🍻- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents don’t know about
[secrets] accepting
“I ripped the passenger door off of a police cruiser once. Had to walk all the way to my grandfather’s house carrying the stupid thing so he could help me get the handcuffs off. Ha! It took him nearly an hour to get the damn lock open and I don’t think he stopped yelling at me for a minute of it. It would be fair to say I grew in to my strength a few years ahead of anything even approaching good sense.
...Surprisingly I don’t think he ever did tell my mother. Though now that I think about it this was only a few weeks before I wound up in boot camp.”
@warpulse / @dfist / @junqer harley is an outstanding writer and i wish the world to harley. even that wouldn’t be enough to meet what harley deserves in life. @chainsxwsmile i adore margo. read her writing and you’re instantly transported into whatever adventure has been cooked up and flawlessly executed. @arawynngoldwing anna is a wonderfully kind and creative individual with a wonderful character all of her own creation. send me a star & i’ll compliment someone. | always accepting.@ anonymous !
@warpulse | i like writing five times kissed things so i thought i’d start with that
i.)
usually, the most gorgeous and stunning things in life are also the most dangerous. there’s beauty to be behold in a storm, sweeping over the lands to leave destruction in it’s path. there’s beauty to be behold in the eyes of a fierce animal, just getting ready for the killing blow. there’s beauty to be behold in fire licking up and devouring whatever it reaches.
comparing someone such as jack morrison to these things might seem a little out of place, maybe. especially when it’s the golden strike team all together – amari fits the description of an slender animal just waiting for the right time to rip someone’s throat out better; reyes is fire that burns all that it touches – but jack? jack is calm in the way a storm is. the softness right before it, but you can already see the force of nature coming up.
it’s one thing that makes people underestimate him, maybe. the un for sure – jesse has never been one for politics much, not in that high up and holier-than-thou attitude these people would play, but he can read between lines, and it’s clear they thought that this was their best shot to have someone they could rope into their biding, and they couldn’t have been more wrong. he knows this already three weeks into being on base, and after a total of seeing the man in person four times; combining to less than ten minutes overall. he also knows that, no matter what reyes says, if jack hadn’t liked him in some way, then there wouldn’t have been any deal. sure, his new commanding officer would say different, but it shows in subtle ways, and all the same unmistakable.
(don’t. don’t make things harder on yourself by pretending there is something when there’s not. you’re imagining, and that’s only going to complicate things.)
passing by the office, the door a rare sight by being ajar, he grins at the strike commander and blows a kiss in his direction – something not entirely atypical, but maybe still uncalled for given how unsteady his own position here is at this point still. figures the man won’t notice anyway; if he’s another thing, it’s constantly wrapped up in work.
so the brief smile? not directed at him.
ii.)
he has seen him in action, alright. not often – blackwatch doesn’t often run operations with overwatch, but they sometimes lend one or two their agents to them. not the other way around, too risky. still, even then, the strike commander himself is obviously rarely with them on the field.
it takes no genius to know that he would rather be there than talk to the politicians who want to talk over everything a hundred and a thousand times, even more so when critical thinking and fast acting are of utmost importance. they don’t care about the individual lives on the line; as long as the numbers say under a certain threshold, they don’t care.
a more idealistic person than jesse might have condemned them, but he knows enough to understand that the greater good has to outweigh the smaller one; even if he doesn’t like it. he’s an optimist and a romantic, but he’s also a killer. a weapon to reyes and blackwatch as much as the gun in his own hand, and just because he occasionally works for overwatch instead doesn’t make it a hammer instead. destroy, not build.
(he wished differently.)
still, the very rare time one could witness jack? it was truly a sight to behold. a whole different man than the one behind the desk. fierce and efficient and breathtaking; a stunning spectacle. it makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else, really.
a storm made man.
on the transport back, the glow has somewhat faded, but it doesn’t make him less dangerous, or less admirable. exhausted, but in good spirits. they didn’t loose anyone today. the smirk he wears while mentioning that he’ll be watched with hawk’s eyes again so he doesn’t sneak off to fight himself again makes him look ten years younger, and jesse yearns, and the only way he knows to express this is with smart remarks and flirtations that could count as jokes, even though they very much aren’t. nervousness makes them more frequent with each smile and even laugh, and he wonders, briefly, if he died out there after all and this is both heaven and hell at once.
