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.
not jesse, no, though he’d like to, hands perspiring as he counts down the heartbeats it takes for something to happen, something he’s not even altogether sure is certain or unimagined. he wonders if might be that he took one too many blows to the head last mission, if he’s concussed and the warm breath breaking over his skin is scarcely other than a symptom distilled from the parts of him that have always been sick, physical injuries notwithstanding. illusory, the rising scent of cologne off of gabriel’s clothes and the shrinking spaces between them. that’s all.
it’s pathetic, the way the blood boils and whistles in his hair-hidden ears the second their proximity is reduced to inches. maybe gabriel makes mention of the ugly split running across jesse’s cheekbone, maybe he can’t hear it over the sound of himself, not over his measured pulse, not over ❛ been in worse scrapes. ❜ pitching from his own tongue, blunt and dismissive and aiming hard for aloof.
gabriel’s mouth lands softly where jesse doesn’t expect but should, and the irony of it is equal parts bitter and hilarious. it feels kindred to the fresh sting that prickles along the cut on his cheek, irritated by the unanticipated contact, no doubt better left untouched by lip or beard. he snorts mechanically, feigning some hackneyed annoyance as he pushes past ( ❛ oh, sure, infect the damn thing. ❜
), and hopes it’s a decent smokescreen for what he refuses to admit is something like disappointment.
his concerns were misplaced, he understands some time later, after his cheek has stopped burning and gabriel is half the base away.
the only person who can regret that which never happens is the one who goes into it with wishful thinking.
sometimes the job is its own reward, and sometimes it isn’t.
it should be enough to complete a mission unscathed and in what jesse’s betting is record time, but he can still feel the lingering edge of adrenaline in his system, thrill of the fight pounding hard and fast in his chest. and even with the satisfaction of a clean win this round and the fading radio chatter of ETAs in his ear, gabriel sounding pleased by recent news, there’s something missing.
jesse fans himself with his hat, light sweat cooling on his face, and leans into the partner he hadn’t been expecting to complement him so well.
❛ sure made quick work of ‘em, ❜ he says, approximating where about genji’s ear should be, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s awash of conspiratorial and quiet and proud notes all. pneumatic cylinders indent his sleeve, raised and prodding his upper arm, but jesse doesn’t think he minds. he feels steadied, breath coming ragged from his belly meanwhile. speaks like he’s sighing. ❛ wouldn’t be opposed to doin’ this more often. ❜
he didn’t almost kill, steal, cheat his way into notoriety, nor did he almost make the cut into blackwatch, even as some young, scrawny, scrappy thing with dirt on his face and dry blood under his nails. the strides he makes are in full, exhaustive and exacting. some folks plan for failure, he knows, preparing backups and auxiliaries before they’ve even tried their hand, but he doesn’t entertain thoughts of loss. too distracting, altogether tempting to accept notions he’s become familiar with. so he goes in thinking he’s already won, or that he’s on the path to victory, at least, smug mouthed and haughty, with words like near and close and nigh out of mind.
still. there are exceptions.
and they sound like angela coughing on cigar smoke, hand waving in front of her face as she chokes out a few reasons why he should kick the habit, nothing jesse’s never heard before but he smiles and hums like he agrees and isn’t wildly amused by her concern and disgust both.
he pops the cigar back between his lips and acts like he isn’t thinking about how it was just touching hers a moment ago. the wrapper is sweet, but that’s the taste of maduro for him, cloying and bitter. best of both worlds. it’s a flavor that demands attention, but so is she, apparently, and jesse feels ridiculous for coming back to this like he has so many times before over the years.
I would like to give Props to the Overwatch fandom for taking D.va, who I had originally thought was sort of like this Evangelion-looking k-pop idol skirting–legal animoo waifubait and have brought to life instead this horrible dorito-horfing McDonalds git gud MLG gremlin child. Absolutely no better direction could have been taken and I’m so happy.
I actually haven’t said anything about this but I can’t stand it any more. This post and similar posts are actually so disappointing because it’s clear that people do recognise a big part of D.Va’s concept is kpop idol culture, which is insane, nothing like the Western music scene, deeply interesting and controversial and actually rich with headcanon potential. There’s so many heinous stereotypes and toxic ideas of Asian women inherent in this post it actually makes me a bit ill.
‘Skirting-legal’ - yeah, she’s young, but I’ve already talked about the Overwatch fandom’s weird infantalisation of D.Va in insisting she looks like a minor, which incidentally is a thing East Asian women get a lot. ‘Animoo waifubait’ - do I even need to say anything. I have no doubt she wouldn’t be accused of this if she were white. It feels like all we have to do to be slapped with that label is to be Asian, ostensibly female, young-ish and exist. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been called that. I can’t count the number of times people have thrown gross jokes about hentai and bukkake and god knows what at me. I’m not even Japanese, and incidentally, neither is D.Va. I digged D.Va’s ‘Evangelion-looking’ aesthetic and clearly Pacific Rim-inspired background, not that anyone has seem to have read that. It’s nice to have an East Asian character whose concept is deeply rooted in media and culture from her actual region, and a shoutout to one of the most significant Western movies with an Asian female lead.
