So I wrote this as a continuous post on hangoverwatch’s post, but I then decided to just rewrite this as my own text so the general public can read it.
Although I enjoy and appreciate the characterization that Jesse Mccree can be a bumbling goof at times (cause I mean, have you seen his outfit?) And how people portray him as a down-to-earth kind of guy that can and will sweep anyone off their feet with his Southern cowboy charm is great all, but I feel like we as a fandom forget that he is an extremely dangerous man.
In canon terms, his bounty is worth a hell of a lot more than Roadhog and Junkrat’s combined. “But Jess, JR and RH’s bounty are in pesos blah blah blah.” Look, I already did my math, and when RH and JR’s bounties are converted to American currency their amount comes up to $1,371,704.48 each (A total of $2,743,408.96 USD combined) Compare that to Jesse’s whopping $60,000,000 USD bounty, their crimes pale in comparison to Jesse’s. Also, I (for those who need a little more convincing) went ahead and converted Jesse’s bounty to pesos and his came up to a total of $1,093,530,000.00! That’s 2x more than JR and RH’S combined and then some. This guy is a more wanted criminal than them, and they’re known for robbing, bombing, and even killing innocent people. And even if their bounties weren’t in pesos, Jesse’s bounty is still 10,000,000 more than theirs combined.
How he got his reputation to be so notorious is up in the air and will most likely be open to our opinion until we get more history between him, Gabriel, Deadlock, and Blackwatch. (Obviously Deadlock is more of a threat than we may perceive due to them [in the process of] hijacking a government train, and Jack’s voiceline in game saying that Gabriel should have ended Deadlock a long time ago. He of all people should bring up red flags when in comes to gangs considering how he views Los Muertos.)
So knowing that Jesse was part of this group at a young age (in my headcanon he was 15 going on 16) is really terrifying. That gives him a brief time period of a year to get him recruited into Deadlock, figure out his role, steal a lot of government items (successfully might I add), hone his skills as a marksman, and all while making a name for himself. Now, a lot of these things are easy to accomplish at an early age(honing skills, filling a role in a community, and making a name for oneself is all based on dedication.) The thing that’s scary is the fact that more than likely Jesse went on these assault missions and lived while doing the other 3 to the point that he was the only one considered to be taken into OW. Again we don’t know if he was threatened to join or he was offered a spot in OW peacefully. On his bio, it’s said that due to his resourcefulness and expert marksmanship Jesse was given a choice to join or not. So obviously, the person who recruited him (more than likely it was Gabriel) knew about Jesse McCree enough to want him on their team. And as posted by hangoverwatch, OW only has eyes and ears for the best.
So let’s look at the facts:
Like from earlier in this post, Jesse McCree is a highly skilled man. Skilled enough to:
Sit on a train moving at the rate of 640 kpm/h (which is equivalent to 397.678 mp/h. Basically hella fast) with no signs of bodily distress.
Able to jump off said moving train with no struggle against wind and gravity while holding himself long enough to break a window.
Slaughter an entire Talon operative team BY HIMSELF without killing civilians with pinpoint accuracy even in the dark.
Knows he’s capable enough to kill Gabriel–a war hero, super soldier, and the Blackwatch figurehead (his voiceline proves that he feels like he’s the one that should kill Gabriel.)
Was able to survive long enough to earn himself a $60,000,000 bounty while still able to somewhat stay in public without being recognized (the event at Hanamura shows that he’s resourceful enough to cover his tracks to where people still don’t know who saved the shop even with his bounty.)
But that’s not it. He’s also the down-to-earth, snarky man that everyone writes/draws him to be
While a lethal killing machine can be quite the gentleman (stated by Ana who recalls him being “quite the charmer.”)
Has a competitive side (The new summer game line: “I don’t like much losing.”)
He’s a cheeky little shithead (ALL of his interactions with Reaper.)
He’s a cowboy fanboy (Upon closer examination, Jesse did not get his full cowboy get up until AFTER he left OW. Hinted by the voiceline between him and Reaper. R:You look ridiculous. J:Looked in a mirror lately?) He only had his hat and belt buckle throughout the Golden years. Serape, boots, and spurs came later.
