you know what time it is

Indie McCree rp blog here. Open to script, paragraphs, ask memes, AUs, and plenty more to make sure this life's never uneventful. [mostly inactive]

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

McCree’s nose crinkled as he realised she’d gotten him caught up in their little verbal dance enough to waste his last question but the twist of her fingers loosing her hair like ink down her pearly blue skin spared him from dwelling on it. He masked the way his breath caught in an appreciative snort and fought the instinct to look away like last time. The memory of it surged up from where he’d locked it carefully away. A pigeon had flown into the bedroom balcony door of one of the many hotel suites he smoked away his nights in the kitchen, watching for enemies of M. et Mme Lacroix. He’d burst in like the rough-hewn mercenary he was and found her soft and sleepy-eyed, with her hair down like this, and the moonlight on bare shoulders. It had felt like spying.

This didn’t feel like spying.

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McCree’s kiss was harsh and abrupt; the drag of his unshaven cheek grazing hers rough as he tilted up her chin to meet her mouth. Some part of her didn’t expect him to go this far, and she delighted in just how easy it was, letting him touch her, feeling her nerves alight in the impossible heat of his mouth, his skin.

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[thewildbest-blog]

McCree’s body moved without him, following the sniper down to the bed. Her breathless voice and the hand sliding through the small hairs at the back of his neck shred his reservations. He returned the kiss, pressing her down into the mattress, and for a handful of heartbeats his world narrowed to cheap sheets and smooth skin. It had been a long time since he missed having two organic arms but the thought came back to him as his fingers ran down her thighs. 

The roll of her hips in response made him take a sharp inhale. The oxygen must have brought some sense back to his brain with it because he held himself back, leaning over her on his elbows, and tried not to notice how her chest rose and fell beneath him.

“Easy, there.”

The sniper yanked him down, as docile in bed as out of it, and he barely heard what she said, too busy biting back a groan at the rush of her scent and the heat in her voice that hadn’t quite made it to all that blue skin pressed up against him.

McCree had just lowered his mouth to the pulse point at her neck, so kindly bared for him, when she went for his gun. Either the Commander had done him a disservice in briefing her, or she wasn’t thinking any clearer than he was right now, because you don’t last long in the Deadlock gang if you can’t keep track of your gun.

A certain, very insistent part of him urged him to ignore the treachery and focus on giving the woman beneath him everything she asked for. McCree channeled the anger instead, letting his teeth scrape across thin skin for a split second before his bionic fingers clamped down hard on her thigh and his organic ones snapped down to cover the blue hand that ghosted across his peacemaker. 

The gun was at her temple in a second. McCree’s face hardened for the split second it took to confirm in his head that he could do it. Didn’t mean he wanted to, but if the sniper forced his hand, he would give Amelie the peace she deserved. He took a breath and made himself smile, then pushed up so he could watch her whole face as he let out a wistful sigh. 

“We could have had something special, spidey. All you had to do was put that pretty little hand a couple inches over. Now look at us. What would Reyes say, huh? His shiny, new toy getting broken by the old model...” he almost let his eyes trail down her body like his act called for, but it felt cheap, so he did her the courtesy of looking her in the eye as he cocked the sixshooter, “Damned waste is what it is, but I was more than fair. Any last messages for the boss when I find him?”

[remington-zero]

some half-finished huckleberries from twitter

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

McCree’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. So his old boss was what, some kind of spirit? And Angie was to blame? Still, he could pick out no hint of a lie in the sniper’s posture or face so she obviously believed this fairy tale Reyes had fed her. 

He gave a thoughtful grunt and spun his gun around a finger absently, rolling the information around in his head. The only reason McCree could think for Reyes to go for such a bizarre cover story was if this was a woman who wanted to buy into fantasy. It rung true enough; she was still calling herself Amelie.

“See, now you’re bringing something to the table, we can have more of a conversation,” the cowboy said, spinning his gun again, showing off just a little perhaps, “That’s some way of thinking, but I gotta wonder, if Doctor Ziegler’s playing god by saving lives, who does that make us for taking them?”

