knot inside of him still hot and heavy. Jesse grunts, one paw-like-hand clutching Genji's firm hip and keeping him in place. Genji has a tendency to squirm during their sessions, which pulls painfully on Jesse's knot. It takes the fun out of the afterglow!

“You were enthusiastic tonight,” Genji grumbles snuggling back into the werewolf's broad chest. His fur is thick and full, and so wonderfully warm, “Full moon have anything to do with that?”

Jesse grunts, one lazy ear flopping forward. He's not keen on “moon” jokes either, but Genji can't help himself. You can't just let these opportunities get away!

“No matter.” he yawns, eyes fluttering shut, listening to the soft thump thump thump of Jesse's tail against the bed. He's such a puppy sometimes, even while locked together with his mate, “It was nice.”

Jesse laves his tongue against Genji's neck, his tail still wagging against the bed. Something about the chill of winter gives him such a boost of energy. It's put to good use.

“We'll have to go hunting in the morning,” Genji says, half awake, “Maybe when the snow settles. I hate hunting when it's sleeting, the deer are getting good about hiding.”

    - - -

  There's a puff of auburn fuzz in the holly bush again. Genji sees it in the morning, standing on the back porch with his coffee, watching the storm progress. Jesse eyes the fuzz for a moment, eyes narrowed and ears pulled back. With a breathy woof, Jesse trots into the forest.

Genji flicks the puff away. Little puffs have been showing up all around the house – it must be the deers.

  - - -

  “Were you rolling around in the pines again?”

  Jesse shakes his head no, pine needles falling every which way. His fur is mattered with sap and he looks particularly...sticky.

“You're an awful liar.” Genji plucks him by the scruff and begins dragging him to the bathroom.

This is where the fight begins.

You need to understand – when he's human, Jesse is actually fairly good at these things. Takes a shower every other day, attempts to keep his beard in presentable order, tries to look like a normal human being.

As a werewolf, he's subject to werewolf whims. It's a far cry between a man's brain and a canine's – Jesse the Man knows not to roll in the pine sap and track mud into the house. Jesse the Wolf will get into the garbage and not give a damn.

Jesse had attempted to explain it awhile ago - "'s not like I can help it - somethin' 'bout strong smells is just so appealin'." They'd gone over the subject for a good two hours and in the end, Genji was just as clueless as he was in the beginning. Jesse summed it up as "it's a werewolf" thing and left it at that.

Learning to balance the two takes practice. Sometimes, it's like having a dog, especially when Jesse makes a high pitched howl and takes for the door.

Genji's faster; launches himself and catches Jesse around the middle, planting his feet on the floor. It's pretty difficult to wrestle a full grown werewolf into submission, but Genji's stronger than he looks. It's a slow, laborious process – Jesse trying to escape, Genji trying to get him into the bathroom. He's going to throw his back out, if this keeps up.

Genji gets them to the bathroom (after prying Jesse from the doorframe) and sits back, taking a deep breath. Jesse sits, pouting in the bathtub, his ears flopped over his eyes. This is his workout for the day, Genji decides as he rolls up his sleeves, he's taking a fucking nap after this.

The moment the shower head springs to life, the fight begins once again. Jesse yowls as Genji “calmly” reminds him that if he didn't thrash so much, he wouldn't get soap in his eyes.

  - - -

  Jesse's better for the hair dryer. Which is relieving because there was no way Genji has enough towels to dry him. Jesse pouts but stays still and only complains for a moment when Genji blows too close to his ears. It's actually very nice to see him clean – there's a multitude of colors in Jesse's coat that only appear after a good wash. He's got a good amount of red in him, flecks of yellow, and silver in his chin that make him look pretty distinguished. Jesse darts away when Genji deems the entire process complete. He's rolls in the laundry, trying to get his scent back in his fur (there's something so embarrassing about smelling like baby powder).

Genji drops into bed, pulls the covers over his head, and takes the best snooze he's had all month.

  - - -

  “It's been three days,” Genji says quietly, watching the snow fall. The storm's taken a liking to their home and has decided to stay. Genji's pretty happy he managed to do some grocery shopping in town before they ran out of meat, “Are you stuck?”

At the foot of the bed, Jesse sighs, his body curled into a tight ball. His muzzle nestled into his bushy tail. It seems like he's fast asleep, but Genji knows better. His left ear is slightly raised, his mane not entirely settled. It will be midnight soon, the fourth day just over the horizon. Genji's patient. He knows Jesse needs time. He'll wait but...well, no one likes the waiting game.

“I'm not in any hurry.” Genji says, before he rolls over and falls asleep, “But I would like to speak with you again someday.”

    - - -

      Lacing up his boots, it's hard not to laugh. Jesse's always excitable before the hunt, bouncing about like a fresh whelp. He gives a short bark, pacing at the front door, the bow in his mouth.

“Stop rushing.” Genji murmurs, looking over his equipment and picking up his quiver.

The bow is...a sensitive subject. Not something he likes to dwell on, a moment passed down from a long dead brother. There's etching on the side, neat, tiny kanji that Genji conveniently never reads and sometimes he wonders what his brother would think if he saw his precious bow now. Genji likes to think he'd be amused.

He counts the arrows before strapping the quiver to his back and tightening the holster around his combat knife. Genji takes the bow from Jesse's mouth and steps out into cold, the werewolf bolting around him and into the forest. The snow still falls, the storm calmed considerably but lingering within the pines. He can see a flash of a red tail between the trees.

God bless the hunt.

  - - -

  It's...a little bizarre seeing how Jesse changes while at work.

He goes from goofy and silly to serious at the drop of a hat. His ears are pricked forward, eyes narrowed and searching. Nose to the ground, he quickly picks up a scent, Genji following behind him as fast as he can.

Genji's job is simple. If Jesse can't take his prey down, then it's up to Genji to head it off, distract it, and incapacitate it until Jesse can catch up. It's a dance he's well versed in, one he prides himself on. They compete with one another, who will take down the strongest prey, the most prey, the weirdest prey. The house is rarely without meat.

They make a good team. Jesse is heavy, strong, keen on what's moving in the darkness and Genji is quick on his feet, quick to react, and a well trained killer.

“You'd make a good wolf, Genji.” Jesse had said once, dragging their kill back to the cottage – they'd spoken on it once or twice. Werewolf venom isn't what you think it is – it's not a “one bite and you've got fur” kind of thing. It's actually pretty dangerous – as the species evolved, the werewolf's venom grew more and more toxic. Plenty have died from the venom alone and those who don't often turn feral within the first few moons and must be put down. Some propose that was the whole reason for the venom turning so lethal. Too many werewolves who went feral too easily, too deformed to mesh with packs, and too unstable to sustain themselves. It would make sense that biology would become selective.

It takes a careful hand to transition a human to a werewolf and it's...quite the commitment. Not one to be taken lightly. They'd categorized as a “we'll cross that bridge when we get to it” and left it at that. Still, there were days where Genji wondered what color his fur would be...

    - - -

  Werewolf body language is an art all it's own. It's like any spoken language that's ever existed, it's changed in so many ways and in so many ways stayed the same.

Werewolves naturally walk on all fours – ultimately, it's more natural to them and is faster. Werewolves aren't really made for mortal combat - They can fight with best of the magical creatures, but they don't prefer to.

Much like their four-legged counterparts they're hunters at heart. Speed is a surefire friend when you need to eat.

  In all honesty, it's always slightly unnerved Genji how fast Jesse switches from two legs, to four legs, back to two. There's distinct differences between the two, differences he's learned how to watch for. A werewolf that walks on all fours is a calm, relaxed one. A werewolf that stands on it's back legs is...well, it's not great, but it's not the worst thing. It's usually a curious one, a nervous one, things of that ilk.

But when a werewolf stands on two and puffs his mane out?

That's bad.

  That's a “this is my place and you need to leave” and a “I have no problem fighting” signal.

Werewolves have thick manes for that reason alone - it's a barrier against teeth and claw and a status symbol (many compare them to lions in that aspect - Genji would argue they're more like peacocks)

  Genji stops the moment he hears that low, deep growl. Jesse's mane is fully bristled at this point, his claws unsheathed. It doesn't take long to see what's got him so upset: another werewolf, stands not 30 feet away, it's own mane ruffled to it's fullest.

This normally isn't a problem. Jesse's let traveling werewolves pass through his woods before – hell, he invites them to the cabin and gives them a meal.

  But this is very, very different. This isn't a traveler, this is a conquistador – a werewolf trying to take his territory. It's something of a rite of passage for fledglings, challenging an alpha. They test their teeth against a well aged fighter and, if they lose, learn what to do next time.

Here's the thing - it's standard procedure for fledglings to challenge alphas with packs. If they lose, they integrate themselves into the pack and learn from said alpha and his family. Pack alphas lead the tribe, train the children, and sure up the numbers for safety.

Solo alphas are an entirely different ballpark. Pack alphas have their tribe to fall back on to defend their territory, solo alphas are just that - solo. They don't have secondary ranks to fall back on, just their own claws and teeth. Solo alphas rarely take in fledglings and especially rarely take in fledglings that challenge them.

Goofy as he can be, Jesse's been the alpha of this forest for well over two decades, since he was a pup. It goes to show, there's a reason for that. In any other case, Genji would consider coming up against him suicide.

The new werewolf's tail wags low and straight, giving his mane a good shake. Sometimes it's all posturing – it's happened once or twice, an upstart pup who thinks he's hot shit and thinks he can take down a king.

Genji readies his bow, eyes trained on the new werewolf - he's only seen a fight get bad once and he'd rather not see it again. Jesse snaps at the air, snarling. The new werewolf responds in kind, stepping forward. They're getting closer and closer, growling and snarling.

  “Go home” Genji snaps over the barking (he never could keep his ever loving mouth shut) “There's nothing here for you.”

Jesse bristles even more (if possible), his muzzle swinging towards Genji as a signal to “shut up”

Genji's too busy staring at the other werewolf - he's finally noticed the human and the grin he gives makes Genji's hair stand on edge.

It happens so fast Genji can't tell you how it started. A flash of fur and teeth and the sharp clack of claws and suddenly they're fighting like their lives depend on it.

  Genji backs up, pulling the arrow back and steading his hands. His eyes try to track their movements. They're moving so fast, the other werewolf's teeth buried into the crook of Jesse's mane, Jesse kicking with his back legs, trying to tear the other's stomach open. He gets a good kick in, fur going every which way. The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice, digging his claws into Jesse's chest.

Genji wants to leap in the fray, to tear the werewolf off of Jesse, but he knows better. In this moment, Jesse's mind is one track and simple - get rid of the problem. Genji leaping in would get them both killed - so he steps back, plants his feet, holds the arrows still and waits.

Jesse gives a yelp as the other werewolf grabs a hold of his left ear. There a horrible ripping noise as the skin tears - Genji could cry. Jesse's ears are so sensitive, the new werewolf must have picked up on that.

He lets the arrow flight – it makes it's mark. The other werewolf rears back, howling in fury. The werewolf snarls at Genji and Jesse takes the advantage, sinking his teeth into the werewolf's flank. The werewolf trashes, still howling. Jesse flips them both, his teeth still buried in the werewolf's flesh - with a well placed kick, the werewolf launches Jesse back.

