#bclletiisms

                                            @bclletiisms liked for a starter!

→  mercenary work was great. one would meet so many interesting people and about a third of them wouldn’t walk away from the encounter. deaths happened on both sides as that was simply the name of the game, the throw of the die on who made it out and who didn’t. mccree was either lucky or good, and he was not quite the type to question which one it was.

in a world gone digital there were some jobs still kept offline: this included jesse’s particular brand of merc work. positively medieval, some would SCOFF because it was still in back alleys and seedy bars that he came across his work on vague notes pinned to cork boards, pin boards, sometimes stuck on walls--a contact alias, a crowded room, instructions that reminded him of scavenger hunts.

          𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝙹𝙾𝙱

that was it. ‘discreet’ usually entailed some variant thereto of gritty, unseemly, arguably illegal but he reached up with one MECHANICAL hand and seized the paper with its torn edges, looking at it with an arched brow. discreet job. well, there was no shame in looking in on it.

jesse found soon enough as he ascended stairs about on par with a fire exit (was he entering through the fire exit? well, hell it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something along those lines for a DISCREET JOB, honestly) with the note folded up in his back pocket. someone damned well may have already filled the position but--knock twice then wait and knock a third time the note read so tap tap pause tap--he was coming to check in.

what exactly he was expecting could really be a mystery: he’d stepped in to places just as seedy as one would expect but he’d also stepped into places sterile as a hospital or those that were essentially someone’s home. this was firmly between the extremes, a mostly empty room with a total of two people.

one of which was a woman with hair that very nearly touched the floor and a splattering of tattoos over her rather revealed body. this was the other mercenary, he had to assume, because the portly fellow sitting on the couch didn’t look like he had it in him.

a shift from one foot to the other, fabric on fabric and a thumb hooking into his belt loop.

omg, gumbo is a gift from the gods themselves with deliciousness.

O h god

heavensworn replied to your post “weatheredsoldier replied to your post: Today I...”

it's a stew and although i've tried it once. I can say that it's very good.

send me a HELLO and i’ll answer...

If we kissed:

[] This wouldn’t happen.

[] Oh disgusting.

[x] Again, again.

[] Kiss you back.

[] Let’s take this to the bedroom.

[] Slap/Push you away.

[] Be confused

If you asked me out I’d say:

[] Um no.

[] I’m taken-

[x] Sure.

[] HOLY ASDFGHJK YESSSSS.

Can we cuddle?:

[] No.

[] Ew.

[] Sure.

[x] YES.

Sex?:

[x] Let’s do it.

[] No. You can’t handle my d.

[x] FUCK YES.

[] No.

Should you reblog this?:

[] Yes. I want to send you one.

[] Yes.

[] No.

✣𝙻𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈

Send “DONT” to pin my muse against the wall to prevent them from LEAVING 

→ it had been some bizarre hour of the night when he had heard it: the buzzing of his phone that lay beside him on the table of the cheap motel they were at (they were at a point they could afford better, sure, but what was the point when they were in the bed for a few hours at most--?) and so it was the humming buzz that woke the man. thick were the fingers that gripped tight to the device before his eyes grew wide in the light it offput. there had been rumors, projections. there had been thoughts and even a what if conversation with the woman that lay beside him but to see the video from winston labeled RECALL he felt his stomach drop.

she slept still, the light and noise not rousing her and he was sure the drinks had assisted in this task but it was the sound of his boots striking the hard floor of the cheap room, the threadbare carpet that wasn’t without its stains, the sound of his belt being buckled and it seemed just that quickly her feet were on the floor and she stood before him--

                                            “where the fuck are you going?”

❝ i have to, ❞ but he felt her hands in his serape, her form slight compared to his and her brows knit tight as he tried to place a hand over hers in some semblance of comfort but there was none to be had because she was not an idiot, lilly was not an idiot, ❝ i ran away once, i can’t-- ❞

it was not so much as a shove as it was a push, an urge that landed his back against the wood-paneled walls with her weight against him and her face displaced at him before it leaned forward into his serape. she’d been in blackwatch, sure. but by and large it was the overwatch agents recalled, and those with a good tenure in blackwatch… and those whose communication devices remained with the same frequency. he didn’t know why it was only his phone.

maybe it was connection to gabriel.

he was fairly sure she muttered into his serape, the red fabric muffling her, that he wasn’t leaving, she wouldn’t let him, he couldn’t hear it but he heard the buzzing in in his hand of the phone that he let drop to the floor with an audible sound of a thud. around her waist did his arms come as he held her against him, shaking his head, slowly allowing them both to sink down to the floor.

[text to:] corazón ❤

what

what in the world--

Let me hug you!!! ❤❤❤

Random Starters Meme || Accepting

@bclletiisms

     Pain spearing through an arm carried by the free hand of the Wraith, a string of curses escaped his panting breath as he rounded the corner through to the backstreet of a dimly lit neighborhood. Perfect.

     Reaper dropped to his knees, wincing as he slowly, carefully unstrapped the gear around what he could now see as severely broken arm. He wasn’t one to waste time with waiting for pain to ebb. With a swift strike of his palm and firm pressure, a sickening ‘CRACK’ and ‘POP’ practically resounded off of the walls of the houses lining the street. It had to be done, reset, or the bone wouldn’t heal.

     Pain so immense spiked through the length of his arm, so much so that he suddenly found himself to be propping himself up with his free hand as his head spun and vision darkened.

     He might heal at an incredibly rapid pace, but that didn’t make him invulnerable to injury. 

     Stupid. Idiot.

     He perked up at the sound of footfalls, yet his eyes were unable to make out the figure in front of him as he fought the remainder of waning unconsciousness.

     So, he numbly–and dumbly in his sudden confusion–said the first thing on his mind. As though it would offer proper explanation as to why the man of Death incarnate was on his knees in the middle of a sidewalk in the dead of the night.