“I didn’t expect your last question to be one of ethics,” she admits, her lip curling. She lifted a hand to her hair, slowly pulling it free from its tie, letting the dark falls of hair spill down her back and shoulders, liquid and dark.

“You know what your mentor calls himself nowadays, no? Reaper. A taker of lives. A servant of fate, guiding us onto our next path. It seems a good enough way to see it. I have no delusions of grandeur from what we do. Death renders all men equal. It is just my opinion that only God should grant us grace. Obviously, others may disagree …” She gave a half-shrug, her head tilted thoughtfully at McCree, though her gaze seemed to darken more than a few shades, the air thick with expectancy.

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[thewildbest-blog]

McCree’s nose crinkled as he realised she’d gotten him caught up in their little verbal dance enough to waste his last question but the twist of her fingers loosing her hair like ink down her pearly blue skin spared him from dwelling on it. He masked the way his breath caught in an appreciative snort and fought the instinct to look away like last time. The memory of it surged up from where he’d locked it carefully away. A pigeon had flown into the bedroom balcony door of one of the many hotel suites he smoked away his nights in the kitchen, watching for enemies of M. et Mme Lacroix. He’d burst in like the rough-hewn mercenary he was and found her soft and sleepy-eyed, with her hair down like this, and the moonlight on bare shoulders. It had felt like spying.

This didn’t feel like spying.

They weren’t really talking about religion - there was nothing holy about what they danced around in this cramped, sweaty room. He wasn’t as graceful as she was, drawing his gaze up the arc of her neck after those lithe and lethal fingers, but he knew the steps. The fact that she was still talking meant he’d earned a sliver of her interest at least and wasn’t that what he was here for - to make her sing?

Her words weaved a picture that turned his stomach even as it heated his skin. How many times had he pulled himself back from imagining Amelie’s eyes on him like the sniper’s pinned him place now? She was lying through her teeth, of course. Amelie had Gerard. But they were dead, and it was time he took the lead.

"You know," his eyes darkened as hers settled on his lips, "I think I do too."

McCree closed what little space remained between them with a single stride. One hand pushed hers out of the way to curl around her neck, tilting her head up with a thumb under her chin. Her skin was a dull coolness beneath his palm instead of the icy chill he'd half-expected, but his was fire against it. His mouth crushed into hers before he let himself care what was going on behind those tawny eyes. 

Her smell, her taste; it was everything that had swarmed his brain when meetings stretched late and he found his gaze trailing Amelie instead of the exits, but sharper. There was an edge that made it impossible to drift - impossible to feel a different woman pressed against him. It hid in the cruel twist of her lips; in the hint of teeth. He liked it.

That more than anything had the cowboy pulling back. A smug smile stretched across his face to cover how his stomach churned against his body’s urging to close that gap again. His thumb traced the column of her neck down to her collarbone - an inch to the right and he could press into her throat until she gasped for air like he had on the warehouse floor - but he kept it light. Gentle, almost. McCree cocked his head, pretending to consider. His eyes flickered back up to hers, "What do you reckon?"

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

“You oughta remembered that ‘death do us part’ thing before you put one in Gerard’s head if you wanted to keep on being Ms. Lacroix. And you sure as hell ain’t the Amelie I remember. Ma’am…” he tried the word out on his tongue and wrinkled his nose, “Too decent. So tell me, spider, what kind of motivation does all this lying give me for keeping my end of the deal?”

McCree took out his gun again with mock disappointment, letting the barrel rest sideways on his thigh while he watched her face, considering. His mind flickered back to the reason he was here - to standing alone in front of a box that held scraps of a Blackwatch uniform and bits of twisted gun metal.

“Since you’ve been kind enough not to choke me half to death this time, I’ll give you one more chance to loosen up that tongue. How did Reyes survive Switzerland?”

Widow crossed and uncrossed her legs. He clearly was only willing to play to a point. Pity.

