#soldierwatch

[quick-drawn-a]

why are you like this —

     @soldierwatch​

[afraidofchange]

@soldierwatch​ - con’t. 

      “Good thing, although if it was on mine, I’d keep it neater than that.”

Ana’s sly grin follows, despite the arms folded across her chest. 

She’s missed this. Missed him, too. 

        “Because his suits him. Yours makes you look OLD.” 

[dayanghan]

˚⊹ @soldierwatch​ gets a surprise thing just because

  an intimidating RUMBLE echoes off of the walls, but all that comes of it is a jacket dangling over jack’s lap. a jacket with several holes and a tear in the sleeve, which hangs from a LARGE set of jaws with many teeth. it’s shaken slightly, another growl rising from the beast’s throat as she shifts impatiently from foot to foot. play with me, she almost seems to say, even though she knows FULL WELL that this coat is no toy. but that’s just part of the fun, isn’t it?

[ovrwtchd]

@soldierwatch​ SAID:

HE’S NEVER REALLY ALONE THESE DAYS– company is ever-present be it in the form of SHADOWS or MEMORIES ;        some days its hard to tell the difference.

JACK MORRISON sits upon the side of a bed in one more nameless motel, weapons strewn about behind him, eyes forward to where heavy moth-bitten curtain falls around the frame of a large yellowed window ; at his back, a voice, layered upon its own GROWL to craft a CHILLING modicum of speech— & jack, with a bottle neck held loosely in hand, wrists upon spread knees, a GHOST of whispered pain burning across the scars left by SHOTGUN SHELLS to his SPINE—well, he’s simply trying to recognize if this haunting is REAL or as much a taunting memory as the rest.

                                                                “ been a while,                                                                                     gabriel. ”

     HESITATION. It’s a ridiculous thing; a ridiculous, DAMNABLE thing. He isn’t MEANT to delay, isn’t meant to FALTER, but the sight of one JACK MORRISON sitting old and worn and half-defeated upon the side of the bed almost aches more than any phantom pain that crawls along his skeleton.

     GUN REMAINS RAISED, AIMED FOR THE OLD SOLDIER’S BACK, but his finger strays from the trigger, mask expressionless AND ALL THE MORE PAINFUL for it. 

     IT’S ALL A LITTLE BIT TRAGIC, REALLY, how things turned out. Where once there were FLEETING TOUCHES and LINKED FINGERS there now sits nothing but BLOOD and ANGER; time drags on, uncaring of whether or not you’re ready for it.

     “ YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT, ” comes gravelly voice, conflicting emotions dripping like tar from wrecked vocal cords. “ YOU’RE A FOOL to let your guard down. ”

[muretoflores]

“ you’re my biggest ‘what if’. what if.. ” // lov u c; || @soldierwatch​

“What  if  what?”

The  words  are  hesitant.  Cautious,  and  guarded,  spat  out  in  that  low  growling  tone  he  had  taken  to  since  the  conception  of  his  second  identity.  Quite  frankly?  Reaper  doesn’t  like  the  connotations  that  Morrison’s  words  bring,  doesn’t  want  to  think  about  the  past,  and  the  old  emotions  that  lurk  there.  There  was  no  sense  in  it,  why  dig  it  up  when  both  of  the  men  that  they  used  to  be  were  dead?  They  would  both  be  better  off  if  they  left  old  ghosts  be.

It  is  hard  to  tell  what  the  Reaper  is  thinking  behind  the  stark  whiteness  of  the  mask  that  he  wore,  but  there  is  a  certain  rigidity  to  his  shoulders  as  if  guarding  against  something.  His  shotguns  remain  idle  in  his  holsters,  for  now,  he  didn’t  want  to  kill  his  former  friend  like  this,  when  skeletons  were  being  brought  back  into  the  light  and  the  aggression  in  the  other  seemed  muted...  Almost  as  if  he  were  looking  at  him  and  was  not  seeing  the  monster  that  now  stood  in  front  of  him.

The  truth  was  a  sad  and  hollow  thing.  The  matter  of  fact  was  that  Jack  was  also  his  biggest  ‘what  if’.  He  didn’t  allow  it  very  often  but  sometimes  the  mind  would  wander  unbidden  and  he  had  to  wonder  ‘what  if’?

“You  should  just  forget  about  the  past,  Jack,”  a  scoff  is  given,  deliberately  abrasive  and  harsh.  “There  is  no  sense  in  dwelling  upon  it.  Save  us  both  the  trouble  and  leave  it  be.”

[nightiingaled-a]

@soldierwatch || didn’t ask for this pain

"What if I lose you too?"                  "Not on my watch."

[amplifying-archived]

@soldierwatch

They’d been pinned in a mission together. The only one online who was qualified for the job, Baptiste reluctantly agreed -- though he felt like it he had little choice to begin with, constantly backed into corners that fed him into missions both colourful and colourless. Flung this way and that, people tried to make him prove that he wasn’t a mirror of his past. He was constantly put to the test because people didn’t trust him. He was, after all, an ex-Talon operative. Echoes of that suspicion could be heard all throughout the Watchpoint; a quiet but persistent besiege against his person.

And it felt like Jack was leading that very besiege.

Now, the two surreptitiously entered a foreign base; silence and tension thick enough to slice.

Baptiste could almost feel the distrust radiating off Jack. Occasionally, he flicked his eyes over the older man. This was the man he once admired; someone he once pined to be next to in the heated throes of battle, heroism wielded like a sword and shield. Now, that exact same man sunk his teeth deep into the hatred he had for him because of his long-since eroded affiliation with Talon.

Part of Baptiste understood; he too harboured reflexive mistrust and aggression towards Talon, especially after being on the run for the past five-or-so years. But another part was gripped with annoyance because it felt like no matter how many words rattled in his throat, explaining his circumstances and his thoughts behind joining the malice-dripped faction, it all counted towards zilch.

How could he redeem himself if no one believed him in the first place?

Direly trying to shake off such thoughts, he gripped his heavily-customised rifle with a practised, light grip, ears trained for any disturbance around them. He couldn’t let his apprehension of being in Jack’s mere presence taint his concentration.

He would do this and he would do a damn good job of it.

[holowitted]

mirage: *accidentally calls jack ‘dad’* also mirage: