#I think deadlock would still at some point do the red marks on his face

[madcoincidence]

The gremlins are gremlining.

First Next

I've also been trying to make a Deadlock/Drift design for the mecha au. One for after Ratchet fixes him up. Nothing special, just a little more red lights and a mash of his IDW Drift(s) and Deadlock look. Here's one doodle:

[combat-wombatus]

afterglow // part ii: the fighting

Pairing: Sawamura Daichi x gn!reader

Warnings: fighting (just any generic fight scene really), blood, minor snark??

WC: 2.1k (this is a lot longer than the previous chapter hehe)

(A/N): hehehe part 2 is finally up :p (also check out the series masterlist with the updated synopsis!! quite proud of it >.<) also please ignore the bad titles,, i had an "f" alliteration theme going on and i literally killed all my brain cells trying to come up with SIX verbs that were at least somewhat relevant to the plot for the chapter titles, i'm so sorry asldkjhlfadksh

series masterlist || haikyuu masterlist || bnha masterlist || navi

read part i here!

Finally…

You stared ahead at the encampment of soldiers, bustling about merrily as if they found joy in living a life of slaughter. As if they had no blood on their hands—or worse, as if they did not care if they did.

“Houyi.” You stroked his neck. “Ready?”

He gave a snort of agreement, tossing his black mane in the air.

I was born for this, he seemed to say.

“Alright.” Digging your heels in, you leaned forward, bow in hand, arrow notched and at the ready.

“Hiya!”

You charged furiously down the hill, kicking up a storm of clay-red dust behind you. As the first soldier looked up in surprise, you aimed your arrow at the wooden post in the middle of the camp and let it fly. You were nothing if not fair, and though you despised these people with your entire being, it would never be said that you fought dirty. Surprise attacks were for the weak, and you were anything but.

Besides, you kind of wanted to see how fast you could take the camp, even with the soldiers alert and ready to fight.

Holding your bow sideways, you let loose three arrows at once, all of them hitting their marks. Three men went down with barely a whimper—an arrow to one’s kneecap will do that.

The soldiers were a mess. You weren’t even sure if they were real soldiers or simply a very large band of mercenaries—surely a real military camp would be much more organized than this. They should’ve sounded the alarm as soon as they saw you charging down the hill, not when three of their men were already down.

You took out three more men with another round of clean shots to the kneecap.

This is too easy.

They were green; young, inexperienced, and jittery—no match for a seasoned hunter.

And you were one of the very best.

You set loose arrow after arrow, hitting your target every single time. Within moments, the area in front of you was empty, save for the men curled up on the ground, groaning.

Houyi slowed down to a trot, and you casually dropped from the saddle, stepping over the fallen soldiers. A white command tent was front and center in the little military camp, no more than five hundred meters away. Slinging your bow over your shoulder crossways—it wasn’t ideal for close-range combat—you unsheathed two scimitars, preparing yourself for a scuffle.

It wasn’t your favorite type of battle—close-range battles were messy and bloody—but you hadn’t had a chance to spar with someone in a long time.

You were also craving revenge for what they had done to the broken village you passed.

Barely concealing a feral grin, you stalked towards the commander’s tent. Suddenly, the tent entrance ruffled, and a man stepped out in full armor, save for his helmet. His hair was a stiff charcoal black—it was shorn short, which was surprising for a man of his presumed station. Most men in this dynasty preferred to wear their hair long, but there was something curious about this one. Tanned olive skin revealed a life spent in the sun, and a grim, determined expression glared at you with unbridled fury.

You bared your teeth and tightened your grip on your scimitars. This was going to be fun.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He clasped his hand over a broadsword sheathed at his side, pulling it out with the signature clang of steel sliding against steel. “Who are you?”

“Vengeance,” you replied airily. The man frowned, looking confused.

One…

You smiled, the wicked grin gracing your lips matching the wicked curve of your scimitar.

Two…

Your hood flew back, revealing you in all of your glory. You didn’t mind. You were confident that none of these people—scum—would live to tell others what you looked like, anyways.

Three…

You charged.

No battle cry surged from your lips—silent hunting habits were hard to break—but as he met the first slash of your blades with the side of his broadsword, you grunted at his strength.

Not many people could withstand one of your attacks, much less both at the same time.

This was going to be fun.

Quickly sliding one of your scimitars from underneath the deadlock, you twirled it around in your hand and aimed a slice straight at his torso. He stepped to the side, twisting his own broadsword so that it knocked your other blade to the side. Instead of continuing to retreat, he slanted his body at a forward tilt, catching your right wrist with his hand while pushing your other hand aside with his sword.

You hissed in pain as he twisted your wrist, forcing you to drop your blade. Feinting with your left hand, you sliced a deep gash on his right thigh, right in between two metal plates of armor. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you were able to put some distance between the two of you.

You charged forwards again, aiming your remaining scimitar low, towards his knees. He dropped into a defensive crouch, broadsword held out low in front of him. You smiled.

Just as he was preparing to meet your blade in a clash of steel, you jumped. Leaping upwards, you stepped on his wrist—he dropped his sword with a clang—and hooked your left leg around his waist, using it to pivot on his back. Wrapping your right arm around his broad shoulder, you brought your blade up until the tip of it kissed his neck.

He gulped, the movement drawing forth a slight trickle of crimson blood.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

He eyed the blade warily. You loosened it slightly so he could talk.

“Do what?” he asked, though his attention was caught on the fine workmanship of the scimitar.

“Kill all those people.” Your little scuffle had attracted quite the crowd—understandable, since it seemed like this man was somewhat of an important figure in this camp. Still, none of his comrades—or underlings—dared interfere, seeing as you were the one with the upper hand here; you could slit his throat before one of them even took three steps forwards.

“We haven’t killed anyone…yet,” he answered, confusion laced in his tone. “I’m overseeing trainees. They aren’t ready to fight.”

Ah. That explained the incompetence of the soldiers.

“But the village…?” You frowned, brows scrunching up in confusion. There was no mistaking what you had seen.

His expression darkened. “We came too late.”

Oh.

Cautiously, you lowered your blade from his neck. Yes—it made sense. He was obviously dressed in imperial commanding gear. Why would imperial soldiers slaughter their own village?

Well, now you felt a little silly—and guilty—for attacking their encampment without having done your proper research.

The other men gingerly stepped forwards.

“General Sawamura! You’re losing a lot of blood!” A young soldier with hair the color of a bright carrot pointed out worriedly. “You should probably go to the tent…Dr. Azumane can treat you there.”

The general nodded in agreement, wincing slightly as you hopped off of his back. He walked towards the medical tent, obviously trying his best not to limp.

As he left, it became clear that the other soldiers were unsure of what they should do with you.

A man with hair the color of pewter and a cute mole under his left eye (you assumed that he was the second-in-command) led you to the general’s tent, where you awaited his arrival. Minutes later, he hobbled inside the tent, limping, but proud.

“I thought you had to get your leg treated,” you remarked, noticing the lack of bandages on his thigh, blood still dripping in rivulets down his leg and marking pools on the dusty ground. “So impatient to see me already?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t going to run away,” he answered, a defiant light sparking in his charcoal eyes. “After all, you did take down nearly twenty of my men.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile teasing your lips. “Oh?”

Before he could respond, the entrance to the tent fluttered again, and a large man—even taller than the general—scurried in, his chestnut hair gathered at the nape of his neck. He seemed unduly nervous for someone with such a large physique.

“Ah, doctor,” the general greeted him. “Thank you for coming.”

So this was Dr. Azumane, you realized. From his bulk, you would’ve assumed that he was one of the finest soldiers here. Apparently not.

“You should’ve waited,” the doctor said, staring reproachfully at the general’s leg.

“It appears that we have a flight risk on our hands,” General Sawamura countered. “I couldn’t very well just let them go.”

You bristled. “I wouldn’t have run! And besides, your soldiers could have swarmed me in seconds if I tried!”

“Thank you for the assurance,” he quipped drily. “I will take that into consideration the next time someone barges into our camp”—he winced as the doctor tightened his bandages—“and shoots arrows into my sentries’ knees.”

Okay. Fair point.

“Well, I followed you guys from the town, so forgive me if I mistook you for the raiders that slaughtered an entire village,” you countered, though you did feel a slight twinge of guilt.

His expression darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking at what was probably an unpleasant memory. The doctor looked up worriedly, tying off the last knot in the bandage and leaving the tent, presumably on his way to treat the other unfortunate soldiers who had stood in the face of your wrath.

“We had nothing to do with that village. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

There was a storm brewing in his eyes, and you wondered if you had pried too far into events you did not yet understand.

“My father was guarding the mountain pass. They were taken unaware by the Huns,” he said, after a long silence.

Your breath constricted in your throat.

“Oh.” It came out like a whisper, the only air you could force past your lips.

“Don’t be,” he said curtly. “You weren’t there either. You couldn’t have helped.”

Settling back on the cushions, he sighed before changing the subject.

“So what are you, exactly? An outlaw? Fugitive?” He leaned closer, squinting. “A mercenary?”

Well, you supposed he could put it that way.

