đ»- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents donât know about
[secrets] accepting
âI ripped the passenger door off of a police cruiser once. Had to walk all the way to my grandfatherâs 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 donât 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 donât 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.â
@warpulseâ / @dfist / @junqer      harley is an outstanding writer and i wish the world to harley. even that wouldnât be enough to meet what harley deserves in life. @chainsxwsmile     i adore margo. read her writing and youâre 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 & iâll compliment someone. | always accepting.@ anonymous !
@warpulseâ | i like writing five times kissed things so i thought iâd start with thatâ
i.)
usually, the most gorgeous and stunning things in life are also the most dangerous. thereâs beauty to be behold in a storm, sweeping over the lands to leave destruction in itâs path. thereâs beauty to be behold in the eyes of a fierce animal, just getting ready for the killing blow. thereâs 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 itâs the golden strike team all together â amari fits the description of an slender animal just waiting for the right time to rip someoneâs throat out better; reyes is fire that burns all that it touches â 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.
itâs one thing that makes people underestimate him, maybe. the un for sure â 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 itâs clear they thought that this was their best shot to have someone they could rope into their biding, and they couldnât 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 hadnât liked him in some way, then there wouldnât have been any deal. sure, his new commanding officer would say different, but it shows in subtle ways, and all the same unmistakable.
(donât. donât make things harder on yourself by pretending there is something when thereâs not. youâre imagining, and thatâs 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 â something not entirely atypical, but maybe still uncalled for given how unsteady his own position here is at this point still. figures the man wonât notice anyway; if heâs another thing, itâs constantly wrapped up in work.
so the brief smile? not directed at him.
 ii.)
he has seen him in action, alright. not often â blackwatch doesnât 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 donât care about the individual lives on the line; as long as the numbers say under a certain threshold, they donât 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 doesnât like it. heâs an optimist and a romantic, but heâs 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 doesnât 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 doesnât make him less dangerous, or less admirable. exhausted, but in good spirits. they didnât loose anyone today. the smirk he wears while mentioning that heâll be watched with hawkâs eyes again so he doesnât 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 arenât. 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 wouldnât go to heaven, donât fool yourself.)
he all but flees as soon as they arrive back home, and takes the longest cold shower of his life, but that doesnât mean he isnât still seeing him in front of his inner eye; transfixed on his lips, and he wonders, not for the first time, heâd imagine what itâd 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, itâs a whirl of itâs own, but at the very same time, it happens slowly, deliberately. thereâs method to the destruction that happens within his heart, and he wonders, not for the first time, if this is reality or if heâs 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 jackâs eyes, burning into his. his hair, disheveled. his very own hand, on the otherâs 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 â deep and rich and unlike anyone else jesse has kissed before in his life â which doesnât include a lot of people, but itâs 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 doesnât because he doesnât want to ruin the moment, and presses in again.
 iv.)
itâs late. the clock ticks away with its arms far closer to morning already than they are to the previous evening, but thatâs nothing new. they both donât sleep a lot, for many of the same and many different reasons. besides, they usually do this late, when thereâs nobody to ask questions. itâs not that they hide because they want to, but thereâs questions that doesnât need to be asked. itâs easier in the overall picture. itâs better in case someone decides to poke around and make shit up that isnât there. itâs easy to read into it with their vastly differing positions, but thereâs nothing to it there. and neither wants anyone to put their nose into things that donât belong to them.
itâs not that he doesnât 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 donât talk about it much; bad enough to weight it on oneâs 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 itâs 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 â just his entire world. just the part that matters most to him.
they try talking, but it never works out. they donât listen to each other. they never learned how to. maybe if they did from the start â 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, thereâs nowhere they would be able to escape to. and even if: thereâs no way he would come.
there are two options: he stays, with him. on a path thatâs self destructive at best, caught between two opposing forces, and he will get crushed in between. in a way, fitting â he decided to move into the storm, nest in its heart, so itâs 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 â 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 whatâs wrong. jesse canât tell, he never could tell right from wrong, but jack did, once upon a time, and maybe he could again.
(thatâs the lie that sets in his heart. truth is: heâs a coward, and he cannot stand watching the love of his life destroy himself even further. thatâs 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 thatâs barely shared anymore.
when he kisses jack now, itâs not warmth of liquid sunshine anymore, or the rich bitterness of his coffee. he tastes of ash, and a harsh winter. jesseâs heart bleeds, but he cannot watch them both rot away to nothingness. he canât.
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 hadnât been at the funeral. too risky, even if he hated himself for it.
when he finally visits, itâs quiet. no wind at all. maybe thatâs fitting. maybe. he doesnât know anymore. he doesnât know a lot of things these days.
he spends longer than he should. no words leave his lips â 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 â 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 blondâ 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 supposedâ 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 developerâs 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 whenâŠ
â Iâve no TRUE medical training after all. And⊠I assume youâve already read just how the experimental apparatus works. â
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 âBastet,â 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.
Sheâd 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 Fareehaâs 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 heâd been assigned. She didnât want to knock, lest she wake up other agents, so she softly called out to Athena.Â
âCan you let Soldier know I need to speak with him, please?â
She leaned against the wall beside the door, hoping that this would be the last time she had to wait for answers to her motherâs whereabouts.
â oh, also, i have a little secret⊠iâm drunk. â
* SHE knows she shouldnât be enjoying herself so much  ---   but that doesnât 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 manâs own unaware expression as she speaks in a low-whisper to him.
â OH. yes, a secret   ---  iâll make sure to keep that hush-hush. â
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. Thereâs little satisfaction in a companion that canât match her verbal sparring, after all, and it doesnât cease during sex. Once the relationship is established sheâs fond of physical touch, but itâs used to express affection more often than sexual interest.