There’s nothing technically wrong with MLG doritos-and-mountain-dew gremlin child D.Va and I actually thought it’s pretty hysterical, but it’s also something that’s really Western gamer culture and it seems to be coming at the expense of D.Va’s actual background. it seems to essentially stem from this sentiment that modern East Asian culture is not interesting, isn’t ‘real’, not worth thinking about, or is something sweaty weeaboos are into. I would have loved to have seen D.Va’s fandom development actually account for her actual canon background while also picking up that she’s teenage gamer trash. The juxtaposition (and general incompatibility) of gamer culture and idol culture would have been really interesting to me.
The Overwatch fandom is really fucking weird about their East Asians. This ranges from mild things like joking about how Genji is a ‘weeb’ and would probably correct your pronunciation of ‘manga’ (He’s…Japanese) to actually repulsive things like insisting Hanzo looks ‘too white’ and photoshopping him into some racist caricature of a Japanese man. It honestly makes me so weary because Overwatch is the first game to make me really happy about how the devs really did their homework for the most part for their Chinese, Korean, and Japanese characters.
Sorry about the long post, but I haven’t seen anyone else talk about this, so.
(SNEAKING COMES SECOND NATURE out on the job, but not so much on gibraltar during downtime, when there’s no food in the mess hall and half the force is out on private affairs. incommunicado.
jesse never announces his visits to the training area, but he doesn’t bother to hide them either, no attempts made to stifle the clicking of his boots or the quiet ringing of his spurs when he drops in for his favorite scheduled programming — or the closest thing to it, at least.
genji is dependable in the way that jesse knows he’ll find him making scrap heaps out of the target dummies put-putting around the range for a few hours out of any given day. sometimes jesse is a quiet audience, not staying overlong, attention as heavy as expectation as he follows the streamlined locomotions of a finesse artist at work. other nights he cracks a bottle, smiling toothily when he lands a shot out of nowhere, just so that genji can’t have it. and just so he knows the rough-talking man in his midst isn’t a tactical naif, lest genji forget amidst the slips of the tongue and other faux pas.
tonight, he nurses what is perhaps his third beer as genji cuts down metal bots with consummate ease, but jesse does so without comment, silent, save for the soft pop of his mouth detaching from the bottle. his drink is long since gone when genji finishes up, and whether that says something about jesse’s thirst or the other’s work ethic, he’s unsure.
what jesse is certain of, however, is that he feels something stir in his gut whenever genji removes his mask after hitting the course hard. he makes no secret of it, stared to the point of comedy the first time. it’s nothing he’ll admit, but more than the technical showcase itself, it’s the chance he’ll get another glimpse that keeps him coming back.
he’s barely buzzed — so he knows he can’t blame it on the alcohol when his hands find their places along the smooth curve of genji’s shoulders, a gloved palm sliding slowly up to fit around the flesh and metal swell of his cheek. but jesse supposes he doesn’t mind taking full responsibility for the way he nudges genji’s lips loose with his own, tongue slipping tentatively past. genji’s mouth is warm and slick, with a heady quality that jesse hates being teased with, seeking it out deep and long and greedy.
he comes on strong, genji must think, but the record shows subtle has never been jesse’s style during downtime on gibraltar. )
lucio is not known for being subtle when it comes to his affections. he loves openly as he smiles, fully and brightly. his knowledge of relationships and his grasp on the concept of them are next to none, yet he has learned so much from the laughs and the plots of ROMANTIC COMEDIES. but those do not do much for him, so he CHOOSES to love everyone, everyone that comes close is an object of his never ending affections in some way. this is no exception, even though he does not consider his actions to be a form of social gaffe until after the fact.
there is frustration, the furrow of a thick brow as he reaches up Up UP to twine busy fingers into the folds of that serape. he moves forward, close because he wants MCCREE to know that he is lucio’s focus right now, these affections are thanks for companionship; for the gentle laugh and even the frustration that comes with the cowboy. (but why must he be so damn tall!) a set of fingers move to brush along the back of neck, into the disarray of hair that sits there. the smell of cigar smoke burns his nose, filtering down as throat when he is there; they are flush against one another, heat signatures becoming one. lucio acknowledges the other scents that hide benefit the burn of acridness, what he thinks might be saddlewood what he guesses is cologne. he enjoys it more than he will admit, filing the knowledge away as he cannot let mccree’s ego grow any larger than it already is.