  Jesse launches himself again, but is flung back by the younger werewolf. The other one is gaining the upper hand, he's fast, he's...tricky. He grabs hold of tender areas and shakes his head fiercely to cause the most damage he can. In an awful way, it's actually pretty fascinating, the science of a werewolf fight. If it wasn't Jesse fighting for their (their) lives, Genji would actually watch nature play it's part.

  The other werewolf grabs Jesse by the scruff and flings him into a tree and suddenly Jesse just...stills.

The panic begins to rise in Genji. He's no lightweight, he can take down magical creatures quick as you please but...a werewolf riding on hormones and blood lust is outside of his ball park.

He can't leave Jesse. He won't leave Jesse, that's out of the question. The second werewolf licks his chops, slowly advancing on him. Genji rips arrows from the quiver, beginning to fire in succession.

He's no marksman, but the arrows find their marks, sinking in deep.

The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice them, too high on adrenaline, ripping the one still lodged on his arm out and careening towards him. With a howl, it leaps at him, throwing them both a good few feet away. They roll together into a clearing, struggling in the snow. Genji thrusts the body of the bow out, catches the werewolf's jaws between the solid wood. The bow's sturdy stuff, reinforced with steel but he can feel the material beginning to creak under the werewolf's back teeth.

  Struggling, Genji can feel the werewolf's soft underbelly with his feet. He gives a good kick, scrambling back when the beast gives a howl of pain (from the sound of it, he struck lower than intended). The arrows fly everywhere and in the darkness of the forest, he can't find them quickly. He rolls away, one eye still on Jesse's still form.

Genji snatches the combat knife from within it's holster – an anniversary gift from Jesse, believe it or not. He's used to working with stronger stuff, but beggars can't be choosers.

The werewolf snarls at him, lips pulled back all the way. He's beginning to froth, the white spotted with dark red. It's...almost reassuring – Jesse wasn't able to kill him, but he sure as hell was able to hurt him. The corners of it's lips begin to pull upwards. It's a macabre, unnerving smile, his eyes glinting bright yellow. They dance around one another, sizing the other up. The werewolf is obviously unimpressed, smirking.

“you've got spunk,” He snarls around blood-stained teeth, “no wonder he fought so hard to keep you.”

Genji doesn't respond to the taunt, dodges as the werewolf slices forward. It's a dance he knows well – keep them moving in circles, keep them on their feet. Genji's faster, he's agile.

The werewolf steps wrong, twists his left arm forward to strike at nothing and Genji swings, swings twice. Sprays of blood splatter the ground, the smell stinging his nose. The werewolf rears back and Genji gets him on the muzzle. The werewolf howls in pain, stumbling back to grab his nose. The fight's starting to take a toll on him – red meat drips behind the auburn fur. The beast's got murder in his eyes.

“No one keeps me.” Genji snarls, leaping back as the werewolf attempts to launch forward. He bounces off the tree behind him, onto the werewolf's back, fingers sinking into the blood-soaked mane. The werewolf bucks, trying to toss Genji off. Genji holds fast, crawling up yanking the werewolf's own left ear and slicing it off. The meat gives way like butter, the werewolf shrieking in pain.

  An ear for an ear.

  The werewolf slams his back into a tree. Genji swears he can hear something snap in his ribs. It's like a punch to the gut, the wind being sucked from his lungs, pain blooming immediately. The werewolf slams him again, Genji falls to the ground, his knife clattering away.

He's trying to catch his breath, his hand still clutched around the werewolf's ear. It's a weird moment of stillness, both of them trying to recover.

Genji pulls himself across the ground, seeing the tell tale glint of metal in the darkness.

The werewolf stalks to him on all fours, limping. Blood gushes down his mutilated face – he huffs, bloody, frothy saliva running down his jaws.

  “i'm going to enjoy taking his land.” He chokes, grabbing Genji by the leg and pulling him back. Genji tries to kick at him again; the werewolf bats his foot away, claws sinking into his thigh. The werewolf looms over him, the paw on his leg transferring to Genji's head. He pushes his face into the snow, his muzzle pressed against Genji's cheek, “but first i'm going to fuck you in front of him. gonna fill you with my pups on his territory.”

Genji growls, struggling. The werewolf stinks of gore, his hot breath starting to make him nauseous.

“gonna keep you for a good long time. make you keep my pack in his home – how's that sound?” The werewolf huffs a chuckle, torn lips pulled into a sneer, “c'mon chatty-kathy, whatcha say to that?”

Genji grumbles something into the ground – The werewolf gives him a good shake. He picks Genji up by the head, ignoring the gasp of pain and turning Genji to look at him, “speak up.”

“I said,” Genji grins at him, mouth bloody, “You're easily distracted.”

Jesse roars, ripping the werewolf off of Genji. It's not a fight this time – it's a massacre. The werewolf doesn't stand a chance and, as Genji leans against a tree to stand, it's a true reminder why Jesse's an alpha.

It's a flurry of fur and claws, bits of flesh, pink and raw. The werewolf's gone from growling and roaring to whimpering and screaming in pain.

Jesse slams him on the ground, forcing his head to look at Genji.

“APOLOGIZE.” Jesse snarls, claws sinking into the werewolf's skull. His voice is raspy and deep and a strange wave of terror washes over Genji. He's never heard that voice before. A spark of mortal panic leaps within Genji for a moment, this horrible thought of That's not Jesse, That's a beast, That's not Jesse, That's a beast ringing in his ears.

Genji can just make out the tiny “i'm sorry” beyond the broken jaw.

  Genji doesn't look away when Jesse snaps the werewolf's neck. It's really very merciful – the forest isn't kind to the weak, after all. Genji quells that spark of mortal panic - if he was "a beast", Jesse would happily keep him alive, let him suffer. Werewolves heal fast, it would be so easy to keep him alive enough to begin to recover and then return to re-injure him.

  Jesse is no beast.

  He heaves a sigh, sitting back on his haunches. He runs a paw through his mane – he's a mess. His fur matted with blood and snow and dirt and mud. His torn ear drips, the flesh hanging limply by a thread. He looks considerably older, Genji thinks.

They've got to get home, get them both bandaged up. Jesse looks like he's been shoved into a meat grinder.

Genji's in no better shape. He's no stranger to setting bones, but he'll need some help with his ribs. The blossoming pain is starting to make his vision swim.

He pushes away from the tree, stumbles to Jesse. Jesse accepts him easily, holding him close, tongue laving out to lick the cuts on Genji's cheeks.

“We are so lucky werewolf spit heals.” Genji grumbles into Jesse's chest.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.” Jesse buries his muzzle into Genji's neck, eyes squeezed shut. Jesse's mane has deflated, his fur hanging and he looks so...tired. They trudge back to the house, leaning heavily on one another. Jesse drags the dead werewolf behind him.

  The hunt ends.

#chitter chatter #text #mcgenji #overwatch fanfic #char: jesse mccree #char: genji shimada #fic: TSCOMS #werewolves #werewolf!mccree #tw: violence #who is this interloper? no one knows~ #interloper is a good word btw #poor genji needs a fucking BREAK #and not the break he gets

[valgeristik]

a compilation gabriel voice: actually, conning your coworkers is a useful practice in our line of work,

#overwatch #jesse mccree #gabriel reyes #genji shimada #ana amari #a lot of them huh #genji n gabe shippers also please dont interac #t #anyway #todays been a weird day and i basically forced myself to draw because neither drawing or anything else felt good #but fortunately i got those drawings already lined n all in my sketchbook so i finished them #big ol shrug emoji #anyway. im planning on touching up a pokemon au art soon with mccree #+ maybe drawing some kinda part 2 with some other chracters #so if anyone got any ow char+ pokemon with three evolution stages lmk ;) #kunst huli

[wanderingmirror]

Part 1

Summary:

Gabriel Reyes couldn’t believe what he was seeing. One of the Gangsters was crawling away from the wreckage. Screaming so loud it was a wonder he hadn’t hurt his vocal cords yet. But what horrified Gabriel, was the damage done by the fallen train the gangster was moving away from.

~~~~~ They had dealt with the runaway train long before it had arrived to it’s destination. Gabriel let a grimace cover his face. He motioned for the others to move on ahead. Genji stayed nearby at all times weither Gabriel wanted him to or not. As they got closer to the wreckage, the screams caught their attention. Gabriel started running towards the wreckage, Genji with him. The screaming sounded echoed against the canyon walls. Pained and scared.

They found the source of the screaming crawling away from a train car. Gabriel swore when he realized the body was still burning. He took his gear off and pulled his hoodie off with it. Putting out the flames and causing the screams to cut off into incoherent sobbing. The body was only a kid. The same age as Genji. Gabriel couldn’t see much of his appearance thanks to the soot, charred clothes, and dying smoke. Genji watched as the male shook violently. Watched as skin peeled away and made the guy’s pain worse.

“Easy, Kid. We’ll take care of you, just hold on.” Gabriel sent a comm out to the medical team with them. He used his hoodie to keep the male out of the sunlight. The gangster kept trying to talk, but all the screaming had hurt his vocal cords. Gabriel was in disbelief, looking down at the kid. Alive despite the severe damage done to his body. Genji felt like throwing up, even though he couldn’t eat. The male’s legs were burned beyond recognition and his left arm was gone completely. The other was severely burned.

Angela arrived to the three with her team just as the kid started screaming again. Blood had pooled around him and it gushed from his face. Angela and her team moved him onto a gurney. Then carried him away to the ship with Gabriel and Genji not far behind them. Genji had found an old hat near the wreckage, taking it with him in case it belonged to the male.

They returned to Grand Mesa and the medical team rushed the wounded male into surgery. Gabriel and Genji were outside the doors for a while. But they had to leave for debriefing. The rest of the group with them. Angela took longer to get the gangster away from critical before she could start healing him. Sadly, he lost both legs below the knees, one of his arms, and the skin around his mouth. Angela saved one of his eyes, but the other would be a milky grey in blindness. She managed to fix his lips, but the flesh of his cheeks couldn’t be saved.

His hair was charred to the root. So it had been shaved off. He was dressed in medical scrubs to replace the charred remains of his old clothes. Angela told them he wouldn’t be waking up until the wounds given stitches had healed. They looked for a profile of the male and found one. The boy’s name was Jesse James McCree. He was fifteen and one of the founding members of Deadlock. However, he didn’t play a big part of its command structure.

As if he hadn’t wanted to be a big boss. Jesse slept for three more days before Angels felt he was okay enough to wake up. When the boy woke up, Gabriel was right there with him. Jesse blinked and tried to move, finding that he couldn’t feel one of his arms, and neither of his legs below the knee. He felt air on his teeth at the sides and couldn’t see out of his right eye. He started to breathe rapidly, the heart monitor next to his head beginning to go crazy.

Gabriel stood and sat on the bed, grabbing Jesse’s remaining hand and placing his forehead against his. Gabriel started speaking softly to him. “Easy, Easy, Jesse. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe.”

Gabriel pushed Jesse’s hand against his chest, breathing dramatically to get Jesse’s to follow. After a moment, Jesse did. He shakily started breathing with Gabriel, looking into the Latino’s brown eyes and sucking in air. He didn’t like how it felt around his mouth. How the air came in from all sides, so he started breathing through his nose. Gabriel nodded against his forehead gently. “Good kid. You’re doing good.” Gabriel praised him softly.

Genji entered the room a few moments later. He watched as Gabriel talked the male down. Saw the panic and fear in Jesse’s eyes. He came over to Jesse’s other side and sat down on the bed with the Commander. Placing his metal hand onto Jesse’s sternum and rubbing with his thumb. Jesse shivered and closed his eyes, gripping onto Gabriel’s chest and sighing shakily. “You’re in a Blackwatch HQ. You’re safe.” Genji said, though he wasn’t sure the metallic edge to his voice was comforting. It soothed Jesse all the same.

Jesse nodded and calmed down, both Gabriel and Genji stayed while Angela looked him over. Jesse wouldn’t let go of Gabriel’s hand long enough to let him get some work, so Genji went for him. “You’ve been out for almost a week. We know your age, name, and rank in Deadlock. However we don’t understand why you aren’t one of the main Bosses.” Gabriel spoke when he finally gave up trying to get his hand from Jesse.

“Didn’t wanna run a gang that was only doin’ violence. Ashe didn’t understand that. Thought I was bein’ a coward for it.” Jesse answered the best he could with his mouth the way it was. Gabriel understood him all the same though. “What were you all doing on that train?” Gabriel asked even though he and Jack already knew. “Transportin’ weapons, I guess. One o’ the less violent things. An one o’ the things I’m good at. It was the first thing Ashe an I started doin’. Aside from Train Heists and bank robberies.”

Jesse was starting to doze, his eyes fluttering shut thanks to Angela pumping him full of painkillers. He still had a firm grip on the Commander’s hand, though. Soon enough Jesse was fast asleep on the hospital bed. Hand firmly in Gabriel’s.

#story #overwatch #blackwatch #genji shimada #jesse mccree #gabriel reyes #angela ziegler #mentions of jack morrison #angst #gore #train wreck #origin story #reaper #small bit of fluff #bad begin

[cyberrat]

Batch 47 Masterpost

Alright so here are the first 13 prompts! (got 5 more during the night). There probably will be 2 more fills but I haven't contacted that person yet because I need to check stuff out. When everything is said and done, I'll add them to this post :)

1.-4. Milky AU Parts 13-16! hyper fertility; body adjustment; hole training; hypnosis; all consensual – It's flashback time! Lúcio's and Jesse's continued fascination with legendary cow Gabriel Reyes moves Schaefer to tell them the story about what actually happened back then... Reaper/Soldier76 time :)

5.+6. AlphaxAlpha AU – The morning after. Jesse is still hurt obvs so Hanzo, waking up feeling horny and soft, takes matters into his own hands. Sweet sleepy sex for a change!

7.+8. Minotaur AU Parts 6+7! Bonding; violence; death (not the main chars) – Jesse is on his best behavior since Hanzo keeps up his end of the bargain. A guard with a grudge notices the change in the bull and thinks he can let his anger over their previous treatment by Jesse out on him.

9. Reaper/Soldier76 – intercrural office fuck – right what it says on the tin! Gabriel is horny and Jack is a workaholic... so Gabe talks him into letting him fuck Jack's thighs.

10. Endeavor/Hawks – stuck in a wall – Hawks has been pining (lusting) for Endeavor for... a li'l while now. So him getting stuck in a wall is the perfect opportunity to finally get at that sweet ass.

11. McCree/Hanzo – MerMay! – Hanzo is part of a prized Mermaid pair, and Jesse is tasked with keeping an eye on him and making sure nothing happens. Of course the guy that hired him should have made sure that he is not a degenerate fish fucker :)

12. Geralt/Jaskier – MerMay! – Jaskier has been transformed into a siren for a bit. He kind of uses his new powers to lure Geralt in (who may or may not be immune to them anyway) and fucks that gud Witcher booty :)

13. Reaper/Soldier76 – MerMay! – nothing too specific yet... just one being a mermaid and fucking the other on the beach :)

#masterpost #masterlist

[clareguilty]

cqn we get mccree headcanons of his gf being emotional when jesse embraces her mexican/hispanic culture? (might be a little self indulgent because I'm mexican myself) btw you're my favorite blog ever (no bs) !

aaah i’m not too knowledgable on mexican/hispanic culture but hopefully I can do this justice! it means so much to hear that im ur favorite! I don’t know what i did but hopefully I can keep it up!

growing up, you had always been proud of your heritage

pride and happiness were your greatest weapons

Jesse didn’t quite see how pride could be a weapon, but he certainly liked seeing you happy

he didn’t want to meet your family at first. He was too scared that they would see he wasn’t good enough for you

but you wouldn’t take no for an answer

he liked that about you too. You could stick to your guns

Meeting the people you cared about, he could see the pieces that made you. Could see everything you were made of woven into your home and your friends.

and holy shit was the food good. Jesse had grown up in the southwest, but he had subsisted on little more than canned goods and diner food for quite a while

homemade tamales changed his life

hell, he didnt even think he liked vegetables until you shoveled them onto his plate

after seeing your home, after meeting the people who had built you up into the beautiful woman he knew and loved, he resolved to try and learn more about your culture

“Can we try making tortillas?” he decided to start small.

You grinned, “I can make some for you if you’d like.”

“I want to help you.”

Your smile was so wide your cheeks were hurting, even as Jesse turned out to be one fo the worst cooks you had ever seen, you grinned and patiently helped him scraped the charred mess off the stove

He started stealing looks at your playlists, secretly listening to the music you had grown up with. You didn’t even realize it until you caught him singing along to some of your old songs.

He wanted to go to festivals and help decorate for the holidays and you had never felt more loved knowing that he was finding a home in the very things that were closest to you

#aaaah thanku this was so sweet #i mainly know mexican foods #reddedcherub #ask #answered #headcanons #jesse mccree x reader #jesse mccree #jesse mccree/reader

[dragxnfall]

@deadlockled gets a starter! 

try as he might, no matter how much he thinks he’s grown from the naive boy he used to be once raised alongside chicken and cattle that should have known nothing beyond the acres of fields of gently swaying wheat and failed attempts at growing corn - there will always be a part of that dreaded gang ingrained into him. a farm boy wasn’t supposed to know the ropes of crime and homicide, but here he is, a handful of decades old and he’s seen most of the ugly that the world has to offer. 

he didn’t know better when he was younger, having been foolishly tricked into thinking that life couldn’t get harder than to be initiated into a gang when he’s yet to fill out his boots and grow a full beard, but it did, and those experiences turned an innocent boy into a cold-blooded man whose right hand man was a trusty, rusty revolver who’s been through more things with him than anyone else. 

life outside of 66 was different, certainly not easier when there’s a bounty on his head, but...never would he have thought there was so much beauty in a world that he thought was merely barren plains and scorching sun. in some places, there were gentle valleys of wildflowers that waved carefree in the life that whispering breezes breathed into them, there were places where after it rained, it brought out the prettiest bevy of colors in the sky, where birds sang morning songs and hares grazed peacefully. these were things he didn’t see in the gorge. these were reasons why he soon grew to develop a nasty taste in his mouth at that deadbeat town where all there was was burning sand and tarnished metal while petty gang wars terrorized the town. 

if only those who had raised him could open their eyes and see that the world was much bigger than the small reality they lived. but...they couldn’t. and he rid himself of the memories of the gorge alongside the only people he ever found himself to ‘trust’.

at least, he thought so, anyway. until the news of an omnic attack struck quite literally too close to “home”. jesse mccree has never bolted so quickly in his life.

her bike is still in the grotto north of the route where he left it all those months ago since their last meeting, dust and sand a grimy curtain that he doesn’t bother to brush off when he hops on, speeding down the winding highway until he reaches the grisly town he thought he was finally done with. 

if it was a wasteland before, it’s a complete hell now. brown eyes squint to make sense of anything in the heavy shroud of smoke and floating sand grains. there is char and ruin in the wake of fires still raging along the steep hills of stone and rubble, the dusty diner he frequented is but a broken shadow of its former self, crumbling steel slowly melting to molten metal puddles on the ground. there is a plethora of scrapped metal pieces scattered everywhere, and jesse doesn’t have the heart to look closer at a particular hand-shaped limb barely covered in tattered emerald cloth to confirm his worst suspicion. it’s not only the rampaging omnics littering these grounds - it’s also a stomach-churning mix of those he knew once upon a time. 