“Nomad,” you answered simply, not knowing exactly what you were yourself.

“Not a Hun, anyways,” the general regarded you critically. “I saw the scimitars. Huns don’t use those, and even if they did, they looked far too well-crafted. Not meant for brute force, anyways.”

You had spent many moons trading pelts and herbs to earn enough jade to purchase the twin weapons from the finest blacksmith you knew. They were custom-ordered, the grips fitted to the exact measurements of your palms—your most treasured possessions.

“Your horse is in the stable, by the way.” The general shifted his weight on the cushions in the tent. “He’s a fine horse, that one.”

You nodded in agreement. A man who didn’t appreciate horses was not worth talking to at all.

“Can I get my sword back?” you asked with as much politeness as you could muster.

He stared at you, then raised an eyebrow. “You want your sword back? In my camp? After you attacked my men? When we still don’t know where your loyalties lie?”

You gave a huff of irritation. “Well, I told you it was a mistake, wasn’t it? And my swords are rather important to me.”

“And my life is rather important to me,” he retorted.

“General, should I take their other one as well?” the gray-haired man interrupted, stepping forwards. You had almost forgotten that he was in the room—he had been silent ever since he’d brought you here. Narrowing your eyes, you laid a hand threateningly on the hilt of your scimitar. The general eyed you appraisingly, then held up a hand.

“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to that. Best leave it be for now. But you will not”—he directed a pointed glance at your hand, still clasped over the grip of your remaining scimitar—“under any circumstances, use that against my men. Or me,” he added, apparently not trusting you to not find loopholes.

“Can I still have my other one back?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But you let me keep this one!”

“Yes, because you would’ve slit both of our throats if any of us tried to take it from you, and you know it.”

“…fine.”

And so it was on a fine sunny afternoon that you found yourself being corralled into a soldier’s tent, held on a temporary tent arrest.

Oops?

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[xxkellsvixen19xx]

The Tempting Of Colson Baker X Reader PT 1

Word Count: 1,619

Warning: Slow building smut

“They felt right together; they fitted neatly against each other’s edges.”

Y/N is shy and embarrassed easily, you found it hard to express your feelings out right unless it was written on paper. Writing has always been your go to and honestly it was the way you felt most comfortable expressing yourself.

Colson on the other hand had no second thoughts on ever speaking his mind. He has a rough exterior that sexy bad boy appeal. It didn't hurt matters either that he was covered in tattoos which secretly was a turn on for you but you never dared admit it to him.

You initially weren't sure why but in some unexplained way you felt so comfortable around each other. It isn't easy for you to open up to people but slowly you found yourself opening up to him. In the entertainment industry it was no surprise that Colson had had countless hookups deemed nothing more than one night stands. Sure he had dated but when you get hurt badly by someone it makes it hard to trust people. A wall goes up protecting him and he sort of shuts down emotional attachment.

Living with him & the guys as well as Ashleigh and Casie (when she comes to visit) is definitely interesting to say the least. The house was like a circuit to party central there was never a dull moment for anyone. That of course came with it's fair share of jokes and pranks it was like living in a fraternity 24/7. Colson loved to tease you the sexual tension so thick that it was damn near frustrating. It's like he enjoyed how flustered you got watching as your face turned every shade of red imaginable. It didn't honestly take much to embarrass you you actually hated it at times, you are so shy so innocent quite the contrast to his wild and edgy personality.

Somehow you began to have feelings for him, you really liked him a lot. There was a part of you that wanted to tell Colson how you feel, doubt crept in with 'but what if he doesn't feel the same way?' you doubt you would live down the humiliation. You found yourself stealing a glance when he wasn't looking committing to memory his every detail. You tried your best to not make how you feel look obvious attempting to appear normal.

Early one morning in the kitchen you were pouring coffee talking to Ashleigh & AJ (Rook) when Colson walked it. A pair of hands ghost your waist hearing his deep voice inches from your ear. "God damm Y/N, you make waking up that look a sinful temptation." Instantly your face went beet red with your back turned thankful the two guys didn't notice only Ashleigh was an eye witness. Stirring your cup you turned to walk around Colson to maneuver to the kitchen table to get a mere inches of space." Keeping your composure to last breakfast was no easy task. When Colson and AJ exited the kitchen and out of earshot Ashleigh spoke out, "I can tell you both clearly have feelings for each other." Causing your cheeks to warm up. "You two are a lot alike in way, too shy and damned prideful." A smile betraying her serious expression. "I would honestly be mortified if feelings aren't exactly mutual." You admitted out loud surprising yourself. "If you two would confront the elephant in the room and talk you would be surprised." The thought of confronting him about your feelings terrified you. But the idea of keeping it bottled in was beginning to feel too overwhelming when you admitted it to yourself. You knew Ashleigh of all people would know him best considering she is his best friend he hired to manage him. "I honestly think that you two would be good for each other in more ways than you can realize." You paused as the words seeped into your subconscious. "You know I am not a straightforward person." You responded. "If one of you opened up it will be worth the risk." Ashleigh winked.

You made it a point to talk to Colson alone, you knew you can't ignore him it was better to get it off of your chest. A prime opportunity presented itself later that night…..

11:45pm Third Eye Audio Los Angeles, California:

You and Colson were in the studio recording a collaboration for his latest album. Slim, JP and the guys headed out to pick up food. Colson opted to stay behind to run things while you recorded your vocals. You finished off one of your verses before you heard Colson's voice from the overhead speaker in the booth. "On point and on one take Y/N let's take a break." Removing your headphones you placed them aside exiting the soundproof booth. It was now or never you thought, this was the first time together that you and Colson were alone so it was the chance to seize the moment. You took a deep breath, your heartbeat raced a bit a feeling of nervousness washing over you. You picked up the leather bound journal that lay open a top the speaker mere inches from where Colson sat. You were so focused you didn't realize he was in closer proximity,  the slight tapping of his fingers on your wrist caught your attention. You looked up his eyes in deadlock with yours the look he had at that moment had you feeling like mush.

Somehow your briefly let your emotions show, something you tried to never do. You bit your bottom lip that small slip caught Colson's eye. "What's a matter there babygirl cat got your tongue?" A mischievous smile splayed out across his face. There it was again that look, god what it ever did to you right now your brain couldn't seem to form a complete sentence. He leaned in a bit closer not leaving much space between you two. "Do I make you nervous or something?" He asked. You felt everything he said and every action was meant to cause slow torture. So many women practically threw themselves at him, you weren't the bold and brazen type let alone confident enough to verbally express your feelings.

“I’m sure you get this all the time, but you’re ridiculously attractive.” you thought in your head. His slightly disheveled blonde hair, smell of his cologne and the faint appearance of a five o clock shadow had your hormones kick started into high gear. His crystal blue eyes had you mesmerized. Colson dripped pure sex appeal not helping the already lustful thoughts traipsing through your mind. "I….ummm.." Silently you cursed yourself, you were a complete wreck. You had the impulse to bolt, you hardly turned when his hand took a firm yet gentle grip of your forearm. The quick movement sending the scent of your perfume to waife his way. "You are hot as fuck." The sensuous undertone to his voice turned you on. Resolve was crumbling and you felt vulnerable "This isn't easy for me, I have to get this off my chest otherwise I feel like I am about to implode." Colson still kept his eyes fixed on you a brief moment passed before you continued. "I like you… I like you a lot." Your mind raced the brief silence was almost asphyxiating, what little space was left between you two now closed up as Colson was now flush against you pinning you to the wall. "Your so fucking attractive…" it was damn near impossible to keep his composure. "You damn near drive me crazy, I like you so much I was afraid though if I said anything I would scare you off." It felt like a weight lifted off your chest "that's how I felt too so I just kept it bottled in never said anything."

//It's obviously insane

O'Cause we both know what we want

So why don't we fall in love?

Baby, let's fall in love//

"God what you do to me…" within seconds you felt Colson place kisses along your neck. Stopping at a spot just behind your ear at the slope….

Sucking, licking and biting until a bruise like hickey decorated your delicate skin. The heated passion that passed between you both is thick. The restraint you held for so long snapped like a rubber band, the temptation of him was far too much to resist. Your lips meet his in a searing hot kiss something about it felt right. Grabbing you by your waist he carries you to a futon, tossing you to the firm cushion below his body pinned to yours. He lifted your shirt up exposing the skin of your stomach kissing his way down at a tortuous slow rate. "P-p-p-please stop teasing." The words escaping your lips in a breathless plea. You were like putty underneath his touch, completely gone.

//'Cause every time I'm with you, I go into a zone

And I remember all the places you wanna go

Take me all the way

Ain't nobody gonna touch it, touch it, touch it

I'm tired of being patient, so let's pick up the pace

Take me all the way

Ain't nobody gonna touch it, touch it, touch it//

It's clear that he consumes all your thoughts and you have nothing but pure desire to feel Colson be with him completely. All he wanted right here right now is to have you a moaning mess beneath him, to hear you scream out his name raking your fingernails into his back leaving marks of wild passionate sex. He wants to rail you so hard you can't walk straight.

