#rpnit

“They can be for people too. Helps keep them on a tight leash.”

[ngl ares sounds like my kinda dude-]

I do apologize I saw the opportunity to use that line and I took it-

lmao no it’s okay. I laughed

I was in voice chat with @masanarii and I was like “I don’t know why I keep trying to solo her.”

Did I ever tell you the definition of insanity?

in my defense, IDK where OUR tank fucked off to.

                                                                             Headcanons | Closed 

  From a young age, Wrench H A T E D animals. He could never quite place   why until he was about six, when his mothers’ prized Chow-Chow mix got a  little too aggressive when Wrench approached his mother. Since then, he has   especially disliked dogs. He finds them noisy, dirty and only biding their time to   eat their owners.  

Foxglove - Name three facts about your family.

Okay first I want to start off and say that I actually really like Foxglove flowers? They’re pretty-

Fact 1: My family is both large and small at the same time.

      I was my biological mother’s only child so I grew up mostly alone despite both my biological father and my step-dad each having four children of their own, giving me four half siblings and four step-siblings. I don’t know my biological father’s side of the family at all and it’s likely better that way given that he was actually involved with the mafia and some other things. As far as my step-dad’s side goes, they’re distant with me because of some drama in the family. Aside from fathers, my mum only had one sibling and she had two kids. They’re distant with us as well ever since her husband/their father/my uncle died in my freshman year of high school. Over the years, I’ve been to many funerals so what used to be a large family that I had around me dwindled even though there is still a lot of family around that I could possibly contact. Honestly, I prefer it smaller. Less obligation and it’s caused my mum and I to finally start getting along because we’re all we have for each other.

Fact 2: I have a lot of interesting blood ties and marriage ties.

     On my biological father’s side of the family, we actually can trace it back to Vladimir the Impaler which I think is freaking cool as all hell. Sure, it’s a small portion but just knowing that is really cool. On my mum’s side of the family, we’re related to King Henry V though I’m not sure what the connection is. From my step-dad, his family is part of the descendants from France that now currently watch over the shroud of Turin. Besides notable ties, we have some relatives by marriage that are B-list actors and have been in contact with several famous individuals over the years including some of the Rockettes (my mum’s mother to be specific). They’re small things but it’s really nice to know where a family comes from. Oh and the thing I think I am most proud of is my step-dad’s father. Granpa was a tank commander for General Patton in WWII. So cool~

Fact 3: Most of my family is dead. (Please don’t give me sympathy! I’m fine~<3)

send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a number. 

11. scar kiss

This was not the first time he’d confronted her, and she suspected it wouldn’t be the last, but this time was different. There was a vulnerability to him, a fatigue to his movements, a softness...

She flinched when he reached out to her with  clawed hand, causing him to recoil and remove the glove. With the gray, almost dead looking, skin exposed, she could see the scars that were scattered on his hands and forearms. Some she recognized, others... others she was unable to prevent.

Stepping forward, she took his hand and brought it to her face, allowing him to touch her before placing a small kiss on one of the worst of the scars she saw.

send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a number.         

66. ‘’I thought I’d never see you again” hug

Gabe had said that he’d be gone for a few days, doing whatever he needed to do to find peace. McCree knew what it was, he was well-aware of the fact that his former Commander hunted down Overwatch agents. To be precise, Jack Morrison - now known as 76.And even though the gunslinger had wanted to go with him - he couldn’t. There was no way for him to watch Reaper getting into a fight with the former Overwatch Commander, no way he could take in the sight of the two fighting and Jack getting killed in the end. Jesse wasn’t a good man, but he also wasn’t a bad one. He’d told that he’d not participate in whatever Reaper did, and he knew that Gabriel accepted this, maybe even appreciated the fact.

So, he waited, back at Gabe’s home. A few days would pass quickly, right? No, not really. The first day was manageable, the second day as well... but the third was longer than expected, followed by day four and five, and when a whole week went by the gunslinger was close to go through a crisis of some sort. All his patience was gone by now, and even though he knew that Gabe - and Reaper - were not easy to kill, maybe even not able to die once again at all, he became worried.

What if something had gone wrong? What if Jack had found a way to get rid of the former Blackwatch Commander? What if he’d managed it to kill Gabe, and Reaper, and McCree was left behind without knowing about it, and without being able to help at all?

What if everything repeated once again - Gabriel, hurt and lost and dying, and Jesse ... wasn’t there. Somewhere else, doing his thing, instead of being by his lover’s side.

By day eight, the Cowboy had downed two bottles of Whiskey within fourty-eight hours. He’d thought about searching for Reaper, but he knew that he would have no chance to find him. maybe he wasn’t even in the same country anymore - heck, McCree didn’t even know where Jack Morrison was at this moment. He could be everywhere, together with him.

Jesse couldn’t remember what happened on day nine, he probably had passed out because of all the alcohol. Day ten, however, was there and he had to go through the hours.

By day eleven, he’d pushed his body into one of the corners of the room, hands ruffling and tugging at his messy hair. Glass bottles surrounded his frame, his hat was a few feet away on the floor, and he slumped down on it as well as his knees gave in.

By now, he was sure that Gabriel was gone.That Reaper was gone.That both wouldn’t come back.

He’d lost them.He’d lost Gabriel Reyes.And once again, he hadn’t been there to rescue him.Jesse McCree was a failure. Stupid. The worst man existing. He hadn’t learned, he’d done the same mistake again.

Even the next bottle of Whiskey - or was it something else? He didn’t know - couldn’t help him to get rid of those burning and hurting emotions inside his head and chest.

At some point, between hours of darkness, he opened his eyes to let tired hazel orbs take a look at the block hanging on the wall on the opposite side of the room, and he noticed that day twelve and thirteen had gone by.

McCree didn’t care anymore.

And when he opened his eyes once again, it took him some time to realize that he hadn’t been awoken by a hungry stomach or pure exhaustion, but because someone was shaking his shoulder. Someone called his name a few times, even though it sounded as if, whoever was here, was miles away. It nearly felt as if the gunslinger was drowning... was even worse than he’d imagined it to be. Dying on the floor with too much alcohol in his veins, no intake of any food at all... he’d hoped it would work more quickly. And that no one would find him in this safe place.

It was only when said someone lifted him up, arms wrapping around his torso and pressing his head down on a shoulder, that his nose took in a very familiar scent.And it caused the tired Cowboy’s body to react immediately, even before he could register who it was exactly - his arms moved on their own, wrapped around a torso and holding on for dear life, fingernails digging into leather.

Gabriel.He smelled like Gabriel.

And with that, the man finally broke - sobbing, crying loudly, tears soaking into the fabric of the former Commander’s shoulder as he pushed himself as close as possible, with all his remaining strength his weak body would offer him. Breathing quickly, not deep enough, gasping for air, choking on his own spit.