So to everyone that thinks that Jesse McCree is an idiot let me be the one to say that you have never been more wrong. This man is a conniving, calculating, murderous, son-of-a-bitch with a cowboy/vigilante complex. He wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head if you stood on the wrong end of justice, and the problem is, is that it’s his code of justice. It’s whatever he deems is good or evil. This guy is seriously not a force to be reckoned with. Although he may not be as book smart as Winston, Mei, and Satya, and even Blizzard stated he can be a bit of an irresponsible adult (not being able to schedule appointments on his own) He can and will outsmart you in a game of wits effortlessly while also make you question your own intelligence. Long story short: Jesse McCree is a goofy, knowledgable, badass that won’t hesitate to kick your butt if you pushed the wrong buttons. So basically don’t get on his bad side and we’re all golden.
Summary: As the Crown Princess of Vitus, your land has always been peaceful. When your power-hungry Uncle decides to stop paying the tithe though, things take a turn for the worse. The vampires who reside in the mountains are not happy and in retaliation - they set their sights on you.
WARNINGS- a little bit of angst, and maybe some feels sorry!
Request from anon-Hii, I love ur imagines!! Can u do an imagine of the reader being childhood bffs wiv Bucky & Steve but instead of Bucky being the winter soldier, she does & they fight in modern times but soon, she joins the avengers and Buck & her fall in love xx
So I may have changed some little things with this prompt but it’s my longest one yet and does jump around slightly but hopefully its not too confusing! hope yo enjoy (I really enjoyed writing this one)
You didn’t have many friends growing up in Brooklyn you had learnt to be tough and resilient, even as a young girl the other kids in the neighbourhood knew you were not to be messed with. So it surprised them to see your fast forming friendship with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the three of your were inseparable. Always together playing in the streets and as you got older going out on the town, Bucky was the instigator on these nights out his self proclaimed mission to get Steve a date always made you rolled his eyes.
“I’m warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff… Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states Don’t start none, won’t be none!”
Steve Rogers isn’t really quite sure what is going on, because one moment he’s feeding Clint’s dog a treat and the next the hottest guy he’s ever seen is wiping blood from his mouth and accusing him of tasting bad.
(OR: The one where Bucky is a vampire and Steve is anemic)
tumblr user spuzz wanted “a fic where bucky gets turned into a vampire and stalks steve and tries to seduce him into becoming a vampire with bucky. because bucky wants him around forever with him. and he gets increasingly desperate and dangerous. and steve can’t kill him but he can’t give in either.” So it happened.
The super soldier experiment results in Steve becoming a lethal killing machine. Isolated, alone, and terrified, Steve finds his way to Europe where he learns Bucky’s been taken by Hydra. When he finds him strapped to a metal slab and moments from death,Steve faces the choice: either let his childhood best friend - and the love of his life - die, or turn him and condemn his soul.
I'm warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff...anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states, "Don't start none, won't be none!"
i don’t know what is wrong with the little shit named Ellie, but I think she forgets just how BADASS I can be. I mean hell. I attach scissors to anything and it becomes a lethal killing MACHINE. Nothing slows me down REGARDLESS of my age. I can’t help it woman find my Southern charm irresistible. So step down off yer soap box you pint sized swear box and back off. Before I stick yer sarcastic ass in an orphanage.
I’m warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff… Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states “Don’t start none, won’t be none!”
Chris Evans as Cpt. Jake Jensen in The Losers (2010)
Crowley imagine requested by anon! “Could youwrite a beautiful Crowley imagine with lots and lots of fluff. Maybe one where the guys are (lovingly) teasing y/n about being with Crowley (cause they’re cool with it) and then he shows up and she’s all pouty so he acts all cute to make her happy again.” I tried my best to make it beautiful I suppose it’s a matter of opinion. This imagine has been edited for reposting to amp up the deets. Not gonna lie, this one’s really cute. Hope you like it!
"No, but… in all seriousness, Y/n, is that his real accent?” Sam prodded, twirling his plastic silverware between his fingers before the utensil dove to his pre-cooked Paula Deen frozen dinner, his inquiry causing Dean to snort into his beer, amber liquid dripping from his nose as you poked away at your own decadent TV dinner. Sam and Dean bit back their laughter to keep up their serious facades, chowing down on their cardboard steak as you were… attempting to do, the subject of your little family-dinner scene turning towards your blossoming relationship with the King of Hell. You’d been dating Crowley for two weeks when the boys found out, their rage as potent as the freezer burn on your intentionally edible and obscenely small supposed slab of meat. You weren’t surprised by their outburst; they had every right under the Sun to be angry with you for “siding,” as they put it, with the demon one step down from the Devil. This was the man who had severed Kevin’s finger, the man who had driven Mrs. Tran to sell her soul by dangling her son’s life on the end of fishing line, the man who had attempted to nab Bobby Singer’s soul. This man, who had literally shit on their ambitions, this lethal, heartless, killing machine of a man was spending his Saturdays with someone the Winchesters trusted. They eagerly plotted his murder, spitting venom whenever you approached the subject, drawing their angel blades whenever the pizza delivery man knocked on the motel’s door, expecting the demonic business man to be waiting for his date on the opposite end of the door. Needless to say, you were forced to devour many less mouthwatering meals as a result of the knife-to-throat greeting the Dominoes guy had received upon approaching your temporary residence.