[hellagaymccree]

I don’t know if I’m late but how about a Sinner (Jesse) and Fallen Angel (Gabe) AU?

This is the first thing that came to mind and I rolled with it, I hope it’s ok. It’s NSFW and involves a cathedral ‘cause aesthetic. Also I got an idea to expand on this (even more than the length it already is) So it might be something I pick up after I’m done with Darlin’.

Thanks for the prompt! ^^

NSWF

Jesse groans as he sits on the polished tiles. His back hits the golden altar behind, carved with some angels and vines. He grabs the pure white mantel and rubs it against his face, leaving it stained with sweat, dirt and blood. He looks at himself in the tiles, his bottom lip is swollen, but at least the blood under his nose and running down his eye are gone.

“Sorry,” Jesse says, looking at the ceiling.

He can hear shouting outside, and pounding against the door he barricaded with some benches. He at least bought himself some time to make amends, to ask for some forgiveness, maybe. McCree laughs as he pulls out his revolver. An old thing, smeared with blood. He spits at it and uses his own red serape to clean it.

“So this is my end,” Jesse says, resting his head back against the altar. “I had a good life.”

A bounty hunter with a bounty of his own, going from city to city after abandoning a gang in his twenties. A gang that didn’t take kindly to it and still hunt him to this day. Even if he had money to spare, he hardly kept it all. He never saw much used to it as long as he had food every day and a bed to sleep in. Besides, he would be dumb to carry all the cash he earn from bounties on him. And even now, as he waits for Death to knock down the doors of the cathedral, the greedy part of him regrets never going big with the money. He could’ve gotten a nice apartment, a penthouse, maybe, if he wanted to go all out. Could have chosen a different career path, but no, he never seek that option. He always told himself there was no point. Deadlock would find and finish him off wherever he was.

Jesse opens his eyes and smiles to the warmth of the sun as it passes over the windows on the ceiling. His bronze skin shimmers in colors. The red of the fire within him. The passion to love people in his life he never told. That he regrets deeply. There’s yellow like the sun itself, and the summer mornings he spent in Spain, feeling like he actually had time to slow down instead of being on the run. There’s also blue, beautiful as the winters he spent in Japan, living like a king when his yakuza friends gave him shelter. McCree never judges. They got him out of a sticky situation, so there was a debt. And even if he paid it, the Shimadas seemed to always be there when McCree needed help, and vice versa.

Jesse hisses when his ribs start to hurt again. Then his hip. The adrenaline has worn off. He can feel his bones ringing with pain. His muscles shaking, begging to give up, to lie down and rest. Jesse swears he can hear an angelic melody. Baby angels singing him to sleep with Death’s lullaby. They try to make the fall smooth, but Jesse laughs in the face of it all.

He hears soft footsteps. The kind that comes from fancy shoes and not his old boots with a screwed spur. Jesse’s heavy lidded eyes look at the path before him. A figured dressed in a white suit approaches, and it’s like the sun as shifted. A white light shines from the windows above the double doors of the entrance, blocking Jesse’s view.

It isn’t until the intruder stands before Jesse that he can see the most beautiful man he has ever laid his eyes on.

“I’ve seen you before,” Jesse says, low, and almost a mumble.

“Do you know why I’m here, Jesse?” The velvety voice says, dripping like molten gold.

“In my dreams,” Jesse continues his train of thought. He laughs softly as he adds, “With way less clothes.”

The man with brown skin, dark curls and golden eyes raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah… you only have a white cloth around your waist, teasin’ me. And yer body is like God itself made it.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“He made it to damn me, to drag me to hell.” Jesse huffs. “The bastard.”

The man doesn’t say anything, so Jesse continues. “You have big white wings that shimmer. Your eyes are gold there too, but it also drips down your cheeks. You cry gold fer me. Not only that, but you have two more sets of eyes.” Jesse groans as he lifts his arm to show him where the other four eyes are. One on each temple, and the other two below those. Three eyes on each side.

The man’s eyes widen. Jesse has seen the true image of an angel, and has not burned to ash. For the first time, Gabriel, the angel that stands in front of Jesse, knows true fear. Because a man that can see an angel in all it’s purity and not burn, is a man that even hell runs from.

“Why are ya here?” Jesse asks, pulling a cigar and a lighter.

“To guide you, Jesse.”

“I’m going to heaven?” Jesse laughs.

“No,” Gabriel replies. “But He believed you deserved one last wish for the small deeds you did, even in a life of gore and war.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jesse says, cigar between his lips and lights it up. Turns out, donating the extra cash he had under a fake name, giving it to strangers on the streets and other nice little acts paid off. “So I can wish for anythin’?”

Gabriel’s mouth opens without a sound before he says, sadly, “Except to delay your fate.”

“Ya really think that’s the first thing that came to mind after the man of my dreams showed up?”

“The man of your dreams has six eyes and cries gold?”

Jesse shrugs. “The wings made them seem like nothin’.”

Gabriel huffs and steps closer. His ears ring, his bones vibrate. Everything about him is telling him to run. To return home before it’s too late.

“I want you.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened and then his gaze softens again as he looks at Jesse. "You won’t survive,“ Gabriel warns and Jesse laughs until he coughs.

"I’m already a goner, angel. Mind as well go out with a bang.”

And with a bang he did. Gabriel’s hips were hypnotic as he swayed them up and back. Jesse uses the fingers on his flesh hand to dig them in one of Gabriel’s plump and meaty ass cheeks. His prosthetic hand holds on to one of Gabriel’s pecs as they bounce. Jesse feels he will burn to death before anyone can shoot a bullet into him. Gabriel swallows him whole, and he has no control. The angel moves like fucking Jesse will save the world from the apocalypse, but at the same time wants to tear the skies down with his cries. 

“Santa Virgensita,” Jesse prays, looking at the colors in the ceiling, more sweat running down his face. Then he looks down and kisses Gabriel’s chest, it’s salty with a metallic aftertaste, like kissing pure gold. “Llevame a tu gloria. [Take me to your glory.]”

Gabriel bites down curses that shouldn’t be in his vocabulary. Profanities that are only called in moments of passion. In filthy moments humans indulge themselves in. Gabriel should know better than to kneel above such creature. He might as well be another mortal in the sea of sin. But he has never heard of a man that could see an angel in its full form, even in dreams, and wake up with both eyes still intact, and no mark of being damned.

Gabriel moans against Jesse’s ear when he grabs both of his cheeks and starts ramming up into Gabriel. His white wings expand from his back, and his eyes snap open as he feels it. The burn coming from the tears in his back. Fire comes out of him, and it turns the white feathers ashy. Instead of feeling mocked, or being embarrassed, his wings stretch proudly until they are fully black.

Gabriel leans away from Jesse, but continues to ride him. The harm has been done, and he’s too high on the stench of sex and sin to care.

“Yer stilll beautiful to me, angel.”

Gold spills from Gabriel’s eyes, not because he misses his pure wings, but because he has never felt like more than a body of light roaming the clouds without a goal in mind. He has felt an emptiness he didn’t know he had until he saw Jesse. He knows it won’t be the last of it. He will hear it from now on, how he betrayed heaven for what? To feel something? To sink into lust? He will be mocked for falling for a man that will die and leave him with the same emptiness he had before. He will walk earth alone as his brothers and sister look down on him. And in the high of immorality, as he sees bliss written in the face of a man about to die, on a man he finds beautiful as his eyes close and his lips part, he thinks it’s all worth it.

[docholligay]

Family Reunion

Hello friends! You know how I was saying that the new OW character reminded me a lot of my OC, and I was just going to fold her character into Yael, essentially? This is that. It made me get off my ass and finish this idea I’d been writing for awhile, while folding in some of the details from the new short. This is pretty far in the future in my OW universe, all of which you can see here.  I hope you all enjoy! 2600 words

The bomb went off just as McCree was trying to enjoy his slice of pie.

Timing was an issue, she might have told him, back when they ran together, and did, more than once. On this, she wasn’t wrong. McCree always did have a gift for being the right place and the wrong time, and that was when the world generously allowed him to be at the right place.

If timing hadn’t been an issue, he would never have been captured all those years ago. If timing hadn’t been an issue, he’d probably still have his arm. If timing hadn’t been an issue, he might have joined up with the new Overwatch before he’d shot Tracer. If timing hadn’t been an issue, maybe he’d still be with Hanzo. Maybe he’d have finished his damn pie.

But timing was an issue, Yael had always told him, and damned if she wasn’t right.

If he was pleased at himself for one thing, it’d be for knowing she couldn’t resist the take that was going to be on that train. He swung out of the diner, and she was already there, her small and tight knit gang already loading gold and weapons and rare earth metals onto the coach.

It’d be best if he avoided most of the conflict. There was no way he could outgun the gang, not on his best day. Stealth was something of a requirement here, a way of sneaking around the back and sides until he was up against the crate that he’d come for. Then he could signal the rest of Overwatch. But he had to prove that he could to this. That the faith that’d been extended to him wasn’t a mistake.

And so for now, stealth. He curved up against the backside of the fallen train car, edging ever so slowly and slightly along. It didn’t matter if they took everything else--McCree wasn’t here for any of that. He was just gonna take that crate and--

“Yael!”

The signal came fast, and McCree drew his gun, firing off a shot as he rolled behind the large rock that the bombs had dropped from above, hoping the bridge was still stable enough to hold. There was a shot on the edge of the rock, and McCree felt the heat off it as he darted toward the shot, shoving the gun upward as it cracked off another bullet. He tossed the small man to the left, skidding across the stone and sand, and tossed the gun up to catch it again.

“Jesse!”

It was said as much with surprise as with irritation, and McCree looked from what he had assumed was a very cool and calculated motion, done with all the grace a man could muster, to find himself surrounded, four guns and a very angry glare from the man he’d just tossed, all trained on the center of his body.

She sat astride a paint horse, the red-brown of her hair glistening in the sunlight, almost giving her dark brown eyes the same tinge of red. There were a few greys there, and a few wrinkles, but it was still Yael, the way it always was, and her voice still had the same ability to make him stop short a moment. To say nothing of the coach gun she had pointed directly at him.

“Hey there, Yael,” He looked down at the gun he’d taken, and realized it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to shoot them both one-handed. Timing.

He tossed it to the side.

“It’s been a while. You promised you’d write.” Yael disinterestedly watched the gun fall into the dirt, and he took the opportunity to hit the communicator against his leg.  

“Been busy.”

“I bet,” she laughed, “Well, ain’t this a touching family reunion.”

The mention of family stung him, a bit, though he’d tried not to show it. He’d lost every family he’d ever had, from the Deadlock Gang, to Blackwatch, to the way he’d tried again with Talon. He’d never made it work, not for keeps. And here he was with Overwatch, trying again and readying to fail again.

It was Yael. She probably knew all that.

None of the rest of the gang moved, or dared to breathe, as Yael stared at McCree. Her gun didn’t have the greatest accuracy at this range, but she was good enough that he’d get hit somewhere for sure, and the pistol that rested under her right shoulder reminded him there were other options.

“Git.” She tossed her head toward the north of the canyon, eyes still trained on McCree, and the caravan obeyed, pulling out the loaded coach without a word, neither of them saying a single thing until it was far beyond them.

There was something of a strange honor in Yael, and always had been, especially when it came to former members of her gang. She dispatched them herself, or not at all, and was as like to do one as the other. And maybe that was family, too.

But McCree kept in mind that Yael had never appreciated him joining the law, and kept his gun raised as they looked at each other, a quiet standoff, and McCree was half surprised there was no tumbleweed. In direct opposition to him, Yael’s timing was usually impeccable.

“New arm.” Yael inclined her chin toward McCree’s hand.

He took a drag of his cigarette, puffing the smoke out of the other side of his mouth. “Lost it ten years ago or better, Yael.”

“I know that, you goddamn fool, I mean to tell you I’ve noticed it ain’t the old one.” She smiled. “We back with Overwatch? You know, third time’s the charm, and this is only number two. Though,” she shrugged, “heard you tried it with Talon, too, so maybe this is your third time tryna run the whole goddamn world.”

She knew exactly how to get under his skin, how to recite his failures best of all, and he resented that it worked so well, even after all these years. He looked up to the side of the canyon. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was there. She always was.

“Gonna call off Jacinta, too?”

She clucked her tongue. “You know well as I do Jaci don’t listen to me.”

“Married life’s a bitch.”

“Like you’d know. But I doubt she’d do me the dishonor of killing you while your back was turned.”

McCree sighed and tossed his free hand in the air and pointed to the large white crate. “Yael, I just want the one crate. Then you can take everything worth all the goddamn money and go. I don’t need no trouble with you. We’ve stayed out of each other’s way long enough and it’s suited me fine.”

“You learned absolutely fuck-all nothing from me, didn’t you? Why would you tell me the one thing you want out of everything? As if I owe you some damn favor, by God, son, get it together.”

“You might owe me one favor.” He looked at her straight, eyes meeting, and he knew they were both picturing him unhorsed and at Blackwatch’s mercy, left behind when he fell behind.

“Jesse, when I met you, you didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of,” Yael gave a low chuckle, “done you the only favor you ever known, teaching you.” 

“Doesn’t always have to be this way, Yael.”

“Apparently, it does.” She moved to shoot, and McCree readied himself toreturn fire. 

His life was flashing before his eyes, and it wasn’t very impressive, he had to say. 

And then, an angel descended. Mercy glided down in front of McCree, eyes resolute and straight at Yael. She held her head high as she looked at Yael, neither of them moving, the moment ever more a tense standoff, the low buzz of the grasshoppers the only words spoken, even the wind seeming to lie down and wait for what happened next.

McCree had a sudden vision of how Pharah was going to react when she found out McCree had let her wife get shot by one of the better marks he’d ever known, and went to grab her shoulder to throw her behind the rock before Yael got over the shock of the matter.

And then Yael’s voice came, softer than McCree remembered,and she let her arm drop as she shook her head.

“Angela, get out of the goddamn way.”

McCree was sometimes forced to consider how little he knew about a woman he’d spent a good number of years with. Yael’d lost her parents young, to the kind of men Yael spent her life disarming. She had a strict moral code that seemed only to make sense to her. She was unreasonably observant, a crack shot, and McCree was never allowed to make bacon on her cast iron.

Other than that, he didn’t know much, and he sure as shit didn’t know that she and Mercy knew each other.

“Yael,” Mercy stepped toward her, and Yael raised the gun again, keeping McCree in her sights, “Our need for that crate is just. Take everything else, I believe that you will use it as well as we could. But the crate. There is a question of--”

McCree had heard Yael speak Hebrew a handful of times in the gang, mostly to herself or on the phone with a contact, and he’d seen it written in her journals. He figured she kept it around as a half-useful language barely anyone spoke, some memory of a thing she never spoke of, but he’d never heard her speak it the way she spoke it now.

She spat a line of words down at Angela, taking her eyes off McCree for a moment, and had he not been so amazed at what was taking place in front of him, he might have taken the shot. He didn’t speak the language, but he knew damn well when Yael was dressing someone down. Mercy did not seem to shrink or react in the way he always had, she simply responded calmly, perfectly relaxed, and McCree was afraid that Yael might shoot him out of pure irritation as he slowly walked to where the two women were facing off.

Yael leaned in off her horse, her voice a low growl, and said something to Mercy that McCree recognized as frustration. Whatever Mercy was saying, Yael seemed to think she was right about it on some level, and he kicked himself for never having taken the time to ask her to teach him Hebrew back when they were getting on better. Before he’d joined what she called ’the goddamn world police.’

As if a reminder they were no longer getting on well, Yael straightened up and cocked her gun, pointed at McCree, and it was a helpful reminder to him that he had gotten very close to the two of them, and Yael would get off a shot before he ever cocked his gun.

Mercy said something soft, and touched Yael on the leg.

Yael drew a pistol from underneath her arm and pointed it at Mercy, barking something that McCree absolutely knew to be I will fucking shoot you if you test me.

“Yael,” the words came out of his mouth before he had time to think them through, and he instantly regretted them as her eyebrow arched, “you...you don’t want to kill her.”

“Jesse, if I wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead. That I don’t’s the larger problem here.” She spoke to him like he was still that dumb teenager with more will than experience.

“You can come with us.” Mercy looked up at Yael with a note of pleading, and Yael looked down at her, longer than McCree was sure she meant to and with a look of regret.

“No,” she took the gun off Mercy and trained them both at McCree, “I can’t.”

“Kill me if you want but give the crate to her!” McCree barked, somehow certain she would take the bait, somehow certain this was the last and maybe only good thing he would ever do.

“What the hell you need this for?!” She yelled back, her finger growing tight on the trigger.

McCree tightened his own grip. They may go down together, but maybe that was the only kind of family McCree was ever meant to know.

A blue light, just blinking at McCree’s side. Tracer. She was still for a moment, and then blinked to Yael’s other side, next to Mercy, as Jacinta’s rifle bullet found what would have been its mark if Tracer had dallied one second longer. Tracer grabbed Mercy by the hand and blinked away, another shot ricocheting off the space she’d been, Yael’s horse whinnying in uncertainty. She pulled the horse forward until she and McCree’s muzzles were mere inches from each other’s faces.

“You know what time it is, Jess?”

Time to die. Time for the two of us to finally fight it out one last time. Time to get revenge on each other for the thousand small miseries families put each other through.

“It’s high--”

A blue blaze streaked between them, and their bullets fired into the sky with the upward thrust of her hands.

“Right, right. I know this is ‘ow you negotiate in Texas--”

The barking came simultaneously, insult in both voices.

“Montana!”

“New Mexico!”

And then in perfect concert, after so many years apart, “I’m not from fucking Texas!”

There was a thundering overhead as Pharah and D.va rocketed into the canyon, Dva setting up at the top of the ruined train cars, Pharah landing with a fierce crash onto the ground, looking up from her helmet and taking aim at Yael.

“No!” Mercy grabbed her arm. “Fareeha, don’t!”

