Good night everyone…except you America coz once again you slept on The Bold Type
It’s not that hard..I mean if y’all can watch the mess that was PLL for 7yrs then you can damn well sit your asses on that sofa and watch The Bold Type. It’s the same timeslot and channel that PLL was airing on so you got no damn excuses. Get to watching! This show won’t get canceled on my watch.
I have many words about the tour and the show and teamiplier as a whole, but currently the only one that makes sense is proud.
I am so proud.
From the instant I stepped into the auditorium I was crying.
There was such a sweet energy and joy in that room.
Obviously, when the team first came out on stage there was the moment of “oh God, they’re real. They have skin.”, but they held such a humbleness in themselves that I couldn’t stop thinking of how proud I am.
I have seen these people stand through hell.
They have stood with me through hell.
I am so proud.
I am proud to call them friends.
I am proud to call them idols.
I am proud to call them creators.
I won’t tell you about the tour, I won’t spoil the show, but I will tell you about my people.
I will tell you about the energy in that room.
I will tell you how there was hardly a dry eye in the building, Mark, Tyler, Bob, Ethan, and Wade included.
Let me tell you about the glow and the sweat and the snot and the blood.
I have never experienced something that so much effort and love has been put into.
I didn’t meet my heroes.
I didn’t meet my inspirations.
But I realized that they love me.
They love us.
In a unique and personal and invested way.
And this tour?
This was a way of showing it.
So let me tell you how proud I am.
How proud I am to be loved.
To be a part of this community.
Let me tell you how proud I am of Amy and Kat, who’ve given so much of themselves to support their friends.
How proud I am of these people, who have given themselves to love and hope and charity.
Hi!!! I don't know if you're still doing that dress meme, ((aaa, Harold looked so pretty!)), but if you are, would you mind doing it for Melvin Sneedly? (C3 on expressions! Thank you for reading this!)
They are closed but I must draw Melvin in a dress!
Hanzo shifted his eyes from the towering gunslinger to the small, tin cup nestled in his grasp. “That is the rumor,” he sassed back before raising the hammered metal to his lips for a quick shot of sake.
McCree, unamused, crossed tanned arms over the wide expanse of plaid on his chest. “You joinin’, too?” he asked the archer, who’s sobriety was already far from questionable.
The marksman scoffed, lowering his drink and swirling it by the handle. “No. I do not need your shoddy attempt at a police force to be at my prime.”
“Prime, huh? You sure look it.” McCree commented sarcastically under his breath, taking a moment to blow cigar smoke from his lips.
“And you must be Jesse McCree,” Hanzo retorted, eyeing the cowboy with spite, “The deadliest gunslinger since Johnny Ringo, or so I have been told.” Another sip of his alcohol, before he gave a glance to his brother beside him. “What say you, Genji? Should I hate him?”
The cyborg, who previously had brought the two together for introductions, drew back slightly, looking between the sharpshooters.
“Hanzo, I wanted you to meet him, not for you to go off, drink, and start picking fights with the friends I am trying to acquaint you with,” he said, suddenly finding himself playing mediator, “Come now, you do not even know him. How can you hate someone you do not know?”
The elder Shimada gave a ‘hmph’ and turned back to the cowboy. “True, but there is just….something about him. Something around the eyes.” Hanzo glared, scrutinizing McCree’s complexion. “The eyes of a killer. It reminds me of…..me.”
The three went silent for a brief moment, before Hanzo spoke up once more. “No, I am sure of it. I hate him.”
Genji put a hand out as McCree took a step forward, stopping any further confrontation. “He is drunk,” he tried to explain, then turned as Hanzo let out a small laugh.
“/In wine, there is truth,/” he muttered in Japanese, bringing the cup to his lips.
“/Do what you do best,/” McCree replied in the same language. Hanzo’s hand paused as he looked up in mild surprise. The gunslinger smiled in amusement, letting his crossed arms lazily fall to his belt. Hanzo glared.
“/I do not believe drinking is what I do best,/” The archer tossed back, continuing in his native tongue.
“/Forgive me if I am not convinced,/” McCree replied, returning the cold glare with a darkened one of his own. He watched as Hanzo’s features pulled back; a wolf ready to pounce.