It was only when you pulled a Pocahontas on the brothers, throwing yourself in front of the demon, who, when he did show his face, refused to fight them, acting as your lover’s human shield, standing guard of your delicate monster as the brothers charged, did they snuff out their ardent loathing for the man behind your outstretched arms, slowly learning to accept this powerful addition to your gang. True, you saw their logic. If you had been walking in their beat-up, heavy hunting boots, you would’ve shot the bastard on sight, no question. But you knew him outside of his… business, his transactions and vacations impossible for you to ignore, but disregarded as necessities, such as your sleeping habits, your need to eat at regular intervals, and your think-before-you-torture mindset. Crowley was merely… of a different mentality, as was his nature as an otherworldly species. He had different stresses than you did, such as the overpopulated suburbs in the industrial quarter of Hell, the rowdy souls of confessed serial killers, the likes. The Crowley did still possess human affections, though his soul had been withered by the winds of the kingdom he now held in the palm of his hand, a feature that surprised you. He was a lot more than he was cracked-up to be. You sighed, stabbing absentmindedly at your quote-endquote “ready to eat” dinner.
“Yes, it’s his real accent. He’s originally from Scotland, but his vessel is English,“ you explained to the corn mush frozen into the corner of the tray, your voice tinged with the glum misery that accompanied the oh-so humourous jabs at your love life, even if they were meant to be merry, unsure of whether or not the rest of your food would get up and walk off of your tray. Dean snickered, whispering ‘Haggis!’ and ‘Blimey!’ to Sam until they were both shaking from bottled-up laughter. Their maturity was skyrocketing today. Through the roof.
“Have you met his paren- oh, sorry…” Sam mumbled, Dean nudging him underneath the table as they both fought to keep their stoic composure. “Forgot she’s only into demons now. She doesn’t have a witch fetish.” Sam continued, snickering to his brother, their faces ducking to their meals as they shoveled the contents of the cardboard boxes into their mouths, occasionally choking as they laughed through their chews.
“Do you stay at your place or his?” Dean asked, the factory produced meat bulging against his cheek as he spoke. “You know, I was just cruious… because of the… the heat…" He grinned, chomping on the mash of food being held between cheek and teeth. “Might be too humid for you down there.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed by their banter but grateful they had learned to trust their former enemy enough to be pulling jokes about the guy.
“He’s right, love. Gets a bit muggy in the summer.” A gravelly voice seduced the air behind you, your pulse intensifying in your ear as you turned, taking in the man who had quite literally poofed into existence. “I’m doing what I can to fix that.” Crowley shot you his heart melting crooked grin, the one he knows makes your lungs about as useful for breathing as a ShakeWeight was for muscular endurance, exuding confidence and breathy laughter at your shocked expression. He winked, wiggling his fingers at the stunned-to-silence brothers, who were now intensely focused on devouring their crappy meal. They stood, shoveling the last of their artificial nutrients into their mouths on their way to the sink, their shoulders heaving with bottled laughter. They exited the room, the eldest mumbling "Bloody Hell!"s and "God save the Queen"s as they departed. Crowley offered you his hand, helping you to your feet and pulling your to his chest with easy confidence, suave as ever, spinning you quickly in a swing-type dance number, your leaden feet a step behind his nimble movements. You wanted to share his quick joy, but something heavy in your stomach kept you slow of step, Crowley leaning away to examine your expression after one too many scuffles, his smile fading like the last scene of a movie to the black emptiness of credits and concern. “Y/n, darling, are you alright? Have I done something?” he asked, his self-loathing piloting his questionnaire, his hands cradling your cheeks, eyes scanning your feautures for some sign of wrongdoing. You shook your head, forcing a smile over your pout, Crowley’s head tilting to let you know he saw through your flimsy disguise, his thumbs working over your cheekbones. If you hadn’t been the target of ridicule moments before his arrival, you’d have been more than happy to be toured around the cheap motel room in Crowley’s arms, but Sam and Dean’s teasing lingered in the back of your mind, sapping all capability for joy out through the soles of your feet, no matter how lighthearted they had been.
