Take a Breather

[Starter for @roadr8ge]

Gunshots rang as Jesse watched Jamison fall to the floor. He has his loyal peacekeeper in his hand–It was dual action for a reason, and he had managed to land four of his fan the hammer shots. His clothes and hands now stained with rouge as he watched Jamison twitch on the ground. Jesse took a long draft from his cigarillo as he looked at the presumably dead criminal and back at the wanted poster.

It was his acomplice, Roadhog.

Immediately, he grabbed McCree’s gun hand and twisted it, hoping to break it like a twig while his other hand immediately began moving towards his neck.

“H o w  d a r e  y o u.”

     Mama’s gonna keep you right here under her wing.          She won’t let you fly, but she might let you sing.

Well, no. Make that DAD’S WHO HAVE LOST THEIR CHILDREN characters.

guys I ship it aaa omg 

uh

‘hey these guys doin illegal shit AND being called heroes can we get in on that?’

hi im back sorta

here’s an example.

Looking down upon the lady, Roadhog in all his glory was scratching his chin. He smelled rather foul, especially of alcohol, as he took a moment to think about this angelic armored stranger.

“Where’d you get all that sweet gear, lady?”

He stated, a small, gruff snicker coming from behind his mask.

“Ain’t as pretty as your stuff, but it gets the job done, as does the rest of my equipment.”

Roadhog, sitting nearby, leaned in a bit close, mocking her rather amusing emotions.

“I’m pretty sure I’d be scared sitting next to a big, powerful, and wanted criminal, sheila.”

On instinct, Mei leaned back just as he leaned in close to talk to her, “I am not scared.” If they were to work together, she would have to get over being so easily intimidated by others, especially wanted criminals, “I’m concerned that Junkrat may go a little trigger happy and destroy the payload.” Her eyes drifted downwards to her lap, but stopped when she saw his stomach tattoo.

If there was one thing Mei could not take her eyes off of, it was that ridiculous piggy tattoo. Sure, she would stare at his mask, but that damn piggy tattoo was to adorable not to look at.

Roadhog snorted at the very thought of such an explosion.

“Knowing my partner, I wouldn’t be surprised. But I ain’t the one to tell my mate off, sheila. You got a problem with him, take it up with him.”

He then noticed how low her eyes went, and widened his behind his mask in disbelief. No, wait, she wasn’t staring THAT low. Must be his tattoos.

“So… which one you got ya eyes on?” 

He asked, tilting his head slightly as he held himself up by pushing against his knees as he sat there, leaning forward. He gestured to the tattoo collection on his belly, to notify her on what he was talking about.

Suddenly, the outlaw leaned forward and tilted his chest forward, showing more of that ridiculous piggy tattoo on his belly button. 

Roadhog said quite sternly, crossing his arms over his large belly.

“Why do I gotta get a symbol on my body that’s in a language I don’t speak in. So I can use it as a topic o’ conversation?”

It was obvious this was a surprisingly passionate subject to the large man.

“I don’t need some weird vague symbol that means something philosophical or relevant to what I think. If I want a symbol that makes me feel powerful, I get a tat of a sword, not some Asian letter or word that’d take time explainin’. I want a tattoo of something? I get exactly that, not some squiggly lines that are in a language I don’t speak. I mean, if I saw some bloke that ain’t white with some whacky symbols across their body I wouldn’t complain coz that’s their shit. Their language. To them, that craps normal. Trying to mark yourself with something weird just because it isn’t ‘normal’ is just plain stupid. It doesn’t make you unique. It just makes you look dumb.”