he can’t breathe, due to it being the cigarillos finally taking a toll on his lungs, the heavy fog of desolate fires, or the anxiety that he’s going to find the one thing he fears most in these ruins, he isn’t sure. raising his serape to cover his nose and mouth, he hops off the bike after sputtering his way toward the old tire shop, resting it against the steel walls too hot to touch while keeping his hand on his hip, palm resting on the butt of his peacekeeper. 

beads of sweat permeate the brim of his hat and wrap, but on he walks, hardened eyes scanning while rapidly losing hope to recover what he hopes he hasn’t lost yet. he comes to a stop at the ominous open mouth of the old warehouse.  

he doesn’t know what still lurks here, but all he knows is that there’s eyes on him. 

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Glow in the Dark (A Meihem Fanfic Drabble)

The attack had blindsided their defense from the left, where Mei and Junkrat had been positioned. One moment everything had been normal, and then the next, everything had turned to fire and pain and hot metal. Junkrat had gone down first, and Mei had thrown up one of her walls to protect them. But not even her ice could stand the barrage, and the last thing he could remember was her trying to say something that he couldn’t hear over the ringing of his tinnitus and the blood clogging his ears, and the heavy weight of her body covering his. And after that, he couldn’t remember anything at all.

He awoke over a week later in the intensive care unit, and his first instincts had been to laugh and make some joke or other. But trying to laugh made his ribs hurt, and his jokes didn’t seem to have any effect on Dr. Angelface. She just smiled at him in a very strange way, and her eyes had been wet as she tended to his broken body. But, she’d always been a tough sell, even on his best joke material. So he lay back, and he asked where Mei was.

Infuriatingly, she had not answered him. Instead she puttered about with her doctor’s business, and ignored his question. So, never one to be ignored, he asked it again. And that time, she looked away. And something about that motion made his stomach seize and then drop. So he asked again. Where was Mei? And then again. Where was Mei?!

And that was when Angelface had just shaken her pretty head. And while Junkrat stared at her blankly, she had to swallow hard several times, and her voice broke when she told him that Mei was gone.

Everyone in earshot knew when the younger junker had been delivered the news. The noises that came out of that clinic had carried far and wide. Not that that was unusual, with how loud and vivacious Junkrat had always been. But the heads of everyone nearby turned all at once when they heard that one particular sound. Or really, it was a series of sounds. It wasn’t in a language any of them could understand, since language had nothing to do with it. But nor was it a sound that animals could make, since animals couldn’t really understand such things either. The closest words might be ‘keening’ or ‘wailing’, or strange guttural, throaty, sobbing noises that if recorded would probably sound downright humorous in any other instance.

Outside, Roadhog looked up slowly, then looked down again. Hana pressed her lips together, then buried her face into Lucio’s neck as he put his arm around her. Winston put one large leathery palm over his face, and made his own little noises. After all, one did not have to be human to understand what those sounds meant. Perhaps ironically, it was Zenyatta and the other omnics who had the best term for it. It was nothing that could be spelled out in letters, but had been built up out of ones and zeroes. It was a binary code, breaking down one of the tangled concepts of humanity; something that meant a depth of grief that was, both at once, something to aspire to in its pure and raw emotion, and something to hope to never experience.

And it was those terms that the omnic monk would later use to best explain the sounds that Junkrat made when he learned that Mei was dead.

***

He refused to attend the viewing or the funeral.

Instead he sat in the cafeteria, eating ice cream with his bodyguard.

Roadhog had tried to suggest that they go out with Ana and pick out something black, and do things the civilized way. Mei had always preferred the civilized way, after all. Junkrat had promptly turned and punched Hog square in the gut, thrown his ice cream at him, and told him to fuck off with that. Hog, barely affected by the little blow to his immense belly, wiped away the cone sliding down his arm, and shrugged slowly as he reverted back to his usual silence. He simply listened while Rat went off in another of his tirades.

Black was fucking stupid to wear. It was too hot to wear black and only fucking idiots wore it to look tough or attend funerals, and he wasn’t doing either. Besides, Mei had told him that it was Chinese tradition to wear white during funerals, so how dumb was all of that? What was the point of a funerary viewing anyway? He’d seen plenty of dead blokes and dead broads in the Outback, both of them had. Was a waste of resources, really, plugging up bullet holes and reattaching pieces and dressing up a dead corpse. Fucking stupid, putting Mei’s body in a box so everyone could look at it. And they’d say things like how peaceful she looked, or how she looked like she was sleeping. Idiots! It hadn’t been a peaceful death at all. And Mei didn’t sleep on her back with her hands folded on her chest, she slept on her side with her legs curled up a little but not quite fetal, and she always hogged the damn covers. And fuck them, that’s how he wanted to remember her. Not some cold cadaver in a box.

Junkrat slammed both hands onto the table before stomping off towards the food dispensers, made himself another soft serve ice cream cone out of the machine, hurled it at the next person to come in the room- A rather befuddled McCree- and then stormed out of the cafeteria. With a low groan along with the effort of trying to move his rotund body, Roadhog squeezed out of their booth and followed, leaving Jesse behind to clean up a mess of vanilla and chocolate swirl.

The porcine bodyguard already knew where his manic employer was headed…off to loot Mei’s room. Again.

Hog got there just in time to see Rat tear down the white mourning banner that someone had hung up over her doorway. Carelessly letting it flutter onto the floor, he stepped over the mound of incense, candles, holopics, and stuffed animals that had been piled up around her door, and barged back into Mei’s dorm. Overwatch had already hit the place hard while he’d been asleep. All of Mei’s computers, files, research, and papers were long gone. Not that he’d ever given a damn about all that nonsense anyway. Instead he went to scavenge the things that were actually important.

He’d already taken the string lights from above her bed, along with her favorite snowflake print quilt. She’d had a collection of books under her bed that he’d stolen, too, even if he’d probably never ever read them. Her makeup had already been thrown away or doled out, but he’d managed to purloin some of his favorite flavors of her fruity chapsticks. And though Winston had confiscated all of Mei’s pictures, he’d given Rat all the pertinent ones; with them at the beach, or from his surprise party she’d thrown at his favorite barbecue joint, or his personal favorite, the blurry one that Hana had taken when Rat would lift Mei up and spin her in a circle, and she’d always complain but would always let him do it anyway.

There wasn’t much left by now, but he dug through the remnants. Because if there was anyone who could scavenge through the dregs, it was him. He found a stuffed seal in her closet, a gift from when she’d returned from their first expedition to Australia. Throwing away the get well card that had gone with it, he tucked the seal under one arm and kept digging. A spare pair of her glasses was found in another drawer, and he put them on even though they hurt his eyes. One of her Pachimari keychains? He might give that one to Hog later. MIGHT.

Hog had appeared in the room with him at some point, watching him as he rooted through her belongings. And even while the younger junker tore through the place yet again, Hog grunted once and nodded upward, and suggested he take the stars too.

Riiiiight, the stars! Mei’s glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. How could he have forgotten those? They’d spent how many nights under those things? Fucking idiot that he was, forgetting about something important like them. Good thing Hog was around to remind him of these things, since Mei wasn’t. Lucky he was so tall he didn’t have far to reach, and he promptly started shucking them off one by one, throwing them onto the ground to collect later.

Roadhog watched in silence.

***

Her files had requested cremation, and Junkrat didn’t like it. The one fucking thing in this shitty world he’d wanted to keep and never wanted to burn, was burning. They’d take her out of one box and put her in another, and she’d fade and burn and pressurize into nothing but a heap of ashes and scraps of charred bone. He bet that even her ashes and bones would be the most beautiful things in the world. Like little jewels, too precious for even him to steal. So why were they wasting her beautiful ashes and bones? Throwing them out into the wind of her ‘favorite places’? Utterly mental, it was.

The worst part was that they wouldn’t let him go out on missions. Emotionally charged, they said. Liability, they said. Not ready, they said. Fuckers. They were wasting perfectly good anger, leaving him to waste away on the base when he’d much rather be out blowing things up. Scrapping target bots was no fun. Not when he wanted to be out there killing Talon agents. That’s what he wanted most, was to track down every single Talon agent left on the planet and kill them the way they deserved to be killed. And if he found the ones that had hurt his poor Mei, it wouldn’t be pretty. He didn’t know much about torture. Wasn’t patient enough for something like that. But if he found them, he wanted it to be slow. Lingering. Painful. Maybe he could pay Hog to twist their limbs off one by one, or come up with something to burn them alive like his Mei was burning in that little chamber right now.

Ana had taken him aside and asked him if he was all right. She was a good egg, best nan, one of his favorites. He could trust her well enough. So he said that no, he wasn’t all right. And thankfully she hadn’t tried to offer him any shite about comforting words or being in better places. She’d just nodded, told him she understood, and said she had something for him later. He wondered what that was about, and hoped he could remember to ask her.

Doctor Angelface had given him sleeping pills, since he hadn’t slept in a while. Worse than usual, really. But he didn’t want to take them. He spent his nights alone while Hog slept, puttering over his projects or keeping himself busy. The stuffed seal lay un-cuddled on his bed, along with the mound of Mei’s snowflake blankets, and her stars were crooked and askew, hanging from pieces of tape on his ceiling. Their glow looked a little dull to him. Strange. They’d always seemed a lot brighter in her room.

At some point Roadhog must have slipped the pills in his boba. Or maybe he collapsed out of exhaustion. Probably Hog’s fault, though. He woke up drooling on Mei’s pillow, burrowed in Mei’s blanket, curled around Mei’s stuffed seal. Everything felt foggy and slow and he hadn’t dreamed of anything. Or maybe he had, and he’d forgotten them. He forgot a lot of things. That’s why he had to keep everything of hers that he could, so he wouldn’t start to forget those too.

Ana found him again, since he’d forgotten about her too. She gave him a little package and said it was only right for him to decide what to do with it, putting a little parcel into his flesh hand and folding his long fingers over it. He asked her what it was and what he was supposed to do with it, but she merely shook her head and said that this was something he had to decide on his own. She couldn’t help him with this one. He snapped something impatient back at her, but she merely turned and walked in the other direction. When he looked again, he saw the writing on the little paper container and nearly dropped it.

What was he supposed to do with Mei’s ashes, anyway?

***

Shamefully, he had to admit that his very first thought was that he should eat them. The second thought was that that would be absolutely disgusting, even for him, and wasn’t sure where that thought had even come from. Maybe he was still just tired. Or maybe that was the only way he could figure out for them to be close anymore. Still, that idea was off the charts. A no-go. Or, at the most, it would be Plan C.

Roadhog told him that some people kept ashes in their homes, in a vase. But he didn’t have a vase, he’d probably break one even if he did, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about just leaving her there…in some cold urn, all by herself. Couldn’t leave her like that, no. Parts of her were already scattered all over. Winston had taken her on her last tour of China, and now she was out there in parts of Xi’an, across the Gèlādāndōng Fēng, the Tianzi Mountains, and places he didn’t even know. All those places sounded pretty lonely and cold to him. And it had always been his job to warm her up.