“Forgive me. I thought we might have a conversation as well, but I see that you are quite intent on interrogating me. So I will speak more plainly for you, though I might suggest that it’s easier to loosen a tongue with sweetness than with cruelty. Such as calling your informant by their own name, perhaps.”

Widow rolls her eyes, but speaks on. “A digression. As for your inquiry: Gabriel Reyes did not survive Switzerland. All bodies of government claim that man is dead, and it is true. What came out of the smoking debris of that occasion was, and remains, wholly dead.

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[thewildbest-blog]

McCree’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. So his old boss was what, some kind of spirit? And Angie was to blame? Still, he could pick out no hint of a lie in the sniper’s posture or face so she obviously believed this fairy tale Reyes had fed her. 

He gave a thoughtful grunt and spun his gun around a finger absently, rolling the information around in his head. The only reason McCree could think for Reyes to go for such a bizarre cover story was if this was a woman who wanted to buy into fantasy. It rung true enough; she was still calling herself Amelie.

“See, now you’re bringing something to the table, we can have more of a conversation,” the cowboy said, spinning his gun again, showing off just a little perhaps, “That’s some way of thinking, but I gotta wonder, if Doctor Ziegler’s playing god by saving lives, who does that make us for taking them?”

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

 McCree couldn’t help the satisfied smirk when she admitted she didn’t know Reyes like he did, but it faltered at the tone she used for the rest of her answer. He was being paranoid, surely; it was just the sniper’s charm, turned up to eleven for him now, that coloured her words. The thought of his commander fucking a subordinate was laughable, dead or alive.

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Widow gave him a pleased, almost coquettish smile, all false modesty. It seemed he’d wised up to the game, though she’d need to be ever more careful now that he was engaged.

She hesitated a moment, as if surveying a hand of cards for the best play. Eventually she settled on an answer, and with it, she brightened. “Say. You can call me Amélie. Just like old times, no? And I rather liked how you used to say, Ms. Lacroix, in that endearing way of yours. Though I think I became quite nettled whenever you would call me ‘ma’am,’ but I suppose that American charm and etiquette of yours was, and remains, somewhat relentless.”

Her face seemed to grow somewhat distant, in her effort to recall the details of so long ago, but it wasn’t a nostalgia. Not a true fondness or warmth; maybe something more detached, more practiced.

[thewildbest-blog]

“You oughta remembered that ‘death do us part’ thing before you put one in Gerard’s head if you wanted to keep on being Ms. Lacroix. And you sure as hell ain’t the Amelie I remember. Ma’am...” he tried the word out on his tongue and wrinkled his nose, “Too decent. So tell me, spider, what kind of motivation does all this lying give me for keeping my end of the deal?”

McCree took out his gun again with mock disappointment, letting the barrel rest sideways on his thigh while he watched her face, considering. His mind flickered back to the reason he was here - to standing alone in front of a box that held scraps of a Blackwatch uniform and bits of twisted gun metal.

“Since you’ve been kind enough not to choke me half to death this time, I’ll give you one more chance to loosen up that tongue. How did Reyes survive Switzerland?”

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

McCree’s eyes narrowed as she latched the balcony door shut. That meant one more obstacle between him and a clean escape, but a door was better than a venom mine. Plus, if it got broken, it wasn’t Overwatch who’d be footing the bill for once.

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He wasn’t looking at her - well, not really looking like she’d wanted. Widow leaned back on her arms, raising an eyebrow at McCree. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want things to get personal - if he wasn’t willing to look, even just a little.

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[thewildbest-blog]

 McCree couldn’t help the satisfied smirk when she admitted she didn’t know Reyes like he did, but it faltered at the tone she used for the rest of her answer. He was being paranoid, surely; it was just the sniper’s charm, turned up to eleven for him now, that coloured her words. The thought of his commander fucking a subordinate was laughable, dead or alive.