Yael looked at the people in front of her, ready to strike, and her eyes flickered to the top of the canyon. Jacinta was on the run. Ana and Jack had found her. Had to be.

Yael was many things, but she wasn’t a stupid woman, and she tipped her hat as she reared back her horse.

“Another time,” she nodded to Mercy and then McCree, “the both of you.”

Before anyone cared to react, she was a brown and white streak down the center of the canyon, escaped and unhurt, and somehow it seemed to everyone that was the way it had to be, today. Every day was different. Maybe on another day Yael’d come back for him. Maybe on another day Gabe would still be Gabe. Maybe on another day Hanzo’d be laying beside him.

But all he had was today, and whatever it was he made of it.

He grinned over at Tracer.

“That was damn fine distraction, you always were--”

Tracer looked at him for a moment and walked off like she hadn’t heard him, holstering her pistols and hopping onto the cart to examine the crate. Winston passed him on the other side, nearly knocking him over with the force of his shove, knocking his hat to the ground.

McCree picked it up and dusted it off, setting it back on his head with a sigh. You can always stop doing the wrong thing, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a piper to be paid.

“She’ll get over it,” D.Va shrugged and touched his arm, popping her gum, “she was literally sleeping with a woman who tried to kill her. Her grudges are pretty short lived. She’ll forget she’s supposed to hate you.”

“Winston too, huh?”

“Oh no,” she laughed, “Winston will hate you forever. Maybe longer.”

Timing always was an issue.

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 19 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io 💖 Ashe/Pharah | 3.6k | Mature 🧡 AU, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf AU, First meeting, Kissing 💛 Ashe keeps waking up in places she shouldn't be with no memory of the night before.

Somebody was moving something big. Ashe didn’t know what, and she didn’t know when, but she knew it was coming through her territory and she knew it was going to be soon.   She’d had the supreme misfortune of coming upon shipments guarded by Helix Security before. It was a bad idea to try and take them on, but maybe if she had the right information... If she learned a little more about what Helix was doing swarming, her town and her bar. Maybe she’d be able to work something out. Cook up a plan, score big, keep the gang happy. “You want another beer, Ms. Ashe?” Ashe tipped her head up, looking out from under the brim of her hat at the new gang member that had joined the ranks just last week. She looked past him, over to the bar where a handful of strangers stood drinking. She took in the display of muscles, the brown bomber jackets, the aviator sunglasses. Helix, alright. “It’s just Ashe, sugar.” She said, sliding off her stool. “And I can go and get it myself. Keep playing pool.” She left her vantage point in the corner with its perfect view of all the entrances and exits and it’s inconspicuous location next to the pool tables. She cut passed a few Deadlocks lingering around, leaning on pool cues, sipping from their own mugs of beer. She made her way to the bar, subtly situating herself next to the only Helix loner, some woman sitting all by herself instead of with a cohort of colleagues. Ashe slid her empty mug across the bar and tapped the bar twice with two fingers. It was her signal that she didn’t want service but an excuse to speak to whoever was next to her for as long as possible. Ashe would see to the bartender at the end of the night, toss a couple bills her way in exchange for any information she happened to pick up while pouring drinks. “You folks ain’t from around here, huh?” Ashe said conversationally. She pinned an elbow to the bar and tucked her fist under her jaw, making it obvious she was ready to sit here and chat awhile. The woman next to her turned to look her over, brandishing a face tattoo that Ashe couldn’t help staring at. She was pretty. The kind of gal Ashe would like to take home, with a face she would be happy to ride for hours. “No,” was the diminutive reply. “Name’s Ashe,” she flashed her teeth in a smile. “...Fareeha.” Reluctant, but not a lost cause. Ashe could charm her. By the end of the night they would be good pals. Normally she left this kind of grunt work to the grunts, but there was something in the air tonight. She was itching to get things done herself.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe was surprised to see it wasn’t entirely dark out just yet. She’d been in the bar since 7 and it was nearly 8:30 now. Summer meant that the sun was setting later and later each day. The horizon was painted in vibrant colors; gold and peach clouds on a warm purple sky. The air was hot, dry, and gritty with dust rucked up by warm wind.

 Fareeha followed her out the door trying to hide the smile on her face. She must not get much attention from many people, because she was like a moth to Ashe’s flame. All Ashe had to do was play it sweet, flirt little, bat her eyelashes and stroke a finger over Fareeha’s muscled arm.

 Now alone with no prying eyes to watch, Ashe shamelessly reached out to hook two fingers in the belt loops of Fareeha’s jeans. She dragged her in close and backed up against the side of the building. She pressed their lips together, mouths hot. Their tongues tasted like the beer they had been drinking but sweetened with the pleasure of kissing someone soft and pretty.

 Ashe pulled away just enough to ask, “You got a place around here we could go? Just you and me?”

 She was hoping that the Helix Security folks were all set up in one spot, probably the motel up the road if she had to guess. There was plenty to be gleaned from getting a look at where they were staying. Who knows what she might come across?

 Ashe was definitely in it for the score, for the tantalizing prospect of a job she and the gang could work. She wasn’t mad at the idea of going home with Fareeha, though. God, she really was a good-looking gal. Ashe liked the feel of her, the taste of her, the smell of the sweat on her skin from the June heat. She looked good enough to eat.

 There was something itching under Ashe’s skin, this need she couldn’t identify. She normally didn’t get this riled up or invested in her marks. Maybe she needed a good hard fuck to settle her down some.

 Fareeha didn’t answer. She pressed her lips to Ashe’s jaw, her neck, her throat, her collarbone. Ashe tipped her head back and let it happen, staring up at the sky where she could see the color changing before her eyes. The purple was smothering the gold light, turning it pink and then red.

 The moon was on the rise.

 .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe woke with a pounding in her head. She cursed herself for drinking too much. She hadn’t gotten black out drunk in a good long while and she was too old now to be doing that kind of thing. She blinked, catching glimpses of a motel room she didn’t recognize, before shutting her eyes to the bright morning light filtering in from the open window. She laid still where she was, eyes closed. She tried to remember what had happened last night. She remembered going to the bar, and the Helix goons filling up the place. She remembered drinks with a pretty woman, though she couldn’t quite recall her name. They must have gone off together… Ashe had this soreness in her muscles like she’d spent the whole night fucking. Her jaw ached and she wondered just what kind of use her mouth had been put to. She was sticky with sweat already. The motel room’s A/C wasn’t running, and if it was it wasn’t cranked up high enough. When she could manage it, she sat up. Her head throbbed. She looked down at herself and her naked body and was immediately shocked into sudden alertness when she found blood on her hands. Not just on her hands but soaked into the beds of her nails and all the fine wrinkles of her fingers. It wasn’t just her hands, it was everywhere. Her thighs, her stomach, the bed. The bed! There was so much goddamn blood on the bed. She scrambled off of it, damn near knocking the lamp on the side table over in her haste. There was blood on the carpet too, pooled black and thick. Ashe frantically grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, an oversized threadbare t-shirt with a peeling Bruce Springsteen decal. She yanked it on over her head, pulled it down enough to cover her nudity, and went running out the door. It had been left wide open so that the desert heat could come rolling in. There were bloodstains in the parking lot, on the gravel and sidewalk. She wasn’t sure where they lead to and she wasn’t about to stick around and find out. She needed to find a phone, to get one of the fixers in the gang to come out and fix this. Something had gone terribly wrong last night, but she couldn’t remember what.