Maybe he could warm up this one little part of her, and put a bit of her in the best and warmest place he knew of. But then…Didn’t she hate Australia? She’d never had an easy time of it there. Neither had he. But it was still home and still his most favorite place in the world. And maybe she wouldn’t mind being in a place where it was always hot and sunny, since it was such a little bit of her and she was just a pile of ashes anyway.

He asked Roadhog what he thought and received a shrug. But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Even though it was a stupid thing to do, and she was just ashes. But lots of things were ashes in the Outback, so maybe she’d mix right in with the sand and be warm forever. Maybe she’d reach whatever place they’d been in the desert when he’d first kissed her, or looked up at the stars, or rooted for the first time. Not that he could remember where those locations were, but Mei was one clever cookie and an expert navigator, so she’d probably be able to find her way there. Or maybe she’d be swept up into one of the red storms and rain down fire and vengeance if she was mad at things, since she was often mad at things but would never really say why. Maybe she could be like some sort of angry Chinese ghost that haunted Australia’s weather patterns, that’s what she would be. He liked the thought of it more and more.

Even though Winston hesitated when the request was made, Junkrat was granted two tickets back to Oz.

When he arrived and the door opened, and the molten heat poured over him and the little precious parcel held in both hands, he knew this was a great idea. Tucked into Hog’s chopper as he’d been so many times before, the two made quick work of the Outback’s cracked highways, heading deeper into the desert that both called home. Roadhog didn’t seem particularly bothered that Rat had absolutely no destination in mind. They were used to wandering. So that was what they did, for several days.

It was almost like the true ‘old days’, when the junkers had meandered from nowhere to nowhere, topping off at junker petrol stations and occasionally getting into a little tussle with old rivals. But throughout it all, even though his mind wandered, Junkrat held fast to the little bundle with her name on it.

Until one day, driving through what used to be the ol’ Chilla Well near Alice Springs, Junkrat screamed to stop. So Roadhog pulled over, and the younger junker scrambled out of his sidecar, pressed his mechanical hand above his brow to shield his eyes, and peered around in all directions. The long, red desert stretched out in all directions, flat and sandy save for the buttes that rose up and stood against the blue of the sky. Scrubby brownish-green shrubs dotted the blasted landscape, and the sun beat down until it hurt. This was the place. She could go to wherever she needed from here, and never be cold.

He tried to remember if she’d told him anything about Chinese funeral rites, but he couldn’t recall. And he was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been impressed by what junkers called a funeral. He wasn’t big into funerals anyway. So at a loss as to what else to do, he told Roadhog to say something.

Roadhog thought for a very long while before saying, “She was good.”

Junkrat could agree with that.

When the next breeze came, he opened up the box and shook it. A little puff of gray was expelled from within, seized by the desert winds and taken off towards the northwest, until it had mixed with the red and he couldn’t tell it apart anymore. And then she was gone. Mei was gone and was all over the world and she was never coming back.

But at least she’d be warm.

***

That night, they roasted lizards and ate beans out of the can like they used to do. But it didn’t feel right anymore, and Junkrat’s laughter didn’t sound like it should have. It kept breaking in odd spots and turning back on itself until it was almost like sobbing, but not really. Crying had never done him much good and was just a waste of water, after all. Roadhog seemed more muted than ever, which was genuinely a hard thing for most to imagine, and announced quietly that he was going to bed early, since he was tired and they had a long few days of driving ahead to get back to the rest of Overwatch.

Junkrat finished his half-eaten tin of food before getting up, gathering up his bedroll, and leaving the yellow glow of their campfire. Instead he moved off into the night, where the red desert met black night and turned the world into shades of purple and blue. Kicking open the roll onto the open sand on the crest of a tiny dune, he flopped down onto his back and stared upward. Nice, clear night. Lots of stars. Lots and lots of stars. She’d always been dazzled by the stars out here, and he pretended to like them too, even if he was watching her more than he was watching them.

But now, looking up at them, they were very pretty. Now that she was out here, she could look at them every night, any time she wanted.

He felt water draining down from his eyes, down over his temples, and cursed a little as he scrubbed it away with the back of his bruised knuckles. Damnit.

The stars glimmered above him, the dusty clouds of the milky way stretching across the abyss of the open sky. Mei had explained it all to him, how the dust wasn’t sand, but fathomless multitudes of rocks and pieces of star stuff. They were balls of raging fire and gas so large and so bright that they could eat up the sun, and they were seeing their light from billions upon billions of miles and light years away. How the gravity of these immense things could pull itself in until it burnt out and nothing but pits of hungry black remained. Like his stomach, she had laughed. Sometimes, they went supernova in the greatest, most explosive force in the universe. Something that someone like him couldn’t even imagine. And that sometimes, the dust from these stars and these deserts and her body, would all be gathered up in some void until a spark lit everything up and a new star was born from it all. She’d said that the real things were nothing like the little shapes that glowed in the dark on her ceiling.

His eyes kept watering and it made it hard to look at all those stars.

Their glow looked a little dull to him. Strange. They’d always seemed a lot brighter in her room.

#meihem #junkrat #meirat #jamison fawkes #junkmei #mei #mei-ling zhou #roadhog #fanfiction #writing #drabble #character death #junker

[btwrites-overwatch]

junkrat and roadhog manage to capture mccree but while hog is out of the room, mccree charms junkrat into releasing him by taking him out on a date to see fireworks as his "last request." hoggie comes back and both the dorks are gone.

McCree leaned his head against a dirt-smeared hand, crossing one leg over the other as he sat back in his lawn chair. “Mighty nice of ya to lemme have this,” he began, “but do I really gotta be chained to the chair?” He rattled the chains for emphasis, clacking raucously against his prosthetic hand and the chair legs.

Jamie snickered, burying the concussion mine up under the “fireworks.” “Can’t have ya runnin’ away durin’ the show, can I?” he returned, adjusting one of the bombs. “Ain’t even given your mates time to even think about payin’ the ransom.” He hoped the chemicals he dumped in at the last minute would make the explosions colorful – and, er, not deadly. That would really ruin the last couple hours of the cowboy’s life.

“Guess you got a point.” McCree’s voice was begrudging, his face twisted in a stony scowl. It took all he had not to erupt on Jamie, and the junker knew that – hell, he’d be fighting like a cat stuck in a bag in his position. There was something respectable about his composure, and something a bit endearing about how furious he was.

His fury was different from Mako’s. His was one that would gladly kill Jamie if given the chance, despite his flirting and gusto, and would do so with a grin on his face. His was one that knew what it wanted and how it wanted it done. Such an organized hatred, meant just for him – it left Jamie feeling jittery, full of goosebumps and a morbid curiosity that made him want to let the Overwatch agent free, just to see exactly what he’d do.

What could he say? He liked dangerous men.

He bounced up and loped back over to McCree, his pretty little display ready to be set off. He slapped himself down into his seat beside the American’s, holding the detonator of the singular concussion mine with a giddy expression. “Ready for this?” he asked, leaning close and squeezing the other man’s arm. “Might wanna cover your ears, dear.”

McCree allowed himself to smirk ever so slightly, turning his attention to the display set up a safe enough distance away that it wouldn’t burn them to crisps. Jamie didn’t let go of his arm, hardly realizing his hand was lingering, and waited for him to plug his ears with his fingers.

And then…boom. The best sound in the world, so good he didn’t bother to cover his own ears.

Pinks and greens and purples burnt up the twilit sky with splendor Jamie didn’t think possible. The heat hit them moments after the colors, the multiple explosions leaving his head ringing in a way he could only describe as euphoric. Funny, he’d heard of the Omnic monks in Nepal trying to reach nirvana on the physical plane – if only those buckets of scrap could figure out it was right in front of them, just a matchstick away!

He squeezed Jesse’s arm harder, giggling as the bright embers started floating back down to the sand. Beside him – muffled, dampened by the popping of his eardrums – Jesse chuckled too, leaning closer so their shoulders were touching.

“That was ace!” Jamie screamed, loud enough so he could hear himself. “I made those! And I did ‘em right! Y'know, I’ve always wanted to make fireworks – never had a show!” He turned to look at Jesse, skin boiling with excitement and thinking the display didn’t last nearly as long as it should’ve. He opened his mouth to keep talking, only to find a scratchy beard and lightly chapped lips against his cheek before he could make a sound.

Fresh flames rushed through his blood, all of which shot to his head. Dizziness hit him like a bus; he felt like he was about to physically combust and splatter Jesse with brain matter, mere seconds after he made his night. He didn’t have a chance to ask why, his jaw refusing to work with his tongue and his tongue refusing to work with his brain. For once, he was dumbstruck.

Jesse stayed there for a moment, smiling against the side of his face with lowered eyelids. Then, quietly, he admitted, “You’re awful sweet, sugar bomb. Too bad for you I don’t much like desserts.”

Jamie glanced over, confused, just to feel the cold barrel of a revolver pressed to his temple. Sharp fear made his heart freeze, realizing a few seconds too late that the display was a distraction – one he made for his own damn self, keeping him entranced like a particularly dense toddler.

“I-I didn’t know ya could pick locks!” he exclaimed loudly, dismayed. “You slimy bastard!”

Jesse slowly got up, keeping the pistol to Jamie’s head. He dusted himself off, his denims having gotten dirty in the dust kicked up by the bombs. “That’s why ya look into people before kidnappin’ ‘em, hun. But, for future reference – I can pick locks, shoot a can outta the air from 200 feet away, and prefer coffee over tea.”

Jamie stared at the ground. How devious. How smarmy.

He couldn’t have done it better himself.

He should’ve been livid. He should’ve been trying to kick the cowboy’s feet out from under him, he should’ve been screaming bloody murder and committing bloody murder. But he was proud. Disappointed, but proud. Christ, he should’ve known better!

Right where the bombs had been, a sleek ship landed from seemingly nowhere. Chrome outlines, hovering on blue fire that threw the charred sand in a circle around itself, made for a beautiful UFO Jamie would have given his remaining limbs to inspect closer. Jesse grinned, a lopsided thing that rivaled the nuttiness of Junkrat’s own. “Looks like the landin’ strip worked pretty well,” he exclaimed, turning to bolt for the opening door. “It’s been fun, ¡querido! Take me to dinner next time, will ya?”

Jamie watched him run, his serape a victory flag flapping out behind him, before he hopped into the ship, as seamless as if being kidnapped and held for ransom was his idea from the start. The ship wasted no time in heaving itself off the ground, having gotten what it came for, before shooting into the sky.

Jamie watched the dust settle. When all was clear, he sighed, threw his head back, and covered his face with his hands.

Butterflies ate away at his innards, making themselves at home in his gut. He was blushing like mad, feeling as though he’d been in the sun for six hours too long. The feeling was addicting, something he got hooked on right there and then – and knew he had to see that too-smart-for-his-own-good, charming-beyond-reason asshole of a cowboy again. He needed revenge, if not something more.

When he moved his hands, he looked up into the black lenses of Roadhog’s mask. “He got away,” the big man muttered, not sounding surprised at all.

He wasn’t asking, but Jamie nodded anyway. “He’s a better thief than either of us are, Hog. I gotta get back at 'im.”

Roadhog said nothing. Junkrat stood up, bouncing to his feet as excitement made his muscles shriek for movement. His bones fizzled with newfound purpose; his internal furnace burned the butterflies to twitching ashes as he began gimping back to the trailer. “I’m never washin’ this face again!” he told no one in particular, not intending to give an explanation to whoever was listening. He had a million thoughts hitting him at once, ways he could find the agents of Overwatch, how he could join them, how he could steal Jesse’s heart the way he stole his. Explanations could be given later.

