#quick drawn

[buabloomed]

❝ You can stop flinching. I'm not dropping acid on your face, friend. ❞ Scooping up more of the clay mask, Niran sets on tackling Cassidy's blocked pores, his own face mask (matcha oat milk) hardening at the temples. A few moments in, he hums absentmindedly. ❝ Have you ever thought of deep conditioning your beard? ❞ »•»𑁍«•«

@quick-drawn

[unfogged-arc]

@quick-drawn ♡'d for a tiny moira thing!

"Are you going to stare at me judgmentally until I say yes?" She does not particularly want to join him and the other Blackwatch members out for a night together, but camaraderie and teamwork, etcetera. She doesn't wish to look like she's not being a team player, though — she's already on thin ice after all with her latest experiment.

[byanyan]

@quick-drawn sent:ㅤ💫 a late night text.

texting promptsㅤㅤ.・。.・ㅤㅤaccepting!!

[sms: yee yee mf]ㅤso like [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤdid u actually grow up on a farm [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤor r u one of those freaks who pretends to be from the country [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤ...whats that like? [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤive only ever lived in the city [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤactually only been outta the city a couple times [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤmostly on school field trips tbh [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤfeel like itd be borin af to live out there [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤ(◔ヘ◔) [sms: yee yee mf]ㅤtho theres smth kinda cool about the idea of havin no people around for miles

[chronal-anomaly]

💔: What’s something they can’t look at or think about for too long without getting emotional?

Tumblr ate my memes || Not accepting

This one is easy - flying, and anything to do with it. Planes, helicopters, even walking by the hangers are difficult to her. Anything that reminded of her flying, including old uniforms and the special winged pins she's earned over the years, are all ignored because they will make her emotional. Sometimes, looking up into the very sky will produce that pit in her stomach, the churning dread and the bile of a woman that, in a way, lost everything again, and again.

It does improve over the years. When she's initially free of the isolation chamber, it's impossible to look at anything to do with life beforehand. Pictures, uniforms, posters, and pretty much everything around her small Overwatch room was shoved unceremoniously - and sometimes violently - into a trunk kept bundled in a dark corner of her closet. Gradually, things began to come out - an old wool blanket given to her by a friend at the flight academy as winter crept in, her half of her Overwatch wings that she keeps on her now as a lucky charm, pictures of friends and family. Gradually, it was pulled out, dusted off and set up in her room, making it feel like home again.

A similar progression occurred with the act of flying itself. At first, even the thought was laden with flashbacks and panic attacks, brought on by even the sight of aviation. Planes overhead made her heart race and sweat break out on her brow. But Lena was determined to get better; it was some of the few therapists she actually saw, the exposure therapists that would push her, everyday, closer and closer to the success she craved. Of course, there were positives and negatives, days ended in disaster and thrilling successes - "I sat in the simulator chair today; and managed to turn it on!"

It was her life, her peace, her stability, for a long time. And it was torn from her so violently, a piece of her very soul shredded from itself and pulled into the ether. All in the pursuit of time travel, of science, of the constant search for something beyond the feeble understanding of the cosmos.

[livesinthebalance]

"it’s harmless. most all children with imagination do it."

@quick-drawn​

“Well sure they do,” she answers with a light little laugh that crinkles her nose.

“But most children don’t also turn around and actually become cowboys though, so I was just a little curious about whether or not baby Jesse McCree was running around with a bandana and toy six-shooters playing Law Dogs and Robbers, acting out his lifelong dream?”

The western they had started how-ever long ago is completely forgotten as she pivots ever so slightly more towards him –– [ though how careful she is as she does so, not wanting to shift his hand from where it rests on her calf where her leg is slung over his lap… or to disturb him from where her other leg rests against his side, his arm propped over it ] –– and this time the light and amusement in her eyes has exactly nothing to do with any drinking games. 

Just him. 

[ But then, hadn’t it been just him from the start? ]

“And if he did, are there pictures? Because, I don’t know, I might need to see enough evidence to satisfy burden of proof.”