 .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe watched the pool balls go rolling across the green felt of the table in front of her. She couldn’t quite stop her foot from tapping against the bar stool she was sitting on, a steady rhythm of anxious energy thrumming through her body. She was trying her damnedest to act natural. She had gone out drinking like usual, refusing to deviate from the norm in any suspicious way that the law might pick up on later. She couldn’t catch the heat for this. She just couldn’t. She was so careful everywhere else; there was absolutely no way they could ever pin her Deadlock crimes on her, no matter how guilty she was. That didn’t matter, though. Al Capone went down for tax evasion, after all. She would be furious if her whole operation fell apart because of some botched murder she couldn’t even remember. Deadlock had already been decimated by the authorities once, she wasn’t going to let it happen again. If she could just remember who she killed, or why, or anything about what had happened last night it would be different. She couldn’t. She couldn’t remember a damn thing. It was all a blank. What was worse, her fixers couldn’t fix anything because there wasn’t a crime to fix. If someone was dead somewhere, they sure as shit couldn’t find the body. Any evidence that Ashe had ever been in that hotel room was gone and that was the best they could do. “It’s a full moon tonight,” The new kid was saying, trying desperately to make conversation with her. It would serve him much better just to shut his trap and quit sucking up, but Ashe didn’t bother telling him that. Talking to him was just about the best distraction she had from her own paranoid thoughts. “I thought it was a full moon last night.” She remembered that. She remembered seeing the moon in the sky. Big and white and glowing, a beacon in the purple haze. She got a weird itch between her shoulder blades thinking back on it. It was the same feeling from the bar last night, the one that had her all riled up and raring to go. It was back again and twice as bad. “Almost.” He lined up a shot, took it. The seven ball sank into a corner pocket. “The moon looks so full the night before and the night after most people can’t tell the difference.” Ashe stood abruptly, unable to sit for a moment longer, all this talk about the moon was making her antsy. She needed a smoke or something to settle herself down. The Deadlocks hanging around the pool tables parted ways for her and she disappeared into the dimly lit back hallway. Ashe went out the rear exit. It opened up to a sad looking parking lot where the bartender’s beat up old truck was parked. The dumpster was propped open and stinking of sour booze. The sun wasn’t quite set yet but almost. She could probably smoke inside, no one would care, but stepping out where it was quiet might do her some good. She took out a cigarette and fought with her lighter. It was thirsty for more lighter fluid and unwilling to light. She sparked it again and again, cursing under her breath at the damn flame that just wouldn’t ignite. In a split second she went from trying to light her cigarette to being throttled up against the side of the building, head banging back against its brick exterior. She knew better than to cry out or make noise, though it hurt like a son of a bitch. Anger followed her surprise like a chaser, flashing through her, making her furious. “You,” The woman pinning her hissed, voice vicious. Fareeha. Ashe recalled her from the previous night. It was hard to forget that tattoo. “What the hell did you do to me.” “What did… What did I do to you?” Ashe repeated back, incredulous. She grabbed at Fareeha’s wrist, trying to pry her fingers back. “What the hell are you doing to me! Get your damned hands off my girly, I’m warning you.” Ashe needed absolutely no reason to throw down. She was ready to tear something to shreds with her bare hands. Fareeha had gone and given her the excuse, anyway, slamming her up against the bar like this. It was getting dark with the sun sinking down below the horizon. Visibility was getting low. In the pale evening light, she swore she could see the brown of Fareeha’s eyes blazing gold. She had this savage expression on her face, lips curled back in a bloodthirsty snarl, and Ashe thought she saw the other woman’s teeth growing longer… getting pointier. Her own jaw began to ache in some odd form of empathy. Her own teeth felt wrong, too big, like they were filling up her mouth. Her skin was itching again. She felt violent. “What did you do to me!” Fareeha demanded, shaking her like a rag doll. Her voice was pitched down low, unearthly and chilling. When Ashe dug her nails into Fareeha’s wrist she found that they were nails at all but long black claws. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. Ashe realized she recognized the driver of the dusty old Camaro rolling down the road and immediately felt relieved. It was the new kid, the one always running his mouth. A little sad that he was driving something with four wheels and not maglev, but Ashe wasn’t about to put down her savior. Not to his face at least. “Ms. Ashe, that you?” He said, slowing to a stop by the side of the road. “It’s just Ashe, sugar.” She reminded him, gesturing to the crumpled blanket in the backseat. “Hand me that, will ya?” She certainly was a sight. Naked as the day she was born, baking in the hot morning sun, walking slowly but surely down the Interstate back towards town. Or what she hoped was back towards town. She was so far out she couldn’t quite tell. The bottoms of her feet were burning from treading barefoot on the hot sand and asphalt. The new kid hurried to snatch up the blanket from the back and shove it out the window to her. She wrapped it around her middle, trying not to be too concerned about the stains on the fabric or the stale smell. It was better than being naked. She felt a bit bad that she didn’t remember his name, but Deadlock was a big family and he hadn’t quite made his mark yet. She’d go on calling him sugar, that was fine. “How’s about you give your boss a lift back into town.” Sugar seemed confused but he nodded, reaching across to open the passenger door for her. She slid inside, wincing as she moved. Her whole body ached liked she’d been run through the ringer. Maybe she had been. The last thing she remembered was Fareeha accosting her outside the bar. Had they gotten into a fight? Ashe didn’t know. She didn’t seem to have any bruises, but something had happened. Something. “…Just out for a walk then?” Sugar asked awkwardly, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the shoulder. This was an unreasonably undignified position for her to be in and she knew it. She couldn’t explain it. She’d awoken this morning in the middle of nowhere, dunes of sand and scrub grass all around her, with no idea how she got there. She’d possibly lost a fight? Or won one? Or maybe this was some failed attempt to bury Ashe’s body where no one would find it? “The less we say about this the better, Sugar,” Ashe told him. “You keep this between you and me and I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of on the next job. Got that?” Sugar’s eyebrows went up and he brightened considerably. “Yes, ma'am.” As soon as they hit 50 MPH he was grinning like an idiot. New gang members were easy to please. “Guess it’s a good thing I saw you. Gang’s been talking about some wild animals near town. Wouldn’t do either of us any good, you becoming some wolf’s breakfast.” A wolf? Ashe adjusted the blanket, covering herself up a little more before casting Sugar a look. “There ain’t no wolves in these parts. Whoever told you that’s fucking with you.” “Somebody saw one. A white wolf running down the highway. Some kinda coyote too.” “Uh-huh,” She nodded. “Just shut up and drive, Sugar.” .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. “It wasn’t no coyote.” Being at the bar was probably a bad idea. Suspicious deviations from her usual routine be damned. Something bad was happening, to her specifically or around these parts in general Ashe couldn’t quite tell. She wasn’t sure where else she should be, though. She was safe here at the bar. Half the gang was here with her, a dozen men, women, and omnics ready and willing to go to bat for her if she needed them. It seemed like every time she stepped out these doors things went sour, so it was best just to stay put on her favorite spot in the corner. “Small though, right? Sure it wasn’t a dog?” “No, it wasn’t no dog either!” The rumor about animals passing through town, wreaking havoc and running amok, was spreading through the gang like ripples on water. Ashe supposed she was grateful for these stories, dumb as they sounded. She would rather have everyone in town talking about this massive white wolf and its tiny dog friend than about her waking up naked in the middle of the scrubland and strolling down the interstate. Sugar had done well enough to keep his word about the whole thing, but he kept sending her odd glances between his turns at pool. He would lean up against the cue and gaze at her as if waiting for something to happen. Ashe felt like she was waiting for something too, but she didn’t know what. “It had marks on his back, black and white. I never seen no dog and no coyote with marks like that.” Her skin still itched, right square in the center of her back. It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, but it wasn’t a good feeling either. She tried not to pay it any mind, but it was easier said than done. Even with everything that had happened to her these last few days, with all the things she should be worried about, this was what was bothering her the most. She wanted to sink her teeth into something, tear it apart with her hands, chase it through the dust and the dirt of the desert until her body ached. “A jackal?” “...the hell? A jackal? In New Mexico?” The bar door creaked open, the noise of it almost lost to the din of drinking and shooting pool and the endless conversation about who had seen what type of animal. Ashe looked up from under the brim of her hat to see a handful of those Helix Security types wandering in. Slices of golden light from the setting sun fell across the barroom floor. Fareeha was the last to enter, backlit ominously. Ashe felt eyes on her immediately. “Makes about as much sense as a white wolf.” Without even the pretense of buying a drink first, Fareeha made her way over to the pool tables. She looked ready to raise hell. Something about her presence and the way she approached set the entire gang on edge. The pool playing slowed to a stop. The conversation died down entirely. Everyone turned to watch her. Fareeha was fearless in the face of this threat. She stood in front of Ashe, a good few feet away, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her muscles were bulging gloriously. “We need to talk.” “Yeah, I suppose we do,” Ashe agreed reluctantly. She slid off her barstool intending to take this conversation somewhere more private. “You want someone to come with you, Ms. Ashe?” Sugar spoke up. “Not now, Sugar.” Ashe waved him off and nodded for Fareeha to follow her right back out the front door she’d just come in. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. Ashe bounded through the open expanse of desert, the sand dunes painted pale grey in the moonlight. Her feet carried her far faster than she had any reason to be going. She cut through the quickly cooling wind as it ruffled her white fur. Fareeha was faster, quicker, far ahead of her, making a break for the horizon. By the end of the night she would be in Ashe’s clutches, that was a certainty. She could run but she couldn’t hide. Giving chase was fun but she wouldn’t last forever sprinting like this. Ashe would catch up to her one way or another. Above them the stars glittered in the sky, twinkling white in a dark blue blanket. Out here, in the middle of nowhere with no light pollution to speak of, they could see just about every glittering spec and glorious constellation. The moon, round and full, beamed down its pristine silver light. The two of them were basking in it, soaking it up, letting it wash over them. Fareeha bounded up the side of a sharply rising slope. She stopped, perched perfectly on the peak, to pant open mouthed. She cocked back her head and brayed up at the moon in the sky. Her howl was uniquely high, curiously sharp, and it pricked at Ashe’s ears. She burst forward with newfound speed, scaling that same slope in record time. She launched herself at Fareeha, tackling her, taking her down until they were tumbling, rolling, spilling out across the sand and brush. She nipped at Fareeha’s neck, not hard but enough to set her whimpering. She submitted easily, rolling onto her back, offering herself up. Ashe licked down her pointed brown muzzle pink tongue catching the saliva at the corner of her mouth. Fareeha tasted good. Unlike anything Ashe had ever tasted before. She thought she had Fareeha good and pinned but the twisty little thing managed to wiggle out from underneath her and go darting away. Ashe gave her a head start before chasing after her again.

i’m taking femslash february suggestions year round send requests or prompts ➝ here follow me on twitter ➝ here thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆

[segadores-y-soldados]

Um hello everyone??