Mako watched after him, narrowing his eyes behind the mask. Joining Overwatch was the last thing he’d expected Jamison to want to do, but who was to stop him? He was hellbent on revenge. Mako wouldn’t stand in the way of that.

He hoped the Overwatch agents had room for a motorcycle on that dinky ship of theirs. And maybe a Pachimari machine or two.

#high boom #highboom #jesse mccree #jamison fawkes #junkrat #reqs #my writing

[kaylamoonbeam]

Junkrat’s 1812 Overture Part 7

I am SO sorry this took so long.  I have been really beat lately.  I’m not sure you’ll like this, but here it is, anyway.

Like, Comment, Reblog, Support (if you have a mind to)

Junkrat led you back to the junker’s ‘lab’, making a point to hold your hand as you walked.  When he’d heard McCree’s voice on the other side of the door, all his insecurities flooded back.  It didn’t help when you’d pushed him away from you so you could answer the door.  He knew it was too good to be true, that there was no way you were going to remain below him, sweet little pussy grasping at his fingers as you bit and licked at his mouth just above yours.  And when he’d asked you out, you’d made the date for the next day.  Right in front of him!

But instead you wanted to spend time with him.  After hearing you and McCree talk so familiarly, he wanted to have that with you, plus more.  And when you’d called him Junkrat (ok, so it was his name, more or less, but still), he knew what he wanted to do.  Well, other than you.

***

The burgers Junkrat grilled up were damn fine burgers.  You were a bit surprised, half expecting your dinner to be a charred hockey pucks on flimsy buns, but these were juicy and tender and moist.  Your first bite actually made you moan in a manner not unlike the way Junkrat had you moaning earlier.  Nevertheless, you devoured your supper, the burger accompanied by some kind of salad that was strange but delicious.  

After you’d finished eating, you went to wash the dishes, trying to help out for the tasty meal, but Junkrat grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.  You tried to protest, but you put a finger to your lips and walked with you out of the lab and into his room.  It looked very much the same, except that a curtain you hadn’t noticed before was now pulled to the side, revealing Junkrat’s actual bedroom.

Mostly all that could be seen was his bed; it was huge and covered in a slate gray doona and, surprisingly, several plush looking pillows.  Now that you were in his room, an awkwardness settled over you both.  You tasted your mouth and asked, without much hope, if he had any toothpaste.  He surprised you by nodding and led you to the bathroom, handing you an unused brush as well.  You stood together at the sink, both of you brushing your teeth.  It was odd, standing next to him, but when you’d finished you went back out, looking at Junkrat’s many books.

Opening one at random, U.S. Army Improvised Munitions Handbook, you saw it was inscribed.  “To Jamison, Surprise! XO.”  No name, you saw, and wondered about the words.  The book was well used; passages were underlined and there was marginalia on nearly every page.  The handwriting was clearly Junkrat’s, and as you read the notes you were struck again with his brilliance.  He was so much smarter than people gave him credit for.  

“You wanna borrow it?” Junkrat’s voice broke into your thoughts and you jumped.

“What?!”

“The book,” Junkrat chuckled his high pitched cackle, “Do you want to borrow it?”

You stared at him for a minute before answering, “Uh, yeah, actually,” you thought you could learn a lot about the man by reading his notes.

“Who’s Jamison? Or do you know, even?” You wondered if he would know, the inscription was faded and it seemed like an older book.

“Who-?” Junkrat choked, “Who’s Jamison? Why, tha’s me!”

You stared at him as he laughed.

“You didna think my name was Junkrat, didja?  Me n Roadhog have our nicknames, or kinda codenames, but… yeah, darl, I’m Jamison Fawkes, nice to meetcha!”

Junkrat held his hand out to you in a mock introduction.  You took it feeling like a bit of an idiot.  You hadn’t really thought of Junkrat, er, Jamison’s real name.  After releasing your hand, Jamison walked past you to flop unceremoniously on his couch.  At least you thought it was a couch, it had generally couch-like proportions.  Turning and following him, you also sat, feeling foolish.  The couch was comfortably squishy, but you weighed considerably more than the junker did, despite his muscle.  This meant you were… rich in gravitational pull, and as you sat the cushions tilted toward you and, as is the way of things, so did Jamison.  

You blushed, wishing that you were small and sexy like Amelie or even if your weight was all muscle like Zarya.  Jamison didn’t seem phased by it, shifting a bit before he turned on the TV and began flipping through channels.  You weren’t paying very close attention, subtly trying to shift away to give him more space, but you stopped when you heard the introductory voice over for one of you favorite shows.  Looking up, you gaped at the screen before whipping around to face Jamison.

“How did you…?” you trailed off, in surprised amazement.

“I, uh,” Jamison blushed, “pay attention. To you.”

“But I thought,” you stopped, not really knowing what you thought.  Maybe you thought that Jamison just wanted to mess around with you.  That he wouldn’t, couldn't, want to actually be with you.  Or maybe it was only a passing fling, until something, someone, better came along.  You knew it wasn’t fair to think this, Jamison had never been anything but friendly, and now more-than-friendly, to you.  You didn’t pick up the thread of your story, instead staring at the TV screen.

Slowly, you lost yourself in the show, a documentary detailing both a murderer and their victims.  Relaxing into the couch and utterly absorbed in the show, you didn’t realize that Jamison had been slowly easing his arm around you.  It was sneaky, how he moved, and as one episode played into another, you were soon resting your head on his shoulder; your hand toying absentmindedly with a loose thread from a patch on his shorts.

***

Jamison would never admit it, but this was exactly how he wanted to spend just about every evening.  His thumb made slow circles on your shoulder, and while he found the show interesting, he couldn't help being hyper-aware of your body against his. When you'd sat down he saw the look of worry and concern on your face. Jamison wasn't smooth like McCree, but he could tell that your weight was something you were, if not outright unhappy about it at least seemed to be something on your mind. He wanted to make you more comfortable, and if his time with Roadhog had thought him anything it was to never question a person about their right. Besides, being close to you was what he wanted.

Except that you didn't seem to want the same. He could feel you trying to edge your way away from him, to give him the space you thought he'd want. Just then he saw a show you liked. You'd mentioned it to Roadhog ages ago, when Junkrat still couldn't speak to you, and he'd committed it to memory.

As you recognized the show, Junkrat noticed the moment of uncertainty cross your face. He wanted to know why you were uncertain, but then, if he were in your shoes, sitting next to him, he might be uncertain, too. Still, you sank into him, so absorbed in the show you didn't notice his arm style around you. And that was how he came to be drawing small circles with his thumb.

***

As the shows changed, Junkrat leaned back, shifting to give his aching ribs some relief. You picked up your legs, tucking them to your side as you moved to accommodate him. His shoulder was bony and a bit uncomfortable, so you shifted more, resting your head on his thigh. Jamison’s breathing picked up a bit, but he didn't move except to place his hand on your shoulder again.

It was nice, not having to speak, just being allowed to enjoy a show and Junkrat’s company. You were enjoying the show, so it came as a surprise when you stirred and it was morning. You stiffened, listening to Jamison's steady breathing as you did. Slowly you eased your way to sitting, careful not to wake him.  You felt embarrassed; you'd overstayed your welcome, and you had no idea what time it was. You padded quietly to the door, easing the door open before slipping out. At the last moment you caught the door and shut it with barely a click.

Turning around you almost screamed to see McCree lounging against the opposite wall.

“Wondered where you were. Doing some… laundry were you?”  His smirk was almost too self-satisfied to bare, and instead of saying anything, you just started your walk of shame.  McCree fell into step beside you,

“So,” the cowboy nudged you, “what happened?” McCree waggled his eyebrows ineffectually.  Laughing at him, you tried to brush it off, as if not having much happen was exactly what you expected to have happen.  McCree remained unconvinced, continuing to needle you as you walked across base in your slept in clothes.  After arriving at your room, you nudged McCree in, shutting the door behind him quickly.

“Nothing happened,” you turned to McCree, the joking laughter draining from his face.

“What? How could nothing have happened?” the astonishment in his voice made you feel vindicated and even more disappointed at the same time.

“We just...talked.  It was all going ok and then…” you trailed off, but McCree picked up the thread.

“Then you got scared that your size was a turn off, didn’t you?” his words seared across the room making you wince.  For a long time you didn’t look at the man, trying to formulate an answer.

“Yes,” you gave in, “I just… when we were in the heat of the moment, it felt fine, but then after that heat had time to settle, it all just....”

“Darlin’,” McCree began, but you cut him off.

“Look, Jesse, I know I’m not… attractive.  I’m the fat researcher whose tongue is too sharp for her size.  I know that no one likes me-” you stopped, the words choking your throat.  It wasn’t true, even as you spoke, you knew that what you were saying couldn’t be true because you had real evidence to contradict it.  Sitting next to Jamison, all muscle and sinew, made you certain that the heat and need from earlier had been transitory and misplaced.  You knew you were contradicting yourself, that Jamison had clearly not been turned off by your body, but the confident facade you put up began to crumble around people who you were interested in.  You were looking at your feet, trying not to cry from your confusion, when McCree came up to you, wrapped you in his arms, and let you burst into tears.

If this had been a romantic novel, your tears would have been delicate, beautiful, even.  Since it wasn’t, they were the tears that are cried by people who don’t allow themselves to cry often.  There was snot involved.  McCree didn’t say a word, just let you cry yourself out.  Then he led you to your bed, tucked you in, and let you sleep.  

#junkrat #Junkrat fic #junkrat's 1812 Overture #junkrat x reader #not sure how I feel about this one #next one will be better #promise

[overwatch-fanfics]

Minutes - Overwatch Pre-Recall AU!

Reyes spread the map across the table and started assigning team roles.

“Jesse, you and Shimada are flanking through the left.” McCree and Genji nodded in unity and left the room.

“Reinhardt and Morrison, you’re both leading the charge.” Reinhardt hit his chest twice and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Ana?” “Affirmative.” and she left the room.

“The rest of you stay in the midlines and take all necessary precautions. Remember: this is a Blackwatch operation, people. Have no mercy! Alright, everyone get into position. MOVE!”

Reyes took one last look over the mission briefing. A minor omnic uprising. Should be easy to stop. Easy enough to maybe put a new recruit to the test...

“Hey, kid.”

Tracer looked up. “Who? Me?”

“Yeah. You’re with me. We’re in the frontline.” Reyes smiled.

“No way!” Tracer screamed with excitement.

“No way is right!” Morrison interrupted. “Reyes, she’s not ready!”

“How would you know, Jack? We haven’t tested her yet! For all we know she could be better than both of us!”

“Or she could have never fired a gun in her entire life! If there’s anyone who’s gonna be in the frontline, it’s me. Kid, you lead the charge with Reinhardt. Reyes and I will handle it. What do you say?”

“Um- Uh- Roger that, Commander Morrison!”

“Excellent. Dismissed.”

Reyes popped his shells in the last omnic resistance unit and threw his shotguns on the ground. His eyes wide with anger, his breathing fast and heavy. He started running to the backlines as fast as he could. He reached for his earpiece “Sector clear. That’s the last of them. Angela, how is he holding up?

“I’m sorry Reyes, but there was nothing I could do...”

Angela crouched on the ground next to Morrison. His breathing had soothed and slowed down. He was no longer in pain.

Lena was one of the many who crowded around their fallen commander. “No!” She said in a low voice. “No no no no NO! This is all my fault! I shouldn't have let him take my place!” I shouldn-”

Reinhardt inched closer towards Tracer. “ Kid, listen to me. Those were Commander Morrison’s orders. You couldn’t have ignored them even if it was up to you. What is done is done, you hear me?” Reinhardt’s voice softened as he fought to fight back his tears. “We can’t change the past.”

Tracer pushed Reinhardt’s hand away. “Or can we?“

“Lena? I know what you're thinking, do no-”