[todoslosdiasdemivida]

“don’t hurt them !"

@quick-drawn

His network had brought it to his attention. That someone was asking around for the kid—by his legal name when there supposedly isn't anyone still alive to know to look for him by that name.

With a bit of digging, he found a name—more than a few names, actually—for the seeker: Armando… of Many Last Names.

It was concerning to say the least.

Why is someone trying to track him down? Does the kid owe this guy something? Or is he a loose end from something else? Is it going to be a potential problem?

He needs answers.

He goes to the reason for this particular dilemma.

He had pushed and poked and prodded the kid for answers but he wouldn't budge—whether from spite or distrust or both—until finally he just had to kick in the door to get anywhere.

Stone-faced, he leaned in, voice an unsettling but decisive calm.

"One way or another, this has to be handled. He can't keep asking around for you. Blackwatch can't afford that kind of attention. All I need to know… is how it needs to end."

That had been what it took to get the reaction. DON'T HURT THEM!

Them. A them that the kid is apparently protective of, judging by the assertiveness of the declaration. The anger. [ The fear. ] His father is dead––and good riddance. His mother is gone––a tragedy, really. The Deadlock Gang is a non-issue––he has all of their names and Armando isn't one.

Who else is there that the kid would want to protect?

Finally, he allows his expression and tone to soften, a quiet sigh escaping him.

"McCree, listen to me. I'm not looking to hurt anybody. I give you my word about that… But I need to know who they are and why they are looking for you. For your safety and theirs."

[buscarparamivida]

❛  ...this what family's s'posed t'be like ?  ❜

@quick-drawn

"Por supuesto," she answers with a bright smile that seems to dim only with the clouds she sees behind his eyes.

Her brow furrows and her expression falls.

"…… You 'ave not 'ave this… 'ave you? Es always been only you y tu mamá?"

A beat.

"I do not remember many things of mi mamá. I 'ad only… tres años ––ah, three years when she pass. Y mi papá pass three years after that. Our Tío care for us, until he die… Pero, always I 'ave 'ad Arman. Teo, too, after he was born."

She turns then, to look toward where Arman is currently carrying Teo over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, as though he weighs nothing despite his own wiry frame. This is, of course, done while inquiring where his younger brother had gone and calling for him because there is work to be done. Teo seems to be caught somewhere between indignance at being treated in such a manner and laughter brought on by his brother's apparent good humor today.

"Our familia es small––more small now than it was––pero we are close. I do not know what Teo y yo would 'ave done without Arman… Ignore 'ow much I tease him because he need it… He 'as been more a father to us than our own… I do not think that any of us would know what to do without each other."

She looks to Cole then, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, a more subdued but no less earnest smile returned.

"Y, ahora, la familia tiene dos más––Which es to say that now we 'ave two more we… add to our family, ¿de veras?" she says, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as her smile further brightens.

"Bienvenido a la familia, hermano."

[circumstanceworn]

@quick-drawn​    ✧ ∘ ˚    sc.

     “ it’s okay if you don’t want it. ”

  ‘it’ referring to the small potted succulent, a peperomia graveolens, which the boy holds carefully in his hands, half-extended toward jesse. the smile he wears is shy, but carefully crafted to show the assurance that there won’t be any offence taken if the gift is declined — he wants to be sure the plant LIVES, that it isn’t only accepted to avoid making him feel bad.

     “ i just thought... uhm, well, you seem... kind of lonely. ”  sheepishly, si-u ducks his head and hopes that doesn’t come off rudely. he’s only trying to help, after all.  “ i thought... something to take care of might help? —all you have to do is water it once in a while, so it isn’t a lot of work. ”

[aquicksojourn]

ic interaction: @quick-drawn

WATCHPOINT: Gibraltar 2345 hours

❝ Full house, read 'em and weep. ❞ Vivian sets down her cards with minimal flair, gathering up the pot to the groans of those around her. She'd apologize if she really was sorry...but she isn't. Shifting through the effects, she finds some gum and pops a stick into her mouth. Ugh. Peppermint. Better than nothing, she supposes. ❝ Next time, Cassidy, don't bluff with a pair of twos. ❞ A yawn threatens to crack her jaw, but she's too experienced in the art of faking alertness to let it slip. ❝ Another round or are you going to call it quits for tonight? ❞

[sangled]

shipping win! they have different but equally terrible coping mechanisms

[befuddledbumblebee]

in his shadow.