??????

I hit another follower milestone and like???

HI

How are there so many of you here??

Thank you to everyone for your support!  I hope ya’ll are enjoying the stuff I put on this blog!

So for new and old followers here’s some stuff about me and a mini writing showcase:

Tumblr username: Segadores-y-soldados AO3 username: clickclickBANG Twitter: https://twitter.com/SegadorYSoldado (I am very new at the bird website, please send help) Semi-personal info: transdude from California, please use he/him for me Semi-relevant skills: slowly improving my Spanish - feel free to correct my nonsense (also, 00halle, I saw your comment - I’ve been meaning to respond!  Thank you again for the offer, I super appreciate it and will be coming to you with some questions when I get a chance)

Content: All Overwatch stuff, lots of Reaper76 shippy stuff - be sure to look at my About page to find my other ships I’ll reblog 

Things I’m most well-known for: My essays (tagged as “my essays”) including references on Reaper, Soldier, and Ana; little dialogue scenarios (tagged as “dumb stuff”), usually involving Reaper/Gabriel and Soldier/Jack in some way; doing research on lore and locational stuff in Overwatch; writing fics about Gabriel and Jack being ridiculous smartasses who are in love (and oftentimes the poor people who have to witness their shenanigans).

Little writing showcase:

SEP: Sunsets (written for the amazing Vapewraith!)

They’re in one of the halls of the SEP facility - tucked away into a deep mountainside “somewhere out west,” the building is hard angles and brutal concrete and cut-steel, as soft as titanium and as gentle as the injections they get every morning and evening.  Yet even here, in “wherever’s-range,” there is still beauty: the massive windows, normally just cold, crystalline glass, are open to the sunset, bleeding colors across the land and sky, dripping into the hallway with the vibrancy of oil paints.  Reds smoke into bright, endless pinks, golds melt into bold, sunshine yellows, oranges shift into liquid amber, and at the edges of the atmosphere, velvet purples sigh into silky blues, tinting the more vivid colors and steeped clouds with the dusk of night and the emerging stars.

It’s a sight neither Gabriel nor Jack will ever get tired of -

No matter how exhausted they are.

“The doctors will see you shortly -” the SEP instructor starts to say, reappearing at the far end of the hallway, before he looks up from the papers on his clipboard and scowls at the group of crumbling supersoldiers, snapping, “Is that what you call ‘lining up?’”

“Maybe if y’all didn’t work us so damn hard,” Number: 141 growls, his voice climbing into a hoarse yell, “We’d still have the energy to fucking stand!”

There are shouts of agreement and calls of “Yeah that!” and quiet mumbles of assent.  Gabriel huffs to himself, sliding himself onto the concrete barrier and trying his hardest not to wince as his muscles settle into a sitting position.  He’s used to hard work and even harder workouts, but today had been…brutal.  3 am running through the facility and into the mountains and back, to 10 am sparring and boxing and hand-to-hand combat, to 1 pm “simulation training” where they ran teams in rubber-bullet fire-fights, to 4 pm regulated work outs of push ups and squats and curls, to now - 8 pm - where they fall to their pieces in concrete hallways, waiting for doctors to take their biodata and continue churning them into statistics for the U.S. government before jamming more needles in their arms and sending them to brutal, uncomfortable cots in the dorms.

Jack slides himself up next to Gabriel, sighing just loud enough for his best friend to hear, “Today…was pretty bad.”

“Would’ve been easier on you if you hadn’t burned yourself out on those push ups,” Gabriel grunts back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pant pocket.  He taps one out, muttering with some confusion, “Why were you doing all those one-armed push ups?”

Old Habits (aka “the big fic”) - Rating: T - Action/Adventure for R76:

“PULL BACK,” Reaper’s shouting at the three goons who got blasted the fuck back with a concussive rocket, “ASSHOLES, THOSE ARE HELIX MARK VI, IF THEY FIRE A REAL ROCKET YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.”

Louis is, remarkably, the only one who stays on his feet, although now that they’re all wearing their visors it’s getting difficult to tell who’s who.  The other two roll backwards, flipping over a few times before slamming into the cliff wall behind them.  Reaper could fucking push both of them off the ledge and into the depths of the canyon with how annoyed he is at them, but that’s not important right now.

Three of the Helix fliers pop up from behind the rock ledge, hovering just a bit above the ground - low enough to get shelter again, but just high enough to give them a subtle height and maneuverability advantage over the Talon and Deadlock ground units.  He hears Widowmaker and Henri fire off a few more rounds, but distant screams are the only reward for that - they’re aiming at the U.S. military soldiers who are stupidly rappelling down from the stable parts of the train still up on the tracks and making themselves easy targets.

“Widowmaker, Helix units, on the ground, below you!” Reaper growls out over the comms before he fucking dematerializes -

- and reforms himself directly behind the three Helix fliers.

God, that hurt like a FUCK.

He punches one of them in the back to make up for it.

FUCK THAT FUCKING HURT TOO

WHY DIDN’T HE JUST FUCKING SHOOT THEM LIKE A REGULAR ASSHOLE

(More under the cut)

76 + 127: How We Were Made - Rating: E - Reaper76 SEP fic

Jack stands by one of the dull, concrete walls and bends himself over before slowly reverse-walking his legs up the side.  The rush of blood to his already throbbing head just makes it feel worse, but the weird mix of exhaustion and energy courses through him and he -

He cannot tell if he wants to fight something

Or fuck something.

...Probably both.

That was the other thing: the fucking raging mix of hormones and chemicals - both natural and artificial - had only cranked individual personalities, energies, attentions, aggressions, and desires to the fucking max.  It had been apparent from the day of orientation that all 150 of them were between 18 and 25 years old - all physically fit, largely martially-oriented people from a multitude of military programs across the country.  Jack and Gabriel had been the top two picks from West Point, but Jack had recognized a handful of the others as being from the academy - like three upperclassmen and ten lowerclassmen and two from their own group - Adrien and Sarah.

So yeah

Of course both fighting and fucking had started occurring within the first week.

Pinche mierda, there had been packets of lube and condoms in their supply chests in their bunk rooms from the very first day onwards.  The program directors had certainly known what to expect from a bunch of high-energy, high-intensity young adults.

Jack sighs again, not sure if he loves or hates the pressure in his head and neck, before pushing his arms up off his elbows and onto his hands.

Upside-down push-ups suck.

Gabriel’s wide, smug, fucking charming grin flashes into his head.

Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like A Drum - Rating: T - McHanzo meeting fic

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things:

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting.

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off - before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.”

Oh. Jesse thinks lamely. English.

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?”

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.”

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’”

OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS

Why, yes, please do, the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking flounders over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction.

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - Shit, I just did it again - sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, oh Lord, I just swore again, this is so embarrassing -”

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.

A miracle occurs.

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.

[365footballorg-blog]

Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 7 MLS slate

April 13, 201810:22AM EDT

Welcome to the ESPN+ era. Let’s dive in…

Friday’s double-header

Philadelphia Union vs. Orlando City

8 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Over the last two weeks Orlando City have won back-to-back games – in dramatic, almost preposterous fashion – for the first time in nearly a year. They’ve done it by toggling through formations (diamond 4-4-2 to 4-2-3-1 to a box-ish 4-4-2) and tossing one of the league’s more robust collections of attacking talent onto the field at any given time.

The defense, meanwhile, has been a tire fire. No one on the backline has been average or better this season, and the defensive midfield combo of Will Johnson and Yoshi Yotun has not offered anywhere near enough protection.

Perhaps all of the above is what the Union need in order to get their attack untracked. Philly have scored just three goals all season, and only one (Alejandro Bedoya’s headed equalizer last week) at even strength. It’s been no bueno, and Bedoya said as much after the game (and yeah, I kind of wonder how that will play in the locker room).

Two things I want to point out here: Philly have gotten a decent amount of decent chances this year. C.J. Sapong and David Accam have combined for 20 shots inside the box, and have scored just one of them. Even if you factor in that shots off of crosses have a lower percentage chance of going in than shots created vs. other methods, that’s an abject scoring rate.

Second is that the best method of creating a chance that’s got a high percentage of hitting the back of the net is to hit on a breakaway. Of the Union’s 52 shots this year, zero have come from that method.

They need to play through the lines a little bit. When Sapong checks back to the play, Accam needs to dive inside into the gap his movement creates. And it probably wouldn’t kill Borek Dockal to make a direct run every now and then, either.

Vancouver Whitecaps vs. LAFC

10 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

We’ve written so much about LAFC already this year because 1) they’re an expansion team, and it’s fun to take apart a new toy, and 2) they’ve been fascinating. Perhaps the most fascinating thing about them is the paradox at the heart of how they play, namely: They are a team whose best defense is their ability to pass and possess the ball, yet they seem to play better – more purposeful and dangerous – when they’re not getting a lot of possession.

I think that’s the reason so many of their games have felt so open.