“Too late!”

Tracer started running as fast she could. She could feel the adrenaline surging through her veins. She could feel her blood pump in her head. She could hear Winston tell her “It’s for emergencies only” This  was definitely an emergency. She ran and ran and ran and when the moment was right, the pulled a fist and slammed the chrono-accelerator on her chest. The rest of what she could remember was blurry.

“Or she could have never fired a gun in her entire life! If there’ anyone who’s gonna be in the frontline, it’s me. Kid, you lead the char-”

“With all due respect, sir. I think I’m more than ready to handle a test like this. I will not let you dowm. Both of you.”

Morrison was infuriated at Lena’s interruption, but one look at her expression calmed him down. She seemed confident and ready to prove herself. Up to whatever task she was assigned to. Exactly what Morrison wanted in his soldiers. He looked at Reyes and nodded. “She’s ready.”

Angela crouched on the ground next to Lena. Her breathing had soothed and slowed down. She fought the pain and with her remaining power spoke the word “Morrison”.

Jack pushed his way through the crowds and kneeled next to Tracer. “I'm here, kid. I'm here.” He held her hand.

Tracer look at Jack’s face and smiled one last time.

She was no longer in pain...

#Overwatch #Blizzard #Blackwatch #Gabriel #Reyes #Gabriel Reyes #Jack #Morrison #Jack Morrison #Soldier:76 #Ana #Amari #Reinhardt #Lena #Oxton #Lena Oxton #Tracer #Jesse #McCree #Jesse McCree #Genji #Shimada #Genji Shimada #Angela #Ziegler #Angela Ziegler #Mercy #Fanfiction #Overwatch-fanfics

[oswaldsleeping]

Series: The Strange Case of Mr. Shimada Chapter(s): 1/3 Rating: E Wordcount: 968 Warnings: no warnings this chapter Summary: What the townsfolk consider "lonely" and what  Genji considers "lonely" are two very different kinds of lonely and if his boots get chewed up a second time this month, he's going to starting wishing for the first kind. Author’s Notes: the werewolf fic no one wanted but got anyway.

On a good day, the drive into town roughly takes an hour and a half. Add another 45 minutes for grocery shopping and a drive back and that's a four hour trip that would exhaust even the most outgoing of people.

Double that exhaustion by two for Genji – he's gotten very unused to people as the years have passed. It's a far cry from his youth, where his phone would be blowing up at any given time. He likes it's solidarity now. Likes it a lot, likes it enough that he's wary to tell people that he even lives in the forest. Once or twice the question has appeared, and every time it's waved away with a (forced) pleasant “Oh, here or there.”

But townsfolk are funny - they always manage to weasel out the answers, one way or another. After all, it's not hard to notice that Genji's not from the area. Curious glances aren't new and irritating questions are a-plenty, but that just comes with living in a tiny town in the heart of rural America.

Over time, he just got used to "Why the forest?"

It was just "the thing".

  - - -

  That said, there's a strange kind of calmness that comes with saying hello to the locals over the apple section. In Japan, he would read stories of strange, rural American towns. Of bewildering cults and of how deranged the people could be. In reality, the strangest thing Genji's seen was the night the art house decided to run a showing of Un Chien Andalou and the PTA decided to protest.

  - - -

  Father Winston's cart runs into his and he profusely apologizes, worried about Genji's (barely moved) carton of eggs. He insists on switching, on the off chance that there are any shattered ones and stating that Genji needs them more.

“You're all skin and bones!” he says with his trademark deep laugh, “You need more protein, young man!”

(Genji doesn't comment on the three containers of peanut butter hidden in the basket. At least one of them is getting the proper amount.)

They talk for a bit. “The snow's really falling this year” “Glad I got the driveway salted early” “Think it'll ruin the harvest?”

Father Winston invites him to the church potluck (again), hoping that Genji has rescinded on his decision of solitude (he hasn't).

“Well, don't be a stranger! You're always welcome!” Father Winston says, undeterred from asking again next year, “Athena tried her hand at dumplings. She wanted you to give it at taste test.”

It's really very sweet, albeit a little misguided. Father Winston says he'll put some aside for Genji and bring them to the cabin when the ice thaws.

“Only so much driving one does with poor eyesight,” Father Winston smiles at him, wiping flecks of dust from his eyeglasses.

  - - -

  Every time he checks out, the blue-haired lady at the front asks him “Aren't you lonely up there sugar?”

Every time she asks, Genji smiles and says no, he's really not.

  - - -

After the grocery mart, he stops at the art house to pick up his check. One has to make a living somehow, don't they?

Miss Vaswani (A tall, stern woman with a honied voice and an almost obsessive need for order) slides the check to him. She watches him beneath her eyelashes.

“I don't understand how you can tolerate such quiet,” She says as he slides the check in his pocket, “Even I need some movement once in awhile.”

Genji says nothing, instead eyes the poster hanging on the cork board wall. A new artist would be passing through town to get to Washington State, a younger lady who was doing “wonders” with bright colors, cute imagery, and gore. Genji's seen some of her work – she's very talented.

“You know, I got another request for a commission, Mr. Shimada.” Miss Vaswani says, “They said they'd pay you quite handsomely.”

It's a nice offer. A recently married couple wanting a scroll to christen their new house, willing to pay through the ass for one. Genji declines (as per usual), and walks back to the truck, nestling his face in his scarf.

Miss Vaswani knows better. At this point, she just asks to out of politeness. His scrolls take months to finish and perfect. Inspiration is hard enough to come by as is and he doesn't need a pushy client making it worse.

The truck is coated in a thin layer of white when he gets back. The sky is dark-grey, almost black, the clouds fat with snow. They'd been predicting a tough winter and it sure as hell was living up to that. The snow just didn't seem to want to stop anytime soon.

At least the roads aren't as bad as they were last year. Genji's not the greatest driver there ever was (in fact, he's pretty terrible). Nearly getting into a head-on collision due to ice is not something he wants to repeats, thank you.

So, after a quick stop at the bank, he straps the groceries in and turns back onto the main road. He takes a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly and going as slow as possible

It was Jesse's turn to get groceries. Genji's going to turn him into a fucking throw pillow.

- - -

  Before we go any further, dear reader, we should clarify something about the strange case of Genji Shimada and his so called “loneliness”.

The townsfolk are the only one that view it that way.

Loneliness is the furthest thing from Genji's mind, as he turns from the main road onto the unpaved path – his home is actually very lively.

Just...not in the way the townsfolk would understand.

  That is to be expected, really. Genji didn't expect it himself, but life sure does change when you start living with a werewolf.

#chitter chatter #text #mcgenji #overwatch fanfic #char: jesse mccree #char: genji shimada #fic: TSCOMS #i really love werewolf!mccree okay

[readerwatch]

Hcs for Hanzo, Genji, Gabe, Jack, and Jesse watching fireworks with their s/o

Hanzo

Hanzo wouldn’t say much, really. He’d be watching them, practically mesmerized by the colors, and appreciating the beauty of them in every way.

He’d also have you pulled fairly close, an arm around your waist with his other one being used to hold himself up on the ground.

He’d spare glances at you every now and then, probably in between the waves of fireworks, and just watch you enjoy yourself.

You’d tug on his shirt and point at the ones that really caught your attention, and he’d only hum in response and nod.

You wouldn't notice his stares until close to the end of the show, and when you did, he’d admit to it wholeheartedly. He’d hold up his hands in surrender and press a small kiss to your temple.

“You looked so happy watching them, my blossom, I couldn’t speak up.”

You two would head home, and after the show, he would have most likely bought some sparklers from a firework store himself.

He’d light one for both of you, and he’d let his burn. But you? You’d do everything with yours; draw in the air with it, write your names, or just wave it around. And all the while, Hanzo would watch and appreciate how lucky he was to be with you.

Afterwards, you’d ask him why he watched you so much and didn't enjoy himself like you did.

“I can’t help myself...your beauty captivates me.”

Genji

He really enjoys the giant green fireworks that fade out to yellow, sparkling in the sky as they die out.

He'll sit next to you, the both of you wrapped up in a huge blanket. His head lays on your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek.

He has to excuse himself for a moment, but the fireworks are so loud, you couldn't hear his reason.

He’ll come back just to surprise you with his own “fireworks.”

You'd hear a loud BANG behind you, right next to your butt.

Giggling, he’ll hand you a box of those little poppers you throw at the ground.

As you two listen to the fireworks behind you, beautiful colors silhouetting your shadows, the two of you will be having a great time making each other dance around the exploding bags of pebbles.

You'd stop to watch some particularly amazing fireworks, pointing them out to Genji so he doesn't miss any really cool ones!

Genji suggests bringing in a ping pong paddle to play popper ping pong, but it's just a really bad idea that could end up minorly burning someone.

The two of you don't really think about the mess you'll have to clean up later until the main show is over and the two of you are stepping on sharp rocks and paper.

Gabriel

He’d probably not take you to the firework show in town, saying it’s “ridiculous” or “irrelevant” and that “we can have our own show at home.”

You’d kind of not agree with him, and do your best to persuade him into going to the show, but he’d win, like always.

You’d be waiting at home when he returned with the fireworks. You’d be expecting some measly little packages of sparklers and smoke bombs, and maybe some sizzlers, but what you see would surprise you tenfold. Four large packages, all varying in contents -- they’d come up to the height of your waist, fucking hell -- and Gabe would only have a smug smirk on his face as you look at them.

You’d still kind of not enjoy doing fireworks at home, but when Gabe sat you down in a safe area while he prepared them, you’d cross your arms and wait for the inevitable forest fire.

But-- there would be none. He’d scare you at first, suddenly lighting one of the more larger fireworks, and when it went off in the air, you’d let out a yelp.

But...watching them, you’d find them pretty neat. They’d all be dazzling colors; red, green, blue, orange, yellow. They’d go off, continuously, and Gabe would suddenly appear next to you.

“Do you like them, mi amor?”

“Yes, Gabriel. I think they’re fabulous. Thank you.”

“Told you that this would have been better than the show in town.”

Jack

He’ll be grilling up some food for the big show in the park. The two of you are out for a picnic while you watch the fireworks.

“You want a dog or a burger?”

He'd like to think he is “Grillmaster: 76” but his grilling skills aren't exactly up to par with his fighting ability.

He’s got his large cooler full of soda and beer.

When he's done making dinner for the two of you, you'll both sit and try to enjoy your charred meals.

Just add a little more salt, maybe then you can stomach it.

Or just wait until after the show to eat.

You'll both be sipping your drinks, watching the beautiful fireworks light up the sky.

He's relatively silent when watching them, rarely commenting on how nice a few of them look.

It's not particularly exciting to sit and watch fireworks with Jack, but it's nice to just relax next to him and forget about the struggles in the world.

McCree

He’d be hooting and hollering over every gigantic explosion with his arm draped around your shoulders.

“Whew, what a beauty!”

He’ll whistle at the LOUDEST most OBNOXIOUS booms.

He’ll be drunk. He really likes to celebrate when the big fireworks are out.

He has definitely purchased confetti pistols for the event. Handing you one of your favorite color, he’ll challenge you to a duel.

The triggers on these pistols are always incredibly hard to pull and there's always the chance you're going to burn your hand when the gunpowder goes off. 

When he shouts fire, confetti flies all over you, the strong scent of gunpowder filling the air. Your own pistol broke of course, but McCree bought around five packs of those things you are given as many chances to shoot him as you needed.

He’ll lend you a hand, assisting you in the proper way to pull the trigger without getting any of the negative repercussions.

As you sit and watch the finale of the big fireworks show, he’s showering you in confetti from the confetti pistols.

You're going to have to scrub really hard to get the smell of gunpowder out of your hair, but McCree sure had his fun.