“He likes to think he taught me everything I know, but between you and me, my style’s always been a little more...” he made no move as her eyes roved, except to have a grin waiting when her gaze snapped back up, “Like yours.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he realized he’d been handling her all wrong. Ever since she’d shown her face, he’d been distracted. This stiff, no-nonsense style had never got him far and, in his reluctance to engage, he was being outplayed at his own game.

McCree took a breath to refocus and let himself look at her; delicate black lace set against cold blue skin, inky hair moving with its own life in front of the fan, those alien eyes - yellow as a hawk’s and twice as sharp. He pulled the desk chair up and fell back into it with an exaggerate sigh, propping his boots up on the bed beside her. Then and only then, did he make a show of holstering his gun.

“A new tête-à-tête it is then,” he agreed, making the French sound like rocks. He felt the ghost of her lips on his cheek as he remembered how their first meeting had ended, and surprised himself with real enthusiasm for round two. To win, he’d have to get her to give up enough information to make herself useless. Whether or not he could actually pull the trigger if he won, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. 

“First question,” the gunslinger tipped back his hat and fixed his gaze on hers, refusing to flinch or heat up under the weight of that unnatural colour, “What do I call you?”

[cauchemarr-blog1]

thewildbest:

McCree had spent too long chatting up the receptionist, but the man had worn the hotel uniform well and it had been a while since he’d got to stretch his Spanish.  

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A sharp crack at the door to the balcony gave the only warning when the door burst open, glass straining with the force of entry. Widow dropped her hands to her lap, opening her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut - oh, he’d learned, hadn’t he? 

“What a pleasant surprise,” Widow finally said, voice flat. She haphazardly pushed the fragments of her rifle off her lap, as if clearing off a bit of space would help her think - there would be no possible way to make use of them now. “That, I could do. We could even share a lot more, if you would like,” she added, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed to hop off, rolling her bare shoulders.

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[thewildbest-blog]

McCree’s eyes narrowed as she latched the balcony door shut. That meant one more obstacle between him and a clean escape, but a door was better than a venom mine. Plus, if it got broken, it wasn’t Overwatch who’d be footing the bill for once.

He scanned the room, partly because he wouldn’t have put it past her to set up traps in the five minutes he’d spent on the balcony, but mostly to give himself somewhere else to look. This wasn’t Amelie - that much was clear - but she still wore Amelie’s skin and there was something almost indecent in watching her slink around in it. 

“I’m flattered,” he lied, trying not to imagine what hellish scenario she’d been wishing on him if she had been thinking about him, “But let’s start with the information, shall we? How long have you worked with Reaper?”

[cauchemarr-blog1]

@thewildbest​

The even heat of Dorado’s sundown was a stifling, a skin-prickling humidity than ran just a few degrees short of comfort. Widow remained mostly numb to temperature, but the dense texture of the heat seemed to crawl inside her clothes, thick and suffocating. She swept off her hat as she entered the tiny hotel, grimacing.

She hated to pose as a civilian - as if she didn’t have the strangest, most bizarre pallor to give her away - but she did as she was bid. Her next mission required more than a few day’s preparation, and she was told to keep things mostly clandestine while Talon managed a bit more reconnaissance before she could be put to use.

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[thewildbest-blog]

McCree had spent too long chatting up the receptionist, but the man had worn the hotel uniform well and it had been a while since he'd got to stretch his Spanish.  

He popped open the smoke detector to jam the last bug in there behind the wires. Maybe if his quarry found one or two, she'd give up and he could listen in with the better-hidden ones. Only a fool would hope her boss himself would show, but even hearing the man over her phone would prove she wasn't lying. Once he had proof, he'd share with the rest of the new Overwatch. Maybe. And if she had been full of it, well, the thought soured his stomach more than he cared to admit. He'd have to two faces from the past to put to rest tonight if that were the case.

The staccato click of heels and keycard's click jolted McCree into action. So much for his sweet-talking the receptionist into stalling her – he must be losing his touch. The cowboy only hoped he hadn't been lied to about who would be taking this room.  