The ‘Caps are still the ‘Caps. They don’t play open games, and that’s by design. They’re still hitting a ton of long balls (amongst the league leaders) and a ton of crosses (amongst the league leaders), and they don’t possess much at all (fourth from bottom at 41.74%). They are a very British team in approach, and Kei Kamara’s willingness to be a target in every phase of the game lets that happen without it being weird.

That said, this team has an X-factor previous Vancouver teams have not: Alphonso Davies. He’s not quite the finished product yet, but every time he’s on the ball the three closest defenders are in danger of getting dunked on:

70′ – Canadian Alphonso Davies outwaits the keeper on a superb effort, but it’s all for not after the play was reviewed and it was determined that there was a hand ball. @WhitecapsFC and @ColumbusCrewSC are still deadlocked at 1-1. #WhitecapsFCpic.twitter.com/iaOgzN7ynW

— TSN (@TSN_Sports) March 31, 2018

This was called back for a handball, but you get the idea. He’s attempted 44 dribbles, which leads the league. He’s completed 30 of them, which leads the league. That success rate of just over 68% is absurd – general rule of thumb is that anything over 40% is actually pretty good. For high-volume attacking dribblers, Darlington Nagbe has long been the gold standard in MLS, and last year was his best ever at 65%.

Davies is starting to attach end product to his work as well. He’s got 1g/2a in 464 minutes, and isn’t settling for no-hoper crosses from the sideline as much as he did in the season’s first two weeks.

You still gameplan for the ‘Caps the same way you have done the last couple of years. But Davies is slowly changing that.

Saturday’s Slate

New York Red Bulls vs. Montreal Impact

1 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

With the Impact coming off of last week’s dispiriting 4-0 loss at New England and the Red Bulls surely suffering from a Concacaf Champions League hangover… I really have no idea here. I do know, however, that Ignacio Piatti has long been able to conjure special performances in Harrison.

One thing I don’t expect to see in this game: Bradley Wright-Phillips as a No. 10.

Colorado Rapids vs. Toronto FC 2

3 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Let’s face it: TFC have no choice but to treat this as a test for their USL side, as well as a type of tune-up for Victor Vazquez, Justin Morrow and Chris Mavinga – three regular starters who’ve spent most of the past month hurt, but are working their way back to fitness in time for the CCL final. I wouldn’t be shocked to see all three of them sub in as a group just past the hour mark.

The Rapids are currently sitting on our weird stat of the week: They have created five big chances, but they have scored six.

They’re very good at getting goals gifted to them early this season (as are Columbus and Chicago, for what it’s worth). I’m not sure if it’s their system (though I don’t think it is, as they’re not exactly pressing teams into mistakes out there) or just some early season small-sample-size theatre that they’ve taken advantage of. Either way they’re kind of breaking the model right now and it’s amusing.

It should also serve them well against what I’m imagining will be a very young and/or rusty Reds team.

Chicago Fire vs. LA Galaxy

3:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

How Chicago use Bastian Schweinsteiger will be what shapes this game, I think. They’ve flipped him back and forth between sweeper and central midfield a bunch over the past two weeks:

I don’t think playing him at sweeper is a reasonable long-term solution as it leaves them too vulnerable defensively and too bereft of playmaking ability in midfield. They need Homegrown rookie CB Grant Lillard to be ready. Now.

After re-watching last week’s 2-0 home loss to SKC, I’ve come to this conclusion: The Galaxy need to mostly do what they did in that game, except faster. They generated more than 20 shots, hit the woodwork a bunch and forced Tim Melia into a Player of the Week performance. Pressing forward a half-step quicker could’ve/would’ve made those gaps fractionally wider, and when that happens players of the quality of Ola Kamara and Zlatan Ibrahimovic put the ball in the net.

D.C. United vs. Columbus Crew SC

7 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I’m willing to call this a mini-slump for Columbus, who’ve lost two straight and won just once in their last four after blazing out of the gate this year. That one win? It was 3-1 over… yeah it was over D.C. United.

The outstanding feature of that game was, as it often is with Columbus, how high the Crew SC fullbacks got:

When they play like that they basically envelop you and force your defense into constant scramble mode. If you come out to meet them and deny service, you allow the Columbus attackers more running lanes to hit and pockets of space to operate in.

D.C. are 0-3-2, have the league’s third-worst defensive record, and don’t play another home game for three months. They probably need to win this one or 2018 could get away from them before they even set foot in Washington, D.C.

New England Revolution vs. FC Dallas

7:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

The Revs press a ton. FC Dallas turn it over at the back a ton. This game’s in Foxborough on one of the league’s most notorious FieldTurf surfaces.

1+1+1 should equal three points for the home team. We shall see.

Portland Timbers vs. Minnesota United FC

10:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

This game should mark the debut of MNUFC’s first-ever Designated Player, Colombian attacker Darwin Quintero. He’s most often been played as a winger in his long and successful Liga MX career, though he’s also played at times as a second forward. He is fast and fun, has a penchant for scoring bangers from outside the box and absolutely tormented MLS defenders for both Santos Laguna and Club América in CCL over the past seven years:

Darwin Quintero has had great success against #MLS teams in #CCL, with both #SantosLaguna and #ClubAmérica. He has 7 goals + 4 assists vs #MLS teams in his career and terrorized backlines with pace and trickery (he also got a red card and sparked a brawl vs #TFC in 2012). #MNUFCpic.twitter.com/MabNIOSi4x

— Jason Foster (@JogaBonito_USA) March 31, 2018

This is not a fun prospect for a Portland defense that’s struggled all season no matter the team shape or personnel.

San Jose Earthquakes vs. Houston Dynamo

10:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I think I’m going to do a deep dive on the Quakes after this weekend. They’re a team who I thought would be better than they have been – they have talent at every stop from front to back, they’re capable of playing some attractive soccer (as Magnus Eriksson’s goal last weekend showed), and their results haven’t been bad.

But they also haven’t been good, and that’s why Mikael Stahre is talking about making some lineup changes. The big issue for me has been in central midfield, where Florian Jungwirth has been meh and Anibal Godoy has been actively bad. We’re getting deep into the weeds here, but let me link you to the Expected Goal Chain page on AmericanSoccerAnalysis. Toy around with it a bit and you’ll see that, in terms of measurable contribution to the attack, Godoy ranks below pretty much all of the league’s starting midfielders and most of the league’s starting center backs.

He does not, and has not moved the ball well. In this case the eye test matches the underlying numbers that the nerds have cobbled together.

Same, to be honest, with Houston. The eye test says they’ve played well, but 1) they can’t defend on the break because they’re slow at the back, and 2) they can’t finish. And lo-and-behold, nobody’s given up more fastbreak goals and nobody’s squandered more big chances.

Sunday Funday

Sporting KC vs. Seattle Sounders

4 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I’ve been banging on about Big Chances all column, so let me just show you what’s gone wrong with Seattle and what’s gone right with SKC in one handy-dandy excel table:

Club Big Chance Created Big Chance Scored Big Chance Missed NY Red Bulls 12 9 4 Sporting KC 12 6 9 Houston 12 3 11 NYCFC 11 7 11 Atlanta 10 8 8 LAFC 10 6 6 New England 10 5 6 Minnesota 9 5 5 LA Galaxy 8 6 7 Philadelphia 8 3 5 Orlando 7 6 3 Real Salt Lake 7 3 8 Montreal 7 2 5 Portland 6 3 5 FC Dallas 6 2 5 Colorado 5 6 4 Columbus 5 6 4 Vancouver 5 5 3 Toronto FC 5 3 6 D.C. United 5 3 6 San Jose 5 2 5 Chicago 4 6 3 Seattle 3 0 3

Atlanta United vs. NYCFC

6 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Easily the most interesting match-up, tactically or otherwise, of the weekend. NYCFC had huge success midweek by tinkering with using Jesus Medina as a false 9 – basically just stationing him in the gap between RSL’s central midfield and defense and letting a pair of inverted wingers run inside off of him. They won 4-0 and the visitors were never in the game, not for a single second.

I don’t necessarily expect to see that again in this one. David Villa made his return to action after a month, and that should mean Medina can return to his more natural winger role. But it’s a good club for Patrick Vieira to have in his bag (and let’s all remember that Villa pretty famously played as an inverted winger off a false 9 himself for that 2011 Barcelona team that won the Champions League).

Atlanta United, meanwhile, have in part flipped their identity from 2017. Last year they were about pinning teams into the defensive third and forcing defenders to scramble back toward their own goal. This year they’re holding the ball deeper, building from the back and trying to pull defenders upfield:

That’s provided them with acres of space to attack pretty regularly. And when Atlanta get space to attack, they put the ball in the net.

NYCFC are first in the league with 2.67 ppg and a +10 goal differential. Atlanta are second with 2.4 ppg and a +7. On top of all that, it looks like Ezequiel Barco could make his MLS debut.

Feel free to enjoy this one even if you hate both teams. Good soccer is its own reward.

One more thing to ponder…

Be right down!

Happy weekending, everybody.

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Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 7 MLS slate was originally published on 365 Football