FIRST THREE FOUR IN MY INBOX GET KISSES/DISSES | @tohonor 

   ( THERE COULD BE WORLDS BETWEEN THEM and jesse would still be able to smell the blue blood cruising pretty in hanzo’s veins. it’s a skill he picked up when he was young and hungry, learned out of grueling necessity in the same way he took to lockpicking, forgery, and shooting from the hip. those born into wealth can never shut up about what is theirs and what was theirs, even after everything gold and silver sublimates into smoke and sulphur and shadow. hanzo is no different. jesse doesn’t always enjoy being right.  

     hanamura would be, under any other circumstances, a grand place to visit. unfortunate, then, that he’s damp under his arms and across his shoulder blades and chest with the summer humidity, oppressively warm, his shirt darkened in patches and sticking to his skin. but jesse hates it more that his present company seems lost in nostalgia and bitterness as they walk, monopolizing himself out of a unshakeable lust for the past ever since they arrived. the behavior is pathetic, embarassing. and worse, from where jesse stands, a man grown gnarled from barren waste, it feels like bragging. he feels small in the shadow of an empire long since leveled.

     when jesse can’t stand another word and pins hanzo against a wall, wooden paneling immaculate and disgusting at once, his forearm braced flat against the archer’s collar, he’s reminded rich soil gives way to beautiful and horrible things alike. he glowers because it’s all he has the strength to do, his dark hair stringy with sweat and clinging to his face, expression severe. yet, it’s only as he talks that jesse becomes aware of his mouth ghosting the swell of hanzo’s lip, warm breath a pale surrogate for the breeze that never picks up. )

   ❛ —— what kind of grown man spends this much time feelin’ sorry for himself. ❜