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@junkerqueensheila liked for a starter!

Jesse’s eyes glanced over as the doors to the bar opened. He let out a breath through his nose, taking a drink from his glass. He waved for another glass and poured from bottle and pushed it towards her. “Here t’make nice? Or should I be reachin for my weapon?” He asked, filling his own glass again.

#junkerqueensheila #i hope this is okay!#Closed Starter

@junkerqueensheila

❛ ya know, it’s hardly a game unless yew actually try to win it, sheila. ❜

he crooned out as he leaned forward, atop the large structure that acted as a cooling duct for all the fights inside of the arena and junkertowns inner ‘castle.’ he grinned even more watching her scowling face, no one could take the shot, for risk of killing him as his head was poking out, and she knew and he as well knew that if they did, and he died, then his secret would go with him to his grave.

❛ i always have to be like one step ahead o ya.... just give it up, not gettin nothin o mine! ❜

#junkerqueensheila #[ JunkRat ] ( nσw wє'rє cσσkíng wíth gαs! )

✿ - DECAY [for Junkrat]

this HC meme I’m slowly getting to

✿ - DECAY - an old memory, from childhood perhaps

He could almost feel his eyebrows starting to burn off as the wave of intense heat reached him, eyes briefly squinting, but always staring on his last work of art. A museum, on fire ( HA! Wasn’t it ironic how it was supposedly filled with art but NOW Junkrat truly made it worthy of its title?? Enough to make him cackle a little more ). He made Hog keep only the shiniest pieces they could find, and could hear the boar behind him, chopper roaring and sputtering as he was already getting ready to leave. But the rat was in no hurry, even as sirens were starting to get louder and louder, seemingly as fascinated and blown away by this explosion just as much as by every other ones he ever witnessed.

Another brief squint, golden eyes fixated on the inferno, face muscles slowly relaxing ( a rare feat for him, always so busy being overly expressive ). Every boom was unique in its own way, and always brought different feelings ( more often than not, complete GLEE, he was a simple man, he saw an explosion, he liked it ), but he never really thought too much out of it. Sure, vague feelings sometimes came back to his mind, vague pictures, but it was never too long before they were shrugged off and Junkrat was back to cackling as he clutched his latest prize.

But as he felt his eyebrows heat up, the skin of his face red under the filth that covered most of it, a very very brief hint of fear crawled in the back of his mind. It was gone in an instant, as soon as he inhaled the dust and ash filling the air, but it was enough to leave a filthy taste in his mouth, eyes darting down as he wondered just WHEN was the last time anything explodey had scared him, even so briefly. Hell, he lost a couple of fingers to shrapnel before his whole arm got ripped off AND his leg to his own mine, and he never felt something he’d call fear. Pain, oh yeah… sure, some vague sense of disappointment as he realized his mistakes, yes, but fear? No, explosions, violent as they were, always made him feel ALIVE. —

IT WAS IN A SCRAPYARD, of course, where Jamison spent most of his time, the ruins of… something. A school maybe? An old library? Either way, something big and sturdy enough to provide shelter for any scavenger not completely insane enough to immediately resort to violence. They were not junkers ( WAIT… HE WASN’T?? Eh, he never really thought about how he hasn’t ALWAYS been in Junkertown, how weird ), but similar to them in many ways still. His hands were small enough to reach parts grown-ups couldn’t ( and most of those his age were dying off, either from the toxic land or its inhabitants ), and though some of the more sane people of the group ( Sanity was a rarity in the Outback, he knew that all too well! ) opposed to sending kids hunt for supplies, the young Fawkes never really minded. It gave him the opportunity to find things he could keep for himself, things no one else would really care about, like toys, or pointless decorations ( what about bombs? No?? ).

Yeah, he remembers better now, how he used to run through what some would appropriately call a huge pile of TRASH, sometimes slipping and falling on various things he should definitely not touch. He remembers how he sliced his finger open on a rusted… thing ( a nail?? something else? Hell he can’t remember things THAT small ), his metal hand twitching at the thought, concerned finger long gone now. He might not remember what he hurt himself on, but he remembers the noise that followed, the heat and most importantly the COLOURS. Oranges and reds, same hues he was so used to in the Outback, but so much brighter, so much stronger. He remembers the TERROR that ran through him as he realized where it was coming from ( that library… school… thing ), he remembered tumbling back, falling right on his ass, eyes wide, but most importantly, he remembered what he still liked to think about to this day. He remembers just how quickly explosions could ruin everything ( HAHA no, NOT RUIN, improve!! IMPROVE. Of course!). He was starting to snap, he remembers thinking, worried about that back then ( over nothing obviously! It’s not like he wasn’t having fun now ), so worn out by an environment no child no one should be exposed to. He remembers thinking how h shouldn’t be so focused on how MAJESTIC something so lethal looked in the midst of the desert ( OF COURSE HE SHOULD, he was right, he always knew art when he saw it!! And that first time was no different. Art was supposed to make you feel SOMETHING, wasn’t it? It sure worked well that time! ). He remembers how overwhelming everything was, fingers usually stable back then, now shaking as they grabbed at his blond hair and —

A pebble landed against his shoulder, making him immediately snap out of it, head quickly shaking as he processed where exactly he was again. Oh, right. The museum. On fire. The sirens. Swiftly turning on the tip of his pegleg, the rat looked up at his bodyguard, all grin as he stretched out what limbs he still had. ❝I’m heaps hungry, mate. When’s the last time we had indian!? I like these thick soups they have, real meaty.❞ A sneeze and a hop later, and he was sprawled inside his side cart, sharing it with some egyptian artifacts that were hopefully priceless. Ignorance truly was bliss.

#junkrat and memories #two words that don't mix well lmao #this was HARD #this isnt what i usually write for him at all #junkrat vc: curry is soup right #this is all over the place but thats how it should be right #;ᶤᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᶤᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵍˢᵎ ( J.HC. )#junkerqueensheila

@junkerqueensheila

Just what he fuckin needed, the Queen herself. Why was she so far out in the boonies anyway. He paused as he smoked his lizard, which was his breakfast. A small camp near a rock for a tiny bit of shade.

‘ .... wot ya want, ain’t the Queen out here, don’ gotta bow down to ya. ’ He growled, reaching for his launcher. Ready to just end her right then and there. Because of her all this shit went down, kicking him out for being rowdy, half the people in Junker Town were rowdy as fuck! It was just him, that she didn’t like. Or at least in Junkrats eyes.

He frowns as she parks her car, and steps out, he loads his gun as she makes her way over.

#;; character tag pending #[ JunkRat ] ( nσw wє'rє cσσkíng wíth gαs! )#junkerqueensheila

junkerqueensheila replied to your post “...I have the Barbie princess & the popper song stuck in my head.”

Thanks. Now it's stuck in mine.