“Don’t worry about it, babe. I’m being too sensitive.” you assured, his concern remaining chiseled into his features, anxiety working wrinkles between his brows. His hands fell to your upper arms, holding you in place while his chocolate eyes dissected your posture. After a moment’s pause, his head tilted once more, lips pursing as he inhaled steadily through his nose, irritation present in his very breath, his jaw hardening. He’d figured you out.
“Have those two gotten you all worked up?” he accused, his tone similar to that of a mother asking a fractious child whether or not he had swiped a treat from the cookie jar. You shook your head, waving his question away in silence, remaining still in his arms. A hand worked it;s way back to your face, smoothing the hair from your cheek before holding your face in the palm of his hand, his exhale low. “Oh, they have, haven’t they,” he grumbled, voice unimpressed. His thumb worked over the planes of your cheek, back and forth, your skin feverish beneath his hand. “What can I do to cheer you up again? You know I love it when you smile. You have a beautiful smile. It’s really very sexy,” he charmed, an involuntary giggle bubbling from between your lips at his charisma turned sleaze. Crowley’s hands dropped from your arm and face, the demon taking a step back, his shoulders rolling in preparation for something unknown.
“Crowley-” you chuckled as he swooped closer to you, your voice lilting in excited fear as his hands closed around your waist, attacking your neck with quick, light kisses, raising more ticklish laughter from you as you tried in vain to fight him off, his hands secure around your torso. At your squeal, he spun you in his arms, your legs giving out at the force of his spin, feet kicking up as your weight shifted into the demon’s chest. He chuckled against the underside of your jaw, moving to nip at your bottom lip as his fingers tickled along your hips.
“I… would give… my best scotch…” he began, pausing to kiss along your jawline, his face popping into view, eyes set with serious composure. “And I mean my very best, none of that toilet bowl blasphemy you’re used to with company like…” he assured you, tilting his head in the direction of the doorway, chocolate eyes shimmering in the lamplight as they locked on yours, his mouth meandering to yours, his tongue tempting your own. He pulled back, your lips following his unconsciously, making him smirk. “All you have to do is smile.” You allowed him a small grin, a barely-there victory, his own mouth parting over gleaming teeth. He raised an eyebrow, challenging your defiance, his chest shaking against yours as he chuckled. “Oh, come on, at last give me more than that!” He argued, received by silence. He shrugged, as if to say ‘you’ve asked for it,’ before flipping you over his shoulder as easily as if you were a washcloth in the way of cooking, proceeding to parade you about the room, your fists landing weak punches on the back of his perfectly tailored suit, the silky ebony fabric slick under your hands. He reacted properly, for a demon, ignoring your meager attempts to free yourself, his hands rubbing along the backs of your thighs in a playful manner.
“CROWLEY!!!” You laughed, feeling your breath come quicker and quicker, tears brimming as you fought against this mischievous capture, laughter ebbing cramps into your stomach. He tossed you onto the motel’s spring-loaded couch, your body bouncing against the cushions, a smile dancing along your lips. He grinned, triumphant, settling himself beside you before pulling you to his chest, his lips pressing into your hair. He smelt of spices and expensive, alluring cologne, the fragrance of him a temptation in itself. This man, this killing machine, the King of Hell, had just gone out of his way, made a fool of himself, to lighten your mood. In moments like these, you couldn’t imagine him daring to harm a fruit fly. He had once been human, and in many ways he remained so. You snuggled into his chest, his breath disheveling your hair as you sat, safe, in the arms of a jovial killer. His breath washed over your hair, his voice a whispered presence in your ear.
"Y/n, darling, you may want to request a separate motel room the next time around.” At his words, you lifted your head, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Crowley nodded his head backwards, once more referencing the doorway the brothers had slipped out of, his expression screaming his incognito intentions, fire dancing in his eyes. When he spoke, he did so through his teeth, barely reaching the whisper tier, his volume exceptionally low. “They’ve got their ears pressed to the plaster, love.”
100 FILMS IN 2013 → 101/100 Films: The Losers (2010)
Jensen: I’m warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff… Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states “Don’t start none, won’t be none!”
“I’m warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff… Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states ‘Don’t start none, won’t be none’”
“I’m warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff… Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states "Don’t start none, won’t be none!”