(you wouldn’t go to heaven, don’t fool yourself.)
he all but flees as soon as they arrive back home, and takes the longest cold shower of his life, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still seeing him in front of his inner eye; transfixed on his lips, and he wonders, not for the first time, he’d imagine what it’d be like to kiss him.
by the time he falls asleep, later, he needs another shower.
iii.)
it comes expected, and not at all.
when they actually do come together, it’s a whirl of it’s own, but at the very same time, it happens slowly, deliberately. there’s method to the destruction that happens within his heart, and he wonders, not for the first time, if this is reality or if he’s dying and his brain produces just what it had summoned countless times before, but adds new details here and there.
(ground yourself.)
(five things you see.)
the intense blueness of jack’s eyes, burning into his. his hair, disheveled. his very own hand, on the other’s hip. the very much closed door. that smirk that seems both sappy and absolutely shit eating.
(four things you feel.)
the shirt under his hand, stretching over defined muscle. the warmth of another body far too close and impossibly far. fingers in his hair, over the back of his neck, not pulling or pushing, but just… there. nice. lips on his, hot and pulsing and real.
(three things you hear.)
the rushing of his own blood in his ears. rustling of clothes against each other. shared breath, a bit heavy from a lack of oxygen.
(two things you can smell.)
a mixture of ink, cologne and gunpowder, just beneath it. the lingering smell of forgotten coffee.
(one thing you can taste.)
him. all over – deep and rich and unlike anyone else jesse has kissed before in his life – which doesn’t include a lot of people, but it’s still different, and in such a good way. a taste he could and might drown in, that absolutely fills his lungs.
real.
he almost laughs, but doesn’t because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, and presses in again.
iv.)
it’s late. the clock ticks away with its arms far closer to morning already than they are to the previous evening, but that’s nothing new. they both don’t sleep a lot, for many of the same and many different reasons. besides, they usually do this late, when there’s nobody to ask questions. it’s not that they hide because they want to, but there’s questions that doesn’t need to be asked. it’s easier in the overall picture. it’s better in case someone decides to poke around and make shit up that isn’t there. it’s easy to read into it with their vastly differing positions, but there’s nothing to it there. and neither wants anyone to put their nose into things that don’t belong to them.
it’s not that he doesn’t wonder, occasionally. what it would be like; being just about anyone where nobody cares who you want to spend your life with. actually, having a life to spend with someone, not just evenings between exhaustion and wars, be they real or on paper.
no question: he loves this man. he would go through hell for him. might even already do it, even if jack is unaware of some of the things he does to keep him safe. surely, the other way around too. maybe even more so. they don’t talk about it much; bad enough to weight it on one’s conscious, no need to share those burdens in detail. they do without words.
it might, at some point, prove to be a problem, but for now? for now it’s easy to drown out the voices and the whispers and the doubts with a gentle kiss, and soft touches, and the affirmation that feelings are shared, and returned.
(when has love alone ever been enough?)
v.)
the world is going to hell.
less literal than the last time. maybe not even the entire world. no, definitely not the entire world – just his entire world. just the part that matters most to him.
they try talking, but it never works out. they don’t listen to each other. they never learned how to. maybe if they did from the start – no secrets kept, no parts of themselves still hidden underneath layers laid bare already, then maybe this could be saved. but the path they move on only holds doom.
in his mind, he begs. come with me. leave this all behind. we can start new, somewhere else where nobody knows who we are.
nonsense, of course, there’s nowhere they would be able to escape to. and even if: there’s no way he would come.
there are two options: he stays, with him. on a path that’s self destructive at best, caught between two opposing forces, and he will get crushed in between. in a way, fitting – he decided to move into the storm, nest in its heart, so it’s only fair if it tears out his very own. poetic, if you will. and maybe have a moment of peace before the end.
the other part – he leaves. breaks both their hearts for sure, but with some luck, it breaks the habit just enough for the man he loves to readjust his look at the world, and see what’s wrong. jesse can’t tell, he never could tell right from wrong, but jack did, once upon a time, and maybe he could again.