“/It is your funeral,/” Hanzo retorted, locking their eyes.
“Come on, boys. We don’t need any trouble, not in any language.” Soldier 76’s almost sudden appearance came with the realization that several of the other Overwatch members had gathered around, watching the argument curiously.
“Japanese,” Hanzo explained for their new audience. “Apparently Mr. McCree is an educated man,” he raised the cup once more, “unlike what his appearance would leave some to believe.”
The sudden presence of a gun barrel inches from his forehead was unexpected, though admittedly unsurprising. Hanzo looked up with drunken eyes, lazily staring over the revolver into the brown glare of it’s holder and ignoring the various gasps from around him.
“Watch it, Jesse…” someone warned. Hanzo almost laughed, encouraging him to pull the trigger and save them both a lot of trouble. Instead, however, he decided to let his eyes do the talking for him.
‘Do it, coward. Kill me.’
He was half-disappointed when the cowboy simply smirked and brought his hand back. He cocked his head and spun the revolver around his index finger once. Twice. Three times and it was back to aiming at Hanzo’s cranium. Someone snickered. So that was how this was going to be.
The revolver was spun once more as McCree brought the gun to his side, flipping it again and again in his gloved palm. More snickers, and someone whistled. The cheers only grew as the gunslinger showed off more: twisting his arm up and down, twirling the weapon back and forth, across the body and back again. Hanzo knew his game. Win the fight with a wound to his pride.
He watched as the silver firearm flew about in a graceful, spinning dance. Spin, stop. Spin, spin, stop. Spin downwards, then upwards, stop. The gunslinger continued his act with a prideful smirk, making sure to keep the locked eye contact between them. The gun twirled thrice more, then settled in it’s holster as a final bow. Applause erupted from the crowd, whistles scattered throughout the cheers.
It took less than a minute for the ovation to die down and the attention to shift to Hanzo. He knew that they were either expecting an even better show, or surrender.
And a Shimada never surrendered.
Hanzo tipped his head back and downed what remained of his sake. A silent, tense-filled moment passed as Hanzo let the burn in his throat subside, keeping the cowboy locked in his gaze.
He flicked his hand lightly, rolling the tin cup by it’s handle. The cowboy raised a brow. A few members giggled, and even Genji began to relax. He rolled it again, this time in the other direction. Once more, twice more, mimicking the tricks McCree had pulled only moments ago. The light clinking of the cup being spun around his hand soon became lost in the chuckles of the audience. Up and down, back and forth, across the body and back again; every move executed with as little grace as a drunken man could possess.
Chuckles gave way to laughter as Hanzo continued his mocking. His face was stoic, challenging, unchanging amid the lazy rolling of his hand. If McCree wanted a battle of pride, then by God he was going to get it. Hanzo gave the cup two more spins for good measure before settling it on his hip, an imaginary holster. The crowd once again burst into applause, laughing and cheering all at once. Their volume spoke plenty: a victor had been chosen.
McCree stood tall and silent amid the rambunctious audience, chewing on a smoldering cigar and gazing down at his competitor, though the glare had fallen from his eyes. The two stood for only a brief moment in a contest of stares, before the gunslinger raised his hand, tipped his hat, and turned to saunter away.
The cowboy stopped in his tracks and turned back over his shoulder. He glanced down, raising a brow at the archer’s extended open palm. His eyes shifted back up to look into the other’s, questioning an ulterior motive. Hanzo merely smiled, again letting his eyes speak for him.
McCree smiled back, chuckling lightly as he accepted the gesture, giving Hanzo’s hand a firm shake. The contact lasted perhaps a moment too long before the cowboy decided to turn, taking his leave to the sound of jingling spurs.
“You shook his hand,” Genji commented as Hanzo watched McCree leave. The elder nodded, fiddling with the empty cup still in his grasp.
“I did. We are not so different, he and I. Perhaps, should the Dragons will it, I may come to dislike him less. Besides,” Hanzo raised the tin cup, gesturing to the spot where McCree once stood as he slipped into Japanese, “/He has a very nice ass./”