[mercymc-a]

@quick-drawn found the Med Bay

Getting back into the swing of things, Angela was making herself comfortable within the medical bay at Gibraltar. Ever since Paris-- It was the final nail she needed to watch be put in the metaphorical coffin for her to realize she needed to do something. Each nail from this point forward must be pulled out, by her own hand or the organization.

Someone did have to do something and while she didn't believe it was a good idea at the start. . . Even Angela had to realize that something this big needed a bigger response than what they had been doing. Escalation on the enemy's side needed to be met with equal treatment like with any disease.

The world's proverbial immune system that naturally kept evil under it's thumb needed it's medication, a solution, an anti-biotic that could stand against the threat. Still, as she settled down in the medical bay there was hesitance in how she moved. Concerned, cautious, still weary if this was good to throw herself and others into the frey.

So many had been lost and she tried her best to keep those thoughts from swarming back but-- The new technology and remodeling of the base couldn't quell the memories that haunted these hallways. Letting out a sigh, she sat down thinking she should take a break soon. . but there was so much to still organize. They hadn't had much of a healer like herself and the medical bay was painfully bare.

Yet still the door was open, it was functional, and word of her official return no doubt might turn some heads to agents who already had arrived before her. Particularly not looking forward to having to face them, shame burrowing into her heart ever slightly for neglecting the recall when it was first issued.

[unfogged-arc]

@quick-drawn ♥️'d for an overwatch muse! moira + cassidy.

"Do you never tire of gunslinging around the world, Cassidy?" Moira tilts her head just slightly at her old teammate, a hint of a smile on her sharp features. "And I hear you are now in leadership of our old mother organization." She tsks, shaking her head in mild disappointment. "I had higher hopes for you, my little cowboy."

[byanyan]

@quick-drawn sent:ㅤ[ hiding ] sender finds out that receiver has hidden an injury from them — oh, even better

non-verbal angst promptsㅤㅤ∘ ˚ ( accepting )

ㅤsneaking into the bar through the back has become a fairly common practice since they've started hanging around the place more regularly, though usually it's reserved for the times where, for some reason or another, they'd rather not be noticed right away. times like tonight, for instance. slinking out from the area labelled 'employees only,' byan beelines for the most secluded corner table and drops themself unceremoniously into the nearest seat. exhausted and in a good amount of pain, they proceed to slump forward over the table, one arm sweeping into place to separate their forehead from the hard surface. the other arm is left very purposefully curled over their lap, out of view.

while not entirely sure of how long they sit there like that, or when exactly they were first noticed, at some point, inevitable as always, they hear the unmistakeable approach of those godawful boots. they'd recognize the sound of those horrid things anywhere.

ㅤㅤ" 'm'fine. "ㅤanswering the question before it can be asked, the hand on the table raises as though to wave cassidy and his nosy concern away.ㅤ" just need t' rest for a few more minutes. i'll be outta your hair 'fore you finish closin' up, don't worry about it. "

for a second, they think it worked. but a second is all it takes for them to notice the uncomfortable sensation of liquid sliding over the skin of their fingers and, presumably, dripping to the floor beneath the table. the liquid, they're sure, is red, and something tells them they're not the only one who noticed as, in the next second, the weight of a large hand finds their shoulder.

ㅤㅤ" don't touch me! "ㅤa shout, an honest one, brought on by the surprise of the contact. with it, byan shoves themself upright, arm that isn't bleeding swinging wide to shake that contact, to break it for themself if they have to. continued blood loss has taken its toll, however, sapping a fair amount of their energy and strength. not only do they fail to shove cassidy's arm away, but their scrambling, clumsy movements also fail to stop him from gaining hold of their injured arm. hissing and spitting curses, the fiery teen flails in an effort to pull free, but he's a grown man with a solid hold on their arm, bent forward enough to block their free limb from interfering with his inspection as he lifts the other up onto the table. there's not much hope of tearing away unless he makes a mistake.

ㅤㅤ" fuckin'— get off'a me! "ㅤnow pounding their fist against the bartender's back with all the strength they can muster, byan's eyes are wild. they feel him pull the sleeve of their jacket up, revealing the makeshift bandage made from the torn sleeve of their shirt, which is now soaked in red, and slam their fist harder. they knew they should have just gone straight to lena's to make use of her first aid kit instead of stopping here for a rest, dizziness be damned. this was a mistake, they knew it when they sneaked in, and they regret it as they continue to shove at cassidy's side.

ㅤㅤ" s'none of your business! "ㅤhissing at cassidy as he instructs the sole remaining customer to go into the back and bring him the first aid kit, they find it oh so tempting to reach for one of the many knives on their person — the only thing that stops them is the voice in the back of their head reminding them that this is lena's friend, and that she won't take kindly to them stabbing him. ...fine, a less damaging form of attack, then! lunging their face forward in the ongoing efforts to get this asshole off of them, byan sinks their teeth into the shoulder that's right in front of them. a sense of satisfaction rises from the startled exclamation the bite earns but, in the state they're in, a mere shrug is enough to make them release their hold with a frustrated noise.

ㅤㅤ" i'll kill you, "ㅤthey threaten, despite now sinking back into their chair, head tipping against it for support as their eyes close over. hearing the sounds of another pair of feet hurrying over, likely with the first aid kit in hand, byan sucks a sharp breath through grit teeth and gives a final tug of their injured arm.ㅤ" th' moment... —the moment i can see straight again, you're fuckin' dead, got that? "

[chronal-anomaly]

@byanyan asked:

" ugh. " a roll of their eyes, and byan flops backward onto the couch in an entirely melodramatic fashion. they slump there, defeated and pouting in silence for several long moments before finally speaking up. " if you're gonna force me to be in the same room as the cowboy, at least tell him to pick up some ice cream on his way over. if he doesn't, i'm not promisin' to be civil. " (it's the middle of the night and i'm thinking about rude, jealous younger sibling byan so i'm shoving this in ur ask and running away) || Unprompted ( always accepting! )

Lena was prepared at their displeasure, but the dramatics always made her laugh a little bit. The aroma of the roast in the stove had infiltrated her living room, making the whole house smell of the upcoming dinner for her friends. There was something warm in her chest, threatening to crush her in the overwhelming emotion. Lena cleared her throat and dragged her attention back to Byan.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. You're just hanging around for the free food." Please don't leave. "You said so yourself. Not my fault Cassidy said he was free too." Lena kicked at them gently from her place on the couch. "Go stir the potatoes and I'll see if I can get Colt to bring over some ice cream. Peanut butter or chocolate?"

[livesinthebalance]

“c'mon...don’t beat yourself up 'bout it. y'know, there’s SKILL, then there’s talent. an' I jus' happen t'have BOTH.”

@quick-drawn​

“And all of the humility, too. Who says that you can’t have it all?” James answers, completely deadpan.

It had been rapid-fire, almost fan the hammer volley of shots contrasted by a steady, measured staccato: 1- 2- 3- 4- 5- 6. 

From this distance it would seem as though only Jesse had managed to land all of his shots on the target––it was a tight grouping, impressive to be sure. From this distance? At that speed? On a moving target?

He presses the button to bring their respective targets forward to them once more for inspection. Only… once they are in front of them would it become clear that something was perhaps not what it had seemed at that distance.

There, at the center of his target, are three shots, tight enough that it could have been mistaken for one.

He turns his head to look at the younger man, a small pause before he speaks.

“… You are talented, and you are skilled,” he allows in almost the same steady and measured calm as the shots he had fired. 

“But sometimes, you need to slow down. Speed isn’t everything.”