He half expected to see police cars parked on the ground outside as he slipped out onto the balcony and pressed into the corner of the bright red hotel wall, but apparently his charm hadn't run completely dry. His serape would be poor camouflage if she came out for air though. His throat itched at the memory of a lungful of poison air; this time, he had the surprise.  

McCree waited, breathing slow and silent like he was aiming a gun, but Widowmaker didn't approach. Her sharp breath through the bug in his ear had him pulling his gun, but it seemed the sound wasn't for him. He inched forward in time to see her shadow split into pieces as she shed her clothes like she was allergic. Good; people felt vulnerable without clothes. Let him take the psychological advantage this time. Guilt prickled the back of his brain – an echo of how he'd once tried to supress thoughts of Amelie, back when he'd played bodyguard for the couple.

Bad time to start thinking like that.

McCree took the clunk of her cleaning her rifle as an invitation and almost shattered the balcony door, he slid it open so fast. He smiled at her down the barrel of his six shooter as if he'd just pulled up a bar stool beside her. "Excuse my manners, but a man can only do so much sweating and waiting out in that heat. Care to share a little air conditioning with your intel?" The cowboy kept his grin easy and his gaze high. He wasn't so sure her being in her underclothes gave him the psychological advantage anymore.

[timevstheworld]

McCree trying to tame all of the horse Pokemon like

[thewildbest-blog]

🍻 - <3

have our muses drink together!

"How'd you know my first name?" McCree slurred, narrowing his eyes at the snooty young woman who'd been buying him drinks for the first time."It's on your passport.""Oh, right," he reached for his glass, missed, and stopped, "Wait, how'd you know that?"It took a minute to recognize the little book she held up between two purple-nailed fingers with a smug grin. McCree laughed as he pushed his thumbs into his eyes sockets. This was bad, even for him. Even for Christmas."I need that before you go. Travelling tomorrow.""Somewhere warm, I hope?"McCree laughed again and shook his head, "Your bartender friend ain't put enough extra in my drinks for that yet. Keep at it though, sweetheart."

[thewildbest-blog]

@south-dragon-hanzo:

Hanzo strained the bowstring to it’s limit, the arrow expertly held in place ready to fly. He had not truly caught a full glimpse of the bounty hunter entering the factory, the harsh light from the outside obscuring the man in shadow before melting into it once he had stepped inside. His index finger gently tapped at the base of the arrowhead, triggering a device on it. The regular arrowhead fanned out and began to rotate. Hanzo took in a short breath and held it to steady, adjusting his aim to center on the point of origin of his pursuers location.

The arrow hit the metal wall on the opposite wall of the factory, the shattering into several arrow now aimed in the general direction of the entrance. Hanzo did not wait to see if any of the whistling arrows hit their mark, quickly jumping to the second floor was more. He slid to a halt behind a large metal support, listening to changes in the darkness. His eyes were adjusted now but Hanzo did not let it cloud him with the notion that he had the advantage.

“I must admit, it would have been preferable to settle this matter days ago. I grow tired of having an extended shadow.” He called out from his new position. Calculated; if the man stepped out from cover on either side he would have a straight shot or keep him at bay until he could reposition himself. “Your clients must truly wish to see you dead if they have sent you to me.” Hanzo taunted. He pulled out another arrow from his quiver and notched it while his eyes peered around the metal strut he had his back to.

He tutted quietly as the wind blew sharply through the broken windows and walls of the factory. The building groaned as if it had just taken a breath before settling down again. It may not have been the most sturdy structure for a confrontation but Hanzo would not open fire in the middle of a crowded city.

McCree’s smirk had a split second to grow on his face as the arrow missed him before it split and his mouth twisted into a swear. The cowboy threw himself behind a crate to avoid the worst of it but the last, stray projectile sliced through three layers of clothing on his left arm and sent sparks flying as it screeched across his metal bicep.

“That’s a handy trick,” he laughed breathlessly, eyes trained on the metal support where his quarry’s measured voice floated down from, “But you’re gonna have to actually aim to hit me.”

McCree wasn’t without tricks either. He unclipped a flashbang from his belt, took a breath, and rolled across the dusty floorboards to the next stack of crates, tossing the explosive up to the second floor as he went.

[thewildbest-blog]

cauchemarr:

She took her time walking across the room, resting the Widow’s Kiss against her shoulder as she made her way, the sound of McCree’s choked breaths filling her with a fierce delight. A small whisper in the back of her mind promised that he’d choke just as finely under her hands, where she could feel the tendons in his neck go taut and strained until she’d crushed the air out of him. But she discarded the thought. She was more than what Talon had given her.

And however tempting it was to dwell, she had a mission to complete.

Widow crouched and picked up the comm, neatly slipping it back into her ear and activating it with a touch. “Pickup requested, east warehouse door, fifteen minutes.” A faint voice buzzed in faint response, and Widow flicked off the channel, her shadow falling across McCree’s body as she advanced on him, her sharp heels striking far too close for comfort.

“You want to speak to him? You will have to contend with me,” she said, words dripping with contempt. “And you must do better than that pathetic display. As if I would merely give it to you, and offer my life as well? How foolish you are.”

His nerves felt like cords drawn tight under his skin, grating over bone, and each cough was another dozen pins of pains through his lungs. Fifteen minutes? That was still enough time to scope in on his teammates if he let her stalk out of here intact.

McCree gasped for clean air as the venom began to subside. His legs were wooden, but his fingers flexed when he asked them to. His pistol, with it’s final round chambered, was a welcome discomfort wedged under his back. Thank God it hadn’t crippled him when it hit the floor.

It was lucky she shared his fondness for gloating. McCree groaned obligingly as her heels clicked closer and let her monologue. She was just Reyes’ shiny new tool - a goddamned lackey. He probably only kept her around for the familiar face. McCree’s hand twitched, grabbing and firing his peacemaker in a single move that shattered the scope of the gun she held so nonchalantly up against her shoulder. 

“For Ana,” the cowboy grunted, managing something between a grin and a sneer.

[thisisforthepixels]

Overwatch… dog-version art by Lily Nishita

[thewildbest-blog]

south-dragon-hanzo:

@thewildbest

It had been ten long years since the fateful night that changed Hanzo Shimada’s life. From a small city center in a district south of Hanamura, the older Shimada brother stood with his eyes trained on the ancient castle that was once his home, his birthright. He never stuck around long after visiting his old home to honor his fallen brother but after the revelation that the younger Shimada, Genji, had not died due their battle long ago Hanzo found himself unable to leave. Almost five months later he still hung around in the shadows and the trees of Hanamura contemplating the words the ghost of his brother spoke to him. He dared a glance around the plaza where he stood, a place that had not existed until a year after his departure; the world was indeed changing and the raven-haired man did not truly understand the path he needed to take.

The only thing that was certain to Hanzo was that he still had enemies. He’d circled the plaza a few times ‘looking for a gift for his nephew’ before pausing to look on at the iconic building in the distance. Coincidence was a tourist visiting the same shop after him if they were following the same path around the plaza. A tail was a presence just out of eyesight but shadowing your every movement. On his third go around the plaza Hanzo determined the he was correct in his assumption that he was being followed. The trained archer finally broke his path and slipped down an alleyway. Without hesitation he broke into a full on run but did not pull his bow. 

Hanzo ran through the side streets until he reached the outskirts of the city and neared the river flowing down from Hanamura. There was a factory he had noticed on one of his rounds around the city bordering the riverbank he was now on, an old tile-making factory that had gone out of business; it was also a perfect place to deal with the pest following him. Hanzo sprinted to the building, not bothering with the rusted door on the first level. With the swiftness and dexterity that came only through years of training the former Shimada Clan leader ran up the front of the building and entered through a shattered window. The remaining glass shattered as he burst through it but the Japanese man paid it no mind, instead identifying the best vantage point. Quickly, Hanzo jumped up to a large piece of machinery to the right of the door on the first floor. He crouched behind the machine and pulled out his bow, deftly notching an arrow aimed at the door. 