he shifts the man down to meet his rise, standing up as far as the tips of his skates will allow. he is careful with the tilt of his head, praying to minimize the burn of the beard against the sensitive skin of his mouth and cheeks. a gentle press of lips, simple yet affectionate. then progressing into something more as lucio works his teeth into chapped skin. he is no stranger to these kisses, not hesitating to encourage the press of tongues, to taste the smoke that clings against his teeth and the corners of mccree’s mouth. the scrape of stable against his face is pleasant in some ways, dully harsh in others. he knows there will be a rash later today, but he powers own, leaning into the kiss that he shares with the other.
when he pulls away he is no less bright as he started out as; maybe the range of his glow has been knocked up a few decimals. kiss swollen lips pulled into a smile nonetheless, teeth bright contrast against today’s lip color of choice. fingers move away from the cowboy, itching to find his phone so he can start new tracks. he found a whole new range of colors in that kiss, a deep palette that lay underneath the sepias and sunsets that lucio usually associated with JESSE MCCREE. he wonders how he will capture the affection he was feeling, the deep pinks and mauves that danced behind his eyes. ❛ just wanted to give you a reminder that i don’t hate you no matter how much i punch and tease you! you’re an important friend, querido!❜
(THERE COULD BE WORLDS BETWEEN THEM and jesse would still be able to smell the blue blood cruising pretty in hanzo’s veins. it’s a skill he picked up when he was young and hungry, learned out of grueling necessity in the same way he took to lockpicking, forgery, and shooting from the hip. those born into wealth can never shut up about what is theirs and what was theirs, even after everything gold and silver sublimates into smoke and sulphur and shadow. hanzo is no different. jesse doesn’t always enjoy being right.
hanamura would be, under any other circumstances, a grand place to visit. unfortunate, then, that he’s damp under his arms and across his shoulder blades and chest with the summer humidity, oppressively warm, his shirt darkened in patches and sticking to his skin. but jesse hates it more that his present company seems lost in nostalgia and bitterness as they walk, monopolizing himself out of a unshakeable lust for the past ever since they arrived. the behavior is pathetic, embarassing. and worse, from where jesse stands, a man grown gnarled from barren waste, it feels like bragging. he feels small in the shadow of an empire long since leveled.
when jesse can’t stand another word and pins hanzo against a wall, wooden paneling immaculate and disgusting at once, his forearm braced flat against the archer’s collar, he’s reminded rich soil gives way to beautiful and horrible things alike. he glowers because it’s all he has the strength to do, his dark hair stringy with sweat and clinging to his face, expression severe. yet, it’s only as he talks that jesse becomes aware of his mouth ghosting the swell of hanzo’s lip, warm breath a pale surrogate for the breeze that never picks up. )
❛ —— what kind of grown man spends this much time feelin’ sorry for himself. ❜
( he doesn’t pull punches anymore. jesse likes to think it’s a mutual understanding they’ve reached, that their skins are as thick as the chromed metals and leathers they wear, resistant to a solid potshot or two, words wrought out of boredom these days just as often as they are out of spite. it’s a mixture of both, in jesse’s case; running his mouth gives him something to do while he waits for his prosthetic to come in. helps him blow off the steam that churns and surges to blistering every day he’s stuck playing second fiddle as the new guy takes point. takes his role, his spot. angela had told him to keep his mind active, and lately, jesse exploits the ambiguity.
genji’s attitude singes. it’s cold to the point of burning, ruthlessly absent. untouchable. most days, jesse thinks a conversation with him is nothing more than a prolonged match of chicken: how long can he make it before his patience blisters, ruptures wide open and aches for the attention of someone who might actually give a damn.
jesse doesn’t pull punches anymore, but sometimes he doesn’t have the energy for the wind up anyway. the wisecracks come out bland, half-hearted as the one that’s tumbled out of his unperked mouth. he’d always meant to say something sooner, but when jesse’s callused fingers wrap themselves around the ribbon streaming from genji’s headpiece, he’s thinking the design is flawed. his thumb smooths an inch of the cascade and now he knows the material is revoltingly soft to the touch as well. deceptive, considering what it’s attached to.
he’s anticipating losing his remaining arm too, and that’s just fine at this point — torbjorn already has his measurements, and angela’s requested even more of his blood type be kept in storage. so when he yanks on the cloth, swiftly and with force, jesse is expecting worse than when his lip collides with the keen edge of genji’s visor, skin splitting between the ridge of his teeth behind it and the metal ahead. the blood burns warm as it wells out of the burst, and it’s only when he pulls away, neck craning stiffly, that jesse realizes he’s hurt. he sees it in the spate of red along the visor, feels his teeth grow sore.
his hand rises immediately to wipe the blood from his chin, knuckles dampening, collecting color. his brow creases deep, gaze drifting towards unreadable as it lingers downward, but a quiet, dark humor picks up in jesse’s voice. )