(that’s the lie that sets in his heart. truth is: he’s a coward, and he cannot stand watching the love of his life destroy himself even further. that’s what really breaks him here.)
seeing him less and less, he wonders if his absence would even be noticed. if he is, by now, anything but another voice to argue against, and a weight in the bed that’s barely shared anymore.
when he kisses jack now, it’s not warmth of liquid sunshine anymore, or the rich bitterness of his coffee. he tastes of ash, and a harsh winter. jesse’s heart bleeds, but he cannot watch them both rot away to nothingness. he can’t.
he leaves, in the first rays of the day, but he leaves his heart in their bed. it had been there for far longer than he had been.
addendum.)
he hadn’t been at the funeral. too risky, even if he hated himself for it.
when he finally visits, it’s quiet. no wind at all. maybe that’s fitting. maybe. he doesn’t know anymore. he doesn’t know a lot of things these days.
he spends longer than he should. no words leave his lips – he does talk, just not out loud. if the words left his mouth without reply, he might as well just open up the earth and join the man he loved, and whom he left behind without any regard of how he might feel about it.
he wishes he could apologize.
he wishes, he wishes but oh – the wind is gone, and all that remains is an eerie silence, ringing in his ears, scorching the hollow hole inside his chest where once a heart rested. quiet.
Thin lips curled into a smirk as she spoke, the geneticist standing proudly ( if not a little stiff ) before the graying blond– lanky body clad head to toe in what she had been told was an experimental suit of armor Overwatch oh so kindly saw fit to provide her with now that she was approved for field work. It was… acceptable, she supposed– the lightweight armor made for her exact measurements and provided in a color befitting those within Blackwatch, though some things were still obviously more so made with its developer’s personal taste in mind. And, of course, once back at her allotted laboratory some… adjustments would have to be made to accommodate her specific method of healing. Still, it was somewhat bothersome that she was suddenly expected to become a combat medic when her current breakthrough could be used in a much more damaging manner. Especially when…
❝ I’ve no TRUE medical training after all. And… I assume you’ve already read just how the experimental apparatus works. ❞
When Soldier: 76 arrived at Gibraltar, Fareeha was undoubtedly curious. She had heard, as the world had, of his exploits, dishing out his righteous justice wherever and however he saw fit. She had heard of his travels with the one called “Bastet,” as well.
After the message she had found in the Necropolis from her mother, Fareeha was almost certain that this Bastet was one and the same. If that was true, then Soldier... well, he might have some important information for her.
She’d given him time to come forward, but he was very secretive about his own identity. Because of that, if he did know that Bastet was Fareeha’s mother, he had done nothing to give that away.
It had been a week. Fareeha was done waiting.
It was late, and most of the facility was shut down for the night. Fareeha made her way through the cold corridors of the crew quarters until she found the room he’d been assigned. She didn’t want to knock, lest she wake up other agents, so she softly called out to Athena.
“Can you let Soldier know I need to speak with him, please?”
She leaned against the wall beside the door, hoping that this would be the last time she had to wait for answers to her mother’s whereabouts.
* SHE knows she shouldn’t be enjoying herself so much --- but that doesn’t stop her from giggling helplessly at the situation in front of her. she can feel her cheeks get redder from a mix of laughter and what little wine is in her system from her half-glass.
she pulls a serious face to match the man’s own unaware expression as she speaks in a low-whisper to him.
❝ OH. yes, a secret --- i’ll make sure to keep that hush-hush. ❞
Angela very much enjoys drawing potential partners in. Banter is the foundation of her flirting style, everything from playful to scathing depending on the nature of the relationship. Every meticulously chosen word is intended to push the boundaries and elicit a response of similar caliber. There’s little satisfaction in a companion that can’t match her verbal sparring, after all, and it doesn’t cease during sex. Once the relationship is established she’s fond of physical touch, but it’s used to express affection more often than sexual interest.
