#recklesser

[miiserably-blog]

@recklesser | valentines starter.

‘Look,’

[ she holds out the three-dozen daisies she found in   the field near the camp. she’s beaming. ]

‘aren’t they just lovely? Here, have one, you could                                         use a bit of color.’

[pendelivered-blog]

chucks url

[ ♛ ] send me your url -- ow r00d

my opinion on;

character in general: gay how they play them: okay i guess the mun: what a horrible human being

do i;

follow them: no rp with them: no want to rp with them: no  ship their character with mine: lams is actually my notp

what is my;

overall opinion: ew

[chaanceux-blog]

do my url binch

Shit son ok 

send me your url and i'll tell you the following:

my opinion on;

character in general: Thats some A++ historical shit right there sonBut really its a well developed character (even if history did most of it) and wow thats some turtle obsession therehow they play them: AS GOOD AS YOU CAN TBHthe mun: SHIT SON DO I GO INTO A RANT ORi will not settle for less o KAY This is my best friend. Like. Ever. Ya’ll cant get any better than her. Jen is just. Like. Just. oh my god its so hard for me to put it into words but dear god do I love her??? idk son ive known her 4 years and shit man these have been the best 4 years if my lifetbh i dont know where id be without her??? like ???? this is practically my sister...... shutting up now

do i;

follow them: obviouslyrp with them: soonwant to rp with them: even soonership their character with mine: UH IDK SON dont think so i mean shit son he gay

what is my;

overall opinion: yes

[pendelivered-blog]

❝You better wait with me.❞

civil wars prompts - ACCEPTING ( i guess?? )

                                                             oh, you better wait with me

          “ where ELSE am i going to go? “

          tender fingers brush through dark locks, a laugh bubbling from his chest because it’s EASIER than crying. it’s the wrong emotion and alexander knows it, but perhaps with weak mirth comes the last stands of DENIAL ( though it is getting harder to deny the evidence before his eyes and under trembling touch that he tries to hard to conceal –it is hard to deny the IRREFUTABLE truths of blood and bullets buried in stomachs and rasping breathes that sound more like death rattles ). the sound escapes with a swell with panic, the kind that comes with a mind gone off the rails when things are so hopeless that only LUNACY remains on the fringe of normalcy.

          he carefully threads his touch through long locks, tucking them behind his ear and lips pressing gently to an ashen temple, before slim digits fall to interlace TIGHTLY with john’s. the freckles that dot alexander’s knuckles and line the shape of his cheeks stand out more than ever against a face pale and pinched with fear and SORROW, clusters of constellations that his beloved dearest friend shall come to live alongside no matter how tightly he clings to his hand. he has tasted death before, and it’s cold in his mouth now as he watches the waning pulse at john’s neck while his own throat closes and threatens to strangle him.

          “ ———-i’ll always wait for you. “

          it comes out more choked than he planned ( a rebellious tear streaking down through the constellations of freckles ). there is so much he wishes to SAY, sentences upon speeches upon lectures that crowd inside his chest and constrict his heart —–entire novels with carefully scripted words that could just as easily be swapped for three simple words ( i love you ). but NOTHING in the soldier’s life could ever prove so simple, and something holds the words back from taking residence alongside his teeth, perhaps hesitance or some twisted logic that tells him it will be easier this way ( he will regret this silence later when the tears are finally allowed to fall and REGRET coats his tongue even thicker than his grief ).

          when john laurens’ heart STOPS beating, finally succumbing to leaden bullets because LIBERTY was not enough to save him, alexander can feel it in the stiffness of fingers still clamped around his and in the own constricting of his chest as if with the stilling of one heart the other must STOP as well.

                                                       you pulled a string to my heart                                              ( when you went it u n r a v e l e d to pieces )

[frenchisms-blog]

@recklesser

          gilbert loves the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding against his rib cage as his legs carry him full speed down the city streets, everything around him veiled in darkness except for those patches that the streetlights dare to uncover. he sticks to the shadows, remained unseen && unknown to the world. this has been his life for years, the thrill, the chase, but never getting caught, no one ever gets close ( unless he WANTS them to ). he always has the upper hand; he’s always one step ahead of everyone else. that’s what makes this decision so hard.

          he’s an international art thief, not someone looking for commitment or domestic life. that is too normal, too MUNDANE for his life style. at least, that’s what he thought until he met john laurens. a man he met one day && decided that he is going to be his cover, something to make him fit in, && now he was in love, && he knew he should leave before john found out it was him, but he can’t, so he stays, playing  i n n o c e n t, acting like he doesn’t know a THING.

          leaning on john’s counter, he watches the detective shift through paper after paper, photos of suspects, places where he has hit && places he might steal from next ( gilbert makes a mental note NOT to steal from those places ). swallowing down his anxieties, he manages to try some small talk.

          “ do you have any new leads on that art thief? ”

[rcynoldspamphlet-blog]

( @recklesser : starter call. )

Her eyes were glued to the ground, a sigh escaping a bruised lip. Her dark makeup stained her cheeks, streaks showing the tears of the past as a bitter reminder of everything she had been through. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and she knew for sure it wouldn’t be the last if she decided to go back home. Nails ran through her daughter’s hair as she slept against her mother’s lap, Maria’s eyes full of melancholy. She would give anything to satisfy her daughter’s needs, and this time, she took the bullet for her. A fist to the face, cold and unforgiving as it hit her, not even giving her a minute to recover before throwing her down again. But, now she was here, on the street, dress laid in a grimy puddle at her feet, damp and nearly intolerable to wear. But despite her troubles, she sang to her child, voice soft and soothing as every world slipped from her bloodied lips like a sweet syrup.

❝ Come stop your crying it’ll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don’t you cry. ❞