If only Genji would have repaid his brother in full all those years ago when they crippled the Shimada crime empire, then McCree wouldn’t have had to fly all the way out here to tie up the lose ends. He’d have done it for free to be honest - unfinished business and all that - but the bounty posted on Hanzo Shimada’s head was a fine one, and he didn’t see the point of growing a conscience about it this late in life.

McCree let the wooden dragon he’d been feigning interest in fall back to the merchant’s stall when his mark vanished down a side alley. He followed as quietly as his heavy boots allowed, until the crunch of newly-broken glass under his feet gave him pause. A quick glance up showed the window to an abandoned factory that his quarry must have used.

The cowboy advanced, Peacekeeper glinting in the dusty gloom of the old building. He kept the biggest of the ugly, twisting machines between him and the upper floors around the broken window in the hopes of denying the disgraced heir line of sight. Unfortunately for McCree, the elder Shimada had picked the perfect death trap for his confrontation.

“I owe you one,” McCree called into the shadows, ears straining for any sign of life, “Gets awful boring pretending not to watch you for days. How about we make this interesting instead? Settle this man to man.”

[thewildbest-blog]

cauchemarr:

Without skipping a beat, Widow plucked the comm from her ear. “I accept your terms,” she said, a resigned drawl. “He’ll listen, I’m sure. As if he’ll speak to you, I can promise nothing.”

She gave a hesitant toss, a nervous jerk of her arm, leaving the comm skittering across the floor and rolling to a stop probably a few generous yards from McCree. It was nerve-racking, being separated from communications even for a moment, but perhaps the reward would be worthy.

Widow sighed airily, without looking to McCree. “Tell him I said hello. Or that I said goodbye. If you decide you have other plans for me.”

Well that was too easy. If she’d been wearing any other face, he’d have plugged a bullet in her leg for insurance before going for the communicator, but there was still too much Amélie there. He stepped back, eyes flickering between her and the exit, and groped for where the earpiece had fallen. 

Something under his heel hissed.

“Uh oh.”

The purple smog enveloped him in a heartbeat, clogging his lungs with pain. The cowboy’s limbs locked up, burning with the venom mine’s mist, and he crumpled. The shape of his gun dug into his lower back but his fingers refused to do any more than twitch toward it. 

[akirata]

A zine sketch collection i did awhile ago shortly after Ana was released.

[paleoliths]

@strike-commander-morrison

[thewildbest-blog]

cauchemarr:

Widow’s froze, a brief flicker of shock passing through her expression before it settled into something more unreadable. “Truly? I cannot say. But you cannot be so sanctimonious as to think you have suffered the most from that event.” Despite the emptiness in her eyes, there was an edge of anger in her voice, cold and hard.

But in a moment’s reflection, she let it go in another breath, and Widow took another step towards the man, apparently unaffected by the prospects of his gun, pointed directly at her. “But I will forgive you for your rudeness. Emotions can run afoul of our true desires when confronted with the past. And - if I may tell you a secret - you are not mine to kill. Ah, what was it he liked to call you … ? Vaquero.”

She smiled like a knife. “I keep my promises. So let’s make a deal, so that we both may walk out of this warehouse alive.”

“I can tell you who’s gonna suffer most for it,” McCree growled, thumb stretching to cock his pistol. If Amélie had been this all along, she deserved to die, and if she had been brainwashed then whatever she had been clearly died with Gerard. This creature was something else entirely. 

Her next words stole the breath from his lungs. “I knew it was him. I fucking knew...” McCree dragged a hand over his mouth and tried to ignore the way his heart rattled around his chest like a dog in a cage, “Alright, you want to deal, let’s deal. Get him on the line and slide me the comm, and I won’t call every pair of boots on this base over here to give you what you deserve.”