#mod dryice #mod kris #overwatch #readerwatch #hanzo shimada #hanzo x reader #hanzo shimada x reader #genji x reader #genji shimada x reader #genji shimada #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes #reaper #reaper x reader #jack morrison #jack morrison x reader #soldier 76 #soldier 76 x reader #jesse mccree #jesse mccree x reader #mccree x reader #headcanons

[ao3feed-mchanzo]

Of Burnt Boots and Pompous Dragons

by preetkiran1016

Sometimes McCree wondered, staring down at the charred remains of his favorite boots, why he even bothered to try in the first place.

In which McCree pisses off a dragon, Hanzo is annoyed, and the rest of watchpoint finds entertainment in a certain Cowboys suffering.

Words: 3759, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Of Dragons and Cowboys

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Hana "D.Va" Song, Lúcio Correia dos Santos

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Noodle Dragons, Shenanigans, Genji is not a little shit, McSuffering, Fluff, Allllll the fluff, Happy Endings For Everyone

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' http://ift.tt/2xkbI0w via IFTTT

#mchanzo #fic #ao3feed #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada

[sombraswaifu]

I feeling pretty angsty and was wondering if you could do something along the lines of mccree or Hanoz (or both) reacting to finding out their past lover whom they presumed dead is actually alive? I hope this makes sense. Haha

Jesse McCree

It had been a solid seven years since Jesse last saw you. After his return to base from visiting Kings Row he had found out you were resigned out of Blackwatch and placed into a small Overwatch watchpoint in Massachusetts.

Shortly before Zurich blew up there was a massive attack in that watchpoint and the base was eradicated from the map. Every body they had found was a charred and mangled mess, but they never found your body. The young cowboy was utterly bewildered at the news and left Blackwatch shortly after. With a broken heart and a recently lost arm, he began taking justice to his own hands for those in need.

Never in his lifetime would he expect to see your bright smile again. His initial rejoice with you was very explosive. He was in the mercy of a group of ex Deadlock members, however, you had come to his rescue by incinerating all of them. At first, Jesse was too shocked to move as he looked at you. Your once soft smile and kind gaze had turned to an angered glare and a relentless snarl. Scars tattered your face and body. Your right hand was replaced by a prosthetic that was programmed to act as a flamethrower.

Once your gaze caught Jesse, your eyes softened.

“Jesse? Is that you?” you asked. Those chocolate brown eyes of his could never be forgotten really.

In a mix of emotions, excitement and everything in between, Jesse rushed up to you and pulled you in a strong embrace.

“ y/n! my god, you’re alive, you’re alive! I can’t believe it!” He said, brushing your frizzy and messy hair back, “Still as gorgeous as ever sugar-pie…”

With a soft laugh you tapped his brand new hat. You remembered he used to have that small black hat. “And you’re as western as ever McCree…”

Hanzo Shimada

As a young boy, you and Hanzo were both the eldest children. You were from a friendly, but lower class clan. It didn’t stop you hanging out with the young Hanzo.

You two would play every day. Until one day, you didn’t. An enemy clan had invaded your residency and it was assumed everyone from your clan was dead as the fires burned enough for the Shimada clan to be able to see the pyre that was the remains of your home.

When Hanzo met you once again, it was the fifth anniversary of Genji’s death. He had returned to his home to pay respects to his loss when he heard soft padding of feet from his side.

“Show yourself, assassin…” He beckoned.

He did not expect your small form to come into his view, “I knew you’d be here my friend.” you said as you carefully approached him, unmasking yourself from a shugoki mask you had donned on your face, “Long time no see Hanzo.”

The Japanese man was at a loss of words, his eyes tried to avert from your face, trying not to rudely stare at the left eye, which had a milky, dead hue to it.

“How… are you alive? Your clan was erased.” He stated, making you smile a little.

“It’s a long story Hanzo… How about we have a drink while we talk some things out?” You asked, knowing that you’d have to break through a lot of ice to rebuild this friendship.

#Mod Tez #overwatch imagine #overwatch imagines #mccree x reader #mccree #jesse mccree #jesse mccree x reader #hanzo shimada #hanzo #hanzo x reader #hanzo imagine #mccree imagine

[acaranna]

Hanzo is the most competitive fucker at multi player games but Jesse is super chill and laid back. It gets tricksy when they're trying to play a co op like diablo or portal 2 cos Hanzo struggles to get out of the 'must beat mccree' mindset and Jesse just wants to have fun.

Hey Dear! That’s a fun thought for those two. I’m usually like single player more than multiplayer but I still enjoy Guild Wars 2. Mainly with my bestie. So, I might go with that. Hmmm ... Let’s see... (I really hope you like it!)

“Hanzo?” Jesse’s voice comes through the headphones. “Ya do know that we have all the time in the world ta get those achievements, don’t ya? There’s no need ta rush this.” 

Hanzo stops his character, a human ranger, moments before pulling the next group of enemies into a fight. He did it again, it seems. He moves the camera around to see where Jesse stopped. The Char is surprisingly well hidden and it takes him a second to find the engineer between all the greenery. 

“I ... apologize. It seems, I focused too hard. Again,” he breathes out and retracks his steps back to Jesse whose gentle laughter rings in his ears. Why they decided on using headphones when they are merely a few rooms apart still eludes Hanzo.

“Don’ have ta apologize, darlin’,” Jesse chuckles. “I’ve known ya for a while now, haven’t I? I know that ya like to get every achievement right off the bat.” His words break off with another chuckle. “I shoulda known that ya were going for being the best. Ya’re always tryin’ to beat me on the shooting range, too. No wonder ya bring that competetive streak ta the game. Ya need ta relax more, darlin’. No need to get competetive here, sweetpea. Just a friendly game with a friendly guy, right?” 

Hanzo feels his cheeks heat up and his ears burn, too. Jesse always has that effect on him and he is not sure that it is unwelcome.

“Now, don’t feel bad about it,” Jesse moves his Char past Hanzo. “We’ll get those achievements, eventually. For now, let’s focus on clearing this passage, alright?”

 He chuckles and follows Jesse. It will happen again and Hanzo feels like he will hear that warm laughter more often than not.

Send me your headcanon for a ficlet?

#mchanzo #headcanons #p:mchanzo #sherribon #ask reply

[overwatching-you-sleep]

hi!! first off, just wanna say i love this blog! i think i remember something about monster stuff a while back? how about a scenario w a witch reader getting hunted down by witch hunter mccree who has been after then for a while? either sfw or nsfw are fine (ps, not super well versed w cryptids, but apparently there's a black demon shark somewhere near baja california)

Thank you, and that’s cool as shit.

McCree:

Yourbody was aching as though you hadn't sleep all your 300 years. Everything hurt,and despite living through some of the most horrid tortures you could imagine,you couldn't find a moment in your life where you had wanted to die more thannow. A fire trap, in your own home. Centuries of work lost. You wanted toscream.

Youpressed your hands on your arms, wincing at the light first degree burns yousuffered, and on the better parts of your body. Some of you looked to be nearlycharred. You tried to call to mind a healing spell, something that didn'trequire any of the thousands of ingredients that just got destroyed, but yourbrain was fried along with the rest of you. You were lucky you got out as youdid.

Yousat on the forest floor, staring at the burning remains of your hut. You had tocalm yourself down and figure out what step to take next. The fire was by nomeans an accident, a trap set up from someone who was very likely hunting youdown and knew exactly what you were. In the era, witchcraft was dismissed asfantasy, and you could see the dwindling number of hunters reach next to zero.Only the extremely wealthy or extremely eccentric could resist the expense ofmodern life and bugger off to hunt witches.

Youhad apparently found one of the only ones that were left.

Itwas terrifying, after so many years of not worrying about the law breathingdown your neck. You had lost your edge in combat, focusing more on a quiethermit lifestyle. No trouble for years; you had been entirely off the grid. Howcould you possibly be located when the last evidence of your existence in theHunter circles died off some 70 odd years ago?

Thelast of the embers from your home began to sizzle out, leaving you out in the late-nightdarkness. You pulled yourself to your feet, wincing at the rough burns thatlittered your skin, and began to make your way through the trees and down tothe little town at the foot of the mountain to get help.

Aftera last, longing look at your home, you found the dirt path and began to followit, staying along the trees in case whatever had set the fire was coming to getrid of any survivors. The more you walked, the more your senses came back toyou and fresh air filled your lungs. When the first glimpse of the town peekedfrom between the leaves, you even smiled. It was not the end. You couldrebuild, could start over, and you’d rely on the people’s goodwill to do it.

Itwas when you saw the flickers of firelight through the buildings that youpaused. Someone was shouting, angrily, and there was a chorus of cheers inresponse. It certainly didn’t seem a time to celebrate. Memories from centuriesago—angry mobs with rusted pitchforks—slowed you to a stop, and you could onlywatch on in despondent horror.

“Wewill not tolerate it!” a man was shouting from his crate soapbox. You realizedwith a sinking gut that what he held in his hand (the one that wasn’t holdinghis baseball bat, the new apparent weapon of choice for angry mobs) was the limpbody of your sparrow familiar, streetlight glittering off the blood drippingfrom her throat. She had disappeared before the fire. “A witch in our woods? Weshould’ve wiped out scum like that in the medieval times!”

Youscoffed at his obvious lack of expertise, but it didn’t surprise you. Afterall, who was an expert in witches these days?

“At least one person,” you remind yourself.

Afterall, there had to be someone, who tipped off the town, who set your houseablaze. You pulled as close as the shadows would hold you, pale at the numberof guns among the crowds shaking hands. At least it would be less painful thana rusty pitchfork.

“Let’sgo and kill this thing so that we can sleep soundly at night!” You rolled youreyes; the idiot had been sleeping safe for the last 40 years with you two milesaway. Riling the crowd into an enraged agreement, the man lead the mob off in amarching parade up the dirt path you had almost followed right to them. Youducked further away, watching them loop around the gate and begin their ascentup the shallow mountain.

“Somuch for getting help here,” you mumbled under your breath. In the lit street,the body of your familiar lay on the ground, and you couldn’t help but want toget her. It was dangerous, you didn’t know how many people were still in thetown, but she was owed the respect. You’d only be in the light for a quicksecond, and that thought convinced you to take one step out of the darkness andlean—

Agun fired. A thick bullet ripped through the tenderly burned fibers of your armand scraped against your bone. You cried out in pain and alarm, drawing backinto the shadows and turning to run In all your shock, you hadn’t even seenwhat had shot you.

Thetail end of the villager’s mob in the distance was visible from the end of thealley, but you got no further before another fat bullet pierced the flesh ofyour shin, right through your charred skin. A thin line of dust cut through andsevered what was left of your leg from the shin down, making you fallface-first on the ground. You cried. It wasn’t less painful. Not at all.

“That’sone thing about witches.” Immediately it was obvious from his accent that the strangerwasn’t from the town, which could only mean one thing. You turned your head toget a look at him, see the man who had ruined your entire life and would probablykill you too, and you could feel your entire nervous system shudder infull-blown fear.

JesseMcCree. A man who hunted witches and other magic beings in exchange for his ownimmortality. You’d had a few run-ins with him in centuries past, before he becamethe skilled menace he was now.

You’dbeen lucky enough to forget he existed.

“What’sthat?” you coughed, unable to muster the confidence you needed. He shrugged andpulled back the hammer on his revolver.

“They’realways sneaky.” He smiled, and it’s just as cocky and sure as it was back inthe 1800s. He gestures the gun towards your busted leg, lining up his shot withyour other kneecap. “That’s why I don’t let ‘em run. Especially not one likeyou.”

“Likeme?” you repeated, eyes staring off to black space to avoid looking him in theeye. He chuckled and knelt, pressing one of his knees against your back.

“Prettyones,” he elaborated, metal fingers curling in your hair. “I could have a lotof fun with a lil’ somethin’ like you.”

#request #mccree #sfw #drabble #yandere #violence #Anonymous